Bucky wasn't surprised when Steve wrapped an arm around him. He leaned against him slightly, when his husband pressed against his back. "Morning." He hummed softly. "I wake you up?"
He patted Luke's back just a little. "We were on our way to get some warm milk. See if that'll settle minds, and tummies, and welcome sound sleep." There was no point in lying about the dream. He knew Steve knew. He'd had enough of them since that faithful July evening. When two became three. And his life was changed forever.
Bucky hadn't intentionally decided that maybe they might stay up. He was sure Luke would probably go back to sleep, but he wasn't sure he could. He felt that itch. That need. But his son. Their son. He had a higher priority than his addictions. His needs. And those cigarettes weren't going anywhere. Not buried by the roots of that particular tree, close to a quarter mile away from the cottage.