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About Sundays

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About Sundays

At the end of the third loop around Central Park in the predawn morning with the crisp bite of fall cooling his skin, Steve leaned against a handy tree while his husband caught up the last few steps. This was Bucky’s second week of running with him in the mornings, and the first time he’d bailed out of bed on a Sunday with Darcy still keeping the sheets warm. A steady stream of complaints had followed Steve around the park, but he’d chuckled with happiness every time a muttered curse reached his ears.

It was Darcy who had noticed that Bucky wasn’t napping and sleeping in as much anymore, mostly because Bucky got bored and annoyed her into waking up well before she was ready--even if sexytimes were involved and she didn’t mind that so much. A trip to see Banner reminded all of them that as Bucky recovered, he didn’t need the extra downtime to let his brain heal. Two squabbles later, Steve headed off another morning argument by dragging Bucky out to run off the excess energy.

“Punk,” Bucky panted as he slowed to a walk. He lifted the tail of his shirt to wipe his face, showing off his beautifully cut torso. Bucky had always been more solid than Steve, even as kids, and the serum had strengthened his core into a work of art. Truth be known, Bucky could deadlift a tiny bit more than Steve, and in an odd way, they both found it comforting that even science couldn’t change that little detail.

“See something you like?” Bucky quipped with a wink and a smirk, dropping the shirt back into place.

Damn. There was no reason for Steve to flush pink just from being busted for looking at his husband, but with the t-shirt catching on his biceps the same way his shorts caught on thick thighs, Steve was thinking about all the ways he could peel Bucky out of his clothes.

“Keep lookin’ at me like that, and I can think of a few reasons to make this trip home real quick,” Bucky drawled.

Steve laughed. “I was just thinkin’ you needed a few more miles on the treadmill. You’re gettin’ slow, pal.”

Bucky smacked Steve on the shoulder, shoving him toward home. “At least I pay attention to where I’m going. Did you even see that squirrel?” They jogged across 5th Avenue, dodging cars and waving at the occasional tourist who recognized them.

Not really, but Steve wasn’t about to admit that. On the other side of the street, he fell in step with Bucky, shoulders brushing. “I jumped over it. He was fine.”

“Yes, and you scared the two old dudes playing chess. That’s not nice.”

“As slow as you were running, I could have stopped and played a round.”

“Good thing you didn’t. Your chess game is shit.”

Steve huffed. “Only compared to Darcy.”

Bucky let out a bemused laugh. “True.”

They needled each other all the way up Madison Avenue and up 52nd, where the pair ducked inside their favorite coffee shop, knowing that Jason would have placed their order already and left a nice tip. Nodding to the baristas, they picked up their drinks. The guzzled bottles of water went into the recycle bin, then they took their time sipping coffee as they walked the rest of the way home. Steve carried an extra cup for Darcy.

“Got any plans for the day?” he asked.

“Depends on if Darcy’s up or not when we get home,” Bucky teased.



The smell of French toast and bacon drove the pair of them into record-fast showers after Steve parked Darcy's coffee on the bartop. Darcy had a fair hand at both, and she was turning them out six at a time on the stove by the time Steve and Bucky rounded the corner into the kitchen. She must not have been up long, with her hair tucked behind her ears and still wearing Steve’s Mets shirt that she’d slept in and a pair of  Bucky’s boxer shorts.

Her wedding ring caught the sunrise in the window.

Steve’s heart jumped. He wondered for the thousandth time how he’d lucked out with such a dame. She was lovely in every way that counted. Bucky pressed a kiss to her shoulder as he hugged her from behind, then leaned over to retrieve a trio of glasses from the cabinet above.

A flash of memory skittered into Steve's thoughts-- Bucky making pancakes with the one egg they had left that week, doing his best to make it last and doing a damned fine job of it. He had another vision of himself and Darcy attempting to make frittatas from scratch as they worked out how to feed Steve’s ridiculous appetite during a lazy weekend in her carriage house.

Darcy flipped the bacon over and handed the spatula to Bucky, who took over with another kiss to her lips--a lingering one this time. She slid into Steve’s arms for a long hug, her dark hair tickling his cheek. Then she shifted, leaning up to nip at his lips until she pulled him closer in for a long, slow kiss that made his toes curl with want.

When they parted--with a satisfied hum on Darcy’s part and a kiss to her hair on his--Steve caught Bucky’s smile. It wasn’t a smirk or tease, but almost a surprise--or maybe a revelation.

As Darcy led Steve into the kitchen with hands entangled, Bucky picked up their joined fingers to kiss the tips. “I’m thinkin’ I like Sundays.”

“Sundays are good,” Steve agreed.

“Sundays,” Darcy started, as she picked up her coffee-- and it was surely cold by now, but she sipped it as if it was fresh from the shop, “Sundays are the best .”