Chapter Three
Steve was sat on his bed finishing a sketch, pencils and crumpled up papers scattered around the mattress and floor alike. The blonde picked up a blending stump and began to carefully blend the shadings already laid on the page, making them look much smoother. He was cautious not to let his hand slide against the granite, not wanting to smear and ruin the drawing; there were enough failed attempts littering his bedroom floor.
His hand came to a hault, however, when the front door opening caught his attention. Steve placed the sketchpad on the duvet, moving his pencils and shading stumps to sit next to it, before standing up. He opened his door and walked down the hall and to tbe living room where he was met with Sam emptying his pockets onto the coffee table.
"Hey, what took so long? Normally you ain't gone more than 2 hours." Steve said as he stepped into the room.
"There was a new guy," Sam informed him, "had to get all his information and set up appointments, but the the computers fucked up so we had to get them running first."
Steve nodded silently before going over and sitting next to his friend. "So, new guy; what's his deal? If I'm allowed to ask."
The taller man let out a chuckle, leaning back on the sofa. "Retired Vet, served in the Marines. Real nice guy honestly, seemed a little uneasy about starting therapy though."
"Aren't they always uneasy about that?" Steve questioned.
"Well, yeah, wouldn't you be? You come back from war with all these problems and you gotta tell them to some random guy." Sam told him. "He looked like he relaxed a little after finding out I also served, though."
They continued talking about different people around the clinic Sam worked at. His was specifically to help those coming back from the Navy, Army, Marines, etc. They offered to work with them on medical problems/expenses and offered therapy; both physical and psychological. Sam worked in the psychological side, mainly with those suffering from PTSD. He had been in the Army not too long ago, but after losing a friend he served with he had to leave; it was just too much for him mentally. Sam came back a mess- but who wouldn't after losing their friend that way? Now, however, he was doing better; which made him want to help others going through what he did or things similar to it.
After a while of chatting Sam suddenly took a long glance at Steve's hand, noticing some grey smudging across the side.
"What's all over your hand?" He asked, causing the smaller man to look his hands over, also noting the grey smudges.
"Aw shit," he mumbled, more to himself if anything, "I was drawing while you were gone, didn't even notice that happened." He said as he tried to rub it off on his black jeans.
Sam nodded before standing up, quickly popping his back and stretching his limbs. "Just make sure you wash it off, 'kay? Don't want you getting a stain on something." He began walking off, heading down the hall as he mumbled, "Night, I'm heading off to bed, shortie." Steve slowly stood up, glaring as his friend made his way down the hall, before he himself walked through and back into his room. Quickly, he grabbed his art supplies and put everything back in it's cases and holders, setting it all on his nighstand along with his now shut sketchbook.
Steve padded over to his dresser and dug around till finding some random old t-shirt. He slipped off his current jeans and shirt, tossing them in the hamper near his closet, before pulling on the other shirt, the fabric hanging low and loose on his tiny stature. Turning off the room light, he went back to his bed, stopping to flick on the fairy lights strung around before sliding under the warm sheets, waiting for sleep to overcome him.
"You're sure you don't want me to hang out for a little bit? Give you some company?" Nat asked for what was probably the twelfth time.
"Nat, I really just want to get some sleep, yeah?" Bucky told the red-head once again as they walked to his apartment. He could actually speak properly, his tongue now back to it's original size and not throbbing in his mouth like it was a week ago.
Bucky knew she was just trying to be a good friend, maks sure he wasn't feeling too lonely, but in all honesty he didn't want to be around people right now; he'd had enough interaction for one day.
"Alright, if you say so," She sighed, stopping in front of the apartment door, "but if you need anything just text me or Clint, alright?"
"I got it, mom. Can you go so I can sleep, now?" He asked with an eyeroll.
Natasha gave the brunet a small jab in the side with her elbow, a faint smile on her face. "Fine, I'll get out of your hair. See you later, James." The two shared a quick hug before Natasha walked off as Bucky unlocked the door. He stepped inside, immediately locking the door, before walking over to the kitchen to find a snack.
After digging around for what felt like ages, Bucky just decided to eat a little extra in the morning; Nat had brought him for food a few hours ago, he'd be fine without dinner.
Bucky padded down the hall and into his room to grab a quick change of clothes; a pair of loose joggers and a tank top. Once he had the articles he made his way to the bathroom, tossing his clothes on the counter before turning the shower on. While waiting for the water to heat up Bucky stripped of his clothes and began pulling out his variety of piercings, setting them on the counter as well. Once finished, he strolled over and hopped into the shower, letting out a pleased sigh as the hot water hit his skin.
After sitting under the water a moment, he began to lather himself with soap, slowly massaging his tense muscles as he did; Bucky always got tense when he did things like showering, made him feel too vulnerable, senses nowhere near as sharp as they usually were. If something happened, he was completely unprepared, had nothing to defend himself with nor a way to stop anything. Bucky felt himself tense more at the thought and tried to change the subject in mind, tried to calm his nerves and tell himself it was okay; nothing would happen in the next 10 minutes. Stepping under the shower head, he let the water run down his skin once more, rinsing it clean. Once all the soap was washes off he moved to his hair, massaging the shampoo into his scalp, the feeling helping him steadily become calmer. Bucky tipped his head back, using his hands to help rinse out the shampoo.
Bucky sat there, letting the water run over his body as the room filled with steam, enjoying the warmth around him relax him. After about five minutes, Bucky decided that he had to get out at some point, though. Shutting off the water, Bucky stepped out and grabbed a towel. He quickly dried his body, careful to not get the fabric caught in the plating of the metal arm, before moving to do the same with his hair- well, as best he could do with the towel. Once he deemed himself dry enough, he tossed the towel into the hamper before grabbing his joggers and pulling them on. Next, Bucky plugged in the grey hair-dryer, turning it on and beginning to finish drying his hair, running his flesh hand through the dark strands as he did.
When it was done, Bucky gave his long hair a quick brushing to get the knots out before slipping on his shirt and padding back to his bedroom. He instantly flopped onto his bed, glancing around the dark room with tired eyes. Making sure his phone and wallet were still sat on his nightstand, he crawled under his red and black duvet, immediately letting himself succumb to sleep.
The brunet woke up the next morning, instantly slamming his hand on the snooze button of his alarm, making sure to use his flesh and blood one as to not break it. He sat up groggily. Throwing the sheets off his body, Bucky stood up, yawning tiredly as he did. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand before turning it on, noticing a message from Clint.
From Bird Boi: stop by some time today, Parker is gone so I'll be bored as Hell
Sent at 8:47am
Bucky thought a moment, checking the time- it was 10:15am- before replying to the text.
To Bird Boi: yeah sure I'll stop by for a bit
After sending the reply Bucky set his phone back down. He walked to his closet, almost tripping over random things [pants, shoes, etc.] as he went. He rummaged through the closet for a bit before pulling out a pair of black, ripped jeans. Setting them on the dresser, Bucky went back to digging inside the closet once more before deciding to grab a BMTH t-shirt along with a loose, black hoodie; normally he'd wear a leather jacket, but it had been pretty warm out lately.
After deciding on what to wear, Bucky quickly stripped out of his night clothes before pulling on his outfit for the day. He slipped on his combat boots and grabbed his phone and keys before walking to the bathroom to put all his piercings back in. Once that was done he made his way out the apartment, making sure to lock the door.
Bucky made his way through the hallway, earbuds in with the music blasting as he started down the first flight of stairs. He really hated living on the 4th floor sometimes; taking stairs always felt extremely slow, but he didn't trust the building's rickety, old elevator.
Bucky got about halfway down the third set when his phone went off. Pulling it from his front pocket, he turned it on to see an 'okay' from Clint. Unfortunately, checking his phone along with his music all the way up caused Bucky not to see the tiny blonde barreling down the steps behind him.
Steve rushed down the several flights of stairs, cursing himself in his mind.
'Fuck fuck fuck I'm late!!' The blond thought as he ran as fast as his thin legs could carry him, strength steadliy leaving them as he went. This wasn't the best plan because right as he rounded to go down the next flight of steps he suddenly ran into someone. The impact causing Steve to fall back and landing on his ass, head almost hitting the handrail as he went.
Steve groaned the second he hit the ground, pain shooting through his rear and hands, which he used to try and catch himself. He was about to apologize to whoever he just ran into, but was stopped before he even could.
"Oh, shit- are you okay?" The stranger asked as he turned, pulling his earbuds out, deep voice laced with sincerity.
Steve looked up and his breathing immediately hitched; not because this guy was huge compared to him [steve always picked fights despite his size], but because he was just... attractive. And Steve didn't think that about many guys.
The other man looked like he was about Steve's age, maybe in his early 20s. He had dark, shoulder length hair that was shaved on the right side, soft yet piercing blue eyes, his jaw and cheekbones strong and sharp alike, and piercings galore; Steve counted about 5 on just the one exposed ear. The man even had both a septum and dolphin bite piercing.
The brunet wore a loose band shirt [Steve had heard a few of their songs on the radio] with a black hoodie over top, a pair of ripped, black jeans, and a set of black combat boots that had spikes and chains going across it. Steve also took notice of the single black, fingerless leather glove that was on... a metal hand???
"Uhm, can ya talk or..?" The stranger questioned hesitantly, reminding Steve he had asked something.
The blond stopped his staring, casting his gaze back down as he mumbled out an answer, "oh, uhm- yeah, yeah 'm fine, don't worry."
Steve tried to push himself off the ground, but groaned as pain shot through him once more; the fall along with all the running he just did is really taking a toll on his bones right now.
The man took notice and quickly offered his hand to Steve. Reluctantly, the blond took it and hauled himself up along with the other's help.
"Again, sorry for being in the way." He apologized again as Steve stood up, adjusting his glasses.
"It's fine, really. I should'a been payin' attention." He replied, pulling out his phone. "Shit, gonna be so late." He sighed, shoving his phone back into his pocket.
There was no way he was gonna make it to the shop with the way his legs are shaking just from going down stairs.
His eyes drifted back to the man in front of him, an idea popping into his head.
"Uhm, hey, I know we don't know each other and all, but," he paused, taking a quick breathe before continuing, "d'ya think you could uh maybe give me a quick lift?" He asked the stranger nervously, anxiety and instant regret starting to build in the pit of his stomach.
Steve could see the other ponder the idea for a moment before replying with, "Depends, how ya feel about motorcycles and where ya need to go?"
'Of course he'd drive a motorcycle, just look at him-' Steve thought.
"That's fine, and uh it's this tattoo shop a few blocks away."
"Wait, is it the one on Smith Street?"
Steve gave a small nod in reply.
"Perfect timing, that's actually where I'm headed right now." He said, a deep chuckle following after the sentence sent a quick shiver up Steve's spine; he chose to ignore this fact, however, telling himself he was just cold.
"So ya wouldn't mind bringing me then?" Steve asked, giving him the chance to decline.
"Not at all, uhm..." he drifted off. "Sorry, didn't catch your name."
"Didn't throw it." Steve mumbled, taking note of the tiny smile tugging at the other's mouth- not that Steve was staring at his mouth or anything. "It's Steve," the smaller man replied as he put his hand out.
The brunet brought up his right hand, the flesh one, and gently shook Steve's as he replied. "Bucky."
"Bucky?" Steve questioned the odd name with a small laugh.
"Oh, shut it," Bucky chuckled, "it's a nickname."
The man- Bucky- turned and continued his way down the stairs, Steve trailing behind him.
"Nickname, huh? What's your real name then?" Steve asked as they walked.
"James, but I don't like usin' that." Bucky replied, brows furrowing as a look of what looked like sadness flickered across his face for a split second.
That confused Steve, but he decided not to look too deep into that.
"How'd ya get 'Bucky' from 'James'?" The blond questioned once more.
Bucky huffed out a laugh. "Someone's awful nosey," he mumbled.
"Oh, s-sorry I didn't mean to-"
"Relax, it was just a joke." Bucky said interrupted Steve's stammering, nudging him with his elbow.
"Jerk," Steve huffed as he sent a glare Bucky's way.
"Since I let you be nosey, how about you answer a quick question for me, yeah?" The brunet suddenly spoke as they finished the final set of steps.
"Okay, shoot. What d'ya want to know?"
Bucky turned to look at the smaller man before hesitantly asking, "how old are ya? Because I don't want to be seen with some kid and people get the wrong idea."
Steve thought it over for a second before saying, "if ya tell me your age, too, then sure."
Bucky gave a quick nod accompanied by a tiny grin as he said, "'kay, you first, though."
"19," Steve replied simply and waited for the other to answer.
"Well, I'm 20 so that works out fine," Bucky told him. "Now that that's settled we can head off."
Steve nodded and they both made their way out the building. The two walked through the parking lot, stopping when they reached a black motorcycle parked a dencent ways from the entrance. Noticing no helmets, Steve gave the other a confused look as he climbed onto the bike.
"Wait, where's your helmet?" Steve asked, obviously concerned over the lack of safety.
"Eh, we don't need those. I can drive just fine without it," the brunet replied. "Now, c'mon, ya said you're late, right?"
"It's a damn law," Steve huffed and rolled his eyes. He pulled his glasses off, putting them in their case and shoving it in his bag, before carefully climbing onto the back seat. Bucky fished out his keys and shoved it into the ignition, starting up the bike's engine.
"Might wanna hold on, punk." Bucky told Steve.
"Hold on to what?" Steve asked, genuinely not knowing.
Bucky rolled his eyes, smile forming on his lips, before responding with, "arms around me, unless ya wanna fall off."
A quiet "oh" was all Bucky heard before a pair of thin arms were slowly making their way around his torso, the tiny things barely able to wrap around his lean stomach. There was some strange, comforting feel about this; about Steve's arms around him like this, his small body now pressed against Bucky.
The older shook his head, ridding his mind of that thought, before pushing the up kick stand and driving off.
The minute they got on the road Bucky was gunning it, going what felt far over what the speed limit allowed. Steve's first time on a motorcycle ever and here he was, gripping onto Bucky like his life depended on it. The other to huff out a quiet laugh as he drove with Steve's tight hold around him.
It didn't take long for them to reach the shop with how fast Bucky was driving.
Bucky pulled into the car park, stopping and parking the motocycle in a space near the entrance. Pushing the kickstand down, he turned the engine off and pocketed his keys. The brunet sat there, patiently waiting for Steve to get off first. It took a few minutes, but eventually he was unwrapping his arms and hopping off. Bucky followed suit and got off as well. The two headed into the building, Steve saying a quiet 'thanks' as he put his glasses back on.
"Eh, no worries." Bucky responded as they walked in. "What's your cute lil ass going here for, anyways? Doesn't really seem like your kinda thing." He continued.
"What d'ya mean 'doesn't seem like my thing'?" Steve questioned, a scowl beginning to form. "What, since I'm not some big, bad dude I can't be into tattoos and shit?"
"No, I didn't mean it like that!" Bucky said with an apologetic tone. "Just, ya don't really seem like you're into all that."
Steve rolled his eyes, feeling that small twinge of annoyance simmer down. He knows it's something ridiculous to get mad over, but he couldn't help it; he hated people making assumptions of him based on his physical appearance.
Steve went to pull his phone out, but haulted when a voice spoke.
"Wow, look who finally showed up. And both at the same time, couldn't have worked out better."
They both turned and, sure enough, saw Clint grinning at them.
"Both?" The two questioned in unison, turning to look at each other then back at Clint.
"Yes, both." Clint replied as he walked up to them.
"Ya know this lil punk?" Bucky asked, pointing at Steve.
"I ain't a punk!" Steve shouted as he set a fiery glare on Bucky.
"Sure, ya ain't." Bucky said, mouth curling into a teasing grin. "How d'ya know him anyways, Barton." He asked, turning back to the taller blonde.
"Nat introduced us a few years back," Clint informed him, "also helps me with designs a lot, including that one you asked me about a few weeks back," he continued.
Bucky hummed, nodding his head, before turning back to Steve. "That why ya here then? Help out with designs?"
Steve nodded saying a smile, "yeah" in response.
"So, he's the guy getting that Howling Commandos one?" Steve asked as he looked at the other blond, who just gave a quiet nod.
Steve glanced back at Bucky as that fact set in. He had came by to show his sketches for the tattoo and the guy who's getting it is here. It made Steve scared to show them, the idea of Bucky hating his sketches leaving a feeling of anxiety within him.
"Anyways," Clint started, pulling Steve out of his thoughts, "I only have an hour so let's go talk about what ya got."
Steve gave a slow nod, pale hand clutching tight on the strap of his messenger bag.
"Can I come along, Barton?" Bucky asked curiously. "I mean it is my tattoo."
"No, you totally can't come along to discuss your own tattoo." He replied with a sarcastic tone, rolling his eyes.
"Better drop the sarcasm before I dropkick you." The brunet grumbled, no real fire behind it.
All three strolled over and sat on the black sofa in the waiting area; Clint and Bucky on each end and Steve sat in the middle.
"'kay, so uhm I came up with a few different ideas," Steve started, opening his bag and pulling out a worn notebook, "but I don't really know if they're what ya wanted..." he trailed off as he pulled open the book, flipping a few pages, before setting it on his lap for the other two to see.
The page had three drastically different designs, all beautifully drawn. Bucky gawked at the page as he quietly mumbled, "Damn, you're really good."
Steve had to suppress the shudder that went up his spine when that deep, silky voice said the praise right next to his ear, breathe ghosting across his skin from leaning in so close to see the page.
He managed to hide it and stammer out a quick "thanks" as a reply.
Normally, Bucky would pick up on any movement someone made, almost instantly figuring out what the body language meant, but he was too engrossed in the drawings, looking over every little detail they held. His gaze lingered on a specific design, however. The one near the bottom left of the page; it had a howling wolf with wings on either side, two crossed swords in the center.
"These are great, Steve," Clint said before leaning back and looking over at the brunet, "you see one you like?" He asked curiously.
Bucky thought a moment, looking over all three designs, before pointing at the one he's been eying. "This one. I like this one." He said simply.
After hearing Bucky's answer, Steve let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. He always got so nervous when showing anything he drew, worried he'll be judged or shunned for it not being good enough. He was extremely critical of himself already, he didn't need everyone else to be, as well.
"Glad ya like it." Steve said, glancing up at Bucky who was still staring down at the book on Steve's lap, face showing mixed emotions; he had a smile that didn't quite reach his eyes that were full of something Steve couldn't read, his brows slightly furrowed.
Bucky felt Steve looking at him and flicked his eyes up, catching his gaze for a moment before the blond moved his eyes to look down at the page, porcelain skin dusting a fair shade of pink across his cheeks. His lips curved into a tiny smirk noticing the ever so subtle blush growing on the blond's face; he made a mental note to remember that.
Leaning back against the sofa, Bucky crained his neck to look at Clint.
"Ya said you're free for an hour or so, yeah?" He asked suddenly.
"Yeah," Clint replied, "why you asking?"
"How long ya think this would take to do?" Bucky questioned, pointing at the book still sat atop Steve's lap.
Clint was silent for a moment, looking over the sketch as he thought, before answering.
"I could probably get it done in time, and if it takes a little longer I could see if someone else could do my client while I finish up."
"Wait, ya actually wanna get it?" Steve asked, astonishment clear in his voice.
"'course I do," the older responded as he stood up, "it looks amazing and I'm here, anyways so."
Clint stood up as well, fixing his shirt, before saying, "Alright, I'm gonna go set up, meet me back there in a sec."
Bucky nodded before looking down at Steve who was shoving his notebook into his bag. Steve noticed the other still standing there and looked up from his spot on the sofa, innocent baby blues staring up at Bucky curiously as he muttered out a quiet "what?"
"Waiting for your punk ass to get up, Stevie." Bucky replied, the mischevious glint in his eye matching the smirk plastered on his face.
"Jeez, someone wants me gone real quick, huh?" Steve mumbled as he stood up and turned to walk towards the entrance.
He was stopped short, however, by a hand gripping the back of his shirt adnd yanking him back.
"Where the hell ya goin'?" Bucky asked as he stopped the blond. "Come keep me company while Barton inks up my skin," he added.
Steve pondered the idea over in his head. He didn't have anywhere to be and Sam wasn't going to be home for a while.
Fuck it, why not, right? He thought before giving Bucky a quick nod.
The brunet's grin grew. He slung an arm over Steve's shoulders, a chuckle escaping his lips, as the two walked off to meet their friend. Steve ducked his head to hide the smile forming on his face.