Chapter Text
The door was unlocked when Sam turned the handle and pushed it open. Lucky came bounding up to greet him the second the door was opened all the way and before he had even taken more than half a step into the apartment, his tail wagging and claws clicking against the floor.
Sam crouched down, took Lucky's head in his one hand, and scratched his head and down his neck with his other for a minute, before he stood back up and headed further into the apartment.
The living room area was empty, he noted as he glanced that way. The pillows usually put neatly up in the Bucky Barnes fashion were flattened against the arm of the couch, like someone had used them to sleep on. The blanket usually hung over the chair on the other side of the table was carelessly thrown over the back of the couch.
Sam frowned. There was no way Bucky would willingly let his living room look like that. Not unless something had happened, or Clint had had another sleepless night of video game playing and Bucky just hadn't gotten out of bed to see the mess yet.
(Although, in Sam's eyes, it wasn't really that messy at all. But for Bucky, Sam knew this was messy.)
Frown stuck on his face and Lucky trotting after him, Sam ducked into the kitchen and found Clint half asleep against the counter. His arms were crossed, mouth hanging open in a silent snore, and his eyes were closed. The coffee machine was brewing in front of him.
“Dude,” said Sam and shoved lightly at him.
Clint startled awake and flailed for a second, before he regained his footing and turned to look at him. He blinked rapidly a few times, then rubbed at his eye and yawned. “Hey, Sam. You want some coffee?”
“Nah, I'm good,” Sam said with a quick shake of his head. He gestured back into the living room area and said, “Bucky not home or what? Living room's a mess, to his standards.”
Clint shrugged and stretched, before dropping one of his hands to the top of Lucky's head, when he sat by his feet. “No idea, man. It looked like that when I came home late last night. His bedroom door's been closed all night, too. Haven't seen him.”
Sam blinked. “What, and you didn't think to go check on him? See if he's okay? What if he had another setback, huh?”
“If he had another setback, there'd be holes in the walls, one of the neighbors would've called me to complain about the noise, and Lucky would've been able to tell.”
Sam paused for a moment. Clint did have a point, but it didn't settle the worry that gathered in his chest. “I'm gonna go check on him,” he decided in a mutter and turned to leave the kitchen.
“Coffee will be waiting for you when you get back!” Clint called out after him, and Sam only just heard him mutter, “unless I break the pot again.”
Bucky's door was closed, just like Clint had said. There were no holes punched in the wall around it, and no other evidence of any sort of break down. Something must have happened though, considering the living room was a mess. And it was the fact that Sam didn't know what that something was that worried him.
“Bucky?” he called out softly and rapped his knuckles against the wood of the door. “You awake in there, man?”
There was a muffled sound on the other side, but Sam couldn't make out if it was Bucky saying something or something else, so he reached for the handle. “I'm coming in,” he warned before pushing the door open.
And he stopped dead in his tracks at the sight he was met with.
Bucky was in bed, alright; back turned to the door and long hair a mess atop his head. But he wasn't alone. No, Steve was laying right behind him, spooning him with a skinny leg thrown over his hip and an arm thrown over the metal sleeve covering his stump and his face buried in his neck.
Steve was fast asleep, snoring softly against Bucky's shirt, but the moment Sam had opened the door, Bucky had stirred awake and turned to look at him. And Sam was grinning widely and toothily, as a bright blush spread across Bucky's features.
At least they were both clothed – even if Steve was only in his boxers and Bucky wasn't wearing pants and the duvet had fallen down to around their bare legs.
“Well, well, well,” Sam said and crossed his arms as he leaned against the door frame. Steve stirred in his sleep, maybe waking a little, and made a grunting noise of protest, when Bucky moved to sit up, his face flaming. Sam grinned wider. “What do we have here?”
“Fuck off,” Steve muttered as he shifted further over onto Bucky's side of the bed, taking over the empty space Bucky left behind when he stood up. He buried his face in the pillow and clumsily pulled the duvet over his head.
Sam took his eyes off of him to look at Bucky, brows raised and grin only growing wider the darker Bucky's blush became. “You two a thing now?”
“Shut uuuup,” Steve complained under the duvet, but both of them ignored him.
Bucky shrugged and looked away, as he stepped over to his dresser to get out his running clothes. He said nothing, and Sam's grin softened into a smile.
“Alright, man,” he said and stepped back out into the hall. “Say bye to your boyfriend first, Barnes, then come out. No rush.”
He was halfway turned, when he called back over his shoulder at them; “And congrats on getting your heads out of your asses! About damn time.”
When Sam stepped back out into the kitchen, a smile still firmly in place on his lips, there was a steaming cup of coffee on the kitchen counter, and Clint was downing the rest of the coffee straight from the pot.
He went over, smacked Clint's arm, and said, “Dude! Bucky's got Steve in his bed.”
Clint choked on the coffee, spluttered for a second or two, and pulled the pot from his lips, before he turned to look at Sam with wide eyes. “Dude, are you fucking for real?” he exclaimed, a wide smile spreading on his lips a second later, when Sam nodded. “Holy shit!”
Sam only just managed to grab the half empty coffee pot that was shoved against his chest, and Clint took off sprinting down the hall, presumably toward Bucky's room.
“Congrats on the sex!” he heard Clint yell, a split second after the door slammed against the wall – probably because he slammed it open.
“Get out, asshole!” Bucky yelled right after, and Sam grinned to himself when he heard something crash in the hall and Clint yelping.
Putting the pot on the counter, Sam reached into his pocket for his phone and snickered when he heard Steve crankily yell, “Shut the fuck up, I'm trying to sleep!”
Sam send a text to Natasha and Riley, telling them about the whole thing.
[ … ]
Sam and Clint had to physically drag Bucky out of his bedroom, because he refused to leave before Steve gave him a kiss, and Steve refused to get out from under the duvet and kept yelling at them to shut the fuck up.
And Bucky loved him. Even grumpy and cranky and half asleep, he loved him.
Clint made a gagging noise and Sam cooed, when he mumbled it against the duvet after kissing the top of Steve's head. Bucky flipped them off and let himself get dragged out.
The park was as full as it always was this early in the morning, just a few fellow vets going for a morning run, a few dog owners that Lucky sprinted to immediately and nearly ripped Clint's arm off in the process because his leash hadn't been taken off yet, and a few birds welcoming the sun by chirping their hearts out.
Bucky ran and ran and ran, his thighs burning and sweat making everything stick to him. He passed Clint three time and Sam twice. On the second time passing him, Sam shouted, “Just fucking go home to your boyfriend, asshole!” after him.
Bucky did another half a round around the park trail, before he did exactly that, flipping Clint off when he passed him for the fourth time.
The asshole was making kissy faces at him, he had it coming.
It was barely past nine in the morning, when Bucky stepped back into the quiet apartment. There was a soft snoring coming from his room, and he smiled as he leaned against the door frame and looked at Steve sleeping in his bed.
Steve had curled himself around the pillow Bucky had slept on during the night, face buried in it and duvet pulled up to his ears, and it was the cutest and most perfect sight Bucky had ever laid his eyes upon.
His heart ached, and he wanted to go over and crawl back into bed and stay there with Steve for as long as they could. But he was sweaty, so he went to the bathroom and took a shower instead. Steve was still asleep when he stepped back into the bedroom, clean and damp hair pulled into a ponytail and sweaty running clothes replaced with sweatpants and a loose tee shirt.
“Stevie,” Bucky whispered as he leaned over the bed and ran his right hand through Steve's sleep-tussled hair. “Wake up.”
Steve grunted, face scrunching up. A hand came out from under the duvet, slapping at Bucky's still running through his hair as he grumbled incoherently.
Bucky rolled his eyes and tugged the duvet down a little. “C'mon, you punk, get up.”
“G'away,” Steve grumbled and pushed his hand away, before he pulled the duvet back up over his head.
Bucky stared down at him for a minute, considered just leaving him be. But no, he wanted to spend his morning with Steve. “Get up,” he said and tugged the duvet back down, despite Steve's whining protests, “or I'll pick you up and carry you.”
The threat was risque, because Steve would punch him if he ever tried to pick him up, he knew that.
Steve let out a heavy sigh and grumbled, “You only got one arm, Buck.”
“I'm wearing my cyborg arm, Stevie.”
Steve just whined more and rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in the pillow and making no effort to get up.
Bucky leaned over him, placed a soft kiss to the top of his head, and whispered into his good ear, “I'll make you breakfast if you get up.” Another kiss. “And we can make out, if you want.”
A second passed, then three more, and then Steve shifted and rolled over onto his back, eyes opened up into slits and lips pulled back into a sleepy grin. “You're waking me up way too fuckin' early just to make out with me?”
Bucky shrugged and returned the smile. “Yeah, but it also got you awake, so success.”
“Right, 'cause it wasn't the bird assholes from earlier and you poking at me that woke me up at all,” Steve said dryly, a hand coming out from under the duvet to slide around the back of Bucky's head, careful not to ruin the ponytail.
“So, you're saying you don't wanna make out?” Bucky asked, giving him a teasing look.
Steve just hummed and pulled him down, kissing him in lieu of replying verbally. Bucky happily leaned into it, but he immediately pulled back when Steve tried to deepen the kiss.
“Okay,” he said, making a slight face and kissing the tip of Steve's nose quickly. “Making out after you've brushed your teeth.”
Steve let out a heavy sigh, but didn't protest when Bucky stood back up. “I don't have a toothbrush here, Buck.”
“I've got an extra,” said Bucky, walking backwards out of the bedroom and keeping himself facing Steve.
“We're at a toothbrush at each other's place level already?”
He smiled at Steve who was now sitting up in bed, duvet sliding down his bare chest. He took a second just to admire the art inked onto his skin, the smile on his lips turning fond because a sleepy Steve was a cute Steve, and fuck, he loved him with his whole heart.
Him being trans had changed nothing. Hell, it may even have made Bucky love him more, because Steve had trusted him enough to let him know that part of him. And Bucky was so goddamn happy, he couldn't stop smiling, was still smiling when Steve opened an eye and looked over at him
“I think we passed toothbrush level when you gave me a key to your place, Steve,” Bucky told him.
Steve yawned and ran a hand through his messy hair, eyes falling closed again. Bucky watched him and smiled, the smile only getting softer when Steve opened his eyes again and looked at him. “Does that mean we're at clothes sharing level, too?”
Bucky quirked a brow at him. “You gonna steal my clothes?”
Steve lifted a shoulder in a lazy shrug. “I might.”
“Well, maybe I'm gonna steal your clothes too, then.”
Steve stared at him, deadpan. “If you can fit into any of my clothes without ripping them, I'll be impressed.”
Bucky pouted just slightly, huffed, and left the bedroom to the sound of Steve's chuckling. That was one of the very few bad things about Steve being short and skinny and wearing clothes several sizes smaller than Bucky did; Bucky couldn't steal his clothes like Steve could steal his.
But when Steve walked out into the kitchen, bare feet and bare legs covered only by the legs of his boxers and wearing one of his shirts that hang loosely over his torso – well, Bucky decided he could live with that.
Absently continuing to scramble the eggs on the pan, Bucky turned to him and smiled softly. “I think I like you in my clothes.”
Steve smiled at him and went right into his space and kissed him. Bucky kissed him back without a single second of hesitating.
While Bucky finished up in the kitchen, Steve moved to the living room and wrapped himself up in the blanket they had left out on the couch the night before. When Bucky joined him on the couch with two plates of freshly made breakfast, Steve leaned into him immediately and Bucky wrapped himself around him.
The breakfast was forgotten on the coffee table after just a few bites, and Bucky enjoyed the minty taste of Steve's mouth instead of the warm taste of eggs.
It could have been hours or it could have been minutes, before their morning make out session was interrupted, when the front door opened carefully slow. Bucky pulled back from Steve's lips, said lips just moving to his neck instead, and looked at Clint coming warily into the apartment with Lucky following behind.
Lucky paid them no attention, though. He just trotted straight into the kitchen, panting and obviously worn out from the run.
And when Clint spotted the two of them on the couch, Steve halfway into Bucky's lap and kissing his neck and Bucky flushed but unashamed, he sighed heavily. “This is what it's gonna be like from now on, isn't it?”
Bucky felt a breath of air against his neck when Steve huffed a laugh, and he kept his face carefully deadpan when he asked, “I'm sorry, how many times have I had to walk in on you and Tasha practically fucking on the couch or the kitchen table?”
Clint blinked at him, then shrugged and said, “Touché. I'm just gonna-” He gestured to his hearing aids and pulled them out, then darted down the hall while averting his eyes from them.
Left alone again, Bucky tilted Steve's head back up and kissed him again. They were interrupted once again, when Lucky bounded into the living room and jumped on them, whining until Bucky let him lick their plates clean. The breakfast had gone cold anyway, and he could always make him and Steve some brunch later.
The following day, Bucky took Steve out on a proper date, and things were okay. Even through bad days and terrible nights and Bucky asking a few stupid questions and the occasional fights, they were good.
(He got a text from Peggy a few days later, containing nothing but two selfies: one with her two fingers pointing at her eyes, the other with them pointing at the camera, both with serious looks on her face. He smiled and rolled over to kiss Steve still asleep on the other side of the bed.
Peggy never did end up burying his body anywhere.)