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The smell of bacon and eggs filled the kitchen, rich and golden, mixing with the warm morning light spilling through the window. Sam stood barefoot in his softest t-shirt and sweats, flipping a pancake with practiced ease.
Behind him, Bucky was prowling like a cat—quiet, suspiciously so.
Sam narrowed his eyes without turning around. “You’re not slick, Barnes.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Bucky replied, leaning against the counter like he’d been there the whole time, completely innocent.
Sam plated the pancake and reached for the maple syrup. “Whatever it is you’re trying to steal, don’t. I made exactly two pancakes for each of us. Equal distribution.”
“That’s very socialist of you,” Bucky said, straight-faced.
Sam snorted. “You’ve literally lived under communism. Don’t start with me.”
He turned to grab the orange juice—and when he turned back, one of his pancakes was gone.
Gone. As in: not on the plate anymore. As in: very much in Bucky Barnes’ mouth.
Sam blinked, expression flat. “Did you just steal my food?”
Bucky, mid-chew, tried to look innocent—but the smug look in his eyes ruined the whole act. “What food?”
Sam pointed at the now one-pancake plate. “The one that was right there. The one I clearly claimed with my spatula and my hard work.”
“Stealing is a strong word,” Bucky said, grabbing his own plate like a man very confident in his life choices. “It’s really more like… relationship taxes.”
“Oh, so now we’re taxing pancakes in this relationship?”
“Yeah. It’s in the fine print.”
Sam walked around the counter slowly, narrowing his eyes. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t tackle you and take it back.”
Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Because if you do that, the pancakes might get cold.”
“Damn you and your logic.”
Bucky leaned in, his voice low and teasing. “Also, you love me.”
Sam tried to look unamused. He really did. But the smirk cracked through. “I do. Against all better judgment.”
Bucky leaned forward and offered a forkful of the stolen pancake like a peace treaty. “Bite?”
Sam took it—mostly because it was delicious. “You know you’re cooking next time.”
“That’s fair,” Bucky said, already halfway through his next bite. “But just so we’re clear—I’m taxing your waffles, too.”
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”