Umm so as it'll be Halloween soon, any chance of an update on how Sam and soft werewolf Bucky are getting on? Or the soft vampire husbands and Steven G(uilt) Rogers? I love your writing more than pumpkin spice anything!
omg for real because I had my first pumpkin spice frappuccino on Friday and it was SO GOOD, so good, honestly it was like pumpkin pie in a cup and HOW DID I NOT KNOW THIS BEFORE
I desperately want to produce some soft halloween content, either the soft witch bucky draft I’ve got going or the shapeshifter thing or a postscript to either of these universes, but I am also exceptionally busy with a wedding that’s gonna happen in under four weeks, so in lieu of writing an ACTUAL postscript for either of those fics, please accept this:
It’s so hot Sam thinks he can almost feel the warmth.
Summer in Louisiana: the air is warm and dark and still, breathless heat that sits like heavy velvet. He doesn’t sweat anymore, cool to the touch as always, but sheds his shirt anyway just to feel it a little closer on his skin. It’s so goddamn fucking good he can’t take it.
“What’re you doing tonight?” Bucky asks, languid at the other end of the couch. Nudges Sam’s thigh with one foot. He’s got a little blood on his lower lip and the smell is driving Sam crazy but he stretches out, half-closes his eyes, watches Bucky through his eyelashes. Bucky bites his lip. Lets his gaze linger on Sam’s bare chest. Sam smiles. Caught.
“Nothing,” he says, easy. Shrugs and stretches a little further, giving Bucky a show. “Just figured I’d lie around. It’s so hot I’m feeling lazy.”
“You’re just gonna lie around all night,” Bucky says, and Sam shrugs again.
“Got nothing to do,” he murmurs. “It’s my night off. Maybe I’ll make iced tea.”
“Lemonade,” Bucky says, contrary as ever even when neither of them have got a single goddamn reason for it, and Sam yawns.
“Sure,” he agrees, sleepy and content, and he almost expects his skin to start gathering condensation dew like warm air on a glass full of ice cubes. He’s not that cold. Feels almost warm to his bones. “You should get some practice in. Didn’t buy a piano for it to sit silent. Play Moonlight Sonata again, you know I like it when you get all moody and atmospheric.”
“Steve’s asleep,” Bucky murmurs, “don’t wanna wake him up.”
“He’s not,” Sam says. Tilts his head to hear better. “You might as well come downstairs, Steve, I know you’re awake.” Steve appears a couple minutes later, flushed and sweating and looking cranky as hell. Drags his hand over his face.
“What’s your goddamn problem?” Bucky asks, like it’s not three in the damn morning. Wriggles his bare toes, and Sam grabs his foot, tickles his instep. Steve frowns at them both.
“It’s so hot,” he complains, “I can’t- it’s so goddamn hot I can’t get to sleep.” Sam laughs, can’t help it, and Steve’s frown gets deeper. “We’ve got no AC,” he says defensively, “come on, it’s not funny.”
Sam guesses it isn’t. It’s just, he forgot, is all. Forgot Steve runs hot, burns right up as soon as it gets all sweltering and still like this. He looks feverish, bright spots of color on his cheeks and dark shadows under his eyes, and he’d probably feel better after about a thousand cold showers and iced washcloths on his poor suffering forehead.
That gives Sam an idea. Probably it’s terrible, but-
“Man, come here,” he says. Gets up, pokes Bucky in the ribs until he shifts his ass too. Tugs the cushions off the couch and onto the floor, and Bucky makes a noise like he gets it.
“I’ll get a couple sheets from the linen closet,” he says, and Sam nods. Glances up at Steve, who still looks cranky and overheated, exhaustion bleeding into confusion.
“Go get your pillow,” Sam tells him. Takes one of the sheets Bucky passes him and drapes it over the cushions, tucks it in underneath. It’s not perfect, but low to the ground, down on the first floor, it’ll be cooler than their bedrooms upstairs.
“You want me to sleep in the living room,” Steve says flatly when he comes back down clutching his pillow, and Sam rolls his eyes.
“Just lie down,” he says, and Steve actually does it. Maybe too tired to argue, and Sam makes a note to bring that up when Steve’s running on more than an hour of sleep. Right now, he just busies himself with laying the other cotton sheet over Steve, careful to cover his bare skin, and Steve’s eyes go wide.
“What-” he starts, and Sam lies down next to him. Steve goes very still. “Sam, this- you don’t-”
“You got a rosary I gotta worry about, or what?” Sam asks, and Steve shakes his head. Already drifting a little, like he just needed to lie down for the exhaustion to hit him.
“Stopped wearing it,” he mutters, almost to himself, “seemed kinda rude,” and Sam sighs. Presses in closer, drapes himself against Steve. Bucky makes a noise like he’s amused. “Oh,” Steve murmurs, surprise stretching out into a soft yawn, “you’re cold, that’s-”
“Yeah, unexpected side perk,” Sam agrees, very dry. He can feel the sunlit warmth of Steve radiating up against him, but with the sheet between them he’s not gonna get burnt. Not bad, at least, and if it helps cool Steve down, well, maybe that’s worth it.
“Just gonna lie around, huh,” Bucky says, sounding fond, and Sam grins up at him.
“Told you it was my night off,” he agrees. “Go on, you might as well play something now. Something soft.”
“Something soft, huh,” Bucky says, sitting down at the piano and lifting the lid. Sam can tell Steve’s not asleep yet, not quite. All sleepy-intent watching Bucky flex his fingers, consider the keys. “Something soft,” Bucky says again, almost a whisper, and starts to play. Very soft, and very familiar, and Steve sighs to himself, warm breath gusting over Sam’s skin like night air.
“Liszt arrangement of Schubert,” Bucky says. His hands moving slow and certain. “I’d sing, but it’d ruin the effect.”
“It’s,” Steve says. Swallows hard. “It’s good.”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, glancing over at them. “It is.”
