Good night, good night always
Steve walks in the front door, placing his bag and his shield against the wall and stooping to undo the laces on his boots. “Buck?” he calls softly. It’s after midnight, so Bucky may well be asleep by now, but should he be awake and waiting, Steve wants to let him know that he’s arrived home.
Moving quietly through the hall in his socks, Steve makes his way to the kitchen. He opens the fridge for a Gatorade and uses the light to glance around for a dark and potentially sulking silhouette. There’s still nothing, though, so Steve sips his drink in silence for a moment, then prepares to head upstairs to bed.
Before he does, though, Steve makes to cross the living room to close the drapes over the back door and turn off the light on the porch. As soon as he gets moving, he notices a lump in the middle of the floor beside the coffee table, and his heart nearly stops and falls out of his chest.
“Bucky?” Steve asks, dropping to his knees beside his lover’s curled form. “Are you ok?
Bucky doesn’t respond. He seems to be dead asleep, his body curled around a throw pillow he’s taken from the couch. He’s half-dressed in a pair of Steve’s sweats, and his hair falls in dark rivulets over the edges of the cushion.
Steve has to smile at the look of him, though he’s strongly reminded of the scared, retreating creature that he lived with and tamed when Bucky first came home. He tentatively places his palm on the joint between Bucky’s metal arm and his flesh shoulder and whispers his name again.
Bucky slowly opens his eyes, blinking up at Steve. “St...” he breathes, then immediately buries his face in Steve’s chest.
“What happened? Are you ok?” Steve leans forward to tighten the embrace.
“I was... “ Bucky shakes his head, rolling his brow back and forth over Steve’s collarbone. “I felt kind of sick. Kind of...lost.”
“You could’ve called me.”
“But you were working...”
“You’re more important,” Steve murmurs, kissing the top of Bucky’s head. “I always have time to take care of you.”
Bucky slowly nods, his damp, red lips parting and squeezing the slightest bit upward at the corners.
“Do you want something to drink? Or to go up to bed?” Steve asks.
Bucky lightly tosses a lock of hair out of his eyes. “No... I want to stay here.”
Steve grins and shrugs. “Ok. Here it is, then.” He pulls a blanket from under the coffee table and arranges it around Bucky’s shoulders, then gestures for him to lie back down. Bucky does, slowly, and so does Steve.
Once they’re cuddled face-to-face, Steve asks, “This ok?”
Bucky nods again. He presses his cold nose into the hollow of Steve’s neck, and Steve runs his hand through Bucky’s silky hair. “Alright, then. ‘S good.”
“‘S good,” Bucky echoes. “Tonight. Tomorrow.” He pauses a moment. “Always?”
“Yeah,” Steve says with feeling. “Always.”
@hellyeahbottombucky. For Bucky’s Birthday 10 March 2021, #buckywiththegoodhair