Let Me Be Your Big Spoon
1.
In hindsight, it started and ended with Clint, who seemed to have no personal boundaries whatsoever.
The Avengers had been watching a movie, their Friday night ritual, depending upon whether or not one of them were across the country or in medical dying, of course.
It'd taken two months for the team to even sit comfortably in the same room together, never mind sprawl among each other; but there they were, nearing the better part of three months, bodies relaxed and tangled on the many communal couches in the theater.
Tony had always set himself up on the solitary recliner in the corner, saying that his reactor was too bright and would make it difficult for them to watch the movie.
"I'm a walking spot light, the glare will be annoying - I'll just sit here."
But on this particular day, Clint had taken it upon himself to move the offending furniture, pressing it near the end of the couch as an extension; he crossed his ankles and propped them upwards on the chair, head pillowed on Natasha's thighs, her nails running their way through his hair. Tony, as usual, had come in fifteen minutes late, freshly showered and clad in pajamas (an oversized t-shirt that swallowed him whole and boxers).
The room was full, and Clint watched with deft eyes as Tony scanned the occupied furniture; the archer feared he might try to sneak out before anyone noticed him, just to avoid sitting near one of them, or making someone move (despite his asshole tendencies, Tony was very insecure and mindful when it came to other people's comfort - Clint had only thought to do the same, ergo, moving furniture).
Instead, Clint's plan had gone through, and Tony's eyes had landed on the extra space to his right. The blonde scooted over a bit, raising his eyebrows quietly. Natasha was watching out of the corner of her eye, intrigued by the scene playing before her; her fingers stilled in the archer's hair.
The anticipation was only palpable for the three that were paying attention.
Tony, after what seemed like forever, padded softly to the couch, looking down at Clint, struggle clear in his eyes. He was gnawing on his lip, so Clint took it upon himself to yank at the t-shirt around his thighs, pulling him near. Tony plopped onto the couch, awkwardly still as he stared straight at the ceiling, hands fiddling with each other. Clint ran a comforting hand down his back, motioning for him to turn.
"The movie's that way."
Tony swallowed hard, nodded once, and flipped over, allowing his back to face Clint. "Right." He murmured, curling into his classic fetal position, guarding the reactor unconsciously.
Clint propped himself up on his elbows, Natasha's fingers resuming their ministrations as soon as Tony had taken a long awaited breath. The archer slung an arm around the smaller man's thin waist, casual as ever as he laid his chin on Tony's shoulder to see the TV.
"You good?" Clint whispered softly, sending shivers down Tony's back. The brunette nodded once, closing his eyes as he relaxed into the touch, breaths deepening out.
"Y-yeah, I'm good. Great."
Clint only smirked as Tony leaned back into his chest, settling peacefully into the archer's hold.