#finding a moment of domestic bliss in the midst of war my beloved

[youngpettyqueen]

Established Houlihawk with 10, 30, and 32, if I can mix them? (I have a weakness for Hawkeye comforting her after nightmares, I guess.)

—No GFA Anon

32: "a kiss to wake up"

The morning comes warm and quiet, sunlight slanting into her tent and playing across her eyelids, rousing her. Margaret doesn't move, not at first- she savours the opportunity to lie back and doze, her arms full of her snoozing beau.

Hawkeye is a warm, heavy weight against her. He's tucked up into her side, his head pillowed on her shoulder, his arms around her waist and holding her close. She can feel where their legs have tangled up together, tangled up in her blankets. They're wrapped up together like sloths, and it's... nice. Comfortable. She doesn't want to move.

So, she doesn't. She lets herself soak in the warmth, the quiet, the domestic bliss. She doesn't have anywhere to be until later, and neither does he. They can just lie here for a bit, warm and content.

Eventually, though, Hawkeye stirs. Margaret doesn't open her eyes, letting him shift off of her. It sounds like he might stretch a bit, a sleepy noise escaping him, before his weight settles against her again.

"You awake?" He asks, his voice groggy and quiet.

"No." She replies with a smile, still not opening her eyes.

"Really?" Hawkeye's chuckle is as warm as the sunlight on her face, she feels the rumble of it against her, "Well, then, I think I'll just do this..." She feels his lips on hers, soft, gentle. Her smiles grows against his, and when he pulls back she lets her eyes open, finding his smiling face hovering over her, "Ah, Sleeping Beauty rises." He hums.

Margaret giggles, reaching up to take his face in her hands. "You need to shave." She tells him adoringly, smoothing her thumbs over his prickly jaw. Truthfully, she likes him a bit scruffy. She likes him dishevelled. His hair's gotten a bit long, winging out in the back and flashing silver in the sunlight, and it's perfect for her. She slides her hands back and slots her fingers into that hair, idly playing with it.

"That so?" Hawkeye asks, raising a brow at her, "I didn't hear any complaints last night."

"It wasn't so prickly last night," Margaret reasons, "Now it's like kissing a porcupine."

"A porcupine?" He echoes, "Oh, I'll show you a porcupine-"

And then he's burying his face in her neck, and not in the fun way. Margaret shrieks as he rubs his stubble against her, tickling like mad, and starts smacking at his shoulders to try and get him off. It's no use, he only keeps going, catching her arms and holding her down as he ducks lower and targets her soft stomach. She writhes and twists around, howling laughter, trying to escape the onslaught, but he's got her pinned.

When he stops, he uses his hold on her to roll over onto his back and pull her on top of him. Margaret flops onto him, breathless but still laughing.

"How's that for a porcupine?" He asks, all grins.

Margaret replies by diving in and blowing a raspberry against his neck, making him howl.