On Va Voir.

“Bucky?” It felt like waking up.

He hadn’t heard his own name in so long. Years. Decades. Hearing it then, back when he didn’t even know it had been his name, woke something in him. It woke him. It discharged something explosive in his chest. At the time, he hadn’t been able to name it, so he called it fear. Fear was the last feeling he could remember. A lot of unrelated feelings got renamed as fear. Maybe it was all he could remember, but at least it was something he could control.

Looking back, he began to realize what that misplaced fear actually was. When Steve Rogers had called out his name that day, it wasn’t fear. What it spawned had been fear, from the confusion of how he could feel this for a stranger, but the original feeling had been relief. He knew that now. Immense and immediate and increasing relief that quickly developed into an overwhelming desperation to take this stranger into his arms and whisper his name into his hair, through breaths and sobs. Except he hadn’t known this stranger’s name. Not then.

Awake from cryo for what he hoped would be the last time, Bucky walked underneath a deep blue Wakandan sky. He couldn’t say it was dark – there were far too many stars, too much of the galaxy visible, bubbling and burning just above him. He’d only just awoken from sleep a few days before. The young genius, Shuri, told him she had done all she could do to remove his psychological triggers while he had been under and the rest would up to him. The rest of his memory, he would have to fill in on his own. The emotional triggers, he was stuck with.

T’Challa had offered him space to stay with him and Shuri, with the royal family, and Bucky had tried to decline the offer as delicately as possible. Shuri understood. For her young age, it seemed that Shuri understood a great deal. The siblings set him up in a comfortable hut away from the city, away from people, away from noise. It was everything Bucky could have asked for.

The first night out of cryo, he woke screaming. He’d had many of these nightmares while hiding out in Romania. This time, he was just grateful that there wasn’t anyone close enough to be terrified of the sound. Now that he was in Wakanda, he figured out pretty quickly that if he worked himself hard enough, if he exerted himself to the point of exhaustion, the nightmares wouldn’t come. If that was what it took, so be it. There was plenty for him to do.

Except, the dreams he had in this state were wildly different.

Previously, his dreams had been based in reality – at least, the nightmares were real enough. He could feel blood slip over a knife in his hand, watch the terror amplify in an expression, feel a windpipe crush underneath his metal fingers. Those were the ones that woke him. The ones in which he screamed to be let go, where he howled at himself not to do it. He never listened.

The dreams stimulated by exhaustion felt real. Logically, Bucky knew they weren’t. They couldn’t be. The fact that he knew they couldn’t be real might be more concerning. If they weren’t real, it meant Bucky was imagining it. The biggest problem was that he enjoyed imagining it.

In Romania, he’d seen pieces of these dreams. He had filled up notebook after notebook about what he’d seen in them, whether it was real, why it couldn’t be real. In Wakanda, the dreams were fuller, more detailed, more complete. Bucky wasn’t sure if it was because of the peace he found here or because of the work that Shuri had done for him, but they were getting more prominent, the longer he was out of cryo. He’d see parts of them in broad daylight, hear a voice in his head when no one else was around. He’d imagine seeing someone who wasn’t there.

Now, for the first time since he came out of cryo, he couldn’t sleep. He’d worked himself to the bone, trying to ignore scenarios that he knew weren’t real, would never be real, but it hadn’t made a difference. The film playing in his mind was on a loop, never pausing. The voice in his ear whispered his name, in a tone that he knew he’d never actually heard.

So, he walked. The sky above him was profound, purple, glowing with the closeness of the Milky Way, the fullness of the moon, and the iridescent shimmer of the barrier that separated space from the ground upon which he stood. At the top of a hill, he settled down onto the cool grass, stretching out so that he could search for constellations.

One memory he knew was real, he could feel was real was one that he thought of every time he was underneath a night sky. He could remember sneaking up to the rooftop of their apartment building in Brooklyn, piggy-backing asthmatic Steve up the stairs because the elevator was always out. He could remember the wonder on Steve’s expression, looking out over the city, looking up at the stars, calling out the constellations, and the way Steve would use Bucky’s hand to help him find the ones Steve recognized. Bucky would call him a nerd and Steve would call him a jerk, and the nicknames escalated to things they’d have never said in front of their mothers.

It was that memory, the one he knew was real, that made him wonder about the dreams. If nothing else, he knew the dreams weren’t coming from nothing. He knew the source, they came from the truth that he’d been ignoring. A truth that he was sure he couldn’t share. Not with him.

-----------------------

“You could’ve been killed today, Stevie,” Bucky huffed, looking over at Steve as the two of them stretched out on the warm concrete rooftop of their apartment building.

“But I wasn’t,” Steve argued as he returned Bucky’s look, the lights from neighboring buildings reflecting in his bright blue eyes until Bucky couldn’t tell where Steve ended and the night sky began. He cleared his throat to clear the thought from his mind.

“This time,” Bucky said with a growl in the back of his throat. “I’m not always going to be there to look down every alleyway in Brooklyn to make sure you’re not getting your ass kicked.”

“What are you trying to say, Buck?” Steve snapped, leaning over where Bucky lay flat. “Is there something you want to tell me?” Bucky let out a loud sigh that rolled into a groan.

“Rebecca told you.”

“You should’ve fucking told me!” Steve shouted, the force of which resulted in the third coughing fit since they left their apartment only half an hour earlier. Bucky started to fish the inhaler from his coat pocket as he rubbed Steve’s back.

“This is why I didn’t tell you.” With a glare, even on a lack of oxygen, Steve snatched the inhaler from Bucky’s fingers, breathing in a deep puff and holding it for a moment.

“Did you think I wouldn’t find out that you got drafted? Were you just going to let me come home to an empty apartment one day?” He sucked in another puff of the inhaler with a sharp wheeze – Bucky watched his pulse throb at the base of his neck as Steve dutifully held his breath.

“Of course I was going to tell you, you idiot. Eventually.” As he sat up fully, he let his chin plop down into his hands, his elbows resting on his crossed legs. The moment Steve could speak, he did, though Bucky could still hear the whistle of breath through Steve’s narrowed airways.

“Then I’m going down and enlisting tomorrow morning.”

“Oh, no you’re not.” Bucky’s voice was growling, rising into a yell. In that moment, it didn’t occur to Bucky that the Army would undeniably turn Steve down – he had a dozen different conditions that made him wholly ineligible for service. No, the absolute first thought that crossed Bucky’s mind wasn’t even a thought at all. It was total and blinding panic.

“Yes, I am, Buck. If you’re going, I’m going with you.” When Bucky had a chance to breathe, when he gave himself a moment to stop imagining Steve Rogers’ lifeless corpse strewn out on a deserted battlefield, his mind cleared. He knew what he had to say to Steve to get this ridiculous notion out of his head, even though it was the last thing he ever wanted to say to him.

He started it with a hard laugh. “You think the American Army is going to let a pathetic, little waif like you join up?” The words sent a painful shudder through Bucky’s chest. When he looked over at Steve, he expected to see anger, tears even.

Instead, he saw a look in Steve’s eyes that he’d seen a hundred times. A look that never ceased to cause a perpetual bloom of heat to rush wildly through Bucky’s veins, often resulting in a splash of pink bursting over his cheeks. It was narrowed blue eyes under thick and furrowed brows. It was determined, pursed lips despite a glass jaw. It was the look that said, ‘I know what you’re doing, and it won’t work.’ But Steve didn’t say that. He never said that. With this look on his face, Steve always, only, ever said one thing.

“On va voir.” 

-----------------------

Remembering those words, particularly in Steve’s small voice caused a little nostalgic sigh to bubble from Bucky’s lips. No other sentence, in any language, summed up Steve Rogers better than that little French mantra. It didn’t matter what it was – if someone, anyone, told Steve he couldn’t do something, he would always reply the same, by daring them to watch him do it anyway.  If it was possible, then he could do it. On va voir. We’ll see.

“Can’t sleep, Sergeant Barnes?” he heard, only just realizing that he had closed his eyes. He opened a single eye in the direction of the sound to see Shuri smiling down at him.

“Just lying here wondering if you’ll ever hear me when I tell you to call me Bucky,” he said, the hint of a smile playing at the corner of his mouth. She settled down next to him.

“Says the person who keeps calling me princess,” she scoffed.

Bucky shrugged. “I’m just being respectful, your majesty.” She barely paused.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, crossing her legs underneath her and leaning over to look in Bucky’s face, squinting her eyes as if trying to see through his skull and into his damaged brain.

“All rosy, thanks.” He rose an eyebrow. This wasn’t something he could talk over with a 16-year-old. Hell, it wasn’t even something he felt comfortable talking to her older brother about. This wasn’t exactly a family-friendly topic of conversation. Nothing in his life was friendly.

“Serg- … Bucky.” Her eyes focused on his. “I know your brain. You can talk to me.” Taking a short breath, he sat up, pushing his long hair from his face. He rested his right elbow on his knee, and Shuri momentarily placed a comforting hand on his back, avoiding the empty space where his left arm would’ve been. Shuri had offered to make him a new arm, but he refused, instead keeping his left side covered. Having that arm meant having something to fight. He was done fighting.

“I’ve been having a recurring dream,” he stated vaguely. Shuri spoke quickly, but quietly.

“Is it the nightmares again?” He glanced over, unsurprised. Somehow, Shuri always knew everything that happened under the protection of the barrier.

“Do you have cameras hidden in my hut?” he asked with a smirk. She didn’t smile.

“I walk the grounds a lot, Sergeant Barnes. I could hear you screaming.” She closed her eyes, shuddering, as if she didn’t like to remember it. Bucky winced.

“I’m sorry, Shuri,” he sighed. “That’s why I didn’t want to stay in the city.”

“You’re here so I can help you, you sad, little hobo,” she urged, jostling him, and he let out a loud laugh in response. While he couldn’t exactly share this specific part of him with her, this reminded him of why he could talk to Shuri in the first place – she was one of the few people who didn’t treat him like he was going to explode. She didn’t treat him like he would turn back into the Winter Soldier at any sudden movement or any turn of phrase.  

“I appreciate it, Princess, but it’s not the nightmares,” he finally admitted. She was silent, indicating for him to go on, and he had to consider how to phrase it. “I’m … having a hard time with, uh …” He paused, thinking. “With knowing what’s real.”

Shuri pursed her lips. “In your head or outside it?”

“Mostly … inside,” he said, letting out a less than steady breath. “With memories.”

“What kind of memories?” she asked, looking over. Bucky felt his cheeks go a little hot. This was the part he definitely couldn’t talk to her about.

“Oh, it’s not … nothing that you … it’s not really relevant,” he stumbled, clearing his throat, trying to cover up the waver in his voice. The smile on Shuri’s face radiated in the dark.

“Does it involve Captain Rogers?” The blush deepened on Bucky’s face – he hoped his dark facial hair helped to hide it. Shuri’s expression told him he was wrong. Still, he couldn’t keep himself from scratching nervously through his beard to try to cover it anyway.

“We grew up together, of course it’s about Steve,” he stammered, and he tried to convince himself to stop there, but his mouth moved without command. “I don’t have a memory that he’s not in, Shuri, he was my … I guess he still is my best friend. But just because he pops up in my dreams every night doesn’t mean I’m …” He stopped suddenly, but Shuri continued for him.

 “In love with him?” she asked softly. He let out a sigh, pulling his knees to his chest and placing his forehead against them, settling his hand over the back of his head.

“Am I?” he asked, his voice muffled. Shuri placed a hand on his back.

“It’s okay if you are, James.” He barely even acknowledged the use of his first name.

“Not if it’s not okay with him,” he argued, not raising his head. “I have these memories of things that make me think maybe we were something else. But he doesn’t act like –”

“Wait, wait,” Shuri interrupted. “He doesn’t act like he loves you? He went halfway around the world to find you. He started a war with his friends to protect you.”

“That wasn’t ...” Bucky tried to argue, feeling the creep of a blush at his throat. Shuri tugged at the wrap over his left arm until he looked up at her. Her eyes were stern.

“It was. It was for you.” He let his temple fall against the top of his knee, not letting his gaze fall away from hers, appreciating the unwavering certainty in her eyes.

“Steve is the kind of person who would start a war for our landlady, if he had to,” Bucky laughed, and Shuri smiled. “Besides, I don’t even know if what I’m remembering is real,” he sighed, rolling his head over his knees, burying his face in the circle his body had created.

“Why don’t you just ask him?” Shuri said. Her voice took on a strange, high octave. He started to argue, looking up with his mouth open to speak. His mouth remained open. T’Challa was walking over to where they sat – and he walked side by side with Steven Grant Rogers.

“Steve,” Bucky said, more breath than word, and he was glad Steve was far enough away that he might not have heard the pathetic way Bucky said his name. Somehow, he looked taller than the last time Bucky had seen him. His hair was definitely longer, certainly darker, and he had grown a thick beard over his usually clean-shaven face. It didn’t cover his smile, though.

“Now’s your chance,” Shuri said, nudging his ribs with her elbow. He glared at her as they stood. T’Challa noticed the look, raising an eyebrow in Shuri’s direction.

“Hey, Buck,” Steve said, smiling unhindered. Bucky didn’t even try to hold back, there was no point in pretending – he took a few giant steps over to Steve, wrapping his arm around him.

“Good to see you, punk,” he whispered. Steve held him tightly.

“I’m sure you two old men have catching up to do. I’ll check in on you tomorrow, Sergeant Barnes,” Shuri said, with a satisfied smile, letting her hand linger slightly on Bucky’s right arm.

“It’s Bucky,” he called after her. She turned her head to stick her tongue out as she and T’Challa walked back toward the city. Steve lessened his grip, his hands still on Bucky’s shoulders.

“You look good,” Steve said, and Bucky swallowed the knot in his throat.

“Give me a break, Stevie, I’m missing a limb,” Bucky laughed, shrugging his left shoulder underneath Steve’s hand. Steve smiled, sliding his other hand across Bucky’s chest to settle both on either side of his left shoulder. The knot in Bucky’s throat tightened, he stood a bit straighter.

“Stevie,” Steve repeated, his hands kneading a little at Bucky’s skin, his blue eyes drawn to the blue fabric sling underneath his fingers. “You haven’t called me that since …” Steve trailed off a bit, before his gaze sharply met Bucky’s, and then immediately fell. “Well, in a long time.”

“Sorry, it was just … habit, I guess.” Bucky scoffed a little at the idea of having formed habits, when he’d spent more time asleep than awake in the last hundred years.

“It’s a good habit,” Steve said, his smile warming again.

“I can always go back to calling you …” Before Bucky could even insert an insult, Steve interrupted, eyebrows raised, still holding onto Bucky’s shoulder.

“No, I …” he said quickly, correcting the urgency of his words. “I like that one.”

“Careful. I’ll start calling you pet names in front of all your new friends,” Bucky threatened, literal tongue in cheek. The look on Steve’s face was rather hard to read.

“Call me anything you like, Buck,” he replied, his eyes softer than Bucky had ever seen them, except in his ever-increasing dreams. Bucky swallowed.

“How long can you stay?” he asked, hoping to change the look in Steve’s eyes. It didn’t.

“I’m here for a few days. If you’re free.” He folded his fingers over the top of Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky was suddenly struck with the knowledge that he and Steve hadn’t been alone like this, with no imminent battle to fight, in decades. Not since after Steve had rescued him from that Hydra base during the war. His memory was fuzzy on that night, too – not exactly able to tell the difference between what actually happened and what he wished had happened.

“I don’t know, my schedule is pretty packed these days,” Bucky laughed, glancing back at the empty hut. Steve glanced in the same direction but turned back just as quickly.

“I’m staying with T’Challa in the city. Come stay with me,” he offered, a little insistence in his voice, and Bucky’s heart sped a little at the implication.

“Yeah, alright. If that’s what you want.” He added the part at the end as insurance. If he put it on Steve, then maybe he wouldn’t appear so desperate.

“It is,” Steve said, and Bucky was struck by the confidence in his voice. He was even more interested in the indecipherable expression in Steve’s eyes.

“Lead the way,” Bucky nodded. The look on Steve’s face became a little clearer.

-----------------------

“This isn’t about me,” Steve argued. Bucky shook his head, irritated. Why was he bringing this up now? Why couldn’t he just enjoy the limited time Bucky had to spend with him? This was his last day of leave, the only day he’d gotten to spend with Steve. In the morning, he was going to be shipped off to fight a war that he wasn’t sure he’d survive. And Steve wasn’t giving up the idea of fighting with him, fighting by his side. Bucky didn’t want that. He wanted to keep Steve safe.

“Right,” Bucky scoffed, gritting his teeth. “Cause you got nothing to prove.” The tension of Steve’s delicate jaw told Bucky the fight wasn’t over. But their conversation was interrupted.

“Hey Sarge!” one of the girls called from behind him, from within the crowds at the Stark Expo. Bucky didn’t know which girl it was. It didn’t matter. “Are we going dancing?”

He paused, watching Steve carefully. Maybe it was the heated argument. Maybe it was the disinterest that Steve had shown in a beautiful girl. It made Bucky want to take a risk. A bigger risk than enlisting, than going through basic, than every time he stepped between Steve and a bigger guy with his fists in the air. He put a hand on Steve’s shoulder before turning back to the girls. 

“Yes, we are!” Bucky said, injecting fake enthusiasm into his tone. When he turned back to Steve, he couldn’t ignore the disappointment in Steve’s expression. “Look, I’d tell you not to do anything stupid, but I know you’re going to anyway.” Before Steve could offer a quip, Bucky pulled him into a hug, taking a deep breath, in preparation for what he was about to say.

“Buck, it’ll be okay,” Steve reassured him. Bucky smiled. The boy in his arms had no idea, no idea how much Bucky needed him. How much Bucky loved him.

“I’m taking the girls dancing,” Bucky sighed into Steve’s neck. “Whenever you get done trying to save the world, come home. Come home and let me spend my last few hours with you, you dumbass.” When Steve pulled back, he blinked slowly, under furrowed brows.

“With me?” Steve asked, watching Bucky carefully. Bucky nodded, stepping backward.

“Don’t be late, punk.”

 After leaving with the girls, Bucky promptly put them both into a taxi and closed the door behind them, to their surprise and disgust. His heart wasn’t in it. Truthfully, he’d only brought the girls for Steve. And for appearances. He would have much rather gone with Steve alone.

It was only an hour before Steve came back. Bucky didn’t ask what happened at the recruiters. He didn’t ask Steve if his fifth attempt was successful. Instead, he sat quietly, watching Steve walk in through the door of their shared apartment, wondering if it would be for the last time. Wondering if he would finally have the guts to do what he’d been avoiding for years.

“I thought you’d still be out dancing,” Steve stated quietly, locking the door. As Steve was turned, Bucky’s eyes naturally traced down the slight curve of Steve’s waist. It wasn’t the first time. It wasn’t even the hundredth time. His tongue darted out as he moved to the arm of the sofa.

“I didn’t go,” Bucky replied, letting his pitch drop. He hoped Steve was picking up the hints that Bucky had scattered, but he would spell it out if he had to. God, he had to.

“Why not?” Steve asked, but the look in his eyes made it seem like he knew. That momentary look in his eye, as he made his way over to where Bucky sat, clouded over quickly.

“I think you know, Stevie.” Bucky breathed out, reaching for Steve to take his hand. Steve didn’t take it. Instead, he stopped, his gaze dropping to the floor. He let out an unsteady breath.

“They changed me to 1A, Buck,” he confessed in a whisper. Suddenly, Bucky felt like the blood pumping through his veins came to a full stop. There had to be a mistake. Steve could barely even carry his own weight without getting out of breath. They couldn’t turn him into a soldier.

“What?” The word fell out with the rest of the air in his lungs.

“They knew about all the times I lied on the form and they said something about giving the little guy a chance,” Steve said, and Bucky could see the excitement in his eyes. He wondered if Steve could see the panic and dread in his eyes.

“You’re not just a little guy, Steve,” Bucky said, unable to hide the anger in his tone as he stood, began pacing. “You don’t know how to fight.” Steve’s blue eyes seemed to burn red.

“On va voir,” he snarled, and Bucky grit his teeth. It was like Steve knew exactly the way to make Bucky crumble. And, of course he did. He watched the way Bucky’s smile puddled fondly on his face whenever he heard those words slip from Steve’s mouth. Hell, he may have even witnessed the exact moment when Bucky realized he had fallen in love with him, when Steve had uttered those words when told he couldn’t live on his own, couldn’t make it in the world with someone like James Buchanan Barnes by his side. Suddenly, he was using them on Bucky. 

“Could you fucking stop it with your little chant?” He bit his response through the grinding of his teeth, watching as Steve swallowed at the sarcastic response he’d received. “You can’t just say ‘we’ll see’ to everything. There are some things you can’t do. This is one of them.”

“Why, Buck?” Steve threw his hands out. “They’ll train me for what I need to do.”

“Are you kidding? It’s not safe for you to even be in basic.”

“Not safe for me or not safe for everyone else?” Steve snapped. “I know you think I can’t protect anyone the way I am, but –”

“Oh, don’t turn this around,” Bucky groaned. “You know I’m behind you no matter what stupid decision you make, but this isn’t just stupid. It’s suicidal.”

“How is it any different than what you’re doing?” Steve shouted, a slight wheeze in his voice that Bucky didn’t fail to notice. That was the whole point of this argument.

“Listen to yourself, Steve,” Bucky threw up his hands in Steve’s directions as Steve rolled his eyes. “You can’t even yell at me without getting short of breath. How are you going to keep up in basic? You gonna ask the Nazi to stop trying to kill you for a second so you can use your inhaler?” This wasn’t how he wanted to spend his last evening with Steve. It wasn’t how he expected this to go. He was supposed to pull Steve into his arms the moment he walked through the front door. Instead, Steve wouldn’t even look at him.

“You know they won’t send me to the front lines. Why are you so against this?”

“Because when you were 4F, I knew you were safe,” Bucky growled. “Now, every shot I take, I’m gonna be wondering if you’re on the wrong end of a German gun somewhere.”  

“It’s not your job to worry about me, Bucky.” Bucky laughed, loud and sarcastic.

“It might as well be,” he cackled. “If I got paid for the amount of time I spent worrying about you, I’d’ve bought out the Rockefellers already.” Steve let out an irritated breath.

“Did I ever ask you to look after me?” he barked, balling his fists at his sides, rising up on the tips of his toes so that he was a bit closer to getting into Bucky’s face.

“Well, I didn’t ask to love you the way I do either, but here we are.” Steve had his mouth wide open, ready to argue whatever Bucky’s counter-point would be, but he stopped. His jaw snapped shut and he fell back onto his heels, his cheeks immediately flushed.

“Is that why you didn’t go dancing?” Steve asked, his voice suddenly small again.

Bucky rolled his eyes. “How are you this dense?” he sighed, falling back onto the arm of the couch again, reaching out to try to pull Steve to his chest. But Steve stood staring – didn’t take Bucky’s hand, didn’t move closer. He stood frozen, watching Bucky closely. Oh, God.

“Buck, I …” he stammered, eyes wide. Shit, shit, shit.

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, letting his hand fall. This was a mistake. He cleared his throat. “Yeah, let’s … let’s pretend this never happened,” he laughed nervously, throwing his head back to hide the blushing of his face. Without really meaning to, he pushed his fingers through his hair.

“Wait, I …” Steve began, taking a delicate hold of Bucky’s elbow. As Bucky looked back down, his fingers falling against the back of his neck, he watched as Steve absently toyed with the fabric of Bucky’s uniform sleeve. Steve kept his gaze away from Bucky’s. “Do you really …”

Bucky interrupted. “Yes.” It didn’t matter what Steve would ask – if Bucky really loved him, if Bucky really wanted to hold him, if Bucky really wanted to kiss him. The answer was still yes.

“How long?” Steve asked, voice drowned to barely more than a thought. Bucky swallowed.

“A while,” he answered in a short sigh. Steve’s eyes stayed stuck to Bucky’s sleeve.

“I didn’t know.”

“I don’t know how,” Bucky finally let himself laugh, but it was terse, choked from the tension in his chest. “I’m not good at hiding it.”

“I just didn’t consider it.” The tension in his chest broke, the pressure change stinging a little at Steve’s confession. Bucky must’ve let slip an aching sound because Steve finally caught his gaze, alarm in his eyes. “What I mean is …” Steve backtracked, but Bucky stopped him.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to explain it to me, Stevie.” Bucky looked down.

“What I mean is,” Steve continued, sliding his hand under Bucky’s jaw to get him to lift his head, and Bucky let out a sharp breath. “I didn’t consider you could feel that for me.”

Bucky was wordless for a long time, searching Steve’s bright blue eyes for some semblance of meaning. “Do you …” Bucky started to clarify, but Steve spoke again.

“It’s not like I’ve never … but you’re YOU and I didn’t think you would ever … I talked myself out of it so long ago that I …” He let his hand slip away from Bucky’s face.

“Can I kiss you?” Bucky asked suddenly. Steve’s voice caught in his throat, eyes latching onto Bucky’s immediately, jaw clenching. He nodded, shortly, almost imperceptible.

“Yes.” It was barely a whisper. Bucky reached up, shaking fingers brushing along Steve’s jaw, down to his chin, across his lips – Steve let them part slightly for Bucky’s touch. Back straightening, Bucky sat up higher on the arm of the couch, curving his fingers around Steve’s chin, leveling Steve’s face to his own. For a moment, he let his eyes flicker to Steve’s lips, open, waiting.

Holding his breath, Bucky leaned in, lightly brushing his lips over Steve’s, surprised at their warmth, at the way Steve responded, at the way his lips moved softly against Bucky’s. He pushed in, just a little, slipping his hand around Steve’s neck, feeling the sharp angles of Steve’s throat with his thumb. A surprised breath bubbled up from his own throat as he felt Steve’s fingers smooth over his chest, grabbing a tight handful of the fabric from Bucky’s uniform.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice trembled faintly.

-----------------------

His chest was tight when he woke up, the breath within it felt thick and stale, like his breathing had been so shallow that he’d hardly moved any air at all. Before he opened his eyes, he took in a deep breath, letting it out slow. He’d had this dream before, the one where Steve said his name in that tone, in that breathless voice, with his lips to Bucky’s.

It was getting harder to tell, but Bucky was almost sure. His relationship with Steve had never been like this, despite what his dreams tried to tell him. It had to be his own feelings getting mixed up with actual memories. There were some parts of that dream that had been real, parts he knew he couldn’t have fabricated. The Stark Expo, the days of leave he spent in Brooklyn, and, of course, most of it had to have been with Steve. He was his best friend.

But it couldn’t have been exactly like this – this dream. There was no way he’d ever actually kissed his best friend. Because, if he had, he would unquestionably remember the taste of him. And he couldn’t. He couldn’t remember the texture of Steve’s lips or the shiver in his spine at the rhythmic hum of Steve’s voice. No, he was only able to imagine it. 

The dreams seemed to build on each other, but not in order. Sometimes, he’d hear Steve’s voice calling his name, high and breathy and bordering obscene, but he wouldn’t have the setting to go with it. Other times, he would watch as their lips crashed eagerly together, but without the glorious sounds that he knew should accompany the silent picture.

This had been the most successive, full dream he’d had, so far. It all fit together so well, so seamlessly. The dreams like this were the one that made him wonder what was real. Dreams like this made him forget he wasn’t in Brooklyn, made him forget his left arm was missing. Made it hurt to wake up. Squeezing his eyes more tightly closed, Bucky let out a low, frustrated groan. He wanted to go back to sleep. He wanted to finally finish this dream.

“Buck?” he heard from behind him. Only as he heard Steve’s concerned voice did he remember – Steve had asked him to stay with him. He was in Steve’s room. And he’d just let out a very sexually frustrated moan because of an inappropriate dream he’d been having. About Steve.

“You still up?” Bucky asked, opening one eye as he shifted from his stomach to look over at Steve, who was sitting in an armchair with his sketch book in hand. The shirt he’d had on when Bucky had fallen asleep was tossed onto the edge of the bed.

“Couldn’t sleep,” Steve shrugged, watching Bucky carefully. “Everything okay?”   

“Yeah, fine,” Bucky said quickly, rolling over to his back, dark hair falling into his face. Just as he was maneuvering his right arm out of the sheets, he felt Steve’s hand brush his temple, pushing the hair out of his face, tucking it behind his ear.

With the hair pushed out of his line of sight, Steve stood fully visible in front of him. Steve, and all the scars that he had accumulated over the last seventy years. There were none left from before the serum, but there were definitely some marks on Steve’s skin that Bucky remembered.

Without intention, Bucky’s fingers glided over the uneven surface of Steve’s stomach, lingering on a jagged, vicious scar, at the bottom of Steve’s sternum. The exit wound caused by a bullet Bucky had fired at Steve on the helicarrier in D.C. Steve glanced down, placing his hand over the top of Bucky’s, pressing Bucky’s palm down against the old scar.

“That wasn’t you, Buck. You didn’t have a choice.” Bucky swallowed.

“I know. But I did it,” he countered, his voice deep with regret, his thumb smoothing over the raised edges of Steve’s scar. As he sat up, his hand slipped up to Steve’s right shoulder, tracing the slender scar caused by Bucky’s knife being plunged into Steve’s skin that same day.

“It doesn’t matter now,” Steve sighed, stepping in to close the distance between them, and Bucky’s hand inadvertently slid around Steve’s neck. When Bucky looked up, his hair moved into his face again. Steve just smiled, brushing it away.

“Want me to tie it up for you?” Steve asked, fingers lingering on Bucky’s ear. Bucky felt a twitch in his eyebrow but stifled it as best he could.

“Go for it.” Steve pulled him up, slipping the elastic from Bucky’s wrist and settling down behind him on the bed. Bucky tried hard not to let out an audible sigh the moment Steve’s fingers were buried in his hair but was only half successful. With Steve behind him, he didn’t bother with guarding his expression, however, and he let his eyes flutter closed for a moment.

As Steve combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair, Bucky’s eyes drifted over to Steve’s sketch book, seeing a portrait of himself on the open page. A portrait of him from only a few moments before, as he slept in Steve’s bed, with his back turned to Steve. The lines of his naked back, as drawn by Steve, were both hard and soft, all at once, the sheets of the bed slung low over Bucky’s hip. Low enough that the shorts Bucky wore – Steve’s shorts, that Bucky had borrowed after a shower – should have been visible. They weren’t.

“You drew me,” Bucky stated suddenly, without thinking, and he felt Steve’s hands go still within his long hair for just a moment. A short breath fell against the back of Bucky’s neck.

“I … I draw when I can’t sleep,” Steve explained, gathering Bucky’s hair into a loose bun at the top of his head and tying it up rather haphazardly. His hands slipped down Bucky’s neck, across his shoulders, pulling rogue strands of hair behind Bucky’s ears.

“I remember.” Bucky turned his head, looking down at the floor, just barely able to see Steve in his periphery. Without warning, Steve leaned forward and set his forehead against Bucky’s right shoulder, letting out the air in his lungs. It fell hot against Bucky’s skin.

“God, I miss you so much, Buck,” Steve sighed in a shaking voice. Bucky let his head fall forward. He had been so focused on not letting his feelings for Steve cause a rift between them that he’d still let his friendship with Steve suffer. He had to get better at this.

“I’m right here, Stevie,” he whispered, reaching back to pat Steve on the head, but his fingers ended up against Steve’s face, pushing through the thick stubble on his cheek. Steve leaned into Bucky’s touch, placing a hand over Bucky’s.

“You’re … I don’t mean …” Steve huffed. “I know. I’m glad you’re here.” Something in Steve’s voice triggered a spark in Bucky’s chest, and something else deep in the pit of his stomach.

“You know what else I remember?” Bucky said, finally turning and Steve moved his forehead from Bucky’s skin, only to look up at him.

“What’s that?” Steve asked, the light of something unnamed in his eyes.

“You sleep better with company,” Bucky said, trying to hide the smile from his lips. Instead, the smile appeared on Steve’s lips, accompanied by a slight rosy tint to his cheeks.

“So do you.” But Steve didn’t move, didn’t lie down. His eyebrows furrowed, as if arguing with himself internally about something. Bucky already knew.

“Best sleep I ever had was that time the heat went out just before I left for basic,” Bucky suggested, knowing Steve would remember the way they curled up together. It wasn’t exactly a true statement, because Bucky hadn’t exactly slept much that night. Mostly because that night was the first time he ever had an explicit – very explicit – dream about his best friend. 

Steve looked closely at him. “Do you mean you rem-…”

“Just lay down, would you?” Bucky laughed, and the smile came back to Steve’s face as he did what he was told, uncurling himself out behind where Bucky sat on the bed.

As Bucky went to lie next to him, to curve up behind him, he placed his right hand on Steve’s hip to get settled. His eyes flicked up to Steve’s, but Steve was looking down at the curl of Bucky’s fingers around his hipbone. Without thinking, Bucky tightened his grip, pulling himself closer to Steve, their hips aligned, back to front. Steve looked up at him, a look in his eyes that Bucky recognized but couldn’t recall the connotation. “Little hard to do one-handed,” he covered.

“Is that what you’re going with?” Steve laughed as Bucky laid down behind him.

“Cut the sarcasm or I’ll make you go sleep alone in my jungle hut, you smartass,” Bucky quipped. Steve still hadn’t stopped laughing. The sound was practically spiritual.

“I even missed your half-assed threats,” Steve breathed out through a laugh as Bucky pulled the sheet over them, letting his arm settle into the curve at Steve’s waist. His fingers brushed just barely over the top of Steve’s belly button, and Steve shivered.

“I’m sure you don’t miss our crummy apartment in Brooklyn, where the roof leaked in your room and the heat went out every winter and you always had to sleep in my bed,” Bucky let out a soft laugh. Steve was quiet for so long that Bucky wondered if he had fallen asleep.

“I miss that stupid apartment so much.” Steve took in a deep, unsteady breath. “I miss the gas stove that you had to light with a match and the spackle that fell from the ceiling when Mr. and Mrs. Rosenberg upstairs got a little too rowdy in the bedroom.” Bucky laughed, letting his face nuzzle against the back of Steve’s neck, just a little.

Steve continued. “I miss the sound of your keys on the kitchen counter. I miss how loud you used to swear when the hot water ran out and you were still in the shower. I miss …” He paused, and Bucky felt Steve’s fingers settle on top of his own, just heavy enough to press Bucky’s palm down against Steve’s stomach, just over his scar. “I miss you in that apartment.”

“You miss the way I used to be,” Bucky swallowed hard, reminded that no matter how much progress he made, how much progress he would make, he would never be that version of himself ever again. There was always going to be a small part of him that was the Winter Soldier.

“No,” Steve said, immediately and firmly, turning under Bucky’s arm, and Bucky’s hand slid all the way across Steve’s waist, his pinky finger catching on the waist of Steve’s sweats. Bucky didn’t exactly rectify it right away. “No, I miss us. Being together, always.”

Bucky smiled. “There’s nothing left to keep us apart, you sap.” Steve’s eyes brightened a moment before they closed. He didn’t turn over, Bucky didn’t move his arm that was draped over Steve’s hip. They fell asleep with their foreheads pressed together, sharing breath.

-----------------------

“Buck,” Steve breathed out into his mouth, burying his fingers into the folds of Bucky’s uniform, scratching softly at Bucky’s skin through the fabric. At this show of approval, Bucky forgot the walls that were holding him back – forgot that he was trying to take it slow to let Steve acclimate to the idea of kissing his best friend. His lips moved from Steve’s, across his face, catching at the corner of his jaw, just below his ear. Steve let out a deep, sated breath.

“Is this okay, Stevie?” Bucky hummed, pushing himself to the edge of the arm of the couch, while snaking both arms around Steve’s narrow waist. His arms tensed, he pulled Steve into the space between his legs, without letting his lips separate from Steve’s skin. As Steve’s hips pressed in against Bucky, increasingly rigid, his fingers increased their grip, mussing Bucky’s tie.

 “Yes,” he exhaled, the vibrations of it echoed through Bucky’s lips on Steve’s throat, it carried as Bucky moved his lips to the curve of Steve’s neck. He pulled gently at Steve’s collar, scattering kisses along Steve’s gaunt collarbone, and when he ran out of skin to kiss, he worked on the buttons of Steve’s shirt to reach more.

He’d only gotten a few buttons undone before Steve reached down and held his hands to stop him. Panic ripped through his chest. He’d gone too far. As soon as his gaze met Steve’s again, however, Steve hurriedly gripped Bucky’s face in his hands, roughly pulling Bucky’s lips to meet his, with desperate, hungry sounds rolling up from his throat.

“Jesus, Bucky,” he moaned softly, pressing further into Bucky’s hips, and before Bucky could even speak his name in return, Steve slipped his tongue between Bucky’s lips. The warmth, the movement, the touch of Steve’s tongue to his own sent a rhythmic shudder down Bucky’s spine. His mind went numb. Mouth open for Steve to explore, he could focus on nothing else.

Still, his hands moved without him telling them to – they tugged at the hem of Steve’s shirt, hidden, tucked away in his trousers. As soon as it was free, Bucky eagerly slid his hands underneath it, and Steve took a sharp breath in through his nostrils at the touch of Bucky’s fingertips, but didn’t give pause in his work at Bucky’s mouth. If anything, his kiss grew deeper.

In fact, Steve only moved his lips away to redirect their vigor to more of Bucky’s skin – he pushed Bucky’s chin toward the ceiling, so he could trail kisses along the underside of his jaw. This power, this ability to have Bucky do as he pleased, seemed to have sparked something in Steve. His fingers began working quickly at the collar of Bucky’s uniform, the buttons of his coat, the knot of his tie, all while the control of his mouth became heavier, sloppier, wetter against Bucky’s throat.

“Christ,” Bucky muttered, feeling his throat dipping down over Steve’s suddenly wild lips. In reply, Steve took Bucky’s earlobe into his teeth, breathing out heavy, the wet heat and the resonating sound amplified by the contact of Steve’s lips. While Steve tore the Army-green tie from around Bucky’s throat, Bucky pulled the remaining buttons of Steve’s shirt apart.

“You should have told me sooner,” Steve growled, this impatient desperation a stark contrast from the hesitance he’d shown only moments before.

“You should’ve told me sooner,” Bucky countered, song in his voice as Steve slipped out of his shirt – it pooled behind him on their scratched hardwood floor.

“I didn’t know,” Steve whined, pressing himself tight against Bucky’s chest, despite how his fingers between them still worked on the buttons of Bucky’s uniform. “God, I didn’t know.”

“You didn’t know,” Bucky scoffed, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth as Steve gently bit down on the soft skin at the slope of Bucky’s neck. “You don’t act like you didn’t know.” Bucky breathed out, short and impetuous, as Steve finished off all the buttons. Bucky let the coat and shirt of his uniform fall back onto the couch in one shrug of his shoulders.

“What do I act like, Buck?” Steve said, his voice low and smooth but his tone bordering on a taunt, a dare. Quickly, Bucky stood from the arm of the couch, and before Steve could even question it, he pushed Steve down onto the arm instead. He knelt in front of him.

“Like you been thinkin’ about it for years,” Bucky hummed, pressing his lips to Steve’s bare chest. The sudden deep breath that Steve took in left a dangerous wheeze in the back of Steve’s throat that gave Bucky pause, enough to pull back. He looked up at Steve through his lashes.

Steve rolled his eyes. “You gonna make me stop to use my inhaler?” he mocked Bucky’s earlier concern about his breathing problems fitting into a war. His chest was still heaving.

“Guess you should start keeping one in my bedroom,” Bucky grinned, keeping his eyes on Steve as he kissed a trail along Steve’s skin, starting at his chest. His fingers in Bucky’s hair, Steve straightened his back to let Bucky’s lips travel over his stomach, across his lean hipbone. Bucky brought his hand up, running along Steve’s thigh, but he hesitated for a moment.

Things between he and Steve had already been changed forever – there really was no taking this back. Which was fine with him, now that he’d had a taste of Steve, he would never want to go back to not being able to taste him. All the damn time.

But was he pushing this on Steve? Pushing his feelings onto Steve? After all, Steve had hesitated in the beginning. He’d given his permission for a kiss, but this was much more than just a kiss. Especially if Bucky moved his hand.

Steve spoke, voice soft. “You’re thinking too much.” Bucky planted one last kiss against Steve’s hipbone, settling back to look up at him, curling his hands under Steve’s thighs.

“Stevie, if I’m … pushing this, pushing you too far …” The smile that crossed over Steve’s lips was amused, almost flattered. Reaching down, he threaded his fingers through Bucky’s.

“Well, I made my own decision to put my tongue in your mouth, so –” Bucky interrupted by putting his tongue into Steve’s mouth. Steve moaned his grateful reply as Bucky pushed him backward, folding him back over the arm of the sofa. With one hand, Bucky crawled over him, lifting him with the other to lie fully on the sofa.

“I mean it. Tellme if I’m pushing this too far,” Bucky sighed into Steve’s mouth, hovering over him on the couch. Steve gripped Bucky’s hips and pulled him down between his spread legs.

“If anything, I want you to push harder, Buck,” Steve panted, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s hips, to which Bucky couldn’t help but respond by arching his hips up into Steve’s. As Steve let his head fall back, a prolonged moan curling up from his throat, Bucky silenced it, pressing his mouth over Steve’s, finding new depth with his tongue.

“Is this what you want?” His hand migrated from Steve’s hip, this time no hesitation in his fluid motion as his fingers dipped between Steve’s legs. There was a hitch in Steve’s breathing as Bucky’s palm brushed over the hardened impression of him – it seemed to stop altogether when Bucky began to finger the imprint of Steve’s firm cock, tucked away beneath denim.

“Yes, fuck,” Steve’s breathing came back shuddered, he gripped tighter to Bucky’s hips. And Steve had never had the mouth of a saint – he was almost as bad as Bucky when it came to language. But, of course, Bucky had never heard it in this context.

“Jesus, Stevie, fuck,” he mumbled into Steve’s mouth, shifting his weight onto his knees so both his hands were free to desperately fumble with the button of Steve’s jeans. Once unfastened, Bucky slipped his fingers into the waist of Steve’s briefs, and tugged slowly, giving Steve ample opportunity to back out, should the panic strike him. He didn’t.

As soon as Bucky felt the soft, bare skin of Steve’s hips under his fingers, he let his lips stray from Steve’s, let his eyes wander a little further. The breath in Steve’s chest became a little ragged, but the wheeze had subsided to a shallow squeak, so Bucky let himself relax, following the movement of his eyes with his hands. Down Steve’s chest, sloping over his ribs onto his stomach, pausing at the soft, blonde hair trailing from his belly button.

When his eyes finally dared to cross the border, where Steve’s blonde hair grew a little thicker, a little coarser, a tiny, indelicate breath skated from Bucky’s lips. His jaw tensed tightly as the movement of his hands continued beyond where he’d told them to go, fingers dancing nervously along Steve’s frighteningly sharp hipbones.

“Stevie,” he said, suddenly very robbed of breath, feeling like he was sucking in gallons of air that had long ago expired. Above his hands, he could see Steve’s chest rising and falling rapidly.

“Buck, please,” Steve’s voice whined, desperate and fragile. When Bucky’s thumb brushed against Steve’s swollen skin, he watched Steve bite his lip to hold in whatever sound was burrowing through his teeth, and Bucky mirrored it unknowingly. He needed to hear that sound.

In an effort to elicit that sound, Bucky curled his fingers around Steve’s cock, noting how different it was from holding himself, but how it had nearly the same effect. Just holding Steve in his hand, warm and soft, but thrumming and rigid, made it feel like all the heat in his veins went plummeting into his hips. Still, Steve pulled his lips into his teeth, keeping that sound a mystery. 

Bucky knew the way to draw it out, knew the way to make Steve fall apart. When he looked up at Steve, twisting his wrist to see the stimulated reaction on Steve’s face, Steve couldn’t help but watch him, mouth falling open, quite soundlessly. Bucky pressed searing kisses into the supple skin at Steve’s stomach, drawing closer, growing lower.

Without taking his eyes off Steve, Bucky dipped his head, meeting the edge of his fingers, still curved around Steve, with his lips. The soft, pink head of Steve’s cock fell naturally into Bucky’s pursed lips. Steve only whimpered softly. When Bucky slowly darted his tongue out to taste him, Steve paid him handsomely with the deepest, most explicit, stimulated moan Bucky had ever heard in his life. Not one trace of a wheeze.

Immediately, Bucky took him down into his throat.

-----------------------

Light shone on his face – he could see the red tint from behind his closed eyelids, but he didn’t let himself open them just yet. The warm skin underneath his hand moved up and down with even, slumbering breaths, and if this was a dream, he wasn’t ready to wake from it.

But on the off chance that it was real, that he wasn’t dreaming, he couldn’t help from looking. His eyes opened slowly to the sight of Steve Rogers’ naked, muscled back facing him, with Bucky’s hand draped carelessly into the deep slope of Steve’s waist. Based on the rhythm and the depth of his breathing, it was obvious that Steve was still asleep.

With this unmonitored time, Bucky let his hand travel over the expansive bare skin laid before him. He let his knuckles drag down Steve’s spine, counting the spaces between his vertebrae. The pads of his fingers slid along the strong lines of muscle at Steve’s right shoulder, remembering when there was only bone there. Before he was Captain America. Before Bucky went to war. Before the war changed everything.

Steve shifted, but didn’t wake – only moved his arm up underneath the pillow beneath his head. This gave Bucky the space of Steve’s ribcage, and Bucky took advantage of it – he pushed each of his fingers into the strips of muscle between Steve’s ribs. As Steve breathed, his chest expanded, moving Bucky’s hand up with each exchange of air.

It was nice to feel Steve breathing so evenly, so deeply, so steadily. Before the war, his hands against Steve’s chest could always feel the rattling in Steve’s lungs. Worse if his ear was pressed to Steve’s chest – he could hear the constant, tiny gasps of what Steve considered normal breathing. The struggle to get the air he needed to live.

Curious, Bucky pressed his ear to Steve’s back. There was no rattling. No gasping. He could hear Steve’s voice in his breathing, he could hear the soft puff of the parting of his lips as air passed through them. It was lucky that Steve was asleep, because Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s waist, pulling him close to him, breathing in the sounds of his sleep, the scent of his skin.

He sighed into Steve’s skin, letting his lips brush against it, just below his shoulder blade, just to the right of his spine. “I miss you too, Stevie.”

He didn’t just miss those things from his dreams – things that he wasn’t even sure were real. No, he missed things like the monthly dinners he and Steve used to have with their landlady, who had been more like their caretaker. He missed waking up in the middle of the night to find that Steve had crawled into bed with him, even though they had gone to bed separately. He missed Sunday morning breakfast, even if all they had was stale bread for toast.

Before he could stop himself, he thought back to the dream – kissing Steve on the sofa in their apartment, feeling Steve pressed hard against his thigh. Bucky let out a long breath, it circled back from Steve’s skin and curled underneath Bucky’s chin. He imagined this warm breath was from Steve’s mouth, poised to draw his tongue along Bucky’s throat.

It only took a second of him imagining – or remembering, he still wasn’t sure – drawing his best friend into his mouth, before Bucky knew he had to pull himself back out of the dream. If he didn’t stop now, he’d think about the way Steve swore under his breath, his eyes resolutely fixed on the movement of Bucky’s lips as they pressed low to Steve’s stomach. If he wasn’t careful, he could obsess over the feeling of his lips wrapped around the plush skin of the head of Steve’s cock.

Hips still pressed to Steve’s backside, he could feel himself swelling into the space between Steve’s legs. This was going to make for an awkward awakening. He had to talk himself down. But the only thing on his mind was Steve Rogers, and this time, Steve was right there in front of him. 

Bucky decided to take a chance. After all, based on other accounts, normal friends didn’t act the way that Steve and Bucky acted with each other. Other male friends didn’t spend nights in bed with each other. They didn’t curl into one another as they slept. Maybe his dreams weren’t all in his imagination, maybe they weren’t all stemming from his desire to be with Steve. Maybe they were real. Maybe Steve Rogers was just as in love with Bucky as Bucky was in love with him.

So, he took a chance. Still hard against Steve’s backside, Bucky pressed in further, feathering his lips to the back of Steve’s neck, whispering his name.

“Stevie, wake up,” he breathed out, his hand on Steve’s ribs slipping down to Steve’s hip. At the sudden, intimate contact, Steve stirred, immediately arching back into Bucky’s hips. Steve hummed, no word on his lips. Bucky balled his fist into the fabric of Steve’s sweats, tugging gently at them, sliding them a bit further down Steve’s hip, reveling in the feeling of having hidden skin just underneath his fingertips. He wondered if the familiarity of this touch was as real as it seemed or if he was fabricating it, like he’d been fabricating the dreams. As Steve tilted his head down into the pillow, Bucky let his lips travel into the curve at Steve’s neck, across Steve’s shoulder.

“Oh, God,” Bucky groaned, dipping his fingers into the elastic of Steve’s sweats, and Steve let out a deep, weighted moan, curving into Bucky’s touch. But a knock at the door sent Bucky reeling, completely removing his hands from Steve’s skin. Eyes blinking heavily, Steve turned around and immediately startled at Bucky lying next to him.

“Oh, Buck,” he breathed out a relieved sigh, and Bucky couldn’t help but notice him adjusting the sheets, gathering a bundle to press between his legs. He used his free hand to push his ever-lengthening hair out of his face. “How could I forget you were here?” he laughed, a pink tint to his full cheeks. “It must have been the dream I was having.”

Bucky blinked hard at him a few times. “What?” he finally said. Steve furrowed his eyebrows, so Bucky continued. “You were … dreaming? Just now?” he clarified.

“Yeah, did I …” Steve turned red for a moment. “Say something?”

Bucky hung his head for a moment. So much for taking chances. “You …” he started, but figured he’d get a little fun out of it. “You moaned a little. Must’ve been some dream.”

Steve curled his lips into his teeth, the red shade of his skin deepening. “Yep,” he agreed shortly, rolling his shoulders a bit and pretending not to notice Bucky staring at him.

“Someone’s at your door,” Bucky reminded him.

“Shit,” Steve muttered, voice still heavy with sleep, and Bucky’s eyebrow rose instantly. Steve noticed, but didn’t address it. Instead, he gathered up a blanket and wrapped it around himself, despite the fact that he was mostly clothed. Bucky had to remind himself not to think about what Steve was trying to hide under that blanket. Especially because Bucky had a hand in the cause, though not as literally as he would’ve liked. He didn’t even know what Steve’s dream had been about. It definitely wasn’t about the things that Bucky dreamed about.

Before Bucky could even look up to see who was at the door, Shuri had shouldered past Steve and was storming over to where Bucky was still half-lying in bed, with more than half a hard-on. Without pause, she picked up Steve’s sketch book and whacked Bucky over the head with it.

“What the hell, Princess?” Bucky grumbled, blocking her attacks with his right arm.

“You could have at least told me that you were having an old man slumber party in my brother’s house!” she huffed. “I walked all the way to your hut and you were not in it!”

“I’m sorry!” Bucky shouted, stifling a laugh.

“I thought you had vanished, you White Wolf. I thought you had been taken away!”

“You did not.”

“Which is obviously why I had to walk all the way back here to find you in bed with …” she caught herself, pulling her lips into her teeth, smiling shrewdly. Bucky glared. Only then, once she stopped using it to assault Bucky, did she glance at Steve’s latest sketch. Of Bucky, essentially naked in Steve’s bed. The smile on her face grew as she rose an eyebrow in Bucky’s direction.  

“Shuri,” Bucky warned, widening his eyes at her.

“Did the two of you have a nice chat last night?” she asked sweetly.

“No, Shuri, we did not,” Bucky growled through clenched teeth. She cocked her head to the side, making a swirling motion with her finger at Bucky, obviously lying half-naked in Steve’s bed.

“Could have fooled me,” she muttered, rolling her eyes. She leaned in to hiss a whisper to Bucky. “I don’t know how you are so blind, Sergeant Barnes. You’re in his bed, if you can’t tell.”

“Why are you here?” Bucky hissed back, surely loud enough for Steve to hear. When he glanced over at Steve, he was just watching the two of them, amusement on his face.

“My brother would like to see you. Both of you. Please get dressed,” she mocked, staring comically into Bucky’s face. Bucky let out a groan as she walked back toward the door. “Good morning, Captain. Did you sleep well?” she asked, glancing right back at Bucky as she spoke.

“Better than I have in a long time,” Steve replied with a smile. Shuri threw her hand out toward Steve, smiling arrogantly back in Bucky’s direction.

“I’m not surprised. We have all the comforts of home here,” Shuri grinned widely in Bucky’s direction, and Bucky let out an overly loud sigh in response.

“Thank you, Princess,” Bucky spoke through gritted teeth.

“You’re welcome, Sergeant.” Steve shut the door behind her, turning to Bucky with an expression on his face that Bucky couldn’t quite name.

“She reminds me of Rebecca,” Steve said quietly, his face telling that he wasn’t completely sure it was acceptable to bring up Bucky’s family. But Bucky smiled, nodding in agreement.

“Universal little sister behavior, I guess,” he laughed softly.

“Guess we’d better go see the King,” Steve shrugged, as he walked back toward where Bucky sat. But Bucky wasn’t ready to get dressed. Not yet.

“What was your dream about?” he asked, breaking into the end of Steve’s sentence, and Steve’s reaction was immediate and wide. His face flared with color, his eyes widened, and they met Bucky’s gaze instantly. He opened his mouth to answer and closed it just as quickly.

“Mostly my dreams are just memories these days,” Steve finally replied, smiling sadly. And Bucky wasn’t ready to give up this risk he’d decided on, with his hips pressed to Steve’s.

“Of Peggy?” Bucky pressed, his chest tightening at the thought. If nothing else, if these dreams with Steve were really just fabrications of his mind, there was one thing he knew. He’d been in love with Steve his whole life – he just didn’t know if Steve knew or not. But he certainly could remember the ache in his chest at the way Steve and Peggy had looked at each other.

Steve didn’t look away. In fact, his gaze strengthened as he said, “No. Not Peggy.” Bucky let out a breath, it probably sounded like relief. It felt like relief. He held the edge of Steve’s blanket.

“Tell me about it. Please,” Bucky practically begged. The blue in Steve’s eyes swirled, like the white caps of the ocean crashing over stormy, sapphire waves. But it vanished.

“Maybe after our summons,” he grinned.

“Took you long enough,” Shuri mumbled to Bucky as her brother talked to Steve. Honestly, Bucky wasn’t even sure what they were talking about, why this had been so urgent.

“Maybe it’s different in Wakanda, but in Brooklyn, we sleep in the morning,” Bucky grouched, wishing he could cross his arms to show his disgust. Shuri mostly ignored him.

“Nice shorts,” she quipped, insinuating over the fact that Bucky was still wearing Steve’s clothes the night after sleeping in Steve’s bed, wrapped in Steve’s arms. Bucky didn’t even get a chance to reply. “Didn’t have any nightmares last night, did you?” she asked smugly. Bucky responded with an eye-roll – Shuri was fluent in emotive expression as her primary language.

“Had nothing to do with Steve,” Bucky huffed, his right arm shifting awkwardly as he tried to decide what to do with it. This time, Shuri was the one to roll her eyes.

“Of course not,” she sighed, glancing over at Bucky before offering a sly smile.

“Sergeant Barnes,” T’Challa called suddenly, and Bucky nearly snapped to full attention.

“Yes?” he replied, just barely cutting off the ‘sir’ onto the end. Steve stifled a smile as T’Challa waved Bucky over to where the two of them were standing.

“It’s yours, if you want it,” T’Challa offered and Bucky furrowed his brows at first. Until he looked down at the table they were standing in front of to see a vibranium arm, interlaced with gold, lying out in front of him. He glanced back at Shuri, who smiled softly.

“Did you do this?” he asked her. She nodded, but her smiled faded a bit.

“It’s only if you want it,” she emphasized, raising her eyebrows at him. Under her expression, he could read ‘You don’t have to use it for anyone else but you.’ A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth as he turned back toward the table. He looked to Steve, but Steve was intentionally masking his expression – he’d gotten much better at that.

“I appreciate it, Shuri, I do,” he took a breath, trying to phrase what was in his mind.

“That arm doesn’t make you the Winter Soldier,” she argued, a twinge of pain in her voice, and Bucky knew she was replaying the screams she’d heard him howl in his sleep.

He turned, seeing her expression was twisted in concern. “I know, Princess. And I’m grateful. I just … I like being able to feel things under my own skin.” As soon as he said it, he knew it had been the wrong thing to say. To Shuri. Her head cocked to one side, lips pressed tight.

“I’ve simulated better nerve capabilities in the new one. Should you choose, you can feel the lightest brush, if someone were to, say, run his hand up your arm,” she muttered the last part under her breath, but Bucky heard every word, gritting his teeth and praying Steve hadn’t heard it. He had to cover, and there was only one explanation that Shuri would understand.

“It gives me an excuse not to fight, Shuri.” Her eyes fell.

“You don’t have to fight anymore, James.” Just as he opened his mouth to argue, Steve slid his hand along Bucky’s right shoulder. Bucky had to fight hard to keep the shudder from his spine.

“She’s right, Buck. You’re done fighting.”

“Then let me enjoy being a civilian for a little while longer,” Bucky insisted, turning his head to Steve. Steve kept his hand on Bucky’s back, subconsciously rubbing his thumb back and forth along the top of the bone at the back of Bucky’s shoulder. His expression crumpled.

“Whatever you want, Buck.”

Bucky took the day off. In the back of his mind, he knew what it would mean, but Steve was there, right in front of him, and all Bucky wanted to do was spend time with him. Spend time separating fact from fiction. Or maybe, merging the two.

The rest of the day, and into the evening, they had spent trading memories, with the intent of helping Bucky fill in the gaps he was missing. Steve had put on a series of films (on the computer, which Bucky was not at all familiar with, yet), but most of the content went unseen. On and off, Steve had his sketchbook in hand, glancing up at Bucky as he spoke, and smiling each time.

“Wait, this one I have to be making up,” Bucky laughed, pushing the shorter hair out of his face – Steve had tied up the rest of it for him again. “Did I actually find you in an alleyway trying to fight a guy who was five times your size?” Steve groaned.

“Which time?” he cackled, holding his hand to his chest as he rolled back, laughing. It was so trademark Steve Rogers that it sent a warm ache into Bucky’s chest to see it again.

“You had a trashcan lid. Holding it up like a goddamn shield,” Bucky growled, remembering how angry he’d been, how angry he always was upon finding Steve acting like an idiot. Acting like he wasn’t asthmatic and anemic and arthritic. Acting like he was invincible. He still did.

Steve glanced up from his sketch. “Okay, that time, it was totally self-defense.”

“I’m pretty sure you said that every time.” Steve smirked – it unsettled Bucky in a way that he wasn’t prepared to handle. He’d done so well that day, alone in Steve’s room. Despite the way Steve looked at him, and the way Steve nibbled on his bottom lip as he concentrated on his sketch, and the way they always sat with at least one part of their bodies touching one other. It didn’t help that they were currently sitting on Steve’s floor, their legs interlocked. If Bucky so desired, he’d only have to straighten his leg to work Steve with his foot. He’d thought about it more than once.

“You know me too well,” Steve hummed.

“Nah,” Bucky let out a breath. “I don’t know what you’d be dreaming about that would make you …” he trailed off, realizing he’d have to admit his lips on Steve’s neck and his crotch grinding against Steve’s hips to suggest anything Steve had done.

Luckily, Steve didn’t wait for him to finish. “You said I didn’t say anything.”

“No, what I said was you moaned out loud,” Bucky corrected – Steve went a little red.

“It was not a moan.”

“Oh, it was definitely a moan, Stevie. Back of your throat, breathy, voice a little lower than it should be. I know the way you moan,” Bucky stated simply. It wasn’t until Steve’s eyebrows rose high on his forehead, his chest rose high with surprised breath, that Bucky realized what he’d just said. He had just vividly described the first-hand sounds of Steve Rogers moaning.

“I mean,” he quickly added, unable to hide the quiver in his voice. “All those times you slept next to me? I’m sure that’s not the first dream you’ve had that wasn’t totally dry, if you get my meaning.” Steve’s gaze was still resolutely locked onto Bucky’s and Bucky tried hard to avoid it.

“Alright, maybe it was a moan, then,” Steve shrugged casually, but his eyes narrowed in Bucky’s direction, as if he were trying to see through him. It would be best to change the topic, best to quell Bucky’s fettering obsession. But he couldn’t let it go.

“God forbid the All-American Hero have a sex dream,” Bucky scoffed, kicking his bare foot up into the back of Steve’s knee, where it was raised between where Bucky’s legs rested. He aimed a little too high and hit Steve’s calf, shifting Steve’s socked foot. It brushed justa bit against Bucky’s crotch, and Bucky nearly let out a moan himself. Instead, he balled a fist into the thick rug underneath them and bit down hard onto his tongue, trying to keep a straight face.

“I’m not a hero anymore. I’m a fugitive, remember? And it wasn’t a sex dream.”

“Nobody moans in their sleep unless it’s a sex dream.” This was becoming a problem – why couldn’t he stop? What did he think was going to happen? That Steve would describe, in graphic detail, exactly how he got off in this dream? Bucky could only hope.

“I didn’t say it wouldn’t have become a sex dream. But I didn’t really get to finish,” Steve said calmly, not looking up from his sketch, running his tongue along his back teeth. The breath that Bucky took in through his clenched teeth was audible.

“Oh, I bet that’s rare for Captain America. Not getting to finish, I mean,” Bucky implied, watching Steve carefully, still excruciatingly aware of how close Steve’s foot still was to being indecent. Steve glanced up, blue eyes dark.

“I wouldn’t know. Haven’t been with anyone since the war,” he said, and Bucky suddenly felt a pang in his heart as he realized. Steve meant Peggy.

“Not even the niece?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself. Steve winced.

“No, definitely not.” He snarled his lip a little. “Sharon is great. Great agent. But she wasn’t who I …” He paused. “The kiss was for her. As a goodbye. She knew that.”

“Huh,” Bucky huffed. “The rest of us sure as hell didn’t.” He had tried so hard to keep the jealousy out of his voice but failed so spectacularly. Even back then, even with his memories coming and going, he had known. Steve Rogers was the love of his life. It was the only thing he knew then. And very shortly after figuring that out, he’d had to watch Steve kiss someone else.

“I didn’t know it bothered you so much,” Steve said, his tone mostly playful, but the sharp focus of his blue eyes telling a very different story. He waited intensely for Bucky’s response.

“We’re getting off topic,” Bucky grunted. “If this dream wasn’t about Peggy or Sharon, then who the hell had you so worked up?” Steve stared blankly before shaking his head, laughing.

“Why is it so important to you?” he asked, a spark in his eyes.

Bucky rolled his eyes, closing them. “I don’t have a lot to entertain myself these days.”

“Oh, you want material.”

“I never said that.”  

“Fine,” Steve said, leaning back against the dresser behind him, straightening his leg underneath Bucky’s raised knee, which took Steve’s foot from being an accidental brush away from Bucky’s crotch. “You asked for it, Buck. If it gets awkward, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You’ll blush before I will.”

“It was mostly a kiss,” Steve started immediately, keeping his eyes drawn to the movement of his charcoal pencil on paper. “Just a kiss. Not anything to get excited about.”

“You obviously did,” Bucky argued, swallowing as Steve bit down on the tip of his tongue as he concentrated on the sketch underneath his curled fist.

“That’s because of the kisser.” Steve couldn’t keep the grin from his face. “God, the way … this person kisses is like a profession. Like it can’t go deep enough. And it’s just to taste you.” Steve took in a deep breath like he was inhaling the smoke from a cigarette, and Bucky felt like he could use one about then. Steve hummed, licking his lips, like he’d just been kissed.

“Isn’t that what kissing is?” Bucky snarked. Steve ignored him.

“And the tongue in your mouth, it … it moves in rhythm with the hands that are on your skin, and they’re all over your skin, touching everything they can touch. It’s like being memorized, fingers moving over every bone, every muscle, every wrinkle.” His eyes stayed drawn to the sketch book, but his hand had gone still, trembling just above the page.

“Yeah?” Bucky said, softly, breathless.

“You don’t realize your shirt is unbuttoned until you feel lips pressed to your chest and it feels like those lips are crushing you, their weight moves all the air out of your lungs. But these lips are so soft – God, so fucking soft – and they move all over you, kissing down your ribs, across your stomach, down to your hips.” Steve’s chest heaved, he worried his bottom lip, and Bucky wasn’t sure if the reaction he had was to Steve swearing or to watching him come undone.

“Keep going,” Bucky exhaled, trying to keep his voice steady through shaky breathing, glad that his raised knees kept himself concealed from Steve’s sight.

“The sofa cushions bend beneath you as a pair of knees straddle over your hips, a hand slips past the button of your trousers, and you feel it, you feel it tracing your cock,” Steve faltered, swallowing hard, but still not looking up to where he knew Bucky was watching him.

“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky whispered, mostly to himself. But he couldn’t keep it all to himself. He let his head fall back onto the top of the bed behind him, letting out a long, slow breath.

“Those soft fucking lips kiss you right at the tip, and that tongue slides out, just tasting you, feeling you, swallowing you. You’re ready to come apart to this mouth. Only this mouth.” Steve’s voice dipped low, a growing pant in the pace of his breathing.

“Fuck.” Bucky let out a low groan, raising his head to see that Steve was watching him, strong jaw clenched tight. His eyes traveled over Bucky’s face as he put his pencil between his teeth, setting his feet further apart. Bucky watched Steve’s hand drift down, down below his sketch book. Bucky’s left eyebrow rose slowly, fixated on the movement of Steve’s hand.

“Do you want me to keep going?” Steve asked, voice raspy and deep. Bucky took a breath to answer but was interrupted by the ringing of a phone. Steve’s phone. They both jumped at the sound – Steve clenched his teeth so hard, the pencil between them turned to splinters.

“Answer it,” Bucky said, clearing his throat, sitting up a little straighter. This was probably a sign. Any further and Bucky would have done something he likely would have regretted. Or, at least something Steve probably would have regretted. Then again, was this normal? Of course, for Bucky, nothing about this was abnormal for him – he got overheated by letting Steve put his hair up, by watching Steve sketch him. Anything about Steve got him worked up.

But for Steve? What other motivation could he possibly have for describing getting his cock sucked? Sure, Bucky had instigated it, he’d insisted on it, but Steve had really gone all in. Even worse, he’d described it as if it were happening to Bucky. Like Steve was doing it to Bucky.

Realization hit him suddenly and he let his head fall forward. ‘You asked for it, Buck,’ Steve had said. Of course. It was practically spelled out. Steve surely used that story to try to make Bucky tap out first, so to speak, not realizing how easy it would be to turn Bucky on.

“Son of a bitch,” Bucky muttered, running his hands over his face as Steve answered his flip phone. It took more than a moment for Bucky’s heart to stop pounding.

“How long has she been gone?” he heard Steve say and Bucky looked over. The expression on Steve’s face was worrying – his dark eyebrows met in the center of his eyes, the muscles in his throat tensed as he swallowed, as his jaw clenched and unclenched repeatedly.

“What is it?” Bucky asked. Steve glanced over, holding a hand over the phone.

“It’s Wanda. She took off,” he said with a sigh before going back to the phone. “Yeah, I’m still here. No, I’ll head back now. It’s fine. Sam. Don’t.”

“Tell him I hate him,” Bucky shouted, loudly enough for Sam to hear on the other end, keeping an arrogant smirk on his face as Steve looked over.

“He says he hates you, too,” Steve laughed softly, shaking his head. He lowered his head a little, lowered his voice a little, saying into the phone, “No, I’m not going to tell him that.”

“Tell me what?” Bucky called, and Steve pursed his lips.

“Nothing,” Steve mumbled. “No, stop. I’m coming back tonight. What if something happened to her?” He paused, listening to the reply, before moving the phone away from his mouth again. “Hang on. Buck, do you think Shuri could help me find her?”

“If anyone can do it, it’d be her,” Bucky replied, shrugging. Shuri was absolutely a genius, there was really no other way to say it. Whatever needed to be done, she’d find a way to do it.

Steve let out a short breath, moving his mouth back to the phone. “Fine, I’ll stay, but only until I get Shuri’s help, and then I’m going to pick Wanda up myself in the morning.” Sam said something on the other end that Bucky couldn’t hear, but whatever it was caused Steve to grind his teeth, a blush underneath the dark hair on his face. “Uh-huh. Fuck you, Sam Wilson.” Just before Steve could close the phone in disgust, Bucky heard Sam shout ‘LANGUAGE’ from his end.

“I had my doubts about Falcon, but at least he keeps you on edge when I’m not around to do it,” Bucky grinned, cocking his head to one side. Steve rolled his eyes.

“And fuck you, too.” Bucky’s eyebrow shot up. He was a muscle twitch away from replying with something about Steve being the one he wanted to fuck, but he stopped himself.

“Let’s go find your weird friend.”  

“She’s in Scotland,” Shuri shrugged flippantly, after what seemed like seconds of searching for Wanda. Bucky nodded, not surprised. Steve, however, let his mouth fall open, impressed.

“How did you …” he started, but Shuri held up a finger.

“To keep it simple, street cameras and facial recognition,” Shuri said, watching both old men closely, as if trying to determine how much technology they understood.

“What is she doing in Scotland?” Steve asked, dark eyebrows furrowed over bright blue eyes, which Bucky had to look away from.

“This guy.” Shuri grinned for a moment, before pulling her lips into her teeth, giving Bucky a knowing glance. Quickly, she plucked at her incorporeal video feed with her fingers and spread it out wide in front of Steve and Bucky. Both of them flinched as the translucent screen seemed to snap into place but leaned forward to get a better look at the face, paused in time.

“Is that …” Bucky began.

“Vision?” Steve’s voice rose a few pitches. The last time Bucky had seen the robotic Vision, he looked as much – magenta skin, gem in his forehead, ethereal cape. This version of Vision looked like a man – a good-looking man, at that. No wonder Wanda was sneaking off.

Bucky stifled a throaty laugh. “Doesn’t he play for team Stark?” Steve glanced over, nodding and looking concerned – blue eyes clouding over into gray.

“What is this building they’re going into?” Steve asked, and Shuri, the perceptive look on her face never changing, widened the view to show the exterior of a hotel.

“Oh!” Bucky laughed loudly, clapping Steve on the back. Steve’s face looked a tiny bit flushed, just enough that Bucky could tell. “Play the video, Princess.” The rest of the feed showed Wanda slip her hand quietly into Vision’s, leaning into his touch as they entered the hotel.

“Well,” Steve cleared his throat. “I guess she’s not in trouble.”

“Then you don’t have to leave?” Bucky wondered, just under his breath. Steve, of course, heard it. He was meant to. Shuri, who was not meant to, heard it anyway.

“Not tonight, anyway,” Steve replied quietly, glancing over at Bucky, oblivious to the overly pleased expression that Shuri was casting in Bucky’s direction. Bucky glared at her.

Back in Steve’s room, they didn’t talk about what happened just before Sam called. In all honesty, Bucky was glad that Steve didn’t seem interested in talking about it. Otherwise, it meant Bucky would have to admit to being turned on by the sound of Steve’s voice.

Still, there was sort of an awkward fog over the two of them. Reminiscing about old memories came to a stall, as neither of them said anything to the other, and Bucky was wondering if he’d gotten too carried away. He tried to blame it on Steve, on the fact that Steve had been describing a blowjob, and how was Bucky supposed to not be aroused by that?

They’d left the computer on in Steve’s room – while they’d been out, it had started playing episodes of MASH. Of course, Bucky had never seen the show, so Steve filled him in as best he could. From what Bucky could gather, it was a television show about Army doctors.

In the silence that filled the room, the only sounds came from the speakers. The show seemed like it was supposed to be funny – Bucky thought it probably was, to most people. But there were too many scenes of unwilling patients lying on operating tables, faceless doctors covered in white hovering over them with unreadable, masked expressions, distant screams and explosions from a bloody war that nobody really wanted to be party to.

The shudder that drew across Bucky’s shoulders made it feel like the contents of his stomach were coming up – he had to swallow hard to keep it down. His eyes squeezed shut, he gripped his hand to his chest, clawing at the fabric of his shirt underneath his fingernails.

“Buck?” The panic in Steve’s voice was palpable. Bucky couldn’t find the breath to form words – it was moving in and out of his chest just fine, but too much. His mouth fell slightly ajar, he wrenched at the collar of his shirt, like it was the thing that was keeping him from breathing normally. Stinging tears formed in the corners of his eyes the more rapid his breaths became. His gaze began to blur as he tried to focus on Steve. He reached out with his one shaking hand.

“Bucky, breathe,” Steve urged, his voice cracking with terror, shutting off the computer with one hand and pulling Bucky to his chest with the other. Steve’s fingers burrowed deep into Bucky’s hair, holding Bucky against his heart, Bucky’s forehead pressed close against Steve’s throat. Bucky felt Steve’s breathing slow down, become more deliberate. He tried to match it.

“Close your eyes, Buck. Just breathe with me. Pretend we’re home in Brooklyn. Think about all the times we watched the stars on the roof. Pretend we’re on the roof right now. I just pointed out Orion and you called me a nerd.” A cough clawed up from Bucky’s throat, dry and raw. Steve flattened his palm onto Bucky’s back. “Then we go back downstairs to that ratty old sofa that we got from the Rosenbergs that smelled like melted plastic and cigarette smoke.”

Bucky cleared his throat, gagging a bit. The first thought almost out of his mouth was ‘The couch I blew you on for the first time’ but it became, “And burnt coffee.” Steve let out a breath.

“And had mysterious stains that we didn’t ask questions about,” he laughed in relief, his grip on Bucky softening a little, but not releasing. “Do you get these a lot?”

“Get what a lot?” Bucky asked, blinking and swallowing and breathing.

“Bucky, that was a panic attack.” For a moment, Bucky was still. So, there was a name for those. It definitely wasn’t the first one he’d ever had, though it had been the shortest.

“Oh.” His voice dropped out, and he had to find it again. “I don’t have them that often,” he replied quietly, nestling a little further into Steve’s arms, and he felt like that was okay. Steve’s arms relaxed even further. “I used to. Felt like I had one every day in Romania.”

Steve leaned back, letting Bucky recline against his chest. His arms stayed wrapped around Bucky’s still-shuddering shoulders. “I used to have them, too.”

“What?” Bucky furrowed his brows. “When?” Steve was quiet for a moment.

“After you went to basic.” From Steve’s arms, Bucky snapped up, looking Steve in the eye.

“You never told me.” Steve laughed softly.

“Never really got the chance to,” he sighed, his eyes glossing over as they became trapped in a stare, and Bucky knew why. There were so few fleeting moments between when Bucky was drafted and when he fell from that train in Europe. And some of those moments, Bucky’s mind had filled in with wishes of what he dreamed could’ve happened between he and Steve.

“How many times are you going to save my life, Stevie?” Bucky collapsed back onto Steve’s broad chest with a grateful breath, holding Steve’s ribcage with his right hand.

“I gotta make up for the one time I didn’t.” The clench in Bucky’s jaw was so sudden and so sharp that he wondered if he cracked a tooth.

“Steve,” he said, his voice cautionary and full of regret.

“I know, I …” Steve started, pausing to swallow – Bucky could feel the muscles in Steve’s throat bob against his temple. “No, that was my fault. You shouldn’t have been there.” 

Bucky pushed angrily against Steve’s chest, balancing himself there. “Don’t fucking give me that bullshit, Stevie. You didn’t have a choice, I was going whether you wanted me to or not.”

“And I knew that,” Steve said, teeth grit tight. “I knew that, and I didn’t have to ask you to go because I already knew. If I was going, so were you.”

“You say it like you were manipulating me,” Bucky scoffed, irritated twitch at the corner of his mouth. He chewed on the inside of his bottom lip to stifle it. He drew blood.

“I was, Bucky. Intentional or not. All because I wanted to be the hero.”

“Oh, fuck that,” Bucky growled. “You’ve never wanted to be a hero, you just always know the right thing to do and you fucking do it, Steven. You knew you had to stop Red Skull and you did, even though you had to put your goddamn plane in the Arctic to do it, from what I’ve heard.”

“I put that plane in the ice because I didn’t want to go home to an empty fucking apartment in Brooklyn!” Steve shouted, the strain cracking his voice, the blue in his eyes raging under dark brows. His voice softened, quivering. “We were supposed to make it to the end of the line together, and instead, I got you killed.” With a rough shake of his head, the shorter pieces of Bucky’s hair fell into his eyes, settling in the space between his lips.

“You didn’t get anyone killed!” Bucky yelled, shifting his weight so that he knelt over where Steve reclined on the carpet, freeing his hand that had been keeping him upright. “I’m right here, Stevie.” His hand now free, Bucky curled his fingers around Steve’s chin and made him meet his gaze. “Look at me. I’m. Right. Here.” For a moment, Steve’s face softened, but it vanished.

“Not all of you.” Bucky let out a short huff.

“I have a brand-new arm in Shuri’s lab, if I want it.”

“I don’t just mean your arm.”

Bucky lowered his head, swallowing hard. “I’m working on the memories, Stevie.”

“You wouldn’t have to, if I had just …”

“Would you stop?” Bucky barked, tearing his hand away from Steve’s skin.

“I can’t!” Steve snapped, grabbing hold of Bucky’s right arm. “All that time I lived without you, Buck, and I thought that was miserable. And then finding out that you survived, that I could have saved you from that ravine, instead of Hydra. That you were being tortured the whole fucking time,” Steve said, breath uneven and staggered, lip trembling slightly as he looked up. “And I could have saved you.” Immediately, Bucky gripped Steve by the back of the neck and pulled him against his chest, wrapping his arm so tightly around Steve’s throat that he wondered if Steve could breathe. The despondent, tired breath that slipped from Steve’s lips gave him the answer.

“You couldn’t have known,” Bucky assured him, as Steve slipped his hands around Bucky’s ribs, running his fingertips up Bucky’s spine and pressing Bucky closer to his chest. So close, that Bucky inevitably became straddled over Steve’s hips. Neither of them moved away.

“I’m so sorry,” Steve whispered, his voice thick and his breathing rattled.

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Bucky held him as tight as he could with only his right arm, forgetting the boundary he was trying to keep between them, and let himself settle down into Steve’s lap. At the extra contact between them, Steve’s whole body slackened – he burrowed his face into the nape of Bucky’s neck, letting out a long, shaking breath.

“I never thought I’d get to hold you like this again,” he mumbled into Bucky’s skin. Bucky paused at that word – again. Sure, he and Steve had been close, but this close? He had to mean that more general than it sounded – he couldn’t have held Bucky exactly like this. It was one thing to curl into one another while asleep, but this was something entirely different. Still, Bucky agreed.

“Even when Hydra was fucking around in my brain, there was always just one thing I could feel missing,” Bucky said in a low whisper, as Steve drew his fingers up and down Bucky’s spine. “When you said my name on the bridge that day, I knew it was you. That you were what I lost.”

Steve let out another breath, rolling his forehead down to Bucky’s collarbone, his hands migrating to Bucky’s waist, gripping his skin a little more insistently. “Goddammit.”

“Language,” Buck replied with a grin. Steve laughed, before taking in a short gulp of air.

“I love you so much,” he sighed, face still buried in Bucky’s skin.

The heat that spread through Bucky’s chest wasn’t painful – it was warm and familiar and comforting. But the compression against his heart reminded him that Steve Rogers was his best friend, and he wasn’t confessing his love. He was just reminding him that, as his best friend, he loved him. In that moment, it almost didn’t matter. Bucky would take whatever love he received.

“I love you, too, punk.” He laughed to clear the stalled air from his lungs.

-----------------------

His first thought on awakening was the searing pain in his left shoulder and the strange sensation of not being able to feel anything beyond that. Once he woke a little further, he began to realize he was in tremendous pain in many more places than just his shoulder. It felt like he’d been hit by a bus. He stirred, spiking that much more pain with every movement.

When he finally opened his eyes, he discovered he was on a steel operating table. Vaguely, he remembered being dragged through snow. In that snow, there was a trail underneath his feet of what he knew was his own blood. Looking down, he was covered in it, his clothes nearly stained black with it. There were people all around him, most of them with surgical masks covering their faces, though none of them registered his existence, much less his consciousness.

“Steve?” he moaned, his voice sounding distorted and distant, echoing and ringing back in his head. There was barely a glance in his direction. He wondered if he had spoken at all.

Without raising his head, he tried to move his left arm. Aside from the blinding pain that went shooting through his shoulder, there was nothing. No motion, no feeling. As he glanced over, all the air that had been in his lungs went tumbling out in a panicked howl. He had no feeling in his left arm, because he had no left arm. A hastily stitched stump protruded from his shoulder.

“Steve?” He called out in terror but knew that Steve wasn’t there. He remembered falling from the train, Steve desperately reaching out for him with a look of horror on his face as he screamed Bucky’s name. Bucky had to get out of here – he had to find Steve, tell him he was alive.

With some difficulty without his left arm, Bucky sat up and pushed himself from the surgical table. Only then did the people in the masks start paying attention. Several of them crowded around him, taking hold of his right arm and pushing down on his shoulders.

“No! Get off! Steve!” Bucky shouted, voice strained and cracking as he ignored the pain in his arm, in his body, in his head. But the pain only increased with his movement.

“Get Dr. Zola in here now!” the man next to him shouted. Bucky freed his right arm long enough to punch that man in the face and he went down hard. But there were more hands and more muscles, and soon the group had him immobilized.

A short, blonde man in a blue lab coat came into the room – he peered at Bucky from a distance behind wide, round glasses. Bucky struggled fruitlessly against his captors.

“Put him in the chair,” he commanded, with what seemed like a smile. All the hands on his skin seemed to tighten in unison and they dragged Bucky over to a dark corner. Together, they strapped him into a chair, fastening at the restraints until they felt tight enough to lose another limb from lack of circulation. A strap was stretched over his forehead as someone shoved a mouth guard in between his teeth. Above him, two metal pieces lowered down from the back of the chair in front of his face. When they clicked into place, the people around him backed away quickly.

Before Bucky could even let out the terrified breath in his aching chest, the machine whirred to life and what felt like an electric shock coursed through his body. It started in his head, swirling behind his eyes, spreading down and tensing every rigid muscle fiber. Biting down on the plastic between his teeth, he could barely even scream – didn’t even know if he was screaming out loud or only in his mind. But he kept screaming, feeling the electricity surge up through his throat, his screams sounding broken and sputtered to his own ears, like radio static.

“Steve!” he called again, buried in the screams, ripped out from his raw, throbbing throat.

-----------------------

“Bucky, wake up. Please.” The sound of Steve’s frantic, pleading voice woke Bucky from his fitful sleep. When he opened his eyes, Steve was kneeling over him, firmly pinning Bucky’s hand to the mattress above his head. Tears that had formed in Steve’s eyes spilled over, falling hot onto Bucky’s cheeks. He didn’t have to ask – he knew he’d been screaming out loud, trapped in the nightmare of a memory. And Steve had been forced to listen to it. Forced to listen to Bucky scream Steve’s name, over and over and over. Still, he couldn’t help but feel grateful that it was just a memory – that he was actually home, with Steve. That Steve had saved him, after all.

“Steve,” he breathed out in relief, feeling the tension release from his arm, salt water from his eyes rolling back into his dampened hair. He could tell he’d been struggling against Steve – he could see patches of dark red across Steve’s chest where Bucky’s punches had landed. There was one bruising mark along the curve of Steve’s jaw, a jaw clenched tightly, but not in anger. At least, not in an anger that was directed toward Bucky.  “I’m so sorry,” Bucky followed immediately, the tears from Steve’s cheeks still splashing down against Bucky’s face. Without saying a word, Steve crumpled, collapsed down onto Bucky.

“You … you were screaming. For me,” Steve choked into Bucky’s skin, lips murmuring against Bucky’s throat, one hand sliding forward up Bucky’s arm to lock his fingers into Bucky’s.

“I know,” Bucky admitted softly. He squeezed Steve’s fingers once before pulling his hand back to push it into Steve’s hair, holding the back of his neck.

“Did you really call for me?” Steve’s voice was so hollow, Bucky could barely hear it. For a moment, Bucky debated even telling him the truth – that in that Hydra facility, seventy years ago, he had screamed Steve’s name into the dark, more times than he could remember.

“Yeah,” Bucky replied in a whisper. Steve let out a soft, little sob. “It wasn’t because I expected you to come rushing in to save me, Stevie. I just …” He stopped himself from saying ‘I wanted your name to be the last thing on my lips.’

“This is why you don’t live in the city, isn’t it,” Steve asked, but it wasn’t really a question.

“Yeah,” Bucky sighed, hiding the word inside a breath. “And the work helps me sleep.”

“I shouldn’t have come. I’m just making everything worse.” Steve started to move, pushing himself away from the mattress, away from Bucky, but Bucky’s fingers were still buried in Steve’s hair. He tightened his grip, keeping Steve within arm’s length. Keeping Steve close.

“Don’t …” Bucky started, chest becoming tight, voice becoming worried. Steve’s gaze returned, falling on the slight tremor in Bucky’s jaw, which he quickly clenched. “Don’t leave me.”

“Oh, God, Bucky.” Steve let out a breath, letting his head fall forward, landing softly against Bucky’s sternum. With his hand still against Steve’s neck, Bucky let his fingers comb lightly through the back of Steve’s hair. “I’ll never leave you.”

The arch in Steve’s back released and he laid over Bucky, keeping his head to Bucky’s chest, curling his fingers between Bucky’s waist and the sheets below him. It took a while for Steve’s breathing to settle and, for a moment, it was like being back in Brooklyn. It was like curling up in his old bed, with Steve’s ear to his chest, listening to the sounds of Bucky’s normal, even breathing in an effort to get his own lungs to act accordingly.  

But the air in Bucky’s lungs wasn’t quite normal. It surged and crested and teetered on the edge of speech as Bucky considered the idea of telling Steve the truth. With Steve against his chest, his mind was no longer locked away in a barren Hydra compound. It was with Steve, as it always had been. As it had been in Brooklyn, before the war. As it had been during the war.

-----------------------

“But you’re keeping the outfit. Right?” Bucky asked, glancing at Steve as he took a sip of his whiskey. With a hard swallow, Steve looked back, letting his eyebrow flick up for just an instant.

“You know what?” he replied with a hidden grin. “It’s kinda growin’ on me.”  Bucky drowned his telling smile in another shot of whiskey, listening to the Howling Commandoes sing drunkenly at the top of their lungs. When they stopped, rather suddenly, he and Steve both looked back. Peggy Carter came in, wearing an obviously suggestive red dress.

“Captain,” she said, her cat-eyes devotedly on Steve. Bucky bit the inside of his cheek to keep from saying anything out loud.

“Agent Carter.” Steve’s voice was polite, as always. As she passed, Bucky gave her whole ensemble a once-over. This was a statement dress, if he’d ever seen one.

“Ma’am,” Bucky said, though the woman hadn’t even looked over at him.

She continued speaking, not acknowledging Bucky at all. “Howard has some equipment for you to try. Tomorrow morning.” Steve gave a brief nod.

“Sounds good.” She glanced back at the Commandoes, who had restarted their singing.

“I see your top squad is prepping for duty.” Her voice was sharp, bitter. Bucky grit his teeth.

“You don’t like music?” Bucky asked, irritation abundant in his tone. Steve shot him a look.

“I do, actually,” she replied without so much as a glance in Bucky’s direction. In fact, Steve seemed to hold her gaze. Bucky squirmed. “I might even, when this is all over, go dancing.”

“Then what are we waiting for?” he asked, glaring at Peggy, and Steve finally looked over at him, nudging him a bit with his elbow. Bucky tried to force his gaze away but couldn’t.

“The right partner,” Peggy said with a curve in corner of her red lips. “0800, Captain,” she called, walking back the way she had come. Bucky scowled after her.

“Yes, ma’am,” Steve replied, clearing his throat. “I’ll be there.”

“I’m invisible,” Bucky grumbled, letting out a long breath. “I’m turning into you,” he laughed bitterly. “This is … it’s a horrible dream.”

“Don’t take it so hard,” Steve replied condescendingly, patting Bucky on the chest. “Maybe she’s got a friend.” The two of them returned to the bar. Bucky downed the rest of his whiskey.

“Fuck you, you know what I mean.”

“You’re the one who said I was invisible.”

“What I meant was, now I know how you felt having to watch women hit on me and I couldn’t tell them I’m …” He looked around. “I still can’t say a fucking word about it.”

Steve grinned. “Are you jealous of Peggy?”

“Oh, no,” Bucky mocked. “She just comes in here with that red dress to catch your eye, shits on my Commandoes, tells you she wants to dance, and I’m supposed to … what, watch?”

Steve rose an eyebrow, smirking. “She’s wearing that dress for the girl behind the bar.”

Bucky paused, glass to his lips. “Really?” he asked flatly. Steve nodded, resting his chin into his palm, propped up on the bar counter, leaning heavily to the right.

“Speaking of the girl behind the bar,” he hummed, getting as close to Bucky as he thought he could. “She tells me there’s an empty spare bedroom in the flat above the bar.”

“Is that so.” Bucky licked his lips.

“I missed you, Buck,” Steve breathed out. Despite the distance between them, his warm breath still fell heavy against Bucky’s ear. The glass in Bucky’s hand shook slightly.

“I’ll give you ten minutes head start,” Bucky mumbled, taking another drink. Steve grabbed hold of Bucky’s shoulder, leaning into his side, lips pressed to his ear.

“Make it five.”

The girl behind the bar nodded to the stairs at her left, a knowing smile on her bright red lips, and Peggy Carter leaning a little too far over the edge of the bar. Peggy’s glance was quick, but when she realized where Bucky was going, she gave him that smile, too.

The front door to the flat was unlocked – all the lights were out when Bucky opened the door. All except the light shining from the edge of an open bedroom door. Bucky curled his fingers around the edge of the door, leaning on the frame. Steve stood with his back to the door. “I thought you were dead, you know,” he said as Bucky closed the door behind him.

“Yeah. And I thought you were smaller.” Steve let out an overly loud laugh as he turned. For the first time since Steve invaded the facility where Bucky was being kept, he could look at Steve, really look at him, like he used to, in the privacy of their apartment in Brooklyn. But the view was totally different. Where once stood a boy, riddled with illness and fragile as glass, was now this massive man in his place, chest as broad as a house. Now, he was bigger than Bucky.

“Turns out the only reason they let me in the Army was to beef me up with secret government experiments,” Steve scoffed. Bucky let his eyes travel down the front of Steve’s uniform – everything about Steve’s body was suddenly unfamiliar to him.

“I still can’t believe it’s really you in there,” Bucky said, exhaling hard. Steve nodded.

“No more arrhythmias, no more arthritis. No more asthma.” He took a hesitant step toward Bucky. “But I’m still me, Buck.” With a breath, Bucky leaned back against the door.

“Prove it.” He swallowed hard, worrying his bottom lip. With a smile on his lips, Steve moved closer, pressing his hand flat against the door Bucky steadied himself against.

“I didn’t know,” Steve sighed, quoting words he’d spoken to Bucky the first time Bucky had ever kissed him. He leaned in, letting his lips just barely brush against Bucky’s. Instantly, Bucky grabbed a fistful of Steve’s uniform, pulling Steve against him, slipping his tongue into Steve’s mouth. “God, how could I have not known?” Steve groaned.

“Jesus, I missed you, Stevie,” Bucky breathed into Steve’s mouth, pushing him away from the door and over to the bare mattress, lying on the floor in the center of the room. As Steve’s foot caught the edge of the mattress, he went tumbling down onto it, Bucky not far behind. He straddled over Steve’s hips, gripping Steve’s lapels to pull him into another fitful kiss.

“I thought I lost you,” Steve mumbled against Bucky’s lips, tugging at the buttons of his green shirt with one hand, spreading the other out against Bucky’s neck, underneath his collar.

“I can’t leave you yet,” Bucky smiled, despite the kisses that Steve hadn’t stopped placing against his lips. “This little stop is nowhere near the end of the line.”

“Did you write me like you promised you would?” Steve wondered, and Bucky could hear it in his voice – the tiny boy from Brooklyn that Steve used to be. He could hear the faint uncertainty, the worry. His voice was still the same. It still sounded small, soft, but now Bucky could hear a depth in his breath that he’d never heard before. All the space in his lungs Steve had never had.

“When we get home to Brooklyn, it’ll take you weeks to read all the letters I sent,” Bucky grinned, shrugging off his outer shirt and stripping off the tank top underneath. For a moment, Steve let his eyes wander down Bucky’s bare chest. Quickly, he let his hands follow.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, distracted, sliding his fingers into the spaces between Bucky’s ribs, lightly circling the bruises from his recent capture. “What kinds of things did you say in your letters?” Bucky darted his tongue out to wet his lips, Steve’s attention was drawn to it for a brief second. Finally, Bucky unfastened the top of Steve’s uniform, gaining him the space of Steve’s throat, which was so much thicker, wider than Bucky had remembered.

“Let’s just say, I hope my sister doesn’t visit and decide to open your mail while we’re gone.” Before he could place his lips onto Steve’s skin, Bucky paused, recognizing how strange it was to have his hands to Steve’s chest and not be able to feel his bones. Slowly, Bucky pushed Steve’s face to the ceiling, watching the lines of his throat bob up and down as he swallowed.

“Give me a preview,” Steve croaked, head tilted back too far. Without a word, Bucky gently pulled Steve’s throat against his lips, memorizing these new angles with his tongue. Steve swallowed again, as if to let Bucky feel it under his teeth.

“Some of it doesn’t apply anymore, Stevie,” Bucky sighed, kissing down Steve’s throat, putting extra pressure at the nape of Steve’s neck, where the collar of his uniform rose. He could feel Steve’s skin fold into his teeth, could feel him bruise. Steve sucked in a breath but pulled away.

He looked at Bucky under concerned eyes. “Do you …” He clenched his teeth. “Have I changed too much?” Bucky blinked hard, breathed hard.

“What are you askin’ me?”

“Do you still want me?” Steve blurted out, cheeks flushing red. Bucky startled, just at first, out of shock, but immediately pulled Steve into another ferocious kiss, grinding his hips down.

“Stevie, it’s you I want. Almost doesn’t matter what you look like.” He spoke in breath, barely forming the words through Steve’s tongue in his mouth.

“Oh, thank God,” Steve whined, curving his hands behind Bucky’s shoulders to push him harder down onto Steve’s hips. Bucky spread his legs wider, felt Steve hard between them.

“You really want me to tell you what I wrote in those letters, huh?” he asked, his voice deep and graveled. Steve moaned as his reply, pulling Bucky’s mouth back into his instead of answering, and Bucky couldn’t speak. Didn’t want to. Only wanted to keep Steve in his mouth.

“Tell me,” Steve finally mouthed against Bucky’s lips, holding Bucky close to his chest as he twisted, letting Bucky fall back onto the mattress. The breath fell from Bucky’s lungs in a loud groan, and it only grew louder as Steve firmly nestled himself between Bucky’s legs.

“Fuck, alright,” Bucky moaned. Steve fiddled with the buckle of Bucky’s trousers. “Keep in mind, I had to send them to your, uh, cousin, since the Army likes to read our mail.”

Steve looked up, eyes wide. “Oh.” He placed a soft kiss to Bucky’s stomach.

“Yeah.”

The expression on Steve’s face changed. “My cousin got a name?” Bucky grinned.

“Stephanie.”

“How clever.”

“Do you want me to keep talking or don’t you?” Bucky laughed, and Steve smiled just before pressing a deep kiss into the soft skin just inside Bucky’s hip. The breath that fell from Bucky’s lips was so full, so rich, that he had to take an immediate breath in to replace it.

“No, don’t stop, Buck,” Steve hummed heavily into his skin as Bucky slipped his fingers into Steve’s hair, pulling just enough to make Steve grip tightly onto Bucky’s hip in return.

“Jesus, the way you say my name, Stevie,” Bucky growled. Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s hipbone, biting down softly as he began to slip Bucky’s trousers out from underneath his lips.

“Keep talking, I’ll say it all you want.” Bucky kicked his boots off, so Steve could push Bucky’s trousers all the way to the floor, and he did, pausing to get a very broad look at Bucky.

“My first letter was about the first night we spend together, really together,” Bucky said, feeling his chest grow tight as he let Steve look at every bare inch of his skin. “Strip, Steve.”

Steve’s eyes met his instantly, eyebrow rising high. “Yes, sir,” he grinned, standing at the edge of the mattress, finishing the unbuttoning that Bucky had started. While he undressed, Bucky folded his hands behind his head and watched.

“I had to get creative, since I was writing to Stephanie,” Bucky said, biting down on his lip as Steve peeled the top layer of his uniform off, all at once. How different it was to see a chest that belonged to Steve that wasn’t sunken, wasn’t wheezing. Instead, Steve’s bare chest was now broad, steady, though still heaving with anxious breath, the way Bucky wanted it to be.

“So I couldn’t say anything about how badly I missed your cock in my mouth,” Bucky continued as Steve unbuckled his trousers. At that, Steve looked up, through thick, dark lashes, flicking his tongue out to wet his breath-stricken lips. “God, there was so much I wanted to do to you that first night,” Bucky groaned, arching up off the mattress, moving one hand from underneath his head to let it drift lazily down his waist. Steve let out a staggered breath, hand over his zipper. “I only wanted to start with that blowjob, but there was too much to talk about.”

“What else did you want to do to me?” Steve asked, his skin looking quite flushed, his broad chest expanding and contracting rapidly. He tugged his zipper down.

“Oh, everything,” Bucky drew out in a long, explicit breath, letting his eyes focus hard on Steve’s hands, tucked into the elastic waist of his briefs. Bucky swallowed expectantly.

Steve’s hand stilled. “Tell me.” Bucky sat up, propping himself up on his elbows, admiring the new body of the boy he had long been in love with. With a grin, he pushed himself up, backing Steve up against the wall, nuzzling his cheek against Steve’s.

“That night, I wanted to …” he began, fingers sliding over Steve’s abdomen and slipping into the open zipper of his trousers, cupping him outside the fabric of his black briefs. Steve took in a sharp breath, his head falling back against the wall. “I still want to, Stevie, I want to –” Steve covered Bucky’s hand with his own, pressing Bucky’s fingers harder against his cock.

“Fuck me,” Steve breathed out into Bucky’s ear. Bucky let out a low growl.

“God. Yes.” Tilting his head, Bucky buried his tongue into Steve’s mouth, tugging at Steve’s briefs until there was nothing left between them. He took a moment to register how strange it was that he had to tiptoe just a bit to align his hips to Steve’s. Steve raised his leg and wrapped it around Bucky’s hip, pulling him closer, getting some friction between them.

“Please,” Steve whined, voice strained high as Bucky’s lips spread across his chest.

“I just want a taste of you first,” Bucky whispered, dropping to his knees.

“Oh, God.” Steve’s voice had drained to just outside of a whimper as Bucky took Steve into his hands, memorizing the new feeling of him. His lips trailed soft kisses under Steve’s belly button. For a moment, he leaned back onto his heels, admiring this new skin before his eyes – the changed length of Steve in his hand, the thickness of his thighs, the cords of muscle along his hips.

“How are you my little Stevie?” Bucky asked tenderly, glancing up to see a loving, but quite stimulated expression on Steve’s face. Keeping his eyes up, locked into Steve’s gaze, Bucky pursed his lips to the head of Steve’s cock. He watched as Steve’s mouth fell open, tongue darting around against the inside of his cheek, soundless air moving out in a short breath.

“Fuck,” Steve mouthed, almost silently, pulling his bottom lip into his teeth afterward. Just as Bucky wrapped his lips around the full head of Steve’s cock, he felt Steve shift. Without removing his mouth from Steve, he looked up to see Steve grab something from his uniform pocket and Steve quickly pressed it into Bucky’s hand. Bucky pulled back.

“Steve, wh–” he asked, looking at the glass jar in his fingers.

“The girl behind the bar,” Steve replied hurriedly, a blush under his cheeks.

“Fucking godsend, that girl behind the bar,” Bucky laughed, pulling Steve fully into his mouth without a single warning. The sound ripped from Steve’s throat was nearly a shout – it only spurred Bucky to swallow Steve deeper, humming all the while. First, Bucky slipped his hand underneath Steve’s thigh, lifting it over his shoulder.

“Buck,” Steve said, voice trembling as he took a preparatory breath. Bucky dipped his fingers into the jar, Steve’s cock still buried in his throat. His slicked fingers moved along Steve’s skin – Bucky shifted Steve’s weight on his shoulder to spread his legs further and Steve slid down the wall a little lower. Bucky paused, circling the tight muscle deep in Steve’s skin with his finger.

As if sensing his hesitation, Steve spoke. “Bucky, please.” Bucky slowly drove his finger forward. In response, Steve made an unusual sound, one that Bucky had never heard him make. As he looked up, he saw Steve raise his head toward the ceiling, letting that strange sound escape from his lungs in a drawn-out breath. His fingernails dug into the wall behind him – Bucky took Steve’s hand, moving his fingers into Bucky’s dark hair. Steve instantly curled a fist into it.

Bucky swallowed hard, pressing into Steve up to the knuckle and watching the way it changed Steve from the giant Army man he was downstairs with Peggy into the delicate boy with a filthy mouth that Bucky remembered from Brooklyn.

“Fuck,” Steve panted, arching off the wall and pressing down against Bucky’s hand. “More.”

“More?” Bucky repeated, mumbling against the tip of Steve’s cock so that it didn’t slip from his mouth. Steve looked down, breath moving fast, in and out of his chest. He nodded. “Jesus.”

Carefully, Bucky added another finger, slipping them slowly into Steve. He was so concentrated on the movement of his hands and on the shameless, throaty hums burrowing up from Steve’s lungs that he didn’t realize he was only absently mouthing at the soft, pink head of Steve’s cock. Or that he had begun to grind his bare hips against Steve’s calf. Steve didn’t seem to mind – the moans from deep in his throat only grew louder. Bucky wondered if they could hear him downstairs, in the silent breaks between songs. He almost wished they could.

Watching Steve writhe and dip desperately against his fingers, listening to him breathlessly pant Bucky’s name, feeling him pulse between Bucky’s teeth – every second had Bucky aching that much more urgently, especially after all the time they’d spent apart. Gently, Bucky let his fingers slip from within Steve, pulled Steve from his mouth, words on his lips as soon as they were empty.

“I need to –” Steve interrupted him, knowing.

“Yes. Please.” His voice quivered, his fingers in Bucky’s hair did the same. With a grateful moan, Bucky buried his face into Steve’s thigh, biting and sucking.

“My God,” Bucky groaned into Steve’s skin, softly kissing the dark, purple mark he’d left behind before he stood, sliding his hand underneath Steve’s thigh. With arms tensed at Steve’s legs, he suddenly went still, shoulders sagging. His head fell hard onto Steve’s collarbone.

“What is it?” Steve asked, voice clouded in concern.

Bucky let out a sharp, bitter laugh. “I can’t hold you up anymore, Stevie.” His voice quivered, just a bit, and a soft, remorseful whimper followed from Steve’s lips.

“I didn’t …” Steve started, voice full of regret. And Bucky couldn’t stand to hear it. It didn’t matter that Steve outweighed him, didn’t matter that he didn’t need Bucky to carry his spare inhaler, didn’t matter that he didn’t need Bucky to carry him up the stairs. Sure, Bucky would miss it – he would miss all the things that had given him an excuse to be close to Steve in the first place, but he didn’t need those things anymore, anyway. All he needed was Steve.

“Doesn’t matter,” Bucky’s voice rumbled as he planted his feet resolutely. He gripped Steve by the shoulders and spun him, planting his face hard against the wall. Steve let out a loud, labored grunt – it faded out into a low groan, growing lower as Bucky tilted Steve’s head back.

“Buck.” Steve’s voice sounded surprised.

“I guess I don’t have to be gentle with you anymore, do I? Unless you want me to be.”

“No,” Steve snapped immediately. “No. Not right now.” Bucky’s fingers traced the foreign lines of Steve’s back, muscular and firm, as his gaze landed on a fresh wound that stretched across his left shoulder. As Bucky ghosted his fingertips over the broken skin, Steve flinched slightly.

“Is this from today?” Bucky asked, pressing soft kisses at the inflamed skin around the vicious gash in Steve’s skin. Steve nodded, finding Bucky’s hand and pulling it around his waist.

“You don’t have to baby me anymore, Buck,” Steve laughed softly, pressing Bucky’s hand low on his stomach as Bucky’s lips traveled over his shoulder, along his neck.

“Oh. I kinda like the way you say that,” Bucky purred against the spine of Steve’s ear, using the resultant shudder he’d caused to pull away for just a moment. Before Steve could turn, Bucky’s fingers, suddenly warm and slick, spread out until they felt Steve’s erect skin underneath them.

Steve took in a breath. “You like the way I say everything tonight.” He tried to laugh, but Bucky shifted his wrist, with Steve’s cock in his fingers, and it all fell out as breath.

“Don’t get me wrong, I like the new you just fine.” Using his tongue to lead, Bucky wrapped his lips around Steve’s ear, breathing out heavy through his nostrils. “But your voice, Stevie.” With his free hand, he slicked himself up, against Steve, curving his hips up against him.

“Jesus, fuck,” Steve breathed out, letting his head fall back.

“Your voice is the same as always.” A hard swallow in his throat, Bucky guided the length of his cock between Steve’s legs, and Steve widened his stance a bit more, bent his knees a bit more.

“And how is my voice?” He reached back and gripped hard onto Bucky’s thigh, fingernails digging into Bucky’s skin as Bucky slid his wet cock just underneath Steve’s ass.

“Your voice,” Bucky started, situating the head of his cock to Steve’s entrance. The expectant breath that Steve took in through pursed lips sounded chopped, grated. “Your voice is softer than it should be.” Slowly, he pressed just the tip into Steve and Steve let out the same breath through his teeth. “Especially now that it’s in this … body,” Bucky groaned, biting down onto Steve’s uninjured shoulder as he pushed a little further, trying hard to hold himself back.

“You’re just mad that I’m bigger than you,” Steve laughed breathlessly. Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s cock and Steve’s laugh dissolved into a full, cursing moan.

“No, I’m really starting to fucking like this body, Stevie. God, do I like it.” His mouth explored all the curves of Steve’s broad shoulder, his hips finally just became flush with Steve’s.

“Prove it,” Steve taunted, using Bucky’s own words to rile him up.

“Baby, if this right here doesn’t prove it …” Bucky’s voice rose and broke as he thrust as far into Steve as he could, pressing Steve’s face harder against the wall.

“Ohh,” Steve groaned. “You were right, I do like the way you say that.”

“Baby?” Bucky breathed out against Steve’s skin and Steve made an indecent sound, throwing his hips back against Bucky’s. “You into pet names?”

“From you? God, yes,” Steve mouthed against the faded wallpaper, his hand moving up from Bucky’s thigh to his hip. His fingertips pressed into Bucky’s skin, trying to force Bucky to move faster, to get him to thrust harder. Bucky let out a deep, slow breath against the back of Steve’s neck, kissing wide and wet as he let his hips find a rhythm.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” Bucky panted against Steve’s skin, giving Steve an overly heavy shove with his hips. With the hand that wasn’t stroking Steve’s cock, he let his fingers explore the slopes of Steve’s waist, trace the valleys within his hips.

“Dammit, Buck, I wish …” Steve started on an inward breath, the air rushing in making his voice sound higher, breathier. His head fell backward, craning back to fall against Bucky’s shoulder.

“It doesn’t matter now. It doesn’t matter,” Bucky assured Steve in a whisper, nuzzling his unshaven cheek against Steve’s face before kissing across Steve’s neck.

“If I had lost you today,” Steve began again, and again, Bucky hushed him.

“You didn’t. You never will.”  After planting a tender, feather-light kiss into Steve’s hair, at the base of his skull, Bucky sent another thrust deep into Steve’s hips, coupled with another upward shift of his wrist. He mirrored the movement of his hips to that of his fingers.

“Oh, Christ, Buck.” Steve’s voice was raised to nearly a howl, Bucky was only vaguely aware that they were undoubtedly hearing him from downstairs, but his focus on Steve was too absolute for him to care. With his lips to Steve’s shoulder blade, listening to the graphic sounds of Steve moaning his name, feeling the wet heat of Steve’s muscles contracting around his cock and within his hand, a sumptuous, uninhibitedly satisfied moan slipped from his throat.

“Fuck, Stevie, fuck,” Bucky groaned, getting through a few more heaves of his hips before he came, shuddering and cursing and biting and trying to keep it quiet. 

“Oh, God, yes,” Steve growled, clearly feeling the weight and tremors of Bucky’s orgasm, from deep within him and flittering across the plane of his skin. Without removing himself from Steve, Bucky slumped against his back, continuing to work Steve with his hand.

“Those sounds you’re making, Stevie,” Bucky hummed into his skin, pushing his chest harder against Steve’s back, despite the slick sweat pooling between them. “They’re fucking obscene.” As Steve leaned his head back, Bucky slipped his tongue into Steve’s ear, his breath thick and rumbling, and Steve plummeted over a very fine edge.

“Fuck.” The word drew from Steve’s mouth long and slow and heavy as Bucky felt him come, throbbing within his fingers, a wet warmth quickly covering them.

“God damn,” Bucky remarked, breath slipping from his open mouth, enthralled with watching Steve fall apart underneath his hands. Finally, he let himself slip out from within Steve, both of them letting out a small, empty whine at the loss of the warmth and pressure of the other.

As Steve turned, Bucky pulled his hand away, looking down at the sticky mess dripping from his fingers for only a moment before glancing at Steve underneath dark lashes. With an indecent grin under a single raised brow, Steve took Bucky by the wrist and drew him close, holding him tightly against his chest as he buried his tongue in Bucky’s mouth.

“Mm,” Steve hummed within the kiss. Bucky opened his eyes just enough to watch Steve furrow his eyebrows, taking in a very deep breath, as if breathing in the memory of Bucky’s kiss.

“Come with me,” Bucky mumbled against Steve’s lips, stepping backward and tugging at Steve’s hips. Of course, Steve followed without question. Bucky led them into a small, adjoining bathroom – he ran his hands and a washcloth underneath freezing water. “Grit your teeth,” he told Steve with a cocky smirk, wrapping the ice-cold rag around Steve’s cock.

Steve sucked in a breath through clenched teeth. He closed one eye, playfully snarling his lip as he glared at Bucky. “You’re such an ass.” Bucky winked as he cleaned the two of them.

When he finished, he led Steve back into the bedroom, flicking off the already dim, yellow light coming from the single hanging bulb above their heads. There was a blanket on the armchair in the corner – Bucky wrapped himself up in it but held it open, taking Steve into his arms.

“Better?” he laughed, rubbing his hands along Steve’s shivering, naked skin.

“Better,” Steve smiled, tilting his head to coax Bucky into another deep kiss. Somewhere in the middle of the kiss, Bucky let himself fall backward onto the mattress, dragging Steve with him.

As Steve’s immense weight rested on him fully for the first time, Bucky grunted. “Jesus, you’re heavy. What do they feed you?” Steve’s laugh was loud and sharp, but honest and pure.

“Illegal experimental serums,” he replied, shifting his weight to lay next to Bucky as Bucky laughed noisily, peppering Steve’s face with delicate kisses.

“God, I love you.”

As soon as he said it, his throat clenched – he hadn’t exactly intended to say it out loud, but he certainly meant it. Steven Grant Rogers was the only thing in his life he’d ever been this sure of. The only thing that had changed was the outside, but had it changed.

Because Bucky had first fallen in love with that little punk from Brooklyn who only broke 100 pounds if you pulled him from the East River, sopping wet. He’d fallen in love with the kid who he could cart around on his back all the way up multiple flights of stairs to their apartment. He’d first kissed that 5-foot-4 boy that he had to crane down to even reach his lips.

But he’d also fallen in love with the brave heart who dangled dangerously from their fire escape to save the kitten hanging from the window of the apartment adjacent to theirs. He loved the daredevil who stood from the edge of the roof to get just the right view of the right stars in his favorite constellations. And Bucky had fallen hopelessly in love with the artist who sketched the beauty in everything, with a smile on his lips, despite a devastating world.

So, it didn’t matter if Steve was different on the outside. He was always going to be that kid from Brooklyn. He would always be the hopeful illustrator. He would always be the one Bucky loved. If Bucky knew nothing else, he knew this. He would love Steve for the rest of his life.

As soon as the words had escaped Bucky’s lips, Steve took in a sharp breath in the dark, his hands tensing against Bucky’s ribs. The look on his face in the little moonlight coming in from the covered window behind the mattress reminded Bucky of the look on Steve’s face the night before Bucky was shipped out. The night that Bucky had first kissed him. Back then, just as now, Bucky couldn’t tell if it was panic in his expression, or surprise, or delight. Maybe all three.

The silence, though surely shorter than Bucky felt it was, was suffocating. Of course, he didn’t want Steve to feel pressured to say something he wasn’t prepared to say. It made no difference if Steve said it back, or if Steve even felt the same, at that moment. Bucky loved him. He loved what they were together. Even if Steve didn’t want to label it, Bucky knew he felt it, too.

To kill the quiet, Bucky kissed him, nestling deeply into his arms. Just as he started to go senseless, lost to the hypnotic motion of Steve’s tongue, the warmth of his plush lips, Steve wrenched away. His eyes were wide, reflecting in the emptiness of the surrounding room.

“Do you mean it?” Bucky was so taken aback by the question that he paused, blinking absently – it probably felt like a very long pause to Steve.

“Yeah. I’m fucking crazy about you.” The smile on Steve’s face was almost like relief.

“I’ve been wanting to say that to you for so long,” he laughed softly. “But I didn’t want to tell you if … I didn’t want to make it –” Bucky interrupted.

“Steve,” he said, settling his lips lightly over Steve’s. “Say it to me.” Steve’s smile brightened the dark room.

“Bucky, I love you so much. So much.”

-----------------------

It was the longest memory – dream, rather – that Bucky had so far. All so vivid, it took a long time, behind tightly closed eyes, to remind Bucky that it hadn’t been real. He hadn’t made love to Steve in that bar in Italy. In reality, Steve had probably been with Peggy that night.

Opening his eyes to a blank, white wall, doused in early sunlight, he remembered he was in Steve’s room. But Steve was not in the bed next to him. He let out a short breath, grateful that he wasn’t as vocal about these dreams as he was about the nightmares. Before he could turn to find Steve, he realized he couldn’t hear him in the room at all. When he finally did turn, he discovered an empty room. Steve’s sketch book was lying open on the desk across from the bed.

Momentarily, Bucky paused, glancing around the room as if looking for some invisible force to give him permission to rifle through Steve’s personal memories. Because Steve had always drawn what was close to him. Before the war, Steve had filled an entire notebook with just portraits of Bucky at different times of the day.

Ultimately granting the permission to himself, he reached over and tugged at the corner of the notebook, pulling it into his lap as he sat up. The first page was a work in progress – Bucky, as he slept, with his right arm slung over his eyes, his dark hair sprawled out onto the blank canvas underneath it.  If he remembered right, that was one of Steve’s favorite moments to draw – in sleep, when his subject was unguarded and bare.

The next few pages were of his time in Wakanda. The view of the landscape from Steve’s window, T’Challa facing away, all broad shoulders with his hands folded behind him, a portrait of Shuri laughing animatedly with a scrawled quote, in Shuri’s handwriting, that Bucky didn’t understand the reference for – ‘Draw me like one of your French girls.’ Whatever reference it was, Steve had written a large ‘VERY FUNNY SHURI’ in response.

After these pages followed some portraits of the friends who had fought on his side, and some who had initially fought against them, in the fight with Stark. Sam was there, pursing his lips like he knew Steve had been drawing him, and Bucky was oddly pleased to see his face, to see the smile in his eyes. There was one of Wanda, propping her head up with her palm. The one of Nat showed her smiling, as well, which was rather rare, and a message at the bottom that read ‘You’re dead to me.’ There were more of people Bucky knew, but couldn’t recall the names of.

When he turned further, he was surprised to see more portraits of himself. Many more, in fact. One of him in his Army uniform, hat cocked to one side. Another that looked like it was from the memory of when Steve saved him from the Hydra base – Bucky’s face was dirty, his hair was disheveled, his shirt was open down to the middle of his chest. At first, Bucky grinned at the memory of that night. The night he and Steve had spent together in the spare bedroom above a rundown bar in Italy. Until he turned the page, reminding himself that it hadn’t been a memory.

Because there, on the very next page, was a portrait of Peggy – her hair was curled up, her eyes were shining, and that seductive curve was there in the corner of her full lips. The ache that tore through Bucky’s chest was immeasurable and devastating. It was obvious by the way he drew her – Steve had been so in love with Peggy. The way Bucky was in love with him.

The door to Steve’s room opened and Bucky looked up. The smile on Steve’s face faded a bit when he looked from Bucky’s expression to his open notebook in Bucky’s hands. Bucky knew what his expression had to look like – it couldn’t look like anything but heartbreak.

“You’re up,” Steve said, at the same moment that Bucky apologized. “Don’t be sorry, Bucky. You’re in there more than anyone else, anyway.” There was a strangely soft smile on Steve’s face that made the ache in Bucky’s chest bloom into a flutter.

Just as Bucky had started to reply, Steve’s phone began to ring in his pocket. The first expression on his face was mild panic. With what was going on in his life, terror about the safety of his friends was probably always on the forefront of his mind. But he took a breath and answered nonetheless. Calm washed over his face when he realized it was just a ‘checking-in’ call.

However, when he answered, he did so in French, a language that Steve definitely hadn’t been fluent in before the war. Or during the war, for that matter. At that time, Bucky hadn’t been fluent in French either. In fact, he only spoke French because of Hydra. A fact Steve didn’t know.

- (French dialogue italicized) -

“Hi, Nat,” Steve answered, voice low. Did he and Nat always speak in French? Was it due to Nat’s inherent suspicious nature from her time spent as a spy? Bucky could barely even hear that she replied at all before Steve was speaking again.

“Because I know you’re calling to talk about the person I’m in the room with and I know you’re going to try to force me to say something incriminating, so I’m correcting for that ahead of time,” Steve said in a single outward breath. Their French had nothing to do with Nat’s paranoia and more with Steve’s. If Bucky wasn’t so interested in what Steve would say about him, he would have laughed out loud, giving himself away. As long as he stayed silent, he might find out what exactly Steve meant by incriminating.

“No, I haven’t technically told him.” It took an insane amount of willpower for Bucky not to look up at Steve as soon as he’d said those words. What was it that Steve was supposed to have told him? “There’s a lot of other shit we have to work through first.”

“Language,” Bucky said, in French, but under his breath, with a smirk splashed across his lips. He said it in Sam’s place, if nothing else. Luckily, Steve only glanced up, eyebrows slightly furrowed, but over an amused expression. Bucky just shook his head. “Nothing. Just talking to myself.” Steve paused for a moment, listening to Nat’s side of the conversation. Bucky desperately wished he could hear through the phone. It would certainly ease a lot of his anxiety.

“I don’t know, Nat. Should I even tell him? If he remembered, wouldn’t he …” Steve trailed off, as if he were trying to think of the right thing to say. Nat’s response must have been brief, Steve was speaking again after only a moment. “God, not at all,” he sighed – it burrowed out through Steve’s lips, bordering desperate and wanting. The sound of it sent Bucky right back into that bar in Italy. The bar where Steve had almost definitely danced with Peggy and not him.

For a split second, Steve glanced up at him and Bucky automatically met his gaze. “I really don’t think that’s the case,” Steve said, swallowing hard, not looking away. It was hard enough to listen to Steve speak French, but to have him speak it while watching Bucky with that look on his face was dangerous. A breath rose up in Bucky’s throat, poised to become voice.

Before Bucky could speak, a blush flourished across Steve’s cheeks and he looked away, hissing into the phone. “Jesus, Nat.” Just after he said it, he paused for a suspiciously lengthy period for a phone conversation. “Almost constantly.” Another glance in Bucky’s direction.

He continued, after what had to be another question from Nat. “It’s not … if anything, I’m the one pushing it.” Bucky nearly let his gaze snap up to meet Steve’s, but he stopped halfway, holding his focus on the corner of the bed. What exactly was he supposed to be pushing? Was this whole conversation about him, or had they moved onto other topics? No, he was almost positive they hadn’t. Everything Steve said had to be in response to a question Nat posed about Bucky.

“Oh, God,” Steve moaned softly. No amount of restraint was left to keep Bucky’s attention away from Steve. From watching his throat tighten, from seeing the way his eyes fluttered closed, from listening to the groans in his chest. “A little,” he said, his voice inflecting upward, like the answer had become the question. “I got carried away last night.”

Suddenly, Bucky had the answer to his prior uncertainty. This was about him, about both of them, about him and Steve. Because it was only last night that Bucky had been straddled over Steve, trying to convince him that Bucky’s fall hadn’t been Steve’s fault. That his capture by Hydra hadn’t been Steve’s fault. It was only last night that Steve had buried his face in the curve of Bucky’s neck, breathing him in. It was only last night that Steve told Bucky he loved him.

After a very long break in the conversation, Steve answered another question with a ‘no’, followed by another charged silence, ending with a ‘kind of.’ God, what Bucky wouldn’t have given, at that moment, for even a semblance of what was on the other end of this conversation. 

Frustrated, he laid back down on the bed, drawing Steve’s attention instantly. Knowing Steve’s eyes were scattering over his still-bare skin, Bucky arched up away from the mattress a little, stretching his arm above his head. A tiny breath slipped from Steve’s lips, just before he whispered a hesitant, “Well,” into the phone, his voice trailing. Even from the distance, Bucky could hear the shrill tones of Natasha responding. Loudly.

Steve answered with “Yeah, he did,” glancing over at Bucky. As he did, Bucky met his stare, but Steve’s focus drifted, eyes rolling down Bucky’s bare skin. And Bucky was sure, absolutely sure that Steve knew Bucky was watching him do it. In other words, he did it with purpose.

Another half-audible snippet from Nat’s end. “I can’t,” he replied softly, turning his attention back to the phone. “He’s sitting in the room with me.” It took all the effort Bucky had left not to let his expression give him away. What did Natasha ask Steve to do that he couldn’t do with Bucky in the room? Suddenly, Steve’s eyes widened, teeth clenched. “Oh, shit. What if he does?”

There was no reply that Bucky could hear from the other end. With furrowed brows, Steve pulled the phone back to see that the call had ended.

“She hung up on me,” he said, still in French, with amusement in his voice. For a moment, Bucky considered replying back in French, just to see the shock on Steve’s face. More than likely, Steve was testing him, to see if Bucky would respond, indicating he’d understood everything.

“You’re still in French,” Bucky instead replied, in English. The look that Steve returned was complex – partly disappointed, partly suspicious, partly something that Bucky couldn’t name.

“Sorry,” Steve grinned, running one hand through the hair that had fallen into his face, pushing it back up past his forehead. Bucky watched his movement with dedication.

“Everything alright?” he asked, knowingly, taking Steve by the wrist and pulling him back down onto the bed with him. Steve’s expression became a little clearer, a little less of that something that Bucky couldn’t name. No, it was something Bucky knew the name of quite well.

“Yep. Just … checking in.”

“So, what’s happening on the home-front?” Bucky asked, smile behind his lips as he made room on the bed for Steve to lie next to him. He did, propping his head up in his hand.

“Whole lot of nothing.” Steve misdirected his answer with a shrug. A shrug that couldn’t hide the truth on his face – that Steve had actually spent the whole time talking about Bucky and didn’t really know what was going on with Natasha in the slightest.  

“French, huh?” Bucky asked, feigning ignorance. “When did you learn that?”

Steve turned down the corners of his mouth in thought. “During a long mission with Nat. Mostly for the mission, mostly because there wasn’t much else to do.”

“Easy for you to pick up, though. Your mom spoke a little, right?” Bucky asked. A soft, sad smile crossed over Steve’s lips as he nodded, curling his fingers into his hair. 

“You can blame her for my annoying little catch phrase,” he laughed, giving Bucky an unguarded wink as he spoke, to which Bucky stifled down a rise in his brow.

The thought had been formulating in Bucky’s mind for a little while. With the way Steve spoke to him, the way Steve looked at him, the way Steve held him – there was something there that wasn’t something that was between most friends. It wasn’t something that was between Steve and Sam, not something that was between Steve and T’Challa. Steve didn’t treat anyone the way he treated Bucky. The only thing Bucky wasn’t totally sure of was why.

Was it their history? Was it because they had grown up together? Because they had shared a bed for half their lives? If not, then what? The only other plausible explanation was that Steve felt for Bucky the same things he felt for him. That maybe Bucky’s dreams weren’t quite fictional. There was no way for Bucky to know which it was unless he actively tried to find out.

But he couldn’t bring himself to ask it outright. What he could do? Let himself be completely free around Steve Rogers. At least, within reason. Sure, most of the things he wanted to do to Steve weren’t things he could just do without provocation. But not all of them. He wanted to hold Steve to his chest, to run his fingers through Steve’s hair, to bury himself in the company of Steve’s arms. If Steve would let him, he could do those things.

So, he went for it. With his right hand, he brushed the blonde hair from Steve’s eyes, letting his fingers trace down the side of Steve’s face. “You didn’t sleep, did you?”

With Bucky’s hand against his cheek, Steve’s struggle to keep from reveling in the touch was obvious – his eyelids fluttered slightly as he tried to keep them open. “Not really.”

“Come here,” Bucky grumbled, slipping his hand around Steve’s neck and pulling him in. Steve shifted forward, closer to Bucky. When he did, Bucky turned onto his back, pulling Steve up over his chest. At first, Steve seemed surprised, his eyes widening, jaw clenched.

“Buck,” he said on a heavy breath.

“After you pulled me out of my nightmare last night, you fell asleep on top of me.” Pink rushed through Steve’s cheeks. “And you seemed to sleep better.”

Steve sighed. “I did.” With a nod, Bucky let his head fall back onto the pillow underneath it. Bravely – or foolishly, he wasn’t quite sure which yet – Bucky shifted, moving some of Steve’s lower weight between his legs, recognizing how badly it could go, but caring very little.

“Am I the reason you’re not sleeping?” Bucky asked, absently moving his hand from the back of Steve’s neck and carding it through his hair. The breath that fell from Steve’s lips was warm against Bucky’s bare skin – Bucky had to grit his teeth to keep from reacting to it.

“No,” Steve said quickly, the movement of his lips brushing against Bucky’s ribs. With his fingertip, he drew soft, wide circles out over the curve of Bucky’s waist.

“Don’t lie to me, Stevie.”

“It’s not you, Buck.” His voice was quiet, deep. “I’ve always slept better next to you.”

“Something is keeping you up.” It felt like Steve pressed his face harder against Bucky’s skin, Bucky could feel Steve’s eyelashes brush lightly against him as Steve blinked slowly.

An easy laugh bubbled up through Steve’s lips. “The truth is so pathetic.”

“I really doubt that.” Steve spoke before Bucky could even finish, the movement of his mouth causing his beard to scratch delicately against Bucky’s stomach.

“I’ve spent so much time without you. I don’t want to waste any more.” His voice dropped low, like he was whispering his secret into Bucky’s skin. The confession sent a sharp, stinging ache into Bucky’s heart, just underneath where Steve laid his head, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. It was tight, and it was searing, and it was full of sorrow. But it was whole. And it was Steve.

Without thinking, with his fingers dancing at the back of Steve’s neck, Bucky placed his lips firmly against the top of Steve’s head, burying them into Steve’s hair. He kept them there.

“We’re together now, Stevie,” he mumbled into Steve’s hair. “You’ll never be without me again.” Steve’s fingers brushing against Bucky’s waist curled into a tighter grip. His hand seemed to fight with the rest of him about where it wanted to go. Bucky could feel the muscles of Steve’s jaw clench against his skin, but he wasn’t sure was emotion drove the tension.

“Do you remember this?” Steve asked, his hand finally sliding up over Bucky’s ribs. “Sleeping together like this in our apartment in Brooklyn?”

“You know I do.” Bucky let himself smile. “I was just talking about it. It was the night before I left for basic and our heat went out. We piled every blanket in the apartment on my bed.”  

A soft laugh fell from Steve’s lips onto Bucky’s skin. “We woke up drenched in sweat,” he sighed nostalgically, and Bucky wasn’t sure if the direct touch of his lips was intentional or not.

“I almost missed the bus,” Bucky hummed, remembering how hard it had been to pull himself away from Steve that morning. He had told Steve that he had never slept so well, but the truth was, he’d hardly slept at all. The night began with a very indecent dream about the boy sleeping next to him and ended with Bucky savoring the way Steve clutched onto him as he slept, memorizing Steve’s face as the starlight changed to sunrise.

“What was it I said to you just before you left?” Steve asked, craning his neck to look up at Bucky, hopeful expectance in his eyes, in his voice, in his skin. Bucky swallowed hard. He could remember exactly what Steve had said to him that morning. He could remember the terrified look on his face, he could remember the way he knotted his hands in the blankets on the bed.

As he replied, Bucky slid his hand down Steve’s spine. “You told me to write every day.” A shadow filled the blue of Steve’s eyes. “You said you didn’t know what you’d do without me.”

The tightening of Steve’s jaw reverberated into Bucky’s stomach. “And what did you say back to me?” It was almost like he was testing the validity of Bucky’s memories. If only Bucky could test some of his other memories. That would have to wait.

“I swore I would come back,” Bucky said, swallowing his guilt. “That we’d grow old together.” Suddenly, part of that memory that Bucky hadn’t recalled sprang into the forefront of his mind. The very next thing he had done, just after he spoke those words.

“And then you …” Steve started, but Bucky interrupted.

“And then I kissed you,” he said on a full, emptying breath. It wasn’t a kiss like the ones Bucky dreamed they had shared, like the one that ended with them panting for breath on an old, ratty sofa. No, this kiss had probably seemed innocent. He had pressed his lips against Steve’s forehead, holding it for longer than he knew would be considered normal, but couldn’t force himself to pull away any sooner. He had kissed Steve knowing it may have been the only time he would. Knowing that Steve might find someone and settle down while Bucky was away.   

“You remember,” Steve sighed, the light flashing back into his eyes. If there was any time that he could get away with having his lips to Steve’s skin, it was this. With his hand to the back of Steve’s neck, Bucky leaned in and kissed Steve’s forehead. Just like the first time, he didn’t pull away as quickly as he should have. Steve didn’t pull away, either.

“I remember,” he replied, relishing the warmth of Steve’s skin under his lips. “I’m sorry I didn’t keep my promise.” Steve rose his eyebrows, wrinkling his forehead, moving Bucky’s lips.

“We still have time to grow old together, Buck.” An expected yawn burst from his mouth, despite the way he bared his teeth and clenched his jaw to keep it in.

“Sleep, Stevie,” Bucky smiled, pulling his fingers through Steve’s hair again. He leaned back into Bucky’s touch, his eyes fighting to stay open.

“I’d rather stay awake with you.” Defeated by his own exhaustion, he laid his head sideways on Bucky’s chest, so that he could keep looking up at him.

“I’ll make you a deal,” Bucky said with a smirk, knowing he was about to get himself into serious trouble. “Sleep now, then we can do anything you want when you wake up.”

A single eyebrow rose on Steve’s face. “Anything I want.” Bucky swallowed an innuendo. 

“Anything.”

“You realize that makes me want to stay up more.” The look in Steve’s eyes was usually concealed when it came to topics like this – he usually worked very hard to keep his feelings close to his chest, making sure nobody could read into anything. This look was nothing like that. It was so clear, in fact, that Bucky had to convince himself that it wasn’t the look he thought it was.

“Only works if you sleep first.” Lack of sleep made Steve less inhibited, and it showed. He darted his tongue out, curling it back against his bottom lip and then sucking them both into his teeth. The way Steve was nestling down in between his legs was not helping.

“Goddammit,” he muttered. Another yawn slipped past his lips. “Don’t you dare leave.”

“I’ll be right here,” Bucky promised. With Steve’s weight fully on top of him, it wasn’t like he could go anywhere. Sure, he could lift him, but not without waking him up.

“I love you, you know,” Steve mumbled, and Bucky had to wonder if he was purposefully angling his face so that his lips would brush against Bucky’s skin. For a moment, Bucky hesitated, waiting to hear the song of Steve’s even breath stir the air between his lips.

With a sigh, he whispered. “I love you so much, Stevie.”

It could have been days that had passed since Steve fell asleep on top of him, and Bucky wouldn’t have known. The whole time Steve slept, Bucky laid completely still, content to take in the satisfied breaths that Steve let out in his sleep, the pressure of Steve’s expanding chest with every deep inhalation, the way Steve’s hands found new places to rest on Bucky’s skin.

And they definitely found new places. As Steve had fallen asleep, his hands had been firmly wrapped around Bucky’s waist, tucked underneath him. For the first hour or so, they had stayed there. It seemed Steve was too tired to move, even in his sleep. The longer he slept, however, the more he dreamed, as far as Bucky could tell, and the more he wriggled. His weight shifted off to the side, lying with one leg slung over Bucky’s hip, his head nestled into the empty space of Bucky’s left shoulder. Inaudible words were whispered through tight lips, fingers strayed over borders that he wouldn’t have thought to cross while awake. His movements were often so deliberate that Bucky had to lean in to find out if Steve was truly asleep.

The last of Steve’s parade of volatile touches had his fingers low on Bucky’s hip, tucked into the waistband of another pair of Steve’s shorts that Bucky had borrowed. It was innocent enough that Bucky didn’t feel the need to move him right away. Not to mention, he certainly wasn’t uncomfortable with the extra contact. Drowsiness had just begun to fall over Bucky’s eyes when Steve’s hand shifted, sliding across Bucky’s waist, still underneath the elastic. Bucky swallowed the sharp breath that he sucked in through his teeth, trying to remain still, trying to remain quiet.

For a moment, Steve was calm again. Bucky argued fervently with himself about moving Steve’s hand. If Steve were to wake up, his fingers inches away from being indecent, he might get back in the jet and never come back. Before Bucky could decide, Steve drew his fingers into a fist, holding them over the drawstring of Bucky’s shorts. Outside of his shorts. Bucky sighed, though he wasn’t sure if it was from relief or disappointment.

The sharp gasp returned to Bucky’s throat when Steve opened his mouth and settled his teeth onto Bucky’s skin, just above his nipple. An indelicate, throaty breath fell from Steve’s lips as his bite turned into mindless mouthing at Bucky’s chest – half kissing, half devouring.

It went on a little longer than Bucky intended, Steve’s kisses growing wider, wetter as Bucky’s skin grew more flushed, blood rushing down to his hips. Bucky tried ordering himself to stop it, but, of course, he didn’t listen. Not right away. Before he could force himself to act, Steve’s hand quickly slipped down between Bucky’s legs, cupping him hard over the fabric.

With Steve’s name on his lips, with every intent to wake him and let him feel Bucky pulsing desperately underneath his fingers, a soft knock came to Steve’s door. Immediately, Bucky tensed, but it didn’t unsettle Steve’s grip at all. In fact, Steve began to unsettle it himself, curling around the imprint of Bucky and shifting his wrist. Bucky let out a hard breath. 

“Captain Rogers?” Bucky heard from outside the door.

“Shit,” Bucky hissed. It was Shuri. There wasn’t a thing Bucky could do to get out of this situation safely. Either he woke Steve, who would be absolutely mortified to realize that he’d ultimately been giving Bucky a hand-job in his sleep, or Shuri was going to come into the room and find it out for herself, which would wake Steve anyway. As a last resort, Bucky yanked a pile of blankets over the top of them, just as Shuri peeked into the room. Steve didn’t stir.

Bucky immediately held up his hand, eyes wide. Don’t come in, Shuri, please don’t come into the room. At first, Shuri tensed, recognizing that Steve was asleep. Her expression rapidly changed, mouth falling open for only a moment, before she pursed her lips shut. With a shake of his head, and a wild expression, Bucky drew his finger across his throat. Don’t you dare wake him.

“Are you kidding me?” she whispered through her teeth, hanging onto the door frame, but not daring come any closer. Bucky was immensely relieved. “Look at you!” If only she knew what was going on underneath the surface. Bucky had to raise his knees slightly to tent the blankets so that Shuri wouldn’t see the movement of Steve’s hand, as it remained between Bucky’s legs.

“He’s asleep. Shut up.” He could feel the deep blush on his face.

“This man is in love with you, Sergeant Barnes,” she huffed quietly.

“You don’t know that.” At the worst possible moment, Steve burrowed his lips further into Bucky’s skin, letting out a very vulgar breath that sounded a lot like Bucky’s name. Shuri’s hand flew up to cover her mouth and the laugh that bubbled up from it.

“Yes, I do. You’re the only one who doesn’t.”

“I don’t think Steve knows it,” he argued, just as Steve’s hand, with Bucky half-inside it, stopped torturing him. It moved back up to a place on Bucky’s stomach that was less obscene, and Bucky felt some of his muscles start to unclench. Shuri opened her mouth to argue, but Bucky interrupted. “Is there something you need, Princess?” She grinned at the swift topic change.

“It’s mother’s birthday today and we’re throwing her a party this evening.” She looked more at Steve as she spoke, as if trying to determine if he actually was asleep. “My brother wanted me to tell you that you are both welcome to attend. You still have plenty of time to get … ready.”

“Tell T’Challa we’ll be there.” Without warning, Steve’s hand slipped underneath the waist of Bucky’s shorts, driving forward with purpose. His fingers had just brushed gently against the tip of Bucky’s achingly erect skin when Bucky shot his hand forward to catch it, gripping Steve’s wrist tightly from outside the blanket. A desperate sort of whine slipped unexpectedly through Bucky’s lips, and he prayed Shuri didn’t notice it. Any of it. The rise in her eyebrow told him otherwise. She narrowed her eyes in his direction as Bucky clenched his teeth.

“Enjoy your … nap, Sergeant.”

“It’s Bucky,” he whispered loudly as Shuri closed the door. Of all the things that could’ve woken Steve, Bucky’s failed attempt to whisper was what did it. Steve’s hand was still slightly buried in Bucky’s clothes, still slightly between Bucky’s legs. Bucky shifted his weight while bringing Steve’s hand up to his waist, hoping that Steve wouldn’t notice the difference in movement.

“How long was I out?” Steve asked, squinting up at Bucky. He hadn’t noticed a thing.

“A while, I think. I was in and out, myself,” he lied. The truth was he had spent the whole time reveling in Steve’s uninhibited exploration of his skin.

“Did I hear the door?” A yawn pressed through Steve’s teeth, despite his best effort to keep it to himself. So far, he hadn’t bothered unwinding himself from around Bucky’s waist.

“Shuri came by to invite us to a party for the Queen.”

Steve’s eyes grew bright. “Then we need to find you something to wear.”

It was the third suit he’d tried on. Rather, it was the third suit that had been tried on for him, as it was significantly more difficult to put on a full suit with only one arm. Steve had done most of Bucky’s dressing for him. Bucky didn’t even bother asking where Steve had gotten all these nice-looking suits from, but it was a little perplexing, since he was a fugitive and all.

“I think this one is going to look much more like … you,” Steve hummed, tucking the tails of the shirt into the waist of Bucky’s trousers. Bucky tried to take care of the front to save Steve from shoving his hand against Bucky’s crotch (again), but Steve didn’t seem flustered to do it himself.

“Is that some sort of joke?” Bucky laughed, fumbling pointlessly with the button, not at all able to close it with one hand. Steve glanced over, taking the fabric from Bucky’s fingers and latching it effortlessly, though Bucky sucked a breath in to keep Steve from touching as much skin as possible. That was, again, wasted effort, as Steve then zipped him in, not seeming to notice how he brushed less than gently against Bucky, tucked away underneath the layers of fabric. He did notice, however, the way Bucky jerked his head to the ceiling rather quickly afterward.

“Oh, don’t turn this around. You’ve always looked good in black,” Steve huffed. There was no way not to notice the blush on Steve’s cheeks. “Hydra just played to your strengths.”

Bucky let out a loud laugh. “Sure, they put me in that getup to make me look cute.” It was actually nice to talk about his days as the Winter Soldier with Steve like this. To taunt Hydra and make them out to be nothing more than a group of idiots instead of the torturers and murderers that Bucky knew they were. Belittling them made them seem less nightmarish.

“I’m not saying they did,” Steve mused, corners of his mouth turned down in thought. “But they certainly didn’t try not to.” The smile on Bucky’s face stretched his cheeks.

“Honestly, even if they’d tried, could they have made me less cute? Kinda hard to do.” For a moment, it was silent, but Bucky felt Steve’s hand fall against his chest, slipping just past the open collar. When he looked over, Steve’s head was thrown back in a laugh so strong, so overwhelmingly full that it was completely noiseless for a moment, before erupting into the loudest, purest laugh that Bucky had ever heard. He took in a sharp, aching breath at the sight.

“I can’t argue with that,” Steve laughed, patting his hand softly against Bucky’s chest, thumbing gently at the inner seam, as the top half of the dress shirt was still unbuttoned. Since they had started trying to find something to wear to this party, Bucky couldn’t help the disgustingly obvious way he reacted every time Steve directly contacted any part of Bucky’s skin. Like the groan he just let out in response to Steve’s fingers slipping through the border of his shirt.

Steve wasn’t an idiot. Bucky knew he noticed it, each time it happened. Of course, Bucky had tried desperately to avoid it, but it was getting harder and harder, inuendo intended. The dreams were one thing, but to have had Steve’s hand between his legs in real time? There was no way Bucky could neutralize the reaction that Steve had started. Instead, Bucky spoke quickly to cover his indiscretion, though Steve’s hand remained on his skin.

“What are you going to wear?” Bucky asked, swallowing. For a moment, Steve didn’t look up – his eyes remained fixed on the movement of his hand, swirling his fingertip over the buttons along the edge of Bucky’s shirt. His eyebrow rose, in acknowledgement that Bucky spoke.

“The blue one,” he replied, voice hollowed out, eyes glazed. “Buck, did I …” he paused, taking a moment to blink, refocusing his eyes on Bucky’s. “Is everything alright?”

A string of curse words flooded Bucky’s brain. “Of course. Why wouldn’t it be?”

“You’re a little … jumpy,” Steve winced at the word, Bucky wasn’t sure why.

“Am I? Must be the party,” Bucky lied. It definitely wasn’t the party. He didn’t even remember they were even going to a party and he was in a suit for that party.

“It’s me.” Steve looked down, avoiding Bucky’s gaze, letting out a breath. “Tell me what I did, Buck, and I’ll fix it.” With a clench in his jaw, Bucky went deathly silent.

“Nothing, Steve. Nothing.” Another lie. And Steve could tell. When he looked back to Bucky, his blue eyes were wide, the muscles along his neck dancing as he swallowed.

“Fuck,” he mumbled, which was a terrible mistake, because it only made Bucky’s difficult problem become that much harder. “I know I’ve been – … I’m sorry.” His bright blue eyes were fathomlessly deep, abundant with regret and longing and sorrow. Bucky had to get rid of it.

“Jesus, no wonder you’re going with the blue suit,” he countered, taking Steve by the face for a moment. “Must be universal across agencies, then.” Steve’s expression blanked, save for the reddening of his cheeks, which were planted firmly between Bucky’s fingers.

“What?” he croaked out.

“SHIELD played to your strengths, too,” Bucky hummed, turning Steve’s blushing face in his hand. “The darker shades of blue in your eyes, that navy blue stealth suit they made you wear.”

The playfulness returned to Steve’s eyes. “What are you trying to say?”

“Somebody in SHIELD put you in that getup to make you look cute.” The laugh returned to Steve’s throat and Bucky breathed a sigh of relief. Steve fastened the buttons of Bucky’s shirt.

“Careful, Buck. You’re admitting that I looked good in that suit.” His eyebrow rose again as he slipped a tie around Bucky’s throat and knotted it, tightening it carefully.

“Hard not to,” Bucky grinned smugly, absently running his tongue along his teeth, just to watch the blush that it elicited from Steve’s skin. The kind that started low on his throat. As Steve turned, Bucky mumbled to himself, “I may be missing an arm, but my eyes work just fine.”

“Say something, Bucky?” Steve asked, grabbing the coat for Bucky’s suit from the closet.

This flirting was going well, so he thought he’d keep it up. “Just wondering out loud if you were going to let me help you get into your suit.” That blush at Steve’s throat only deepened.

Steve had let Bucky help him put it on after all, mostly in pulling all the pieces from the closet and holding the coat for Steve to slip into. It wasn’t a total wash, though, because Bucky had managed to find excuses to ‘smooth out the wrinkles’ in Steve’s shirt, particularly across the chest, or at his hips. Every touch stoked the fire producing the heat under Steve’s skin. Heat that spread into Bucky’s fingertips and made him want to touch Steve all that much more.

The blue suit was a disaster, of course. Earlier, Bucky had been trying to change the subject and the only thing he’d been able to focus on then was Steve’s eyes. The absolute bluest of blue eyes. The blue suit only made them bluer, and it only made Bucky want to stare into them all night.

The party was spectacular – Queen Ramonda looked regal, as always, but much more delighted than Bucky had ever seen her (though he’d only ever seen her twice, probably). To no one’s surprise, T’Challa was in all black, and Steve made a joke about how he and Bucky matched. Unlike her brother, Shuri was in all white, looking much like the princess she was. And she hadn’t stopped throwing Bucky expressions from across the room. It seemed she knew exactly every time Steve put his hand on Bucky’s back – her eyes were always on him right afterward.

Still, those times were rather few in number – it seemed that Steve was doing his best to keep his hands away from Bucky, only slipping up less than a handful of times. It could’ve been the crowd – maybe Steve knew their affection was more than most people could handle. It could have been that. Bucky was pretty sure it wasn’t. Mostly because of the look on Steve’s face.

Every time Steve went to reach for Bucky, but didn’t, there was a jump in the muscle at his temple from how tightly he clenched his jaw. The hand that he almost extended was jerked back, almost in anger, fingernails digging into his palm. So, Bucky knew – it had nothing to do with who was around them. No, Steve was doing this to himself. He was punishing himself.

Not to mention, Bucky had watched Steve throw back at least a dozen trays worth of dark liquor, in varying shades. A few of them back to back, glasses in both hands. For a while, Bucky had tried to keep up, but Steve’s serum was better than his. Most likely, Steve wasn’t even buzzed.

Bucky, on the other hand, was just starting to feel it. Enough to where he wanted Steve to touch him a lot more than he was. Enough to where he was brave enough to touch Steve instead, even with a thousand people around, even with Shuri watching his every move.

First, it was just casual, supportive nudges at his back when Steve was talking to someone else, just to let him know that Bucky was still with him. When they were alone, Bucky’s touches escalated slightly, adjusting the lapel of his jacket, straightening his tie, brushing hair from his face.

Finally, when they were safely tucked into an empty corner by themselves, Steve spoke, voice muffled through clenched teeth. “Buck, you don’t have to do this.” Bucky narrowed his eyes, defiantly running his fingertips along the inside of Steve’s jacket lapel.

“Do what?” he asked, coming out in an angry spat.

“This,” Steve said, grabbing his hand. Neither of them let go. “Overcorrecting. Because I said you were jumpy earlier.” Bucky pulled his hand away, then.

“I’m not overcorrecting for shit,” Bucky growled. “If this bothers you, then tell me.” 

“You know it doesn’t.”

“Do I?” Bucky snapped. “There’s a lot of things I don’t know, Stevie, and it seems like some of those are things you’re keeping from me on purpose.” He thought back to Steve’s conversation with Nat, a conversation in French that Steve thought had been secret.

“Oh, I’m keeping things from you?” Steve laughed, it stayed tucked tight in his throat. “I can’t even touch you today. Why don’t you tell me what you’re keeping from me?”

A blush burst through the collar of Bucky’s shirt. “It was nothing, Steve. I told you.” He most certainly could not tell Steve about what he’d done in his sleep.

“It was nothing. You’re saying it was nothing. Which means something happened.”

“Goddammit, have you always been this obsessive over stupid shit?”

“Yeah, I have,” Steve spoke through clenched teeth, his eyes boring an icy hole into Bucky’s chest. “So, you should know I won’t give this up until you tell me the truth, Buck.”

“Fine!” Bucky’s voice exploded through the hall. Steve flinched at the sound, and at the looks they suddenly got from the people at a distance. “Fine,” he repeated, correcting his tone only slightly as he paused for a moment, waiting for the attention on them to die down. When it did, he continued, “I’m a little drunk, so why the hell not.” He leaned in close, gripping tightly onto Steve’s arm as he whispered. “You’re very heavy-handed when you sleep, Stevie.”

“Oh, God,” Steve groaned, a flush spreading through every visible inch of his skin.

“And I should’ve stopped you, but –”

“Wait, should have?”

“But Shuri came in and I –”

“Oh my GOD, Shuri saw this?” Steve threw his hand over his eyes.

“And I panicked, all I could do was cover you with a blanket, but your hand was still –”

“Please tell me it wasn’t …”

“Oh, yeah, no, it definitely was.” Bucky pulled his lip into his teeth, biting down rather hard to keep himself on task. But Steve was still very close to him and he was being forced to remember what happened when Steve had his hand between Bucky’s legs. “You’re, uh … persistent.”

Steve let out another low groan, Bucky clenched his jaw a little tighter, pulling his hand away from Steve and slipping it into his trouser pocket. When he lifted his eyes, he immediately met Shuri’s watchful, knowing gaze, a giant shit-eating grin on her face. He scowled at her.

When he looked back, half enjoying the embarrassing puddle that he had reduced Steve Rogers to, he noticed that there was no longer an embarrassing puddle looking back. Steve lowered his head, watching Bucky from underneath his dark lashes, through dark, wide pupils.

“Before Shuri came in …” Steve’s voice trailed off, eyebrow twitching as if would spontaneously rise if not for an immense amount of willpower. “Did you try to stop me?”

Bucky swallowed hard, giving himself a moment to create a lie, but his words all fell out at once, instead. “I wasn’t … I mean, it wasn’t a big deal … I was half asleep when you ...”

After a breath, Steve spoke again, moving in closer. There was very little height difference between them, but at this proximity, it was like Steve towered over him. Steve’s fingers pushed against Bucky’s for a moment, before he slid his hand up the full length of Bucky’s arm, doubling back to hold him softly at the elbow. “Did you want to stop me?” 

There was something there. Bucky didn’t know if that something was there before the war, before the serums, before either of them were frozen. But it was definitely there now. It was something that told Bucky that they weren’t just friends. That friends didn’t fall asleep on each other. Friends didn’t profess their love on a regular basis. Friends didn’t grope each other in bed.

The confession was on the edge of his tongue. He was going to tell Steve everything he’d been working up the courage to say since he pulled Steve from the Potomac. He would tell Steve that he wasn’t going to stop him, that he wanted him to keep going, that he wanted more.

As his tongue pressed against the back of his teeth, forming the most important ‘No’ of his life, Shuri stepped in to their intimate circle. Her face was pressed tight, very unlike the Cheshire grin that Bucky had seen there only moments before. With a deep breath in through his nostrils, Steve took a wide step back, retracting his hold on Bucky’s arm.

“Sergeant,” she said, looking remorsefully at Bucky, dark eyes looking up at him with unease. “I’m so sorry for interrupting, believe me. But I think this is something the Captain needs to see.” The expression on Steve’s face grew solemn. Bucky only grit his teeth harder.

“Lead the way,” Bucky said, through tight lips.

 “Right there,” Shuri said with a sigh, pointing to a shadow in the corner of the ethereal screen that was projected above the palm of her hand. “See?” Bucky and Steve both leaned in at the same time, squinting their eyes. Steve glanced at Bucky out of the corner of his eye.

“What are we looking at, princess?” Bucky asked, eyebrow raised.

“I put an alert on Wanda’s position, and I’ve been monitoring activity around the hotel in Edinburgh.” Bucky’s eyebrow rose further. “Around the hotel, Sergeant. They mostly stay in.”

“Are they being followed?” Steve pieced together, hunching his shoulders further to get closer to the level of the video feed. “Is that what this is?” He pointed to the shadow.

Shuri pursed her lips to one side. “I can’t be sure, but it seems like it might be.” Quietly, Bucky let out a breath. This meant Steve was going to have to leave. Right when they were finally starting to make progress on … whatever this was. Whatever they were.

“I have to go get her,” Steve said softly, turning to Bucky. For a moment, it looked like he would take Bucky’s hand, and Bucky was almost sure he would’ve, if Shuri hadn’t been there.

“I know. It’s okay,” Bucky assured him, letting his fingers brush against Steve’s in a sign that if Steve had reached out to take Bucky’s hand, that Bucky would’ve held him back.

“Walk me to the jet?” Steve smiled, and Bucky nodded, glancing to Shuri.

“My brother has gotten it ready. I’ll take you to him.” As they walked, Steve pulled a little ahead, the worry behind his eyes quickening his pace.

“Timing couldn’t have been worse,” Bucky sighed, pushing his fingers through the longer pieces of hair at the front of his face, the rest having been tied up by Steve before the party.

“I noticed,” Shuri grumbled, kicking at the ground with the toe of her white Converse sneakers, underneath her white party dress. Bucky nudged her with his right elbow.

“Hey, you had to tell him. Don’t beat yourself up.”

“I should have waited five more minutes,” she huffed, turning her head to glare at him with narrowed, dark eyes. “But, like old men, you two take forever to do anything. Even fall in love again.” Bucky let out a short laugh, glancing up to watch Steve walk down the hall.

“If that isn’t the goddamn truth.” They walked through a sliding glass door onto the landing pad – the jet was already prepped and waiting for Steve.

A lot of things from Bucky’s past got renamed as fear – he’d spent a lot of time unboxing all those things and relabeling them for what they were. So, he knew what fear really was. Fear was being strapped into that chair by his handlers. Fear was not knowing if who he was now was the same Bucky Barnes he had been in 1940, or if he would never be him again. Fear was watching Steve Rogers walk away from him, every time wondering if it would be for the last time.  

“Wait,” Bucky choked out before Steve was out of range. Shuri went to stand next to her brother – they pretended to be in conversation with one another. Steve turned.

“I’ll be back, Buck,” Steve promised, but there was only concern in his expression. Bucky was only acting to hold him back from doing what he had to do. Is that what he had always done?

“Be safe, punk,” he said, grabbing onto Steve’s lapel and pulling him into a hug, wrapping his right arm around Steve’s neck. He allowed himself to nuzzle just a bit against Steve’s face.

“You too, jerk.” And that was it. Steve pulled back, gave Bucky a pat on the chest and began to walk away. Bucky was left to stand and watch. He let his head fall, so he didn’t have to watch.

Before he could even let out a sigh, Steve’s hands reappeared, knotting tightly in the folds of Bucky’s jacket. As Bucky looked up, Steve tensed his grip, pulling Bucky’s weight into his chest and Bucky’s open mouth to his lips. And Steve kissed him just like in Bucky’s dream, or maybe it had been real, after all – on that old, green sofa in their apartment in Brooklyn when Steve kissed him like he’d been thinking about it for years, desperate and aching and wild. Steve kissed him just the same as Bucky thought he’d imagined it, soft and open, but hurried and hungry.

With a deep, sated breath, Steve separated their lips, leaving his head to rest against Bucky’s forehead. He worried his reddened lip as he glanced down at Bucky’s mouth, still open, but somehow emptier than before. He didn’t say anything. Neither did Bucky.

Without another word, Steve walked up the ramp and into the jet. The door closed behind him. Bucky stood still, blinking slowly. Shuri came and dragged him back toward the door.

“What have I been telling you all this time?” she laughed softly, an uptick to her voice.

-----------------------

It had been three days and he hadn’t heard from Steve. Hadn’t even contacted them to let them know if Wanda was alright. And Bucky could only assume the worst.

“I got him drunk and took advantage of him and he’s freaked out,” he mumbled, mostly to himself, as he paced back and forth in Shuri’s lab. Bucky could feel the eye roll that followed.

“He kissed you, Sergeant Barnes.”

“Did he? Did I make that up? You saw it, right?”

“Oh, I saw it.”

“What did I do wrong?” he sighed, Shuri finally coming over to take him by the shoulders, to stop him from walking a rut into the floor of her lab.

“Nothing,” she insisted, looking very deliberately at him. “You are worrying over something you should be happy about. Isn’t this what you wanted?” Bucky took a breath.

“What I wanted was to be sure. To hear him say it.” Shuri savored the next eye roll, drawing it out much longer than Bucky felt was necessary.

“Are you telling me that the fact that your best friend kissed you on the mouth is not enough to be sure?” she scoffed. Bucky drew his lips into his teeth, lowering his head to nod.

“It should be, shouldn’t it?” he agreed as Shuri’s hand slipped from his shoulders.

“Yes!” she shouted, throwing her hands into the air. “It should!” Bucky’s shoulders sagged, head falling forward into his waiting palm. No doubt Shuri had to be frustrated with him. After all, he was in her lab, practically in the middle of the night, complaining. All he did lately was complain.

“And you’re sure he’s alright?” he asked again. If Shuri was frustrated, she didn’t show it. A soft smile crossed over her lips as she pulled up another of her weird video feeds.

“Just a few hours ago, he was with Agent Romanoff.” She pointed to a dark corner of the screen, outside the same hotel where they knew Wanda and Vision were staying. Just barely, Bucky could make out the distinctive blonde of Steve’s hair and the profile of his face against the shadows as he turned. “They’ve been doing surveillance in the area for a few days. He’s alright.”

Bucky paused. “Did they find anything?” Shuri shook her head.

“Whoever was there isn’t anymore,” she said, watching the screen carefully, as if she would catch something she hadn’t noticed the first time. As if she had no doubt that the presence of that figure they’d seen days before had not been a coincidence. And she was always right.

“Why are they so far from the hotel?” Bucky wondered. This was the first time he’d seen the video. Shuri had been monitoring their location and giving him updates, but Bucky had been too busy pacing a familiar pattern through the tile of her floor.

“It seems to me that they’re trying not to alert Wanda and Vision to their presence,” she said with a grin. Bucky felt one of his eyebrows go up.

“Steven Grant Rogers, ever the gentleman,” he laughed softly. “Doesn’t want to spoil a romantic getaway if he doesn’t have to.” Shuri glanced over.

“On the subject of Captain Rogers,” she said, elegantly folding up her palm and the video with it. “I had a close eye on the two of you at the party. He seemed rather tense.”

Bucky winced. This was one of those things that he couldn’t talk to Shuri about. “We … it was a misunderstanding.” The inflection of his voice turned up, almost in a question.

“Which you must have cleared up, because if I hadn’t interrupted …” she trailed off, leaving Bucky to remember the way Steve had looked at him that night. Remembering the way Bucky knew that there was something in Steve’s eyes that he’d noticed plenty of times before but had never had the context to put together. Knowing that if they’d been alone, and if Bucky had admitted the truth, Steve might’ve moved in closer right then.

“From the outside, did it look like …” His thought trailed off, too. Shuri picked it up.

“It looked like he had forgotten everyone else was there but you,” she said, raising her eyebrows in insistence. “If I hadn’t interrupted, he would’ve kissed you then, rather than later.”

Raising his head toward the ceiling, Bucky let out a slow breath. “Do you think this means my dreams … the ones about Steve … those are all real?” Before Shuri could answer, a soft alarm chirped a few times from one of the dozens of screens in Shuri’s lab. Immediately, she looked back at one in particular, but Bucky couldn’t find the one that grabbed her attention.

When she turned to face Bucky again, her smile was magnified. “Only one way to find out.”

 “What do you …” Shuri interrupted.

“Captain Rogers has returned.” Bucky went still, but his heart sped on.

Only stopping to talk to T’Challa on the way, Steve had gone straight to his room. Though Bucky had hesitated, Shuri had insisted that Bucky should go find him. Outside the door to Steve’s room, Bucky paused to take a few deep breaths. When he entered, as silently as possible, he found Steve standing with his back to the door, palm pressed flat against the desk in the corner.

Carefully, soundlessly closing the door, Bucky leaned against the frame, taking a moment just to take in the profile of the man standing before him. Broad shoulders, slightly hunched with worry, blonde fringe hanging down over his eyes. He moved his hand to brush it back.

“There’s too much bad to sludge through, I guess,” Steve sighed. “He hasn’t gotten to the good ones yet.” Steve paused, and Bucky suddenly realized he was on the phone. “I’m not really sure. Most of what he remembers is from before the war. Before we … yeah.”

It was probably Sam – he was usually the one who called to check in with Steve. And Bucky appreciated Sam, really. He liked to give Sam a hard time, but he was one of the few people in Steve’s inner circle that Bucky knew well enough to trust.

For a moment, Bucky felt guilty for eavesdropping on another of Steve’s conversations, but he couldn’t help himself. Like the last one, this one was about him, too. 

“Yeah. Listen, I’m sorry for calling, Sam, I just didn’t …” Steve went quiet, Bucky could hear the distant, electronic murmur of Sam’s reply on the other end. Steve let out a short huff through his nose, almost like a laugh. “No, my … my lack of sex life, right.” This time, he did laugh.

Bucky took in a silent breath through pursed lips. Though he desperately wished he could hear Sam’s side of this conversation, it was almost validation, hearing Steve talk about Bucky and sex in the same breath. It had to mean what Bucky thought it meant. Didn’t it?

With one hand on the phone, Steve maneuvered himself out of his T-shirt and, for some reason, Bucky thought he should look away. After all, Steve didn’t know he was there. When he looked back up, his eyes traced along Steve’s back, stopping hard at a particular spot along the top of Steve’s left shoulder. There was a scar. A scar that Bucky vividly remembered seeing as he pressed Steve against that apartment wall above the bar in Italy. Right before he fucked him.

The breath stalled in Bucky’s chest. He hadn’t remembered that scar until now, until after he’d had that dream. Had he noticed that scar beforehand and imagined a full scenario about how Steve had gotten it? After all that happened, after this conversation, it seemed unlikely.

“No, I know you really don’t want to talk about this, so I appreciate it,” Steve said, voice mumbled, as he brushed his fingers through his dark beard. “Oh, of course, I’m sure you love to hear me act like a teenage girl. I’m sure Nat told you all about that conversation.”

The laugh from Steve’s lips was quiet, subdued, as if he were trying to keep his voice down, to keep the secret. It was breathy and soft, and Bucky let out a sigh. After a brief period of silence with Sam’s response, Steve took in a slightly sharp breath, through half-clenched teeth. The silence carried for longer than Bucky thought it should. He listened closely for a murmur from Sam’s end of the line, but there was nothing. Nothing but charged silence.

“I … didn’t tell Nat this, but I … I did make a move, Sam.” Bucky went absolutely still. This was it, this was the proof Bucky had been waiting for. Steve had deliberately made a move on him.

Steve continued, speaking rapidly, breathlessly. “I kissed him.” The hand that was in his beard moved up over his eyes, Bucky could see the hint of pink underneath his fingertips. “We were both a little drunk, and I was leaving, and I just …” He let out a soft groan. “I kissed him.”

The pink on Steve’s cheeks reflected slightly against Bucky’s, as he watched Steve throw his head back. The angles of his neck went sharp as he dragged his fingers down them, and Bucky watched those angles change, tightening and settling as Steve swallowed.

“Evidently I can, because I kissed my best friend and freaked him the fuck out,” Steve said, the tone of his voice becoming gritty. Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. That was why Steve hadn’t contacted him – all this time, Steve thought he had been the one who had done something wrong.

“Okay, yes, I did tell him I love him, but … yeah, he said it back, but I … maybe he didn’t mean it the way I did.” An accidental breath, full of surprise, slipped from Bucky’s lips, and Steve turned swiftly, eyes wide and jaw rigid. When he saw it was Bucky, his expression softened.

 There it was. Steve Rogers loved him. Not just as a best friend, not just as the kid he’d grown up with. Steve Rogers was in love with him. Jaw slack, blinking slowly, Bucky froze.

“Sam, I gotta go,” Steve said, watching Bucky carefully. “Yeah, I’ll call you tomorrow.” As he placed the phone on the desk, he took a few uncertain steps in Bucky’s direction, but stopped.

As Steve watched him, Bucky’s eyes drifted over to Steve’s sketchbook, open on the edge of the bed. The latest sketch was the work in progress Bucky had seen before – Bucky, lying in Steve’s bed with his right arm stretched across his face. Now it was complete, showing the white sheets barely covering only one of Bucky’s bare hips, the other side completely uncovered, and a very explicitly drawn imprint of Bucky’s anatomy from underneath the sheets. His eyes drifted over to Steve, fingers fidgeting with the chair at the desk, face growing redder with each second.

“Stevie,” Bucky breathed out. The dreams he’d been having were memories, after all. He really had kissed Steve the night before he’d been shipped out. The scar on Steve’s shoulder was there, just like he knew it was, because he’d seen it. Those sounds from Steve’s throat were so familiar because he’d heard them in another life. His real life.  

“I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t have –” Steve stood, but Bucky interrupted, sitting down onto Steve’s bed and patting the mattress next to him.

“Sit down.” Steve obeyed quickly, and Bucky pushed himself further up the mattress, settling just behind where Steve’s weight rested. Just like he remembered, right there along the top of Steve’s left shoulder, was that scar, proof of the gash he’d gotten when he rescued Bucky from that Hydra facility in Italy. The wound that Bucky distinctly remembering pressing kisses against, the wound that Bucky had first seen in what he thought had been a dream.

“Buck, what …”

“How did you get this scar?” Bucky asked suddenly, brushing his fingers along the length of it. Steve shivered underneath his touch.

“Shrapnel from an explosion. In Red Skull’s base, when I –” Again, Bucky interrupted.

“When you came for the 107^th. When you came for me,” Bucky said in a quiet breath. With that breath tucked away in his chest, Bucky leaned forward, sliding his arm around Steve’s waist and dusting his lips against Steve’s skin, along the scar at his shoulder.

Steve took in a deep, sharp breath, the muscles of his abdomen tensing under Bucky’s fingertips at his sudden, intimate touch. “Buck.”

“I didn’t know,” Bucky said under a soft, throaty laugh at how often he and Steve seemed to say this to one another. “I thought I was … hoping for something that wasn’t real.” As Steve slowly turned on the bed, Bucky continued sprinkling quick kisses across his skin. When Steve faced him, Steve slipped his hand up to Bucky’s neck, brushing his thumb along Bucky’s jaw.

“It was real, Buck,” he replied, voice thick. After only a moment’s hesitation, Steve leapt forward, his lips landing roughly against Bucky’s, and Bucky let out an awestruck breath.

“Steve,” he whispered as Steve twisted, climbing over Bucky on the mattress.

“When I told you I loved you, what I should have said was,” he paused, pushing Bucky’s mouth open with his own. “I’m in love with you, Buck.” As soon as his words were out, Bucky covered Steve’s mouth with his, driving his tongue deep within it.

“I love you, Stevie. I love you. It was the first thing I remembered, and I should’ve told you right then. Jesus, I should’ve told you.” He pawed at Steve’s bare skin like he couldn’t touch him enough, buried his tongue into Steve’s mouth like he couldn’t kiss him enough.

“I’ve wanted to bring it up since I found you in Romania, but I … I didn’t know how. I didn’t want to push you into anything you didn’t want –” Bucky spoke before Steve finished.

“If anything, I want you to push harder, Stevie,” he breathed out, pulling Steve down into his mouth, but quickly leaving it so his lips could explore every real inch of Steve’s skin.

“You remember that?” Steve asked, a laugh in his voice, but it dispersed into a weighty breath, dense and deep, as Bucky put his lips against Steve’s throat. “The first time you –”

“The first time I kissed you,” Bucky murmured, words chopped and broken by the motion of his tongue against Steve’s Adam’s apple. “The first time I felt you. First time I tasted you.”

“Goddammit, Buck,” Steve groaned, finally letting himself nestle down between Bucky’s thighs, and Bucky wrapped his legs around Steve’s hips, pulling him in further. “It was you I was describing that day. Your mouth, your lips, the way you kiss me. The way you sucked my cock.”

“Fuck,” Bucky hissed, grinding his hips up into Steve. “The things you say to me, Stevie. The way you say ‘em. I could come apart, just listening to you.” Steve bit down softly onto Bucky’s bottom lip, suckling at it for a moment before continuing, his breathless voice becoming coarse.

“That was the dream I had, you know. You said I was moaning. Because it was about you, about that night.” Bucky grinned wide, forcing him to stop his tour of kisses at Steve’s throat. At the sudden loss of contact, Steve looked down, raising an eyebrow at Bucky’s expression.

“You know why I looked so confused that morning? I was trying to undress you.” Steve’s eyebrow rose higher, he cocked his head. “Had my mouth on your neck and my hand in your sweats and had no idea you were asleep the whole goddamn time.” Steve’s eyes rolled closed, he let out a playfully frustrated groan. Bucky just watched him, with a peaceful smile on his lips.

“Shit,” Steve huffed with an amused purse of his lips. This time, Bucky was the one to raise an eyebrow. He lowered his voice with purpose, leaning up to just place his lips against Steve’s.

“You’re really heavy-handed when you sleep, Stevie,” Bucky repeated, and Steve laughed against his lips, dissolving into a moan the deeper the kiss became.

“You’re the one who didn’t stop me.” 

“So, when you said you hadn’t been with anyone since the war …” Bucky began, the movement of his speech lightly brushing his lips against Steve’s. Steve silenced him fully by slipping his tongue between Bucky’s teeth with a low, desperate growl.

“I know you remember that bar in Italy,” Steve said in a rumbling whisper, taking Bucky’s hand and guiding it down his waist. At the waistband of his sweats, he let go. “You were disappointed that I was suddenly heavier than you and you couldn’t –”

“Lift you up to fuck you against the wall,” Bucky finished with a smirk, which Steve quickly devoured with a full, hungry kiss. When he pulled back, Bucky left his eyes closed and his mouth open before letting Steve watch him roll his tongue along his back teeth. And Steve did watch.

“You fucked me against the wall anyway.” His eyes scattered over Bucky’s mouth as Bucky slid his tongue along his sharp canine, biting down softly.

“I bet I could lift you now,” Bucky gambled, slipping his fingers just past the elastic of Steve’s sweats, pressing hard against his bare, supple skin. Steve’s lips parted, a breath moved out, and Bucky quickly craned up, holding Steve’s mouth open with his own. “One-handed,” he added, Steve mouthing Bucky’s words with him as their lips moved together. As Steve’s tongue darted out, curling up against Bucky’s upper lip, Steve let out a short, immodest moan.

“Lots of things you can do one-handed.” Steve angled his hips a little and Bucky’s felt his fingertips brush against Steve’s sweltering, swollen skin. The same moment that Bucky let a wet, indecent breath slip from his lips, Steve sucked it in, like he hadn’t breathed in years.

When Bucky pressed forward, taking the whole warm length of Steve into his fingers, an unexpected sigh came stumbling from his lips. The reaction from Steve was much louder – chaotic and dangerous, and certainly obscene enough to send a tremor down Bucky’s legs.

“God, I haven’t gotten to touch you in a century,” Bucky groaned, letting his grip release, much to Steve’s discontent. Feeling frantic, Bucky hooked his fingers into the waist of Steve’s sweats, slipping his hand down Steve’s legs to undress him. “I want to touch every inch of you.”

“Jesus,” Steve hissed, taking in a shaking breath as he fully disrobed, kicking his clothes off onto the floor. Under raised eyebrows and over a clenched jaw, Bucky’s eyes greedily spread over Steve’s skin, from the moment it was uncovered.

“Straddle me,” Bucky ordered, nibbling his bottom lip.

“Yes,” Steve complied immediately, placing a knee on each side of Bucky’s waist and straightening his back to watch Bucky get a good, long look at him, bare and naked.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stevie,” he growled, his right hand starting at Steve’s thigh and working up, fingering the long cord of muscle at the inside of his hip, rising and falling along his stomach, curving over the slopes of his well-defined chest. With Bucky’s hands on his skin, Steve’s back arched, his chest heaved, his muscles twitched impatiently.

“Fuck,” Steve moaned. “How do you make this feel so fucking good?” On his way back, Bucky’s hand circled around Steve’s waist, sliding over Steve’s ass, gripping just underneath it before slipping down his thigh. Steve shifted into Bucky’s touch.

“I wish I had let Shuri give me that arm, just so I could touch you more,” he laughed softly, licking his lips lasciviously as his eyes settled between Steve’s legs. His glaze flicked up toward Steve as he reached out to take Steve into his hand, but Steve took Bucky’s fingers into his own and guided them into his hair. He doubled over, cupping his lips over Bucky’s pec, swirling his tongue around Bucky’s nipple. A groan bubbled up from the hollows of Bucky’s throat as he arched into Steve’s mouth, throwing his head deep into the pillow.

Steve glanced up. “We’ve been together for a hundred years and I’ve never had your cock in my mouth.” Bucky let out a low grunt, watching as Steve mouthed at his skin insatiably, moving his wet, open mouth down Bucky’s stomach. His fingers dipped into the shorts at Bucky’s waist, moving Bucky out of them – he threw them into the corner of the room.

When Bucky lay beneath him completely exposed, hard and pulsing, Steve’s gaze was transfixed, his tongue lewdly circling his lips. Almost unwittingly, his fingers reached out, grazing up along Bucky’s length. With that light touch alone, Bucky was vibrating wildly under Steve’s hands, and when Steve’s lips pressed low to Bucky’s stomach, Bucky let out a whimper.

“Steve,” Bucky warned breathlessly, a tiny, pleading laugh in his voice. “I’m on the edge as it is, babe.” As Steve looked up, he drew his tongue along Bucky’s hipbone. Bucky swallowed at the devilish look in Steve’s eyes, the curious smirk in the corner of his open mouth.

“Babe?” He exhaled hard, the breath swirled hot against Bucky’s stomach and Bucky felt a rush of blood to his head, and to his hips. “Just from touching me?” Steve smirked. 

“Yes,” Bucky hissed through gritted teeth. “I swear I won’t last ten seconds in that mouth.”

Steve absolutely beamed. “That’s the fucking point, babe.” Without another word, Steve wet his lips and dipped, slipping just the tip of Bucky’s cock through his pursed lips.

“Ohh. God fucking dammit,” Bucky moaned, throwing his head back. When Steve took him down into his throat, humming contentedly into Bucky’s skin, Bucky went senseless. He forgot that they were guests in T’Challa’s house, forgot that Shuri could be listening nearby, forgot everything but his cock in Steve Rogers’ mouth. And he practically screamed Steve’s name. Not just once.

With his name being sung so violently on Bucky’s lips, Steve went feral – his fingernails dug deep crescents into Bucky’s hips, he dragged them down Bucky’s skin, leaving angry, red trails behind them. Bucky only grew louder, bucking his hips up to Steve’s mouth, and Steve steadied himself, unquestionably letting Bucky fuck the back of his throat.

Moving his hands around to the back of Bucky’s thighs, Steve gripped tightly just underneath Bucky’s ass, Bucky’s muscles tense as he thrust up into Steve’s mouth. As Bucky felt himself start to slip over the edge, he reached up and held Steve by the back of the neck, his fingers buried deep in Steve’s hair, his cock buried deep in Steve’s throat.

“Oh, God. Fuck, Stevie,” he groaned, shuddering hard as he spilled out into Steve’s mouth, feeling himself seizing between Steve’s teeth. After a hard swallow, Steve let out a deep breath, collapsing over Bucky and resting heavily on his chest.

“Wow,” he breathed out against Bucky’s glistening skin. “You’re …” he glanced up at Bucky with a smirk, his tongue in his cheek. “so loud.” Skin flushed, Bucky ran his hand through his beard.

“Cause your mouth is so fucking hot,” Bucky mumbled through his fingers, letting out a slow breath to calm his racing heart. “You rather have me quiet?” he teased, and Steve let out a disapproving grumble, rubbing his bearded chin against Bucky’s chest.

“God, no.” He blew out a quick breath through pursed lips. “I love the way you say my name. I love the way you say a lot of things. Your voice makes me …” he took a breath in through his teeth. “makes me ache.” Bucky glimpsed down, watching Steve give his own cock a few good strokes. When Steve looked back, he saw Bucky’s eyes fixated on the movement of his hand.

“That so?” Bucky asked absently, voice devoid of air. Purposefully, Steve slowed his hand, observing the way Bucky’s eyes followed it closely, as Bucky sucked in on his bottom lip.

“If you, uh … you wanna talk me through it, you can keep watching.” Immediately, Bucky’s eyes darted up, meeting Steve’s gaze intensely. Silently, Bucky nodded, eyebrows rising.

“Come here,” he managed to croak out from breathless lungs, sitting up against the headboard of the bed and pulling Steve backward into his spread legs. Pressed against Steve’s back, Bucky curled around him, ghosting his fingertips along the inside of Steve’s thigh. With his lips pressed firmly behind Steve’s ear, he whispered, “What do you want me to say?”

A hitch in Steve’s breathing. “Anything.” His voice was pleading. Bucky reached over and grabbed a small bottle from the bedside table, accidentally squeezing an excessive amount into Steve’ hand. Settling back against him, Steve rubbed his palms together, slicking both his hands.

“Do you want me to touch you?” Bucky asked softly, his fingers dancing across Steve’s abdomen. Steve lightly shook his head, slowly wrapping his fingers around his cock.

“Not yet,” Steve said through a swallow. “Just … talk.” He leaned heavier into Bucky, laying his head back against Bucky’s collarbone.

“How ‘bout I tell you the story of how I figured out I was in love with you?” Bucky hummed against the taut muscle that curved down Steve’s neck.

“Yes,” Steve breathed, falling into a rhythm with his hand on his cock, and Bucky could hardly remember what he was saying, watching Steve from over his shoulder.

“I … I suspected for a while. Catch myself looking at you for no reason, smiling at you for no reason.” A little puff of air from Steve’s lips sent a chill down Bucky’s spine that rapidly heated on its way through his hips. “I started thinkin’ about things that, uh … friends shouldn’t think about.”

“Like what?” Steve panted, arching back into Bucky, lifting his hips from the sheets. Unable to help himself, Bucky let his hand glide along the curve of Steve’s hip.

“Like what it would feel like to kiss you,” Bucky breathed out, kissing openly along Steve’s shoulder, working back toward his neck. Steve craned his head to let Bucky’s lips travel. “What sort of sounds you’d make.” His hand skated along Steve’s stomach, feeling it rise and fall slowly with Steve’s shallow breathing. “What you would feel like between my legs.”

“Oh my God.” A sloppy, wet breath punched out from Steve’s lips.

“The first time I knew was that day we went to Coney Island, and we found out that asshole from social services had been following us for a couple days. You remember?”

“I remember,” Steve gasped, his rhythm increased along with his breathing. Moving mindlessly along Steve’s skin, Bucky’s hand slipped up to Steve’s throat, holding him softly.

“You were barely seventeen and you had just moved into my apartment.” He held off on talking about how they’d just lost Steve’s mother, which was why Steve had to move in with him in the first place. “That guy wouldn’t stop talking shit on me, saying I wasn’t your guardian, telling you what a fuck-up I was and how I couldn’t take care of you.”

“God, I remember,” Steve growled, anger spurring the motion of his hand. “I wanted to punch that guy in the dick.” Bucky let slip a short huff of a laugh.

“He said I was going to ruin your life. And you said …” Bucky paused, waiting for Steve to fill in the gap, because he hadn’t heard Steve say these words in over a hundred years.

“Don’t stop,” Steve pleaded, his voice sounding thin and stretched, his hand slowing a bit to give Bucky time to speak again. In the silence, Steve rubbed his wet thumb over the slit at the head of his cock, sucking in a tiny breath as he arched back against Bucky’s chest.

Bucky took Steve’s ear into his teeth. “No, I want you to say it. Tell me what you said to him that day. Say those words that made me know how fucking ruined I was for you.” After a sharp, inward breath, with his head raised to the ceiling, Steve spoke, pulling his voice deep into his throat for it to rumble through his expansive chest.

“On va voir.”

“Oh, fuck,” Bucky moaned into Steve’s ear, his grip on Steve’s throat tightening only slightly, but enough to put a familiar wheeze back into Steve’s breathing. As Bucky tilted his hips further into Steve, becoming ever rigid against Steve’s back, he pulled away from Steve’s throat and placed his hand over the top of Steve’s. “Please. Let me touch you.”

“Yes,” Steve exhaled hard, sliding his palm against Bucky’s so Bucky could wrap his hand, now soft and slick, slowly around Steve’s cock. As if on instinct, his fingers twitched, curling delicately around Steve, wrist shifting just a bit. It was warmer than Bucky remembered, the give of Steve’s skin easier than he remembered. But the echoes from Steve’s throat were exactly the same – heady, exposed, unashamed. Bucky’s name was on Steve’s lips, buried in breath.

With a snarky smile on his lips, Bucky spoke. In French. “There is hardly a language that Hydra didn’t force me to learn, you know.” A breath snapped and broke in Steve’s throat.

“Goddammit, you do speak French,” he laughed softly. “Keep going,” he begged, in the same tongue, arching back into Bucky a little further, a little harder. Bucky spoke again.

“What is it that you said about me, in your little secret conversation?”

“I told Nat you couldn’t keep your hands off me,” Steve laughed breathlessly, hips jerking against the steady movement of Bucky’s hand. Bucky breathed out slow into Steve’s ear.

“Oh?And did you tell her how badly you wanted me to fuck you?” he huffed, rewarded with a heavy groan from Steve’s chest as he threw his head back against Bucky’s shoulder.

“I didn’t have to,” he panted, as Bucky began to swirl his tongue over Steve’s ear in the same pattern as his thumb over the slit of Steve’s cock. “Oh my God, Buck.” Steve turned his face as best he could, burying his tongue just into the corner of Bucky’s mouth, just to taste him.

“God, I missed you so fucking much,” Bucky puffed against Steve’s ear, reverting back to English as his movements became more erratic, more desperate. Steve’s hips responded the same.

“I know, Buck, I know.” His voice reached into a howl on the latter end of a moan, and all the breath in his lungs seemed to spill out at once, as the rest of him spilled out onto his stomach.

“Christ,” Bucky muttered, his hand still moving absently around Steve’s cock. A jerk in Steve’s hips reminded him that further touch probably felt painfully electric to Steve. When he pulled away, Steve rolled over, pressing his face into Bucky’s stomach.

“You’re a little oblivious, you know that?” Steve hummed, dotting not-so-soft kisses around Bucky’s navel. From Bucky’s semi-inclined position, his groin was right underneath Steve’s throat, feeling every vibrating word that drew up from it.

“And you’re not?” Bucky laughed, widening his legs. Steve rose an eyebrow.

“Oh, come on,” Steve growled, purposefully lowering his voice, knowing that every octave lower was another pulse sent through Bucky’s growing erection. “First night you were here, I drew you naked, Buck. And you didn’t think that was unusual?”

“Mm-hmm,” Bucky half-agreed, burying his fist into Steve’s hair and tightening it. “Right after that, I coaxed you into bed and rubbed my cock against your ass, so.” Steve made an unintelligible sound into Bucky’s skin, nipping at his hipbone.

“My God, Bucky.” Grip tightening on Bucky’s hips, Steve dragged his tongue along the tight muscle that run along the inside of Bucky’s waist. A rise in his brow, Bucky swallowed.

“Jesus, I don’t remember you being this insatiable in Brooklyn, Stevie.” 

“You didn’t talk to me like this in Brooklyn.” Steve pushed himself further down the mattress, burying his face between Bucky’s legs, sucking hard at the soft skin inside Bucky’s thigh.

“Oh,” Bucky breathed out heavy, smirk in the corner of his lips. “God, I’ll say anything you want, just … fuck.” At that moment, Steve wrapped his lips across the shaft of Bucky’s cock.

“Tell me you want to fuck me,” Steve mouthed against Bucky’s tight skin.

“Jesus fucking Christ, Stevie,” Bucky groaned, leaning his head back against the wall as Steve moved his wet, open mouth down Bucky’s cock. “Goddammit. I want to fuck you.”

“How bad?” Steve whispered, his breath hot against Bucky’s wet skin as he pulled his tongue along Bucky’s length, looking up to watch Bucky fall apart as he did it.

“Fuck.” Bucky’s voice was nearly a whimper, thighs tensing under Steve’s hands.

“Tell me, Buck,” Steve practically demanded, jaw clenched tight for a moment before darting his tongue out again, lapping back and forth at the very tip of Bucky’s cock.

A loud, obscene moan slipped from Bucky’s lips, the muscles of his abdomen twitching violently as he tried to keep himself pinned to the mattress. “I want it so fucking bad, Steve.”

Steve let out a breath. “I need you to be specific.” For a moment, he tore his hands from Bucky, reaching over to the bedside table to get the same bottle. As he squeezed the contents into his hands, he sucked in a deep, trembling breath. “Please.” Steve stopped touching him, watching Bucky anxiously as he rubbed his palms together.

“You want me to tell you how I want it?” Bucky asked, a taunt in the back of his throat. He watched the muscles of Steve’s neck tense with a deep swallow.

“Yes.” His voice was hollow. Swiftly, Bucky wrapped his fingers around Steve’s throat, locking one of his legs behind Steve’s bent knee. In one motion, he threw Steve down onto the bed, trading their places, with Steve underneath him. Bucky’s hand was still pressed to Steve’s throat, squeezing gently. Steve looked up in surprise, pupils wide and dark.

Bucky leaned down, breathing into Steve’s mouth. “I’m gonna taste every fucking inch of you until you’re begging me to fuck you, Stevie.”

“Oh, God, yes,” Steve gasped, the remnant of a wheeze in his throat from the pressure of Bucky’s fingers. Bucky tried not to smile at how nostalgic that wheeze made him feel.

“I want to see how desperate you get.” Bucky shifted his hand up, pushing Steve’s chin to the ceiling, taking Steve’s Adam’s apple into his teeth, swirling his tongue over the top of it. Steve took in a tight breath through clenched teeth. “Jesus, I’m gonna make you come so fucking hard.”

The guttural whine that ripped up from Steve’s throat echoed over Bucky’s lips, as they traveled to every space of Steve’s bare chest. With a glance up, Bucky watched Steve’s mouth fall, and stay open, soundless, as Steve arched his back up toward Bucky’s mouth.

His right hand slipped over Steve’s slicked palm, as it laid open on the sheets. At the contact, and the context, Steve’s gaze met Bucky’s instantly. A smirk on his face and an upward flick of his eyebrow, Bucky’s lips returned to Steve’s skin, low on his stomach. He pushed Steve’s legs apart, as wide as he could get them. The sudden breath in Steve’s belly rose Bucky in his place.

His kiss migrated down Steve’s hip, up the inside of his thigh. The sounds from Steve’s throat were high and tense and gasping as Bucky slipped his fingers underneath Steve. Carefully, he pushed a single wet finger forward, breaking through the tight muscle, as his lips sucked hard at the soft skin along the inside of Steve’s thigh.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered on an exhale, his hand trembling slightly as he dried it on the sheets beneath him before working his fingers through Bucky’s long hair. His fingers drew in, gathering a handful of Bucky’s hair, pulling softly.

“Oh, I want it louder than that,” Bucky teased, driving his finger in a bit deeper and letting his kiss migrate across Steve’s hip, but keeping it just far enough away from his cock. Steve writhed underneath his touch, his lips, his teeth, but kept his voice low.

“More,” he groaned, his voice dropped down lower than Bucky knew it could go, full of grit and gravel. Slowly, Bucky began to pump his finger, in and out, push and pull, and Steve’s breathing mirrored it. A sharp inhale with every deep push inward, a whimper with every pull out.

“You want more, you beg me for it,” Bucky commanded, eliciting a soft hiss from Steve’s lips, a tight pull of breath seeping in through his bared teeth.

“Please, Buck,” he complied, his pleading voice full of air as he arched up off the mattress, curving his throat until it seemed almost like it would be hard to breathe.

“Tell me what you want.” Without waiting for a response, Bucky gently added another finger, working them both in together. Steve let out a long, deep, vocal breath.

“I want your mouth.” His voice thrummed through his chest, growling and hungry. Bucky set his teeth deep into Steve’s thigh, working up the crease at his hip.

“How bad?” he mimicked Steve’s words back at him, and Steve let out a terse laugh. The laugh died in the back of his throat, overcome with a darker sound, as Bucky pressed an open kiss to the base of Steve’s cock. “Be specific,” Bucky sneered, eyebrow rising high on his forehead.

“As bad as I wanted it that first time in Brooklyn on that awful green couch,” Steve panted with a wet breath. “Do you know how hard up I was for you back then?”

“Stevie, don’t lie,” Bucky mumbled, moving his lips up the supple skin of Steve’s cock, provoking a deeper breath from Steve’s lungs with every inch he grew closer to the tip. “That’s one thing I remember very clearly. You told me you never considered it.” His lips curled gratuitously around the pink head of Steve’s cock. Despite his heavy breathing, Steve still replied.

“Oh, no, no, no,” he muttered, half-replying to Bucky’s accusatory statement and half-reveling in the new movement of Bucky’s mouth. When Bucky pulled away, mouthing along the shaft of Steve’s cock, Steve took a breath. “No, what I said was I gave up on the idea of you ever reciprocating, long before you ever even thought about it.” Bucky paused, looking up.

“Are we arguing about whose idea it was to fuck?”

“We are if you think it was you.” Bucky couldn’t help the grin that crossed over his lips, and Steve returned his smile tenfold, biting down a bit on his bottom lip.

“Alright, then,” Bucky returned his voice to the dark, low octave that he knew put Steve on edge, opening his mouth, wide and wet, low onto Steve’s stomach. “Tell me how hard up you were for me,” he mouthed onto Steve’s skin. Steve squirmed, the rate of his breathing spiking again as Bucky resumed the movement of his fingers. “Tell me what you wanted me to do to you then.”

As Bucky’s wandering mouth returned to its place around Steve’s cock, Steve took in a deep, trembling breath. “God, this was pretty fucking high on the list.”

“Mm.” Bucky slipped his mouth off for a moment. “You ever get off to me, Stevie?” The red on Steve’s face gave him the answer he was looking for. “Describe it to me,” he requested, just before burying the whole of Steve’s cock all at once deep in his throat.

“Bucky.” Steve blew out a lungful of air, burrowing the back of his head down into the pillow underneath it. “The first time was … oh, God.” Steve cut off as Bucky began to match the rhythm of his mouth to that of his fingers. The explicit sounds coming from Steve’s throat send a furious rush of blood to Bucky’s hips. He ground his crotch into the mattress.

“Keep going,” he growled, thrusting his fingers harder into Steve.

“Fuck, fuck.” Steve’s hand was still buried in Bucky’s hair, so he tightened his grip. “The first time was the winter I moved into your apartment. We … oh, God, Bucky, yes.” Bucky’s breathing was becoming more erratic the more Steve talked, the more he responded to the work of Bucky’s mouth. His lips slid noisily up and down Steve’s wet cock as he became more frenzied. “We opened the window to clean and then couldn’t get it closed. You let me sleep in your room.”

“In my bed,” Bucky corrected before slipping Steve’s cock back down his throat, as deep as he could get it, while adjusting his hips to put Steve’s calf in between his legs.

“If I’m heavy-handed in my sleep, I learned it from you,” Steve breathed out hard, shifting his leg to give Bucky the friction he’d been looking for. Steve’s cock slipped from Bucky’s teeth.

“Oh, fuck me,” Bucky moaned, letting his eyes roll back a bit. “Did I touch you, Stevie?”

“God, yes.” Bucky wasn’t sure if it was an answer or an exclamation. Either way, he purposefully slowed the rhythm of his fingers, but pressed in further, reaching for that spot that made Steve fall apart. “I didn’t know you were asleep, not at first.” Bucky had stopped sucking Steve’s cock, solely focused on fucking him with his fingers, matching it to his own hips.

“Don’t stop, Stevie,” Bucky begged, absently pressing his mouth into the crevice along Steve’s well-defined hipbone.

“It was so fucking deliberate, you went straight for me,” Steve spoke through ragged breath, his hands moving down Bucky’s neck, fingernails digging softly into his skin. “You sided up next to me, your cock hard against my hip, and slipped your hand between my legs.”

“Fuck, I could have seriously fucked everything up,” Bucky mumbled, again moving to press hard, open kisses along Steve’s cock. “How did this not freak you the fuck out?” 

“I didn’t even want to stop you, Buck,” Steve laughed, breathlessly. “I let you go on for a lot longer than I should have, but you were …” Bucky lapped at the head of Steve’s cock and Steve’s voice scattered into a collection of breaths. “God, you feel so fucking good.”

“Wait, did I get you off?” Bucky asked suddenly, stopping all motion, eyes wide.

“Will you be patient?” The soft laugh from Steve’s lips was so melodious that Bucky felt another surge of heat echo through his veins, felt a throb in his cock. It was so strong that Bucky grit his teeth, thrusting his hips hard against Steve’s shin and burying Steve’s cock into his throat again. “Ohh, God, Bucky. God … damn.” Bucky let Steve revel in his mouth for a moment before grunting his desire for Steve to continue talking. “The guilt got to me, so I turned around. But because you’re an insatiable little son of a bitch …” Steve grumbled, so Bucky let his teeth just barely scrape against Steve’s cock as he took him down again. “Fuck … you took me by the hips and basically dry-fucked me.” He let out a loud, weighty breath as Bucky pulled off.

“Aren’t you leaving out the most important part?” Bucky asked, increasing the pace and thrust of his fingers again, and Steve arched his hips from the bed.

“Yes, yes,” Steve’s voice rose to nearly a shout, the muscles in his legs bouncing. “I brought myself off while you had your cock against my ass.” Quickly, Bucky slipped his fingers from Steve, despite the aching, whimpering sound that shot from Steve’s throat as a result. His whole body leapt forward as his lips claimed Steve’s with a desperate crash.

“Let me fuck you, Stevie,” Bucky breathed into his mouth, his words only a split second ahead of his tongue. Carefully, he balanced all his weight on his knees, letting his hand drift down to Steve’s cock, stroking him slowly and deliberately.

“Fuck me. God, Bucky, fuck me,” Steve whined only a moment before Bucky pulled himself away, standing next to the bed, shoulders tensed.

“Stand up,” Bucky ordered, and Steve readily obeyed, moving to stand with his back against the wall in front of where Bucky stood. “Hold on to the frame.” Steve gripped the bed frame a moment before Bucky pressed himself hard against Steve, rotating his hips to settle himself deeply between Steve’s legs. With his right arm, he gripped tight to Steve’s thigh, digging into the skin as he draped Steve’s leg over his hip. With only a slight adjustment, Bucky thrust his hips up, dipping just barely into Steve, but it was enough. Biting down on his tongue, Bucky curved his hand underneath Steve’s leg and lifted, pushing in as soon as Steve was off the ground.

“Oh, fuck,” Steve groaned, letting his head fall back against the wall, making a wide, open space for Bucky to lavish with his lips. He let them travel to every possible empty inch of skin.

“I remember that night,” Bucky admitted, his words choppy and destroyed by breath. “Or, I remember the dream I had that night. It was the first time I dreamed about you.”

Steve’s chest expanded with a deep breath. “Oh my God, yes, Bucky.”

“First sex dream I ever had about you,” Bucky growled, opening his mouth to settle his teeth around Steve’s throat. “In my dream, you begged me to fuck you, just like you are now.”

“Fuck, fuck,” Steve panted, using the hand that wasn’t balancing them on the bedpost to fist his own cock, tucked tight between their bellies. Bucky felt Steve thrum and pulse against him.

“And I could feel it, like it was real. I could feel you. I felt you in my hand, and I felt how tight you were around me, and … oh my God, Stevie, you … oh, fuck me.” Bucky’s words dissipated into nothing, into vowels and moaning and gasping as he thrust in and out of Steve.

“Don’t stop,” Steve whimpered, the movement of his hand against Bucky’s abdomen quickening its frantic pace. “I’m so close, Buck.”

“I wanted you for so long before that. God, I love you. I love you.” Bucky buried his face into the curve of Steve’s throat, sucking and biting and marking Steve as his own.

“Oh, God. Oh, God,” Steve moaned, and Bucky could feel the muscles in Steve’s leg twitch underneath his hand just a moment before he felt Steve spill out between them.

“Tell me you love me, Stevie,” Bucky whined, resting his forehead on top of Steve’s collarbone, breathing hot against Steve’s chest. Steve lowered his head, placing his lips right up against Bucky’s ear, exhaling hard. His hand, slick with his orgasm, slipped over Bucky’s waist.

“I love you, Buck. I’m stupid in love with you.” With an airy laugh, he gripped tight onto Bucky’s skin. With Steve’s warm breath in his ear, Bucky shuddered. It reverberated down his hips.

“Oh, fuck,” he grunted, shoving fiercely into Steve one last time before coming hard, biting down on the muscle that stretched along Steve’s neck. “Fuck.”

“I knew you wouldn’t let the one-handed thing go until you proved it,” Steve chuckled, leaning forward to press a sweltering kiss to Bucky’s damp forehead.

Bucky rose an eyebrow. “Did I prove it?” Gently, he lowered Steve’s feet back to the floor, slipping out of him with an emptying groan. The sound from Steve’s lips was significantly more pronounced and he arched back a little as Bucky pulled out.

“Fuck,” Steve mumbled, grabbing Bucky by the throat and pulling him into a ravenous, fitful kiss. He spoke into the gaps between their mouths. “You know you did. Jesus.”

As they pulled apart again, Bucky’s eyes naturally traveled down the impressive expanse of Steve’s skin, and Steve let him do it for a moment before side-stepping into the bathroom.

“You know,” Bucky hummed, stretching his arm high above his head and resting it on the frame of the door, watching Steve clean the mess on his belly. “All this time we’ve been together, and I’ve only gotten you off twice.” With a laugh, Steve looked back, shaking his head.

“This makes four. You got twice in the last hour alone,” Steve reminded, eyebrow raised.

Bucky smirked. “And I’m thinkin’ we shoot for two more, every hour until morning.”

“Huh,” Steve said calmly, glancing over as he licked his lips. “I was thinking three.” Bucky let out a short, but soft laugh, pressing his hip into the wood frame.

“Why stop at three?” he wondered. “Unless you don’t think you could keep up.”

With a starkly raised eyebrow, dark and full and high, Steve looked back, his eyes traveling down to Bucky’s feet and back up, pausing at his hips. Steve’s eyes flicked back up to Bucky’s, wide and hollow, as he ran his tongue along his canine, a grin playing in the corner of his mouth.

“On va voir.”

-----------------------

Morning came all too quickly. The two old men had only gotten about an hour of sleep before a careful, quiet knock came to the door of Steve’s room. Steve groaned immediately.

“I’m getting too old for this,” he mumbled into Bucky’s chest, where his face was pressed, his hair mussed on the side closest to Bucky’s skin. Bucky let out an irritated grunt as Steve shifted.

“You want me to be gentle next time?” he laughed, breath puffing out into Steve’s hair.

“Oh, fuck no,” Steve grumbled, pushing himself above Bucky, hovering over him as he leaned down and pressed a heavy kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I mean too old to have people keep waking me up at the crack of dawn every fucking day.” As Bucky looked up at him, his eyes automatically drew a pattern between the scandalous number of love bites peppered over Steve’s skin – down his neck, across his chest. The largest one was settled right over his hipbone.

Bucky kept this observation to himself at Steve loosely wrapped a blanket around his naked hips and went to the door. Of course, it was no surprise to Bucky that Shuri was the one on the other side, but it seemed to send a deep blush over Steve’s skin. All of it. And there was a lot of Steve’s skin that was uncovered. The look on Shuri’s face was pure satisfaction as her eyes followed the same path as Bucky’s, likely counting the number of marks on Steve’s skin.

She cleared her throat. “Captain,” she said with a smirk, her eyes catching the unbelievably large suction mark on Steve’s hip before he adjusted his blanket. She leaned past him, meeting Bucky’s smug grin, and her smile became more pronounced. “Sergeant.”

“Princess.” Bucky smiled with all his teeth, lazily waving his hand in her direction.

“I understand congratulations are in order after your … conquest last night,” she remarked with a loud laugh. Steve buried his face in his hand. “We all bore auditory witness. Many times.”

 “Thank you, Shuri,” Bucky said, entirely unruffled. “Hope we didn’t keep you up.”

“Oh, not at all.” She pulled her lips into her teeth. “Most of us found it as a great source of entertainment. Your exploits have been catalogued in detail and are now trending on Twitter.”

“Oh, God,” Steve moaned, voice muffled from within his palm.

“Hashtag Stucky. It’s your ship name.”

“Oh, I like it.” Bucky pursed his lips, scratching thoughtfully through his beard.

“You realize I’m a fugitive, right?” Steve asked through his fingers. “We both are. I’m not even supposed to be here. This could bite T’Challa in the ass.” Shuri’s expression hardened a little.

“Then it’s a good thing you have to leave,” she remarked with a sigh, opening that strange little video that played in her hand. Bucky sat up, leaning in to see. The video showed a dark figure outside of the same hotel in Edinburgh, around the corner from the front door, where Wanda and Vision were exiting the building. The figure followed them, and Nat was quick on its heels.

“Nat’s still doing surveillance.” Steve said with a nervous breath. “She’s there alone.”

“Steve, go,” Bucky urged. “I’m not going anywhere.”

“I’ll have the jet ready for you,” Shuri nodded, closing her palm (and the video with it) and pulling Steve’s door shut behind her. In a flash, Steve dressed before turning back to Bucky.

“I didn’t think I’d only have one night,” he said, sighing heavily as he pulled a shirt on over his wildly messy hair. Bucky shook his head, smiling dreamily in Steve’s direction.

“Then it’s a good thing we made it count.”

“I’ll call you from the jet,” Steve confirmed as he pulled Bucky’s face toward his for a kiss that was deeper and fuller than Bucky could have expected. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, punk,” Bucky grinned, and Steve was out the door, leaving Bucky to let out a long, weighted breath. Every time Steve left was harder than the last.

As soon as the jet was in the air, Shuri was back in Steve’s room, setting up the computer, so Bucky could take a video call from Steve, whenever Steve decided to call. It meant Bucky would have to stay in Steve’s room, at least for the time being. He wouldn’t be able to stay long – Steve’s absence and Bucky’s lack of physical labor was bound to spark another series of nightmares, and he couldn’t have Shuri listening to that horror again. Still, for now, until Steve called to let Bucky know he and his team were all alright, Bucky would stay.

Minutes after Shuri left the room, the computer screen lit up. Thankfully, Shuri had instructed him on how to answer, which was simple, even for a 100-year-old man. He stuck his finger out and slid it across the screen. Steve’s face appeared, smiling instantly.

“Hey, jerk,” Steve grinned. Only then did Bucky notice that one of the larger marks on Steve’s neck, down next to his collarbone, was completely visible above the collar of his shirt.

“You look a little tired,” Bucky said, a smirk at the corner of his lips. “Did I wear you out?”

“Hold it!” Bucky heard as Sam appeared in the screen. Bucky tilted his head. “Before you go into any detail, just know that I am here, and I do not want to hear about last night’s exploits.”

“Falcon, what the hell are you doing here?” Bucky asked. Steve stifled a laugh.

“Lucky for you, I slept on the jet,” he huffed, but Bucky could see the smile in his eyes.

“Very lucky for me, because I fucked your buddy into the wall last night.” Momentarily, Bucky glanced down at Steve, expecting a blush, but Steve just ran his tongue along his teeth, raising his eyebrow in Bucky’s direction. Bucky made a dramatic display of biting down on his lip.

“Oh, come on, man,” Sam groaned, throwing his head back while Steve let himself laugh unhindered. Bucky grinned as Sam looked back toward the screen. “Really, though? Thank God, because this idiot was driving me up crazy with all his … pining.”

“Aw, Stevie, you pined for me?” Bucky jabbed with a wink. Steve nodded immediately.

“It was disgusting, actually,” Steve admitted.

“You’re telling me,” Sam grumbled under his breath. For Sam’s sake, Bucky figured he could at least spare him the dirty talk, so he changed the subject.

“How long to Scotland?” he asked, and Steve leaned over slightly, looking at the dash behind the screen. Bucky took this opportunity to lower his head, trying to get a better glimpse of the way Steve’s shirt rose up a little at the hip. Of course, Sam noticed, and made theatrical gagging sounds as Steve righted himself in the chair.

“Several hours, unfortunately,” he sighed, running his hand through his hair, which Bucky also took the time to admire. He was quite enjoying being able to look at Steve without having to pretend not to. Steve’s eyebrow rose. “You want to entertain me?” Sam groaned.

Bucky lowered his voice, deepened it, with every intent of making Sam Wilson as uncomfortable as humanly possible. “Oh, you bet I do,” he growled.

“Is there a parachute here? Can I leave immediately?” Sam frantically shuffled through some things hanging behind him, while Bucky just laughed.

“Alright, we’ll behave, calm down,” Bucky said, rolling his eyes with sharp intent. “And you’ll be happy to know that Stevie isn’t the only one with a history of embarrassing pining.”

Surprisingly, Sam didn’t seem all that surprised. “All of America knows about your pining, we just didn’t know it was for Captain America.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrowed as Steve pulled his lips into his teeth, lowering his head slightly. When he looked up again, he batted his lashes a bit.

“While I was in the ice, they … they put your letters in the Smithsonian.”

“My …” Bucky mirrored Steve’s expression, but with much more force behind it. “My letters? The ones I sent you during the war?” He pushed his fingers into the stubble on his cheek.

Sam spoke again. “Before I met Steve, I thought he really did have a cousin named Stephanie,” he laughed loudly, his smile wide and toothy. Bucky stifled down his own laugh.

“They only used the innocent ones,” Steve assured him, obviously under the assumption that Bucky was concerned about the use of what was once personal property. He wasn’t.

“Which, uh … which letters did the pick?” Bucky asked, through short bursts of air escaping through his nose, which must not have seemed much like laughter to Steve, because he kept up trying to assuage Bucky’s concerns. In truth, Bucky couldn’t have been happier.

“It’s only a few of them,” Steve literally waved the thought away. “Their favorite is that artsy little prose piece about the sunset.” With an enthusiastic nod, Bucky slumped over in a fit of silent laughter, holding his ribs with his one hand. Steve and Sam exchanged curious glances, waiting impatiently for Bucky to let them in on the joke.

“Stevie,” Bucky finally began to explain, a little breathless, “I didn’t send you any innocent ones, trust me. That one the Smithsonian loves so much is a very poorly coded message about how much I wanted to suck you off when I got home.”

The immediate shade of red in Steve’s face was Bucky’s reward, and he reveled in it, while Sam let out a throaty, gurgling sort of groan in the background.

“You realize the whole country has this idea of you being this innocent, blushing virgin, right?” Sam practically shouted, shaking his head as he wandered off screen. Bucky could hear him mumbling about the greatest lie of the twenty-first century. Steve smiled, still pink in the cheeks.

“They got the blushing part right,” Bucky grinned.

“Does it make me a bad person that I’m glad they picked that one?” Steve laughed softly, glancing up at Bucky from underneath dark lashes. A breath caught in Bucky’s throat, and he caught himself starting to look away, before he remembered he didn’t have to.

“What was that you said about letting me entertain you?” Steve’s eyebrow rose.

-----------------------

Several days passed. Bucky went back to his hut at night, staying in Steve’s room for large portions of the day, just in case Steve should call. After that first call, no other followed. Eventually, Bucky stopped going back to Steve’s room. The nightmares were starting to creep back. He had to get back to work, before Shuri started to worry. Before he started screaming in his sleep.

It was mere hours of being back in the field when Bucky saw T’Challa and Okoye marching down the hill, followed by a couple members of the Kingsguard in their wake. One of them carried a sleek, ornately designed case. Bucky took a breath as he approached. T’Challa looked at him knowingly as the case opened. It was the arm Shuri had designed for him. His right arm slipped from the rock he leaned against as T’Challa watched him carefully, an apologetic expression on his face.

Staring absently at the vibranium, Bucky spoke, voice empty. “Where’s the fight?”

“On it’s way,” T’Challa replied solemnly. Bucky could only nod. Okoye stepped toward him, placing a soft hand against his right shoulder. Her dark eyes were wide and sorrowful.

“Come. Shuri will help fit it,” she smiled sadly. The warrior locked up the case again, and their group headed back up toward the city.

Shuri forced him to shower before she would fit him for the arm. Of course, she knew what this all meant. It meant Steve was coming back. Wherever a fight broke out, Steve wasn’t far away.

“I’m sorry, Sergeant Barnes,” she stated, as Bucky lied back on a table in her lab. He shivered at the contact of the vibranium with the bare skin of his back.

“Nothing to be sorry for, princess,” he mumbled on an outward breath. A robotic arm, holding his prosthetic, lined up to his shoulder. Bucky braced for the attaching of nerves.

“I know you don’t want to fight.” The robot pressed in, under the direction of Shuri’s hand, and there was a soft click. No searing pain, no blind heat, no tearing of flesh. He flexed. The prosthetic fingers twitched. Shuri picked up on Bucky’s surprise. “I like to think my processes are much more humane than those you’ve encountered in the past.” He smiled, nodding.

“Much more,” he said with a laugh, before sighing. “It’s not that I don’t want to fight.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Alright, it is,” he grumbled, sitting up. “At least this time I’m on the right side.”

“On the side next to Captain Rogers.”

“Exactly. Nowhere I’d rather be,” he agreed, before restarting. “It was just the first time in a very long time that Steve and I didn’t have a war to fight. It was nice. Just being able to …”

“Be human?” Shuri finished his sentence, better than he himself could have.

“Yeah,” he said with a long sigh, bringing his hands up to his face and forgetting that there was a left hand to cover it. He retracted a bit at the contact of the cold metal.

“Then, I suppose it’s a good thing Captain Rogers is already here,” she smiled, glancing up at one of her many screens. Bucky followed her gaze. “Maybe you can have a little time alone before all hell breaks loose.” With a grin, Bucky nodded, pushing himself from the table.

“Maybe so. Thanks, princess.” Shuri pressed his makeshift uniform into his hands, another thing that she had designed for him. He didn’t fail to notice the similarities to his Howling Commandos uniform, and he thanked her again with his expression. She rolled her eyes, smiling.

“Just hurry up and get out there, you sad, little hobo.”

Just as he arrived outside, he heard T’Challa’s authoritative voice carrying over the throngs of noise – of jet engines cooling down, of war cries being shouted. As Bucky turned the corner, he could see Steve – and Nat, and Falcon – but they hadn’t seen him yet. T’Challa continued.

 “You will have my Kingsguard, the Border Tribe, the Dora Milaje, and …”

Bucky interrupted just as Steve set eyes on him. “And a semi-stable 100-year-old man,” he said with a grin as Steve crossed in front of T’Challa, wrapping his arms around Bucky as soon as he was within range. Over Steve’s shoulder, Bucky watched Nat give a certain look to Sam.

“How you been, Buck?” Steve asked, voice gone soft as he held Bucky by the shoulder. The smile on Bucky’s face felt inappropriate for the situation, but he couldn’t keep it away,

“Uh, not bad. For the end of the world,” he grinned. Steve’s face absolutely lit up, and from his periphery, Bucky tried to ignore Sam blatantly rolling his eyes.

As they began to walk back inside, Steve held Bucky back, motioning for the rest of the group to go ahead. Together, they ducked into a hidden alcove outside the building. Without pausing, Steve pressed Bucky against the wall behind him, their lips together immediately.

“God, I missed you,” Steve breathed out into Bucky’s mouth.

“I can tell,” Bucky laughed, slipping his vibranium arm around Steve’s waist and tightening it a little harder than Steve expected. Steve groaned a little at the welcome visceral contact.

“I like this arm,” Steve hummed, lifting Bucky’s head to the ceiling and trailing his lips down the minimal amount of Bucky’s throat that was exposed from his uniform.

“Mm, so do I,” Bucky admitted, letting his prosthetic fingers slip down over Steve’s ass, surprised at how much he could feel. He owed Shuri a big show of gratitude after this was over.

“They’re going to try to take out Vision’s stone, I think we might have a little time,” Steve said, pushing Bucky’s hair behind his ear so that he could put Bucky’s earlobe between his teeth.

“Let’s find out if a little time if enough to get you off,” Bucky growled, letting his right hand dip down between Steve’s legs, eliciting a soft groan from Steve’s lips, vibrating the skin behind Bucky’s ear, where Steve’s lips were settled. Bucky flexed his fingers, Steve’s hips bucked in.

“Rogers!” Nat’s voice bellowed from around the corner. “You don’t have time to make out with your boyfriend, there’s a war on!” Through clenched teeth, Steve let out a growl.

“Guess it was less time than we thought,” he sighed. Bucky leaned into his ear.

“Just think about how much time we have to make up for after this is all over,” he whispered, moving his right hand with a heavier purpose. Steve bit his lip.

“I’ll come find you when we figure out what to do about Vision.”

“I’ll be with Sam,” Bucky replied, and Steve pressed his lips to Bucky’s once more.

“I love you, jerk.”

“I love you, too, punk,” Bucky grinned. Steve stole a dozen more kisses before he sneaked around the corner, only to run into the sharp disapproval of Nat. They disappeared inside as Sam sided up next to Bucky, nudging his vibranium arm.

“Don’t tell me you were trying to get lucky.”

“Hey, it’s the end of the world, you know,” he smiled. Sam rolled his eyes again, but Bucky could see the smirk tucked away in the corner of his lips.

They started the fight side by side, but there was so much going on, Bucky had lost sight of Steve. The panic was spreading through his chest, but he convinced himself that Steve would be alright, that they both would be alright. They had so much making up to do. They couldn’t be separated now, not after everything they had been through to stay together.

Every now and then, he caught sight of Steve. He tried so hard to keep his eye on him, to keep track of him. If Steve stayed in his view, then nothing could happen to him. If Steve stayed where Bucky could see him, then Bucky could save him, if he had to.

There was a moment that sent a shot of terror into Bucky’s heart. From a distance, he watched Steve face Thanos alone as Steve struggled to keep him away from Wanda. The look on Wanda’s face was absolute anguish as she tried to destroy the Infinity Stone in Vision’s head, but Bucky only caught a glimpse of that expression. Bucky was frozen, wholly focused on Steve, resolutely gritting his teeth under the weight of Thanos gauntlet.

Just as Bucky started to race toward him, gun in hand, Steve took a hard, remorseless blow to the head, and immediately went down. Bucky stopped cold, hands trembling, throat tightening as he looked at Steve, lying frighteningly still on the ground. No. No. This wasn’t happening.

Forgetting everything, Bucky sank to his knees, staring at the spot where Steve lied, desperately willing him to get back up. Please, Stevie, get back up. Bucky forgot Vision, forgot Wanda, forgot Thanos. Forgot the end of the world. Because the end of the world had come.

Lights flashed in the distance, yellow and green, and Bucky’s vision drifted in and out, his breathing shallow in his chest. Then, he stirred. Steve stirred, and Bucky blinked, tears slipping down his cheeks as the breath in his lungs started its rhythm again.

“Steve,” he said under his breath, letting out a sigh of relief. He stood, starting to move toward him, voices in the distance that he could barely hear. Shouting, Bucky thought, followed by a shockwave that felt like someone had ripped his insides out without breaking the skin.

Something was wrong. If his heart was there, he couldn’t feel it beating. If his lungs were there, they weren’t helping him breathe. He walked toward Steve, but he sounded so far away.

“Where’d he go?” Steve kept asking, but it was like a voice in Bucky’s head. He tried to swallow, but his mouth felt like it had turned to ash. He kept walking, not able to feel the ground underneath his feet. He held out his left hand, watching it disintegrate.

The last thing he remembered was calling out to Steve. He remembered the way Steve turned, shoulders tense. He remembered the devastating terror in Steve’s expression.

“Steve?” It felt like falling asleep.