When Bucky wakes up, he's surprised to see Sam still in bed with him as he checks his watch and sees that it's well past six. Sam is usually out the door some time around five or so for his morning run, and he rarely gets back into bed afterwards. However, when there's a rumble of thunder outside, Bucky hums in understanding and smiles softly.
Sam does not like running in the rain in general, and with a thunderstorm, coupled with how cold it's been getting, no wonder the man turned off his alarm and cuddled back down. Bucky does not blame him in the slightest. He debates just lying back down and letting sleep take him again, the blankets still warm from their collective body heat, but decides to get up and make his way to the kitchen and start some coffee instead.
While he's got the pot brewing, he pulls out a few things for a sweet breakfast, opting for a French toast and scrambled eggs today. Simple, comfortable. It makes him think of Ma and cold Saturday mornings when he and his sisters would curl up under blankets in the living room. Steve, too. Huddled for warmth and enjoying a warm breakfast made with love.
He's working on the last of the toast when Sam shuffles into the room, yawning and leaning in the doorway for a moment. "S'cold out," he mutters, as if he needs to explain himself.
Bucky chuckles and looks his way, raising an eyebrow at Sam. He's wearing one of Bucky's sweaters, and he's tugging the sleeves gently over the palms of his hands, the same way Bucky does when he's cold. He buys his sweaters a little oversized for that exact reason. He wants it to feel like a blanket.
"I know, Sam," Bucky hums. "Got coffee in the pot, though. Nice and warm for you. And almost done with breakfast. You want eggs and French toast or just one?"
"Both, please," Sam mumbles, making his way to the coffee pot and pulling down the custom mug with a picture of Alpine and Figaro on it (it's the only good picture they've ever gotten of the two cats at once). "Can they be on separate plates today?" he adds softly.
Bucky nods, shifting to pull a few plates down before turning off the burner. "One of those days?"
Sam shrugs. "Don't want syrup in my eggs."
Bucky shrugs in turn and starts plating their meals, setting Sam's plates in front of his usual spot at the small table. Once he gets all the condiments out and makes his own coffee, he settles down into his own seat and sighs quietly.
"Did you have any plans today?" Sam asks around a bite, still looking half asleep.
Bucky shakes his head. "Nothin' that can't wait for the sun," he says, leaning back. He takes a soft breath. "You?"
"Not doing it now," Sam chuckles. "I was gonna go down and get stuff to help Mr. Aldeen with his patio, but…" He looks towards the living room and the windows beyond as a flash of lightning brightens that room, followed by a low rumble. "Yeah. Not happening."
Bucky smiles softly. "You still helping that old windbag after what he called you?"
Sam shrugs again, seeming to be waking up more. "We can't all be class acts, but I made a promise. You know me."
Bucky nods. "I'll help, when the weather gets better. That way it don't go so slow and you don't gotta be around him as long."
The look of gratitude on Sam's face speaks volumes as he reaches across the table and squeezes Bucky's right hand.
They fall into a gentle silence as they finish up their breakfast. Sam gets up and starts on the dishes while Bucky starts getting the cats their food for the morning. On cue, the two furballs come wandering in and sit side by side at their dishes in wait.
About 15 minutes later, Bucky finds himself stretched out on the couch with Sam's head in his lap, his own feet propped up on their coffee table, and a book in hand. He reads quietly to Sam, absently running his fingers over Sam's cheek and neck while the other man asks questions about the characters here and there.
It feels like hours. Maybe it's only minutes. They read for a while and Bucky finds himself settling into a comfortable warmth with Sam, the rumble of thunder and the tapping of the rain against the window outside the perfect soundtrack to their lazy morning. He's well into the fifth chapter when he notices Sam hasn't asked a question in a while.
Looking down, he sees Sam's fallen asleep, breaths soft against his knee and one hand curled gently into the fabric of the sweater he's wearing. Alpine's curled up on the back of the couch behind Bucky's head and Figaro is on Sam's hip and it just feels…
Right.
Bucky closes the book, then closes his eyes and lets himself drift off for a bit. It's raining outside anyway. They can afford to rest. Just them. Safe at home, in their own warm space.