Morning light streamed in through gauzy curtains, dispersing its warm glow throughout the bedroom. Steve stirred, just a little - a roll of the shoulders, shift of the leg, small yawn - caught on the edges of the shadow world between waking and dreaming.
Since returning from his time in the ice, mornings had become Steve's favorite part of the day. Those first few, perfect moments contained within themselves an infinity of comfort and contentment. Eyes closed, warm under sheet and quilts, he was ensconced in a world without time or agenda.
Even as the light was coaxing him out of a true slumber, a few tatters of his dreams still floated aimlessly about Steve's mind. The strange and beautiful landscape flickered in and out of focus. A peal of laughter filtered in from somewhere. Bucky lay on the grass, smiling, without a care in the world. Steve barely began to reach for him, before he glimmered then faded away.
Cool metal snaked across his bare stomach, calling him back to the physical world with a jolt. Metal fingers entwined with his own, and his lips curved upward in response. Hoping to extend his stay in this particular moment, he began to trace the lines of the prosthetic with his other hand. Each joint and curve received its own due attention, as Steve mapped out the lines of their intersections.
"Mmmm," he murmured contentedly, "Can we just not get up today? I know there's enough snacks in that drawer to make it until at least noon. What do you think?"
The question hung, unanswered in the air. Steve felt the seductive pull of sleep tugging him back down, but he shook it off. "Buck?" he muttered. More silence.
"What do you think?" he asked, sleepily blinking open his eyes and turning over to see if his partner had fallen asleep again. "Did you want any breakf - aaaaaaaah!"
Steve's heart leapt into his chest as he surveyed the vacant sheets and realized that, though he was still holding Bucky's hand, Bucky was not currently attached to it.
"Did you say something?" Bucky strolled back into the room with a cup of coffee in his only currently connected hand like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"Bucky," Steve said through gritted teeth, "We've talked about this."
"Talked about what?" Bucky asked innocently, taking a sip of the coffee before depositing it on the bedside table. "Oh, that! Sorry, I forgot it wigs you out. You seemed so comfortable, and I didn't want to wake you up."
He extracted the prosthetic from Steve's grip and began to carefully re-attach it to his shoulder. "Just a couple more tweaks..." he muttered, fiddling with the shoulder piece, "...and voila! Problem solved." He grinned unapologetically.
"I bet you think you're funny. I bet you think you're really funny." Steve tried to glare, but found the shit-eating grin on Bucky's face to be ultimately contagious. He lunged to catch Bucky around the waist and half-wrestle him into a spooning position.
Bucky laughed - a brash, breakaway sound that transported Steve back to their youthful days of rough-housing like this - and capitulated quickly, asking, "You want some apology coffee?"
"No," Steve murmured, kissing him behind the ear. "I want you. In this bed. All morning. After all..." He nestled closer, burying his face in the back of Bucky's neck. "It is the best part of the day."