Not since his mother passed has Steve let anyone fuss over him like this. If it weren't for his current predicament, he most likely wouldn't be allowing it now. But he has no choice, he's hungry and tired and lost, and giving in is too strong a temptation. It has been too long since Steve felt he had anything approximating a home, but being in Sam's presence is like finding something he feared was long lost, a sense of peace that only comes with knowing you are safe and cared for.
Sam, of course, is incapable of making Steve feel ashamed for accepting help. He takes it upon himself to keep up a one-sided conversation, and the sound of his voice lulls Steve's animal brain into a restful state. At some point, he relaxes enough to settle into a curled position next to where Sam is seated, leaning his spine back against the warmth of Sam's thigh.
By the time that Sam is finished, Steve has gotten so comfortable that the sudden shift in atmosphere leaves him disoriented. Perhaps that's why the most pathetic sounding whimper escapes him when Sam suggests the guest room. He feels like a slave to his urges as he bumps his head against Sam, pushing and nudging to make room so he can curl up in Sam's lap (as much of him as can fit, anyway), but he isn't ready for this closeness between them to end.
Sam finds that he's getting pretty comfortable, too, between the rhythm of rubbing Steve dry and the warmth of his body. By the end, he's not really sure what he's saying anymore, but he's lulled himself into a relaxed and nearly dozing state. He doesn't protest when Steve worms his way onto his lap - it makes him think of a Great Dane pretending to be a Chihuahua, and it's actually pretty cute. Instead, he just tips his head back against the couch and runs his fingers through the fur around Steve's ears.
They stay like that for a good fifteen minutes, and Sam's nearly asleep when something in his neck twinges and reminds him that he can't sleep sitting up anymore unless he wants to regret it for a week. (Steve, he suspects, could sleep folded up like a pretzel and be just fine the next day.)
"Can we at least move this to my room?" he murmurs sleepily. Doesn't think twice about it - it's not like they haven't had to squeeze into whatever's been available before. If Steve wants to cuddle, that's fine by him. The sound of the storm outside just makes the thought more appealing, now that he's dry.
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Sam, of course, is incapable of making Steve feel ashamed for accepting help. He takes it upon himself to keep up a one-sided conversation, and the sound of his voice lulls Steve's animal brain into a restful state. At some point, he relaxes enough to settle into a curled position next to where Sam is seated, leaning his spine back against the warmth of Sam's thigh.
By the time that Sam is finished, Steve has gotten so comfortable that the sudden shift in atmosphere leaves him disoriented. Perhaps that's why the most pathetic sounding whimper escapes him when Sam suggests the guest room. He feels like a slave to his urges as he bumps his head against Sam, pushing and nudging to make room so he can curl up in Sam's lap (as much of him as can fit, anyway), but he isn't ready for this closeness between them to end.
no subject
They stay like that for a good fifteen minutes, and Sam's nearly asleep when something in his neck twinges and reminds him that he can't sleep sitting up anymore unless he wants to regret it for a week. (Steve, he suspects, could sleep folded up like a pretzel and be just fine the next day.)
"Can we at least move this to my room?" he murmurs sleepily. Doesn't think twice about it - it's not like they haven't had to squeeze into whatever's been available before. If Steve wants to cuddle, that's fine by him. The sound of the storm outside just makes the thought more appealing, now that he's dry.