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It wasn’t often that he felt his own mortality so acutely. Bucky’s abilities had a tendency to ward off the notion most of the time. General imperviousness to lasting damage didn’t mean things couldn’t be miserable in the moment, though. Moving into a new place and their latest mission were already a strain, and the change in the seasons left Bucky aching. Honestly, whatever weather pattern it was that made the temperature drop so precipitously overnight was just a jerk.
Their couch had finally shown up, and Bucky thanked his lucky stars for small favors. He barely stopped long enough to shed all his weaponry on the table before plopping down. Sitting was a welcome relief, even though it did nothing to help the pull of metal against sore muscles. Bucky swore he hurt right down to his skeleton.
Bucky didn’t realize he’d dozed off until the clattering of something in the kitchen made him bolt upright. Wincing, he absently rubbed at his shoulder where metal gave way to flesh as he registered that it was probably only Steve. His partner’s soft, tuneless humming quickly confirmed that particular notion before Bucky got around to looking for himself.
“Steve. What are you doing?” He asked, not bothering to even turn around. He was as comfortable as he was likely to get, and he wasn’t about to jeopardize that.
“Putting away one of these boxes.” As if to prove his point, the explanation was punctuated by the echoey clanging of what was probably Steve putting pots in a cabinet.
Bucky huffed, hoping Steve didn’t honestly expect him to get up and help. He was settled on the couch, and too tired to even think about the boxes that still littered the apartment. “Seriously? It’ll be there tomorrow.”
“And every day after that until we put it away,” Steve countered lightly. Bucky might have thought it was a complaint if not for the laughter that punctuated it.
“We just got home.” Bucky closed his eyes and leaned his head against the back of the couch.
“It’ll only take a minute,” Steve promised. There were a few moments of near silence before he added. “You look exhausted. You should go to bed.”
Bucky considered the suggestion. On the one hand, it was a really great bed. Even if that weren’t the case, it was probably more comfortable than falling asleep sitting up. The promise of a fluffy pillow and blankets was almost enough to sway him, if not for one thing.
If Bucky went to sleep now, Steve was liable to finish the box he was working on and conveniently forget the part where he’d said he’d just be a minute. Bucky would be asleep long before Steve actually made it to the bedroom, and that was unacceptable. If he had to be sore and tired, he was at least going to drag Steve to bed with him.
Clearly, the best solution was to just hold out until Steve gave up on unpacking for the night. If he’d been less tired, it might have occurred to Bucky to just tell Steve he was waiting, but instead, he huffed and tucked himself into the corner of the couch to wait.
Eventually, Steve was going to realize that it was late at night and this was a ridiculous time to be unpacking. Eventually, Bucky was going to get tired of waiting and just drag Steve off to bed like he should have done from the get-go. Eventually…
-
Steve pulled the packing tape off the bottom of an empty box, flattening it out and tucking it behind the trashcan. It wasn’t much, but they were a couple of boxes closer to being entirely moved in. Steve almost started in on another, but when he stepped out from behind the kitchen wall to grab a box, he spotted Bucky on the couch. More accurately, he spotted a mess of dark hair poking over the couch cushions.
“That can’t be comfortable,” Steve commented. Whatever retort he’d expected, none came. Bucky was silent and still on the couch, almost certainly asleep.
It was getting late, and Bucky wasn’t really wrong that the boxes would still be there in the morning. Resigned to leaving them, Steve headed for the couch, and almost couldn’t bring himself to wake its sleeping occupant. Bucky was nestled into the corner of it, his head tucked against the plush back cushions, looking soft and utterly untroubled. If it would have been remotely restful, Steve probably would have left Bucky to it.
“Come on, Buck,” Steve murmured, reaching to give Bucky’s flesh and blood shoulder a gentle shake. He’d noticed Bucky favoring the metal one earlier, and the way it was wedged into the couch cushions wasn’t likely to help. “Let’s go to bed.”
“It’s about time,” Bucky grumbled. At least, Steve was pretty sure that was what he said. It was hard to tell the way the words all slurred together. Bucky looked ready to go right back to sleep where he was until Steve took his hand and urged him upright.
Somehow, they made it off the couch, Bucky sighing sleepily as he pushed himself to stand up. Of course, it was only to wrap his arms around Steve’s stomach from behind, forehead dropping to rest on Steve’s shoulder. Steve smiled and smoothed his fingers over Bucky’s knuckles. If it hadn’t been so late, or Bucky hadn’t been so clearly worn out, Steve might have stayed put just to enjoy the proximity.
Bucky was already sagging against Steve’s back like he meant to doze off right there standing up. Reluctantly, Steve pulled out of Bucky’s embrace and herded him down the hall to the bedroom, biting his lip on a pleased smile the entire way. It was such a silly thing to be overwhelmed by, but he treasured these moments of unabashed vulnerability that no one else ever got to see. Whatever brave faces they put on to face the world, there was no need for it here.
Granted, getting to share this part of Bucky’s life also meant being privy to an endearing sort of ridiculousness that no one else was. Sometimes, that was the two of them shuffling clean laundry between the bed and the basket to avoid having to be the one to put it away. Currently, it was Bucky lethargically stripping down to his boxers, staring down the rumpled pajama pants he’d left on the bed that morning as if it were a completely insurmountable hurdle. Steve wasn’t remotely surprised when Bucky skipped them altogether in favor of crawling under the covers.
This was what home was, the moments that were theirs alone. The world had no shortage of depictions of what romance should be like, but it was all such broad strokes. It was sex and marriage and happily ever after, all of which was well and good. Only, they never let on about how much love wasn’t grand gestures and milestones. They never said how much you’d fall wonderfully, stupidly in love with the details. Steve lived for Bucky’s grumpy pout when the alarm went off in the morning, and the way he looked at the kitchen table, hunched over a sorely needed cup of coffee.
It was a train of thought Steve got caught up in as his eyes flicked over the length of their bed. Bucky’s frame cut an appealing silhouette under the blankets and Steve didn’t realize how long he’d been staring until there was a drowsy grumble from the bed. “You coming or not?”
“Yeah. Of course I am.” Steve spared one last glance before flipping off the light switch and finding his way back to bed. He’d barely gotten settled before Bucky scooted towards him.
“How’s your shoulder?” Steve asked, his voice hushed in the dark. There was just enough space between them to skim his palm in lazy circles along Bucky’s back.
“It’s fine,” Bucky mumbled back. The words were punctuated with a soft, pleased sigh as Steve’s thumb pressed against his shoulder where metal gave way to flesh.
Steve felt his way along, patiently working at the knotted muscle. He leaned in, nuzzling his way through Bucky’s hair to press a kiss against the crook of his neck. “Better?”
There was no answer except the quiet, even cadence of Bucky’s breathing. Steve stopped when he was certain Bucky was asleep. He tucked in close, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s stomach and pulling their bodies flush. “Goodnight, Buck.”