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For an extraordinary doctor, Bucky’s cooking rivaled his profession as a healthcare worker. Some of the best food Steve had ever tasted in years, arguably better than an average restaurant. If it exists, Bucky probably cooked it at some point. Eggplant parmesan, classic meat lasagna, burgers with fresh yeast buns, an array of soups and salads. Any and everything.
Not to mention all the desserts like brownies, cookies, cakes, and pies. But the greatest above all else, cinnamon rolls made entirely from scratch. A great ratio between cinnamon and brown sugar topped with cream cheese icing. How does Steve get up in the morning? Freshly brewed coffee with one of those cinnamon rolls. He’d beg and plead Bucky to make them every day if he had to.
Friday rolled around after a long work week and they both got off around the same time. Bucky’s shifts at the clinic differed every now and then, sometimes he had to stay later than others. On a day like today, he texted an hour prior to leaving to let Steve know he’d be home a little after six.
Because Steve had no self restraint and couldn’t help but to ask, he sent back a dinner request. A couple of weeks ago while waiting for Bucky to get home, Steve had snooped around Bucky’s bookshelves and browsed his array of cookbooks. Dating for four months and going on five, their relationship blossomed by building upon their trust and communication. Though peaking at Bucky’s collection seemed a bit overstepping. Kinda like if Bucky went through Steve’s personal sketchbooks from his younger years.
All things turned out fine despite Steve’s suspicion, Bucky hadn’t minded at all, barely gave it half a thought.
“Chicken and rice noodle stir fry huh? I haven’t made that in years. That’s good though, something different for a change. I’ll pick up the ingredients before I come home.”
Steve smiled while leaving Stark Tower, holding the glass door open for someone passing by, mumbling a quiet ‘you’re welcome,’ in between re-reading Bucky’s text a handful of times. Too busy to lift his lovestruck gaze, his fingers flew across the screen, typing up a reply.
“You’re the best, Buck. Let’s call it a date and watch one of those movies from your watch later list."
“Yeah sweetheart, I like the sound of that. Time for us to unwind :)”
With the amount of traffic Brooklyn had around the evening, somehow Steve made it home before Bucky. Granted, their favorite corner store supermarket always got crowded on the weekend so no surprise there. On the way, he stopped at a flower shop and purchased a small bundle of roses. Thinking to himself while unlocking the door, Steve decided to bring out the fancy candles they kept in a drawer. Unscented, because he discovered many moons ago that any scents would set his asthma off within a snap of a finger.
On top of the couch, Alpine lifted her head from the balled up position she curled up in. Soft as a whisper, a friendly meow greeted Steve in the form of cat language.
“Hey sweet kitty,” Steve said as he massaged the underside of Apline’s chin, she started purring immediately, loud as a motor.
When alone, Alpine acted like an angel who loved and cherished Steve’s presence. Though for some reason, she turned into a vicious demon when Bucky came around. Only around Bucky. Not Steve. Maybe she loved the fact that Steve kept a calm and quiet mannerism. He'd shut the cabinet drawers in silence, while Bucky sometimes shuts them with a bounced back clatter.
When Steve first moved in, Alpine kept her distance but gradually, she warmed up to him and became her favorite person. Thankfully he wasn’t allergic to cats or he’d be in big trouble. Her fur doesn’t bother his asthma either which was a very nice factor.
Placing a couple of candles around the center of the dining table, Steve lit them with a handheld lighter. A glow enveloped the small dining area, the ceiling lights turned to a faint dim. While whistling to himself, he took out two plates and drinking glasses, setting the table with said utensils plus some forks, knives, and cloth napkins.
Keys clinked against each other outside the door; fumbling the lock a few seconds before the door opened. White coat and stethoscope thrown over his shoulder with sleeves rolled up to his elbows, Bucky carried three brown paper bags inside. Alpine furrowed her whiskers, hissing a warning like she hated the sound of the paper crumpling together as Bucky moved to the island counter to set them down.
“Stevie?” Bucky draped his coat over a bar chair, stethoscope tangled between the mix. Steve stood at the archway of the dining room, waiting to see how long it would take for Bucky to notice. “Oh,” Bucky echoed quietly. “You went to all this trouble? Sweetheart, you shouldn’t have.”
In the center of the table between the lit candles sat a vase with a handful of large light orange roses, thorns trimmed away. “Aw come on Buck, I wanted to.”
On his tiptoes to get a better reach, Steve joined Bucky’s awaiting arms, smelling the familiar scent of hospital antiseptic. Something he became accustomed to since living with a doctor of a boyfriend. A feather light touch tipped Steve’s chin up while another came to rest against the side of his face.
Bucky inhaled through his nose sharply when lips soft as honey captured Steve’s. Eyes half lidded and a smile tugging his lips, affection washed over him. Blissful emotions tugged every heartstring in his chest to remind him he was truly home within the arms of his lover. Steve’s breath hitched, moaning a pleasant sound in the back of his throat.
Lips parting from Steve’s, Bucky hovered over the underside of his neck. Kisses, sweet as sugar peppered sensitive skin with such delicate pressure in all the right ways. Steve tilted his head back to expose his neck further, giving Bucky more room to explore as if it was their first time all over again.
“Babydoll,” Bucky breathed out, warm breath grazing the inner shell of his ear.
They swayed in sync to the quiet tune playing from the record player Steve set up not too shortly before Bucky had arrived. Time seemed to go by slower and for a long silent moment, Steve simply gazed into Bucky’s eyes. Bucky’s neat bun he’d fixed the morning prior came loose throughout the day’s activities, making him look cute as a button. Medium length strands dangled, framing his bearded face.
“Hi.”
“Hi,” Bucky repeated amidst a short chuckle, cute giggles Steve would never get tired of hearing.
Steve combed his fingers through Bucky’s tangled hair, tucking a portion behind his ear. “How was work today?”
“It’s a good day when I don’t get projectile vomited on. Though Clint blasting the same Foo Fighters songs in the breakroom is starting to get on my nerves. But how ‘bout you? Tony’s not giving you too much trouble, is he?”
“Nah,” Steve said, remembering the meeting he had about choosing which binding materials for his first installment of the Captain America series that would come out in the next couple of months. ‘Soft or hardcovers? Ooh, what about texture?’ Tony had asked, an ungodly amount of sample swatches were scattered across the table. “He’s just over the top and gets too excited sometimes is all.”
“That he does.” The weight of Bucky close up against him left. Bucky took the ingredients out of the bag one by one. Chicken breasts, packaged rice noodles, one garlic bulb, some brown mushrooms, an odd shaped ginger root, a large green bell pepper, a couple of small limes. Plus a few other things to go with it. “Didn’t think he’d ever stop talking when we first met.”
“Can’t imagine what that was like.” Steve internally shivered at the thought. Tony talked a mile a minute, asking an abundance of questions and practically answering all of them himself.
Bucky shrugged as he moved about in the medium sized kitchen, taking out two plastic cutting boards. “Morgan was a good distraction, the kid started teething back then and she had these cute set of rubber keys in the shape of stars.”
“That's so, huh?” Steve snorted, loving the mental image of Bucky interacting with a child while their parents probably went into hysterics about whatever troubled them.
Defending himself, Bucky huffed with a roll of the eyes as he pulled his hair back up. “I’m good with kids, they like me.”
“Mhm,” Steve mumbled, looking over at Alpine who currently cleaned her tail on the sectional rug. “Unlike cats.”
A muffled groan echoed from the bottom pantry cabinet. Pots and pans clanked against each other until Bucky raised an arm out, setting a medium sized pot on the counter. He probably had a scowl on his face too. “That’s just Alpine sometimes.” Bucky’s knees popped when he stood up, he carried a cast iron skillet to the stove. Clear as day, a tightly knitted frown creased his brows but it turned sorrowful soon after. “I had a cat named Winter growing up. He’d sleep in your lap for hours. I miss that grey fuzz ball to this day.”
“Winter,” Steve said aloud quietly, those were some unique names for a house pet. “I’m sorry about that, Buck.”
“It’s fine, no harm done.” Warm ran from the tap, Bucky pumped a few large dobs of soap into his palm and looked over his shoulder. “How ‘bout you pick out a movie for later tonight? I’ve got this covered.”
After spending a good ten minutes on setting the table, choosing whatever film they’d watch later in the night took up no space in Steve’s mind right then. “No, the movie can wait. Let me help.”
A knife slid into the clear plastic covering the container of a couple of large chicken breasts. “Stevie, you burnt macaroni last week,” Bucky chastised for the fifth time while slicing the chicken into thin even strips. One time, Steve burned pasta only once and Bucky hadn’t let him hear the end of it.
“For the last time, it was boiling over and I thought taking the water out would help.”
“Uh-huh.” Bucky washed his hands again, along with the cutting board, and wiped where he’d dealt with the raw meat. He filled the pot half full with water, a couple of tablespoons of salt for the noodles. “Then the bottom didn’t have enough liquid to compensate with all the steam.”
“Come on,” Steve whined as if complaining could get him his way, and it would because Bucky caves easily. “At least let me do something.”
Bucky sighed as he turned the front left burner on, coating a splash of oil to the pan. “Alright, sou-chef. I’ll prep the garlic and spices while you slice up the mushrooms and ginger.”
Mentally having a party in his head thanks to his success, Steve took advantage and began on said prep-work immediately. “What about the bell pepper?”
Tongue clicking twice, Bucky checked the refrigerator for a moment then closed it. “Use half of it. I wanna make beef quesadillas tomorrow.”
Steve’s stomach rumbled at the mention of more food, the seasonings from the simmering chicken didn’t help his little predicament either. “We should invite Sam over, Riley too. Make it a double date.”
Bucky smashed a garlic clove with his bare palm, the peel sliding right off and becoming flat as a stack of paper. “Then I’ll buy two packets of ground beef ‘cause Sam devours my cooking like it’s going out of style.”
Steve cut the entire package of mushrooms into slim but not too thin slices, thick enough to get a good bite out of. “I think you rival his love for those danishes Scott’s girlfriend makes.”
“Is that why Nat hasn’t been bringing in any?” Bucky asked aloud and Steve shrugged a single shoulder, it could be the reason why and wouldn’t be far from it. ”Seriously? He ran them dry faster than they could make them? Wow, in a way I should be jealous but least he’s saving me the calories.”
“Buck, your cinnamon rolls aren’t so much better either.”
After finishing the tedious task of picking the remaining seeds out the bell pepper, Steve sliced one half into short strips as requested. With a colander, he rinsed the peppers and mushrooms under the sink then gave the ginger root a good scrub.
Fragrant garlic seeped in the air, mushroom and peppers sizzled soon as they made contact with the hot pan. “No way, I use half the amount of sugar for a reason.”
“I’ve seen you scoop two cup fulls of sugar before.”
Ginger root skin removed with a paring knife, Steve brought the sharp knife down and chopped each slice into thin pieces.
“That’s a two-third cup!” Bucky rolled his eyes, focused on stirring the fragrant vegetables around in the pan. “Besides, it's two different types of sugars. One for the icing and one for the dough.”
“Yeah, well...” Steve had a snarky comment at the ready but everything shattered like a pile of dust. His knife donned hand came to a halt mid air. Mouth parted, his entire body froze. The all too familiar sensation slapped him in the face. It all made sense, he’d felt the sudden need to manually breathe moments ago and hardly paid any attention to the warning signs.
Since Bucky had his back turned, he didn’t notice Steve slumping forward, knuckles turning white with a death grip on the edge of the counter. “See, you can’t argue with that.”
The inability to breathe crashed over Steve like a bag of bricks. He managed small puffs of air but not enough for a full clean breath. Heavy as an elephant, the chest tightness didn’t mix well with his pounding head.
“You got that ginger ready?” Silence, then a wheeze followed. “Steve?” Bucky turned around, the wooden spoon he’d been holding clattered against the stovetop, stove dial clicked off.
Unable to catch his breath, Steve felt if he kept breathing, he’d eventually pass out. He squeezed his eyes shut, feeling his lungs squeezing as they contracted. Quickly, a drawer opened and rolled shut. The cutting board pushed far away from where Steve stood.
A blue rescue inhaler pressed past his lips. Bucky placed a hand over Steve’s shoulder, calm as could be unlike the threatening panic rearing in his head. “Hey, take a puff.”
Best as he could, Steve took a deep breath. Bitter tasting medicine coated the back of his throat, reaching his struggling lungs. He counted in his head, body swaying from all the exertion it took for a single inhale.
Water ran from the sink. Bucky unclasped Steve’s death grip and ran a soapy cloth over his hands, patting them dry with another. “How’s that? Think you need another?”
Steve gave a short nod of the head. Cringing at the taste, a second dose was more of the same. Bucky had a watchful eye on Steve while running both hands along his shoulders. The two of them stood there for a moment to see if it would pass. It did not, only worsened because Steve’s asthma always rears its ugly head when exposed to a trigger.
A coughing fit erupted, Steve clenched a fist and brought it up to his mouth. Sharp loud wheezes rattled in his chest. All of a sudden, he felt himself slip into another state of being. Fog clouded his brain. unable to hear whatever Bucky went to say. Something about moving to the couch.
“Steve,” Bucky said, the volume of his voice raised higher, steady in control. “Sit tight while I grab the nebulizer, ‘kay?”
Steve opened his fearful widened eyes, freight cascading over him in ribbons. The mention of Bucky leaving brought back the panic from earlier. He clenched a hand over his chest, a sputter of coughs slipped past his lips.
“It’s okay.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s calf where he lay horizontal on the couch, pillows propping him up. “I’ll be right back, sweetheart.”
Swallowing hard, Steve couldn’t stop the slow tears falling from his cheeks. When he could get a full breath, they were maybe a third of the size as normal. His slender body heaved with each strained inhale, lungs feeling smaller than they should be.
Less than a minute, Bucky returned with the small nebulizer machine, tubing, and all with a strip of clear medicine.
“Buck,” Steve wheezed out between a shuddering breath, nails digging into his thighs. He trained his eyes on Bucky who focused on plugging the machine into the wall socket.
“Right here, Stevie.” Bucky had nothing but patient sympathy written all over his face, he ripped a piece of medicine off and squirted it into the canister. “I’m right here.”
Bucky pulled the green strap over Steve’s head, tugging both tail ends to create a seal. The nebulizer hum created a quiet background noise, mist clouding around Steve’s face. Sitting there by himself for merely one minute was enough, Steve reached a hand out and clasped Bucky’s wrist.
The body tremors began, an annoying side effect he’d never get used to. Though being able to breathe afterward made up for it, but the end was far from over. With arms shaking, pain coursed through Steve’s veins. The crackles in his lungs were clearly audible over the humming machine, much worse than a few minutes ago.
Bucky pushed Steve forward and sat directly behind him, Steve’s back flush against Bucky’s chest. Steve let his head naturally drop on the crook of Bucky’s neck, resting there like a pillow.
Each short intake of breath caused tight pain in his chest. His sore throat made itself known, the brutal coughing fits subsided partially but they continued, causing him to go into further distress. Every time an asthma attack came about, sometimes Steve wondered if it would be his last.
A soul sucking thought occurred to him. If only he kept his mouth shut about wanting to help, then he wouldn’t be in this situation right now. A part of him wished he hadn’t persuaded Bucky to cook on a Friday night. Another hoped they’d enjoy a nice dinner together but look where it got him instead. He became a wheezy, sobbing mess on the couch, head tilted sideways on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Shh, easy sweetheart. I’ve got you. You know cryin’ only makes it worse,” Bucky whispered next to Steve’s ear. He began to rock them back and forth, a gentle slow pace between quiet reassuring hushes. “It’s gonna be okay, we'll get through this one together. You’re so strong, Stevie.”
Steve wild frantic eyes stared up at Bucky, a silent plea begging for help. Anything, he’d do literally anything to magically feel better. Taking both of Bucky's hands into his own, Steve felt desperate for any and every amount of comfort he could get.
“I know you’re scared but keep trying for me, babydoll.” Two sweet delicate kisses to Steve’s upper jaw, Bucky's nose trailing over his neck, exhales ghosting smooth sensitive skin. “Match my breathing.”
Trust, echoed in the back of his mind. Steve trusted Bucky with his life. Professionally and personally, Bucky knew how to deal with such conditions. With all his might, he compiled to the task of copying each inhale as Bucky did so. The side effects of the albuterol gave him a light headedness feeling, a tingly sensation on the tips of his toes and fingers.
“Bucky,” Steve managed to whine his full name out this time around, the mask muffling his voice. Maybe it was the foggy mask mixed with the mist blurring his vision or the tears pooling the corners of his ears. But he swore he saw a tear falling from Bucky’s cheek when he leaned forward to meet Steve’s eyes.
“Hey,” Bucky said softly but loud enough to hear over the humming nebulizer. He gave a light squeeze to one of their clasped hands. “You’ll pull through sweetheart, I know you will. I’m so sorry about all this, ginger will be banned from now on.”
Steve squeezed back, tugging both of their hands to and from, relentless out in fear. He blinked a few times, mesmerized at Bucky’s soft face, blue striking eyes looking so determined to fight for someone else’s life. Steve’s life.
Time passed and soon enough the canister sputtered, meaning all the liquid ran out and evaporated. With two puffs of the inhaler and a full breathing treatment, Steve still didn’t feel one hundred percent. More like sixty if he were honest with himself.
“Feeling any better?” Bucky turned the machine off, taking the mask away from Steve’s face and holding it instead of setting it down. He withdrew one hand and rubbed the middle of Steve’s chest, it hurt.
Steve whined at the brief contact, a short shake of the head to let Bucky know that no, he does not feel any definition of good. Only the exact opposite. Talking was too risky with his current state. He resorted to silence, yes or no’s with a head shake or nod to respond without words.
Bucky closed his eyes for a moment before opening them back up, mouth formed into a thin line, he sighed heavily through his nose. “Steve,” he said, tone firm but steady. He always used that side of his voice to encourage Steve to do something he doesn’t like but needs. “I think it’s time to take a trip to the hospital.”
Sitting in a waiting room full of sick people with a weakened immune system while struggling to breathe didn’t appeal to Steve one bit. A soft bed, multiple pillows piled high to prop himself up and a thick layer of blankets covering him and Bucky sounded so much better.
“No, please,” Steve pleaded, he’d resort to begging if he had to. A couple of coughs slipped by, so much for them subsiding. “Can we try a second treatment instead?”
Humming, Bucky took no hesitation to tear another albuterol strip off. “It won’t hurt to do another.” He unscrewed the mask and squeezed the medicine in, placing the mask back on Steve’s face. “But if it doesn’t help, I’m taking you straight to the emergency room.”
Steve nodded, feeling each inhale and exhale as he breathed the medicated arousal once again. Halfway through the treatment, his eyelids drooped since the coughing finally ceased for the most part. The ability to breathe without major trouble soothed him to a light doze. He felt Bucky massaging his tense shoulders, enough pressure to be relaxing.
A nap seemed like the best thing to do once the treatment finished. Unfortunately, Bucky had other plans. “Don’t fall sleep on me just yet,” he said, getting off the couch and crossing the room. “Lemme listen to your breathing real quick.”
Of all things. Normally, Steve loved it when Bucky took his sweet time listening to his heartbeat and breathing. Groaning because he’d much rather sleep, Steve grabbed a throw blanket from the top of the couch, covering himself with it to make some sort of distance between the two of them. Besides, it was the only thing he could think of to use.
“Bucky,” Steve rolled his name out as long as he could. “I’m fine. I can breathe without any struggle.”
“Steven,” Bucky mocked back just as slow while rubbing the stethoscope end piece between his palms. Not fair Bucky used his full name when Steve wasn’t allowed to use Bucky’s real name. “Stop bein’ so stubborn and let me take a listen. It’s either that or the emergency room.”
Steve scooted over to make room for Bucky. “Fine.”
Hand buried underneath Steve’s shirt with another settled on his left shoulder, Bucky placed the warm metal end to his chest. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he said, and what followed a minute later, “deep breaths for me, babydoll.”
Steve melted right in the strong arms of Bucky, those sweet pet names sent butterflies to his stomach, flying around in ecstasy. Honestly, he didn’t know why he protested at first. Forget sleep, he’d enjoy being right here any time of day.
Predictable as ever, Bucky threw the stethoscope around his neck on instinct. “Well,” he started with a huff, Steve giving him the side eye. “You’ve definitely got some rattling in there but that’s to be expected, all things considered."
“No hospital?”
Bucky crossed his arms. His bunched up floral shirt sleeves matched his gray stethoscope laying over his chest. It seriously made him look like a hot doctor straight out of one of those medical dramas shows.
“Not unless you start having trouble during the night.” Bucky held up his pointer finger, right at Steve. “And I will make you go. If all goes well, we’ll go to the clinic in the morning and have Nat check you out.”
Arguing with the doctor side of Bucky would be pointless, Steve knew from having first hand experience. “Okay,” he said. “But on one condition.”
Bucky rubbed a hand over his forehead. “What?”
“Order us a pizza because I have no appetite for—” Steve waved a hand in the direction of the kitchen. “That, anymore.”
Relief spread over Bucky’s face, the hard lines on his forehead from furring his brows disappeared. “Yeah, can’t argue with you there.”
“Ginger though.” Steve scratched his head, thinking of an article he’d read at some point on the internet. “Heard it's supposed to give relief, not launch jumpstart an attack.”
“That’s fragrance sensitivity for ya.” Bucky took out his phone, using a local pizzeria app to place their order. “Breadsticks or no?”
Steve threw a decorative pillow at Bucky, it hit directly on his right side. “What do you think?”
A smile curved Bucky’s mouth. “I deserved that,” he giggled. “Of course, Stevie. You deserve it.”
Sighing, Steve wrapped his arms around Bucky’s waist. “What’d I do without you?”
Bucky stroked his fingers through Steve’s short blonde strands. “I’ll do you one better. What would I do without you?”
Their pizza arrived shortly ordering a large three-topping with breadsticks and marinara sauce. After they finished eating, Steve’s exhaustion finally caught up with him. Falling asleep while cuddled up next to Bucky helped a ton. Most of all, Steve’s asthma didn’t come to bite him in the back.
They'd get a raincheck on that movie and double date with Sam and Riley.