ohcaptainmycaptain1918:

“STEEB!”

Bucky’s always turned into a huge baby the second allergy season hits.

It’s funny, really; even back in the day, long before the war while they were growing up, Bucky’s always played it off like nothing phases him the moment things get tough. A broken bone or a bloody nose makes his eyes water, if only for a second. But he’s always been the ’harden my jaw and swallow it down like I didn’t feel a thing’ sort of guy.

Steve gets it, ‘cause he’s always been the same way. Maybe they’d conditioned themselves to be like that due to being around each other – perpetual rocks, forever feeling as though they have to be strong for the other’s sake and not let their weakness show, even though the other knows when it’s there, always.

But allergies turn Bucky into a five-year-old – and truth be told, it’s hard not to find it a little amusing these days. Because here you have this two-hundred-plus-pound ex-super assassin – with his long, unruly hair and stubbled cheeks; grey eyes, softer nowadays but still with a slight edge to them – suddenly doing nothing but pouting adorably, as he’ll wrap himself up tightly in a blanket on the couch and look more like a Bucky burrito than some sort of deadly killer.

There’s the list of go-to things that Steve knows usually work: stuffed-up, red-nosed Bucky likes his cuddles when he feels under the weather, even if he refuses to admit it. He gets a little bit bossy, but it’s about the only time when he ever does, so Steve doesn’t mind. He’ll make him tea and put on Disney movies (always starting with The Fox and the Hound, which seems to be Bucky’s favourite), and then wile away the day with his arms around Bucky; keeping him in a protective hold while the brunet sips from his mug… And sniffles, sneezes, and grumbles.

Bucky turns into a hermit on these days. He doesn’t ever want to leave the apartment, nor does he feel like company from any of the other Avengers. But he always wants Steve around. In fact, if Steve ever has to run out for a few minutes to grab some more ‘Stuffy Bucky’ essentials to get them through the day, he’ll always return to see that laughably small ball of blankets on the couch – hiding his best friend somewhere within the folds and with Bucky’s head peeking out – as Bucky glares at him, sniffs, and accuses him of taking ‘his sweet-ass time.’

Usually, Steve’s only ever gone for about ten minutes at most.

Steve likes feeling so needed, though; likes the way that Bucky puts his head on Steve’s shoulder while they watch movies because his hands are either cradling his cup of tea, or buried somewhere within the blanket. He likes how his best friend’s body molds against his so perfectly, and how Bucky will let Steve take his weight because he knows Steve has always wanted to carry it all.

Bucky will pout and complain and fuck pollen, fuck flowers, etc… But despite his agitation, all he wants when he’s like this is Steve. To hold him; to hear his quiet laughter, and the way his shoulder bounces against his cheek. He doesn’t comment on it – he doesn’t really these days anyways, because he’s still got such a long road ahead in terms of his recovery – but Bucky’s a total sucker for the moments when Steve will turn his face in and give the top of Bucky’s head feathery little kisses. Sometimes, his way of saying ‘thank you’ is to tilt his chin up and press his lips to Steve’s cheek, before silently looking back to the TV and saying nothing – and Steve’s heart always warms, like the sun shining down on the hottest summer days in Brooklyn.

Today, they’re in the middle of watching Hercules, and Bucky’s so tuckered out that he’s fallen completely asleep with his face pressed against Steve’s neck. It breaks Steve’s heart in that ’it’s so adorably sad that you just wanna snuggle them better’ way… How Bucky has to breath through his mouth because his poor nose is just so plugged up. There’s a tiny little whistling noise every time he inhales, and about three boxes of tissues’ worth of balled-up Kleenex littering the coffee table where Steve’s resting his feet.

Bucky’s allergies are hitting him on high alert today. When he’d done that thing he does where he’ll peck Steve’s cheek in an attempt to say ‘thanks for the cuddles’, Steve had actually turned his face into it to meet Bucky’s lips… only for Bucky to suddenly jolt against him and unexpectedly sneeze right in Steve’s face. Steve barked out a laugh, assuring Bucky that everything’s fine, as he promptly wiped his face and pulled his boyfriend closer. Not even ten minutes later, and Bucky passed out, still grumbling softly in his sleep.

When he wakes up later that afternoon, he’s in a foul mood, and nothing Steve does seems to help. Bucky’s head is pounding from sneezing so much, and he’s still so exhausted that whenever he tries to stand, he feels drained and just plops right back down on the couch. He’s even needier, and wants even more of Steve’s cuddles – which Steve is only more than happy to give, but now Steve’s shoulder feels boney, and can you stop shiftin’ around so much?? and This movie sucks, WHY hasn’t Gaston been roundhouse-kicked in the fuckin’ nuts yet?? and FUCK pollen, FUCK flowers, they can KISS my ASS!

Of course, Steve knows that none of this is directed at him. If Bucky thinks he’s snapped at Steve, it’ll take him a few minutes, but then he’ll curl up tighter to Steve’s side and break the silence by muttering, “M’sorry.” Steve thinks that sometimes, Bucky’s still not fully convinced that Steve won’t up and leave him; that he’ll get tired of Bucky and all the ways he’s still sometimes a bit of a loose fuse, because he’s trying the hardest he can, but sometimes, his moods are still easily erratic.

Steve would never leave him, and – being honest here – he’s used to Bucky being a bit of a sourpuss whenever he feels under the weather, so it’s never any trouble to just hug him closer and repeat, “It’s alright, Buck. What else are best friends for?”

Except now it’s dinner time and Bucky’s kicked over a chair because he’s frustrated by the headache-turned-migraine, along with the fact that he just had to endure a sneezing spree that lasted almost two solid minutes and left tears running uncontrollably down his cheeks. Then he lies down on the couch and tries to watch what’s on TV again, but he’s itchy all over and won’t stop sneezing and grumbling. The sneezing doesn’t stop, even after he’s eventually fallen asleep again.

Steve wishes he knew how to help – put a smile on Bucky’s face, if even for a second. He tries to think of what he can do…

And that’s how he winds up to the pet store and back again, carrying in his arms a box filled with four kittens.

It was a bit of a sporadic decision, but desperate times called for desperate measures, and Steve and Bucky have discussed getting a pet for a while now anyways. Bucky’s always liked cats; there used to be a stray one – thin as a post and smelled something awful – that would come by their old apartment back in the day. It hated Steve but seemed to adore Bucky. They couldn’t afford a proper pet back then, so Bucky sort of adopted that one in his own way – would find leftover scraps to give it, and water, and would sit outside with it while he smoked so it could curl up on his lap and meow annoyingly whenever Bucky stopped scratching its ears.

He’d named it Oscar, and like with all things of that nature, had pretended he hadn’t been crushed when Oscar suddenly just stopped coming by one day. “Probably got its stupid ass hit by a car,” Bucky had said, feigning nonchalance. Steve pretended not to notice the way Bucky still continued to put out a bowl of water every day, secretly hoping it would come back. But it never did.

Maybe four cats is a bit excessive, but the more the merrier (right?). The tower’s big, and Steve can already think of a few people in their team who wouldn’t mind having them around, and who doesn’t love getting a box of kittens?

Bucky’s more than a little surprised when Steve gives him his present, to say the least. At first, he takes the box and stares down at it like some sort of twelve-legged monster is going to pop out – as the tiny mewls can be heard from inside. Then little paws start poking out from the holes, and Bucky’s eyes look like they’re about to bulge out of his head.

“What the fuck…” he whispers, confused, and then opens up the top. Immediately, a little Scottish fold pops its head out and stares straight at Bucky; mewing loudly as if to say, ‘GET ME OUT OF HERE AND CUDDLE ME, HUMAN SLAVE!’ Bucky just keeps staring back at it like he doesn’t understand.

“You got me… kittens?” he asks slowly, looking to Steve with a frown; voice nasally and congested.

“Yeah.”

“…All of them?”

“Uh, yeah…” Steve says, chuckling. He might have some explaining to do with that one.

Bucky moves hesitantly. He lowers the box to the ground and then carefully pulls each little fuzzball out, one by one. He makes sure to keep them predominantly in his flesh hand as he holds them up and looks them over; treating them like glass, as if afraid to have something so small and delicate in his grip. Whenever he’s done looking at one, he’ll place it on the ground next to the box before fishing out another.

All four of them seem to be instantly enamoured with Bucky; he’ll place them on the ground, only for them to take turns pulling themselves up his legs by the fabric of his sweatpants, like he’s their personal jungle gym. His face is unreadable as he continuously scoops each kitten up and places them back on the floor – but after about ten minutes of them refusing to stop trying to crawl back into his lap, he gives up and slides silently from the couch to the floor to join them.

Steve sits on the arm rest and watches the four little kittens run around his boyfriend and play; leaping (and sometimes tripping) over his legs, or pouncing on him and each other. Bucky just watches and sniffles, but says nothing. Steve can see how curious Bucky is – about as easily as Bucky clearly trying not to show how much he’s completely loving this.

If this was back in the day, Bucky would probably be rolling around with them and laughing with delight. But these days, Bucky has a more difficult time feeling comfortable voicing his thoughts, or letting himself show when he’s happy. He never got to be happy with Hydra; had admitted once to Steve that he felt like if he let it show now, it’d be taken away from him. Sometimes, he’ll smile the way he used to, and lately, he’s taken to laughing again when he finds something funny. But most of the time, he doesn’t know how to express it. So he usually just pretends that things don’t phase him at all.

Unfortunately, it turns out that people can get new allergies over time… Because about thirty minutes later, Bucky’s eyes are bloodshot – wet and bleary – and he’s got a fresh batch of the sneezes all over again, coming back with a vengeance. He’s sneezing so fast that he’s actually looking to Steve in confusion, and Steve thinks he can physically see the moment when Bucky’s heart breaks, as he realizes that he’s now allergic to cats.

“These little fuckers got me itchin’ like crazy,” Bucky snaps impatiently, scratching his neck so hard that the skin is left an angry red. “Great – this was exactly what I needed.”

“Sorry, Buck,” Steve sighs, rising from the couch. “I thought they’d help.”

Bucky sighs in return, his hands thunking loudly off his thighs. One of the kittens immediately leaps for his metal hand and starts trying to nip Bucky, wanting him to play. “It’s not your fault, Stevie—” (He sniffles) “Thanks for doin’ this anyways, y’know? That was real nice.”

Steve can hear the guilt in his voice; one of those moments when he realizes how difficult he’s inadvertently being, and probably scared shitless all over again that Steve’s going to get fed up with him and tell him it’s over. Steve just smiles, his heart aching for his best guy (but also, still sort of wanting to laugh at the whole thing), and says reassuringly, “It’s alright, Buck. I’ll go gather up their stuff and see if any of the others want ‘em. If not, I can always bring them back; they’re bound to find a good home with someone.”

Bucky says nothing; just stares back at him with a frown. As Steve heads towards the kitchen to grab the bags he hasn’t had the chance to unpack yet, he notices that Bucky was lifting his metal hand and watching two of the kittens try leaping up after it.

He’s gone for a few minutes, namely so he can call a couple of the others and explain the situation to them. Bruce says he doesn’t mind taking one; Stark says he’ll take another. Natasha, on the other hand, says she isn’t a cat person, and Clint replies that he would rather get a dog. So that’s two of the four, and Steve already feels awful about breaking them up. Still, it’d been his own fault for getting that many kittens all at once. And it’s not as if Bucky can afford to keep them around if they’re going to rile up his allergies that badly.

But when he’s got everything ready and heads back into the living room to get the kittens themselves, he’s surprised to see Bucky lying on his back on the floor; metal arm pillowed behind his head as he sniffles and continues to sneeze – with the kittens crawling all over him. The Scottish fold is curled up on his chest, Bucky petting the fingers of his right hand over its head gingerly. His face is still unreadable – playing it off like he couldn’t care less about these cats. But Steve can see right through him.

He realizes instantly that Bucky has no intention of giving them up.

“Some of the guys said they could take two of ‘em,” Steve says slowly – casually – just to see if Bucky’s gonna keep up the charade. “So…”

“They can stay here,” Bucky replies, doing his best to sound apathetic – like this is just the most logical solution, and has nothing to do with how little Bucky wants to give them up.

Steve goes along with it. Pretending to play dumb, he says, “Buck, if they’re gonna get you sneezin’ all the time—”

“That’s what Reactine is for.”

“…You sure you’re gonna be able to handle having four kittens around all the time? You don’t have to keep ‘em if you don’t want em,” he adds, choosing his words carefully. It’s so hard not to sprout the grin that’s fighting so hard to show through.

Bucky shrugs one shoulder and replies, “Well, I already named them, so it’d just confuse them.”

One corner of Steve’s mouth curls up uncontrollably. He approaches him and goes to pick up one of the kittens; Bucky misinterprets it as Steve not listening to him and trying to take them away anyways. “Buck, they’ll be fine; if you don’t want em—”

“It’ll confuse them, Steve,” Bucky cuts in adamantly, now glaring. Steve notices him hold the Scottish Fold on his chest a bit closer. “Think of the kittens! They’re fine right where they are – you want them havin’ abandonment issues for the rest of their little feline lives? That what you want, Steve?”

Steve has to press his lips into a firm line to keep from breaking into a fit of laughter. Because Bucky’s nose is still bright red and his eyelashes are clumped together with how teary his eyes are. He keeps sniffling, and he sounds so indignant and offended… Yet he’s so blocked up and congested that every time he says Steve, it keeps coming out like Steeb.

So he bites his tongue – his heart overflowing again at the adorable sight of Bucky and his tooth-and-nail fight to keep these kittens that are already his anyways – and nods. Squatting, he pets a couple tiny heads of fur, and is secretly thrilled when none of them hiss at him the way Oscar used to. Faking the same nonchalance as Bucky, he straightens and goes to put the bags away in the kitchen again.

“Okay, Buck, you’re right,” he concedes. “We don’t wanna confuse them. I’ll go lay out their food and water.”

As he’s heading out of the room, Bucky calls out, “They the bowls you can put their names on?”

Steve beams to himself. “We can paint them on?” he calls back.

There’s a pause, and Steve thinks he can hear a smile in Bucky’s own voice when he replies, “Good. Let’s do that.”

—-

They’re all named Oscar. Oscar the First through Oscar the Fourth, to be exact. And they curl up all around Steve and Bucky that night while they watch their way through Mulan, Snow White, and Aladdin. Bucky’s got his head resting on Steve’s shoulder and two of the kittens – Oscars the First and Third – resting in his lap. Oscar the Second is fast asleep next to Steve’s thigh, while the Fourth prefers playing on the ground by Steve’s feet.

Bucky sniffles and sneezes and remains as silent and cuddle-hungry as ever… But he also has the tiniest little smile on his face. And he sure as heck gives Steve’s cheek a lot more kisses.

Their entire medicine cabinet is now stocked with boxes of Reactine.