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Clint Barton is going back to bed. (today_sucks) wrote in snapthread,

It probably hadn't been quite as long as Bucky, since Clint had last played around in the snow. He'd grown up in states made mostly of snowy months, after all, and had relocated to New York right after his stint with the circus. Back in those early years, it'd been business as much as fun with the Avengers - snowball fights had begun with Jan and ended with Natasha. For a while there, Bobby had been playful, too. It'd been fun.

But it'd also been a few years now, and not just because he'd taken a few stints on the west coast, or traveled the globe. Things just -- hadn't been fun for Clint at all, not for a long time.

He'd been depressed. For a long time. Clint realized that now. And it wasn't exactly something that completely went away. That wasn't how brain chemistry worked, but there were less things here to be stressed about, to take him down some swirling endless road of sad followed by naps.

Bucky was here. And Bucky was great. Practically perfect in every way. The Mary Poppins of past Russian brainwashed assassins, really. So Clint found himself, for the first time, in a very long time happy.

"My snow angel was perfect," Clint corrected, smiling against Bucky's lips. They were both chilled, Clint's jeans about soaked through, and his ears were burning a little, but it was all so good that he didn't care for a lick. "I wouldn't mind it if you gave a little fuck," he teased, raising his eyebrows playfully -- right before squishing a hand full of snow into Bucky's forehead and rolling away to laugh for years.