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Bucky gives up on sleeping sometime around midnight once it becomes clear, after several hours of tossing and turning, that his body just isn’t up for cooperating.
He’s careful to extricate himself from under Steve’s arm without waking him or Sam, who’s currently snoring into Steve’s other shoulder, and steals his way out into the living room with light footsteps, pleased that his Hydra training has some non-lethal uses. Sam’s iPod is still in his coat pocket from when he’d gone for a run yesterday and Bucky pops the earbuds in with a satisfied noise, making a mental note to steal Steve’s credit card and buy his own at some point.
At least Sam has good taste in music and Bucky taps his fingers absently against his thigh to the tune of Bon Jovi’s “Livin’ On A Prayer” while he heats up water for tea. He’s more of a coffee person but Sam has a box of tea called ‘Sleepytime Peach’ that he swore could put anyone to sleep within an hour. It’s yet to do Bucky any good but he also has a habit of ruining the ‘sleepytime’ part by dumping several spoonfuls of sugar and honey into the mug.
Bucky stifles a yawn and skips the soft crooning saxophone music that pops up next, pleased when something with a loud bass line starts to blare from the headphones. Bucky enjoyed the blues as much as the next guy but he preferred his music loud and aggressive more than anything else. He takes his tea and a package of apple pie flavored cookies Steve had gotten at the grocery store yesterday out to the living room and sprawls across the couch, shoulders on the armrest so his head is tipped backwards over the edge.
Maybe the blood rushing to his brain will help him sleep.
It made drinking his tea interesting, at least, and Bucky lets his attention drift as he closes his eyes, sinking into the steady beat of a pop song he’s unfamiliar with. The cookies taste even better when he lets them soak for a bit in the tea and he makes himself comfortable, resigned to spending the next few hours in this exact spot until Sam and Steve get up to go running.
He’s licking cookie crumbs off his fingers when he hears the faint sound of footsteps between songs, opening his eyes to see Sam squatting down in front of him with a faint, nervous smile ticking at the corner of his mouth.
Bucky pops out an earbud and lifts another cookie to his lips, taking a bite as he stares upside down at the other man, eyebrow quirking up curiously.
“Couldn’t sleep?” he asks, grinning when Sam leans in to kiss him, chasing the lingering flavor of apple pie cookies on his tongue with a sense of desperation that immediately catches Bucky’s attention. When Sam draws back Bucky’s eyes sweep over his face, noting the faint tremble of his fingers and the sheen of sweat on his forehead.
“Yeah, I… Woke up and saw you weren’t there and figured I’d come see how you were doin’,” Sam mumbles and Bucky knows that’s really only half the truth. Sam and Steve always put on a big show of trying to hide their nightmares and personal struggles from Bucky, as if they felt their troubles weren’t valid compared to the things Bucky had been through. It annoys the ever living shit out of him when they do this to his face.
He gives Sam a look that suggests he knows he’s not being entirely honest and Sam manages a small, sheepish smile, rubbing awkwardly at the back of his neck before dropping his eyes to stare at the rug.
Bucky sighs and rolls his eyes, reaching backwards so he can tug Sam’s chin back up and meet his gaze.
“I can’t believe I got myself saddled with two of you noble, thick headed losers,” he grumbles, scooching down on the couch so his head is resting on the arm rest now, “Come up here.”
Sam looks relieved when he crawls around the side of the couch and sinks down onto it with Bucky, resting his head on Bucky’s chest with his arms curled around the narrow part of his waist. Bucky lays his metal arm across the back of Sam’s shoulders while his free hand rubs soothingly through Sam’s short hair, fingernails scratching absently against his scalp.
“Was it about Riley?” Bucky asks in a soft voice, offering Sam an earbud before he hits play on the iPod again, eyes drifting shut at the comfortable heat of Sam’s body on top of his own.
Sam grunts quietly and Bucky takes that as a yes, tipping his head down just enough to rest his lips against Sam’s forehead. While Sam occasionally dreams of the battle in DC most of his nightmares center around his time spent overseas and the death of his best friend Riley. Even though Sam had come to terms with it a long time ago he still struggles to shake off the dreams that force him to relive these bad memories.
Some classical piece that Bucky vaguely recognizes as being from that Pirates movie series Steve really likes starts playing and Sam scoots himself up so he can bury his face in the hollow of Bucky’s throat, fingers clutched around a handful of the oversized sweater Bucky had worn to bed. Bucky pretends not to notice the dampness against his skin in case Sam doesn’t feel comfortable acknowledging it, rubbing the back of his neck to try and calm him down. It must have been an especially nasty nightmare to get Sam this worked up. Bucky can definitely sympathize with that particular brand of misery.
Sam cries himself out in the unjudging quiet of their living room while Bucky holds him close, surrendering to the gentle nudge of Bucky’s nose against his cheek and turning his head so Bucky can kiss away the tears that have spilled down his cheeks, rubbing away the rest with his thumb.
“M’sorry about Riley. He sounded like a pretty swell guy,” Bucky murmurs against Sam’s forehead, smiling a little when that gets a low chuckle of laughter out of the man sprawled on top of him.
“Riley was a stubborn jerk who was always trying to steal my jello cups when I wasn’t looking and once filled my bed with sand while I was on night watch. But he was my best friend and I loved him. It still hurts sometimes, remembering he’s gone,” Sam admits softly, taking the iPod from Bucky and clicking through it until he finds his playlist of movie soundtracks, scrolling to a random song and hitting play.
The soft opening piano notes of a song Bucky recognizes from Pride and Prejudice echo out of the earbud and Bucky sighs softly, nuzzling their faces together so their mouths are just far apart for breathing but close enough for the occasional comforting kiss.
“He sounds like my kind of stubborn jerk,” Bucky teases, stretching his right arm out until the joint cracks before letting it curl back around Sam’s shoulders with the other one, wrapping his legs out and around Sam’s so the other man is settled easily between them. Sam gives a playful tug on his lower lip with his teeth before he soothes his tongue over the ache, sliding a hand up into Bucky’s hair so he can comb idle fingers through the dark waves.
“Yeah, I bet he does, sweetheart,”
A comfortable silence settles between them as they listen to the gentle notes of the classical music and Bucky doesn’t quite remember exactly when he falls asleep but the sun is shining brightly through the curtains when he blinks his eyes open again and Sam’s definitely gotten heavier. Bucky peers over Sam’s shoulder and has to cover his mouth to keep the bark of laughter from bursting from him and waking anyone else up when he sees Steve must have joined them at some point because he has his cheek pillowed on Sam’s back just above the curve of his ass, curled up into an impressively small ball between their knees so he doesn’t hang off the end of the couch.
Bucky carefully unplugs the headphones from Sam’s iPod and snaps a few incriminating photos of Steve snuggling the plump swell of Sam’s ass so he can email them to Natasha, grinning when she immediately emails him back with a photo of Clint’s face half hidden between her t-shirt covered breasts, arms wrapped tight around her middle.
Can he even breathe? he sent back, sniggering silently when she responds with a shrugging emoticon.
With the utmost care not to jostle Sam or Steve too much Bucky slips out from beneath them and pads down the hallway to the kitchen so he can turn on the coffee maker, absently scratching metal fingers against the itchy red marks his t-shirt had pressed into his stomach. He laughs when a pair of arms snake around his waist from behind and a sleepy Steve is dropping clumsy kisses on the curve of Bucky’s throat, eyes still shut tight against the bright morning sunlight streaming into the kitchen.
“You know I hate sleeping by myself,” he grumbles good naturedly, resting his chin on Bucky’s shoulder to watch him make coffee through barely slit open eyelids.
Bucky reaches back to pat his head sympathetically, hitting the ‘brew’ button on the coffee maker and sighing as the warm, rich smell of dark roast starts to fill the kitchen.
“I couldn’t fall asleep and Sam decided to come keep me company,” Bucky replies, knowing Steve will understand he’s really saying ‘Sam had a nightmare and probably doesn’t want to talk about it’ and leave it at that. Steve hums thoughtfully and tightens his arms around Bucky’s hips, nosing his way up his neck so he can plant teasing kisses along the sensitive skin behind his ear, making Bucky squirm.
“I smell coffee,” Sam groans, sounding exhausted as he stomps clumsily into the kitchen, not stopping until he’s plastered himself across Steve’s back and added his arms to the pile around Bucky’s waist, face pressed between Steve’s shoulder blades to block out the morning sunshine.
Bucky shakes his head and pours out three mugs of coffee, handing two back to the struggling men behind him before taking the chance to extricate himself from their aggressive attempts at upright spooning, snagging the creamer from the fridge and adding a liberal amount to his own cup.
“You two are awfully bad at mornings for people who regularly get up at the ass crack of way too early to go running,” he points out, watching the two of them sink into chairs at the table with an amused expression on his face.
Sam leans down to thunk his forehead against the table and folds his arms above his head, making pitiful, tired noises into his elbow.
“I will get down on my knees and beg if it means you’ll make breakfast,” Steve whines, making equally pathetic sounding grunts into his coffee cup, face scrunched up when he catches an eyeful of sunshine.
Bucky heaves a long suffering sigh but turns to grab a carton of eggs and a package of bacon from the fridge, wondering if there’s any of the frozen sausages left in the freezer that he can fry. He looks up when Sam clears his throat at the table and arches an eyebrow at the twin, steady stares he receives, debating whether he’s been duped by an Oscar winning performance of exhaustion.
“Thanks, Buck,” Sam says quietly and Bucky knows it isn’t about breakfast, the corner of his mouth twitching up into the beginnings of a smile that Sam returns.
“Anytime, Sam.”