tattoo your last bruise, by ftmsteverogers
Steve of the present — who was all muscle, now, muscle and the same perfect bow of his lips — made a soft sound in his sleep, almost a sigh, and Bucky watched him through half-lidded eyes. He watched him, and eventually he slid down the bed until he was lying down, and when sleep came to take him, it was with Steve’s name in his mouth. Curled under his tongue, where it tasted both familiar and inevitable.
Adult, recovery fic. Bed-sharing and touch-starved Bucky… This is pure loveliness!