Bedknobs and Boyfriends
Clint had spent the past six weeks dreaming of his bed; of purple, brushed cotton sheets and plaid, linen covered pillows.
A month and a half of bedding down in whatever ramshackle shelter he could find had him longing for the comfort of his mattress and the warmth of a winter weight wrapped around him.
Now, as he leans against the doorframe, taking in the shock of white hair barely visible beneath the sheets, the errant foot poking out from the bottom of the duvet, hearing the soft snores of contentment that fill the room, and smelling the familiar minty smell of Pietro’s damp, freshly washed hair….Clint smiles softly.
“Are you gonna stand there all night or are you coming to bed?” Pietro’s voice is sleep soft and perfect and Clint is powerless to stop from crawling in next to him.
“The bed missed you.” Pietro murmurs as he wraps himself around Clint and oh god, this is what Clint had missed, this is what he’s spent the past six weeks longing for, too afraid to admit it to himself, the relationship too new and fresh for those feelings to be voiced.
“Yeah? Well I missed the bed, too.” Clint teases, his touch and the press of his lips against Pietro’s temple telling a more honest story.
Sleep comes easily, and it has less to do with the bed than the comforting weight of warm, soft skin against his own.