To have
Steve is sitting in the living room, hunched over his drawing table, and sketches fine lines onto the paper. His model is in the perfect position, stretched out on the couch, just reading a paperback. Natural light would be preferable, but the sun has set about an hour ago, so the illumination of the lampshade standing close by must suffice.
Bucky lies comfortably on his back, legs dangling over the edge on the side. He’s holding the book open above his face with both hands and turns the page every few minutes. His expression changes slightly from time to time as he reads, submerged in the story. His long hair is fanned out softly over the pillow he rests his head on. He looks beautiful and Steve looks up more often from his sketchbook than is probably necessary to study him.
In addition comes this mostly irrational fear that Steve has apparently developed, of Bucky simply disappearing when he’s not in Steve’s sight. Sometimes the last four years seem like they didn’t actually happen, like a dream, and any moment he could wake up in an empty apartment in D.C., alone again in this new century. But so far that hasn’t happened. Every time he wakes up now it’s in a brownstone in Brooklyn. And even though he still catches himself checking Bucky’s bedroom in the middle of the night, just to see that he’s still there, he becomes calmer by the day. So he forces himself to look down on his drawing and works on the shading of the book in Bucky’s hand.
Bucky audibly shivers again, making Steve look up from his sketchbook. He already turned the thermostat up twice this evening, but Bucky is seemingly still not warm enough.
“Do you want me to get a blanket?”
Bucky blinks in confusion, as if he hadn’t even realized that he was cold. Maybe he hadn’t, still used to ignoring his body’s needs. It takes all of Steve’s willpower not to snap his pencil in half just thinking about it. Bucky sits up, places a bookmark carefully in his novel, and shakes his head. “No, I think I’ll get a sweater.” For a moment he just stares blankly, thinking. Then he’s opening his mouth again, turning a little bit more towards Steve: “Can I get one of yours?”
“Yeah, of course”, Steve breathes softly. “I got a few hanging up in my closet. Just take one you like.”
Bucky nods once, a small smile on his lips, and gets up, going to Steve’s bedroom. Steve turns back to his drawing, but now that his model is gone he starts to sketch out the room around his original image. He hears the faint rustling of clothes as Bucky searches for a sweater.
“Hey Steve, what’s this?”, comes the brunette’s voice from the other room. He turns towards the source of the voice just as Bucky reemerges from the bedroom, but instead of a sweater he’s holding a black garment bag. Steve freezes. He wanted to give it back, he really did, but so much had happened since he first found the bag in his flat in Washington and somehow he could never let it go.
“Ehm…” Steve tries to say something but he isn’t sure what. His brain has gone into panic mode, making forming words almost impossible. Meanwhile Bucky places the bag over the back of the couch, opening the zipper. Steve could do nothing but watch as recognition flashes over Bucky’s face and he gasps out.
“Oh wow.” He carefully caresses the fabric of the coat. “Why do you have this?”
“Ehm…” Steve panics even more. Come on, think of something. Say something! Anything! Or Bucky will-
“I wonder if it still fits…” Bucky’s voice is barely above a whisper. He looks at the coat a moment longer before he makes a decision. He peels the uniform out of the bag, undoing the buttons before he takes it off the hanger. Steve couldn’t breath as Bucky slips one arm, the metal one, into the sleeve, followed by the second one. He watches as the fabric stretches over Bucky’s shoulders. He’s pulling the garment in place, but leaves it open.
“Well, it’s definitely tighter than I remember”, Bucky chuckles, before turning to Steve with a grin on his face, arms slightly outstretched, “but what do you think?”
What does Steve think? He thinks…
He thinks…
He thinks…
“Steve?”
His legs get him in a standing position all on their own, pencil and sketchbook forgotten on the table. He takes a few wobbly steps until he stands in front of Bucky. Steve raises his hand, slightly shaking, hesitating before he grabs Bucky’s shoulder like a lifeline. The familiar fabric, rough under his touch, doesn’t collapse in on itself, because there is a body now, filling it out. Bucky’s body, as it should be. Bucky wearing his coat once more. Bucky being here, alive, with him. Warm and breathing and real.
It takes Steve a moment to register that his vision is blurry with unshed tears, he’s just too overwhelmed. When he does, he takes a ragged breath in and the first tear rolls down his cheek. And then the dam breaks.
“Woah, hey Stevie, what’s wrong?” Bucky sounds so concerned as his hands cup Steve’s face, thumps wiping away the tears. That only makes Steve sob in earnest, all but falling forward into Bucky’s embrace. And Bucky is there to catch him, always catching him.
Steve clings to the coat as he buries his face in Bucky’s shoulder and dampens the fabric with his tears. The aching in his chest is soothed a little bit when Bucky hugs him back just as hard. He hears the faint sound of thread ripping, but he finds that he doesn’t care.
“Shh Stevie, it’s alright, everything’s good. Is it the coat? I’m sorry, I’ll take it off.”
Hearing this just makes Steve’s grip tight like steel, shaking his head and trying to bury his face farther into Bucky’s shoulder. Even though his nose is stuffy he could recognise Bucky’s smell. That combined with the rough fabric scratching his skin makes a fresh round of tears flood out of his eyes. He can’t remember how often he imagined, dreamed of this moment. Holding Bucky feels unreal, a miracle that could disappear at any second, a gift from heaven, and here he is, getting tears, spit, and snot on the navy coat. It’s when one of Bucky’s hands comes up to cradle the back of Steve’s head the words come spilling out of him, between sobs and gasps and ragged inhales, unable to keep that gate closed.
“I love you”, he cries into Bucky’s neck. “I loved you for so long and I missed you so much and you were dead, I watched you die and I love you and I died. I died, Bucky. I’m so sorry.”
He feels Bucky freeze, but the confession is out in the open now, and if Steve’s being honest, he’s kind of glad. These emotions had been weighing on his chest forever and whatever happens now is out of his control. Sure he’s scared, but also weirdly at peace about it. For some reason that thought calms him enough to get his breathing in control. And even though he could hold Bucky like this forever, Steve is well aware of how stiff the man in his arms still is after dumping all these feelings onto him. So he peels back a bit to look Bucky in the eyes, but he keeps his hands on Bucky's biceps when he feels Bucky's hand remaining on Steve's sides.
Saying Bucky looks shocked is an understatement. His blue-grey eyes are as big as saucers, his mouth opens and closes like he's a fish on land, but no words come out of it. Steve feels his guilt roll out with the few remaining tears he has in him and suddenly he can't look at Bucky's face anymore.
"I'm sorry", Steve repeats, looking down to his feet. He feels his throat tighten again. "I shouldn't put this all on you, it's not fair, but it's the truth. And if you're no longer comfortable with me around-" Steve closes his eyes and tries to swallow, but it feels like swallowing pins "-then I can move out or I'll help you find something else or-"
"Shut the fuck up!" Bucky growls. Steve’s head snaps up, almost frightened by Bucky's tone. Bucky looks furious, eyes burning with rage, but he doesn't let go of Steve's sides. If all, he grabs him harder. "Since when?"
“Ehm…” Steve's face heats up, because this is a whole nother truth that he’s not really ready to confess yet. But Bucky is insistent.
“Since when do you feel like this Steve?” Bucky presses.
“I… I don’t know…”
“Steve, I have to know this! Please!”
“I don’t know! Okay?” The panic rises up in Steve’s chest, expands, and forces the words out of him. He realizes how hysterical he sounds, but he can’t stop it. “I don’t know since when, Buck! There was only ever you and I’ve known you all my life. I could never imagine someone else, ever, and I-”
Steve’s rambling is suddenly cut off by nothing other than Bucky’s lips on his.
Bucky’s lips.
On his.
Kissing.
Bucky kissing him. With enthusiasm.
Time stops. Steve is paralized for what feels like hours, but it's probably mere seconds before he gets with the program. His hands leave Bucky’s arms to grab the lapels of the coat instead, pulling him closer. He could feel Bucky smiling against his lips, the hands on his sides a steady presence. Suddenly the brunett nibbles on his lips, silently asking for entrance, and Steve gives it to him. Steve would give Bucky everything he asks for and everything he doesn’t ask for, he would just take this moment for exchange. Everything for Bucky’s lips on his.
“Buck”, Steve sighs when they break away eventually. Bucky chuckles quietly. His face looks serene, but his eyes sparkle with euphoria. Steve’s own face splits into a stupid grin.
“Steven Grant Rogers”, Bucky smiles. “You’re a whole fucking idiot.”
Steve’s grin gets impossibly wider. “James Buchanan Barnes, you kiss your mother with that foul mouth?”
Bucky throws his head back and laughs, loud and open. It’s the sweetest sound Steve ever heard. If his heart could swell any more with love it would break out of his chest.
“I would never!” His grin mirrors Steve’s. “I only kiss mouths as foul as mine.” With that he leans back in to steal one, two short kisses. Bucky’s hands come up again to gently cradle Steve’s face, thumbs soothing the swollen bags under his eyes.
“I love you too”, he whispers.
“Yeah?” Steve asks softly, as if he needs the confirmation, as if he doesn’t believe it quite yet.
“Yeah Stevie. I love you. Terribly.”
A laugh escapes Steve’s throat like a loud gasp. All this time, all this pain and despair. Suddenly it doesn’t matter anymore. Basically forgotten. Steve would almost go as far as to say it was worth it if it meant ending up here, with Bucky kissing him. Telling him he loves him back.
Right now with Bucky’s coat in his hands, laughing, kissing, crying, it was worth it.
All of it.