5374 words
All throughout the afternoon, the image of Bucky in a collar taunted him.
They had chosen to take a break, relaxing and lazing around. Bucky was writing in his diary, which was covered in hearts, kittens, rainbows, and glitter. He scribbled furiously with his pink feather pen, and Steve wondered what he was writing about. He didn’t dare ask, since it was private, and turned back to his phone, where he was looking up restaurants in Vegas that he would take Bucky to for dinner.
It had to be somewhere nice and upscale, with a view of the city all lit up at night. Somewhere quiet and intimate, with candlelight and wine. Somewhere that would serve actual proportionate meals, not tiny shit on a huge plate.
Steve groaned as he looked at another restaurant’s menu, seeing tiny, almost bite sized dishes.
Maybe he was asking too much with the proportion sizes.
After twenty more minutes after expanding his search parameters, he had managed to narrow it down to four choices: Sinatra, Eiffel Tower, Delmonico steakhouse, and Top of the World.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asked from beside him, startling Steve.
“Oh, I'm just… trying to find a restaurant for tonight.” He carefully chose his next words, not wanting to lie. “I wanna take you out, make up for being so oblivious. Celebrate Gay Pride Month. Have fun with you.” Ask for your hand in marriage, he thought.
Bucky regarded him thoughtfully, his eyes sliding over to the laptop.
“They might have dancing at Sinatra, which you agreed to do sometime. We’ll have a real swell time, dancing the night away.” His grin was sharp and wicked.
Steve huffed out a laugh. “That was agreed to under duress. You made me grope you. I was gonna have a heart attack. I would have agreed to anything. I would have agreed to a moonwalk with no spacesuit.”
Bucky laughed at him, and Steve blushed, embarrassed and flattered. “Well, I just bought you that suit and those shoes we talked about for just such an occasion. Should I return them?” he teased Steve, an eyebrow raised.
Steve’s mouth ran dry. Bucky had bought him a pinstripe suit and wingtip shoes? How was he supposed to cope with that fact? How was he expected to survive long enough to pop the question?
Jesus fucking Christ in heaven.
He booked the reservation for seven thirty.
“If we’re going there for dinner, I'm gonna have to wear something different than what I said I would,” Bucky warned him as he withdrew the bag with Steve's suit from under the bed where he had hidden it away. Steve blinked, then remembered that Bucky had said he was going to wear a matching pinstripe suit and skirt combo, with stockings, a garter belt and a hat veil.
Steve actually had the absolute stupidity to be disappointed until he saw what Bucky was going to wear instead, as if Bucky wouldn’t still look like a total goddamn knockout.
It made his jaw drop.
It was a floor length evening gown and it trailed across the ground behind him a foot or two. It was black and asymmetrical, the left sleeve covering Bucky’s shoulder and reaching up to wrap around his throat, covered with white sequins and beads, pearls. They also lined the heart shaped neckline, which stopped above his pecs, and then trailed down the left side where the side was missing, splitting down the hemline that exposed his left leg all the way up past his hip. He wondered if Bucky was wearing any underwear, because it sure as hell didn’t look like it, but one wrong too-long stride would expose him, so he had to have been wearing some, right?
When Bucky twirled around to show the back off, the dress dropped down from his right armpit and around to his left hip, leaving his back bare.
He looked like a zillion motherfucking dollars, and Steve was going to snap. He felt his right eye twitch.
“You look…” he trailed off helplessly, wanting to sob.
“Yeah?” Bucky grinned, absolutely shit eating, and Steve felt like actually punching him. Softly. With his mouth. Because he loved him.
Steve, already dressed, sat mutely as Bucky did his makeup, eyeliner and mascara and lipstick that was red, red, red, and then slipped on some white high heels, changing his purse out again to match it. He chose a white clutch that he had bought to go with the dress, same as the shoes, he explained to Steve, who could only nod dumbly at him, gaping. There was only room for his phone, his lighter, a couple of cigarettes, his compact mirror, a money clip, and a very small gun, a Walther CCP.
Bucky poured a small amount of the Asgardian mead into a vial that he happened to have on hand, and Steve didn’t want to ask what the contents originally were. He put that into the clutch, along with his lipstick.
Steve felt like crawling out of his skin, he was so nervous.
After Bucky did his hair up into a complicated bun that he secured with a single pearl hair comb as if by magic that matched his earrings, and put on white silk gloves, the left a short one that he tucked into his sleeve and the right a long one that went past his elbow, and draped around his elbows a white mink stole that stole Steve’s breath, they finally left, opting to catch a taxi to the restaurant since Bucky was wearing heels.
The ring continued to burn a hole through his pocket, although Steve calmed a little after they were seated. Bucky ordered a glass of something Steve immediately forgot while they looked over the menu.
“You look really nice, Steve,” Bucky said with a smile. Steve nearly kicked himself. He hadn’t complimented Bucky on his outfit.
“You too,” he blurted. “You look… amazing. Gorgeous. Just absolutely stunning. I…”
Bucky smiled softly, his eyes scrunching up adorably at the corners. Steve felt lightheaded, dizzy. When was he supposed to propose? Right now? He hoped it was right now.
Sometimes people hid rings in the dessert, so that must be when people usually proposed.
God, how was he supposed to wait that long?
No, he could do this; he waited this long, he could wait one more hour. Even if it felt like it, it wouldn’t actually kill him.
“The music’s good,” he stated unnecessarily after the waiter came by to take their order, Italian dishes that Steve couldn’t remember.
Bucky looked at him, an amused smirk in place.
“So I hear.”
Steve lost the will to speak. He felt like throwing up. Why did he order his food? He was too nervous to eat any of it, and it would all go to waste. Or worse: if he did eat, he would kneel, open his mouth, and throw up all over Bucky’s lap and Bucky would never marry him after that.
“Come on, Stevie, let’s dance,” Bucky suggested, standing up, taking pity on poor Stevie Rogers. He tensed slightly, glancing around as he stood up. He paused, feeling a bit too lightheaded for immediate movement. His legs felt like rubbery noodles, incapable of supporting his weight.
They walked a couple of feet away from their table, and Bucky placed Steve’s right hand on his bare back and grabbed the other with his flesh hand, his metal hand coming up to Steve’s right shoulder. “Relax. This is a dance, not an execution.”
A hysterical thread of laughter burst out of Steve’s chest before he could stop it. Bucky pressed his lips together, like he was trying not to laugh at Steve. He flushed, not able to help it. Steve felt like a fool. He always did, around Bucky.
Bucky, always excellent at conversation, filled the silence, putting Steve at ease. “So I'm thinking about buying a car. Something small that we can hitch to the back of the RV. Maybe a convertible or something like that. Something classic and old, like us. Vintage.” He wiggled his eyebrows. “I'm getting pretty tired of walking around everywhere and not being able to go through drive thrus, although I do appreciate having the opportunity to flaunt how good I look when I go in.”
Steve’s body lost some of its rigidity as he swayed, listening to Bucky’s voice. “I love the RV, I'm not ready to get rid of it yet. That’s my home. And houses are too boring for me. Too stationary. Who wants to buy a house when you could see the world with a motor home instead?”
Steve smiled at him, besotted. Bucky could live in a rocket on the moon and Steve would still want to be with him.
“Sounds like you got it all figured out, Buck. Whaddya need me for?” he wondered, mostly teasing but a little bit actually curious.
“Oh, there’s this little thing called eternal happiness and love,” he snarked, making Steve grin dopily. “I can't have it without you. It’s kind of inconvenient. Annoying, even.”
Steve was laughing then, great big honking laughs that weren’t attractive at all nor suitable for such an intimate, high dollar restaurant. Despite that, he couldn’t stop.
Bucky grabbed his face and planted one on him, opening Steve’s mouth and snaking his tongue inside. Steve held him closer, a hand sprawling out on his lower back. Goddamn, that dress.
Bucky pulled away, staggering a little. Then he glared at Steve like he was the one that dragged Bucky into a kiss and got all carried away. Or whatever reason Bucky happened to be mad about.
“So what kinda car didja want? Exactly, I mean,” Steve asked, taking Bucky carefully back into his arms again as they swayed to the music, a song he recognized from one of Bucky’s many playlists. His nerves were returning with a vengeance and he had to look down to make sure he didn’t accidentally step on Bucky’s toes.
Bucky shrugged. “I don’t know. Maybe a Volkswagen beetle.” He said it like Volks-voggen, like a German would. Steve smiled slightly. “Or maybe American made, like a Chevy Bel Air or a Ford Fairlane or a pink Cadillac. I do like how they make ‘em in America.” He reached around to squeeze Steve’s ass with a shit eating grin, making him let out a squeak, to his unending embarrassment. Bucky snickered at him. “Perhaps we could get one tomorrow, if they have any in the area. That would be nice, cruising around Vegas, the top down, wind in my hair, cat eye sunglasses and red lipstick on. All glamorous and shit.”
Steve looked down at those red lips, picturing it. God, he wanted to make Bucky so happy. He wanted to leave right now and go track down a classic car and give it to Bucky.
‘One thing at a time, Rogers,’ he told himself.
First, he needed to propose to Bucky.
Depending on his answer, Steve would go car shopping with Bucky either tomorrow or the day after, because even if he said no, Steve still wanted to help him. He just needed a day’s recovery period, is all.
Thankfully, their food arrived before Steve’s overactive mind could plan out the rest of their stay in Vegas, and they sat down to eat.
Their food was delicious, what little of it that Steve could taste through his anxiety, practically forcing himself to eat the first few bites. His appetite took over after that and he realized he was starving, as he usually was every few hours, courtesy of the serum. He paced himself, despite his ravenous hunger, and made sure to wipe his mouth between each bite, wanting to look poised for once. It wouldn’t do to have food on his face again during a marriage proposal. He watched as Bucky carefully poured out just one drop of Asgardian mead into his drink, which he had refilled twice now.
The unusual restraint Bucky used made Steve pause.
“It’s just to take the edge off. I wanna remember this night,” Bucky explained without prompting. “The night I finally got you to properly dance with me after all these years. You're gonna be a regular Ginger Rogers after this, just you watch.”
The teasing eased whatever suspicions Steve might have felt about why exactly Bucky would want to take the edge off and remember this night.
When Bucky offered the vial to him, Steve thought about it but shook his head. He didn’t trust himself drunk. He didn’t trust himself sober either, but at least he still had somewhat of a brain filter. When he was drunk, it was gone. It had been a real concern of Steve’s back in the day, when he didn’t hold his alcohol real well at all. He was no longer repressed like he had been, which was probably the only thing that stopped him from blurting out that he loved Bucky the first time they got drunk.
He didn’t have that shield of repression now, and knew it was the wiser decision to turn the offer of the mead down, however much he wanted to get drunk.
Bucky was delighted as he ate his food, exclaiming every few bites how good it was. They (and by they, Steve meant Bucky, who asked if it was okay) had decided that their meal needed some wine to go with it, and listened to the waiter’s wine spiel until Steve just told him to bring out the best bottle they had, trying not to think of how much it would cost.
He’d seen the wine menu. Nothing was under fifty-eight dollars and very few were under a hundred, but the most expensive bottle only cost about five thousand, which was a small comfort, at least, and some of them fell in the two hundred to three hundred dollar range, which Steve could swing. They also ordered Formaggi, the very expensive daily selection of imported cheeses, at the waiter’s suggestion. Any anger Steve might have felt towards him disappeared when he saw Bucky eating it.
“Man alive, this shit is fantastic. It goes great with the wine, which is also fantastic. So’s the Russian Osetra Caviar. And the Gamberoni. And the Risotto. And the Veal Parmigiana. I'm in heaven over here.” Steve couldn’t help but smile at him, despite how each dish was dollar signs behind his eyes. Bucky deserved this dinner; Steve wouldn’t let his own issues with money ruin it.
When they were finally done eating entrees and appetizers and it was time to order dessert, Steve started sweating. He ran his hand over his bangs, which were getting a bit too long, messing up his neatly combed back hair. He cursed at himself, and tried to fix it without looking in a mirror or messing it up more.
The waiter popping up seemingly out of nowhere with the question of whether they wanted any dessert scared the living daylights out of Steve, and he took a few measured breaths and cleared his throat, recovering somewhat. He ignored the look Bucky gave him, gesturing for Bucky to order.
“Yeah, we’ll take the tiramisu, the cappello, the limone, the gelati e sorbetti, the fruiti di bosco, the cioccolato, and the sorbetto trio,” Bucky said to the waiter, his pronunciation as perfect as it had been all evening. He glanced at Steve, a little nervous. “If that’s okay?”
Steve nodded, even while some not so small part of him internally recoiled. “Yeah, sure. Get whatever you want.” He avoided the waiter’s eyes, blushing as people looked at them.
This was for Bucky, he reminded himself. Steve wanted to treat him right. Steve wanted to marry him. That was the whole point of sufferi- of enjoying this dinner. This romantic, candlelit dinner that had great music playing in the background, one of Bucky’s favorite singers. They had talked and danced and eaten and drank and now all Steve had to do was ask.
After dessert.
Dessert came too quickly, even considering all the dishes they ordered. All but three of them on Sinatra’s dessert menu. Steve let Bucky try them first, watching as his eyes widened as he tasted the tiramisu. He pushed it towards Steve, who grabbed a bite. It was great, admittedly delicious, but not as great as Bucky’s expressions of delight as he consumed it. He acted like a damn porn star, moaning and sighing contentedly with each bite of each dish, and Steve felt like combusting, his insides gone all shivery with nerves and arousal both.
When Steve declined the last bite of the last dessert Bucky had so nicely offered him, it felt like the final nail in the coffin. Bucky leaned back with a groan, shutting his eyes as he clutched his still flat stomach. “Fuck, I'm stuffed. If I was wearing jeans, I’d unbutton them. Dinner was amazing, Steve. Thank you.”
Hearing the naked sincerity in Bucky’s voice made Steve act. He stood up and went over to kneel on one knee besides Bucky’s chair, grabbing the ring box out of his pocket while doing so. At the noise, Bucky’s eyes opened and he sat up, peering down at Steve curiously. He heard people gasping around them, and paid them no attention, even though he could feel his cheeks warm up a little.
With nothing else for it, Steve began his speech. (Which was probably going to be terrible.) His voice was low, almost inaudible, the only level of volume he could manage. He was shaking.
“Buck. Bucky. James.” Fuck, he was already screwing it up, and he cringed at himself. “Sorry. I know you have problems with that name. But he’s you, you see. You're him and he’s you. And I loved you when we were little. I still do, mean. I do love you. You, Bucky. I love you. And when you fell during the war, I couldn’t reach you, something that’s haunted me every day since.”
He tried to swallow around the lump of emotion in his throat, his eyes stinging. “I tried to kill myself, and I… I succeeded. It just didn’t stick. It wasn’t this great, noble sacrifice that everyone always made it out to be, I was just broken hearted.” He sobbed softly, just once.
“Oh, god, this is so morbid. Why am I talking about this? I should move on.” He ran his hand through his hair again, thinking of what he wanted to say next. What he needed to say next for Bucky to hear. “Anyway, after I woke up, here… I hated it. I never did anything fun, or had anything that made me happy. But then you came back to me, and sure, you tried to kill me – fuck, I didn’t mean to mention that.” He visibly cringed again, but plowed on, even through the horror he felt. “I told myself I wasn’t going to bring that up. I'm sorry. I'm ruining this. I'm so sorry.”
He desperately tried to recall where he’d been heading.
“Um… I know we only just sort of got together, and you dress different now and you probably still think I have some issues with that, but I don’t, I swear. Not bad ones anyway. Just a case of blue balls and heart failure.” His cheeks went hot when he realized what he said, and he had to take a moment to collect himself. “You make me so happy and you brought it back to me, my sense of discovery and adventure and happiness, the technicolor in the world when before, all I could see was black and white. Sort of like the Wizard of Oz. I saw that movie with you in 1939. You loved it. We both did. We should really watch it again.” He laughed wetly, blinking his stinging eyes.
“I know that I'm dumb and everything, but I love you and that god awful little demon dog of yours because he’s just like you and you're god awful, too.” Bucky let out a loud laugh at that, even while Steve wanted a black hole to swallow him up because he hadn’t meant to say anything like that at all. He was in the home stretch, so he forced himself to continue. “I love you to the end of the line, and I really should have done this all those years ago, even when it wasn’t legal, and there’s this stupid little box with this stupid little bow I can't even open to show you the ring that I bought you, Jesus Christ, but Bucky… will you marry me?” To his dismay, no sense of relief met him after he reached the conclusion to his horrible speech. At least he’d gotten the question out. He looked back up at Bucky.
Bucky was shaking his head and smiling widely.
“Fuck, Rogers, you really know how to give a speech.”
“Shut up,” Steve muttered to him, paling when he realized what he said. “I mean, don’t shut up, give me your answer. Even if it’s a no. Please don’t say no. I mean, you can, but just don’t break up with me? Please? Let’s live together in sin or something if you wanna say no, if you don’t wanna get married. You can even keep the ring, since I don’t think Tiffany takes returns on such a large purchase. Consider it an I-love-you-to-the-end-of-the-line present, not a failed proposal.” He wanted to hit himself over the head to shut his panicked babbling up.
“Successful proposal,” Bucky corrected, interjecting before Steve could start up again.
“Right.” His eyes widened then. “Wait. Does this mean you're saying yes?” His heart was pounding like mad in his chest.
“Fucking obviously I'm saying yes. You really are a total fucking moron.” Bucky was beaming at him, positively beaming at Steve, and it was the most beautiful sight he would ever see in his life, and Steve felt dizzy, his fingers numb and limp, letting go of the ring, his vision going fuzzy, and Steve was going to pass out. Bucky grabbed him under the armpit and around the back of his head, before he could fall, lowering his body slowly to the ground.
Bucky was laughing at him. Steve was kind of passed out after proposing marriage and Bucky was laughing, that rotten bastard. Steve hated, loathed, and despised him.
“Steve, you're hilarious, but we are not going to go through this ever again. I will not have you fainting at our wedding. What an embarrassment you’d be. We are going to go to one of those stupid fucking twenty-four-hour chapels and get married in the dead of night like a couple of bandits, and I’ll wear a ski mask so you can't even see my face, Jesus Christ. I won't even allow you to look at me until we’re back at the RV. There won't be any glamorizing or dressing myself up for you ever again, if this is how you react to me.”
Steve’s brain had finally come back online, and he noticed all the people looking at them, concerned. There were a few people standing around them – ready to do what, he wasn’t sure. Maybe they just wanted to gawk at them up close. He slowly got up, helped by Bucky, who refused to let go of him until he was seated. “Don’t worry, he just has stress induced narcolepsy, he’ll be fine. Go back to your fuckin’ seats,” he growled out to the throng of people that were still lingering, watching them. They slowly made their way back to their own tables, to Steve’s relief.
Bucky grabbed the ring box off the ground where it had been lying, forgotten about like a crumb on the floor, then he sat back down.
“Cute bow,” he said as he peered at it, smiling. “I don’t even feel like I should open it.”
Steve cleared his throat. “Um.”
Bucky glanced up at him, amused. “Oh, okay, if you insist. Lemme just…” he pulled out his phone and took a picture of the bow before he undid it and removed the top. He took a picture of the actual ring box for no discernable reason whatsoever, and Steve felt like he was going to snap. Bucky chuckled to himself and snapped a picture of Steve’s face, further enraging him.
Once he put his phone away, he grabbed the little box and opened it, his eyes going wide. Steve waited nervously as he gaped at the ring. “Wow, Steve. Oh my god. This sure is something. Wow. Oh wow. It’s so pretty. And big. Wow.”
“Yeah, well, I know you're a size queen.” Did those words really come out of his mouth? He really was the dumbest motherfucker on the planet, as Bucky had said many a time. Steve felt like he was blowing it, ruining the proposal afterglow, if there was such a thing. He tried again, flushing red. “I wanted to get you something that you deserved, that you would love. That represented how much I love you. So, I had to get the biggest because you deserve the biggest, best, and brightest ring out there, even if you probably have ten rings bigger than that one.”
Bucky looked at him softly, his eyes full of warmth. “Steve, it’s perfect. Will you put it on me?” Steve leaned over to accept the box and then thought better of it, getting up and coming around to kneel at Bucky’s feet again. Bucky rolled his eyes at him fondly. “If you do that fainting thing again, I'm not catching you this time, dumbass.”
Despite the threat, Steve couldn’t stop smiling as he took the box, withdrew the ring, and slid it onto Bucky’s right ring finger.
He heard people clapping then, and he ducked his head, mortified that they were witnesses to the absolutely humiliating proposal he’d given Bucky. It was cringeworthy. He wanted a do over.
Almost like he was reading Steve’s mind, Bucky smiled down at him softly. “Ask me again.”
Steve sighed in relief. “Bucky, will you marry me?”
Bucky’s smile widened to a blinding grin. “Yes!” Then he launched himself at Steve, his arms winding around Steve’s neck as he kissed Steve, passionate and loving. Steve melted against him, feeling a bubble of happiness pop within his chest.
Unable to help it, he started smiling.
“Quit smiling, you jerk, I wanna kiss you,” Bucky pulled away to mutter grouchily, poking his cheek.
Steve shook his head.
“Sorry,” he said, not at all sorry. “I can't help it. And too bad, you signed up for this. You have to deal with the horrible consequence of making me happy: not being able to kiss me. What a poor little baby you are, not able to kiss your fiancé.”
Beaming so widely at the word fiancé, Steve watched in awe as Bucky turned pink, his cheeks flushing delicately.
They stood up then, and Steve wasn’t all that surprised when Bucky pulled him in to dance, arranging Steve’s arms in the proper configuration. He smiled at Bucky, indulgent and fond and so in love. He’d even twerk like Miley, he was so happy. Another slow dance was nothing.
Thankfully, Bucky only moved them in a small circle, slow and romantic.
“By the way,” Bucky began with a small, curious smile, “what’s your favorite Sinatra song?”
At the question, Steve froze, staring at Bucky with wide eyes. “Uh…” his mind spun frantically for an answer, and he blurted the first song that came to mind. ”At last?” He made it sound like a question, and he cringed slightly.
Bucky let out a loud peal of laughter, throwing his head back. “Steve, oh my god, Steve,” he gasped out through his laughter. “That’s not Sinatra, that’s Etta James, you complete jackass!” He lost it then, cackling like mad.
Oh. Steve had been too nervous to pay attention to the background music, and now he was paying dearly for it. He couldn’t help but chuckle along with Bucky, though, so unbelievably overjoyed. When his raucous laughter died down, he sighed heavily at Steve, who glanced away in embarrassment, his cheeks aflame.
Bucky looked at him, fondly exasperated. “There’s really not a single song you can think of?” Steve mutely shook his head, ashamed. They’d gone to a restaurant dedicated to the man and Steve had no idea what any of his songs were right now. He felt like a failure.
Undeterred, Bucky continued, looking quite amused at Steve’s shame, like an absolute sociopath. “I can think of a few of his songs that apply to you. That’s Life, My Way, I Won't Dance. Somethin’ Stupid.” His voice became softer, losing its teasing edge. “Look at Me Now, I’ve Got You Under My Skin, Moon River. I’d say the last one applies to you a lot. Assuming I'm the river.”
Steve nodded thickly, now recalling it, how utterly romantic it was, how awfully full of yearning. It spoke to his soul, and he kept nodding. “Yeah, that one. That’s my favorite.”
Bucky sighed softly. “Oh, Steve. I think it’s your favorite because I'm your favorite. Is that right?” His tone was so terribly soft and gentle, and it made Steve’s eyes sting.
“I did ask you to marry me,” he pointed out meekly, shooting Bucky a trembling smile, glancing away so Bucky didn’t see the tears in his eyes. Hadn’t Steve cried enough tonight? This wasn’t fair. He was going to file a complaint with his tear ducts.
Bucky stroked the back of his head with his flesh hand. “God, my hand feels so heavy now,” he joked, trying to cheer Steve up. “You might have to hold it for me.” Steve huffed out a laugh and Bucky smiled, proud of himself.
The waiter appeared then with the bill, and they broke away so Steve could pay him, withdrawing all the money in his wallet that he had previously counted out and was willing to part with for tonight. All that was left was a hundred-dollar bill for the cab ride home. “No change,” he told the waiter, who blanched and then thanked Steve profusely, as much as he could while maintaining his professional decorum.
“Hey, if it’s not too much trouble,” Bucky said to the waiter as he was about to leave, “could you play Moon River for us? And turn up the volume a little?” He shot him a wide, charming smile, and Steve felt sorry for the guy as he turned beet red. He probably wasn’t even gay; Bucky was just that attractive.
“One more dance and then we can go,” Bucky said to Steve after their waiter left, promising to follow his instructions.
Steve nodded. “Okay, whatever you want.”
Moon River came on then, interrupting the song already playing, significantly louder. Steve felt tongue tied as he held Bucky in his arms, staring into his eyes, which popped even more than usual due to the eyeliner and mascara.
Steve knew people were probably staring, but he wasn’t aware of anything that wasn’t Bucky’s beloved, devastatingly handsome face, eclipsing all other things in the universe.
Steve was going to marry him, make Bucky his. Just the thought made a thrill run through his body. He held Bucky in his arms for what seemed like an eternity, until the song came to an end.
He leaned in to kiss Bucky softly, pouring all his love and affection and hope into it.
“I love you,” they said at the same time when they parted. They laughed at themselves and Steve snuck another quick kiss.
“Come on, let’s go home,” he said to Bucky, offering his arm. Bucky quickly put the ring box back inside its packaging and then tied the ribbon around his right wrist, grabbing his clutch and the bottle of wine before taking his arm with a smile.
“You really know how to make a girl feel special,” Bucky told him as they walked away. Steve beamed at him.
That was Bucky, actually. Steve felt special just having him on his arm, let alone having him as his fiancé, and he couldn’t wait to call Bucky his husband.