Can't Go On Without You

They were standing in the small living area of Steve’s studio apartment. The place was immaculately clean. It was almost as if no one actively lived there and it was instead one of the ‘show apartments’ for the lot that they kept furnished, and scrubbed down, and empty of all personality. It seemed a little odd to Bucky—Steve was an artist, and while he may not be the most extroverted being to ever walk the planet, he certainly had his own take on life. Bucky expected there to at least be some of his own artwork covering the walls.

The fact that they had managed to make it up to the fourth floor walk up at all was a testament to their willpower. They had leaned on each other the entire way up—Steve was singing some ridiculous musical number about Elder Smith, and Elder Green, and Elder Young and it was complete nonsense and he kept collapsing into hysterics on top of Bucky who would push him back upright,

“Oh Jeez Buck, how have you not heard of Book of Mormon?”

He continued singing complete and utter gibberish. And Bucky couldn’t stop grinning and conceding victory: his musical theater knowledge was total crap. Drunk Steve was just enough like superhero obsessed Steve that he felt seven years younger and like maybe, just maybe, they were going to head back out to the train car and he would fall asleep while Steve sat in the twilight sketching by the fading sunlight over the horizon and the moment would be pure bliss, or this moment would be pure bliss they were both entwined now,

but currently they were standing in the small living area of Steve’s studio apartment and the place was immaculately clean.

Steve had stopped singing the moment they entered, he froze up and was eyeing Bucky warily as though he had forgotten all events of the night leading up to this moment, and Bucky wasn’t really sure what to say, what to do, he wished he had stopped drinking after that second cocktail because he really didn’t feel like he should be making any major decisions at this moment, he wasn’t even sure he should really be opening his mouth to speak, but he did,

“Ummm, Steve? You ok? You said…you said you wanted to show me something?” And he shoved one hand in his pocket for security but the other he had to throw out and catch himself with on the small bar of the kitchen because dammit he was too drunk for this, the room was slightly swaying, and Steve was slightly swaying, but maybe he was just moving, because suddenly his face lit up again,

“Right! Right…”

And he was off running towards a closet at the other end of the room and he threw the door open to reveal stacks of tupperware box containers ranging from small to extremely large and he started throwing them all on the floor and tearing through them; upending them everywhere, there were papers flying and Steve was muttering,

“Shit. They’re all here somewhere…I thought I had them closer to the front,”

and Bucky could see hundreds of pages of painstaking notes scattering all over the apartment floor, years of notes on art and paint and drawing and Steve was going to be so pissed off when he had to put them all back in order tomorrow when he wasn’t drunk anymore, and—was that?—

“Finally…one of the damn things,”

Bucky had never heard Steve swear this much, but now there were pages upon pages of sketches floating down through the air like snowflakes, like debris after a bomb, and they were all of Bucky, they were all his face, there were his eyes and his nose and his mouth and him,

and he was feeling chaotic neutral, or he was feeling just chaotic, he couldn’t remember right now, he was too drunk. He had a friend in college, Eric, who was incredibly smart and they were in a lot of the same classes together because he was a poli-sci major also, but Eric was completely obsessed with Dungeons and Dragons and he convinced Bucky to play with him a couple of times. To be honest, the whole ‘dungeon master’ thing had weirded him out at the time, he just couldn’t hit that suspension of disbelief that was imperative to enjoying the game, but creating his characters was a blast—he would get lost in the world building of it all and making personas that were inherently him, but not, and they were always chaotic,

why was he thinking about Eric right now? Steve was still across the room throwing things, it looked like in anger now, there were tens of boxes piled around him and he was yanking pages out in big fistfuls and hurling them in Bucky’ general direction like a petulant child, and they were still all him. Bucky running along tracks, Bucky tossing stones into a pond, Bucky with tears running down his face, Bucky—Bucky—in a hospital bed, Bucky on his back in bed staring in to the distance, Bucky’s hand on Steve’s face, Steve curled in to Bucky, Bucky kissing Steve, Steve kissing Bucky,

“Steve? Hey…Steve?” he choked out the words, he didn’t know what was going on, he was scared, Steve was throwing art everywhere, Steve suddenly stood up and stalked over looking wild and Bucky was still seeing two of things, he was still seeing too slowly and it shocked him when Steve suddenly pushed him violently back against the wall.

He huffed out his breath in surprise and tried to move forward, but Steve was pinning him there with his forearm, so he reached his hand out and laid it gently on his shoulder and tried to breath, Steve was staring at him so intensely, his eyes were so blue, and he was shaking a little and they were close enough that Bucky could smell the tequila on his breath, could almost taste it,

“Steve?” he whispered, and Steve’s face just crumpled and he stepped back and Bucky took in a few deep breaths and tried to catch his wind again,

“I’m sorry!” Steve gasped, and it sounded like he was crying and he kept going, “But you left Buck. You left me! You left everything here, and I tried, I tried so fucking hard God damn it, but you wouldn’t answer your phone and you wouldn’t answer text messages and you deleted your social media and Christ the only way I knew you hadn’t just gone and offed yourself was that I was pretty sure Rebecca would have mentioned it and fuck you for doing that, fuck you for doing that to me, you were my best friend, and I couldn’t stop, I can’t stop drawing…” he was breathing in choking sobs now, “I can’t stop drawing you, and why…why would you do that to me?”

And he looked up at Bucky and his eyes tore right down into the fabric of his soul and he didn’t know what to say, he wasn’t, he tried, he had to get out because he was in love with Steve Rogers and what was he supposed to say,

“why?” Steve whispered again, mournfully, and Bucky tried to speak, tried to move his mouth but he was being sucked down into the bowels of hell by the brightest of blue, and suddenly Steve moved towards him again and then their mouths were together and now he really could taste the tequila and it was sweet, it was all so sweet, he couldn’t help himself he pressed himself in closer to Steve and his left hand reached up and fisted in to his blonde hair and he could drown in this forever and Steve pressed him back into the wall with his right hand on his chest and his heart was beating so fast and so furiously he was afraid it would push Steve’s hand away, he was afraid of that, it couldn’t happen because he needed that contact, he needed everything and more and Steve pressed his tongue eagerly in to his mouth and he pressed back,

And he pushed Steve away as gently as possible and tried to control his breathing, tried to reign himself in,

“Steve, we can’t…we can’t do this, you don’t want this, you are…you are drunk,”

And Steve just pressed on him harder, he was certain he was going to break through the drywall, and he tried to kiss him again and Bucky ducked out,

“Steve…stop!”

And he did. Just like that, he released him from the wall and took a step back, and put his hands up to his face, and massaged his temples and kept backing up, and Bucky wanted to keen in pain at the loss of that touch,

“Wait…just wait,” he managed to grind out, and his hands were trying to grip at the wall behind him, he was trying to dig himself through now, there was so much tension built up, and he wasn’t James Barnes anymore, there had never been a James when it came down to Steve, there was only Bucky,

Steve was still looking at him, looking straight at him, and he looked so tragic and he spoke,

“Shit…I’m sorry Buck…I’m sorry, I don’t know, I—”

“I’m in love with you,” Bucky blurted out, “I’ve been in love with you since the day I met you—you were twelve and I was fourteen and you were fighting some assholes and you said…you said, ‘I had ‘em on the ropes’ and I…I…I don’t know how to do this, I can’t stop…I can’t stop loving you,”

and now he was shaking too, and Steve was, Steve was smiling, and he was wiping at his eyes and moving towards him again and he came to stand right up against him and nuzzled his head in to that perfect spot, right on his collarbone between his jaw and his shoulder and he whispered up into his ear,

“I love you too, jerk,” Steve huffed into Bucky’s neck,

and he could feel the heat of his breath and now he couldn’t stop himself, it was as though all strain and pressure and worry evaporated from his body and it was because he was still mad, he must still be mad, but he nudged Steve’s head up with own and then turned quickly and pinned Steve against the wall underneath him and he kissed him again and he let himself taste and he let himself smell and both of his hands were holding Steve’s head back against the wall and he could feel the faintest stubble on his chin and he could feel the softness of his ears and he kissed up his neck and he could feel the faintest hitch in Steve’s breath,

he had an irritating moment of dysphoria as his brain chose that minute to remind him that Rebecca had been here first—his sister had been here first—but he shook it off because this was Steve, this was his Steve, and they were meant to be together, they would always be together, the universe had foretold this moment in time possibly before its own creation.

He had made it back to Steve’s mouth now, his perfect mouth, open and taking small gasps for air, and Bucky tried to kiss him tenderly, tried to go slowly, but Steve was pressing into him again, desperate for contact, and they were crushed up against each other now, and even through the alcoholic haze coating his senses, Bucky could feel his erection pushing hard against the confines of his jeans, and even sweeter he could feel Steve’s pushing back and one hand moved down subconsciously, moved down Steve’s ribcage and over the tightly pulled muscles of his abdomen, and he suddenly realized what he is doing and he pulled his mouth back. Steve moaned slightly and Bucky whispered,

“can I…can I unzip…”

and Steve groaned back, “Oh God, yes…please…”

and Bucky’s mouth found Steve’s again and they were sharing breaths, and he undid the top button of Steve’s jeans and zipped down and slid his hand—palm against stomach—down the waistline of Steve’s boxers and he could feel the coarse hair, and he could feel his hard length, and he closed his fingers around Steve and Steve let out a shuddering whimper and Bucky was stroking up and down now slowly, just feeling him, just savoring the contact and the skin was so soft, and Steve was clenching on so tightly to his shoulder he could barely move any more, and Bucky involuntarily jerked forward, trying to rub forward, trying to rub on Steve,

“Sorry,” he blurted out, and Steve was still moaning,

“Oh my God, Buck, wait…Buck, wait…”

and Bucky paused and looked in his eyes for a moment and Steve took a deep breath in and wiggled out from Bucky’s grip, then grabbed his arm and led him over towards the couch, the nondescript taupe suede couch in the center of the living area, and he pushed Bucky down and knelt down in front of him, and Bucky thought he was going to stop breathing, he thought he might pass out, he thought that this might just be his new religion, he didn’t know what was coming next, he couldn’t know what was coming next, but Steve was looking at him with lust blown pupils and he was still breathing hard and there were little droplets of sweat beading on his brow and Bucky wanted nothing more in the world then to kiss him forever, to taste him forever, and Steve was working at his pants now, and Bucky felt like he should say something, felt like he owed it to Steve to offer him a way out of this but his brain wasn’t working right, it’s the madness, or the absinthe, and he murmured,

“Steve…” but he cut off with a harsh intake of breath as Steve worked the zipper free and ran his fingernail over the bulge in Bucky’s jeans, but Steve still heard him and stopped for a moment.

“Buck?”

He was trying to breathe, he is trying to breathe, “yeah…?”

“Can I…I mean…” he laughs almost ruefully, “I’ve never done this before, is this ok?”

and he is pulling Bucky’s jeans and boxers down around his ankles and now Bucky is sitting, naked from the waist down on a taupe suede couch, and his erection has sprung free of confinement and Steve’s hands are on his inner thighs and he can’t breathe, he forgot how, he is swimming in blue and he nods his head and smoothly as he can because he sure as hell can’t speak, but it jerks forward and Steve bends down, but he can still see blue and Steve takes him in his mouth and he is gasping for air, he can’t breathe, Steve is sucking at his cock and still every so often his eyes flick up and Bucky can see them, and each time it is like a shot of adrenaline straight to his heart,

Steve pulls off for a moment and runs the back of his hand over his mouth, wiping away spit, “I’m sorry, I’m really sorry, tell me if this isn’t good…”

And he is so self conscious but it is so amazing and Bucky can barely speak, he just knows he needs him, knows he needs his mouth wrapped back around him and he murmurs as clearly as he can,

 “Oh God, please…please keep going,”

and Steve beams up at him, like he is so proud, and he lowers his head again and now Steve is moaning around his cock and Bucky can feel the vibrations echoing up through his bones, up to the tiny bones in his ears and they hum in delight and maybe it’s the alcohol or maybe it’s Steve, but waves of ecstasy are washing over him and he can’t hold it in anymore, he can feel himself tightening up, and his fingers are grabbing at the suede in a death grip and he tries to pull back but Steve’s hand tightens on his thigh, and he chokes out,

“Steve, stop, I can’t, I’m going to,”

and Steve shakes his head the slightest bit, and tightens his hold and he looks up one last time and Bucky is lost, he can’t hold back anymore, his orgasm bursts from him,

“Oh shit, Jesus…shit…shit…shit…”

and he falls back on the couch breathing hard, while Steve swallows around his cock, he can feel his throat muscles still swallowing, and he slowly pulls up licking at his lips and in the wake of the moment Bucky feels amazing, but he also feels incredibly self conscious, he can actually feel the color seeping in to his cheeks and he can’t look at Steve in the eyes, even though Steve is staring right at him, he looks at the floor instead,

“I’m really sorry…I…I didn’t mean for that to—”

Steve curls up next to him and lays his head on his shoulder and Bucky can feel him smiling into his skin, he can feel his mouth turn up,

“Buck. That was…that was amazing…”

And Bucky turns his head towards Steve and feels this intense relief and intense joy and this intense love,

“Can I, for you, can I,”

and Steve chuckles sheepishly and mumbles,

“yeah, that ship kind of already sailed,”

and Bucky looks down for a moment and can see the small wet remains on the front of Steve’s jeans and he throws his arm around Steve and hugs him close,

“well, better luck next time punk,”

and Steve sighs contentedly while Bucky wraps his arms around him and he could sit here for all eternity and watch the darkness settle in around them, let it coat their bodies in charcoal, they lay together on the couch and the darkness melts them in to one being and they both drift aimlessly through inebriated bliss.

*****

At some point, hours later, Bucky wakes up and Steve is still passed out on top of him, snoring slightly. He is shivering somewhat—the vigor and sweat from earlier having dried on his skin. He nudges Steve gently, and peels himself out from under him to go find the bathroom and wash up.

In these early morning hours, he can almost pretend that everything is perfect, that he and Steve are one—that the sun will rise upon them and bless them in its radiance and that everything will change, nothing will be the same. And nothing will be the same. Ever. His liquor high is fading fast and bringing with it the bone chilling melancholy of sobriety and he isn’t sure what his move is in this game, what card to play. He grabs a pair of sweat pants from Steve’s dresser drawer and pulls them on, then finds an extra blanket from the closet by the bathroom. He wanders over to the kitchen sink and fills up two large glasses of water—chugs one, and carries the other one. Then he pads over and sets the second glass on the table next to Steve, squeezes himself back in, next to Steve, feeling Steve, smelling almond and charcoal and the memory of turpentine and he can allow himself a few more hours of perfection, even if it comes at the cost of his eternal soul, and he leans back in pulling the blanket up around them both and closes his eyes, letting the dark shadows of the studio apartment lull him back in to a dreamless sleep.

Steve came to in slow motion, bits and pieces of his surroundings registering in a pinging fashion throughout his nerves. He was warm, and he was comfortable and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and he was so thirsty, and he hoped Rebecca made it home last night, and he should call Rebecca, and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and he drank way too much last night, and he was under a scratchy blanket and his head was nuzzled up under Bucky’s chin and he was content and his head was pounding with the force of a thousand sledgehammers and

and his head was nuzzled up under Bucky’s chin.

His heart jumped up in to his throat and he tried to peel his eyes open further, he slid himself down towards the edge of the couch as smoothly and quietly as he could manage,

Bucky moaned a little in his sleep and Steve froze, but Buck just wrapped his arms around a large pillow perched haphazardly on the edge of the couch and stretched out for just a moment then returned to sleep and it was almost adorable but

oh no. Oh no, oh no oh no,

he was going to throw up. He needed to get to the bathroom as quickly and as quietly as possible and Bucky could not wake up right now, he just couldn’t wake up, God his head was pounding and

oh Rebecca, oh no, he had to call her, he couldn’t call her right now, of course not, her brother was asleep in his God Damned apartment, half naked on his couch, oh no, oh no, oh no,

he made it to the bathroom, and he wanted to throw up, he really did, his mouth tasted like a disgusting mix of tequila and sugar and sleep and he brushed his teeth and on second thought he just turned on the shower,

he had to get out of here. He had to make this right,

He showered as quickly as humanly possible and threw on some clothes. If he could just get out to the living area, and get all of those sketches shoved away, shove them back into that storage closet, oh God that was hilarious now, back in the closet,

he might still be a little drunk,

if he could just get them hidden away, and leave the apartment, and go grab a cup of coffee, that is what he would do. He would go grab a couple cups of coffee and a croissant from that place down the street, that was Rebecca’s favorite place. He would grab that and then head over to the office, and he could just see her and it would be fine,

Bucky.

Bucky was still here though, what was he going to do about that, oh this was so bad,

Steve gripped his hair tightly in both hands and pulled slightly, it was the only thing he could do right now to ease the ache in his chest, he had to get out of here, maybe he could just leave his keys on the table next to Buck and head out and then just meet up with him later at the office,

that could work, they could talk at the office,

he smoothed his hair back and looked at himself in the mirror. He looked like a mess. His eyes were bloodshot and he was sweating slightly, but he was cold, he was just so damn hungover, but it was going to have to do, coffee would help, he had to get out of here.

He unlocked the bathroom door and stepped quietly out over the threshold,

“Hey.”

Steve froze. Bucky was standing in the small kitchen now, at the countertop bar. He was still wearing Steve’s sweatpants, but he had pulled on a black undershirt now as well. His hair was a mess—flattened down on one side where he had slept on it and sticking out every which way on the other side. He looked shy, like he didn’t know what he should be doing with his hands, or his arms, or his entire body, and he looked adorable, and Steve wanted more than anything to walk over and take him in his arms and nudge up against him and smell him and feel him,

he had to get out of here,

“I was just going to make some coffee…” Bucky chuckled sheepishly, “if I can actually find where you keep it,”

“Oh.” Steve said. “Umm, I think there might be some in the cupboard above the fridge, umm Buck?”

Bucky looked up at him, almost apprehensive,

“Uh, I forgot, I really have to get in to the office today, I have a lot of paperword I was supposed to get done,”

“It’s…it’s Saturday?” It came out as almost a whisper and Steve wanted to cry,

“Oh. Well, yeah, but I’m behind…” He didn’t know what else to say, he didn’t know what to do, Bucky was standing there trying not to look right at him, he was running his hand through his hair now and it settled on the back of his neck, and Steve just didn’t know what else to do,

“Steve…I…last night, I mean, I…” he paused and traced invisible patterns on the marble countertops with his pointer finger, “I meant it.” And he looked up, he looked so open and sad and hopeful and lost and Steve didn’t know what he was supposed to do.

“Oh. Buck.” He had to force it out, it hurt, it rubbed his mouth raw and the ache in his chest was becoming a gaping hole, “I can’t…it’s…Rebecca. I can’t do this to Rebecca…”

And Bucky’s eyes just fell, his whole face just fell, and his hand came off the back of his neck where it was paused, waiting, waiting for deciding factor, and it gripped the countertop now, like he needed all the support, like his own two legs couldn’t hold him up anymore and the gaping hole was a massive pit of despair and agony and Steve couldn’t breathe anymore and Bucky just said,

“Oh.”

“Buck, I’m so sorry. I didn’t…I don’t know…I don’t know what to do, tell me what to do,”

Bucky shook his head slowly. “No. You’re right. We can’t…you can’t do that to Rebecca. You are right. I…I’m sorry. I’ll get out of here—”

“No, look, I am already on my way out the door, just…make coffee, shower, do whatever you want ok? Look, here is my key,” and he laid it on the marble countertop, “Just lock up after and give it to me later today ok? I’ll see you later today?”

“Yeah. Of course.” Bucky nodded, then he looked up at Steve’s eyes and his face twisted in to some cruel caricature of a grin, and Steve had to get out of here or he was going to start to cry,

“I’m so sorry Buck.” And he looked back down because he couldn’t bear to see the sadness in those golden eyes, and he left the apartment.