Lazy Sundays were fast becoming one of Bucky's favorite things. And sure, he had enjoyed them before beginning to date Clint, but he had to admit that being in a relationship really added something to the day. Which was silly really, because the inherent concept of a lazy day meant you did nothing. But doing nothing by himself just wasn't as enjoyable as doing nothing with Clint.
Learning to share space had been shockingly easy. It didn't matter if they were at his place or at Clint's they just ended up easily flowing around each other – finding the areas to fit in without even trying. And sure they were still entirely within the 'honeymoon' period of the relationship, but he didn't remember things being this easy with anyone else.
Even Pickles and Lucky had quickly grown accustomed to being together. Lucky always seemed happy to see Bucky when he stopped by, but was twice as excited when he saw that Bucky had Pickles in her backpack carrier. And Pickles was quick to meow her own hellos and, mostly likely, a few admonishments at Bucky for not being fast enough to let her out of the case so she could wind around Lucky's legs while his tail went a mile a minute.
“Even money he vibrates hard enough to knock something over within the next three visits at most,” Clint had said, popping something into his mouth before pressing a kiss to Bucky's lips.
“Really, a trail-mix kiss. Is the romance gone so soon?” he joked, which had made Clint stick out his tongue (thankfully free of any traces of nuts and raisins) at him in reply.
That had been a few hours ago. They'd since shared breakfast and then decamped to Clint's ridiculously comfortable couch where Bucky was curled on one side with a book and Clint the other, his sketchbook out.
The pets had been content to entertain themselves for the most part, Lucky trotting around behind Pickles as she explored the still-somewhat-new-to-her apartment. Clint was building something under the stairs to his lofted bedroom, so that had taken an extra several minutes of sniffing and poking around before they'd found something else to get into. Eventually they'd tuckered themselves out and Lucky had curled up on his rug, with Pickles perching delicately on his back, for a nap. That had been a good hour ago and Bucky raised his head from his book when his cat had stirred, making little waking noises and stretching her legs as far as they would go. A quick bath for herself. and for Lucky's muzzle when he raised his head towards her, and she hopped down onto the floor to saunter into the kitchen. Lucky scrambling up to follow.
“Did you put everything away after breakfast?” Bucky had been on dish duty and Clint on stowing leftovers and spare groceries.
“Mmhmm,” was the reply, Clint never raising his gaze from the paper.
“Even the treat bags?” As tempting as it was to give them human food as a treat, they tried to be good and only give them dog and cat treats. Most of the time they even succeeded.
With a barely there smile, Bucky placed a bookmark in his book and put it down on the table. “I'm going to get some water.” Clint gave another noncommittal noise in reply and maybe if Bucky hadn't been concerned about the absolute silence coming from the kitchen (never a good thing when one had children or pets) he would have began a string of jokes about how he was going to parade around naked and suggest increasingly random and silly things and the like just to see how long it took to get Clint to pay full attention. It wasn't Clint's fault, Lucky was probably quite well behaved for the most part and Clint hadn't quite gotten used to needing an extra level of vigilance when it came to having an entirely too intelligent cat in his life. He'd get there. And once he did he'd still likely fall into his creative zones, but at least he'd have prepped beforehand.
Bucky padded quietly into the kitchen and watched for a second as Pickles balanced herself on Lucky's head so she could better reach a shelf that would otherwise be out of range of her paws, even if she'd been standing on the counter. Already on the ground was the bag of dog treats that had been on top the fridge, but, it seemed Lucky had been magnanimous enough to not try and get into it to eat any until he'd been able to help Pickles get to the cat treats on the shelf.
“Whatcha doing?” Bucky asked the animals, smile growing all the wider when Pickles slowly sank onto her haunches, then hopped onto the ground and looked up at him guiltily.
“You know better,” he chided her, grabbing the dog treats and earning a sad huff from Lucky as he did so. The cat treats were next, spirited away from the shelf as Pickles let out a warble to try and convince him otherwise. “No. No treats for naughty children.” He got two of the most tragic expressions ever in reply and he still shook his head. “No. Certainly not until dinner and only if you behave the rest of the day.” Both animals slunk off as he grabbed a chair and stashed the treats on a much higher shelf. Inside a cabinet. The one with the door that stuck a little.
Still smiling, Bucky grabbed two glasses and filled them with water before padding back into the living room. After setting one down near his spot on the couch, he slipped over to Clint's side. He pressed a hand to his shoulder, stroking lightly before leaning in to press a kiss to the side of his head, just above an ear. Clint hummed in appreciation, eyes never leaving the drawing he was working on, but a smile curled the corners of his lips at the simple show of affection. He still managed to find the straw Bucky had put into the drink when he held it up to him for a sip and afterwards grabbed one of his hands to press a kiss to the palm. Bucky wasn't entirely sure how close to being finished he was with the drawing - it was a large and very elaborate castle, though whether it was for a tattoo (maybe a back piece) or just an image Clint wanted to draw was unclear – so with a final stroke of his hand over his shoulder and press of his lips against the back of Clint's neck, Bucky returned to his side of the couch, intent on picking up his book again.
He'd made it only a few pages before Clint let out a sigh and set the sketchbook down, stretching in so luxurious a manner that it would put Pickles to shame, then drained easily half the glass of water Bucky had left for him. Then, he turned so he was facing Bucky, propped his head on his arm, and stared for a moment before saying softly: “Hey babe.”
“Hi,” Bucky replied, eyes still on his book, despite the fact he'd stopped reading it. “See something you like?” he managed to ask.
“Mmm, very much so,” Clint said, reaching out his free hand to settle it on Bucky's knee.
“Oh yeah?” He asked, aware that a blush was staining his cheeks as he set down the book again but not caring at all.
“Yeah,” Clint replied, scooting over so that he was pressing against Bucky. “The stubble looks really good on you,” he said before capturing Bucky's lips in a warm easy kiss.
Clint was always doing that, giving Bucky compliments on the smallest things. It made his heart hurt just a tiny bit, but in the best possible way. They shared slow lazy kisses for a while, not really gearing up for anything, just enjoying being close, kissing for the sake of kissing.
“Phil's booked a few stations at a convention next month. It's local so at least I won't need to travel. Less to worry about, you know?” Clint said, absently playing with Bucky's fingers.
“That sounds good,” Bucky replied. He had a hunch Clint was trying to work himself up to saying something specific, he had a certain look in his eyes that Bucky was beginning to recognize, but he didn't want to press.
“Yeah. Flash art only, so I gotta work up a new sheet or two for it. Themed stuff maybe. I mean, I love and generally prefer doing custom, but, flash art can be cool too. And I kinda tend to put little differences into each so they're not entirely the same from person to person. In the past I've pre-booked appointments for custom but for this type of convention it's too difficult to do that.” Bucky tangled their fingers together briefly to offer an encouraging squeeze and Clint relaxed a little. “I um, I was wondering if maybe you'd like to come hang out at it? I mean, you don't need to do both days and-”
“I'd love to.”
“Wait, really?” Clint's face was so nervous and hopeful.
“Yeah, it sounds like fun,” Bucky said, giving a quick kiss to punctuate the statement.
“Yes, really.” This time he tapped Clint's forehead gently as if he was trying to forcefully get the point through to him (he followed it up with a peck on his nose – just because). “I'm guessing the shop will be open on Saturday as per usual? So you guys'll be spread a little thin. Did you need someone to greet people and help them pick out art and take payments or something? I could probably help out a little with that if needed.”
Clint blinked at him, mouth open slightly, and the most adorably confused expression on his face. “I... Um, what about the crowds? I know how they can make you feel.”
“Well yeah, I'm not always a big fan of crowds, but, I am a huge fan of you. I wanna go. I wanna help.”
“Great!” Clint's smile was the big brilliant one Bucky adored. He babbled on again about the convention – it was a mixed media one with entertainment and comics and a little bit of everything really and Bucky was happy to just sit back and listen until eventually the babbling began to trail off a bit and he felt Clint fidget.
“You need to art something, don't you?” He asked, pressing a kiss to Clint's head when he nodded.
“You wanna pick the music?” Clint asked as he sorted through his pencils.
“With great power comes great responsibility,” Bucky joked as he leaned over to snag Clint's iPod. He scrolled through albums for only a second before backing out and clicking over to view playlists. He legitimately laughed out loud after a moment when he caught sight of some of the titles. “You have a playlist called '80's Makeout Tunz'?”
“Damn skippy I do,” Clint replied, crossing back over from the desk that held his art supplies.
Beyond curious now, Bucky queued that list up and promptly began laughing when Bon Jovi began singing about someone laying their hands on him and Clint joined in very enthusiastically. Clint actually had a nice singing voice, but he wasn't trying very hard at the moment, just being silly really.
“You should've turned off random you know – I made that list to build to a certain crescendo if you follow,” Clint said gravely.
“Oh, I'm terribly sorry.”
“As you should be.”
Clint made a pleased noise when a piano began playing and Ann Wilson's voice began to wonder where her prospective lover was and then he abandoned all pretense of drawing and began jamming along on an air guitar when the tempo suddenly sped up. “Till now, I always got by on my own. I never really cared until I met you!” he sang along, grabbing a marker for a microphone.
And as Bucky sat there watching Clint rock out like a giant dork, his heart feeling so happy and so full that it could burst, the words just slipped out casual as you please. “I love you.” Clint's head stuttered in its nodding and he jerked his gaze up from the paper to meet Bucky's.
“Wha...” Clint's eyes were impossibly big and so very blue and Bucky felt humbled by how open and naked his expression was. Like what Bucky said had tilted his world again and he couldn't hide anything. How he was maybe a little nervous that he hadn't heard him correctly.
“I love you, Clint. I love you.” He repeated, out loud and in sign and Clint exploded into movement, sketchbook falling to the floor in a show of carelessness he'd never exhibited before as he climbed into his lap and wrapped himself around Bucky.
“Me too. I love you too.” The kiss they shared was sloppy and inelegant and perfect. “So fucking crazy about you.”
“I wanted to say it before. I came so close so many times...” Clint shushed him with several gentle kisses.
“It's okay baby, it's okay. This was perfect.”
The smile that came with Clint's pronouncement was pretty damn perfect itself and Bucky couldn't help but lean in and share another lingering kiss with him. “Love you,” he murmured when they paused.
“Love you too,” Clint agreed with another kiss. “Gonna say that every day. So many times you'll get sick of it.”
That was never going to happen and Bucky said as much with his voice and his hands and, he hoped, his heart.