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2014-05-20
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2015-03-05
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Somnolence

Summary:

The way the light fell on them looked like magic, turning them half golden and half shadow, the dust motes in the air swirling gently around them like stardust.

Just this once, Steve thought as he settled into an armchair to start drawing, his run could wait.

Notes:

Alternately titled, "SLEEPING ADORABLE DORK BABIES FCK". Based on this headcanon I posted on tumblr and also my own avengerkink prompt. I thought this was going to be a one-off, but it seems I've caught the writing bug. Oops? Thanks to Rach, Caz, Steph and Connor for their overwhelming support.

Unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine. Please do point them out if you see them.

Chapter 1: Bucky

Chapter Text

It was late. He wasn't sure how late, but Bucky was exhausted, sprawled out on the couch. Other than the glass panels that made up the far wall of the room, the giant screen in front of him, playing a movie he wouldn't be able to name if he wanted to, was the only source of light in the room. Not having paid attention to what little plot there was, he stared blankly at the screen. Briefly, Bucky mused on how needlessly extravagant and advanced the screen was - but of course it was; Tony Stark's first love was and always would be technology.

Steve had gone to bed hours ago, after leaning down to steal a kiss and a soft goodnight, but Bucky was reluctant to join him. He knew he'd be comfortable if he went to bed, warm under the soft covers and Steve's solid weight, but if he gave in to that sweet temptation he'd fall asleep and he couldn't afford that. Anything, even the shitty movie he wasn't actually watching, was better than sleep.

Bucky didn't sleep much these days.

If he fell asleep the nightmares would consume him. They were a malevolent presence, lurking shadows in the dark corners of his mind, waiting for him to lower his guard, waiting for him to slip - and then they would attack. He would have to watch in horror as his hands got soaked in blood, helpless to control them as they played back every brutal assassination he'd ever executed.

The father in Minsk, the scientist, whose throat Bucky slit in front of his child. The terrified teenager in Belarus, who'd overheard something she shouldn't have, begging for mercy even as he wrapped a garrote around her slender throat. The pregnant wife of the arms dealer who'd toed the line too far, curled protectively around her belly as he shot her with her husband's gun. It was like he was trapped inside a machine, unable to stop himself or tell the victim to run. But that was what he had been, wasn't it? A killing machine. No control, no mercy, nothing in his mind but his only goal: finish the mission.

He'd evaded the dreams for three days. He wasn't sure how much longer he'd last.

A rustle of fabric had him jerking upright, eyes wild but alert, every inch of him tense and ready for a fight before he spotted Tony; bleary-eyed and covered in engine grease, the billionaire looked astonishingly young as he shuffled up the stairs from his workshop. Under his tattered black band shirt, the arc reactor glittered a cool blue. Bucky registered the automatic loosening of his shoulders and lay back down, shuffling so he was lying along the length of the couch, head propped on one armrest and feet on the other.

 "What're we watching?" murmured Tony as he made his way towards the sofa.

Bucky grunted, turning his eyes back to the screen, only to let out a surprised huff when a hundred and eighty pounds of sleepy engineer flopped on top of him. "Get off," he groused, shoving half-heartedly at the man on top of him. "You needa lay off those cheeseburgers."

Tony gasped dramatically, suddenly wide awake, and scrambled upwards, bracing his hands on either side of Bucky's head. "Are you calling me fat, Barnes?!" he exclaimed, a look of mock outrage on his face.

With a gleam in his eye, Bucky drawled, "Well, if the stretchy pants fit..."

Indignantly, Tony sniffed and flopped back down onto Bucky's chest. "I'll have you know," he said in the haughtiest voice he could muster, "that I am a very pretty princess. And the only one who wears stretchy pants in my tower is the Hulk."

"You'd still be the prettiest princess if you had to wear stretchy pants," Bucky placated, giving him a peck on the lips and wrapping an arm around Tony's waist. If the action made him feel a little safer from the shadows, well, it's not like anyone would know.

Tony huffed a quiet laugh. "Of course I would, darling." He nuzzled his face into Bucky's neck, pressing a gentle kiss there. "You haven't answered my question, by the way."

"Hmm?"

"What are we watching?" Tony repeated, letting out a contented rumble when Bucky's free hand came up to card fingers through his hair.

Bucky smiled softly down at Tony, whose eyelids were slowly drooping. "I have no idea," he murmured. "I'm pretty sure it's just a mindless compilation of explosions and car chases."

"Oh, good," mumbled Tony drowsily. "We can laugh at the terrible fake science."

 "Sure thing," Bucky replied, stroking a hand up and down Tony's back as his mumbles trailed off into light snores, reveling in the fuzzy warmth he felt spreading from his chest, knowing that his hands were protecting this most cherished thing.

He never even noticed his own eyes falling shut.

***

Steve wasn't used to waking up alone. It wasn't unheard of, of course, since all three of them often had to travel for business or missions. Still, it was a little disconcerting when he reached out and felt nothing but cold sheets against his arm. It was rare that he woke without one or both of his lovers sprawled over him. Steve frowned as he opened his eyes, blinking the sleep out of them.

Tony must have fallen asleep in the lab again, or perhaps he was still awake - it was impossible to predict Tony's sleeping patterns when the man was on one of his engineering binges. Steve wasn't too worried; JARVIS would lock Tony out if he didn't meet a certain sleep quota, so he knew that Tony had at least had some sleep. Bucky, on the other hand, Steve hadn't seen sleeping in days.

None of them slept particularly well - it was practically a prerequisite in their line of work, hardly unexpected - but Bucky had it the worst. Over the months the trio had been together, their sleep had improved drastically. Steve, who used to spend the wee hours of the morning every day decimating punching bags, almost slept like a normal person these days. Tony, of course, would never have a regular sleeping schedule but his nightmares had been decreasing in frequency. Bucky, too, had made great improvements, going from having nightmares almost every night to only once every month or so. He still sometimes had bouts where they would be really bad though, and Steve suspected this was one of them.

It didn't help that his nightmares were extremely violent, either. After the one time Bucky had accidentally hit Tony while in the throes of a nightmare, he hadn't come to bed for weeks. Steve would never forget the hunted look on Bucky's face when he'd woken up and found out what he'd done. The hit hadn't been that bad, but it had bruised horribly and it had taken weeks of pleading and cajoling and proving that Tony was fine before Bucky returned to their bed.

Sighing, Steve pulled himself out of bed to get ready for the day. He'd drag Tony out of the lab when he got back from his morning run (at a more decent hour, Tony would say), then requisition his help in hunting down their missing lover. Satisfied with the plan, Steve got dressed and headed for the door but stopped dead at the end of the hallway, breath catching.

The sun was rising slowly over the city, bathing the room in an ethereal golden light. Beyond the glass wall New York City glittered and gleamed in a moment of perfect stillness before the city exploded into life again. What caught his breath, however, was not the picturesque view of the city below, but rather the sight of his two lovers tangled asleep on the couch, the soft light catching their hair and eyelashes and glinting off Bucky's arm. The way the light fell on them looked like magic, turning them half golden and half shadow, the dust motes in the air swirling gently around them like stardust.

Tony was sprawled on top of Bucky, streaks of grease on his skin and in his hair, right arm dangling over the side of the couch. Inches above the floor, the fingers of his right hand were twined around Bucky's metal ones. The bionic hand looked so gentle, cradled around Tony's. Steve's gaze traced the path of their arms up to their faces; Bucky's tilted back, lips parted slightly, not a trace of tension in his face, and Tony's tucked into the crook of Bucky's neck, the tip of his nose peeking out. There was a little streak of grease on his cheek, so endearing that Steve couldn't help but break out into a smile.

They looked so peaceful, lying there aglow in gold and soft shadows, that Steve was loathe to break the silence, not even to whisper for JARVIS to take a photo. He had to capture the moment though, and as silently as he could, he slipped back into the bedroom and grabbed his sketchbook. He paused for a moment as he reached for the charcoal, and instead picked up a box of chalk pastels.

Just this once, he thought as he settled into an armchair to start drawing, his run could wait.

Chapter 2: Tony

Chapter by

Chapter Text

Sometimes he dreamed of space; the yawning abyss stretching in front of him while his suit shut down, the HUD going dim and JARVIS failing to respond as he fell with nobody to save him. Other nights, though, his dreamed of water. Water everywhere, rushing into his lungs, and he couldn't see, couldn't breathe, couldn't think - clutching a car battery to his chest, hoping the wires stayed dry and the thing keeping him alive didn't kill him. He would build all the weapons these assholes wanted if he lived, because he couldn't die - not like this, not here in this cave, not while he was still Tony Stark, merchant of death.

He woke abruptly, feeling like the floor had fallen out from beneath him. Checking to see that his bedmates were still asleep, Tony stole out of bed, pulling on his boxer shorts and a t-shirt from the floor, and slipped into the kitchen. Once there, he slumped into a seat at the table and breathed in the comforting scent of the t-shirt, which he identified as Bucky's. For a good five minutes he sat with is face in his hands, contemplating whether he should go into the workshop (no use, he was too distracted), take the suit for a spin (no, bad idea), or go back to bed (nope, even worse idea).

The soft padding of feet from behind him alerted Tony to the presence of Steve, who brushed past him and began taking various items out of the cupboards.

"What are you doing?" Tony asked - and damn, his voice was hoarse, like he'd been screaming the whole night.

"Making hot chocolate." Steve was reaching into the fridge now, pulling out a carton of milk. "My mom used to make it like this, when we could afford actual milk and chocolate," he said casually while heating the milk on the stove, as if the statement explained everything.

Tony blinked. "Okay."

Clearly catching on to his flummoxed state, Steve looked over his shoulder with a sweet smile. "It used to help me sleep," he clarified. Frowning, Tony opened his mouth to object that he wasn't having any trouble sleeping, thank you very much, he'd just been hit by a stroke of engineering genius, when Steve spoke again. "I miss her. Everyone keeps giving me pictures of the people I went to war with, which is great, but I've never found a picture of my mom."

Oh. Oh. Now he noticed the slumped line of Steve's shoulders and the faint, almost undetectable, dark smudges under his eyes. Here Tony was, being a self-centered prick like always, when Steve was having trouble sleeping too. Way to go, Stark. A+ boyfriend material right there. God. He scrambled to fix his fuck up, and asked, "What was she like?"

The look on Steve's face turned wistful as he searched for a word. "Warm. Gave the best hugs."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And she was beautiful," Steve continued, pouring the hot chocolate into two mugs. "Tough as nails, too. Being a single mother in the 30s was hard enough with a healthy kid, let alone one as sickly as I was then."

Tony smiled in thanks as he accepted the mug that was slid across the table to him. "Sounds like a hell of a woman," he remarked.

"She was," Steve agreed, sitting across from Tony and tangling their feet together.

They sat in silence for a few minutes, sipping their hot chocolate, enjoying each other's easy company. Trying hard to ignore the dark thoughts still in the back of his head, Tony instead thought about Steve's mother, and how much she would have meant to Steve. Maria hadn't been a particularly good mother to Tony, but he still loved her unconditionally. He couldn't imagine what it must have been like for Steve to lose a mother like his.

"You know what?" Tony asked abruptly, straightening in is chair.

"What?" Steve had that amused look in his eyes that said he was only humoring Tony, but that was fine. Anything was better than sad.

Tony grinned and activated the table's holographic interface function with a quick hand gesture. "I"m gonna find you a photo of your mom," he announced with a manic look on his face.

Steve startled. "Tony, I don't think she ever-"

"JARVIS, dear, you awake?" Tony spoke right over Steve, firmly ignoring whatever was coming out of his mouth, even though he knew JARVIS never went offline unless Tony initiated it.

"As always, Sir, I am at your service."

Fingers dancing in the air, Tony began pulling up various search windows. "Search every database we have access to - museum archives, SHIELD files, everything. Run the estimated parameters for Sarah Rogers, blonde- blonde haired, right?" he paused to ask Steve, who seemed to have given up on stopping him. When he got a bemused nod in return, he turned back to the windows, mouth running rapid-fire again. "She was a nurse, check everything from about 1900 to 1940, pull up your best matches."

"Done, Sir."

Results collecting at his fingertips, Tony grinned even wider then threw out his hands, making the kitchen explode with light. Five holograms took up the space over the table, each one a photo of a different woman. "Thanks, dear." He looked over at Steve then, and found the soldier looking intently, slack-jawed, at the furthest photo on the left.

The photo was of a young woman in a nurse's outfit, smiling at something out of frame, with warm eyes that crinkled at the corners the same way Steve's did and her hair pinned up. She was beautiful, and Tony could see the resemblance. Steve had her eyes and nose, and what Tony guessed was the same light hair, as best as he could tell from the black and white photo. He dismissed the other photos with a flick of his wrist, and typed instructions for JARVIS to save all photos he could find of her to Steve's tablet.

When he looked up again, Steve was staring at him, an inexplicably fond look on his face. "Thank you," Steve said earnestly. It was one of the most genuine 'thank-you's Tony had ever received, and it made him feel all warm and mushy inside.

"It was nothing," Tony said offhandedly, sipping his hot chocolate to hide the dopey expression on his face.

Steve smiled back, reaching across the table to tangle their fingers together, and Tony forgot why he'd even been awake in the first place.

Neither of them ever noticed Bucky in the shadow of the doorway, watching over them fondly.

Chapter 3: Steve

Chapter by

Notes:

(See the end of the chapter for notes.)

Chapter Text

He couldn’t shake the cold - and the cold, which burned like acid in his chest, always heralded the onset of the guilt. Guilt about Bucky getting captured by HYDRA, guilt about leaving Peggy behind, guilt about all the soldiers that he had killed... He scowled and punched harder, tearing into the reinforced punching bag like he hadn’t had to in months. His fists pounded a steady rhythm against the titanium-kevlar fiber blend; one, two, one, two, one two, pounding like the guilt and fear and anger that throbbed inside his head. The thought of everybody he had failed, everybody he would fail, gnawed at him until his insides felt as raw as his fists. He ignored the sound of footsteps down the hall, throwing everything he felt into destroying the heavy bag.

“Hey, punk, you coming back to bed any time soon?” 

Bucky. Yet another person Steve had failed. He lowered his fists and turned, chest heaving, to see his lover leaning casually against the doorjamb. Bucky was adorable, sleep-ruffled in one of his t-shirts and a pair of sweatpants that were slipping off his hips. The sight of him was a tempting invitation, but Steve knew he wouldn’t be able to go back to sleep tonight.

“What time is it?”

Shrugging, Bucky padded forwards until he was standing inches away from Steve and began to pull off the blood-speckled wraps from Steve’s hands. “Late.”

Steve frowned and tried to take his hand back, but was stopped by the gentle but unrelenting grip of Bucky’s metal hand. “I’m not done yet,” he protested.

“Yeah you are,” replied Bucky, balling up the used wraps. “Now get in the shower.”

He grumbled halfheartedly as Bucky shoved him towards the locker room, stripping efficiently and ducking under the hot shower spray. When he stepped out, Bucky was waiting with his favorite worn sweatshirt (it was Tony's old MIT sweatshirt, stretched out and a little too snug but warm and soft nonetheless) and a pair of sweats. 

"Buck," Steve sighed, taking the clothes. "I'll just toss and turn all night. There's no point in me going to bed."

All he got in return was a snort and a mutter of "dumb punk" before he was bundled into the elevator. Steve closed his eyes as they ascended, trying without success to calm his mind so he could sleep. Having expected to get off at the penthouse, he was surprised when the doors opened and he felt a gust of wind ruffle his hair.

"C'mon," Bucky urged, sounding so much like his old self that for a moment Steve felt like he couldn't breathe. Grabbing his hand, Bucky dragged Steve out to the center of the roof helipad, where a soft fleece blanket obscured the giant "H". 

Steve stumbled after his lover, uncharacteristically clumsy, and let himself be tugged down onto the ground. Bucky's warm body pressed against him as they laid together on the blanket, callused fingers tangling in his. It drew a small smile out of him, releasing a fraction of his tension. This was just like what they had done as children, when Steve had been scrawny and sickly, sheltered against Bucky's larger frame. The only difference now was that Steve was the bigger one, and, high above the city on the roof of Avengers Tower, the stars were actually visible - something that had been impossible in the smog of Brooklyn.

Steve felt a rustle to his left and then the tickle of breath on his cheek as Bucky whispered, "so I guess being able to see the stars is what we get out of dating a billionaire."

A huff of laughter escaped before Steve could stop himself, turning to look into sparkling brown eyes. "I thought we were dating him for the free food and building."

"Well, that too," said Bucky mildly, quirking his lips as they both lapsed into silence and looked back up at the stars.

It was comfortable, lying next to each other like this. They'd done it a million times; from the roof of his crappy Brooklyn apartment building to the battlegrounds of Nazi-occupied France, it was something they had always done. Lying here like this, the happy memories seemed a little closer and the guilt a little further away. Despite the chilliness of the night, it felt as if the light from the stars was illuminating the the quiet dark corners inside of him, warming him from the inside out.

They lay there for hours, alternating easily between discussion and silence. It wasn't the same as it was before - it couldn't be, and he didn't want it to be, because this, now, was his home. He and Bucky talked, laughed, and listened to each other breathe until the gray sky signaled the imminent daybreak and Steve found himself nodding off. Curled into Bucky's good shoulder, fingers still intertwined, he finally felt warm again.

***

The sun was high in the sky when Tony woke, tangled in a warm pile of limbs. He was tucked into Steve's arms like an oversized teddy bear with Bucky on the far side, an arm and leg slung over both his lovers. He had vague recollections of Bucky slipping out of bed at some point last night, stirring Tony out of sleep again when he returned with Steve in his arms, but he wasn't sure what time it had been. If they were both still asleep at this hour, it must have been late. Gently, Tony began to extricate himself from Steve the octopus, but stopped when the super-soldier began to whimper. Reaching out a hand, he ran his fingers through the soft golden hair, shushing him as he slid up into a sitting position against the headboard.

Once Steve was suitably settled with his head nestled in Tony's lap, Tony grabbed a tablet from the nightstand and brought it to life. With a deft flick of his fingers, Tony pulled up the muted gym security feed from last night, noting the time Steve entered the gym and then fast forwarding through the brutal assault that Steve had laid on the punching bag until he found what he wanted: Bucky, all but bullying a surly Steve into the locker room and then the elevator. Tony frowned at the timestamp; Steve had been in there for almost seven hours.

He dismissed the security footage and looked dtown at his lovers. Bucky had his face mashed into Steve's shoulder blade and was drooling into it (Tony could hear the indignant protest of "Shut up, Stark, I do not!" inside his head), the protective metal arm around Steve's waist reflecting the sunlight streaming in. Steve, head in Tony's lap, slept serenely, face slack except for the tiny furrow between his brows. Tony's eyes traveled down their bodies, roving over the familiar lines of their shoulders and sides, gaze catching on the hand Steve had resting next to his face on Tony's thigh. The knuckles were raw and bruised, the cuts littered across them looking like they were days instead of hours old. 

He leaned down and dropped a kiss on both of their heads before sitting back up against the headboard. With a series of hand gestures that he and JARVIS had developed together, he initiated the holographic functions on the tablet and brought up his email and the specs for the Mark 51 armor. Pepper would sympathize if he asked for the day off, he thought, and settled in to wait until his lovers woke up.

Notes:

Oh look, I actually finished it. I'm sorry it's been 10 months guys, I'm a jerk. Would you believe me if I said I had writers' block? No? Me neither. It wasn't writers' block, I was just really lazy. Oops. Hope you like this ending :)