For stuffimgoingtohellfor, who I said I’d write a ficlet for. They wanted SamSteve domestic fic. :D
What with the robots, the aliens, and Tony Stark’s endless need for attention, they haven’t been home much in the last two weeks. Moreover, they haven’t been doing the chores. Dishes are piled up in the sink and they’re down to eating cereal out of mugs. The toilet has started to get that awful latrine smell that indicates a desperate need for disinfection and scrubbing. There are crumbs all over the counter and floor in the kitchen, clothes thrown random places in the living room from all the haste to get into uniforms in a hurry, and long brown hairs that show up starkly against the pale blue carpet in the bedroom. Bucky is still too shy to speak more than a word to them at a time, but he’ll sleep in their bed if they’re at the Stark Tower overnight. Sam still hasn’t decided if that’s sweet or creepy (both, really) but he allows it because it keeps Steve sane to know that Bucky wants to be close and at least sometimes has a safe place to sleep.
So once the robots, the aliens, and Tony Stark’s endless needs have been dealt with, Sam sleeps and showers and fucks Steve hard enough that Steve’s caterwauling makes sure all the neighbors are awake at 6am too. Once that’s done, Sam pulls him into the livingroom, gestures at everything, and says, “You get the kitchen, I’ll start with the vacuum.”
Several hours pass in companionable noisiness. Steve scrubs everything to within an inch of its life as Sam tidies, vacuums, mops, and fights entropy at home as well as in the city at large. If he watches Steve bend over the sink and the tub and takes a moment to enjoy the play of light over Steve’s biceps, who can blame him?
Once the house looks less like a disaster site, Sam decides that they need to do laundry. To make sure they get their money’s-worth out of the detergent and water usage, he fucks Steve face-down this time. The man leaks like a faucet and comes like a hentai scene thanks to the damn serum. That way the sheets are good and messy before Sam tosses them into the washer.
Steve always acts like a massive blond limpet after sex, but having gotten the sheets up from under them Sam fetches his laptop as well before succumbing to Steve’s intense need to cuddle. Steve curls around his side and stays there, breathing onto Sam’s collarbone as Sam orders the rice-cooker and extra sex towels they need. And some superglue, because Steve keeps breaking things.
By the time night rolls around and there has not been a single national emergency to call them out of the house again, Sam considers it a small miracle. One whole day of Captain America all to himself.
"I don’t regret getting back into the game for you," Sam says, half-muffled in Steve’s hair as they cuddle close to watch the opening credits of Belle. They picked it on the basis that it features no explosions and got good reviews. That tends to be their criteria for choosing films these days, thanks to Steve’s worsening PTSD. Stroking gentle fingertips over Steve’s temple, he presses another kiss to the clean, soft hair. “But I have missed having days like this. Quiet at home with a lover.”
"Me too," Steve agrees, and wraps himself a little tighter around Sam’s side.