Not that Bucky was ever much for the hard liquor. His ma, like most, hated the stuff. A cold beer was his personal drink of choice. His dates liked something a little sweeter, and so it was usually a cheap, fruity wine on his lips when he came home to Steve. He would scold him for having one glass too many half the time, but Bucky would swear the little punk liked the taste of it himself.
He's not so little anymore. Bucky swallows hard and pours himself another, hoping that this one works before Steve gets through the door. Steve's big now, as tall as he is - maybe even a little bit taller. He hasn't figured out what that means yet.]
You're up past your bedtime, Rogers. Need me to sing you a lullaby?
[He smirks, voice pitched low. Bucky's heart is pounding though. It's Steve, and yet it still feels like he's suddenly taking a risk.]
[ No, it's not working like it used to. Steve's tested that theory now and then; never seriously, but enough to realize that he probably can't get drunk as easily as he used to. But he's not too sure about Bucky; things have been just a little different since he rescued him and the other guys, Steve's relief and heartache sitting heavy in his chest at the state of his best friend and soulmate, alone on the cold table.
The anger at such callousness hasn't completely dissipated, but Bucky distracts him from it with his presence. It's difficult for him to sleep now that Bucky's back at his side (and he's very sure he's got plenty of adjustment to do, now that Steve's much bigger now, and a part of Steve is self-conscious about it). He keeps watch out the window, checking and double-checking; he will not have Bucky recaptured or taken away again, not on his watch.
He smiles when he hears that familiar voice, a lover's murmur, he used to privately call it -- not that he'd ever let Bucky in on it, he'd never let him live it down. But it's different now, just a little. They have to recalibrate themselves, find their new equilibrium, and there's a look in Bucky's eyes that hasn't been there before.
Turning to him, he teases gently. ] You'll keep me awake, squalling the way you do. [ No, Bucky's always had a good voice, smooth as chocolate and more than capable of arousing him when applied right. His gaze softens, and he gives him a once-over, quietly concerned. ] Can't sleep, Buck?
[Not on his watch. Steve Rogers ain't catching his death of cold. No bully's ever gonna bust his head open on the cobblestone. He's not sitting home alone on his birthday or Christmas or Saturday night for that matter. Not on Bucky's watch.
But his watch is over, and now he doesn't know what to do with himself. So he drinks. Maybe it'll give him back some of his confidence, or warm up the parts of him that still feel cold from the walking pneumonia. Maybe it'll erase some of his memories - he's got a lot that he doesn't want anymore, watching men get filled full of bullet holes or blown to pieces of meat. Hearing them cry for their ma as they lay dying - they always cry for their ma. Bucky's pretty sure that it was Steve's name on his lips when he was strapped to the table.
Bucky swallows, empty shot glass still in hand as he points a finger in Steve's direction.]
I got a fine voice. Just because that barbershop quartet of yours wouldn't let me in. Bunch of geezers.
[He smirks and puts the glass down, lowering his head so that Steve can't see his eyes. He takes a deep breath.]
[It's the oldiest, cheesiest line in the book, but the lady smiles and blushes prettily as she takes he cake from the counter. Yep, he's still got it. Even when he feels like shit. Bucky sighs once the bakery is finally empty, touches his forehead, touches his arm. But damned if he knows what a fever's supposed to feel like. But he knows that he shouldn't be here.
Bucky flips the sign on the door to 'Closed', and after grabbing a loaf of that bread that Steve likes, he heads home.
It gets worse on the train. Sweat's dampened his hair until it starts to curl a little. He feels lightheaded, and sitting up's a real chore. He nearly misses the stop that's just a few blocks from their apartment. When he think about forcing his rubbery legs to walk, he almost wishes he did.
But he's gotta get home, and Steve said to bring bread and possibly something else, he can't remember now. Bucky's usually so dependable that you could set your watch by him, but it takes him longer than usual tonight.]
Honey, I'm home.
[Bucky calls out once he's through the door, and yep, he's still got it.
[ Steve could set his watch by him, and often does, aware that Bucky has never been home this late before without calling ahead first. See, Steve's not usually the most paranoid sucker in the bunch of 'em, but he knows enough to be aware that something's off. He has been looking just a touch peaky recently, and Steve's noticed the budding effects of Bucky's symptoms, mild as they were.
Steve rises from the couch by the door when Bucky comes home, swiftly moving towards him when he hears that voice, just a touch more raw than when he'd gone out this morning -- the startling pallor and the way he seems to stumble. Oh, no. No. He steps towards Bucky and helps keep him braced, taking the bag from him with a twinge of guilt. No, he shouldn't have sent him out on errands today; he should have known better.
Pressing the back of his hand to Bucky's forehead, his brows knit. ] Buck, you're burning up.
[ He doesn't keep the worry from his voice, and he brushes his hair from his forehead, kissing his cheek lightly. ] C'mon. [ He might be much smaller, but he's tougher than he looks -- all the people in his neighborhood know that, even the brutes. He helps Bucky towards the couch, before crouching down to pull his shoes and socks from his feet. By now his lover looks so dangerously pale that it's shocking, and he shakes his head. ] Why didn't you ask me to come and pick you up?
[Bucky insists on hauling most of his own weight, not out of pride - that's Steve's department. It's concern. He knows Steve Rogers is tougher than he looks, knows it better'n anyone. But that doesn't mean he wants to add one more to his load.]
Gonna carry me home in your arms like a new bride, Stevie?
[It's fond rather than mocking. Bucky collapses onto the couch with a groan.]
It's nothing, just a touch of a cold is all. All I gotta do is turn in a little early tonight and I'll be right as rain.
Steve sighs when he pretty much hears his lover go down heavily onto the couch, that it took so much more effort for him to walk and stand. It pains Steve to watch him like this, but he gives him a smile anyway -- Bucky's always been more of a lover than a fighter, even if the man wades into the many fights that Steve picks and ends 'em, and the man's always been more emotionally attuned and he didn't want Bucky feeling bad about the way Steve worries about him. ]
Damn straight I'll carry you home. [ Like a new bride, huh? Won't that be something? He sets Bucky's shoes aside before working on his coat, helping him to shrug it out. He's warm like a stovetop, practically, and he snorts ungracefully at him. ]
Just a touch of cold, my foot. You're not going in to work tomorrow, y'hear? [ He's bossy, authoritative as he heads into the kitchen to get a cold towel and an icepack, wrapping another towel around it so that it wouldn't sting when he places it on his forehead. ]
Now take your shirt off. Did you work the whole day like this?
You're makin' me blush with talk like that. Gettin' all bossy, just the way I like.
[Which is true, except that's not a blush, it's a fever. Bucky still gives him his best bedroom eyes as he leans forward to shrug off his jacket, followed by pulling his shirt off over his head.
But the he flops back against the couch cushions. What sort of boyfriend is he, burdening Steve this way?]
Nah, it just got this bad during the last hour or so. Stevie, Steve, no.
[Bucky turns his head and holds his hand out.]
You know how your system is. [He doesn't dare use things like 'weaker' or 'delicate'.] You don't need to be getting this close to me.
[ Steve tells him, even if he doesn't have the best constitution, that a cold would knock him out for more than a week -- but he does his best and fights it every step of the way, defiant and proud and clawing his life back from the proverbial grim reaper.
It's been that way ever since they'd been children, when Bucky would hover worriedly over him every time it seemed like he was close to giving up the ghost. Even now, Bucky takes care of him more than he really should, and Steve is both frustrated at himself and grateful for having someone like him around.
Bucky Barnes, his angel -- not like he'd ever tell him that; that would go right to his head. He huffs, quietly admiring the way Bucky's body still looks so good, so strong and solid. He could never have something like this, but he's way beyond jealousy; it doesn't have a place in this relationship, not with the two of them.
He ignores Bucky's hand and climbs onto the couch, pressing close to him and laying the towel-wrapped ice pack on his head, cleaning him with the wet towel. ]
You're just whinin' 'cause I'm the one taking care of you now. [ But his words are gentle, and he eases against his side, in the circle of his arm so that Bucky could wrap his arm around him if he wanted. ] Have you eaten?
[Bucky knew he was fighting a losing battle from the start. Even at top health, he's barely a match for Steve Rogers' stubbornness. Steve's eyes sweep over him and he knows exactly what he's thinking, so when he does lie down beside him, despite Bucky's wishes, he puts an arm around him and pulls him close. Steve doesn't need muscles, he's beautiful just as he is.]
What're you talking about? [He grins at him, eyelids heavy.] You take care of me all the time, and then some.
[Maybe Bucky brings home more money, and maybe Steve gets sick more, but Steve's his reason to wake up in the morning. The reason he can face the day with a smile, because he knows he's coming home to him that night.]
Had half a bagel this morning. Didn't much feel like anything heavy.
[ Half a bagel the entire day? That's not food. Steve is gentle when he cleans him up, lets the cold towel help dissipate the heat. He shifts close, unafraid of his cold; so what if he gets infected? It doesn't matter when Bucky's gotten sick from time to time on his account -- this would at least even the odds just a little more. Bucky's always been the one who brought home more money, and Steve works hard at making this a good home for him to come back to, filled with warmth and love and the smell of cooking food.
He makes a soft noise of disapproval, cupping his face briefly, long, elegant fingers brushing along the strong line of his jaw. Even now, Bucky's trying to be strong for him, and he shakes his head, quietly charmed, quietly determined. ]
You're lucky I made chicken noodle soup tonight. [ He'd spent hours on it, intent on getting it just right. He fondly brushes his fingers through Bucky's hair, protective and warm ] I'm gonna feed you and you're gonna like it. Yes?
[Bucky at least tries not to breathe on him, turning his head when Steve's face comes too close. The cool cloth feels like heaven against his skin, but no more than the touch of those fingers do. Bucky would love to catch 'em, press a kiss against each and every fingertip, but he doesn't dare.]
Your ma's recipe? [A brow does arch at that, a little interest in his voice.] I reckon I could handle a bowl of that. But you really don't have to feed it to me, I'm not dyin' here.
Ma's recipe. [ Steve says agreeably as he climbs off of him to head into the kitchen. But he's poking his head out after a moment. ] Not dyin'? Tell that to your face.
[ Because Bucky looks legitimately like death warmed over, and Steve is going to mother hen the hell out of him. It takes only a few moments to scoop some still hot soup into a bowl. Snagging a spoon, he trots right out in under a minute like a brisk little chihuahua on a mission.
He dims the lights, too -- the couch is comfortable and wide enough to sleep on if needed, and Steve is going to be right there by his side, standing guard and listening for irregularities.
Bucky's done that for him all the time, and it falls to him to take care of Bucky when he needs it most. Settling next to him and making sure the bowl doesn't spill, he lightly taps his thigh. ] Sit up a little.
[ He smiles faintly. ] I'll be your nurse this evening.
[Bucky shoots back at him with a fatigued grin. It's an act, mostly, when he feels the way he does. But he drops it for the few seconds that Steve's left the room. But of course the little punk comes marching back in no time like he's going to war.]
My nurse, huh? [He lifts his eyebrows suggestively as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.] What time's your shift over, doll? Them feet must be tired, let me sweep you off-
[But his smooth is interrupted by a coughing fit.]
[ Steve retorts, but there's only fondness in his voice. It's clear that he does like Bucky's face -- but it's a happy bonus above everything else. He loves all of him, his sweet, charming nature, his kindness and his warmth. Bucky is his sun, and he's right there by his side when he coughs, tugging a tissue box to hand him one, his hand rubbing his back in soothing circles.
He's in worse shape than he lets on, and don't think Steve hadn't caught the look on his face. He knows his Bucky is so good at putting up a strong front. ]
Let me take care of you, Buck. [ His tone is gentle, and he leans close, offering what warmth and comfort he can possibly physically could. ] After this, I'll see what I can do about nurse uniforms. Maybe you can bring me home after I knock off.
[He covers his mouth with the tissue for a moment, sighing. This must be how Steve feels all the time. It feels bad being sick, not just physically, but also wondering how much trouble you are to the person you love most, how tired they get from taking care of you, how tired they get of worrying. Bucky doesns't mind it one bit when it's him, and he knows Steve doesn't either. But it's rough.]
Alright. [Bucky smiles weakly at him.] But I wanna seem them gams later. You know I'm a leg man.
[He ruffles Steve's hair, an affectionate gesture in place of the usual kiss.]
Now how about that soup? I wanna eat some before my nose stops up and I can't smell it.
[ It's rough, and Steve can empathise. But Bucky's been strong for so long; he deserves some pampering now, and Steve wants to do all that he can for him.
He kisses his cheek, quiet and reassuring, before he turns the icepack the other way on his forehead. He likes kisses, and he's not going to let Bucky's cold get in the way of it. Reaching for the bowl, he spoons up some, with cubed carrots and potatoes and diced chicken, holding it an inch or so from his mouth. Then, he teases gently, ]
[Bucky bursts into laughter, and his eyes still sparkle with it as he leans forward and closes his mouth around the spoon. He swallows it, making a soft appreciative noise. There's a slight debate over the spoon, but Bucky relents and lets Steve continue to feed him until the bowl is completely empty.
He still feels tired, but much better, curled up on the couch with his smaller boyfriend. Bucky finds his hand, lifting them up together to admire the slender shape of Steve's against his.]
Since there ain't gonna be no hanky-panky tonight, you wanna watch something?
[ Steve sets the bowl aside when Bucky's done, pleased at least that he's finished everything. Snuggling up to him, pressing against the broad expanse of that chest and watching the way Bucky's lips are so soft and loving on his fingers, he smiles faintly. ]
It's your night. What would you like to watch?
[ He reaches for the remote with his free hand, happy to adopt Bucky as his little spoon. ] Fantasy, science fiction? We haven't watched the latest season of Game of Thrones yet.
[ Oh, Steve knows you have a thing for feisty blondes, Bucky. And how much Bucky definitely has a time that is based on him, which makes Steve smug.
Then again, Steve has a weakness for Margaery, beautiful and charming and most definitely a brunette, which is so much of Steve's type too. He smiles and presses a few buttons on the remote to get it going, snuggling with his lover. ]
You didn't take it too kindly when I didn't give you a heads up about the red wedding.
[He barely remembers Russia. He remembers the cold, a few words - most of 'em ones that Steve probably wouldn't approve of if he knew what they meant. He remembers booze made out of potatoes of all things, and it didn't do a damn thing for him. He's pretty sure that's where they gave him the arm, and that's a memory that Bucky would rather forget.
He's trying to fill his skull with new memories, one made with Steve and his Avengers. Bucky comes along with them, even if he doesn't consider himself one, doesn't consider himself to be on this mission either. He's just following Steve, something that comes more from instinct than memory himself.
Bucky comes into the room, stands in the doorway and watches as checks out her rifle at the window. In a few hours, some big deal terrorist is set to leave the hotel. Must be her job to take him out if Steve can't take him down.]
[ Out of any of the Avengers, Natasha is the one who understands the most what it's like to not feel like a hero because of the things you've done. It's one of the reasons why she's the one in the window with the sniper rifle. Natasha uses her skills, now, for good, for that choice she's made to do good, whatever that may be. If she has to do some not so nice things? Well. Good doesn't always have to mean nice, doesn't it? Killing the target is the choice none of them wants to have to make. She'll do it if she has to.
She's going through routine maintenance now, one ear out for the comm, waiting for Steve to either give the all clear or to take the shot. She only half hears Bucky come in, but he's the only other person with a key; anyone else would have had to kick the door down, and that she would have heard and subsequently shot at without asking questions. He gets the barest of glances before she back to checking through her scope. I'm not aiming yet.
[ She says it casually, comfortably. She enjoys his company, even if he is, sometimes, nothing more than a shadow. She's been there. She understands. When he's ready, she'll listen. ]
[He nods mutely. Of course she's not aiming yet, and if she has to take the shot, she'll make it. Bucky knows this, it comes from the same sort of surety he felt when his finger would squeeze the trigger. A target would be taken out, a mission would be completed.
He only failed one, but apparently that's all it takes.
Bucky comes over to the window, peeking through the blinds. The only sound in the room is one slightly heavier exhale.]
[ She raises the rifle, dropping her hand from the trigger and leans down to peek through the blinds with him. Steve doesn't need to ask when it comes to this kind of thing. He may not be the kind of person who will kick someone off a roof. She is and he knows it, and they both know that sometimes you have to do some not so nice things to do the right thing. ]
This guy we're after is a real piece of work. I'm doing the world a favor.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
40s
felt an urge idk
Not that Bucky was ever much for the hard liquor. His ma, like most, hated the stuff. A cold beer was his personal drink of choice. His dates liked something a little sweeter, and so it was usually a cheap, fruity wine on his lips when he came home to Steve. He would scold him for having one glass too many half the time, but Bucky would swear the little punk liked the taste of it himself.
He's not so little anymore. Bucky swallows hard and pours himself another, hoping that this one works before Steve gets through the door. Steve's big now, as tall as he is - maybe even a little bit taller. He hasn't figured out what that means yet.]
You're up past your bedtime, Rogers. Need me to sing you a lullaby?
[He smirks, voice pitched low. Bucky's heart is pounding though. It's Steve, and yet it still feels like he's suddenly taking a risk.]
oh this is perfect
The anger at such callousness hasn't completely dissipated, but Bucky distracts him from it with his presence. It's difficult for him to sleep now that Bucky's back at his side (and he's very sure he's got plenty of adjustment to do, now that Steve's much bigger now, and a part of Steve is self-conscious about it). He keeps watch out the window, checking and double-checking; he will not have Bucky recaptured or taken away again, not on his watch.
He smiles when he hears that familiar voice, a lover's murmur, he used to privately call it -- not that he'd ever let Bucky in on it, he'd never let him live it down. But it's different now, just a little. They have to recalibrate themselves, find their new equilibrium, and there's a look in Bucky's eyes that hasn't been there before.
Turning to him, he teases gently. ] You'll keep me awake, squalling the way you do. [ No, Bucky's always had a good voice, smooth as chocolate and more than capable of arousing him when applied right. His gaze softens, and he gives him a once-over, quietly concerned. ] Can't sleep, Buck?
no subject
But his watch is over, and now he doesn't know what to do with himself. So he drinks. Maybe it'll give him back some of his confidence, or warm up the parts of him that still feel cold from the walking pneumonia. Maybe it'll erase some of his memories - he's got a lot that he doesn't want anymore, watching men get filled full of bullet holes or blown to pieces of meat. Hearing them cry for their ma as they lay dying - they always cry for their ma. Bucky's pretty sure that it was Steve's name on his lips when he was strapped to the table.
Bucky swallows, empty shot glass still in hand as he points a finger in Steve's direction.]
I got a fine voice. Just because that barbershop quartet of yours wouldn't let me in. Bunch of geezers.
[He smirks and puts the glass down, lowering his head so that Steve can't see his eyes. He takes a deep breath.]
Just one of those nights, Stevie.
modern baker au! {prompt}
no subject
[It's the oldiest, cheesiest line in the book, but the lady smiles and blushes prettily as she takes he cake from the counter. Yep, he's still got it. Even when he feels like shit. Bucky sighs once the bakery is finally empty, touches his forehead, touches his arm. But damned if he knows what a fever's supposed to feel like. But he knows that he shouldn't be here.
Bucky flips the sign on the door to 'Closed', and after grabbing a loaf of that bread that Steve likes, he heads home.
It gets worse on the train. Sweat's dampened his hair until it starts to curl a little. He feels lightheaded, and sitting up's a real chore. He nearly misses the stop that's just a few blocks from their apartment. When he think about forcing his rubbery legs to walk, he almost wishes he did.
But he's gotta get home, and Steve said to bring bread and possibly something else, he can't remember now. Bucky's usually so dependable that you could set your watch by him, but it takes him longer than usual tonight.]
Honey, I'm home.
[Bucky calls out once he's through the door, and yep, he's still got it.
Even when he's falling on his face.]
no subject
Steve rises from the couch by the door when Bucky comes home, swiftly moving towards him when he hears that voice, just a touch more raw than when he'd gone out this morning -- the startling pallor and the way he seems to stumble. Oh, no. No. He steps towards Bucky and helps keep him braced, taking the bag from him with a twinge of guilt. No, he shouldn't have sent him out on errands today; he should have known better.
Pressing the back of his hand to Bucky's forehead, his brows knit. ] Buck, you're burning up.
[ He doesn't keep the worry from his voice, and he brushes his hair from his forehead, kissing his cheek lightly. ] C'mon. [ He might be much smaller, but he's tougher than he looks -- all the people in his neighborhood know that, even the brutes. He helps Bucky towards the couch, before crouching down to pull his shoes and socks from his feet. By now his lover looks so dangerously pale that it's shocking, and he shakes his head. ] Why didn't you ask me to come and pick you up?
no subject
Gonna carry me home in your arms like a new bride, Stevie?
[It's fond rather than mocking. Bucky collapses onto the couch with a groan.]
It's nothing, just a touch of a cold is all. All I gotta do is turn in a little early tonight and I'll be right as rain.
no subject
Steve sighs when he pretty much hears his lover go down heavily onto the couch, that it took so much more effort for him to walk and stand. It pains Steve to watch him like this, but he gives him a smile anyway -- Bucky's always been more of a lover than a fighter, even if the man wades into the many fights that Steve picks and ends 'em, and the man's always been more emotionally attuned and he didn't want Bucky feeling bad about the way Steve worries about him. ]
Damn straight I'll carry you home. [ Like a new bride, huh? Won't that be something? He sets Bucky's shoes aside before working on his coat, helping him to shrug it out. He's warm like a stovetop, practically, and he snorts ungracefully at him. ]
Just a touch of cold, my foot. You're not going in to work tomorrow, y'hear? [ He's bossy, authoritative as he heads into the kitchen to get a cold towel and an icepack, wrapping another towel around it so that it wouldn't sting when he places it on his forehead. ]
Now take your shirt off. Did you work the whole day like this?
no subject
[Which is true, except that's not a blush, it's a fever. Bucky still gives him his best bedroom eyes as he leans forward to shrug off his jacket, followed by pulling his shirt off over his head.
But the he flops back against the couch cushions. What sort of boyfriend is he, burdening Steve this way?]
Nah, it just got this bad during the last hour or so. Stevie, Steve, no.
[Bucky turns his head and holds his hand out.]
You know how your system is. [He doesn't dare use things like 'weaker' or 'delicate'.] You don't need to be getting this close to me.
no subject
[ Steve tells him, even if he doesn't have the best constitution, that a cold would knock him out for more than a week -- but he does his best and fights it every step of the way, defiant and proud and clawing his life back from the proverbial grim reaper.
It's been that way ever since they'd been children, when Bucky would hover worriedly over him every time it seemed like he was close to giving up the ghost. Even now, Bucky takes care of him more than he really should, and Steve is both frustrated at himself and grateful for having someone like him around.
Bucky Barnes, his angel -- not like he'd ever tell him that; that would go right to his head. He huffs, quietly admiring the way Bucky's body still looks so good, so strong and solid. He could never have something like this, but he's way beyond jealousy; it doesn't have a place in this relationship, not with the two of them.
He ignores Bucky's hand and climbs onto the couch, pressing close to him and laying the towel-wrapped ice pack on his head, cleaning him with the wet towel. ]
You're just whinin' 'cause I'm the one taking care of you now. [ But his words are gentle, and he eases against his side, in the circle of his arm so that Bucky could wrap his arm around him if he wanted. ] Have you eaten?
no subject
What're you talking about? [He grins at him, eyelids heavy.] You take care of me all the time, and then some.
[Maybe Bucky brings home more money, and maybe Steve gets sick more, but Steve's his reason to wake up in the morning. The reason he can face the day with a smile, because he knows he's coming home to him that night.]
Had half a bagel this morning. Didn't much feel like anything heavy.
no subject
He makes a soft noise of disapproval, cupping his face briefly, long, elegant fingers brushing along the strong line of his jaw. Even now, Bucky's trying to be strong for him, and he shakes his head, quietly charmed, quietly determined. ]
You're lucky I made chicken noodle soup tonight. [ He'd spent hours on it, intent on getting it just right. He fondly brushes his fingers through Bucky's hair, protective and warm ] I'm gonna feed you and you're gonna like it. Yes?
no subject
Your ma's recipe? [A brow does arch at that, a little interest in his voice.] I reckon I could handle a bowl of that. But you really don't have to feed it to me, I'm not dyin' here.
no subject
[ Because Bucky looks legitimately like death warmed over, and Steve is going to mother hen the hell out of him. It takes only a few moments to scoop some still hot soup into a bowl. Snagging a spoon, he trots right out in under a minute like a brisk little chihuahua on a mission.
He dims the lights, too -- the couch is comfortable and wide enough to sleep on if needed, and Steve is going to be right there by his side, standing guard and listening for irregularities.
Bucky's done that for him all the time, and it falls to him to take care of Bucky when he needs it most. Settling next to him and making sure the bowl doesn't spill, he lightly taps his thigh. ] Sit up a little.
[ He smiles faintly. ] I'll be your nurse this evening.
no subject
[Bucky shoots back at him with a fatigued grin. It's an act, mostly, when he feels the way he does. But he drops it for the few seconds that Steve's left the room. But of course the little punk comes marching back in no time like he's going to war.]
My nurse, huh? [He lifts his eyebrows suggestively as he pushes himself up into a sitting position.] What time's your shift over, doll? Them feet must be tired, let me sweep you off-
[But his smooth is interrupted by a coughing fit.]
no subject
[ Steve retorts, but there's only fondness in his voice. It's clear that he does like Bucky's face -- but it's a happy bonus above everything else. He loves all of him, his sweet, charming nature, his kindness and his warmth. Bucky is his sun, and he's right there by his side when he coughs, tugging a tissue box to hand him one, his hand rubbing his back in soothing circles.
He's in worse shape than he lets on, and don't think Steve hadn't caught the look on his face. He knows his Bucky is so good at putting up a strong front. ]
Let me take care of you, Buck. [ His tone is gentle, and he leans close, offering what warmth and comfort he can possibly physically could. ] After this, I'll see what I can do about nurse uniforms. Maybe you can bring me home after I knock off.
no subject
Alright. [Bucky smiles weakly at him.] But I wanna seem them gams later. You know I'm a leg man.
[He ruffles Steve's hair, an affectionate gesture in place of the usual kiss.]
Now how about that soup? I wanna eat some before my nose stops up and I can't smell it.
no subject
He kisses his cheek, quiet and reassuring, before he turns the icepack the other way on his forehead. He likes kisses, and he's not going to let Bucky's cold get in the way of it. Reaching for the bowl, he spoons up some, with cubed carrots and potatoes and diced chicken, holding it an inch or so from his mouth. Then, he teases gently, ]
Should I make aeroplane noises?
no subject
He still feels tired, but much better, curled up on the couch with his smaller boyfriend. Bucky finds his hand, lifting them up together to admire the slender shape of Steve's against his.]
Since there ain't gonna be no hanky-panky tonight, you wanna watch something?
no subject
It's your night. What would you like to watch?
[ He reaches for the remote with his free hand, happy to adopt Bucky as his little spoon. ] Fantasy, science fiction? We haven't watched the latest season of Game of Thrones yet.
no subject
[Bucky smiles, wagging his eyebrows suggestively. So he likes the fair-haired stubborn one who wants to do good things. He has a type.]
And I know you've read the books, so don't tell me who's gonna die next. I ain't over Oberyn yet.
no subject
Then again, Steve has a weakness for Margaery, beautiful and charming and most definitely a brunette, which is so much of Steve's type too. He smiles and presses a few buttons on the remote to get it going, snuggling with his lover. ]
You didn't take it too kindly when I didn't give you a heads up about the red wedding.
nursing au
oh no i have no more tiny icons HERE JUST PRETEND, 40s before Bucky ships out
no subject
no subject
He's trying to fill his skull with new memories, one made with Steve and his Avengers. Bucky comes along with them, even if he doesn't consider himself one, doesn't consider himself to be on this mission either. He's just following Steve, something that comes more from instinct than memory himself.
Bucky comes into the room, stands in the doorway and watches as checks out her rifle at the window. In a few hours, some big deal terrorist is set to leave the hotel. Must be her job to take him out if Steve can't take him down.]
Looks half an inch too low to me.
no subject
She's going through routine maintenance now, one ear out for the comm, waiting for Steve to either give the all clear or to take the shot. She only half hears Bucky come in, but he's the only other person with a key; anyone else would have had to kick the door down, and that she would have heard and subsequently shot at without asking questions. He gets the barest of glances before she back to checking through her scope. I'm not aiming yet.
[ She says it casually, comfortably. She enjoys his company, even if he is, sometimes, nothing more than a shadow. She's been there. She understands. When he's ready, she'll listen. ]
no subject
He only failed one, but apparently that's all it takes.
Bucky comes over to the window, peeking through the blinds. The only sound in the room is one slightly heavier exhale.]
How'd he talk you into this?
no subject
[ She raises the rifle, dropping her hand from the trigger and leans down to peek through the blinds with him. Steve doesn't need to ask when it comes to this kind of thing. He may not be the kind of person who will kick someone off a roof. She is and he knows it, and they both know that sometimes you have to do some not so nice things to do the right thing. ]
This guy we're after is a real piece of work. I'm doing the world a favor.
no subject