Crossing the Line
Steve felt a bit envious of Sam—but it wasn’t jealousy. He just felt...not that comfortable.
Steve had been back for a month. Due to some unexpected events on his return trip, although he’d followed the plan and handed back the Infinity Stones and Mjolnir, he hadn’t arrived at the time he left—but instead landed in 2026.
He never got to meet his older self—the man he should have been was already gone when Steve arrived, perhaps another ripple effect of the reality-disruption he encountered.
Steve was home. A few months for him had been more than three years here. Everything seemed unchanged, yet somehow subtly different.
Now Bucky smiled more, spoke more, especially whenever he was with Sam.
Sam was one of Steve’s most trusted friends. Even though Steve hadn’t been the one to hand him the shield, he had no objection to Sam becoming the new Captain America. He was grateful that Sam had looked after Bucky in his absence. Though Bucky appeared fine now, Steve couldn’t imagine how heartbroken he must have been when Steve’s older self died.
Bucky and Sam bickered constantly.
Since Steve brought Bucky back, he’d seen him fight coldly and smile warmly, but most of the time Bucky was almost invisible—quietly brooding in a corner like part of the shadows. Now, though, Steve often saw Bucky and Sam teasing each other: Bucky voicing complaints, Sam shooting back retorts, Sam mocking him, and Bucky firing barbs in return without hesitation. Steve hadn’t seen Bucky this lively in ages. Sam didn’t tiptoe around Bucky as Steve did; their interactions were easy and unguarded.
Steve admired Sam—again, not out of jealousy. Maybe that was Sam’s gift: he knew how to be with someone who’d been hurt.
On top of that, Sam and Bucky had grown… intimate.
Steve had more than once watched Sam slip his arm around Bucky’s neck, drape it over his shoulder, or clumsily smack his arm or back during workouts. Bucky let him, sometimes rolling his eyes but never pushing him away or flinching. Steve felt uncomfortable—not because of jealousy, but simply because he wasn’t used to seeing Bucky this close to anyone else for a lifetime long.
Steve rented an apartment in Brooklyn just across the street from Bucky’s. He’d once thought of moving in with Bucky—for ease of caring for each other—but Bucky’s place only had one bedroom, and there seemed not any reason that Bucky should relocate. So Steve settled for the closest available unit.
One Saturday evening, as he passed a bookstore, Steve spotted a CD compilation of 1940s hits. Excited, he bought it immediately and texted Bucky to invite him over for a listen.
He waited. No reply. So he decided to drop by Bucky’s—he knew the building number, even though he’d never been there. Bucky hadn’t mentioned any plans that night.
Inside Bucky’s apartment…
“Haah—can’t—um—Sam—I can’t—” Bucky panted heavily.
“Bullshit, you’re a super soldier!” Sam gasped. “Oh—yes—that’s it! You’re doing great—keep going—”
“You son of a bitch—” Bucky ground out between breaths as Sam quickly added two more weight plates, sweat soaking the gap between Bucky’s back and the leg-press machine’s leather pad. “No more—um—I can’t have more—please”
“Sure you can,” Sam urged, doing weighted squats beside him. “Spread your legs wider, Buck—come on—bend lower—oh, yeah—good boy.”
“Haah—shut up—” Bucky’s legs shook as he pushed up the barbell that felt like a mountain. “Don’t call me Buck—”
Ever since they’d fought the Flag-Smashers two months ago, a hulking super-soldier woman had knocked Bucky off a second-story ledge, and Sam insisted Bucky had turned into a couch potato. To “prevent the Winter Soldier from becoming a fat, old Thor,” Sam had filled Bucky’s apartment with weird exercise gear and now supervised his workouts religiously.
Bucky maintained that he loved lounging on the sofa watching TV and snacking, that his combat strength and agility were just as good. Yet he’d unexpectedly agreed—even signed up for four times Sam’s training intensity, Sam claimed because the serum quadrupled Bucky’s metabolism. Clenching his teeth, Bucky had hoisted the weight again, partly moved by Sam’s concern, partly by the boredom of Steve’s absence. He’d tumbled into this pit, only to discover that Sam was a fitness fanatic and that four times Sam’s load was no joke.
Steve stood at Bucky’s door, stunned, face burning. He hadn’t expected… Sam and Bucky… Steve could not stop imagining what was happening inside. His heart pounded in his throat.
“Steve calls you ‘Buck,’” Sam panted.
“So what—haah—you’re not Steve.”
Hearing his name snapped Steve back to reality. He spun and fled.
That night Steve couldn’t sleep. The sounds he’d overheard rooted themselves in his brain: Bucky’s helpless moans, ragged breaths, the way Bucky might bite his lip to hold back. Steve took a third cold shower.
Bucky loved girls. That was plain fact. And Bucky loved Steve—if we don’t overanalyze the nature of that love.
Steve had always been content. He never doubted that he and Bucky love one another and would give anything for the other. They were brothers, comrades, playmates, family… any single label felt too small.
Steve would stay by Bucky’s side without imposing his own wants. But if Bucky could love Sam… no, Steve dared not think further. Since Bucky seemed happy with Sam, Steve should wish them well—he just wanted Bucky to be happy, didn't he? Steve could see how good they were together.
But Bucky didn't allow Sam to call him “Buck”… not in those moments, because he was not Steve.
Morning jog.
Steve once again outran Sam and said nothing.
“Hey—” Sam called. Steve slowed, confused. Sam stammered, “Uh, you okay?”
Steve didn’t reply, expression unreadable.
“On your left.” Bucky surged past them, then turned to Sam with a mischievous grin. “Can’t do without this, huh?”
Steve nearly stared—he’d willed himself not to see Bucky that way, but that look… How Steve longed for it.
Sam rolled his eyes. “You’ve got stamina, Buck. Shouldn’t have let you rest so early yesterday.”
Bucky shot Steve a glance, embarrassment flickering across his face. If Steve only knew he’d begged Sam for mercy…because of his workout plan...
Steve couldn’t look away. Heart fluttering, he blurted, “you said Sam couldn’t call you ‘Buck’, why?” Then he shut up, cheeks aflame.
Bucky blinked, “Did I?”
“Yes,” Sam teased. “Every time you’re annoyed, you say that." Sam mimicked, ‘You’re not Steve.’”
Steve glared at Sam—saw only mockery, not jealousy.
“Right—because you’re not.” Bucky shrugged and sprinted off, leaving them behind. “Mind your place, pal.”
Sam laughed.
They looked so good together; Steve’s chest pinched.
Dinner at Izzy’s.
“Bucky,” the waitress cooed, “trying something new tonight?”
Bucky nodded gently, smiled. “What do you have?”
“I bet you’ll love it.” She lingered on Bucky with bright eyes, then brought three drinks. “This is our new rice wine—on the house.”
Steve watched the waitress’s gaze linger on Bucky—an all-too-familiar scene. He remembered how girls always looked at Bucky before; then he felt uneasy too, though he didn’t know why. Now… Steve glanced at Sam. Would Sam mind? He hoped Sam trusted Bucky enough.
Sam smirked at the waitress’s retreating back and asked Bucky, “Is this the chick Old Nakajima set you up with?”
Bucky lowered his eyes to the drink, muted. Since he told Yuri that her son died at the Winter Soldier’s hands, Yuri hadn’t spoken to him.
“I think she’s into you,” Sam nudged. “Why not go for it?”
“Don’t push it! ” Bucky warned. “She’s a good girl. But we’re not right for each other.”
Steve blinked. Bucky had been on a date? And Sam was okay with it?
“Good girls are for dating!” Sam insisted. “This isn’t the 1940s. Even Nakajima—over eighty—tends bar now. I don't take you as one of those old-fashioned guys who thinks sex equals responsibility, are you? Just hook up first and talk later!”
Bucky just ignored him.
But Steve stared at Sam: so that’s what he meant? Hook up first?
“Sam, are you really okay with Bucky dating?” Steve asked.
“Me? ” Sam paused, then grinned. “You think I’d mind? Because I don't have a girl? That's only because I am too busy lately. Chicks are crazy about me!” He looked challengingly at Bucky. “Better find yourself a chick soon. Don't think you'll have the chance to stick with me that long.”
“Stick with you?” Bucky laughed mockingly. “Who’s always crashing at my apartment, refusing to leave—” He caught sight of Steve’s face and fell silent. Almost forgot he didn’t want to mention those stupid workouts in front of Steve.
“That’s because you agreed—at least three times a week,” Sam declared. “Who begged me to go to Munich with him?”
“That was because you wouldn’t go to find John Walker,” Bucky retorted.
“Ha! You admitted that you came looking for me!” Sam howled with laughter.
Steve watched them squabble in daze. So… friends-with-benefits? That term Tony once explained: “It’s about mutual satisfaction, no strings, no commitment.” Steve remembered how disgusted he’d been.
He couldn’t reconcile that term with these two people. But if they had no commitment…
His thoughts whirled until the restaurant fell silent. Sam and Bucky stared at him.
“Why are you blushing?” Bucky asked.
“Thinking about chicks?” Sam teased. “Seeing your buddy catch someone’s eye and get restless? Easy. That can definitely be arranged. You're only a little bit less hotter than me.”
Steve glared at Sam, then buried himself in his udon.
Lately, Steve spent most days with Bucky.
They’d seen movies, gone to museums, strolled riverside. Bucky was more outgoing than before, yet seemed unchanged around Steve.
Of course—why expect otherwise?
Steve was content just being with Bucky. But Bucky disappeared a few nights a week with Sam; Steve would gracefully “have things to take care of,” never asking what they did. Maybe they thought he didn’t notice.
Steve pretended not to be jealous, not anxious, not upset. He didn’t go pacing under Bucky’s window, didn’t clench and unclench his fists in his own apartment, didn’t storm the gym punching heavy bags in frustration.
What could he do? Ask Bucky if he wanted Steve to… fulfill his needs? That thought made him want to plunge into the Hudson.
He watched Bucky’s slight smile, teasing eyebrow, soft laugh—and restrained himself from wanting to pull him close.
That day, they were investigating a base belonging to an anti-government organization.
Sam had officially taken up the mantle of Captain America, and Steve and Bucky would often join his missions to lend a hand. Given the unique background of the two, no one had raised any objections so far.
After the mission ended, they flew back to New York.
As the plane was about to land, Sam took a seat next to Bucky.
Steve saw him casually drape an arm around Bucky’s shoulders.
He heard Sam say in a low voice,
“Tomorrow night, same time.”
Steve closed his eyes for a moment, trying to suppress the dull ache in his chest. He shifted slightly farther away.
This wasn’t something he was supposed to be hearing.
“Come on, Sam, it’s already 'tomorrow', and I’m exhausted,” Bucky replied, a reluctant note in his voice.
Steve felt embarrassed for eavesdropping on his friend’s personal conversation.
He hated how good his hearing was, and how small this cabin is.
“You promised,” Sam said firmly.
“Maybe the day after tomorrow?” There was a hint of pleading in Bucky’s voice, and Steve could imagine the way he must be frowning.
“No. Skip it once and you’ll skip it again,” Sam said, his tone unyielding.
“But my leg kind of hurts… maybe I pulled a muscle today,” Bucky said—and was that… was that him whining?
Steve’s heart clenched painfully.
“Don’t make excuses,” Sam replied, a mix of exasperation and amusement in his voice.
“I’ll be careful with your leg. That’s not a good enough reason.”
Bucky let out a sigh.
“…Fine, fine,” he said.
Steve felt like his insides were twisting into a knot.
Why did it feel like this?
If Bucky didn’t want to, then why did he give in?
He had clearly said he didn’t feel like it—so why did Sam keep pressing him?
Steve would never treat Bucky like that.
The plane touched down.
They got off and went their separate ways.
Steve didn’t say a word. He managed not to cross the line.
5 PM.
Steve knew Bucky and Sam were together by now. He repeated to himself: Respect your friends; this is their private life; don’t cross the line.
7 PM.
“Dinner?” Steve texted them.
No reply.
8 PM.
“Are we eating yet? ”
No reply.
9 PM.
“Just saw this. Did you eat?” Sam texted.
“Not yet—waiting for you guys,” Steve replied immediately.
“Be downstairs in fifteen.” Sam’s reply.
Steve’s and Bucky’s buildings were just one street apart. He rushed downstairs.
At 9:13, Sam emerged, Bucky trailing. Steve’s chest tightened—he knew they came from Bucky’s place, yet seeing them together hurt unbearably.
“Why so late? Let’s go—sorry to keep you waiting.” Sam greeted brightly, damp hair from a shower.
Bucky dragged his feet, head down, hair slightly wet. As Steve approached, he caught the faint scent of body wash. Bucky wore a light T-shirt, a white denim jacket, black gloves—and was still impossibly handsome. Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s collar: no telltale signs of… anything.
“Hurry up, Buck—I’m starving,” Sam urged.
“I…” Bucky glared at Sam, shot Steve an awkward look, then closed his mouth. He quickened his pace, but every step was heavy.
Steve’s chest twisted with pain and bitterness. Without thinking, he blurted, “If you didn’t want to, why did you agree?” He bit his lip, horrified—he’d crossed a sacred boundary.
Bucky stared at him in surprise, cheeks coloring. Steve immediately looked away, wishing he could vanish. What right did he have?
“You knew?” Sam sounded startled. “I thought Bucky hadn’t told you.”
Bucky shot Sam a fierce look: “Shut up, Sam.” Steve must have overheard this sometime when Sam kept reminding Bucky of the stupid workout schedule.
Steve turned on Sam, conflicted. I really don’t get this, he thought. “Sam, if Bucky didn’t want to, why—” He couldn’t finish. It’s too much. He really shouldn’t cross the line.
“If you ask him, he’ll always say no,” Sam shrugged. “Some people just need someone to force them—give them orders.” He glanced at Bucky. “No offense.”
“Offense taken,” Bucky rolled his eyes.
Steve stared at Sam in disbelief. Force him? Give him orders? Bucky actually didn’t want it? If that was true—Steve’s mind reeled—how had Sam ever gotten the chance? Hydra brainwashing carryover? He thought back to the plane, Sam’s firm voice, Bucky’s reluctant compliance. He remembered hearing Bucky pleading.
Righteous anger flared. Steve seized Sam’s collar before he realized. “How dare you treat him like that?!” He’d believed Bucky was thriving. Three years—during Steve’s absence—was this how Sam treated him?
Sam jerked back. “Hey—” his hands rose. “It’s not that bad—” Noticing Steve’s glare, he hurried on: “He knows I’m taking care of him.”
“Steve,” Bucky covered Steve’s hand on Sam’s shirt—concerned, puzzled—“it’s okay.” He managed a small, embarrassed smile. “Sam meant well.”
Steve let go of Sam and faced Bucky, jaw clenched. “The hell he meant well! You really need someone to force you to do that?”
Does Bucky really need someone to force him to work out? The question pricked at Bucky’s pride. He shot a look at Sam—who was staring back, wide-eyed—but he knew Steve too well to see there is more on Steve’s mind. So what was it? Bucky felt utterly bewildered. Was Steve genuinely worried that he couldn’t take care of himself without someone else’s help? Heartbroken over the loss of his autonomy under Hydra? Did it really have to be taken that far?
"I… um…" Bucky hesitated under Steve’s gaze. "As Sam said, he’s taking care of me—well, in his own way." He spoke with light self-mockery, "For someone like me, it’s actually not that bad to have a friend who bothers to make me do things for my own good."
Steve’s eyes widened. “Someone like you? You are the best person I have ever known. You deserve the whole world. " Steve shook his head, "You don't do this, Bucky. You don't need to...if you really need someone to...why not me?”
“You…what?” Bucky was baffled.
“I’m your friend, too, am I?" Steve challenged, "If you need someone to...God, if you need orders, why don't you come to me? I was your commander, remember?” Steve said, almost aggressively. His chest heaved as if he wants to have a fight.
“Uh…” Bucky glanced at Sam again. Really? Why was everyone suddenly so interested in his workouts? Did he look that bad?
Steve took a step closer, cutting off Bucky’s view of Sam. “You need his permission?”
Bucky frowned, lightly touching Steve’s shoulder. “Steve, are you okay?”
Steve shivered, then—before Bucky could react—took Bucky’s hand from his own shoulder. "Bucky!" He insisted.
"Yeah... sure, if you want..."Bucky replied. What else could he say?
Steve turned to Sam. “Bucky and I are heading out. We’re skipping dinner with you.”
“No problem, no problem,” Sam said, stepping aside. He threw Bucky a stunning look—Bucky blinked—and Steve led Bucky away.
Back at Steve’s apartment, Steve closed the door behind them, fingers trembling. Bucky followed obediently—did he really want Steve to…
Bucky stepped into the living room, then into the bedroom. “I’ve never been here before. You really should find yourself a better place.” he said at the doorway. “But You want me to do it here? You don’t have anything here?”
“What?” Steve glanced at the bare bed. “What else do you need?”
“Well, facility?” Bucky admitted he had never cared the names of Sam’s...gears. “Something I can sit on? Or if there's any other way you prefer, I'm fine.”
Steve couldn’t believe what he had just heard. “You mean you need… the Chair?” Blood rushed to his head, his ears ringing. So this was what Sam had done to Bucky? The Chair?The one he’d been strapped into, the one that had wiped his mind, tearing away his humanity until he was nothing but a puppet?
“That's the usual. At least Sam's favorite.” Bucky said lightly, searching Steve's face for understanding, miming the shape. “The one San got is like this: I will hook my legs down here, lean back…”
Steve’s heart pounding. His hand shaking. He looked at Bucky, devastated that Sam could treat him this way—and Bucky accepted it as normal.
“Steve,” Bucky stopped himself, frowning, “Why do you look so pained?”
“Oh, Buck—” Steve closed his eyes, shook his head. He stepped closer and cupped Bucky’s face and, just, kissed him. He refused to let Bucky stay trapped in that twisted “need.” Though Bucky may have forgotten his pre-war experience with girls, Steve could at least remind him of simple, healthy pleasure.
Bucky froze, then melted into the kiss. Steve’s lips were gentle, reverent. Bucky tilted his head back and let out a soft moan that lit a fire in Steve’s veins. Steve gently laid him on the bed and didn’t stop kissing. Holding Bucky down was effortless. Bucky squirmed and whispered, “Steve—” but Steve held his jaw and neck, deepening the kiss. Bucky made no further attempt to escape.
They kissed long enough to catch their breath. Steve’s lips trailed to Bucky’s ear, and Bucky sighed. Steve lifted himself and slid a hand under Bucky’s waistband. Bucky jerked and said, “Wait, Steve—stop—” He tried to pull his leg away, but Steve pinned it, voice rough: “You said I could, Buck. I’m not stopping.”
Steve stared at Bucky’s flushed lips, unable to meet his eyes. He knew that if Bucky truly resisted, he couldn’t hold him—and he wasn’t sure he truly could “force” him. Still, Bucky soon relaxed and murmured something Steve couldn’t quite catch. But it didn’t sound like Russian, or anything near to “ready to obey.” Steve feels he’s losing his mind.
Gently, he cleaned Bucky up and straightened his clothes. From the almost imperceptible hesitation in Bucky’s walk, Steve decided it was enough for one night. Sam had been with him for at least four hours. Steve’s heart ached. He’d crossed the line—and he had no intention of turning back.
“Why did you do that, Steve?” Bucky leaned against the pillow while Steve stood at the bedside, head bowed. They were silent for a long moment before Bucky spoke in his lazy drawl—pure curiosity, no anger or shame, as if Steve hadn’t done anything wrong.
He should punch me, Steve clenched. He should be furious.
Bowing his head, Steve said firmly, “Sam shouldn’t treat you like that. You shouldn’t let him. I won’t let him. No matter what you need, god, if you really need that, if it has to be like that. I’m here.”
Silence fell again.
“So… you are thinking...” Bucky’s voice sounded odd, then faded.
Panic started to grip Steve. What if Bucky said there’s no need for Steve to step in? What if Bucky would rather not "bother" Steve? Steve’s chest tightened so much it felt impossible to breathe. “I want this, Bucky. It’s not just for what you need.” No, what he was saying? He would never impose his own wants on Bucky. “It’s not what I meant. I just say, give me a chance if that’s what you need. ”
Silence.
After what felt like forever, Steve heard Bucky’s soft laughter. “Oh, you punk,” Bucky muttered. Then a hand flew to his face as he tried to stopped himself from bursting into full-throated laughter. Steve remained still, startled, to see Bucky’s shoulders shaking with mirth. “What do you think we’re doing, Steve?”
Bucky swung his legs off the bed and stood, knees wobbling for a heartbeat before steadying himself. “Christ,” he muttered, catching Steve’s pained look and grinning. “Steve, come on.”
Steve found himself in a room full of workout gear—like a punch to the gut.
“You wanna try?” Bucky asked innocently, mischief dancing in his eyes. “I guarantee you won’t be able to walk tomorrow.”
“Just that?” Steve stared at the leg-press machine, wide-eyed.
“Of course not.” Bucky leaned his head toward the rack of barbells and dumbbells, the bench, the “chair” he’d mentioned, and a strange machine with two big, wing-like arms—“whatever it’s called.” “Sam’s just obsessed with leg day.”
Never skip leg day! Bucky thought gleefully that it’d make a hell of a new Captain America slogan.
Steve groaned and covered his face with his hands, his voice cracking, “What have I done? Oh God… Bucky, I’m so sorry. I’m so—” His words choked off as he turned away, unable to meet Bucky’s eyes. Every fiber of his being screamed to flee.
Bucky reached out, blocking his path. “Hey,” he said gently, “I don’t mind. Actually, that felt pretty good.”
He gave Steve a warm, teasing smile.
“If that really is what you want,” Bucky smirked, “maybe we could try more.”