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Silence doesn't usually feel awkward to Steve. Steve feeling awkward sure as hell makes silence happen while he tries to decide if it's worth trying to explain. How the math on the risk of an explanation weighs against any particular benefit when it's just about him.

He pushes one hand up under his sunglasses and rubs at his eyes, but doesn't break his stride or change pace to do it. Puts his hand back in his pocket once he does and keeps his eyes on the path in front of them.

"That one wasn't about you."

Not exactly an explanation, not exactly not.

Edited 2024-11-12 21:36 (UTC)

...Interesting. Clint lets that sit and suggest. His head is getting clearer as they walk at least. And everything feels like it wants to strangle him for letting this happen.

And Steve touching in a non-violent manner was nice. And maybe Steve touching him was nice to Steve too.

He thinks about a hand on his cheek. He thinks about Steve's comforting weight on him.

"Okay. You wanna fit us both in bed, we'll figure the physics out. For you."

At least they'll have ice packs and avoiding bruises and cracked ribs to keep things from being too weird for Clint. Or maybe that'll make it weirder. Steve doesn't know. Doesn't currently care too much, because he feels so... exposed in that exact moment.

"Thanks."

Just that, at least for now. "Was there something you were going to ask me earlier that didn't quite happen? About the Avengers?" Might as well get it all out of the way and self-sabotage the shit out of himself now. Or rather give Clint a chance to.

"You feeling real alone?" Is not the thing he was going to ask, but he's pretty sure he worked most of the viciousness out of himself. "I mean, yeah, no shit, everyone does. I just mean..."

He makes a motion between them. Trying to make that mean whatever the fuck he means. He's not sure he's being successful about it though.

"Are you trying to ask me if I'm doing all this because I'm lonely?" Steve asks, also trying to figure out what Clint means.

No edge in his voice again, at least, not really even tension. Just... a sincere desire to sort it out.

Edited 2024-11-12 22:54 (UTC)

"Not all this. Just. This." How! does he get this! across! Use your words, Barton. "The bed and the touching and stuff."

"No." At least that, perhaps strangely, is an easy answer. It comes immediately, and without a second of... discomfort on his part. "If being lonely was going to have me trying to drag people into bed, I'd have a different reputation." He's not mocking. "I want to, I like you, and I just beat the hell out of you, Clint."

"Feel like it's kind of a new development, is all. Don't remember you getting all cuddly after sparring sessions with people before." He doesn't mean it meanly, mockingly. It's just something else that he isn't used to. "You don't feel bad about what we did, do you? Cuz we both were itching for it."

"I not only don't feel bad about it, I feel pretty good about it." He doesn't... exactly ignore the rest, so much as not know how to address it just then, and he definitely doesn't know how to on the street. "Let's get inside, find some ice packs for you and food for me." Maybe he'll try to take a run at it there.

"Now we know that any time either of us is feeling like crap, just punch me." Now that's a joke. Mostly. With the crooked way his mouth turns up.

And no argument about the rest. Clint might have to doze off himself between the physical exhaustion and the naproxen kicking in. Food for him can happen later when he feels less like his body is going to simply kick his ass harder, somehow.

Steve hopes Clint at least gets some sleep in there.

He laughs a little at that remark, but - "Maybe not every time. You don't heal the way I do." That's a joke too, and returns the faint grin with a more certain one.

Then heads up toward Clint's building. He's just going to get inside, lose the hat, shoes and sunglasses, and shovel some kind of food into his face to hold him over for a more substantial meal later on. Might approach the rest of this, if he can find a way to. Isn't sure he wants to, and if he does if that's a before or after curling up with Clint.

Probably before sleep, at least.

It's almost a relief to be back in the shitty little hovel of an apartment. It's not home by any stretch of the imagination, but something about being here, being here with another person in fact, feels like a completely different world from the wordless grunts of two men duking it out in an abandoned warehouse.

Climbing the stairs has made the bruising on his thighs start to ache pretty prominently, and he decides he needs to get predominantly horizontal very soon. After a wash up in the bathroom. Scrub off the rest of the caked on blood, rub the dirt out of his hair. It looks a little bit more like him in the mirror, rather than the Ronin. It won't last long, out of necessity, but he supposes this isn't a bad thing in the short term.

He gets the ice packs from the freezer, shuffles to the bed, makes himself as comfortable as he possibly can under the circumstances, cold lying directly over aching ribs and remembering to breathe nice and deep and even to remind himself there's no lung puncture, just a deeply satisfying ache that'll hound him for a while.

Sometimes, that Steve grew up in the depression and the fact that he is fundamentally very much a single guy comes to the forefront and goes on display.

Like when what what he grabs to eat is a pack of instant oatmeal - raw - mixed into greek yogurt with peanut butter. In his defense, it's got all the macros, a shit ton of calories, and doesn't actually taste bad. It's just... yeah, strange.

He washes up some himself when he's done, makes sure his trash is handled and by then Clint is settled in bed. This is where he should hesitate, but doesn't let himself. He just crawls in behind Clint. He settles in close by necessity, there's contact, but he really isn't overbearing about it.

It also perceptibly relaxes him. "That wasn't a training session." Which is... at least part of the why of the change. And a damn belated answer.

There's really no good way to be comfortable when his chest is on fire, his back is on fire, his everything is on fire. When Steve gets in the bed, it's clear Clint can't hog the space on his back. Which is fine. His shoulders were begging for a release from the pressure. He scoots to the edge of the bed on his side and rolls to face Steve.

Just seems polite to have a conversation face to face. It's also simply just what his brain wanted him to do, rather than have someone in a vulnerable blind spot. He can argue with that part of his brain later. He keeps his arms lightly crossed over his chest to keep the packs there.

"No," Clint agrees, "that was both of us trying to exorcise some demons for a bit."

"Yeah."

Steve reads Clint rolling to face him as not wanting Steve at his back, and moves himself as far away from Clint as he can get, without being overtly obvious about it. That's not a whole lot of actual space, but he definitely does his best to give Clint some room.

He is aware that he instigated this. Doesn't mean he can't be considerate.

"It's not important. Just different context and didn't want you to think I'd lost my mind. Give me ten to finish getting my brain back together and I'll get out of your hair for a while so you can get some real rest."

It doesn't seem not important. It seems particularly important, actually, the distinction here. Clint gives him an assessing look, trying to pick this apart.

"If you need me to be a big teddy bear for you, you can ask. Can't promise you won't get a hedgehog instead." Because this is for Steve. He admitted that. So he needs someone, or the weight of someone, or the heat of someone, or the simple knowledge for his brain to absorb that he isn't alone.

He wishes it was that easy, though he acknowledges most of the complications and difficulties exist only because of his own hangups.

"With that haircut...." It's a pretty weak joke, about hedgehogs. It's mostly buying time. "I could use some physical contact for a while. I don't need it enough for you to make yourself overly uncomfortable for it."

He's... trying to ask? While making it clear if Clint's not okay, he will move.

"You didn't get enough physical contact earlier?" A joke back. A flash of a smirk. "I get it." Kind of. The weight on him, knowing that in that moment he was safe.

"You wanna...get up in this? Or you wanna big spoon?"

Asks the grown man to another grown man.

They're both grown ups, they can do what they want.

Including cuddle.

...as long as there isn't too much talk about feelings.

"I'm gonna let you have it this time. Seems safer with you being the injured one." And having the bigger problem with somebody at his back. ...Mostly the last. Otherwise, yeah, usually, Steve would do the wrapping.

He is slow and careful in not jostling Clint though when he does roll over, and okay maybe that part of it is about avoiding eye-contact.

"...You're an idiot." Which might, actually, be the closest thing to affectionate he's sounded since Steve showed up. "Roll back here, get your damn arms around me, and, I don't know, shove my face in your super-tits or something."

It might be the closest he has sounded to affectionate. It is definitely the closest he's sounded to Clint.

It (or 'super tits') means that Steve's choking on a laugh when he rolls back over, and is definitely less awkward for it. "Leave my cleavage out of this." He is still pretty damn careful wrapping an arm around Clint, pulling him slightly in. At least careful enough to dislodge the ice pack. "It was a gift from a friend."

Instantly, immediately, better. Partially from being called an idiot and absolutely also from settling with the warmth, weight, and contact.

"Your friend had good taste." That's all he's saying! He appreciates the care with which Steve moves, even if Clint would not have complained if he aggravated anything. It still stings along his upper back, but in a way the pills have dimmed. He's a little curled in on himself, trying to be as cozy as his aching body will let him, and keeping the ice packs in place, and it makes him feel a little small. Smaller, in comparison to Steve, anyway.

It's awkward in its own way. It's familiar in a way he hasn't let himself feel in a long time, and more familiar between them than he feels like they've ever been before. This close, with his chin tucked down, is it weird to notice the smell? The scent of another person in his space rather than just himself. God, is this what the loneliness has done to him? Make him notice weird shit? Feel both comfortable and uncomfortable at the very same time? Like he knows the moves to a very familiar dance but hasn't heard the song in so long, he's convinced he's going to stumble over his own feet.

"Better?" he murmurs. Just to make sure.

The process of Steve settling carries on in small shifts of his weight, in particularly letting his hand settle and bending his head down in a way that means his nose is pretty well in Clint's hair. Then letting his eyes close.

"Good taste is going to far; he liked schnapps."

If noticing scent's weird overall, it isn't weird to Steve and Clint isn't alone. Steve might even be weirder because he has a really good sense of smell and can pretty easily pick up not just Clint, but shampoo and dirt from the floor they'd been laying on and sweat and it's... It's nice.

A deep breath in and slower one out, and then absently almost petting Clint with the drag of his fingers lightly along Clint's back - barely touching, moving fabric across skin, mostly. "Yeah. This is better."

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.

Steve isn't injured - he isn't even sore. He isn't tired, and he certainly isn't anywhere near needing sleep.

Physical release from anything that's not a serious fight isn't an option that's on the table. It hasn't been since the serum, outside the very specific period when the team was together and functioning, anyway. Tony in one of his suits and Thor were about it, even then. Might have something to do with why he isn't feeling anger he's academically aware he has plenty of.

He has other options to keep his mind from spinning out replaying too vivid memories, or just chasing itself in circles between guilt and grief. Like what they did earlier and the precision it took to be enough and not cross the line.

And what he's doing now, which is just focusing on Clint. Points of contact, the rise and fall of Clint's ribs when he breathes, the chill of the ice pack contrasting with Clint's body heat, keeping his breathing and hand on Clint's back timed together.

It's all... needed and useful. Grounding. Reassuring.

He can feel Clint fall asleep.

He can also feel when Clint starts to move at all and subtly gets the weight of his arm off him, so that he's not pinning them man down. Otherwise he just stays put until Clint is solidly up, however long that ends up being.

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