feverish kisses (stucky)
james buchanan barnes didn’t get sick. it’s as simple as that; bucky’s immune system was nothing short of impregnable.
which is why the flu snuck up on him like a cat stalking it’s prey.
it came on slow in the beginning, a simple itch in his throat that he simply couldn’t clear enough. a sneeze or two, watery eyes. mainly allergy symptoms, nothing that bucky thought more than two seconds about.
but then it /hurt/, like, /really/ hurt. there’s no simple way to describe it. if you’re sick, you’re sick. everyone has experienced it at least once in their life.
every bone in his body ached. tissues littered the floor and table next to the couch he was lying on. his face was red and splotchy, shining with a thin sheen of sweat. every time he coughed his body lurched.
to sum it up, it was god awful.
KNOCK, KNOCK
bucky moaned softly, raising his head off of the pillow it was previously resting on.
“wha-at?” he said, as loud as he could. his voice was rough and scratchy, considering all he’d been using it for the last few days was groaning and sobbing.
“hey, buck! it’s steve, can I come in?”
“steve?” bucky stumbled up off of the couch and to the door of his apartment.
“steve.” he confirmed.
“i’m sick, go away.” bucky mumbled, looking through the peephole of his door.
“what was that?”
bucky fumbled to unlock the door, pulling it open an inch and peeking out.
“I said I’m sick, rogers,” bucky eyed the plastic bag in steve’s hand with unease. “you brought food?”
steve’s face crumpled, his brows furrowing. “yeah. can I come in?” his voice was soft and worried, making bucky’s knees buckle a little.
“I don’t wan’a get you sick.” he slurred.
“I won’t get sick, buck, I’m a super soldier. It’s practically impossible.”
“so am I, dipshit,” bucky didn’t quite have the energy to raise his voice at steve. “yet somehow I got the-“ he sneezed. “-flu.”
“If I get sick, It’s for a good cause.”
“please don’t tell me you won’t stop asking until I let you in.”
“I won’t stop asking until you let me in.”
bucky grunted, opening the door fully for steve to step through.
“god, bucky, you look terrible.”
“thanks.” he snorted, making his way back to the couch.
“you know what I meant, asshole.” steve remarked, brushing the tissues off of the coffee table to place down the takeout he was carrying when he came in.
“language.” bucky mumbled, burying himself under a mound of blankets.
“you’re hilarious,” steve said, walking to the kitchen to get a rag. he held it under the tap, then wrung it out with his hands. “how are you holding up over there?”
“I was f-ine before you showed up. I can take care of myself.”
steve walked back over to bucky, holding the rag to his forehead and dabbing it around his face. “that right?”
bucky only hummed his response, his eyes fluttering shut and a hot breath leaving his mouth.
he felt plastic tap his parted lips, and he held his head back gladly to welcome what he assumed was a water bottle into his mouth.
his theory was confirmed when he felt a cool liquid pour down his fairly dry throat, quenching him of a thirst he wasn’t even aware of to begin with.
the water bottle left, but something else took its place, something that felt fairly different from plastic and more like the plush pink lips of steven grant rogers.
-