Chapter Text
Bucky stared at his wife, who was fast asleep. He resisted the urge to poke her awake, the way she certainly would do to him if their positions were reversed; he forced himself to look, to do nothing but look. The rays of light from the window played across her face, and he watched her skin shine in the sun. Her eyelashes cast shadows over her high cheekbones, and his resolve broke, he bent over and kissed her gently on the side of her mouth.
Peggy smiled in her sleep, as if she knew the punchline to a joke Bucky had never heard before. Bucky let his eyes wander down, down her neck, down her silk nightgown, down past the rise of her hip, down to where the nightgown ended and buttery soft thighs began. Kissing her once more on her lips, Bucky crept down her body, hooking his hand around her thigh, pulling it open, gently encouraging his sleeping wife to readjust so that she lay on her back. Watching her carefully, Bucky placed a kiss on the inside of her knee, then another, further up, and again, until he had kissed a line up past the hem of her nightie, up where her body started to radiate heat. He kissed the hair he found there, nuzzled a little, let himself breathe in the fresh scent of his wife.
A slight hand came up to cradle the back of his head; Peggy's awake, Peggy's awake, a voice sang to him, but no matter, he kept kissing his wife’s mound, tongue darting out to lick the skin he found there, tongue dipping lower and lower and then—
Peggy’s hand pressed into the back of Bucky’s head as he licked at her warm slit; kitten licks; she pressed on him as if to push him deeper into her, and he paid her no mind. She was salty on his tongue, salty and sweet like a summer day at the ocean, and he heard her breath hitch, and he knew, he knew he had her—
He broadened his tongue and took all of her onto him, tasting her fully. Firming his tongue, he fucked up into her, pressing into her body as she gasped above him, her thighs clamping down on his head the way he loved—he couldn’t hear anything, couldn’t see anything, it was just him and Peg—
A sharp tug on his hair. He rose quickly, captured her lips with his, tongue plumbing deep into the the depths of her, forcing her to taste how good she tasted. She smiled underneath him, as if she was suppressing a laugh at how seriously he was taking all this— He felt her hand wander closer to his groin, and then it was on him, stroking him as he rapidly lengthened. He took a moment to shrug off his pajama bottoms as she continued to stroke him. Her free hand entwined with his and he pressed it down into the pillows, kissing her hard.
“Wait, darling,” she murmured, and Bucky stopped, hovering above her, still clutching her hand. He was breathing hard. She reached down and in one swift motion, pulled her nightgown off, discarding it on the floor with Bucky’s pants. She was as naked as he was, her breasts splayed out underneath him.
“You ready?” asked Bucky, voice still gravelly from sleep. He mouthed at her temple, and pushed into her hard when he felt her nod.
She gasped at the intrusion, arched her back. He paid her no mind as she bucked against him—after seven years of this, he knew her body and her responses better than he knew his own—and continued moving, pulling out and in, pulling her legs up high so he could aim better, aim deeper. He moved down her temple and began sucking on her collarbone (of course, neck was off limits, the Director of SHIELD couldn’t be seen with Bucky-induced hickeys), biting and worrying at the skin, leaving what was sure to turn into a fine-looking mark.
“Bucky, I’m close,” she gasped, and Bucky sped up, knowing not to shift positions so close to the endpoint, knowing that whatever he was doing, it was working. He worked closer to his own release, spilling inside of her just as her halted moans told him she was spilling over, in her own way.
Spent, he spent a few moments above his wife, kissing her forehead, her nose, her cheek, her lips, finally—before she playfully smacked his ass, smiling at him. He grinned and pulled out of her with a sigh.
“Think it’ll stick this time?” asked Peggy, her voice almost a whisper. Color rode high on her cheeks; her hair sweaty and mussed across her forehead.
“It will, one of these days,” said Bucky, yawning and kissing her temple. He rolled off of her and began sliding on the discarded pajama pants. “We’ve only been trying for what, a week? Give it time, doll.”
“I know. I’m just nervous,” said Peggy, rolling over and looking at the wall clock. “Good heavens, look at the time.”
“Relax, it’s Saturday. Saturdays were made for sleeping in and sex,” said Bucky, grinning.
“Up,” said Peggy, determined. “I said I would make pancakes this morning, not this afternoon,” she said, a note of steel entering her voice. She stood up and pulled on her dressing gown.
“Peg, you’ve gotta be kidding me, it’s barely nine thirty,” whined Bucky, but he followed Peggy out of the bedroom nonetheless.
Peggy deposited a perfectly round stack of pancakes in front of Bucky, and he grinned at her, before diving in. They ate in silence, happily absorbed in the newspaper. Bucky had an inner section and Peggy the front page—as a professional courtesy, Buck always let his wife get to the meat of the news first.
“Looks like someone’s managed to climb Mount Everest,” said Peggy.
“Well, that’s something,” said Bucky, taking a sip of coffee. “Steve and I used to dream about doing that. Well, Steve, more than me; I just went along with it to humor him. I wasn’t much interested in life outside of Brooklyn, in those days.”
“I can just imagine him getting wrapped up in such an idea,” said Peggy, putting the newspaper down and smiling at Bucky. “In peacetime, that is. He was far too preoccupied with other things when I knew him.”
“He sure would have loved the ‘50s, that’s for sure,” said Bucky, his voice a little distant. “Enough to eat, no Nazis to worry about. It’s paradise.”
“He’d have found something to worry about,” said Peggy, turning back to the paper. “Korea. Stalin.”
“No shop talk, it’s our day off,” said Bucky, sternly. “Hey, you didn’t mention anything about the coronation, it’s everywhere today,” said Bucky, tossing Peggy his section of the paper.
Peggy looked at the paper Bucky had given her and snorted. “They’ve even mapped out the route the coronation procession took,” she said, derisively.
“C’mon, it’s kind of sweet, don’t you think?” said Bucky. “Fresh-faced, beautiful new queen, and all of that?”
“Yes, of course,” said Peggy, softening a bit. “But the ceremony of it all,” she said. “Seems rather overdone. I prefer what we do, in the shadows. Less pomp, but more gets done.”
The telephone rang. Bucky went to pick it up.
“Howard!” said Bucky, happily. “Do we have you back?”
Peggy perked up at the name. It had been a week or more since they had heard anything from Howard Stark, who had gone off on one of his secret, self-assigned missions—which Peggy secretly suspected were nothing more than excuses to jet off to Majorca with his girlfriend of the week.
“Today? Are you sure? It’s kind of our one day off, Howard,” said Bucky, sounding pained. “All right, if you’re sure,” he said.
“What’s that all about?” asked Peggy, as Bucky hung up the phone.
“Turns out we have to go into the office, hon,” said Bucky, resigned. “He sounded serious, and I haven’t heard him sound serious since 1949.”
“We’re finishing our pancakes first,” said Peggy, firmly.
“Well, Howard,” said Peggy, irritated. “You wanted us, now you have us,” she said. Bucky closed the door to Howard’s office behind them.
“Nice to see you too, Peggy, Buck,” said Howard, nodding, but the customary mirth was absent from his voice. He had been standing at the wide windows of his office; had apparently been gazing out at the Manhattan skyline before they had walked in.
“What’s the matter, pal?” said Bucky, looking at Howard with concern.
Howard opened his mouth as if he was about to speak, and then closed it. He shook his head. “I don’t really know how to tell you what I need to tell you,” he said, voice flat.
“Might as well start from the beginning,” said Peggy, gently. She glanced at Bucky, worry evident in her face.
“I haven’t been in Majorca,” said Howard, turning to face them. He looked tired, with bags under his eyes, like he hadn’t slept for days.
“Could have guessed that,” said Bucky. “So where were you, that was so important you couldn’t let SHIELD know?”
“Dredging the upper Atlantic for Steve’s body,” said Howard, quietly.
Peggy and Bucky stood there, stunned.
“Couldn’t tell SHIELD, it was my own vanity project, I guess,” said Howard. Bucky felt as if he was in a wind tunnel, blood was rushing through his head, he couldn’t hear, couldn’t think properly.
Peggy was shaking, Bucky noticed, absently. Shaking with anger. “Because I’d never have let you experiment with his remains,” she said, fury lacing every word. “You’ve been going off on your secret side missions for what, four years now, Howard?”
“That’s right, Peg,” said Howard, looking down, shamefacedly. Bucky had never seen Howard look ashamed of himself before, he thought. It would almost be funny, except. Well. Nothing had ever been less funny in his entire life.
“So what is it that you’ve come here to tell us, Howard?” said Peggy, her words clipped, controlled. “What atrocity have you committed, this time?”
“Peg, I found him,” said Howard, quietly. “He’s… he’s alive.”
Bucky made some kind of a noise, halfway between a yell and a whisper, and fell into a chair in front of Howard’s desk.
“What did you say?” said Peggy, voice small.
“He was frozen, fifty klicks south of Greenland. We detected a faint heartbeat. I think the serum helped him survive the ice. SHIELD techs are defrosting him downstairs as we speak,” said Howard.
Bucky felt warmth on his shoulders, felt his wife’s arms rest on him. He reached out blindly and grasped her hand, clutched to it like it was his lifeline. Steve’s alive , he thought to himself. His heart pounded in his chest. Steve’s alive, Steve’s alive, Steve’s alive.
“What sort of… condition… do we expect him to be in?” asked Peggy, worried.
“No way to tell yet,” said Howard. “Could be just fine, could be brain-dead. We just have to wait and see.”
“How long?” said Bucky, voice hoarse.
“A few hours, at least,” said Howard.
Bucky looked up at his wife, tears in his eyes. She looked down at him and squeezed his hand. She was crying, he noticed. Same as him.
“We can go down to the observation theater, if you’d like,” said Howard, quietly.
“Yes, let’s,” said Peggy.
“No,” said Bucky, suddenly, surprised at how sure he sounded. He wouldn’t be able to bear it, he knew. Wouldn’t be able to bear watching lab techs worry over his Steve, wouldn’t be able to look at Steve if it turned out… if it turned out that Steve wasn’t really the same, wasn’t really back after all.
“No, then,” said Peggy. “We’ll stay here, Howard,” she said, and Bucky loved her for not arguing.
They settled in to wait.