Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/1123426.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Teen_Wolf_(TV)
  Relationship:
      Chris_Argent/Isaac_Lahey
  Additional Tags:
      Shower_Sex, Secret_Relationship, Past_Relationship(s), POV_Chris_Argent
  Series:
      Part 2 of Trouble
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-01-06 Words: 2133
****** trouble is a friend ******
by FreshBrains
Summary
     Isaac is a lot more devious than Chris gives him credit for, and
     Chris loves it.
Notes
     Yeah, I officially made this a series because I really wanted to
     revisit this dynamic. Only two parts for this one...but who knows, I
     may write the pairing again. Thanks everyone for your awesome
     feedback on trying_hard_not_to_get_into_trouble, I hope you like this
     addition!
     Additional warnings at end notes.
See the end of the work for more notes
Allison goes out with Scott on Thursday nights. Really, they usually go out
every night, or at least saw each other every night, but they have a standing
Thursday night double date at the bowling alley with Erica and Boyd and stay
out until at least eleven-thirty. Chris knows this because he and Allison speak
more, tell each other things, are drawn closer after everything had happened.
There’s trust between them.
And then Chris sits in the living room, hands clenched on his knees, and waits
for Isaac Lahey to knock on the front door.
There is definitely something sick about it, something deeply perverse. It
isn’t that Isaac is male, or that he’s underage, or that he fucked like he’d
been fucking for years, it was that he’s able to come to Chris’ house all days
of the week and all hours of the day and sit next to Allison on the couch,
figuring out trinomials and annotating poems in his spiral-bound notebook,
eating an apple with juice running down his wrist, saying his polite hello how
are you’s to Chris like he hadn’t been on his knees for him the night before.
He’s a lot more devious than Chris gives him credit for, and Chris loves it.
He opens the door on Thursday night, not two minutes after Scott’s mom’s car
peeled out of the driveway, and sees Isaac loping up to the front door, face
fake-bored and hands shoved in his pocket. He’s got a stripe of bare skin
showing between his tee shirt and jeans and Chris feels a flare of
possession—no one else touches that skin, no one else tastes it, it’s all for
Chris.
(Isaac likes saying it—only you can do this to me, nobody has ever made me feel
this good, you’re the best I’ve ever had. Chris knows he’s lying, he knows what
empty flattery feels like. But fuck, it feels good.)
“You waiting for me, Mr. Argent? Watching for me all night?” Isaac lets a half-
smile creep onto his face, and he’s so handsome, he’s so young, Chris wants to
just hold him and keep him safe, keep him away from all the other hypothetical
middle-aged widowers who are probably itching to fuck him. But then again, he
doesn’t want to see Isaac as delicate, as fragile—the kid has proved he’s a
tough one.
Isaac chooses his pains and pleasures now.
Chris leans against the doorframe. “Well, I had to make sure you got here
safely. Who knows what’s lurking around in Beacon Hills this time of night.”
Isaac grins and pushes Chris inside, smoothly kicking the door shut as he wraps
his skinny boy-arms around Chris’ neck. “Big bad wolves? Overrated.”
“So what does that make you?” Chris is so close to Isaac their lips brush as he
speaks; he can see the popping crystal blue of Isaac’s eyes. The color
disappears as Isaac’s pupils expand; the kid arches against Chris, rubbing
against him like he’s needed it all day.
Isaac shrugs, and mimics deep thought for a moment before baring his neck,
begging for a hard, bruising kiss. “I guess I’m one of them now. Big Bad
Isaac.” He smells like sweat and cotton and Chris was already half-hard in his
jeans before Isaac was even through the door.
Chris laughs and smooths his palms down the hard, velvet-warm planes of Isaac’s
body, wrapping them up around Isaac’s shoulders to shrug his jacket off. “I
think you’re more of a Little Red.” Isaac helps him halfway through, letting
his jacket fall into a heap on the floor.
Chris’ comment makes Isaac go liquid beneath Chris’ hands; he allows Chris to
pull him onto the couch, their legs tangled together. Isaac holds himself up
for a second, hands pressed to Chris’ chest, and lets Chris see his eyes glow
yellow for only a moment. He knows it still gets to Chris sometimes, that burn,
that light—it still means danger to Chris. It means death and destruction.
Chris’ erection twitches in his jeans, and Isaac straddles his thigh, moving
their bodies together. Isaac’s dick is hard in his pants and he unzips with one
hand, shameless and ready to go. “Mr. Argent,” he says breathlessly, leaning
down for a kiss. “Didn’t anyone ever tell you the version of the fairy tale…”
he’s distracted, his lean body writhes against Chris, hips squirming. “The
version where Little Red ends up being the wolf all along?” He presses his lips
against Chris’, soft and wet and perfect.
Chris groans and pulls Isaac flush against him. “No, I’ve never heard that
one.” He kisses Isaac again, gentle and full and plush, until Isaac is panting
for it. Then he parts his lips, dips his tongue into Isaac’s mouth, and
relishes in the effect it has on Isaac. It doesn’t matter how many teenage boys
or girls Isaac has kissed, the first touch of tongue against tongue when you’re
seventeen years old is like a bolt of lightning, it always feels new and dirty.
“I’ll tell it to you sometimes,” Isaac says with an exhilarated laugh. He sits
up on Chris’ legs; his hair is a tumbled mess and there’s a slick of spit on
his chin. He wipes it away with the back of his wrist and stands up. “But now
you’re going to fuck me in the shower. We haven’t done that yet.” He peels off
his shirt and makes his way up the stairs.
Chris groans, tossing an arm over his eyes. He thinks he can’t get much harder,
but it feels like he’s ready to burst into flames. Isaac always surprises him
with his curious confidence, his willingness to be bold and push harder. They’d
already fucked in Chris’ bed, on the bedroom floor, on the couch, in Chris’
car. Sometimes it wasn’t so good—it was cramped, Chris isn’t as limber as he
used to be, some surfaces seem more fun to fuck on than they are in reality.
But Isaac likes the adventure of it, and Chris is honored that Isaac wants him
along for the ride.
He follows Isaac upstairs, sees a coquettish trail of clothes leading to the
bathroom. He gathers them and tucks them into his bedroom; one errant sock
could mean being discovered by Allison at a later date. “Come on, Mr. Argent,
Mrs. McCall wants me home by eleven.”
Chris sighs, accepts that he’s going to hell, and pulls his shirt off. Isaac is
bent over the bathtub in his boxer briefs, bright red and most likely brand
new, since Isaac found the need to figure out Chris’ buttons and push them as
hard as he could. The room is already steamy and sticky, and Isaac glances over
his shoulder. “This is a nice tub. Does it have jets?”
Chris shrugs. “Don’t know, I never take baths.”
“Didn’t Mrs. Argent?”
It was supposed to sting, it was supposed to send Chris into dizzying, grief-
ridden flashbacks. But for all of Isaac’s teasing and challenging glances, he
never mentioned Victoria out of cruelty. It was the product of closeness, of
accidental intimacy. Those sorts of questions just beg to bed asked after
three-odd months of covert fucking around.
“No, we were always too busy. Always on the move. Come on, get your ass in
there, you look freezing.”
Isaac shivers and smiles; his pale skin is broken out in goose-bumps. He climbs
into the shower and the warm water beats down on his back, sluices down his
body. He turns and holds his hand out to Chris. “You joining me?”
Chris sheds the rest of his clothes and steps into the shower with Isaac—for
the first time, he notices the smudges of dirt on Isaac’s neck, the dust in his
hair. Chris curses himself for not remembering—the full moon is coming, Isaac
is on edge with anger and arousal and the need to run and fuck until it burned
out of him.
Isaac looks down, water running down his neck, and says, “I don’t know what it
is…about the moon. It feels like I have something running under my skin. Like I
need…” His erection is angry and red against his stomach, he looks flustered,
warm, open.
Chris holds Isaac, pulls him into the warm circle of his arms, the hot water
slicking them together. It’s like being in a cave—damp, private, safe. “Do you
need to be touched, Isaac?” Chris’ voice comes out husky, dark. For all the
time they’ve spent sneaking around, Chris feels like Isaac is still so often a
mystery.
Isaac exhales deeply and closes his eyes for a moment. When he opens them up,
they’re ringed in yellow again, and takes Chris hands, moves them to his ass.
“Yes.”
Chris groans, heat flaring in his stomach, his face burns with need. He almost
forgets the feel of skin beneath his hands in the time between meetings with
Isaac, he forgets the softness of youth, the muscle of young man, the
eagerness. Before he can pull himself together, he takes Isaac’s ass more
firmly in his hands and squeezes, runs his finger in the damp cleft, touches
him where he’s the most untouched.
“That’s it,” Isaac moans, breathy and deeply satisfied, melting into Chris’
arms. “That’s what I need.” He walks them back so Chris has him pressed against
the shower stall, body curved over Isaac’s. “Fuck me in here, I want it.”
“You’re insane,” Chris laughs, mouth pressed slickly against Isaac’s temple.
Isaac makes himself small with Chris, hunches over, makes himself lanky and
tiny and sweet, even though he has a few inches on Chris and half a foot on
kids his age. Chris doesn’t know why he does it, but it doesn’t bother him
enough to question it. “I don’t actually keep, uh…supplies in the shower.”
Isaac shakes his head, damp curls plastered to his forehead. He leans in and
kisses Chris, wet and dirty. He grinds his hips into Chris’, their cocks
sliding together, and moans. “I don’t care, I don’t…I just need it, fuck me
dry, I don’t care.”
He’s said it before. Chris never listens. He’s coward enough to admit to
fucking a high school kid, but he won’t be a jerk about it. “We have a couple
hours,” Chris says gently, pressing one hand to the small of Isaac’s back and
wrapping one hand around his hard cock. “I’ll take care of you.”
Isaac keens, let’s Chris tease him, and right when he’s on the edge, he pushes
Chris away. He carefully moves one leg higher, searching for purchase, running
his hands through the light black-grey hair on Chris’ chest. “Rub off against
me. Rut me.”
Chris doesn’t know if he likes it—werewolves rut, men fuck. But he likes the
feeling of Isaac’s ass against his cock, open and eager and ready for him, and
he slides his cock against the tight clench of him. “Turn around.”
Isaac obeys, breathing heavily, and presses his forehead against the shower
wall. The water is getting cool, but neither of them says anything. He arches
his back—he’s all smooth lines and tight curves, baring the pink pucker of his
body to Chris, and Chris closes his eyes tight. He can’t take it sometimes; he
can’t fathom why Isaac comes to him, why he asks Chris for what he needs, what
he wants.
But he’s just coward enough to take his pleasure either way.
He jerks himself, long slow pulls, the head of his cock pressed against Isaac’s
hole. Isaac pants like an animal in heat, and arches around to wrap his arm
around Chris’ neck, begging for a kiss. “Come on me, I like that.”
Chris shudders and comes, hard, like Isaac’s voice is a switch that can turn
him on and off.
Isaac plasters his hands against the shower wall, still breathing heavily, the
shower washing Chris’ come off his back. “Yeah,” he breathes, still bent over
and bare. “Yeah, I love that.” His own hand works over his cock; he swats
Chris’ hand away when he reaches around.
Chris tells himself it’s all worth it. It’s worth the secrets and shame to hear
things like that come out of Isaac’s mouth. He’s almost coward enough to
believe himself. He kisses the soft area between Isaac’s shoulder blades, feels
the tightening of his muscles as he comes.
Chris turns the water off and the house is silent, save for the creaking pipes.
He reaches over and grabs a towel, Isaac still hasn’t turned around. But Chris
works the towel through Isaac’s hair, drying him off, keeping him warm.
“You’re one of the good ones, Mr. Argent,” Isaac mumbles, sleepy after his
orgasm.
It’s all worth it, Chris thinks.
End Notes
     As tagged, this fic includes underage sex. Isaac is seventeen. Chris
     exhibits some morally ambiguous lines of thinking when it comes to
     sex with Isaac, and he admits that what he is doing is not legal or
     ethical. And depending on how you read the previous fic, Isaac can be
     read as sexually manipulative with Chris. But that is ambiguous.
     Chris' past relationship with Victoria is mentioned.
     I so rarely write explicit smut, so tell me what y'alls think!
Please drop_by_the_archive_and_comment to let the author know if you enjoyed
their work!
nged out of her scrubs.
A half hour later, they were sitting at the table, eating dinner, which Bucky
wouldn't stop raving about.
"So what are your plans for tonight, boys?" she asked, shaking her head as
Bucky practically inhaled another serving of lasagna. "No, wait, let me guess.
Bucky managed to find dates for both of you tonight."
"I did, and we were, but then this punk told me that he had a boyfriend." Bucky
elbowed Steve until he elbowed him right back. "So we decided we're just gonna
hang out here tonight."
"Oh. Steve, you told him about Howard." She stabbed at her lasagna.
He shrugged and sipped his milk. "I figured it was time. Besides, I want them
to meet."
"He hasn't stopped talking about Stark since we got home. So is it true that
this guy walks on water?"
"Bucky!" Steve rolled his eyes. "I'm not that bad."
"You're that bad," Bucky said.
Steve kicked Bucky's shins. "It's probably best anyway. We're heading out to
Coney Island in the morning, then we're gonna pick up Tony and go see a movie."
"Hmm, that'll be nice." Mom gave a tight smile. "Oh, by the way, on the way up
I saw Mrs. Chavez. She has a few things for you to do around her apartment. Why
don’t you go after dinner; I'm sure it won't take long. Bucky will help me with
the dishes."
"Okay." Steve grinned. "Then I'm gonna come back and kick your butt at Mario
Kart."
Bucky snorted. "You wish, pal."
*****
"You're an embarrassment, Rogers. You know that, right?"
Steve felt Bucky's hand on his neck as he leaned over the trashcan and heaved.
Ugh, he was regretting all those hotdogs now. The onions and the relish and… he
groaned and… ugh!
"Every time we go on the Cyclone. Every single time."
He took a deep breath and wiped his mouth with a crumpled up napkin he found in
his pocket. "I thought I could handle it this time." He straightened with a
grimace.
Bucky shook his head. He threw his arm over Steve's shoulders and steered him
towards the concession stands. "Let's get something to drink and sit down."
Steve nodded. They both got Cokes and Steve bought himself a soft pretzel
because that was sort of like crackers. Then they found a bench and settled in
to people watch. "So you and Mom were up late last night. What were you talking
about?"
"You," Bucky said and Steve appreciated that Bucky didn't bother lying to him.
"She's real worried about you, Steve."
He hummed softly and took a bite of his pretzel.
"Nothing to say?" Bucky sipped his drink.
"When you were sixteen, you started a bar brawl and got arrested." He looked up
at Bucky. "What did I do when you got out of juvie?"
Bucky sighed. "You bought me a cupcake and stuck a nail file through it. So
what? You want me to buy you a penis cake?"
Steve blushed. "One was enough!" When he'd come out, Bucky had bought him a
penis-shaped cake with 'Congratulations on Liking Dick' scrawled across it. "I
just need you to be my friend, okay?"
"Yeah, sure." Bucky rolled his eyes. "So are we going to the movies with Tony
or what?"
"I don't know, you done trying to interrogate me?" Steve finished off the
pretzel and tossed his garbage.
"If I wanted to interrogate you. I'd soften you up first. Maybe make you go on
the rollercoaster a couple more times."
"Ha, ha." Steve gave Bucky a dirty look, then got to his feet. "Come on, let's
go. If I know Tony, we'll have to pry him away from his latest project. And
that can take awhile."
*****
"He gave you a key?" Bucky said, as they walked through the foyer, towards the
living room.
"I told you, we've been together for almost a year." Steve stopped abruptly and
blinked in surprise. "Howard? What are you doing here?" He grinned and bounded
over to the couch to give Howard a lingering kiss.
"I'm working from home today." It was an obvious lie; there was a glass of
whiskey on the coffee table and Howard wasn't wearing shoes or a tie. Even when
Howard was working from home, he dressed up.
Steve raised an eyebrow, but didn't call him out on it. "Good. Then you can
meet Bucky." He gestured for Bucky to come over.
Howard stood up and held out his hand. "Bucky, it's nice to meet you. Steve
talks about you all the time."
"Wish I could say the same." Bucky shook Howard's hand, lips pressed in a thin
line.
Steve rolled his eyes. "Where's Tony?"
"Upstairs, maybe? " Howard frowned. "I haven't seen him all day."
"I texted him to let him know we were on our way! I better go check on him."
Steve let out an annoyed huff; Tony probably ignored the text and was still in
bed. He turned to Bucky and said, softly, "Play nice."
"Who me?" Bucky said, in a tone Steve never heard before; it made his hair
stand on end.
He frowned and headed upstairs to Tony's room. He knocked on the door and after
a moment, there was a muffled sound, which Steve took as an invitation to come
in. He opened the door and sighed. Tony was dressed, even had his sneakers on,
but was also sprawled face down on the bed. He sighed. "Tony."
Tony jerked his head up with a gasp. "I'm up! I'm awake!"
"You're drooling."
"Nu uh!" Tony wiped his mouth on his sleeve, then rubbed his eyes.
"We're gonna be late for the movie." Steve poked and prodded Tony until he got
up and staggered out of bed.
They were on their way downstairs, with Tony whining about coffee, when they
heard shouting from the living room. He and Tony stopped, looked at each other,
then ran towards the noise.
When they got to the living room, Tony let out a surprised cry, and Steve
froze. He knew what he was seeing, but his mind refused to process any of it.
Bucky and Howard were on the ground, Howard on his back, arms raised in
defense, while Bucky pounded on him, or tried to, because Mr. Jarvis was doing
his damnedest to pull Bucky away. Everyone was yelling at each other and
Howard's face was bloody.
Steve wanted to cry. He wanted to fucking *scream*. Then something snapped
inside of him and he couldn’t take it anymore. He just couldn't. He strode over
to the men, gently pushed Mr. Jarvis out of the way, grabbed Bucky by the back
of his shirt and yanked hard! There was a ripping noise and Bucky stumbled back
onto his ass.
"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Steve cried. "What the fuck are you
doing?"
In the background, Howard and Mr. Jarvis were arguing about whether or not they
should call the police, and Tony was giggling hysterically.
"I'm giving that fucker exactly what he deserves!" Bucky got to his feet and
advanced towards Howard again.
Steve was done. He was fucking done! He clenched his hands into fists and
punched Bucky in the mouth. The whole room went quiet.
Bucky pressed his hand to his bloody mouth and stared at Steve in surprise.
"How dare you. How dare you come into his house, his home, and assault him. For
what? Why?" Steve shook so hard that he thought he was going to be sick.
"Sarah told me—"
Steve laughed harshly. "Oh. Of course. And instead of talking to me about it,
you decide to beat up my boyfriend?" He took a deep breath; he was so tired of
this. "Get out. Get out before I punch you again. Get out before I tell them to
call the police and have you arrested!"
"Steve…" Bucky took a step toward him, then stopped.
"Get out!" he yelled. Steve might have said more, but Mr. Jarvis took Bucky by
the arm and escorted him to the door. It was only when Bucky was gone, that
Steve turned to Howard and dropped to his knees. "Jesus, you're bleeding." He
took off his shirt and tried to staunch the blood dripping out of Howard's
nose.
"My hero." Howard's bottom lip and right eye were starting to swell.
"I'm so sorry. Howard, I am so, *so* sorry." Steve glanced up at Tony. "Get an
ice pack."
Tony grimaced. "I'll get a couple."
"Let's get you off the floor." Steve helped Howard onto the couch. "You didn't
fight back."
"Never been good at hand to hand." Howard closed his eyes. "Besides, he's your
oldest friend."
"Next time, fight back." Steve kissed his forehead, his temple, and his ear.
"I'm so pissed at him."
"He thought he was doing the right thing," Howard said softly.
"I don’t care. He should have talked to me first before going off the deep
end." He sighed and ran his fingers through Howard's hair. "I thought he
understood. I thought— Well, I guess it doesn't matter." He lifted the t-shirt
from Howard's nose. "I think it's stopped bleeding."
Howard hummed softly.
"I got an ice pack," Tony said, holding it up in the air in a triumphant
gesture. Mr. Jarvis was behind him, carrying a bowl of water and a washcloth.
"Jarvis wouldn't let me bring a steak."
"We do not use Kobe steaks as ice packs, Anthony." Jarvis gave Tony an
exasperated, but fond, look.
"Spoilsport." Tony flopped onto the couch and dropped the ice pack onto
Howard's lap.
Howard yelped and opened his eyes just enough to glare.
Steve took the bowl and cloth from Mr. Jarvis with a quiet thank you. He gently
cleaned the blood from Howard's face, wincing and apologizing every time Howard
made an unhappy sound.
"So I guess we're not going to the movie," Tony said. At Steve's glare, he held
up his hands. "Hey, don't look at me like that. I'm not the one who kicked
Dad's ass."
"Shut up, Tony," he and Howard said in unison.
"And on that note, I'm going back to bed." Tony got to his feet and patted
Howard's shoulder. "Talk to you later, champ."
"We should probably get you into bed, too." Steve picked up the ice pack and
pressed it against Howard's eye. "Mr. Jarvis, could you make sure that dinner
tonight is soup or something?"
"Of course, sir." Jarvis took the bowl and washcloth with him when he left.
"Come on." Steve rose and pulled Howard to his feet. "Let's get you out of
those dirty clothes and into bed.
Howard let out a huff of laughter. "I'd leer, but I think it'd hurt too much."
"You can leer at me latter." Steve put his arm around Howard's waist and led
him upstairs.
*****
Steve helped Howard change into a clean shirt, then they settled into bed. He
cuddled close, resting his head on Howard's shoulder, his nerves still
jangling. "I'm so mad at him," he said. "I could punch him in the mouth again.
I could… You should call the police. You should have him arrested."
"Steve," Howard murmured. "It's all right. Just let it go."
"How can you say that?" Steve lifted his head. "He hurt you!"
"Bucky was trying to protect you. How could I fault him for that?" Howard
caressed his face.
"I don't need him to protect me. I'm not a kid anymore." He let out a growl of
frustration. "I told him about you. I told him you were amazing. I told him
that I loved you."
"And your mom told him all about the bruises and bite marks and scratches."
"He should have come to me. He should have asked!" Steve leaned in and kissed
Howard's chest. "God, why are you still with me?"
"What?" Howard blinked at him in surprise. "What sort of question is that?"
"Sometimes, I think you'll wake up and realize it's not worth it, that I'm not
worth it. I mean, all the people who know think you're horrible for being with
me. And now you got beat up!" Steve sat up and rubbed his eyes.
"Hey! Of course you're worth it." Howard rubbed Steve's back. "You're worth
every bad name and horrible insinuation. You're worth every secret I've had to
keep and every punch I've had to take. You're worth all of it, Steve. You're
worth everything."
Steve nodded and sniffled. "You are, too, you know."
"I should hope so."
He settled back against Howard, eyes closed.
"You should talk to him," Howard said.
"I don't ever want to see to him again." If he did see Bucky right now, he'd
probably punch him.
"He's your best friend. He's your oldest friend. He's deserves a chance to
explain himself. Do it for me?"
Steve made an unhappy noise. "That's not fair."
"Please?" Howard ruffled his hair.
"Fine, but not today. I'll talk to him tomorrow. I can stay here tonight,
right?" He licked Howard's neck.
"Now that's not fair." Howard tugged him up by the arm for a very careful kiss.
"And yes, you can."
*****
When Steve walked through the front door of his apartment the next morning, his
mom was waiting for him on the couch. She was sipping coffee and wearing her
robe—it was a Mother's Day gift from him last year. She's looked tired, like
she had been up all night. For all he knew, she had been.
"Hi," he said, closing the door behind him.
"You didn't call."
"Figured you knew where I was." He stuck his hands in his pockets and worried
at his bottom lip.
"Bucky told me what happened." She set her cup on the coffee table. "He's in
the room."
"Yeah."
"He was only trying to help, Steve," she said softly.
He laughed at that. "No, he wasn't. Just like you weren't when you told him
whatever the heck you told him. You wanted to punish Howard. You both did! But
there's nothing to punish because Howard hasn't done anything wrong."
"He hurts you." Her mouth twisted with anger and she clenched her hands.
"It's consensual. And it's none of Bucky's business." He was trying not to
raise his voice, but it was hard. "It's none of your business. I love you, Mom,
but you have to leave this alone."
"Or what? You'll move out, live with Howard? You're practically doing that
now!"
Steve rubbed the bridge of his nose. "Can we not do this now? Please, can we
not?"
"Then when will we, Steve?" She rose to her feet. "You tell me when?"
"One more year, Mom. Just one more year, then I'll be eighteen, in college, and
you won't have to worry about me anymore."
"You're my son, it doesn't work that way!" She grabbed him by the arm. "He's
not good for you."
"I don't care!" Steve pulled out of her grasp. Out of the corner of his eye, he
saw Bucky emerge from the hallway. He wondered how long Bucky'd been listening.
"I don't care what either of you think. All you see when you look at me is a
sick, dying little boy who can't even climb out of bed to pee! I know you do,
Mom. I see it in your eyes. I see it in your eyes and Bucky's eyes and Tony's
eyes and in the eyes of every damn person who knew me back then! But I'm not
that little boy anymore. I haven't been in a long time. And when Howard looks
at me, he doesn't see that kid. He doesn't see that little boy. He sees someone
who can make his own damn decisions!" Steve took a deep breath and let it out
slowly. "He respects me. He trusts me. Maybe loving Howard will wind up being
the worst decision I've ever made. Maybe it will be, I don’t know. But if it is
a mistake, then it's mine."
His mom sat back down on the couch; she looked like she wanted to cry.
"I'm sorry if I'm hurting the two of you. I am. But you're hurting me, too. All
I'm asking you to do is respect my decisions. That's all." Before either of
them could say anything, he hid himself in his bedroom.
Fifteen minutes later, Bucky came in and sat on the bed next to him. "It's
never gonna be rainbows and kittens, ya know."
"When has it ever been?" Steve rubbed his hand along his duvet. "Besides, I
don’t think it's too much to ask that my friends and family treat my boyfriend
with a tiny bit of respect. Maybe stop calling him a pedophile, stop beating
him up."
"We're just trying to protect you."
"I know." Steve looked at him. "I didn't go into this relationship blind,
Bucky. I know who he is, I know what's he's like. He works too much and he
drinks too much and he's a terrible father and he takes the people he loves for
granted. I knew all of that going in."
Bucky snorted. "I don't know why you're with him if he's that's bad."
"Because the work he does, makes sure you stay safe in the field. Because as
horrible a father as he is, he loves Tony, he just doesn't know how to show
it." Steve smiled. "And yeah, sometimes he takes me for granted, but makes up
for it the rest of the time. And maybe I'm just stupidly in love, but I think
it's worth it. I think he's worth it."
"If he hurts you, I'm going to kick his ass again."
Steve rolled his eyes. "You touch a hair on his head and I'll let his head of
security kick your ass. And trust me when I say she's got a mean right hook."
"She, huh?" Bucky waggled his eyebrows.
"Shut up!" Steve shoved him off the bed. "Oh, by the way, you're writing Howard
a letter of apology."
"Like hell I am!"
"There's a pen and notebook on my desk." Steve crossed his arms over his chest.
"Get to it."
Bucky glared. "You're a pain in the ass."
"You better believe it, pal." Steve knew this wouldn't be the end of
discussions with his mom, but maybe Bucky understood the situation better now.
Maybe he had at least one person on his side.
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