Chapter Text
Sunlight streams through the window and warms Bucky’s skin. He can’t help but lean his nose towards the pillow he lays on, and smell the sweet aroma that is his best friend’s scent. Bucky could describe Steve’s scent as nothing other than home. Being friends with the tiny, sickly omega for thirteen years has trained Bucky’s nose to find the scent in a subway train full of people, to know Steve’s emotion from the slightest change in his scent, to find comfort in the bright, cheery smell that is Steve. If Bucky has to describe Steve’s scent using words that would be logical when speaking to the sense of smell, he’d say things like spring, floral, or meadow. The distinctness of certain smells in Steve’s scent is weaker than it is for other people. The doctors say it’s because of Steve’s underdeveloped body, because of the sicknesses he has been riddled with during puberty.
And yet, despite Steve’s anxiety and distaste of his smell, Bucky can’t seem to find something to dislike about his scent. He smells... happy. It also seems that Bucky can’t find the proper olfactory words to describe Steve’s scent. He can’t help but associate emotions with Steve, his scent, and his pretty body. Steve himself is the paragon of Submissive Omega, at least visually. His temper regarding injustices does not reflect his designation. Yet, again, Bucky only falls deeper in love with him for this. He squeezes his eyes closed and breaths deeply. He doesn’t have opportunity to indulge in Steve’s scent very often.
He lays, tangled in Steve’s sheets, instead of Steve’s arms and legs. The sun streaming through the curtains is like an unwelcome guest, telling him that he must leave soon. His mother will be expecting him back eventually, but he never wants to leave. As he lay, eyes raking over the art that is Steve’s sleeping form, he sighs. There is a longing in his chest for Steve, his Omega. But not his... Steve does not belong to him.
Steve begins to stir as Bucky turns over, onto his back. Bucky knows that the groan that comes out of Steve’s mouth shouldn’t make his blood rush the way it does, but he cannot help it. The blond often makes noises and doesn’t realize the consequence of them. They make Bucky’s mind fill with sinful thoughts about making Steve feel the electricity that runs down his spine whenever Steve touches him. His friend rolls over to face him, mirroring the position they had just been in a few moments ago, just with the positions reversed. Bucky turns his head a little to look at his bleary eyed best friend.
“Mornin’ Buck’...” Steve slurs, a gentle smile on his face. What can Bucky’s heart do but surge at the sweetness that oozes from that phrase. Steve’s face is full of innocence and purity. Bucky scolds himself as he thinks about ruining both of those things. If only Steve were into men. Bucky forces a smile on his face, partway a painful pretending, partway a genuine grin of gratitude. Bucky thanks the gods every time Steve smiles at him.
“Morning, Stevie. I thought you’d never wake up. I was sure some handsome prince was gonna come by and kiss sleeping beauty awake. Who’s the witch that cursed you? I’ll fight her for ya.” Bucky sits up, a grin taking over the fake smile he put on his face. Steve chuckles sleepily. He rubs his eyes blearily and looks up at Bucky.
“It may not be a magical, dragon shapeshifting witch, but Ms. Hill can sure be a real bi-“ Bucky covers Steve’s mouth, a scandalized gasp escaping his own.
“Steven Alexander Timothy Rodgers. Do not curse in your own home! Your mother would be ashamed.” Bucky only pulls his hand away when Steve licks it. Bucky groans in disgust.
“Not my middle name, and you know you have a dirtier mouth than I do.” Steve huffs he shoves at Bucky with a foot as the brunet bites his tongue, holding back jokes and comments that would reveal far too much. He punches Steve’s leg in return for the shove, and Steve dares to laugh at his “assault.” Bucky gasps yet again.
“Steve, I’ll actually punch you, and you’ll regret laughing at my mercy.” Bucky threatens, raising a fist. This only makes Steve laugh harder, and they both remember the many times that the same fist Bucky raises in malice has been raised against others who Steve picked fights with. Then the same hand picked Steve up and patched up his cuts, put ice on his bruises, fluttered over his skin until he was sure Steve was alright.
“Do it, Buck. Actually punch me.” Steve sits up, the challenge making his eyes sparkle. Bucky gets lost for a moment, wandering in the ocean of Steve’s baby blues. He clears his throat and lowers his fist.
“Nah, I’d rather your lovely mother use her spatula to flip her glorious pancakes than to beat me, so...” Bucky shrugs, his lips pulling onto a smirk as Steve howls with laughter. After his cackling dies down they gradually get into a discussion about the project they finished last night, at nearly two in the morning. Bucky softly agrees with Steve’s earlier sentiment of Ms. Hill being a bitch, and Steve chuckles some more. Their discussion of genetics and the outrage that a project over the weekend causes is interrupted by a soft knock at the door.
“Boys? Breakfast is almost ready, and I assume by Steven’s cackling, you’re up.” Sarah Rodgers, a saint, if Bucky has ever met one, softly calls through Steve’s door. Bucky cackles as he watches Steve turn bright red. He hears Sarah’s gentle chuckle, and he stands from the bed. He pulls on a shirt and snorts as he watches Steve pull his comforter over his face.
Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve, as per usual, he makes his way downstairs. He’s been friends with Steve for so long that Sarah is just another part of Bucky’s family. She treats him like he’s her boy, and he calls her Ma sometimes. She truly is an angel, but Bucky believes she might suspect his longing for Steve. She always has that knowing glint in her eye, and Bucky cannot tell if it is a motherly glint, or if she can sense the admiration and love he has for Steve.
“Good morning, James.” She says cheerily, setting a plate down for him on the small kitchen table. Bucky won’t deny that Steve’s house is smaller than his own. He won’t deny that his own parents have salaries that probably double Sarah’s. He also won’t deny that his Christmas presents for Steve and Sarah are lavish because he wants to be good to them. But he always has and always will cherish the small presents Steve gives him. The value of Steve’s presents is more than the money he spends.
“Good morning, Ma.” She and Bucky are long past the time when they have a discourse about what Bucky calls her. He varies between Ma and her first name. She doesn’t mind with either.
“Did you and Steve finish your biology project?” She asks, and Bucky nods, unable to speak through the food in his mouth. She smiles brightly at him, walking closer as she brings over glasses of milk.
“Thank you for breakfast.” Bucky says, mouth finally free from the delicious food. Sarah chuckles and ruffles his hair after she sets down the glasses.
“Anytime, Bucky. You know that.”