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Sam comes slowly to wakefulness, the easy, drowsy way that only civilians can afford to enjoy. Before he's even really conscious, he's aware of the warmth of the room, the bright morning light playing over his bare shoulders, the smell of cooking bacon wafting in from the hall. It's far, far better than his last few mornings have been, waking up in a cold, narrow hospital bed, and as the last wisps of dreams leave him he's already smiling to himself.
He shifts slowly, deliciously, against the soft cool sheets, enjoying the sensation against his skin, the cozy feeling of being wrapped up and safe. For a long time he doesn't open his eyes, just basking in it all: the sunshine, the bacon-smell, the bed beneath him. It took him a long time, after he came back from his second tour, to get used to sleeping in a bed again, and now it's a luxury he doesn't ever take for granted.
Eventually he figures he has to move, so he sits up carefully, minding his ribs, wincing at the still-throbbing pain in his leg, his lower back, and his right shoulder. The sharpness of it forces him to open his eyes at last, the sight of white bandages reminding him of the injuries he had forgotten in the first moment of consciousness. A moment after he sits up, before he can begin to think about pain meds or showering, there's a light knock at the bedroom door.
"Yeah," he says. "Come in."
Steve enters slowly, already clean and pressed and dressed in khakis and a button-up shirt. He's probably run twenty miles and volunteered at a soup kitchen already today, Sam thinks a little bitterly, before he reminds himself that he's the last person who should complain about Steve's energy and generosity.
"Heard you were up," Steve says apologetically.
"Yeah, you'll make a great nosy mother to a teenage boy someday," Sam replies ruefully, rubbing at his eyes. Even though they've only been out of the hospital for a day, he's already getting used to the idea of Steve's superhearing, though it does mean that he's made a pact with himself to only masturbate in the shower or when Steve's out of the house. Not that he's had a lot of desire for it lately, anyway, what with the pills and the sleeping and the pain and the fact that his sexual fantasies seem to be gradually centering exclusively on his new best friend slash housemate.
"Unfortunately, I don't think Erskine gave me a womb with the rest of the upgrades." Steve says, straight-faced.
Sam chuckles blearily. "No fair getting cute with me while I'm barely awake. I can't banter with you at this hour."
Steve smiles and comes to sit on the far edge of the bed. "How you feeling?" he asks.
For a strange, sleep-addled moment, Sam imagines that he's about to lay down there, take up space next to Sam and justify the pillow that sits unused on the left hand side every night. He shakes his head a little, which makes his shoulder pull, which makes him wince again.
"Haven't had my pills yet," he admits. Steve nods and grabs them from the nightstand, handing the bottles over so that Sam doesn't have to stretch. He also gives him the tall glass of orange juice that he brought in with him: Sam's favorite, though he used to always drink it after a morning workout. He's going to get out of shape while he's healing up, but there's not much he can do about that.
"Who knew you were such a good nurse?" Sam says, accepting the bottles and juice. He starts swallowing his pills, pain meds first so that he can start to focus on something else for the day.
"The Howling Commandos," Steve says. "A lot of the time I was the only one left standing after a fight, had to play medic more than once. You want me to re-wrap your ribs?"
The last wrap job was done by Sam himself, and before that it was a nurse at the hospital; Sam feels almost queasy in anticipation of Steve doing that service for him, standing close and touching his bare skin while he takes care of Sam's body.
"After I shower," Sam says, swallowing his conflicting emotions along with his pills and forcing his voice to stay steady and calm. "Actually, if you could help me unwrap now, that'd be good."
Steve nods and goes to it, his hands on Sam gentle and warm but not lingering as he pulls the bandages off of Sam's torso. Still, there are glancing touches: his thumb against the lower curve of Sam's pectoral, his fingertips against Sam's solar plexus, and it feels good, in an almost uncomplicated way, to take comfort in Steve's presence.
He tries to lift his arms to give Steve better access, but even though he's trying to be careful, the motion creates a dull roaring wave of pain that echoes down his nerve endings from his rotator cuff. Steve frowns as Sam gasps at the sensation.
"Don't push yourself, I got it," he says. He sounds annoyed, which, God help him, just makes him seem cuter.
"Yeah, yeah. Doesn't seem fair that you got shot four times and stabbed in the shoulder, and more than a week later I'm the only one who's still hurting."
"It isn't fair," Steve agrees, half-smile on his lips. "Your healing is a lot slower than mine. If that's what you want to call healing."
Sam laughs, helplessly, and punches Steve in the shoulder even though he knows it'll hurt a bit.
"Don't make me laugh, you dick, it pulls at my ribs."
Steve's grin is wide and surprised, like he didn't realize he had this power over Sam, to make him laugh, to make him happy. "Okay," he says softly. Sam is reminded of how new this thing is between them, this friendship thing, this partnership thing, even though it feels old and comfortable and tested already.
They get the bandages all rolled up, and Sam begins contemplating the process of getting up out of the bed and into the ensuite bathroom.
"Is that bacon I smell? Tell me you didn't leave it to burn."
"It's fine," Steve says. "I finished the first batch, I'm gonna put more on. Go and shower and it'll be ready when you come out. Eggs too, and toast."
"You're the best nurse I ever had."
Steve stands, his hand coming up to ruffle at Sam's short hair. "You know it."
Sam turns his face up to Steve, smiling, and holds up his hand. Steve takes it and provides counter-weight, letting Sam use him to get standing up.
When they're face to face, Steve doesn't let go of his hand for a moment, doesn't back away; instead, to Sam's surprise, he leans in and kisses Sam's forehead gently, almost absently, like a reflex he hasn't thought through too much. Not that there's any reason Steve should have that reflex. He's certainly never kissed Sam before, though Sam did hold Steve's hand, a couple times, while he was in the ICU. Sam doesn't know what to do with it, the brief and friendly sensation of Steve's lips against his skin. He's suddenly aware of his comparative nakedness, next to Steve – he's only wearing his boxers – and is intensely grateful that he doesn't have morning wood. Not that Steve's going to help that by kissing him.
Maybe realizing how close they are, or how weird it is for dude friends to kiss other dude friends' foreheads while serving them breakfast and tending to their manly wounds, Steve takes a step back and ducks his head. Sam, still in shock, still a little discombobulated from sleep and from dreams that looked a lot like this, blinks and doesn't manage to say anything.
"Breakfast in ten," Steve says. His voice is casual and unshaken, but he's not looking at Sam. "Hurry up."
Sam showers, and doesn't touch himself, and doesn't think about how much more awkward it's going to get, living with the guy he's got a huge uncontrollable crush on. What does Steve mean by kissing him like that? He takes his time, rubbing the soap over his chest meditatively, and wonders whether it's a good idea for him and Steve to take their flirting somewhere real.
When he's done, he puts on a pair of jeans – it's only a coincidence that they're the soft, worn-in pair that hugs his thighs and makes his ass look fantastic – doesn't bother with a shirt, and walks out to the kitchen of his house where Captain America is cooking him bacon, like all his gayest fantasies come to life.
Sam's no world-famous genetically engineered superhero, but his naked chest has been known to catch folks' interest before. And it's not like he doesn't have an excuse. He just hopes the mottled, fading bruises aren't too much of a turn-off.
Lounging against the counter as casually as he can manage with his broken ribs and torn muscles, he says, "When you have a second, you can wrap me up again."
Steve glances back at him, only for a second; then, gratifyingly, he glances again, doing a perfect cinematic double-take. On the second glance his eyes bounce down to Sam's jeans, then up to his chest, then down again, then finally, guiltily, up to his face. Maybe Sam's not just imagining this after all, this heat between them, not manufacturing these feelings out of sheer wish fulfillment.
It was something, the way they worked together under fire, the way they already seemed to know each other; Sam wonders if that chemistry has a place somewhere other than the battlefield.
"Come here," Steve says, and Sam goes without thinking. He wonders if Steve is going to kiss him, but Steve just holds out a piece of bacon. Sam hesitates only for a moment before taking it with his fingers rather than eating it out of Steve's hand.
"Good," he says, as he chews. Steve smiles, and then his eyes narrow for a moment, like he's trying to figure something out.
They sit down to eat – though Sam's not kidding himself that it's Steve's first breakfast of the day – and Steve catches him up on what Natasha's been doing, the hearings they're assembling on the Hill, all the political outcry and the Monday morning quarterbacking.
"You gonna go up there? Help Natasha defend what we did?"
Steve purses his lips. "I'm actually not sure my presence would help. It's already shaping up to be a three-ring circus."
"Fair," Sam agrees. "Well, make sure she knows that if she wants us, she's got us."
Steve nods. "I'll text her a reminder."
It's weird to think of Captain America texting, no matter how many times Sam's seen Steve's fingers fly over the little phone keyboard, or how many times Steve's name has popped up on his phone, while they were both in the hospital and the doctors made Sam leave Steve's bedside and go back to his own room to rest. Steve likes emoji, in the Japanese style, the elaborate ones that look like little cats or whole body gestures. Sam wonders who taught him that.
When they're done eating Steve makes good on his promise to re-wrap Sam in the mummy bandages. They haven't done it before, though, and Sam has to tell Steve several times to make it tighter.
"You're not going to hurt me," Sam says. "If it's not tight, it doesn't do any good."
"Yeah, and if it cuts off your circulation and the doctors have to amputate your entire torso, I will feel really bad about it," Steve replies. Sam laughs, which hurts, but which also feels good.
"I'm honored," Sam says. Steve's hands are as professional now as they were when he took the bandages off, to Sam's slight disappointment. He sticks his tongue out of his mouth when he's concentrating, though, which is a sight to see.
"There, how's that?" Steve asks, once he's got Sam all wrapped up.
"Perfect," Sam says. Steve was bent over slightly in order to see what he was doing, but now he stands up to his full height. He's a little taller than Sam, a little broader. Sam likes it. He's dated women, mostly, for the last few years, and there aren't a lot of women who are bigger and broader than Sam is.
Not that he and Steve are dating.
On impulse, maybe driven by the idea of Steve's tall, solid body and how it would feel up against him, Sam leans up a little and kisses Steve's cheek. His cheek is smooth, freshly shaven, soft against Sam's lips. Sam doesn't shake or tremble, the way he thought he might; like talking to Steve, like fighting beside him, kissing him seems natural and inevitable, something comfortable and easy.
"What was that for?" Steve asks breathily, his face still near to Sam's face. He's blinking a little too fast.
"You kissed me first," Sam says, his voice almost a whisper. "Seemed only fair."
"Hmm," Steve says. He takes a small step forward, bringing himself more completely into Sam's space, like a dance they both already know the steps to. "So you're saying that if I kiss you again, you'd owe me another one back?"
"Sounds right," Sam agrees. He manages to sound pretty cool, he thinks, but every cell in his body thrills at this, at Steve's invitation, his flirting. They stare at each other for a moment, both caught up in the daring tumbling moment right before they fall together. Then Steve's mouth is on his, gentle and slow but also hungry, full of the heat and passion that Steve carries with him everywhere he goes. It feels like starting a fire that was already banked, as if all it took was a day's rest and an end to the crisis for the sparks between them to finally catch and burn.
Sam wants more of it.
"Sam," Steve breathes, when he pulls back a moment later, and Sam would like to hear Steve say his name some more, maybe louder, maybe forever.
"Yeah," he says. "Yeah."
"I hope you don't think that I was here looking after you just so that I could take advantage," Steve says softly, and the funniest part about it is that he seems honestly worried about that. Sam laughs.
"I swear, man, that was the furthest thought from my mind," Sam says, and then it seems right to hug Steve, to just put his arms around Steve's neck and pull him in and hold him and smell the good smells of him, crisp cotton and warm skin. Steve hugs him back, gently, mindful of his injuries, and the closeness feels as good as the kiss did, Steve's warm body pressed up against him, solid and strong. They let go together, and Steve stares down into Sam's face, his expression all worry and excitement and anticipation.
"I don't – do you want this? God, Sam, is this okay?" Steve's fingertips come up to brush against Sam's temple, and this time there's nothing professional about it, the warm lingering touch of Steve's skin against his. Sam leans into it, nuzzling against Steve's hand.
"This is great," he says. "I like this."
"Can I kiss you again?" Steve asks, painfully earnest.
"I don't know, can you? That first attempt was kinda weak."
Steve's answering competitive grin lights a fire in Sam's belly, fills him up with joy and all kinds of less noble emotions.
"Maybe I was just being careful of your delicate frame," Steve says. "I didn't want to overwhelm you with the sheer power of my – "
The sheer power of his what Sam never finds out, because he kisses him quiet, holding Steve's face in his hands and kissing him and laughing with him and kissing him again, until he's out of breath and Steve starts to look messed up, lips red and hair tousled. Steve rests his hands on Sam's waist, very gently, and Sam can't help but get a little hot thinking about all the carefully restrained power in the arms wrapping around him.
"You know," Sam says, between kisses, luxuriating in the feel of Steve's big hands splayed over his body, "I am supposed to be on bedrest."
Steve chuckles. "I don't think the doctors meant quite what you're implying."
"I was also prescribed therapeutic massage," Sam confides, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. Making Steve laugh is one of the best feelings Sam's encountered lately, and he drinks in the sight of his white teeth and his long neck thrown back as he does it.
"You're the most incorrigible patient I've ever had," Steve says warmly, laugh lines still crinkling next to his eyes. "I am honestly worried for your health."
"Come lie down with me," Sam says, and it sounds breathy to his own ears, hoarse. "Come – just lie down with me, Steve." Sam's not sure he can get it up right now, not sure he even wants that, yet, but he knows he wants more of this, the closeness, Steve's mouth on his skin.
"Yeah, okay," Steve says softly. When they get back to the bedroom he does, freshly ironed shirt and all, just curls up in bed next to Sam and watches him, stroking his fingertips against Sam's temples, his face, his neck.
"Natasha says she's going to get me some intel," he says quietly, lying there with Sam in the morning sunlight that's stretching, now, long and lazy over the bed. Sam blinks for a moment at this non sequitur, but then he gets it.
"On Barnes," he says. This is Steve's attempt at letting Sam down easy, he realizes, Steve's way of letting Sam know that he'll be going going gone, where Sam can't follow.
It's his way of saying don't get too attached, but whether he's saying it to Sam or to himself, Sam's not sure. Maybe it's meant for both of them.
"Yeah," Steve says. "I – I can't leave him out there, confused, maybe lost. I can't, Sam – "
"Shhh," Sam says, because that seems like the only fitting response. "Shhh, I know. I know that." He licks his lips, thinking about it. Lying like this, on his side, his shoulder is throbbing, and his ribs too, but he ignores it for the moment and leans across the space to kiss Steve's mouth gently.
"Will you wait for me?" he asks, when the kiss ends. Steve's furrowed brow and unhappy mouth shift into an expression of open surprise. "Will you wait for me to heal up, so that I can come with you?"
"Sam – I – you don't have to – "
"Will you wait?" Sam asks again.
"Yes," Steve breathes. "Yes, of course I will, yes. You know I wouldn't leave you while you were still in pain."
Sam smiles, because Steve's loyalty, apparently, is multidirectional and all-encompassing, applied equally to brand-new partners and old lost loves. Sam isn't sure he could stop himself from following Steve if he tried.
"Then nurse me till I'm well," Sam says, "and we'll go after him together."
Steve kisses him, on the mouth, on the jaw, and then on the nose, which makes Sam laugh. There's something sweet and unspoiled about Steve, for all his world-weary steel-jawed outlook on life, and it awakens an answering innocence in Sam, a belief that things could maybe work out for them. For Barnes too, if they could find him.
"Lie back," Steve says softly. Sam does, and he's ready to protest that he's not really up for sex when Steve's fingertips press gently against his temples, massaging lightly.
"Mmmm," Sam says, too pleased by the sensation to tease Steve about his therapeutic massage skills.
"I couldn't leave you behind," Steve says. "Not if I have a choice."
Sam sighs, the medication and the breakfast and the warm, easy touch of Steve's hands all catching up to him and making him sleepy. His eyes slip closed again, as slowly as he opened them a couple hours before, and Steve's hands move on to Sam's chest, skirting carefully around his injured shoulder, loosening the knots and letting Sam sigh happily against the release of tension.
"You won't be alone, Steve," Sam says. "I promise."
The last thing Sam feels, before he drops into sleep again, is Steve's lips against his throat, kissing him softly, sealing the pact.