If there are objections, Clint doesn't voice any. Steve wanted this. Needed this, really. A grounding part of the come down. Some comfort, some relief, a need to not be alone.

Given the beating just taken, he doesn't feel any urge or need for another one. All the deep throbbing the meds can't reach and the almost creaking of his ribs, the exhaustion after giving Steve a run for his money as far as mundane human powers go, he can't possibly consider much of anything except rest.

Even if Steve is distracting. Clint can't need this; he hasn't needed this since he ran off under everyone's noses. Wanting...well. Maybe it's not so bad to want now and again. Something that feels good. If a little odd, if a little awkward, but it's soothing. Hearing Steve's heart strong and steady. The even rise and fall of his chest with each breath. He finds himself matching up in sync.

He knows that if they hadn't had that extra-strength spar, there would be a very loud part of his brain fighting this. Can't have nice things, can't take comfort, can't allow this. A loud part that would take the creature comforts he had been used to and get mad about it, get sad about it, get messy and ugly and hateful about it. It's quiet, instead. A distant voice under the floorboards. It doesn't mean sleep comes easy. He's aware, hyper vigilant, taking in every sensation and trying to file it away if he can't find some immediate meaning to it. But it's Steve. He reminds himself, constantly. It's just Steve. Who will only hurt him if they agree it's something they need, and otherwise by complete accident. Stop looking for the ulterior motives. They both had needs. They're taken care of. It doesn't need to be more than that.

A gentle rhythm and his body's own needs win out in the end.