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It’s 8 o’clock on Saturday morning, and Bucky is already planning a murder.
“God fucking damnit.” He smacks the neck of the shower head again, hoping to fix it with the tried-and-true Fonzi method.
The showerhead looks at him disdainfully.
He’d woken up all of ten minutes ago, alarm chirping obnoxiously, and stumbled his way across the hall to the bathroom. He’d flipped the light switch and reached into the shower to turn it on so it would be hot by the time he’d finished brushing his teeth but instead of a nice, strong spray of water coming out, all it did was clank and wheeze because of fucking course it did.
For a moment he thinks about just forgoing it altogether, but he needs to shower. He has to be at his Ma’s house by noon for his Dad’s birthday party.
Which means he’s gonna have to go wake up Steve.
Fuck, he doesn’t want to wake up Steve. Steve waking up by choice is so much better for the world as a whole because Steve is a gigantic ass otherwise. Steve Rogers has never met an early morning he didn’t hate with all the fury in his excessively large body.
Bucky nabs his towel off the bar by the door, walking down the hall and running through what he’s gonna say to keep the word count to a minimum and the clarity to a maximum so he can avoid Steven Grouch Rogers as much as possible. He makes it to the door and raises his hand, knocking loudly so he can be sure Steve will wake up.
As soon as he’s knocked, he hears movement. Huh. Guess Steve is already awake. There’s some shuffling, a thunk as Steve probably runs into his nightstand and then the door is opening. Bucky’s opening his mouth to ask Steve about his shower when he gets a good look at him.
Ah.
That’s why Steve was already awake.
Steve stands in the doorway, miles and miles of golden skin and perfect muscles interrupted only by his tiny boxer briefs (don’t stare, don’t stare) and what looks to be half a tube of lipstick. A very particular shade of red lipstick.
“Heya Buck.”
“Morning Steve.” Bucky looks over Steve’s giant shoulders to where one long, pale leg is visible, poking out from under rumpled sheets. “Good morning, Peggy.”
Peggy’s tousled head comes into view as she sits up, sable waves falling to creamy shoulders and blue blanket tucked around her chest. “Good morning, Bucky.” Her voice, honey-warm and wonderfully accented, is a little rough around the edges. Sounds like they had a great night.
“What’s up, Bucky?” Steve asks, bringing Bucky’s attention back from where it has gotten lost on the curve of Peggy’s collar bone to Steve, whose mouth is even redder than usual, a smeared ring of lipstick surrounding his lips. Shit, Bucky is going to get lost there, too. Rally, Barnes, get it together.
“My showers not working. Don’t fucking know why, but I gotta be in Brooklyn by noon. Can I use yours?”
“Yeah, of course, Bucky, go for it.”
Bucky does not march into Steve’s room but it is a near thing. It’s the only way he can focus on something other than the sapphire blue bra tossed casually over the dresser, the blue-seamed stockings laid lovingly across the bench at the foot of the bed, or the twin heaps of dress and trousers on the floor.
Steve is crossing to Peggy, a lazy kiss dropped to her shoulder before he lifts the sheets and slides back beneath them. A flash of thigh and don’t think about it, forget you know how that feels under your hands, how they both feel under your hands.
Bucky makes it to the bathroom, at last, every last molecule of his brain trying to not think of that night two years ago during an On period of Steve and Peggy’s On-Again-Off-Again when they’d invited him into their bed.
“Please, Bucky,” Peggy had said, trailing her perfectly manicured nails down his arm.
“C’mon, Buck,” Steve had said, his large, calloused fingers dragging down his other arm. “I promise you’ll enjoy it.”
“Please,” Bucky had said. “Yes, please.”
Now Bucky is standing in Steve’s bathroom, the shower finally heating up enough for wisps of steam to start filling the room. Bucky steps into the spray, willing his hard-on to go away, because he cannot jerk off in Steve’s shower to thoughts of Steve and Peggy while Steve and Peggy are in the bedroom.
He is so focused on not jerking off that he does a full-body twitch when he feels small hands touch his shoulders before trailing around to his front.
“Would you like some company?”
He whirls around to find Peggy standing behind him, impish smile on her lips. She looks as good as he remembers, better even, all sleek curves and smooth skin. She is still mostly dry from his much larger body blocking the spray, but stray drops are landing on her here and there, reflecting the light and outlining her in diamonds.
“Always, yes, always.” He moves forward, one arm reaching for her hungrily as he presses her to the wall. He’s halfway down her neck, relearning the taste of her skin when something makes it through his lust-addled brain.
“What about Steve?”
He feels two large, calloused hands circle his hips. “What about Steve?” Steve repeats. “Would you like some more company?”
Bucky swivels his head to get a good look at the man behind him. “Always yes for you, too. Consider these standing invitati-ah!” He cuts off with a cry, Peggy having leaned forward and caught his nipple her mouth.
His last coherent thought is a heartfelt thanks for broken showers.