Chapter Text
Steve wakes up on the twenty-second of December with an itch in his throat and a blossoming sense of dread. When neither a cool glass of water nor a hot cup of coffee succeeds in soothing the scratchiness, he knows he’s in deep trouble.
Elbow deep in his kitchen medicine cabinet, he doesn’t hear the sleep heavy footfalls approaching him from behind. Steve jumps when a strong arm wraps around his waist, only to relax when Bucky starts pressing kisses up the side of his neck.
“Buck,” Steve exhales, withdrawing his arm from the cabinet with two gel capsules in his closed hand. He might be coming down with something, but there’s no need to worry his boyfriend just yet.
“Mm…mornin’ punk,” Bucky drawls against Steve’s temple, “Didn’t mean to sneak up on you.”
“Nah, my fault,” Steve digresses, tilting his chin up for a real kiss, “I haven’t put my ears in yet.”
“What? But you’ve got two ears right here,” Bucky declares, placing a wet, smacking kiss on each appendage, “And they look perfect to me.”
“Nerd.” Steve tugs Bucky’s mouth up where he wants it. He yelps as Bucky lifts him up onto the counter before setting into the warm, wet, and slightly minty smooch.
Bucky’s long hair is soft against Steve’s fingers as they trade kisses. He’s careful not to mess up the loose knot Bucky keeps it in, as much as it turns Steve on to watch his boyfriend twist his wayward locks back into place one-handed.
The movement of Bucky’s deft fingers down his spine teases a little moan from Steve’s lips, and he flushes, hiding his smile against his boyfriend’s t-shirt.
“What?” Bucky asks, grinning as Steve noses at his collarbone.
“Nothin’,” Steve murmers, “Morning’s are a lot nicer when you stay over, is all.”
“The feelin’s mutual, pal.” Bucky drops one more kiss on top of Steve’s head before stepping away to crack open Steve’s fridge.
“How about some eggs and bacon?”
“And he cooks too,” Steve marvels, slipping off the counter, “What a man I’ve got.”
“Gotta get some protein in you if we’re still going ice skating,” Bucky says, propping open the door with his hip so he can grab the egg carton. “Unless you’re too sore,” he adds with a lascivious wink.
“Don’t flatter yourself,” Steve chides with a light smack on Bucky’s ass. After eight months with Bucky it takes a little more than last night’s round of lazy after dinner sex to put Steve out of commission. Unfortunately the playful exchange reminds Steve of the part of him that is sore. Spending the day wearing himself out while exposed to the December elements is probably not the best way to aid Steve’s flagging seasonal immune system, but he doesn’t have the heart to cancel Bucky’s plans.
“Want me to do the bacon?” Steve offers, dropping the aforementioned protein on the counter next to the stove.
“I got it,” Bucky waves him off, “But I’ll take some coffee, if you’re pouring. And maybe get the juice? You know how I feel about twist tops.”
“Sure thing.” Steve kisses Bucky’s shoulder just above the empty left sleeve of his sleep shirt and gets to work, pulling out two plates and getting Bucky’s coffee (black, with a heaping spoon of sugar). He runs back to his room to slip in his hearing aid and grab his pill box from his bedside table.
Steve waits until Bucky’s focused on frying eggs to sneak two Day-Quil along with his regular meds. By the time they’re plating up breakfast, Steve’s sore throat is fading. Hopefully he can keep his immune system shored up until the twenty-sixth.