Work Text:
Steve was exhausted. Sam could see it in the slump of his shoulders, the line of his jaw, the way that his brows pinched. The way he braced his thumb and forefinger against his temple and cheekbone as he stared at the tablet on the table in front of him. The lighting in the kitchen was bright enough that blue eyes squinted slightly as they flitted back and forth over the information, his right hand curled around a pen that hovered over a bright yellow legal pad filled with Steve’s familiar scrawl. Sam never did understand how a man with such incredible artistic talent could have such terrible handwriting.
He glanced at the clock on the stove as he padded into the room, noting that it was pushing four in the morning. Steve hadn’t come to bed and the couch had no indication that he’d slept there either, he knew that much and a deep sense of concern washed over him. Without a word, Sam made his way to through the kitchen to the coffee pot. With unfocused motions, he added the filter, grounds, and water before pressing the button that would start the brewing process. He braced his hands against the counter and hung his head for a moment before shifting back and reaching to pull two large mugs from the cabinet. For the several long moments it took for the coffee to brew, the silence was only broken by the sound of Steve’s pen scratching against the paper. When the last of the brew trickled through the filter and into the pot, Sam pulled and dumped the basket into the trash before setting to filling the mugs. One left black and one with milk.
Depositing one of the mugs, the dark blue one with the coffee left black, just above the legal pad and the other in front of the seat just to Steve’s right, Sam stepped forward to rest a hand on one broad, tense shoulder and gave a gentle squeeze. The hand that had been supporting Steve’s head reached across and covered Sam’s before pulling gently until he could turn his head and press a lingering kiss to the inside of Sam’s wrist at the pulse point. Steve returned the hand to his shoulder, leaving his own covering it and holding on even as he continued working, not having looked up from his work once during the exchange.
“Steve,” Sam urged softly, squeezing his shoulder again.
“Morning, Sam,” the man responded, exhaustion as evident in his voice as it was in is body. Sam stayed silent for a moment and Steve sighed heavily, letting the pen drop from his grasp and running his hand raggedly through his hair while stubbornly maintaining his hold on Sam’s with his left.
Sam sighed softly and nudged Steve’s hand from it’s clenched hold on his hair and combed his own fingers through the blond mess. He smiled fondly when Steve seemed to melt into the affectionate touch. Steve shifted in his chair and let his forehead fall forward against Sam’s abdomen. Sam moved his hand from the broad shoulder to cup the back of his head while the other continued stroking through the short blond hair. After a few silent moments, Steve’s arms rose and wrapped around Sam’s hips, pulling him in closer. Sam huffed a laugh but let himself be pulled into his lap, seated in a straddle. Steve’s ridiculously strong arms wrapped snugly around his waist and he burrowed his face into the crook of Sam’s neck, exhaling heavily in what felt like relief. Sam didn’t hesitate to hug him in closer, resting his chin against Steve’s temple and letting him soak up the comfort and affection.
Steve pulled back just enough to tilt his head back and Sam happily met him halfway, pressing their lips together. Just like the touch to his shoulder, the hand in his hair, or the tight hug, the tender affection in the kiss seemed to loosen another piece of the aching strain in the lines of Steve’s body and he sighed peacefully into it.
Eventually, Sam withdrew and detangled himself from the mess of limbs, grinning fondly at the grumbled sound of disagreement. Steve made to grab at his hips to pull him back in and Sam swatted them back playfully, “Nope, you clean up your mess and drink your coffee before you start complaining that it’s cold. I’m going to drink mine and get started on breakfast.”
Steve grumbled but did as instructed without further complaint. Sam shook his head, smiling softly as he moved to follow his own instructions, snatching his mug off of the table before pulling the eggs, bacon, and other necessities from the refrigerator and set to task.
Twenty minutes and two refilled coffee mugs later, he pushed the overfilled omelette in front of Steve and setting his own down, dropping into the chair that he had neglected earlier. All of the supplies that had been strewn across the table’s surface had been put away. A quick glance, told Sam that it was all tucked away in the back pack on the floor near the couch.
He didn’t mention it. He didn’t bring up the exhaustion-inducing all-nighter of paperwork or that he had a feeling he knew exactly what had driven Steve to avoid bed to get work on it. After all, when a mission caused one of their own to get hurt, even minorly, this is exactly what Steve did. He threw himself into the reports to see what he might have done differently, done better. Sam knew from experience that trying to talk him out of it, trying to reassure him that it wasn’t all on him, didn’t really do any good.
Instead he let the silence fall and dug into his breakfast. Though he did watch Steve through the meal. Body language spoke volumes on mornings like this. He knew the routine well by now.
Steve’s plate had long been cleared and placed in the sink by the time Sam finished the final bits of his own. After a moment of consideration, Sam dropped his own dishes into the sink and reached to curl a hand around Steve’s wrist, hanging limply at the man’s side as he stared blankly out the kitchen window.
“Come on,” Sam urged quietly with a tug. Steve’s brow furrowed in confusion but he followed obediently without a word, all the evidence Sam needed to know how deeply the funk ran. He led Steve back to the bedroom and stopped him in the middle of the room. With practiced movements, he removed the previous day’s clothing until Steve was down to plain blue boxers. There was nothing sexual about the movements, just care and affection but Sam didn’t think it was possible to be completely unaffected by the sight in front of him.
Rather than let it flourish though, Sam nudged him towards the bed and, as with all the directions he’d given in the last hour or so, Steve obeyed without argument. Stretching out on his back in the bed with a heavy sigh as his feet pushed at the blankets enough to be able to slide underneath. Sam rounded the other side and crawled in beside him and, immediately, Steve rolled towards him, hands automatically reaching and pulling him closer. As soon as they were pressed together, blonde hair tickling Sam’s chin slightly from where Steve had burrowed his forehead into his chest, limbs wrapped and tangled, Steve melted. The tension from the morning leaching out with a sleepy sigh.
Sam eyed the bedside clock. It was pushing six. On a normal morning they’d be up and on their run by now. Well, Steve would be back from his already. But it wasn’t a normal morning. And it was Sunday. With that Sam, let himself sink into the hold and into the pillows, tracing idle patterns on Steve’s back until he could feel his breathing even out and slow. It wasn’t long after that before Sam let sleep retake him as well. It was Sunday. Nothing wrong with a lazy day spent in bed on Sunday.