premise: writer’s block makes one desperate. writer’s block also makes one do dumb things, like say, I’ve been coming back to this kiss prompt list for ages now, how’s about I actually try my hand at one for once? so here we are! #5. morning kisses, because of course it is
wordcount: 1137
warnings: fluff, fluff, fluff, domestic bliss, fluff, more fluff, lorge soft happy husbands, fluff, uuuh did I mention the fluff
*
It’s this: the first shift in Steve’s breath, the slightly deeper inhale that tells Bucky, he’s waking up.
It’s soft: the languorous stretch of Steve’s body as he rolls over, half onto his stomach, heavy-limbed and half-asleep still; the groan of the bedsprings the only sound in the room, besides the heartbeat thrumming contentedly inside Bucky’s chest, pounding away to the rhythm of Steve, Steve’s here, Steve is waking up.
It’s the same picture as yesterday, and if Bucky is very, very lucky, the same one he’ll get to wake up to tomorrow: Steve’s hair sticking up on one side just like this, all soft spikes and impossible angles; the crease from the pillowcase, marking up his cheekbone like a lover’s seal. Bucky will kiss over it later, just to feel its soft ridges under his lips, jealous of the sheet of cotton that gets to cradle Steve’s cheek all night.
And most beautifully predictable of all: the sleepy little hum that rumbles from Steve’s chest when he, infallibly, unerringly, outstretches his arm beneath the blankets, reaching for the body next to him with his eyes still closed.
It teases a smile from Bucky’s lips. Come on, then. I’m right here, sweetheart.
He nearly holds his breath when Steve’s hand finds him, his fingertips five spots of warmth, spreading in ribbons underneath Bucky’s skin. It’s like a shiver. The whole world, condensed in one touch.
It’s intimate. Sensation, trickling over him like fat drops of honey, slow and easy and rich, lighting a spark of anticipation deep in Bucky’s belly as Steve moves, traces the inviting outline of his body. It’s everything – all of it, every crumb of it. The quick kiss of Steve’s knuckles across his hipbone. The lazy spread of Steve’s fingers, curling over the meat of Bucky’s flank. The whole breadth of Steve’s palm against Bucky’s bare stomach, every crease of it, every line, greeting him, embracing him, seeking more of him.
Bucky leans into it, a tad bit helplessly too.
Steve’s touch is soft; he’s always so soft when he’s just coming to, rumpled and sweet, completely unguarded in the safety of their bed. Gentle, and craving gentleness in return. Bucky lives for these moments of self-indulgence between them – wishes he could savor them one little spoonful at a time, let their sweetness linger for days under his tongue.
He intercepts Steve’s hand on its journey across his chest and holds it there, wrapping his flesh-and-bone fingers around Steve’s wrist in a loose grasp.
It’s only then that, across from him, Steve’s eyes slowly blink open. Sky blue and flecks of green, sweet with the last traces of sleep. His eyelashes catch the rosy light of dawn, delicate, all spun sugar and gold, and then–
those crinkles. The softness of Steve’s mouth, the hint of a dimple. He’s smiling.
He’s smiling, half of it swallowed up by his pillow, and Bucky can’t help but smile back.
“Mornin’, sweetheart,” he rumbles.
Steve’s fingers twitch against him, digging softly in Bucky’s chest. His cheeks flush prettily, bringing out the blue in Steve’s bleary eyes, the white teeth showing in the corner of his smile.
“Buck,” he says, warm and a little hoarse, and it’s the most precious sound Bucky will ever, ever hear.
The things he’d do to have his name be the first word on Steve’s lips every day. The things he’d do, just to keep those eyes looking at him the way they are now, the pure bliss of them, as if he were the only thing worth seeing in this world.
He releases Steve’s wrist, sliding his hand along the downy expanse of Steve’s forearm instead, tugging gently at him.
“C’mere.”
And this, this is the best part.
The rustle of fabric, like a murmur in the quiet sanctuary of their bedroom; the creak of the mattress, springs shifting under Steve’s moving weight; and Steve, Steve, Steve knocking long legs into Bucky’s legs, curling cold toes over the knob of Bucky’s ankle, slipping into Bucky’s open arms with a sigh.
Bucky watches him all the while, eyes full of him, heart drumming so fast it aches. Home, is what he sees, home braving the dark shadows beneath these sheets to come wrap around him, warm like heaven and just as sweet.
It’s Steve who crushes their lips together. Steve who cradles him close, Bucky’s hip tucked in the hot crease of Steve’s thigh, Steve’s palm cupping the back of Bucky’s head, and leaves Bucky to fill the spaces in between, pull the seams closed with his arms around Steve, his knees around Steve’s knee, his metal hand splayed protectively at the small of Steve’s back.
It’s a slow thing, the kiss. Slow, and sleep-sour, and perfect, and it leaves them both breathless in its wake.
The gleam in Steve’s eyes is all but blinding when they pull apart. His mouth – parted, panting, wet from Bucky’s own tongue, sweet Christ. He’s the one who kissed the red back into those lips, and he wants, God, he wants–
“One more,” he puffs against the bump of Steve’s chin, and Steve chuckles, elated, and kisses him again.
It’s so, so easy to melt back into it. The unhurried pleasure of their bodies meeting, tangling, welcoming one another. Steve’s tongue strokes teasingly along Bucky’s own, hot and slick, and Bucky presses closer, raking blunt fingernails along the slope of Steve’s spine.
The sheets whisper around them, hush, hush, a thousand secrets shared in this warm cocoon, cotton to skin, skin to skin, mouth to mouth.
They part– They part and it’s. Unbearable. Horrible. A fucking crime. Never again, Bucky swears to himself, leaning in to rub their noses together as they both catch their breaths.
He sinks his fingers in Steve’s hair, silky and butter-soft under his touch. He’s close enough to feel the tickle of Steve’s eyelashes against his cheek, open and close and open again, and the space behind his ribs swells and tightens all at once.
It’s crazy, the way his heart feels sated, like a puppy full of milk, and still it hungers for this man; craves every part of him, skin and bone, flesh and soul, his kiss and his bite too.
Crazy, how greedy for Steve his heart grows, yet how eager it is to give – More, more love, it says, I can hold so much more love for him.
“One more,” Bucky whispers, and Steve grins into their kiss, squeezing him all the tighter.
When Steve pulls back, Bucky only chases after him. “Nuh-uh, one more.”
When they’re laughing in each other’s mouths – “Come on, I said one more!” – out of breath and lips a-tingling – “Buck– quit tickling me, asshole” – Bucky swears he wants this, exactly this, forever – or as far into forever as their lives can take them.
Kat, most wonderful muffin babe!! 💖💖💖🥰🥰🥰 dgsfdhdjhgh if I'm being honest, my convalescence is proving to be a lot longer and slower than anticipated :') I reeeeeaally wasn't ready for this - you know when there are so many things you want/need to do, but you just don't have the energy to do any of them?? eugh
sorry, I'm just a sad little ball of exhaustion today 😅 I hope you're doing well, honey 💕💕💕💕💕 Love you buckets!! Please have a great day for me 😘😘😘
so um, hypothetically. what does it say about me if, and i'm saying IF, on a sadbad day at home, i decide to go and watch the gray man, and then just kinda happen to rewatch knives out. twice. in the same day. because apparently i can never have enough of a certain dork and his stupidly pretty face. it's not that bad, is it??
