( is all he sends because he's quite aware that no-one has ever respected him locking the front door to his own apartment, let alone any other door — and even if that wasn't the case, he's used to not even having a bedroom door, let alone thinking about locking it.
even so, he can guess at what she's getting at, guess that she'll be making an appearance at some point, whether it's soon or in a couple of hours. what he doesn't quite guess is that it's mere minutes later, doesn't expect to see her wearing one of his t-shirts, doesn't expect the small, almost hesitant smile. she's dressed down in a way that he knows she normally reserves for when she's by herself, in a way that he privately thinks is just as hot as when she dresses up, or whatever the term is for wearing lingerie.
he's in just a t-shirt, boxers, and socks, not so much over the covers as 'has shoved the covers messily to one end of the bed with his feet'. the pillows are strewn about in the sort of way that suggests he's had difficulties in keeping still and has spent time trying to hunt out the cool side of each one in turn before discarding them whenever the warmth got too much.
the smile she gets in return is soft and bright, not the cocky, self-assured smile most people get most of the time. )
[Bobbi Morse is accustom to the weird sleeping habits of Clint Barton. So much so that she actually found it difficult to be in a quiet still be alone when she found herself single again.
Her stomach twists a little bit in the kind of teenage excitement when Clint gives her an actual smile. It's really unfair how gorgeous he can be when he's like that and her smile smile turns to one that lights up her eyes in approval at the comment. ]
Lucky for you I didn't invite any friends. [It's playful and off hand and she climbs on to the open side of the bed but doesn't stay there. Instead she slides right up next to Clint not even waiting for the invitation and leans her head against his shoulder.]
I'm now so used to the smell of pastries on you I'm starting to find it charming.
( he groans, not at the fact that bobbi slides into bed with him, not at the fact that she makes herself comfortable in his space. no, at that, he snakes an arm behind and around her. it's awkward and a little ungainly, but it's enough to hold her against him.
the groan is at the assertion that he smells like pastries. never once in his life had he thought he'd go to bed smelling like croissants. or pain au raisins. or whatever. )
I hate it, ( he tells her. it's the same way clint hates a lot of things, none of them anything he actually hates but things it's easy to be mock-offended by. things it's easy to grouse and whine about. ) At this rate, I'm never gonna smell like me again.
[The way he grumbles sometimes is endearing. She shifts a little bit to adjust so her cheek can rest against his shoulder and drapes a long leg across his torso just to get comfortable.]
Lucky for you, it doesn't bother me. [Her tone is fond, teasing, making it obvious she doesn't think that her opinion should over rule his own about his body.]
I read in some book somewhere that toting around flour bags as a baker will make you all buff too, I think it was that Hunger Games thing?
( he starts to huff a breath to serve as a laugh when she says it doesn't bother her, uses his knees as an anchor for the leg she stretches across him, turns his head to press his lips against the top of her head, before stopping and— ) What? ( abrupt surprise, mock offence. "will make you buff", she says, like— )
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( is all he sends because he's quite aware that no-one has ever respected him locking the front door to his own apartment, let alone any other door — and even if that wasn't the case, he's used to not even having a bedroom door, let alone thinking about locking it.
even so, he can guess at what she's getting at, guess that she'll be making an appearance at some point, whether it's soon or in a couple of hours. what he doesn't quite guess is that it's mere minutes later, doesn't expect to see her wearing one of his t-shirts, doesn't expect the small, almost hesitant smile. she's dressed down in a way that he knows she normally reserves for when she's by herself, in a way that he privately thinks is just as hot as when she dresses up, or whatever the term is for wearing lingerie.
he's in just a t-shirt, boxers, and socks, not so much over the covers as 'has shoved the covers messily to one end of the bed with his feet'. the pillows are strewn about in the sort of way that suggests he's had difficulties in keeping still and has spent time trying to hunt out the cool side of each one in turn before discarding them whenever the warmth got too much.
the smile she gets in return is soft and bright, not the cocky, self-assured smile most people get most of the time. )
Only for you.
no subject
Her stomach twists a little bit in the kind of teenage excitement when Clint gives her an actual smile. It's really unfair how gorgeous he can be when he's like that and her smile smile turns to one that lights up her eyes in approval at the comment. ]
Lucky for you I didn't invite any friends. [It's playful and off hand and she climbs on to the open side of the bed but doesn't stay there. Instead she slides right up next to Clint not even waiting for the invitation and leans her head against his shoulder.]
I'm now so used to the smell of pastries on you I'm starting to find it charming.
no subject
the groan is at the assertion that he smells like pastries. never once in his life had he thought he'd go to bed smelling like croissants. or pain au raisins. or whatever. )
I hate it, ( he tells her. it's the same way clint hates a lot of things, none of them anything he actually hates but things it's easy to be mock-offended by. things it's easy to grouse and whine about. ) At this rate, I'm never gonna smell like me again.
no subject
Lucky for you, it doesn't bother me. [Her tone is fond, teasing, making it obvious she doesn't think that her opinion should over rule his own about his body.]
I read in some book somewhere that toting around flour bags as a baker will make you all buff too, I think it was that Hunger Games thing?
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Are you saying I'm not buff?
( excuse. )
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[She grumbles playfully and snuggles down into his arms because she is making herself at home with this difficult man. ]
You've always had a great set of arms, babe. Or do you need me to kiss them and make them betting for hurting their feelings?