Square Filled: Sleepy Confessions
Summary: Steve definitely doesn’t have a list of his favorite Sam’s because that would be dumb, but if he did have such a list, Pouty Sam would be Top Five. Right under Sam With Kids and above Sweaty, Greasy, Engineering Sam
Steve sits on the kitchen counter, a large jar of peanut butter open at his side. He’s humming happily and scrolling through dog photos on Twitter, wondering how exactly to convince Sam they should get one. Or two. Or five.
There’s a familiar shuffling in the hallway and Sam comes around the corner, squinting in the yellow light from the stovetop. He comes right to Steve, sleepily shoving into Steve’s space and huffing into his neck.
“Well hello there,” Steve grins, pressing a kiss to the top of Sam’s head. Sam always gets like this the first night home after a long mission. Drowsy, pouty and clingy. Steve definitely doesn’t have a list of his favorite Sam’s because that would be dumb, but if he did have such a list, Pouty Sam would be Top Five. Right under Sam With Kids and above Sweaty, Greasy, Engineering Sam .
Pouty Sam digs his cold nose deeper into Steve’s neck. “Bed,” he mumbles.
“Hmm?” Steve hums, distracted by thoughts of Engineering Sam.
“Come back to bed.” Sam pushes, working his hands under the back of Steve’s shirt. Steve represses a shiver and leans back.
“But my fourthmeal,” he protests, making a show of spooning more peanut butter into his mouth and licking the spoon.
Sam squints at him. “It’s 3 am. Sleep.” He slaps the cap back onto the peanut butter jar and tugs on Steve’s hand until he slides off the counter and follows Sam back into their bedroom.
He nudges Steve into bed and arranges him on his back in the middle so Sam can slot himself comfortably under his right arm, head resting just over Steve’s heart. Sam sighs happily the moment he’s in his chosen position.
“Is this better?” Steve asks, amused.
“Mmmhmm,” Sam mumbles, already halfway back to sleep. “Can’t even sleep without you anymore. ‘S annoying."
Steve chuckles, holding his breath when Sam groans in complaint at the shaking. “Sorry,” he whispers, still amused.
Sam grunts again and holds Steve a little tighter. “Lucky I love you,” he whispers before his body is racked by the soft snores he denies he makes. It was so soft, anyone other than Steve would have missed it.
But Steve absolutely did not miss it.
Steve tenses and then immediately relaxes, shock and relief battling for space in his mind. Both are beat out by the wave of affection he feels for the man in his arms.
Steve wants to dance. He wants to shout it from the rooftops. He wants to paint . He wants to call Natasha. He wants to shake with all the energy Sam has poured into him with three small words. He wants to say it back.
But he does none of that, because Sam is asleep, at his side, on his right, and he’s not going to do anything to disturb that. Instead, he wraps his left arm around Sam as well, presses a kiss to the top of his head, and whispers “I really, really am.”
