The Falcon and Winter Soldier

Sunday Mornings Gold

//SMUT WARNING//

Sam and Bucky make good, slow morning love on the morrow of their 5th anniversary celebration.

The whole of their goddamn bedroom is a goddamn mess.

It is a mess that explodes primarily from their luggage.

Their luggage which they took with them stepping onto their anniversary cruise and which they took with them stepping off their anniversary cruise.

Clothes make up most of the mess. Clothes, clothes, clothes. Exploded out of their luggage; exploded all over the room. Dirty clothes that were absolutely halfway to the designated dirty clothes pile have been abandoned wherever they lay. Sam's wrinkled, chlorine-smelling bright red swim trunks are draped over the side of a dresser; Bucky's favorite, sweat-soaked black muscle shirt is hanging over the edge of the armchair. Meanwhile Bucky's stark white button-down with the steak sauce stain lays rumpled and spread out on the floor not far from the side of the bed; Sam's khaki pants, also sporting the steak sauce stain, lay in a crumpled up heap on the other side of the bed.

Right at the door of their adjacent bathroom sits the pile of dirty clothes they'd been in the middle of moving to the hamper. The dirty pile holds everything from their spare swim trunks; socks; underwear; shirts; pants; ties; and more underwear. And not two items are sorted by color to get ready to go into the washing machine.

Faring not much better are clean clothes that they either bought on the cruise or were gifted at their surprise anniversary party. Every last article of clothing either needs their tags removed; needs to get taken out of their boxes and/or bags; needs to be pulled off their hangers; and/or needs to actually be tried the fuck on. A boxset of 4 Armani blue-and-silver striped ties are still in their case and hang haphazardly over one of their nightstands. Two new pairs of the softest, fluffiest, cushiest house slippers are still in their box and sit on the other nightstand.

And there are flowers all over their room-more flowers than they ever anticipated receiving for their anniversary. Tulips and begonias bloom in their respective vases at the base of their window sill; roses and carnations flourish in their respective cellophane wraps at the base of another window's sill. A single vase of bright yellow daisies rest in the middle of a dresser. Damn near an army of soft pink roses in more cellophane take up all the space atop one of their suitcases on the floor at the foot of the bed.

Trinkets and souvenirs, some bought and some gifted, are a close 2nd to the flowers in the mess they add. On one of the dressers, right next to Sam's red swim trunks, are a set of Tiffany wine glasses engraved with "Mr. and Mr. Wilson-Barnes" in smooth, flawless cursive. Two cases, each holding a rose gold Rolex, share space on the dresser holding Sam's swim trunks. A dainty, aromatic gift basket of sauvignon wines and cheese sticks out of a suitcase. Sticking out of another suitcase is a kitty-themed calendar with a kitty-themed notepad and pens.

Not far behind in making up a 3rd of the mess in the room are a variety of candies and cookies. Again, some bought and some gifted. Decorative box sets and bags and more box sets litter the space. There's a huge, heart-shaped boxset of Hershey's heart-shaped dark chocolates on the nightstand with the Armani ties; on the little day bed right up against one of the windows lays macadamia cookies wrapped up in a green gift box topped with a silver bow; and a massive Ghirardelli gift basket takes up space next to the armchair. They at least managed to get the macaroons in the freezer and the gourmet chocolate chip cookie dough in the fridge.

There are more flowers.

And completing the mess is none other than the 2 married men deeply asleep in the bed. Sam lays sprawled out on his stomach, face partially mashed into their many pillows and arms spread out. One arm lays loose on top of the messy covers while the other is thrown over Bucky's chest, the hand of that arm loosely curled around Bucky's metal shoulder. His leg is thrown over his husband's.