Chapter 3
Bucky expected Steve to ignore him, to walk past him and maybe glare when he passes by. But either Steve doesn’t – or can’t, which is worse – hate Bucky. Back when they were younger, Bucky didn’t mind. The sooner they made up the sooner they could get back to playing video games, but now, each little smile across the hallway is a punch to the gut and acid of shame pouring over him.
Natasha is mad with how he handled it, and he is mad back at her, because what the hell did she think would happen? It would have surprised him if they would have parted quietly, not with how much Steve loves to show off the pit of rage inside him, and that, by all means, is nowhere near small.
Steve’s gentle smiles also mean Bucky’s having a hard time resisting to talk to him, make weekend plans, complain about something random or the likes. The treatment Steve gives him is much worse than what he had been anticipating. That goes on for almost a week. On Friday, Steve walks up to him during lunch. Since Bucky has rarely seen him do anything past nibbling his food or drawing during the lunch break, that draws attention even if the situation was a normal one.
“Twenty-four hours.” Steve says, with the intention to irritate the shit out of Bucky. Well done. “Give me twenty-four hours to prove you that I wasn’t trying for nothing this past month. That I wasn’t torturing myself for the sake of it.”
How is what first comes to Bucky’s mind, after he recovers from the metaphorical whiplash of Steve’s words. Then why.
But since his brain is on shut-down and Steve finally brushed off that smile of his, and is finally, finally looking at him in that cold manner he deserves. Except the words aren’t what he wants to hear, not the hateful spitting he’d been anticipating. I love you, Bucky. You happy? Got your answer?
What he wants is for Steve to resent him. Make this much simpler by just not trying any more for this… After he hurt Steve carelessly, he wants to cause more damage so Steve won’t want to make things good between them again. Because it would be better for both. There isn’t a stable ground they built this on, there is no real justification to pursue this.
Bucky still hasn’t said anything. He looks at the ground, without having it in him to reject or accept the offer. Either would be a mistake, but eventually, he shakes his head.
“Steve, I mean what I said. This isn’t right.”
Steve nods. “You gonna list those two to three arguments to me once again? Let’s pretend, Bucky. Let’s do that. Let’s pretend I haven’t loved you since I was twelve. Imagine I was someone you loved,” – at that, his voice lowers and he’s closer to Bucky now – “wouldn’t you give me this chance?” Steve is asking a lot from him, but in reality, it’s not that hard to imagine. He wouldn’t hurt him this way, but that’s not how it is. He doesn’t feel that way towards Steve.
“Please.” Steve continues. “This is how I feel. Unless you hate me, I want you to let me try. I need to prove you that it’s worth it.” Steve needs to prove everyone that he isn’t weak, that he can stand up for himself, that he can do everything the way everyone else does. He’s missing the point that he doesn’t have to be like everyone else, but how can Bucky teach him that? He is the average Steve is aspiring to become, but it would be a huge mistake, a fall backwards. When Bucky looks at Steve he forgets how to say No.
“When?” he asks. Relief is written all over Steve’s body, and Bucky feels that tickling sensation, an electric shock straight to his chest.
“Twelve at the hospital cafeteria.” Bucky nods. He’s scared all over, but he also wants to touch Steve. A hug is the best he can get away with, so he rises up from the grass and pulls him closer. He tries not to put too much into the gesture, ridiculously self-conscious and acutely aware of sending the right message.
Steve accepts the touch, hugs back with little effort and nods weakly on his shoulder. They part and Steve walks off, and Bucky continues to spend his break alone.
After school and at home, he does his best to avoid thinking, which leads to smoking and listening to classic rock bands until it’s amplified to chain smoking and blasting the entire house with Metallica because thinking is a tricky thing he’s so used to doing that it takes aching lungs, a sick feeling in the very pit of his stomach and a sore throat to keep him from doing it. At some point he cries, succumbing under that minimal pressure that the situation is putting on him. And screw that, he wishes he wouldn’t have to worry. But the question is, and remains, why Steve is trying to prove a point. But he owes him this, and it’s not that much; six, twelve, twenty fourhours. Once Steve fails and realizes that it’s been dumb from both sides, they’ll get past that and move on to something better… In Steve’s case.
He’s thinking again. His hand reaches for the pack of cigarettes, emptied enough to have the lighter stacked inside and lights it up on his bed. For now, it doesn’t bother him that the sheets will stink, that he will stink, and that he probably won’t sleep again. It happens before every test and anything remotely unnerving in his life. Bucky never knew how to be brave, he’s just shivering in the corner pleading for it to be over as soon as possible. The worry won’t get him anywhere this time, that’s the one thing he can hold onto tightly, because it’s a certainty. His worry will eat him up whole, choke him out again and start all over, and he wonders if that’s part of Steve’s doing, too. If he wants him to suffer, for what he did at the beach, be this the point he wants to prove.
But that’s unlike Steve. Anticipation makes him even more anxious.
The sun might have taken a step back in California, but Bucky’s sunglasses sit proud on his face to mask the rings under his eyes at least for the little while it takes to get inside the hospital. He’s not the asshole who wears shades inside, no, he comes from a different league. Try to gently clear your throat at the guy who blames his best friend on his own misery.
Remorse and his conscience led him back to Steve last time, now he’s a slave to the consequences of returning that day.
Steve is at the cafeteria, looking surprisingly relaxed, almost like he’s savaging the situation he’s in. He has power over Bucky, now who wouldn’t enjoy that. With how muddled Bucky’s thoughts are, he trusts Steve with everything evil in the world, and he hates himself for that.
Steve sees Bucky, but stays glued to the coffee machine, luring him over with so much but a glance. Steve and coffee don’t mix well together, but an unintentional smile shoots up to Bucky’s face when Steve throws in a coin and picks the option that’s least disgusting from an automatic machine in a hospital, and accidentally Bucky’s beloved Americano.
“Sorry,” Steve says before anything else, pointing at his eyes, meaning the vampire shadows beneath them. Steve has seen him first handed not being able to sleep before certain days. This weak, hardly-smile appears on his face, the one that Bucky could fill a jar with at this point. He hands Bucky the coffee, and Bucky looks back in gratitude and surprise. Carrot and a stick method, then.
For now it’s the best thing in the world, even if Bucky could have done a better job rehydrating himself before he went to bed. His head is killing him despite the Tylenol he took before getting behind the wheel.
Bucky thought since they are at the hospital his mother works at, they are there because he just finished visiting her, but that unwavering logic starts to crumble once he interprets Steve’s look. They head out of the cafeteria, setting for a bench beside the fountain in the lobby. Bucky drinks his coffee quietly, trying not to let the awkwardness catch up to him. He’s tired, so it’s not complicated to achieve.
“Remember when I got pneumonia in the middle of summer?” Steve asks, his knee bumping against Bucky’s. “You spent most of the break in here because you thought I might bite it.”
“You were dumb enough to get sick when the sun was shining non-stop,” Bucky retorts defensively, not admitting that Yes, he’d been incredibly scared, because Steve was his only friend back in first grade, and his world mostly centered around spending time with him. Kids rarely like to think of plates getting cold because their parents can’t stop fighting over dinner or who’s picking them up from school tomorrow. Everywhere was better than at home, but with Steve it had been best.
“Not everyone is dumb enough to think I wouldn’t make it,” Steve counters, and he’s talking shit again, fueling him to talk back and defend his behavior. Fuck him.
“Why are we doing this?”
“Well, call it a trip down memory lane. As for me, here I first realized what a good friend you were.” It’s genuine, and it throws Bucky off. Mixed with Steve’s gentle expression, Bucky wants to kiss him right there. No reason needed. “Back when I thought you were the only friend I would ever make.”
“That stayed true until middle school,” Bucky teases, nudging his side while he finishes his cup. He doesn’t want to succumb to melancholy just yet.
“Howling Commandos,” Steve exclaims, looking back at it with a softened expression. “The guys were great.”
Bucky rises up to throw away the empty cup and when he turns around, he sees that Steve followed him. “They also contributed to the second and third time I was hospitalized,” Steve continues.
Sarah Rogers handled it miraculously well, and Bucky has the faint feeling she knew this kind of behavior from a different person altogether, one Steve never really got to know. When Steve was asleep and Bucky was given the honor to stay with him past visiting hours, Mrs. Rogers hinted faintly at the late Mr. Rogers more than once.
“You got into a fight with the mean German in our grade, I remember that,” Bucky murmurs.
“It didn’t matter where he came from,” Steve counters sharply. Strong sensitivity towards bullies.
“I know. But his name was dumb as hell and sort of cliché. Johann Schneider or something?”
Steve ignores him. “Broken nose, a few ribs, minor concussion and some bruises,” he lists easily. For all that came afterwards, this list is almost nothing.
“He spiked your hunger for getting beaten up,” Bucky jokes.
“No, for standing up for myself.” Steve counters. Why isn’t Bucky filming this yet, to show it at Steve’s wedding or something?
“I’m not gonna touch that subject with a stick,” Bucky argues softly, but expression remaining stern. “You got me hospitalized in sixth grade because of your need in heroism.”
“All the good memories in one.” Steve jokes. “We were next to each other in the ER.”
They stayed up all night, annoyed some patients, talked about deep things high on pain meds. The first time Bucky opened up to anyone (and up until now the last) about his mother leaving and how he’s never seen her since he was eight.
He wouldn’t until he would be fourteen, and she’d have two kids on the other side of the continent by then. And that he also only told Steve, because then he still couldn’t understand why she treated him so coldly, why his mother hated him so much and loved her new kids.
Next stop is Steve’s home. It’s an older house, something his father bought before Steve was born. It’s cozy, and Bucky always loved it more than his own. It’s around one in the afternoon already, and the subject of lunch comes up. But Steve doesn’t give him a choice, they go for mac’n’cheese. For a long time, that’s been all Steve and he could cook without screwing up. It’s the good side of too buttery, with an aftertaste he likes to describe as nostalgia.
After eating on the couch, for which Sarah Rogers would kill them if she found out – not that like had ever bothered them all the times before – they put in a movie, and Steve just had to go for something ancient that Steve’s father owned on cassette. They watch Pulp Fiction in that horrible quality, but the vintage feel definitely helps remember the good times, since they weren’t old enough to even understand what the hell was happening. Bucky stayed true by Tarantino’s side, Steve endures it for his and Clint’s sake, when he has to.
They lean into each other on the couch without thinking much of it. When Bucky does become aware of how close he is, he doesn’t dare to pursue what he wants out of respect for Steve, who’s all set on reviving their shared childhood that it would seem rude to lace it with something inappropriate, if they consider that they are mentally set around age twelve here.
That’s when Bucky recalls what Steve told him yesterday. Let’s pretend I haven’t loved you since I was twelve.
And that gets his hard drive speeding. He turns his face until its opposed to Steve, and either he catches up to Bucky’s thinking or fancies intuition more than he leads on to believe, because in the next second, their lips touch, and it tastes salty and cheesy (in all possible ways), but also a little liberating. It means Bucky doesn’t feel as guilty doing that, because he knows how Steve feels about him, but in return, that also means he’s living up to that feeling, which makes him back off way too soon.
If that’s the revelation Steve’s been talking about, he doesn’t want any part of it. He scoots back immediately when Steve presses a hand to his cheek, whispering ‘shhh’ to him like he’s a child. Not to mention what they yelled at each other at the beach, all the times he didn’t do it right, and…
“Don’t, Buck. It’s scary, okay, I get it. Check in with me, try to gather it, what do you feel right now?” The movie plays on in the background without anyone paying mind to it.
“I don’t want this.” Bucky croaks weakly. “I don’t know how not to disappoint you.”
Steve smiles, not letting go of him. It’s not pressure keeping him transfixed, but the touch feels good, keeps him grounded, even if everything else inside him votes to retreat as quick as possible.
“Who gave you the impression that you need to avoid that in particular? In all the time we’ve been friends, it happened a few times. I was disappointed in you, and the other way around, right? What’s the difference?”
“I don’t know, it sucks.”
Steve takes a breath, like he’s about to say something very important. “You act all tough love because that’s what he expected of you, and when you withheld your feelings from Brock, you started to withhold your feelings from all of us,” It seems that they reached the inevitable topic.
Bucky takes it in for a moment, even though it’s too much. He’d expect the truth from Natasha, or even from Clint who doesn’t ever miss when he aims for the vitals, but Steve… It hurts. “Your point being…?” he asks, feigning indifference.
“You didn’t suck me off that night because I happened to look much more appetizing through your intoxicated eyes, is what I’m saying.” Which means, Bucky had been unintentionally holding back until that point.
Bucky straightens up. “You’re saying I feel something for you, and… you knew before I did.” He’s clarifying it again and again, or else he’ll lose his thread or freak out. It’s easier to accept than fight against it.
“Have you never, even for a second been jealous about my indifference to you and Rumlow?” Bucky is stunned, because he has a point, as much as he wants to deny it.
“Oh, fuck.”
“I guess you had it in you all along.”
“That’s why you never responded when I talked about him?” Lunch breaks had been a little uncomfortable with Steve silently shifting away and submerging into some sketch or a book to avoid being part of the conversation. Nat looked at Bucky in that ‘Oh, yes, please tell me more’ way, and maybe, if he could have had any other way to express his emotions, he would have dropped it.
“Well, and because he’s an asshole, though I hoped you’d figure out that on your own because else I’d screw up my chances by being the guy who broke you off.” Steve smirks, looking smug.
“Smart.” Bucky remarks.
“Thanks.”
“You mind walking around for a bit? I need to get some movement,” says Bucky, being an abhorrent hypocrite, because he’s the one who spends day after day inside to avoid decision-making.
Which reminds him what this is about, that he can’t run far unless he’s fine with running in circles, avoiding the problem. For a moment, it just felt real, like talking to Steve the way he always has. He hasn’t felt like running away so far, which surprises him more than anything else.
“Need some pot?” Steve offers, getting off the couch.
“Uh, no. I’m good,” Bucky replies, a little surprised by the offer. “Seriously?” he adds with a curious smile.
Steve remains calm and collected, despite the playful smile curling around his lips. “Helps me when I get anxious and don’t feel like taking the medication. I run faster off them.” Bucky and he get up and Steve turns off the TV.
“It’s from Clint, so it’s all right,” he adds. Bucky nods, not sure what to say. He didn’t think Steve smoked regularly, considering his asthma and everything. Then again, neither did he notice Steve’s five year crush on him all that much, either. His own feelings even less. And the spiral continues.
They get to a small nearby park, Steve picking a tree to lean at. A couple of kids play on the swings. He and Steve occupied those once, even the metal screeches like it had a decade ago. The kids laugh and talk, but mind their own business as if the two moody teenagers don’t exist. Bucky used to do that, too. Blinded out the older weirdos who hang out at a park, the kind he’d ultimately become.
The goodness of his heart (or whatever scratches are left of it) wishes that it wouldn’t be like that for those kids. That puberty and life wouldn’t fuck with their morals and make them question what they never used to doubt. Bucky doesn’t sit for long. He takes off after counting full five minutes and Steve attempts to follow, only stopped by Bucky’s shaking head.
“I’ll just take a round. Be back in a few.” Bucky walks through the park first, then leaves around the corner and heads uphill passing by the houses, and only when he’s sure that he’s out of Steve’s sight, he lights a cigarette. And boy does it feel good.
For a minute a two, he just walks without thinking. It’s like the smoke doesn’t leave his lungs at all, it feels like it stays up in his head and stirs up everything to an unsolvable puzzle that Bucky just puts aside, like he always has. Steve could sit hours at thousand pieces of the absolutely identical pieces of sky, and he’s the one with the trouble to concentrate.
What does that make Bucky?
The big question starts poking him with its sharp edges, merges into the center of his attention until he has to make up his mind. It makes him anxious. He stops and sighs.
He has fun with Steve, who is part of their friend group, who is kind and treats the one he loves with his deepest respect. It hasn’t even been twelve hours, but Steve would understand if Bucky chose to break it off here, he always would. He’d be hurt, absolve it immediately and try to stash it away, but he’d cope.
It’s a possibility that Bucky shoves far away, because he doesn’t want this to end, despite considering Natasha’s words. She’s not often wrong, but once in a while she could be. Steve makes him happy, and he wants to make Steve happy, not leave him hanging and hurt him. He wants to talk to him, past the cheerful banter and about Steve’s fears, too, his thoughts on everything.
Neither does he want to hurt himself by forcing himself away from his friend, even if he somehow made up in his mind that it’s all for the greater good. Fact is, Bucky doesn’t know, hasn’t got a clue about what future waits up ahead. While it might be good while it lasts, Bucky is also thinking about college right now, and he’s not going to let Steve have influence on that part of his life, because he’s so damn insecure about it himself.
But that aside, he’ll have to leave Steve either way, even if it might be just temporarily. That will put their resolve to test, and if it breaks, it probably wasn’t meant to happen.
Bucky returns to the playground, not seeing Steve where he’d been minutes ago. Instead, he’s playing catch with the kids, laughing with them. Steve – ever the awkward Steve with his sketchbook glued to his hands making sure the guy in the front rows in class gets a more or less decent comeback for his sexist comment (even if it costs Steve a good punch in the face) – can easily get invited for a round of catch. Bucky liked being needed by Steve, be by his side while he incredibly fears that one day, when his senses on picking up whenever Steve is in trouble fail him and he’d be there way too late. Mind the school jerks, if Steve walks up on a bunch of homophobes or just happens to be at the wrong place at the wrong time with an armed asshole in proximity… That would end Bucky. And he’s being paranoid, because Steve knows it too and he also doesn’t go outside too late for that purpose alone, because he’s not completely unreasonable, and Steve also knows that he can’t do that to his mother.
Bucky knows that Steve doesn’t need an angel on his shoulder, but Bucky wants that role back. In a way, he hates the confidence that’s rising within him, and wherever it comes from, Bucky can only guess.
Steve laughs when the kid catches up to him, yelling that it’s Steve’s turn now and Steve chases after them. Only after a while, he stops and leans over, hands on his knees and back crooked like a cat’s, he’s wheezing and all alarms go off for Bucky.
“What’s the matter?” one of the kids shouts over, still playfully while advancing the same moment Bucky does. For fuck’s sake. Steve can run pretty long distances, not only for someone with shitty lungs but he also outruns Bucky every fucking time they jogged together, so him getting an asthma attack now of all times scares Bucky. Maybe it’s the stress, maybe it’s Bucky causing this.
The second Bucky has his hand on Steve’s back, it vibrates from laughter. Steve squeezes his eyes and one kid breathes out relieved and runs back to the other one. Steve’s lungs are just fine, it’s him who’s a fucking shithead.
Bucky exhales slowly. “I’m so going to kill you,” he promises in a low voice, squeezing his friend’s neck without actual hard feelings, he’s Steve just faked it.
“Got your answer?” Steve asks, ignoring Bucky’s threat. It’s empty and by now everybody knows it.
“Huh?” Bucky doesn’t get it instantly. “Oh,” he adds, feeling like an audience member of some stupid old sitcom.
“You smell like smoke.” Steve walks off back to the tree where they started out, waving at the two kids running back home. Bucky can’t read any disappointment in his face, nor is there a judgmental vibe in his voice. In fact, if he isn’t just hearing what he wants to, Steve seems remotely glad. That is, if Bucky didn’t know better.
“So what?” he retorts, a little too sharp against the lack of hardness in Steve’s words. But Steve doesn’t even flinch, keeps his face straight and whatever he feels to himself. He never used to be so shielded around Bucky, at least when they were younger. Bucky lost that part of Steve, too. When was the last time they spilled secrets and talked when they weren’t high or drunk as fuck?
As for that, he recalls a get together at Clint’s earlier this spring, where they locked themselves up in the bathroom upstairs, with Bucky hugging the toilet. They actually brought up things they thought neither of them remembered, once Bucky could pull off coherent speech again.
“You always do that before any kind of big decision. So what’s it going to be?” Steve asks.
Instead of an answer, instead of overthinking, he just reaches out for Steve’s hand and pulls him up. “Let’s find out, but, back inside. It’s getting chillier.”
Steve smiles weakly but follows almost blindly, hands in his pockets he only takes out to open the front door. Bucky immediately walks off upstairs.
“Oh, what? What are you doing?” Steve inquires, now a little nervous, or that’s what Bucky can tell by his voice. In the same breath, he’s got Steve’s interest.
“I think blanket forts still work better in your room.” Bucky reminds him, and he hears a chuckle immediately close to him. He throws the abundances of Steve’s pillows on the floor while Steve pulls out the giant white blanket from his shelf. In less than ten minutes, they’ve assembled the best fort since their early childhood, and they lie underneath it with fairy lights illuminating the small space.
“Truth or dare.” Bucky initiates, because someone has to. The yellowish lights calm him, and it’s quiet and almost peaceful once they’ve settled. Bucky’s feet stick out, because Steve insisted on curling himself up on the side to watch him, so there isn’t enough room left. Steve even got snacks from downstairs, nothing but sugar and carbohydrates. By now, Bucky suspects he has a bong lying around somewhere, too, but he gave himself a promise to stay sober tonight, and that he holds on to.
“Truth.” Steve replies. “But just because I’m too lazy to move right now.”
Bucky chuckles and agrees, reaching over his head for a couple of chips.
“First kiss.” Bucky asks, and Steve frowns at him. “I’ve never seen you make out with anyone at any parties and you’re not the kind to share all that much lately, so I figure I gotta ask.”
Steve gives up with a sigh, not without throwing an M&M at Bucky. He inclines back a little, then says, “Sam Wilson.” The same is unfamiliar, nor does the gender-neutral name help on his quest to catch up with his friend, get closer to him again.
“Oh, that’s specific,” Bucky retorts sarcastically, waiting for more.
Steve smirks and shrugs. “Truth or dare,” he replies innocently. Bucky is scandalized, but keeps him grumbling low until it’s his turn again. They do have all night, after all.
“Going for truth, too. I’m so comfy,” he whines. Steve nods, making it obvious that this will be truth-spilling mostly, and Bucky is fine with that.
“Worst prank pulled on you by anyone but me,” Steve says. They had a few, from ones like Steve straight-out calling him with a broken voice to inform him he’s been hit by a car to switching coke with soy sauce at a party, where Bucky just had to pull the bad luck card.
Bucky doesn’t have to think long, but neither is he all that willing to share. But if he takes the first step, he might crack Steve up a bit, too, get him to talk more about that Sam person. He has to walk towards him, otherwise this won’t work.
“Okay, um. It was a late night I stayed in, probably studying or whatever. Brock called me around one in the morning, first all casual and then slowly coaxing me into phone sex, and I didn’t mind. It, uh, happened sometimes? Either way, he got me uh, worked up and everything, and all of a sudden he snorts and a group of laughter joins him. Basically, Brock’s bunch heard a few things they shouldn’t have.” About that, they also kept their mouth shut since, but it’s not like he never gets looked at the wrong way by Brock’s friends. Sometimes, he feels like he can actually feel their thoughts.
“Did he apologize?” Steve wants to know, like he’s about to jump up and do something about it.
“Nope. Told me to get over it, I didn’t think I had reason not to.” He feels sneaky once he realizes something. “But since that’s two questions, here’s one: Who is Sam?”
Steve realizes his big mistake. “Ugh, I hate you. Met him while I was out, running, we talked a couple of times and it just… We kinda became a thing afterwards.” Him it is, then. That clears at least parts of it up, and also spikes his interest.
“When was that?”
“Um, like a month after you and Brock became official. It didn’t last long, though.”
“Why?”
“You know I get to ask you two questions for that, right?”
“Don’t care, just talk to me, please.” Bucky puts a little too much honesty in his words, which confuses Steve for a second, but his expression turns soft again.
“It was a bit complicated for us, mainly because I couldn’t share everything with him, and I couldn’t share with you guys about him.” Bucky raises an eyebrow because he’s still beating around the bush and while Bucky thinks he can guess where this is leading, he’d rather have Steve be honest about it.
“Sam’s older. Sophomore in college when I last saw him.”
Bucky calculates quickly and nearly chokes. “You weren’t even legal, what the fuck…”
“He didn’t know, okay?” Steve cuts in defensively. He doesn’t stand up for himself, but rather for this past relationship that wasn’t exactly built on honesty. Steve surely can’t lecture Bucky about that one, even if he does trust Steve’s judgment on people way more. Steve was the successful schemer behind this.
“That could have been dangerous,” Bucky says. He sounds like the worried mother and he hates it, but it had to be said.
“Sam’s no different from you and me, and it’s not that much of a gap.”
“Yet you didn’t tell him. You didn’t tell us, because you knew we’d disagree,” Bucky empathizes, getting slightly tired of Steve’s impulsive habit of not telling the truth.
“Okay, I think it’s getting clammy in here…” Steve feigns, shifting out of the fort.
Bucky takes his wrist tightly, maybe squeezes a little too hard because Steve winces, but stops mid-movement. Bucky hears his heart beating, doesn’t want this to end so early on. There’s so much he wants to say now, because he built himself up to being that vulnerable, and his egocentric nature doesn’t allow Steve to leave just yet. He rarely avoids a conversation, it’s Bucky who mostly deflects, but if Steve feels uncomfortable, it’s for a reason and Bucky should respect it.
“Please, Steve. I didn’t want to force myself on you. But please don’t go.” Steve sighs, but doesn’t resist anymore.
“I got two truths on you. First, what was so great about Brock, and second, do you love me?” He falls back on the blanket-coated floor, avoiding to look at Bucky directly.
Bucky jumps at the lesser evil. “Brock, uh… It’s complicated. He was charming when we were alone, funny and actually nice. It helped me to overlook the bad times, where he cancelled last minute for something he could have foreseen way sooner or things like that prank. He’s attractive, and, well… I do have a thing for assholes.” With that, Bucky winks at Steve. “As for the latter… Steve…” he whines, hoping that would get him off the hook somehow, but sure enough, it’s not in his cards tonight. “I can’t explain it. I want to be close to you, I want to touch you and trust you, and I think that’s love, but also I’m so fucking scared of you pushing me away for being the wrong guy. Realize Sam was way better than me and dump me. I just… I didn’t want to jump into things, and I don’t want to draw conclusions this early… You might also remember that I’ve known you pretty much since I was born, and in one way or another, I surely do love you, never stopped. But it’s hard to stamp a label on what you make me feel. I feel good when I’m around you, I like to make you rather happy than sad, I like your laugh and your caustic remarks.”
“What about the fucking part?” Right, Steve doesn’t miss the big guns.
But with some consideration, Bucky admits that it isn’t so hard after all. “Same thing here. I’d love to make you feel good, so I’d feel needed by you.”
“’Love to’?” Steve gets hung up on the phrasing. Sure enough, he’s right. That part slipped from him.
“I, uh… Sometimes it feels like I’m not even getting you close,” Bucky admits. Apart from Brock, he’s only been with Natasha before, and when she didn’t feel satisfied, she let him know.
Steve’s mouth forms a thin line. “You’re not doing anything wrong,” Steve explains. “You might think I built up enough confidence by now to not let it get to me just… It’s that thing after an orgasm, when everything that just turned you on makes you throw up right after. I felt this way with Sam and just… Maybe it doesn’t have to be like that.”
Bucky laughs. “The porn effect?” he asks. Steve hits him with his foot. “Ahh, sorry, sorry. Alright, no, I didn’t mean to. Steve, you could have been honest with him about that at least.”
“Yeah, didn’t happen,” Steve replies grittily.
“There’s an easy trick; don’t feel guilty about sex. Admittedly, it’s cute how you get flustered and all, but hey, it’s dirty business, embrace it if it feels good, and… let go.” The last word he drags like a yoga instructor and expects another punch, or hit, anything at least halfway brutal, but it doesn’t come.
“Really?” Is what comes from Steve instead. Bucky nods.
“Wanna, uh, try it out?” Bucky suggests, surprising himself. In the name of science, he might get naughty tonight. Oh, bad thought, he feels like a 91-year-old grandpa all of a sudden.
“Uh, I need to clean myself up first. You wanna go up next, or, uh, with me?” That’s as straightforward about it as Steve ever got before. It made Bucky blush how prepared the guy usually was for sex when they hooked up the past month.
“Is that in the cards?” Bucky wonders. He isn’t sure whether it’s appropriate, since it’s still a trip down memory lane, and Steve keeps being ambiguous about his intentions.
Steve frowns, a shy smile masking the obvious insecurity that question sparks. “Isn’t it?”
“Just… Uh… Okay, I dug this hole, didn’t I?”
Steve nods, at which Bucky sighs. He scoots just a little closer, as a small surprise to Steve. His heartbeat rises just at that, feeling Steve’s breath close to his. “I just wasn’t sure whether you had that in mind,” Bucky admits.
Steve laughs. “I can take it back, if that’ll make you more comfortable.”
“No! Fuck, awkward. Steve, you and I need our honest hours back.”
“Good, I’m all up for that. First off, I love you.” Bucky gasps at the confession, and the nonchalant way it slips from Steve. He doesn’t look ashamed in the least. But Bucky is, because as he opens his mouth, the words won’t come out. And it isn’t all that important to be said, or so Bucky naively thinks, it’s just words. But once they’re said by one party, there’s an unspoken obligation to say them back, or this could go far south. Bucky closes his eyes, squeezes until it’s fully dark behind his lids and just sinks a little until his face is buried in fabric. He feels a faint repetitive throb, so it must be Steve’s chest.
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters.
“Yeah, it’s alright. It can wait,” Steve assures him. And he seems only a little hurt, though mostly compassionate and legitimately understanding.
But he and Bucky don’t have the luxury of waiting. Graduation is too fucking close for Bucky’s liking, and his father keeps hinting at a bunch of colleges on the East Coast, maliciously or not wanting to push him as far away as possible. On some level, Bucky wants it, too. He loves the East, loves New York and Boston and Baltimore. His mother was born and raised in Brooklyn, only moved for a job, and returned the second she had a chance to. Bucky never saw all that much of the world, either. But now, here, everything is good. If only it could be like this for some while longer. Or if he could bring Steve with him. But it’s one more year for Steve, Bucky couldn’t even if he wanted to. If Steve wanted to.
“So… Do I shower now, or…?” Steve teases.
“Yeah, I think I wanna try something.”
“But it’s my experimentation day,” Steve pouts.
Bucky laughs. “Only with your permission, Cap.”
Steve slowly crawls out of the small cave, not without placing a cheeky kiss on Bucky’s exposed stomach, making him giggle. Without a second thought, Bucky follows him into the bathroom. Bucky takes a moment to see him in less dimmed lights. Apart from some pubic hair, Steve was left off the hook with only light, small hairs all over his body that rise so beautifully when Bucky does as much as blow at him.
Bucky strips down to his underwear when Steve jumps into the shower first. In the meantime, he uses the ventilation system to light a smoke. He’s lucky Steve never showers hot, so there’s no dampness to kill the embers of the grit.
“If my Ma finds out, I’ll fucking punch you,” Steve warns him through the shower curtain. Bucky hasn’t noticed him peeking, so either he has supernatural senses in the shower or it’s time to do something about the ventilation.
“Relax, she’ll never assume it’s you,” Bucky retorts. “And I hardly believe you smoke your pot on the balcony.”
Steve is silent on the other end, which means Bucky can resume burning the cigarette in peace. It is a big fucking mystery why three very specific words don’t come as easy to Bucky as they do to Steve. He’s fucking great at mocking his friend, but putting himself out there completely honest… Yeah, he can’t tell how the fuck he generally feels, how is the other part going to work?
About now he should be drunk or high somewhere, not sober with a cigarette waiting for Steve to give him the green light to join him in the shower. He’s not weeping over the broken pattern, it’s definitely the lesser evil to be a little nervous, but generally not as wrecked.
“You coming?” Steve inquires, and Bucky suffocates the grit with a few drops from the sink and leaves it on the surface. He strips down his boxers and gets behind the curtain. Steve is kind, gentle about how he treats Bucky. That and maybe because he likes Bucky’s body, if he can assume as much.
“What are you thinking, Steve?” Bucky asks, curious if he’s going to spill.
Bucky is glad the shower dims at least some words Steve’s saying, so he just smiles as if he understood, because mixed with the look on Steve’s face, it only could be something a little too honest again. There’s an invisible force making all sounds dull and far away.
And in that second, the words are so fucking close, reachable, easy… If he just…
He steps back, washing the leftover soap off his body. If he apologizes, he’d admit something was wrong again, and he wants just one fucking day without anything being wrong. Or less than usual.
Steve grabs the towels and dries Bucky first, insisting on it despite Bucky’s attempts to do it the other way round. They fight and insult each other almost lovingly, and Bucky gasps at the sudden grip around his left hip and a following pair of lips on his own. Fuck. Yeah.
Steve throws the towel elsewhere and he pushes Bucky around so roughly that the fort collapses as Bucky slips, and they laugh once again while Steve straddles Bucky’s hips. It’s just kissing first, nice and slow. If his dick wasn’t trapped uncomfortably under Steve’s thigh, he might have drawn it out some more. Steve stutters an apology, like he didn’t even notice, but Bucky just flips them around, hand flat on Steve’s chest.
“Any particular experience with rimming?” Bucky asks straightforwardly. Steve shakes his head. “Any interesting in acquiring any?”
Steve gulps visibly. They’ve done the basic foreplay, fingers and lube, but they’ve never gotten there, because Bucky couldn’t bring himself to ask. He just wants to try, find out whether it’s something Steve could like. Feels like it’s safe to ask a question now. “I can make a dental dam out a condom, if it’ll make you more comfortable.”
“Yeah, I just. Precautions? I’m not…”
“It’s safe.” Bucky gets up for the condoms, but then turns around, “You didn’t have chili lately, right?”
Steve chuckles. “No, man. Need any help?”
“Scissors.”
“On the table,” Steve informs him. “As for condoms, Tony got me one of those endless strands, thought it was funny for my…” Bucky turns around, breaking off the search for scissors as it hits him. Steve’s birthday always comes together with summer break.
“Shit, I missed it, right?”
An indifferent nod from Steve. “Yup.”
“That never happened before,” Bucky says. ‘I’m sorry,’ he means.
Steve laughs bitterly, his bony shoulders jumping up and down. “That’s because Nat didn’t emotionally abuse you, and you got over her pretty well. Except it still just so happens that Clint and I feel awkward when you guys stare at each other.” Bucky gets a condom from his pockets, not going for Steve’s stash, the one that’s never been brought up before. Maybe not appropriate when they tried to fuck with the least amount of words possible.
“She’s hot?” Bucky argues, instead of going into the less pleasant part of the conversation. Steve made no attempt at talking around it this time. He makes up for his little figure by stomping around fearlessly with his thoughts. Maybe Bucky missed it, just a little.
“Fuck she does. I didn’t have the pleasure of fucking her though.”
“That’s why she likes you best,” Bucky assures him, wishing he was lying. Though she might not seem like it, she’s good at holding grudges. Actually, she does seem like it. Then a second thought crosses his mind. “You want to, though?” He unrolls the condom, starting to cut along the length.
“She’s attractive, but kind of too straightforward for my taste. Like she’s gonna tie me up and play some really fucked-up games with me,” Steve stares intently at the condom as he speaks.
Bucky snorts. “Like the thought doesn’t turn you on.”
Steve laughs, and Bucky knows his point is made. “Let’s say, I like authoritarian more than bossy. And Nat’s my best friend.”
“How do you spell that first one? Margaret Carter?”
Steve raises a brow at him. “You know, I was going to say you but sure, works too.”
“You never listen to me. There’s plenty of scars and x-ray scans to prove that.”
“Doesn’t mean I never wanted to.” Fuck, that’s hot.
He only needs proof. “On your back,” Bucky commands, a little too serious for how the situation seemed until a moment ago. He hears Steve hissing, maybe even words, but he doesn’t make out the meaning. Bucky snatches a bottle of lube from the nightstand (Steve, the fucker, knows what the dispensers are for) and scoots over to Steve, setting a leg between his thighs to stress his point.
As if he was starving, Bucky presses his lips on Steve’s and rocks forward with need, feeling completely turned on again. Steve whimpers, those tiny little sounds he just can’t seem to control, less even when Bucky is working up his dick with a slick hand.
The kiss is needy, possessive, a little selfish even. Bucky wants to break away but Steve pulls him right back down, and fuck the asthma, this guy officially doesn’t need air to function. Bucky tries, just breathes against Steve’s cheek but to no success, bites the lower lip to break free to no avail, but when they part, Bucky sees a new shade of red on Steve’s lips.
“I’m sorry, oh fuck…” Bucky stutters. There’s not enough oxygen back in his brain to form coherent thoughts, he just knows he shouldn’t have done that. Instead of responding, Steve shifts his legs further apart, and Bucky doesn’t need to wait for Christmas to unwrap that gift. He fishes for the makeshift dam and the lube, adjusting Steve’s cheeks just a little further apart, the same moment he sees Steve’s cock leaking just from Bucky’s looks.
Just as he reaches clarity, it’s like there’s no other purpose than to put his mouth on Steve. Not like any time they’ve been together before, where Bucky checked out mentally as he fucked Steve, never actually there until his orgasm reaches him and almost painfully shoots through his body. It’s not what Steve had wanted, Natasha is right. Bucky just thought, assumed… It wasn’t easier for Steve when Bucky was behind him, maybe the lack of eye contact made it worse for him, like Bucky didn’t need him, just needed someone to give him what he wanted.
Just thought, assumed…
His middle finger just runs circles over the rim, and he revels in Steve’s needy panting. And he can tell the difference between the dangerous wheezing and him simply enjoying what he’s doing. Bucky had the tools to get Steve off all along, had the senses, but he never downright asked what the issue was.
He’s done with it. He’s done with the guessing games Brock played, where an angry grunt means ‘No’ and silence the cue to proceed, he wants to reinstall communication, the way it’d been with Tasha. It’s the worst to compare former partners while having Steve right in front of him, but he chooses to learn from them instead.
“You okay, buddy?” Bucky checks in, just to make sure. “Can I make you come tonight, please?”
Steve looks at him with his eyes half closed, while Bucky varies the pressure on Steve’s hole, feels it twitch at the word ‘come’. And then he nods.
“Help me out, though. Tell me if I do something wrong.”
“What’s this, Bucky? You’re quite the talker, and not in the sexy way,” Steve notices. The fact that he’s keeping it up with the banter means he’s not ready to go there in all seriousness yet.
“Yeah, sorry. Is it fine, though? Asking you questions, stuff…” Steve touches Bucky’s forearm, the one between his legs and straightens to kiss Bucky. His lip tastes a little bit like blood now, and Bucky feels worried once again.
“I’d love that,” Steve mumbles, adjusting Bucky’s stilled hand to get it back where he was at. Bucky sinks down, gives Steve’s cockhead an experimental lick. Steve’s back arches off the floor, and he chuckles.
“I could go on, or move lower.”
“Thanks to the dam, there’s a way back,” Steve reassures him, which sort of answers the question. Bucky holds up the dam as he gets it on Steve, and it’s amazing, despite the barrier.
Steve repeatedly hisses, despite being completely relaxed, and Bucky would soothingly touch him anywhere else if holding up the dam wouldn’t require both hands. Bucky forces his tongue past the rim, and Steve gasps in surprise.
“Fuck, that’s good…” And Bucky proceeds, just the tip of his tongue travelling past his hole and back again. Steve likes this part, definitely more than Bucky does. But it’s interesting, as Bucky has never seen him this immersed before, this relaxed and open. Bucky remembers the conversation about the whole flustered part, wonders if Steve embraced it. He wonders if that’s one of the benefits of actually talking to him about it.
He’s dragging out the foreplay until Steve interrupts to inform him that he’s getting blue balls from his fucking around, and Bucky rips open another condom with his teeth (which makes Steve twitch again, and that’s a sight with his swollen dick) and rolls it on. There’s no rush in this, but looking at Steve with every thrust is much better than he would have expected. That first time Bucky bottomed for him, it felt so fucking awkward. Now? Now he doesn’t want to lose sight of those exploded pupils and the look Steve is giving him. So fucking… in love. And Bucky embraces it this once, because he owes Steve that in return. Steve never shows weakness, and now, being so bare for him… It’s overwhelming. He hears the waves rushing in his ears as he rolls his hips deeper against Steve, until he has nothing to give and just as he retreats, he brushes Steve’s prostate. Steve is crying, flushed from the face down to his chest.
“Gotcha…” Steve produces another whimper. Bucky goes just a little deeper, Steve’s haltering breath worrying a little more each time. “Breathe for me, it’s alright.”
“Uhhh…” Bucky kisses his cheek, not risking the lips now, because the last thing he needs is an asthma attack at this point. They’ve come too far.
Just from how Steve tenses and shifts under him, Bucky knows it’s his time to let go, too, get Steve there. And he does, the condom sincerely helping with not making this fail miserably, and Steve stops breathing altogether. In the good way, as it’s over just seconds later. Bucky feels Steve’s come on his stomach.
“Look, I’m still the same guy,” Bucky jokes, kissing Steve’s salty skin, not paying attention to the mess on his stomach. That’s for a different time, maybe. It’s an achievement, but he doesn’t want Steve to get even more embarrassed about it.
“Fucking jerk you are,” Steve retorts, but kisses him all the same.
“Yeah, and you need your inhaler,” Bucky gets up and gets it from the inside of Steve’s jean pocket and drops it next to Steve, who’s still in the process of recuperating. Bucky gets an unused cloth from the bathroom and soaks it in warm water to get the come off Steve and himself.
Steve is hesitant about it at first, wants to do it himself. “Let me,” Bucky says firmly, and just this time, it works. Steve watches as he cleans him up, shier than during the whole process.
“What do you think, we got a shot at this?” Steve asks, apparently trying to make this more bearable for himself. And it’s not about sex, this is commitment. What Steve means is if they can go on like this, safe and open about their feelings.
Bucky purposely doesn’t answer until he’s done, then retreats with a serious expression. The playful curve straightens on Steve’s lips and worry grows on his face instead. Then Bucky gives it up, because he’s never been a good actor, and quickly makes up for playing with Steve like that by shooting forward with the mission to capture Steve’s lips.
“I think you just shot perfectly,” Bucky teases.
Steve pushes him away with mild annoyance. “God, I think I gotta find something to shut you the hell up,” he breathes out before getting his mouth on Bucky.
Yes, indeed, that’s a good way to forget the English language.