Work Text:
Sam hadn’t had to set an alarm for years. He was always up before everyone else in his family (except his dad on Sunday mornings) and he realized quickly he’d rather be awake at the bugle call in bootcamp, or before the emergency alarms when he was overseas. After that, the habit just stuck. He was up early to run, did as many chores and errands as possible before the sun was up, and took to cat-napping in the afternoon if he wanted.
And then he met Steve Rogers, who seemed to make it his life goal to beat Sam out of bed every morning. It was kind of infuriating.
So Sam had set an alarm the night before and he still beat it awake. But the other side of the bed was cool and empty when his hand naturally drifted over to it. Again, really? he wondered with a grumble.
Rubbing his eyes, he shoved himself to his feet and made his way to the kitchen. Maybe Steve had gone out for some reason. Maybe Sam’s plans weren’t ruined yet.
No dice. He took in the spread set up across the kitchen bar and felt a little of the excitement in his chest deflate.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he asked, coming up behind Steve to steal a strawberry and wrap his arms around Steve’s waist.
Steve positively melted into Sam’s touch, setting aside a knife to hug Sam’s arms around him. “Couldn’t sleep. Wanted French toast. Then I figured I should make eggs for you. And eggs need bacon. And then I started coffee and decided to try that caramel thing.”
Sam turned to press a kiss to Steve’s neck, hiding his face there for a second and pulling another happy hum from his partner. “I was going to cook for you today.”
“You make those burgers for lunch or dinner and I’ll forgive you,” Steve promised. Finally he turned enough to kiss Sam properly.
“It’ll have to be lunch,” Sam said against his mouth, so he felt it when Steve grinned.
“Oh, do we have dinner plans?” he asked. “I’ll have to cancel my parade.”
Sam laughed and pinched Steve’s side gently. “Let’s eat on the patio,” he said. “I’ll move stuff out there.”
“And then dessert back in bed?” Steve suggested, not at all innocently sucking on a strawberry, lips pursed around it.
Sam let himself be distracted for a second. “If that’s what the birthday boy wants,” he offered. “I think I could suffer through.”
Steve grinned and Sam didn’t feel so terrible about not cooking breakfast.
They ate outside and a cool breeze and bright sunrise made for the perfect morning scene. Then Steve, without waiting for either of them to put the plates in the sink or even inside, scooped Sam into his arms and carried him back to the bedroom.
Sam landed in their comforter with a laugh and then immediately clutched at his sides to protect them as Steve climbed over him and got his mouth on all the sensitive skin of his abdomen.
“Wait, wait, wait,” he laughed, half clutching at Steve’s head, half shoving him away. “It’s your birthday. I should be spoiling you.”
Steve lifted his head, a dopey grin still on his mouth. “Sammy, this is exactly what I want for my birthday,” he promised and went back to kissing over Sam’s sternum.
He was just starting to slide Sam’s boxers from his waist when Sam’s phone rang.
“Ignore it,” Sam mumbled, lifting his hips and holding Steve’s head down. The phone fell silent and Sam had almost left himself get complacent before it started to ring again.
“It’s HQ,” Steve murmured against Sam’s thigh.
Sam blindly reached for the phone and silenced it before throwing it across the room. “Captain America doesn’t work on the Fourth of July.”
“Doesn’t he?” Steve chuckled. “I kind of planned on putting these to work.” He licked over Sam’s thigh, over a bite he’d worked there while Sam was worried about the phone.
“Mmm, you’re the exception to my rule,” Sam decided. “You ever wanna boss me around, today’s the day.”
“Nah,” Steve breathed, shook his head so his lips dragged over Sam’s skin. “You’re smarter than me. Got better ideas.”
Sam hooked his other leg over Steve’s shoulder and that’s when Steve’s phone began to ring.
“Come on!” Sam shouted at the ceiling as Steve chuckled softly and extricated himself from Sam.
“Maybe it’s just someone calling to wish me a happy birthday.”
Sam shot him a baleful look. It was very unlikely that that was the case. And judging from the grimace on Steve’s face when he answered, Sam was right.
“Uh, yeah,” he said with a cringe and apologetic look to Sam. “Yeah, he’s alright. No, I don’t know where his phone is. Come on, it’s his day off. Can’t we just–” His jaw clenched tightly enough that Sam could see it from across the room. With a sigh, Sam pushed himself out of the bed again and began to get dressed.
“I’ll be back quick,” he promised when Steve tossed his phone on the bed. “Don’t you do the dishes. I’ll be back in time for lunch. Give you one of the presents. This is really screwing with my timeline.”
Steve pulled Sam closer with two fingers hooked behind his hip, but anger still simmered under Sam’s skin. He’d had this whole day planned out and now everything was going wrong. It was the first time they were back to normal for Steve’s birthday and it couldn’t even be good.
“I know, doll,” Steve soothed. And Sam got mad all over again because he was supposed to be soothing Steve. “Just get back. That’s gift enough.”
Sam pressed his forehead to Steve’s and closed his eyes. “Always,” he promised.
The problem was down in Jersey. Sam wasn’t even going to call it a mission. It really was more of a watch-and-bust kind of operation that did little more than interrupt his day.
Bucky was there, looking even more sullen than Sam felt. But he managed to get five digs in about Sam being here instead of with Steve. The jabs both infuriated Sam and also chafed at his already raw heart. It was remedied slightly back at HQ by Bucky’s, possibly too sincere, offer to knock heads around for calling Sam in in the first place.
It was a silly thing to get really upset about, Sam knew. But he’d put a lot of thought into making this birthday nice for Steve. Things had been rough since the un-end of the world. They’d both been wearing themselves to the bone and today was supposed to be filled with nothing but each other and their friends and cake and fireworks.
Shit, the show. The reservations.
Sam grabbed Bucky’s wrist to read his watch and then popped his wings open, about to take off.
“Date’s gonna be that good, huh?” Bucky teased. “Or the after-date?” He waggled his eyebrows at Sam.
Sam rolled his eyes back. “I liked you better before you remembered your personality,” he griped emptily. Unfortunately, he really liked Bucky. Quite unfortunately, Bucky knew that.
“Yeah yeah, give him a kiss for me.” He made a ridiculous kissing face, arms coming up around the air dramatically. It was ridiculous and juvenile but it made some of the frustration and hurt ease up from Sam’s chest. Still, Sam hoped a little bit of heat-blow-back from his thrusters hit Bucky.
He landed on their patio and sighed in resigned disapproval to find it had all been cleaned. The small grill had been pulled out and there were half burnt coals in it and the smell of burnt meat clung to the rack. Man could win a war but not grill a hamburger, it’d never make sense to Sam.
Inside, the apartment was quiet and calm. A record from the fifties–some genre in between swing and jazz–played lowly and a bunch of the candles that Steve liked were lit, trailing to the bedroom. Sam grinned at the theatrics, wished he had been the one to do it, and followed them into the bedroom.
The lights were low, the music louder now, and Steve was laying in their bed in a nice suit. Sam wasn’t even going to ask how he’d found the reservations and knew what to wear. He sat on the edge provided by the way Steve was curled onto his side and reached out to shake his shoulder gently. His fingers traveled to Steve’s jaw, tracing over the relaxed line of it then over his eyebrow and his nose and his cheekbone.
“Keep doing that and we won’t get to the restaurant,” Steve murmured, a grin finally coming to his mouth though his eyes didn’t open.
“Who wore you out so well?” Sam asked. “Asleep before 6 in the evening, old man.” He tsked teasingly.
“I’m not asleep,” Steve argued. His eyes still weren’t open.
“Well you stay not-asleep while I get cleaned up and dressed.”
Steve whined. “That’s my favorite part of going out.”
Sam kissed the corner of Steve’s eye, his temple, his cheekbone. “But you’re already dressed and if I let you in the bathroom with me, I know you’ll get into the shower fully clothed.”
Steve hummed at the thought. “That does sound really nice.”
“Stay here,” Sam laughed. “I’ll be back out in a few minutes.”
The first fireworks of the night went off as Sam adjusted the temperature of the water. That’s a little early, he thought with a small scowl. It wasn’t even dark yet.
He tried to shower as quickly as possible but the warm water felt good on his aching muscles and there was more grime on him than he’d initially thought. Flying through New York probably didn’t help anything.
He heard the door open and fondly rolled his eyes. “Thought I told you to be patient,” he called.
“Hey now, give me some credit, I’m just bringing you some briefs,” Steve called back. “Keep you less distracting as you get dressed.”
“Oh? And what if I wanted to go commando? Make it that much easier later?” Sam teased.
Steve groaned, all put upon. “Now I definitely wanna get in the water with you.”
Sam rinsed his hair one last time, scrubbing the salt of sweat from his hairline, before pointedly turning the water off.
Steve was waiting on the bath mat with a towel when Sam got the door open. “This doesn’t count as being distracting?” he asked with a raised brow.
“Not if I keep my eyes up,” Steve joked.
“Atta, soldier boy.” Sam took the towel and started to scrub down. Another firework popped outside and Steve rolled his eyes, even if he was smiling a little.
“The Dodgers used to do a great show on the Fourth,” he said, steadfastly keeping his eyes above Sam’s chest as promised.
“You want Yankees tickets, just let me know,” Sam taunted.
“Fuck the Yankees,” Steve said, like a record.
Sam laughed at him and tugged on his briefs. “Come on, I wanna give you something before we go out.” This, at least, could go right today.
He took Steve’s hand–sometimes that simple gesture still blew his mind; he was just allowed to do that–and took Steve into the bedroom. He dug in the emptier second closet, where super suits and weapons and shields were kept with old boots and jackets, until he could pull a shape free. There was a Captain America blanket wrapped around it in lieu of wrapping paper.
Steve laughed as he looked over it. “Good call,” he said. “I glanced at this thing a hundred times but figured it couldn’t be that important if you wrapped it in Bucky’s gag gift.”
Sam grinned at him and leaned against the bed post. “Go ahead. ‘Unwrap’ it.”
Steve did, just as carefully as he unwrapped any gift. Under the blanket was a bag with tactical straps and a good weatherproof canvas. Steve opened that gently too and grinned before the item was even out of the bag. The easel unfolded easily and Steve set it up right where he was.
“This is beautiful,” he said softly, tracing his fingers over the fine wood.
“Look, it’s got all this storage on the back,” Sam pointed out, gesturing to a small peg board carved onto one of the supports of it. A small leather pouch was on another. Various hooks and strings dotted a third. “So you don’t have to keep brushes or pencils in your pocket or on the ground.”
“Where did you find something like this? It’s perfect.”
Sam’s cheeks warmed. “I made it, actually. A friend of mine, down in Louisiana, is a wood worker. He helped me make it.”
“You made this?” Steve asked, voice full of admiration and adoration, as he looked over at Sam with wide, earnest eyes.
“Everything but the bag,” Sam agreed, though most of it was lost as Steve enveloped him in a hug that made the day worth it. At the rate everything else had been going, he’d half expected for the easel to be broken in the bag. But it wasn’t and Steve loved it.
“I wanted something you could carry around with you, now that you might have some more down time. Take it to the park or on a train or whatever.”
“Thank you,” Steve breathed against Sam’s shoulder. Sam hugged him back, clutching onto him. Then suddenly Steve was sweeping them around the room, moving in time to the jazzy swing on the player.
Sam laughed and clutched onto Steve’s shoulders until he got his feet under him again. Dancing with Steve was pretty much one of his favorite things to do and he let himself get lost in the feeling of it.
A firework burst right outside the bedroom window, red colors tangling in Steve’s light hair, reflecting off smiling teeth.
Oh man, I know, I gotta go. It’s the same thing every time. But I don’t think another drink’s gonna Make me lose my mind.
And suddenly Sam was in a dusty barrack, dancing with Riley to this terrible favorite song of his.
And there was an explosion and Steve’s face was red.
And there was a gunshot and Sam’s dad was on the street.
And there was a blast that Sam felt the heat of before it hit Riley.
And there was fire and there was noise and there was destruction that Sam couldn’t stop.
There was a crash and someone was trying to pull Sam from the wreckage, away from his father’s body Riley’s body Steve’s body. Away from the fight. Into the fight. Towards the noise. Into the heat.
“Sam. Sam. Baby, come back. Hey, you’re home. You’re home, you’re safe, you’re right here.”
Sam squeezed his eyes shut and swayed in the rip current of devastation around him. A hand on his shoulder, on his face. Pain all over his knees and his back. Maybe his head. Maybe it was all in his head.
It was never in his head. It’d be better if some of the terrible things that had happened would’ve just stayed in his head. He could handle it. But instead it exploded out of him in colors and noise and fire and tore apart everyone near him.
“Sam,” a voice called again, holding his head. The light eased from his eyes and shapes took form again. He made himself blink. Made shapes into a face. Steve’s face. A safe face. Steve continued to look worried until Sam blinked again and furrowed his brow. “There you are,” Steve breathed. He brushed his thumb over Sam’s cheekbone. “You’re home,” he repeated. “It’s okay.” They were on the floor, Sam realized. He must have passed out?
Outside, a firework exploded and they both flinched.
“Your birthday,” Sam gasped. “Dinner. The show. Shit I–” He looked down at his bare chest and legs. Devastation found him all over again. “I ruined it.” A sob had worked its way through his chest and broke free in the words.
“Oh, angel, no,” Steve sighed, pulling Sam into his lap and hugging him to his chest. Sam let himself cling onto him. “You didn’t ruin anything. I’m right where I want to be. My best guy’s arms. Just wish you were feeling better yourself in the moment.”
“I had it all planned out. A day just for you. Food and sex and presents all day. And every single thing was ruined but at least I could take you to a fancy dinner and watch fireworks from 75 floors above with you.” Sobs continued to wrack through Sam. Frustration and helplessness and pain. He was mad at himself for slipping at such a stupid moment. He’d watched dozens of fireworks shows. He had fought in a hundred more battles. How could it happen tonight of all nights, when he’d just decided to be happy again?
“Didn’t we get that?” Steve asked. “We had breakfast and got playful and we danced and I got my hands all over you and you gave me the most beautiful present. Baby, I’m just worried about you right now.”
Sam hid his face against Steve’s shoulder and willed himself not to cry. “I’m sorry, Stevie,” he murmured.
“For what?” Steve asked softly, resting his cheek on Sam’s head. “You wanna know something?” he asked. “I don’t like fireworks. The smell of them, especially a lot of them, reminds me of… Well, you know.”
Steve’s fingers started smoothing along Sam’s ribs and Sam squeezed his hip in turn. “And I’d always prefer to make dinner with you than go out. I mean, that’s not true. I love getting to show you off. But I just love you first. You’re everything to me, Sam. Just knowing you put so much thought into today is enough. But I really only need to know that you’re okay right now.”
He hooked a knuckle under Sam’s chin and Sam looked up at him with wet eyes. “Come on, come back to me. You’re okay. We’re okay.”
Sam rested his forehead against Steve’s jaw and nodded. “I know. I know. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to apologize for. You’re here. That’s all I need.” He kissed Sam’s hairline and rubbed his sides. “I pretty much planned on spending all day in bed anyway,” he added when Sam didn’t respond. “Just thought it might be warmer.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re awful, y’know that?”
Steve hummed a chuckle. “Nah, I just know what makes me happy for the first time in ages.”
Sam leaned against Steve’s chest for a few more seconds, measuring their heartbeats until they were almost the same. “I’ll take you up on cooking,” he eventually said. “But it can’t be burgers. The grill would set off all the fire alarms.”
Steve raised an eyebrow at him. “How about that cake in the fridge we’re pretending I haven’t seen?” he suggested.
“Steven Grant, Captain America doesn’t have dessert before dinner,” Sam scolded dramatically to banish any last wavering in his voice.
Steve’s hand fell to Sam’s hip and over his thigh. “The way I remember it, you get dessert before dinner all time.” This was further punctuated with a kiss to Sam’s neck. “Besides, it’s my birthday. Just call me a bad influence on Cap and have a little cake.”
“Or a lot,” Sam suggested, pulling Steve to his feet as he stood, just a little wobbly.
“There is a lot,” Steve agreed with a grin. He kissed Sam like that’d distract Sam from him grabbing his ass. “Feeling better?”
Sam let out an exhale and nodded. Good enough for dinner at least. Good enough to start putting the old plan behind him and focus on the man in front of him. “I feel better.”
“Good,” Steve agreed and lifted Sam up by the thighs for the second time that day. A shocked laugh burst from Sam and he quickly clung onto Steve. “Now, you keep saying presents, like multiple. But I’ve only seen one.”
“Oh that’s how it is?” he laughed as Steve took them to the kitchen. “It was a slip of the tongue. But Bucky did say to give you this.” He planted a wet, awful kiss on Steve’s cheek and Steve half groaned, half screeched at it.
“Conspiracy,” he accused. “Better find something better to do with that mouth.”
“Like what?” Sam asked, settling on the dining table when Steve put him there, letting him step between Sam’s legs.
“Like eating cake. Or like something like this.” He gently cupped Sam’s face in both of his hands and kissed him until Sam’s brain quieted and the furrows smoothed from his forehead and a smile came to his mouth.
“I agree,” he breathed when Steve stopped kissing him but didn’t pull away. “That’s a much better use.”
“A better kiss,” Steve agreed.
“I can’t believe you’re gonna rank my kisses.”
Steve kissed him again with a grin and Sam decided maybe they could be ranked after all.
“Thank you,” Steve breathed between their mouths. “For all of this. But just for everything. Every kiss and breakfast and nightmare and laughing fit and stolen shirt and night spent putting on butterfly bandages and stitches and every night spent not doing that and all the dinners at home or out. Everything you do, Sam, is perfect. I love you so much. You’re the only thing I ever want. You, safe and happy and right here in my arms.”
Sam hugged Steve closer. “I love you too, Steve,” he promised. “Happy birthday.”
And they kissed again.