But you were always gold to me

When they’ve drained the water from the tub and Steve has clambered out, dripping water from his clothes onto the floor, he grabs several towels and rushes to dry off Bucky’s body. Bucky’s jaw is clenched, but he seems more relaxed than before.

“Hate getting cold, right?” Steve asks quietly, and Bucky nods, watching Steve’s movements as he towels Bucky’s shoulders and down his thick biceps. Steve licks his lips, mouth suddenly dry.

He moves to his torso, keeping his face impassive as he dabs water rolling down the tight dips of muscle there. Bucky lets him touch him without complaint, so Steve feels both guilt and arousal fighting for space in his gut as he dries Bucky’s legs, unable to ignore the slowly thickening member just inches away from his face. He stands quickly, takes a deep breath and turns the man in front of him around to dry his back. Steve’s large hands follow the thick ropes of muscle that make up Bucky’s back, and he can’t help but dig his fingers in to loosen the tension there. Bucky lets out a low groan, voice gravelly with disuse.

“Let’s get you dry, Buck, and I’ll rub your back if you want me to.” Bucky nods and Steve keeps his eyes on the ceiling as he runs toweled hands over Bucky’s pert ass. Add that to the list of things that haven’t changed a bit.

Steve drapes the towel around Bucky’s shoulders to preserve his warmth, though Bucky is already shivering slightly. He grabs a dry towel and starts on Bucky’s hair.

“Right after they took me out of cryo, I felt like I could never get warm again,” He speaks softly from Bucky’s shoulder, rubbing the ends of his dark locks gently. “Even though my body always seemed to run hot after...this,” He holds out a hand, like Bucky needs reminding that he’s significantly beefier than he was in his boyhood. “It gets to you. Makes you feel...oversensitive. I remember,” He finishes, rubs Bucky’s shoulders through the towel and guides him out of the tub. Bucky nods and faces Steve. His eyes are incredibly bright, stoney blue and so open, like he’s finally seeing Steve for the first time. “It gets better,” Steve promises softly, and Bucky gives him one of those gentle smiles.

He guides Bucky into the bedroom, realizing he has lots of ideas about what he wants to do with Bucky and no plan whatsoever, no idea if any of them are healthy for Bucky’s healing. He looks at Steve like he’ll follow him anywhere, just content to hold the towel around his hips and let Steve wrap his fingers around his wrist.

Steve draws the curtains, the heavy dark material blocking most of the sunlight. “You tired, Buck? Want to sleep?” He asks, and Bucky eyes the bed as Steve pulls out underwear, sweatpants and a teeshirt and lays them out. Adds a thick pair of socks for good measure.

Bucky doesn’t respond, just chews his lip and moves to sit on the bed, his eyes on Steve and dancing, almost...mischievous?

“What’s up, Buck? I can give you some privacy if you want…” He falls short as Bucky’s expression changes, one so haltingly familiar it makes Steve’s breath catch in his throat.

Bucky is pouting, full bottom lip jutting out ever so slightly, and he points at his back, wiggles his shoulders, and looks up at Steve with what can only be described as puppy dog eyes.

He’s asking for a backrub, and Steve feels his cock twitch. He makes a show of understanding, nodding and waiting until Bucky turns around to rub the heel of his hand against his still wet shorts, the coolness of the fabric doing nothing to remedy his situation.

“Get comfortable, I need to change out of these...you can get under the covers if you want to stay warm,” he finishes lamely, and Bucky shucks off the towels, pulls on a pair of Steve’s underwear and burrows under the blankets, taking the socks with him as an afterthought.

Steve grabs a change of clothes and hides behind the bathroom door, groaning into his fist. When he pulls off his wet underwear, his cock springs out like a damn flag pole. He pulls on bottoms and tucks his erection into his waistband like every other respectable citizen, squaring his shoulders and opening the door.

Bucky has his head poking out of the blankets, dark hair pooled around him and drying into soft waves. He looks relaxed and open, and Steve can’t help but smile at him, though he can feel his heart pounding in several places. He stills when he sees Bucky’s expression fall immediately, braces himself for the worst.

What’s wrong? He signs, hand at his chin. Bucky sits up slowly, hand outstretched toward Steve, though he doesn’t know why. Bucky’s brows knit together, his face pained, all signs of playful pout gone.

Steve follows his gaze to a purpling bruise just below his ribs, the spot the size of a supersoldier fist.

“Oh Buck, don’t--” He stills when Bucky’s flesh hand grazes over the spot, fingers so gentle and soft. He refuses to believe the man ramming his fist into him not long ago is the same one agonizing over the marks left on his skin now.

Don’t worry, Steve shushes with one hand, lets the other wrap around Bucky’s wrist. It’s just a… he can’t remember the sign.

B-R-U-I-S-E. Bucky spells out each letter with the metal hand absentmindedly, his gaze focused on Steve’s body. He lets the flesh hand drift down to the wound at Steve’s hip from the fire fight in France. He scowls, even though the hole is just a scab now. He checks the wound on Steve’s side, lets the covers fall away as he stands and lets his fingers run over the one on Steve’s back. He checks various stab wounds like a man on a mission, and Bucky’s flesh fingers flit over Steve’s skin like butterfly kisses. He speaks, because Bucky can’t see his hands as he crouches behind him, inspecting a bullet graze near his femoral artery.

“Here I thought I was supposed to be looking after you.” He turns around as Bucky stands from his crouch. He squints at Steve.

This feels...familiar, he starts. Feels right. Like I used to do this all the time. When Steve smiles fondly at him, he goes on. You used to...get hurt a lot?  Steve nods. You were angry. All the time.

Steve lets himself laugh at that. Yeah, I was always getting into fights.

Bucky repeats the sign, two fists knocking together like boxing gloves. I had to pull you out of them. Bring you home, he’s signing faster now, and Steve can practically see the memory racing across his face.

He takes a step back, mapping out the scene with his hands. Steve tries desperately to follow, but he knows the memory as well as Bucky, like it happened yesterday, so he can fill in the signs and gestures Bucky uses that he doesn’t know.

Our apartment was small, the bathroom was so tiny. Sink here, toilet there, tub next to it. Steve nods, hugs his arms across his chest. I could pick you up, Bucky signs, his eyes round with realization. I’d start on your face, stop the bleeding. Your lips were always...hurt. He steps closer to Steve, studying his face like it’s 1937 again. Your eyes would be black...B-R-U-I-S-E-D. I’d be so mad at you...why can’t you…

Stay out of trouble? Steve finishes for him, smirking. You always said that. You were always taking care of me.

Bucky picks up one of Steve’s hands, the one he’s pointing at his chest.

I remember, he says, eyes as clear as morning sky. I would bandage your hands last. He runs his fingers over Steve’s knuckles, soft as a whisper. Steve’s breath catches in his throat, the memory hot and searing like sun on the back of his neck.

I knew it hurt, but you would never complain, he says slowly, cupped hand tapping his chest. And then one time, when I got done I--

He drops his metal hand, but keeps Steve’s palm clenched in his right. Steve’s eyes drop shut, and he can see that night behind his eyelids, see Bucky looming over him, his smooth shaven jaw and angry eyes as he held Steve’s battered hand between his own. He hadn’t dared close his eyes then, scared he would miss one moment of Bucky’s pouting, angry stare until--

Steve feels warm lips, soft and tentative, press against his skin. He opens his eyes and sees Bucky now, as sweet as he was then, gently kissing his palm. He looks up at Steve with questioning brows, and it’s all Steve can do not to tremble under his gaze. He nods at Bucky, who continues the ministrations, trailing down to his fingertips, tasting them with the slight tip of his tongue.

He brings his free hand up to tuck damp hair behind Bucky’s ear so he can see that strong jaw, shrouded by shadow now but just as handsome as it ever was. He puts his fingers under Bucky’s jaw and draws him closer than he dares before he whispers, “Can I kiss you, Buck?”

Bucky stares up at him, eyes round and trusting, and nods.

When Steve closes the distance between him, he feels like he’s remembering how it feels to be warm for the first time since he’s entered this century. His mouth moves slowly against Bucky’s, testing and gentle, until Bucky applies just a little more pressure. His hands move to Steve’s bare shoulders and Steve sits on the bed pressing into the backs of his knees. In one swift motion, he slides his hands down Bucky’s back and over his round bottom, hands cupping the backs of his thighs and pulling him into his lap. He pulls Bucky snug against him, chest to chest, and Bucky threads his fingers through the hair at the back of Steve’s neck. Steve kisses him soundly, like he’s telling him something, and really he is, because he has dreamed of kissing Bucky like this, sweet and warm and straight up, ever since that night Bucky bandaged his hands. He has dreamed about rubbing his nose softly against that dimple in Bucky’s cheek, as he does now, when Bucky fought beside him in the war and even after he was dead. He could not have dreamed, however, of the warmth he would feel when Bucky pulls back and gives him a slow, timid smile, his cheeks pink and hands coming to cup Steve’s jaw. He damn near feels warm clear to his toes.

Eventually, they climb under the covers together, Steve on his back, one arm spread open in Bucky’s direction, inviting. They both feel a little bashful, all blushing and stuttering motions, until Bucky tentatively rests his head in the crook of Steve’s shoulder, warm cheek pressed against his chest and soft hair tickling Steve’s nose. He smiles up at Steve and signs, Did we ever do that? Before?

Steve shakes his head. No. But I always wanted to. Bucky nods, like he remembers that he did, too. Bucky raises his hand, like he wants to ask a question, and Steve nods for him to go on.

Tell me more about our old life. When we used to live in that apartment. I want to remember.

Steve lets out a sigh, his right hand curling around to rub Bucky’s side softly.

“I’ll tell you all the stories you’ll listen to, Buck. Hm...let’s see, it was one day where it was so freakin’ cold, sleeting up a storm…”

Bucky listens until his eyes drift shut, lulled to sleep by the rumble of Steve’s voice underneath him.