Work Text:
For the first time in what felt like forever, Bucky was the one that came home first. He wasn't used to not hearing Steve chirp up and run over as soon as the door clicked open and slammed shut, so he closed the door a little gentler this time. He didn't have anyone to signal just yet.
He ran his fingers through his messy, filthy hair. He was covered in dirt and extra muck from the mission he was just on. He was absolutely covered - from his face down to his socks. He felt like the dirt got inside of him somehow, and it wasn't the best feeling. Not only did he feel dirty, but he felt like he quite literally couldn't move. He was still standing in front of the door from when he came in, stiff, staring down at his dirt covered hands.
He was never really good with going out on missions with the rest of the Avengers. While he was delighted to join their team, even though some people (Tony Stark) didn't want him there, he took pride in being a part of it. He just didn't take pride in coming home dirty, feeling reckless, flashbacks of the days where he was used as a weapon zipping past his eyes subconsciously. He knew that he wasnt that anymore. He knew that he wasn't what HYDRA made of him, and he knew that what he was doing now was actually for the greater good, but that didn't make him feel any better about it just because he was hanging with the good guys.
His brain was working fast, but his body wouldn't follow it. He wanted to wash his hands, scrape all the dirt out from underneath his fingernails and in between the cracks of his metal hand and get in the shower, but he couldn't. He couldn’t move, almost like he was being held still by something unknown. He was still standing stiff, back straight and shoulders filled with tension, eyes glued to his hands and fixated on all of the crevices of his metal fingers. He wiggled his pointer finger, scrunched up his nose, and tried to huff out any specs of dirt that might’ve been sent up there. Grimacing, he thought to himself, Wash your hands. The kitchen is right there. Just move, James.
But he couldn't move.
Instead he started trembling and sinking onto the floor, inch by inch. His brain was working perfectly fine, but his body wasn't, and as he sank to the floor he hit the hardwood with a loud thud from the knee pads attached to his knees. The sound of it felt soul crushing, and Bucky had started heaving and clawing at his own uniform as if he would die if he didnt get out of it as soon as possible. He was becoming a jumbled mess of limbs on the floor, his labored breathing turning into wheezing sobs, violent coughs, and a gag or two. Maybe his brain isn't working perfectly fine, because he obviously needed to do something else that his brain wasn’t urging him to do. Get out of that suit and get out fast.
“Mmgh– aah, ah! Off of me, get.. Please.”
His shaking hands were pulling at the wrong things and somehow making it tighter. When he began frantically pulling at his shoulder harness to rip it off of him, it tightened, and that threw him into a fit of painful sobs and whines. “Off..” He kept repeating, releasing the buckle on some things but pulling instead of yanking it off. His hands were shaking too hard. He couldn't breathe. In fact, he felt like he stopped for a second.
“Bucky?” Steve called from the other side of the door. He could hear his lover heaving in there, just on the other side of it, and it took him everything in his power to refrain from grabbing the door handle and ripping the entire thing off of its hinges so he could get to Bucky as soon as humanly possible. Bucky didn't respond, but the wails grew louder. Bucky damn near started screaming at this point, and Steve’s hands began to shake because he didn't know what was causing Bucky to behave like this. Once he unlocked the door he found a defeated Super Soldier in front of it, hair in front of his face, the moon shining a light on the puddle of tears that formed in front of him.
Steve dropped to the floor and quickly pulled Bucky into him. Instead of making an immediate conversation and asking what was wrong, Steve did what Steve does best - he took care of him. He brushed his hair away from his face, uncovering a shaky, red eyed Bucky underneath. Steve pressed kisses underneath his eyes and against his eyelids, then in between his eyebrows, and a few more times against his hairline. Instead of saying anything of significance, all he did was let out little coo’s of “its okay,” “I’m here,” and “please don’t worry,” against the shell of his ear. Bucky curled up in his lap, and Steve held him there, where it was warm and safe while he continued to help take off bits and pieces of his uniform. Bucky scratched at the leather so hard that it actually did some damage to the fabric, enough to where he would have to get a new jacket. It looked like it had been put through a shredder - a very weak one, but a shredder nonetheless. Bucky stopped sobbing, the only noise coming from him being gentle sniffles and tiny hiccups, and the occasional beg to get his clothes off of him.
His knee pads, elbow pads, thigh harnesses, belt, and shoulder harnesses were all soon put on the floor behind them in a big pile. Steve still didn't say anything, rocking back and forth with his lover shaking like a leaf in the Autumn wind in his arms. He knew what Bucky needed because he knew Bucky from the inside out, forwards and backwards, even with his eyes sewn shut, even if he was missing a leg. “James,” the blonde whispered soft against the side of Bucky’s skull, squeezing him gently, but with enough force to get him to hold still for just a split second. “Jamie.” He whispered again, trying to see if he could draw anything else from Bucky other than a sniffle, or the quiet pleas to get his clothes off of him and get him clean.
“Kitty,” He mumbled, nudging his nose against Bucky’s red hot cheek, eyes hopeful and waiting for some sort of response. He hadn't forgotten that Bucky, out of the blue, told him that he was a cat the other night - and he hadn't forgotten the look of pure bliss on his face when he called him kitty, over and over again until his lungs nearly collapsed in on themselves. “I’m gonna run you a bath, okay? I can tell that you don’t like being dirty.”
Cats don’t really like baths, but Steve’s did. Bucky loved baths, and he would always tell Steve how intimate it felt. Steve hadn’t given him a bath since this cat admission, but he felt like his kitten wouldn’t give him any trouble - or at least, he had hoped that Bucky wouldn't. Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair again, finding hidden kitten ears underneath all of that messy hair. He pressed his thumb against the left one, drawing a sound from Bucky that wasn't just a sniffle - but yet, a purr. A relaxed purr that rumbled in his chest beneath his ribcage, against where his worries lay deep in his heart, turning his chest rotten until he could get clean again. Bucky nodded, his hands holding onto Steve’s shoulders with a near death grip. Even though Bucky was soft and sensitive like this, he was still a hefty Super Soldier with a metal arm that could ricochet bullets off of the silver surface, and his grip kind of fucking hurt.
“Okay, honey. I’ll carry you, kitty. My pretty kitty, my darling.”
Bucky shifted in Steve’s lap at the pet names, his worried expression shifting, the corners of his lips curling up into a tired smile. Steve smiled back at him, then glanced towards the window. The moon was shining in on them - directly on Bucky, illuminating his long wet lashes and rosy cheeks and the mismatched ears on his head. He stared at that bright light coming in and hitting the surface of Bucky’s back and reflecting on the silver of his arm. He was still searching for an explanation underneath all of this cat stuff and whatever powers the moon has, but he couldn't be worried with that right now. Instead of concerning himself with the whimsical strengths of a planet far from him, he lifted Bucky up and carried him to the bathroom, trying his best to focus on his world in front of him.
Steve prepared a bath as quickly as he possibly could because he didn’t know how Bucky would react. He's seen countless videos of cats hissing and screaming as soon as their feet hit water, and since Bucky, well, kind of was one now, he wondered if he would do the same thing. He had a sweater and a fresh pair of underwear set out for Bucky, as well as a new towel so he won't get too antsy about the dirt. When he turned his attention back to his lover, he found Bucky standing timid at the door, completely still, back slouched and ears pressed back against his head with his hands pressed to his chest, listening to the rapid beat of his heart and his labored breathing.
“Hey..” Steve pulled him in closer and got to work on taking off the rest of his things. His pants, his underwear, his socks, and the shirt that he had on underneath his jacket. All of these items were somehow coated in dirt and mud. Bucky had a cut on his upper thigh that left a bloodstain on his boxers, to which he quickly discarded after removing. Bucky wasn't the type to bruise easily, but he had all sorts of bruises on his right bicep and the back of his calves. Steve furrowed his eyebrows. He’s definitely going to have a talk with Natasha about what missions Bucky picks up on his own, because if he comes home like this, Steve doesn't even think he wants to let Bucky out of his sight anymore. He didn't want to dwell on the fact that his baby was hurt in battle for too long, so he kissed every bruise he saw and stood up, holding Bucky’s hands and flipping them to kiss his palms. “I got’cha, baby.” He reassured him in earnest. It took a lot to calm Bucky down, but Steve knew him. Forwards and backwards.
Bucky nodded once and Steve kissed him on the mouth over and over again, little soft kisses while he led him over to the bathtub full of bubbles and colored a light pink tint from the bath bomb he put in there. (Mostly so Bucky wouldn’t get upset at the amount of dirt coming off of him, but also so Bucky could just feel nice about it.) Bucky lifted a foot, then hesitated. Steve froze, but when Bucky got in and sat down, collecting a handful of bubbles and blowing them out of his hands, Steve let out a sigh of relief he didn't even know that he was holding. Bucky looked up at him with waiting eyes, and Steve kneeled down next to the tub so he could start washing him. With Bucky’s favorite lathered loofa, he started at his legs, then worked his way up from there, getting all the dirt off of his thighs, his stomach, his arms, back, and neck. Bucky cowered away when he got to his stomach, a high pitch whine erupting from his throat.
“Sorry, forgot you’re sensitive there.” Steve said, then grabbed Bucky’s hand, scraping out all of the dirt from underneath his fingernails and kissing each fingertip as he went. Bucky lifted his metal hand and turned it over so his palm was facing up, and Steve scrubbed at it as if his life depended on it, just to get every spec out of every crevice. Even though that limb wasn't Bucky’s own, it still reacted the way his flesh would, and his silver fingers curled in on Steve’s own. His chest was rumbling and his nose was turned upward, scrunched up and waiting to be kissed, but it sounded like he was trying to say something.
“Eee-ow. Prreow..”
Dear God. Is he meowing?
It sounded broken and ragged, but Bucky did it again, louder when Steve lifted a handful of water and put it in Bucky’s hair before lathering it with shampoo. Bucky did it one more time, in these weird segments while Steve scrubbed at his scalp relentlessly. The bathwater was getting dirty, but Bucky was too occupied with how good it felt to get his hair washed. His eyes rolled to the back of his head and squeezed shut, and his lips formed a smile. Steve was just glad that he couldn't see the filth gathering underneath the bubbles, and thanked God that he was almost done getting him clean. At this point, Steve had to double check behind Bucky for a tail. Nothing there, or at least, nothing yet. “Ee-oow.. mmph.” Bucky mewled again, twisting his mouth to the side and yawning.
“Sleepy?” Steve said in the most soft voice he could manage, turning Bucky around so his back was facing the showerhead, so he could turn it on and rinse all of the suds out of Bucky’s hair and Bucky’s mismatched ears. His kitten shook his head, stretching out in the tub, then curling back in on himself as the bubbles from his head cascaded down his shoulders and off of his back.
“Mm? No. Not sleepy, Stevie.”
“You’re sleepy, kitty.” Steve could see it in his eyes. He had a stressful day and he needed to rest, whether he said he was sleepy or not. Steve rinsed the rest of the soap off his body, then stood him up, led him out, and dried him off. Bucky just followed his movements, giving Steve his limbs to pat dry and rub lotion on, then lifting them so Steve could dress him - which he could totally do all by himself, but just.. Not right now. “You’re my sleepy kitty, aren’t you? Can you do me a favor? Could you sit in our bed and wait for me there? I’ll be there in five minutes tops, Jamie. Just wait for me there, okay?”
Bucky, eyebrows furrowed and ears still dripping from the top, small droplets of water falling from the ends of his chocolate waves and onto the sweater that Steve put him in, nodded his head. He turned around, but not without reassuring Steve that he wasn’t tired. “Not slee- eepy. Not sleepy at all.” He said, stuffing his arms into his sweater and shuffling away towards their bedroom and stuffing himself underneath the blankets, waiting for Steve there.
Steve took the quickest cat bath he could manage. He brought in a pair of underwear for himself that was laying underneath Bucky’s things, and grabbed a rag from the cabinets. He did what he called PTA - pits, tits, and ass. He also washed his face, but it was so quick that he was done before he even knew it was over. The blonde dried himself, pulled on his new pair of underwear and rubbed himself down with the same lotion that he put on Bucky. He glanced at himself in the mirror, running his fingers over the stubble that was beginning to grow on his chin and staring at the way his hair got really golden blonde at the very top of his head. Maybe he should dye the rest to match.
When he made his way to their bedroom, that's where he found Bucky, asleep on Steve’s side of the bed. The window was cracked open, a slight breeze rolling through that made Steve shiver. The moon was peeking in again, and glowing down on Bucky, who was curled up asleep, snoring softly into Steve’s pillow. It's almost like the moon followed him wherever he went, somehow. Maybe Steve should go up there one day to find out what this is all about. He climbed into bed slowly, trying not to sink the bed in too far to the point of waking Bucky, but when he got in, Bucky purred louder than a boot thrown in a dryer at high heat.
“I’m awake! I’m not..” He yawned again, lifting a hand and covering his eyes from the light of the moon. “Sleepy.”
“Let’s sleep, kitty.” Steve said, sliding his arms around Bucky and pulling him towards his chest where Bucky was more comfortable to curl up against. Although he was properly bathed and cared for, he was still shaking a bit, the stress from the day that he had left remnants on his body and the way it functioned. Though his breathing was calm and steady, there was still that slight sniffle every ten minutes that reminded Steve that he was still Bucky, his stressed and overwhelmed Super Soldier of a lover underneath his cat ears and softness.
“Sleep, kitty..” The brunette echoed with a nod before dozing back to sleep. Steve pressed a single kiss to his forehead and hoped that whatever the moon had done, that it would continue doing it. He didn’t really mind nor understand, and at this point, he had given up on trying to find out.