Bucky turned his phone over in his right hand, left one wrapped around the handle of his red suitcase. He was standing outside the JFK airport, and even though it was the middle of August, and it should have been unbearably hot, he thought he felt a slight wind rush past him. Maybe he was too used to the west coast heat.
His little sister, Becca, would probably call him a wimp (and maybe some other choice words) for losing his edge to the cold. Since he had moved from New York to Los Angeles when he was nineteen, he had only come back once, in the dead of winter, and it had been horrible. His dad had made him go on a family ski day and he thought he might never fully thaw. That was probably the reason he had made his family come visit him the last few times they’d gotten together. After all, he had moved to New York to escape the cold, no other reasons (mhmm, there were no other reasons, the pigeon sitting on the bench across from him needs to shut up.)
He had to admit, even if it was just to himself, he was worried the city had changed. Not only changed, but moved on. Moved on without him. What if the weird abandoned house on the corner of his street had been torn down to build one that people could actually live in. What if the playground at his old school had been destroyed and rebuilt after the city finally decided that the spikes that someone carved into the ladder were no longer safe? What if the store where him and his friends used to buy candies during lunch break was gone? It was a stupid thought, considering he always said he had moved on from the city, but he couldn’t help himself. They were a strange collection of things, but they just screamed “home” to him.
He turned his phone on, checking it for messages, specifically one from Becca, who was supposed to have picked him up at two, which was fifteen minutes ago. Knowing her, he was pretty sure she had slept in and potentially forgotten about him entirely until she was halfway through her breakfast. He was just starting to type in “where tf r u?” when a familiar black convertible pulled up.
Becca smiled at him from the driver’s seat, red tinted sunglasses with silver frames resting on top of her head like a hairband, and began rolling down the passenger window. “Get in, loser, we’re going shopping!”
Bucky rolled his eyes at her, though he did give her half a smile to let her know he appreciated the reference. He walked around to the back of the car, dropping his suitcase in the trunk and slamming it shut, pushing down extra hard since this car’s doors tended to fly open when they weren’t closed properly. It wasn’t that bad of a car though, considering the crap condition it was in when his Dad had bought it for him and his sister when he graduated high school. His Dad was sure it had saved them money, and Bucky was sure they had spent more money fixing it than a new car would have cost, but he wasn’t about to start a feud over it.
He opened the door to the passenger seat and got in. “You’re late, y’know.”
“Hey! Be glad I got here at all,” she protested, turning back out of the parking lane before Bucky even had his seatbelt done up. “They’re building a new building near my apartment and the construction guys keep parking in front of our entrance. Getting out of that parking lot is a nightmare.”
“That sucks,” Bucky responded, still working on getting his seatbelt clipped in.
“Shouldn’t you be used to longer than normal travel times anyway?” she asked, turning the corner towards the exit. “L.A. traffic is notoriously horrible.”
“That’s why I don’t drive anywhere,” he replied.
She rolled her eyes and scowled at him. “Fine, you don’t get to complain about my driving then.”
Buck just smiled at her. “I missed you, Becks” he said, aware that it seemed sort of unprompted, but this was exactly the type of conversation that he gave up when he moved, and it was really too bad.
Becca gave him a half smile and shook her head when they reached the stoplight. “Missed you too, dumbass.”
“Did you just call me a dumbass?” Bucky asked, acting as if he was taken aback. “I’m telling Mom.”
“Nevermind, definitely didn’t miss you,” she groaned, lightly punching Bucky on the arm.
“Too late,” Bucky taunted. “You already said it, can’t take it back.”
“I hate you, James,” she sighed.
“Love you too.”
--------------------
The rest of the drive to their parents house went well. They passed Bucky’s old school and he was oddly relieved to see it was still the dirty old brick it was when he went there fifteen years ago. The candy store was still up and running for a new generation of twelve year olds, and as they neared their parents house, the only thing that had changed about the weird abandoned house was that it now had a “condemned” sign stuck to the front.
“Home, sweet home,” Becca said, turning into the driveway of the brick, blue doored house that he grew up in. There was clearly a new coat of paint on the door, but other than that, it seemed to be the same.
“Good to be back,” Bucky added, getting out of the car. He grabbed his suitcase from the trunk, which thankfully hadn’t opened on the trip here and rolled it to the front porch. “Are they home?”
“I think they’re picking up some food for tonight,” Becca responded, grabbing the spare key from under the porch couch cushion. “They seem to care more about you coming home apparently.”
“Ha ha,” Bucky said dryly as his sister turned the lock.
The door opened to a front hall that Bucky remembered well. He kicked off his shoes and placed them on the shoe rack that sat on a blue mat. Since it was summer, the black, bird themed, wire hook rack only had his Mom’s light sweater hanging on it. The stairs were covered in a cream carpet, and if he squinted closely, he could see the spot on the third stair where he spilled a Starbucks drink when he was sixteen. He had desperately tried to clean it up, but it was still noticeable to his parents.
“Is my room still the same?” he asked.
“Honestly, I don’t know,” she replied, placing her shoes next to his. “I’m getting some water though. You can put your stuff upstairs.”
Bucky nodded at her, lifting his suitcase up to carry it up the stairs. “I’ll be back in a second.” He climbed the stairs and turned to the right, and walked down the hall towards his, or what used to be his room. He pushed open the door and quickly noticed that not much had changed. There was still a twin bed shoved into the corner, covered in a red bedding. The walls were still painted light grey, and his trophies from his high school baseball championships still sat on the windowsill. The only changes were on his desk, which was neatly organized and some paperwork sat on the side. His dad must have been using it as a home office.
He put his suitcase down at the end of his bed, and looked out the window. His window looked out over the backyard of his neighbours, and all of a sudden he was remembering why he moved away.
The family that lived there was the Rogers family. The Rogers’ and the Barnes’ were pretty close when Bucky was growing up, and they probably still were even after Bucky moved away. Sarah Rogers was good friends with Bucky’s parents, and she had a son Steve who was Bucky’s age, so they had grown up going to school together. They were so close that when the fence between their yards started breaking down, they just took it out entirely, not feeling a need to divide their families in any way. Steve had always been a scrawny, sick kid, and since he had asthma, he got pneumonia almost every winter. Bucky had always been there if he was picked on for it though, getting Steve out of fights with the other, meaner kids in their school. They were practically conjoined at the hip from birth to age eighteen.
Of course, Bucky had to go screw up the best friendship he’d ever had. But that definitely wasn’t why he moved to LA. He was not avoiding confrontation with his own emotions (he was not, why had that bird followed him home? It needs to shut up.)
Bucky lost his train of thought when a man made his way out of the small house and into the backyard. Even from a distance, Bucky could see that this guy was jacked. The man picked up the garden hose, which was lying in the middle of the yard, turned away from Bucky, and began watering the garden. Bucky sort of wanted him to turn around so he could see the guy’s face, maybe see if he was Bucky’s age…
“Bucky!” Becca called from downstairs. “You want some lemonade?!”
“Yeah, sure!” he called back. “I’ll be down in a second!” He pried his eyes from the back of the man’s head (yeah, sure, that's definitely where he was looking,) and ran down the stairs.
He made his way to the kitchen and grabbed a glass of lemonade off the counter. “Thanks,” he said, taking a sip.
“No problem,” she responded, looking through the cupboards. “I guess Mom made some earlier.”
“Mhmm,” Bucky hummed into his glass. He’d always loved his Mom’s lemonade, it wasn’t too much of a surprise she made some when he came home.
“So, has anything changed up there?”
“Well, I think Dad’s using my room as an office,” he started. “And I guess the Rogers’ moved out.”
Becca cocked an eyebrow at him, as if he’d gone insane. “What are you talking about? They definitely still live there. Didn’t you see their car in the driveway?”
Bucky frowned. “No, there was definitely someone else in their yard when I looked from my window.”
“What are you on?” she asked, pulling the curtain away from the kitchen window. “What do you mean, that’s just-,” she didn’t finish her sentence, before bursting out in laughter, holding onto the kitchen counter to keep from doubling over. “Oh my god you haven’t--” she roared with laughter again.
“I haven’t what?” Bucky asked, stepping back from his sister, who as far as he was concerned, was going absolutely insane.
“Come here,” she said, still practically wheezing, motioning for him to follow her to the back door. She swung open the door and Bucky followed her, walking out onto their large deck and leaning over the railing. “Hey, Steve!” she yelled.
The man quickly whipped his head around and… oh shit, shit, shit. Oh god, it was Steve. The man who was ridiculously jacked, who Bucky had seen through his window, was Steve. What the fuck had happened to that scrawny, little punk?
“Hey!” Steve exclaimed, dropping the hose and running across the conjoined yards towards their deck. He was wearing a plain white t-shirt, that definitely wasn’t supposed to look tight, but it’s sleeves had a hard time reaching around Steve’s broad shoulders. That was weird to think, let alone say. Steve, this Steve, with broad shoulders? Bucky was sure they had entered an alternate dimension. Steve climbed the stairs and wrapped Becca in a hug.
“How’s it going, Becks?” Steve asked, releasing her from his giant wingspan.
“I’m good,” she responded, as if nothing insane was going on (which to be fair, nothing insane was going on, but still). “Except I had to pick this dumbass up from the airport,” she added, nodding back towards Bucky.
Steve laughed a bit at that. His voice was also deeper than Bucky remembered. “Speaking of this jerk-” Steve started.
“Punk,” Bucky interjected, slyly.
Steve smirked at him and wrapped him in one of those giant hugs. Bucky found that he really enjoyed being between Steve’s giant muscles and… oh no, he needed to stop thinking like this.
“Been a while, Buck,” Steve whispered, his breath floating across Bucky’s ear.
“Yeah,” Bucky replied, pulling back after what was probably too long for a hug between two guys who hadn’t seen each other in years. “Clearly a lot of things have changed,” he said awkwardly.
“Just a bit.” Steve chuckled, and Bucky nearly melted at his smile. “Strange things happen when your throat suddenly stops closing in on itself when you breathe.”
“Bucky didn’t even recognize you,” Becca added. “Thought you guys had moved or something.”
“Shut up, dumbass,” Bucky complained, hitting her on the arm.
Steve fell deeper into laughter, grabbing his left peck, and Bucky had to remind himself that he probably wasn’t about to have an asthma attack.
The sound of a car roaring in the driveway interrupted their conversation.
“That would be Mom and Dad,” Becca said, turning back towards the door. “You and your mom are coming over for dinner, right Steve?”
“Yeah, we’ll be there,” Steve said. “I should get back to,” he gestured back to the hose and the garden.
“See you then,” Bucky said, noticing he hadn’t really said much in a while. When did he become the awkward friend?
“Yeah, see you then,” Steve responded, looking at Bucky for just a bit too long, before turning back towards his yard. Bucky turned away a few seconds later, following Becca inside.
“Are you thirsting after Steve Rogers?” she asked once the door had shut.
“Rebecca!” Bucky exclaimed, though he could feel his cheeks turning red. “I am,” he stopped to compose himself and lower his voice before starting again. “I am not thirsting after Steve Rogers.”
“Mhmm. I guess nothing’s changed.”
“I’m not!”
“Keep telling yourself that,” she smirked, walking away from him. “C’mon, let’s help Mom and Dad with the food.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, knowing he would never get the last word with this one, and followed his sister to the front door, where his parents were grabbing groceries out of the car.
“Bucky!” his Mom called to him from the driveway. “Come give your mother a hug!”
He hurried down the stairs towards his parents car, and gave his Mom a hug, of which he thought he might never escape from considering how tight she was holding onto him.
“Mom,” he wheezed. “Can’t. Breathe.”
His Mom loosened her grip on him but didn't let go. “I missed you, Bucky.”
“Seems to be a popular opinion,” Bucky replied, but let her continue hugging him.
His Dad cleared his throat from behind them, catching Bucky’s attention. “Am I invisible?”
“Can't you see I’m being held hostage?” he chuckled.
Eventually he got through all the hugs and greetings, though once they had finished, Becca had already gotten all the food inside without their help. They all went inside and caught up over an episode of Friends like they always did. At around five, his parents started making dinner, leaving Bucky and Becca to watch the TV, which was weirdly nostalgic for him, and around six Sarah and Steve showed up, just in time for dinner. Sarah had greeted him similarly to the way his own mother had, squeezing him so tight he could hardly breathe.
They sat down around the dark wood dinner table, a large tray of baked mac and cheese (Bucky’s favourite) sitting in the centre. Steve sat himself between Becca and Bucky, and occasionally Steve’s knee would brush against his own. Bucky’s Mom poured everyone some wine, which Bucky gladly accepted, even though he always felt uncomfortable formally drinking around his parents.
“To Bucky’s visit,” his Mom said, smiling at him, lifting her glass for cheers. Everyone clinked their glasses and dug into the food, which between the six of them, was gone in minutes. After dinner, everyone made their way to the living room, where Bucky’s mom pulled out Monopoly, which Bucky grudgingly agreed to play, after complaining about how he never won this game.
He picked out the rollerskate and sat down at the edge of one of the couches, perhaps a bit too close to Steve than normal, but since the three kids were no longer actually kids, there was less room on these seats than there once had been. Just when Bucky was beginning to feel uncomfortable, Steve slung his giant arm around Bucky’s shoulders, simultaneously making it so much better and so much worse.
Bucky made it a few rounds, buying Baltic Avenue and St Charles Place, before just as he expected, losing all his money and property to Becca when he landed on Illinois Avenue, with one house on it.
“I hate this game,” he grumbled, getting up and heading towards the kitchen in search of snacks. When he couldn't find any good ones, he grabbed a handful of pistachios (which he wasn't the hugest fan of) and grabbed a sweater. “I’m gonna get some air out back,” he called over to his family in the living room, before heading out the back.
Bucky shut the door behind him, and took in a breath for what felt like the first time in hours. He walked to the edge of the deck and lent over the rail, taking in the chill of the night, the coolness that came out when the sun went away. He loved every single person in that room but his love for a certain person was honestly suffocating. He almost lost his ability to think, his head spinning, overanalyzing every single touch, every single movement.
After a few minutes, when Bucky’s head was just beginning to clear, he heard the door open behind him. Looking back, he watched Steve slip out of the house.
“Hey, Buck,” he said, joining him, leaning over the deck railing.
“You lose too?” Bucky asked, honestly a little shocked because Steve was normally pretty good at Monopoly.
“Sort of,” Steve responded.
“Sort of?” Bucky asked, cocking an eyebrow.
“I tried to lose,” he explained.
Bucky frowned at that response. “Why?”
“Wanted to come talk to you,” he replied, nudging Bucky on the arm and smiling down at him. It was weird to look up at Steve still.
“Oh,” Bucky said flatly, unsure of what he was really supposed to start with. He was seriously wondering if only talking to his two roommates in LA had harmed his social skills.
“So,” Steve started. “How’s L.A. going? Your sister says you love it over there.”
Bucky sighed and shook his head. “Honestly, not really.”
Steve leaned back slightly, giving Bucky the same raised eyebrow, showing his confusion. “What? What happened to ‘it’s never cold and we can go to the beach everyday?’”
“I dunno,” Bucky replied, though he did know. He knew that he never really cared about those things. He just hadn’t been able to admit why he wanted to leave and now he had a whole life set up in a city he didn’t love. “I’m thinking about coming back.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Plus I think my roommates are hooking up, so I think they’d rather I was out of there anyway.”
Steve chuckled and wrapped an arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “Well, New York would love to have you back. I would love to have you back.”
Bucky shifted his feet.
“Speaking of having you back,” Steve said, his smile fading. “You wanna tell me why I pretty much got ghosted?”
Bucky looked down at his hands. He had nothing. He had absolutely no excuse as to why he ghosted Steve all those years ago. He should've come up with something before he got here.
“C’mon,” Steve nudged him. “I know there’s a reason. I’ve been trying to come up with one for years.”
“Steve, no,” Bucky said, suddenly very worried. “You didn’t do anything, I promise. I wasn’t mad or anything, I promise, I just…” he trailed off. He was starting to understand that there was no way around this.
“Then tell me,” Steve urged.
“You would hate me,” Bucky mumbled, at a level he thought was inaudible, but it must’ve been louder than he thought, because Steve grabbed his shoulders, turned him around, now facing him, looking directly at him, too close for Bucky to know how to keep his intentions inside himself.
“I would never hate you,” he told Bucky, eyes portraying all seriousness.
Feeling self conscious, Bucky tried to find anywhere to look except Steve’s eyes. Unfortunately for him, the place he decided to focus on was Steve’s lips. They were perfect, just like the rest of him, and unlike the rest of his body, they were something that appeared to have stayed the same since they were kids. And once again, unfortunately for him, Steve seemed to notice this before Bucky could look away. Looking into Steve’s eyes, he knew the jig was up. He attempted to shy away, pull out of Steve’s grip, but it wasn’t as easy as it used to be.
Slowly, Steve slid his hand from Bucky’s shoulder, around to the back of his neck and before he knew it, he was most certainly kissing Steve Rogers. The hand that wasn't on Bucky’s shoulder slid down to his waist, and Bucky wrapped his own around Steve’s waist. Steve nipped at Bucky’s bottom lip, which made him moan into the kiss. Steve took this as the perfect opportunity to push his tongue into Bucky’s mouth, running it over Bucky’s. Just as Bucky thought he might actually lose consciousness due to lack of oxygen, Steve pulled back, not going far, resting his own forehead on Bucky’s.
“You could've told me that,” Steve said, his voice husky, as if he had just woken up. His eyes looked downright predatory, and he felt the urge to curl into Steve. He rested his forehead on Steve’s shoulder, as he began to run a hand down from his neck to his waist, slipping it under Bucky’s T-shirt. Bucky whined into Steve’s shoulder, half aware that he sounded like a puppy, half not caring. He turned his head to kiss the side of Steve’s neck.
“Y’know,” Steve said, and Bucky could feel him turn to look towards the house. “I don’t think anyone will notice if we go back to my mom’s house.”
Bucky laughed somewhat nervously into Steve’s neck. “You tryna get me into bed, Rogers?”
“Only if you want me to, sweetheart,” Steve replied, kissing the top of Bucky’s head.
A certain adrenaline began running through Bucky’s veins when Steve said sweetheart. He felt himself blushing and attempted to burrow his face further into Steve’s neck.
“Do you want me to?” Steve asked, clasping his hands together behind Bucky’s back.
“Mhmm,” Bucky responded.
He felt Steve lean back, and use one hand to pull Bucky’s head up from his shoulder. “Don’t get all shy on me now, Barnes. What happened to the confident flirter I knew in high school?”
Bucky felt himself blush harder, but he knew Steve wouldn’t let him hide it. “Fine. Fuck me, Stevie.”
Steve immediately grabbed both sides of his face and kissed him, hard and passionate on contact. “C’mon,” he said breathily, when he pulled back. He grabbed Bucky’s hand and led him across the conjoined yard, to the other back door. He led Bucky through his Mom’s house, and Bucky was again pleased to find that nothing had really changed. Steve led him to his childhood bedroom, the familiarity of the blue walled room calming Bucky slightly.
Steve practically tossed Bucky onto the bed after pulling off his T-shirt, and Bucky just collapsed into it. Never had he imagined this was the way he would have sex with Steve Rogers, never would he have imagined being physically thrown by him, but he was loving it so much more.
Steve lay down on top of him, and began kissing down his neck, across his chest, and all the way down to the waistband of his jeans. He looked up at Bucky, and when Bucky gave him a reassuring nod, popped open the button, pulling down the zipper. He kissed Bucky through his underwear and a moan escaped Bucky's mouth.
"Fuck," Steve groaned, pulling Bucky out of his underwear. "Keep doing that, Buck. Fuck." He took Bucky into his mouth and Bucky groaned so loud he thought their families might have been able to hear it from the other house. As soon as he looked down at Steve, sucking him like a fucking lollipop, he was coming.
Later that night, as Steve fucked into him, soft yet also rough, kissing down the side of his neck, Bucky sort of felt the need to tell his eighteen year old self, he got him. It was everything he ever wanted, and he did it. He totally got Steve Rogers.