There’s a nervous buzz underneath Bucky’s skin, and he flinches when bells chime as he opens the tattoo shop’s doors.
The shop is small and clean with wood-paneled walls and art hung all around. He can hear the hum of a needle, and he shivers, swallowing around the lump in his throat. He takes another step in and as soon as he’s moving, a woman pops out, smiling at him.
“Hello, Welcome to Insight! What can we do for you?” She’s British. Huh.
“Oh, I uh… was wondering about getting a tattoo. Do you take walk-ins? I figured I would just uh… consult today,” he says slowly, his accent more pronounced than usual.
“We do take walk-ins. And a consultation is an option of course. What are you looking to do? Is there a specific artist you’re interested in working with?” She asks, and Bucky’s head is spinning.
He sighs, running a hand through his hair, shaking his head.
“I’m not exactly sure. I uh… My friend Sam recommended you guys. I’ve been thinking about getting a sleeve for a while. I have some scarring,” he explains, wringing his hands together.
“Hm. One second,” she says before walking towards the source of the humming. A minute later, a small blonde is walking toward him.
Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.
The man is slight, lithe limbs and golden hair. His left arm is completely covered, and Bucky can’t help but stare at the art. It’s gorgeous.
“Hey, man. I’m Steve,” he says, and Bucky’s eyebrows shoot up. His voice is lower than he expected it to be.
“Hi. ‘m Bucky,” he says, and Steve grins, gesturing to a comfortable-looking black couch.
“We can sit. You look nervous,” Steve says gently. Bucky wants to peel off his white t-shirt then and there. He has a thing for blondes.
Taking Steve’s cue, Bucky plops down, finally exhaling.
“I take it you’re new. A virgin?” he says casually, and Bucky chokes, widening his eyes, “Wow, slow down there, dude. It’s a joke.”
Bucky laughs, squeezing his eyes shut, “Just surprised me. Yeah, I’m a tattoo virgin, blank canvas, whatever you want to call it,” he says, and Steve hums.
“So Peggy said you’re looking to get a sleeve? That’s a pretty huge commitment. She also mentioned some scarring?” he says softly, and Bucky nods.
“Yeah, that’s about right,” Bucky says, and Steve nods slowly, waiting for Bucky to go on, “I uh… I’m a veteran. I got injured when I was overseas, and I guess I thought I’d feel more confident if I could cover the scars,” he rambles, and Steve smiles fondly.
“Oh, I should have guessed. I don’t agree with the war, how many lives per gallon and all that, but thank you. For your service,” Steve says softly, and Bucky flushes pink.
“Oh uh… thanks,” he says, shaking his head, “I don’t really support the war either. My pension feels like blood money,” he says, trying to keep his tone light, “And what do you mean you should have guessed?”
“Oh, y’know. You guys all carry yourselves the same way,” he says, waving it off, “Do you mind taking off your jacket so I can see what we’re working with?” he asks softly, and Bucky nods, pulling his leather jacket off and offering his arm to Steve.
Steve’s hands are larger than the rest of him. He reaches out with deft fingers, pushing Bucky’s sleeve up and looking him over.
The scarring isn’t as awful as it could be, and really, Bucky’s just happy that he still has his arm. His upper arm and shoulder are dotted with puckered skin, scar tissue from the blazing hot metal shards that managed to get as far as he was standing.
“Yeah, these are coverable,” Steve says after a minute, smiling up at Bucky, “I have to say though, you don’t have anything to be insecure about. Chicks dig scars,” he says casually, a mischievous glint in his eyes. He sticks out his tongue and Bucky’s brain short circuits.
He has a tongue piercing. There’s a shiny piece of metal resting there, and Bucky’s cheeks heat up. He’s speaking before he even realizes it.
“What about the dudes. Do they dig scars?”
Steve raises his eyebrows, nodding slowly.
“I’m not qualified to speak on behalf of all men, but I sure do. You look rugged. It’s cute. So what kind of piece are you thinking?”
The change in topic makes Bucky’s head spin. They spend the next few minutes talking about ideas, and he can see the gears in Steve’s head turning.
“Wanna follow me this way real quick?” he asks, standing up and offering a hand. Bucky takes it, following him into the shop. Near the back, Steve sits down on a stool, gesturing to a chair next to him, “‘m just going to draw something really rough. Just a vague idea.”
Bucky watches him work. There’s some punk rock playing softly in the background, but Bucky isn’t paying attention to it.
Steve moves quickly, sketching geometric patterns with a star in the middle. He pulls out a pack of colored pencils, pulling out a red and coloring in the star. He looks up at Bucky then, sliding the sketchbook over.
“This kind of what you were thinking?” he asks softly, and Bucky nods, reaching out to touch the star.
“Yeah. That’s exactly it,” he says, looking at Steve with wide blue eyes.
“Perfect,” he says before diving into logistics. He explains to Bucky that it would probably take four or five sessions depending on how much Bucky could sit through at a time and then he moves on to pricing.
They make his first appointment, and Bucky stands, lingering awkwardly.
“Thanks, Steve,” he says, and Steve shakes his head.
“No problem, Buck. I’ll see you next week.”
Bucky isn’t nervous about the tattoo. He really isn’t. But when he enters the shop five days later, his heart rate picks up anyway.
“Stevie, darling. Your 4 o’clock is here,” Peggy calls out, smiling kindly and handing Bucky some forms, “Would you be a doll and fill these out for us?” she asks, leaving Bucky to do his paperwork in peace.
When he’s done, he looks up to see Steve leaning against the wall, watching him intently.
“Hey there, stranger,” he says, and Bucky stands, following him back, “You wanna lay down? It settles some people’s nerves.”
Bucky gets up on the table, laying down and looking up at Steve. Steve hums as he sets everything up.
“Pull that sleeve out of the way for me, kay Buck?” he says over his shoulder while he pulls gloves on.
Bucky does as he’s told, rucking his sleeve up into his armpit. Steve turns and frowns, shaking his head.
“That’s not going to work. It’s gotta come off,” Steve says, and Bucky’s eyes widen. He sits up, pulling the t-shirt over his head, thanking Steve quietly when he takes it, folding it and setting it on the counter.
Bucky knows he looks good if you can ignore the scarring. He’s broad and chiseled, and he waxes his chest, preferring the feel of smooth skin.
Steve’s wonderful. Through the entire session, he chats kindly, asking Bucky questions and telling stories when Bucky’s jaw is clenched too tight.
The hours tick by like molasses, slow and sticky and sweet. And in the end, Steve is bandaging him up carefully, humming while he goes.
“Which of your tattoos is your favorite?” Bucky asks once he’s done, and Steve looks startled. His cheeks pink, and he shrugs.
“I have a lot of favorites,” he says, and Bucky’s face falls, “I can show you. If you’d like?”
Bucky nods and Steve pulls his shirt off, dropping it on his desk and turning around.
On his shoulder blade, there’s a photorealistic rose and dagger. Bucky has to clasp his hands together to keep from reaching out to trace the lines.
“Peggy specializes in realism,” he says over his shoulder, “And the rose and dagger… it’s classic. One of the most classic western tattoo designs. It’s about the duality of life, I think. Love and deception and beauty and betrayal and kindness and pain,” he says, chuckling and spinning back around, lifting his arm, “This one is a tree. The dates are my mom’s birth and death dates,” he says. The tattoo is right below the crook of his elbow.
Bucky takes the time to look at it. The leaves are stylized, and there are designs in the bark.
“Who did this one?” he asks, and Steve laughs.
“I did.”
Bucky looks up at him, “You tattoo yourself?” he asks, sounding slightly appalled.
“Yeah, we all do it. It’s the easiest way to learn, and then no one can be mad at you if you fuck up. A lot of my tattoos I did myself. If I didn’t trust myself, how could I expect you to trust me?”
Bucky nodded slowly, not sure if he agreed.
“Oh, you’ll get a kick out of this one,” Steve says, grinning. And then he turns his arm to show a small pistol shooting red roses. On the barrel is the inscription make love, not war. Bucky snorts.
“Look at you, being all political,” he says.
Steve beams, pulling up his left pant leg to reveal a rainbow US flag. Bucky’s cheeks heat up.
“I like that one,” he says, and Steve nods.
“I thought you might,” he agrees, pulling his shirt back on and smiling.
Bucky pays, tipping him generously.
The rest of his appointments go the same, and during his final session, Bucky grits his teeth and squeezes his eyes shut.
“I know, Buck. Keep breathing for me, please. The shading is the worst part, but you’re almost done,” Steve says softly, his eyes glued to the small sliver of skin near his wrist.
Bucky can feel the movement of his tendons. It makes his fingers twitch reflexively.
“There. You did it. Your sleeve is complete,” Steve says, grinning at him, “C’mon. Come look,” he pulls bucky to a large mirror, stepping back.
Bucky reaches moves his arm around, looking at the tattoo from every angle before he grins.
“Damn, Stevie. It looks awesome. I look like something out of a pulp novel,” he says, and Steve throws his head back, laughing.
“C’mon. I have to get you all wrapped up. Take good care of my art, you hear me?” Steve says, and Bucky nods, rambling on and on while Steve carefully wraps his whole arm.
Once he’s finished, Bucky pays him, lingering near Steve’s desk.
“Hey… I know that this is might be… really fucked up. But I like you a lot, and I was wondering if maybe you’d like to go out with me sometime?” Bucky says hopefully, his eyes trained on the ground.
Steve smiles at him, reaching up to touch Bucky’s cheek.
“Say that again with eye contact,” he says confidently, and Bucky’s eyes snap up.
“Let me take you out,” he says again, firmer, and Steve’s hand moves to the back of Bucky’s neck, pulling him down and pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth.
“Yeah, I’d like that… you busy right now?” Steve asks, and Bucky shakes his head, “I seem to recall you staring at my tongue ring. I live upstairs… you wanna see why I got it?” he asks, top teeth digging into the meat of his bottom lip.
“God yes,” Bucky breathes out.
“Pegs, I’m off for the day. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Steve calls out, not breaking eye contact, pulling Bucky by the hand.
There’s an excited buzz beneath Bucky’s skin, but this time, he doesn’t flinch when the front door chimes.