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Bucky hasn’t stopped tossing and turning for what feels like five hours now. He has checked the clock on the nightstand at least twelve times and every time it only says that something between one and seven minutes has gone by. His brain automatically does the math and he realises it can’t have possibly been five hours since Steve should’ve been home. Well, however long it has been, Steve is late, and if there’s one thing Bucky doesn’t appreciate, it is Steve being late from a mission where he wasn’t allowed to even send Bucky so much as a “I’m still alive”. Bucky contemplates taking the next flight to Nigeria, but what rational part of his brain is left, tells him that wouldn’t be the smartest idea he’s ever had, and he’s had a LOT of not-smart ideas in his life. Just as he prepares his tired legs to get out of bed and start pacing, he hears the lock turn and footsteps not-so-silently padding on the hardwood floors. He has to smile to himself. For some reason unbeknownst to both of them, Steve’s ability to be stealthy vanishes as soon as he’s setting foot into their brownstone.
The footsteps make their way to the bathroom that’s not connected to the bedroom. Yes, they specifically looked for a house with two bathrooms because Bucky can admit that he likes to take his time styling his hair and admiring his hickeys, which annoys Steve to no end when he has to go take care of his business, but Bucky is blocking his access to the toilet. So after less than their usual amount of time for discussion, they decided that two bathrooms would be the best idea. Neither of them has regretted that decision yet.
The rustling of zippers being opened, and clothes being thrown in the hamper can be heard over Steve’s exhausted sighs. It must’ve been a hard mission. Bucky thinks about sitting up in bed, ready to comfort Steve, but he has a feeling that tonight, Steve will prefer squeezing Bucky to his chest and whispering soft, loving words into his ear. When Bucky hears the bedroom door open, he lifts his head up from the pillow and gives an unintelligible hum of acknowledgement, letting his boyfriend know that his presence is noted and he can stomp around like he normally does.
Bucky can’t see Steve’s smile in the darkness of the room, yet he knows with one hundred percent certainty that it’s there, lighting up his most beloved face, and that he’s the reason for it. It’s a heady feeling, every single time.
“Hey, honey,” Steve whispers when he lifts the covers and Bucky can feel his cold, naked body, press into his own, warm one. Steve tends to sleep in the nude, something about finally having the freedom to do so without risking getting a lethal cold, whereas Bucky is more partial to the soft fleece of pyjama pants and one of Steve’s worn-through t-shirts.
Bucky lets himself be turned around when Steve settles a heavy arm over his torso; now nose to nose with the – admittedly a bit smelly – love of his life. “Stevie,” Bucky can’t help but sigh, worry and stress dissipating as soon as he burrows his face into the crook of Steve’s neck, inhaling deeply and pressing a tender kiss to his hopefully unbroken clavicle. “Are you hurt?”
It’s a question, a conversation, they always have when Steve comes back from one of his, these days luckily less frequent, missions. Bucky just needs to make sure. He can’t sleep without knowing that Steve is okay and safe in his arms. Just like Steve can’t sleep without knowing that he can be vulnerable, now that he’s here in their bed, in their home, with Bucky’s scent and steady breathing all around him.
“Yeah.” Exhaled on a bone-deep, satisfied sigh. It sounds to Bucky like coming home. It must feel like that for Steve. Because this is exactly what it is. Steve coming home. “Yes, I’m good, everything healed on the flight back already.”
Bucky’s humph his muffled by the kiss Steve presses to the top of his head. Bucky is vaguely reminded that he didn’t wash his hair today, though it’s not as if Steve minds. Bucky knows from a lot of years of experience that Steve is willing to kiss him no matter what state he’s in. It’s not something that he entirely understands, because, as opposed to his lovey-dovey, 24/7 heart-eyed hunk of a boyfriend, Bucky definitely isn’t willing to kiss Steve when he’s covered in soot and alien goo. But to each their own. Bucky sure isn’t complaining about the kisses that are currently being pressed all over his face. Those kisses stop for a second, interrupted by another deep sigh, that this time sounds more content than miserable. When Steve whispers ‘I love you’ into his cheek, Bucky understands it more because he recognises the shape of the familiar words on his skin, than because his ears can actually make out the sound of Steve’s words. His voice comes out raspy when he responds.
“I love you, too, baby. Let’s go to sleep, okay?”
It’s Steve’s clue to hold still and let Bucky’s hands roam over his body, letting them search for cuts and broken bones and bruises. Since the first time Bucky realised that Steve tried to hide his injuries from him, all those years before smart phones and weird bananas were even a thing, Bucky makes sure to always check Steve’s body over himself. Because he knows that the stubborn punk he’s sharing a life with can hide behind words but not behind Bucky’s hands on his skin.
This time though it’s all good, no incriminating flinches or sharp inhales that would alert Bucky to a hidden injury. He strokes his mismatched hands up to encircle the sides of Steve’s neck, pressing a lingering kiss to his crooked nose and then to the cut in his bottom lip, before resting his hands on the muscular planes of Steve’s chest and tucking his face into the crook of his boyfriend’s elbow. Steve pulls Bucky closer and with a last kiss to the top of his head, they close their eyes and fall into the most blissful sleep they’ve both had since Steve left for his mission.
There’s no denying that they’ve always been, and always will be, their best when they’re together.
Lucky for Steve, Bucky thinks, that he’s got a ring hidden in his sock drawer.