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“Babe.”
Bucky groaned into the bed. He felt a little chilly, knowing vaguely that Sam must be already out of bed, feeling a weight slowly plop on top of him.
“Bucky. Honey,” said Sam, playing the bongos with Bucky’s shoulders, Bucky grumbling as he shuffled the best as he could back under the duvet, “Could you jog with me, love?”
“Joaquín?” Bucky croaked, his voice jagged and hoarse from sleep.
It was way too early for Bucky. It was too early for everyone. Why was Sam up so early?
“He’s sick,” said Sam, easing more onto Bucky, whispering into Bucky’s ear, “Can you jog with me, Buck? I’d love it if you would.”
If Bucky could give Sam the moon and the stars, he would. So why not this? There was no thought to it.
“Of course, Sam,” said Bucky, still rough, turning slightly Sam’s way, Sam snuggling his back before leaning in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek.
“Thank you, sleepyhead,” said Sam, getting off of Bucky and leaving him to crawl out of bed on his own.
Bucky got up, displacing Alpine and Figaro’s butts in the process, the two cats grumbling and growling sleepily as they found their new sleeping positions, settling into the warm spot Bucky left, Bucky stretching as he walked to their closet.
Bucky flailed into a t-shirt, a pair of shorts, socks (he wasn’t sure if his socks matched; eh, it probably didn’t matter), shoes. Bucky wandered out in a yawn, stumbling towards the coffeemaker but was stopped by Sam – with an already made cup of joe. Bucky grabbed it thankfully, gulping down the brew he knew Sam thought was too sweet to count as coffee.
“Your shirt’s on backwards,” said Sam, amused.
“Your shirt’s on backwards,” grumbled Bucky back, Sam chuckling as Bucky placed his coffee down on the counter, shoving his arms back into his shirt and scooching it around front side right.
“There you go. There’s the shirt,” said Sam, Bucky rolling his eyes, looking down at what it was.
“Jokes on you, I’m wearing your old high school shirt,” said Bucky, who always got a laugh at the fact that Sam went to a school who were also the Falcons (“What a coincidence!” Bucky would say, and then Sam would laugh, saying, “I didn’t name the Falcon Program, James!” and then Bucky, through wheezes, would say, “But you chose your hero name!”), “Going to stretch this out so hard.”
“I like it stretched out on you,” said Sam, winking, and Bucky couldn’t argue with that, “Ready to jog? Or do you need to stretch my shirt out a little more first?”
“No, we can jog now,” said Bucky in a yawn, walking out of their house onto the porch, the dirt path in the back rather than the pavement because pavement wasn’t great on the body, the two starting a jog towards the beach.
Sam always talked about how Steve was speeding past him, and Bucky never understood that. He never understood the need to run faster than a jog unless someone was chasing you, and even then, Bucky bumped that up to if a car or a man in a catsuit was chasing him because, surprise surprise, not many people could outrun Bucky. If Bucky was going to jog with Sam at the ass crack of 9 AM in the morning (“Look, any time before 10 is early to me,” said Bucky, “I don’t know what to tell you. That’s just how my body works. Noon to 2 AM, babyyy.”), Bucky wanted a gorgeous view, and the only one that mattered was a view with Sam in it.
Why would Steve ever want to speed past if he could watch Sam at a leisurely pace?
Bucky would never understand any of that.
Bucky wasn’t the biggest fan of jogging, but there was something nice about this; watching Sam running through the woods; watching him hit the beach, not even missing a beat despite the troublesome nature of sand; watching as they got to the docks, the both of them greeting the fishermen they knew as they went; heading towards another dirt path as they went back into the woods, this dirt path leading them to Sarah’s house.
“Great job, flyboy,” said Bucky, giving Sam a kiss, Sam grinning into it.
“I know. I’m great at jogging,” said Sam, looking absolutely smug, “I’m great at a lot of things.”
Bucky loved that look.
“I know you are,” said Bucky genuinely, “What about we see you do some pushups? 100, right? You do them in hundreds, right, early bird?”
“You got it, night owl,” said Sam, winking as he dropped to the ground, Bucky taking a moment to remember that he was supposed to be doing pushups too, getting down and catching up to Sam before slowing to whatever Sam’s pace was, maybe slower; just watching the stretch of Sam’s muscles as he moved up and down, the sweat trickling down, smelling the activity wafting off his man mixed with his woodsy deodorant.
Sam was graceful, too much so. How was that allowed? Who let that happen? And how could Bucky shake their hand and thank them?
“First 100,” said Sam, pillowing his head on his arms, that gap-tooth smile dazzling.
Bucky moved in to give Sam a kiss.
“A reward,” said Bucky, close to Sam, “We all do better with rewards.”
“I get four more of those,” said Sam as more of a realization, a little dreamy, starting quickly on the next round of pushups.
And so did the cycle go. Pushups. Kisses. Pushups. Kisses. Pushups. Kisses. Pushups. Kisses. The two of them laid on the ground, Bucky giving Sam a moment to break, his hands lazily laced with Sam’s, playing with those hands in wonderment that he was permitted this.
“Water, sweetie?” asked Bucky, Sam nodding as Bucky got up, missing Sam’s hands as he headed towards Sarah’s porch, grabbing the water bottle that he knew Sarah always left out for Sam as well as the towel, handing Sam them both.
Bucky watched Sam wipe himself down, the way his Adam’s apple bobbed as he drank his water. Bucky grabbed the towel, the water bottle, placing them just enough away to not bother Sam.
“Sit-ups next, right?” said Bucky, getting into sit-up position.
“That’s right, hot pants,” said Sam, Bucky snorting, “What? I’m trying something new.”
“No, it’s great, handsome,” said Bucky, Sam getting into sit-up position, “I love it.”
The two sat back down. Sat back up. And before Sam could move away, Bucky stole a kiss. Sam raised an eyebrow.
“Are you trying to distract me, pumpkin?” asked Sam.
“We all deserve rewards, sweet pea,” said Bucky, gazing deeply into Sam’s tourmaline eyes, “Especially you.”
“Ugh, you’re too sappy, Prince Charming,” said Sam, scrunching his face, trying his best to not smile.
“Just sappy enough, Sunshine,” said Bucky, patting Sam’s knee, “Now get back to those sit-ups. Don’t want to miss breakfast because you couldn’t deal with my love and affection.”
“I’ll show you dealing with love and affection, Sugarplum,” said Sam, competition firing up in his eyes, “You’re going to be so loved and affected.”
“I’m looking forward to it, Hercules,” said Bucky, winking as they got back to the sit-ups.
Down. Up. Kiss. Down. Up. Kiss. Down. Up. Kiss. Down. Up. Kiss… Kiss… Kiss…
Bucky wasn’t sure when exactly he moved to lay on top of Sam, in between his legs, just kissing; slow, lazy, filled with his entire chest cracked open, his heart overflowing into his actions; how he held Sam’s face so preciously, how he kissed softly, how he knew Sam liked Bucky’s weight on him, Sam relaxing with it, his legs slouching from bent to partially off the ground; feeling Sam’s hands moving through his hair, playing with it as he always did when he was distracted by Bucky’s lips.
“Hey you!”
Bucky froze, his eyes turning up to the porch where Sarah stood.
“Yeah, you,” she said, trying her best to not smile or laugh at whatever faces Bucky and Sam were currently making, “Stop making out on my lawn and get inside for breakfast.”
Sarah walked back inside, Sam and Bucky turning their gazes back to one another… and collapsing into a fit of laughter.
“Okay, no more making out on Sarah’s lawn, you goober,” said Sam, stopping Bucky from going in for one more kiss (Just one. One more couldn’t hurt), rolling Bucky unceremoniously off him as he stood up, “Time for food.”
“If you insist, beautiful,” said Bucky, getting to his feet as he followed Sam inside, happy Sam asked him to go jogging with him this morning.