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“What a week.” Bucky groans as he flops down on your bed. It’s barely seven o’clock on Friday night and he looks like he’s ready to pass out.
Everyone at the therapy center had been so happy for your return and they welcomed Bucky with open arms. It had still been a long week though. You were getting caught up on everything you had missed and the new patients who you had yet to meet while Bucky was slowly finding his place. He was eager to help out and his efforts were appreciated by everyone. Bucky was surprisingly adept with a tool kit and put himself to work without being asked, repairing little odds and ends that no one else had the time or knowledge to fix. He liked to stay busy and the small jobs made him feel like he’d really accomplished something by the end of the day.
You worry your bottom lip between your teeth as you watch him lying on the bed, concerned you’ve pushed him too far, too fast. “You were amazing, babe, really. I don’t think we would have had as much success with Brighton if you hadn’t been there.”
Josh Brighton is a 21 year old vet who had lost his right leg in a land mine explosion eight months ago. He’s still getting used to his new prosthetic and suffering from PTSD, depression, and crippling anxiety. Josh had been a VA referral to the center and they had just started working with him the previous month. Earlier that morning he’d had an episode when a chair Bucky was repairing slipped and crashed hard on the tile floor. The sound had triggered something in Brighton, causing him to throw his own chair and pull a table back into a corner to shield himself from some unknown assailant. The counselors had come running but Bucky held a hand out, stopping them. He knew from painful experience what the younger man was going through and had talked him through the episode with soft, measured, tones, repeating his name, the date, where he was, and that he was okay. After a few minutes Bucky had helped Brighton up and they took a long walk around the grounds until it was time for his appointment. During his session Brighton had openly spoken about his triggers for the first time and the therapist called the progress he’d made remarkable.
Bucky nods and sighs hard, remembering the anguish in the younger man’s eyes when he had gotten past the blind fear and realized he’d had another panic attack. Bucky is thankful he was there to help him but knows it’s going to be a long recovery process and he hopes that Brighton takes his advice and comes a little early next week to walk with him again. Bucky rubs his right hand across his forehead like he’s fighting back a headache. “He’s a good man, he just needed a little space to get back to himself.”
“Yeah, and you recognized that.” You climb onto the bed next to him, wrapping your body against his and pressing a kiss against the cool metal of his left bicep. “I know it was a lot, especially for your first week, so if you want to take a long weekend we can. Or if you think you might want to start out part time and drop down to two or three days a week that would be okay too. Just tell me what you want, Buck.”
Bucky opens his eyes and rolls so his body is pressed up against yours, wrapping his right arm tightly around your waist. “What I want is to stay right here in this bed with you for a little bit longer, order some delicious, greasy, Chinese food, and watch that new Disney movie with the blonde chick and the snowman.”
“Frozen isn’t considered new anymore.” You chuckle.
“Hey, I remember when Snow White and the Seven Dwarfs came out. As far as I’m concerned, anything after Bambi is new to me.”
“I forget sometimes that you’re just a little old man.” You tease him lightly.
“Oh come on, I’m only a hundred and six.”
“And you look damn good for your age.” You plant a kiss on his forehead and then wiggle to pull your phone out of your back pocket without moving out of his embrace. Bringing up the menu for your favorite Chinese place you scroll through the options hunting down your favorites. Your wiggling had some unexpected consequences however and Bucky grinds his hips against yours, pressing his hardness against your hip.
“Hey, mouse.” He whispers against your shoulder, “I thought of something I want more than dinner.” He rolls his hips again, pressing as firmly as he can against you.
You roll your eyes and turn off your phone, knowing exactly what he’s doing. You can’t really be annoyed with him though, he’s been so much better about telling you what he wants and asking for things. Every little request is progress; Bucky taking control of his life and no longer being bound by circumstances beyond his control. You watch the mischievous glint in his eyes as you ask, “And what, James Buchanan Barnes, do you think you want now?” You bite the inside of your cheek trying not to smile.
Bucky’s lips curve upwards in amusement. “You know what I want.” He captures your hand in his, pulling it close and pressing it against his chest so you can feel his heart beating wildly.
“I don’t think I do.” You’re smirking now, unable to help yourself.
“It’s what I always want.” Bucky hisses out a breath as you push your hips back against his when he rolls them again.
“And what is that?” You’re all but panting now, ready to end the silly game you’ve started.
“You.” Bucky crushes his lips down on yours at last, pulling you impossibly close, and then running his right hand up your shirt. “It’s always you.” He says while he trails kisses down your throat. “From the minute I wake up to the minute I fall asleep, and in every dream. It’s always you.”
You moan, burying your face into the crook of his neck. Your body ignited by his words and the feel of his lips against your skin. The plans for Chinese food and a Disney movie are quickly forgotten as your clothing is tossed the floor and you discover that Bucky’s way of unwinding after a long week is exactly what you needed too.
Hours later when you’re sprawled out across your large bed, breathing heavily, limbs tangled together, Bucky remembers he’d had other plans for the night and pulls up the menu for your favorite Chinese place on his phone. He calls in an obscene amount of food and grumbles when he discovers Frozen is no longer on any of your streaming services. He finally settles on Moana right as the food arrives and you curl up with him to eat dinner on the sofa. Bucky looks inexplicably happy perched on “his” end of the sofa, sitting with his legs crossed under him, sex-mussed hair falling around his shoulders, and a ridiculous plate of Chinese food on his lap. “What’s up, doll?” He asks after he swallows his giant bite of crab rangoon.
“You seem happy.” You say honestly.
It catches him off guard and he pauses for a moment to think over your words before responding. “I am. I think I like working at the center. Especially if we get to do this every Friday night and then have a whole weekend to be lazy.”
“I think that can be arranged.”
And just like that your Friday night tradition is established. It doesn’t matter if it was a good week or a bad one, every Friday night you head straight home from work to relax for a bit, order take out, and find a different Disney movie to watch. It’s quiet and simple, exactly what you want in your life, and you’re forever grateful that it’s what he wants too.