Chapter 4
2003
It had been a week since Steph had last seen Jimmy, since he tried to kiss her. She was trying to be mad, but she thought about him every night. His deep voice, his strong arms, how protective he was of her. Her own body was changing and developing, and she hated it. Her mom had bought her deodorant and training bras and taught her how to shave her legs. They had a little more spending money since moving in with Mr Schmidt, which Steph knew took stress off her mother. But Mr Schmidt wasn't a good man, and as long as they lived with him, Steph was waiting for the other shoe to drop.
She tried to spend as much time away from home as possible. After morning class, she would go to the creek, in a spot far away enough that Jimmy wouldn't see her even if he went down. When she did have to be at home, she spent all of her time in her room.
Her body was changing in other ways. She always got butterflies when she thought of Jimmy, but recently those butterflies had been accompanied by the feeling of lightning racing down her spine, heat coiling in her belly. It didn't take her long to figure out humping the pillow and playing over fantasies in her mind.
Seven days after she'd seen him last, she couldn't take it anymore. Six on the dot, she went down to their spot, only slightly further of a walk since they'd moved. To her surprise, Jimmy was waiting there for her on the log.
"You're here?" She asked.
"Every day. Just in case… listen, I feel bad about what I did. Let's forget about it, okay?" He pulled out a package from his backpack, something wrapped poorly in Christmas-themed paper with a silver ribbon.
But Steph didn't care. She tore into the package, tears pricking her eyes. It was a disposable film camera. "Jimmy…"
"Here, I already tested it when I was waiting for you." He showed her how to load the film, turn it to the next slide, and capture an image. She took a picture of the two of them on the log, dappled sunlight from the trees playing on their faces.
"Does it come out?" she asked, inspecting the camera.
"No, it's not a polaroid. You have to develop the film."
"How?"
"Well, we can either take the film roll to a store, like CVS, or we could use the darkroom at the high school. I know the editor of the yearbook. He might let us in."
They spent the rest of the evening taking pictures of things around the creek; baby ducks, the sun setting over the trees, the streetlights hanging over the road. She gave him the camera at the end of the day. "Develop it for me tomorrow?" she pleaded.
Jimmy agreed and took the camera.
The next day, he had a new film roll in the camera and an envelope full of pictures. She flipped through all of them, smirking at the goofy picture Jimmy had taken in his bedroom. "Here, you keep this one." She gave him the picture of the two of them on the log.
He folded it in quarters and kissed it before putting it in his pocket. "I'll cherish it forever."
"Shut up," she told him, punching his shoulder. But she was blushing. "I love it. Thank you, Jimmy."
Later in the week, Steph and Jimmy were hunting for crayfish.
"What do you know about drugs?" Steph asked, even though she knew it wasn't a good idea.
Jimmy stared at her, but she kept looking down at the rocks. "Not a whole lot, and I'm gonna tell you even less," he scowled.
"Not for me, dumbass. About Schmidt. The way he acts. I think he's high on something."
"Why? What has he done?" Jimmy demanded.
"Nothing," Steph lied. "Maybe it's just alcohol. I don't know. He gets really aggressive suddenly and then other times he acts like everything is fine."
"It could be cocaine," Jimmy admitted. "We could get a drug test, turn it in somehow, try to get the cops to search his home."
"No… it's no use," Steph whined. "I just want to run away sometimes."
Jimmy sat down on the bank of the creek. "And leave your mom behind?"
"She's not being honest with me about him. She's trying to act like she wants to be with him, like she's happy now. She wouldn't be with him if it wasn't for me."
"Where would you go?"
"I don't know," she admitted.
"Next year, you can get emancipated," he told her. "We could get you a job. It would be better than the foster system."
Steph couldn't imagine making it through another year, not to mention four more years until she actually turned sixteen. She'd been cutting herself with her razors, on her hipbones where no one would see. "Let's run away together," she begged. "We could get GEDs and go to New York City. Immigrants get jobs without documentation all the time there. They wouldn't care if we're minors. Then when you turn 18 we can get married and our parents can't do anything about it."
"Oh, Steph," Jimmy sighed. "We can't do that."
"I know," she gasped, trying to hold back tears. "I just want to pretend like we're going to. I just want to imagine a better life."
"Life will be better someday, I promise. I'm going to do everything I can to save you from this."
"Promise you'll marry me, Jimmy?" Steph looked up into his grey eyes.
"I promise."
Steph knew exactly what she wanted for a wedding. She wanted a big dress, like a princess. Even though she didn't like dressing up girly she always wanted to feel like a princess for her wedding. She wanted to get married outdoors, in a forest at sundown. She wanted an ice cream bar. She wanted to pick out all of the music herself, and write her own vows. She wanted a limited amount of people there, just her closest loved ones that deserved to be at her special day. She had it all planned out, since she was about four years old. She told Jimmy about all of it and he listened to every word.
2023
Steve's flare up lasted three days, which wasn't as bad as it could be sometimes. It stormed outside, which probably didn't help his joints. He didn't even film any content for three days, needing all the time he could to recuperate. He didn't want to let Bucky down again. No matter how understanding the older man was, it would run out eventually.
He got dressed in high waisted booty shorts, a cropped Spiderman t shirt, brushed through his hair and gave his beard a quick trim, and did his makeup with winged eyeliner and sparkly eyeshadow. Before he could lose his nerve, he went to Bucky's apartment and rang the bell. It was 8 pm.
It took a worryingly long time for Bucky to answer, but eventually he opened the door. Steve felt bad for a moment for showing up unexpected. Bucky's hair was thrown up in a messy bun, and he was wearing a t shirt and basketball shorts. Steve smelled the aroma of pizza coming from within the dimly lit apartment.
"Steve!" Bucky exclaimed, surprised.
"Bucky, hi," Steve started, hoping he wasn't overstepping a line. "Today is the first day my joints haven't felt like they're going to explode, so I figured if we were both free… what better time?"
Bucky just blinked and stared at him for a moment, and Steve was afraid he was going to slam the door shut in his face and tell Steve to leave him the hell alone. But he just opened the door wider and welcomed Steve in with an outstretched arm. Steve tried not to stare at the sliver of tummy that poked out under Bucky's shirt when he lifted his arm. "I hope you like meatlovers."
"I love meat," Steve agreed, only half joking as he crossed the threshold. He saw on the coffee table in front of the sofa there were two boxes of pizza, one already halfway finished. He hoped he wasn't interrupting any plans- had Bucky really ordered that much pizza for himself?
"What can I get you to drink? Beer? Soda?" Bucky offered, padding off into the kitchen. The brunet pulled up his ill fitting shorts as he walked, and Steve's mouth watered.
"Just water, please." Steve made himself comfortable on the couch and gauged the pizza for allergens. Besides his mild gluten intolerance (which he regularly ignored anyway), it seemed safe.
"Do you drink?" Bucky asked, returning with a glass of water and two beers for himself. He sat down next to Steve, with about six inches of space between them, and spun the pizza box towards Steve without offering a plate.
Steve picked up a slice, curling it so he didn't drip any grease on the sofa, and took a bite. It was room-temperature, which was perfectly okay with him. He hated burning his mouth on hot food and hated waiting for it to cool down. "I do, but I hate beer. I might be tempted by vodka, if you have it, but you're gonna have to drive me home."
"Oh yeah? Bucky responded with a grin, talking with his mouth full. It was a habit Steve found disgusting but goddamn, if it wasn't just endearing when Bucky did it. "You can't handle the walk? Maybe it's better if you just spend the night, because I'm already halfway to drunk."
"Are you? I'm going to have to catch up, then."
Bucky got up again (and Steve tried not to stare too obviously as the heavier man had to huff and heave himself up from the low sofa), told his Alexa to play some music, and fetched a bottle of mango Svedka and a can of mountain dew. He poured them both into a cup and offered it to Steve.
"Want to play truth or dare?" Steve asked mischievously.
"I don't think I've played that since 2005," he laughed, but he didn't say no.
"I didn't have many friends growing up," Steve admitted. "Trying to make up for lost time. It'll be a good way to get to know each other."
"Okay, truth or dare?"
"Dare." Steve was a daredevil at heart.
"I dare you to chug that whole cup."
Steve groaned. "Seriously? You put like three shots in here." He tipped back the cup anyway, grimacing at the taste and drinking it all down. When he met Bucky's eyes again, he was staring. "Truth or dare?" Steve asked, feeling heat rise to his cheeks. He wasn't a lightweight, but he hadn't eaten all day.
"Truth."
"When was the last time you slept with someone?"
"Jesus, you don't mess around," Bucky remarked, but still answered. "Two months ago, maybe three." Steve picked truth. "What's your twitter?"
Steve's only Twitter was his sex work promotion. He showed Bucky. The latest post was a promo for the video he'd done with the paddle, and the preview was Steve showing his red ass off to the camera. He was wearing red underwear and the matching red bralette Bucky had accidentally opened, but he was facing away from the camera, concealing his top surgery scars and vagina. Although there was a trans flag in Steve's username, so it was only a matter of time before Bucky figured it out. "Are we allowed to ask follow up questions, or do we have to save it for the next round?"
Steve laughed, blushing a little from Bucky having access to his most intimate information. "It's just a game to get conversation going. Go ahead."
"Do you like sex work?"
"I do now. And I wouldn't want to stop it for any significant other. I make all my bills in just one day. It empowers me, and I feel beautiful. It's convenient to my schedule and I can be my own boss and buy the best health insurance for my illnesses."
Bucky smiled genuinely. "I think that's great. I would never ask you to stop."
Steve wanted to ask him if he'd ever think of participating in a video, but figured that was a question for later. Bucky picked dare. "I dare you to eat as much pizza as you can," Steve's mouth said before his brain could stop him.
Bucky didn't seem bothered, though. "Less for you," he shrugged, pulling the remaining three slices towards himself. "I can pack away another five slices, easy."
"Do you do this often?" Steve asked, getting flustered.
"What, eating whole pizzas by myself and getting tipsy? All the time. I could take home a medal in competitive eating," Bucky joked, patting his belly.
Steve didn't trust himself to say something else without asking Bucky something stupid, like his weight, or to take his shirt off, so he didn't say anything. Then he picked dare.
"Dare you to take off your shirt," Bucky said, like he was reading Steve's mind.
Fuck. He knew it had been coming to this. What else did he expect, showing up to Bucky's apartment so late, and getting tipsy? Steve was an embarrassing blusher, flush extending from the tips of his ears all the way down to his chest. But that's not what he was worried about.
He sat up straight and crossed his arms, taking the shirt off and tossing it on the floor behind him. His scars were five years old and pretty faded, but he had heart shaped nipples for chrissake. It was obvious he was trans.
Bucky's poker face was immaculate. If he was surprised, he didn't let it show. But he also didn't try to hide the fact that he was staring at Steve's chest, the floral tattoos on his ribs, the 777 above his navel. Steve squirmed under his gaze, feeling himself get wet. He wondered if Bucky was hard, or if he was too drunk for that.
"Truth or dare," Steve whispered, his throat going dry. He had another shot of vodka.
"Truth."
"Coward. Have you ever been in love?"
"Once. The summer before 11th grade."
"What happened?"
"They died." The mood had soured.
"I'm sorry."
"It's okay. Truth or dare?"
"Truth," Steve answered, giving Bucky an opportunity to ask about the scars.
"When did you know you were trans?" Bucky surprised him, not by asking if he was trans, but taking in stride that he was.
"I knew ever since I was little but I never had the words to put to it. I grew up in the foster system, so I wasn't always in a home where gender identities were discussed openly. I started transitioning when I turned 18. My sex work made a lot of it possible." And then it was all out in the open. Not even two hours into the first date, and Bucky already knew about his job, his disabilities, and his gender identity. "Truth or dare?"
"Truth." Bucky was working his way through his sixth piece of pizza, with no signs of slowing down. Steve hadn't even finish his first, abandoned crust sitting on the coffee table.
"Why do your relationships end?"
Bucky pondered for a moment, finish his sixth and moving on to a seventh. One more, and he'd have eaten a whole pizza by himself. He looked full, but it was hard to tell. He was leaning back against the arm of the sofa, legs crossed, and round belly pushing up his pecs. Steve could see the shadow of his belly button through his shirt, and a sliver of his belly was sticking out again. "Because I'm not ready for commitment."
"Oh. Do you just want something casual, then?"
"Maybe. It depends on what feels right for the relationship. In my last one, she wanted to get married but I didn't want to give up my independence. She ended up cheating on me and I broke it up when I found out." Steve picked truth. "Your profile had a lot of BDSM stuff on it. Do you mostly just do that for content, or do you really like it?"
Even though Steve spent a significant part of each week calling strangers online "Daddy", Steve blushed. It was different face to face. It was different when he liked them. "It's a definite benefit, but not a must. The pain and masochism I could give or take. But other aspects… the submission, the power dynamics, that's a must. I'm a bottom and I'm submissive. I don't top or dom, not even for money."
Bucky just grinned at him, half-lidded and hazy with food and beer. "That's okay, honey. How old are you?"
"31."
Bucky cringed. "Jesus, that's younger than I thought."
"How old are you?"
"36."
"That's not that old."
"I'm almost forty. You're just coming into your thirties. It might as well be a decade."
Steve couldn't tell if he was just blowing smoke up his ass. He was sitting with his knees tucked under him and his palms on his thighs without even noticing what he was doing. "That's hot."
Now Bucky was definitely hard. His dick was tenting the soft basketball shorts. Steve wanted to lean forward and touch him. He wanted to feel his belly, see if it was soft and jiggly with fat, or hard and packed tight with food. He seemed like a bottomless pit, opening up yet another beer and closing the empty box of pizza while he opened up the next one. It was a Hawaiian.
"Oh, I can't have pineapples," Steve stated absentmindedly. It was fine. He'd already had one slice of pizza, and he was trying to get drunk, after all.
"Oh, I'm sorry."
"It's not your fault. I'm the one who invited myself over." Steve took another shot of vodka. He was definitely past tipsy now, just starting to head into drunk territory. "Why did you let me in? Were you trying to get laid tonight?"
"Yes," Bucky answered evenly, starting in on the Hawaiian pizza. Slice nine. Steve wondered how full he'd get before he stopped, if he would make Steve get on top if he was too full to move. Steve wouldn't mind that. "Why did you come over? Were you trying to get laid?"
"I felt bad about blowing you off so many times," Steve answered honestly. "Whose turn was it?"
"I don't remember. I pick truth." Steve wasn't sure how drunk Bucky was, but enough to be feeling loose.
"How much do you weigh?"
"I don't know. I haven't weighed myself in a while. More than 250. Truth or dare?"
"Dare."
"I dare you to get the scale from my bathroom and bring it over here to find out."
Steve was speechless. Was Bucky into this too? It was highly unlikely. Maybe Bucky just wanted to get everything out in the open on the first date like Steve had; advertise everything clearly as if to say Here's all the terms. Sign at your own risk. Or maybe he saw how much it turned Steve on and he wanted to flirt with him.
Steve had to pee, too, so he went to the bathroom and sat down. His heart was pounding, and he could see his reflection in the mirror from where he sat. He looked drunker than he felt, face red and lips shiny. There was a piece of meatball from the pizza stuck in between his teeth. It was driving him nuts. He rummaged around the sink vanity drawers for flossers, but didn't find any. Not wanting to snoop, but not being able to get it out with his nails, he looked in the cabinet above the toilet.
There was nothing helpful in there. Just some washcloths, extra shampoo (5 in 1. Hideous), and a hairclip clawing onto a folded photograph. Feeling nosy, Steve unclipped it and unfolded the photograph. Then he almost passed out. It was him and Jimmy. He hadn't seen that photo since he gave it to Jimmy. How did Bucky get ahold of it? Did he know Jimmy?
He brought the photo and the scale back out to the living room, abandoning his search for a flosser for now. "How do you know him?" he asked, putting the scale down next to the sofa.
Bucky seemed upset, probably at Steve going snooping. "They're the one who died."
Jimmy's dead? Steve never expected to see or hear from him again. He probably hated Steve. It was so much worse knowing that he was dead, and Steve would never have a chance to apologize.
But Bucky had been in love with him. Steve wanted to ask more about him. How they'd met, what had happened. If Jimmy had ever mentioned Steve.
Of course, he wouldn't have used that name. Jimmy knew him pre-transition. He would have called him Steph.
But Steve was willing to let it go for now. Bucky stood slowly to weigh himself as promised, one hand bracing the top of his full belly. It was now visibly fuller than when Steve had arrived, ten slices of greasy pizza packed away into it. "We have to take off at least two pounds for all this pizza," Bucky told him, stepping on the scale.
"Right, and your shorts weigh at least ten pounds," Steve joked.
The scale beeped. "Two seventy-two," Bucky reported, like he couldn't believe it.
"Oh, only 260. That's hardly more than you imagined," Steve consoled him.
"Yeah, but it's almost a hundred pounds heavier than I was back in high school," he said, picking up the picture from where Steve had left it on the coffee table. "I was in such good shape back then. I did so many sports. I still eat like I burn that many calories every day, but all I do is sit around here." He showed the picture to Steve again. Some thought was teasing at the back of Steve's mind, but he wasn't sober enough to visualize it clearly. He sat down on the sofa, swaying gently. "I was pretty cute, huh?"
Steve stared at him in confusion for a moment.
Then it dawned on him.