"Give us a couple of years," Bucky said. "We'll all fall apart, and you'll still be moist and pretty and can tell us you told us so." He watched Moo stalking the blanket, reaching left-handed to very gently scratch under her chin. She purred, swatting affectionately at metal fingers but mostly investigating Clint and considering burrowing under his blanket with him.
Bucky shrugged. "Sure. We can go do that after this, if you want. Full service - pillow and laundry." Bucky wasn't going to stay in 8 if he moved. He'd do what Natasha did, what Clint and Scott did - get a place in the Capitol. He might hate it there, but a place would be just ... a place. Space to sleep in and hold his shit and keep his cow. But he hadn't been serious either - Bucky knew how that would look and the next round of rumors would be, and he was ready to NOT be the one people were talking about for a while again.
Familiar with the concept. Bucky had wondered. Clint and Natasha were friends, and he'd seen Clint look at her a few times too. "Can't blame you," he said. He wondered if he should tell Clint he'd kissed her once, for luck before dying. The last person he'd ever kissed because he'd wanted to. It seemed like it was just unnecessary though. It hadn't been anything. He hadn't remembered, Natasha didn't seem to want to either much. It had been a moment and a kindness. If he'd come out of the Arena different, maybe there would have been a different story to tell. As it was - it wasn't a story at all.
He pulled Clint in a little closer, careful of unseating Moo, arm tightening around Clint. It came easier when he didn't try to overthink why Clint wanted it from him. "She know?" he asked.
"It's not so bad," Bucky said. "Least I know I can still feel it some. I like that. It's ... mine. Doesn't matter that I'd never do anything about it. Peggy's better for him anyway. Still mine."