Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/3922327.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Graphic_Depictions_Of_Violence, Rape/Non-Con, Underage
  Category:
      F/M, M/M, Multi
  Fandom:
      Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Tony_Stark, Steve
      Rogers/Tony_Stark, Pepper_Potts/Tony_Stark
  Character:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Steve_Rogers, Tony_Stark
  Additional Tags:
      Special_Guest_Stars_Include_Phil_Coulson, clint_barton_-_Freeform, More
      added_as_the_stories/chapters_continue
  Stats:
      Published: 2015-05-12 Updated: 2017-03-14 Chapters: 17/? Words: 44142
****** A Collection of One-Off Marvel Drabbles ******
by house_of_lantis
Summary
     One-off Stucky ficlets; adding in new Stony drabbles; maybe some
     Steve/Bucky/Tony threesomes; more different pairings; scenes and
     situations that I don't have enough to actually call a "fic" or even
     a "WIP." I think they could be tagged as mostly little self-contained
     stories.
     On Tumblr, I'm theserpentgirl
     These will be mainly Steve/Bucky pairings. They may change if I start
     writing other pairings/ratings/warnings. Keep an eye on the chapter
     notes for things that may trigger you. Enjoy!
***** Step-Brothers *****
Chapter Summary
     Pairing: Steve/Bucky
     Summary: (High School AU, both are seniors) Steve and Bucky are new
     step-brothers, adjusting to life together. They're not really doing a
     good job.
     Warnings: Step-sibling sex; Dub-con wrestling leading to sex; hand
     job; Bucky being an asshole and saying horrible, insulting things to
     Steve.
“Change the channel; I want to watch the game.”
 
Steve kept his grip on the remote and didn’t even look up at Bucky. “I’m
watching something, go upstairs.”
 
Bucky glared at Steve’s head. He hated being ignored by Steve; and he knew
Steve did it on purpose because it bugged the hell out of Bucky.
 
“I want to watch it on the big screen. You go upstairs. What the hell are you
watching anyway? Some boring old history documentary? What is that? Nazis?
Don’t you get enough of this shit at school?”
 
Steve didn’t say anything. Bucky frowned, reaching across Steve’s lap for the
remote.
 
“Give it to me.”
 
“No. I was here first.”
 
Bucky made a move to reach for it again, but Steve held his arm out as far away
as he could from Bucky.
 
“Don’t fuck with me, Rogers.”
 
“I wish you’d be quiet if you’re going to stay in the room.”
 
“Listen, you’re nothing but a temporary squatter here. Our parents might be
married now, but give it year, I’m sure they’ll be filing for divorce,” Bucky
said, sneering at him. A part of him actually enjoyed seeing the flinch that
moved across Steve’s face. “So that makes it my house, which means that
everything in it belongs to me.”
 
“As you rightly pointed out, our parents are married now, which means that,
right now, half of everything belongs to me as well.”
 
Bucky lunged across Steve’s lap, grabbing a handful of Steve’s tee-shirt,
hearing the seams rip as he tugged Steve down, his other hand going for the
remote.
 
Steve made an angry noise, his knee gouging against Bucky’s hip, trying to keep
him away from the remote. They both scrambled on the couch cushions, playing a
mean and dirty game of keep-away. Steve had the advantage of long arms and a
longer reach, but Bucky wasn’t the two-time national wrestling champion for
nothing. He wrapped his arms and legs around Steve and rolled them both off the
couch to the thick carpet below.
 
“Cut it out, you jerk!”
 
“Make me, punk.”
 
He turned them around so that he had Steve pinned to the floor, knees pressing
in tight against Steve’s hips, one hand squeezing Steve’s wrist against the
carpet. He looked down to see Steve’s blue eyes flashing with fury, his cheeks
flushed a deep red, teeth clenched together, spit on his bottom lip.
 
“Guess I’m on top, Rogers.”
 
Bucky didn’t deny that Steve was a pretty boy. He met Steve’s angry eyes and
jabbed Steve hard in the ribs, forcing an involuntary jerk of his other arm,
bringing it down to protect his side. Bucky snatched the remote out of his hand
and sat back on Steve, smiling down at him in victory.
 
“Fine, you win! Get off me! Asshole,” Steve said, his free hand pushing against
Bucky’s shoulder.
 
Bucky laughed, setting the remote on the coffee table. He grabbed Steve’s other
wrist and leaned his weight down on both of them, pinning Steve down nicely.
Bucky was self-aware enough to know that he did like winning; he was thoroughly
competitive and excelled at everything from sports to academics. He was also
self-aware enough to know that he had a dark streak inside of him, something
that made him enjoy seeing Steve Rogers pinned down under him. That even though
Steve was probably strong enough to push Bucky off of him, he’d never use his
strength against Bucky. It made him wonder how far he’d have to push Steve to
see him break.  
 
“What’re you going to do now, Rogers?”
 
“I didn’t know you were such a damn bully!”
 
Bucky made a face, hands squeezing Steve’s wrists in warning. They stared at
each other for a long moment – Steve’s brilliant blue eyes unwavering as he
glared up at Bucky, chin jutting out in pride. Bucky let go slowly, scratching
his nails down Steve’s bared arms, sitting back again.
 
“Fuck you, Rogers, I’m no bully.”
 
“No? Then what the hell is this?”
 
“I wasn’t going to hurt you, punk,” he said, narrowing his eyes. “And if you
would’ve just given me the remote when I asked, I wouldn’t have had to resort
to more persuasive efforts.”
 
“Persuasive—get off me, Bucky!” Steve sputtered, indignantly. He started
wriggling around and Bucky chuckled, keeping his knees in tight and holding on.
 
He slid back into Steve’s lap and watched as Steve inhaled sharply, stopping
all together. Bucky pressed his ass down and smiled when he felt Steve hard
under him. Bucky’s eyes widened as he gazed down at Steve, mouth tilting into a
wide, knowing smirk.
 
“Really?” He teased, chuckling softly. “That get you hot, Steve?”
 
“Shut up. Just get off me.”
 
“Jesus, punk, what the hell are you packing under your khakis,” he said,
tracing the length of Steve’s cock with his ass. “Pussy buster. No wonder all
those girls and boys are always following you around.”
 
“Shut your dirty mouth,” Steve said, blushing. “Don’t—that’s an awful thing to
say.”
 
“You think that’s dirty?” He barked out a laugh. “Well, someone’s gotta give
you something to confess on Sunday. You can talk about your big dick to Father
Thomas and say ten Hail Mary’s for every girl pussy and boy cunt you bust in
the city—“
 
“Ohmygod, just stop, please.”
 
Bucky grinned, sucking in his bottom lip as he stared down at Steve’s mortified
expression. He wouldn’t meet Bucky’s eyes, face turned slightly. Bucky was a
total bastard and hard pressed to let something this wonderfully humiliating
go. He slid back and forth against Steve’s cock, riding him quick and
merciless. He loved the way that Steve closed his eyes, gritting his teeth to
hold back the pleasure. Bucky wanted to hear Steve lose it; wanted to hear
Steve moan and beg for Bucky to finish him off.
 
“How long has it been, huh? Your girl’s back in London and I bet you’re not the
type to cheat,” Bucky said, his voice low. “Bet you haven’t gotten a good fuck
in weeks.”
 
“Don’t say that,” Steve said, his hands grabbing hold of Bucky’s hips, trying
to push him off.
 
Bucky slapped Steve’s hands away and ground down on Steve’s cock. “You don’t
really want me to stop, do you?”
 
Steve stared up at him. “I’m your step-brother—“
 
“Yeah, step-brother, not blood,” Bucky said, leaning down to look at Steve’s
face. “This is so fucking hot. I can’t believe we didn’t do this sooner.”
 
“We—we can’t do this,” Steve whispered, shakily.  
 
“Fuck, I’m so hard. You make me so fucking hard, Steve,” Bucky moaned, moving
down to kiss Steve’s mouth, sucking on that fat bottom lip and licking into his
mouth. He tasted like salt and butter from the popcorn, stale and earthy
underneath. Bucky kept rubbing his ass against Steve’s cock until Steve grabbed
hold of Bucky’s hips, pulling him down and turning them sideways, moaning into
Bucky’s mouth.
 
He pulled away, looking at the wide-eyed look of surprise and embarrassment and
lust on Steve’s pretty face. Both of them scrambled to get their pants opened
and Bucky spit in the palm of his hand, grabbing both of their cocks, hips
moving together as he stroked them both, pre-come and spit easing the way along
their hot flesh.
 
Steve grabbed a handful of Bucky’s hair, his forehead pressed against Bucky’s
chin, both panting deliriously as Bucky stroked them off.
 
“Close…oh god Bucky, we can’t be doing this,” Steve whispered, clenching his
teeth and holding back his whimpers. “Please, please…”  
 
“Yeah, yeah, shhh…fuck, fuck, this is so fucking good.”
 
Bucky groaned, feeling his balls tighten, the rush of pleasure just a stroke or
two away. He tightened his grip, working just the heads now, and closed his
eyes when he felt Steve shudder against him, warm wetness spurting over his
fingers. Bucky wasn’t that far behind, just two more strokes, and he let out a
noisy moan, adding to the mess between them.
***** Preview: The Court of the Winter Prince *****
Chapter Summary
     Author’s Note: This is just a scene from my new Steve/Bucky fic, “The
     Court of the Winter Prince,” which is a Captain America/Constantine/
     Dresden Files crossover AU. Steve is a NYPD detective who gets
     recruited into SHIELD (located on neutral territory Staten Island) to
     become the new Warden of the city; the New York boroughs are divided
     by three vampire kingdoms – White Court (Manhattan) is ruled by Tony;
     Red Court (Bronx & Queens) is ruled by Natasha; and Black Court
     (Brooklyn) is ruled by Bucky. HYDRA (over in New Jersey) plays the
     villainous role of Necromancers who wants all of the vampire kingdoms
     for themselves.
Steve walked the three blocks from the F Train/York station, enjoying the cool
evening breeze coming off the East River. The Barnes Gallery was located in the
DUMBO neighborhood of Brooklyn, on the corner of Plymouth and Washington. It
was a gorgeous red brick building with large windows, the Brooklyn Bridge right
over it.
[ photo BARNES GALLERY.jpg]
He could see the lights on in the building, people mingling about inside. Music
and cocktail chatter and laughter flowed over him as he opened the main doors
to enter the gallery. The gallery seemed to be hosting a party and Steve
watched as the people in front of him passed the woman standing at a table near
the door their invitation.
“Good evening, sir, welcome to The Barnes Gallery. Do you have your
invitation?”
“I’m afraid not,” he said, smiling apologetically.
He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a small black billfold. He
flipped it open to show her his NYPD identification and gold shield badge.
She peered at his ID card; keen eyes reading his name, Detective First Class
rank, and badge number. Her smile remained professional as she nodded for him
to put his ID away. “Are you here on business or just trying to crash the
party?”
“I’m off-duty, but it is official business, ma’am. I’m Detective Steve Rogers.
I’d like to speak to Mr James Barnes, if he could spare a few minutes for me.”
The woman looked up at him and then nodded, turning to look at the two security
guards behind her. One of them left discreetly, probably to notify Barnes.
“Of course, Detective Rogers, anything for the NYPD. If you’d like to go
upstairs to the party and mingle, I’ll make sure that Mr Barnes will come find
you in a few minutes.”
“Thank you, I appreciate that,” he said, smiling at her.
Steve made his way upstairs, feeling a bit underdressed in his brown tweed
jacket and khaki pants at a fashionable black tie gallery party. He thought
maybe he should’ve come during the day in an official capacity, but he hadn’t
wanted to wait until tomorrow to get a gander on why two recent homicide
victims both had The Barnes Gallery business cards on their persons – it was
the only link Steve had managed to uncover and he didn’t want to waste time
waiting for official duty hours. He was an officer of the law; just because he
wasn’t on duty didn’t mean that he’d ignore his duty to the law.
The gallery was a gorgeous space; the second floor was open and boasted what
looked like 30-foot ceilings and a few thousand square feet of exhibition
space. The building took over a whole corner block after all. He loved the
industrial look, the open and exposed brick on the walls, the pipes and cement
and steel girders along the ceiling above. The space must’ve been some kind of
four-story factory in the past, but the above two floors were taken out to
create such great white space.
Steve wasn’t an artist, but he appreciated art of all forms. He wanted to see
what the space looked like during the day time, natural light filtering through
all of the windows. He politely refused the champagne from the waiter and
walked through the crowd of well-dressed New Yorkers to the tall white walls,
spending a few minutes to look at each painting or sketch, as he made his way
through the hall. He noticed that a few people stopped mid-conversation to turn
and look at him; he felt oddly out-of-place by their very intense stares. But
he took a deep breath, ignoring the way that the hairs on the back of his neck
started rising.
The Barnes Gallery had a mixture of eclectic and contemporary pieces,
interesting sculpture-work on black pedestals throughout the room. Steve smiled
and nodded politely to the guests, making his way to an alcove off the main
hall to a small set of gallery rooms. This was a much more intimate space and
Steve breathed a little sigh of relief, glad to be away from the curious looks,
and spend a little more time looking at the paintings.
He entered the last room in the maze-like alcove area and was really quite
shocked and drawn to a painting at the other wall. It was a huge canvas, the
size of it was nearly the whole wall, and the talent of the artist was
indisputable. He or she had captured the face of a man who was beyond simply
beautiful. It was done in black and white oils, but the eyes were a blue-gray
and the full lips red. There was something hypnotic about the eyes, painted in
a way that they seemed to follow him, no matter where he stood in the space.
Steve felt his neck heat up, a little embarrassed that he was turned on by a
painting. He was glad that he was the only one in the room and he walked slowly
towards the canvas to see the name of the artist. There was a small white
placard beside the canvas. It didn’t have the name of the artist, just a simple
title “Bucky” and the year 1963. A little disappointed that Steve couldn’t get
the name – maybe he’d ask Mr James Barnes about it later – Steve took a small
step back so that he could continue staring at the face, at the eyes. The
artist had captured the expression of the man perfectly – eyes crinkled
slightly at the edges, both warm and seductive, the mouth curved into a little
grin, a little bit of a tease. He looked like he had a juicy secret and was
about to break out into laughter in any second.
He lost all sense of time, standing in front of that painting, wondering how
much the gallery was selling it for; no way that Steve could afford something
like that on a cop’s salary, but he could dream.
“The fact that you’ve been staring at this particular painting for the last 20
minutes makes me very curious about what it is that you feel when you’re
looking at it,” a man drawled from behind him, low and slightly amused.
Steve didn’t jump in surprise, but it was a near thing. He hadn’t even heard
anyone come into the space. He turned to smile at the man behind him – and had
to do a double take because the man had to be the model for the painting. He
looked to be around Steve’s age, maybe an inch or two shorter, and was probably
blessed with a bit of a baby face. He was even more beautiful in person, but
Steve was trained to look beyond the surface for a deeper truth. He was dressed
in black boots, black jeans, a white dress shirt, a black vest with a subtle
pattern, and a blue-gray scarf with frayed edges looped around his neck in an
artful manner. His hair was dark brown and wavy, brushed off his face. He
carried himself with natural ease, a confidence that Steve only saw in people
who didn’t feel that they had much to prove to anyone. He could sense a bit of
cockiness in him, but the charming smile took off some of the edge.
The man’s grin widened as he looked at Steve – the same blue-gray eyes
crinkling at the edges, the same full lips curving into a delighted smile – and
Steve forced himself to stop staring back. The man’s eyes were just as hypnotic
in real life as in the painting. Steve looked away, a little embarrassed at
being caught staring and feeling so sentimental towards the stranger, and
looked around at the other artwork on the walls in the space. He hadn’t even
registered that there were other artwork in the same space.
“I didn’t mean to stare at you, uh, your painting,” Steve babbled, glancing at
the man.
He laughed, throwing back his head. “Believe me, I’m not shy about being looked
at. If I were, I wouldn’t have sat for that painting in the first place.”
Steve smiled and nodded. “I was looking for the name of the artist, but it’s
not listed.”
“Ahhh…the artist prefers to remain anonymous, I’m afraid.”
“Is it for sale? Not that I would even be able to afford it, I mean. I’m just
curious.”
“Not for sale. It was a gift to me from my artist friend. I would never part
with it, no matter the price.”
Steve nodded. “I’m sure the gallery probably got a lot of offers from people to
buy it.”
“I think a member of a royal family once tried to steal it after he was told
that he couldn’t purchase it,” the man said, chuckling. He looked at Steve and
cocked his head slightly. “If you wouldn’t mind telling me what you felt when
you looked at it.”
“Oh, um I’m not an art critic or anything like that, but…well, the artist is
very talented. He or she really captured the expression – your expression, in
such a realistic way. If it weren’t such a big painting, I’d say that it could
be like a photograph or—“
“No, I mean, what did you feel looking at my face.”
Steve turned and looked at the painting again. “I’ve never seen anyone so
beautiful before, I didn’t think this man could really exist. And I wanted to
know what he was looking at or thinking, in that moment, that was going to make
him laugh.”
“Maybe one day, I’ll tell you the story behind the smile.”
Steve licked his bottom lip. “I think I would really like that.”
“Did it turn you on?”
He barked out a surprised laugh and then shook his head. “I don’t think I need
to feed your ego.”
“I’m Bucky. I believe you were looking for me,” the man said, blue eyes looking
over Steve.
Steve stared at him, raising his eyebrows, a bit dumbfounded and extremely
flattered by his comment. Bucky. That was the title of the painting. The name
seemed to fit the other man – uncommon, irreverent, good-natured – Steve knew
how to read people and his instincts were telling him that Bucky might just
return Steve’s interest; that if Steve played his cards right, he might be able
to get a date with Bucky and—
“I’m James Barnes. I prefer Bucky, though. You’re Detective…”
Damn it. Such was his luck. He couldn’t ask Bucky on a date, not until the
investigation was over.
“Oh, right. Yes,” he laughed, a bit nervously. He reached into his pocket for
his badge and showed it to Barnes. “Detective Steve Rogers. I’m with the NYPD,
the 67th Precinct, Brooklyn.”
Barnes smiled, holding out his hand. Steve shook it firmly, noticing that his
hand felt cool to the touch.
“And what can I do for the NYPD, Detective Rogers?”
***** What a Billionaire Wants *****
Chapter Summary
     Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes - growing friendship to something
     more intimate
     Summary: Someone who can be easily bought isn’t worth having.
     Note: Unfinished; not sure when I'll pick it up to work on it again.
     Let's call it a one-off with potential.
Stark Tower
Morning rituals started early with Steve getting up before sunrise to go for
his run through Central Park. Steve had come home and showered and dressed by
the time Bucky woke up to wander out of his bedroom, sleepily rubbing his eyes.
Steve made their coffee, a bag of warm bagels from that bakery that they loved
three blocks from the Tower on the kitchen counter.
Bucky loved warm, fresh baked breads. For something so simple, it was the one
thing that made him feel like a normal person and Steve indulged Bucky his need
for this morning ritual. He knew it was a remnant to the way-back past of being
a soldier…and the more recent past of being the Asset where a regimented
schedule kept him focused. His mornings with Steve kept him grounded; it
brought back memories of sitting with his best friend in their tiny, cold-water
walk up, sharing four-day old bread and lukewarm black coffee. Some days, he
thought he could still taste the coffee grounds in his mouth, brushing his
teeth and spitting them out into the sink afterwards.
“Morning, Steve. Morning, Jarvis,” Bucky muttered, sitting down at the small
breakfast nook in the kitchen, looking at the pile of newspapers on the table.
“Hey, Buck.”
“Good morning, Sergeant Barnes. It’s Saturday, 3 October 2015. The weather is a
pleasant 69 degrees Fahrenheit.”
Bucky grinned. “Thanks, buddy.”
Steve brought over two large mugs of coffee, setting one down in front of
Bucky. He grabbed it with both hands, the metal fingers making a dull clink
against the mug, his flesh hand cozy and warm on the other side. He drank down
half by the time Steve collected plates, knives, and the bag of bagels.
“Thanks, Steve,” he said, looking up at his best friend. Even after all this
time, Bucky had to lift his eyes about 10-inches higher than where he’d
normally look.  
Steve smiled at him, running his hand over Bucky’s long hair, stopping to
squeeze his shoulder where the metal arm met flesh.
“You’re welcome, Buck.”
Bucky greedily pulled out his favorite bagels from the bag, the smell of warm
breaded deliciousness – one plain, one onion – making Bucky’s mouth water.
Steve smiled as he handed the cream cheese, watching as Bucky ate quickly,
without grace or finesse. Bucky was certain that there was a time in his life
in the way-back past when he actually had some manners. But warm bagel trumped
pretentious table manners every time.
“Remember to chew and then swallow,” Steve said, snickering.
“Trust me, I know how to swallow,” Bucky mumbled, his mouth full.
They shared the piles of newspapers between them – Steve grabbing the front
section from The Washington Postand handing Bucky The New York Times. They read
through the national and international news, making comments to each other on
possible HYDRA sightings, then traded papers when they were done. They made
their way steadily through the local papers and then to a variety of tabloids.
Both of them shared a curiosity for the scandal rags; back in their day, they’d
read The New York Daily Mirror, which was probably more entertainment than
actual news.
“Sirs, Mr. Stark is on the elevator and will arrive in twelve seconds,” Jarvis
told them.
“Thank you, Jarvis,” Steve said, as Bucky ate through both bagels, reaching
into the bag for a third one, still busily chewing the piece in his mouth.
He was busy putting more cream cheese on an everything bagel when Tony stepped
off the elevator and walked onto their floor.
“Come on, Barnes, let’s go.”
Bucky looked up from his plate. The older man was looking slightly manic with
dark eyes bright with amusement, mussed up hair, and oddly enough, wearing a
blue blazer over his usual black tee-shirt and jeans.
He managed to chew and swallow, taking a long drink of his coffee. “Where we
going? Kind of early to be going out partying.”
Tony grinned, eyes widening with mischief. “You need a better selection of
clothes if you’re going to be seen with me out in public.”
Steve frowned, looking up from his newspaper. “What’s this about, Tony?”
“Never you mind, grandpa, just some harmless fun,” he said, smoothly. “Just
taking the Buckster out for a fitting.”
“What’s wrong with his clothes?”
Bucky made a curious noise around his mouthful, waving his right hand at Tony
to continue.
Tony sighed, shaking his head. “Nothing. But they’re not always appropriate to
where I’m going to be taking him in a few days.”
“Where you taking him?”
Tony laughed, patting Steve’s shoulder. “I didn’t know I had to ask your
permission to take Barnes out.”
Steve leaned back in his chair and gave Tony a stern look. “I’m just watching
out for him.”
“Don’t you trust me?” Tony said, grinning widely. Bucky saw that the smile
didn’t reach Tony’s eyes, though, as he looked at Steve. “I promise to bring
him home by midnight and I won’t even get fresh.” He winked at Bucky. “At
least, not on the first date, Bucky’s a good boy.”
Bucky couldn’t hide his grin fast enough and he ducked his chin down, finishing
off the third bagel and looking at the bag with longing for another. He sighed,
maybe he could get something from one of the many food trucks throughout the
city. He took his time to fold the newspaper he was reading neatly and slid it
across the table to Steve.
“It’s all right, Stevie, it sounds like fun. I could use a nice civilian suit
anyway.”
***
Upper West Side
“I thought we were going shopping,” Bucky said, his instincts coming online
fully as he followed Tony down an alley.
“We are going shopping,” Tony said, grinning over his shoulder. “There are some
places that are hidden gems in this city, places that only a certain type of
person knows.”
“Looks like we’re heading to some kind of illegal sweatshop or something,” he
murmured, trusting that Tony knew what he was doing. “You know, I’m not sure
how I feel about getting clothes from slave labor.”
Tony nodded. “And I don’t disagree, but this is not a sweatshop, and for the
prices that I’m going to be paying, it’s not slave labor either. We’re here.”
They stopped at a heavy mahogany door and Tony pressed a button, set discreetly
next to a small gold plaque with the word “Simon’s” printed in script. A few
moments later, the door open silently and a distinguished looking gentleman
greeted Tony warmly.
“Mr. Stark, it’s been too long,” the man said, shaking Tony’s hand and stepping
to the side to let him inside the building.
“Good to see you, Charleston. This is my friend, Bucky Barnes. We’re here for
him today.”
“Very good, sir,” Charleston said, shaking Bucky’s hand. “A pleasure to make
your acquaintance, Mr. Barnes.”
“Nice to meet you, too.”
Bucky followed them into the building, amazed at how different things looked
once they stepped inside. It was like he walked into some British tailor shop –
he remembered what they were like from being in London in the 1940s – very posh
and for wealthy gentlemen clientele. Howard Stark had taken him and Steve to
get suits made, tailored to fit. It was the first time Bucky had ever owned
something that was made just for him. 
“It’s like time traveling to the past, huh?” Bucky murmured, looking over at
Tony.
Tony was watching him with dark eyes, moving over his face with the kind of
focus that he only paid to his projects during precision work. Bucky tucked his
lips into his mouth and gave a shy smile, looking at the polished wooden
floors.
“Dad…he had a picture of you and Steve with him, dressed to the nines, sometime
during the war,” Tony said, smiling fondly at him. “You always looked so
pleased with yourself.”
Bucky barked out a deep laugh. “Yeah. Yeah, I probably was. Steve said that I
always liked looking nice; he probably meant that I was a vain song-of-a-bitch
but didn’t want to say it like that. There were some old pictures of us, of me,
at the museum. I don’t remember all the details, but I remember that Howard got
a kick out of taking me and Steve out, a couple of Brooklyn rubes out in big
London town.”
“Gentlemen, if you’ll follow me,” Charleston said, holding back a rich forest
green curtain separating the front lobby to the other room.
Bucky felt Tony’s hand on his back, guiding him gently through the curtains to
what looked like the showroom, decorated with wood so smooth and polished it
reflected the lights like glass. There room smelled of sandalwood and cigar
smoke, a thick red carpet on the floor, a few displays dressed with perfectly
ironed dress shirts, neck ties, and vests. Bucky ran his right hand along the
rich fabrics, feeling the cool cottons and soft tweeds and wools under his
fingertips.
“Could I offer you something to drink?”
Bucky shook his head politely, too caught up touching the fabrics of the
different suits in the room.
Tony chuckled. “Are we talking coffee or something smoother?”
“Mr. Stark will have a splash of his favorite scotch, Charleston. You can find
the bottle in the cabinet, reserved for him.”
Bucky turned to see the short, older man, walking into the room. He stood a few
inches shorter than Tony and Bucky smiled, watching as the older man hugged
Tony heartily, patting his back.
“Simon, it’s good to see you again,” Tony said, looking at the man with a
small, private smile. He turned towards Bucky, waving his hand for Bucky to
approach. “This is Bucky, formerly Sergeant Barnes, and he is in need of a good
suit.”
Bucky pulled his lips into a polite smile and shook the older man’s hand. “It’s
nice to meet you, sir.”
Simon chuckled, shaking his hand firmly. “The pleasure is mine; please, call me
Simon. So, let’s take a look at you, son.”
He stepped back and took his time looking at Bucky from the top of his head,
the width of his shoulders, and down to his feet. Charleston handed Tony a
crystal glass with a small amount of amber liquid, then walked towards them,
holding a notepad in his hand, a measuring tape around his neck. Bucky held
still, allowing their observation, the soft whir of the motors in his left arm
turning over in the quiet of the room.
Neither Simon nor Charleston commented on the sound.
“Shall we take some measurements?” Simon said, smiling kindly as he took
Bucky’s right hand and leading him towards a well-lit area in front of three
large mirrors. “Please remove your clothes, Sergeant Barnes.”
“You can call me Bucky.”
Simon chuckled. “Hardly, sir, that is not a gentleman’s proper name.”
“James,” Bucky said, softly. “My first name is James.”
“Of course, James,” Simon said, stepping back and consulting with Charleston
quietly, giving Bucky room to undress.
Bucky saw Tony sitting down in a green plaid armchair, sipping his drink. He
raised his eyebrows at Bucky through the mirror and Bucky pulled off his dark
gray hoodie. Charleston plucked it from Bucky’s hand when he started looking
for a place to put his clothes. Even he knew that it wouldn’t be proper to just
toss his clothes on the floor.
He took off his black boots and stripped out of his burgundy Henley and jeans,
standing in just his skin and his metal arm in front of the mirrors. He stared
at his body with nothing more than a clinical eye – his skin was intact, due to
the serum and cryogenic freezing he still looked like a man in his late 20s,
his musculature was in working condition, his opened and closed his left hand
and watched the metal plates shifting up his arm. The only part of his body
that drew Bucky’s gaze was the scaring around the area where his metal arm met
the flesh of his shoulder. He was fully operational though; the time out of the
“freezer,” as Tony called it, having done nothing to impair Bucky’s ability to
use his body and skillset to serve.
Of course, he didn’t do that anymore.
“Damn, Barnes, you really don’t have anything to be embarrassed about, do you?”
Tony said, letting out a low whistle.
“Why would I be embarrassed?” He said, looking at Tony over his shoulder. “Have
I done something wrong?”
“No, of course not, son,” Simon said, quickly. “Charleston, would you fetch
James a pair of boxers, please?”
“Yes, sir,” Charleston murmured, walking to a section in the corner of the room
and bringing back a pair of boxers, handing it to Bucky.
The fabric was soft, white with light blue stripes. Bucky bent over – “Jesus
fucking Christ,” Tony muttered behind him – and stepped into the boxers,
pulling them up as he stood up.
“Wonderful, let’s get started,” Simon said, chuckling softly. “Charleston, may
I have the measuring tape?”
*****  
The Velvet Room
"She was a real doll, why didn't you take her up on her offer?" Bucky looked
over the heads of people near the VIP area, dancing, showing off for Tony
Stark. “You could have anyone here, just snap your fingers.”
Tony laughed, slouching down on the plush velvet booth, one foot propped up
against the edge of the glass coffee table. "She was more interested in my
money – or at least getting a picture with me to put it out on her social
media. She’ll probably get a few thousand new followers now." 
"You just being cynical or…” 
Tony gave Bucky a knowing look. "I can always tell when someone wants me for
other reasons than being with me." 
"What's the harm in...it's like a trade. You get her affections--" 
“Buy  her affections,” he said, wisely. “Someone who can be easily bought isn’t
worth having.”
Bucky frowned. "What about me? You...you buy me things, take me places, give me
stuff...is it the same?" 
"Are you out with me because of the clothes and the $200 haircut and the all
access pass to every VIP room in the world?" 
"No." 
"Then why are you out with me?" 
Bucky grinned and gave a little shrug. "Because you asked." 
"Because you never expect it of me." 
"Are you...expecting me to be grateful in some other way?" 
Tony's dark eyes crinkled at the edges in amusement. He inhaled deeply and
turned towards Bucky, leaning in close. "What are you offering, honey? Don't
you know that I'm the master of negotiation?" 
Bucky rolled his eyes. "You're a punk, Stark." 
Tony laughed, throwing back his head. “You know, I really like you, Barnes.”
He barked out a soft, surprised laugh. “Why?”
Tony smiled at him, sipping his drink and turning to look out at the people on
the dance floor.
“No, I mean, why? I can’t give you nothing you don’t already have or can get on
your own. I’m not that good of company, no matter what Steve says,” Bucky said,
chuckling lowly. “Half the world governments want to see me put behind bars;
the other half just wants me to disappear. All I have now is my name, a handful
of memories that wake me up screaming the house down, and…”
“Natasha once told me that Steve said, back when he had nothing, he always had
you,” Tony said, turning to look at him, dark eyes focused on Bucky’s face.
“Rich man, poor man – that kind of friendship and loyalty, that’s worth more
than any amount of money I have, and I have a lot and I can always make more.”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, nodding. “I’ve not met anyone who’s as loyal as Steve.”
Tony laughed, trailing off to a long sigh. “I was talking about you, Barnes.”
***** Mr. Esquire *****
Chapter Summary
     Summary: Jaded magazine writer Bucky Barnes is assigned to interview
     Hollywood golden boy and Oscar nominee Steve Rogers. After a string
     of highly successful box office action flicks as comic book hero
     Captain America, Steve took a break from the franchise to work on a
     small indie production where he played a hearing-impaired artist that
     put him back on the map as a “serious actor.” Bucky has interviewed –
     and slept with – his share of celebrities. Steve, no doubt, is easy
     pickings. But the socially awkward actor is uncommonly polite, shy,
     and more interested in taking Bucky to his favorite Brooklyn
     galleries or joining in a protest march for LGBTQ rights, than to
     talk about his film work or his movie star status. Is Steve Rogers
     just a carefully crafted image, someone who deserves that Oscar for
     his “aw shucks ma’am” performance, or does Bucky discover that Steve
     is more than his acting roles?
     Author’s Note: Inspired by the hilarious, tongue-in-cheek Chris Evans
     interview in GQ Magazine by Edith Zimmerman.
[ photo MR_ESQUIRE_BANNER.png]
 
Bucky stared at the email from his best friend for ten minutes before he
clicked on the link, wincing and then squinting his eyes, bracing himself for
the obnoxious headline and the grainy black-and-white picture.
He leaned close to his computer screen, trying to make out if people could
really see that it was Steve Rogers, and Bucky was relieved to find that the
two men caught in a hot kiss in the dark, narrow hallway, surrounded by the
press of bodies and cigarette smoke wafting in from the back alley door, really
could be anyone. There was nothing distinguishing about the tall, wide-
shouldered blond and his dark-haired lover.
With a scowl, Bucky wrote a response to Natasha: “Fuck off, that’s not Rogers
and that’s certainly not me.”
Less than a minute later, Natasha sent back her reply: “That’s your fucking red
star tat on your left arm, dipshit. Besides, you two were seen by multiple
witnesses who corroborated the story. It’s trending on Twitter.”
Bucky went back to the article and looked at the picture again – that was
indeed his left arm with his fucking tattoo – and he groaned, reading the rest
of her email: “He looks like he’d be about a 4. I’m not sure if I’d rate him
higher though, without details. A lot of good looking people are terribly
disappointing fucks.”
Bucky deleted the email thread all together and shut down his MacBook.
He nearly bit his tongue when his iPhone beeped with a new text message. Bucky
picked it up and looked at the screen, the sender was named “Punk” in his
contacts list. Bucky made a face and dropped the phone on top of his desk, not
bothering to open the text.
***
Two months ago, Bucky had a normal life. He got to travel for his work, met
every notable Hollywood player in the game, and slept with his fair share of
them as well. It was a good life. Bucky had a reputation for writing fair
articles, giving depth and breadth to actors and actresses without them coming
off as pretentious insensitive douchebags or over privileged, complaining
asshats. He was the senior writer for Film and Entertainment for Esquire
Magazine, his inside knowledge of the Hollywood industry was deep and wide, a
master at using the right word to prove an actor a sinner or a saint – maybe
both all at once. Bucky knew the game; and he played it well with everyone.
Even though he was a writer, he knew how to keep his mouth shut and gained
enough goodwill to slip into their beds.
And then, Bucky’s editor assigned him to the Steve Rogers interview.
“He’s earned his first Oscar nomination,” Phil Coulson said, hands folded
together on top of his desk, an inordinately pleased smile on his lips. “Lucky
for us, Mr. Rogers has accepted our request for an interview. We’ll be the
first to put him on the cover. I want you to handle it.”
Bucky slouched in the comfortable chair in front of Phil’s desk. He ran his
hand through his hair and adjusted his black frame glasses, taking a deep
breath. “I heard he’s a bit of a punk.”
“It’s nothing you can’t handle, James,” he said, calling Bucky by his real
first name. “You’re the best writer on staff and I think you’ll give him a fair
write up.”
 
 
***** Rival Professors *****
Chapter Summary
     Original Prompt: Rival professors – we’re both professors in the same
     department and it enhances your reputation with the students as a
     mysterious enigma and my reputation as a stone-cold terror if we
     pretend to hate each other, plus when we back each other up in
     departmental meetings, everyone’s so surprised they give in right
     away.
     Note: Written in the style of “The Virgin Suicides” with the students
     telling the story/gossip behind Professors Rogers and Barnes; Names
     of the students are taken from the Young Avengers stories.
 
Most of us remembered when Professor James Buchanan Barnes joined the
university’s history department. Kat Farrell giggled and called him, “fresh
meat” and reported how she overheard in the ladies room that there was a bet on
which of the faculty could get Professor Barnes into bed before the end of his
first semester. He had a nickname – Bucky – that Tommy Shepherd claimed he
heard Professor Steve Rogers pronounce with out-of-character derision in his
low Brooklyn drawl, but we now know that it was all just a ruse, that it wasn’t
derisive at all, and it was probably said with something akin to love or lust.
But that wasn’t the last of Professor Barnes’s nicknames as he had earned quite
a number of them from his first semester teaching one of the most intense
courses on the fall of the Soviet Union. Nate Richards, who was in Professor
Barnes’s first session, claimed that Professor Barnes would lapse into dark,
guttural Russian in the middle of his lectures, unknowingly switching
languages, with a crazed glint in his icy blue eyes. Nate also reported that
while blaring the Russian national anthem, Professor Barnes went into some kind
of frozen daze and Professor Rogers, who was teaching next door, came into the
room to shout at Professor Barnes to turn the music down, noticed that
Professor Barnes was frozen, and yelled what sounded like “Winter Soldier,
stand down” that brought Professor Barnes out of his bizarre fugue state.
Professor Steven Grant Rogers wasn’t just eye candy in the history department.
He taught a complex World War II history course that pulled us into his
lectures as if we were with him in the field of battle. No one could get a
really good read on Professor Rogers; he was a brilliant teacher, there was a
waitlist for his class every semester, and his lectures were always interesting
because he didn’t regurgitate the same stuff we’d learned in high school
history classes. But he was built like a Greek God, he was always polite to
everyone, and he was also completely oblivious to the fact that everyone
flirted with him. “I swear to God, everyone flirts with him, it’s like a
compulsion or something,” America Chavez announced, shaking her head.
“Students, admins, profs, all the Deans, janitorial, IT, the entire Student
Union, grounds, visiting dignitaries, young, old, gay, straight, trans, bi,
whatever – everyone flirts with Professor Rogers and he totally doesn’t get
it.” For someone so personable, he was completely unavailable. “Honestly, you
guys, can you just consider the fact that he might be Ace?” Jessica Jones said,
her voice low with annoyance. “How can anyone who looks like him be asexual? He
can bang anyone he wants! I’d bang him. Hell, Nate would pay to bang him!” Eli
Bradley demanded to know. “You’re a fucking asshole,” Jessica told him, rolling
her eyes.
Despite some of the best pieces of gossip, we were wary of Nate because it was
obvious he had a huge crush on Professor Rogers and made it a point to always
side with Professor Rogers over Professor Barnes. “It’s nothing as lame as a
simple crush. I want Rogers to be my mentor,” Nate once told us, casually
slipping it in. “I heard he used to date Dr. Victor von Doom and, I don’t know,
I feel like I really need to meet Dr. Doom and going through Rogers is the
fastest way to make that happen.” It would be only much later, after we
graduated from college, that we’d discover too late Nate’s true colors and that
he would kill one of our best friends.
The nickname Winter Soldier suited Professor Barnes perfectly. No one really
knew that much about him. He didn’t have a home address, just a P.O. Box in
town, and none of the student workers who had access to faculty records could
get anything useful. Cassie Lang found a copy of Professor Barnes’s curriculum
vitae and noted that he spent several years in the Army where he was honorably
discharged as a Sergeant. Further intense Google research showed that Professor
Barnes served with distinction, primarily in the Balkans, and was noted to have
received a Prisoner of War medal on top of his other medals. “That’s probably
when he must’ve lost his left arm,” Teddy Altman said, shivering at the idea,
“when he was a POW. They must’ve cut it off him.” We knew that there was more
to it than that, but no one was willing to address Professor Barnes’s unique
and awesomely intimidating prosthetic to him. “I heard that he’s best friends
with Tony Stark and Stark personally built him that silver arm. It’s supposed
to be on the cutting edge of biomecha prosthetics, like a decade ahead of
current research, and Stark is going to make major bank when he rolls it out
commercially,” Billy Kaplan told us, shaking a handful of printouts in his
hand. “Professor Barnes is his test case; I read that he’s able to feel
everything like a real arm, but that it’s 50 times stronger than a human arm.”
Professor Barnes was an intense man, but he never lost his temper and he never
resorted to making threats. He was a straightforward kind of guy; we always
knew where we stood with him. It was obvious that he took his teaching duties
seriously, but he never gave out pointless quizzes or lame assignments. If we
attended his lectures, did our readings, submitted our semester research paper,
and passed the final exam, Professor Barnes said that we’d done our duty as his
students. Despite the lax environment, no one absolutely fucked with Professor
Barnes. Kate Bishop told us that she overheard Professor Barnes talking with
Dean Coulson about an incident that happened in Russia. “He was talking about
brainwashing and being put on ice and something called a Dragunova SVD,” she
told us, her voice breathless with excitement. A Google search showed us that a
Dragunova was a Russian sniper rifle.
But the most amazing thing – a frightening thing – was watching Professor
Rogers and Professor Barnes interacting, like watching a human battle unfold.
They were both so smart, so sarcastic, and so quick with their insults and
digs, it was hard to keep up with them. When Kate Bishop was a student worker
in the history department, she would sit in on faculty meetings to take notes,
and she reported that “Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes seriously hate
each other. They never agree on any single thing. Not even on the kind of
sandwiches to order for catering!” It was obvious that they hated each other,
but no one knew why. “I mean, they’re both from Brooklyn boys so it kind of
makes sense that they’re both a pair of jerks,” Kate told us, laughing.
All of which was a clever ruse, a long con against everyone at the university.
It took three years for us to unravel their odd relationship, and then things
started to make a lot of sense. We sent Teddy and Eli to follow Professor
Rogers, and Jessica and Cassie to follow Professor Barnes. We knew that
Professor Rogers had a small cottage house off-campus, but no one knew where
Professor Barnes lived. Jessica and Cassie followed him to the town’s post
office where he picked up his mail, then walked ten blocks back towards campus,
walking behind a cozy blue house with a red door and white shutters. Teddy,
Eli, Jessica and Cassie looked at each other in surprise and realized that
Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes were living  together. “And we’re not
talking just as housemates either. We looked into the kitchen window and saw
them kissing,” Cassie said, giddily. “There was a lot of tongue action,” Eli
told us, eyes widening meaningfully. Cassie squealed, clapping her hands.
“Professor Rogers slipped his hands into Professor Barnes’s back pockets.”
Definitive proof came when Teddy took a picture with his phone and the four of
them ran off the property when Professor Barnes somehow heard the quiet “click”
and turned to glare at them and Eli screamed, “oh shit they saw us run!” Teddy
showed us the picture of Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes standing very
closely in their cozy little kitchen, arms around each other, talking softly
and kissing. “They’re so hot together,” America murmured, looking at the image.
“What’re we going to do with this? Should we post it online or something? No
one would ever believe us,” Tommy said, frowning slightly. “Why don’t we just
give them their privacy? If they’ve gone to all these lengths to keep their
relationship private, then we should give them their privacy,” Jessica said,
looking at us.
We agreed to look at the photographic evidence of their private life together
one last time and Teddy deleted the image from his phone. No one said anything
more about Professor Rogers and Professor Barnes; and if we smiled to ourselves
whenever we heard Professor Rogers call Professor Barnes “Bucky,” well, then
that was our secret to keep. 
***** Common Royalty *****
Chapter Summary
     Original prompt: Runaway royalty and confused commoner (though not
     really confused)
Interviewer: When did you first meet?
Steve Rogers: We were pretty young, just kids.
Prince James: I was maybe 13 or 14 and I’d snuck out of the Palace to explore
the city on my own. And I walked past this alley where this kid was getting
beat up. But he kept getting up and getting pushed down.
Steve Rogers: I really don’t like bullies.
Interviewer: So Your Highness, you rescued Steve?
Prince James: Hardly; he was holding his own. I went in to watch his back.
Steve doesn’t need rescuing.
Steve Rogers: Is that when I gave you my favorite Captain America comic?
Prince James: Yeah; and I gave you my signet ring. I probably knew then that
we’d grow up and I’d ask you to marry me.
 
“You all right?” Bucky said, helping the boy back on his feet. “Want me to get
you to a hospital?”
“Nah, I’m all right,” the boy said, looking down at his dirty khakis and trying
to slap off the stained fabric with his hands. “Mom is going to be so annoyed
that my pants are dirty.”
Bucky barked out a laugh. “She’ll be annoyed at your pants? What about the
bruise on your face?”
The boy frowned and reached up to touch his cheeks, flinching when his fingers
pushed on the swollen skin. “Well, it’s a good thing she’s a nurse.”
“Where do you live? I’ll walk you home in case those jerks come back,” Bucky
offered, giving the boy a small smile. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”
“Steve Rogers,” the boy said, nodding his head at Bucky. “You like videogames?”
“Sure,” he said, shrugging nonchalantly. “Doesn’t everybody?”
Bucky followed Steve out of the alley and they walked around the block to a row
of brownstones. He watched as Steve took out a pair of keys from the pocket of
his pants, undoing the large pin holding the keys to the pocket. He unlocked
the front door, holding it for Bucky, and the two of them walked up two flights
of stairs. Steve used the other key to open the apartment door and they slipped
inside quickly.
“I got the new Mario Kart game on my birthday,” Steve said, kicking off his
shoes and motioning for Bucky to do the same. “Do you like Mario Kart?”
Considering that Bucky had never played a videogame in his life, he wasn’t sure
how to answer. He shrugged again. “I guess so.”
Steve looked at him oddly as they came into the neatly organized living room.
The TV was small and old, but more than functional. He watched as Steve set up
the system, handing one of the game remote controls to Bucky. He looked at all
the small buttons and had no idea how he was going to fake his way through
this. He couldn’t possibly tell Steve, a Commoner, that he had no idea how to
play a stupid videogame. He was His Royal Highness Prince James Buchanan
Barnes, Duke of York, Earl of Hampton, Royal Knight Companion of the Most Noble
Order of Brooklyn, Personal Aide-de-Camp to Her Majesty The Queen, and Heir to
the Royal Throne of the United States of America.  
“What do you mean you guess so? You either do or you don’t, Bucky.”
“Well, then I guess I don’t know since I’ve never played it before,” he said,
defensively.
Steve’s face lit up with a wide smile, the lower right side of his face
starting to swell and becoming a bit purple. “That’s cool! I’ll show you!
You’ll really like it, Bucky, I promise.”
Two hours later and Bucky and Steve were laughing, taunting each other as they
worked through each race and level, Steve sitting cross-legged on the floor and
Bucky jumping on the couch. That was how Steve’s mom found them when she walked
into the house.
“Boys! I could hear you carrying on from the stairs,” she said, walking into
the room. “Good Heavens, the ruckus two little boys can make. Mind the
neighbors, Steven.”
“Yes, mom,” Steve said, smiling at her.
“Ohhh…what happened to your face?” Mrs. Rogers said, coming closer to him. She
frowned, reaching for his cheeks and brushing back his blond hair. “Why didn’t
you put any ice on it? It’s going to swell up to something awful later.”
“It doesn’t hurt too much, just don’t touch it.”
Mrs. Rogers sighed, running her hand gently over Steve’s head. “Are you really
okay, honey?”
“I’m okay.”
She kissed his forehead and sighed. “I wish you’d stop getting into fights all
the time.”
“They were being mean,” he protested, looking up at her. “I was just trying to
do the right thing.”
“It’s true, ma’am,” Bucky said, trying to protect his new friend from a
mother’s wrath, not that Mrs. Rogers seemed all that wrathful. “I saw them
hitting him and pushing him down, so I went to help.”
Mrs. Rogers looked at Bucky, a kind smile on her face. He held his breath,
wondering if she’d figure out who he was, and from the way that her eyes
widened slightly, Bucky knew that she figured it out, and that she’d probably
call the Palace to come and fetch him back.
“Are you Prince James?”
Bucky nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Do…do your people know that you’re here playing videogames with my Stevie?”
Steve turned around and stared at Bucky.
“No, ma’am,” he said, honestly. “I kinda snuck out of the Palace.”
“Good Heavens, we’re going to be arrested for kidnapping,” Mrs. Rogers said,
getting to her feet and heading into the kitchen for the phone.
“I didn’t kidnap him,” Steve said, getting to his feet and grimacing. He turned
and looked at Bucky. “I didn’t, right? You have to tell them. Don’t make us go
to jail!”
“You’re not going to jail!” Bucky said, getting down off the couch.
“Stevie, didn’t you know that you were playing with Prince James?” Mrs. Rogers
called from the kitchen, flipping through the phone book.
“His name is Bucky,” Steve called back to her.
“Bucky? What in the world is a Bucky? Do I just call 911? Is there a Palace
emergency number?”
Bucky could’ve told her the Palace emergency number, but that would’ve meant
that the guards would come out to get him and Mr. Pierce would scold him for
running off and he’d be on lock down for 70 years or something.
“Sure I knew who he was,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “But he wanted to be
called Bucky so I didn’t say nothing about him being a Prince because I didn’t
want to be rude.”
Mrs. Rogers stepped out of the kitchen and stared at the two of them, her mouth
opened and her eyes blinking.
“What am I going to do with the two of you?”
***
TABLOID HEADLINE: Prince James Cheats on Future Consort; Who is the Mysterious
Lover?
 
Fifteen years later, the Palace announced Prince James’s engagement to Mr.
Steven Rogers.
To outsiders, Prince James’s engagement came as a complete surprise. But
Bucky’s mother, his younger sisters, Steve’s mom, the Palace advisors, and
friends knew that Bucky and Steve’s engagement was inevitable.
For years, no one really believed that their friendship would endure the social
brutalities that could divide a Royal and a Commoner; that Bucky would tire of
his tag-along non-royal friend. Steve was a short, skinny kid and he grew up to
be a short, skinny teen. No one was ever interested in the shy, awkward
Commoner; there were times, if Steve was included in a group picture, he was
mostly cropped out in the photograph splashed across glossy tabloid pages of
Prince James’s glamorous royal life.
After high school, Prince James attended the prestigious York College, an
institution with a long legacy of teaching and refining those heirs who would
one day take the thrones or take the powerful positions of their families
industries. It was there that everyone hoped he would network with his Peerage
and find someone of uncommon beauty, worthy enough to bring home to the Palace.
Prince James graduated with a degree in political science and business and came
home to learn the business of running a kingdom.
Steve attended the Rhode Island School of Design and graduated with a degree in
graphic design. He returned home to Washington DC to work for a design firm,
slowly building his reputation as a creative, an artist, and rising to the
ranks of Creative Director of the top design firm in the city.  
Steve took a small condo in DuPont Circle, tucked away on a quiet street,
outside of the fancy spotlight that followed Prince James everywhere. But the
best thing with Steve living on the outside was that it gave Bucky  a place to
go where he could be unfettered by the expectations of his social rank. Most
nights, Bucky could be found eating pizza and drinking beer on Steve’s tiny
balcony, curled up against Steve’s chest as they talked about their day.
“Am I being selfish, keeping you hidden away?”
Steve considered it, then huffed out a small laugh and shook his head. “Nah, I
like that it’s just us, no crown or throne or paparazzi.”
“It’ll all change, you know, when you marry me. Everyone will fall in love with
you.”
“I’ll be ready for it then,” he said, stroking Bucky’s hair and pressing a kiss
against his temple.
“Still haven’t told me yes,” Bucky said, pouting slightly.
“It’s been a yes for nearly all my life, jerk,” Steve whispered, tilting
Bucky’s head back and kissing his soft lips.
Bucky turned and curled his arm behind Steve’s neck, changing the angle of the
kiss so that he could taste Steve’s mouth properly. He chuckled against Steve’s
lips and then pulled back slightly to gaze up at him.
“You’re such a punk.”
***
When the engagement announcement became public, the Palace Press Secretary
asked for a sense of social decorum and privacy for Mr. Steven Rogers. As a
public citizen, Mr. Rogers wasn’t under any obligation to give interviews or to
have his pictures taken. He had a right to privacy as he completed his
projects. He would be open to public appearances as soon as he had fulfilled
his work contracts.
No one was ever interested in short, skinny Steve in the past; they weren’t all
that interested in the same old Steve of the present. For once, the rabid
paparazzi gave Steve a wide berth.
That didn’t stop the never ending commentary on their engagement. It was
unanimously agreed that Prince James could do so much better thank short,
skinny Steve Rogers. There weren’t many official media pictures of Steve, since
he was cropped out of them, so news and entertainment outlets turned to social
media to hack private social media accounts to try and find recent pictures of
Steve. In order to protect Steve’s privacy, the Palace network IT security
teams had shut down all of Steve’s social media accounts and trawled through
the Internet to delete any images of Steve that they found.
For all intents and purposes, Steve Rogers was invisible.
So when the picture of Bucky and the mysterious, hot blond kissing on a balcony
showed up in the media, it was the hottest news cycle running.
The picture, taken from a smartphone camera from across the street, wasn’t all
that explicit. But it showed Prince James leaning back against the chest of a
handsome man who was built like a linebacker with wide shoulders, a few inches
taller than Prince James, and who touched the royal with surety and
familiarity. The kiss wasn’t dirty, but it was intimate and deep, with the
mysterious lover’s long arms holding Prince James close. It wasn’t a cheap
affair, not just a sexual romp for the glamorous Prince James, but an emotional
and physical connection. It was the worst kind of affair; Prince James was in
love with the mysterious, gorgeous blond.
***
“Why haven’t you said anything? The press is crucifying you and calling you all
kinds of names – calling for you to step down from your throne,” Steve said,
frowning deeply.
“I don’t care what they say,” Bucky told him, shaking his head. “Your privacy
and security is more important to me than the fucking tabloids.”
Steve huffed out a breath and shook his head. “I hate that they’re treating you
like this; I can’t stand that they’re trying to bully you.”
Bucky grinned and stood up to place a warm, chaste kiss on Steve’s mouth. “I
love you, Stevie, you always have my back.”
“Someone has to since you won’t do anything to defend yourself.”
“When we finally do go public, they’re all going to piss their pants for
insulting us,” Bucky said, gleefully. “So much ass-kissing and kowtowing to
regain your favor; all those nasty things that they used to print about you.”
Steve sighed, his hands on Bucky’s hips. “I don’t care what people think I look
like. If I were still that short, skinny kid, I know you’d still love me.”
“I would – I have,” Bucky murmured, licking up Steve’s neck. “And I love this,
too.” He took a deep breath and gazed up at Steve. “I love you for your heart
of gold and your beliefs and your kindness and your sense of fairness and your
weird sense of humor…so many other things than just your body. Which I love,
too, by the way.”
Steve laughed and rolled his eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”
“It’s the same way that I know you love me and not my crown or my throne or the
power or wealth of being the Prince Consort to a King.”
He watched as Steve nodded, meeting Bucky’s eyes.
“Then it’s worth it to me, losing a little privacy, so the world doesn’t
believe that you’re a cheater or a liar or whatever horrible thing that they’re
calling you now,” Steve told him, softly.
“Sure you?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay,” Bucky said, nodding. “Then go out on a date with me. In public.”
Steve swallowed and took a deep breath, committing himself to their future.
“I’d be proud to.”
“Damn, Rogers, you always know what to say to me.”
***
Reporter: Your Highness! Prince James! Is your engagement over? Taking your new
lover out on a date? How does Steve Rogers feel about your affair?
Prince James: I don’t know, why don’t you ask Steve?
Reporter: We would, if we could get an interview with him!
Prince James: Tell them what you think about my affair.
Steve Rogers: Well, Buck, I guess you can call me your new lover; we’ve only
been together for three years.
Prince James: Fifteen, total, if you want to count back that far.
Reporter: Wait! Are you saying that HE’S Steve Rogers!
Prince James: He’s always been Steve Rogers. Sometimes Stevie, but only his mom
and I can call him that.
Reporter: You’re Steve Rogers?
Steve Rogers: I guess the cat’s out of the bag.
Prince James: Come on, doll, let’s go home.
Reporter: Holy shit…it’s been Steve Rogers the whole time…
***** Incept *****
Chapter Summary
     Inception AU; Doesn't every fandom have an Inception AU fic?
The Dream World – Level 1
Mark: Alexander Pierce
 
Steve walked along the black and white marble floor of the Silver Corridor in
The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel. He was smartly dressed in a black tux and white
shirt, his left hand tucked into the pocket of his tailored slacks, hand curled
around his totem, a small red ball with white and blue circles, a white star in
the center. Beautifully dressed people mingled along the hall, the doors opened
to all five of the gorgeous ballrooms. Music filled the air, pouring in
discreetly from the small but expensive speakers that lined the hallway;
champagne fountains flowing in cool and delightful rivers; the professional
wait staff ready and willing to serve every patron’s indulgences.
“Cap, on your left,” Clint said into Steve’s earpiece. “Mark is heading into
the Grand Ballroom.”
Steve brushed his right hand down the lapel of his jacket, acknowledging
Clint’s direction. He took a few steps and walked into the four-story ballroom,
taking a moment to look at the intricate details – the two-tiered balconies
overlooking the floor, the 16-foot chandelier, the symphonic orchestra playing
on the stage. This would be his last time world-building; he could no longer
trust his mind. He had recruited Natasha to take his place as the Architect for
all future jobs. He knew he should’ve allowed her to build the world, knew the
risks involved, but Steve wanted to be the done to take down Alexander Pierce.
 
“Fifteen minutes,” Phil said, his voice calm and clear.
“Start the clock,” Steve murmured, turning his head to the side and clearing
his throat.
He took a glass of champagne from a passing waiter and mingled among the
guests, the glitterati of New York’s high society. He didn’t recognize any of
the faces, but these were the men and women peopled by Alexander Pierce,
President of HYDRA Industries.
“To your left,” Hawkeye intoned.
Steve took a sip of his champagne, his senses noting the refreshing taste, the
feel of the expensive bubbly on his tongue, and looked to the left to see
Pierce engaged in a lively conversation with a number of people fawning over
him.
“Look at that asshole, even in his dreams, he was so full of himself that
they’re all hanging on his every word,” Clint muttered, coldly.
“Cut the chatter, Hawkeye,” Steve said, firmly. “Phil, do you see where Pierce
put the object?”
“It’s on his right wrist, the watch,” Phil told him, passing Steve and giving
him a cordial nod.
There was an odd shake in the room, the champagne fountain trembling for just a
moment. Steve watched as Pierce took a sip of his champagne, blue eyes darting
around the room, and then returning to his guests with a forced jovial laugh.
“We’re running out of time,” Steve said into his discreet microphone. “Keep an
eye out for unexpected visitors.”
“Isn’t he an expected  visitor by now?” Clint said, his voice tense.
Steve finished his drink and set the glass down on a nearby table. “I’m going
in.”
“Twelve minutes,” Phil warned, watching Steve’s back.
HYDRA security guards walked into the room, looking around. Steve forced a
smile onto his face and made his way towards Pierce, standing at a polite
distance, waiting for the right moment to step in.
“Mr. Pierce, it’s an honor to finally meet you,” Steve said, stepping towards
the older gentleman.
Pierce turned and looked at him, blue eyes narrowing slightly. “You look
familiar, have we met before?”
Steve went into his aw-shucks routine. “Well, we might have, at the last one of
these shindigs I imagine. My name is Christopher Evans. Of Evans Technologies.”
Pierce stared at him blankly for a moment and then broke into a wide smile.
Steve shook Pierce’s hand firmly, clasping his other hand gently and slipping
the clasp of the watch, stepping closer towards Pierce with a more intimate
smile.
“The pleasure is mine, sir,” he whispered, smiling shyly. “I’ve admired you for
so long, I admit that I’ve been trying to get in touch with you for years.”
Steve removed the watch from Pierce’s wrist and held his hands behind his back,
straightening his shoulders. He felt Phil walk past him, brushing against his
shoulder accidentally.
“Oh, my apologies,” he said, taking the watch from Steve.
Pierce laughed, meeting Steve’s eyes; he was utterly flattered and very
interested. “Well, in that case, I must set aside some time for you later
tonight. Have you been to the Basildon Room? They have a perfect replica of an
18th century Parisian marble fireplace. The architecture of the room is
quite…stunning.”
Steve ducked his chin shyly and met Pierce’s predatory gaze. “I’d be honored.”
He wanted to vomit in his mouth.
The room trembled again, the chandelier above clinking as it shook. His time
was running out; they still needed to get out of the hotel and out of Pierce’s
dream.
“Well, then, I’ll see you there shortly,” Pierce said, dismissing him as he
turned to talk to his other guests.
Steve gave a quick nod and walked slowly across the room, heading to one of the
exits. The crowd of people in the ballroom seemed to have grown exponentially,
causing him to bump into a few guests, causing a small commotion. He was
starting to draw the attention of the HYDRA security guards, a tall, gruff
looking man talking into his walkie-talkie as he stared at Steve, heading
towards him.
“I’ve spotted the Winter Soldier,” Clint shouted into his earpiece. “Six
o’clock! He’s heading to you, Cap!”
Steve heard the feedback loop through the room’s speakers and he winced,
pulling the earpiece out and tucking it into his pocket.
“Exfil now,” Steve said into his microphone, pushing past the guests and
hurrying out the exit door and running up the stairs, taking them two and three
at a time, heading to the roof exit.
The building started shaking even more, chips of wall plaster falling on him.
He was at the tenth floor now, the eleventh, the fourteenth. In the dream
world, Steve could run up 47 flights without breaking a sweat. He burst out of
the roof access door and saw Phil waiting for him, sliding the clip into his
Sig Sauer and handing it to Steve.
“I already sent Hawkeye ahead. Make it quick,” Phil said, grinning slightly at
Steve.
Steve shot him point blank between the eyes and pulled back the slide to
chamber the next round for himself.
“Rogers.”
He turned to see Bucky walking towards him across the roof. He was dressed all
in black, hair long and stringy, a messy stripe of black across his eyes. His
left arm was silver and bore a red star. He stalked towards Steve, an ugly
smile on his handsome face.
“Long time no see, Stevie,” he said, voice low and raspy.
“You can’t keep sabotaging my work, Buck,” he said, sadly.
“Don’t you miss me, sweetheart? Why did you leave me behind? What happened to
the end of the line?”
Steve pressed the gun under his chin and took a deep, shuddering breath. “I’ll
always love you, Bucky.”
And pulled the trigger.
“—the fuck! What the hell took you so long?” Clint hissed at him, pulling the
needle out of Steve’s wrist. “He’s going to wake up any second now!”
The steam of the sauna and the false-memory pain of shooting a bullet into his
brain were disorienting, but Steve knew how to pull it together. He looked over
to Alexander Pierce starting to stir; Phil carefully pulling the line out of
Pierce’s wrist. He placed his fingers against Pierce’s throat, checking his
pulse, and nodded to Steve.
Clint picked up the PASIV as Phil gathered up all the lines, closing the silver
case. They left the sauna quietly and discreetly, pulling off the “Closed for
Repairs” sign that they had taped up after Pierce took his usual 2 o’clock
room.
“Nat and Bruce have the van out back,” Clint said, leading the way out of the
private health club’s labyrinthine halls to the exit doors at the street level.
Bruce pushed the van’s side door open and Phil, Clint, and Steve slipped into
the van, Steve pulling the door shut behind him.
“Let’s go,” Steve said to Natasha, nodding to her.
“Did you get it?” Bruce said, turning around to look at Steve.
“Yes,” Steve told him, reaching into his pocket and pulling out his totem. He
bounced it on the floor of the van, catching it in his hand. He knew that if it
bounced, that he was back in the Real World. He took a deep breath and put his
totem back into his pocket. “Bucky was there.”
The silence of the van was a heavy chill.
Natasha looked at Steve through the rearview mirror. “Who the hell is Bucky?”
***** Blind Date *****
Chapter Summary
     Post-military service AU: Steve/Bucky
     PROMPT 3: I reserved a table for one as part of my “join the world as
     a civilian” plan but the hostess said that someone with my name is
     already there…and oh boy, fake me is hot.
     PROMPT 4: I walked into this restaurant and you thought I was your
     blind date and I just kind of went with it because you’re gorgeous
     and nervous and I didn’t want to eat alone
     Author's Note: I combined these two prompts together.
 
Transitioning back into the civilian world was harder than the support group at
the VA reported. Bucky thought that they were probably trying to be positive
and optimistic, not wanting to scare him off from making his first attempt.
The support group leader kept talking about taking small steps, making a
realistic milestone and reaching for it, and if he couldn’t quite get there, it
was the “getting there” part that was worth it.
“It’s the journey, not just the destination,” Sam said, at their group
meetings. “And don’t beat yourself up if you have a hard time even making that
first step; the fact that you’re even trying, you have to give yourself some
credit for that. The rest is follow-through, and all of you know how to do
that. You can do it in a field of battle, following through when the shit’s
going down, when your CO gets shot, when your team is pinned down and you have
to make that run as decoy to buy your team a few precious seconds.”
Bucky much preferred that than walking into the veteran-friendly restaurant
that Sam’s friend, oddly named Thor Odinson, owned. “Hammer” was a weird name
for a restaurant, but to each their own, Bucky thought.
The restaurant was located just a few blocks from the VA Center, and Sam and
Thor were running buddies. When Sam had told Thor about how hard it was for
returning soldiers finding safe, vet-friendly places, Thor immediately made
“Hammer” a place where vets could learn to get their civilian feet wet. Thor
employed a number of former vets in his restaurant; and he flew the American
flag as well as a number of Nordic national flags outside of his cozy downtown
place.
Bucky shoved his hands into his jacket pocket and took a deep breath, taking a
step towards the heavy looking wood and glass doors. He reached out and tugged
the door open, the sudden flood of noise – people talking, laughing, music
playing in the background, the clink of glasses – overwhelming Bucky’s senses.
He nearly took a step back and out into the street, but the perky young
Maitre’D saw him and smiled, waving for him to come towards her podium.
“Hi! I’m Darcy, welcome to Hammer! Do you have a reservation?”
Bucky looked around, a bit wide-eyed, and he shook his head. “No—no
reservation. I just…Sam said to come…”
“Oh! Did Sam Wilson send you?” She said, her expression less perky and more
friendly and compassionate. “How about if I set you up at the bar for a mo and
then I’ll find you a quiet table if you’re ready?”
“Thank you,” he said, nodding quickly.
“Follow me,” she said, looking over at the bar and seeing that it wasn’t quite
full up yet. “I see a spot with your name on it.”
He trailed after her through a friendly crowd that parted for them without too
much trouble. A moment later, Bucky was parked on a comfortable leather stool
with Darcy putting a bar menu in his hand. She waved to get the bartender’s
attention, pointing at Bucky, and then making an “OK” with her fingers.
“The bartender’s name is Clint; he’ll be with you in half a sec. Holler at me
if you need anything, got it?”
Bucky grinned and nodded. “Yes, ma’am.”
“Good,” she said, winking at him and then sauntered off back to her place at
the front of the lobby.
“Hey. Jimmy?”
No one called him Jimmy; who would know him here? He turned to the sound of a
low, masculine voice, and looked up to see a very handsome man smiling shyly at
him. He had dark blond hair, cut in a style that was one-time military but had
grown out, and he was built like an athlete, wide shoulders and lean muscles.
His dark blue sleeves were rolled back up to his elbows and Bucky stared at the
long ropes of veins under tanned skin.
“Uh…hi?”
“I’m Steve?” He said, expectantly. His eyes were blue and he stared at Bucky
like he should know what to do next.
“I’m Bucky.”
“Not Jimmy?”
Bucky shrugged. “First name’s James, but no one calls me that. They all call me
Bucky.”
“Bucky. I like it.” Steve smiled, taking a deep breath and sinking down on the
leather stool beside him. “Thank goodness. I was walking around like some loaf
and asking people if their name was ‘Jimmy.’ I’m pretty sure everyone here
thinks I was trying to hit on them or something. The security guy was starting
to give me the eye, if you know what I mean.”
Bucky cocked his head and stared at him. He wouldn’t qualify Steve as someone
harmless, not with that build and his spit-and-polish military bearing and
precisely ironed dress shirt, despite the fact that his shoulders were hunched
slightly and a flush was crawling across his cheeks.
“So, um, can I buy you a drink?” Steve said, his eyes widening in hope. “It’s
kind of hard to get the bartender’s attention but I think he felt sorry for me
because we both thought you’d stood me up.”
Steve stood up and held up his hand, waving it to get Clint’s attention. Clint
looked at Bucky and then winked at Steve and nodded to him.
“How long were you waiting?”
“Not long. Um, over an hour,” Steve said, settling back on the stool and
grinning sheepishly at him. “Worth the wait. I’m glad you showed.” He gave a
little shrug and looked at Bucky. “I guess it was kind of desperate of me to
keep waiting? I mean, maybe you didn’t really want to meet me, but I guess you
changed your mind and came anyway?”  
Bucky sighed, realizing that Steve had mistaken him for what sounded like a
blind date. Who the hell would stand up Steve? He was gorgeous and didn’t seem
to be a douchebag, at least, not that Bucky could tell. The night was young and
this was turning out to be an interesting part of his “journey.”
He decided to see this through. “Sorry for making you wait, doll; who’d skip
out on a date with you?”
Steve laughed and ran a hand over his hair. “Yeah, well, I’m really out of
practice at this kind of thing. If you can’t already tell.”
“You’re doing all right,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “How long have you been
out?”
Steve opened his mouth and then blinked a few times at him. “Um, excuse me?”
“Out of the service?” Bucky said, gesturing to Steve’s hair. “That’s a high and
tight that’s grown out.”
“Oh!” Steve said, letting out a nervous laugh. He ran his hand over his hair
again. “Yeah. I thought…never mind what I thought. Yeah. I was discharged about
six months ago.”
“Special teams?” He said, looking at Steve carefully.
Steve gave Bucky a steady look. “How can you tell?”
“One duck can tell another duck in the same water,” he said, smirking slightly.
“I was discharged on medical about three months ago.”
Bucky lifted his left shoulder, giving an awkward shrug. The prosthetic was
state-of-the-art, a new biomecha arm that Stark Industries was beta testing on
a handful of military vets. It was as near lifelike as a prosthetic could get
to being like the real thing. Tony Stark had fitted his arm himself; a part of
Bucky was still a bit star struck by the genius engineer, who had a deep sense
of patriotism that didn’t make the tabloid sheets and a bawdy sense of humor
that did. He liked Stark a lot and was glad to be one of his test subjects.
Bucky had the option to get it skinned to look realistic, but he had asked to
keep it unskinned, the silver metallic look of the arm speaking to his old love
of science fiction.
Steve glanced at his left arm and then gave Bucky a small smile. “Welcome home,
soldier.”
“Sergeant.”
“Welcome home, Sergeant Bucky.”
Bucky chuckled, feeling the edges of his mouth lift into his cheeks. It felt
odd on his face; an old memory that was coming back to him. It had been a long
time since he smiled and used those muscles.
“Thanks. What about you?”
“Captain. Army. I was with the 107th.”
Bucky frowned slightly. “I had some buddies on special teams in the 1-0-7. Ever
heard of the Howling Commandos?”  
“They’re my men. Were, I mean, now that I’m retired.”
“You’re Captain Steve Rogers?” Bucky said, sitting up straight and looking at
him. “The boys had a nickname for you.”
Steve grinned and shook his head. “Yeah. Captain America.”
“Damn, sir, you’re a living legend, Cap,” he said, smiling at Steve. “I feel
like I need to salute you.”
“No, no, don’t sir me or salute me,” he said, shaking his head. “I’m a civvie
now, just like you.”
“You boys ready to for drinks?” Clint said, leaning his hands on the edge of
the bar and smirking at them. “Your boy finally show up, Rogers?” He gave Bucky
a look over. “He’s a fine one, worth the wait, huh?”
“Clint, this is Bucky,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Bucky, this is Clint.
He’s a smartass, just ignore him.”
“So, gents, what’ll it be?”
They both ordered beers from the tap and Clint grinned from ear to ear, looking
at the two of them. Bucky noticed that at the other end of the bar, a few
people were waving their hands, trying to get Clint’s attention.
“He’s deaf,” Bucky finally figured out, getting a look at the hearing aid in
Clint’s right ear.
“Hold your horses!” Clint called down the bar. “I can hear you waving at me,
for god’s sake!”
Steve smiled and nodded. “He’s really good at reading lips. Honestly, I think
he can hear pretty well, but he just likes messing with people.”
Bucky laughed, finding that funny. He liked Clint a lot; liked knowing that a
disability wasn’t something to pity.
“He’s good people, one of us,” Steve said, meaningfully.
Ahhh…a vet then, like them. Bucky nodded his thanks when Clint delivered their
drinks, then hurried down to the other end of the bar, joking with the patrons
and pretending to mishear whatever it was that they said. There was a lot of
rollicking laughter. Bucky looked down to the other end to see a tall man with
long blond hair, throwing his head back with a deep, booming laugh.
“That’s Thor, the owner,” Steve said, looking over his shoulder, a fond grin on
his face. “He’s a great guy. He can get kind of huggy, but it kind of works for
him.”
“Steven!” Thor called, walking towards them, his arms in the air.
Steve got to his feet and was immediately engulfed in Thor’s arms, lifted off
his feet in a hearty hug. Thor Odinson was about a half a foot taller than
Steve and built even wider at the shoulders. He was dressed in a tailored black
suit and dark red shirt. The long hair and dress clothes suited the man; his
natural charisma seemed to fill the space around him, giving him the air of a
happily guileless and gentle giant.
“Friend Steven! It is good to see you again!”
“Thanks Thor,” Steve said, gasping slightly, reaching back to thump heartily on
Thor’s back. “Good to see you too, big guy.”
Bucky got to his feet and gave a wary smile when Thor put Steve down. He smiled
widely at Bucky and then looked at Steve.
“I see that your plan to make a new beau has come to fruition! He is very
handsome to look upon,” Thor announced, patting Steve on the back and nearly
knocking him off his feet. “I would like to meet your beau.”
“Um…sure. This is Bucky…?”
“Barnes,” he said, holding out his hand. “Bucky Barnes. Nice to meet you,
Thor.”
“The pleasure is mine, friend Bucky. I hope that you will patronage my
restaurant again in the future. It is good to have more shield brothers under
my roof,” Thor said, shaking Bucky’s hand in a firm, but friendly, grip. “You
will have to stay and try my special. It is the fried herring in pickling
liquor. A masterful recipe, if I may claim such a thing.”
Bucky turned to see Steve’s face turn a bit green and he held back a laugh.
“Uhhhh…okay?” Steve mumbled, looking panicked at Bucky.
“Thor, it sounds utterly delightful, but my stomach is still getting used to
civilian foods after eating MREs for a year,” Bucky said, shyly. “I think the
only risky thing I could take right now is just a simple burger.”
Thor nodded, understandingly. “Of course, friend Bucky; but later, when you
have returned to your full gastronomical strength, you have to try some of my
best fares.”
Bucky chuckled. “No doubt.”
Steve slipped him a pleased smile.
“Good,” Thor said, nodding at them. “I must check on my other patrons. If you
require a table for your evening meal, I will ask Darcy to find a romantic spot
for the two of you.”
“Roman—what? No, it’s okay, Thor,” Steve bumbled out, laughing nervously.
“Ah! I forget that you are a man of discretion and valor, friend Steven,” Thor
said, uproariously. “Fear not, we will find a special place for you. Have a
fair eve, my friends!”
And then Thor was off, regaling other patrons with his unique blend of non-
filtered conversational delights.
Steve sighed, his shoulders sagging, giving Bucky a nervous grin. “You…get used
to him?”
“I like him,” Bucky announced, smiling at the way Steve grinned at him, pleased
with Bucky’s verdict. “I like it here a lot. I…I have a hard time going to
public places and my VA support group suggested that I come here to ‘Hammer’
because it’s a vet-friendly place. I wasn’t going to come, but I’m glad that I
did.”
“I’m glad, too,” Steve said, smiling shyly at Bucky.
“I should come clean about something, though,” he said, taking a deep breath.
“I’m not the guy that you were waiting for. I’m not your blind date, Steve.”
Steve nodded and took that calmly. He didn’t even seem mad or disturbed by
Bucky’s confession. “I should tell you something, too. I wasn’t waiting for a
blind date.”  
Bucky raised his eyebrow. “But then how did you know my name was James?”
Steve barked out an incredulous laugh. “I just took a guess on a popular boy’s
name! It was either that or I was going with Michael.”
He made a face and laughed. “Terrible choice. I don’t even look like a Michael.
What was your next move if my name wasn’t Jimmy?”
“Oh…I was just…going to keep faking it and draw you in with my flirting
skills,” Steve said, deadpan.
Bucky laughed and then reached out with his right hand and curled it over
Steve’s shoulder, giving him an affectionate squeeze. He took a deep breath and
stood straight, looking into Steve’s very pretty blue eyes.
He held out his hand. “My name is James Buchanan Barnes, but my friends call me
Bucky.”
Steve shook his hand and held on. “Steve Rogers. I hope that I’ll be someone
who’ll earn the right to call you friend.”
Bucky grinned and winked at him. “Maybe more…if you’re lucky.”
Steve chuckled and nodded. “Would you like to have dinner with me tonight?”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “Yeah, I really would.”
***** Print to Happiness *****
Chapter Summary
     Prompt: You print stuff out on my wireless printer – you’re an actor
     because you’ve been printing out your headshot and resume and you are
     so beautiful
     Pairing: Steve/Bucky
     Image: Google
[_photo_barnes2.png]
 
 On Saturdays, Steve liked to curl up on his couch, eat far too many chocolate
covered almonds, and marathon a random TV show on Netflix. Today found him
completely enraptured by “House of Cards” and he had spent far too much time
lazying about in his small Brooklyn apartment, his laptop plugged into his TV,
and unable to look away from the machinations of the two power hungry
Underwoods.
He was reaching for the almost empty container of chocolate almonds when he
heard the familiar click and whir of his printer engaging. He pushed up on his
elbows and frowned, looking around his apartment, stupidly wondering why his
laptop was printing something.
He got to his feet and walked to his desk, arms crossed as he watched the
printer roll out a full color picture of a very attractive face.
“Well, hello there,” he murmured, picking up what looked like a headshot
photograph of a man named James Barnes.
It was a very pretty face, almost familiar in a way, with a pair of gorgeous
blue eyes, and a bit of scruff and long hair that was probably naturally wavy.
He wore a royal blue button-down shirt, which was a good choice because it
complemented James’s blue eyes, his pale pink lips, and healthy complexion. He
didn’t seem like the kind of man who was vain about his looks; confident and a
little playful with his smile and the crinkles at the corners of his eyes.
Steve narrowed his eyes and stared at the picture, trying to remember if he
ever saw James in their building. Maybe there was that one time when he saw a
man wearing a baseball hat leaving on a bicycle.
The printer engaged again and began to print out the professional acting resume
for James Barnes. Steve waited for it to finish printing, wondering if there
was a contact number for James. He could just imagine James’s frustration,
wondering why his printer wasn’t working. It must be a wireless network issue,
Steve thought, curious how an actor’s resume looked like.
James listed his home address as 255 Ainsley Street, Brooklyn, but no apartment
number; he had an agent named Alexander Pierce with HYDRA Entertainment Agency.
Steve wasn’t that familiar with Hollywood stuff, but even he had heard of HYDRA
Entertainment. They only represented A-List actors and took on up-and-coming
talent. Steve remembered overhearing office gossip about a famous actress suing
HYDRA for mismanaging several million dollars in her salary. He hoped that
James Barnes was getting his share of his money.
Steve continued reading, his eyebrows lifting in pleased surprise at the
familiar titles of movies and TV shows that James was on. He had a lot of
supporting roles and seemed to be just starting to take on lead roles; Steve
itched to see if the titles were on Netflix and to get online and look up James
Barnes on Wikipedia or IMDB. It was kind of exciting to know that there was a
professional working actor living in the same building.
There were only seven units in their small brownstone, but Steve hadn’t met
most of the people who lived in the building. There were two units on each
floor, three floors total, and a unit in the basement that was for the
brownstone’s resident handyman, Clint. Most of the units were modest, loft-type
apartments, the top two units were one-bedroom apartments. The only thing Steve
knew about his neighbor in 2A, Natasha, was that she traveled a lot for work
and he never knew when she was actually home.  Steve kept fairly regular work
hours as a well-paid prototype designer for Stark Industries.
Surely, Steve would have recognized seeing James – if anything because the man
was gorgeous and was no doubt a head turner.  
The printer started going through another print cycle and Steve hit the OFF
button quickly; no sense in wasting through anymore of the color ink in his
printer.
“Sorry, James,” Steve murmured, making a face. He looked at the resume again
and didn’t find any contact information, but there was an email address.
“Well…it couldn’t hurt; at least it’ll ease his mind that he’s not going crazy
or anything.”
He walked back to the couch, bringing the two pieces of paper with him and
setting it on the coffee table next to his laptop. He opened his GMAIL account
and typed in JBBARNES@gmail.com and sent off a brief message:
Hi James,
I’m Steve Rogers, your neighbor in apartment 2B. I’ve been receiving print outs
of his photograph and resume on my wireless printer. I just wanted to let you
know so you wouldn’t be going crazy wondering why it wasn’t printing on your
printer.
Steve
Good deed done, he grinned and rewound the timeline for the latest episode and
leaned back on his couch, pulling one of the plush couch pillows into his arms.
He was just settling in when there was a knock on his door. He got to his feet
and checked the eye hole and inhaled sharply when he saw James Barnes standing
outside his door.
Taking a few calming breaths, he smoothed down his hair and his rumpled Stark
Industries tee-shirt and sweatpants, and then unlocked the bolts, opening the
door.
“Hey,” James said, giving a nervous smile. “I got your email. Hey, man, I’m
sorry about wasting your printer ink. I’ll pay you back if—“
“No, no, it’s okay,” Steve said, licking his lips and trying not to stare.
James Barnes was even prettier in real life. The picture didn’t do justice to
the color of his eyes – blue with a bit of gray – or to the width of his
shoulders and the muscles in his arms.
James laughed, running a hand over his face. “Thanks for letting me know. I’ve
been trying to get my wireless printer to print for the last hour and nothing
was coming out. I spent twenty minutes on the phone talking to their customer
service rep – neither of us could figure out what was wrong. I swear, for just
a minute, I thought that my apartment was haunted by a ghost or something.”
“Well, I’m glad you know that your apartment’s not haunted,” he said, trying
not to stare. He cleared his throat. “It could’ve been worse; you could’ve been
trying to print out your bank statement or confidential documents or
something.”
“Right; or you know, my nudes,” James said, barking out a laugh that sounded
nervous and forced. Steve raised his eyebrows and pressed his lips together,
grinning. “Not that I have nudes!” James winced and then laughed at himself,
shaking his head. “Don’t listen to me, I’m still kind of anxious from my
audition this afternoon and the printer mess and…”
“Hey, you want to come in for a drink? A beer?”
James took a deep breath and smiled. “You know, I’d love a beer, thanks Steve.”
He waved James into his apartment. “Take a seat; you sound like you could use a
break.”
Steve gathered two beers from his fridge, popped up the tops, and walked back
into the living room. James was holding the print outs in his hands, a rueful
smile on his lips. He set them down when Steve handed him the bottle.
“Thanks,” James said, sitting back on the couch and taking a long drink.
“So…James—“
“Bucky.”
“Pardon?”
“My name – well, my nickname – is Bucky,” he said, grinning.
Steve smiled, finding the nickname fitting. “Bucky. Okay. So…you had an
audition this afternoon?”
“Yeah,” he said, setting the beer on his knee and looking at Steve. “My new
agent, he’s really aggressive, he wants me to stop fucking around in small
indie movies and start working on mainstream, big studio jobs. In the past
month, I’ve gone to about 120 auditions and callbacks and table readings and
photo shoots and costume fittings…it’s kind of been overwhelming, to be
honest.” He took a deep breath and sighed. “Not that I have anything to
complain about – and I’m not complaining – since this is what I want to do for
the rest of my life, but it’s just that…I think my career is getting on a
certain kind of track now and I don’t know if I’m ready for…everything.”
“Wow,” Steve said, not knowing what else to say.
James – Bucky – made a face and rolled his eyes. “Sorry, man, I’m just whining.
I don’t want to be one of those douchebags who talks about himself and being an
‘act-tor’ and all that bullshit.”
“What do you love doing more?”
Bucky grinned. “Honestly? Theatre. It’s my first love; a live audience, instant
feedback. It’s kind of addicting…but you can’t really get paid as a lowly
theatre actor.”
“Which is why your new agent wants you to try for the bigger movies.”
“They come with bigger paychecks and my agent gets a bigger percentage. Yeah,”
Bucky murmured, thumbnail picking at the paper label of the beer bottle.
“Anyway…so, Steve Rogers, what do you do?”
Steve laughed, rolling his eyes. “I work for Stark Industries; I design
prototypes.”
Bucky turned and stared at him. “So what’s Tony Stark really like?”
“Genius, billionaire, philanthropist, playboy.”
“Do you get to see the big man at all? He’s like totally hidden up in his
Tower, right? Unless he’s rolling through the city in one of his expensive cars
and trolling for hotties.”
Steve shrugged. “I work FOR him, actually. I’m one of his primary prototype
designers, before his designs go to Stark R&D division. He sends me a bunch of
blue prints and I try to decipher their meaning and redesign his ideas into
something that people can read. He’s brilliant, actually; take away his tabloid
reputation and he’s just a mechanic at heart.”
Bucky bit his bottom lip and gave Steve a teasing smile. “Someone’s got a
little crush, huh?”
Steve felt his face heat up a little, but he laughed and shook his head. “I’m
pretty sure a guy like Tony Stark is way out of my league.”
“Hell, don’t sweat it, man, I have a little crush on Tony Stark, too,” Bucky
said, chuckling deeply. Steve watched as Bucky got a faraway look in his blue
eyes, something thoughtful and sad in them. “Just because a person has all that
money and fame and celebrity…it might not mean nothing, you know? I mean,
people forget that even famous people are, at the end of the day, just people,
like you and me.” He took a deep breath, eyebrows rising high on his forehead.
“Anyway, it sounds like you actually get to know a Tony Stark that none of us
ever will.”
Steve took a sip of his beer. “So when you get to be one of those famous
people, I’ll remember to quote you, if anyone ever asks. I’ll say that I knew
Bucky Barnes when he was doing theatre and indie movies and that he was always
a down-to-earth kind of guy.”
Bucky looked at him. “You swear?”
“Not in front of my ma,” he said, chuckling.
Bucky rolled his eyes and smirked. “You a Brooklyn boy? I can hear your
accent.”
“Born and bred,” he said, cocking his head and looking at Bucky. “But you’re
not, even though you kind of slip into a New York accent now and then.”
“No, from Indiana, originally,” he said, leaning back into the couch. “Came out
here to go to NYU; I started doing a lot of stage work pretty much from the
start.”
“Hey, do me a favor, okay? Will you autograph your photo for me?” Steve said,
smiling at him. “I’m going to put it in my office; I bet there are people in my
office who’ll recognize you.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes and gave him a mock glare. “Are you saying that YOU
didn’t recognize me, punk?”
“I was going to look up your IMBD later,” he admitted, chuckling. “I’ve heard
of the stuff that you’ve been in, though. I’m sure if I watched it again, I’d
recognize you.”
“Story of my life,” Bucky said, laughing softly.
Steve watched as Bucky sat up, putting his beer bottle on the table, and rooted
around the coffee table for a pen. He uncapped it and stared at his headshot
for a moment, then signed his name on the bottom right corner.
“Better keep good care of it; might be worth something on eBay someday,” Bucky
teased, putting the cap back on the pen and setting it down next to Steve’s
sketchbook.
“I’m sure it will,” Steve said, good-naturedly. He chuckled and shook his head.
“You know that if you do become a famous celebrity that I’m not going to say
anything about you in public, right? I was just kidding about that. Discretion
and privacy mean something to me.”
Bucky smiled at him, the edges of his eyes crinkling. “I’m really enjoying the
fact that you seem to know that I’m going to be a famous celebrity one day.
Thanks, man, I appreciate the support.”
“Hey! I’m totally going to be your number one fan…as soon as I go back and
watch your stuff again so I can remember what role you had.”
Bucky gave him an incredulous look and then his handsome face broke into a wide
smile; a deep, throaty laughter spilling from his mouth.
“You’re a punk, aren’t you, Stevie?”
“Guilty as charged.” He felt his face heat from the affectionate nickname.
They smiled at each other for a long moment, letting the eye contact linger
beyond simple acquaintance level of contact.
“Now that the mystery of the wireless printer is solved, I’ll get out of your
hair,” Bucky said, softly, getting to his feet slowly.
Steve followed, trying to rack his brain to come up with something to say that
would get Bucky to stay for a little while longer. “Sure, yeah, yeah…”
“Thanks for the beer, Steve.”
“Anytime, Bucky,” he murmured, following Bucky to his door. “You know…”
Bucky turned and looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“Which apartment are you in? How can we live in the same building and not even
run into each other once?”
“I’m in 1A,” he said, smiling at him. “You probably don’t see me a lot because
of the weird hours. I work like three part-time jobs in between acting gigs
so…and I go out the back door. It’s easier since I have my bike chained up
there.”
Steve smiled and nodded, swallowing thickly. “So, Buck, if you have a night
free soon…maybe you’d like to go out to dinner with me?”
“Like on a date?” Bucky said, licking his bottom lip.
“Yeah,” he said, his eyes glued to Bucky’s pink tongue. He met Bucky’s eyes and
blushed, caught out while staring at Bucky’s mouth.
Bucky licked his bottom lip again and cocked his head to the side. “Yeah,
Stevie, I’d like that.”
***** Outlaws *****
Chapter Summary
     Prompt: Sam Wilson tells Steve Rogers that he’s found the best con
     artist/pickpocket in NYC, guy named Bucky Barnes. He’s an actor, off-
     Broadway, not too bad. Sam says that Steve should go check him out.
     Pairing: Steve/Bucky
     Author's Note: I love this original prompt with all the RL boys from
     the Marvel franchise.
BASED ON THIS AWESOME TUMBLR SET: http://superanarchy.tumblr.com/post/
121610743164/do-you-realise-how-much-i-need-an-au-based-on 
 
“He’s got the best fingers in the business.”
Steve made a face and turned to look at Sam. “What—“
“I meant that he’s the best con artist-slash-pickpocket in New York City,” Sam
said, rolling his eyes. “Guy named Bucky Barnes.”
“His name is Bucky?” Steve said, sighing deeply. “Sam, are you sure he’s the
best you can find?”
Sam gave him a long look. “The best, Rogers; you’re not going to find anyone
better.”
“All right, I’ll go talk to him. Where can I find him?”
Which was why Steve was sitting in the audience of the small Bleecker Street
Theatre watching a play called “Picnic”? Bucky, whose first name was James,
Barnes was currently starring as bad boy Hal Carter, who frankly spent the
majority of the play shirtless and glistening with oil. Though, Steve had to
admit that Bucky was very watchable and he enjoyed Bucky’s charming, impulsive,
harsh, and insecure portrayal of the character.
Steve stood politely with the other members of the audience as the cast members
came out to take their final bows. He lingered, pretending to join
conversations with other theatre-goers, delaying his exit. He made his way to
the men’s room, hiding out for about half an hour, and then silently made his
way to the backstage areas. The security in the theatre was horrible; Steve
overheard the actors talking about going to the bar across the street from the
theatre for drinks.
Quickly, Steve left the theatre and took up a spot near the bar, hanging
outside on the sidewalk with the smokers, chatting about nothing in particular
as he kept an eye out for the actors to leave the theatre, cross the street,
and head into the bar. He saw that Bucky was with them, his hair still damp and
combed back, curling at the ends.
Steve made his way inside, flagged down the bartender for a gin and tonic, and
scoped out the bar. It wasn’t packed, but just crowded enough to make
conversations interesting. He saw that Bucky and the actors had found room on
the other side of the room, near the bar, holding court like they were
regulars.
He sipped on his drink, flicking his eyes towards Bucky until their eyes met.
Steve gave a small smile, holding Bucky’s attention for a moment. He watched as
Bucky lifted his chin, looking past the people at the bar, to check him out.
Steve licked his lips and grinned, looking at Bucky from the corner of his eye.
It wasn’t long before Bucky pulled away from his friends and made his way
towards Steve. He laughed, shaking hands with various people along the way,
stumbling slightly against Steve’s side. The warmth of his breath against
Steve’s ear sent a shiver down Steve’s spine…but not enough to disguise the
fact that Bucky had touched him in search of his wallet.
Steve didn’t bring his real wallet, knowing that if he met up with Bucky, the
pickpocket would most likely slip it from him. He used an old, worn leather
wallet, filled it with a few small bills, a subway pass, and a note with
Steve’s phone number. He kept it in the right back pocket of his jeans. Sitting
on the stool would give Bucky a bit of a challenge; and Steve wanted to see him
in action.
“Sorry, sorry, man,” Bucky said, breathless and giddy, hands gently sliding
across his shoulders and down to his lower back. For anyone else, it would’ve
felt affectionate, maybe intimate, but Steve knew when he was being patted
down. Bucky stayed close to Steve, looking into his eyes. “I think you were
sitting in the audience, am I right?”
Steve smiled, playing up his natural shyness. “You were really good.”
“Just good, huh?” Bucky murmured, smirking up at him. “I’m sure I’m more than
just good. Don’t you think?”
He leaned against the bar and sighed, picking up Steve’s drink and finishing it
down.
“Hey, that’s my—“  
“How’re you going to let me buy you a drink if you haven’t even finished your
first one?” Bucky said, turning his head and raising his hand for the
bartender. “Sal, gimme a rum and coke and the cutie another gin and tonic.”
Sal, the bartender, gave Bucky an amused look. “Sure, Buck.”
“Thanks,” he called, chuckling. “Add it to my tab.”
Bucky turned and gave Steve his full attention. “So, cutie, what’s your name?”
“Steve,” he said, meeting Bucky’s eyes.
“Well, Stevie, tell me about yourself.”
Steve laughed and rolled his eyes. “Kind of cliché to go with that opening. I’m
still waiting to see you being more than just good.”
Bucky’s smile turned wicked, the challenge lighting his eyes. “Ohhh, you’re
going to sass me now, is that it, Stevie?”
“You seem like a man who can take it.”
“Why don’t we finish our drinks and you can take me back to your place and I
can show you how I take it,” Bucky said, leaning closer to him, his hand
sliding down Steve’s lower back to his ass, fingers tucked against the edge of
the stool, just under Steve’s wallet.
And then Bucky’s warmth was gone, the press of his body moving away, and Steve
actually felt himself move forward towards Bucky, trying to close that distance
between them. It was by only a few inches, but it felt like a gulf. Steve
wanted to take Bucky by the hips and drag him back in.
Sal brought their drinks and Steve moved to grab his wallet – which he knew
wasn’t there anymore – but Bucky chuckled and stopped him, his hand on Steve’s
shoulder.
“It’s on my tab, cutie,” Bucky drawled, tilting his chin up and staring down at
Steve. “I’m going to hit the head and we’ll finish our drinks and leave. What
do you say?”
Steve nodded. “Yeah, sure.”
“Don’t move from your spot, cutie,” Bucky teased, warningly, and ran his hand
over Steve’s shoulder as he moved past him to the back of the bar.
Steve watched him leave and counted to ten before sliding off the stool and
following Bucky out the back to the exit door for the alley. He stepped out and
looked right and then left and saw Bucky walking quickly out of the alley to
the street. Steve followed, keeping his footsteps quiet, running when Bucky
turned the corner back onto Bleecker Street.
He grabbed Bucky’s arm quickly and tugged him into the next alley.
“Hey! What the fuck, man!”
Steve slammed him against the brick wall, left hand on Bucky’s shoulder, thumb
pressing hard on his collar bone.
“Shut up, Barnes,” he hissed, running his right hand over Bucky’s chest, his
jacket pockets, and down his ass to the back pockets of his jeans. He pulled
out his wallet and grinned, putting it into his jacket pocket.
“All right, you caught me,” Bucky said, smiling at him. “It was just a joke.”
“You really need to work on your technique,” Steve told him, letting go of
Bucky’s shoulder and taking a step back. “You’re going to find a mark who
doesn’t like to be touched like that from the get go. I’m surprised you don’t
get punched for taking liberties.”
Bucky chuckled, rolling his eyes. “My technique works fine, Steve. If your name
even is Steve.”
“My name is Steve Rogers,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Sam Wilson told me
that you’re the best in the business. I think you’re good, like the way that I
think your acting is good, but it’s small-time at best, pure luck at worst.”
“Everybody wants to be a fucking critic,” Bucky said, narrowing his eyes.
“I’m just calling it as I see it.”
“Fuck you, man, I’m doing fine without your opinion,” he growled, pushing off
the brick wall.
Steve pushed him back, his hands against the wall on either side of Bucky’s
head. He smiled and leaned in closer.
“I think you have promise,” he murmured, meeting Bucky’s annoyed gaze. “I think
you can go all the way to the big-time.” He slid his nose along Bucky’s cheek,
brushing his lips against his jaw. “You can write your own ticket; financial
security in your pocket so you can work on your acting.”
“What’re you offering?” Bucky whispered, his hands curling over Steve’s hips.
“I’m putting a team together for a job,” Steve said, simply. “It’s risky,
dangerous, but the rewards will be worth it.”
Bucky smirked. “Are you one of the rewards?”
Steve laughed, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “If you play your cards right, I might
be.”
“All right, then I’m in.”
***** Mr. Esquire (Part 2) *****
Chapter Summary
     Steve/Bucky flirtation
     Author's Note: This is totally a vanity project. HAHAHAHA!
Read_Previous_Chapter_Here
 
Adventures in Brooklyn with Captain America
Written by James B. Barnes
Senior Staff Writer, ESQUIRE MAGAZINE
 
Forget everything you’ve ever heard of Steve Rogers.
Let me start with this: I swear that I went into this interview thinking that
it was going to be easy-peasy; just another celebrity fluff piece. Like so many
of his Hollywood contemporaries before him who had jumped on the soapbox to
express their angst or tout their latest pet projects, what new perspective
could he bring to the masses that we haven’t already heard of before? Except
Steve Rogers was notoriously shy about giving interviews outside of the press
that he did, under contract, for his work. There were a lot of rumors,
speculation, and misconceptions about him: he was standoffish, he was arrogant,
he suffered from severe social anxiety, he was paranoid and delusional, he
hated talking about himself, he thought he was above doing interviews, he
thought all reporters were scum, he had a horrible fill-in-the-blank experience
with an interviewer and refused to do them now without a legion of legal eagle
bodyguards, and when he hit the A-List, he didn’t feel like he needed to
explain himself to anyone.
All of it was untrue.
Steve Rogers was dressed in a non-descript pair of khaki pants, burgundy tee-
shirt, and navy jacket. He worse a baseball cap pulled down low. He had asked
to meet at the Brooklyn Gallery Museum where he showed me his favorite art
exhibits; then lunch in a Brooklyn hole-in-the-wall diner; and a walk through
Prospect Park where Steve unexpectedly joined a non-permitted LGBTQ rally.
All in all, I never considered that the day long interview with the uncommonly
polite box office movie star ended with the two of us getting arrested and
spending two hours in jail.
***
Okay, back up: Steve Rogers grew up in a rough tenement suburb of Brooklyn, the
only son of Joseph and Sarah Rogers. It was a long way from his multi-million
mansion in Hollywood Hills. He was short and skinny with a host of medical
ailments. When he was 12, he nearly died from pneumonia; but like the origin
story of the superhero that he portrayed on the big screen, Steve Rogers wasn’t
going to let a little thing like near-death keep him from fighting for what he
believes was right.
Steve Rogers, 27 years old, had all-American clean cut good looks, and an “aw-
shucks, yes ma’am” demeanor that doesn’t seem fake or off-putting. He was
genuinely wholesome (I’ve heard people call him “boring”) and painfully sincere
(I felt like a douchebag, like what was I doing with my life). When we first
met outside the Brooklyn Gallery, Steve looked me in the eyes and shook my hand
with a firm but not overpowering macho grip. He called me “Mr. Barnes.” I
laughed in his face. See what I mean that I felt like a douchebag in the face
of that kind of, for lack of a better word, niceness.
“Sorry, man, I didn’t mean to do that. I was just a little surprised by it and
didn’t know if you meant to be patronizing or just nice,” I said, actually
apologetic.
“Yeah, I am nice. I try to be polite. My mother said that manners didn’t cost
anything; and when you grow up poor, manners is the last line of defense
between living like a human being and failing the social contract,” Steve said,
earnestly.
OK, seriously, who says things like that? For the past six years, that
earnestness and brilliant toothpaste commercial smile have helped him rise
above the usual caricature of the superhero to where Steve Rogers has reached
iconic levels as Captain America.
“It was a fantastic role. I don’t think anyone could play a role like Cap over
six years and eight movies and not walk away with some of his ideals finding
their way into your everyday life.”
“Is it a burden to carry it off the set?”
Steve grinned and shook his head. “That’s never a burden.”
As we walked through the modern impressionist exhibit, Steve talked about
getting his start in high school drama club, classes at Brooklyn Community
College, and working in local acting gigs. Before his late-puberty growth
spurt, Steve took on teen roles that played on his youthful looks and stature.
And when he started working with a nutritionist and trainer, he began strength
training and adding on more muscle. He transferred to The Julliard School on
scholarship and used his New York contacts to get an agent, his SAG card, and
steady work in TV commercials, indie movies, and his breakthrough role as
Captain America.
“We’d been searching for the right actor to play the part and probably
auditioned over 1,500 actors internationally, and then we met Steve, but he
didn’t have a lot of experience in film at the time, however he had a certain
type of natural charisma that combined confidence, sincerity, and really lovely
manners,” said director, Joe Johnston. “The studios liked him, but they needed
convincing; so we worked closely with Steve, put him in the costume, and pretty
much just had him adlib a bunch of lines in a variety of Captain America
situations. We once filmed him climbing a tree to rescue some kid’s cat. The
studios perked up pretty fast after that and they called him in to audition
about 15 times and finally gave us the green light. Steve handled it all with
good humor; and to be perfectly honest, it was when we put him in his Captain
America costume that sealed the deal.”
And his Captain America physique.
“Did you know that there are a lot of fans who call you Dorito?”
“I’m a Dorito?” He doesn’t really know what to make of that comparison.
“Yeah, perfect shoulder to hip ratio; think of an inverted triangle.”
“Oh, okay. Yeah, that was just a lot of time in the gym, working about four
months before principle photography,” Steve said, chuckling softly. “I had
three trainers, four stunt choreographers, two dance teachers—“
“Dance teachers? Was there a Captain America song and dance number?” I said,
laughing.
[Edit: Apparently, I should probably watch the movies as there was a song and
dance number in the first Captain America movie.]
“No, well yes there was, but no, not for that, I mean Captain America is a
graceful fighter whereas Steve Rogers is kind of a klutz; the dance teachers
really helped me with the rhythm of the fight moves and to look really fluid
and confident.”
“So what kind of dances did Steve Rogers learn?”
“Ballet and Salsa.”
“Would you like to show off some of your moves?”
Steve laughed. “No. Well, maybe…for the right partner.”
***
After eight consecutive movies as Captain America, Steve finally hung up the
shield (and handed the role of Captain America off to close friend Sam Wilson
who played sidekick Falcon in the series) and took a yearlong break where he
fell off the Hollywood radar.
“What did you do?”
Steve looked thoughtful, his hands sliding into the pockets of his khaki pants,
letting out a deep sigh. “I don’t really know if I want to say. I’m afraid that
I’ll just come off as pretentious and self-serving.”
“Did you go soul searching in a monastery in Timbuktu or something?”
He grinned, giving a sidelong glance. “Sure, something like that.”
Steve promised to tell me later, off-the-record, and asked that I not print his
answer.
[Edit: He did, and no, I’m not going to say. Though, I will add that it wasn’t
pretentious or self-serving and it only added to my admiration of him.]
“So what was it like when you returned to Hollywood?”
“I think my agent was really glad,” he said, smiling widely. “And she gave me a
stack of scripts and set up a lot of meetings with producers and studio
executives; but I wanted to take a break from working on big movies. I wanted
to go back to my indie movie roots.”
“How did you come about getting the role of the hearing-impaired painter?”
“Maria [Hill] slipped it into the stack of scripts. She knew what I wanted;
knew that I was in a position to put my name on a movie and help them get
financing. Really, it was a personal project. I really liked the writer [Wanda
Maximoff] and the director [Natasha Romanoff]. I was friendly with their
producer, Alexander [Pierce] and I called him about the project. We met and
talked about it at his house; and I jumped at the chance to play the
character.”
“What was the hardest part about playing the role?”
“Learning how to paint,” he said, grinning. “And it’s now one of my favorite
hobbies. I’m not great at it, but I like to dabble.”
[Edit: Two days after our interview, Steve invited me to his Brooklyn apartment
to show me several of his art pieces; he admitted that he has shown at a local
art gallery under a pseudonym.]
***
Steve knew every hole-in-the-wall diner or restaurant in Brooklyn.
“I go to enough fancy places for work, which is fine, but I’m never really
comfortable in a place like that; when it’s just me and my friends, we stay in
the neighborhood and go to mom-and-pop places like we used to when we were
younger.”
Unlike many Hollywood A-Listers, Steve doesn’t travel with an entourage, but
has a scarily efficient and intimidatingly gorgeous personal assistant, Peggy
Carter, his partner-in-crime from their days at Julliard; he stayed in touch
with his neighborhood friends and has the keen ability to put on a hat and
blend in with the locals.
“Even if they do recognize me, no one actually comes up to me or makes a big
deal about it,” he said, shrugging. “I think that’s why I like living here; I’m
just a kid from Brooklyn.”
Sure, a kid from Brooklyn with an Oscar nomination and an earning potential
around $15 million per film.
“Yeah, it’s always nice to be recognized for your work by your peers,” he said,
smiling kindly. “And I’d be lying if I said that I didn’t want to win. But at
the end of the day, it’s one more movie under my belt, one more job that I
think I did something good in, and one more step to my next project.”
“That’s kind of very humble pie – are you being real with me?”
“I’d say what you see is what you get, maybe part of that is true, but no one
is ever going to really know so why try to defend it?” He said, his blue eyes
bright with mischief. “I know people think I’m a throwback to the old days –
whatever that means – or they think I’m vanilla and boring. I’m okay with
that.”
[Edit: There is absolutely NOTHING boring about Steve Rogers.]
***
“I used to get beat up here a lot,” Steve said, pointing out an alley as we
walked towards Prospect Park. “Got beat up here…yup, I’m pretty sure I got beat
up there.”
“Do you just like getting punched or something?”
Steve laughed. “I don’t like bullies; but I was just a little over five-feet
tall and weighed maybe 90 pounds. I got into a few scraps, standing up to guys
who thought they could get away with it just because they were bigger. Sure, I
probably landed in the ER a few times and scared my ma, but I always did it
standing up.”
That sense of justice never left him; he was able to channel those feelings as
Captain America in a cathartic manner, shedding some of the anger that was
inside of him, growing up poor and angry.
“If I hadn’t caught on to acting, I’d probably be a masked vigilante,” he
joked, looking sly. “Maybe don’t print that because if Peggy and Nick [Fury,
his publicist] found out, they’ll give me an earful.”
[Edit: They did.]
All joking aside, I got to see Steve in action once we made our way into
Prospect Park. There was a small group of people, a young woman on a bullhorn
trying to build enthusiasm from the other 20-something hipsters surrounding
her. They held a dozen handmade signs in their hands. There was a lot of
glitter.
Steve was in raptures.
Why Can’t I Be Equal, Too?
If God Hates Gays, Then Why Are Gays So Cute?
Legalize Love
Marriage Equality
Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia
Steve walked towards the group, listening intently, and talking to the people
standing near him. He was asking about their cause and what they were rallying
for or against.
“They’re protesting a Tea Party event on the other side of the park,” he said,
walking back towards me. “I’m going to join them.”
“Are you kidding? We’re doing an interview—“
“I know, and I don’t expect you to join in,” he said, seriously. “There’s a
Starbucks right there. I’ll buy you something to drink and if you’ll just wait
an hour or two, I’ll be back and finish the interview.”
“You’re not kidding.”
“They’re going to let me hold a sign,” Steve said, excitedly. “I’m going to see
if I can hold the ‘Keep Calm and Fuck Homophobia’ one.”
“I’ll go with you.”
“That’s great,” he said, blue eyes twinkling with absolute glee. “You won’t
regret this.”
Famous last words.
We were arrested with the other 23 protestors for rallying without a permit and
disrupting a political fundraiser.
***
“Peggy and Maria and Nick are going to yell at me,” Steve bemoaned, rubbing his
hand over his face.
“Dude, who cares about them! When this hits the tabloids and the Oscar people
find out, there goes your chance,” I said, sitting on the narrow bench and
leaning back against the cement wall.
“Don’t worry, I called my lawyer, he’ll bail us both out in an hour.”
[Edit: Steve and I have our court appearance in three months. I’m making Steve
pay for my legal fees.]
***
Standing outside the Brooklyn Precinct, Steve and I shook hands. Steve’s
lawyer, a slick Manhattan guy with a neatly trimmed goatee and mustache, “call
me Ironman, Barnesy,” handed me his business card and slapped me on the back
before he ducked into a black limousine.
“Your lawyer has a limo. I think you’re paying him too much.”
Steve laughed. “He’s Tony Stark. You know, his family owns pretty much all of
New York City.”
Tony Stark, who had a million dollar retainer, and represented the Saudi royal
family’s interests in New York City, international movie star Steve Rogers, and
now me.
“I’m so sorry for dragging you into this,” he said, unwaveringly, echoes of
Captain America in his tone. “I take full responsibility and will accept the
consequences. But Tony is a total shark; he’ll make sure it won’t go on your
permanent record.”
I laughed at him.
“Hey, Buck, can I get your number?”
Sure, why the hell not. We exchanged phone numbers.
Steve smiled, his cheeks flushing. “I’ll text you.”
***
Two days later, I received a text from Steve Rogers inviting me to his gorgeous
Brooklyn penthouse condo overlooking the East River, where he showed me his
etchings.   
***** What a Billionaire Wants - Part 2 *****
Chapter Summary
     Pairings: Tony Stark/Bucky Barnes
     Summary: The slow burn friendship-to-something-more story between
     Tony and Bucky.
Previous_Chapter 
 
The Waldorf-Astoria Hotel
The Empire Room
 
Bucky hadn’t planned to attend. When he received the official invitation,
embossed on thick cream paper with red foiled edges, he had called the RSVP
telephone number to the event planner’s office and politely declined.
“You don’t have to go,” Steve told him, a small smile on his lips. Bucky could
tell that Steve was a little disappointed, but he could also read the relief in
the lines of Steve’s shoulders. “It’s just that…we all thought it would nice
for you to get out for a little bit. Maybe dance with some of the ladies, like
in the old days.”  
Bucky knew that in the old days, he was a bit of a flirt and a charmer, always
up for a dance with a pretty dame.
“Seems like those days are behind me, Steve,” he said, kindly. He couldn’t meet
Steve’s eyes, knowing that he’d just see nothing but sadness there.
It was starting to kind of tick him off that every time he looked at Steve, the
punk looked like he just wanted to curl up around Bucky and cry.
Despite Bucky’s slow and ongoing recovery, he wasn’t an Avenger and he didn’t
want to work for SHIELD. He didn’t want to go back in the field of war. He
didn’t know how Tony and Steve did it, but they breezed past government red
tape and had all of his military back pay, hazard pay, POW-status allotments,
plus interest, returned to Bucky.
Tony gleefully presented Bucky with the check. “Four million, US, the
government probably owes you a hell of a lot more, but hey, it’s tax free.
Don’t spend it all in one place, Barnes.”
Bucky stared at the check, then up at Tony’s wide smile, and Steve’s smaller,
sadder one, and then back down at the check again.
“I guess I’m going to have to open up a bank account or something?”
Tony laughed and patted Bucky’s back. “I have a legion of financial experts; my
favorite is Petunia – and yes, that’s her real name – and she’s the sharpest of
the bunch. I’ll introduce you to her and she can take you on as a client.”
“She helped me with my back pay, too.” Steve grinned, a little shyly. “She’s
real smart, Buck; she’ll teach you about banking and investing for the future.
I’ll go with you, if you want.”
Once Petunia Harding got over being star struck by him, she proved herself to
be extremely knowledgeable about money, and true to Steve’s word, taught Bucky
a lot about banking. He watched Steve blush and act pretty gun shy and Bucky
wondered if Steve had gotten a little crush on her.
“She’s a mathematical genius,” Steve told him after they left Petunia’s office.
“One time, I saw her rattle off some kind of complex math thing to a guy in the
office who was trying to take my account from her. I didn’t understand a single
thing she said, but whatever it was, the guy walked away looking like she’d
shamed him in front of his mother and grandmother.” Steve laughed a little,
shaking his head. “It was great!”
Bucky smiled; Steve always did have a type.
Later, during lunch in the Stark Industries cafeteria, Steve broached the
subject of what Bucky wanted to do.
“Not fight, not kill, not hurt people,” he said, shrugging.
“That leaves a whole lot open, Buck.”
Bucky took a deep breath. “I don’t have to choose anything right now, do I?”
“Of course not,” Steve said, shaking his head and reaching across the table to
squeeze Bucky’s right arm. “You have all the time in the world to choose. I
just don’t want you to feel left out or anything.”
“I don’t like it when you and the others have to go protect us from those
assholes out there, but I can’t be out there with you anymore. I hate having to
sit back and wait for all of you to come back in one piece but…it beats the
alternative.”
Steve cocked his head and frowned. “What’s that?”
“The Asset coming back online,” Bucky told him, tapping the side of his head.
“Not worth the risk.”
“Okay, Bucky, I trust you,” Steve said, smiling at him. He took a bite of his
apple pie. “Did you get your invite to Stark’s party for next week?”
Bucky shrugged it off. “Hmmm…yeah.”
The other Avengers tried to convince Bucky to attend the event.
“It’ll be fun! There’s going to be a ton of food!” Clint said, hanging out of
the vent in Bucky’s bedroom. “If it gets boring, we’ll go exploring through
their access passages. I heard that the Waldorf used to have these secret
tunnels going all over the city so the rich folks didn’t have to use the
streets with the rest of us.”
“Step into the light, James, let it warm you for an evening.” Black Widow told
him, handing him a beautifully red apple.
“We would find your presence at this party to be truly welcome! I have often
enjoyed many a Migardian repast, especially hosted by our Man of Iron. There is
much merriment to be had!” Thor said, enthusiastically.
“I’m not much for parties either, Bucky,” Bruce said, shrugging awkwardly.
“But, yeah, I kind of have to go. Otherwise, I’d rather just hang out here with
you all night.”
“No pressure. But I had Simon make a few tuxedos for you. You know, just in
case. But no pressure!” Tony said in his usual rapid-fire way, rushing across
the living room to the elevators. “They’re getting delivered this afternoon! No
pressure!”
Bucky stood in his living room with the four tuxedos delivered and spread out
on the couch. He had spent a long time just admiring the workmanship of the
jacket, the perfect cut of the fabric and the seams, the alignment of the
buttons, the meticulous hand-stitching. They were works of art; nothing Bucky
had ever owned in his life, past or present, was so beautifully made.
And for him, just for him. These clothes wouldn’t fit another man’s body. The
left shoulder and the left sleeve were just slightly wider to accommodate his
metal arm. On another man, it would feel too loose, the fit would be off, but
on Bucky, the jacket fit like a glove made just for him.
“Sergeant Barnes, Miss Potts is on her way to you and requests if she could
have a moment,” JARVIS said, softly.
“Yes, that’s fine,” he said, looking at the tuxedos. Should he put them back
into the garment bags? What would she think, seeing him staring at clothes, for
God’s sake?
Too late, the elevator doors opened and Pepper Potts strolled into his living
room, a warm smile on her lips.
“James, I’m so glad – oh good, Simon had the tuxedos delivered,” she said,
walking around the couch to stand beside him, gazing at the four suits.
“Mr. Simon is a genius,” he said, shrugging.
“Tony appreciates genius in other people,” Pepper said, smiling. She placed a
slender hand on his left arm. “Go with the licorice black.”
“I’m not going to the event.”
She peered up at him, blue eyes meeting his. “It would mean a lot to Tony if
you did. And to the others, too, of course.”
Bucky bit his bottom lip. “You sure? I mean…Tony really won’t mind having me
there at his event?”
Pepper motioned her hand towards the four black tuxedos. “I realize that this
is excessive, but it’s Tony, and traditionally, this is his way of ensuring
that you don’t want to say no.”
“I doubt there are many people out there who’ve said no to Tony Stark.”
“Not a lot of people say no to Tony Stark,” she said, her face perfectly
neutral. Bucky thought she was trying to tell him something without actually
coming right out to say it, but he couldn’t figure out what it was exactly.
“All right then, I’ll go,” he said, taking a deep breath. He stared at the four
black tuxedos and frowned. “Which one’s the licorice black?”
The Empire Room of the Waldorf-Astoria was usually done up in blue and gold,
but for Tony Stark, they had changed out all the blue to red instead. There
were about fifty circular tables situated around the room, a high-ceiling room
– Bucky estimated it was 21-feet high – with dozens of expensive looking
chandeliers hanging from the ceilings. There was a line of windows with arches
lining one long wall with gold curtains neatly tied back and the lights of Park
Avenue reflecting in the glass.
Bucky kept to the edges of the room, carefully keeping his back near the wall,
eyes looking at the multiple entry and exit points. He calculated the distance
to all of the Avengers around the room, how long it would take for Bucky to
reach one of them in case something happened.
There were about 400 people attending the event – Tony called it a “small
affair” – and the music was nice, the little finger food was tasty, the drinks
flowed like water, and everyone was wearing their best. It kind of reminded
Bucky of being back in the dance halls, but classier.
He watched as Tony worked the room, shaking hands with the men and leaning in
to give a kiss on the cheek to the ladies. He smiled and laughed, moved his
hands as he talked, and his audience was clearly enraptured by him. Bucky
cocked his head and wondered how all these people would treat Tony if he
weren’t a famous billionaire genius, if they’d all still cater to him if he was
just a normal, smart guy.
Tony laughed, hard and long. “Absolutely not. They all want me for my money;
want me for what they think they can get from me.”
“How come you live like this if that’s all true?” Bucky said, making a face.
“Never knowing who your real friends are.”
“I know who my real friends are,” he said, quietly. “Rhodey and Pepper.”
“What about Steve and the others? What about me?”
Tony smiled, but the smile didn’t reach Tony’s eyes. “You and Steve remind me a
lot of me and Rhodey.”
“You don’t think I’m one of your friends, too?” He met Tony’s gaze when Tony
didn’t say anything for the longest time. “I’m going to start feeling kind of
insulted if you don’t answer.”
Bucky sipped his champagne as he watched Tony talking with a small group of
people across the room. He was surprised when Tony looked his way, giving Bucky
a little head nod, and eventually freed himself from his group of admirers to
make his way towards Bucky.
“Buckster, how’re you doing? Enjoying the party? Did you eat some of those
little cream shrimp things, I can wave down a waiter and have him bring you
some—“
“I ate some of everything,” he admitted, smiling a little. “They were good.”
Tony nodded, standing beside him to look out into the room. “Nice crowd, huh?
The Stark Foundation probably raised a good $10 million tonight.”
“That’s great, Tony.”
“Good, good,” he said, nodding. He looked at Bucky, brown eyes looking him up
and down. “You went with the licorice black. Good choice.”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “How can you tell the difference? They all
look black to me. Even Pepper knew which one was licorice black.”
“Tricks of the trade,” Tony said, amusement in his words. “You look good,
Barnes. Clean up really nice.”
“Thanks for the clothes,” he said, softly. “And the invite to your party.”
Tony waved his hand in the air, waving away Bucky’s thanks. Bucky really hated
it when Tony did that; like his consideration for Bucky didn’t cost anything.
Maybe it didn’t cost Tony much, but it felt like something to Bucky.
“What are friends for?” Tony said, chuckling at him.
Bucky snorted, rolling his eyes. “Friends are for a lot more than just buying
them expensive stuff.”
Tony turned and looked up at him. “Pepper said that my obligations to the
Foundation are done. My time is my own again. Want to get out of here?”
He frowned, looking around at all the people in the room. “You just want to
ditch?”
“Sure, why not? The Foundation got a lot of new donations; Pepper’s happy with
me. My job as Tony Stark is done,” he said, taking a deep breath. “I feel like
getting some ice cream. You in?”
“Yeah. Okay.”
Tony had his phone in his hand, texting quickly. “Happy’ll meet us out front.
Come on, Buckster, I know the best ice cream place; it’ll knock your socks
off.”
Bucky smiled, setting his champagne glass on a nearby table. He smoothed his
hand down the front of his jacket and nodded at Tony. “All right, I’m in.”
***** Hello, My Name is Steve, I’m a Sex Demon? *****
Chapter Notes
     PROMPT: Steve just got turned into an Incubus and he’s like the least
     smooth and most self-conscious person on the planet so he’s literally
     starving because he doesn’t know how to seduce people to feed
     sexually. Not to mention that he’s a virgin. And Bucky thinks it’s
     kind of hilarious and he offers to feed Steve.
     Author's Note: I don't remember where this prompt came from, so if
     you are the originator, please let me know and I'll credit you!
     Pairing: Steve/Bucky
     Warning: Dub-con because Steve is a sex demon, but Bucky really does
     want him. This is total crackfic sex demon AU. Yeah, you know you
     wanted it.
[_photo_mynameis.png]
 
“This was not what I was expecting.” The Incubus demon sighed, stroking his
forehead with the fingers of both hands.
Steve thought he looked pretty stressed out. This was definitely a far cry from
the handsome, black-haired, green-eyed demon who sauntered confidently into
Steve’s hospital room, smelling tantalizingly of leather, jasmine and sulfur.
“I don’t mean to be difficult,” Steve said, needing it to be said.
He crossed his arms in front of his chest as he leaned against the cold, hard
brick wall of the abandoned warehouse.  He leaned against cold surfaces often,
mostly because it helped cool him down when he started getting a little hot
under the collar.  
“You know, when I turned you, I thought you were going to be something amazing.
All that internal rage, all that untapped lust, you could feed on the whole
city of New York for the rest of your immortal life and you’d never be full,
never be sated…you could’ve really been something, Steve. A real legend for the
history books.” He gave Steve a long look and made a disgruntled sound. “Such a
waste.”  
Steve shrugged one exceptionally muscular shoulder, squinting his eyes more out
of habit than anything else, especially now that he had better than perfect
vision, and pursed his lips. “I don’t want to hurt anyone.”
“It’s not about hurting anyone, fucking Christ—“
“Language.”
The demon stared at him with his mouth open, speechless. “How are you even
real?” He waved his hand up and down at Steve. “Look at you. I’ve made you
perfect! You’re at the peak of human perfection and—and you just…all you do is
help little old ladies carry their groceries and—and…fuck!” The demon shook his
head and glared at the cement ground, shoulders drooping. “I can’t be seen with
you, Steve. I can’t have my brethren know that you’re my legacy. Shit, if the
other Incubus demons found out, I’d be laughed out of the Lilin Club.”
Steve raised his eyebrows. “There’s a club? Where—“
“No. No!” The demon hissed, shaking his head. “You are totally banned from
going anywhere near the club.”  He grabbed two fistfuls of his own black hair
and pulled, letting out a grunt. “Did you not know what I was when I appeared
to you? Do you remember me saying, ‘hey cutie, you’re about to die, want to be
immortal, want to be an Incubus demon, have sex as much as you want and feed on
sexual energies’? Did that conversation just totally not register with you? At
all?”
Steve took a deep breath. “I thought I was hallucinating; right before you
showed up in my hospital room, I was talking to my mother.”
The demon made a face at him like ‘so what?’
“She died when I was seventeen.”
“Look, I have to go,” the demon said, morosely.
“What? No, you can’t just leave? You can’t abandon me. I don’t know what to
do.”
The demon rolled his eyes. “You know exactly what to do. You need to fuck! It’s
your basic instinct to survive, dumbass!”
“It just seems so…impersonal.”
“Ohmygod,” the demon said, groaning. “Look, sweetheart, you have maybe…three
more weeks before you starve. You know what happens to a sex demon when he’s
starving? You won’t care if it’s impersonal, you won’t care if they want it or
not, you won’t care about anything except to feed. Do you want to be that kind
of demon?”
Steve was horrified. “No! Absolutely not! I’d rather starve and die!”
“You can’t die, moron, you’re immortal. What part of immortal Incubus demon are
you not getting here, Steve? You’ll just starve and your body will take what
you don’t give it.” The demon shoved his hands into the pockets of his tight
black jeans. “Look, do what you want. Feed, don’t feed, it’s not about me. This
is all about you.” He gave Steve another long look, the corner of his lip
ticking up. “Such a fucking waste. You could’ve been my jewel in the crown.
Have a good life, kid. I’ll look you up in a century, see how you’re doing.”
“But…” Steve trailed off, frowning deeply, watching as the demon seemed to
disappear into the night.
Steve let out a troubled sigh, falling back against the brick wall. He heard
the deep rumble of a barge horn as it passed slowly, chugging its way along the
East River. For the second time in his life, he felt abandoned; but under the
sting of rejection, there was a buzzing restlessness, the sound of his blood
rushing in his ears, as something churned in the pit of his belly.
“You didn’t even tell me your name.”
***
He used to be short and skinny, sickly. As a kid, he was diagnosed with so many
ailments that his pediatrician didn’t expect to see him graduate from high
school. Steve had overheard his doctor talking to his mom, telling her that
there was a good chance that if Steve got sick again, it could compromise his
immune system, and for her to prepare herself that Steve could die.
That was the kind of medical advice the poor of Brooklyn got; but to be fair,
Steve really wasn’t supposed to make it this far.
“What did you do to me? How is this even possible?” Steve said, looking at his
new body – he was probably over six feet tall now, long ropes of muscles under
firm, healthy, and tanned skin, his eyes looked bluer and clearer, his hair
thicker and more golden than his usual dishwater blond, and he looked under his
pants and whistled…that was not what his penis used to look like. He turned
this way and that way, making his usual faces in the mirror, trying to see if
there was some semblance of the old Steve Rogers looking back at him.
The demon grinned, raising his eyebrow. “Tricks of the trade, kid; maybe in a
thousand years or so, I’ll tell you how it’s done.”
“But I don’t get it. If you’re an Incubus demon, how come you changed me
instead of a woman?”
The demon rolled his eyes. “That’s sexist, right? Also, I’m omnisexual.”
Steve turned and stared at him. “Omnisexual?”
The demon smiled. “Welcome to the 21st century as a modern sex demon. I love
sex; I love sex with anything with a pulse.”
“So am I going to be omnisexual, too?”
“Yeah, eventually,” the demon said, sighing longingly. “You kind of go through
phases; maybe at first you’ll find a specific gender sexually attractive and
you’ll fuck them; and then you’ll find another gender attractive and you’ll
fuck your way through them; and then maybe you’ll find other gender expressions
and identities attractive, and you’ll fuck your way through them, too.
Eventually, it doesn’t matter. If they’re alive and they can have sex, you’ll
want to fuck them.”
“That’s a lot of fucking,” Steve said, dryly.
“Sex demon. That’s kind of how things work for us.”
Steve sighed, leaning against the window from his living room, looking out at
the city. The rhythm and rumble of the subway car as it crossed over the metal
bridge was both a soothing familiarity and an annoyance. Any other night, he
might be inspired to do some sketching or painting, but the constant throb of
hunger in the pit of his stomach was too distracting.
He was so hungry.
His cock was still hard; no matter how many times he jerked off, he couldn’t
find relief. At least, not alone.
“Why can’t I just jerk off?
“Doesn’t work that way,” the demon said, grinning at him. “Be too easy. We’re
demons, kiddo, which means that we’re cursed to fuck and feed for all
eternity.”
Steve frowned hard, running a hand through his hair. It felt softer than it
used to; it was so thick and—okay, he was getting off track here.
“I’m not really sure I can do this. I’ve never…you know.”  
“You’re a virgin?”
“Uh, yeah…did you not see me on my deathbed? Short, skinny…it’s not like a lot
of partners were lining up to have a dance with me,” he said, shrugging.
“You’ve got this new body, why don’t you go take it out for a test drive or two
or fifty? Come on, kid, this is the life! Absolutely no strings sex, with
anyone you want, any way you want it, the world is your oyster, it’s all for
the taking. Just a smile from you and panties and briefs drop; just a whisper
of suggestion and people will be bending over, begging for it, moaning,
screaming, all wet and tight and juicy—“
“Okay! Shesh, that’s…I get it, okay? Just because I’m a virgin doesn’t mean I
don’t…good grief,” Steve said, feeling his face flush, blood rushing to his
cheeks and ears.
The Incubus demon smiled. “I didn’t turn you out of pity. That night, when I
saw you in the hospital room.”
Steve turned his head to look at the demon. “Then why?”
“Maybe you kind of reminded me of someone,” the demon said, shrugging. “Long
time ago, before you humans even knew how to measure time. There was this man,
a boy really, looked kind of like you used to – short, long thin arms and legs,
head of hair like the sun. He had something special about him.”
He was intrigued; the Incubus demon rarely shared anything personal with Steve.
“What happened to him?”
“Died,” the demon said, taking a deep breath. “I was going to turn him, but he
caught some kind of sickness. I waited too long…thought if he got a little
stronger, I could take his life force and then give him back mine, make him
strong. But I waited too long…”
“I’m sorry for your loss,” he said, reaching over to put his hand on the
demon’s shoulder, giving it a warm squeeze.
The demon shrugged off his hand, an ugly sneer twisting his lips. “It was a
long time ago. I’ve had a lot of lovers since him.”
Steve didn’t say anything, opting to give the demon his dignity and his grief.
But Steve was so hungry. He’d never felt pain like this, like it was burning
and gutting him at the same time. His cock was so hard that he couldn’t find
relief. He was afraid to go out and find someone to…to feed from, but he knew
that he couldn’t wait too long, that the Incubus demon instinct in him would
force him to go out and…do something horrific. Steve couldn’t even bring
himself to think about it.
Where could he go? To a bar? Pick up some unsuspecting victim for a one night
stand?
Steve made a distasteful face.
But he was still so hungry; his skin felt starved of touch.
“Walk it off, Rogers,” he told himself, grabbing his navy blue jacket off the
coat hanger, tugging it on. “Just go for a walk.”
Grabbing his keys, he left his apartment and headed out into the night. He just
needed to be around people to ground him; let the cool night air clear his
head. He reached down and shifted his cock into a more comfortable and less
noticeable position, looking down at his groin and letting out a frustrated
sigh. He pulled down the hem of his plaid button-up and hoped that the night
and his shirt hid the evidence of his problem.
***
He got on the C Train at Lafayette in Brooklyn, planning to just ride the line
into the city. He found a car that was nearly empty and got on, sitting down on
the hard orange plastic seat, taking a deep breath. He closed his eyes and
leaned his head back against the glass, letting the rumble of the train
distract him from the sounds and smells around him.
One of the most amazing things about being turned into an Incubus demon was
that Steve’s senses were always engaged. Before, when he was sick, it was hard
for him to take a deep breath and he had to breathe through his mouth, taking
short, deep pants to try and fill his underdeveloped lungs. It didn’t allow him
to inhale through his nose and smell different scents.
Not to mention that a lot of smells irritated him; or he was simply allergic to
everything to really enjoy the environment around him.
Now, he could inhale and even scent the lingering smells of people who occupied
the space that he filled. Steve took a deep, slow breath and caught the scent
of a man, his musky cologne, the gel in his hair. He smelled expensive; like
the way that scents changed from Brooklyn to Midtown to the Upper East Side,
chemically and man-made rather than musk and nature. He opened his eyes and
stared at the cute man sitting across from him, a small smile on his lips.
Steve blinked and sat up, staring at him. He had dark, wavy hair, what looked
like blue-gray eyes, and a small cleft at the bottom of his chin.
He was a beautiful stranger; and he was smiling at Steve.
Damn, Steve was so hungry…and that man was smiling at him. No one had ever
smiled at Steve like that before; sure, lots of people looked at Steve now,
wanted his well-crafted new body created to seduce and elicit desire. That was
kind of a sore point with Steve: no one had wanted him when he was small and
sick, but everyone wanted a piece of him now, didn’t they?
“Hey,” the man said, his voice low and friendly.
“Hi,” Steve said, feeling kind of lame. He winced and then looked at the man,
trying for a smile. “Hey.”
The other man chuckled, running his hand over his hair. He took a deep breath
and got up, crossed the short distance between them, and sat down next to
Steve.
“I’m Jimmy Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.” He held out his hand.
Steve licked his lips and rubbed his right hand on his jeans to dry his sweaty
palm and then shook Bucky’s hand. “Steve. Rogers.”
“Nice to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky said, grinning at him.
Steve nodded his head, enjoying the warmth and strength of Bucky’s hand in his.
Bucky felt strong; maybe Steve could have just a little taste, just to sate the
hunger in his stomach, and Bucky would be okay. He was strong and healthy,
virile; he would survive a feeding from Steve. He wouldn’t take too much. He
could control himself. Steve could handle it. He wasn’t—
“I’m not a monster,” Steve blurted aloud, blinking at his own stupidity.
“Uhh…okay,” Bucky said, chuckling a little. He gave Steve a look and cocked his
head. “All right, you’re not a monster. So I don’t have to worry that you’re
going to chop me up into little pieces, huh?”
He made a face. “No?”
“No? Are you asking or saying?”
“No,” he tried again, keeping his voice low.
Bucky grinned, the corners of his eyes crinkling at the edges, showing lines of
crow’s feet. Steve liked them, liked that Bucky was a man who liked to laugh
with his whole face. It eased something in him, the hunger was still there,
throbbing with the beat of his heart, but the urgency lessened.
“So where’re you headed tonight, Stevie?”
Steve smiled, feeling his face warm at the nickname. No one had ever given him
a nickname before.
“I’m just, uh, riding the train, I guess.”
“I’m two stops over,” Bucky said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “Want to come over and
hang out? I don’t know you from nothing, but you look like you could use some
company.”
He let out a soft laugh. “I look that desperate, huh?”
“Not desperate,” Bucky said, softly. “Just a Brooklyn boy who might want to
watch a game on TV, maybe have a beer.” He got up, holding onto the rail above
his head. “Last chance, Stevie.”
“Am I going to end up chopped into little pieces if I say yes?”
Bucky’s eyes twinkled with amusement. “Not a chance. I wouldn’t ruin the
carpeting in my living room. Security deposit, you know.”
Steve laughed, getting up to stand beside him. He was just an inch taller than
Bucky, but he liked that they could see nearly eye-to-eye. A couple of weeks
ago, Steve wouldn’t have even reached Bucky’s chin. He wondered if a gorgeous
guy like Bucky would’ve ever given him the time of day if Steve had been short
and skinny.
Maybe it didn’t matter anymore.
The train came to a stop at the High Street station and Bucky winked at Steve
over his shoulder, turning for the opened doors.
Steve paused for a single breath and followed Bucky; it felt like something he
was destined to do.
***
Bucky had a 5th floor apartment on Remsen Street; the complex even had a
doorman in the lobby who greeted Bucky by name. It wasn’t a fancy place, but it
was nicer than Steve’s studio loft.
“Come on in, the place is kind of a mess; I wasn’t planning on bringing company
over,” Bucky said, unlocking the door and waving Steve inside.
Steve closed the door and, after a moment of indecision, locked it behind him.
Bucky turned on lights, dropped his keys on the table and left his backpack on
the floor by the wall. Steve walked inside slowly, looking at the parquet
floors, the white walls with interesting wall hangings, the huge 70-inch flat
screen, the black leather couch was long enough that a guy Bucky’s height could
easily curl up on it with room to spare. There was a pile of books piled high
on the floor by the coffee table. It looked like a bachelor pad, except it was
clean and neat.
“Want a beer?”
“Uh, yes,” he said, wandering around the living room and looking into the
clean, neatly organized kitchen. It was small and narrow, but kind of cute.
Bucky pulled out two bottles of beer, popped the tops on the edge of the
counter, and handed one off to Steve. He tapped the neck of his beer bottle
against Steve’s and grinned up at him. “To new friends.”
“New friends,” Steve said, taking a long sip.
“So, what do you want to watch? You look like a guy who likes baseball,” Bucky
said, heading back into the living room and picking up a large, black universal
remote. He tapped various buttons until he found a baseball game.
Steve watched as Bucky sank down on the plush leather couch, leaving room for
Steve to join him.
“So, um, we’re really just going to watch baseball?”
Bucky laughed, taking a drink of his beer. He leaned his head back to peer up
at Steve. “Expecting something more?”
“Yes. I mean, no! I mean…”
“Something tells me that you’re not looking for a one night stand,” he said,
grinning. “Come on, sit down, you’re too tall and my neck’s starting to crick.
Just sit down here and drink your beer and watch the game, Stevie.”
Steve sat down, leaving a little space between them. Bucky sprawled out, his
leg brushing against Steve’s thigh. It felt good to just sit next to him and to
feel the warmth of his leg. Bucky heckled the game and Steve finally relaxed
enough that he could drink his beer and laugh along to Bucky’s colorful
commentary.
“So, um, what do you do?”
Bucky let out a soft laugh. “I’m a mechanical engineer; I work for Stark
Industries. You?”
“Freelance artist,” he said, turning so that he faced Bucky, his left side
tucked against the back of the leather couch.
Bucky grinned at him. “Are you the kind of artist that shows his stuff in
galleries?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “I, uh, I have some of my pieces showing at a
small gallery in downtown Brooklyn. Clover’s, on Atlantic Avenue? They
primarily show work by women artists, but they like my stuff, they like me, so
they invited me to show there a few times. I book a few shows a year.”
“So are you famous or something?”
Steve laughed, shaking his head. “Not famous; not infamous either. Just another
working artist.”
“That’s really great, Stevie,” Bucky said, smiling up at him. “I don’t know
ding about art, but hey, maybe you can take me to Clover’s and show me your
work, talk about what I’m seeing.”
“I’d…I’d really like that, Buck.”
He met Bucky’s warm gaze, watching as his smile widened at hearing his own
nickname. Steve held his breath as Bucky’s eyes slipped down to look at Steve’s
mouth and he licked his lips, feeling his tongue dart out to wet his dry bottom
lip. Bucky turned his head, slow, just a little movement, meeting Steve’s eyes
as he slid a little closer.
He was going to kiss Steve!
Did his breath smell? How much tongue did he need to use? What did he do with
his hands?
Bucky’s warm lips pressed gently against Steve’s mouth, catching him off guard
so that he inhaled sharply. Bucky pulled back, a small furrow between his
eyebrows as he met Steve’s eyes.
“Okay?” Bucky said, leaning forward again.
“Yes,” Steve whispered, his gaze falling to Bucky’s plump bottom lip. He wanted
to suck on it; bite it a little. “You’re so gorgeous.”
Bucky grinned, nipping Steve’s bottom lip. “You’re the one that’s gorgeous.”
The little nip sent a shiver down Steve’s back, settling low in the heat of his
belly, his cock already hard with the scent of Bucky in his nose.
“I really want you,” Steve said, softly, meeting Bucky’s eyes.
He watched as the pupils dilated; and Steve gasped, pulling away, nearly
falling off the couch in his graceless haste.
“What—what’s wrong? Stevie—“
“Sorry! I’m sorry! I shouldn’t abuse my powers like that, but I can’t tell if
I’m using them or if you’re really that attracted to me—“
“I’m really that attracted to you,” he said, dryly, raising an eyebrow.
Steve shook his head. “No, no! I mean, Bucky, you don’t even know me and you’ve
invited me to your place and we—we were going to...do it.”
Bucky took a deep breath and gave Steve a puzzled look, his eyes squinted and
lips pressed together in a pout. “Yeah…I mean, a little more lead up would’ve
been fine, I wasn’t in a hurry or nothing. If you’re a little freaked out, we
can watch the game some more, drink another beer and—“
“I’m an Incubus demon,” Steve blurted out, making an awkward face and hunching
his shoulders forward.
“Okay,” he drawled out, raising both eyebrows.
“I haven’t done this before?”
“I thought Incubus demons only slept with women.”
“I like men?”
Bucky finished the rest of his beer, keeping his eyes on Steve, and set the
empty bottle on the coffee table. “Okay, so you think you’re an Incubus demon
and you like men.”
“You don’t believe me.”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Dude, would you  believe it if I said this to
you?”
“If you’d asked me that a couple of weeks ago, I would’ve said no,” he said,
sourly.
“Hey, I have a question. When you said that you haven’t done this before, did
you mean do this  as an Incubus demon or a one night stand?”
“You’re making fun of me.”
“Maybe just a little bit.” Bucky smiled, eyes crinkling at the edges. “Come on,
sit down, Stevie. I’m not going to jump you or nothing.”
“Maybe I’m going to jump you.”
“Well then, I’m all yours,” he said, sprawling out even more on the couch, legs
spread apart, open and willing.
Steve took a step closer to him. “I don’t want to force you to do anything you
don’t want to.”
“That’s a good start,” Bucky told him, smiling. “Good rule to follow.”
“And to answer your question, I’ve never done this before as an Incubus
demon…or ever.”
Bucky stared at him, eyes wide. “Never?”
“Pathetic, huh?” Steve said, sitting down on the couch and taking a deep
breath.
“You’re serious,” he said, kindly. “It’s just that…how can you be a virgin and
an Incubus demon?”
Steve turned his head and gave him a look.
“Hey, I’m just asking…you read about sex demons all your life, you
automatically assume that the demon has had sex.”
Steve wasn’t quite sure if Bucky was still teasing him, but he gave Steve a
bawdy wink that made Steve roll his eyes.
“I didn’t always look like this. I was short and kind of dorky looking. No one
ever paid any attention to me. In fact, I’m still trying to get used to
everything. You can’t know the number of times I’ve nearly knocked myself out
because I don’t remember how tall I am and hit my head on doorways.”
Bucky chuckled, but it was good-natured. “It’s not pathetic…though maybe not
mentioning that you’re an Incubus demon might make it a little easier.”
“I don’t want to lie; it seems like lying, to get what I want, and I don’t want
to do that.”
“What about what I want, Steve?” Bucky said, reaching out to stroke his hand
down Steve’s thigh, curling it behind his knee and squeezing gently.
Steve swallowed. “You…you really want me?”
“Are you using your powers on me right now?”
“No,” he said, quickly. He frowned and shrugged. “I don’t think so. Does it
feel like you’re being overcome with lust?”
Bucky chuckled. “Only because I’m looking at you.” He ran his hand up higher on
Steve’s thigh, making Steve tremble. “Let’s try kissing and see where it takes
us.”
Steve snorted. “I know where it’ll take us.”
“Damn, I hope so,” Bucky said, leaning in to kiss Steve on the mouth. His lips
pressed a little firmer than before, the tip of his tongue coming out to lick
across the seam of Steve’s mouth. He gasped, feeling his lips part and Bucky’s
tongue slipped inside, exploring, stroking against Steve’s tongue.
He was teasing Steve; and Steve felt something click inside of him, giving him
permission, believing that he had Bucky’s permission, and he wrapped his arms
around Bucky and pulled him down on the couch cushions until he was under
Steve.
“Yeah,” Bucky murmured, digging his hands into Steve’s hair, tilting his head
slightly as his tongue moved deeper into Steve’s mouth, warm and wet and
teasing. “It’s a right shame that no one’s given you any pleasure.”
“Everything about you tastes so good,” Steve murmured, in between kissing
Bucky’s mouth, licking across his bottom lip, and kissing his way down the
lean, long neck to nibble on Bucky’s earlobe. “How is it that you taste so
good?”
Bucky chuckled, throaty and pleased, leaning his head back to give Steve more
room. “Hmmm…you could go to a fella’s head, Stevie.”
Steve pressed his nose against Bucky’s neck and spent a few minutes just
inhaling all of Bucky’s warm scents – musk, early evening sweat, the after
shave he used this morning, the lingering smells of the rich curry he had for
lunch, the smell of the city, of exhaust fumes and sugar and something woodsy.
Steve licked him again and again, flat of his tongue moving against the rough
five o’clock shadow on Bucky’s jaw and throat.
“I think I just…I could probably live off this,” Steve said, wiggling closer to
Bucky’s firm body, switching to the other side of Bucky’s neck to lick and
inhale all over again. “Maybe I just need to get you off and that’s all I
need?”
“All right, let’s try it and see what happens?” Bucky said, blue-gray eyes
sparkling with amusement and lust. “I’m game if you are.”
“Are you sure?”
“Yup. Not going to turn down a pretty guy like you to get me off.”
Steve was really sure that Bucky was laughing at him now, but he could tell by
his teasing tone that it wasn’t at Steve’s expense. He was just amused and
turned on, and Steve could feel him hard under him. He reached between them to
palm Bucky’s cock, stroking his hand over and over, slow and purposeful,
getting the feel of him, building a rhythm that made Bucky close his eyes and
tilt his head back against the cushions.
“You’re really beautiful,” Steve said, watching Bucky’s eyelashes flutter. “I
don’t think I could ever get tired of you.”
“Mmmm…baby, you really do say the nicest things.”
Steve let out a small huff of amusement. “I didn’t even know I could do this.”
“It’s all good; no complaints here,” he said, looking up at Steve and licking
his lips. “Kiss me while you get me off.”
“Oh. Ohhhh…that’s…yes. I want that,” Steve agreed, leaning down to kiss Bucky’s
mouth, his hand pressing down to rub harder, fingertips finding and curling
over the head. Bucky groaned into Steve’s mouth, hips pushing up into Steve’s
palm. “Should I just…keep it over the pants or—“
“Whatever you feel comfortable with, baby,” Bucky murmured, tilting his head
back, eyes fluttering closed, as Steve rubbed at him harder and faster.
It felt a lot like instinct now; the uncertainty of not knowing what to do or
doing something wrong went right out the window. Steve kept his eyes on Bucky,
leaning down to kiss him or to lick his neck, listening to Bucky’s moans,
feeling the strain of his cock under his pants as his hand moved busily over
it.
“You feel so good,” Steve said, feeling strong; he wondered if it was because
he was drawing from Bucky’s sexual energy.
“So do you, baby,” Bucky murmured, voice thick with desire. “Come on, just a
little more, I’m so close.”
“Oh God,” he whispered, feeling a wave of heat filling his mind. “Oh God, it’s
starting—“
“Yes, yes it is,” Bucky groaned, meaningfully. “Oh—ohhhh—fuck—yeah…”
Steve shuddered, feeling Bucky’s pleasure envelope him, sharing in it together
as Bucky writhed and bucked against his hand. He rubbed and rubbed until Bucky
moaned, grabbing his wrist to stop him, chuckling softly as he blinked up at
Steve.
“That was amazing, I’ve never tasted anything like that before,” Steve said,
wide-eyed and excited and energized. “Can we do that again? Can we do some
other stuff, too? I feel really kind of – well, I’m still a little hungry but I
don’t feel like I need to go out and try to seduce anyone off the street!”
“Thanks, I think,” Bucky said, dryly.
“No, I mean, you were so good, Bucky,” Steve said, pressing kisses on Bucky’s
cheek and mouth. “You tasted so wonderful. I don’t want anyone else; I don’t
think it would ever be the same.” He couldn’t help it, he had to keep kissing
Bucky, which turned into licking Bucky. Steve wondered what the rest of Bucky
would taste like; if it would be even better if Steve got to put his mouth on
Bucky’s cock.
Bucky laughed, shaking his head. “Okay, okay, punk, okay!”
He pressed his hand on Steve’s forehead and pushed his head back, meeting his
eyes.
“Sorry,” Steve said, making a face. “Sorry, I’m probably just…you know, first
time and all.”
“Don’t apologize,” Bucky said, smiling affectionately at him and stroking
Steve’s head. “Gimme a minute and I’ll return the favor.”
Steve’s eyes widened and his sucked in a breath. “Oh God…you want to?”
“I’m going to want to do a lot of things with you, Stevie,” Bucky said, licking
his lips.
Steve felt his cheeks flush and he dropped his eyes, unable to hide his smile.
He gave Bucky a coy look from under his lashes.
“Yeah, you’re not going anywhere,” Bucky said, curling his arm behind Steve’s
neck and pulling him down for a long, slow kiss. It was the kind that Steve
really liked and he sighed, balancing his chin on Bucky’s chest while looking
up at him. “You’re going to have to show me what it’s like when you use your
powers. To compare, you know?”
Steve frowned. “I was warned that it’s not something to fool around with; I
don’t want to take from you more than you’re willing to give me.”
“Such a gentleman sex demon,” he said, teasingly. “Here’s something you should
know about me, Stevie. I’m greedy and horny, so I feel like I’ve finally met my
match in you.”
That filled Steve with some comfort, but he was still hesitant to abuse his
powers. He liked knowing that Bucky wanted him because he just wanted him.
But he also wanted to give Bucky what he wanted.
“Maybe,” Steve hedged, smiling up at him. “But only if you’ll go on a real date
with me first.”
“Sure, pal, any time you want,” Bucky said, meaningfully. He tucked his arms
around Steve and curled one of his legs behind Steve’s thighs, holding him
close.
“You’re kind of possessive,” Steve noted, cocking his head.
Bucky grinned, blue-gray eyes filled with desire and amusement. He let out a
laugh and ran his hand over Steve’s head.
“I promise I’ll let you go home later…after I teach you how to fuck me.”
“Oh…”
“Just think, if you got off from going to third base with me, just think of
what you’ll feel when your cock is deep inside and you make me come.”
“God, the things you say, Buck.”
Steve knew he was blushing; he ducked his head, pressing his forehead against
Bucky’s chest, feeling it shake with Bucky’s warm laugh.
***** What a Billionaire Wants - Part 3 *****
Chapter Summary
     Pairing: Tony/Bucky – Continuing the slow build/slow burn –
     Friendship and flirting towards something more.
     Author’s Note: I may be ignoring CACW for this timeline. I think this
     story fits in after CAWS where Bucky is in the Smithsonian. Let’s say
     that Steve and Sam have brought Bucky in from the cold and they live
     in Avengers Tower.
     Author’s Note: The New York PM Daily was a real newspaper that ran
     from 1940-1948 and was known for being progressive and for its
     stunning photographs. Read more about it here: http://
     hyperallergic.com/272812/the-short-lived-1940s-nyc-tabloid-that-
     dared-to-tell-the-truth/
 
Part 1: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12498614
Part 2: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/15429034 
 
Despite the gaps in his memory, Bucky was pleased to remember some moments of
his past. There were a lot of things that Bucky remembered about his time as
the Asset, but he didn’t quite have the headspace to actually fully process.
That was going to be a long, hard road, but if Bucky wanted to continue living
at the Tower and try to find his way, then he was damn sure to try.
It was Sam who found him a counselor at the VA Center. Even though Doctor
Brannigan wasn’t a specialist in the kind of PTSD that Bucky suffered, the Doc
was experienced working with extremely traumatized veterans, those who were
held as POWs. He went to his sessions every week for two brutal hours where
Bucky would try to come to terms with one memory at a time.
It wasn’t always so horrifying, though. Through his sessions with the Doc,
Bucky was allowing himself to recall the happy moments of his past.
Most of his happier memories included Steve, but not the Steve who was Captain
America and who stood a few inches taller than him now. They were of a Steve
who was short and who got into back alley fist fights with punks who outweighed
him by a hundred pounds.
As much as he loved having those memories, the ones that Bucky loved best were
the ones of himself. He loved science and technological wonders. He loved
learning how things fit together. He was quick to pick up on how machines
worked. “
You taught me how to steal trucks without using a key,” Steve told him, smiling
fondly. “Natasha says that it’s called ‘hotwiring’ now.”
“It was in Germany, right?”
And he loved all the new tech that he encountered every day. Tony gifted him
with a special Stark tablet and JARVIS downloaded science ebooks and technology
news articles and, his guilty pleasure, tabloid entertainment.
“I can’t believe how much I missed,” Bucky said, swiping content on the screen
of his tablet. TMZ.com reminded him of the gossip papers from back in his day.
“I mean, I didn’t sleep through all of it like you did, but I wasn’t always
aware of what was going on in the world.”
It wasn’t like any of his handlers let him stop off at a café after an
assassination. If he had missed his return window, there was powerful incentive
for Bucky to not make that mistake again.
“HYDRA didn’t care if you were up to speed with the latest entertainment
gossip, huh?” Steve said, grinning.
“Hey, what was the name of that paper that you worked at?”
Steve chuckled. “The New York PM Daily.” He cleared his throat. “’PM is against
people who push other people around. PM accepts no advertising. PM belongs to
no political party. PM is absolutely free and uncensored. PM’s sole source of
income is its readers—to whom it alone is responsible. PM is the one newspaper
that can and dares to tell the truth.’”
“Yeah, you were sweet on that one photographer, what was her name again?”
“Mary Morris,” Steve said, softly. “She passed in 2009. Age 95. Everyone said
that she was still a spitfire.”
Bucky scrolled through the TMZ pages, showing the screen to Steve. “I don’t
even know who any of these people are. Hey, this Angelina is a real doll,
though.”
“I read somewhere that Tony gave her the business,” Steve said, confidentially.
“And there’s a rumor that he gave it to her husband, Brad, too.”
“At the same time!” Clint called from across the room. “It’s called a
threesome.”
“Ménage-a-trois ain’t a modern term, Barton,” Bucky said, laughing. He turned
to smile at Steve. “Remember that time the Commandos snuck us into that French
brothel?”
He watched as Steve blushed rosy and smirked, looking back at his screen.    
“Look at this mook, Steve. I bet you five bucks that all the people who thought
this Tom Cruise character was a real head case, probably think he’s not so nuts
anymore, what with the alien invasion and all.”
From the kitchen, Clint choked on his muffin. “Oh shit! The Scientologists are
probably creaming their collective pants!”
Bucky smiled, shaking his head. “I love technology, Steve.”
“I know, Buck.”
It was that same love for science and technology that made Bucky a damn good
sniper. He could field strip, assemble, and use any weapon; and he could do
complex calculations on the fly in his head. When HYDRA discovered his hidden
skills, they exploited his love for science and twisted it into something
inhumane.
“Coffee, JARVIS, coffee me right now,” Tony said, rushing into the living room
and heading straight for the kitchen. “Outta the way, Barton, I’m taking the
coffee with me!”
“Tony has a lot of interesting technology,” Bucky remarked, watching Tony going
for the coffee maker. He paused for only a moment as it finished brewing, and
took the whole pot of coffee with him. He wore one of his Ironman gauntlets on
his left hand, a screwdriver gripped between his teeth, as he mumbled something
that seemed like equations under his breath. “He reminds me of Howard.”
“Yeah, don’t let him hear you say that,” Clint told him, sitting down on the
couch and flipping through the channels on the large flat screen television.
Bucky cocked his head. “Why not? He’s Howard’s son, right. His workshop looks a
lot like Howard’s old workshop back in the SSR. You remember, don’tcha Steve?”
Steve cleared his throat and made a face. “From what I’ve gathered, Tony didn’t
have a good relationship with Howard.”
“There’s a lot of daddy issues,” Clint intoned, looking at Bucky.
Bucky didn’t know what “daddy issues” meant, but he could parse it out in
context.  
“That’s too bad,” he said, softly, looking down the hallway to where Tony
disappeared, heading back down to his workshop with his pot of coffee.
***
The amount of food that was available was still a bit of a shock. It wasn’t so
much his old timer sensibilities or of the Great Depression and food shortages
and rationing during the war. He didn’t really eat a lot of food while as the
Asset. The technicians pumped him up with all kinds of vitamins and
supplements, and fed him some tasteless and flavorless gelatinous concoction
that left Bucky feeling full but not satisfied. He was never hungry when he was
awake; the technicians always ensured that his body was at peak performance
before sending him out on his missions.  
Every once in a while, if he performed exceptionally well in the field, he’d be
rewarded with physical food. But Bucky had a hard time keeping it down; and in
the end, eating food felt more like a punishment than a reward.
Now, Bucky liked fresh fruits; his favorites were plums and he was always
pleased to know that he could get sweet plums, even when they weren’t in
season. He was pretty sure that Tony put the order in for him. He always found
the kitchen, in the apartment that he shared with Steve, well-stocked with his
favorites.
He was also addicted to Mac & Cheese. He couldn’t get enough and ate it almost
every day at least once a day.
“Let me take you to a real Italian restaurant,” Tony begged, shaking his head
at Bucky’s bowl of Mac & Cheese. “My taste buds are rebelling at the thought
that you think this overly processed cheap food is good food.”
“Why? I like it. This is good enough for me,” he said, licking his spoon of the
melted cheese. He swiped his thumb through the remnants on the bowl and stuck
it into his mouth, beaming at Tony.
“That’s not even real Mac & Cheese,” Tony complained, watching him as he
cleaned his bowl. If he wouldn’t have thought that Tony would find it
disturbing, Bucky would’ve licked the bowl clean with his tongue.
He finally relented and Tony took the whole team out to dinner at what was
touted to be the best Italian restaurant in the city. It had something called
Michelin Stars and the chef came out to greet Tony personally. Bucky stared at
the bowl of fancy Mac & Cheese and took a small bite. They were all watching
him.
“Is it good, Buck?” Steve asked, smiling knowingly at him.
“Mmmmhmm…”
He chewed slowly; and when no one was looking, he spit the weird pasta and
cheese glob into his napkin.
A few days later, Bucky went to check on his Mac & Cheese supply in the pantry
and was pleased to find several dozen blue boxes on the shelves.
“Hey, JARVIS?”
“Yes, Sergeant Barnes, what can I do for you?”
“Did Tony stock my pantry with all this Mac & Cheese?”
“Yes, Sergeant Barnes. Sir felt that you should always have a supply of your
favorite foods.”
“Okay. Thanks, buddy.”
Later, he made a double batch and divided out the Mac & Cheese into two bowls,
grabbed two bottles of beer, and made his way to Tony’s workshop with his
offerings. JARVIS let him inside and Bucky watched as Tony stood in front of
his desk, four hologram screens filled with all kinds of data and figures and
numbers. That rock music with the screeching guitar riff was blasting from the
speakers, making Bucky’s ears ache, but he stood in the workshop, unable to
take his eyes off of Tony.
The music ended abruptly and Tony turned, giving Bucky a wink. “You like what
you see?”
Bucky smiled, looking up at the screens with nothing but delight and awe. “You
remind me of the first time I saw Howard at the EXPO. He had all these
beautiful dames on stage with him and he was dressed in a tuxedo like he was
going to some fancy party, and he showed off a car that could fly.” He walked
closer to Tony, setting the bowls and bottles on a corner of Tony’s desk,
staring up at the screen. “I used to think, that Stark, he’s a real genius.
There’s never going to be another fella like him in my lifetime.” He grinned
and then looked at Tony. “But you’re the real genius. There’s never going to be
another fella like you in your lifetime.”
Tony blinked and stared at him for a long moment; and Bucky remembered that he
didn’t like being compared to Howard.
“Sorry, I didn’t mean to—“
“No, it’s fine,” Tony said, turning back to the hologram screens. He huffed out
a short laugh. “Guess my old man made an impression on you.”
“Back in my time, I’d never seen anything like what Howard was showing. Part of
me is still wondering why no one ever made a flying car like he promised.”
“There is a flying car,” Tony said, quietly.
“Yeah?” Bucky said, smiling at him. “Do you have Howard’s old car?”
“It’s probably somewhere in a junkyard by now,” he said, shrugging. “I’m
talking about Lola.”
“Lola?”
 “Come on, I’ll show you,” Tony said, waving his hands at the screens. “JARVIS,
save everything to my personal server, will you?”
“Of course, Sir.”
Tony led him to the back part of his workshop where a number of beautiful, old
fashioned looking cars were parked. There was one that had a gray tarp covering
it and Tony picked up on end, pulling it off.
“Oh man, who could shoot up a beautiful car like this?” Bucky said, frowning at
the dozens of bullet holes in the bright red body. He whistled lowly and ran
his hand over the curves of the car.
“She’s a 1962 Chevrolet Corvette,” Tony said, following him around the vehicle.
“She belongs to Agent Agent.”
Bucky looked at Tony, puzzled. “Agent Agent?”
“Coulson,” he said, the corner of his lips lifting with a smile. “She used to
belong to Agent’s old man, Robert Coulson. He was a mechanical engineer. They
restored her together.”
“And she can fly?”
“Not yet. She hovers really well, though. But after I’m finished fixing her,
she’ll be able to do a lot more than just fly.” Tony said, proudly. “Agent
comes over on weekends when he’s free and he’ll spend a couple of days at the
Tower, fixing her up. I’ve been making some new modifications for her.”
Bucky placed his fingertips into the myriad of bullet holes. “Did Howard help
Coulson’s father with the hover technology?”
Tony cracked a wide smile. “Actually, I met Agent when I was at MIT. He was
just recruited into SHIELD and, well, I had just taken over Stark Industries.
He wanted to make sure that SI was going to keep producing weapons for the
military. That’s when I found out about Lola. He was talking about doing some
upgrades for her and…I guess he wanted to distract me from what happened to my
parents. I found Howard’s notes on his original hover technology and upgraded
her for him. I’ve been giving Lola upgrades over the years ever since.”
Bucky bit his lip when Tony glossed over the deaths of Howard and Maria. It was
pretty clear that Tony knew that the Starks death was at HYDRA’s command…and at
Bucky’s hands.
“I’m sorry,” he said, softly. “I didn’t—“
“Well, that’s enough strolling down memory lane for today, or, you know,
forever, don’t you think, Barnes?” He said, cutting Bucky off sharply.
Bucky frowned, glancing at Tony, but the other man didn’t seem angry or upset.
He didn’t seem to hold any kind of emotion on his face that Bucky could
decipher. He sighed and ran a hand over his hair.
“I brought some food down for you. I didn’t think you had anything for lunch.”
Tony gave a half grin, looking at the two bowls at his desk. “Did you really
bring me some of your Mac & Cheese?”
“It tastes even better when it’s kind of cooled down,” he offered, giving Tony
a tentative smile.
“All right,” he said, walking back to his desk, waving for Bucky to follow him.
“Eat and then I’ll show you what’s under her hood.”
“Yeah, I’d like that.”
“You know, Agent is probably going to be here in a few days. Maybe if you asked
nicely, he’ll let you help put Lola back together again.”
Bucky smiled, surprised but pleased by the invitation. “Yeah, I’d really like
that.”
***
Bucky was sitting in his bedroom, the tablet on his lap, brooding. He’d spent
the whole morning reading every article he could find on Google on Howard and
Maria Starks death. The news articles linked to pictures of a very young Tony
Stark looking pale and bruised at the funeral; and plenty of stories of Tony’s
reckless years of hard drinking and even harder partying. There were plenty of
pictures of Tony going into or leaving clubs, always surrounded by a bevy of
pretty dames, getting into car accidents and fights with photographers. Bucky
frowned, tracing his fingers over the image of Tony trying to look emotionless
as a swarm of reporters and photographers surrounded him, leaving the cemetery.
“Sergeant Barnes, your presence is requested in Sir’s workshop at your earliest
convenience.”
Bucky shut down his tablet and set it on his bed. “Did he say what he needed me
for?”
“Agent Coulson is in residence. Sir would like for you to meet them.”
He got off the bed. “That’s great, I’ll be right there. Thanks, JARVIS.”
“It’s my pleasure, Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky made his way down to Tony’s workshop and as soon as he approached, the
doors slid open and Bucky frowned deeper, watching Tony arguing with a man
wearing a neatly pressed black suit.
“—the hell do you mean you don’t want weapons upgrades? Didn’t you love the
flamethrower that I added last time?”
“I’m not taking Lola out into the field again. She’s retiring and she’s going
to enjoy a long and safe civilian life.”
Tony made a face, waving his hand towards the red car. “She’s the best field
agent you have!”
“The only thing you need to do is improve her hover technology—“
“There is nothing wrong with her hover technology! You’re the one who dropped
her into midair from the damned Bus! Who does that? She wasn’t built to hover
at 15,000 feet! What I should do is add a damn parachute!” Tony narrowed his
eyes and stared up at the other man. “Something you and your favorite hero in
spandex have in common. I hear that Cap likes to drop out of planes without a
parachute, too!”
Bucky rolled his eyes. He had heard plenty of stories of how Steve liked
jumping out of planes. That punk was going to give Bucky gray hairs.
The older man put his hands on his hips and leaned towards Tony. Bucky’s
instincts to protect Tony flared up, but he backed down when he realized that
the other man wasn’t hostile.
“Stark, I’ve had Lola for nearly my whole life. I will not endanger her again.”
Tony scoffed and rolled his eyes. “You can’t expect me to believe that you’ll
be content to leave her on blocks or lock her in some garage somewhere, Phil.”
Phil’s lips twitched and he grinned, staring at Tony. “I was hoping to let her
stay here with you.”
“With me?” He said, blinking rapidly.
“I’m not giving her to you, Stark, don’t get any funny ideas. I’m just saying
that if she’s safe anywhere in this world, she’s safest here in your Tower.”
“Oh,” Tony said, smiling widely. “Why didn’t you say so in the first place? Of
course she can stay here! She’ll be perfectly fine with the Shelby and the
roadster. Perfect company, in fact.”
“And perhaps Sergeant Barnes will be good enough to lend a hand here and
there,” Phil said, turning to look at Bucky. He smiled warmly, holding out his
hand and walking towards Bucky. “I’m Phil Coulson. It’s an honor to finally
meet you, Sergeant Barnes.”
Bucky shook Phil’s hand. “Bucky. My friends call me Bucky.”
“Phil,” he said, in kind, eyes dancing with pleasure.
“Maybe he’ll sign your vintage trading cards if you asked him nicely,” Tony
teased, chuckling.
“Oh. Um, sure?”
Phil grinned and met Bucky’s gaze. “Actually, if you wouldn’t mind giving an
autograph, I do have a new set in my suitcase. My last set was unsalvageable.”
“Okay, sure.”
Tony leaned his elbows on Lola’s hood, hip cocked out like an old fashioned
centerfold model. “So, gents, let’s fix up the old girl.”
“Get your elbows off of Lola, Stark,” Phil said, giving him a hard look.
***
Bucky has never had so much fun than the last couple of days with Tony and
Phil. Bucky’s sole task was to find and remove every bullet lodged in Lola.
JARVIS helpfully supplied hologram diagrams of Lola’s framework, the trajectory
of the bullet from the bullet holes, and Bucky spent his time gently searching
out and extracting each bullet until JARVIS confirmed that none were left.
While Phil worked on her engine, Tony fabricated various parts and engine
components, and every once in a while, all three of them were dosed with the
fire extinguisher in DUM-E’s possession.
Tony had sourced parts that he couldn’t fabricate; and ordered new white
leather seat covers and interior pieces from his wide network of manufacturers,
even going as far as calling in favors from the CEO of Tesla Motors and
Ferrari; negotiating deals with junkyard owners looking for authentic Chevrolet
parts.
Bucky enjoyed welding and he spent long hours working on covering the bullet
holes in the body, smoothing out his work, and passing intense and rigorous
inspecting by both Phil and Tony before handing it off to JARVIS to repaint in
the original Hot Cherry Red.
Tony was showing Bucky the inner workings of the engine, a strange partnership
of engine parts and high end technology, and Bucky was slowly learning that his
skills in putting things together hadn’t all been destroyed by HYDRA.
“You know, you’re a pretty good mechanic,” Tony said, as they both leaned on
Lola’s frame, looking down at her engine.
“Before the war, I used to work in the shipping yard as a third class
mechanic,” Bucky said, smiling.
Tony peered up at Bucky, wiping the back of his hand on his nose and leaving
behind a smear of engine grease. “You must’ve been pretty good in math to be a
sniper. Steve said that you did all your math in your head. Even I know that’s
not an easy thing to do.”
A loud snore interrupted their conversation and Bucky turned to see Phil
slouched on a chair, a wrench nearly falling out of his hand.
Bucky chuckled and walked towards Phil, carefully taking the wrench and setting
it on the work table. “Hey, Phil, come on, let’s get you on the couch. You’re
going to get a bad crick in your neck if you sleep like this.”
“Don’t let Stark put a missile launcher in her, Barnes,” Phil mumbled as Bucky
guided him to the workshop couch, helping Phil on the cushion, and then
covering him with the soft fleece.
DUM-E rolled over to him and Bucky smiled, patting DUM-E on his supports.
“Don’t wake him; and don’t spray him with the fire extinguisher either.”
The robot moved his arm up and down in acknowledgement and stood sentry for
Phil as he slept. Bucky liked all the robots in Tony’s workshop. The other two
seemed a little more reserved, a bit more shy, but DUM-E was fearless and
tirelessly sociable.
He found Tony sitting on the floor, leaning against the side of Lola, and Bucky
sat down beside him, letting out a deep sigh.
Tony raised his knee and propped his elbow against it, holding up the side of
his head as he turned to gaze at Bucky.
Bucky leaned in and gave him a chaste kiss on Tony’s mouth. “Thank you.”
Tony blinked, looking shocked but pleased. “Whatever I did, it was my pleasure.
But just for the sake of argument, what are you thanking me for?”
Bucky waved his hand around the workshop. “For this. Giving me back this.”
“You figured out what to do when you grow up?”
He nodded, looking around the workshop. It felt comfortable to him; and he
understood why Tony spent so much of his time in it. “How would Tony Stark feel
about having a workshop assistant?”
“Well, Tony Stark’s already got three assistants,” Tony said, looking over at
his three robots. “Hiring you wouldn’t be any worse than them.”
“Thanks,” he said, dryly.
“The hours are long and weird, the pay probably sucks, you might have to face
the possibility that there could be explosions on any given day, and oh yeah,
get sprayed with the fire extinguisher at least once a week, and I heard that
the workshop boss is kind of an asshole.”
Bucky laughed, leaning his head back against Lola. “Sounds like perks to me.”
Tony laughed along with him.
“I also heard that the workshop boss is kind of a genius—“
“Actually, it’s genius, billionaire, philanthropist, and playboy. Primarily a
playboy.”
Bucky grinned. “I’m more interested in the genius part, though.”
Tony turned and gave him a long, serious look. “Just the genius part or…”
“Pretty much the whole package, asshole and all. I can be kind of an asshole,
too. You can ask Captain America, he’ll vouch for how much of an asshole I can
be.”
“Sounds like kismet,” Tony said, meeting his gaze. “Well, with a reference like
that, when can you start?”
***** Everyone's a Damn Art Critic *****
Chapter Summary
     Pairing: Steve/Tony (not explicit)
     Based on this prompt: I overheard you insulting one of my paintings
     at an exhibition and I got surprisingly upset, but then you noticed
     and looked so horrified and guilty, and now you’re being really
     apologetic and nice and we’re going for coffee tomorrow so I can
     “teach you more about art because you know nothing and are an
     asshole”.
     QUOTE CITATION: “Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history
     judges them for the legacies they leave behind.” Quote by Noah
     Feldman, American author.
 
Tony slunk into the Knowles Gallery, following hot on the heels of Pepper, and
hiding behind a pair of his purple Gucci sunglasses.
 
“Why are you punishing me, Pep? What on earth could I have possibly done for
you to drag me to Brooklyn of all places? It’s Brooklyn. Brooklyn, Pepper!”
 
Pepper continued to ignore him, had been ignoring him during the entire ride in
the limo, and she didn’t seem to plan communicating with him at all.
 
“Lila,” she called, cheerily, high heels tapping across the smooth marble main
room to greet the beautiful woman with dark hair, artfully curled over her
slender shoulder. “The showing is wonderful. Thank you so much for the
invitation.”
 
“Pepper, so good of you to come,” Lila said, giving Pepper a little hug, air
kisses to the cheeks.
 
Tony rolled his eyes behind his sunglasses, glad that Pepper couldn’t see him.
 
“Mr. Stark is a fan of local Brooklyn artists,” Pepper said, turning to look at
him over her shoulder. She gave him a ‘play along or you’re going to face a
dozen boring meetings back-to-back for a year’ glare in warning, so Tony sucked
it up and plastered on his best public smile, reaching for Lila’s hand.
 
“Lovely as always, Ms. Knowles,” he said, casually kissing her knuckles.
 
Lila smirked and raised her eyebrow. “A pleasure, Mr. Stark.” She jerked her
hand from Tony’s grasp and turned to look at Pepper. “We have a local artist by
the name of Steve Rogers at the gallery tonight. He’s incredibly talented…not
to mention incredibly handsome. Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
 
“Yeah, maybe he’ll show you his etchings,” Tony said, under his breath.
 
Pepper’s look told him that she heard that; and Tony winced, moving quickly in
the opposite direction, heading straight for the bar. He took a glass of
champagne and started walking through the main open gallery space, looking at
the various paintings and mixed media work.
 
“Christ, what is this mess?” Tony mumbled under his breath, squinting to look
at the large canvas that seemed to be haphazardly glued together with crap
found under someone’s couch. His financial sensibilities took a nose dive when
he saw the sale price, a little blue dot by the title, indicating that it was
sold. “Ten grand. Who the fuck would pay for this crap?”
 
He continued moving through the gallery, peering at each piece and sipping his
champagne slowly. At least Knowles had enough sense to pay for the good
champagne, even if her art gallery sold crap pieces of work.
 
“Local Brooklyn artists,” Tony muttered again, bypassing a couple who were more
into each other than the art in the gallery. He didn’t begrudge them that; they
probably were more interesting that the art anyway.
 
He rounded the corner and walked into a small gallery space; a small sign on
the wall listed the art work in the alcove as belonging to a S. Rogers. Tony
walked into the new section and looked at the four paintings on the walls. They
weren’t too horrible – better than that mixed media crap in the front room –
and Tony took his time looking at the large canvases.
 
They were all cityscapes of Brooklyn with the bridge obviously a point of
pride. The first painting was titled “First Year” and was painted in muted,
neutral tones with hints of red and orange. The second painting was titled
“Second Year” and Tony saw some changes to the skyline. This was in done in
different shades and tones of oranges and golds and a bit of green.
 
The third painting was titled “Third Year” and Tony snorted, finishing off his
champagne. “What the hell is this? Some college kid’s idea of art?”
 
He turned to look at the tall, handsome man wearing a modest dark blue suit,
standing at the end of the room in front of the fourth and last painting in the
series. Tony smiled, handing his empty glass to a nearby waiter, and put his
hands into his pockets and wandered up to the man.
 
“I want to punch this artist in his perfect teeth,” Tony said, startling the
other man.
 
“Oh, um…I’m probably going to regret asking, but why?”
 
“Because the alternative is that I’m going to have to gouge out my eyes looking
at them,” he said, turning to look at the other man. Tony noted that he was
even more handsome up close, even if the man was now glaring at him with
narrowed, blue eyes.
 
“I…see,” he said, sarcastically.
 
Tony took his hand out of his pocket and held it out to him. “Tony Stark.”
 
The other man stared at him for a long time and finally took a deep breath,
shaking his hand with an overly tight grip. “Steve.”
 
“Whoa, tiger, that’s quite a grip,” Tony said, pulling his hand away and
smiling charmingly up at Steve. “You could really hurta man with a tight grip
like that.”
 
Steve gave him a befuddled look and clenched his jaw. “Are you enjoying the
show, Mr. Stark?”
 
“Tony, call me Tony,” he said, cocking his head and letting his eyes move over
Steve. “You know, you have some blue paint on your earlobe.”
 
He reached up to touch Steve’s ear, but his hand was swatted away.
 
 “What do you think you’re doing?” Steve said, frowning.
 
“Are you free for dinner? We could get out of this dump, head back into the
city—“
 
Steve made a face; Tony thought it was still kind of handsome, even with the
hard, displeased squint to Steve’s eyes. “Are you seriously asking me out on a
date? And this place isn’t a dump, Mr. Stark—“
 
“—Tony.”
 
“—and I’d appreciate it if you didn’t insult people’s artwork,” he said,
leaning closer towards Tony, his voice dropping into a deep register. It was
starting to turn Tony on.
 
Tony laughed, throaty and low. “Come on, Steve, you can’t possibly defend this
crap. Did you see the one out there that looks like something out of a kid’s
junk drawer?” He waved his hand towards the painting they were standing in
front of. “I mean, look at this one! It’s all in green and blue. Is the artist
working his way through the rainbow? Did they only have six colors? I don’t get
it.”
 
“Yeah, it’s pretty obvious that you don’t get it at all,” Steve said, stepping
back and glaring at him. “Enjoy the rest of your night, Mr. Stark.”
 
“Hey, hey, come on, handsome,” Tony said, putting his hand on Steve’s arm.
Steve shoved his arm away with the palm of his hand. “If you want to see some
real art, come back to my place. I’ll show you my private collection.” He
grinned, seeing the interest on Steve’s face. Everyone in the art world knew
about the Stark Collection; there were pieces that the public would never be
able to see. “I have the most gorgeous Renoir in my bedroom and you would look
stunning lying naked in my bed under—“
 
“Tony!” Pepper said, her tone full of chiding disbelief. “I’m so sorry, Mr.
Rogers; I can’t think of anything to excuse Mr. Stark’s behavior.”
 
“Rogers?” Tony said, meeting Steve’s eyes. “You’re S. Rogers?”
 
Lila stepped between them, turning Steve’s attention from Tony to Pepper.
“Steve, this is Pepper Potts. I was just telling her about how your last
collection was recently included at the Whitney Museum of American Artand—“
 
“Wait, you’re Steve Rogers? The artist!”
 
“I saw your collection at The Whitney and I must admit that I’ve followed your
work since your debut,” Pepper said, holding out her hand to Steve. “It’s a
pleasure to finally meet you.”
 
Tony watched the three of them making nice; he wasn’t going to just let this
go. And he really didn’t like the way that Pepper was schmoozing up to Steve.
Tony saw him first.
 
“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Steve said, politely, shaking her hand. He smiled at
her and Tony exhaled sharply; the man was too beautiful for his own good.
 
“Please, it’s Pepper,” she said, smiling at him, a soft blush forming on her
cheeks.
 
“Are you blushing?” Tony said, astonished. “Like a schoolgirl.”
 
Lila and Pepper continued to ignore him, but Tony caught Steve looking at
Pepper, a blush forming on his cheeks, too.
 
“Your work is so—“
 
“Why didn’t you stop me from insulting your work!” Tony nearly shouted, trying
to get back Steve’s attention.
 
All three of them stared at him.
 
“You insulted his work?” Pepper said, her lips pursing into a thin line. “Tony!
What were you – why would you do that?”
 
Tony shrugged carelessly. “I absolutely do not know.”
 
Steve sighed, exchanging a look with Lila. “Ms. Potts – Pepper – it’s fine. I’m
sure it was just a misunderstanding.”
 
“Steve, Pepper was just telling me that Stark Industries wanted to purchase the
‘Queer Brooklyn’ series,” Lila said, turning her back on Tony and nearly
nudging him out of the way.
 
“I don’t know…” Steve murmured, eyeing Tony for a moment before turning his
attention to Pepper.
 
“The Maria Stark Foundation recently started a new outreach program to help
LGBTQ teens in need of shelter and support. Last year, we created 15 safe
havens across the U.S. and we’re funded to create at least 100 safe havens over
the course of the next five years. You’ve been a strong community advocate and
we wanted to showcase your work in the lobby of the Foundation’s offices to
support local artists who made significant contributions to our communities,”
Pepper said, stepping closer to him and putting her slim hand on Steve’s arm.
“It would really mean a lot to me if you’d consider the sale.”
 
Tony turned to look at the series of paintings again, recognizing the rainbow
color scheme now. Each painting of the Brooklyn cityscape showed the changes
over the decades, the buildings that rose and fell, with the Brooklyn Bridge a
constant figure in the background.
 
“’Empires inevitably fall, and when they do, history judges them for the
legacies they leave behind,’” Tony murmured, turning to look up at Steve.
“That’s what you painted, isn’t it? The history of the changing city, the
changing times, but Brooklyn is always standing.”   
 
Steve blinked and nodded slowly. Even Lila and Pepper looked impressed.
 
Tony wanted to say that he wasn’t stupid; he was just an asshole sometimes.  
 
“My mother was a woman ahead of her time; her legacy is more important to me
than my own,” Tony said, pulling off his purple sunglasses and giving Steve a
small smile. “The Maria Stark Foundation would be very proud to show your work,
Steve, if you’d allow it.”
 
Steve gave him a long look, seemingly trying to gauge what Tony was up to. He
let out a soft sigh, a hint of a smirk at the corner of his lips. “On one
condition.”
 
“Name it,” Pepper said, turning to give Tony a sharp look, one that said, ‘you
better agree to anything Steve wants or else.’
 
“That Mr. Stark has lunch with me tomorrow so I can thoroughly educate him on
modern, abstract art,” Steve said, meeting Tony’s eyes with a challenging look.
“Mixed media art is rather genius in its own right. I think it requires deeper
study and contemplation. Maybe Mr. Stark will have to start his own art journal
in order to completely understand the philosophy behind it.”
 
Tony chuckled, sliding his sunglasses back on. “I’ll agree to that with one
condition of my own.”
 
Pepper gave him a warning glare. “Tony…”
 
“That you drop this ‘Mr. Stark’ bullshit and call me Tony.”
 
“Done,” Steve said, a smile on his face. “Tony.”
 
“Steve,” Tony murmured, winking at him.
 
“Noon tomorrow; Cataldo’s in Brooklyn.”
 
Tony sighed. “Brooklyn, huh? God, you’re going to take me to some mom and pop
place, aren’t you?”
 
“That’s the condition of the sale,” Steve said, smiling.
 
“Done,” Tony said, holding out his hand.
 
Steve shook it; and while the grip was firm, it wasn’t as painfully tight.
 
Tony could see Lila and Pepper already conspiring, their beautiful heads close
together as they hammered out the particulars of the sale. There was no doubt
that Pepper could handle it and Tony walked to the center of the private space,
looking at all four of the paintings as a set piece instead of as individual
canvasses.
 
Steve watched him and then walked towards him. “Did you just say that because
you wanted to buy the paintings or did you really understand my work?”
 
Tony took a deep breath and gave Steve a small grin. “Honestly, I think it was
probably both.” He caught Steve’s surprised look. “But you were right; I didn’t
get it at first. Not until I gave it a second look.”
 
“Well,” he said, taking a deep breath. “Thank you for your honesty.”
 
“It’s kind of genius,” Tony said, truthfully. “It’s a simple message, but
there’s genius in simplicity.”
 
“Hmmm.”
 
“Still, can I make just one critical comment?”
 
“Go ahead, Tony.”
 
Tony cracked a smirk. “Tell me the truth, you could’ve done a better job with
the titles, right? I mean, ‘First Year,’ ‘Second Year,’ come on, Steve. Were
you reading ‘Harry Potter’ when you gave your paintings those titles?”
 
Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re anasshole, Tony.”
 
Tony threw back his head and laughed.
***** A Little Romance *****
Chapter Summary
     Summary: After returning home on medical discharge, Bucky deals with
     the loss of his left arm and PTSD through writing. Five years later,
     who knew that he’d become a popular romance novelist.
     Pairing: Bucky/Pre-serum!Steve (not explicit); Pepper/Tony (married)
     Trigger Warnings: Brief description of graphic gore/war violence;
     PTSD flashback; panic attack
     Note: Romance novelist trope. So terribly self-indulgent but I don’t
     care! I just wanted to write a little romance. Hehe!
Brooklyn, New York
January 7, Thursday
 
Bucky poured the water into the old-fashioned coffee brewer and set up the rest
of his morning coffee routine. He was able to do it now without making a mess
all over his kitchen counter and floor, spilling coffee grounds and splashing
water all over the place.
 
The Roomba 6000, a gift from Pepper and Tony, and affectionately nicknamed
Dummy, whirled into the kitchen and circled around him before heading back out
to the living room.
 
“I’m getting better about not getting it all on the floor, Dummy, better luck
next time,” Bucky said to the Roomba. “And I’m talking to the Roomba again.”
 
One of these days, if the Roomba started talking back, Bucky was seriously
going to go back to his counseling sessions.
 
The hairs on the back of his neck rose when he heard the sound of a key
jiggling in the lock to the front door. Bucky counted his heartbeats, eyeing
the knives in the knife block. He knew that only one other person had the key
to his home, but years of battlefield conditioning didn’t fade away so quickly
or easily just because he was a civilian now.
 
“Buck! I’m here!” Steve called, closing the door and thumping noisily down the
narrow hallway.
 
He let out the breath he didn’t know he was holding, the tension easing from
his shoulders. How did a little guy like Steve Rogers make all that noise? He
was probably wearing his thrift store combat boots again.
 
“Kitchen! You want coffee?” Bucky called back, getting what he had designated
as Steve’s coffee mug from the cabinet.
 
“Yes, please!” Steve hollered back, tossing his messenger bag on the floor and
stomping towards the desk in the living room where Bucky’s computer and
manuscript pages were waiting for him. “How many pages did you get done?”
 
“Just eighteen pages,” Bucky said, holding out his right hand and clenching it
into a tight fist and then relaxing his fingers. “Got a hand cramp.”
 
Steve walked into the kitchen, a concerned look on his small, narrow face. “Are
you going to your physical therapy appointments?”
 
“Yes, ma,” he said, giving Steve a small smile and waving the stump of his left
arm. “Every Tuesday morning.”
 
“Jerk,” Steve said, rolling his eyes. “Why don’t you just get one of those one-
hand keyboards? It’ll save you a lot of time from having to handwrite all of
your novels.”
 
Bucky shrugged and made a face. “I thought about it, but I think I like the act
of writing. It helps me work the story out when it’s on paper.” He grinned,
meeting Steve’s eyes. “Besides, then you’d be out of a job. What’s a little
punk like you going to do to pay for grad school?”
 
“You don’t pay me  that  much, Bucky,” he said, giving him the hairy eyeball.
“Besides, this is my last semester, so I’m going to have to go out and find a
new job anyway.”
 
And that made it real for Bucky. In the next month or so, Steve wouldn’t have a
reason to come over to Bucky’s place twice a week. He would sorely miss Steve’s
company; and he couldn’t figure out any other way to keep Steve from leaving.
 
Steve nudged Bucky out of the way to check the coffee machine and peered inside
the two mugs, determining which one was his and which one was Bucky’s. They
both took it without cream, but Bucky liked his coffee with sugar.
 
Steve poured out the coffee evenly into the mugs and carried both mugs out to
the living room, setting one on the coffee table for Bucky and taking his to
the desk. Bucky followed and sat down on the couch, grabbing the remote and
turning it on ESPN.
 
“So did you figure out how you were going to get Princess Alaina away from the
kidnappers? Is the Duke going to rescue her?” Steve said, picking up the loose
leaf lined sheets, squinting at Bucky’s chicken scratch handwriting.
 
Bucky snorted. “Princess Alaina is going to rescue herself; she doesn’t need a
man getting her away from the kidnappers. They’re all a bunch of idiots for
underestimating her.”
 
“Good,” Steve said, approvingly. He booted up the desktop Mac and pulled up the
chapter files to Bucky’s newest romance novel-in-progress,  Satin Nights in
Arabia .
 
The steady sound of Steve’s fingers tapping on the keyboard lulled Bucky into
his comfort zone. He glanced over at Steve to see him smiling as he typed; he
must be working on the part where Princess Alaina was telling Faisal that she
could take care of herself and for him to back off. After Pepper read the
outline and the initial first three chapters, she declared it her favorite of
all of his novels and couldn’t wait to read the rest.
 
Unbeknownst to his readers, Bucky was the author of 16 romance novels published
under his pen name B. Buchanan. After returning home with a Purple Heart pinned
to his chest and a medical discharge, Bucky spent months lost in a civilian
life he didn’t understand and couldn’t reconnect with; his therapist suggested
that Bucky “write his feelings” which turned into Bucky writing about a romance
between a stalwart Army Sergeant and a fiery British spy having loved, lost,
and found each other again in the middle of war torn Europe during the Second
World War.
 
It turned out that his group therapy leader, Sam, was friends with a literary
agent named Pepper, who was married to publishing mogul Tony. Sam had slipped
Bucky’s handwritten notebook to Pepper, and two days later, Pepper was knocking
on Bucky’s door with a heavily edited, typed manuscript bundled in her hands.
 
On the Wings of Love and War  became an instant bestseller and that was the
birth of B. Buchanan was and the launch of a five-year long writing career in
contemporary romance novels where the heroines were empowered, kickass women
who took lovers and partners because they chose who and what they wanted. His
novels rose in popularity and B. Buchanan became known as “a romance novelist
whose heroines weren’t the usual damsels in distress, often saving themselves
and sometimes even rescuing the men who came to save them.”
 
Bucky and Steve spent the next hour in companionable silence, the sports
commentator on television filling the silence. Bucky watched as Steve
diligently typed the pages, pausing now and then to mark up and edit the
sheets, the pen cap tucked between his front teeth.
 
The soft whir of the printer pulled Bucky’s attention from the television and
he watched as Steve looked at the latest pages, his green pen twirling between
his fingers as he made his final edits and comments. He paperclipped the latest
pages and set them near the growing pile of typed manuscript pages for Bucky to
read later.
 
Steve let out a soft groan and got off the chair, stretching his arms over his
head and bending down low to touch his nose to his knees. Bucky watched in
delighted interest as the slender young man stretched out his lean limbs.
 
He didn’t want to be a total creep because Steve was, well, Bucky’s employee,
even though it was Stark Publishing that actually paid the temp agency where
Steve worked, and Bucky didn’t want to be that kind of asshole that came on to
someone who was technically working for him.
 
Steve groaned again, stretching out his back.
 
Jesus flipping mother. ..Bucky sighed, internally, keeping his face neutral.
Part of him wondered if Steve did it just to tease him. Realistically, Bucky
knew better than to think that. Steve wasn’t the type of man to play coy or
play games. He was straight-forward honest, for good and bad, and people always
knew where they stood with Steve.
 
Still, Steve was gorgeous and smart and sassy and sexy. Bucky could imagine
wrapping his hands around Steve’s slender waist, feeling the lean muscles under
the soft skin of his back, and winding his hand into Steve’s blond hair to hold
him still while he kissed that sharp, plump mouth... shit , Bucky liked him far
too much for it to be considered professional.
 
He looked away before Steve caught him staring inappropriately, facing the
television screen.
 
“The latest pages were real good, Bucky,” Steve said, collapsing on the couch
near Bucky, his knee pressing against Bucky’s thigh. “I like Princess Alaina a
lot, she’s earthy and smart and doesn’t take anybody’s bullcrap; and the Duke
is a good guy who really gets her but he’s not a doormat about it.”
 
Bucky grinned. “But…”
 
“But I’m kind of in love with Prince Faisal,” Steve said, sitting up and
looking quite torn. “He’s charming and literate and hilarious! And he’s such a
flirt. And I love that he’s modern and progressive; that he’s trying to create
a better world for his people and…and it’s making me wonder if Princess Alaina
shouldn’t choose him over the Duke.”
 
“Why can’t she have both?”
 
Steve brightened, eyes widening. “Is that how the story is going to end? She’s
going to keep both of them? Your readers would probably love that!”
 
“Maybe…but I think most of my readers really do want the happily ever after
ending. And the Duke is going to do right by her, so I think it’ll work out,”
he said, chuckling softly at Steve’s enthusiasm. “Besides, it’s good for the
Duke to know that Faisal is there, flirting and charming Alaina; it’ll keep the
Duke on his toes so he doesn’t take her for granted.” He frowned, thinking
about that for a moment. “Not that that should be the reason why he doesn’t
take her for granted. She chose the Duke and that’s reason enough.”  
 
“Okay, but promise me that you’ll write a story where Prince Faisal gets his
happily ever after, too. I swear, your readers will want to see a story with
Prince Faisal in it.”
 
“All right,” he said, grinning widely. “How’s your thesis coming along?”
 
“It’s fine, but god, I hate regurgitating someone else’s ideas.”
 
“Are you making progress on your paper?”
 
Steve gave a half shrug. “Progress enough. I figure, I just have a few more
chapters to draft and then the conclusion. I just want this done and then do my
thesis defense and graduate.”
 
“Academic burnout?”
 
“Yeah,” he said, falling back against the couch, looking sleepy and cute with
his long bangs falling into his blue eyes. “I need to get to the library and
finish my research, but as you can see, I’m not all that motivated.”
 
Bucky chuckled. “You can stay for lunch if you’d like. I was going to order a
pizza.”
 
“Yeah?”
 
“And if you want to stay here and study, that’s okay with me. I was just going
to do some writing and then I have a Skype meeting with Pepper later in the
afternoon.”
 
Steve sat up and smiled. “Yeah? You really don’t mind?”
 
“I don’t mind,” he said, softly. “I could…use the company, to be honest.”
 
He glanced at Steve to check his reaction, but he didn’t look like he felt any
pity or obligation to Bucky. And Bucky appreciated that; Steve was one of the
few people who didn’t try to baby Bucky or pity him for the loss of his arm.
 
Steve reached out and squeezed Bucky’s shoulder, thumb brushing Bucky’s neck.
“All right, Buck, sounds like a plan.”
 
***
 
January 11, Monday
 
“Hey, Buck, did we run out of printer paper?”
 
“Check the bottom drawer, I think I have one ream in there,” Bucky said,
jogging lightly on the treadmill on the other side of the living room.
 
Steve tugged open the bottom drawer. “Got it! Want me to put in an order for
another box of paper?”
 
“Yeah, please, that’ll be great,” he said, slowing down to a cool down pace,
getting his heartbeat back down to a normal range. After ten more minutes,
Bucky hit the stop button and carefully stepped off the slowing treadmill. “I’m
going to shower, be right back.”
 
“Sure, sure,” Steve said, distractedly, kicking the drawer closed with his foot
and looking at the computer screen.
 
Bucky went upstairs and to his bedroom, quickly stripping out of his sweaty
workout clothes. He preferred wearing loose clothes that he didn’t have to fuss
with buttons or ties or anything that he couldn’t easily do one-handed. His
therapist and his friends wanted him to look at getting a prosthetic, but there
was a part of Bucky who thought that he’d feel self-conscious with a
prosthetic.
 
Early in his writing career when his popularity was just taking off, Pepper and
Tony offered to ensure that Bucky received the best biomecha technology that
was out there. If the loss of his left arm was keeping him from making public
appearances to promote his books or meeting his fans, they wanted to make sure
that he was taken care of. But that wasn’t the reason why Bucky preferred to
stay out of the limelight.
 
It was because he was writing in a genre mostly for women, usually contributed
by women. He didn’t want to seem like he was imposing himself onto a community.
Maybe women would feel weird to read a romance novel written by a one-armed
man? Pepper and Tony didn’t believe so, but Bucky was too shy to reveal his
identity publicly.
 
He finished his shower quickly and pulled on clean clothes, jogging down the
stairs to the living room. Steve was buckling his messenger bag, pulling the
strap over his head as he hurried across the room to the front hall.
 
“Gotta run, Bucky!” Steve called, clomping his booted feet across the wooden
floor.
 
“Hey, is everything okay?” Bucky said, frowning in concern.
 
“Yep, everything’s fine. Just got an appointment I forgot about. See you on
Thursday!”
 
And Steve pulled the door closed behind as he flew out of Bucky’s townhouse. He
leaned against the wall, completely puzzled, and shook his head as Dummy
whirred past him.
 
“Well, Dummy, what was that all about, huh?”
 
The Roomba circled around his feet.
 
“I really need to stop talking to the Roomba. Maybe I should get a dog.” He
considered it for a moment and realized that he wasn’t capable of taking care
of a dog. “Because talking to a dog is any better than talking to the Roomba.”
He snorted. “Maybe I need to make more friends.”
 
***
 
Bucky was trying to work out the last love scene in  Satin Nights  when his
cellphone buzzed on the coffee table. He picked it up to see that it was
Pepper.
 
“Hey, Pep, what’s going on?”
 
“Oh, James! You have to come for dinner tomorrow night. I have to talk to you
about your latest novel,” she said, excitedly.
 
He chuckled. “Alright, sure. What time?”
 
“We’ll ask Happy to pick you up, around six,” she said, letting out a deep
breath. “James…I knew you had it in you. I mean, I’ve always believed in your
talent, but the latest novel is…it’s going to be a noted work. It’s going to
have its place as a piece of American literature. I’m so proud of you.”
 
“Uh, okay?” He said, chuckling again. “Well, I’m glad you liked it.”
 
Steve must’ve e-mailed Pepper the newest chapters. He thought maybe Pepper was
going a little overboard with her compliments, but he appreciated her support.
 
“See you tomorrow night,” she said, wistfully. In fact, it sounded like she was
fighting tears. Good lord, which chapters did Steve send her?
 
He ended the call and dropped the phone on the couch cushion beside him,
picking up his pencil and tapping the pencil tip gently against the paper.
Princess Alaina would want to be on top. She and the Duke would enjoy that.
He’d worship her; want her to love every moment of being with him. For just a
moment, he contemplated including Prince Faisal into the scene; give both
Alaina and the Duke a night they wouldn’t forget. Steve was right, there was no
doubt that his readers would love it, but the romantic in him wanted Alaina and
the Duke to have their perfect happy ending.  
 
***
 
Stark Manor
January 12, Tuesday
 
Pepper Potts and Tony Stark lived in one of the biggest private homes in
Manhattan. The Upper East Side mansion took up an entire city block. Happy,
their driver, pulled into the private driveway behind the house and Bucky
thanked him as he got out, walking to the front door.
 
It was kind of creepy that their private security and house staff were
expecting him; that as soon as he reached the front door, it opened and Bucky
was greeted warmly by Jarvis, longtime Stark family butler but was probably
more like the family  consigliere .
 
“Good evening, sir.”
 
“Good evening, Jarvis,” he said, shaking the older man’s hand. “It’s good to
see you again.”
 
“It is a pleasure to have you back at Stark Manor, Sergeant Barnes.”
 
Bucky’s lips curled into a sardonic smile. “You’re just never going to call me
Bucky, are you?”
 
Jarvis closed the door and smiled, gesturing with his hand for Bucky to follow
him. “It would go against my English sensibilities, sir.”
 
Bucky followed him to what was probably considered a den in a normal home, but
when the house was the size of a city, the room probably had some kind of fancy
name, like with the word “grand” attached to it.  The Grand Den. The Grand
Ballroom. The Grand Front Room. The Grand Solarium. The Grand Library.  Bucky
wondered if they wouldn’t mind if he described their home as a fictionalized
setting for his next romance novel. It could be the perfect setting for Prince
Faisal’s New York residence.
 
Bucky liked the idea of setting the story in New York, maybe his next heroine
would be a hard-working, streetsmart woman from one of the other boroughs, a
modern day Cinderella story but without the Prince coming to the rescue. Maybe
she would rescue Prince Faisal instead. From a gang of bullying thugs. Using a
shock stick; because why wouldn’t a streetsmart, hard-working young woman carry
tactical urban defense? And would a woman own and use such a thing even if it
was a Class A misdemeanor in New York? Bucky thought, yes, yes she  fucking
would, if she lived in a tough neighborhood. She should have every right to own
a defensive weapon, even if it was illegal. Maybe the only “rescuing” that
Prince Faisal would do is give her access to his legion of international
lawyers when she’s arrested.
 
He could picture the scene: She would be in holding and Prince Faisal would
come in, demand to see her, surrounded by his entire private security staff,
and a dozen shark-like lawyers backing him up. The woman would look up, take
one look at the scene, and roll her eyes.
 
When Prince Faisal’s usual charm and flirtatiousness didn’t work on a woman,
what would he do? Show her who he really was; be open and vulnerable with her.
 
Bucky thought he might have his next love story.
 
He followed Jarvis dreamily through the house to the large, comfortable room.
It was predictably decorated with bookcases and tapestries and priceless
artwork on the walls. There were two sitting areas, a black grand piano, and
oddly, a large gold birdcage with a gigantic plush bunny inside.  Rich people
were really weird.  Bucky grinned, looking at his two friends. It was obvious
that Tony was in flirt mode, leaning close to his wife, whispering something in
her ear to make her laugh. They were both dressed casually in jeans and shirts;
Tony’s bare feet on the plush carpet looked oddly vulnerable while Pepper wore
embroidered velvet slippers. Tony was sliding his fingers down Pepper’s long
neck and moving in for a kiss.
 
Jarvis cleared his throat discreetly and Bucky smirked at them, raising his
eyebrow.
 
“James,” Pepper called, getting up from the couch and heading straight for him,
pulling him into a warm hug. “Oh James, I’m so glad you’re here.”
 
“Good to see you, too, Pepper,” he said, reaching up to pat her back gently
with his right hand.
 
“Buckster,” Tony said, holding a bottle of water in his hand. They shook hands;
Bucky always wondered why a man like Tony Stark, a billionaire publisher, had
such calloused hands. There was no doubt that the older man pampered himself,
but yet his hands belonged to a man who worked rough. Bucky knew enough about
Tony Stark to understand that there was a man of substance underneath the glitz
and glamour; besides, Pepper wasn’t the kind of woman to put up with any kind
of nonsense.
 
“Dinner will be in twenty minutes,” Jarvis said, pleasantly.
 
“Thank you, Jarvis,” Pepper said, nodding her head to him, who then discreetly
disappeared from the room.
 
“Drink?” Tony offered, walking to the far wall with the bar.
 
“Just some soda, please,” he said, letting Pepper take his right arm to tug him
gently to the sitting area. “Okay, so what’s this all about? You don’t usually
gush over my romance novels like this.”
 
“Romance novel?” She said, quizzically.
 
“ Satin Nights in Arabia ,” he said, sitting down on the couch and nodding his
thanks to Tony who handed him a glass of soda. “Didn’t Steve send you the
latest chapters?”
 
“No? I mean, yes! Yes, I’m sure your newest romance novel is going to hit the
New York Best Seller’s list again,” she said, looking at him oddly. “I’m
talking about your new manuscript,  The Winter Soldier .”
 
Bucky froze, his hand tightening on the glass. “How…how do you know about that?
I—I didn’t…” He dropped the glass and scrambled to his feet, shaking his head.
His back and neck muscles tightened, as if someone had pour freezing cold water
on him. Nights in the desert were so cold; Bucky hated being cold. “No one…no
one’s supposed to know…how did…”
 
…and there was the unbearable heat of pain, the muzzle flash around him looking
like firecrackers going off in the desert night; he could see that his left arm
wasn’t completely blown off, hanging together with bits of bloody muscles and
tendons. Drenched down his left side, his blood was clammy and smelled like old
rust. He reached into his boot and pulled out his combat blade, screaming as he
sliced through the bloody stump to free himself. He pulled off his belt and
wrapped his upper arm with it, pulling as tight as he could to staunch the
bleeding, biting his bottom lip as he tried to muffle his scream. His men were
down and the entire convoy was blown to hell, bullets piercing the sand all
around him. He crawled behind the overturned vehicles, checking on his fallen
men, checking for life. He grabbed one by the neck of his jacket, dragging him
to safety; he needed to radio his location in and get air support. He needed to
save his men—
 
“Whoa, hey, Bucky,” Tony said, soothingly, holding Pepper back and moving
slowly towards Bucky, his hands held out to sides. “Just breathe, Bucky, just
breathe. Hey, why don’t you have a seat here and Pepper will get you some water
and I’ll help you breathe.”
 
Bucky nodded, trying to catch his breath, falling into a plush armchair. Tony
knelt beside him, his hands curled over the armchair arm, breathing in and out
steadily, keeping his eyes on Bucky.
 
“Doing good, Buckaroo, doing good,” Tony said, giving him a small smile.
 
“Sorry,” he said, catching his breath. “Sorry…spilling soda…carpet.”
 
Tony chuckled, good-naturedly. “Nothing to worry about, kiddo. Are you
breathing? Keep it slow and steady.”
 
“Oh, James, I’m so sorry,” Pepper said, handing the bottle of water to Tony.
She kept her distance, not wanting Bucky to feel closed in during his panic
attack.
 
He shook his head, trying to give her a smile. “Not…not your fault. Just…caught
me by surprise.”
 
“That’s putting it mildly,” Tony said, cracking open the top and handing him
the bottle. “Drink some water. I think you’re doing better now.”
 
He took a sip of water, the coolness of it helping him settle back into the
present. “Shit. I hadn’t…I hadn’t had a flashback like that in a long time.”
 
Pepper sat down on the edge of the couch, a worried look on her face. “I’m so
sorry for triggering you.”
 
“You didn’t know,” he said, as reassuringly as he could. He drank more of the
water and took a deep, settling breath. “Jesus, I’m sorry for ruining
everything. Maybe I should go.”
 
Tony shook his head. “You didn’t ruin anything, Buck. Anna made your favorites,
you couldn’t possibly leave. She made extra so that you could take some home
with you.”
 
Bucky positively drooled at the idea of Anna’s cooking. She was a genius in the
kitchen; Jarvis was a lucky man.  
 
“Okay,” he said, nodding his head. “Okay, I’m okay now. I wouldn’t want to be
rude and leave without having dinner.”
 
***
 
January 14, Thursday
 
Bucky was pissed.
 
He clenched his fist, watching the coffee maker gurgle. The rich aroma of the
coffee hit his senses, and normally it would ground him, but he was too pissed
off to focus.
 
Right on schedule, he heard Steve putting the key in the lock and jiggling the
doorknob. The familiar sound of Steve clumping his way down the hall and his
usual greeting of “it’s me!” warmed Bucky’s heart, but he was still so fucking
pissed.
 
“In here,” he said, brusquely.
 
Steve’s steps slowed as he walked into the kitchen, his handsome face already
drawn with guilt. “Hey, Buck.”
 
“Why did you do it? That was private. It wasn’t any of your business,” Bucky
said, his voice hoarse. “No one was ever supposed to see it.”
 
“Because it was so good, Bucky,” Steve said, earnestly. “Better than your
romance novels, better than anything that’s been published. It deserves to be
read; people need to read your story. It was...it’s an incredible story.”
 
“But it was mine. It was private!”
 
“I’m sorry I went behind your back like that,” Steve said, stepping closer and
raising his blue eyes up at Bucky, meeting his gaze without fear. “But I’m not
sorry that I gave it to Pepper.”
 
“That wasn’t your decision to make, Steve. You don’t make those kinds of
decisions for me.”
 
He nodded. “I know. But I had to do it and I stand by it. It was the right
thing to do.”
 
God, this little punk, with his “right thing to do” bullshit.
 
“Leave your key and get out, Steve,” Bucky said, his hand shaking against his
leg. “Just go. I’ll make sure that you get your payout to the agency--”
 
“Bucky--”
 
“No. Just go, Steve! Just go!”
 
Bucky turned away and faced the coffee brewer, taking the cowardly way out. If
he turned to look at Steve, he was pretty sure that he’d beg Steve to stay. He
heard Steve taking off the key from his key ring and gently placed it on the
counter near Bucky.
 
“I’m sorry, Bucky.”
 
He took a deep breath, trying to settle his anger. It had been a long time
since he’d gotten so angry over anything.
 
“I get that you’re angry at me, but I want you to know that you’ve written
something powerful, something that should be shared. I’ve loved all of your
books, Bucky, and you’ll always have my support.” Steve stepped closer to
Bucky, his voice low and soft. “I know I betrayed your trust. I really believed
I was doing the right thing for you, but I can see that I wasn’t thinking about
why you wouldn’t want anyone to read your story. Because I know that that’s
you, in that story. So I’m sorry for that. Maybe one day you’ll understand and
will forgive me. But no matter what, if you ever need me, I’ll be here.”
 
Bucky’s throat tightened and he couldn’t say anything. He heard Steve make a
soft sniffle, then the heavyweight of Steve’s boots thumping across the wooden
flooring, the sound of him opening and then gently, but firmly, closing the
door behind him.
 
He stared at Steve’s key, trying to process -- just trying to process
everything. His feelings for Steve, his feelings about  The Winter Soldier
seeing the light of day, and his feelings about his hermit-like life, hidden
away in a dark corner, still afraid to come out to touch the light. Because
that’s what Steve was, he lived in the light and he wanted Bucky to be there
with him.
 
Bucky pulled out his phone from his pocket and flicked through his contacts. He
pressed his thumb on the number and placed the phone against his ear, waiting
for it to connect.
 
“Hey, Pepper, it’s me. Can you come over? I...I want to talk about my...my
manuscript. About  The Winter Soldier. ”
 
***
 
FOUR MONTHS LATER
May 13, Friday
 
“It’s hot off the presses,” Pepper said, sliding the hardcover book towards
him.
 
Bucky stared at the cover of the publisher’s first run copy of  The Winter
Soldier: The Long Road Home  by James Buchanan Barnes.  
 
He remembered the long, late night fights he had over which image to use for
the cover. He didn’t want it to be his picture while Pepper argued that it
would put a face on his experiences; and then Tony had contacted a few of his
old buddies from his unit, asking for any pictures of Bucky, and they had all
reached out to Bucky to ask for his permission.
 
For a long time, Bucky didn’t know what to say. He was so happy to get back in
touch with the men from his old unit; he was emotional when they came to visit
him. All of them knew what they had lost that night and what Bucky did to save
their lives. It was that reunion with his friends and finding out that they had
gotten home safely and had good lives, some even had children ( “Jesus, DumDum,
you fucking procreated, god help us all” ), and that life was for living, that
finally brought Bucky back from hiding on the sidelines of his own life.
 
“You’re a smug little fucker,” Bucky said to Tony, handing over a few of the
pictures that his men had taken of him, fully armed and geared up in his desert
tactical uniform, sitting on the hood of his humvee with a faraway smile on his
face. That was the last time Bucky would have both of his arms.
 
“You’re a handsome asshole,” Tony said, clapping him on his back.
 
“This is really incredible,” Bucky said, tracing his hand over the cover,
lingering on his name. His real name on a book. “Thank you.”
 
“Well, look at you,” Tony murmured, affectionately. Bucky rolled his eyes and
turned to say something insulting to Tony, but ended up laughing when he saw
that Tony had gotten distracted by Dummy and was tinkering with the Roomba in
the living room.
 
“And the interview went live this morning,” Pepper told him, a proud smile on
her lovely face as she slid her tablet towards him, showing him the homepage to
the  Publisher’s Weekly  website.
 
A month ago, when they had contacted him wanting to write an article about the
new book, Bucky wanted to say no. But he realized that he would be doing
himself a disservice if he continued to hide in the dark. After that mess with
Steve, Bucky had returned to group therapy and it was Sam who gave him a small
push to face his fears and to take the first step in reconnecting with his
life. Seeing his men alive and whole helped him take the next step. And
allowing everyone to see him, scars and all, got him to the next step.
 
The photographer and the writer had come to his townhouse and took a few photos
of him in the comfort of his home. He hadn’t worn a long sleeve shirt, going
with his favorite  The Matrix  tee-shirt, showing the stump of his left arm, a
wry smile on his face.
 
That was the picture he was looking at now on the tablet. He took a deep breath
and tapped the link to the interview. He winced, bracing himself for whatever
the writer had written about him, about his new book, and about his no-longer-
secret writing career as B. Buchanan, romance novelist. But the interview was
fair and it was definitely in his favor. He let out a breath of relief and
looked up at Pepper.
 
“I want the new book to do well, but...do you think this is going to hurt my
other books?”
 
Pepper gave him a fond smile. “Your fans love you even more, knowing who you
really are now, Bucky. I don’t think you’ll have a problem with selling your
next romance novel.”
 
Bucky grinned. “Good, because, I actually kind of love writing them.”
 
Pepper reached out and held his hand. “Good. That’s settled then.” She
collected her tablet but tapped the book cover with her hand. “You know, Steve
is doing his thesis defense next Wednesday at NYU. It’s open forum. You should
give him this and let him read the dedication page.”
 
“You didn’t…”
 
“Oh, I did,” she said, unapologetically.
 
Bucky groaned, shaking his head. “You and Stark are both a pair of nosy
busybodies!”
 
Pepper laughed in his face, giving him a smirk. “Tony, darling, let’s go,” she
called, chuckling softly as she walked past Bucky. “Oh, Tony, for god’s sake!”
 
“Uhhh…” Tony said, looking up guiltily, surrounded by parts of the Roomba. He
held up a mini screwdriver and shook his head. “It’s a compulsion, Pepper, I
didn’t mean to--”
 
“You killed Dummy,” Bucky said, astonished.
 
Tony began collecting the pieces around him, shoving them into his suit jacket
pockets, pants pockets, every pocket he had available. “I’ll fix it. I swear,
better than new, I promise!”
 
Bucky sighed, shaking his head. “Just...bring him back in one piece and he
better not start talking or anything like that.”
 
“I’ll fix him!” Tony said, hurrying down the hallway to the front door. “Better
than better than new!”
 
Pepper stared fondly at her weird husband, then turned knowing eyes to stare at
Bucky. “Next Wednesday at 2 PM.” She leaned close to him and kissed his cheek.
“Don’t disappoint him.”
 
He walked her to the front door and waved as Happy held the door as she stepped
gracefully into the back of the limo. The back window rolled down and Tony
stuck out his head. “I’ll fix him and bring him back!”
 
Bucky rolled his eyes and snorted, waving his hand at them. He closed the door
and walked back to the kitchen counter. He swallowed, reaching out with his
hand to open the cover and the inside pages, reading the lines of the
dedication page.
 
***
 
New York University
School of Arts and Sciences
Seminar Room 4
May 18, Wednesday
 
Steven G. Rogers, Culture and Media, Connecting with Our Past to Inform Our
Future, Candidate for Master of Arts.
 
Bucky moved quietly into the seminar room, taking a seat in the back and
ducking down low. He clutched the book in his hand, scanning the front rows for
Steve. He smiled when Steve’s name was called, taking his place on the raised
stage, moving the podium from the center to the side. He worked quickly and
competently to set up his laptop, lowering the large projection screen over the
massive whiteboards.
 
The lights dimmed and Bucky gave a soft sigh of relief. He didn’t want to cause
Steve any anxiety during his thesis defense and presentation. He knew how hard
Steve had worked to get here and Bucky wanted to be here, if anything, than to
just show Steve that he was damned proud of him.
 
The hour long presentation was fascinating and Bucky couldn’t stop leaning
forward, his attention completely captured by Steve and the images that he
showed on the screen. When Steve finished, Bucky sank back down on his seat,
and listened as the Thesis Committee spent the next hour asking Steve questions
on his research, his data analysis, and his insights on his contribution to the
field of knowledge.
 
At the end, the few people in the seminar room applauded Steve, and Steve
smiled, shakily, as he shook hands and thanked the Thesis Committee one by one.
 
Bucky waited until Steve was alone and made his way down to the front of the
room. Steve tucked his laptop into his messenger bag and slung the strap over
his shoulder. He blinked, looking at Bucky, his eyes widening with surprise.
 
“Bucky?”
 
“Congratulations, Steve,” he said, smiling at him. “That was a fantastic
presentation. They’d be a bunch of fools if they didn’t award you your degree.”
 
Steve’s hand clutch his strap. “Thanks. Thanks, Bucky. It means a lot that you
came.”
 
“I’m glad I was able to be here,” he said, clearing his throat and feeling like
an idiot. He held out the book to Steve. “I...I came to give you this. And to
say thank you. And that I’m sorry.”
 
“Ohmygod,” Steve murmured, taking the book and staring at the cover. He turned
it over to the back to look at Bucky’s picture. It was one of the pictures that
the photographer from Publisher’s Weekly took of him. “I’m...this is amazing,
Bucky.” He turned it back to the front and opened the book to scan the inside
flap. His smile was wide when he looked back up at Bucky. “I’m so proud,
Bucky.”
 
“It wouldn’t have happened without you,” he said, stepping closer and biting
his lower lip. “Read the dedication page.”
 
Steve turned the inside pages and stared at the words printed there:
 
None of this would’ve happened without Steve Rogers.
It was a long road, but I’m ready to come home.
 
Bucky watched anxiously as Steve opened his mouth and inhaled deeply. He closed
the book and stared at the cover for a long time.
 
“You going to kiss me now, jerk?” Steve said, looking up through his long
bangs, a light blush on his cheeks. “That’s what happens in all of your books,
right? Happily ever after.”
 
Bucky grinned, his heart feeling quite full. He licked his lips and stepped
closer, his hand curling against Steve’s warm neck. “You been waiting long for
yours, punk?”
 
“Shut up and kiss me,” Steve said, reaching up to curl both of his arms behind
Bucky’s neck and meeting him halfway for a long, warm kiss. It was nearly
chaste, but Bucky could feel Steve trembling against him.
 
Bucky knew that they had a lot to talk about; but it could wait. They had time.
He held out his hand.
 
“Let’s celebrate your thesis defense. Have dinner with me.”
 
Steve chuckled, opening his messenger bag and shoving the book inside. He took
Bucky’s hand and turned to look up at him, bright smile and pretty blue eyes
warming Bucky all the way through.
 
***
 
EPILOGUE
 
June 12, Sunday
 
Bucky was curled up against Steve on the couch, working on a new chapter for
his newest romance novel  Hard Knock Love  featuring tough-as-nails ER nurse
Jane and the return of Prince Faisal. Steve was right, his readers loved Prince
Faisal and wanted him to have his happy ending, too. Jane wasn’t going to make
it easy for him, but Bucky was kind of developing a small crush on her, much to
Steve’s amusement. Of course, Bucky wasn’t going to tell Steve that he had
modeled Jane’s crusading spirit and standing up to bullies on Steve.
 
Steve had gotten a great job at  Stark Publishing  as a community advocate for
the encouraging young people to write about their community experiences and
publishing a collection of stories geared for middle school and high school
education markets.
 
The quick  thud-thud-thud  against the front door nearly made Bucky bite
through his tongue, but Steve’s steady hand on Bucky’s shoulder stopped him
from jumping over the couch and going for the kitchen knives.
 
“It’s Tony!” Tony hollered from the other side of the front door.
 
“Jesus, that man is going to get shot one day,” Bucky groused as he got up to
answer the door. “Stark! What the hell?”
 
Tony’s smile was a bit wild as he pushed past Bucky, something huddled in his
arms, and stalked into the rest of the house. “Bucky. Steve. Good, you’re both
here. Look and be amazed.”
 
He placed the Roomba on the door and turned it on.
 
“Dummy?” Steve said, leaning over the couch, staring down at the Roomba. “You
fixed him.”
 
“Better than better than new,” Tony said, looking over at Bucky. “He responds
to voice commands now  and  I built in a low level AI learning system.” He
waved his hand at Dummy. “Say something to him. Give him a command that you
normally wouldn’t be able to give him.”
 
Bucky blinked and shook his head.
 
“Dummy, please check the bedroom floors,” Steve said, cocking his head
slightly.
 
“Acknowledged,” Dummy said, his soft mechanical voice sounding a little too
much like Tony. They watched as the Roomba whirred and moved down the hall to
the staircase.
 
Bucky nearly fell when Dummy started to float, heading up the staircase to the
second floor. “Fuck! Fucking fuck, Tony!”
 
“I know! I programmed in hover technology as well,” Tony said, looking rather
proud of himself.
 
Bucky made a face. “What--who are you?”
 
Tony smirked. “Happily married, billionaire publishing mogul, technology
innovating genius!”
 
“That’s kind of long on a business card, huh?” Steve said, chuckling.
 
“Well, can’t stay, have to go tinker some more in my workshop before Pepper
finds out what I did!” Tony blew them a kiss as he headed out of Bucky’s house.
 
Bucky and Steve shared a look.
 
“I’ll get the Roomba,” Steve said, getting off the couch.
 
“I’ll call Pepper.”
 
Steve grinned, moving up on his toes to kiss Bucky’s mouth. “Or you could just
meet me upstairs.”
 
“Disable the Roomba first,” Bucky said, kissing him back.
 
“Five minutes?”
 
“Five minutes.”
 
And they lived happily ever after.
 
The end.

(No Roombas were harmed in this story)
***** What a Billionaire Wants - Part 4 *****
Chapter Summary
     Summary: As Bucky and Tony’s relationship progresses, Steve feels
     left out.
     Pairing: Tony/Bucky – Friendship to flirting to something more.
     Author’s Note: I may be ignoring CACW for this timeline. I think this
     story fits in after CAWS where Bucky is in the Smithsonian. Let’s say
     that Steve and Sam have brought Bucky in from the cold.
[_photo_billionaire_cover.png]
 
 
Part 1: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/12498614
Part 2: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/15429034 
Part 3: http://archiveofourown.org/works/3922327/chapters/17775355#main
 
 
Stark Tower
Tony’s Workshop
 
Bucky stood in front of one of Tony’s holographic screens, looking at expanded
view of Lola’s internal combustion.
 
“JARVIS, can you make a .002 calibration at this juncture here, please?” Bucky
said, tapping his index finger on the crankshaft.
 
“Affirmative, Sergeant Barnes,” JARVIS intoned, recalibrating the crankshaft to
Bucky’s new specification. “Congratulations, the mechanical energy output is
now 4% more efficient.”
 
“That’s sexy,” Tony said, leaning his hip against the table, wiping his hands
on a rag, giving Bucky a dark-eyed grin. “Nothing turns me on more than seeing
someone competent at his work.”
 
Bucky rolled his eyes good-naturedly. “That’s not what the tabloids say about
you.”
 
Tony tossed the dirty rag at DUM-E and moved closer to Bucky. “Shows how much
they don’t know me, Barnesy.”
 
“You flirting with me, Stark?”
 
“Maybe,” Tony murmured, slipping his fingers up along Bucky’s metal arm. “Want
to take Lola out for a spin before you open her up again?”
 
“JARVIS, please save these changes to my server,” Bucky said, closing down his
screens. He turned to face Tony, reaching up to run his metal thumb over Tony’s
bottom lip. “We gonna make out at some lookout point? There used to be a good
spot under the Bridge; heard they turned into a park now.”
 
Tony chuckled, biting gently down on Bucky’s thumb, the soft clink of teeth on
metal making both of them smile. Bucky couldn’t actually feel Tony licking him,
could only register the heat of Tony’s tongue against the mental, but the
visual of seeing that little tongue flicking against his thumb was more than
enough for Bucky to want more.
 
“I’ll take you anywhere you want if you want to make out.”
 
Steve cleared his throat.
 
Tony pulled away quickly. “Steve-a-roo, what brings you down to the workshop?”
 
Bucky grinned at Steve and stuck his thumb in his mouth, sliding his eyes to
Tony as he sucked his thumb clean. Tony’s brown eyes widened and then narrowed
at Bucky, which only caused Bucky to let out a soft laugh at Tony’s quickly
changing expressions. It always surprised Bucky how little people truly
understood Tony Stark; but then again, Tony was a master at keeping people at a
distance.
 
“I…seem to be interrupting,” Steve said, looking from Bucky to Tony.
 
“Of course not, Cap—“
 
“Yep—“
 
Tony made a face at Bucky and Bucky just chuckled, hanging his thumbs from the
belt loop of his jeans.
 
“Anyway, I was just going to take Barnes out for a test drive,” Tony said,
hurrying through the workshop to the wall box with to get the car keys. “In the
car, I mean. In Lola.”
 
Steve kept giving Bucky a strange look and Bucky raised his eyebrows at his
best friend, trying to figure out what was Steve’s deal.
 
“Oh. If you’re busy, I’ll just…I’ll see you later, Buck.”
 
“Sure thing, Stevie,” he drawled back, completely puzzled by Steve.
 
“Okay, well, great! I’ll have Barnes back in a couple of hours,” Tony said,
smiling manically.
 
Bucky frowned at the two of them.
 
Steve made a pained smile before leaving the workshop. Tony waited until Steve
was out the door when he turned to Bucky, a mischievous glint in his brown
eyes.
 
“Now, where were we?”
 
“You don’t suppose Steve’s not happy about the two of us seeing each other?”
 
Tony sighed and shrugged. “Growing pains; Cap’s just figuring out how to share
you with me.”
 
Bucky curled his arms around himself. “Not worth the—“
 
“Stop,” Tony said, firmly. “I know what you’re going to say. You’re worth it,
James. Steve would tear this world apart for you…and I’d be right by his side
to help him do it. So you’re worth it to him, to us.” He gave Bucky a small
smile. “Maybe you ought to spend some time with your best buddy. We can take
Lola out another night.”
 
Bucky licked him lips and reached out with his hands to touch Tony, sliding his
palms up his arms, tugging the other man closer to hold him. “Nah, we already
have a date. Stevie knows that I’d never punk out after I already made a
promise.” He met Tony’s pleased gaze. “Wanna go see about a bridge?”
 
***
 
Brooklyn Bridge Park
 
“We’re gonna get arrested.”
 
He had parked Lola on the corner of Old Fulton and Furman, the bridge sprawling
across the East River to the right of them. The views of the bridge and
Manhattan lit up were breathtakingly gorgeous, but Bucky was breathless for a
host of other reasons. Tony leaned over the bucket seats, nearly sitting in
Bucky’s lap as they kissed and kissed and kissed, like horny teenage boys
furtively making out before they got caught with their pants down.
 
“Making out with you is my new favorite thing,” Tony murmured, making Bucky
smile into their next kiss.
 
Tony kissed in a variety of pleasurable ways; from soft and chaste kisses to
licking into Bucky’s mouth to wet and dirty to drool, dripping down Bucky’s
chin. He welcomed them all, curling his hands around Tony’s back, stroking the
muscles under the threadbare cotton tee-shirt.
 
“Want to go to second base?”
 
Bucky barked out a laugh, wiping his hand down his chin, looking at Tony. “What
counts as second base these days?”
 
“Blowjob.”
 
Bucky half-heartedly protested as Tony reached for Bucky’s belt buckle, undoing
it with a wide smile on his handsome face, sloe-eyed and beautiful and
completely focused on Bucky.
 
“We don’t have any coverage here.”
 
“That’s half the fun,” Tony murmured, opening Bucky’s jeans and curling a warm
and calloused hand around Bucky’s semi-hard cock. “Keep an eye out.”
 
And Tony ducked down, his mouth wet and gentle around the head, tongue working
in a slow, teasing circle as Bucky felt his cock harden in Tony’s mouth.
 
“Fuck,” he whispered, his right hand sliding into Tony’s hair, rubbing his
scalp gently as Tony sucked and licked and teased him.
 
It had been…a long time since Bucky felt this kind of pleasure. In the jagged
parts of his memory, he remembered only flashes of moments of another time,
pretty girls with red lips and warm mouths, and shared laughter full of
affection.
 
But that was nothing compared to how Tony could take him apart and then put him
back together. Bucky closed his eyes and bit back a groan, his metal hand
hanging outside the driver side, whirring as he closed his hand into a tight
fist.
 
“Yes, please,” Bucky said, moaning thickly. “Please, Tony, keep going, keep
going, please, baby--“
 
Tony groaned around his mouthful, the vibrations kicking the pleasure into high
gear as Bucky tried not to thrust his cock deeper into Tony’s mouth. He was
certainly talented, generous with giving Bucky pleasure, and Bucky leaned his
head back against the seat back, panting quickly, his right hand sliding down
Tony’s back to clutch at the tee-shirt, fisting the fabric in his hand.
 
“Close, so close, please ohhhh Tony,” Bucky drawled out at Tony’s hand joined
his mouth, wrapped around Bucky’s cock in a tight grip, spit easing the
friction as Tony bobbed quickly, mouth tight around the head as he sucked so
hard and so good, and Bucky came with a whimper.
 
He shivered when Tony licked him clean, soft tongue gliding around the
sensitive tip, as Bucky sank against the leather of his seat, hand releasing
his grip on Tony’s shirt to rub soothing circles over Tony’s back. The cool air
of the pre-dawn morning against his cock brought him out of his pleasure daze
and he lifted his head to look at Tony, face flushed and lips plump. He pulled
Tony against him and kissed his mouth, careful not to bite too hard, chasing
the taste of his come against Tony’s tongue.
 
“Think you can drive us back?” Tony said, smiling at him.
 
“Yes,” Bucky said, meeting his eyes. “I wanna try second base in a bed this
time.”
 
Tony choked on his laugh, falling back to his passenger seat, sprawled out
against the leather, his hand curling over his groin. Bucky leaned over him and
kissed him again, metal hand reaching between them to cup Tony’s hardness in
his palm.
 
“Fuck, yes,” Tony mumbled against Bucky’s mouth, arching into Bucky’s touch.
 
***
 
Stark Tower
 
Bucky didn’t call it the walk of shame, leaving Tony’s bedroom and making his
way to his floor.
 
They hadn’t gotten much sleep but enjoyed a few hours rolling around in Tony’s
big bed, laughing and touching each other, and Bucky wondered aloud if Phil
would allow him to overhaul Lola’s entire engine.
 
“If this is your pillow talk, it’s turning me on,” Tony said, slipping his
fingers down Bucky’s inner thigh.
 
“Sir, I must warn you that you have a Board meeting this morning at 9 AM. Miss
Potts has already alerted me to remind you,” JARVIS said, politely.
 
Tony rolled his eyes and groaned, falling back on the bed. “Christ.”
 
Bucky kissed him and then got out of bed, stretching luxuriously while looking
down at Tony, sprawled on dark gray sheets looking like temptation. Tony’s eyes
moved over Bucky’s naked body and he let out a long exhale.
 
“I should be done by lunch time,” Tony said, grinning up at him. “Want to make
out then?”
 
“Sure,” he said, chuckling. He found his jeans and his shirt on the floor by
the bed and slipped into his clothes with an efficient use of energy. “I’ll be
in the workshop.”
 
He leaned down over Tony with his hands braced against the mattress, and kissed
him again.
 
“It’s a date,” Tony said, winking at him.
 
“Come on, up and at ‘em,” Bucky said, giving Tony’s flank an affectionate tap
with his metal hand. “Don’t keep Miss Potts waiting.”
 
“You keep that up and I’m not going to let you leave my bed.”
 
Bucky grinned, shy but pleased, and pressed a chaste kiss against Tony’s mouth.
“See you later.”
 
He stepped off the elevator on the floor that he shared with Steve and walked
into the living room.
 
“Morning, Buck,” Steve called, looking over at him from the kitchen counter.
 
“Hey, morning, Stevie,” he said, walking into the kitchen. “Got a cup of coffee
for me?”
 
“Bagels, too, if you want them,” he said, getting up from the stool to fix
Bucky a large mug of coffee.
 
Bucky reached for the bag of bagels and unrolled the top, almost tucking his
face into the bag and inhaling deeply, the aroma of the fresh and still warm
bagels making him drool a little in his mouth. Steve slid a clean plate across
the counter and then set down the mug in front of Bucky.
 
“Thank you.”
 
“You’re welcome,” Steve said, sitting across from him and smiling a little.
“Did you and Tony have a nice time?”
 
Bucky took a big sip of coffee and flicked his eyes at Steve over the rim, a
smile forming on his lips. “Yeah, Stevie, we had a good time.”
 
Steve raised his eyebrows. “I didn’t know that you and Tony had gotten that
close.”
 
He shrugged, breaking open a bagel and reaching for Steve’s knife and the cream
cheese. He spread a generous amount on the bagel and looked at his best friend.
 
“It’s not a secret that I like him,” he said, taking a bite and chewing slowly.
 
“And I’m glad; I’m happy for you both, Bucky, don’t misunderstand,” he said,
grinning slightly. “It’s just that…I haven’t seen you around and…you know what,
it’s fine. I’m just being a stupid punk.”
 
“Hey,” Bucky said, swallowing quickly and reaching out with his right hand to
curl around Steve’s wrist. “You’re my best pal; and, yeah, if I’ve been
spending a lot of time with Tony, it’s because…it’s new for us and I want to
spend time with him. But you’re my best pal and I should spend time with you,
too.”
 
“I’d like that,” he said, smiling widely at Bucky now. “Tony’s my friend, too;
I miss spending time with both of you.”
 
Bucky chuckled, a little from relief and a lot from happiness, and he nodded,
taking a sip of coffee. “Yeah, Stevie, I’d like that a lot, too.”
 
“Good,” Steve said, nodding. “So what did you two get up to last night? Did you
have a nice drive around the city?”
 
Bucky blushed, lips curled into a smile, and watched as Steve took in his
expression and rolled his eyes.
 
“Keep whatever you’re thinking to yourself. I don’t need to know the details.”
 
They looked at each other for a long moment and then broke out into laughter.
Bucky leaned his elbow on the counter and covered his mouth with his hand,
laughing loudly. Steve’s gorgeous face broke out into a stupid looking smile,
eyes tearing up from the force of his laughter.
 
 
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