We'll get a whole lounger. Something real puffy, maybe with memory foam.
[ steve could protest bucky using the window instead of their perfectly good front door, but it seems pointless. bucky should do whatever he needs to to feel safe, and if using the window is what it takes, steve would replace the whole floor with padded cushions. a lounger seems a little less dramatic, though.
the point is: anything for bucky. ]
I already showered this morning. [ conversational, like bucky isn't stripping in the middle of the living room in front of an open window. steve has a routine, one he developed with painstaking deliberateness during the between years, after insight and before everything started to fall into place:
he wakes up no earlier than five in the morning and no later than six. he runs for no longer than an hour, lest sam give him sad, disappointed eyes. he gets a coffee from a local shop and drinks it on the way home. he takes a shower, then he eats a breakfast consisting of no less than a quarter of his daily caloric intake. this routine didn't come naturally, but after one too many times finding steve had stayed awake all night only to go on so many laps around central park he couldn't keep himself upright anymore, with not enough calories in him to satisfy his new metabolism, sam insisted something had to change. he was right, of course. the routine helps. it keeps him sane, it keeps him healthy. it kept him from climbing his own walls in desperation while bucky was in the wind. now it's just What Steve Does.
he gives bucky completely unsubtle elevator eyes, taking in all the skin and muscle he's put on display, smirking. ]
[ how does one convince a man like steve rogers? from bucky's experience, you can't. he's steady as a mountain, just as impossible to move when he's set himself to a cause, and at most you could maybe stall him for a day or two, maybe three, before his stubbornness and utmost refusal to toe the line kicks back in. and then you'll meet the steve that their enemies have met in the battlefield: a force of nature bundled up nicely in a likeable body, all perfect teeth and grecian fury flowing outwards until your defences give out and break down.
but maybe— this isn't a challenge, what steve is asking. this is an invitation, and bucky takes it, reaches for steve with his mostly-clean hand and pulls him close, pulls him in for a kiss that starts off polite before diving right in to needy and indecent.
their neighbors should be so lucky. what a show. bucky's reaching low past steve's waist, knuckles brushing light over the swell between his legs, then he's stepping back and away, saluting steve with two fingers and sauntering off for the bathroom. ]
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
stucky: banging bucky: so what's up with you and nat? steve: ?????
[ steve could protest bucky using the window instead of their perfectly good front door, but it seems pointless. bucky should do whatever he needs to to feel safe, and if using the window is what it takes, steve would replace the whole floor with padded cushions. a lounger seems a little less dramatic, though.
the point is: anything for bucky. ]
I already showered this morning. [ conversational, like bucky isn't stripping in the middle of the living room in front of an open window. steve has a routine, one he developed with painstaking deliberateness during the between years, after insight and before everything started to fall into place:
he wakes up no earlier than five in the morning and no later than six. he runs for no longer than an hour, lest sam give him sad, disappointed eyes. he gets a coffee from a local shop and drinks it on the way home. he takes a shower, then he eats a breakfast consisting of no less than a quarter of his daily caloric intake. this routine didn't come naturally, but after one too many times finding steve had stayed awake all night only to go on so many laps around central park he couldn't keep himself upright anymore, with not enough calories in him to satisfy his new metabolism, sam insisted something had to change. he was right, of course. the routine helps. it keeps him sane, it keeps him healthy. it kept him from climbing his own walls in desperation while bucky was in the wind. now it's just What Steve Does.
he gives bucky completely unsubtle elevator eyes, taking in all the skin and muscle he's put on display, smirking. ]
I could be convinced to take another, though.
siri is my enemy
[ how does one convince a man like steve rogers? from bucky's experience, you can't. he's steady as a mountain, just as impossible to move when he's set himself to a cause, and at most you could maybe stall him for a day or two, maybe three, before his stubbornness and utmost refusal to toe the line kicks back in. and then you'll meet the steve that their enemies have met in the battlefield: a force of nature bundled up nicely in a likeable body, all perfect teeth and grecian fury flowing outwards until your defences give out and break down.
but maybe— this isn't a challenge, what steve is asking. this is an invitation, and bucky takes it, reaches for steve with his mostly-clean hand and pulls him close, pulls him in for a kiss that starts off polite before diving right in to needy and indecent.
their neighbors should be so lucky. what a show. bucky's reaching low past steve's waist, knuckles brushing light over the swell between his legs, then he's stepping back and away, saluting steve with two fingers and sauntering off for the bathroom. ]