#natewrites

Brooklyn, 1940s

Bucky wakes to the sound of soft hitching, his arms tightening instinctively around Steve’s middle as he feels his small frame shudder against his chest.

“Mornin’, baby,” Bucky murmurs in that rough morning drawl of his, nuzzling into the soft blond hairs on the nape of Steve’s neck.

“M-m-morning, Buck,” Steve gasps out before curling in on himself with a pair of tickly sneezes. 

“Hh’itchew! Hishew!”

“Aw, bless you, doll,” Bucky coos, pressing a warm kiss to the back of Steve’s neck.

Steve lets out a soft little moan before dissolving into another hitchy gasp, his nose not yet done with its morning routine.

“Hehh… Heshoo!” This one is especially strong, and Bucky raises his head just in time to see the delicate spray glittering in the light shining in from their broken blinds.

A series of “Ish, nsh, tsh!” coming rapid and gentle, and Steve’s nose finally appears to be satisfied, leaving him sniffly and nuzzling into the covers.

“Bless, Stevie,” Bucky breathes softly, kissing the milky skin of the blond’s shoulder where his shirt has slipped down before reluctantly untangling himself with a whine from Steve and moving to get up out of bed.

“I’ll start on breakfast, huh?” And his bare feet pad out of the room, leaving Steve to tend to his nose.

☆ ☆ ☆

Somewhere in Europe, 1943

There isn’t much that doesn’t cause Bucky to stir anymore, but the cot shaking certainly isn’t one of them.

He’s startled momentarily, ready to spring up and fight, figuring someone has broken in and tried to ambush them. That is until he hears the familiar sound of hitching and feels the warm body pressed against his side, obviously the cause of the shaking.

It goes on for several moments longer than usual, Steve’s breath climbing and climbing, before Bucky both hears and feels a heavy “HECHIEW!” muffled (barely) into the pillow, Steve’s body shuddering violently.

Bucky should’ve expected it, really, that with the change in Steve’s size, his sneezes would’ve gotten bigger, louder, hell, wetter if the sound of it was any indication, but he still finds himself caught off guard, flinching involuntarily.

Steve notices, because of course he does; how could he not? Both with his increased senses and the way he’s always been so in tune to Bucky the way he himself is with Steve.

“S-sorry, Buck, didn’t mean to… s-startle you, baby, I…” Steve trails off, his voice lost to more desperate hitches.

He pushes himself up on one hand, his nostrils flaring widely, ticklishly, before he turns to the side, spraying his ground with a harsh triple.

“HESHAHH! HESHOO! Hh’hah… HATCHEW!”

His sneezes really are wetter, because even with Steve turned away, Bucky still feels some spray on his skin.

“Damn, Stevie… bless you, big guy,” Bucky says, possibly more breathless than Steve himself, as he sits up as well, placing a hand on Steve’s still shuddering back, rubbing in gentle circles.

“N-not done,” Steve gasps out in warning, even though that much is very clear to Bucky, with the noises the other man’s making and the way his shoulders shake.

But this one seems to tease the Captain, his lungs expanding against Bucky’s palm, his head tilting back so far they almost collide, his nostrils quivering with the tickle that seems to be doubled by the serum, and the sound of his hitching is starting to get whiny, bordering on obscene, that if anyone were to pass by, it would be compromising.

Bucky just stares, taking in the near-pornographic image before Steve finally snaps forward with a powerful “HEITSHEW!” that absolutely drenches his cupped hands.

And Bucky feels it all, practically shuddering with Steve, pressing himself closer against Steve’s back and reaching blindly under the pillow for a handkerchief, pressing it into the blond’s hands once he finds it, using it to mop up the mess before guiding the other man’s handkerchief-clad hands to his face with his own.

“Blow.” It’s softer than his sergeant’s voice, more loving, but it’s still a command, and Steve obeys it, letting out a honking blow that’s more productive than this reflex ever used to require.

Once Steve lowers his hands, Bucky leans against him, wrapping his arms around his waist and kissing the junction between his shoulder and neck, shooting a glance toward the gap at the tent’s entrance, sunlight peeking through and shining a strip right across Steve’s pillow, which would’ve hit him right in the face when he woke up.

“Serum didn’t help with that?”

Steve chuckles softly and a bit stuffily, knowing immediately what Bucky’s referring to. “Guess it can’t help with a reflex.”

Bucky hums, kissing Steve’s cheek and standing up. 

“I’ll go get us some coffee before Dugan steals it all.” And with that he slips out of the tent, shaking his head fondly as he hears Steve gasp his way into another sneeze, clearly spurred on by the influx of sunlight he just exposed him to.

☆ ☆ ☆

Wakanda, 2016

Bucky wakes up before Steve for once. Another rarity is that he had no nightmares, allowing for a reprieve in the chaos that has been their lives to bask in the glow of the morning, feel the warm sunlight on his skin, and the even warmer body to his right, snoring softly in his ear.

He knows the exact moment Steve stirs, not only because the snoring stops but because he’s gasping his way into something ever so familiar, the sunlight shining right into his eyes and sending a furious tickle straight to his nose, sneezing a groggy “HASHOO!” right into Bucky’s chest, too riddled with sleep to even think about covering.

“Bless you, sunshine,” Bucky murmurs, planting a kiss on Steve’s forehead and running a gentle hand over his back.

Steve only burrows into the fabric of Bucky’s shirt, muffling the rest of his morning fit of sun-induced sneezes.