Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/2716154.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers
  Character:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Steve_Rogers, Gabe_Jones, Timothy_"Dum_Dum"_Dugan,
      Jim_Morita, James_Montgomery_Falsworth, Jacques_Dernier, Peggy_Carter,
      Natasha_Romanov
  Additional Tags:
      Alternate_Universe_-_High_School, Pre-Serum_Steve_Rogers, Frottage, Lap
      Sex, Clothed_Sex, First_Time, Alternate_Universe_-_Modern_Setting,
      Anxiety, Kink_Discovery, Light_BDSM, Praise_Kink, Subspace, Aftercare,
      Coming_Untouched, Coming_In_Pants, Fluff_and_Smut, Subdrop, Panic
      Attacks, Underage_Drinking, Phone_Sex, Orgasm_Control, Orgasm_Delay/
      Denial, Panty_Kink, Hurt/Comfort, Emotional_Hurt/Comfort, Rimming, Shower
      Sex, Blow_Jobs, Bondage
  Stats:
      Published: 2014-12-04 Updated: 2015-11-09 Chapters: 9/? Words: 95157
****** give it back ******
by onceuponamoon
Summary
     So there’s this kid that Bucky has first and fifth hours with, and
     he’s this tiny smudge of a thing, all knobby elbows and gangly limbs,
     more sharp points than dulled lines. But he’s got this angel face –
     honey blond hair and sunshine-in-blue skies colored eyes – and a
     perpetual disgruntled frown anchoring the corners of his lips.
Notes
     For Megan. (Happy birthday!)
     Written for one of those Tumblr AU posts found here. I chose to kind
     of go with the "I accidentally took your notebook thinking it was
     mine and you have really nice handwriting and cute doodles" AU. This
     is going to be incredibly self-indulgent. Prepare yourselves.
     This is a heavily outlined WIP. Tags are subject to change. Unbeta'd.
See the end of the work for more notes
***** the sketchpad *****
So there’s this kid that Bucky has first and fifth hours with, and he’s this
tiny smudge of a thing, all knobby elbows and gangly limbs, more sharp points
than dulled lines. But he’s got this angel face – honey blond hair and
sunshine-in-blue skies colored eyes – and a perpetual disgruntled frown
anchoring the corners of his lips.
The kid stumbles in late to AP Calc nearly every morning, out of breath with
apologies and pink cheeks. He never gives a reason, just a whispered, “Sorry,”
and sits down. Fifth period it’s exactly the same.
Thing is, each morning Bucky passes him by on the drive to school. Through the
seasons, the kid’s gait never really changes – his boots scuff the cement and
he keeps his chin tucked into his scarf and his hands in his pockets. Hot or
cold, humid, rainy or windy, it’s always the same boots, the same scarf (well,
maybe it’s more of a neckerchief), the same jacket, the same scowl. Like he’s
mad at the world for being as messed up as it is, or maybe mad at himself for
not doing anything to fix it.
Hell, maybe that’s just his face.
Bucky’s had a few classes with him, here and there, since freshman year and yet
he’s never heard the kid’s voice aside from the usual, “Sorry.” There’s gossip
about him in the same way that there’s gossip about literally everyone, but
generally nobody pays him much attention. He sneaks under most people’s radars;
Bucky is one of the few exceptions, trained to watch for that flash of blond or
blue and to listen for that ping in the form of boots scuffing the ground. Word
is (from Dugan, anyway, so there’s no telling how much truth there is to it)
that he lives on the rougher side of town, that he’s scrappy as hell and been
suspended so much that the principal got the police involved after the last
time.
“You’re starin’ again, Barnes,” Gabe says to him, stealing Bucky’s frapp right
out of his hand. It’s all whipped cream by now anyway, so he doesn’t do much
more than give Gabe a half-hearted shove in the shoulder. Out of their whole
crowd, it’s always Gabe who notices when Bucky’s on the fringes instead of
right in it. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”
But Gabe’s right. Bucky is staring. It’s the tail end of lunch and they’re
hanging out in the commons, waiting for the fifth hour passing period bell to
ring so the whole student body can be herded into classrooms, and the kid
caught his eye. He isn’t doing anything special; he’s just sitting at a table
all on his lonesome, head down, lip caught between his teeth, sketching on a
notebook and listening to his iPod. Bucky can count roughly six other kids
doing the same damn thing across the tables.
The bell rings and Bucky jumps, rolling his eyes when Gabe smirks. “Oh, shove
it up your ass, Jones.”
“Nah, son – that’s more your thing than mine.”
And well…that isn’t exactly untrue.
Whatever.
Bucky loses sight of the kid anyway. Not like it matters. He’s going to see him
in five minutes – or maybe six or seven, considering his chronic tardiness. At
sea in the crass lassitude of upperclassmen, Bucky waves Gabe and Morita off
and then meanders along with the rest of them to the south halls, down into The
Pit where his fifth hour art class resides. He’s always been more comfortable
getting places earlier rather than later (which is something that his buddies
don’t really get, because otherwise they’d be able to spend at least three out
of the five minutes of passing period still shooting the shit they’d been
shooting over lunch).
He waves a hello to his art teacher, who ignores him in favor of clicking
around on his computer, and takes his favorite seat at the farthest side of the
room, back to a corner and eyes on the door.
It’s a class full of mostly freshman and the few other seniors who still need
an art credit, which means that on an average day, if people aren’t playing
hooky, each and every seat gets taken. So Bucky sits and plays on his phone –
texting Dugan back to tell him that he should ask out Lakshmi Kaul – as the
tables fill up.
The bell rings and Mr. Fraser stands up, cane and all, to start the traditional
five minutes of lecture and ten minutes of demo before he sets the lot of them
loose to do their worst.
Sure enough, the kid walks in and mutters his, “Sorry,” and casts a look around
the room for a vacant chair.
And, sitting where he is, the adjacent side to Bucky’s corner is available, so
the kid dumps his bag beneath the chair and yanks his sketchbook out, eyes
darting up to watch Mr. Fraser finish up the black-and-white portrait of Cary
Grant. He pulls one up for the students to do of James Dean – to which one of
the freshman girls turns to Bucky and half-yells, “Oh, my God. You kind of look
like him? Like if he and, like, Paul Newman had a baby?” the way all freshman
girls seem to do.
Then everyone and their dog is turning around in their seats to look at him.
That’s like forty pairs of eyes – and Bucky has to focus up on the screen to
keep from freaking out, schooling himself with a breath before he turns on the
charm and says, “’Cept for how I’m prettier than the both of ‘em,” with a wink.
Some of the kids laugh and Mr. Fraser tells them to quiet down and get to work.
It’s a breath of fresh air when they do.
Bucky pulls out his own sketchpad and tosses it down on the flimsy table,
glancing up between that and the projector screen as he drags his pencil over
and over to make the lines, shapes, shadows. It never looks quite right, always
just a little off, but Bucky keeps at it because his dad always that that
quitters never win and winners never quit – which is such a dumb dad kind of
thing to say, even if it’s sort of true. The scritch of pencils on paper is
hypnotic in a way, lulling, and it’s amplified by the way the room’s set up and
where Bucky’s sitting.
The kid – and Bucky really should figure out the guy’s name – has his feet up
on his chair, sketchpad propped on his knees. Just like at lunch, he’s got his
head down over it, the asymmetrical flop of his hair getting brushed aside
every now and then, biting at his lower lip. Everything about it screams
artistic experience, that he’s done this for far longer than any of the other
suckers in here, and it makes Bucky wonder how in the hell he’s even in the
class.
Mr. Fraser starts walking around the room halfway through class. The other
students have gotten progressively louder, less interested in their assignment
and more interested in who’s going to whose party this weekend.
“Not bad, James,” Mr. Fraser says, squinting down at Bucky’s nearly blank page.
He’s only got the vaguest of outlines with one eye and the crest of the brows
filled in. “Might try working a little faster, though, next time. Remember, you
can always erase.”
Bucky nods and doesn’t admit that he’d actually just been distracted by the kid
next to him.
But Mr. Fraser moves on and says, “Great work as always, Steve,” and the kid
acknowledges it with a smile and Bucky feels lighter for finally learning the
kid’s name.
Steve.
Just as Mr. Fraser’s about to sit back down at his desk, the fire alarm starts
blaring and it makes one of the kids at their table jump hard enough to knock
the damn thing over, spilling journals and pencils and scratch paper and paint
brushes everywhere. They start to right it, but Mr. Fraser’s barking at them to
leave it and then for everyone to file out to the commons parking lot.
Outside, he sees Dum Dum, who still needs a bit of a pep talk before his next
period class that he shares with the girl he likes and who the hell is Bucky to
deny him?
“I’m gonna do it,” Dugan says, pacing the damp grass, “I’m gonna do it, I’m
gonna d– oh, who am I kidding?” He grabs Bucky by both shoulders and shakes
him. “Have you seen her? She’s – she dated Howard Stark. Stark. How am I
supposed to – oh, God, what am I doing…”
Bucky, shaking off the rattle in his head and neglecting to mention that he
dated Howard Stark too, smacks Dugan upside the head and says, “Hey, buck up,
pal. You’ve said she laughs at your jokes, yeah?”
Sinking to the ground and resting his elbows on his knees, Dum Dum looks like a
petulant little kid. “Yeah…”
“And she smiles at you and always says hi, even in front of her friends, and –
hey, when you were grouped together for that project, what’d she say to you?”
“That I wasn’t a douchebag like the other varsity guys.” Dum Dum looks up. “No
offense.”
Laughing, Bucky says, “None taken. I never had a class with her.” He shrugs.
“But, hey, really. C’mon, man. She seems to like you alright. And what’s the
worst that can happen? So she says, ‘No,’ – would it really be that big of a
deal? She ain’t the type to laugh in your face about it.”
Dugan sighs. “Yeah,” he admits, “True…”
“So, sounds to me like you ain’t got much to lose either way. She’d probably
even still wanna be your friend afterwards.”
They get the all-clear signal and everyone starts heading back inside. Bucky
offers a hand to help Dugan up and he’s giving Bucky a smile, albeit nervous,
and saying, “Alright. I’m gonna do it. Thanks, bruh.”
“Anytime, pal.”
The passing period bell rings and Bucky mutters a curse under his breath,
weaving through the other kids to get back to art. His sixth hour is in the
opposite corner of the south halls, and it’s hard to get there early on any
given day – what with getting stopped in the halls or held up by kids walking
slower than the zombies in Shaun of the Dead.
When he finally gets back in, Steve is the only one from their table picking up
the mess that that freshman made when he knocked the table over and Bucky’s
saying, “Here, let me,” and offering a half-smile as he gathers up the brushes.
He nabs his sketchpad and shoves it into his bag before he ducks out into the
fray again.
Sixth hour is student council, which means all Bucky does is goof off with
Falsworth while they’re supposed to be conducting mock interviews with one
another – and by seventh, they’re padded up and out on the field running drills
and getting yelled at by Coach Hill like usual. Sweaty and exhausted, Bucky
hits the showers with the rest of the fellas and then tosses his bag into his
backseat before he waves them off and treks home.
It’s not exactly a short drive to the suburbs on the west side, but Bucky
doesn’t mind.
Later, after he’s done as much Calc homework as he can force himself to do,
Bucky takes a break to check out his Twitter feed and his Snapchat stories –
turns out that Dugan’s taking Lakshmi out to the movies tonight; good for him –
and ends up on an endless scroll through Vine until his eyes are drooping.
Which means he needs to find some other homework to do because he isn’t going
to bed at eight PM on a Friday. That’s pathetic as hell.
It’s easy to find that picture of James Dean on Google. Mr. Fraser never gives
them more than one class period to work on the portraits – which is why he has
an Etta James and a Hedy Lamarr and a Steve McQueen all done in shaded pencil.
They’re not any good, not really, but he’s actually trying and Mr. Fraser has
said he’s shown some serious improvement over the course of the semester.
Thing is, though, when he opens up his sketchpad it’s not his own drawings he
sees.
At first, he’s flipping through to find his James Dean and it’s almost like
he’s just glancing because of the familiarity, but when he looks and actually
sees, not a damn one of the drawings look like anything he’s even halfway
capable of. These are actually good. Hell, they’re incredible. Lifelike as hell
and way above Bucky’s skills.
Then he’s flipping back to start from the beginning, looking at the sketches
one by one.
The first few pages are things from the beginning of the semester, just quick
figure sketches and dimension work – but this art is, like, professional grade
whereas Bucky’s looked like he’d taken his pencil between his toes and tried
that for size. After those, he sees stuff they didn’t do in class – the swoop
of birds curling in formation against the entrance to the commons, the Brooklyn
Bridge, a portrait of a really delicate-looking woman.
“Holy cow,” Bucky mutters.
His phone buzzes – and it’s probably just Gabe asking where he is – but Bucky
keeps flipping through the sketchpad. He hits a few more that he remembers
doing at the beginning of the semester, like the massive pile of random objects
and the one where kids would have to stand in the middle of all the tables to
be drawn. And it’s – it shouldn’t be surprising, because he’d volunteered and
all, but it is. Because Bucky looks down and he sees his face on the page.
“Whoa.”
He’s looking off into space, hair tied back in a loose bun and the sleeves of
his sweater pushed halfway up his forearms. It seriously looks exactly like
him. It’s awesome.
Bucky’s phone buzzes again, more insistently which means it’s a phone call and
when he shuts the notebook and picks up, it’s Gabe.
“Ay, bruh. You get my Snapchat?”
“Uh,” Bucky says, because he’d been a little preoccupied. “No, sorry, hang on.”
When he scrolls through, he sees a picture of Dernier and Falsworth and Morita
in a pile on what’s probably Gabe’s den floor with a caption of, “Where da fuhh
is Bucky???” meaning that they’re playing Super Smash Brothers and waiting on
him to finish his homework. The laugh is punched out of him more than anything.
“Gimme like half an hour and I’ll be there.”
Bucky throws on his boots and shoves a hand through his hair before giving up
and tying it back in a bun like usual. When he heads into the kitchen, his ma
is sitting at the table working on her laptop and his dad’s at the sink doing
dishes.
He swoops in to kiss them both on the cheek and then shrugs into his pea coat
by the door.
“Are you fellas headin’ anywhere tonight?” Bucky’s dad asks over the clatter of
the dishes.
“Uh, I don’t think so. But I’ll text if we do.” When he looks in the mirror,
Bucky sees bags beneath his eyes. He sighs.
“Have fun,” Ma says, “and be safe!”
Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes, because his parents care and that’s a good thing.
He just has to keep reminding himself of that. “I will. Bye!”
When Bucky gets to Gabe’s house across town, he can hear the muffled ruckus
from outside. He lets himself in and exchanges pleasantries with Gabe’s grandma
and mother, ignoring the incessant buzzing of his phone in his pocket.
It’s not until he’s barging into Gabe’s den that he looks at his phone and sees
over a hundred new messages from the whole lot of them. “What the fuck fellas?”
The room erupts in, “Bucky!” as he shoves his way onto his favorite beanbag
chair between Gabe and Morita. He gives them a, “Yeah, yeah, hi. What’s with
the text bomb?”
In a typical fashion everyone starts answering over everyone else – including
Dernier, in French, the bastard – until Bucky’s hushing them with a, “One at a
fuckin’ time, Jesus, guys.” But of course that only makes them talk over each
other louder while Bucky’s stuck trying to parse the English from the French
from the Japanese (because Morita can be a real ass when he wants to fuck with
Bucky) until it’s too much and he’s sitting there with his hands over his ears,
just waiting it out.
Then Monty’s grabbing his foot and dragging him down – and Bucky’s shouting,
laughing, screaming, “No!” – and then Gabe and Dernier are holding him down
while Morita shoves his fingers into Bucky’s sides and armpits. It’s awful.
This is Bucky’s life. These guys are his friends. These are the choices that
Bucky has made.
After they’ve all settled, Morita says, “Consider this: we get in the car, we
drive to the movie theater, we –”
“We’re not crashing Dum Dum’s date,” Bucky says sternly, “Come on, man. You
shoulda seen him this morning. Guy was a wreck.”
“You’re no fun, Barnes,” Falsworth groans, both him and Morita looking at Bucky
with big pleading eyes while Gabe and Dernier carry on a conversation in
French.
“No.”
The resounding, “Ugh,” brings Bucky a certain amount of joy. But really, if
they’d honestly wanted to do it, they would have before they asked him to come
over. They know better than that. Instead, they end up making a couple of Vines
to pass the time – one where they all dance in synchronization to Backstreet
Boys song mixed with some beat that Gabe and Morita made (that takes
approximately twenty-five fucking tries) and then another three parter where
Gabe steals his mom’s wig. Part one shows Bucky asking her how to make Kool-Aid
as a distraction technique with Gabe sneaking into her room like he’s the Pink
Panther. Part two is him coming into the kitchen and pouring himself a glass of
Kool-Aid to gauge her reaction. Gabe’s mom smacks Gabe in the forehead with a
spatula and refuses to let him have any of the cookies she just made. And three
shows the boys all eating cookies, Gabe’s mom looking satisfied with herself,
and Gabe with a single tear streaking down his cheek.
Afterwards, Mamé goes to sleep and Gabe’s mom tells them, very pointedly, that
she’s going to bed too and she’s got an early shift in the morning. She looks
at Bucky and says, “James, I expect you to keep them in line,” and smiles when
she hears his, “Yes, ma’am,” in return.
In the middle of Die Hard 2, Falsworth nods off first – and of course Morita’s
there drawing a dick on his face while Dernier Snapchats it to all of their
contacts. Morita slips on his shoes and leaves with a jaunty salute. Bucky
figures he ought to go home and get some rest too.
When he’s hopping into his car, Bucky’s phone vibrates.
It’s an email from Facebook letting him know he has a new friend request from a
Steven G. Rogers. It hardly takes any time at all to accept it – and then
almost immediately gets a message:
I think we swapped notebooks after the fire drill. Mind meeting me up to switch
them back?
Bucky types out, Oh, yeah, sure. Is tomorrow morning fine?
He starts his car and before he can even put it in reverse, his phone buzzes
with another message:
No. Now would be preferable.
Sighing, Bucky types out a quick message that details his phone number and the
fact that he needs to drive, so he can’t really continue this discussion over
Facebook messaging. It’s no time at all before his phone’s ringing with an
unknown number lighting up the display. He accepts the call and puts it on
speaker, then pulls out onto the street.
“Hello?”
“Uh, is this James?” the voice asks, much deeper than Bucky’d been expecting.
His heart gives a weird thump. “Yeah, it’s, uh…Bucky. But yeah. Steve?”
“Yeah…” There’s a pause of silence, like both of them are waiting for the other
to speak first, and then both of them do at the same time and then they’re both
stuttering out apologies and Bucky insists that Steve goes first and he’s
saying, “So, if you could give it back as soon as possible, that’d be…I don’t
just use it for school. I’d also appreciate it if you didn’t look through it.”
Bucky’s silent for a beat too long, which he knows denotes his guilt so he just
goes ahead and confesses, “Uh, I already kinda did. But just a little! I only
saw to the bit where we did the quick sketches in class – you’re real talented,
pal.”
“Thanks,” Steve says. “Can I get it back from you?”
“Now?”
“If possible.”
“O-kaay, um.” Bucky tries to place where he’s seen Steve walking before and
after school, and it’s never been anywhere near where Bucky lives. He figures
that Steve wouldn’t want to come all the way out to Bucky’s anyway. No notebook
is that important. “I guess I can drop it off to ya, if you want.”
Steve makes a noise, almost distressed, before he says, voice tight, “That’s
not – you don’t have to do that. We can meet somewhere.”
“Alright. It’s past midnight now and a lotta places are closed.”
It takes a while, but they eventually decide on The Diner because it’s one of
the only places open 24 hours between their respective homes. So Bucky drops in
to grab it off of his desk, tells his parents he’ll be back in a little bit but
not to wait up, and heads right on over.
There’s a few people inside that Bucky recognizes while he’s hovering in the
front area waiting for Steve to show up. A few underclassmen from the football
team say hi and he give them a smile. Two girls from his English class wave and
then he spots Natasha Romanov and Peggy Carter – who he hasn’t seen in ages –
heading his way. Her lips are painted bright red as usual and her hair’s curled
to perfection. She’s gorgeous as ever and, in Bucky’s opinion, tragically
uninterested what with her having a girlfriend of two years and all. Natasha’s
a lucky lady. Hell – they’re both lucky ladies. Fries Bucky’s brain a bit, to
be honest.
“Good evening, James,” she says coolly in her posh little accent, “What brings
you here?”
“Hiya, Peggy,” he returns, offering her a smile and an awkward little wave.
“Waitin’ for a classmate – Steve Rogers. Do ya know him?”
Peggy looks surprised, mouth quirked in a pleased little smile. “Do I know
him?” Peggy laughs, her teeth wide and her brown eyes sparkling. “Of course I
know him. He’s my best friend!”
Then it’s Bucky’s turn to be surprised. He’s never exactly seen Steve hang
around with…well, anyone, and it’s kind of hard to picture him standing next to
Peggy, or maybe Peggy and Natasha both, because that’s too much. Way too much
attractiveness all in one place.
Looking over Bucky’s shoulder and mouth splitting in a grin, Peggy says, “Speak
of the devil.”
Steve looks – he looks good. His cheeks are a flushed pink and he’s wearing an
oversized sweater, a military style jacket with a load of pockets, his big
boots, and jeans with holes in the knees. He’s not wearing the scarf thingy
Bucky’s used to seeing and he’s got a beanie covering up most of his hair, the
longer asymmetrical end curled to the side near his ear. His eyes are wide and
blue behind lenses of some of those thick-rimmed hipster glasses and Bucky
feels his heart skip a beat.
“Hi,” Steve pants, grinning up at Peggy (and yeah, Bucky’d been right – that’s
too much all at once). “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”
“Well,” Peggy says, “Don’t worry, Steve. I won’t interrupt your date. Enjoy
your night boys!”
After a wink, she saunters away back toward her booth and slides smoothly
underneath Natasha’s arm.
“It’s not a…date,” Steve says quietly. Then he’s looking up at Bucky, cheeks
even darker, and saying, “Sorry about her. Um, here’s your…” Between long, thin
fingers he holds out Bucky’s sketchpad.
“Oh, right!” Bucky takes his bag off his shoulder and swaps Steve’s for his
own, smiling and trying to think of something, anything, to say about the
situation.
But then it doesn’t really matter, because Steve’s looking so grateful and
blushing again, saying, “Alright, thanks. See ya around,” and turning to leave.
And Bucky’s… “Hey, wait,” he says, “You hungry?”
Steve’s eyes flutter up to Bucky’s face and then down to his boots. “No, I’m –
I left my wallet at home and I had dinner, anyway, so.”
Nodding Bucky says, “Alright. Well, didja walk?”
“Yeah,” Steve answers.
“Want a ride home?” Bucky asks. Steve looks more than a little hesitant,
though, so Bucky tries to sell it. “Nothin’ against our wonderful city, but
it’s awful dangerous this time of night and I don’t want somethin’ to happen to
ya if I can help it.”
The slope of Steve’s shoulders softens in contrast to the hard glint of his
eyes. “I can take care of myself.”
Bucky shrugs. “I ain’t sayin’ ya can’t.”
There’s a beat, but then Steve says, “Fine.”
Unable to help himself, Bucky’s smiling his delight at Steve’s answer. “Great.
Alright, cool. Well, I’ve been here about ten minutes and I’ll feel bad if I
leave without buyin’ somethin’. Sure you don’t want fries or anything?”
Steve crosses his arms over his chest and gives a shrug, biting at his lower
lip.
“Suit yourself,” Bucky says with a smirk, “Ain’t nothin’ like their spicy
ketchup.”
The smallest of smirks graces Steve’s lips at that and Bucky finds his next
breath to be not much more than a stutter of his lungs as he stumbles towards
the register to order. All he gets is a large order of fries with lots of
ketchup. He gets his fries and turns back to catch Steve’s eyes with a smile.
Steve holds the door open for him and Bucky leads the way toward his car.
“So you’ll have to hold these for me, since I gotta drive an’ all. Hope you
don’t mind.”
“That’s fine,” Steve says as he buckles in. He accepts the bag when Bucky forks
it over. “Thanks, by the way. For giving me a ride.”
Bucky straps in and says, “You’re gonna regret that when I have you poppin’ a
fry in my mouth every thirty seconds.” He shoots Steve a grin beneath the blue
glow of his dashboard. “Now, fry me, please.”
The ride passes relatively quickly, Steve dipping the fries in ketchup and
popping them into Bucky’s mouth between telling him when to turn and laughing
when Bucky gets ketchup on his nose. And then, when Bucky starts mouthing at
Steve’s fingers to try to find the next fry, yelling, “Just put it in!” Steve
says, “That’s what she said,” and ends up laughing so hard at his own joke that
he’s wheezing – only it’s not normal wheezing, it’s scary wheezing, and Bucky’s
asking if Steve wants him to pull the car over or drive to a hospital, but
Steve’s just waving him off, pulling out an inhaler and taking a couple of
puffs like it’s no big deal.
He lets out a trickle of wheezy laughs, swiping at his eyes beneath his
glasses.
“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky says, heart still pounding too damn hard, “You alright?”
Voice little more than a rasp he answers, “’Stevie,’ huh?” There’s a pause
suspended between them where Steve works to slow his breath, one string
connecting them together in quiet until Steve plucks it with a quiet, “Turn
right here. Last one on the right.”
Bucky listens, because what else can he do? He steals glances at the side of
Steve’s face as he pulls up in front of Steve’s apartment building, idling.
“You know,” Steve says, mouth curling in a tiny smile. “You’re not anything
like I was expecting.”
“I could say the same about you,” Bucky retorts.
Quirking a brow, Steve goes, “Oh, yeah?”
“Yeah, I mean…you’ve always been so quiet. People say –” He cuts a glance
Steve’s way and – Jesus, Bucky would love to have the opportunity to sit and
draw him for hours. The cut of his cheekbones, his jawline, the long slope of
his neck – everything about him is so delicate and sharp, tempting. It’s like
Bucky’s heart has well and truly jumped up into his throat. “They don’t know a
damn thing about nothin’ and then they go makin’ all these assumptions, but
you’re not. You walk around with this scowl on your face, but I don’t think
it’s ‘cause you’re mean like they say. I think maybe you’ve been kicked too
many times and you don’t take shit. I don’t know, you’re actually a real swell
guy, Rogers.”
Steve huffs a dry laugh, voice low when he says, “Pretty spot-on after only
half a conversation.”
“Sorry, it’s just – I don’t know. Sorry.”
“It’s fine,” Steve says.
Again, there’s that delicate beat of silence.
“You’re right though. Only I feel like I’m one of those people, too,” Steve
says, biting at his lower lip. He licks it, releases it, furrowing his brows.
“I thought, ‘cause you’re on the football team and on student council and all,
that’d you’d be one of those dumb, obnoxious jocks. Well, that comment you made
in art today kinda was, but then later you offered to help me pick up and you
made time to bring me this –” he holds up his sketchpad, “– and now you’ve
driven me home even though it’s out of your way.”
“Look at us,” Bucky says, sly smile splitting his lips, “Pair of fellas
subverting expectations.”
“No kidding,” Steve says with an answering little grin. “You’re smart, too.
I’ve seen you raise your hand and explain your answers better than Mr. Foltz
when you answer a question. Meanwhile, I’m sitting in the back of the room
completely clueless as to what’s going on.”
Bucky’s grin is bashful, then teasing. “Yeah, well, maybe if you’d get to class
on time, you’d know what we’re doin’.”
Steve quirks a brow. “If I try to walk with everyone else, I get trampled. Or,
all the smells – the perfumes and colognes and the B.O. – agitate my asthma and
I’m late anyway.”
“Well, shit,” Bucky says, rubbing at his eyebrow, “That makes a lot more sense.
I always kinda wondered what you’d get up to that made ya so late.” And then he
swallows, feeling Steve’s eyes on his face. He knows he’s starting to blush,
cheeks getting hot even though Bucky forgot to turn the heat on during the ride
over – and, shit, Steve’s probably freezing after his walk over to meet Bucky –
“…You’ve been wondering about me?”
In a punch, Bucky’s breath leaves his lungs and he wonders, briefly if this is
what Steve felt like only minutes ago. “Yeah,” he admits, “Probably shouldn’t
tell you just how much.”
“You’re so far out of my league,” Steve blurts – but then he’s leaning over the
center console, cupping Bucky’s face (with cold fingers, just as Bucky’d
suspected) and kissing him square on the mouth before Bucky has the chance to
counter.
His lips are soft, the top one dry and the bottom one wet where he’d been
worrying at it, and even with the albuterol-tang it’s nice. Nicer than any kiss
Bucky’s ever received before. Nicer than any kiss has any right to be. Bucky
finds his own lips parting just enough for Steve to tease them open the rest of
the way with just enough suckling pressure for Bucky’s toes to curl in his
shoes. He groans and Steve returns it, ever so softly, a volley of vibration
that makes Bucky have to reach up and tug Steve closer by the front of his
sweater.
And boy does Steve ever get the picture. Their mouths are still fused, lips and
tongue, but Bucky hears the click of the seatbelt, feels the world shift when
they separate and Steve climbs up over the center console and plops his ass
right down onto Bucky’s lap. The space between Bucky and the steering wheel is
narrow, but Steve’s tiny and somehow they make it work.
Again, Bucky groans. But this time, he’s able to do something – do more. He
gets one hand up into Steve’s hair, knocking off the beanie so his hair,
looking like silvery straw in the moonlight, spills forward to tickle Bucky’s
cheek. He gets his other hand around Steve’s thin little waist.
He knows he tastes of salt and oil, fries and ketchup, but Steve had
reluctantly eaten a few too, so he probably doesn’t mind too much. The salt
tastes better coming from Steve lips anyway.
The making out is nice and all, but then Steve’s delicate fingers are clenching
at Bucky’s shoulders, his lips are moving against Bucky’s and his thighs are
squeezing at Bucky’s hips. He moves in Bucky’s lap like he just can’t help it,
like he wants to be closer, like he wants more. And who is Bucky to deny that?
Because he wants more just as much. Hell, now that he’s got Steve in his lap,
Bucky’s going to be hard pressed to ever let him go.
Steve pulls back.
Bucky gets a real nice look at him.
And there’s that angel’s face but a devil’s expression, tempting as sin with
the way he’s still squirming in Bucky’s lap but biting at his own lip, watching
with heavy eyes at how dumbstruck Bucky must be looking at him. Bucky wants to
tell him, “You’re so fuckin’ beautiful, Stevie,” but the words are stuck in his
throat. Instead, he looses the silky strands and trades them for a stroke at
Steve’s cheek, bringing him in for another round of kisses because the
tension’s unbearable.
Bucky’s tongue traces against Steve’s teeth, the roof of his mouth, and Steve
seems to really appreciate it if the noise he makes is any indication. He feels
the huff of breath from Steve’s nose on his cheek, feels Steve’s fingers
clenching tighter, feels Steve rock his hips just so.
Bucky has to pull back, has to pant, “Oh, god,” up at the stars through the
sunroof because this is – this is hardly anything but it feels like everything.
It feels like the rest of Bucky’s life condensed into one little rosy-lipped
smirk. His hands are clutching at Steve’s waist where it’s tilting and flexing.
There’s no way Steve doesn’t know that he’s riding the line of Bucky’s cock
through his pants – because Bucky can feel Steve’s right alongside his. “Oh,
god,” he has to say again.
Steve’s kisses move from Bucky’s mouth to his chin, that dimple that everyone
used to make fun of right smack dab in the center, to the line of his jaw, to
just underneath that. He sucks at Bucky’s pulse point, pants against his neck,
rocks his hips so his little ass grinds down hard. “Yeah,” Steve breathes,
edging on a whine. “This okay?”
Nearly wheezing, Bucky says, “Uh huh,” and guides Steve just a little bit
faster. “You okay?”
Steve’s laugh is – there isn’t anything like it. It’s warm and bright and right
there against Bucky’s neck until it’s cut off with the sudden sharp nip that
Steve doles to Bucky’s earlobe. “I’m – yeah,” he pants, “Probably gonna come
real soon though.”
“Oh, my god,” Bucky says, wondering vaguely when he’d become the religious
type. Heat sings through his veins and colors his skin pink and warm. He has to
bury his face against Steve’s hair, still right there even though he’s in
Bucky’s lap, like the height difference is just that much. And for some reason,
that makes Bucky tense, skittering closer and closer to his own edge at the
thought. “Kiss me. Please.”
“Uh huh,” Steve says – and just before he leans in, Bucky sees his eyes glint
in the streetlamp almost all pupil and so, so wicked.
The rhythm they’ve got is quick, desperate, and rough like the fabric they’ve
got between them. They’re grabbing at each other with their hands, noses
smushed up against the other’s cheek, Steve’s glasses a hard line that Bucky
doesn’t even mind. It’s almost too hard to kiss, so Bucky just keeps his hands
on Steve’s slim hips and holds on while Steve squirms and wriggles and looks
Bucky straight in the eye.
“I just,” Steve says, “You’re so –” He presses his forehead to Bucky’s, making
a soft, desperate sound.
And it’s intimate, so intimate that Bucky almost wants to blurt out things that
no one should blurt out the first day they have a proper conversation with a
fella, but there he is thinking it anyway. Steve’s just so – everything about
this is perfect in a vastly imperfect, tremendously teenage way.
Steve’s breath goes all hitchy and strained, his brows drawn and his mouth
slack. When he squeezes his eyes shut, though – that’s when Bucky’s done for,
rutting up to pulse hot and sticky in his own pants, clutching hard enough to
bruise Steve’s slim hips. And he’s got no clue what type of noise he’s just
made, he just knows that it must’ve been low and dirty enough to make Steve’s
eyes open up wide. Voice rough, Bucky asks, “You gonna come for me, Stevie?”
and Steve nods. His bottom lip is all plushed up from their kisses, and he’s
yanking at Bucky’s hair until his neck is craned back, whining because fuck,
that’s hot. Steve’s groaning and grinding and squirming and riding the spent
length of Bucky’s dick until he’s coming too – whining sharp enough to cut
Bucky from the inside out. He shakes through it, huffing sharp breaths
intermittently against Bucky’s cheek, Bucky’s hands feeling the clench of his
stomach until it eases.
Right then, in that moment, Bucky knows in his bones he’d give Steve the whole
world as long as there’s a smidgen of a chance he’ll get to witness that again.
He’d do his best every damn day to earn that privilege.
Lax, boneless, Steve slumps against Bucky’s chest and hisses out a sigh. Bucky
pets over his back beneath the sweater, feeling up the nobs of his spine, the
edges of his shoulder blades, the notches of his ribs as they expand and
contract.
The urge to kiss Steve again is too strong to resist, so Bucky does it. He
presses one into the sweat-damp skin behind Steve’s ear.
Arms wound around Bucky’s neck, Steve shakes – and for a split second, Bucky’s
legitimately, acutely worried – but it turns out he’s only laughing.
“Think we just fit the teenager cliché bill to a T,” Steve comments. Then he
swipes his hand over the driver’s side window and the streak left behind is in
the shape of his trailing fingers. “Just fogged up the windows from making out
in your car and came in our pants.”
Bucky groans, brain still fizzling because his nerves are still sparking what
with Steve being in his lap and all. “Nothin’ wrong with that,” he asserts.
Steve, honest-to-god giggles. “Yeah. ‘Cept for the cleanup.”
His fingers are nimbly working through the bird’s nest fluffy tumble of Bucky’s
hair – and Bucky has no clue where his hairband went – and his heartbeat feels
a bit more regular against Bucky’s chest. And there Bucky goes, thinking, I
could get used to this.
The dashboard of Bucky’s car says it’s just after one AM and Bucky feels
Steve’s fingers slow to a stop.
“I should go,” Steve mumbles against Bucky’s neck. His sigh is warm, leaving
Bucky’s skin cool in its wake. “Kinda don’t wanna move forever; kinda wanna
change into clean underwear and pass out.”
“Quite the conundrum you’ve got there, Stevie,” Bucky agrees. “My vote’s on the
not-moving thing.”
But Steve’s shifting up, looking Bucky over with a faint frown and shuffling
off back into the passenger seat to grab his sketchpad. Bucky eyes the damp
patch all creased up in Steve’s crotch and feels his belly go hot.
“Hey,” he says, and Steve looks up at him, “That was okay, right? Like…you –
we’re okay?”
As he shoves a hand through his hair, Steve’s face looks dark. “Yeah. I mean, I
was the one who initiated it, so…” He’s all angles, sharp and searching.
There’s still a touch of that laze, the jelly-knee and water-muscle lassitude
that makes Bucky pull Steve back in for more kissing, just to make sure.
He gives one last, parting nibble to Steve’s lip and lets go when Steve really
starts to part this time.
“Thanks for the ride,” Steve says, still sounding properly dazed.
Bucky snorts, waggles his brows, and says, “You, too.”
With a laugh, a wave, and a, “See ya around,” little Steve Rogers shuts the
passenger door and makes his way inside the apartment building.
***** the beanie *****
Chapter Summary
     Thinking it’s Gabe or maybe Morita, Bucky very nearly sends an
     unenthused, “Fuck off,” but then he actually makes his eyes focus and
     sees that it’s from Steve. He sleepily slurs, “Shit,” and very
     quickly backspaces.
     The message says: …Did I leave my beanie in your car?
Chapter Notes
     Updating a bit earlier than I initially intended because I'm cranking
     these suckers out like nobody's business.
     Be sure to check the tags for updates! I don't want to spoil things
     ahead of time, so I'll be updating them with each chapter.
See the end of the chapter for more notes
When Bucky finally treks back home, the lights are off and he has to use his
key and reset the alarm. He strips his coat and hangs it on its designated peg
by the door. Then he quietly clomps to his room, toes off his boots, takes off
his jeans and peels off his sticky underwear with a grimace. Leaving them in
his bathroom sink to soak, he changes into pajama pants and divebombs onto his
bed.
Though his eyelids are heavy, Bucky can’t really get to sleep without clearing
out his emails and texts and Snapchats and tweets and literally everything, so
he’s up for another half an hour just scrolling mindlessly through his phone.
Bucky must fall asleep like that, phone in hand, because it buzzes a little
before noon and startles him awake.
Thinking it’s Gabe or maybe Morita, Bucky very nearly sends an unenthused,
“Fuck off,” but then he actually makes his eyes focus and sees that it’s from
Steve. He sleepily slurs, “Shit,” and very quickly backspaces.
The message says: …Did I leave my beanie in your car?
Bucky replies: Can’t get enough of me, eh Rogers? And then, because he doesn’t
want Steve to believe he’s an asshole: Just kidding. I’ll go look in just a
couple of minutes. Hang on.
Steve gives him a: * hanging on * which Bucky finds absolutely adorable.
Giving a snort, Bucky tosses down his phone and gives the pillow between his
arms one last snuggle before rolling up and out of bed. He detours to the
bathroom first to take care of the dirty underwear in his sink, to use the
toilet, and brush his teeth, and then he’s shuffling into the kitchen to give
his ma a kiss on the cheek.
“You were out late,” she comments, quirking a brow above the thick frames of
her reading glasses.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, “There was – I, uh. Accidentally took somethin’ of one of
my classmates and he was real adamant about gettin’ it back. So I took it over
to him and then drove him home ‘cause he’d walked an’ it was late.”
“Uh, huh.”
“Honest,” Bucky says. “He mighta left his hat in my car; gotta go check.”
His mother fixes him with that Winona Barnes patented eyebrow and says, “I hope
you used protection.”
“Ma – oh, my – jeez,” he chokes, heat uncontrollably flaring up to his face
with the feeling of being caught out, “It wasn’t – we didn’t –” He gives up
explaining because his ma isn’t listening anyway, too busy busting a gut at
Bucky’s expense. “I’m just gonna –”
It’s blessedly nippy outside when he unlocks his car and sifts around for
Steve’s gray beanie – finding it lodged between the driver’s seat and the
seatbelt partition – so it helps cool his face enough for him to be able to
face his mother again. She doesn’t even deign to respond when he lifts it with
a, “See?” and then trudges on to his room.
Phone in hand, Bucky shrugs into a shirt and jeans, then types out a: Found it!
Steve sends back a grateful: Thank god. And then a: …I don’t really wanna make
you drive it all the way out here, so if you could give it back on Monday, it’d
be much appreciated.
And that’s fair, Bucky supposes. So he sends back: I can do that if ya want…or,
I could swing by this afternoon and then we could do our Calc homework
together?
The pause is much longer than Bucky anticipates. And that’s got him thinking
about how reluctant Steve was to let Bucky drop the notebook off at his place,
to let Bucky drop Steve off thereafter. So Bucky sends a follow-up text, just
in case Steve’s self-conscious or freaking out: Or maybe the library if that’d
be preferable?
Almost immediately he gets back a: Library doesn’t sound so bad. When do you
wanna meet up?
Bucky looks at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door, gauges
the bird’s nest on top of his head, the pillow creases on his face, and then
sends: About an hour? to which Steve agrees. So, Bucky hightails it to the
bathroom for a shower and combs the knots out of his hair and brushes his teeth
again just in case. He isn’t going to hold Steve to anything, but it doesn’t
hurt to be prepared.
When he gets to the library, towing his backpack and Steve’s forgotten hat,
there isn’t a sign of Steve anywhere, so Bucky sets up towards the back of the
science fiction section.
He’s reading the back of a book, The Dune Chronicles, when he glances up to see
Steve approach. He’s wearing a variation of what he wore yesterday – jacket,
boots, jeans, flushed cheeks and all. No scarf again. Bucky can’t quite help
his smile – and it must be that big, goofy one that makes him look a little bit
like a frog – but Steve just gives him that secret grin he has right back.
“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, as Steve sets his bag down onto the table that
Bucky’d commandeered. He puts the book back into its proper place and plops
down into the seat across from Steve. “You doin’ alright?”
Steve blinks, like he’s surprised or something. “Uh, yeah,” he answers. He runs
his fingers through his fringe, swiping it over to the side in an artful little
curl. “Are you?”
“Yeah…” Bucky just – he really likes Steve’s hands. They’re incredibly
distracting now that Bucky knows what they feel like running through and
tugging on his hair. “Oh! I have your…” He bends to nab his beanie from his
leather backpack and then forks it over with a smile.
“Thanks,” Steve breathes. “My Aunt Liza knitted it for me for my birthday.
Think she would’ve killed me if I’d lost it for good.”
“She made that?” Bucky asks.
Steve nods. “Yeah, she’s pretty handy with all that stuff. She taught me how,
but I haven’t really moved past potholders and scarves.”
Bucky grins, picturing Steve focusing on a pair of knitting needles the same
way he does his art, swiping his hair to the side and biting at his lower lip.
Maybe he makes stuff with fun little patterns or a mix of mismatched colors.
“That’s real neat, Stevie. I always wished I could do somethin’ like that. Most
I can do is sew back on a button.”
Smiling back and shrugging one shoulder, Steve says, “That’s a good skill to
have.” He pulls out his Calc textbook stuffed with what must be his notes from
class and then pulls a pencil and graphing calculator from his backpack. “Have
you gotten started on this yet?”
After clearing his throat, Bucky says, “Uh, yeah. It’s…hard for me to let
myself leave the house Friday nights without at least gettin’ some homework
done. Plus, during football season I usually had games, so it’s kind of a
habit.”
He hears a snort and darts a look up at Steve.
“Sorry,” Steve says sheepishly, “it’s just – you’re really not what I’d always
thought.”
“’M not a dumb jock,” Bucky says with a shrug.
“Just a kid from Brooklyn,” Steve finishes for him – and Bucky must look
surprised, because he goes on to say, “Please, I’d know that accent anywhere.
I’d probably have it too if I hadn’t moved here.” And then, in a looser, more
elongated and exaggerated way, he asks, “Did ya finish numba twenty-four yet?”
Bucky laughs. “Oh, that’s good, kid. You’re definitely a natural.” Leaning
forward, Bucky slides his paper across the desk so Steve can take a look at it.
He watches the way Steve slides his glasses up his nose but still squints down
at Bucky’s homework anyway, finding that way more adorable than it has any
right to be.
Comparing the papers side-by-side, Bucky sees the neat rows and columns of his
own and then the sprawl of Steve’s, complete with nonsensical, abstract doodles
in the margins. The actual work is neat, it just seems to take up more space
than Bucky’s. Not to mention, it also seems to be completed. “Well,” Steve
mutters, “Looks like we’ve gotten all the same answers.”
“Jeez, now you’re gonna tell me that you’re ahead of us in class,” Bucky says.
Then he looks up at Steve, who’s looking pretty suspiciously sheepish, and
hisses, “You are, ain’tcha? So what was that bit yesterday about not havin’ a
clue about what we were doin’ in class?”
Steve, still contrite, says, “It wasn’t a lie. I really don’t have half a clue
what’s going on mostly of the time because Foltz faces the board instead of
looking at us. It’s kinda hard to read lips that way, so I mostly just read the
textbook and take my notes that way.” He ends with a shrug. “One of the
drawbacks of being hard-of-hearing. Makes me hate assigned seats most of the
time, too.”
“Which ear is it?” Bucky asks, hoping his question isn’t insensitive. “I mean
–”
“This one’s the worst –” Steve points to his right ear, and Bucky notices the
tiny stud in Steve’s tragus, the two hoops in the middle of his cartilage “I’ve
got twenty-five percent hearing in it and about eighty in the other.”
“Oh, I had no idea.” And now Bucky sees it, the way Steve’s eyes flicker to his
mouth when he talks, the way he pauses a little bit before he answers because
he needs time to process and make connections. But when he’s finished, Steve’s
eyes flicker back up to his, still that sunrise-in-blue-skies color that makes
Bucky’s heart go fluttery.
Steve shrugs. “Most people don’t. Generally hearing aids are the only clear
indication.” Sliding Bucky’s paper back his way, Steve says, “You might want to
look at thirteen again. I think you got the x-value right but not the y. Did
you use the chain rule?”
The answer is no, he hadn’t. It had been about the time he’d gotten fed up with
Calculus and he’d wanted to draw, so he’d just scribbled down what he thought
looked to be halfway correct without working out the rest of the problem. But
under Steve’s scrutiny, Bucky reworks what he’d done and comes up with an
answer that makes a lot more sense. He’s able to plug it right back into the
equation and everything. “Is it nine?” he asks, chewing on the end of his
pencil.
“Yeah,” Steve says, eyes still on Bucky’s mouth. When he meets Bucky’s gaze,
it’s with a little bit of color in his cheeks. “Nine’s right. Good job.”
And then, Bucky’s finding maxima and minima like a pro just to hear those words
from Steve’s mouth again, feeling weirdly fulfilled to know that they’ve
checked their work against one another’s and plugged it all back in just to be
sure they haven’t made any mistakes. By the end of it, Bucky’s chest feels
light and full and his cheeks are a little pink and he’s even, embarrassingly
enough, half-hard in his pants. And he can’t get up, not like this unless he
wants to scandalize the moms herding their toddlers around or the little old
ladies pushing the book-laden carts around, and he really is genuinely curious,
so he starts in on some questions for Steve.
After closing his book, Bucky leans back, arms folded across his chest. “So,
you were born in Brooklyn?”
Steve nods. “Lived there ‘til I was eight. Then Aunt Liza moved me upstate
because the doctors said it’d be better for my lungs.”
“Cleaner air, huh?” Bucky nudges Steve’s boot with his own as he leans forward,
elbows on the table. He doesn’t apologize and Steve just gives him a nudge
back. “Makes sense.”
“When’d you move?” Steve asks.
“I was…twelve? Yeah, ‘cause Becca was turning ten.” Faintly, Bucky feels
himself smiling, thinking of his goofy kid sister. “Ma got a promotion an’ Dad
wanted a place with a yard. So now we live in the suburbs. Well, minus Bec. She
got some big scholarship an’ now she’s studyin’ at some fine arts college.”
Steve’s brows knit together. “She’s two years younger than you and she’s
already in college?”
Bucky gives a shrug. “She’s way smarter than me – graduated early an’
everything. Could kick my ass, too.”
Steve looks a little delighted at the new information. “Sounds pretty amazing.”
“Think she’d getta load outta you, too,” Bucky says, tapping his fingers
against the side of the table. He lets a slow smile spread across his mouth.
“We always liked the same type’a guys. Artsy…real beautiful, kinda punk, kinda
hipster. If you ever met her, she’d probably hound you to let her take about a
million pictures.”
Eyes cutting down to the tabletop, Steve bites at his bottom lip to quell a
smile – but Bucky can see the dimple in his right cheek anyway. He looks back
up and then very quietly, not like he’s disregarding the comment but more like
he’s just not sure how to respond, Steve says, “I’m an only child.”
“Musta been lonely,” Bucky says quietly.
Giving a shrug, Steve says, “I was too busy drawing all the time, anyway. One
of the hazards of being laid up sick all the time. Spent way too much time with
my imagination.”
“Speakin’ of,” Bucky starts, “How in the hell are you in Art 1 with the likes
of me? From what I saw, you’d be better off teachin’ the class. At least it’d
give Mr. Fraser a break.”
At that, Steve’s cheeks go bright red. His eyes flicker from Bucky’s mouth to
his eyes to the table and back as he runs a hand through his hair again.
“Thanks, uh.” He pauses, clears his throat. “I’ve already completed all of my
credits except for English 4. I couldn’t afford to do concurrent enrollment at
the university, so they just filled up my schedule with mostly art classes in
the afternoon even though I’ve already taken all of them.”
And wow. “It’s you, ain’t it?” Bucky asks, unable to quell his chagrined smile,
“You’re the one givin’ Howard Stark a run for his money on valedictorian.”
Steve’s eyes dance a bit at that. “Serves him right,” he says, and then he
looks back up at Bucky, eyes wide. “I don’t – I mean. Wow, that sounded kinda
rude, sorry. It’s just...we used to date and he was always really competitive
about school and so was I, and that got…” He makes a face that Bucky can’t
quite interpret. “So, we decided we’d be better off as friends. Didn’t kill our
competition though.”
“Jeez, Stevie,” Bucky says, “I’ve been listenin’ to him whine about it for two
whole months.”
Laughing, Steve says, “Can’t say I’m sorry about that.”
And then Bucky’s mind flits back to the other thing. “I dated him for a while,
too,” he admits. “Well…kinda. It was complicated.”
“Things always are with Howard,” Steve agrees. “We were also dating Peggy at
the time.”
At that, Bucky sits back and has to blink, processing the words into meanings
into images and wow.
“We all parted friends, but that was how I learned that it’s easier for me to
stick to just one person at a time,” Steve’s saying quickly, almost like he’s
embarrassed, wrought with shame and other ugly emotions.
“Hey, no,” Bucky says, reaching out to touch Steve’s wrist. “I’m just. That’s
–” He lowers his voice, “Seein’ you beside Peggy yesterday was just about
enough to send me into fits, but now this. You an’ Peggy and Howard. Hell,
Steve, I might need a lobotomy after that.”
Steve looks rightfully amused. Then he shifts his hand around until his fingers
are playing at Bucky’s.
“And, hey, at least I know you have a bit of a type – tall, dark, and pretty as
hell,” Bucky says playfully, giving Steve’s fingers a squeeze, “Maybe I have a
fighting chance now.”
Without giving an answer, Steve slips his hand from Bucky’s hold and – while
Bucky’s fretting about whether that was coming on too strong – then he’s
pulling his phone out of his jacket pocket, squinting down at it after he
pushes his glasses up. (Which, yes, Bucky still finds endearingly adorable.)
His lips move along with the words he’s reading and then he’s typing something
out, rapid-fire and gathering up his bag.
“I gotta go,” he’s saying, “but this was fun. I’ll, uh, see you around, Bucky.”
He offers a tiny smile and then he’s heading out past the front desk.
Bucky, admittedly, watches his thin frame until he’s gone. He sighs and,
ignoring the flutter in his chest, gathers up his own things.
 
*
 
Later on, Dugan joins the crew for their usual Saturday night pig-out at one of
the various restaurants on The Strip – all-you-can-eat Chinese tonight – and
then afterwards they all head back to Gabe’s for another night of video games
and movies. They start off with Super Smash Bros and then veer off into Mario
Kart until Gabe’s mom threatens to cut the electricity if they don’t quiet down
and only then do they peruse Netflix for something to watch.
They’re a rowdy bunch, obviously – they didn’t earn the nickname “Howling
Commandos” for nothing – but Bucky wouldn’t trade any of them for the world.
One by one, the fellas start to drop off into sleep and then it’s just Bucky
and Dum Dum and Gabe left awake. Morita’s curled into a ball between the couch
and the loveseat, using a beanbag chair for a pillow. Falsworth (who’s still
sporting a very faint dick on his temple) is passed out halfway underneath the
coffee table. And Dernier is starfished on the folded out futon near the
bathroom door, snoring like a swarm of angry bees every now and then.
Gabe, who is always the last one to fall asleep, is leaning against the arm of
the couch with his legs up on Bucky’s lap and Dugan’s over on the loveseat,
still mostly glued to his phone.
“You doin’ alright, Dum Dum?” Bucky asks. He’d told them about his date with
Lakshmi the night before, but he’d been pretty well reserved when the fellas
started ragging him for details.
He gives a sigh, scratching through his scraggly mustache as he looks at his
phone screen. “Yeah, bud,” Dugan answers, “I’m good.” Then he gets a really
dumb smile on his face and says, “I’m real good.”
“Oh, ho, ho, you’d better share, bruh,” Gabe says, reaching back to yank on
Dugan’s ankle.
Locking his phone, Dugan tucks his arm behind his head and looks up at the
slope of the den ceiling. “She – I don’t even know, man. It’s like I don’t even
want to say anything ‘cause I don’t wanna jinx it. She’s too good for me.”
“You’re damn right she is,” Gabe says at the same time Bucky’s saying, “No way,
pal.” He smacks Gabe in the calf and frowns when he snickers.
“It’s great for her that you think that,” Bucky says, “but don’t beat yourself
up, Dugan. You’re a catch, too.”
Dugan snorts, almost loud enough to rouse Morita on the floor between them.
“You let me know when you find a perfect angel goddess and then tell me if you
ever feel worthy, alright, Bucky?”
Immediately, Bucky’s mind flits to Steve.
He doesn’t quite fit the bill, what with being more along the lines of just a
perfect angel without the goddess bit, but Bucky’s…just thinking about the guy
has the corners of his mouth curling up like the ends of his hair when he walks
straight into the showers after practice. There’s nothing he can do to stop how
his heart flutters, so Bucky just closes his eyes and tucks his arms behind his
head to stare up at the ceiling like Dugan.
“Oh, boy,” Gabe says. Bucky can hear his grin. “Out with it. Let’s hear it.”
“Steve Rogers.”
“That the boy you been starin’ at every day since the beginnin’ of the year?”
Gabe asks. When Bucky nods, Gabe laughs, rich and dark. “You finally learned
his name. Good for you.”
And for some reason, Bucky’s content to let that hang in the air. As much as he
wants to share, as much as he’s bursting with the desire to share just how
amazing Steve Rogers is if people would just get past the preconceived notions,
he doesn’t feel like it’s all his story to tell. So he lets it lie.
“Steve Rogers…” Dugan says, “I think he’s in my AP English course. Real quiet,
always late, keeps his head down mostly.”
Bucky nods.
“Hey! Didn’t I tell you he’d been suspended?” Dugan asks, sitting up just so
that Bucky can see him furrow his brows. “What are you doing moonin’ over a
delinquent?”
Shrugging, and for lack of wanting to share anything additional, Bucky says,
“Have you seen him?”
And maybe the suspension thing is something to ask Steve about. It doesn’t
really add up with the whole top-of-the-class thing he’s got going on. What
would there ever be for Steve Rogers to get suspended?
“He is a pretty-boy,” Gabe says, “I’ll give him that.”
Dugan, on the other hand, warns, “Just be careful, Barnes. Don’t wanna see you
get hurt.”
“Same to you, Dum Dum,” Gabe says. He pokes his toe into Bucky’s thigh. “Now
both of you try not to forget about the friends y’got, alright? I don’t wanna
see nothin’ but the crown’a ya heads ‘cause ya can’t put the phone down for
more than two seconds.”
Laughing, Bucky slumps deeper into the couch cushion and says, “You got it,
Gabey-baby.”
 
*
 
In the morning, Bucky’s internal alarm has him up in time to share wisdom with
the Jones ladies over a cup of coffee in the sunlit kitchen before they hit the
road for Sunday morning church service.
Mamé’s always got some interesting tidbit to impart in thickly accented
English. Bucky’s always regretted taking computer classes instead of French,
always a little bit at a loss when faced with the sweet older woman. She’d been
a primary school teacher in the 60’s, raised six kids of her own, and moved to
the United States with her youngest daughter a mere eighteen years ago. It
always sucks when Gabe’s gone to Cameroon during the summer, but Bucky figures
that Mamé and Gabe’s mother more than deserve to see the rest of their family.
Plus, it’s pretty neat when Gabe actually has an accent upon return.
After coffee, Bucky finishes up the pancakes that Gabe’s mother had started –
and it’s easy; just pouring the batter into the pan and flipping them over.
One-by-one the guys file in, sleepy but awake enough for food.
“Barnes, you’d better quit comin’ over,” Gabe says, swatting at Bucky’s bun on
the way to plate up. “Think Mama’s gonna petition the courts for custody from
your parents. And Mamé’s old, but I think she’d be ready for a smackdown.”
“Yeah,” Falsworth adds, “You make the rest of us look like proper shit.”
“Oui,” Dernier agrees, “Nous sommes des ordures.”
Morita points at Dernier with his fork, “What he said.”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky rinses out all of their dishes and shoves everything
into the dishwasher.
The thing is, Gabe was Bucky’s first friend here after he’d moved from
Brooklyn. Gabe’s family had moved from Harlem and being from the boroughs is
what brought him and Bucky together beneath Dum Dum’s watchful eye. After that
they’d gathered up Morita from Fresno and Falsworth from across the pond in
England. The newest addition, Dernier, had flocked easily to Gabe’s side,
grateful to have at least one person here with a comprehension of the French
language. Football was a common language between all six of them, though, and
it’s part of why they’re still so close even after all these years.
That, and the fact that once Bucky makes a friend, he’s hard pressed to ever
let them go.
It’s why he’s still friendly with Howard (even though he’d turned out to be
just about the complete opposite of Bucky’s type) and Peggy and Nat (even
though he only very rarely sees them, what with them being concurrently
enrolled into the nearby university).
And maybe that’s what has Bucky texting Steve at just past ten in the morning.
He takes a selfie that also contains the rest of the kitchen – Gabe drinking
straight from the orange juice carton by the open fridge, Dernier with a fork
halfway to his mouth, Falsworth looking at the camera from over the rim of his
mug of tea, Dum Dum with a mouth full of pancakes, and Morita slumped half on
his plate. Beneath it, he attaches a caption: Good morning!
“Who’re sending that to?” Dugan asks.
He quickly sends the exact same message to Natasha, just so he doesn’t have to
lie. When he answers her name, Gabe raises an eyebrow and gives him an, “Uh
huh. Before noon on a Sunday? If you ain’t lyin’, she’s gonna have you by the
balls tomorrow, son.”
And…yeah, Bucky didn’t think about that.
Morita snorts, quoting, “’Dead man walkin’.’”
Shrugging, Bucky tucks his phone into the pouch of his hoodie and secretly
prays that he didn’t just wake Natasha. (Because he truly values his testicles
where they are, thank you.) The rest of the guys slowly finish their pancakes
in relative quiet while everyone gets their social media fill – elbowing
whoever’s closest to show them a funny Vine or to comment on some celebrity’s
body or to talk about something that someone said on Facebook. Not too long
afterwards, Gabe starts in on his homework in a subtle cue for them all to hit
the road.
When Bucky makes it home, his parents are watching some shitty Lifetime movie
on the couch in the living room.
“Bucky!” his father calls just as Bucky’s about to hit the stairs.
“Yeah?” he shouts back, foot hesitating on the bottom step.
“Come here!”
Without truly heaving a sigh, Bucky turns on his heel. His dad is tucked
beneath his ma’s arm, her fingers carding through his hair. They both look up
when he smacks his elbow on the doorframe. Bucky rubs at it and repeats,
“Yeah?”
Bucky’s dad is smiling and shaking his head. “Your sister called earlier,” he
says, “She ain’t gonna make it home for Thanksgiving, but she said the
semester’s over – what day did she say, honey?”
“The twelfth,” Ma fills in.
The disappointment isn’t too thick in Bucky’s throat, but it’s still there, so
he just nods. It’s dumb, but he really misses his sister. And it’s obvious that
his ma can tell, if the look she shoots him is any indication. “Okay,” Bucky
says after clearing his throat, “I’ll give her a call in a little bit.”
Ma smiles at Bucky, eyes crinkling up at the corners the way Bucky’s are bound
to in ten or so years. “Good,” she says, “Becca really misses you, you know.”
“D’ya wanna watch this with us, kiddo?” his dad asks.
Bucky shifts from foot to foot. “Nah,” he says, tucking a stray hair back into
his bun, “I’ve still got some homework to finish up.” He laughs when his dad
gives him one of those suit yourself looks and cuddles in closer to Ma.
Back in his room, Bucky finally braves looking at his phone – and Natasha still
hasn’t responded, even though it’s nearly half-past noon, so that means he
might actually get to keep his balls. There’s nothing from Steve either and
Bucky tries his best not to let the slight sting of disappointment get to him.
Steve could still be sleeping, or maybe he’s in church, or working. Bucky
doesn’t actually know what the kid does with his life aside from scowling at
the world and drawing pretty pictures in that notebook of his. Which only
tosses fuel into the fire of Bucky’s curiosity, his fascination with Steve.
And thinking back about Friday night…well, Bucky had definitely enjoyed it, to
say the least. It’d been good. It’d made him feel good. Really good. But it was
also only just enough to make want more – to see if Steve would make all the
same sounds if Bucky’d actually gotten his hands at some skin or if he’d be
louder, more demanding. Bucky wants to know if Steve’d still squirm in his lap
like he couldn’t help himself or if it’d be a little more like he wants Bucky
to not be able to help himself. There’d been an air of confidence that Bucky
hadn’t expected; it makes him wonder if Steve would let Bucky get away with as
much as he had that night or if he’d maybe hold him down by his wrists, cuffing
him with those long, artistic fingers, keeping Bucky all desperate and still
and wanting with a teasing glint in his eye.
Something about that thought, that relinquishing of control to tiny little
Stevie Rogers, has Bucky sucking in a sharp breath and closing his eyes –
because wow, that kind of thing never crossed his mind with Howard.
But the thing is, it hadn’t been just Steve grinding in his lap Friday night
that cooked Bucky’s goose as far as Steve is concerned. It had been the way
he’d declined the ride in the first place because he was confident in his
ability to take care of himself, it’d been the near asthma attack from laughing
too hard on the way over, Saturday at the library, and an accumulation of
literally every single time Bucky noticed him walking to school, sketching in
the commons, reading his textbook in Calc. Bucky’s been a goner for a long
while. It’s only now that he might actually be able to act on it.
God, and now look at him. He’d gone and texted the guy like a clingy weirdo
after only seeing him the day before.
“Stupid,” Bucky mutters to himself.
Self-discipline is best in the form of homework, so for a punishment (and
because he doesn’t actually have a choice if he wants to pass) Bucky whittles
out a paper for English, does twenty damn problems for AP Chem, and checks over
the Calc he’d finished with Steve on the day before.
Then he sets to that sketch of James Dean he’d never finished. He’s about
halfway finished with the second eye when his phone buzzes.
“Hello?” he answers, not really paying attention to what’s on the screen.
“Heya, fuckhead.”
Laughing, Bucky says, “Becca! Ma said you’d called.” He sets in on shading in
the shadow of an eye socket.
“Yeah, and you didn’t call me back. Dick.”
“Sorry…I was gettin’ some homework done.”
“Yeah? Well, hey, time to take a break. I want you to take a look at what I’m
thinkin’ ‘bout turnin’ in for the end of the semester. Because, lemme tell ya,
I’m nervous as hell.”
Bucky drops his sketchpad and pencil in favor of opening up his laptop.
“Whatever. You of all people never need to be nervous for nothin’. Did you
email it?”
“Yeah,” Becca answers. “Oh, god, I’m gonna hang up, I don’t wanna hear –”
“Shut it,” Bucky chides as he finally gets connect to the wifi, “Ain’t no need
for all that.” He pulls up the email entitled, “LOOK AT THIS SHIT,” and
downloads the attachment.
The first picture he sees is amazing. As many times as Becca had tried to teach
him, he still doesn’t know the terminology – all Bucky knows is that the way
the thing is put together, centered and focused is incredible. It’s a wet
sidewalk, headlights reflected of the pavement. There are bare feet speckled
with grit and a pair of pristine high heels turned toward one another, water
from a car spraying over a damp drainage ditch near them, and in the distance
is a dog being walked on a leash, tongue lolled out but its eyes focused on the
direction of the two lovers.
The next one is simpler, not half as busy. It’s a large tree, maybe an oak or
something, and the most focused part is on the carved heart in the middle,
initials plus initials equals forever. Something about the coloring of the
whole thing looks a little otherworldly, though, but the textures all look
real, touchable like Bucky could reach in a feel the roughness of the bark
where it’s splintered and chipped away. Yet it’s still soft and almost
intimate, like the other one.
Picture after picture, Bucky sees contrasts between those moments that are
supposed to be picture perfect and what Becca has actually captured. Perfection
in imperfection. It’s pretty neat.
“See?! You’re not sayin’ anything!”
“Oh, can it, Bec,” Bucky says, “These are incredible! Tell me about ‘em. I
wanna know what you were thinkin’.”
And sure enough, she starts in on some big overarching concept about the
fragility of love and how people need to learn how to live in the moment, live
with their mistakes and accept them for the experiences that they are, but to
move on and grow from them. Bec talks and talks and Bucky listens, asks
questions until she has said just about everything there is to say about the
whole project.
“Sounds like you know what you’re talkin’ about, kid,” Bucky says around a
smirk. She might be smarter than him academically, but he’s still her big
brother and he knows what she needs most often is just a confidence boost.
“Goddamn it, Bucky,” she mutters, and then bursts into peals of laughter.
“Fine. Alright. You’re right. I am brilliant.”
Bucky laughs. “Told ya.”
He can practically hear Becca roll her eyes before she says, “Yeah, yeah. Well,
I’m gonna be swamped with finals for the next few weeks so if you don’t hear
from me by the middle of December, send a search party.”
“You got it. Love you, sis.”
After they hang up, Bucky cracks down on his sketch, only taking a break when
Ma calls him for dinner, and finishes it just in time to catch The Walking
Dead. Gabe always tends to livetweet the experience, so Bucky keeps refreshing
his Twitter feed to watch him and Morita enthuse and complain, offering up his
own two cents every now and then. Bucky’s favorite thing, though, is whenever
he makes a relatively innocuous comment and tags them both in it, it
practically always turns into some big thing while Bucky’s content to just sit
back and watch an argument unfold.
Once it’s wrapped up, Bucky opts to veg out by getting in a couple of mindless
hours of social media. Catching himself nodding off, he double checks his
alarms for the morning and only then does he deem it safe enough for sleep.
In the morning, Bucky zombies his way through his morning routine – shower,
teeth, clothes, food, triple checking to make sure he has all of the homework
he completed in his backpack – and makes the drive to school.
And he must be too early because he doesn’t see Steve making his usual trudge.
It makes Bucky way too aware of his heartbeat, mind flitting through all of
these scenarios – Steve having an asthma attack and being without his inhaler,
Steve getting kidnapped, Steve getting mugged, Steve getting murdered – and
then he’s short of breath, saying, “No, no, no.” It’s a little better imagining
himself turning around, making the drive to Steve’s apartment to offer him a
ride, and even that sends Bucky’s heart into palpitations. “Ugh, fuck. Fuck.
Chill, Barnes,” he says to himself. After a few deep breaths, his vision stops
crackling around the edges and he stops squeezing the steering wheel so
tightly.
Bucky makes a pit stop at Starbucks to get a hazelnut chai, even though
caffeine is pretty much the last thing his heart needs at the moment, and then
pulls into the school’s parking lot. He holds off on sipping his drink until
he’s sure he won’t burn his tongue (because he’s made that mistake one too many
times) and sits back to wait for the lot to fill up.
Once the zero hour bell rings and overtime starts, Bucky gathers up his bag and
his drink and heads inside to sit in his Calc classroom.
While he’s waiting for class to start, and half-listening to some students
asking Mr. Foltz for help on the homework, Bucky answers a few texts from his
buddies and catches up on some celebrity Tweets.
Class has already started by the time Steve comes in, pink-cheeked and
whispering, “Sorry.”
Bucky’s heart stutters at the sight and it feels like he takes his first full
breath of the day.
It’s easier for Bucky to focus on the problems Mr. Foltz is reviewing before he
collects the homework now that he knows nothing terrible happened to Steve on
his way to school. He hates having such an overactive imagination.
As they grade the homework, Bucky glances over at Steve. He’s, very studiously,
looking down at his paper and up at Mr. Foltz, completely impervious to Bucky’s
stare.
And…maybe it’s too much to hope for, maybe Bucky’s heart is too big and he’s
clinging too tight and scaring the kid away. It had all been about Steve
getting back the things Bucky’d accidentally taken and here Bucky is making a
big something out of a little nothing. Hell, maybe Steve would be happier if
they just went right back to how things had been Thursday instead of Friday. It
makes Bucky’s chest hurt to think about it, but maybe he’s creeping Steve out.
Shifting uncomfortably, Bucky keeps his head down and passes his paper up the
row for Mr. Foltz to collect. He takes notes like usual. He starts in on his
homework assignment. The bell rings for the end of class and Bucky’s gathering
up his things, standing, glancing at Steve and –
“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says.
Stutter stepping, Bucky diverts his path from the door to stand between the
rows, beside Steve’s desk. “Hiya, Steve,” he says quietly, “Uh, how ya doin’?”
“Alright,” Steve answers with a half-shrug. “I was meaning to ask you…I got a
text from you the other morning – was that actually meant for me?”
Ducking his head, Bucky says, “Yeah. I, uh…I get it, if you want me to back
off. I’m sorry. Sometimes I’m bad at readin’ people and I just –”
Steve laughs, deep but airy and light.
Bucky’s heart pounds in his ears. He swallows.
Mouth still curled with delight, Steve swipes his fringe to the side and says,
“Uh. Actually, I thought you meant to send it to someone else. Like maybe you’d
clicked my name accidentally. Hey, I don’t want to make you late, or anything,
so, um, I guess I’ll see you in art.”
“Oh,” Bucky says, looking around to see the room starting to fill with Mr.
Foltz’s second hour class. “Shit, right. Um, see ya fifth hour.”
He rushes out of the classroom and three halls over toward the science rooms
and into his AP Chem class. Morita’s already inside, saying, “Never thought I’d
see the day where I actually beat Bucky ‘Punctual’ Barnes to class.” He tugs a
sheet of paper out of his notebook, scribbles a note that says: On this day,
the 17th of November in the year 2014, Bucky Barnes arrived to AP Chemistry
class in Room N403 after Jim Morita. “Sign here, please.”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky indulges his friend. “This’ll never hold up in a court
of law. You didn’t use our full names.”
“No way,” Morita says, “You signed it. This is official.”
The bell rings not too long after and Bucky is kind of annoyed by how
distracted he is by his thoughts of Steve. He’s supposed to be learning how to
deal with net ionic equations and solubility rules, but there he is picturing
Steve’s expression, the amusement in his eyes, the rasp of his laugh, the feel
of his mouth, his hips in Bucky’s hands, his fingers in Bucky’s hair and
wondering if he’s ever going to get any of that again.
And Jesus, is that counterproductive.
More than once Morita’s nudging Bucky in the side with his pen or quirking a
brow at him, mouthing, “You okay?” And all Bucky can do is nod his head and
pretend that he’s not blushing, not caught out, not distracted.
Third hour it’s much of the same, only it’s alright that Bucky’s mostly
distracted. He’s already typed out a detailed list of his ideas for his group’s
project and they’re still busy comparing and contrasting their own with his.
They’re miles ahead of the other groups, so Ms. Harvey leaves them be for the
most part. Bucky gives input when they ask, but he spends most of the class
period absorbed in his head.
Bucky rushes to Gabe’s car parked in the commons, calling shotgun before Dum
Dum as they wait for the rest of the crew to gather up so they can get off-
campus to grab some grub. They decide on sandwiches for something light since
it’s a distance day in football and Gabe gets them there and back in a matter
of twenty minutes. They spend the rest of lunch hanging around the commons,
catching up on whatever’s happened in the matter of three hours, laughing and
joking and shoving each other around.
Only, Bucky spots Steve and Gabe notices. “Just go talk to the kid, Barnes,” he
says, tugging at Bucky’s arm and shoving him in that direction. “He ain’t gonna
bite.”
“No, I know, I know,” Bucky’s saying, jostling at Gabe to try to gain control
back. But there’s a reason Gabe’s the best tight end the school’s team has ever
seen, why he’s got a full ride scholarship to play for Syracuse. He can block
like no one’s business. “Gabe, stop.”
“Hey. Hey, chill, bruh. I’ll even go over there with you if that’s what it
takes.”
“No, Gabe,” Bucky says, “Jesus.” Sighing, Bucky goes lax and finally wriggles
himself free from Gabe’s hold.
Steve’s got his headphones in like usual and his head ducked over his
sketchpad, but Bucky can make out the line between his brows and the pucker of
his lips as he approaches. For a brief handful of seconds Bucky second guesses
himself, debating on whether he should tap Steve on the shoulder to get his
attention, or maybe just sit across from him and nudge his boot beneath the
table, or maybe just turn tail and head back to the safety of his buddies. He
wonders if Steve knows he has this effect on Bucky, that he’s genuinely
intimidated by the guy. It’d probably make him happy.
Bucky opts to sit down at the table across from Steve, scraping the chair extra
loud and making sure to jostle the table just a tiny bit when he sets his
backpack down so that it’ll make Steve look up.
And he does, scowling until recognition crosses his delicate features. Steve
yanks out his left earphone.
“You messed me up,” Steve says.
“Hi, to you, too, Stevie,” Bucky retorts, crossing his arms over his chest as
he sits back in the flimsy plastic chair. “And sorry, but it was either that or
take a bigger risk by touchin’ your shoulder or somethin’.”
“I s’pose that’s fair,” Steve acquiesces, flipping the cover of his sketchpad
to hide his drawing. He tucks the pencil he’d been using between his ear and
the arm of his glasses and then puts the sketchpad down onto the table in front
of himself, licking his lips and clearing his throat. “Sure you wanna be seen
over here?”
Quirking his head, Bucky asks, “Whaddya mean by that?”
Steve gestures to the general area around them, letting it melt into a shrug.
“Aren’t you gonna wreck your reputation socializing with a – what is it this
year – ‘delinquent loner’ like me?”
Unable to help himself, Bucky rolls his eyes. “You really think I care about
what people think of me?”
“You’re on student council and you’ve been a starting varsity football player
since freshman year. All signs point to ‘yes.’”
A smirk slides onto Bucky’s mouth. He leans forward, bracing his elbows against
the table. He lands in something sticky. “So, you have been keepin’ tabs on
me.” He watches Steve’s face, delights in the dusting of pink that rises to the
crest of his cheekbones, across his nose, down his throat. Bucky bets he’s a
full-body blusher and, boy, does he mean to find that out.
Shrugging again, Steve says, “Maybe a little bit.”
“So,” Bucky says, “Okay – you don’t have to answer this, but I am genuinely
curious. Why do people call you that? A delinquent, I mean.”
Steve snorts. “Because they don’t know a damn thing about me.” He eyes Bucky
and runs his fingers through his fringe, tugging it to the side. “I was gone
for a month last year and then two weeks pretty soon after the beginning of
this year. Last year, when I got back, there was this rumor about how I’d
pulled a knife on a guy in the parking lot or something – which is not what
happened, by the way.” Steve grasp the pencil from his ear and fiddles with it,
thin hands flexing. “Well, I didn’t actually pull it or anything, ‘cause it was
at home. But, well – you get bullied enough, you get punched and you get back
up for some more, eventually that person’s gonna either give up or get meaner.
Anyway, the reason I was gone? I had pneumonia the first time and then I got a
respiratory infection earlier this year.”
Bucky whistles, low and impressed. Kid’s a fighter and resilient as hell. It
basically confirms everything Bucky’d said to him Friday night – how he’d
gauged Steve pretty damn well. “Who was it?”
“Why’s it matter? He graduated. Moved off to some college down the coast.”
Something at that doesn’t sit well with Bucky, and he knows he’s sitting there
frowning at Steve, but he can’t really help it. His first reaction – though
he’s never physically harmed another person outside of football and that one
time in fifth grade when he’d accidentally broken a kid’s nose with a
basketball – is to hunt the fucker down to tell him to pick on someone his own
size. Because there’s no way on God’s green earth that he, whoever he may be,
is anywhere near as tiny as Steve.
“Unclench, Barnes,” Steve says, nudging his boot into Bucky’s beneath the
table. “It’s old news. Besides, like I told you the other night, I can take
care of myself.”
Bucky nudges back.
Steve smiles – that slow, beautiful little half-grin that makes Bucky’s heart
skip a beat.
Just as he’s opening his mouth to ask another question, the bell rings and
Bucky jolts, unsure as to how the entire remainder of lunch has passed. He
looks over toward the hall near the south halls, sees Morita and Gabe waiting
for him by one of the pillars. The scrape of chairs is deafening and Bucky
makes sure that he’s facing Steve when he asks over the din, “D’ya wanna walk
together?”
Steve glances toward Bucky’s friends and then looks back at Bucky, shaking his
head. “Nah, that’s alright,” he answers. “You go ahead and catch up with your
friends.”
At the permission, Bucky shoulders his bag and weaves his way through the drove
to his pals. The look Gabe shoots him is smug enough for Bucky to roll his eyes
and give him a shove. Morita, on the other hand, keeps craning his neck to look
back at Steve. Bucky ignores their harmless teasing and ducks into his art
class with a wave.
He sits, practically vibrating with anticipation as the room fills up. Someone
tries to take the corner seat and Bucky says, “Sorry, that one’s taken,” and
then sets his backpack in the chair to preserve Steve’s spot adjacent to his
own. Bucky hopes it’s not too presumptuous, but Steve doesn’t seem to hate
their conversations, scant as they have been.
Sure enough, as soon as the bell rings and Mr. Fraser starts in on a new
portrait for them to try out, Steve finally meanders in. Bucky’s heart jolts at
the sight. He makes a beeline towards Bucky and, holding his breath, Bucky tugs
his backpack out of the chair and to the floor.
“Hey,” Steve whispers. “Thanks.”
Bucky smiles. If he tries to say anything, he’s afraid his voice will stick to
the inside of his throat, beneath his tongue, behind his teeth. It takes nearly
the whole demo for Bucky to get his shit together enough to pull out his
sketchpad and to start in on this new portrait of Louis Jordan. Mr. Fraser
pulls up an almost two hour long YouTube compilation of his greatest hits for
them to listen to while they work, the sounds of smooth saxophones and brassy
trumpets providing a nice, historically accurate atmosphere.
On the projector, Louis Jordan is bugging his eyes and smiling, wearing big
white glasses and a top hat perched on his head. Bucky gets a little
overwhelmed and can’t quite figure out where to start.
“Start with the outline,” Steve mutters, “Then fill in the details. See his
shirt collar and tie? It might be easier to start there, or maybe with the
hat.”
Bucky breathes out a sigh of relief and shoots Steve a grateful look.
About twenty minutes in, the rest of the students start talking amongst
themselves and Bucky deems it safe to relax a little bit on his intense
concentration. He glances over at Steve – who’s actually mouthing along to the
brassy swing that’s playing.
“You know this?” Bucky asks, gesturing toward the air.
Eyes wide, Steve glances up, looking a little confused for a second before his
expression clears. “Uh, yeah.” He scratches at his temple and brushes his hair
over, tongue darting out to wet his lips. “Grew up on the stuff. Aunt Liza
hardly plays anything else.”
The words conjure up an image of Steve, tiny tiny tiny, nothing but eyes and
thin limbs as he spins in circles with that thin woman Bucky’d seen in Steve’s
sketchpad, shrieking with laughter and breathless glee. “You ever think you
were born in the wrong decade?” Bucky asks.
Steve shrugs, smiling as he traces another line onto his paper, smudges it with
the edge of his thumb. “Doesn’t every kid think that at some point?”
Bucky shrugs back. “I dunno, maybe.” He traces over the rim of the glasses on
his page again, smoothing out the lines. “My granddad was born in ’27. So Dad
grew up hearin’ the real classic Brooklyn accent. Kinda stuck with him and I
guess he passed that on to me, even though my ma don’t sound nothin’ like this
and she was born an’ raised in DUMBO.”
“Huh,” Steve says. “So, how’d you end up here? DUMBO’s…hell, I don’t think I
ever stepped foot in it, but I heard it was pretty nice.”
Mr. Fraser makes his rounds and compliments Bucky on his progress, seeing as
how he’d actually managed to get more than just a single eye done, and then
moves on to Steve. Bucky, unable to help it, beams when Mr. Fraser enthuses
over Steve’s. Things wind down after that, as most kids are fully distracted
and now the room is full of layer upon layer of voices instead of just jazzy
swing music and hushed conversation.
“So, whaddya have next hour?” Bucky asks Steve after he packs up his bag.
“Design, across the hall with Ms. Stedman.” He points a thumb over his shoulder
in that general direction.
“Oh, neat,” Bucky says. “Ain’t that the one where ya get to enter things for
the display case?”
Steve nods, a hint of pink dusting over his cheeks. It’s probably splotching up
his throat too and Bucky has to swallow to keep himself from tugging at Steve’s
scarf.
The Pit is pretty neat with the way it’s set up. While the steps down into it
are occasionally dangerous to navigate when there’s too much congestion at the
doors, the left side sports a case that houses paintings and sculptures and
multimedia projects. Bucky’s always loved to take a look anytime he’s able to
take a second in the midst of all the traffic. It makes him wonder how many
times he’s looked and seen Steve’s creations without ever knowing.
“You oughta let me know when you’ve got somethin’ in there,” Bucky says,
nudging his elbow into Steve’s shoulder.
The sixth hour bell rings and Bucky’s torn at wanting to leave for his next
class immediately, the way he always does, and sticking around here just to
talk to Steve a little bit more.
“Hey, uh,” Bucky starts, looking Steve square in the face so he can read
Bucky’s lips over the din of the kids leaving class and pouring into the hall.
“Is it alright if I text you later?”
Steve looks at his lips, processing, and then looks up to Bucky’s eyes. “Sure,”
he answers around a shrug. His smile is wry as he says, “I guess I’ll know to
answer this time.”
Bucky huffs a laugh. “Yeah,” he says, starting to inch toward the door. “Good.
Okay.” He gives a tight wave and dives into the fray, chest loose with the way
Steve had been smiling at him.
Chapter End Notes
     This is fairly insignificant, but I’d still like to clarify: While
     the actor who portrays Gabe Jones, Derek Luke, is actually Guyanese
     on his paternal side, I am choosing to headcanon Gabe Jones in this
     AU as a second generation Cameroonian-American. This means that his
     mother immigrated to the United States from Cameroon and Gabe was
     born in NYC and, while all they and his grandmother speak English
     fluently, they all commonly speak French to one another in the
     household.
     As always, you can come cry into my asks on tumblr!
***** lunch date *****
Chapter Summary
     All afternoon, Bucky’s mind is running in a thousand different
     directions but it always seems to go back to Steve.
Chapter Notes
     Check for tag updates!
See the end of the chapter for more notes
All afternoon, Bucky’s mind is running in a thousand different directions but
it always seems to go back to Steve. He doesn’t know what it is about his dumb
brain, but all he can do is obsess with the scenarios he keeps making up and
playing out about how tonight is going to go. Which isn’t all that helpful for
sixth hour, but for practice during seventh, Bucky’s content to let his mind
center on that to get him through the three and a half miles Coach has them
running.
Gabe keeps pace with Bucky, though, and shooting him smug looks the whole damn
time.
Sweaty and gross, they hit the showers afterward with the rest of the team and
then Gabe’s following Bucky over to his car.
“So,” he says, folding his arms as he leans against the driver’s side door,
blocking Bucky from making an escape.
“So,” Bucky echoes. His muscles feel all tight and watery from overuse, but
he’s about halfway through a bottle of PowerAde so it’s only a matter of time
until that fades. There might be a banana in his bag, too.
“You looked pretty familiar with ya boy Steve at lunch today,” Gabe says, mouth
puckering to the side in consideration. “That ain’t the first time you talked
to him, was it?”
Exhaling heavily, Bucky swipes some stray wet hair from his forehead. “Not
exactly. We met up Friday night for a bit.”
“Uh huh. And?”
“Jesus, Gabe, you’ve seen ‘im,” Bucky breathes, eyes going wide. “He’s
somethin’ else.” He flinches, but accepts the punch that Gabe doles to his arm
and puts his hands over his ears when he shouts all excitedly, switching mid-
sentence from French to English and back again. “We didn’t – Gabe, chill, we
didn’t really – I mean. Kind of, but.”
Gabe still looks delighted, regardless. “You been eyein’ him since the
beginning of the year, bruh. Excuse me for just bein’ glad you’re finally gonna
get some.”
Bucky sighs. “Pal, I don’t even know if – if that’s what he wants.”
“From the look’a things, it seems like he sure as hell ain’t be opposed to the
idea.” Gabe smirks, smug as hell.
“Yeah, well,” Bucky says, slowly returning the smile, “Maybe. We’ll see. If not
– hell, I’m just happy he ain’t tellin’ me to stay away from him.” He shrugs.
“It’ll work out,” Gabe assures him, clasping his shoulder before he moves out
of the way, heading toward his car a few spots away.
After a roll of the eyes and a wave, Bucky starts up his car and starts the
trek to the west side. When he gets home, he starts in on his homework like
usual, repeating the phrase, “Delayed gratification, delayed gratification,
delayed gratification,” over and over and turning his phone off to keep himself
from outright texting Steve as soon as he walks through the door.
That lasts all of twenty minutes.
Phone back on, Bucky sifts through about thirty different variations of the
same message that he ends up sending, just a general: Hiya, Steve. While he’s
fretting over whether that was too casual or if he should’ve used an
exclamation point or maybe just delved right into casual conversation, Bucky
opens up his Calc textbook and stares blindly at his notes.
In return, he gets: Hey.
And, while Bucky’s vaguely freaking out – because what the fuck kind of
response is that? – his phone vibrates again with a: What’s up?
Bucky breathes a sigh of relief and mutters, “What the hell is wrong with me?”
He can’t even start a simple conversation with a guy he’s talked to a handful
of times now, and that’s absolutely pathetic. He’s been looking forward to this
since he saw the guy and yet he’s freaking out over every little thing the way
he always does and – Jesus, Bucky just wishes he could be normal for two damn
minutes. He bets that Gabe never has this problem.
After lightly slapping his own cheek, Bucky responds: Just started the calc hw.
Already bored as hell. You?
Steve replies: Well, I was drawing. But if we’re gonna be texting, it’ll take
me seventy years to finish anything. Maybe I ought to do my calc homework too.
Seventy years?
That might be a slight exaggeration
Barking out a laugh, something in Bucky’s chest settles a bit and it’s much
easier to fall into conversation after that. Once he gets a feel for Steve’s
dry sarcasm, it’s not too hard to fill in the blanks with his own brand of
snark which Steve actually seems to appreciate. They end up texting throughout
their Calc homework – with Steve giving Bucky pointers more than a few times –
and then English and dinner and then Bucky works on Chem while Steve writes a
paper for his AP Gov class.
Still can’t believe you like barbeque sauce on your burgers. Heathen.
Snorting, Bucky types out: No need to be all snooty Mr. Veggie Burger.
You try getting ulcers every time you think it’s okay to eat meat again and see
how you like it. Report back. Let me know so I can laugh in your face.
And shit, Bucky didn’t think of that. So far the list of Steve’s health
problems is already fairly worrisome with the asthma and common respiratory
infections, but combined with the partial deafness and penchant for standing up
to bullies, and now apparently stomach ulcers, Bucky kind of wants to put the
guy in bubble wrap and keep a constant eye on him. He’s got a sneaking
suspicion that this isn’t even touching all the things that give Steve grief
and it tugs a bit at Bucky’s heart.
He sends back: Shit, that must be rough. So no meat?
Steve’s eye-roll is practically audible when Bucky reads the next message: No
meat, not a lot of dairy, no pepper or garlic or onions or tomato products.
Sometimes I can get away with fish, though.
Giving a low whistle as he rolls onto his stomach, Bucky types out: Damn. So,
what, fruits and veggies and…beans?
Essentially. Nuts too.
Bucky snorts and then sends:Too easy. So do you usually pack your lunch?
It takes a few minutes for Steve to respond, so while he’s waiting, Bucky
brushes his teeth and changes into pajama pants. He starts his routine social
media splurge and – while he’s at it, he takes a look at Steve’s Facebook,
hoping that’s not too creepy. But when he clicks onto the profile, literally
all it says is Steve’s name, their town, and that he has one friend. And it’s
Bucky, which is…kind of strange.
Eventually, his phone buzzes again: Sometimes. Don’t really like to eat at
school all that much.
Heart pounding, and before he can psych himself out, Bucky sends: Would you
wanna go to lunch with me? We could go with the group or it could just be you
and me if you want a little more peace and quiet to draw or whatever.
He doesn’t send the, “Or just forget I said anything,” that he’s thinking.
Instead, Bucky starts in on taking five deep breaths, but only gets to three
before Steve responds.
Ok. No offense to your friends but can we go alone first? I think that Dugan
guy doesn’t really like me…
Bucky simultaneously feels full up with excitement and annoyance. Dum Dum can
be an overprotective asshole sometimes. He sends to Steve: Fine with me! And
that’s cuz he obviously doesn’t know you. What’d he do? Do I need to kick his
ass? And then: Where do you wanna go?
It’s nearing midnight by the time they get everything squared away. Bucky’s
reluctant to say goodnight, but his eyelids feel heavy and he’s going to pass
out at any moment. But there is one last thing he needs to know: So I noticed
you walk to school in the mornings…would you want me to give you a ride? I
wouldn’t mind at all.
Steve sends back: Thanks but no. Doctor says I need to exercise and walking is
pretty much the only way I take care of that. You should get some sleep, Bucky.
Smiling, Bucky answers: Yes, sir. Guess I won’t stop to pick you up then. Night
Stevie.
Sweet dreams, Bucky.
Heart fluttering, it takes no time at all for Bucky to drop off and in the
morning, he wakes up before his alarm even goes off with a smile plastered to
his face and his dick hard in his sleep pants. He’s almost too warm and happy
and weirdly satisfied to even do anything about it, still clinging to fading
tendrils of his dream, but eventually the soft cotton over the firm press of
his mattress wins out and Bucky’s grinding himself against it and clinging to
his pillow. It’s hardly any time at all before he’s close, just reaching in to
give himself a few quick tugs and then he’s spilling hot and sticky into the
cup of his palm, burying his groans while he shakes and shivers and then goes
boneless.
Swiping hair out of his mouth, Bucky stumbles his way into the bathroom to wash
away the mess and start up the shower. It takes a few minutes, but when he
focuses his eyes, Bucky sees a fucked out version of himself in the mirror as
steam fills the room. He smiles.
Bucky dresses in his usual garb – skinny jeans, sweater, pea coat, and boots –
and ties his hair up in a high bun before he nabs his keys and heads to school.
On the way in, he sees Steve walking and so he slows down, honks, and waves.
Steve looks up, confusion clear on his face, and then he waves back with a
smile that Bucky only very briefly gets to see. He’s riding the high of that
the remainder of the drive, so content with everything that he forgets to stop
by Starbucks, but he can’t even find it in himself to care.
When Bucky gets to Calc, he’s practically vibrating with a heady cocktail of
excitement and apprehension, hoping to calm himself down with some mindless
Twitter for a while, searching #puppies to maintain his good mood.
Class starts and Bucky tries his hardest not to keep glancing at the door – but
gives up once the two minute mark passes and in walks Steve.
And Jesus, he always looks so good.
Bucky almost feels guilty about how much he likes the way Steve’s clothes kind
of hang off his frame, like he’s just that tiny. It’s not like Steve can help
it, after all. But literally everything about the kid makes Bucky’s heart beat
right up into his throat and it gets so much worse – or, maybe better – when
Steve shoots him a smile on the way to his seat.
Smiling back, Bucky ducks his head and feels his cheeks warm as he jots down a
few more notes that Mr. Foltz writes up onto the board. And it’s weird, but
Bucky feels much more grounded knowing that Steve’s only a few rows away.
Halfway into working on the assigned problems, Bucky looks up and sees Steve
looking at him. Caught, Steve blushes down to his throat and looks back at his
paper, flushed and gorgeous and Bucky can’t breathe with how much he just wants
to march over there and kiss the guy. It hasn’t even been a week, and Bucky’s
not even sure where they stand – if Steve wants to be friends, wants a
relationship, wants something casual – but Bucky doesn’t care; he’ll take
whatever Steve offers and treasure it with his whole heart. And maybe that’s
stupid, and ridiculously high school, but Bucky doesn’t even care. He feels
good when he talks to Steve, looks at Steve, breathes air from the same room as
Steve. He wants to deserve that. Desperately.
The bell rings and Bucky’s still staring, so of course he jumps, and then he’s
gathering up his textbook and binder, filing his notes neatly away behind the
Chapter 6 tab. When he stands and looks back over to Steve, he’s frowning down
at his paper, that familiar scowl tugging at his lips. Bucky’s breath still
catches.
“Hi, Stevie,” Bucky says, aiming for casual, but failing when he bumps into a
desk and it screeches against the flooring.
Scowl morphing into a grin, Steve says, “Smooth.”
“Oh, can it, Rogers,” Bucky says, chagrined. “You try –” walkin’ up to the
prettiest guy you ever seen and not makin’ a fool outta yourself. He swallows.
“Nevermind. How are ya?”
The look Steve gives him is amused. “I’m good. Lunch today, right?”
Bucky nods and then, stomach dropping like a bag of bricks, he realizes that he
hadn’t cancelled his usual plans with the crew.
“Uh,” Steve says, “We don’t have to go if you don’t want.”
“What? No,” Bucky says, too quickly, “I do. I do want to.”
“Then why d’you look like you just shit your pants?” Steve asks pointedly. “You
have a very expressive face, you know.”
Scratching at his eyebrow, Bucky says, “No, it’s – I just forgot to tell the
fellas I wouldn’t be joinin’ ‘em today. I’ll just shoot Gabe a text.” He clears
his throat, trying for a cool smile. “Meet me at the commons doors?”
“You got it,” Steve says.
The next two hours drag on for what feels like days. In AP Chem, Morita gives
Bucky shit about getting there later than him again and this time he knows to
ask whether or not it was because of Steve. Bucky’s honest and that gets him a
few excited punches in the kidney. Ms. Craddock threatens to send Morita out to
“have a chat with Principal Fury” and Jim very quickly sobers. After chemistry
class, Bucky hightails it to the south halls for English and spends the rest of
the passing period texting with Gabe, who promises to keep his new lunch plans
on the DL until they get back. When class starts and they’re split into their
groups again, it takes half the period for them to reach a consensus, but they
finally do, and Bucky gives it his all when they take turns analyzing passages
to help turn their story into an allegory.
By the time the bell rings, Bucky’s just about sick with excitement. There’s no
need to rush to the commons, because Steve let him know that the lunch rush is
the absolute worst, so Bucky takes his time and leans against one of the
concrete tables as he watches the doors.
After five minutes have passed and most of the upperclassmen are stuck in the
parking lot’s congestion or already off campus, Steve finally makes an
appearance. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder and one earbud in,
hair swept to the side beneath his beanie.
“Hey,” Bucky says, pushing off of the table and trying not to beam like a
lunatic. “You ready to go?” It’s really hard not to notice the way he kind of
towers over Steve, maybe half a foot or so.
Steve’s eyes dart up from his mouth and then he’s yanking the earbud out,
winding it and shoving it into his jacket pocket. “I’m sorry, all I caught was
‘go.’”
A smile tugs at the corner of Bucky’s lips. “Don’t apologize; that was my
fault. Shoulda known better. I asked if you’re ready to go.”
“Yep,” Steve says.
Like they’d planned, Bucky takes Steve to a nearby café to pick up food and
then they take it back to one of the parks in the neighborhood by the school.
Bucky sets up one of the swings with his sandwich while Steve sticks to one of
the benches, watching him from behind his glasses as he nibbles at one of his
own, packed from home. It barely looks like more than wheat bread and lettuce,
but Bucky doesn’t poke fun at Steve the way he’s probably expecting.
After he’s finished, Bucky calls, “Why don’t you come join me, Stevie,” over
the rush of wind in his ears. It’s cold out and he knows that his cheeks are
probably pink as hell. “It’s still just as fun as it was when you were seven, I
guarantee it.”
Steve laughs. “Not if you want me to hold this down,” he says.
“C’mon,” Bucky wheedles, “It can’t be that bad.”
“Believe me,” Steve says, “It can.” Instead, he tucks one boot beneath himself
and tugs his sketchpad out of his bag.
As he begins to doodle, Bucky wanders over, caught like an autumn leaf on the
breeze by the intensity of Steve’s concentration. He doesn’t say anything,
doesn’t even try to peek at what Steve’s drawing; Bucky just lies down on the
bench, his head right near Steve’s knee and his legs hanging off the end. For a
little while he just stares up at Steve’s face upside down, unable to help it.
“I have a question,” Bucky says.
“Good to know.”
“Steve.”
“Bucky.”
“It’s real important.”
Steve erases at the paper and then fills in another line, brows furrowed.
“Guess you’d better ask it then.”
Bucky lets a pause hang between them for all of sixteen seconds – as long as it
takes for Steve to look down at him – and then asks, “Star Wars or Star Trek?”
His smile is slow, growing bigger with each little huff that Steve lets out
when he laughs.
“Is this a test?”
Nodding solemnly, Bucky says, “Absolutely.”
“Really, Bucky?” Steve asks flatly, humor edging at his voice.
“Yeah, really! This is the kind of question that could make or break a –”
Friendship? Relationship? Bucky has no clue what to call this thing between
them. “– things.”
Still looking vaguely amused, Steve sighs and says, “I like them both.” When
Bucky starts to protest, Steve gives him a pointed look until Bucky clamps his
mouth shut. “But, since you’re making me choose, I’m going to have to say…Shit,
no. I can’t choose. Don’t make me choose.”
Bucky doesn’t react.
At least, not until Steve quirks a brow.
“You know what? Good answer. You passed.”
Content for the moment, Bucky closes his eyes and swipes errant tendrils of
hair from his face. That’s one thing that annoys him about his hair. It can
never actually stay in a bun all day, let alone withstand some wind. He yanks
the hair tie out, letting his hair spill out over the bench, and works it down
onto his wrist. It releases a bit of the tension he hadn’t known was building
up in his temples and Bucky sighs, happy to (literally) let his hair down and
to listen to Steve sketching.
“Much better,” he says.
Steve smiles. “Looks good too.”
Warmth suffuses Bucky and he has to close his eyes against it.
After a few moments, Bucky feels a hand – Steve’s hand – come down to card
through his hair, fingers firm but gentle and soothing. It takes everything
Bucky has not to groan. A sigh escapes and Bucky just knows he’s got a slack-
jawed, blissed out expression on his face, but with his eyes closed he doesn’t
have to think about Steve’s opinion on the matter.
If Bucky could, he’d be purring.
Bucky loses time in a way that he never really does – it could be two minutes
or five minutes or, hell, twenty – but he can’t find it in himself to mind.
That part of his brain gets put in a box and tucked away in the back of a
locked closet. All he can focus on is how good he feels, how safe, how happy,
how deserving. Steve chose to do this. Unprompted, Steve decided to pet Bucky
like he’s his favorite little thing and it makes Bucky’s heart swell up like a
balloon in his chest, bursting and letting out all of the goodness to course
through his veins and arteries, carving a path all the way down to his toes and
back.
He realizes distantly, in a far off and grayscale way, that he’s getting hard.
Yet, even that doesn’t even matter.
Just as Bucky feels himself really start to sink, Steve’s fingers scrape at his
temples, his scalp, behind his ears. They’re cold. Bucky hears himself groan,
feels himself nuzzle closer. He can hear Steve’s voice, but it’s still too far
away – but Bucky tries catching at it, tugging at the strings even when they
slip through his fingers until finally he grabs hold and comes out of the other
end.
“Huh?” Bucky asks, attempting to sit up.
It’s more of a slump but he’s pretty sure he’s mostly upright. The absence of
Steve’s fingers in his hair feels a little wrong but Bucky thinks he might be
smiling. He feels like his chest is full of bubbles, weird and light.
“You okay?”
When he looks at Steve’s face, his brows are furrowed and that frown has
returned, made itself home in the corners of Steve’s mouth. Bucky blinks and
nods. “How long’sIeep?”
“What?”
He tries again. “How long w’s I asleep?”
“Uh,” Steve says, looking back down to his closed sketchpad over his lap. “I’m
not sure if you were?”
“Huh.” Bucky takes a deep breath and looks around. They’re still at the park.
It’s November so it’s supposed to be cold, but Bucky feels warm. “Felt like
it.” He breathes some more and blinks heavily. “Are you cold? D’ya wanna wear
my jacket?”
“What? No, I’m fine,” Steve says. “Buck, be honest with me. Are you sure you’re
okay?”
Bucky nods and smiles. Steve’s so pretty, even when he’s all concerned. Bucky
shakes his head. “C’n I’va hug?”
Steve looks a little frustrated as he looks at Bucky’s mouth but then his eyes
look back up at Bucky’s and he’s asking, “A hug? You want a hug from me?”
Bucky nods.
It looks like Steve’s muttering to himself, but he untucks his leg and ushers
Bucky to standing, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s middle. He’s so tiny. But
he feels like so much. Bucky wraps his arms right back, feeling like he could
go twice around Steve’s shoulders and smiles when he feels Steve tuck his face
against Bucky’s chest. He doesn’t really know how long they stand there, just
hugging, but Bucky feels a little bit better when Steve pulls away. “Warm now?”
Bucky asks.
“Oh, my god,” Steve grumbles, a wry smile creeping its way onto his mouth as
pink does the same to his cheeks, “I’m fine. But we should probably head back.
I know you don’t like being late.”
“Okay.”
Steve rolls his eyes and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to practically
frog-march him back over to his car. “I’m kinda wondering if I should let you
drive…”
“Why?”
“Because you’re being weirdly monosyllabic,” Steve says. “Do my head rubs have
magical intoxicating qualities?”
Bucky tries to think back to the past five minutes and comes up kind of blank,
too content with the way his body’s all thrumming and warm. “Yeah.”
Steve sighs. “Okay. Give me your keys.” Without question, Bucky digs into his
jacket pocket and places it into Steve’s upturned palm, smiling way too wide
when Steve says, “Very good. Alright. Progress.” He opens up the passenger
door. “Hop in.”
After Bucky complies and manages the coordination to strap himself in, Steve
gets in on the driver’s side and spends a good five minutes just adjusting the
seat and mirrors. It’s kind of strange, but Steve narrates the whole way back
to the school, driving incredibly slowly without honking or cursing even once.
When Steve finally parks, Bucky asks, “Are you sure you’re from New York?”
Giving a snort, Steve says, “Yeah, but I’ve only got a motor cycle license.
Didn’t wanna wreck your car or get pulled over.”
And…Bucky doesn’t really know how to respond to that. So he doesn’t. He sits
quietly.
“Are you ready to go in?”
“Yeah.”
Steve looks at Bucky and something about his expression has Bucky sitting up
straighter, clinging a little tighter to the way Steve’s watching him. “Your
friends are going to be in there, Bucky. They’re going to see us walk in
together.”
“Good,” Bucky says. “That’s – If you don’t mind.”
“I don’t mind. I just thought you were worried about what Tim Dugan might
think,” Steve says.
Rolling his eyes, feeling a little bit more himself, Bucky says, “Dum Dum can
get over himself. He’ll see how awesome you are.”
Steve gives a wry laugh and rests his head against the seat. He lolls his head
over to look at Bucky. “Alright. Well, let’s do this thing then.”
Two steps away from the commons doors, Bucky feels his heart start to do that
fluttery panic thing that usually has him counting out big, deep breaths.
Instead, he reaches forward and grabs Steve’s hand. And it’s – Steve doesn’t
miss a beat. He looks back over his shoulder and gives a reassuring half-smile
as he twines their fingers.
Bucky’s next breath isn’t difficult at all.
He falls into step next to Steve once they’re through the doors, leading the
way towards the rest of the Howling Commandos. There are tons of people in the
commons since it’s nearing the end of lunch, but Bucky tunnels his vision to
focus on his feet next to Steve’s, his friends up ahead.
Gabe spots them first, eyes darting down to their clasped hands and then back
up to Bucky’s face, expression morphing into a smile like the sun splitting
through rainclouds for the first time in ages – because Gabe’s face is just
like that. And of course that grabs Morita’s attention and then Dernier’s and
Falsworth’s and finally Dum Dum’s. Bucky feels Steve give his fingers a
squeeze.
No longer too incredibly nervous, Bucky sidles up to the edge of the group,
grinning when Gabe and Dernier split to allow them room.
Just as soon as Bucky opens his mouth to introduce Steve to the rest of the
fellas, Dum Dum opens his big fat mouth and says, “Too good to eat lunch with
us, eh?”
There’s an awkward – because, Jesus, really? – pause where Bucky and Dum Dum
stare each other down, but then, Steve’s saying, “Do I look like Howling
Commando material?”
To Bucky, he looks like he could have them all wrapped around his little
finger, following him through hell, high water, and everything in between. But
the rest of the group eyes him up, waiting the tension out.
Then Dum Dum says, “Maybe if you gained a hundred pounds, kid. Betcha ain’t
even a buck soaking wet,” and barks a big, obnoxious laugh before crossing
their little circle and clapping Steve’s shoulder. The rest of the guys laugh
too and Bucky can feel his own faint smile as he just holds onto Steve. “Don’t
worry. We’ll work on it.”
Steve’s half-smile makes Bucky’s heart stutter. “Sure.”
“So, uh, fellas,” Bucky says, clearing his throat. “This is Steve.” He smiles
when Steve ducks his head and gives a little wave.
“Timothy Dugan,” Dum Dum says, “At your service.” Then he turns to Dernier and
says, “This here is Jacques Dernier, foreign exchange student extraordinaire.
Then you have Montgomery Falsworth, who isn’t actually a foreign exchange
student despite the Queen’s English. That’s Jim Morita – from Fresno – and Gabe
Jones. What do we say boys?”
Once he’s finished, all of six of them, Bucky included, throw their heads back
and do their signature howl.
It draws silence in the rest of the commons, then cheering and a few laughs,
and then finally the dull roar of hundreds of conversations swallows up any
subsequent embarrassment Bucky might feel. Freshman year, he was the one who
rallied the troops and led the battle cry, but ever since – well. He doesn’t
really know, but something changed in him, intrinsic and weird. Bucky didn’t
mind to let Dugan step up. Feels more equal all around this way, anyway.
“That’s, uh…loud,” Steve finally says, laughing. He looks at Bucky and gives
his hand another squeeze, raising a brow.
“How else d’ya think we got the name, son?” Gabe asks, flashing a smile. Morita
tugs on the top strap of Gabe’s backpack until he almost tips over backward,
and then they’re tussling, knocking Bucky into Steve.
While he’s about to say, “Sorry,” to Steve, Dernier says something to him in
French – and Steve actually responds, saying, “On va voir,” to whatever it was
and Dernier smirks like that was an acceptable answer.
Bucky’s neck cracks, he whips his head around so fast. His voice might be
shrill when he asks, “You speak French?” But he can tell that Steve’s having
difficulty hearing over the commotion of the commons – and then the bell rings
anyway. Steve’s looking around kind of panicked, because he’s never in the
midst of all of this chaos anymore, and it’s obvious that he must be feeling
like a fish swimming upstream in rapids. Bucky tugs at his hand and offers a
smile, nodding his head toward Morita and Gabe. “C’mon, they’ll block for us.”
Gabe has Morita in a headlock, but he shoots a salute over his shoulder at
Bucky and winks with a, “You got it, Sarge.”
Shifting back, Bucky takes a half-step behind Steve while Gabe and Morita walk
(arms’ length apart once Bucky shoots them a displeased eyebrow) a few feet in
front of them. It keeps people off of Steve enough for them to make it safely
to The Pit. Steve drops Bucky’s hand before they enter the classroom and he
very nearly whines at the loss of contact, but then Gabe and Jim are standing
there in front of the doorway saluting like a couple of idiots and Bucky snorts
because his friends are weird. Weird, but really good to him.
Ever so politely, Steve reaches out to shake their hands – to actually shake
their hands like they’re real adults or something. “Thanks Jim, Gabe.
Appreciate the backup.”
“Thanks, fellas,” Bucky says, shooting them both a grateful smile even as he’s
waving them away.
“See you at practice, Barnes!” Gabe says, putting Morita in another headlock.
The look he gives Bucky says all kinds of shit and Bucky doesn’t even mind.
He’ll deal with that later.
As they walk in and take their seats in the back, Bucky asks Steve, “Do you
speak French?” because he kind of can’t get over that.
Steve slumps into the chair like he’s exhausted – and he very well could be –
but he answers, kind of breathlessly, “Yeah. Took it for two years, but –”
Steve sucks in another breath. “Aunt Liza did a few years in the peace corps.
Taught me lots.”
Brows furrowed, Bucky eyes Steve and then leans in and asks, “D’ya need your
inhaler?”
Shaking his head, Steve says, “Not that. Just need a sec.”
And as much as Bucky wants to grasp onto Steve and hover all worriedly, Bucky
backs off and goes on getting out his class materials because the scowl’s back
and Steve looks like he’s concentrating really hard on keeping his breaths
even. It doesn’t stop him from eyeing Steve every now and again. Throughout the
lecture and demo, Bucky watches Steve’s shoulders come down from around his
ears and feels a little bit better.
Throughout class, the distance between them kills Bucky. All he wants to do is
scoot his chair as close as possible and – hell, he’s torn between wanting to
be petted again like during lunch and wanting to pet Steve, to just nudge up
against him and wrap him up and make sure he’s feeling okay. And if he’s not,
then Bucky would absolutely volunteer to take him home, get him all tucked in
and comfortable and safe. He’d do whatever it takes to make sure Steve is well
taken care of – and then maybe get his hair played with for his efforts.
Just thinking about it has Bucky’s breath catching in his throat.
And either it’s loud, or he’s moved or maybe made a face, because Steve looks
over at him. Bucky looks away, shifting in his seat as he resituates his
sketchpad and tries to remember what he’s supposed to be drawing.
With five minutes left, Mr. Fraser turns off the projector and turns them loose
with a curmudgeonly, “Get outta my classroom.” Most of the kids hastily pack up
and jet out, thrilled with the prospect of getting to roam the halls
unattended, but Bucky – he kind of hates it, at least until he looks over at
Steve and sees that he’s dawdling, blushing, clearing his throat. Bucky doesn’t
know what that’s all about, so he just keeps an eye on him while he packs up
his own things.
When Steve stands, he sways a bit.
Bucky grabs onto his arm before he even recognizes he’s doing so. “Whoa,” he
says, steadying Steve, “You okay?”
Steve offers up a half-smile. “Still feel like I should be the one asking you
that. What was the deal at lunch?”
Shrugging, Bucky says, “I got no clue; those magic fingers’a yours, I guess.”
Steve walks slowly toward the door, shaky like a foal, and Bucky hovers, ready
to catch Steve if he’s unsteady again as they head out to the hall. “If it’s
not the asthma then what is it?”
“I’m fine, Buck,” Steve snaps – and then his face immediately morphs into a
horror-flavored regret. “Shit, I’m sorry.” He stops in front of the display
case across the hall, hanging his head and rubbing at his eye with thin
fingers. “Just…I got dizzy. Stood up too fast. It’s nothing.”
Quietly, Bucky says, “If you say so,” and steps closer anyway. Steve’s a
prickly little thing but it’s obvious that he’s probably been treated like this
his whole life.
Becca used to keep plants in her room. Her windowsill was full of them – all
kinds of ferns and succulents and a few attempts at sprouts – but there was
only one little cactus. A tiny thing, barely more than a bulb with a bright
pink flower on top that only reared its reluctant head in the middle of fall.
Bucky always loved it. He’d come into Becca’s room to sit on the foot of her
bed while she was doing homework, just to talk at her about his day and ask how
hers had been, to ruffle her hair and dodge her slaps, to touch the fuzzy
leafed succulents and the spines of the little cactus. He’d expect the sting,
each and every time, but it’d never stop him. Becca ended up taking them with
her to SVA and Bucky can’t help but miss them a little bit.
But then he focuses on Steve in front of him and smiles, because it seems like
he’s got his own little cactus right here.
“What are you smiling about?” Steve asks, still scowling.
Bucky reaches down and thumbs light and quick at the two little divots between
Steve’s brows. “You’re a cactus.”
Raising a brow, Steve huffs a laugh, then closes his eyes and shakes his head.
“I really did fry your brain earlier, didn’t I?”
“Little bit.” Bucky reaches forward again, then stops himself, wondering why in
the hell he’s being so clingy.
But Steve notices and he reaches forward and grabs Bucky’s hand. “Better?”
Bucky nods.
“Good,” Steve says. “Sorry I snapped. That was rude of me to do.”
While Bucky’s shrugging in response, the bell rings and they’re subjected to
the cacophony of hundreds of students pouring out into the halls in an echo of
earlier. Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand a little tighter and then nods his head
toward Ms. Stedman’s room, raising his brow in question. Steve nods, pulling
his scarf up over his nose, and lets Bucky lead the way. He really only has to
dodge two or three kids, too involved in conversations and flirting to notice
him standing there unmoving, Steve tucked behind him. There’s a brief opening
between one wave of students and the next, so Bucky gives a tug and drags Steve
into Ms. Stedman’s class.
She doesn’t even look up at him from her computer – which Bucky is noticing as
a trend among the jaded old hippy types who teach the art classes – as Bucky
waltzes in like he belongs. It smells more like turpentine here than across the
hall, turpentine and clay and kiln. There’s art of all kinds of every single
surface and when he looks at Steve he looks content, right at home in all the
mess.
Steve releases Bucky’s hand, tugs down his scarf, and dumps his bag beneath a
chair at a far table, near what must be the supply closet that spilleth over
and then shoots an easier grin at Bucky. “Thanks for being my human shield.”
“Anytime,” Bucky says, almost too sincerely, caught breathless in the way Steve
bites at his lip.
And Steve, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners, shoves his hair to the side and
says, “Shouldn’t you get to class?”
Bucky should. But he doesn’t really want to. He wants to stay and be near Steve
and watch him draw or paint or sculpt or breathe. “Yeah…”
“Then go,” Steve says. He braces his hands against the table, pinning Bucky
with a look. “You can text me later.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, nodding more to himself than at Steve. “Okay.” He feels
Steve’s eyes on him as he leaves.
Bucky runs into Falsworth in the hall and wraps an arm around his shoulder as
they head into sixth hour together. But the thing is, Monty is tall – taller
than Bucky, even – and it feels weird to be the smaller one, not right the way
it had when Steve was all tucked against him. He’s feeling a lot more clear-
headed now, but still not exactly right. Like that glow, or whatever it had
been, had opened up this whole new thing inside of him and now that he’s
touched it, that Steve touched it, it needs to be tended to and nourished.
“You alright, mate?” Falsworth asks. “I take it’s something to do with Steve.
You’ve been acting peculiar all week.”
Flopping into his chair, and tired of being so transparent, Bucky just shrugs.
Then he laughs, shaking his head and saying, “This is bad, ain’t it? I’m
already this wrapped up in ‘im an’ we ain’t even official.”
“But you’d like to be?”
“Without a doubt,” Bucky says immediately, and then pausing, thinking, he
amends it to, “As long as he wants it too.”
Monty rolls his eyes and shoves at Bucky’s shoulder. “If you fancy him, why
don’t you ask him to semi-formal?” He barely gets the question out before he’s
laughing. “I’m only joking. The underclassmen would eat you alive.”
Bucky actually finds it a lot easier to throw himself into the work they’re
supposed to be doing, clearing the final checklist for the athletic award
ceremony assembly on Friday. It’s mostly mindless work, but he can handle
mindless. He loves clear tasks and guidelines and being able to check the
‘complete’ box once he’s done what he’s supposed to do. It also helps that
Falsworth chatters at him, giving details about what he’d missed at lunch –
because apparently Dum Dum had figured it out before anyone had even opened
their mouths and he’d been upset, convinced that Bucky was going to shoot up
heroin with Steve or something. Bucky laughs when he’s supposed to, even though
it might be a little slow off the starting block, but Falsworth only looks at
him like he’s nuts a handful of times.
Seventh hour, the varsity seniors get to lift weights instead of running
agility drills and Bucky pushes himself so hard he’s shaking at the end, glad
he’s being spotted by Gabe when he almost forgets to put a clamp on the end of
the bar. They all keep quiet, focused on their reps instead of giving each
other shit the way they do when they’re out on the field.
But of course that ends when they’re finished up and heading to the showers.
“You’re being quiet,” Gabe says, slinging a sweaty arm around Bucky’s shoulder.
“Well, quieter than normal. Thinkin’ ‘bout Steve?”
“Yeah.” Bucky’s always thinking about Steve now. If he’s not thinking over what
they’ve done or said, he’s thinking of new things to talk about, questions to
ask, or opinions to consider. “Hey, Gabe, what’d he say to Dernier earlier?”
Gabe lets go of Bucky and starts winding his towel as they near the locker
room. “He said, ‘We’ll see.’”
“See about what? What’d Dernier ask?”
Smiling, Gabe says, “Asked if you two were official yet.” Then he’s darting
forward to snap Dum Dum with his towel, leaving Bucky alone to tend to his
warm, fuzzy and then, subsequently, panic-tinged thoughts.
 
*
 
It’s not until Bucky’s home, halfway through his chemistry homework, that he
starts to feel like he got hit by a Mack truck. He’s sore and shaky and he
feels a little bit like he had earlier, like he needs a hug. Like he needs
Steve.
So he whips out his phone and texts: I need a medic.
And Steve’s response is fast: U ok? It’s a little weird, because for the few
days that they’ve been texting, Steve hasn’t ever used any abbreviations or
shortcuts.
Sore as hellllllll is what he texts back, hoping that he’s not worrying Steve.
A handful of minutes pass and there’s no word from Steve. Bucky finishes his
chemistry and moves on to English. He starts in on the passage analysis and
thanks his lucky stars for SparkNotes because he doesn’t know how in the hell
an owl isn’t supposed to symbolize time. He’s nearly finished before he gets
another message from Steve around half-past seven.
I’d offer a massage, but given what playing with your hair did, I’m not sure
your brain could take it.
And, “Oh, fuck,” Bucky says, shifting in his desk chair as he remembers the
soothing touch and gentle pressure. He sends back: Yeah, that might actually
make me implode.
No, none of that. I like having you around.
Bucky’s body suffuses with warmth, blood rushing to fill everything full up. He
knows he’s smiling, he’s blushing, he’s trying not to giggle like he’s back in
middle school and Natasha Romanov is finally giving him the time of day.
Because this is Steve and he’s an adult (well, nearly) and yet here Bucky is
all giddy at the thought that Steve like likes him.
That so? he responds.
Absolutely.
And, Jesus, Bucky might actually just implode from this. Then how about lunch
again tomorrow?
It takes a few moments for Steve to respond, but when he does the text says:
Sure. We can go with your friends too if you want.
Feeling bold, a little reckless, Bucky asks: How about pretty much every day
after that?
Oh, so you wanna be my steady Lunch Plans? Is this you trying to get in my
pants?
There it is. It’s a clear opening with plenty of options for response. He could
joke it off…but that’d be stupid. Why not just go for it? “Don’t be a coward,
Barnes.” Bracing himself Bucky sends: In them, against them, Bible-length away,
I don’t really care as long as it’s what you want too.
Now, Bucky isn’t exactly the religious type. His ma’s Episcopalian and his
dad’s a non-practicing Jew, but Bucky’d never really paid much attention when
he’d been dragged to church because it’d never really resonated with him. But
now he finds himself drawing in with all the faith and good vibes he’s got,
throwing them out toward any deity that might be listening, “Don’t let me make
an ass’a myself.”
His phone buzzes. He almost doesn’t want to look at it.
Nice try, Barnes. If you want to ask me out, you’d better try it again in
person.
Breathing out a sigh of relief, Bucky texts back: Wish I had the science skills
for beaming technology.
He can practically hear Steve’s laugh when he gets his response: Haha, I think
it’s a few hundred years too early. But I appreciate the implication.
Bucky sends back a smiley face and then asks: So, you might reconsider when I
ask this but I’m gonna ask anyway – what was with the dizzy spell in art today?
Steve’s response takes long enough that Bucky finishes the analysis, trying his
hardest to ignore the worry that’s biting at the back of his skull. It says: I
kept forgetting to refill the prescription for one of my meds and I’ve been
without it for a couple of days. Picked it up on the way home, though, so I’ll
be fine.
With the feeling that Steve’s avoiding a bigger issue, Bucky moves on asks
Steve a few more this-or-that questions as he finishes all of the rest of his
homework and warms up some EasyMac for dinner since Ma’s out of town for work
and Dad’s content to eat leftover stroganoff.
The thing about it is that Steve’s answers are surprising more often than not.
He’s a big fan of Destiny’s Child and N’Sync but not the Spice Girls or the
Backstreet Boys, but he prefers big bands of the thirties and forties more than
anything. His favorite food actually happens to be pizza but he says he won’t
eat it unless he’s ordered it delivery from home (and Bucky had busted a gut at
the idea of Steve admitting to bathroom issues, but then felt a little bad
because apparently it’s actually painful when he eats dairy; just the thought
of Steve in pain makes Bucky feel ninety shades of wrong) and he says there’s
not enough money in the world that will make him eat another popsicle.
But the biggest surprise is how passionate he gets about why AP Government is
his favorite class. The texts go from one or two sentences to blocks of
paragraphs, like the kid’s writing a damn persuasive essay. It’s obvious that
he really, truly and deeply cares about fundamental rights and freedom and
truth and honor – which just goes to show that Steve is so intrinsically good.
“Who’s got ya glued to the phone, kiddo?” his Dad asks over the top of his
book. “It’s not that Howard fella, is it?”
“No, Dad,” Bucky says, “and Howard’s not – he’s not a bad guy.”
“Uh huh. Tell it to the judge; I don’t buy it.” He dog-ears the page he was on
and leans back, fixing Bucky with an expectant look. “Don’t make me whip out
the middle name.”
As much as he might want to, Bucky doesn’t roll his eyes because that’s
disrespectful and his parents definitely raised him better than that. “His
name’s Steve.”
“Steve, huh?” Dad asks, to which Bucky nods, and he must get a truly dopey look
on his face because then Dad says, “Oh, no.”
“What?”
“Do I need to get out Winnie’s wedding binder already? You’ve got that look.”
Bucky laughs. “Dad. No. It’s not. I ain’t even asked him out yet. Not
properly.”
“Uh huh,” his dad says, picking up his book again. “Make sure ya stock up on
condoms.”
“Oh, my God,” Bucky says, turning on his heel to flee to his room.
Chapter End Notes
     The semester from hell is over and now I am spending all of my time
     being a lazy potato. I'm hoping to keep a few chapters ahead so that
     even when next semester starts I'll still have stuff for you guys.
     Thanks for all of the comments and kudos!
     Like I said, this story is incredibly self-indulgent and there is
     little I love more than boys discovering kink together. Prepare for
     more of that ahead.
***** making things official *****
Chapter Notes
     Happy holidays everybody! Consider this 9K of mostly porn my gift to
     you. (Also, a certain part of this was, retrospectively, inspired by
     this tumblr_post.) Check for new tags!
It takes everything Bucky has to force himself to fall asleep after he and
Steve say goodnight. Steve had, once again, brought up how weird Bucky had been
acting after lunch and Bucky honestly doesn’t know what happened. So he tries
to catalogue what he does know:
He just knows that Steve had made him feel good, really good when he’d played
with his hair, and it had been really hard to step back out of it. He knows it
had felt better when Steve hugged him and when Steve held his hand afterward,
and he’d felt weirdly empty and alone when there was distance between them. He
knows that it’d been hard to engage with other people and in his work and that
his focus had been pretty much shot to hell all afternoon. He knows that he’d
lifted weights and hardly felt any of the usual strain. He knows that he’d
gradually felt more and more like himself as time passed, but he’d wanted to
cling to the feeling he’d had earlier and maybe that is exactly why.
Bucky wakes up groggy in the morning, jittery with nerves. He gets ready, honks
at Steve on his drive to school, grabs coffee, sits in first hour bouncing his
leg while he’s waiting for Steve to make it in – at least until the girl in
front of him turns around and politely asks him to stop.
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters, same time as Steve when he walks in and takes his seat.
His heart pounds right up into his throat the second they make eye contact,
Steve’s scowl transforming into a tiny smile.
It makes Bucky feel good – not the same kind of good as yesterday, but maybe an
echo or a ripple. It makes him feel like Steve’s going to say yes when Bucky
gets up the guts to ask him to be his.
And by the time the bell rings and Bucky’s stumbling down Steve’s row and
blurting out, “Hey,” he’s so nervous that he could probably throw up if he so
much as thought about it too hard.
“Hey, yourself, Barnes,” Steve says, looking up at Bucky with those bright blue
eyes. “You got something to say or are you gonna just stand there looking
pretty?”
Bucky feels himself blushing – not just the nerves, but because Steve just
called him pretty – and he has to look away, look down because it’s too much.
“Steve, I’m tryin’ to –” he whines, and then he clears his throat, gathering up
the confidence he needs, “Will you be m–?”
“Yes,” Steve answers quickly.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Bucky says, “Thank god.”
Steve reaches out and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Go to class, Bucky,” he orders,
“Unless you want Morita to rub it in your face again.”
“You’re right. See you at lunch?” Bucky asks, making sure to walk backwards so
Steve can still read his lips. He bumps into a girl trying to make her way down
the row and he’s apologizing, hearing Steve’s laugh as he leaves the classroom.
As soon as Bucky takes his seat in chemistry class, Morita comes rushing in and
says, “Dude, at the rate we’re going, we might all actually have prom dates.”
Bucky rolls his eyes, because of course Morita already knows. “Who the hell
even told ya? Jeez, it literally happened three minutes ago.”
“Natasha Romanov.”
“But I ain’t even told her yet! What the hell…”
By the time Bucky gets to third hour, he’s hearing murmurs as gossip swirls
around him, a few brave souls coming up to him in the hallway on his way to
clasp him on the shoulder, offer a smile, and congratulate him on his new
boyfriend. And Bucky had had no clue how fast word travels on the grapevine,
but this must be a new record.
After English, Bucky waits for Steve outside of the commons doors and beams the
moment he sees him.
“Sure you’re ready for this?” Bucky asks, reaching out for Steve’s hand as soon
as he’s close enough.
But Steve surprises him, all but barreling in, getting his hands on Bucky’s
cheeks and standing on his tip-toes to land a kiss right on his mouth. It
barely lasts more than a second, but Bucky’s face tingles when Steve’s hands
drop and he knows he’s wearing that dopey grin.
“I’ve been wanting to do that again since Friday,” Steve admits, twining the
fingers of his left with Bucky’s right. “And yeah; let’s do this.”
When they meet up with the guys at Gabe’s SUV, Dugan’s AWOL – because
apparently Lakshmi has decided that they need to go on a lunch date. Dernier
takes shotgun while Morita spreads out in the third row to catch a quick nap
while Steve and Bucky squeeze in next to the sprawl of Falsworth’s stupidly
long legs in the second row.
It turns out that Steve fits in with the fellas like he’s known them his entire
life, the same way it felt when Bucky first had a real conversation with him.
Lunch is full of good-natured ribbing and stupid jokes. Falsworth makes a pun
that makes everyone groan and roll their eyes, but Steve actually snorts and
comes back with one that’s even worse, and then they’re all laughing way too
hard and Bucky can’t help but press in tighter against Steve’s side.
Gabe and Dernier carry on a conversation in French – and Steve actually
interjects a few times, making Dernier laugh like a douchebag around his taco
while Gabe smirks into the rearview mirror. Bucky doesn’t even mind feeling
lost about it, he’s just happy that Steve and his friends are actually getting
along so well.
And it’s pretty much the same thing on Friday too, just with the addition of
Dum Dum.
Things are much more relaxed what with it being an afternoon assembly schedule
all day long and classes are shortened to only thirty-five minutes instead of
the usual fifty. The teachers don’t care to teach full lessons and the students
don’t mind one bit, too preoccupied with talking about who’s going to get which
award during the ceremony they’re supposed to be having, who’s sitting with
whom and where to meet up to go into the gym together.
In art, Bucky and Steve sit so that Steve’s left boot is tucked over Bucky’s
right.
“Hey, Bucky, do you know if you’re getting any awards?” Steve asks, biting at
his bottom lip as he glances up.
Bucky shrugs, filling in another line. His bird is looking weirdly narrow, so
he erases it and tries again. “I got no clue, actually. I bet Gabe will.”
“Huh.”
“Why d’ya ask?”
“Because I’ve got a doctor’s appointment at three and I wanted to know if I
should stay to watch or skip out early.”
Bucky looks at Steve, frowning. He absently smacks his sketchpad with the
eraser end of his pencil as he says, “Steve, even if I get somethin’, that’s no
reason for you to skip out on a doctor’s visit. Those’re important.”
Steve shoots Bucky a look and says, “It’s just a checkup.”
“And this is just a dumb high school awards ceremony. No need to put much stock
in it.” Bucky shrugs. As much as he wants to tell Steve that his health is way
more important to Bucky than any of that other stuff, he doesn’t. They’ve been
dating all of a two days and Bucky already knows that Steve’s health is a
touchy subject. Turns him extra prickly – which Bucky shouldn’t find cute, but
does.
“If you say so.” Steve looks a little downtrodden when he shrugs his curved
shoulders right back. “Just want to support my guy.”
And how could Bucky not smile at that? The cute, confident way Steve voices his
possession. Bucky’s going to go ahead and list it down as one of his
weaknesses. “Your guy, huh?”
Steve smiles the smile that means he’s trying not to and Bucky falls a little
bit in love.
 
*
 
It turns out that Bucky does win an award – gets his name put on a banner
(along with Gabe’s and Dum Dum’s) that’ll be hanging up in the gym forever and
everything – but somebody puts the video up on the school’s website so Steve
will be able to watch it anyway. All of the varsity boys get new letterman
jackets proclaiming their undefeated record on a patch, and Morita’s already
talking about how his mom is going to want to make patches for their little
crew.
Off-season practice is cut short enough that Bucky gets home before Steve’s
even finished with his doctor’s appointment. Bucky knocks out all of his
homework before it’s even dinnertime and so he texts Steve: Wanna hang out
tonight? We all usually head to Gabe’s. I could pick you up?
There’s a lull, where Bucky grabs a pair of PB&Js, before Steve responds:
Sorry, I was showering. Yeah? Aunt Liza doesn’t believe I actually have friends
other than Peggy and Natasha so she might want to meet you. If that’s okay.
Though panic washes through him, Bucky swallows it because he wants to see
Steve and if this is how it has to happen, then so be it. He shoots back: Sure!
When do you want me?
The response is practically immediate: Anytime is good. All I’m doing now is
eating dinner.
What’s for dinner? A bean?
Steve texts back with a picture – it’s a selfie of him bringing a spoonful of
yep, black beans up to his mouth, an obvious, “Fuck off,” in his eyes. Bucky
doesn’t even bother responding, opting to toe on his shoes and tell his dad
that he’s heading out and not to wait up, ignoring the quip about condoms that
his dad shouts out the door behind him.
It’s pretty easy to remember the route to Steve’s place across town and Bucky
only lets himself freak out with his head against the steering wheel for a few
minutes.
Then he gets a text that says: Stop freaking out and come inside. It’s #569.
And, okay. Bucky can do that. He can follow orders.
His hands are only shaking a little bit whenever he rings the doorbell,
stepping back so that he’s visible through the peephole. The door swings open a
few seconds later, and a redheaded woman with bright blue eyes and skin as pale
as alabaster opens the door. She’s got pretty little laugh lines, a wide smile
and she’s wearing dark green scrubs.
“You must be Bucky,” she says, offering her hand to shake. Bucky takes it and
then she steps aside, gesturing for him to come inside. “Star football player,
right? Steve’s told me a lot about you. Are you hungry? I made extra soup if
you’d like some.”
“No thank you, Ms. Rogers. I already ate supper.”
She shrugs, as if to say, “Your loss,” and then shouts, “Steve, Bucky’s here!”
Bucky’s pretty sure he just beat his standing vertical jump record. She’s got a
set of pipes.
“And you can call me Liza, honey.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says. Ears perked, Bucky hears a door open and then the
friction of socks on carpet before Steve finally makes an appearance. His hair
is still dark with moisture from the shower and his eyes are clear, his face
bare of glasses. Bucky swallows.
Quietly, Steve says, “Hey,” and sidles up next to where Bucky’s standing
awkwardly in their kitchen across from Liza who’s fixing herself a thermos.
Even through the layers of shirts and a vintage-looking HARVARD emblazoned
sweatshirt, Steve’s hip is bony as hell when it knocks against Bucky’s leg. And
that only serves to remind Bucky just how tiny his fella is – Steve only comes
up to Bucky’s chin. He’s the perfect height for Bucky to sling an arm around
his shoulder and tug him in close.
Liza doesn’t stick around too long, heading out for a night shift at the
hospital with a, “Lock up if you leave,” and a wink.
“So,” Steve says, hunching his shoulders. “This is where I live.”
“C’mon, Rogers,” Bucky says, tossing his arm around Steve’s shoulder. He
presses a kiss to the side of Steve’s head. “Show me around.”
Steve huffs a tiny sound and, reluctantly pleased, and leads Bucky throughout
the apartment. Past the kitchen is the living room that opens to a balcony with
a pair of wrought iron chairs sidled up to a table with a fern as the
centerpiece. There are pictures, framed and unframed, of Steve (who was an
incredibly tiny tiny tiny child with a hilarious bowl cut for a couple of
years) and Liza, a pair of people who must’ve been Steve’s parents including
the woman from Steve’s sketchpad, and then quite a few of Steve and Peggy
Carter.
“Over there’s Aunt Liza’s room,” Steve says, gesturing to the right hall as he
turns to lead the way down the left. “That’s the studio-library-ruckus room.”
The door is open enough for Bucky to see shelves upon shelves of books lining
one wall, and against another is a desk holding Steve’s backpack in front of
the window with a ton of canvases stacked against it.
“And here’s my room.”
Steve pushes the door open and Bucky immediately grins. It looks like, smells
like, and perfectly encapsulates the very core of his little Stevie Rogers. One
wall is covered with pin boards, photos and drawings alike. There are posters
and paintings everywhere, bands and vintage war time ads and surrealist
sceneries. His bed is along the far wall, smaller than Bucky’s, but the
blankets look comfortably rucked up. Opposite that is a TV with movies stacked
neatly inside the entertainment center it rests on and beside that is a
bookshelf with all kinds of knickknacks on top.
Everything about the room looks cozy as hell.
Bucky kind of never wants to leave.
Clearing his throat, Steve asks, “What time does Gabe want us over?”
Bucky shrugs. “He never really says. He’ll either text or send a Snapchat or
somethin’ once he’s ready.”
“Okay. Well, we can hang out here for a while then.” Steve flops back onto his
bed and Bucky watches the movement, the way his shirts ride up to reveal just a
little bit of belly skin. He’s pale and smooth and Bucky wants to – he’s
seriously caught with the way he wants to just kneel up between his legs and
just rest his face there, which he figures is kind of a strange thought, but he
nearly staggers under the weight of how much he suddenly wants it.
He must make a sound because then Steve’s sitting up, looking at him
expectantly.
“How’d your doctor’s appointment go?” Bucky asks, still hovering awkwardly just
inside the door, hoping that his question will cover up the naked want he’s
feeling. But then again, Steve’s not wearing his glasses, so maybe he won’t be
able to tell regardless.
“Healthy as I’ll ever be.” Steve eyes Bucky for a second and then says, “Come
here.”
Stilted, stuttering steps carry Bucky over to the bed. He stands beside it,
right in front of Steve who looks up at him with teeth gnawing at his lower
lip. There’s nothing hesitant about his facial expression. It’s all confidence
and want and it makes Bucky’s throat ache. Steve reaches up and twines a hand
in the front of Bucky’s sweater.
Without saying a word, Bucky bends and kisses Steve. Steve’s fist pulls tighter
and Bucky’s overbalancing, bracing one hand on Steve’s shoulder and the other
on the mattress. But Steve works with it, using Bucky’s momentum to lay him out
on the bed.
When Steve pulls back, his eyes are dancing. He says, voice rumbling, “Kinda
wanna get my hands all over you, Buck.”
Bucky swallows. “Yeah,” he says quietly, nodding over and over at Steve’s look,
“Yeah. That’s a great plan.” He wants to kiss, he wants to touch, he wants to
do whatever Steve wants. “Whatever you want.”
“Good,” Steve says, smirking before he leans in to taste Bucky’s shiver. He
nudges at Bucky’s shoulder until he’s pressed against the mattress, rolling
smoothly on top so that he’s straddling Bucky’s hips. “This okay?”
All Bucky can do is nod. Enthusiastically.
Laughing, Steve runs his hands up over Bucky’s sweater, the pressure of his
hands leaving prickling heat in their wake. Bucky’s still wearing his coat and
his boots, for Christ’s sake, and he’s already starting to sweat at just the
sight of Steve. At this rate, the sound and feel is going to physically kill
him. He’s going to have a heatstroke and die. “Uh, wait,” Bucky says shakily,
“Can I take off my coat?”
Sitting up just enough to allow Bucky the range of motion, Steve takes the coat
once Bucky has shrugged his way out of it and then tosses it in the direction
of the door. It lands on a pile of Steve’s shoes. “Better?” Steve asks.
After he toes off his boots, Bucky smiles up at Steve and says, “Much better.”
Steve takes that as permission and shoves at Bucky’s shoulders until his head
is nested in the rucked up blankets. “Good. Now kiss me.”
And what else can Bucky do but comply? Reaching up to cradle Steve’s cheek,
Bucky leans in and kisses Steve’s lower lip. It always looks red, plush,
bitten. He nibbles at it, just the lightest of pressure, before he coaxes Steve
into a gentle kiss, hand sliding down Steve’s back to rest on his hip. Jesus,
he’s so – he’s everything Bucky has wanted and now that he’s finally getting to
kiss him, he never really wants to stop. He just wants Steve to feel the same.
Bucky takes things slowly. Kissing is something that he’s been told he’s really
good at. He likes to start off teasing, testing the waters before jumping in
full throttle. It’s always fun to just kiss and touch light as can be for as
long as possible, just to see how long it’ll take until either he or his
partner is squirming for more.
It’s clear that Steve is at that point, clearly a little more impatient than
Bucky, at least if the way his lips part and the way he makes a soft, unbidden
noise into Bucky’s mouth is any indication. As the kiss deepens, Steve’s arms
bump against Bucky’s and then his chilly fingers are pushing up beneath Bucky’s
sweater, making Bucky’s stomach muscles twitch. The next noise Steve makes is
pleased, like this is all he’s ever wanted and he’s glad he’s finally getting
it, like Bucky’s body is perfect. Pleasure flushes up through Bucky.
“Some killer abs you got there, Buck,” Steve says, smiling against Bucky’s
mouth as his fingers trail up over the ridges. In return, Bucky thumbs at
Steve’s prominent hipbones where the skin is thin and warm and he knows that
his fingers move just a touch too softly when Steve jolts and laughs.
“Tickles,” he explains.
“Sorry,” Bucky murmurs, lifting a hand to thumb at Steve’s cheek.
He kisses Bucky again, deeper and faster.
Bucky groans and Steve’s thighs tighten; it’s just like how it’d been in
Bucky’s car, hot and heavy and fast, only now they actually have some room to
maneuver. The thing is, Bucky just wants to go where Steve is and he only wants
what Steve wants, so he keeps his reciprocating touches passive, letting Steve
set the pace and guide him along. It’s so easy to follow Steve’s lead – at
least up until the moment that Steve starts a slow, sweet grind over Bucky’s
lap.
“Oh, Steve,” Bucky says, only it’s more like a prayer, like he’s pleading with
the way it bursts out of him.
The way Steve pulls back and looks at Bucky, innocent expression as ever on
those delicate features, and keeps grinding has Bucky clutching at him tighter.
“Tell me what you want, Buck,” Steve says. Only, it’s an order, gentle as it
may sound.
“Jus’ wanna touch ya,” he half-slurs, drunk off of Steve’s lips and the heady,
heavy look in his eye. He never stops moving and Bucky can hardly stand it.
“I’m so fuckin’ lucky. Dunno what I did to deserve you. Please?”
Steve’s nostrils flare a bit with the breath he sucks in and then he’s saying,
“Since you asked so nicely. Always so polite, Bucky. You’re so –” His hips
hitch a little harder, squirming over Bucky’s lap like he can’t help himself.
“Please,” Bucky breathes. Say it, say it, say it, he prays.
“You’re so good, Buck,” Steve finally says, so much heat in his eyes that Bucky
has to close his eyes and shudder at the intensity. He doesn’t come – and it’s
a near thing – but he does let out a sound that’s closer to a sob than anything
else. “Shh, no. Hey, it’s okay. Look at me, yeah?”
Bucky does, and he’s so incredibly hard – hard as hell – and all he wants to do
is hold Steve by the hips and rut up into him until he dies a little bit. He
whines, want caught in his throat behind all the panting he’s doing.
“That’s it. Here, sit up for me,” Steve coaxes, smiling and Bucky keeps his
eyes on him as he complies. “Good. Want your shirt off?”
“Yeah.” If Bucky’s honest, he wants them both naked so they can press into each
other and feel. But Steve didn’t ask that, so he keeps that desire to himself
for the moment.
Steve’s hands slide up under Bucky’s sweater and undershirt. “Raise your arms
for me.”
When he does and Steve strips him free and then just looks at him, Bucky
shivers. Steve tosses the shirts toward the end of the bed and then turns on
him, eyeing over Bucky’s skin with a look that shows all of his satisfaction.
Bucky preens a little under the scrutiny.
“You’re perfect, Buck.”
Again, Bucky shivers. And it isn’t the cold – because Steve’s place is
definitely kept warmer than Bucky’s – but the way Steve’s voice slides over the
syllables, deep and warm and pleased. Like – like Bucky deserves him. “Look
who’s talkin’.”
Laughing, Steve leans in and slings his arms around Bucky’s neck, pressing
right up against his bare chest when he says, “Oh, yeah. Very funny,” and
kisses him. The sweater Steve’s wearing is worn soft, and it feels great, but
Bucky wants to know what Steve’s skin feels like.
Steve presses a kiss to the corner of Bucky’s mouth, his cheek, his jaw, the
dimple on his chin. Then he leans back and strips off his shirts and his
sweater and –
“Oh, god, Stevie,” Bucky says reverently. Because Steve’s beautiful; he’s lean
and flushed pink down to his belly button; it’s perfect, absolutely perfect,
and – oh, wow. “Why didn’tcha tell me you have a tattoo?” It’s a tiny thing,
the words ‘be good’ in someone’s cursive handwriting right over Steve’s ribs on
the left side.
Before he can control himself, Bucky’s leaning in and pressing his lips to it,
wrapping his arms low around Steve’s back. And god, Steve’s skin is soft and
sweet enough for Bucky to want to taste for ages. He trails kisses up from the
tattoo to Steve’s nipple, giving a scrape with his teeth before he sucks at it.
Vaguely, Bucky can hear Steve make a sharp, hungry sound. But then Steve’s hand
is in his hair, tugging Bucky back by the bun, eyes so dark that the black of
his pupils is nearly eclipsing the blue away, and then he’s leaning in so they
can kiss again – and Bucky can’t complain for even a second, because he gets to
feel Steve all pressed up against him.
Steve kisses with lips and tongue and teeth, he moves over Bucky with jerky
hitches of his hips, and he keeps that hand anchored in Bucky’s hair. When he
gives a tug, Bucky whines into Steve’s mouth.
And then Steve’s leaning up, pinning Bucky with his eyes as he starts to
unbutton and unzip Bucky’s pants. There’s no challenge in the look, but a
question, an unvoiced, “Is this okay?” to which Bucky gives a nod. He’s pretty
sure that he wheezes whenever Steve gets his hand inside and finally (finally)
around his dick.
When he untucks Bucky’s dick from his pants, Steve groans and grinds against
Bucky’s thighs. “Good god, you’re perfect all over,” he mutters. Firmly, Steve
strokes a single finger up the length of Bucky’s dick, thumbing beneath the
head when he finishes.
Flushing from the praise, Bucky rocks his hips as subtly as possible. “Kiss me,
Steve. Please.”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. His fist curls around tight, jerking Bucky off with
slow, teasing pumps in an echo of the way Bucky’d started off kissing him. With
his other hand, he strokes up from Bucky’s cheek back into his hair, jostling
more of it free from the bun as he grips and guides Bucky’s head to the side.
It’s the perfect angle for Steve to lick into Bucky’s mouth.
Groaning, Bucky’s grips at Steve’s shoulders and spreads his legs. It squishes
things up a bit – and Steve laughs and resituates, but then he’s kissing Bucky
again, smiling into it. And it feels funny, so that sets Bucky to laughing,
chagrined and giddy as he gives a bashful, “Sorry.”
Steve presses a kiss to his chin again. “’s okay.” The kisses trail down,
alternating between lips and then tongue and then the firm scrape of teeth and
Bucky knows he’s panting and making all of these embarrassing sounds, but he
can’t help it. Not with the way Steve’s rubbing up against him with all of that
soft skin and touching his dick.
“Steve,” Bucky whines, “Steve, wanna touch you.” But Steve doesn’t seem to
hear, too busy biting down hard over Bucky’s chest. “Ah!” Bucky grits his teeth
and pants, hips arching so hard he nearly jostles Steve right off of him. The
pressure releases and blood refills the skin where it’d been pinched off by
Steve’s teeth, and Steve’s licking over it and Bucky can’t help but get a hand
into Steve’s hair, torn between shoving him away and tugging him closer in the
wake of the sting. He’s hitching his hips harder up against Steve, trying to
still himself and failing spectacularly. “Steve, Steve, please. Don’t wanna
come ‘til I’ve gotten my hands on you.”
Sitting back on his haunches, Steve strokes at Bucky’s dick and eyes the mark
he just left, voicing a whole-hearted, “Fuck.” Then his eyes trail up to
Bucky’s and he must see the naked heat because then he’s leaning back and
working at his own zip and fly – and then he’s gone and Bucky’s whining, but –
“Shh, I’m right here, hang on, I just gotta –”
When Steve sits back in Bucky’s lap, he’s completely naked. Bucky groans and
rubs the line of his nose against Steve’s throat. All of his bare skin is right
there for Bucky to touch, to see, to drink in because he’s thirsty all the way
down to his soul.
“You’re fuckin’ beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky says, words he’s kept inside for far
too long.
“Says you,” Steve retorts, rolling his eyes. He slumps down over Bucky again,
taking his mouth in another kiss before Bucky gets a chance to respond. Steve
thumbs and pinches at one of Bucky’s nipples and bites down on his lower lip,
dragging it down with his teeth before he –
“Oh, god,” Bucky blurts, breathing hard against Steve’s chin once he’s got
their cocks lined up, grinding so sweet with the slow roll of his hips. “You
feel so good. Feel – f-fuck – fuckin’ perfect against me.”
Sweating, gritting his teeth, Bucky cranes his neck for more kisses and whines
whenever Steve doesn’t indulge him, but pulls back, smirking as he stays just
out of reach. And Bucky tries again, sitting up and leaning closer until
Steve’s back is arched back and he’s only staying in Bucky’s lap by Bucky’s
grip around his back and the grace of God. Steve only laughs, tossing his arms
around Bucky’s neck and turning to nip at his ear. “Had to get you sitting up
somehow.”
Bucky laughs. “Well, that definitely worked,” he says, shifting his hips. “All
you had to do was say.” Somehow the words feel like a confession. That Bucky
would do just about anything Steve wants, because Bucky wants that.
He wants to be good for Steve.
Steve tugs Bucky’s ear with his teeth and then finally shifts so they’re face-
to-face. The look in his eye is – God, Bucky can’t even think with the way
Steve’s looking at him. His breath is coming too quick and he tries to hide it
by reaching between them to thumb at the head of Steve’s cock. Steve shifts
around in Bucky’s lap, probably chafing against the denim still over Bucky’s
thighs, but it’s too late to do anything about that now. Bucky’s been riding
the edge of close for what feels like ages and he’s convinced that if he so
much as thinks the word, he’ll come all over himself.
But Steve just shifts until he’s nudged up against Bucky’s chest and they’re
forehead to forehead, just as intimate as that first time. And then Steve’s
saying, “Slide those down a bit,” and Bucky does and then he’s breathing out,
“Kiss me,” and Bucky does and then he’s grumbling, “Come for me, Buck,” and
Bucky does.
The feeling surges up through him and he’s throwing his head back, gasping out
at the intensity, shaking and hitching his hips as he clutches at Steve and
comes – his cock pulsing hard, stripes slicking up the skin between them. He’s
wrenching in air and riding out the feeling, squeezing his eyes shut against
Steve’s neck as he shivers with aftershocks.
“Oh, my God,” Steve breathes, voice nearing a wheeze at the last word. “Fuck,
Bucky, that was so hot – that was perfect, oh, my God.” He’s still rutting up
against the arch of Bucky’s softening cock and his stomach, wet with his own
release and the drip of Steve’s precome.
Bucky reaches down between them to stroke Steve, mouthing sloppily at his
collarbone.
Steve makes a sharp noise and Bucky turns to look up at Steve. “Fuck.”
“Want you’ta come on me, Steve,” Bucky slurs, pausing to swipe the tip of
Steve’s cock through the mess of come before he works Steve’s dick as fast as
his muzzy state will let him. “Wanna make you feel s’good.” But he wants that –
wants Steve to mark him and mess him up and make him feel just as lost in it as
he makes Bucky feel, like this is it, like this is everything, and – “Please,”
Bucky whines.
The noise Steve makes is straight from his chest, a deep groan that sends a
wave of aftershocks sparking through Bucky. He watches, mesmerized as Steve’s
cock twitches and pulses wet over his skin as his ass flexes against Bucky’s
groin. And his face is just as good – that perfect little angel face as twisted
up like he’s mad about how good it feels. Even as Steve comes down, heaving a
great big gasp, his brows are furrowed, his eyes are squeezed shut, and the
corners of his lips are tugged down in his trademark scowl.
Bucky kisses the side of Steve’s mouth, quick and soft and careful, waiting for
Steve to catch his breath.
Once he does, he slumps forward to rest against Bucky’s chest and the mess on
his stomach, smearing it all up between them. Bucky pets over the sharp lines
of Steve’s shoulder blades and holds Steve like it’s exactly why he was born.
And he honestly thinks he might be. His purpose in this world might just be to
take care of Steve.
“You okay?” he asks when he feels Steve still trembling after a while.
Thankfully, his breath is steady and clear.
“Yeah, ‘m jus’ cold.”
Holding tightly to Steve’s shoulders, Bucky says, “Here, hang on,” as he rolls
to the side. Surprised, Steve makes a sound against Bucky’s neck. Bucky tucks
the warm, messy blankets up around Steve’s shoulders, draped so it’s not
touching any semen. “Are there washcloths in your bathroom?”
Blinking sleepily, smiling, Steve nods. “Through that door there.” And then,
when Bucky returns and starts swiping at their messy stomachs, Steve’s looking
at him with this naked adoration – blue eyes all big and shimmery as he says,
“Thanks, Buck.”
Once they’re relatively clean, Bucky tucks himself back into his pants and
Steve has him toss the dirtied rag into the hamper by his closet and then tugs
him in close so that they’re all knotted up together like headphone cords. From
an outside perspective it might look funny the way Bucky’s tucked up underneath
Steve’s chin, being so much bigger than him, but to Bucky, it couldn’t feel any
better.
At least, not until Steve lifts a shaky arm and asks, “Can I take this down?”
fingering over Bucky’s sweat-damp hair.
Bucky nods. “Oh, yeah. You gonna rub my head?”
“Thought I just did,” Steve says, sly grin creeping up out of nowhere. Bucky
barks a laugh and then buries his face against Steve’s flat chest. “Think it’ll
make you act all funny again?”
“Mm, prob’ly,” Bucky slurs, still smiling against Steve’s skin. His chest
flutters with anticipation the moment Steve tugs the hairband free and his hair
tumbles down over his neck and face. He tries to blow it away, but really only
succeeds in making Steve laugh and squirm away from the tickle – and then
Bucky’s pressing his fingers into Steve’s sides, watching with delight as Steve
honks a laugh and curls in on himself, shoving at Bucky’s hands.
He’s laughing as he says, “Stop, stop – ahah, nooo!” He heaves in a breath when
Bucky pauses and wiggles his fingers, threatening to go again until Steve says,
“Don’t. Or no head rub.”
“Sorry, sorry,” Bucky says immediately, dropping his hands, “C’mon. I’ll be
good. I’m sorry.” He tucks his head back under Steve’s chin and nuzzles in,
brushing the tip of his nose against the line of Steve’s jaw. “Please.”
Sighing, acting all put upon, Steve says, “Fine,” and then, “You’d better
behave.”
Bucky can feel his hand hovering, so close, but it doesn’t come down and so
Bucky says, “I will. I’ll be good. I promise.”
“Alright,” Steve acquiesces, and then – he still doesn’t so much as brush
Bucky’s hair back before he’s saying, “But first, I really do need some
clothes, I’m fucking freezing. Then water and bathroom. Last time you were…I
don’t know – out of it? – for a while and I want to make sure you’re
comfortable. See how long it lasts.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, scooting away even as his chest gives a hitch, “I can do
that. See? I’m good.”
Steve smiles, sweet as summer strawberries. “Course you are,” he says.
Bucky shimmies out of bed and bends to toss the discarded clothes from the
floor up onto the sheets. When Steve reaches for his underwear, tugging then up
his skinny legs, Bucky has to fight the urge to say, “Wait!” because, for
whatever reason, he wants to be the one putting them on Steve. So instead, all
he does is watch and hover and ask himself why he has all of these weird urges
to do random things when he’s with Steve.
He comes up with approximately nothing.
“Water’s in the fridge,” Steve says.
And then, remembering himself, Bucky flushes and turns to venture out into the
hallway, tracing a path back to the kitchen to retrieve two bottles from the
top shelf before hightailing it back into Steve’s room. The light’s on in
Steve’s bathroom, so Bucky sets both of the waters on the bedside table and
perches on the end of Steve’s bed, back straight and hands resting on his
thighs, waiting for him to return.
“That was quick,” Steve comments as he shuts the door behind himself. He
shuffles over, tugging the ends of his sleeves over his hands before putting
them on either of Bucky’s cheeks and leaning in for a chaste kiss.
“Top shelf,” Bucky says as Steve grabs one of the waters. “Only the best for my
fella.”
Steve snorts as he uncaps it, taking a swig and then, like he’s realizing just
how thirsty he is, starts gulping until about half the bottle is gone and he’s
panting for breath. He wipes his mouth with his shirt sleeve and then eyes the
unopened bottle. “Mm,” he hums, clearly remembering something, “I’m gonna grab
my sketchpad. I’ll be right back. Why don’t you drink up? Bet you’re thirstier
than you realize.”
Bucky wants to whine, but he quells the panic in his chest when Steve leaves by
doing exactly what he said. It turns out that he is goddamn parched. When Steve
comes back in to see Bucky chugging away at the bottle, plastic crinkling from
the pressure. Steve tosses his sketchpad and a tin full of pencils on the bed,
brushing the bare, over-sensitized skin of Bucky’s lower back as he passes.
Pulling his lips away from the bottle, Bucky pants and wipes away the moisture
that dribbled down his chin.
“Better?” Steve asks from the bed. It doesn’t so much as creak when he
resituates, bouncing a little to get comfortable.
Nodding, Bucky caps the bottle and sets it back down on the nightstand before
sliding to lie on top of the covers beside Steve’s blanketed lower half. He
looks up, making his widest, most innocent eyes coupled with a charming grin
and then asks, “C’n I have a magic head rub now?”
Without a word, Steve threads his fingers of his left hand into Bucky’s hair,
working from the roots to the ends just above Bucky’s ear. Bucky makes a noise
before he can help himself, nuzzling closer against Steve’s thigh. He hears
Steve chuckle and then there’s a little more pressure tracing over toward the
nape of his neck.
“Feel good?” Steve asks.
Nodding, Bucky curls his hand around Steve’s thigh and noses at the line of
Steve’s hip. “Feels real fuckin’ good,” he says, blinking his eyes open up at
Steve. And Bucky hadn’t realized his eyes were closed, but now it doesn’t
really matter. He knows Steve’s looking down at him like he’s all amused and
Bucky really can’t complain because Steve doesn’t stop running his fingers
through his hair.
“I really like this,” Steve mumbles.
His words pulse against Bucky’s closed eyelids, gold and warm and soft, and
Bucky can’t get close enough.
“You’re so sweet like this, Buck.” His fingers card through, steady and slow
and soothing. “Turns you into a cat. Think you can purr?”
Bucky hums, and shifts, nosing his way up under Steve’s shirts so he can touch
some bare skin.
Steve laughs. “That’s pretty close. Very good.”
From there Bucky can feel himself drifting. He knows he’s not technically
asleep because he can still hear Steve’s voice every now and then, lilting with
praise and warm with affection. Sometimes he’ll pause, too caught up with the
drawing he’s doing with his other hand, but Bucky’ll nose against his hip or
tighten his grip on Steve’s thigh and it’ll quickly resume. All the tension
that Bucky usually carries, in his shoulders, his back, his stomach, dissipates
and he feels, all at once, that nothing really matters and that everything that
does matter is right here. So he doesn’t need to worry. Because Steve can take
care of it and if not, then he’ll tell Bucky how.
“Tell me how you feel.”
Bucky registers the command. It might’ve been a question before that, but it’s
too hard to think. He can’t really parse through all of the flitting thoughts
as they come and go faster than he can reach and grab and hold. But it’s easier
when the choice is taken from him, when he’s only given parameters to work
with, and he can slur out, “Good,” and get petted for it in return. Dazed and
happy, Bucky keeps nosing against Steve’s skin and wraps all of his limbs
around Steve’s left leg. It’s almost too difficult of a feat to manage, but
Steve doesn’t resist and he doesn’t stop petting Bucky, so it feels as though
each little bit of progress he makes is worthy of a reward.
There might be more words from Steve, more praises or questions or commands,
but Bucky slips down into this bubbly fog where all he can feel is Steve’s hand
in his hair and the swirl of pleasure tumbling through him. It might last for
minutes or it might last for hours – and Bucky doesn’t even remember why that’d
be a bad thing. He can’t think of any reason why he shouldn’t just stay here,
safe and warm, cuddled up against Steve.
It’s the best thing in the world.
His chest feels too full. It’s full of light and air and the golden warmth of
Steve’s smile, the blue of his patient gaze.
It feels like swimming through clouds, sun shining on his face and warming
Bucky from the toes up. Sometimes it feels like he sinks back down, hears more
of what’s going on in reality than in this perfect place where there’s only
comfort and safety.
Bucky hasn’t been drunk before – sure, he’s had his share of lukewarm beer at
the occasional house party courtesy of Howard Stark. He never lets himself have
more than one, never letting himself step outside of the bounds of his own
control because he’s too worried about making sure that the fellas are all
okay, that nobody’s doing anything too stupid. Aside from that, there was that
one time that his dad’s firm completed that big project in downtown Boston when
Bucky’d just turned sixteen. This is sort of like how that had been. Champagne.
Light and gold and bubbly. It’d been all too easy to snatch a flute from a
passing tray, downing it in gulps instead of the sips he’d seen the adults
taking. Becca had been at his elbow, smacking him for a taste. They’d stolen
one more after that, sharing them over delighted giggles and hiding from their
parents, fuzzy and sharp all at once.
Here, with Steve, Bucky feels perfectly fine to let himself float through the
sensations unfettered. He thinks, dark wisps in the back of his mind, that
maybe this should scare him.
But it doesn’t.
It feels different when Steve’s fingers move from his hair to his cheek and
temple, brushing the hair back and petting over his face. Still, it’s warm and
lazy and Bucky doesn’t think he’ll ever want to let go of this feeling, even
when it shifts from gold to blue and Steve’s voice is prickling at the colors
as he’s saying, “Come on, Bucky, it’s okay, I’m right here, you can come.”
There are stuttered gasps stuck in his chest, released when the tension in his
head goes lax and he bursts even higher above the clouds. It feels like he’s
the sun. And if he’s not the sun, then he’s Icarus, singeing his feathers,
melting the wax, and falling falling falling back down into the cradle of the
sea, Steve’s eyes and voice and coaxing and gentle and patient. He drowns.
“That was so good, Buck – it was incredible. You’re so good for me.”
Pride is audible, sparks of gold in the blue and dancing along Bucky’s cheeks
and chin and chest.
“You make me so happy.”
It swells up and bursts, raining warm, soft touch and gentle tones. Bucky
doesn’t know how to catalogue his thoughts, reduced to a simmer of sensations
and the present. He wants to tell Steve that he makes him happy. That Steve
takes the stress and anxiety and tucks it down, not hidden, but makes it
manageable.
Bucky feels his throat work, his eyelashes flutter together and apart. He wants
to see Steve. He wants to tell him.
“Take your time. Come back when you’re ready. I’m right here.”
With a breath, Bucky tilts his head back into the curve of Steve’s palm and
waits. Steve’s hand drifts down to his neck, a thumb very gentle pressure
behind his ear and down his jaw. Its ridges catch on haphazard stubble.
Words string together, looking less like ribbons and more like letters and
Bucky tries to grasp at them, clutch them between his fingers and swallow them
whole. The first thing he manages is, “Steve.”
“Bucky, hey,” Steve says, “You back with me?”
More of the world swims into focus. He sees Steve’s face – the strong nose
dusted with freckles, splotchy pink cheeks, clear blue eyes. “Angel,” Bucky
says. Steve laughs, confused and a little unsure until Bucky nuzzles their
noses together and says again, “Angel, Steve.”
Steve says, “Okay, okay.” His smile is crooked, tiny like a secret. Bucky loves
it.
Pressing forward, Bucky purses his lips and presses them softly to Steve’s.
Slowly, very very slowly, Bucky’s able to find his limbs. He registers Steve’s
leg hitched over his hip, Steve’s arm resting against his shoulder, Steve’s
hand curled against his chest. Their kisses are molasses slow, just as thick
with sweetness and affection.
“Steve,” he says, smiling and blinking heavily. “Hi.”
“Yeah, hiya, pal.” Steve’s voice is amused. Bucky doesn’t see any colors, just
the warmth and genuine fondness. “Still seein’ angels?”
“Mhm. Jus’ you,” Bucky answers muzzily, honest as hell. He wraps an arm around
Steve’s waist, shifting closer, becoming aware of the tackiness in his pants.
Frowning, Bucky looks down between them and sees the darker splotches creased
up along his crotch. “Wha…”
Steve’s hand is on his chin. “Bucky, you shoulda seen it. Hottest thing I’ve
ever seen.”
“When?” he asks, because he remembers feeling warm and safe. He remembers
Steve’s voice. He remembers vague impressions and the champagne bubbles in his
chest. He doesn’t remember getting hard, let alone coming.
“’Bout an hour ago,” Steve answers between the kisses he presses to Bucky’s
face. “I know it’s probably uncomfortable; didn’t wanna leave you when you were
like that.” He squirms against Bucky, shifting restlessly and yeah, Steve’s
hard again.
Bucky flushes with pride. “W’s I good?”
“So good, Bucky,” Steve enthuses, “The best damn thing that’s – ever happened
to me.”
Steve’s pupils are blown and Bucky feels like he’s drowning again, remembering
with sudden clarity how he was Icarus, how Steve’s the sun. Bucky clutches
tighter, trying to squirm back against Steve, giving him something to really
rut against through the blanket and all even while coordination is still truly
beyond his present capabilities. He wants to reach between them, but he can’t;
this is the best he has to offer for now. He loves the way it makes Steve groan
deep in his throat, eyes pinching shut as he presses his forehead to Bucky’s
and twines his fist up in Bucky’s hair.
Bucky wants to ask about a million questions, say about a million things, but
all he can get out is, “Good?”
Nodding, Steve tilts his head enough to press another kiss to Bucky’s mouth.
“Yeah,” he says, voice hitching on a pitchy laugh, “So good ’m gonna come.” His
next exhale is wheezy against Bucky’s chin. “’m gonna come. Fuck, fuck – Bucky
–”
Watching Steve come is better than anything Bucky’s ever felt. The way his
eyebrows pinch together and his nose scrunches and his mouth drops open – it’s
like seeing the face of God, the closest Bucky’ll ever get to finding religion.
Bucky whines and hitches against the blooming matching stain in Steve’s pants,
trying to coax him the rest of the way through it.
“Oh, god,” Steve wheezes. His next inhale is too short, panicked.
It’s dangerous – Bucky reacts. Before he knows it, he’s reaching out for the
nightstand with an arm that doesn’t feel like his own, grabbing the inhaler,
pressing it to Steve’s hand. He watches Steve take a huff, then another.
It takes a minute where Bucky just presses his head against Steve’s hip,
looking up at his face and laying on hand flat against his chest to make sure
that it’s still rising and falling, but eventually Steve gives a short,
humorless laugh and says, “How romantic.”
Bucky just taps his finger against Steve’s chest and smiles up at him.
“Y’okay?”
“I’m fine,” Steve says quietly. His hand comes down and pets over Bucky’s head
just once, cradling his face with a thumb swiping over his cheek. “Thanks.” He
grabs Bucky’s wrist, bringing his hand up to his lips, placing a soft kiss
against his palm.
After a few seconds, Steve snorts and buries his face against Bucky’s hand.
“Hmm?” Bucky asks, shadow of a smile stretching his lips.
“Got all messy anyway. Kinda thought we’d avoided that when we’d got naked
earlier.” Steve tugs at Bucky’s wrist until his arm is slung over Steve’s
middle the way it had been earlier. “Also, I’m pretty sure your phone went off
earlier, but you were, uh…pretty deep.”
Deep. Out of it. Bucky wishes there were a word in, hell, any language to
describe what it’s like to be at the mercy of Steve’s magic fingers, cradled
against his body, completely vulnerable, but safe and wholly trusting.
“You want me to get it for you?” Steve asks.
Bucky shakes his head, clutching a little tighter at Steve’s waist. “Don’ wan’
move yet.”
“Alright,” Steve allows. He licks his lips, brows pinching together the
slightest bit before he eyes Bucky’s face and says slowly, “When you’re ready,
we’re going to get cleaned up and then you’re going to take a look at your
phone. If you need my help answering, just let me know. Okay?”
Nodding, biting down on the hitch in his breath, Bucky says, “’Kay.” His voice
is tight and he knows there’s heat in his eyes.
Audibly, Steve swallows. His eyes flicker from Bucky’s mouth to his eyes, the
hesitation in his tone making, “You really do like it when I tell you what to
do?” sound more like a question than a statement.
Bucky gives a shrug, smushed up against Steve’s stomach. “Yeah. ’s easier.” He
doesn’t really know how to get into the whole, ‘I worry about everything and
constantly, but when you tell me to do things, all I have to worry about is
making you happy,’ thing. He knows it’s probably not normal, and he knows Steve
probably wouldn’t care, but right now all he can really do is focus on Steve’s
body beneath him, his face above him, and parsing through the muzziness in his
head to make his mouth work even just a little bit.
After a sigh, Bucky starts to sit up. His hair tickles at his nose and he
swipes it away. He hears Steve giggle.
When he turns to look, Steve’s covering his face with his hands. Bucky leans
in, grasping loosely around Steve’s wrist to tug his hands away. “What?” he
asks.
Darting forward, Steve presses a quick kiss to Bucky’s mouth, just off-center.
“You’re really cute like this.”
Bucky’s chest lights up at the praise but he doesn’t say anything in return.
Steve hadn’t asked a question, after all. With a soft smile, Bucky leans in for
one more kiss before he manages to scoot away, off the bed to stand beside it,
offering a hand to help Steve up too.
It takes a little elbow grease, but Bucky manages to help Steve clean the worst
of the stains from their pants and when they’re back on the bed, Steve futzing
around with his own phone, Bucky tries to get his eyes to focus enough to be
able to read the screen.
“’s it really after midnight?” Bucky asks, voice a little shrill.
“Yeah,” Steve says, tossing his phone down beside the pillow. “Gonna turn into
a pumpkin?”
“Car might, yeah.” Bucky’s eyebrows furrow as he tries to parse through the
text messages – of which there are over one hundred – to figure out how he’s
going to apologize for dropping off the face of the earth. There’s not really a
way to tell them what they were up to without making them sound like a couple
of horny skeezebags, so Bucky holds his phone out to Steve. “I dunno what to
say.”
He watches Steve squint down at the screen, mouthing along with the words he’s
reading. “Good lord,” he says, raising a brow at Bucky, “I heard your phone
going off but I didn’t think – that’s a lot. But um. I can tell them that you
came over and you’re not feeling well?”
“No,” Bucky says, “’cause then they’ll bring soup and stuff tomorrow.”
Steve’s expression softens and then he says, “Well. I can tell ‘em that you
fell asleep over here? That’s pretty close to the truth, apart from the fact
that you were awake, just really freakin’ out of it.”
Humming softly, Bucky turns his head and presses a kiss to Steve’s chest over
his sweater. “Can’t help it. Y’got magic fingers, Stevie.”
They figure out a way to make it sound like they weren’t having sex and then
Bucky’s standing, gathering his boots and coat and looking mournfully at Steve
as he laces them up. But Steve just kisses him and tells him to text when he’s
home safely and not to feel guilty because he can make it up to the fellas
tomorrow. After one last, lingering hug, Bucky sighs and heads out.
Bucky rides the high of being with Steve the whole way home. His mom is finally
back from her business trip and she’s passed out on the couch with Dad when
Bucky looks in on them, some shitty Lifetime movie playing quietly on the
television. He waves to his dad and then shuffles off to his room, grateful
that he’s not going to have to try to make conversation in his current state.
He texts Steve: Home safe! and gets a: Good. Get some sleep and text me when
you wake up. in response. It takes almost no effort for Bucky to drop into
sleep.
***** the letterman jacket *****
Chapter Summary
     Shit is fuzzy and weird; his body’s achy in way that makes him feel
     like he didn’t stop moving all night, restless like he’d been
     sleepwalking again. Or like he’s hungover, even though he sure as
     hell didn’t touch a drop of alcohol the night before.
Chapter Notes
     My friends, my friends. This chapter kicked my ass. Considering it's
     about 10K, I hope you'll excuse the lateness. Unbeta'd. Check the
     tags for updates!
     ALSO: thanks for all of the really lovely comments, everyone. I'm
     sorry I'm awful at replying!
     ETA 1/11/2015: It has been brought_to_my_attention that I used a term
     in this chapter with racist connotations. While I never intended to
     cause offense, ignorance is no excuse. Please, educate yourselves
     here. As a POC, I should definitely be more aware of the issues such
     as these. I, sincerely, apologize profusely.
“Bucky?”
Jolting upright, Bucky’s head swims as he tries to focus on the separation
between reality and the Dreamland his mind and body tell him to cling to. Shit
is fuzzy and weird; his body’s achy in way that makes him feel like he didn’t
stop moving all night, restless like he’d been sleepwalking again. Or like he’s
hungover, even though he sure as hell didn’t touch a drop of alcohol the night
before.
“James Buchanan, if you don’t answer me in two seconds, I’m going to bust in
there. Don’t think I won’t.”
Sighing, Bucky shoves knotted hair out of his eyes and gravels out, “I’m up,
Ma!” and then, “Jesus,” under his breath.
“Good,” comes her voice, a tinge of annoyance apparent, through the door, “Then
bring your laundry down before I have to kick your tail end.”
“’Kay.”
Scrubbing his hands over his eyes, Bucky grumbles and then rolls out of bed,
walks stiffly to the bathroom and then shuffles down to the laundry room with
his hamper and a frown etched on his sleepy face. His mom’s nowhere to be seen
though, so Bucky shuffles back to his room and hops in the shower to hopefully
alleviate his weirdly sore muscles.
It feels like he got tackled by Dum Dum, full on, no pads, about sixty times in
a row.
The shower does wonders for Bucky’s muscles but nothing for his mood. Except
for when he gets out, smears his palm against the fogged over mirror and sees
the purplish red bruise bloomed over his chest in the shape of Steve’s teeth.
It makes him shiver, remembering the look in Steve’s eyes and –
Steve.
Bucky slips on underwear and jeans, a t-shirt slung over his shoulder as he
nabs his phone from his bed and types out a message: I am really grumpy and
sore and I miss you.
Good morning to you too. Take a shower for the soreness?
Sighing, feeling a little bit better already, just with the knowledge that
Steve is awake and not taking any of Bucky’s shit. He sends back: I already
did.
Hmm. Didn’t I tell you to text me when you woke up?
Stomach dropping, Bucky’s knees nearly give out and he has to slowly lower
himself to his bed. “Shit,” he mutters, “Shit.” He sends: Oh god I’m sorry.
It dissipates and morphs into acute goddamn arousal when Steve sends back:
Might have to spank you for that.
“Oh, my God,” Bucky breathes, sweat prickling all along his hairline. That’s
not even – Steve wouldn’t – Bucky deserves it, but –
Just kidding ;)
Bucky sends back: Um. He’s not quite sure what he wants, but if Steve thinks he
needs to be spanked – “Oh, God.” – then Bucky will gladly stretch himself
across Steve’s lap, pants tugged down just below his ass, maybe, just enough
for Steve to palm for a minute, maybe warm him up. Then there’d be the contact,
the sharp sting and the wake of blood rushing back into the capillaries – just
like the bite Steve laid into Bucky’s chest. Maybe he’d make Bucky count them
out for him, a swat for every minute he was awake without letting Steve know.
But Steve’s not mean or malicious, he’d soothe over the burning skin with his
hands, warmed from the contact, and maybe with his mouth too.
Good um or bad um?
And hell, Bucky doesn’t know. Mostly, he just wonders if Steve would play with
his hair afterward and tell him how good he is – and that is what cinches the
deal for him. He sends back: Good um? I think. Pretty sure.
Not even a minute later he gets back: We should probably talk more about this
later. When I’m not in public.
“Bucky!”
 
*
 
“So what’d you do while I was gone, Bucky?”
Quelling a blush, Bucky plucks another piece of bacon from the pile and regards
his mother with the most innocent look he can muster. But then his dad’s
saying, “He got a new boyfriend,” before Bucky can actually answer for himself.
Winnie Barnes regards him with a raised eyebrow, the corner of her mouth pursed
as she says, “Oh really? I thought after – oh what’s his name?”
“Howard,” Dad helpfully supplies.
“Yeah, Howard. I thought you swore off of dating until after high school?”
Giving a shrug, Bucky twirls the bacon and then lets it fall back onto the
pile. “I changed my mind,” he says quietly. “Plus, I mean if you saw ‘im, you’d
get it.”
Ma hums, still smirking like she’s all delighted. “So then what’s his name?
Tell me all about him.”
Wetting his lips, Bucky shifts in his seat and feels himself start to smile
before he even says a word. “His name’s Steve, Ma. He’s this tiny little thing
– blonde hair, blue eyes, looks like an angel. He’s real talented, too; draws
like nothin’ else I’ve ever seen. You shoulda seen this one he did’a me in art
class – that time we all had to take turns posin’ for quick sketches. It looked
just like me; I couldn’t believe it.” Bucky realizes he’s gushing, but he can’t
quite seem to put a lid on it. “Oh! And he’s givin’ Howard Stark a run for his
money on valedictorian so he’s crazy smart.”
“Is this the young man who left his hat in your car?”
“Yeah!” Bucky says, still grinning, “That’s him.”
Turning to George, Winnie says, “You owe me ten bucks,” and then she takes a
massive bite of her omelet doused in Sriracha. “Kiddo, that’s the first time
I’ve seen you smile all day. Must be too old to be happy when your one and only
darling mother returns from a treacherous journey –”
“Ma, you only went to Manhattan –“
“Gone for four whole days and all I get is a grumpy –”
“Ma, noooo,” Bucky says, getting up from the table, rounding it just to hug his
ma’s neck and smack kisses against her cheek, “I’m sorry!”
Finally a tiny smile slips onto her face in favor of the fake tears and she
shoves him off, saying, “Quit making a scene, Bucky, sheesh.” She turns to the
people at the next table to apologize for her “obnoxious progeny” which only
serves to make Bucky’s face flare red and for him to shoot his mother a wide-
eyed look that says, “Please please please stop, oh my God.” They end up
finishing their breakfasts in a slightly more subtle manner, no longer making
scenes or bothering the other IHOP patrons – which is really only that other
table plus one guy sitting by himself on the other side of the restaurant.
In the car, Bucky’s phone buzzes and it’s Gabe, asking Bucky if Steve’s going
to be hanging out with them later on (because if he is, then Gabe said he’ll
try to make something – which means he’ll make his mom make something – that
Steve can eat without having any problems) so Bucky shoots a quick text to him
and waits patiently for a response. That comes in the form of a phone call just
as soon as they pull up to the house.
“Hello?” Bucky answers quietly, hoping to skirt his parents before they start
in on the teasing. Sometimes they can be worse than the fellas. As he makes his
way inside, he hears his ma stage whisper, “Do you think that’s him?” with what
is probably a massive grin on her face and then – just when Bucky thinks he’s
cleared it into the house with zero interference – his ma comes up beside him
and shouts into the phone, “Hi, Steve!”
Steve’s laugh rings, deep and amused. “Was that your mom?” he asks Bucky. “If
so, tell her hi for me, yeah?”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky says, “Steve says hi,” and then hightails it to his
room before his ma tries to take the phone from him and do something way too
forward like invite Steve over for dinner tomorrow night. Closing his door
behind himself, Bucky lets out a breath, feeling truly calm for the first time
all day. “Hiya, Stevie.”
“Hi. Sounds like you told her about me.” The only way Bucky can really describe
Steve’s voice is tender.
Smiling reflexively, Bucky says, “Uh, yeah. But that ain’t why I texted?”
“Oh?”
“Yeah, no,” he says, flopping down onto his bed, “Actually, Gabe wanted to know
if you were comin’ tonight…”
Bucky doesn’t really realize the way that sounds until Steve rebuffs with, “As
much as I’d love to…” accompanied by a lengthy pause where it’s obvious he’s
waiting for Bucky’s gears to turn. It’s only when Bucky snorts and says,
“Steve,” that he chuckles to himself and then says, “Peggy and Nat usually come
over on Saturdays. Kind of a ‘catch up’ thing since I hardly get to see them at
school anymore. Think we’re gonna make cookies tonight, actually.”
“Oh.”
“Bucky…”
“It’s just – I thought you said we were gonna make it up to the fellas –
y’know, after last night…”
“Technically, I said ‘you,’ Buck, not ‘we.’”
Letting his mind drift back through what he can remember, as fuzzy as it may
be, Bucky recalls that Steve didn’t say ‘we’ and he deflates a bit.
“Besides,” Steve continues, “I don’t know if your friends really want me
intruding like that. This is something you guys have done since forever. They
might want you all to themselves again.”
Sighing, Bucky concedes, “Fine.” He’s a little more hesitant, trying to keep
the anxiety out of his voice when he casually asks, “Sure ya don’t wanna come
with me?”
After giving a sigh, Steve says down the line, “Can’t. The girls would probably
kill me if I ditched out on ‘em.”
Bucky doesn’t doubt that for a second. “Yeah, okay. Well, tell ‘em I said hey –
and save some cookies for me!”
Steve’s voice is fond, full with quelled laughter when he says, “You got it,
pal.”
After they hang up, Bucky shoots Gabe a text and says bye to his parents before
he finally heads out. It’s only been two days, but the fellas act like it’s
been months since they last saw him – no doubt trying to make him feel guilty
about skipping out on them last night. They’re all a bunch of assholes, though,
so Bucky tries not to let it get to him, especially not when Steve’s already
told him he shouldn’t sweat it. But it does anyway, so he spends the whole
night fully engaged in their Netflix marathon (because finding the shittiest
movie possible is a competition that they all take very seriously).
Throughout the night, Bucky snaps pictures and sends them to Steve without
captions, letting him in on what exactly he’s missing out on while Steve does
the same in return. There’s one, though, of Natasha and Peggy looking all
dopey-eyed at one another, flour smeared on their cheeks and Bucky’s heart
gives a thump. He sends to Steve: Wow, you should get that one framed.
Not even a minute later, Steve returns: Ya know, I was thinking the same exact
thing. Nat’s birthday is coming up after all.
Bucky jokes: Go ahead, tell me I’m brilliant.
When Steve texts back: You’re incredible, Buck. Bucky flushes head-to-toe with
pride and smiles like a goof down at his phone until Falsworth and Morita start
poking fun at him. And then they turn on him, a pack of rabid, curious dogs.
“So,” Morita says casually, “You and Steve looked real cozy at lunch.”
“Yeah, you two done anything yet?” Falsworth follows up, a sly smirk on his
face.
Then it’s a chorus of, “Yeah, Bucky – spill!” and Bucky’s covering up his face,
trying to stop himself from smiling and feeling like a complete ass. They’d all
already done this to Dum Dum earlier, himself included, so Bucky really
shouldn’t have expected anything different. His friends are definitely an equal
opportunity bunch.
“It’s been all of a week, fellas,” Bucky pleads.
“That didn’t stop Dugan over there,” Gabe counters, eyes about as bright as his
smile.
Dum Dum cracks a laugh. “Y’got that right!”
Though Bucky wouldn’t go repeating things like this to anyone else, apparently
Dum Dum is quite proficient at oral with the ladies. So much so that Lakshmi
even returned the favor – and got herself off again while she was at it. To say
the least, the fellas are all proud of their friend.
“Yesterday, you had sex, yes?” Dernier asks.
And jeez, if he’s venturing away from French, Bucky knows he’s screwed because
Dernier has mentioned time and time again (at least to Gabe) that he’s very
self-conscious about his accent even though he’d started learning English at a
very young age.
Scrubbing his hands over his face, Bucky finally says, “Um,” and at that,
there’s the loud scuffling of all of the fellas vying for a position near him.
Gabe and Morita take either side of him on the couch, Falsworth is on the floor
with his chin propped against Bucky’s left leg, and Dum Dum is on the other
side. Dernier, who’s still a little slow to catch on to all of their weird
nuances, lies on the floor in front of the couch, both hands propping his chin.
It’s like they’re all a bunch of kids, gathered around for story time. Only
instead of fairytales, they wanna hear dirty things. Christ, these are Bucky’s
friends.
“We, uh…” Bucky starts, scratching at his head. “First of all, I swear we were
gonna come over yesterday.”
Gabe rolls his eyes. “Whatever, you know I don’t mind. C’mon, Barnes. Spill it
already.”
“It ain’t a big deal or nothin’,” Bucky says, trying for a casual shrug. “We
didn’t do nothin’ like Dum Dum. Just. There was…some grindin’ an’ all.”
“Naked grinding?” Morita asks, waggling his eyebrows.
“Mostly,” Bucky says, face going red as soon as the fellas start hooting and
hollering. “I mean. He was, but I was…almost. Um.”
“Mouths? Hands?” Falsworth prompts, “C’mon, lad, don’t skimp on the details.”
Morita shoves at Bucky’s leg. “For real, bro. I’m living vicariously through
you and Dum Dum right now.”
Though Bucky kind of wants to die and keep his mouth clamped shut, he tells
them as much as he’s comfortable with – detailing the way Steve felt, the
noises he made, a few of the things he’d said. But he doesn’t divulge the bit
that came after. He doesn’t really know why, but he feels like, if anything,
Steve should be the one to explain the other thing that they get up to. It’s
not like Bucky has a clear picture of it anyhow.
Plus…there’s the whole part where it’s kind of a weird thing to talk about.
Like, sex, yeah. He and the fellas have always been pretty open about their
experiences. But what he and Steve do is – different. Yeah, it’s sex, but it’s
also a little bit more. It’s more intimate, for one thing, and…also not about
sex.
Basically, Bucky’s got no clue. So, yeah, he’ll let Steve take the reins on
that. For now, he’ll keep it to himself.
The rest of the night passes by without incident. Falsworth wins the Horrible
Movie Pick of the night with Jesus Camp (which, Bucky isn’t one to poke fun at
anyone’s religious beliefs or anything, but that one had been honestly
terrifying, and not necessarily bad) and Gabe comes in second with Bad Johnson
(which had also been mildly terrifying and horrendously bad).
Come morning, Bucky has his usual Sunday coffee with Gabe’s mom and Mamé and
finishes cooking up the French toast they’ve started before they head off to
church. As soon as the guys start filtering in, Bucky feels his phone buzz
against his hip. He waits until he’s shoveling in a bite before he bothers
checking, though, and – it turns out that all of the fellas get the same text
from Howard Stark: My house Friday after next. Guest of honor is Natasha
Romanov. Be there or she’ll kill u with her thighs.
And of course, he has to send a follow up because the group message gets
inundated with texts saying that people won’t be able to make it since they’ll
be out of town for Thanksgiving and it says: NOT THIS FRIDAY. FIRST FRIDAY OF
DECEMBER, DUMBASSES.
After that, Bucky gets a text from Steve: Nat says you can’t get out of it like
you did last time, just FYI. Also, think we can get together later today? We
could finish up our homework. And I have leftover cookies for you.
Trying not to smirk at the breakfast table, Bucky shoves in a last bite of
French toast doused in syrup and then taps out: Absolutely. My place or yours?
Or the library?
Mine. Wanna get my hands on you again, Buck.
“I gotta go, fellas,” Bucky says quickly, rinsing his plate as nonchalantly as
possible. Only he drops it so hard that it very nearly shatters against the
sink and then he can feel that Dum Dum’s smirking at him and Bucky feels the
back of his neck go all hot. Recovering, he hugs Gabe’s neck and smacks a kiss
to the side of Morita’s head before he waves to the rest of them and reverses
the hell outta there.
 
*
 
Bucky’s back is slammed up against the wall beside the door before it’s even
shut completely, Steve’s lips fused to Bucky’s with a heat that has Bucky
squirming with arousal – that soon turns to panic the moment Steve moves to the
underside of Bucky’s jaw, teeth scraping the hinge like an afterthought.
“Uh, Steve,” he says, voice high and tight.
Immediately, Steve pulls back. His eyes are heavy and just barely crinkled
around the edges with wry concern. “Sorry,” he says, thumbing at the sensitized
flesh. “Got carried away.”
With his backpack still in hand, Bucky leans in and presses a quick kiss to the
side of Steve’s mouth. He shrugs off his coat and tosses it onto the couch as
he toes off his boots. “Not gonna lie…it was kinda hot,” he murmurs as he
passes by. He leads the way back toward Steve’s side of the apartment. “Your
room?”
“Ruckus room,” Steve directs, hand trailing down Bucky’s back. “I really do
need to finish my homework before we…do other things.” He follows at a distance
behind Bucky, and when he continues, his voice sounds a little hesitant. “Plus,
there was something I wanted to ask you about.”
Freezing in his tracks, Bucky tries not to sound panicky. “Okay?”
Steve just fixes him with that tiny, secret smile and leads the way into the
room in front of Bucky. “It’s nothing bad,” he forestalls, “but you might not
have wanted me to…talk to the girls like I did.” He scratches at the back of
his head, looking less sure of himself than Bucky has ever seen. But then he
seems to square himself with nothing more than a deep breath and he looks Bucky
right in the eye. “Have you ever heard of BDSM?”
Snorting, Bucky says, “What, like Fifty Shades of Grey?”
Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “I’ve been reliably informed that that’s not an
entirely accurate depiction, but yeah. Sure. Like that.” He leans back against
the desk, crossing his thin arms over his chest. “Nat says that what we’ve been
doing is kind of like that.”
“Huh. It’s not like I’ve read it, anyway.”
Honestly, Bucky doesn’t really know what to think of that. When he hears that
acronym, his mind immediately supplies the visualizations of whips and shackles
and blindfolds, leather and latex. It’s not exactly entirely appealing. Bucky’s
not big on pain – he definitely prefers the soreness of a workout to the throb
of a barked shin, after all.
Only, that’s not what it’d felt like when Steve had bitten him…That had felt
like a goddamn full bodied orgasm.
“Um,” Bucky says, suddenly reminded of yesterday’s text about spanking and,
hell, maybe he’s not big on pain, but he sure as hell isn’t completely opposed
to it. “Alright. But, uh. How? I mean…whaddaya mean?”
Steve gestures for Bucky to take a seat on the chaise across from the desk,
nestled between two bookcases. When Bucky follows the direction, he practically
sinks straight into the thing, groaning before he can help himself.
After a brief laugh, Steve says, “I know, right? Like a marshmallow.”
“Fit for a king,” Bucky replies, snuggling in deeper. His hair is loose (which,
yeah, he definitely did on purpose) for once, still a little damp from his
shower, and it tickles his nose when he lays his head on the back of his hand.
“Makes me wanna get you on here an’ feed you grapes.”
Eyes dark, Steve says, “See, I was thinking the same thing.” He turns, nabs his
laptop and then comes over, ordering Bucky to, “Scootch,” so he can sidle right
up against Bucky’s side. After he boots it up, he tilts the screen so that they
can both see and –
“You lookin’ at porn, Steven Grant?”
The look Steve shoots Bucky is almost entirely unamused. “No. It’s not porn;
those are just ads, hush. It’s a BDSM forum, see?” He clicks around a bit and
sees a site map that shows an introduction to BDSM, something on balancing a
“D/s” relationship, and links to all kinds of other stuff.
Bucky zeroes in on another open tab that Steve has, titled, “BDSM Checklist.”
Curious, he asks, “Hey, what’s that one?”
Clicking over, Steve explains, “Well, after what Natasha told me, I was super
curious. So I started doing a little research and…well. I figured we could
maybe go through some of this together, if you wanted.”
Resting his head on Steve’s shoulder, Bucky says, “Yeah, sure.”
There’s a lot of stuff that Bucky doesn’t understand. They spend almost as much
time looking up terms in the glossary as they do reading through the articles.
And Bucky knows they’re only barely touching on things; he can already feel
himself gearing up toward a new obsession, wanting nothing more than to learn
as much as possible about this new subject. He’s always been a bit of a
voracious reader, glutting himself whenever the mood strikes, but he’s
generally pretty picky about the subject. But with this, with Steve in his
peripherals or sitting right there as a constant in his mind’s eye, Bucky knows
he won’t have a problem at all.
As they read, Steve’s finger brushes over Bucky’s hip, slow and steady. It’s
just about as calming as when he cards Bucky’s hair through his fingers, but
more so grounding than sending him off into – “Subspace,” Steve says, voice
deep and intrigued. “Here, read this one. Tell me if it’s like what happens
with you.”
Scanning the article, Bucky’s eyes catch on phrases like, “altered state,” and,
“inarticulate or non-verbal, suggestible,” and, “floaty and warm, possibly with
mild tingling throughout the body,” and then finally, “hard to resist.” Pretty
much all of it coincides with what Bucky can remember of his experiences with
Steve.
“Holy shit, there’s a name for it,” Bucky says, chest fluttering as he looks to
Steve. He squeezes at Steve’s wrist, beaming as he exclaims, “Steve! I ain’t a
complete freak!”
“Well, I could’ve told you that.” Steve’s secret smile blooms a bit bigger. He
leans in and presses a kiss to the side of Bucky’s jaw. “Anyway, I was thinking
we could both kinda do these over the week as homework. Maybe we could get
together after Thanksgiving’s over and see where to go from there.”
And, man, Bucky’d forgotten that they only have two days of school this week.
It sends a spike of panic through him, followed by even more when he wonders
how in the hell he ever got through life without seeing Steve every day.
“What’re you doin’ for Thanksgiving break?” he asks, needing to know with an
urgency that irks him. Bucky swears he never used to be this clingy of a
person.
Chewing on his lip, Bucky watches Steve’s face turn from the screen to regard
him, that tiny furrow appearing between his brows.
“Aunt Liza and I spend Thanksgiving Day down at the shelter,” Steve answers,
watching Bucky’s face, “We have our own the day after. What about you? You guys
go out of town or something?”
“Yeah,” Bucky breathes, tipping his head back against the chaise. He swallows,
trying to quell the dumb anxiety that’s creeping up trying to have its way with
him. “We go to Brooklyn to hang out with my nana an’ pretty much all of dad’s
side of the family. Then we’re s’posed to hang out with ma’s side in DUMBO.”
“Big family?”
Scoffing, Bucky lets his head roll to the side so he can look at Steve again.
“Oh yeah. But hey, at least this time I’ll be able to answer the, ‘do ya got a
fella?’ questions with a yes.”
Steve hums, smiling as he shuts the lid of the laptop and places it on the
ground. When he resurfaces, his face is a little pink from the exertion but
still he twines his arms around Bucky and sidles up close. “That you do,” he
says, “and you’d better not forget it, either.”
“Don’t think I could even if I wanted to,” Bucky teases.
“Oh, yeah?” Steve asks, smirking. “And why’s that?”
“’Cause ya got sharp little teeth, Steve,” Bucky answers, tugging down the
neckline of his v-neck to reveal the pretty little bruise he’s got blooming on
his pec. He watches Steve’s face, his pupils dilating so fast it’s like
something straight off the Discovery Channel and almost as predatory to boot.
Bucky gulps.
Before he knows what exactly is happening, Bucky’s being pushed even deeper
into the chaise and then he’s got a lap full of Steve Rogers. The kiss that
Steve doles out is definitely more teeth than tongue, but Bucky can’t complain,
not when he’s got his hands curved around Steve’s ass and Steve’s delicate
fingers twisting their way up into his hair. By the time he pulls back, Steve’s
already panting, still looking at Bucky like he wants to eat him alive. He
keeps one hand rooted in Bucky’s hair, squirming atop Bucky as the other trails
down to his collar, tugging the shirt away from Bucky’s skin and his own lip
between his teeth as he maintains eye contact.
Bucky’s caught, frozen and pinned beneath Steve. Somehow, through the
fluttering pulse of fight-or-flight in his chest, he’s able to work his mouth.
“T-thought you had homework?”
Deflating into a slump on Bucky’s chest, Steve gives an, “Ugh,” and knocks his
forehead against Bucky’s. “So responsible. Ruinin’ all my fun.” After nipping
at Bucky’s lower lip one last time, Steve shoves off and grabs his backpack,
tugging out his government textbook and a binder full of notes. Then, when he
turns to look at Bucky again, he’s got this sly glint in his eye when he asks,
“You want the desk or the lounge?”
“Uh, I’m fine with either,” Bucky says, shrugging. “I’ll go wherever you want
me.”
The way Steve eyes him makes Bucky curious and nervous all at once, afraid that
he’s said the wrong thing until that secret smile works its way up onto Steve’s
mouth. “Alright,” Steve says, “Well, you stay where you are. I’ll stay all the
way over here.” There’s a touch of hesitation that’s quickly hidden beneath
steely determination when Steve says, “Don’t get up ‘til I say, alright?”
Nodding dumbly, Bucky just says, “Okay,” and bends to nab his backpack from the
floor. He’d finished pretty much everything that’s due tomorrow, but he figures
he can’t go wrong getting a head start on the stuff that’s due after the break.
There’s a project in English and he’s supposed to start thinking up ideas with
Falsworth for prom themes.
Delving into his work with single-minded focus, Bucky’s way too absorbed to
notice the exact moment that Steve turned in the swivel chair to watch him. But
when he does notice, eyes wide and hair all in his face, that all of Steve’s
stuff is put away and he’s just watching Bucky, it makes his chest flutter up
into his throat. The bones in Steve’s wrist are delicate, so thin that
sometimes Bucky’s afraid they’re going to snap between Bucky’s fingers like
iced-over twigs beneath the weight of a swallow. But there’s nothing delicate
about the way he’s stroking over his jeans, inching closer and closer to the
inseam like he’d just been waiting for Bucky to catch a clue.
Bucky’s breath leaves him in a rush.
“Took you long enough,” Steve says, smirking. “I’ve been done for ten minutes.”
The pencil falls from Bucky’s grip, drops to the ground and rolls somewhere
under the chaise. He’ll get it later. “Uh,” Bucky says. He swallows.
“Remember what I said?”
Nodding, Bucky parrots, “Don’t get up ‘til you say.”
“Good,” Steve says, smiling just a touch brighter, “Think you can be a good boy
for me?” He spreads his legs wider, his long fingers playing just over the zip
of his jeans.
Bucky gets hard so fast he’s dizzy. Breath scarcely more than a stutter, he
can’t take his eyes off the way Steve’s fingers flutter and tease, the way the
slump of Steve’s cock in his jeans thickens. He jumps when Steve says, “I asked
you a question,” at Bucky’s lingering silence, caught staring with his mouth
open until he shakes himself and shakily answers, “Yes, Steve.”
“That means,” Steve says slowly, still petting over his dick even as pink
starts crawling up his throat to settle on his cheeks, “you’re going to sit
there and touch your pretty dick for me. Gonna show me everything you like.”
Even as he’s nodding along, flushing from head to toe, Bucky still feels like
he can’t suck in a full breath. Everything feels a little fuzzy, like this is
too hot to happen in real life so he has to transcend to some alternate plane
of reality. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Okay.”
Steve’s eyes are dark when he asks, “Well, what’re you waiting for?”
Though his hands tremble ever so slightly, Bucky finds solace in the smile on
Steve’s face when he starts unbuckling his belt, unbuttoning, unzipping,
pulling his hard cock through the slit of his boxers. “Good?” he asks quietly.
But it doesn’t look like Steve hears him and it’s definitely because his eyes
are glued onto Bucky’s hand curled around his hard dick. “Shit, Bucky,” Steve
breathes, and then his eyes flicker up Bucky’s body to meet his eyes. His hand
squeezes around the curve of his cock and Bucky whimpers loud enough that Steve
gives a bit more volume when he repeats, “Shit, Bucky.” Then he says, “Close
your eyes.”
Not even thinking about it, just moving on rote, Bucky does and then starts
running the fingertips of three fingers around the head of his dick. He keeps
his touch light, the way he usually starts off if he’s got the house to himself
and the time to spare. And it’s…different. He’s never done it like this before,
with his eyes closed and someone else in the room watching. It makes everything
more acute – the feeling of his own hand, the subtle sound of Steve’s fingers
sliding over denim.
Heat rises up from the base of his stomach. Bucky moans.
Eyes closed, Bucky tips his head back and uses his other hand to trail up under
his shirt. He scrapes his fingernails over his hipbones, the ridges of his abs,
the curve of his pectorals. One of Bucky’s favorite things when he gets himself
off has always been to play with his nipples, but as he’s working his way up
that path, he gets distracted by the sharp bite of his bruise. When it makes
him hiss, he hears Steve’s reciprocating groan.
“God, you’re gorgeous, Buck,” Steve says – blurts really, and then Bucky can
hear the jangle of Steve’s belt.
He very nearly opens his eyes, flushing harder from the compliment than the
thought of being watched. He scrapes his nails over the bruise, over his
nipple, squirming against the sensation. “Shit,” Bucky breathes.
Gripping his cock a little tighter, Bucky’s brows furrow as he tries to listen
intently to Steve’s movements. There’s the sound of fabric moving and then, oh,
God, Steve’s making a soft, heated noise and it’s all Bucky can do to squeeze
his eyes shut tighter, stroke his hand just a tad faster to keep from taking a
peek at whatever is making Steve sound like that. Bucky strokes a little
faster, and then stops. It makes his thighs twitch – the way the climb gets
jilted. He gasps.
“Feel good?” Steve asks.
Nodding, Bucky runs just hit fingertips around the head of his dick again. “Uh
huh,” Bucky whines, “but god, Stevie, please. I…I wanna see you.”
“Don’t you dare,” Steve grits out, and he must be turned the fuck on because
all Bucky can hear is the slick slide of his fist over his cock. “C’mon, B,
don’t you wanna be a good boy?”
“Oh, fuck,” Bucky says, edging on a whimper, “Fuck. I do, Steve, wanna be good
for you.” Sweat beads up on Bucky’s temples, slides down beside his ears and
down his jaw. He tugs faster, squeezes at his nipple with his other hand.
With his eyes closed, Bucky’s skin feels way too sensitive. His clothes feel so
rough that Bucky’s half ready to scream, but his hand feels so good that he’s
able to swallow it down. Abandoning his chest Bucky shifts in the chaise,
squirming until he can slip his jeans down to mid-thigh, giving himself a bit
of relief from the rough denim. With a contented sigh he wraps his hand back
around his cock and gives himself a series of tugs with one hand while he
reaches below with the other, thumbing at the sensitive skin of his sac and
then just beyond it.
Loudly, Steve groans and then there’s the loud slickness of him working his
dick even faster. “Jesus, that’s hot, Buck,” he says, voice suddenly closer,
deeper, hotter. “Look so pretty playin’ with your little hole like that.”
The slick sounds stop and then Bucky cries out, the feeling of Steve’s hands on
his hips way too intense for how simple of a touch it is.
“Shh, shh, don’t stop on my account.” Steve’s hands grip at the waistline of
Bucky’s jeans, his mouth comes to press lightly against the side of Bucky’s
jaw. He tugs roughly until Bucky’s pants are caught around his ankles, and then
his long, delicate fingers are sliding up Bucky’s calves, his knees, his
thighs. “Here, spread your legs a little more – so good, yeah, keep ‘em closed;
you’re doing so well, Buck. Now, keep touching yourself for me. Yeah, just like
that.”
Bucky keeps his eyes squeezed shut, tries to lean into Steve’s touch but then
he’s backing away, his hands gone to leave Bucky’s sweat damp skin bare to the
air.
The slick noises start up again, far away enough that Steve must be back in the
chair at the desk.
“Oh, fuck, Stevie,” Bucky says, tipping his head back once again so he can suck
in some air. He pumps faster, twisting his fist just enough to make his thighs
shake. He trails one fingertip against his hole, his legs spread wide enough
that the angle isn’t too awkward. “You like me like this?”
“You got no idea.”
The tone of Steve’s voice is almost enough for Bucky to let his eyes flutter
open, but – “Tell me.” Shifting his hips against the pressure, Bucky manages to
ease a finger in to the first knuckle, just teasing his rim.
Bucky feels like he must look stupid. His pants are down around his knees and
his shirt’s rucked up over his belly; he’s got one hand around his cock and the
other thumbing at his balls while he’s got a finger buried in his ass. Hell,
his socks are still on. Nothing about this should be appealing and yet Steve’s
over there, stripping his own cock and making all of these noises like this is
doing something to him that Bucky can’t even fathom. So, yeah, he wants to
know.
“Fuck,” Steve breathes, panting loud enough for Bucky to hear. He moans and
Bucky can’t help but echo it. “I can’t even – God, Buck, you haven’t even
opened your eyes once. Do you know what that does to me?”
From the way the slick noises pick up, Bucky can imagine. And fuck, Bucky wants
to see.
But he also wants to be good, so he can’t do anything but squeeze his eyes shut
just that bit tighter. Even though all he has to work with is a little bit of
sweat, Bucky works his finger in deeper, twists his wrists so that he can press
along his walls to tease at his prostate when he crooks his finger just right.
It jolts straight through him, heat skittering up his spine. Fuck, he’s close.
He’s so close, he’s – “Steve.”
Steve’s voice is close, so close when he says, “Yeah, I’m here. Fuck, you’re so
good for me.” And then he’s kissing Bucky, his lips soft and sweet and coaxing
the moment before he sinks his teeth and tugs at Bucky’s bottom lip. Then his
hand is covering Bucky’s, the other settling on Bucky’s wrist, coaxing the
movements along at a slightly slower pace. “You almost there?”
Bucky nods, his face screwing up as he shifts his hips between his own finger
still buried inside his ass and Steve’s gentle thumbing at the head of his
cock.
“Open your eyes,” Steve says. “You’ve been so good for me, this whole time,
Bucky. You’re amazing. Such a good boy.”
Swirls of light and color gradually morph into Steve’s face – and he looks
wrecked with his face all red and his lip bitten to hell and his eyes are so
fucking blown that Bucky can’t help but toss his head back and come all over
Steve’s fist, balls twitching and cock pumping so hard that Bucky feels like he
might be dying a little bit. “Oh, god,” he whines, voice pitchy and weird as he
holds eye contact with his fella, “Stevie.”
Smiling, Steve just works him through it, using the hand that had been on
Bucky’s wrist to pet over his sweat damp hair, pushing it out of his face.
“That’s it,” he’s crooning, “There ya go.”
Slumping back into the chaise, Bucky pants hard as his thighs tremble. He
clutches at Steve with shaky hands, but manages to drag him in for a kiss, the
angle awkward until he gets Steve to drop down onto his lap. Steve just twines
his arms around the back of Bucky’s neck like this is his favorite place in the
world and it’s not until Bucky’s hands come down to rest on Steve’s hips that
Bucky realizes he’s lost his pants.
When he looks down, Bucky gets a peek at Steve’s cock – steadily dripping and
so hard it’s practically purple. Bucky’s never wanted to taste a cock so much
in his life.
“Steve, please, please, I wanna, can I?”
Bucky’s never wanted anything so much in his life. His head’s all fuzzy and
light but he wants it.
But Steve hasn’t given him permission. He’s not supposed to move from the
chair, so he can’t just flip them around and slide down to his knees as much as
he might want to. So instead, he pleads between heavy kisses, uses both hands
to knead at Steve’s skin.
“What?” Steve asks, shifting subtly as he sits back to look at Bucky’s mouth.
“Sorry, sorry. What do you want, Buck? Whatever you want, I’ll do it.”
Bucky steadies himself, tries to dig deep and find the charm that he knows he’s
capable of when the time is right. “Wanna suck you off,” Bucky says, sliding
his hands up Steve’s back to his shoulders to either of his cheeks to make sure
that he’s listening, reading Bucky’s lips, whatever. “You’re drippin’, Stevie,
wanna get my mouth on ya so bad. Bet you taste so good.”
Eyes going wide, Steve’s breath comes out in a giant huff, his brows pinch and
his face screws up. “Oh, fuck, fuck, I –” He tucks his face into the junction
of Bucky’s neck and shoulder, cries out, and bites down, the sting shocking
Bucky just as much the sudden hot, spurt of Steve coming all over Bucky’s thigh
and into the crook of his hip. “Shit,” Steve breathes, still shuddering,
“Sorry, sorry, I couldn’t – I’m sorry.”
“Hey,” Bucky soothes, petting a hand up and over Steve’s spine, “That’s
alright, babydoll. Still hot as hell; don’t mean we can’t try it some other
time.”
Steve groans, sucking in another breath, but then he laughs and untucks his
face to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth. “Trying to kill me, huh?”
It takes a minute for them to get untangled, but Steve gets a washcloth to
clean Bucky off and then helps them both redress. After that they move to
Steve’s room where it’s a little more comfortable to lie together, curled up so
that their faces are probably too close for Steve to be able to read Bucky’s
lips if he needs to, but they manage well enough.
“So d’ya think that…” Bucky starts, unsure, “What we just did, was that
considered, ya know…kinky?”
Steve’s shoulder scrunches in a shrug. “Probably. From what Natasha told me,
I’m apparently a pretty kinky bastard.” He smiles and leans in to press a kiss
to Bucky’s chin. His voice goes deep when he says, “You were so good, too.
Keeping your eyes closed for me like that. How’d it feel?”
This time, Bucky shrugs. “I dunno. It was kinda like how I get off when I’m
alone, only this time I knew you were there an’ not just in my head.” Squirming
just a bit from the memory, he runs a hand across Steve’s side, settling on
Steve’s hip. “When I opened my eyes, an’ I saw your perfect little angel face,”
he says, trailing his hand back up to thumb at Steve’s cheekbone, “that was
pretty intense, to be honest. Couldn’t take my eyes offa you. What about for
you? When I’m…when ya tell me I’m good, does it really make you happy?”
A tiny smile creeps onto Steve’s mouth. “Of course it does. Makes me proud.”
Flushing, Bucky ducks his chin and smiles softly.
“And that,” Steve says, “You blush so pretty, Buck. God, this break is gonna
kill me. You’re sure you have to go to Brooklyn?”
“Oh, god, I know.” Bucky covers his face with his hands and, when Steve’s
fingers circle his wrists and pry them away, he tucks his face into the crook
of Steve’s neck. “I’m just telling myself it’s the honeymoon phase an’ I won’t
be so…clingy.”
“Well, if it makes you feel any better, I don’t think you’re clingy.” Steve’s
tiny secret smile grows. “But then again, I’m probably not the best person to
ask. If you wanted me to, I’d probably trail after you like a puppy all the
time.”
A tension that Bucky hadn’t known eases out of his chest and he finds he can
breathe a little easier. “I could say the same about you. Pretty sure once the
fellas get to know you a little better, they’ll forget all about me.”
Smiling, Steve rolls his eyes. “Oh, stop that.”
“Hey, I got a question,” Bucky says.
“Shoot.”
“What’s with all the vintage posters?” he asks, gesturing behind himself toward
the open expanse of Steve’s room. “Like, where’d you find ‘em?”
“I didn’t find them.” Steve looks almost bashful, a pink tinge crawling up his
throat. “I actually made those.”
Bucky fixes Steve with a look. “Ya know, I dunno why I’m surprised. Every time
I think, ‘well, there’s gotta be somethin’ he ain’t perfect at,’ you go an’
prove me wrong.” He flips over, hops out of the bed, and shuffles over to take
a look at the posters by the door.
There’s a ‘We Want You’ recruitment poster that looks appropriately worn and
then another of ‘Murray’s Pomade.’ Bucky has no clue how Steve managed to get
everything to look just faded enough to look vintage and not like they’re
printed at all. “Did you do these on Photoshop?”
“Nah, I did them by hand. They were for a competition at school.”
“Oh, shit, was that last year?” Bucky asks, looking over his shoulder at Steve.
“I think I remember your name gettin’ announced on the intercom. First prize,
right?”
Steve blushes all pretty and says, “Yeah.”
Bucky walks over and kisses him, hands on either of his cheeks. “You’re so
talented.” He kisses Steve’s forehead. “And smart.” He kisses Steve’s left
cheek. “And kind.” He kisses Steve’s right cheek. “Not to mention hot as hell.”
Smirking, Bucky gets one knee up onto the mattress and hovers over Steve. “And
I wanna kiss you all over. All the time.”
Humming, Steve smiles and shifts around until he can tug Bucky down onto the
mattress between his legs. They keep their kisses slow and teasing, trading off
who leads every now and again just to change up the style, up until the moment
that Bucky’s phone rings and, with a chorus of frustrated groans, they pull
apart.
Bucky’s not quite breathing hard when he answers the phone, but his ma still
makes a comment and Bucky blushes and stammers and promises to be home for
dinner. After he hangs up, Steve’s laughing at him and saying, “Come here.”
As much as he wants to grump and ask why, Bucky listens. He turns and perches
on the end of the bed while Steve kneels behind him and gathers up his hair.
For a few moments he cards his fingers through the strands and Bucky feels like
he could just slip right down into that fuzzy warm place if Steve would just
keep at it for a little while longer. But of course he doesn’t and Bucky feels
weirdly disappointed. He wants to go under, he wants to be subject to Steve’s
fingers and his whims and he doesn’t want to resurface until Steve says that
it’s okay.
But then Steve gives a little tug.
“Do you have a hairband?” Steve asks. When Bucky admits that he doesn’t, Steve
just says, “Don’t you worry,” and then proceeds to twist Bucky’s hair into a
low bun. “Your hair is about the same length as Natasha’s. I’ve seen her do
this a million times.” Tucking the end up into the twist, Steve finishes up and
leans in to press a kiss to the side of Bucky’s jaw, wrapping his arms around
Bucky’s chest. “Alright, now turn around so I can see.”
Wry smile on his face, Bucky does. “How do I look?”
Steve leans in and kisses Bucky. “Like you’re mine.” He puts his hand on
Bucky’s chest, right over the mark he left, and that coupled with the look in
his eyes causes Bucky’s breath to catch in his throat. Then he grins, playfully
says, “Oh, you mean your hair! Yeah, it looks good. No more sex hair.”
Bucky very nearly snorts. “I’m outta here,” he says, gathering up his keys.
Steve follows him out toward the front hall – but then diverts to the kitchen
where he nabs a Tupperware full of cookies and returns to where Bucky’s bent
over lacing up his boots. Jolting, Bucky stands upright and looks at Steve
standing there all innocently after totally groping Bucky’s ass. With a
suspicious squint, Bucky says, “Yeah, I’m on to you.”
Arms wrapped around his middle, Steve smiles and says, “Text me when you get
home,” before he closes the door behind Bucky.
On autopilot, Bucky drives home. After he parks in his usual spot, Bucky pulls
out his phone and texts Steve: Home safe!
Did you text me right when you got there?
Snorting to himself, Bucky types back: Ain’t even turned off the car yet.
As he’s walking inside, toeing off his boots and hanging up his coat, Bucky’s
phone buzzes in his pocket and just as he tugs it out to see, Good boy, just as
his mother passes by with a basket full of towels.
“Oh, there you are, kiddo,” she says, eyeing him with a speculative look, “You
okay? You look a little flushed.”
She comes over and puts the back of her hand to his forehead, testing for a
fever the way she used to do when he was a kid. He accepts it, not moving in
fear of being called out on the true purpose of his flushed cheeks and tries to
sound at least a little bit confused when he answers her, “Are you feeling
okay?” with a, “Yeah, I feel fine, I think.”
Dinner is a quick affair and afterwards Bucky gets to veg out with his phone
and laptop, checking up on Twitter and Facebook and Instagram as he
intermittently texts Steve and Gabe and Dum Dum. He’s very careful about
checking and rechecking the name of the person he’s texting, too afraid that
he’ll end up saying something vaguely flirty to either of his friends. They’d
play along with it until Bucky finally noticed and then laugh their asses off
about it and never let him live it down. His friends are great where it counts,
but definitely a bunch of assholes, too.
After a while, Bucky remembers – with the help of Steve mentioning something
about a blindfold – to start reading about this whole BDSM thing.
The first stuff that pops up on his laptop is essentially nothing but hardcore
porn. He’s more than a little intimidated by the titles of the clips and
videos, scared and worried for the state of humanity. Nothing about those
things seems anything like the whole Safe, Sane, and Consensual bit Steve had
read to him earlier.
So, instead of Googling, “BDSM,” Bucky tries that catchphrase and the results
are slightly more promising. There are more than a few dot-orgs that supply
informative articles and links and then a few blogs that don’t look like
they’re associated with scary sex dungeons. One even has articles with
appropriate scholarly sources and everything. He quickly types out the link and
sends it to Steve, hoping that he’ll read up on the super in-depth piece about
subspace.
There’s a pretty lengthy part on something called, “Subdrop,” too, which, yeah,
Bucky is definitely glad to have learned about and how it can be helped with a
hefty dose of “Aftercare.” Thinking back, he realizes that it’d definitely
explain his moodiness when his mom had gotten back.
For hours, Bucky reads and reads and reads and it’s only when Steve texts him
with, It’s getting late. Why don’t you get ready for bed?, that Bucky realizes
it’s well past midnight.
Right on cue, Bucky’s jaw pops with the stretch of his yawn. “Shit,” he
mutters, rubbing at his eyes, feeling like he hasn’t blinked in ages. I haven’t
even looked at the checklist yet!, he sends back, and then: But yeah, good
idea. I’ll see you in the morning. Sweet dreams, Stevie.
 
*
 
Steve looks pale when Bucky sees him first thing in the morning. Pale and tiny
and cold.
It’s second nature for Bucky to shrug off his jacket, the newly howling-wolf-
patched letterman jacket courtesy of Ms. Morita, and offer it to Steve before
he heads off to his second hour. At first, Steve gives Bucky his trademark
surly frown, but eventually, with just a bit of coaxing, he finally relents.
And something about it, seeing Steve swimming in the jacket that fits Bucky
just right, makes Bucky’s breath catch in his throat. Steve seems to notice.
“You’re going to be late,” Steve says, smirking with his arms crossed. The
effect is ruined by how long the jacket’s sleeves are on him, inching way past
the tips of his gorgeous fingers.
Bucky practically runs into an incoming freshman, stutters out a profuse
apology, and then shoots Steve an abashed half-wave before he jets over to Ms.
Craddock’s class.
With relative ease, things settle into a pretty comfortable routine for the two
days that they’re required to be at school for the week. Classes are
perfunctory because it’s obvious that the teachers are ready for Thanksgiving
break too – more than one had made comments about dealing with in-laws or
bratty nieces and nephews – and lunch is pretty quiet without Dum Dum, who’s
with his girl, and Morita, who’s across the country with his family in Fresno
already. It’s alright with Bucky, though, because Steve seems to get along best
with Gabe, Dernier, and Falsworth anyway. Not a single one of them is the type
to make fun of either him or Steve for the jacket thing, so Bucky lets Steve
keep wearing it both days.
After school on Tuesday, Bucky’s in his car still kind of damp from post-
practice showers when he gets a text from Steve asking him to meet at the
school’s library. So he drives his car over to the commons lot and has just
barely pulled his phone out to call Steve when he comes trudging out,
headphones in and looking absolutely tiny in Bucky’s jacket.
It just about hangs to his knees.
Warmth sparks in Bucky’s stomach.
He comes around to the driver’s side instead of hopping in like Bucky expects.
“Hey,” Steve says, leaning in through the window to kiss the side of Bucky’s
mouth.
“Didn’t think I’d get to see ya again before I had to leave,” Bucky says, not
bothering to hide the giddiness in his chest. “What’s goin’ on?”
“Nothing,” Steve answers, swiping his hair to the side. “Just…did you want your
jacket back before you go?”
Shaking his head with a furrow between his brows, Bucky says, “Nah, Stevie, you
can keep it.” Then he smiles, continues with, “’Sides, I like seein’ you in my
clothes. Makes the caveman brain all happy,” and an eyebrow waggle to boot.
“Hey, you need a ride home or somethin’?”
Steve smiles and burrows a bit deeper into Bucky’s jacket. “Aunt Liza’s coming
to give me a ride to the shelter today. Wants to get some of the preparations
out of the way.” Reaching in, Steve tucks some of Bucky’s hair behind his ear
and then cradles his cheek. “What time are you leaving?”
“Ma said seven, but knowin’ Dad, it won’t be ‘til nine,” Bucky answers.
Chuckling, Steve says, “Well, that explains a lot.”
And, hell, Bucky supposes it does.
“Anyway, guess I better let you go pack,” Steve says reluctantly. He leans in
for one more kiss and then steps away from the car, looking the slightest bit
torn. “Text me when you’re home.”
 
*
 
Bucky loves his family.
Honestly, he does. But they’re getting on his last damn nerve and he feels like
he can’t breathe with how many people there are crammed into Nana’s brownstone.
There’s his dad’s brother Bill and his ex-wife Susan, who only came because the
kids wouldn’t if she didn’t. Jordan and Kaylee have gotten so much bigger since
the last time he saw them that he almost hadn’t recognized them. Then there’s
Dad’s sisters Liv and Sal who brought their husbands, Dave and Marcus,
respectively, and all of their kids too. Liv’s kids are older than Bucky by a
handful of years, but they’ve always gotten along better with Bec so the
conversations they’ve had with Bucky have mostly centered on her and then after
that things are pretty stilted. All of the other cousins present are younger,
mostly either in middle school or elementary school, but he does have one who’s
just made it into pre-school. (It’s been years since Bucky’s aunts and uncles
have ragged on Sal and Marcus about the “Surprise Baby” but that’s mostly
because Prue might actually be an angel sent down from heaven.)
But Bucky’s pretty sure that if he gets asked one more damn question about his
football season record or his post-high school plans or told that he needs to
cut his hair, he’s going to scream. And possibly murder someone.
But he loves his family so he won’t do that. For now.
Thanksgiving morning in Brooklyn is cold enough for Bucky’s wet hair to get
crunchy when he steps out on the front stoop to enjoy his coffee in peace. He’s
got his heaviest sweater on and a pair of boots, but, as he’s tugging out his
phone, he’s thinking that he probably should’ve put on a pair of fingerless
gloves.
The peace doesn’t last very long, of course, because half of the Barnes clan
tends to wake before nine and the other half won’t be seen until noon at the
earliest. It’s always nice to see everyone, but Bucky feels like he’s been
stretched so thin that he can hardly hold a conversation with Nana – and she’s
his favorite person in this whole outfit. But, reinforcing exactly why, Nana
seems to understand and doesn’t force him into the same topics as the rest of
the family. Instead, she, in a mix of Yiddish and English, starts ordering him
and half of his cousins to start helping her prepare their traditional
Thanksgiving dishes.
It’s definitely more relaxing that way, just doing as she says and weaving in
between his cousins while his parents, aunts, and uncles drink pre-dinner wine
and brandy in the den. Good-natured arguments flare up from the other room and
Bucky brings the rosy-cheeked adults water and challah bread when Nana commands
it.
She’s a tiny, pepper-haired lady with more wrinkles than a Chinese Shar-Pei and
the sweetest smile anyone has ever seen. She also has a penchant for smacking
ornery knuckles with a wooden spoon. Bucky thinks she could rule the world.
Around three, Bucky takes a break outside, walking with his older cousins
around the block so that they can smoke away from the critical eyes of their
parents. He pulls out his phone for the first time in hours and sees quite a
few messages from his pals, a ton of very generic, Happy Thanksgiving! texts
from acquaintances and then a picture from Steve. It’s a selfie of him and his
Aunt Liza, their faces smushed together.
“Ay, Bucky, is thatcha boyfriend?” Pen says, nudging up against him with her
shoulder, “He’s a tiny little fella.”
Fiona chips in with a, “Lemme see!” and starts crowding in on Bucky’s other
side until he shows her the screen. “Oh, my god!” she crows, “What a little
cutie! He wearin’ ya jacket? Aw, that’s fuckin’ precious. Ya makin’ me miss
high school.”
Cam, thank god, doesn’t seem to care as much as his sisters, but he does smile
when Bucky flips his phone around to show him.
Later on, there’s turkey and dressing and green bean casserole and so many pies
that Bucky feels like he’s going to explode with how full he is. He’d made a
point to try everything, and then his Nana had pushed more challah bread his
way and Bucky’s helpless to resist both his Nana and challah bread, so he has
definitely over-indulged by the time everyone starts retiring to their
respective nooks for post-dinner naps.
In his corner of the den, where his pallet is all set up, Bucky takes a selfie
of the most unattractive angle he can manage – where it looks like he has about
six chins – and then sends it to Steve with a caption that reads: How much does
it cost to rent a forklift?
Steve, in return, sends back a link to nearby construction equipment rental and
Bucky actually barks a laugh loud enough that he gets shushed by Prue.
After one more night of sleeping on a makeshift pallet on Nana’s den, Bucky and
his parents say their goodbyes and head off to DUMBO to celebrate the holiday
with the slightly less-exciting maternal side of the family. Aunt Eleanor never
had any kids and Uncle Mike’s ex-wife must have custody of the kids for
Thanksgiving this year, so Bucky ends up being the only one amongst all of the
adults for the two day duration at Pop’s.
Bucky’s well past exhausted by the time they make it back home on Sunday
afternoon. He texts Steve once he flops down on his bed, but falls asleep
before he even gets a response.
When he wakes up a few hours later, he’s got a text from his ma saying that
there’s pizza downstairs if he’s hungry and a message from Steve that says:
Call me when you wake up.
Bucky immediately dials his number and then asks, in a sleep rough voice,
“How’d you know I’d take a nap?” as soon as the line connects.
Steve’s laugh is throaty and warm, something that Bucky’s missed hearing for
the past five days. “Because there was a lot of lag time between responses,
Buck. I know all of your tells.”
And hell, Bucky supposes he does. “Uh, huh. If I’m that easy, then what am I
thinkin’ right now?”
After a tiny contemplative hum, Steve cheekily answers, “That you miss me.”
“Damn, you got me,” Bucky says, smiling like a goof. He realizes he’s twirling
the end of his hair around his finger and quickly drops it, feeling way too
much like a schoolgirl. “’M I really that predictable?”
“Course you are. But the thing is, I miss you too. I’d ask to hang out tonight,
but I know you probably need some time to decompress.”
Once again, Steve’s right on the nose. “You know it’s not that I don’t want to
see you, right?” Bucky asks, and then bites at his lip before quickly hurrying
on, “’Cause I do. But I’m all people’d out and I just wanna, I dunno, read or
somethin’. Be a vegetable for a few hours.”
“Nothing wrong with that,” Steve says, voice gentle, “You’ve gotta recharge.
Hey, you ever do that checklist?”
“Shit,” Bucky breathes, going tense, “Nah, I forgot. I’m sorry.”
“No need to apologize,” Steve says, heading off the immediate weight of anxiety
on Bucky’s shoulders. “I know. I only asked because I was going to suggest
reading through it now.”
“Now? Like on the phone with you?”
Steve chuckles. “From the stuff I’ve been reading, I think it might be better
if you go through it without me. I don’t want to influence your decisions with
my reactions, ya know?”
“Huh.” Bucky guesses that makes sense. “Okay.”
“But hey, once you’re finished, let me know.”
With a smile, Bucky says, “You got it.”
After warming up some pizza and scarfing it down as quickly as possible without
raising suspicion, Bucky rushes back to his room and jumps headfirst into the
checklist.
***** panties and a party *****
Chapter Summary
     Half the time, Bucky feels like he’s so hard that he’s going to
     burst, just thinking about doing some of these things with Steve.
Chapter Notes
     I really need to work on cutting down the word count on these
     suckers. Yo, check the tags for some updates!
     ALSO: This chapter is all about the hurt/comfort. Bucky experiences
     pretty bad subdrop. Steve talks about his tattoo and the deaths of
     his parents. There’s fighting and getting patched up and teenagers
     acting like they don’t have any good sense.
     P.S.: I have gotten some incredibly lovely messages in the past few
     days and I really just want to say thank you to everyone that bothers
     reading this thing.
The checklist ends up being a comprehensive Excel document with multiple
categories and places to mark whether or not he has experienced a certain
situation, wants to do it, is up for trying it or discussing it, or won’t do it
at all, et cetera. There’s plenty of room for Bucky to write down comments or
concerns, putting question marks on the things that he’s never heard of so that
he’ll remember to look things up later. Because the checklist is so massive,
there’s a ton of stuff on it that doesn’t actually apply to him or Steve,
considering neither of them has a vagina, so he ticks the “N/A” box on a hefty
percentage there.
Half the time, Bucky feels like he’s so hard that he’s going to burst, just
thinking about doing some of these things with Steve. Bucky’s always had a
pretty vivid imagination, after all. But then some of the other things are just
a massive turn off. Bucky doesn’t know how much more of this his dick can take,
going from hard to soft and back again, so he tries to go through the rest of
the list with an objective eye.
Rimming is a definite yes – just thinking about getting his mouth on Steve’s
hole has Bucky shifting his hips from side to side, but then imagining Steve
sitting on his face, squirming the way he does in Bucky’s lap, is just about
enough for him to reach down and palm himself – and he feels pretty optimistic
about anal beads and butt plugs. Fellatio is absolutely a yes, gang bangs are a
no, he’s got no clue what queening is but he’s pretty sure that it won’t apply
to him and Steve. Teasing is a yes, vibrators yes, orgies are a no. He’d be
interested in discreet public sex in the way that they’ve already done it –
grinding in Bucky’s car beneath a streetlight in an apartment complex’s parking
lot isn’t exactly private. The thought of a threesome kind of turns Bucky on,
but he’s not quite sure he’d actually want to share Steve that way with someone
else.
The bondage section takes Bucky a little more time because he gets distracted
by looking up pictures. Most of it is pretty intriguing, actually, but he
doesn’t feel like it’s something he wants to do himself. Sure, it’s pretty and
all, but most of it doesn’t turn Bucky on at all. He does, however, like the
idea of being helpless, subject to Steve’s whims and nothing else, so he checks
yes for cuffs, basic rope, and, wow, spreader bars.
After that it’s the sadomasochism section and Bucky surprises himself with how
many things he’s willing to try.
Steve’s already given him bruises from the biting, and both times Bucky’s eyes
had basically rolled back in his head with how good it’d felt afterward, so he
marks those down as have done, will do again. He’s definitely up for scratching
– because picturing Steve sitting on his hips, raking his fingers down Bucky’s
chest with that secret smile on his face definitely has Bucky squirming again.
As weird as it sounds, Bucky feels like he might like being led around by his
hair, and Steve already has a bit of a thing for tugging on it, so he marks yes
to both of those.
The rougher stuff is definitely a bit scary to picture but he’s not as one
hundred percent opposed to it as he thought he’d be. For the most part, he
doesn’t care what they do, just as long as afterward Steve tugs him in and pets
his hair and tells him that he’s good.
Which, Bucky discovers in the fetish section, is called a praise kink.
Before Bucky realizes, it’s way past his usual bedtime and he’s muttering,
“Fuck,” because he’s hard as hell again and he really wants to call Steve and
ask how he’d like for Bucky to get off. Because that could be a thing too.
Steve could tell him exactly how and where and when to touch himself, and, “Oh,
fuck,” that’s enough to have him palming his dick through his sleep pants.
He doesn’t think; he just does it.
Steve’s voice is a little scratchy, almost the way it is after he’s used his
inhaler, when he picks up with a, “’Lo?”
“Steve, I’m –” Bucky blurts, now thinking twice, “Fuck, did I wake ya?”
Steve’s silent just long enough for Bucky to feel guilty and then he says,
“No,” but the lie is ruined with a yawn.
“You’re a terrible liar,” Bucky points out, “I’m sorry, though. You go on back
t’sleep an’ I’ll just talk to ya tomorrow.”
“Hey, no,” Steve says quietly, heading Bucky off, “It’s alright.” There’s the
sound of the mattress creaking and then Steve’s breath comes out in a tiny
huff. “What’s up?”
“I just,” Bucky starts, trailing off when he realizes that he’s – that this is
really selfish and not something that he should just spring on Steve. They
should probably talk about it first. That’s part of why they’ve got this
massive checklist in the first place.
Steve’s voice comes through the line, deep and amused, “I can hear you thinking
from here. Tell me what’s on your mind.”
And maybe it’s the command, maybe it’s not, but Bucky’s blurting, “Tell me,” in
that embarrassingly desperate way that he always does with Steve. He wants to
know what to do, what Steve’ll say – because he’ll do whatever Steve wants,
just like always, and hopefully he’ll make Steve proud and he’ll tell him that
he’s good, that he’s a good boy, that he’s his good boy. “Fuck,” Bucky
breathes, embarrassed, but hard as hell against his own palm.
“Oh,” Steve says, voice full of clarity, “Is this one of those, ‘What are you
wearing?’ phone calls? Would you believe me if I said nothing?”
Bucky snorts. “No,” he says, “I know ya like to be all warm ‘n’ toasty.”
“You got me,” Steve retorts, “I’m definitely wearing a hoodie and sweatpants.
What’ve you got on, Buck?”
Closing his eyes, Bucky does nothing but focus on Steve’s voice, ready to
follow orders just as soon as they’re voiced. He keeps his hand curled over his
cock but moves neither his hand nor his hips as much as he might want to.
“Sleep pants,” Bucky dutifully answers.
“That it?”
At first Bucky nods, and then he realizes that Steve can’t see him – and hell,
even if he could, he’d still want to hear Bucky’s voice. “Yeah.”
“Good,” Steve says, and he sounds so warm and safe and pleased, “You touchin’
yourself?”
Bucky lets out a tremulous breath, his tongue darting out to wet his lips
before he roughly answers, “Not yet. I…”
“And why’s that?”
“Was waitin’ for you to tell me…” Bucky swallows, unsure how to continue.
Steve’s voice goes low and flirty. “Want me to tell you that you can? Because
you can, Bucky. God, when was the last time you came?” he asks, wondering more
than anything until he says, “Tell me.”
Bucky swallows a whine. “Tuesday,” he answers, “In the morning. Before I
showered.”
“Go ahead and touch yourself for me, Bucky,” Steve orders, his voice softening
when he asks, “Were you going through the checklist?”
Gasping at the pressure of his fingers squeezing at his cock, Bucky nods and
pants up at the ceiling before he answers, “Yeah. God, Steve.” He doesn’t give
in and stroke just yet, teasing more than anything, wanting Steve to really
tell him. “Some of that stuff was…but some of it was also real goddamn hot? I –
I don’t even know.”
There’s movement from the other line, maybe Steve shifting around to get
comfortable, maybe Steve shoving his hands down the front of his sweats. His
voice is substantially breathier when he says, “Tell me one thing you want to
try,” which makes Bucky think it might be the latter. “Just one.”
“I…” Bucky’s face goes hot with embarrassment and he wets his lips, dragging in
a shaky breath. “What if it’s something ya don’t like?”
“Bucky,” Steve says reassuringly, “If it’s something I don’t like then I’ll
tell you. We’ll talk about it, maybe come up with something else.” His shrug is
nearly audible. “I won’t make a big deal out of it.”
“No, no, I – I know you ain’t like that, Steve.” Bucky runs his fingertips
along the shaft of his dick over his pants, shuddering and hissing a curse when
the edge of his nail catches on the frenulum. “Know ya won’t make fun of me.”
“Then just tell me.”
Chest fluttering, mind swirling, heart pounding, Bucky takes a deep breath and
then blurts, “Panties,” loud enough so that hopefully he won’t have to repeat
himself, but quiet enough that he doesn’t feel too embarrassed. “I – I just. I
don’t know…” There’s silence from the other end of the line, silence that Bucky
can’t decipher. He doesn’t move – he hardly even breathes, waiting for Steve’s
response. His chest hitches and his cheeks go hot, his dick beginning to soften
with how humiliated he feels. His eyes prickle at the corners, going hot too,
and he has to swallow a lump in his throat. “Aw, dammit. See? This is what I
was talkin’ about –”
“No, hey,” Steve says breathlessly, “I just – jeez, Buck. That’s…” He swallows
audibly; his voice is deep, full when he says, “That’s so hot I can’t
hardly…It’s on my list, too, you know. Didn’t know if you’d wanna do it, but
wow. Can’t even decide which kind I’d like to see you in – satin, silk, lace.
Hell, maybe just plain ol’ cotton. Bet you’d look so pretty for me.”
“Oh,” Bucky breathes, sharp and relieved. Tension in his chest releases, the
muscles in his arms and legs and chest going lax even as his abs clench, his
dick fattening back up so quick his vision might swim if his eyes had been
open. “Okay.”
“Yeah?”
Bucky nods, then remembers (again) that Steve can’t see him. “Yeah.” He clears
his throat, wets his lips, shifts his hips from side to side and toys with the
waistband of his sleep pants. “You wanna see me like that?”
“I really, really do,” Steve answers.
Faintly, Bucky hears a slick sound and then Steve grunts right in his ear.
Bucky slips his hand into his pants, fumbling around for a second before he
gets his fingers around his cock. “Shit, Steve.” When he hears the tiniest of
groans, Bucky can’t help but rock his hips up into his fist.
“Hey, I want to try something, Bucky. If that’s alright, of course. Just tell
me if you don’t like it, or – just don’t listen to me, I guess. But –”
“Anything,” Bucky agrees, stroking himself a little faster just at the heat and
then hesitance in Steve’s voice. It’s so unlike him to sound like he’s not one
hundred percent sure of himself, determined to do what he wants, especially
when that’s to bring Bucky some form of pleasure. “Hell, anything, Steve.”
“Hands off, then,” Steve orders, voice sharp.
Bucky complies, his stomach going taut with the sudden lack of pressure and
friction, a whine scraping out of his throat before he can help it. “Steve.”
“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Steve says, and Bucky’s throat aches with
anticipation, “I’m going to get myself off and you’re going to listen. You’re
not going to touch yourself. After I’ve come, I want you to flip over and hump
the mattress just the way I know you like. You get two minutes. If you don’t
come during those two minutes, then you don’t come at all. Understand?”
By the end of it, Bucky’s trembling with how fucking hot he is. “Yes, si –
Steve. Yeah, I do.”
“Good,” Steve says, again sounding so pleased that Bucky’s chest goes achy,
stomach fluttering. Steve breathes out a sigh and the slick sounds start up
again. “I know you’re gonna be so good for me.”
“I will,” Bucky says, edging on a whine, nodding even as his fingers cramp with
how hard he’s clutching at his blankets to keep from touching himself. “I’ll be
good.”
“I know. What made you decide on telling me about the panties?”
Bucky shrugs, taking a shaky breath. “I just…I dunno. Maybe it’s the contrast?
I got all these muscles an’ it’s obvious I ain’t a girl. But I like to keep my
hair long an’, I dunno, I guess I just think they’re pretty.” He takes a
breath, says just a touch quieter, “Wanna look pretty for you.” He swallows,
hears Steve give a soft groan and that’s enough for Bucky to soldier on. “Wanna
wear ‘em under my clothes so nobody knows but you an’ me. Wanna spread out on
your bed an’ show you, make you want me so bad you can’t hardly stand it.”
“Fuck,” Steve breathes, his voice rough when he says, “I already do. Want you
so bad, Buck.”
But he – Bucky wants Steve to want him the way Bucky wants Steve. He wants
Steve to be unable to think of anything else but him, nothing but the way he
looks, the way he feels, the way he sounds. He wants to drive Steve to the
brink with nothing but a look or plea or a slow roll of the hips just the way
Steve does to him. He’d do whatever it takes, whatever Steve wants.
“Still wanna suck you off, too, Stevie,” Bucky says, rolling his hips back
against the mattress. The upward friction against his pants is just enough of a
tease that Bucky thinks he could come if Steve only said the word. “God, I
wanna get my mouth on you so bad. Think I could go under just from that. Want
you to –” His breath hitches, eyes fluttering, and has to abruptly stop moving
to keep from coming. Steve didn’t say he could. Not yet. “Want you to grab my
hair and fuck my mouth, just fuckin’ use it.”
Steve groans so loud that Bucky’s almost afraid that he’s going to wake his
Aunt Liza across their apartment. “That’s not all you want,” Steve says, voice
so thin that Bucky knows he’s riding the edge, so close. “Tell me, Buck. Tell
me what else you want.”
Bucky bites down on a whine, feeling warm and tense, just waiting. “Steve,
please.”
“No.”
Groaning, Bucky bites his lip and brings a hand up to tug his hair. He just
wants to come. He needs it. He needs it so bad, he might bust anyway but that
wouldn’t make Steve happy, so he can’t. “Want you to come on my chest,” he
grits out, breathing fast, “right over that bruise ya gave me. Want you to pet
my hair an’ tell me ‘f I was good.”
There’s the familiar hitchy, strained breathing from the other line and Bucky
can just imagine Steve’s face as he comes – his brows all pinched and his mouth
slack as his tight whines turn into sharp breaths, and Bucky just knows he’s
shaking his way through it.
On rote, Bucky’s flipping over, phone still pressed to his ear. He just barely
hears Steve’s breathless, “Two minutes,” then the puff of an inhaler. Stronger,
Steve says, “I’m gonna do that just as soon as I can, Bucky. Gonna come all
over you. Mark you up with some new bruises and come all over those, too.”
Bucky’s hips are working, he’s panting, practically sobbing with each breath
and Steve’s words in his ear. “Oh, god,” he mutters against his pillow, wanting
so badly to be good for Steve, to deserve him. “Please.”
“One minute, Bucky,” Steve says in his ear. “You’re so close; I can tell. Think
you can do it? You don’t wanna have to wait ‘til you see me to get to come, do
you?”
“Please,” Bucky pleads again, desperate as hell. He’s right there. If Steve
would just –
“C’mon, I know you can do it. You’re so good, Bucky. You’re so good for me.”
Crying out, Bucky shifts against his bed one last time as the feeling finally
peaks, every muscle going taut as he comes hard into his sleep pants, his
entire body jolting with each spurt. It feels like it lasts forever, and he’s
lightheaded but he can still hear Steve’s voice in his ear, coaxing him through
it, telling him to breathe and praising him for doing exactly as he was told.
It turns Bucky into a pile of mush, nothing but a set of lax muscles and watery
bones. His mind feels fuzzy, almost like when he goes under, and his chest is
all full with the way Steve is repeating, “You were so good, Buck; I’m so proud
of you,” over and over.
He feels himself sliding into the feeling, happy and grateful and incredibly
fulfilled. His limbs tingle and his head feels so light that it’d make him
laugh if he could muster up the energy. Hell, he can’t even make his mouth
work.
Still drifting, he hears Steve’s voice coming through a little clearer,
something about his tone making everything incredibly sharper. Gentle, but
commanding, Steve says, “Bucky, I need you to answer me. Are you okay?”
“Yeah. I w’s…” Bucky takes a hitching breath in and shakily lets it out.
“Floating.”
“Be honest with me, Bucky. Sounded like you were crying for a second there.”
All Bucky can say is, “Just. Miss you, Steve.” He wants more than anything to
be able to lie down next him, to feel his sharp bones and gentle fingers, to
see the sunshine in his blue skies eyes. “Never come back that fast b’fore.
Wanna be with you.”
“I know, B. Wanna be with you, too. Do you think it’s because I’m not there
with you?”
Bucky shrugs.
“Bucky? I need you to answer me,” Steve says.
“Maybe,” Bucky replies, “I dunno. Want you to pet me.”
“God, I want that, too, Buck. More than anything right now. But I need you to
listen to me, okay?” Steve’s voice takes on that tone again, the one that made
Bucky come back. “It’s really late. We both need to get some sleep. I want you
to text me right when you wake up. Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Okay.”
“Alright. Go to sleep, Bucky.”
“’Night, Stevie.”
 
*
 
There’s a tacky mess in Bucky’s pants in the morning and he wants nothing more
than to shove himself out of bed to peel them off. But when he goes to move,
his limbs feel heavy and his head feels full of lead, aching so hard that even
his teeth hurt. Because he’d promised he would, Bucky sends Steve: Don’t feel
good.
Though his alarm went off ten minutes ago, Bucky lies on his side with his
phone clutched in his hand and focuses on breathing through the pounding of his
head. Eventually, he sighs and shuffles off to the bathroom to clean up and
start his usual routine. By the time he’s dressed, tugging his backpack onto
his shoulder, and shoving his feet into his boots, the pain in Bucky’s head is
so bad that it’s hard for him to see. He doesn’t even think to take any pills
until he checks his phone and sees the: I’m sorry, B. Feel good enough for
school? Take some ibuprofen.
Bucky thinks, petulantly, that he should’ve thought of that himself before he
trudges into the kitchen and swallows a couple of the little red tablets. And
because he’s always early to school, Bucky waits another fifteen minutes just
to see if the medication will kick in even just a little bit, texting with
Steve all the while.
They argue about whether Bucky should bother with school – and he really must
be in pain because it takes almost nothing for Steve to whittle Bucky down and
convince him to crawl right back into bed.
Before he drops back off into sleep, he sends his mother a text asking her to
call in to the school’s office for him (because aside from being four months
shy of eighteen and being legally able to do it himself, the secretary, Mr.
Phillips, is slightly terrifying with his no-nonsense attitude).
Quite a few hours later, Bucky awakens to a knock on his bedroom door, tendrils
of hair stuck to his sweaty cheeks and forehead.
“Bucky?”
And Bucky must be either hallucinating or still asleep, because that sure as
hell sounds like Steve and not one of his parents. “St –” Bucky breaks off into
a cough and then tries again, voice scratchy with sleep when he calls out,
“Y’can come in.”
Rolling onto his back as the door opens, Bucky shoves his hair off of his face
and sits up, the blanket slipping down to pool around his hips. His face feels
hot and he feels dumb and small and even kind of ashamed, but he looks at Steve
sitting there on his bed and sees nothing but a strange combination of relief
and concern.
God, Steve looks so good. It feels like it’s been ages since Bucky has actually
gotten to see him – the little curl of his bangs swept to the side, the loops
and hooks in his left ear, the tiny quirk of his lips.
“How you feelin’?” Steve asks, dropping his backpack to the floor and shifting
closer to Bucky on the bed. He puts the back of his hand to Bucky’s neck, then
cheek, then forehead, the tip of his tongue peeking out between his lips as
though Bucky’s wellbeing requires the same level of concentration as one of his
drawings.
Bucky doesn’t – it’s dumb, he knows it’s dumb – he knows that Steve would be
hurt if Bucky were to admit it – but he doesn’t feel like he deserves that. He
lifts his shoulder in a shrug.
“You weren’t feeling bad on the trip were you?”
Looking down at his hands, Bucky shakes his head.
“So this is ‘cause of the phone call last night then. Hey,” he says softly,
rubbing his thumb softly against Bucky’s chin, tilting it to make him meet his
eyes, “I shouldn’t’ve yanked you out like that. It’s my fault you’re feeling
like this.”
“No, it’s –”
“Yes,” Steve says, cutting Bucky’s protest right in its tracks, “it is. You
went under and I should’ve stayed on the phone with you ‘til you came out of
it, but I was selfish and wanted to sleep because I felt good. Shouldn’t’ve
made you feel like shit for it. I put my own needs ahead of yours and I –”
Steve swallows hard, guilt written across every bit of his expression. “I’m so
sorry.”
Bucky doesn’t know why, but Steve’s sincerity hits him square in the chest,
knocking the breath out of him as his face crumples, his eyes prick at the
corners. Automatically, his hands come up to hide his face even as his
shoulders start to shake. “I’m – I don’t –”
Steve’s thin arms wrap around him, his scent drawing Bucky’s nose straight to
the crook of his neck as Steve tugs him, softly saying, “Hey, shh, it’s okay.
I’m right here. I’ve got you.”
Without a clue as to how much time passes, Bucky keeps his wet face tucked into
Steve’s neck, crying and shaking and feeling completely stupid and useless
until he’s got nothing left. He doesn’t even realize that he’s been repeating
apologies into Steve’s neck until Steve gets his hands back on Bucky’s cheeks
and presses a kiss to his mouth. “You didn’t do anything wrong, Buck. Just tell
me what you need.”
Shivering and still aching, Bucky just says, “Just. Hold me. Please, I’m
sorry,” and sighs in content when Steve kicks off his shoes, shuffles up
against the headboard, and slips under the covers to hold Bucky against his
chest.
The navy sweater is incredibly soft beneath Bucky’s cheek.
“How’d ya know where I live?” Bucky asks. Steve doesn’t respond, so Bucky
shifts around, scooting down the bed until his head is pillowed on Steve’s
thigh. He repeats himself.
This time, Steve answers, “Morita, actually.” Steve’s hand comes down to push
Bucky’s hair away from his forehead, a tease at what could be a sweet slip into
subspace. “You’ve got very…protective friends, by the way.”
“Oh, god,” Bucky groans, “Did they give you the shovel talk?”
Steve just smiles his secret smile and says, “I think they’ve been wanting to
do it for a while now.”
“I’m so sorry, Steve.”
“Hey,” Steve says gently, “I was kind of wondering when they’d get around to
it. I think Nat and Peggy wanna do the same with you, even though I told ‘em it
wasn’t necessary.”
Bucky snorts. “That’s comforting.”
Steve shrugs. “You know they mean well,” he says, “and besides, at least you’re
going into it with some warning.” He pets Bucky’s hair back again, his fingers
trailing over Bucky’s temples to soothe away some residual tension. His voice
can’t be mistaken for anything but teasing when he says, “I didn’t get that
luxury,” but it still makes Bucky feel like crap.
His face must drop, or something, because Steve cards his fingers through
Bucky’s hair after he says, “I’m sorry.”
“You didn’t know they were gonna do it, did you?”
“No! I swear, I didn’t.”
“Okay,” Steve says calmly, cupping Bucky’s cheek, “That’s exactly my point. You
didn’t know any better.”
They lie in relative silence for a while, Bucky trying not to drool on Steve’s
jeans while Steve pets at him intermittently, obviously not allowing him to
slip free from reality. It’s probably just a handful of minutes before Bucky’s
physical needs are letting themselves known. His bladder aches and his stomach
growls and Steve’s laughing, bending down to kiss the side of Bucky’s mouth
before he gently pushes Bucky off of himself.
When Bucky returns from the bathroom, he asks, “You want to order pizza or
something?” and then quickly cringes, saying, “Shit, sorry, I know you, uh.”
Steve rises, coming around to wrap his arms around Bucky’s middle. “It’s okay.
I know what you meant and that was very kind of you, thinking of me like that.
But actually, I’ve got what’s left of my salad from lunch still in my backpack,
so you can do your thing. I’m all set.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says for the millionth time, “I dunno what’s wrong with me.”
“Subdrop,” Steve says simply, and Bucky thinks, Right. “And I’m sorry. Your
mood’s gonna be all over the place and you don’t have to apologize for it,
okay? If it makes you feel better, go for it. But just know that I don’t blame
you for any of this.”
Bucky sighs. “Okay. Sorry.”
Steve only kisses Bucky again and pets down the center of his back. Bucky
shivers. Breaking away, Steve smiles again and says, “Let’s get some food in
you.”
As they’re heading down to the kitchen, Bucky stiffens with the sudden thought
that Steve’s going to meet his parents – and like Steve can read his mind, he
murmurs, “Relax. I already met them while you were asleep. They’re really nice
people – and you look just like your mom.”
Like her own Spidey sense are tingling, Winnie Barnes leans around the corner
of the den and asks, “Are you boys getting hungry? I was thinking about
ordering pizza.”
Bucky barks a laugh and Steve smiles softly. “Uh, yeah, Ma,” Bucky says,
scratching at his head as she smiles quizzically at them, “Can you get one with
lotsa bacon? And pepperoni? Oh, and green peppers?” At Steve’s raised brow,
Bucky looks down at his feet and shrugs his shoulders. “What? I’m starvin’. I
ain’t eaten all day.”
“You poor thing,” Winnie says, coming over to feel Bucky’s forehead for fever,
“Steve, do you have a favorite kind?”
“Oh, I’m fine. But thank you.”
Pursing her lips like she isn’t convinced, Ma says, “Alright. Let me know if
you change your mind though. Well, hey, if you boys want, we could order a
movie on pay-per-view?”
Slightly panicked, Bucky makes wide eyes at Steve, hoping to god that he
doesn’t actually want to sit down and watch a movie with his parents, and it’s
obvious that Steve picks up on Bucky’s distress, because then Steve’s saying,
“Uh, no thank you, ma’am. I think Bucky wanted to get started on some of the
work he missed today, if you don’t mind.”
“Oh, no, honey,” she says, grinning, undoubtedly, at Steve’s politeness. “You
two go on ahead and get your work done; I’ll call you down when the pizza’s
here.”
Dragging Steve back to his room, Bucky slumps against the closed door and says,
“She was gonna pull out the baby pictures, I just know it.”
Chuckling, Steve says, “I wouldn’t mind seeing some of those. You saw my damn
bowl cut, after all.”
“You were so cute, though,” Bucky says, smiling softly as he remembers. “But,
hey, what you said’s true. I do need to get somethin’ done or else I’ll be in a
world’a hurt tomorrow.”
“Alright,” Steve says, shuffling towards the bed. He stoops to grab his
backpack and hefts it up onto the mattress as Bucky wanders closer. “From what
I could tell, we went over something new in Calculus today.” Steve climbs up
onto the mattress and scoots toward the far side to leave a space open for
Bucky.
After grabbing his binder and textbook, Bucky slides in next to Steve and
starts in on learning how to integrate polynomial functions that contain
radicals. It’s kind of scary at first, but Steve has a way of explaining the
steps to make them sound completely logical and it all just kind of clicks.
Bucky gets in the zone, bulldozing his way through problem after problem up
until his ma calls him down for pizza.
“Be right back,” Bucky says, blinking away the blurriness of looking at nothing
but small numbers and letters for the past hour.
After they eat food and do more calculus and snuggle a bit more, Bucky finally
feels a little closer to normal.
The snuggling devolves into lazy kissing and sneaking some teasing touches.
Steve’s got his hand down the back of Bucky’s pants over his under and Bucky’s
palming at Steve’s chest, not really as means to get each other off, but more
to just reassure with touches. It makes Bucky feel a little more grounded to
have his leg hitched up over Steve’s, their faces nudged up too close as they
lie side by side. They make out lazily, pulling apart to breathe and exchange
questions or comments as the light fades outside.
“Hey, Steve,” Bucky says in one of the lulls, running his thumb over Steve’s
ribs and up to his chest, catching on his nipple every now and again. The inked
words don’t feel any different, but Bucky knows they’re there just the same.
“Mm?” Steve’s eyes are all half-lidded in a sleepy, sated way and it makes
Bucky suddenly wonder if there’s something similar to subspace for dominants
too. He has other questions, though, so he leaves that one on the back burner.
“What’s your tattoo mean t’you? Like…why’d ya get it?”
Steve pulls his hand off of Bucky’s ass and pets it up over the swell of his
cheek. “I haven’t told you about my parents yet, have I?”
Bucky shakes his head, suddenly guilty.
“Hey, no,” Steve says, “It’s alright, really. It was bound to come up
eventually. I don’t mind.” He leans in and kisses the corner of Bucky’s mouth
again before he pulls back, giving a soft smile as he looks down. “I don’t know
if you’d believe it, but I got into a lot of fights when I was a kid.”
Unable to help himself, Bucky gives a snort.
“Yeah, yeah, shuddup.” Steve grins, poking a finger into Bucky’s ribs. “Anyway,
I got sent to the principal’s office the day before my dad died. Tried to break
a kid’s nose for picking on a little girl ‘cause she was chubby, just a little
kindergartener, only I couldn’t see for shit – or aim – and ended up busting my
knuckles on a tree.” At Bucky’s giggle, Steve says, “Yeah, it was
embarrassing.” He twines his fingers with Bucky’s, brings them to his lips and
then settles them between their chests. “Anyway, that was the last thing he
said to me: ‘Bye, Steve. Be good.’” Steve shrugs. “And maybe it’s ironic, or
whatever, but same thing happened with mom. It was just an automatic kind of
phrase for them, I guess. Wanting me to stay out of trouble.
“But after Aunt Liza took me in and, uh, put me into therapy,” Steve says,
swallowing, “it kinda took on a whole new meaning. It wasn’t just ‘stay out of
trouble,’ anymore. After that it became, ‘do what’s right,’ too. Whether that’s
by standing up for the little guy, or making friends with a new kid, or…hell,
even doing what we do. I know I’m supposed to give it my all, to do my best as
long as I aim to be good.”
Bucky leans in and, chest full of pride and grief and – hell, there’s really no
point in skirting around it anymore – love for his fella, he presses their
foreheads together and says, “You’re really somethin’, you know that, Rogers?”
Steve gives a sweet, sad smile and Bucky knows that the feeling – Steve missing
his parents – is acute right now, probably not being helped by the fact that
he’s had to interact with both of Bucky’s within the last few hours. As much as
his heart aches for Steve, he knows that this isn’t something he’ll ever be
able to fully understand. Steve must’ve been barely in the first grade when
he’d lost his dad and hardly older than that when he lost his mother. Bucky’s
had his for his whole life and even if they died today – which he prays to god
that they don’t – even then it still wouldn’t be the same.
Bucky wants to ask, and Steve must see the hesitation in his expression,
reading his mind once again, because he’s saying, “It’s okay to ask, Buck.”
Breathing out a heavy sigh, Bucky says, “I jus’ don’t wanna upset you anymore…”
“It’s alright. It was years ago.” Steve shrugs and brings Bucky’s knuckles up
for another kiss. “Yeah, it still hurts and I miss them like they’ve only been
gone since yesterday, but that’s no reason to shy away from talking about ‘em.”
Steve inhales heavily and then goes on to answer Bucky’s question.
“Dad was in the military. He’d gotten back from a tour about a month before and
he was scheduled to ship out again before Christmas.” He huffs a little laugh
and says, “God, you should’ve heard me begging him not to go.” Blinking away a
bit of wetness, Steve continues, “Anyway, you wouldn’t think it, looking at me,
but he was a tall guy, really strong and the couple of friends I had back then
always said that he was scary, but he was really a teddy bear.” Steve swallows.
“The doctors said he had a congenital heart disease – stenosis. Means the
valves don’t open as widely as they should. But he must’ve never known because
neither me nor Mom had ever heard him talk about it or even complain of any
symptoms.”
Bucky doesn’t know what to say, so he just squeezes at Steve’s fingers, so thin
and delicate, but full of strength.
“I was born with it, too,” Steve says, looking Bucky right in the eye. “I had a
bunch of surgeries when I was really little and I’ve always taken tons of meds
for it.” Again, Steve shrugs. “Dad didn’t.”
“I’m so sorry, Steve,” Bucky says, voice barely over a whisper. He watches
Steve’s eyes flicker to his mouth and then back up, a crease forming between
his brows.
“Hey, no, it’s alright. It’s just the truth.”
After a few beats of silence, Bucky clears his throat, hesitantly asks, “What
about your ma?”
Steve’s smile gets a little less sad, brightening when he says, “She was a
nurse. Very no-nonsense about it, too, but she really loved what she did from
what all I remember. Always helping people, even to the very end. She was so
selfless.” It’s obviously something that Steve shares, a quality that resonates
right from his very soul. “A few months after dad died, she got in a pretty bad
wreck on her way to work. I didn’t get all the details, but one of her
coworkers, the one she’d been commuting with, told me later on that Mom got out
and helped her and then the other family – and didn’t complain for a second
until their shift was almost up.”
Again, Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand, at a loss for words.
“Both of ‘em just dropped dead,” Steve says, eyes wide and searching. It’s the
most lost Bucky’s ever seen him look, making his chest clench and his breath
seize up in his lungs as he watches Steve’s face. “I’m terrified the same
thing’s gonna happen to me, but then…I figure it’s better to go that way. No
long, drawn out pain. Just – gone.”
“Jesus,” Bucky chokes out and tugs Steve to him, heart aching like he’s going
through all of the stages of grief at once, just at the thought that something
like that might ever happen to Steve. The world should never be so cruel to
take Steve Rogers away. It’d be a darker place for it.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Steve says, “I’m still here. Everything is still looking
good according to my last doctor’s visit.”
For some time, they lie there clutching at each other. Bucky pets at Steve’s
back and up into his hair the way Steve does for him and it, the motions,
Steve’s subtle reactions to it, ease the ache of Bucky’s heart.
The somber mood lifts a bit, sunshine sluicing through clouds, when Steve
starts asking Bucky questions about his childhood and if he liked the same
horribly 90’s and early 2000’s shows like All That and Kenan & Kel. It starts
them in on shows they watch now – The Walking Dead and Suits (“No, but really –
have you seen Gabriel Macht?”) for Bucky, Justified and Parks and Recreation
(“Leslie Knope should rule the world.”) for Steve – and both of them trying to
explain why their choices are clearly superior. Of course, Steve just ends up
suggesting that they call it a truce since they both love Star Trek: The
Original Series and then they make plans to watch the other’s favorite shows
together at some point in the future.
“You know what I just realized,” Bucky says, running his hand back up under
Steve’s sweater.
“Mm?”
“We ain’t been on a date yet.”
Steve blinks, like it’s something he hadn’t even considered. “Huh. What about
that time at the library?”
Bucky shakes his head. “Uh uh, we weren’t together yet.”
“Yeah, well,” Steve says, lips tugging over in a crooked smirk, “We kind of had
sex before we even really talked, so I’m obviously not holding us to any
standards.”
Bucky laughs so hard that tears eke out onto his eyelashes and Steve’s smiling
softly at him, resting his cheek against his bicep and just watching Bucky.
“Alright, fair enough. But I still wanna take ya on a date sometime, Stevie.”
“Yeah, okay,” Steve says softly. Then he leans in and presses another kiss to
Bucky’s lips. “I guess I’d better get out of here. I haven’t looked but I bet
Aunt Liza’s blowing up my phone wondering where I went.”
Very nearly whining, Bucky lets himself pout just so that Steve will lean in
and try to kiss it away. For his efforts, he earns Steve’s hands roaming up
into his hair and down his back, settling on his ass just to squeeze. His
breath hitches and he accidentally pulls away from Steve, shifting his hips
back into the pressure when Steve only tightens his grip.
“Fuck,” Bucky breathes, clutching at Steve’s shoulders.
“Nope,” Steve says, tugging at Bucky’s bottom lip with his teeth. “No time.
Gotta go.” Disengaging, Steve bends to tug on his shoes and, in a reciprocating
echo of the week before, Bucky gropes Steve’s little ass, giggling to himself
at Steve’s unamused glare.
After Bucky walks Steve down – to see a fucking motorcycle on which of course
Steve doesn’t wear a helmet – and comes back inside, he’s immediately called
into the den to sit and talk with his parents. Whereas he’s kind of expecting
the implementation of a “No Closed Doors” policy, his parents instead start
raving about how polite and thoughtful his new little boyfriend is, how he’s
such a delight and how Bucky should’ve introduced them sooner.
And yeah, Bucky’s almost wondering why he hadn’t.
 
*
 
Howard Stark isn’t a bad guy.
No matter how many times Bucky has explained this to his parents, they always
get this suspicious glint in their eyes anytime he so much as mentions his ex-
boyfriend. So, it’s to be expected that they’re more than wary when Bucky says
that heading over to his house Friday night is part of his plans for the
weekend. They’re a little more open to the idea when he mentions that it’s for
Natasha’s birthday.
“Will there be alcohol?” Ma asks, her arms still folded and her hip still
cocked.
Bucky scratches at the back of his head. “Probably…”
She eyes him for a few moments, before asking, “And will you be able to stay
the night there or do you need me or your father to come pick you up?”
“No, it’s, uh – Monty said he ain’t gonna drink so he’ll drive us back to his
place.” Very calmly, Bucky maintains his breathing rate even though he’s hard
pressed to hold his breath while he waits for a response. Lying isn’t something
he does a lot of, but he usually tends to get away with it.
After a hefty sigh, Winnie Barnes relents with a, “Alright. But if anything bad
happens, you’re not leaving the house for the rest of the school year. I mean
it, James.” Then she grabs him by the shoulders, tugging him down to kiss the
side of his face. “If you end up needing a ride, please just call.”
“Mom, no, it’s gonna be fine. I’ll be safe. I promise.”
“It’s not you I don’t trust,” she says, pulling back to look at his face. “It’s
all of those other kids.”
And god, if that isn’t enough to make Bucky’s stomach curdle with guilt… “Love
you, Ma,” Bucky says, looking her straight in the eye.
“Love you, too, honey. Be safe.”
Unscathed, Bucky traipses to his room and shoots Steve a text: Your aunt is
still working a double this weekend, right?
Yeah. Why?
Smiling to himself, Bucky taps out a quick response of: Sleepover?
Two seconds later, his phone is ringing and Steve’s breathlessly asking, “You
want to spend the night with me?”
Laughing, feeling downright giddy, Bucky gives an, “Of course, I do.”
Steve sounds just as excited when he says, “Oh, man. So we can come back here
after Nat’s party?”
“Yep,” Bucky says. “Means we got all night an’ most of Saturday to do whatever
ya want.” A breathless noise escapes Steve and makes the line crackle, and
Bucky laughs before he can help himself. “Sounds like ya like that idea,
Stevie.”
“You have no idea,” Steve eventually says. “Ugh, okay. Um. Oh! Did you end up
getting Nat that movie?”
Bucky makes a distressed sound. “No, it was sold out literally everywhere I
looked an’ it’s too late to order it online now.” He swipes a hand over his
face and rolls fully onto his back, staring up at the ceiling above his bed.
“But, hey, I was kinda thinkin’ about maybe goin’ to that tattoo parlor an’
gettin’ her like a voucher or somethin’. That way she could get a tattoo or
another piercin’ and it’d be all paid for.”
“Bucky, you’re so smart,” Steve says, tone soft as kittens, “That’s a great
idea. She’s gonna love that.”
Warming from the soles of his feet to his hairline, Bucky grins to himself and
makes a mental note to stop by Ink Inc on his way home from school tomorrow.
They chat for a little while longer, discussing possible piercings that Natasha
might get – Steve leaning toward eyebrow or Monroe, Bucky adamant about septum
– and then Steve talks Bucky through some of the calculus homework that had
been stumping him. They go back to texting after Bucky gets called down for
dinner and Bucky spends the rest of his Wednesday night scouring through the
checklist.
There are just so many things that he hadn’t even thought about – fetishes and
objects and power play scenarios – that he spends just as much time looking up
what half of the things are before making a tentative decision about whether
he’d actually like to do them. By the time he finishes, he’s so tired that he
just barely sends the news to Steve before he passes out.
School the next day seems to drag on forever, but Steve and the fellas
definitely make it bearable.
It definitely helps when, during sixth hour, Steve sends Bucky a text that
says: South 300s bathroom. Ten minutes.
Bucky must noticeably perk up because Falsworth quirks a brow and teases him up
until the moment he requests permission to go. He practically runs to the
bathroom, tingling with anticipation and a healthy dose of arousal.
The second the door creaks open, Steve is dragging him into the far stall,
saying, “Don’t make a sound,” as their shoes scuff the dirty linoleum.
That alone nearly makes Bucky moan, so he bites down on his lower lip and
swallows all of his other noises as Steve shoves him up against the wall and
cranes his neck up to kiss the ever-loving shit out of him. Bucky’s hand
reaches out to smack the door closed, flick the lock. The kissing is quick and
dirty and Bucky’s never been so turned on in his life, only getting harder when
he pulls back to breathe and sees Steve’s pupils completely blown behind his
glasses, his lips already swollen all to hell. Bucky drags in a breath and
tilts his head back against the textured bricks, lightheaded with how hot this
is.
“I mean it,” Steve pants, as his hand drifts down Bucky’s stomach to hook into
his waistband, “Not a sound.”
All Bucky can do – all he’s allowed to do – is breathe loudly as Steve wraps a
hand around his dick.
“Good,” Steve practically purrs, eyeing Bucky’s mouth as he thumbs just under
the crown, “Damn, you’re so hot, Buck. Couldn’t focus on the figure drawing,
‘cause all I could think about was how you looked so much better.”
Bucky’s brows pinch and he trembles, swallowing and panting and choking down
his moans.
Someone could walk in at any second. Someone could hear. Someone would see two
pairs of boots turned toward one another and know.
For some reason, that makes it all the hotter – Bucky clutches at Steve’s
shoulders and humps up into his hand, trying desperately not to make a sound.
He’s so close already that it’s a damn miracle that he’s not groaning and
whining and begging, but Steve said not to. And just like always, Bucky wants
to be good, he wants to do what Steve says, he wants to make Steve so proud.
“You’re gettin’ close, aren’t you, Buck?” Steve asks, face tilted up into
Bucky’s space. He looks so fucked out, looking from eye to eye and biting at
his own lip, and Bucky feels fucking wrecked. All he can do is nod frantically
and squeeze his eyes shut. “Ah-ah,” Steve says sharply. “Eyes on me. Don’t want
you thinking about anything else.”
Bucky’s head swims and his knees shake, but he manages to blink his eyes open
and focus solely on Steve.
And it’s…it’s like something just slides right into place. All of the fear just
dissipates and Bucky knows, deep in his soul, that Steve is going to take care
of him, that Steve won’t let anything happen. It feels like all of his muscles
melt at once, the second Steve says, “Come,” and Bucky does. His pulse is loud
in his ears, pounding, but he keeps his eyes on Steve’s, watching his pretty
little angel face as he smiles and says words that Bucky can’t make out, but
can feel warming him in a burn of sensations in the gentle, coaxing tone.
After that he couldn’t take his eyes off of Steve if he wanted to, caught in
the gravity of his gaze. He cleans Bucky, tucks him back in, rakes his fingers
up under Bucky’s shirt as he leans up for more kisses, chaste but coaxing.
When Steve pulls back, Bucky realizes that the stuttered gasps aren’t his, but
Steve’s. He can’t even move his limbs, has no idea how he’s still standing, but
he wants nothing more than to see Steve go off. He can’t tear his eyes from
Steve’s face, though, but knows that Steve must be working himself over because
his expression pinches and pinches and pinches, peaks and crests and goes slack
as she shakes and it makes Bucky feel good, a long lost echo of Steve’s
pleasure.
He must lose a little bit of time after that, because he comes down to the
feeling of Steve’s hands petting down his sides, Steve’s face in the crook of
his neck.
“Steve,” Bucky slurs.
“Hey,” Steve says, pulling back to look at Bucky’s face. He still looks messy,
his hair disheveled in more than just the ‘rolled out of bed’ way it generally
looks, and his lips are still a little puffy. He’s goddamn beautiful. “You
back?”
“Mm.” Bucky brings his hand up and runs it through the shorter hair on the side
of Steve’s head, thumbing over the pierced shell of Steve’s left ear before he
leans in to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead. “Steve.”
Steve laughs, sunshine through the clouds. “Almost, then. You, uh, should
probably try to hurry. Don’t want your teacher to send a search party.”
“’s jus’ student council,” Bucky manages. His brain very sluggishly attempts to
reboot. “Falsw’th can cover…f’r me.”
It takes a few minutes, but eventually Bucky comes down enough to glance at his
and Steve’s pants to see that there’s, surprisingly, no mess at all. Steve
makes him stoop a bit so he can redo Bucky’s bun, and with one last kiss, he
smacks Bucky’s ass and sends him back to class in a daze.
Falsworth smirks knowingly and nudges Bucky with his elbow, but doesn’t ask for
details until they get to the locker room to change out for the weight room
with the rest of the guys. Bucky’s head is still a little foggy, so he parses
through them as best as he can, mostly just repeating, “It was so hot,” over
and over as he shakes his head and grins like a loon.
After school, Bucky heads to the tattoo shop in the old downtown and, somehow,
gets the notion in his head that he wants to set up an appointment for himself
in addition to buying Natasha’s voucher. Seeing as how he isn’t eighteen yet,
they can’t do that, so he sweet talks his way into putting down a deposit and
scheduling it for the day after his birthday.
 
*
 
The second Steve opens the door to his apartment, he’s breathless with
excitement, eyes wide and bright behind his glasses when he says, grinning, “I
got something for you!”
Bucky, laughing, follows him inside and shuts the door behind himself. “It’s
Nat’s birthday, not mine – or didja forget already?”
But Steve’s gone up ahead toward his room and there’s no way he can hear.
Rolling his eyes and shuffling after him, Bucky trudges his way into Steve’s
room and is surprised when Steve turns to meet him with a massive grin. He
urges Bucky to close his eyes and hold out his hand, and of course Bucky
complies, chest fluttering with anticipation.
Two heartbeats later, Steve’s pressing fabric into Bucky’s palm, tips of his
fingers grazing Bucky’s.
Bucky’s breath comes in a stutter. “Steve? Is this –?”
“Yeah,” Steve breathes, “You can open your eyes, by the way.”
When Bucky does, first looking at Steve to gauge his hopeful expression, and
then down to the panties – black cotton, lace trim, all soft and pretty – he
can’t help but gasp. Steve got him panties. He holds them out, looking first,
and then turning them around and bringing them to his hips to gauge the size,
to look up and see Steve’s heated gaze. “These’re real pretty, Stevie.”
“They match, too,” Steve says, smirking, biting down on his bottom lip. “Now,
go put those pretty panties on for me, Bucky.” As soon as Bucky turns to
comply, Steve’s slim fingers wrap around his bicep and then Bucky turns to see
Steve looking him up and down. “I’m really digging the greaser look, by the
way.”
Bucky hadn’t even meant to – but the leather jacket, the white t-shirt, the way
he rolled up his skinny jeans just enough to show off the laces of his boots,
is definitely reminiscent of the 1950’s, if only a little more hipster because
of the scarf slung around his neck. He goes into the bathroom, not bothering to
close the door just in case Steve wants to sneak a peek, and sheds his boots
and jeans and boxers so that he can slowly slide the panties, soft and
delicate, up his legs. The tiny holes that make up the lace trimming get caught
occasionally on his leg hair and that contrast in itself is enough for his
breath to come too quick. It takes a little bit of adjusting, where Bucky has
to breathe his way through the acute arousal, before he settles the soft slump
of his cock and balls into the pretty black cotton.
In the mirror, Bucky catches his own eye. His cheeks are flushed and his eyes
are dark, but there’s a certain serenity already written across his expression,
like this is good and right because Steve got them for him, Steve wants him to
look pretty just for him.
Slowly, Bucky turns to the side, taking in the bulge of his junk and the lines
the lace make against his thighs and the curve of his ass.
He looks damn good.
Very carefully, smiling to himself, Bucky slides his jeans back up, watching
the lace and cotton disappear behind the guise of the rougher material and
notices that they fit a little differently when he buttons and zips the fly.
The denim sits just slightly smoother, less bunched up because of the snug fit
of his new panties. Bucky runs his hands down his thighs, wiping off the
gathering sweat, and turns again to look at his ass.
“You ready?” Steve calls from his room.
Which, Bucky doesn’t know why because even if he answers, Steve probably won’t
be able to hear him. Exiting the bathroom with a fond smile, Bucky stands in
the middle of Steve’s room and gives a wide-armed spin, skin buzzing. “How do I
look?”
From all the way on the bed, Bucky can see Steve’s quite obviously very
pleased. He, deliberately adjusts himself in his pants, and then gets up,
crossing over to press himself up against Bucky, arms twining around his
middle. “Like mine,” he says with that secret smile. His hands dip down into
the back of Bucky’s pants to palm at the soft black cotton panties. Steve
groans and knocks his forehead onto Bucky’s collarbone. “This is gonna drive me
crazy, knowing you’ve got these on for me all night.”
Mouth forming a soft curve, Bucky presses his smile to the side of Steve’s head
and squeezes around his shoulders in a quick hug before disengaging. “Hey, it
was your idea,” Bucky reminds him.
“You’re the one who said panties in the first place,” Steve points out.
Bucky rolls his eyes, tugging his leather jacket on as Steve toes into his
boots. “Yeah, yeah. Blame it all on me. Hey, don’t forget your inhaler.”
Though Steve had offered to drive his motorcycle over to Monty’s, Bucky opts to
drive simply because he knows he wouldn’t be able to handle the vibrations of
the bike at the same time as being wrapped up behind Steve and wearing panties.
So instead, he gets to drive with Steve’s hand laid possessively on his thigh
for the whole drive, trying to fight down the constant, low-grade arousal
that’s been buzzing up his spine ever since he slipped the damn things on.
The fellas are rowdy, already pre-gaming, by the time Bucky and Steve make it
to Falsworth’s house. He’s the only one who’s sober, just as Bucky’d told his
parents – that part hadn’t been a lie – and he’d promised he’d take them all
wherever they need to go at the end of the night, and Bucky had practically
teared up when he said, “Thanks, pal. I owe ya one.”
Bucky’s jittery and nervous during the ride over to Howard’s, but Steve’s hand
is a steadying weight in his own, the guys’ voices mingling with the loud songs
playing on the radio just as grounding.
Howard Stark’s house is more the definition of a mansion, spanning tall and
elegant and modern with all of its glass windows and stucco detailing. It’s
behind a massive wrought iron gate that they chime for entry, giggling to
themselves after they input the party-specific security code and a British
voice requests that they have a delightful time.
Contrary to popular belief, a lot of people can’t really stand Howard, but a
lot of them will do just about anything to be in his presence. There aren’t as
many cars as Bucky’s expecting, but there are quite a few parked along the
curved driveway. Howard had instructed Monty to park beside the guest house so
it’d be easier for them to leave whenever.
As soon as they pile out, they can already hear music pounding from inside, the
bass dark and dirty and kind of enticing. Steve keeps hold of Bucky’s hand, the
other tucked in the pocket of Bucky’s letterman jacket like he might be a
little bit nervous too.
“You made it!” Howard calls just as soon as they enter, already looking
slightly disheveled from whoever his partner of the week must be. “The Howling
Commandos and our very own Captain America.”
With a wink, Steve gives a jaunty salute and Howard laughs, loud and attractive
and attention-drawing. “Nice to see you, Howard. Where’s Nat?”
As they’re being led through the throng around toward the back of the house,
where things are decidedly quieter, Bucky leans in and asks, “Captain America?”
Steve laughs. “Remind me to tell you later.”
Even though it’s the beginning of December, quite a few people are gathered
around the patio with beers in hand, some even delighting in the heated pool
beneath the lights of the faux torches and fire pit. As they cross through the
crush of people, accepting a, “Hey!” every few steps from people they have
classes with or ones they’ve known for just about forever, Bucky squeezes
Steve’s hand just a fraction tighter. He tries not to let the press of the
bodies, the noise level get to him. It’s definitely a lot easier knowing that
he’s got Steve to ground him, Falsworth to fall back on and get them out of
there if things get to be too much.
Howard keeps getting distracted on the way to Natasha, laughing and accepting
shots and playing the host until he remembers he has a job to do. Finally, he
points with a flourish to the opposite side of the pool, saying, “You guys sit
tight; I’ll get you some beers,” before he squeezes Steve’s shoulder and
disappears back into the throng.
“Steve! Bucky!” Natasha jumps up from her cushioned wicker chair throne and
Peggy’s lap to run over and wrap her arms around their necks, squeezing them
tight against her. “You both made it!”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, smiling and swallowing down some residual guilt for begging
off last year, “and we bear gifts. Happy birthday, Nat.” He hasn’t seen her
show this much emotion in ages, usually preferring to adopt a cool, aloof
demeanor because she’s so much cooler than everyone else. (She actually is;
nobody can deny that.) But she’s also the biggest dork either of them have ever
met, too. It’s a complex balance that Bucky’s pretty impressed that she’s able
to maintain.
“You didn’t have to,” she says, voice just a little raspy like always as she
accepts the wrapped frame from Steve and the sealed card from Bucky. “Most
people just brought extra booze. But thanks.” Then she turns to the fellas and
says, “And what did you bozos bring me?”
While the rest of the Howling Commandos stammer and admit a variety of booze,
Peggy comes over to hug both Bucky and Steve. She’s looking absolutely radiant
– which Bucky feels goes without saying – in a red dress that matches her ever-
present lipstick and a sleek pair of black high heels. Her hair is curled in a
way that brings out the sharp line of her jaw and cheekbones. She’s such a
feminine contrast to Natasha’s boots and leather pants and ripped crop-top, not
to mention the fire truck red undercut and piercings, it’s amazing.
“So,” Peggy says, eyes bright as she looks between him and Steve, “Bucky,
how’ve you been? Steve here never shuts up about you.”
Blushing, Bucky smiles and Steve gives his hand a squeeze, not even bothering
to deny the statement. “I’m good. It’s been a while, Peggy, but it’s real good
to see ya. How’s that psychology class you an’ Nat are takin’?”
Peggy’s grin takes on a megawatt intensity as she goes on to explain, “It’s
bloody dreadful but I love it. There’s an incredible amount of reading and a
lot of the students are obviously only in it because it’s a requirement, but
the professor is adorable and insanely intelligent.” Her eyes dart to where
Natasha is punching Dum Dum in the arm. “Can’t say we’re not lucky to already
have a leg up on the whole university thing.”
“Yeah,” Steve says with a wry smile, “you’re lucky you already know where
you’re going in the first place.”
A sense of relief washes over Bucky. Even though Steve sounds mildly miffed
about it, it’s still nice to know that someone so smart and talented and in
control as him doesn’t have everything all worked out.
Around thirty minutes later, where Peggy and Natasha leave to flit around the
edges of the crowd to accept birthday gifts and well wishes, Howard finally
returns with two plastic red cups chock full of what is probably better beer
than a high school party warrants. It’s darker than the stuff Bucky had sipped
at that party freshman year and definitely better tasting than the Pabst shit
that Natasha made him try at the last party he went to junior year.
Steve’s eyes get a little brighter as they chat, amongst themselves and with
the fellas. Eventually, Natasha finds them again and drags them inside with a
very nerdy, “Shall we play a game?”
The lowest level of the house is meant to be a garage. In the open space,
there’s a beer pong tournament going on, ten tables and even more puddles of
spilled beer and crumpled cans. Natasha’s holding both Steve and Peggy’s hands,
so they form a little train to keep from getting separated.
“Move,” Natasha commands – and they’re probably only sophomores, already
tilting kind of dangerously, so Bucky doesn’t feel too bad about it.
Peggy sets up their cups, six on either side like they’ve been racked on a
billiards table, filling them halfway with beer. It’s a lot easier for Bucky to
focus on her movements than the bulk of the people in the stretch of what would
normally be filled with cars of all makes and models and years – that Bucky
remembers with a sharp breath and a blush on his cheeks – and it definitely
helps when Steve’s hand slips up under his jacket to finger at his waistband.
Steve leans in, lips catching Bucky’s skin, breath warm against Bucky’s ear
when he says, “Fuck, you’re so hot, B.”
“None of that, Steven Grant, we’ve got a game to play!” Peggy says, pinching
his cheek before winking at Bucky. “Need you all here so it’s fair when we
wreck your arses.”
Cheeks aflame, Bucky averts his eyes and bites down on the panic in his chest,
taking another gulp of his beer. He vaguely hears Steve chastise her, whip-
crack sharp but low enough so as not to make a scene – and something about it
gets Bucky’s blood rushing in his ears. People begin to gather just as soon as
Natasha returns with the ping pong balls, nailing Bucky right between the eyes
with one. His hand shoots out to catch it and the onlookers’ laughs turn into
impressed oohs.
Bucky’d never gotten the knack of the game – because he’s really not one much
for crowds, let alone parties – the one time he’d played it, but he soon
figures out that it’s all about physics.
It’s not all that surprising, to Bucky anyway, that he sinks the most shots
when he takes an extra few steps back for arc shots. For each ball that bobs
into the beer, he gets an enthusiastic squeeze from Steve and a wild grin that
promises all of the things he’d like to do the moment they get out of here
beneath the cacophony of cheers and other games. Natasha matches Bucky, shot
for shot, and Steve and Peggy almost alternate exactly on hits and misses.
Steve gives a little good-natured shit-talking, leaning heavily on Bucky even
when it’s his turn and then apologizing with a half-lidded, rosy-cheeked grin.
“Are you gettin’ drunk, Stevie Rogers?” Bucky asks, poking him in the
collarbone just to watch him sway.
Eyes on Bucky’s mouth, Steve blinks and asks him to repeat himself, laughing
and nodding when he finally understands. “Little bit.” He leans in, wrapping
his arms around Bucky’s middle and rests his head against Bucky’s chest.
Bucky, not even thinking about it, presses his lips to Steve’s forehead and
then rests his chin on top of Steve’s head.
“How fucking cute is that,” Natasha says, smirking as she sinks another shot.
The ping pong ball spins around just below the rim of the cup before it dips
into the beer. “Trying to distract me? It’s not gonna work, Barnes.”
“Oh, yeah?” Steve butts in, smirking right back and – oh, god, Bucky knows that
glint; it means there’s a challenge that Steve Rogers has no intention of
backing down from – then he’s on his tip toes, grabbing Bucky’s face and
tilting it down to meet his.
For a handful of moments, everything fades out but the feeling of Steve’s
fingers against his face, the bitterness of beer on their tongues. His head’s a
little fuzzy from the alcohol and Steve’s not helping with the way he’s groping
down over Bucky’s ass and biting down at Bucky’s lower lip. He swallows down a
groan and lets his own hands wander a bit farther than they probably should in
public.
In public. Where they are. With friends and acquaintances and strangers
watching.
That thought shouldn’t make Bucky as tingly as it does, but he’s got a nice
buzz going and Steve’s tongue in his mouth so he really doesn’t care.
“Alright, alright,” Peggy says breathily – and they pull apart, Steve laughing
and Bucky watching him with a slack mouth. “Shit, Nat, can we –”
“Yeah.” Natasha’s voice is tight, strained. “Fuck.” They disappear and their
end of the table gets swallowed up by the next rowdy group of what might be
juniors vying for a rank among the best of the best.
Bucky’s cheeks flare red but he lets Steve drag him away in the midst of all of
the hooting and hollering. They end up back upstairs on the ground level of the
house, music blaring, people smoking and drinking and making out against any
available surface. It’s a typical Howard Stark party; the only difference is
that there’s a massive table set up for all of Natasha’s presents. Of course,
it’s mostly full of various types of vodkas and rums and 30-racks, but there
are a few gift bags too.
There’s dancing everywhere, people shoving up against each other, grinding and
shouting dirty things in each other’s ears over the pumping music. It’s loud
and the crowd seems to pulse, grow, mutate into something massive and cloying.
“You want some water or somethin’?” Bucky shouts into Steve’s good ear over all
of the noise and the choking beat of his heart.
“What?”
“Water! Do ya want water?”
“Oh,” Steve shouts back, looking muzzy but pleased. He sways a bit to the
rhythm of the music, just a bit off, but uncaring. “Yeah!”
After a second, Bucky realizes that Steve isn’t going anywhere, so he says,
“Alright, stay here. I’ll be right back.”
Their cups had been abandoned back in beer pong land and Bucky wouldn’t feel
comfortable using them again anyway. Party logic dictates that they can’t drink
from cups they’d sat down, regardless, so Bucky turns to wind his way through
the rooms to the kitchen.
There’s a swell of noise, the tide of bodies shifting so hard all at once that
Bucky’s nearly knocked completely off-balance. It turns into a whirlpool,
sucking him in closer and then further away, a frustrating perpetuity until
he’s shouting, “Excuse me!” and shoving his way through the same way he does on
the football field, shoulders and elbows and a destination in mind. He breaks
through soon after that, breathing hard as he zones out and nabs two bottles of
Perrier from Howard’s fridge.
Bucky takes a deep breath before he braves the current once again.
He’s edging on panic before he even returns to the spot he’d last been with
Steve to see that he’s not there. Breaths come quick, his chest tightens, and
his vision goes dark around the edges as he casts looks over the heads of
drunken teens only to come back empty. All Bucky hears is his heartbeat, deaf
to everything else. His fingers and toes tingle and he chokes on his next
breath, the word, “Steve,” trapped behind his teeth.
There’s a fuzzy film, a haze between himself and someone he might know too
close to his face, looking concerned and almost scared.
It’s a belated second before Bucky realizes that he’s having a panic attack.
He’s going to die. He needs Steve.
Sweating, shaking, breathing hard, Bucky stumbles and tries to find a place
that’s quiet, devoid of bodies. He needs to find Steve. Steve is somewhere in
the house, and Bucky needs him. He needs him to be here.
“Ste – I need ‘m,” Bucky tries to say to whoever will listen, “Where’s –” He
can’t suck in a full breath, can’t walk anymore so he stumbles to a wall,
slides down it and stares at his knees until he remembers what he’s supposed to
do.
Breathe. He’s supposed to breathe in – and hold it. Breathe out.
“Bucky?”
Breathe in – hold it – breathe out. Slower.
“Bucky,” Steve says, blue eyes shining beneath the dim light of Howard Stark’s
foyer. “Hey, you with me?”
There are people milling through, awkward and staring and Bucky wants to bites
curses out at them just as much as he wants to go home and never show his face
in public again. He scrubs at his face, pushing his hair back from his face
with the swipe of both hands. Bucky’s still breathing too hard to talk,
focusing on slowing the pace to steady. Steve’s hand is hovering, unsure, and
Bucky wants to cry.
“Can I touch you? Is that alright?” Steve’s voice is gentle, close but not
close like whoever had been in Bucky’s face. “I wanna get you outta here.”
Bucky nods. “Okay.”
He still can’t make his eyes focus properly, but Steve’s hand is a steadying,
guiding weight on his shoulder. The waters are still clutched too-tightly in
his fists. Steve coaxes them out of Bucky’s grip once they’re sliding their
backs down the wall in a semi-secluded nook – just off the formal dining area,
if Bucky’s memory serves him correctly. He cracks the seals and hands one back
to Bucky, with a simple, “Sip.”
Silence hangs between them, but the music is still loud from across the house.
Steve taps the beat with his finger against the side of his water bottle.
“Fuck,” Bucky eventually says, screwing the cap back on the water. He sets it
down and it tips over, rolls between his thigh and Steve’s. He sighs.
Steve rights it, sets his own down next to it. He takes Bucky’s hand again.
“That was a panic attack,” he says more than asks.
“Yeah.” Residual tremors wrack through his hands and he hates it.
“Had ‘em before?”
Bucky sighs. “Yeah.”
He sees Steve nod in his periphery, still staring straight ahead at the
opposite wall. There’s an ornate vase nestled between stacks of pale china, a
red plastic cup set precariously on the hutch’s edge just beside it. “You gonna
be okay?” Steve asks, stroking his thumb over Bucky’s. “Wanna leave?”
Again, Bucky sighs, feeling dumb and guilty. “It’s too early. Nat’d kill me.”
“Hey,” Steve says, “I’m pretty sure she’ll understand.”
Steve sips at his water. Bucky turns his head just enough to watch the line of
Steve’s throat as he swallows, the bead that dribbles out as he pulls the
bottle’s lip from his mouth. Some of the tension ekes out of Bucky’s bones. “If
– I needta say goodbye to her.”
“Okay. Want me to find her and bring her here, or…?”
“No,” Bucky says resolutely, “I’ll be – I’m fine. I can – I just. Don’t let
go?”
Steve gives his hand a squeeze, smiling soft and muzzy. “Never will.”
Though he’s tiny and definitely not a fullback, Steve’s efficient at clearing a
path for them on the way back through the crowd. Bucky keeps his eyes unfocused
to stave off another wave of panic, stopping when Steve stops, walking when
Steve walks. He hears the intermittent, “Have you seen Natasha?” and, “Have you
seen Howard?” and, “Have you seen Falsworth?” that Steve shouts to the tipsy
teens, but it’s still a fuzzy, far-off thing. He can’t breathe if he thinks too
hard, so he doesn’t think at all.
They eventually find Natasha, who’s curled up back on the wicker chair out back
with Peggy, smoking a cigarette with heavy eyelids and an expression that makes
it no secret what they’d gotten up to in the interim. She hugs Bucky’s neck,
which is only a little awkward because of how Steve won’t let go of him for
anything, but then she kisses Steve’s cheek and says, “See you tomorrow?” to
him before she returns to Peggy’s lap.
“Hey,” Steve says, rubbing his thumb across Bucky’s again, “Why don’t you text
Monty and see if he can meet us out front?”
Bucky nods, sends a quick message and then shows Steve the: Thank heavens.
These aren’t nearly as much fun sober.
Steve laughs and tugs Bucky toward the front of the house – but they stop so
abruptly that Bucky bumps into Steve, zoning back into all the noise and chaos.
“Did you seriously just do that?” Steve is asking, squeezing so hard at Bucky’s
hand that he can feel the bruises rising to the surface.
He’s addressing Obadiah Stane, who’s Howard’s best friend and, incidentally,
one of the linebackers that helped them gain their winning season. Obadiah is
red-faced, well into shit-faced territory whereas Bucky feels startlingly sober
right about now. He’s swaying toward Steve, his bulk casting a shadow over
them. “What?”
“Don’t act like you don’t know what I’m talking about.”
“You,” Obadiah says, swaying dangerously close as he pokes a meaty finger into
Steve’s chest, “can fuck right off.”
“Hey!” Bucky says sharply, “Back the fuck off. Ain’t had a problem with you
before; don’t wanna have one now.”
“W’s gonna happen if I don’t, huh?” Stane slurs, smirk like a snarl on his
mouth, “Gonna sick your guard dog on me? Y’gonna cry like a little bitch
again?”
Steve doesn’t let go of Bucky’s hand even as he takes a swing at Obadiah’s
face, cracking him right across the chin even though that in itself is quite a
stretch. There’s noise in the background, but Bucky doesn’t hear it – reacting
the moment Obadiah’s fist comes down heavy against Steve’s nose by dropping
Steve’s hand, doling out a sharp jab to the guy’s ribs, cracking him in the
face with his elbow and then landing a solid punch to his cheek. Bucky’d keep
going, he’d rip this asshole to shreds for hurting Steve – but then there’s
rising noise, Howard and half the Commandos arriving just in time to pull them
apart before Obadiah has time to recover.
Bucky’s chest is heaving and he’s seeing red. He turns to Steve, ignoring the
throb in his knuckles and the other voices in his ears trying to ask what
happened. “Fuck.” He watches blood seep between Steve’s fingers, “D’s it feel
broken?”
Steve shakes his head and removes his hand with a swipe through the blood. It’s
a stark contrast to his pale skin and it makes Bucky wheel around again, ready
to take another swing – but then Gabe’s there, right in his face saying,
“Y’gotta cool it, Barnes.”
“Fuck,” Bucky spits. This time when he turns, it’s to guide Steve out of the
damn house by the shoulder, uncaring of the wake of trailing eyes and whispers.
Monty’s down the driveway by the guest house and the moment he sees the two of
them, Bucky with his split knuckles and Steve with the cut across his nose.
“What in the bloody hell happened to the two’a you?”
“Stane,” Bucky grits out as they pile into his car. “Asshole punched Steve.”
“Asshole was picking on Bucky,” Steve amends, tilting his head back to staunch
the flow.
And hell, Bucky hadn’t even known. He wouldn’t’ve cared, either way. “Jesus
Christ, Steve. Seriously? You really think it’s okay to take a swing at a fella
‘cause he’s makin’ fun’a me?” He’s already feeling better with the damn mansion
in the rearview, the thought of curling up in Steve’s bed dead ahead, but he’s
still pissed. He rips off a corner of his shirt, not even thinking about it,
and tilts Steve’s face toward him. “What the hell were you thinkin’?”
Steve hisses, head tilted back as Bucky dabs at his nose. “Don’t like bullies.”
“Don’t think they much fancy you either, Cap,” Falsworth adds from the driver’s
seat.
Laughing, Steve says, “Fuck, ow,” and then just takes the cloth from Bucky to
roll it up and shove it into his right nostril. Bucky lets his hands fall to
his lap. “He deserved it.”
“Dammit, Steve,” Bucky says, “He’s twice your size! He could’a really hurt
you.”
“I had him on the ropes,” Steve replies.
Groaning, Bucky slumps against the car door, suddenly so exhausted that he
doesn’t know if he’ll be able to keep his eyes open for the rest of the ride
home – to Steve’s. To Steve’s. They’re going to Steve’s.
The moment they pull up and pile out, Monty’s saluting them with a grin and
pulling back out. Steve just takes Bucky’s hand and drags him inside, into the
elevator, into the apartment.
Steve leans in to kiss Bucky the moment the door’s closed, hissing again
because he’d forgotten about the fabric in his nose and he looks so dumb that
Bucky can’t help but laugh. That gets Steve laughing too and then whining more
about the pain in his nose.
“I’m still mad at you,” Bucky says, even as he’s smiling and crossing to the
kitchen to wet some paper towels to clean up the carnage. “You did somethin’
real dumb and I ain’t havin’ it. I can fight my own battles, Steve. You don’t
gotta do it for me.”
“Yeah, well I’m not going to apologize for doing what’s right. He thinks he can
make fun of whoever he wants, and that’s not something I’m gonna stand for.”
Bucky just sighs and tosses the bloodied cloth into the trashcan, swiping
gently at Steve’s nose and cheeks before he says, “You should probably wash
your hands, too. Got blood fuckin’ everywhere, Stevie, jesus.”
It’s not until Bucky’s trudging his way into Steve’s room, toeing off his
boots, ditching his jacket and his ripped shirt that he realizes he’s still
wearing panties. He’s got his pants about halfway down his ass when Steve walks
in, mostly all cleaned up apart from where the cut’s trying to scab across his
nose.
“Fuck,” Steve says, deflating, “I forgot.”
“Don’t worry,” Bucky says, slipping his jeans the rest of the way off. “I ain’t
really in the mood right now anyway. Can we just…I just –”
“Hey,” Steve says softly, an echo of earlier, “Whatever you want, Buck.”
Bucky sighs and smiles just as softly in return, albeit a bit reluctantly. “I’m
leavin’ ‘em on,” he says before he dives onto Steve’s bed, rucking up the
covers as he watches Steve re-dress in a hoodie and sweats. “You can wreck ‘em
in the mornin’.”
Steve doesn’t say anything as he shuts off the light and crawls in behind
Bucky, wrapping his arms around his middle, but Bucky can definitely feel the
wood Steve’s sporting, so he knows he heard.
Bucky falls asleep wearing nothing but black cotton panties and a smile.
***** panties and floating *****
Chapter Summary
     “Mm,” Steve hums into Bucky’s skin as his fingernails play at the
     sensitive skin of his hips. “Still want me to wreck those panties,
     B?”
Chapter Notes
     Sorry this is so late, but I caught the deathflu from one of my
     sisters and I am probably going to die. Check the tags for updates!
The soft croon of his name and lips gentle against the back of his neck coax
Bucky slowly from the fading clutch of sleep. Steve’s fingers are cold, but his
touch is warm. “You ‘wake?” Steve murmurs. He nuzzles closer into the crook of
Bucky’s neck, tip of his nose a cool pressure. “Y’still pissed at me?”
Even as he’s reaching back to tenderly touch Steve’s wrist, Bucky mumbles a
muzzy, affirmative sound. “You’re damn right I am,” he eventually answers on
the tail end of a huffed breath, voice rough and raw from sleep.
Steve kisses the curve of Bucky’s neck, wet and soft like he’s something
precious. “Hmm, well how about I do something to make you just a little less
sore at me?” With his tone dropped low like that, it’s all Bucky can do to keep
his movements to little more than a bare shiver. His cold fingers trail over
Bucky’s stomach, leaving a wake of goosebumps. They edge beneath the lace
waistband and Bucky’s breath catches hard. “I keep thinking about that phone
call…”
“Yeah?” The muscles in his stomach jump and he squirms backward just a bit just
to feel Steve’s morning wood tenting his sweatpants, the tiny bit of belly skin
where the hoodie is rucked up.
“Mm,” Steve hums into Bucky’s skin as his fingernails play at the sensitive
skin of his hips. “Still want me to wreck those panties, B?”
Breathing a quiet, “Fuck,” Bucky tries to twist around in Steve’s grip, but is
stopped by a firm pressure on his hip. He whines, then asks, “You gonna do the
other stuff too?”
Steve finally dips his fingers into the cotton to wrap around Bucky’s dick as
he says, “I’m gonna take care of you.” The gust of his breath smells like mint
but Bucky’s too lax from sleep to chase the scent. He lets it wash over the
side of his face before Steve’s teeth ease down against the corded muscle of
his shoulder, scraping in a steadfast promise. “Think you can go under just
from this? Like the way you did in the bathroom at school the other day?”
Bucky chokes on a whine, remembering the heat and pressure of Steve all along
his front and the searing kisses. “Maybe,” he says. He grabs for Steve’s wrist,
fumbling to show Steve just what he wants. A huff of breath, weighty and sharp,
casts over Bucky’s neck and then Steve’s burying his face against Bucky’s
shoulder.
“Damn,” Steve breathes out, “You want me to keep you quiet?”
Bucky wriggles again, Steve’s cock nestling just perfectly into the valley of
fabric stretched over Bucky’s ass. His reverent, “Oh, god,” goes amiss, muffled
against the heel of Steve’s palm. “I don’t know.”
“Or do you want to be loud since it’s just you and me and these pretty little
panties?” One hand plays at Bucky’s lips while the other readjusts the weight
of Bucky’s dick, edging out of the underwear to stroke the outline of him over
the fabric. It’s just a little damp from sleep-sweat, but the bead of precome
that Steve works out of the tip of Bucky’s dick is what makes the slide of his
fist so sweet.
Bucky groans.
“See,” Steve says, lips catching on Bucky’s skin with the word, “because I
kinda want to hear more of that.”
Automatically, Bucky says, “Whatever you want, Stevie.”
This time, Steve’s the one groaning from deep in his throat, chest rumbling
against Bucky’s back. “Do you want to know what’s going to happen?”
They’d talked a little bit about their lists over the course of the week,
discovering that Bucky’s kink streak might be a little wider than they’d both
been expecting but that Steve is more than willing to compromise on things.
They’d discussed words and gestures and phrases they’ll use to check in on one
another, to slow things down or stop them completely. They’ve talked about hard
limits – ones that either make Bucky gag to think about or ones that’d make
Steve feel too much like a bully – and the softer ones that they can edge right
up against. Steve, though he’d mentioned sometimes wanting to surprise Bucky
with their scenes, had been very understanding when Bucky’d explained how
severe his anxiety can get sometimes, how some days it helps to know what’s
going to happen, what’s expected of him.
“Yes,” Bucky says, voice loud and a bit shaky, “Please.”
The line of Steve’s nose trails from Bucky’s nape to his shoulder as he presses
light kisses against the skin. “The panties are staying on,” he says, “but you
already knew that.” Bucky feels Steve’s smile, the tip of his tongue as he
presumably wets his lips. Steve’s voice is nearly sing-song, he sounds so damn
giddy. “But first things first, I want you on your back. Can you do that for
me?”
Eyes fluttering open, Bucky shifts just out of Steve’s embrace and –
“Oh, Stevie,” he says softly, reaching up to touch the edge of the bruise
formed just beneath his left eye, coloring dark enough to wash out the freckles
over the bridge of Steve’s nose.
Steve doesn’t so much as flinch or hiss, but Bucky can see some of the heat
leave his gaze. His hand gently wraps around Bucky’s, pressing a kiss to
Bucky’s palm before he guides it down to the bed. “Swear I’m fine, Bucky.” His
lips curve in that familiar, tiny smile that makes Bucky’s chest flutter no
matter how many times he’s seen it.
“Okay.”
Bucky must not sound too convincing, because Steve leans down to kiss away some
of the residing tension, slipping his fingers into Bucky’s hair and cradling
his jaw. It’s all too easy for Bucky to go lax after that, wrapping his arms
around the curve of Steve’s back and coaxing him into settling down closer. His
tongue slips into the mint of Steve’s mouth, hopefully masking his own sleep-
sour breath, tracing the lines of Steve’s perfect teeth until he pulls just far
enough to be out of reach. When Bucky tries to lean up, Steve’s shrugging off
Bucky’s arms to pin his wrists to the pillows.
“Shit,” Steve breathes, staring down at Bucky with pupils gone unnova. “No,
okay.” His fingers flex, ten stretches of pressure that make Bucky shift
restlessly against Steve’s mattress. “You know how you look right now? Spread
out under me in my sheets…damn. So pretty in your little panties, Buck.”
He squirms a bit, settling a bit more comfortably over Bucky’s hips, letting
him feel the thickening line of his cock.
“You’re not gonna move your hands from those pillows, you hear me?”
Bucky nods, sucking his lower lip in to chew on. Steve releases his wrists and
Bucky keeps them anchored, already feeling the fuzz from following orders start
in at the edges of his mind.
“Good boy,” Steve murmurs, petting with both hands in a slow slide down Bucky’s
chest. “Last night you said you wanted me to wreck your panties. Still want
that?”
Again, Bucky nods, but Steve doesn’t say anything, too busy watching the way
Bucky’s nipples pebble up beneath Steve’s fingers raking softly down his chest.
Steve gives one a pinch and Bucky jolts. “Yes,” Bucky says.
“I almost wanna see you in these and the leather jacket. Shit, you looked so
hot last night, Bucky.”
“Dammit – Steve,” Bucky whines, shifting with impatience.
Laughing, delighted at his teasing, Steve says, “Alright, alright,” and pets
down Bucky’s stomach to the line of the panties at his hips. The heat in his
eyes flares up a couple of notches, smothering the playful mirth as Bucky
shifts his hips restlessly. Steve’s mouth goes a little slack as his fingers
play at the defined line. “Gonna get my mouth on you through these,” he says,
squeezing Bucky’s dick through the cotton. “If your hands leave those pillows,
my mouth is gone. Understand?”
Bucky’s throat clicks as he swallows drily. “Yes, Steve.”
“Good,” Steve says, shifting so that he’s between Bucky’s legs, edging down the
mattress on his belly. “You can be as loud as you want. But you’d better
remember to ask me nicely whenever you want to come.”
Whereas Steve’s fingers are generally little ice pops because of his poor
circulation, his mouth is a different story altogether. The second it descends
onto the fabric, a warm, damp heat permeates through and makes Bucky’s head
tilt back, dizzy, as he groans up at the ceiling. “Oh, my god,” Bucky breathes,
stomach clenching as Steve laves over the head of his dick, squeezing at the
base with one hand while the other rakes over his stomach. It takes all the
willpower in Bucky’s bones to keep from reaching down to card Steve’s golden
hair, soft and messy and perfect. Steve’s eyes are closed, dark lashes casting
delicate shadows over his cheeks. Bucky’s never seen a prettier sight.
After a few more minutes, where Bucky just stares slack-mouthed and dizzy,
Steve starts making noises like he’s not satisfied. Like he wants more. He
pulls off and the fabric immediately feels too cold stretched over the
scorching skin of Bucky’s cock. Steve grunts, “Legs up,” and smacks lightly at
Bucky’s thigh.
When his feet get planted near Steve’s shoulders, Steve groans, smiling wider
at the access. “Much better,” he says, petting over Bucky through the panties.
He mouths at Bucky’s balls, heavy and aching, and the other dips down to thumb
over the sensitive skin just below.
“Fuck,” Bucky shouts, groaning and then heaving a shaky breath. His cock’s
leaking steadily, slickening the humid space left in the wake of each of
Steve’s slow strokes and he feels like he’s going to die.
Steve’s mouth is all pretty and red stretched over Bucky’s balls and the dark
cotton, such a lovely contrast that Bucky has to groan up at the ceiling again.
The moment it pops off, Bucky’s looking back down at Steve, not even trying to
hide the distress in his expression.
Steve, the little bastard, just huffs a laugh and buries his face in the crook
of Bucky’s groin. “Chill, Barnes,” he says playfully, petting over Bucky’s
perineum again. “Got some other plans. Want me to play with your sweet little
hole?”
Tossing his head back and cursing, Bucky’s hard-pressed not to come just from
hearing those words leave Steve’s mouth. His balls ache and his cock throbs,
making his asshole clench just below Steve’s thumb. Bucky nods and babbles out
something affirmative.
“You beg so pretty, Buck.” Steve presses a kiss to the sopping fabric over
Bucky’s balls – making his body wrack with a shudder – and kisses down the line
of his perineum. “Still with me?”
“Yeah, yeah, ‘m golden,” Bucky babbles breathlessly. He’s restless, tilting his
hips to get Steve just a little closer to where he wants him – and he does; he
wants it so bad. “Please, Steve, please, I – I want.”
“I know, B,” Steve croons and then – vision going hazy gray for a moment –
licks a fat stripe up the crease of Bucky’s ass, pulling back to groan at the
same second as Bucky. Like he can’t help it, like he’s hungry for it, Steve
buries his face against the thin fabric covering Bucky’s ass, licking and
sucking and using his teeth just to get Bucky to shake and cry out. With no
warning, he pulls the panties to the side and laves a wet trail from Bucky’s
hole up to his balls and – Bucky shouts. Steve just moans like he can’t get
enough, pulling off with a slick noise to gravel, “Fuck, you taste so good,”
before diving right back in.
Bucky’s vision sparks at the edges and he chokes out a wheezy breath when Steve
laps at his hole. “Fuck,” he grits out, wriggling his hips into the pressure of
Steve’s tongue.
Steve’s breathing hard when he pulls back, his thumb replacing the slickness of
his tongue, edging right up against the pucker. It clenches and unclenches and
Bucky shivers, Steve’s eyes pinning him as he applies pressure. “Still remember
when I made you play with yourself…damn, I’m almost tempted to make you do it
again,” Steve says, before leaning down to tongue at Bucky’s balls again, “but
I think – no, hey, can you flip over for me, baby?”
Heart stuttering, Bucky shakily does as he’s told even as his cheeks heat at
the endearment. “Oh, fuck,” he whispers.
As soon as he’s just the way Steve wants him, ass in the air with his back
arched and his wrists pinned right back to the pillows, Steve’s groaning and
saying, “Good boy,” right before he presses his face against Bucky’s crack
through the panties again. And – Jesus H. Christ – he’s just going for it, like
there’s nothing else he’d rather do, nowhere else he’d rather be in this world
but with his face buried against Bucky’s ass.
Bucky’s skin buzzes. Sweat beads up at his temples, dampening his hair.
He can feel that the fabric is getting all stretched out, loose around his cock
even as Steve reaches down to ruck it over to the side again. Bucky’s got no
idea what he says when Steve licks from his balls up to his hole; he just knows
that it’s loud, hardly muffled into Steve’s pillow at all. He feels it when
Steve moans, has to clench his fists tight and bear down to keep from reaching
back to spread himself open, get Steve’s tongue deeper, or maybe his fingers,
his cock – anything.
But then he remembers. Steve told him not to – so he can’t – won’t – because
he’s good, he’s a good boy, and.
The edges of Bucky’s vision start to blur and he can feel the telltale tingling
fuzziness that means he’s starting to slip. “St – Steve,” he stutters,
breathing hard into the pillow.
“Need more?”
“I – I’m slippin’ – don’t wanna yet – need ya to —”
“Alright,” Steve says, petting over Bucky’s flank. “I’ve got you. Want me to
make you come before you go under?”
“I…think so. I-I don’t know.” Bucky tries to focus his eyes on Steve’s
nightstand, the posters farther away, the mess of clothes on a chair near the
door. He tries to ground himself in something other than Steve while still
being good for him and he doesn’t think there’s ever been anything harder.
Steve’s hand is still gentle, warm, soothing. “Hey,” he says softly, “We’ve got
all day. It’s okay if you do. No need to fight it.”
After a steady inhale, Bucky shakily nods.
With no warning, Steve’s heat is gone from behind him, but then he’s coming
around to the side of the bed, stripping off the hoodie before he’s rummaging
in the nightstand. “Just fingers,” Steve says, “but I’m going to keep using my
mouth on you. Remember what I said?”
Again, Bucky nods. Steve quirks a brow, and something about the expression
makes Bucky’s breath catch and then he’s saying, “Yes, sir,” before the thought
even registers. There’s fuzz and a little dissociation but Bucky’s able to sift
through it, to swallow and then say, “Ask you before I come.”
Steve swoops in quick, pink-cheeked, kissing Bucky on the sweaty temple as he
slings an arm around his shoulder, still just kneeling against the bed. “That’s
my good boy,” he says, nuzzling against Bucky’s hair. “God, what’d I do to
deserve someone as perfect as you…You are, Bucky. You’re perfect for me.”
Moaning, Bucky squeezes his eyes shut at the praise and pants against the
pillow. He hopes that Steve’ll get on with whatever he’d been about to do
because anymore of that and it’ll be too late for Bucky to beg.
“Shit,” Steve says, and when Bucky opens his eyes again, he looks more than a
little ruffled.
He watches as Steve strips his shirt off, revealing the thin bones and dips and
valleys and scars shone pale in the morning light creeping through the slats in
the blinds. Again, Bucky’s breath catches. He’s never seen anything so perfect.
Beautiful and perfect and his, in whatever sense Steve will allow and Bucky
still doesn’t understand how this all came to be. He’s the one who should be
asking what he did to deserve Steve – righteous, stubborn little shit that he
is. But his mind’s still too fuzzy and then Steve’s disappearing again.
Steve’s hands have warmed up quite a bit since they’ve started, coaxing heat
into the chilled skin of Bucky’s hips as he kneels up behind him, petting up
and down over the sides of the panties and Bucky’s muscles.
“So pretty,” Steve says, bending to press his bare chest to the dip of Bucky’s
spine, his lips to the bottom curve of Bucky’s shoulder blade. His hands trail
around Bucky’s front, urging his hips back to meet up with Steve’s in a sweet
little reunion. Only it’s different this way, Steve draped over him like a tiny
blanket, warm and safe. He coaxes them into a smooth, undulating rhythm,
thrusting in his sweats against Bucky’s panties. Steve buries a groan against
Bucky’s skin. “God, you feel so good.”
Bucky squeezes his eyes shut when he whines against the pillow. It’s sweet and
damp when it returns to him. “Steve.”
A huff of a breath, a quiet curse greets him. “On your back again, Bucky,”
Steve says, grinning as soon as Bucky complies. “Gonna finger you while I suck
you off, okay? The minute you feel like you want to come, you’d better ask. I
mean it, Bucky. No surprises.”
“Yes, yes, okay, I’ll be good,” Bucky babbles, wriggling his hips and ready to
do or say anything just to get Steve to put his hands back on him.
And God Almighty, those hands. Bucky’s had a thing for them since day one and
just the thought alone of Steve getting those long, gorgeous fingers deft with
talent inside of him is almost enough to be his undoing.
Just as Steve settles back between Bucky’s thighs, he’s squeezing at Bucky’s
cock and then – frowning. He shuffles back up, just far enough to reach for
Bucky’s wrists, a sly smirk morphing his expression as he drags them down to
Bucky’s chest. “Play with those for me, yeah?” With a wink, he’s shifting back
between Bucky’s thighs, curling his hands into the waistband of Bucky’s panties
to free his cock.
Bucky groans.
“I’m not going to tell you again,” Steve says sternly.
The tone makes Bucky’s stomach flop, his thighs tense up beneath Steve’s
elbows. “Oh, fuck,” Bucky breathes, stroking his fingers over the sensitive
tightened flesh of his nipples. Lightning sharp zings of pleasure shoot down to
the pit of his gut and that, coupled with Steve mouthing at the bare head of
his cock has Bucky shouting up at the ceiling again. Steve just barely edges
the panties down Bucky’s thighs, petting up over his balls with one hand while
he thumbs at Bucky’s hole. “Fuck, f-fuck, oh, god.”
“That’s much better, B,” Steve croons. He kisses up the side of Bucky’s dick
and then he’s applying pressure, his thumb slick and coaxing enough to slip
just past the rim.
A shivery, broken noise escapes Bucky when Steve bites down on his thigh.
“Fuck,” he says, working it in and around for just a few moments before he’s
shifting to get a better position, pulling his thumb free and working back in
with his index finger at the same time as he takes Bucky’s dick back into his
mouth. He keeps petting over the base of Bucky’s dick with his other hand, arm
now hooked around the crook of Bucky’s knee.
A pinch to his thigh and a quirked eyebrow reminds Bucky to keep toying with
himself, and it’s hundreds of times different, better maybe, than it had been
to keep his wrists down.
“Feel good?” Steve pulls off to ask.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, brows furrowed as he tries to wriggle his hips to get Steve
to go where he wants – where he needs. Bucky’s so close he could cry. The edge
is right there, if only Steve would let him near it. “Steve, please, just a
little – oh, fuck me – no, wait, back back back – shit,” he babbles, skin
singing as he stares wide-eyed at Steve. Little bastard’s smirking around his
mouthful of dick and intentionally missing Bucky’s prostate. He adds another
finger. “Please, please, please, Steve,” Bucky begs, working his hips between
Steve’s fingers and his mouth. The teasing is killing him, making it worse than
if Steve were just relentless because Bucky knows that’s coming but he doesn’t
know when.
But…maybe that’s the best part too. Maybe that’s what makes it so good. Bucky
can just lie back and let the pleasure drag him along, wrenching him higher and
higher under Steve’s discretion, letting Steve worry about the when and the
how. It’s up to Steve. Bucky just has to give it up to Steve.
And the second Bucky gives himself over to that, he slips farther than before.
It’s different, though. Better. It feels like all of his muscles have gone lax;
Steve’s finger knows every single nerve ending, knows just how to work it to
make Bucky moan continuously. All of the tension, the self-consciousness he
hadn’t even known he was feeling is gone and Bucky can feel himself making
noises, babbling maybe, but he can’t hear it, too focused and not focused at
the same time. He’s melting. There’s the heat of Steve’s mouth around him,
distracting and perfect and potent, the look in his eyes dangerous and
anchoring Bucky down. The clouds, the sun, they’re both right there behind that
devilish smirk.
He hears the gentle, “There we go; that’s very good, Bucky,” and feels a little
more pressure, zinging pleasure echoing from Bucky’s chest to his cock to his
gut and back again.
With no warning, Steve pets up over Bucky’s prostate again, hitting it with
every stroke of his fingers and Bucky’s in the clouds, he’s lost in the
brightness and the heat, but not so far gone that he doesn’t remember – because
he doesn’t; he remembers to – “Oh god – please, please, Steve, please, sir, can
I, please,” – and there’s an affirmation, consolation in the soaring crest of
Bucky’s mind and body and soul all at once, so overwhelming that he sobs out
his pleasure in a broken laudation.
Though his head swims with it, Bucky’s clutching with his hands, grabbing for
Steve to pull him up for a kiss. They’re always the sweetest once Bucky’s come,
when Steve’s so desperate and almost rough with how bad he needs it too.
“Fuck, fuck, B, that was so hot,” Steve’s saying, grinding up against Bucky’s
softening dick, the mess on his groin and thighs.
It’s cuts and jerks, staggering clips where Bucky flits in and out between
Steve in his lap and his head in the clouds. The panties are tugged back up
over him, stretched and damp. Steve’s hands are in Bucky’s hair.
“You were so good,” Steve says, “so, so good for me, Buck.”
Steve’s mouth goes straight to Bucky’s, over to his cheek, up to his temple,
down to the dimple on his chin. He’s patient and kind, but not gentle at all
and Bucky loves it – he loves it so much that he gives a wordless cry and
squeezes his eyes shut against another crest of pleasure. He doesn’t know – he
has no clue – he might –
“Bucky, oh, Bucky, baby, I’m so close.” It’s a whisper, drifting between the
real, solid heat of Steve and the muzzy gray that Bucky sees, but it’s there
and Bucky grasps for it.
His head still buzzes, light as a feather but his focus is sharper. “Steve.”
Steve groans and then shoves Bucky back, buoyant against the mattress. “Fuck,”
he says and his eyes are so dark. He’s squirming on Bucky’s hips,
overstimulating but still so appealing, addictive, but not touching himself the
way Bucky knows he wants to – like he’s waiting.
Bucky drags himself as close as possible. “Steve,” he says again, reaching out.
His hand, though it doesn’t feel like it’s truly his just yet, still belonging
to Steve and the surrender, fumbles at Steve’s waistband. Steve stops moving,
shoves his sweats down and groans a sharp noise while looking at Bucky’s face.
Bucky’s returning it, desperate for Steve to feel it too, demanding even with
his pliancy.
“Please.”
It’s molten and beautiful, arcs of come resting momentarily on the stretch of
black fabric over the slump of Bucky’s cock before they sink in, seeping
through it to touch at Bucky’s skin. Bucky feels the judder of Steve on his
thighs, the pulse of him beneath his hand, the cool displacement of air the
moment he slumps just to the side, bouncing on the mattress.
The pleasure is different, far more potent and Bucky finally feels like he is
good, like he deserves what he feels because he’s returned it to Steve. He
sinks into it, little more than a puddle in the middle of Steve’s mattress,
petting his hands up over his chest while Steve catches his breath.
“Goddamn,” Steve’s saying, sounding impressed.
Bucky knows he’s smiling. Hell, for all he knows, he might be giggling. But he
feels giddy and warm and safe, fulfilled, and that’s exactly what this moment
is meant to be, so he really can’t find it in himself to be self-conscious. “I
like makin’ ya feel good,” Bucky slurs, head swimming. “You deserve all the
good feelings an’ I like’ta give ‘em to ya ‘cause you give ‘em to me. You’re my
favorite place to be an’ I wish I could, all the time, I do. It’s nice. You
take me outta my head an’ make me feel real good.”
“I…what?”
Steve’s hands don’t stop carding through Bucky’s hair even when Bucky tilts,
turning so he can look at Steve’s pretty angel face, the sweaty spikes of part
of his hair and the flattened smoosh of the other. “You’re the prettiest thing
I’ve ever seen, Stevie,” Bucky says, “even when your hair’s all funny an’
you’re punchin’ guys twice your size. Still think you’re the prettiest.”
There’s laughter in Steve’s voice. It’s delightful. “Uh huh, nope,” he says,
“You’re the pretty one.”
“No,” Bucky says, adamant because of the way his chest blooms, “I can’t even go
to school sometimes ‘cause I’m too scared an’ I used t’always throw up before
every football game. You stand up for people an’ you’re real stubborn. Angel,
Steve -- one’a God’s own warriors.”
Steve leans up on his elbow, still carding his other hand through Bucky’s hair.
“What in the world’s gotten into you?”
Bucky giggles and says, “Your fingers.”
Snorting, Steve says, “I can’t really tell if you’re here or if you’re
floating.”
“Both,” Bucky answers. His eyes are heavy but he can see Steve. His head’s
definitely still muzzy but the thoughts he’s telling Steve feel too important
to pass up, so he’s letting them free. “Jus’ feel like talkin’ to ya.”
“Hmm.” Steve hums, but he still looks amused more than anything.
“My head’s all swimmy an’ I think my hands are still yours, but I like that
jus’ fine,” Bucky says. He blinks and his eyelids stick. He pets his hands over
his own chest. “You made me such a mess. I like that, too. You’re much better’n
Howard. An’ bigger. He couldn’t take me outta my head like you can an’ he made
me cry an’ that’s why my parents hate him.”
Steve smothers a smile against his palm, eyes crinkling at the edges and hair
flopping over his forehead. He tugs it aside and says, “Well. That’s not a bad
reason for your parents to hate him.”
“They love Natasha, though. An’ they already love you, too, ‘cause you were
real polite an’ you brought me my homework that one day.” After that Bucky
feels like he’s out of things to tell Steve. He’s slightly more aware of the
fact that he’s been yammering on for the better part of their post-coital
cuddling and embarrassment tries to squirm its way past the contentment that’s
already settled deep in his bones. “Steve? Sorry I talked a lot.”
Humming again, smiling, Steve just looks up at Bucky through his lashes and
leans in to press a kiss to the side of his mouth. “I like it,” Steve says.
“Don’t worry.”
“Okay.”
“Does make me wonder…have you been holding out on me all those other times?”
Bucky shakes his head; Steve’s fingers tug on a tangle and Bucky’s head swims
again. “Nope,” Bucky says, running his hand down his chest again, “this one
feels different.”
There’s silence for a bit and Bucky feels heavy, settled and satiated in a way
that he hasn’t since the last time he got to lie in Steve’s bed with him. He
watches Steve watch him, a soft smile on his face, and sinks into the soothing
rhythm of Steve rubbing at his head.
“Hey,” Steve says gently after some time. “You wanna shower?”
Bucky’s hindbrain kind of wants to bask in the mess they’ve made for a while
longer, maybe wear it beneath his clothes like a filthy secret, but logically,
Bucky knows the panties are going to be hell to peel off if they wait too much
longer. So, Bucky nods.
“Good, because I think we can consider your panties thoroughly wrecked.”
 
*
 
Steve’s tub is probably a decent size for him, but with the both of them wedged
in together, Bucky feels like he’s grown a foot and gained a hundred pounds.
His coordination is still pretty much kaput, but Steve’s gentle again, hands
sliding over Bucky’s skin as the water douses them both. Steve makes Bucky
stand under the spray first, rinsing the sweat and tacky come from him before
getting a loofa, of all things, to lather up and gently scrub at Bucky’s skin.
Giggling, Bucky asks, “Why d’ya have one’a those?”
That tiny, secret smile makes its home. Steve gestures for Bucky to turn around
and then starts scrubbing at his shoulders. “Nat got me one of those girly ‘spa
day’ baskets for Christmas last year. I think she tried to do it as a joke, but
she didn’t really bank on how much I love to pamper myself.”
“That’s cute,” Bucky says, shivering when Steve works down his spine.
“You cold?” Steve asks.
Bucky shakes his head. When he turns back around, Steve’s eyes are sparkling
and Bucky can’t help but lean down to kiss him.
Steam from the shower billows all around them, a warm blanket to ward off the
chill, but still Bucky gathers Steve as close as possible, wrapping his arms
around his thin frame to give just that much more. Steve’s oddly pliant in
Bucky’s arms, one hand still clutching the loofa while the other rests idly
just above Bucky’s ass. The kisses are slow, sweet, a sundae on the hottest day
of summer, a mug of hot chocolate in front of the fire on the coldest. When he
pulls back, Bucky’s chest is light and full and he gladly goes with it when
Steve tugs him down for another round.
Steve doesn’t stay so docile. He drops the loofa and winds his fingers into
Bucky’s wet hair, slides his other down enough to give Bucky’s ass a squeeze, a
reminder of what they did earlier dancing right there at the edge.
And then Bucky remembers, a wisp he grasps and holds dear. “Steve,” he murmurs
against Steve’s mouth, his own going slack when Steve nibbles at his lower lip.
“Steve. Wanna get my mouth on you, babydoll. Please, please, I’ll be so good.”
“Fuck,” Steve quietly groans, but it’s loud echoing off the tiles, “Yeah,
Bucky. Like I’m gonna say no to that.” He gives Bucky’s ass a rough squeeze.
The actual logistics of shower sex are quite a bit more complicated than
Bucky’d initially thought, but he figures that it’ll be easier for them both if
Bucky sits on the edge of the tub, curtain bunched under his ass, and leans in
that way. For just a moment, Bucky nuzzles against the thin skin stretched over
Steve’s hipbones, taking a deep, steadying breath to calm himself. This is
about Steve. Yeah, Bucky’s going to do something he’s wanted to do since he
laid eyes on the guy, but this isn’t about him at all. Before he finally does
it, though, Bucky looks up at Steve through damp lashes as Steve smiles down at
him, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair. Steve’s already hard as hell.
It’s all the encouragement Bucky needs.
With a slow stroke, thumbing at the space between Steve’s balls and the base of
his dick, Bucky leans in for a taste. He licks up the pearl of precome,
groaning as the flavor bursts across his tongue, and then slurps the head of
Steve’s dick between his lips.
“Oh, shit,” Steve says, knees going wobbly. Bucky steadies him with a hand
around his tiny hip.
It’s been quite a while – since Howard, actually – since Bucky’s done this, but
he’s always kind of loved it. He loves the weight, the musk, the silky hot feel
of Steve’s dick in his mouth, taste heavy on his tongue as he works at the
head, swallows what Steve’s leaking. The best part, though, is the way that
Steve stares down at him all awed and overwhelmed each moment Bucky looks up.
There’s a certain headspace that Bucky attains, eyes closed, focused on sucking
in a steady rhythm, one that makes him feel tiny beneath Steve but powerful all
at once. He opens his mouth a bit wider, takes a bit more in as he strokes at
what’s left, trying to bring Steve all the same pleasure that he’d allowed
Bucky to feel before. It’s probably not even close, because Steve’s just that
good, but fuck if Bucky isn’t going to try his hardest.
“Tell me. Please,” he pulls off to say, stroking slow and steady before leaning
back in.
Again, Steve groans. It’s loud in the space between them, almost sounding
surprised. “Goddamn,” he says. “You look so pretty, Buck. Like you need a
mouthful all the time, y’got lips like sin. Feels so good.”
Bucky moans, closing his eyes again, going just that bit faster.
“God, just wanna – fuck – if I’da known you looked this damn good…makes me
wanna keep you on your knees all the time,” Steve says, soft and sweet, a
juxtaposition to the way he then tugs at Bucky’s hair. “Look up at me. There ya
go. Damn. Damn, you look so good with my cock in your mouth. Got your lips all
stretched around me, lookin’ at me like you don’t wanna be anywhere else in the
world. You don’t, do you?”
Shaking his head, Bucky squeezes at Steve’s hip on just this side of rough and
gets another yank for his efforts.
“My pretty boy,” Steve croons. He pets at Bucky’s cheek, feeling the line of
his dick through the skin. His breath goes strained, hitching like the
trembling muscles in his thighs. “So good.”
Whining, Bucky opens his mouth a bit wider, tries to take too much at once and
gags a bit when Steve hits the back of his throat.
“Oh, fuck,” Steve shouts. When Bucky looks up at him, his eyes are wide, an
unspoken request of, “Do that again,” hidden beneath concern on his face. Bucky
does it again, brows coming together as he tries it once more, lasting just a
bit longer before the press is too much and he’s wrenching back to heave in a
breath, to cough.
Breathing heavily, Bucky licks at the head of Steve’s cock. “Want you to come,”
he pants, looking up at Steve. “Wanna make you feel so good.”
Steve looks down at him like he’s seen the face of God. “Jesus,” he hisses.
With a sharp tug, he wrenches Bucky’s head back, takes himself in hand while
Bucky stares up at him. It sounds so slick, so loud even over the spray of the
shower. And it’s so filthy, just the implication that Steve’s going to do it,
that Steve’s going to come on his face, that Bucky moans loud and long, coming
untouched all over his own belly as he clutches at Steve’s hips. His head is
full of cotton, but the moment Steve gives a wordless shout, Bucky’s tilting
his face into it, mouth slack and eyes closed.
The first stripe lands across Bucky’s lips, up to his cheek, and then the
second hits his chin, drips down his neck. The last few dribbles arch over
Bucky’s chest, streaking down over his abs as Steve shakes out the last few
drops. Bucky darts his tongue out to taste, shuddering when an aftershock of
pleasure zings up his spine.
“Shit,” Steve enthuses, panting hard. His legs finally give out, but Bucky’s
hands around his hips guide him slowly down to the bottom of the tub, his
elbows coming to rest on Bucky’s thighs. Bucky pets over his back and shoulders
as Steve coughs and takes a few moments to catch his breath.
He’s not wheezing, but Bucky’d still be more comfortable if they got out soon
so that Steve could take a couple of puffs from his inhaler.
Steve looks up at him, still awed. “Oh, my god. I came on your face.”
A slow, dirty smile spreads across Bucky’s mouth. “You sure did, pal.”
“Christ.” Steve kneels up and kisses Bucky, the taste of his come still
lingering even though all traces have been rinsed down the drain. He has to
pull away to breathe again, and Bucky helps him back to his feet.
Bucky feels like he probably looks like a drowned rat, but Steve just keeps
smiling at him all softly and then he starts in on asking him questions about
what the subspace felt like, how long Bucky fought it off, why it felt better
when Steve came earlier instead of himself, if he liked asking permission, if
he liked coming untouched. They talk things over while Bucky lathers up the
loofa, scrubbing gently over Steve’s chest and back and belly.
It feels just as good to take care of Steve as it does to be taken care of by
him, a ray of golden sunshine filling up his chest. He presses a kiss to
Steve’s temple once he’s finished and then starts in on washing Steve’s hair.
Working his fingers over Steve’s scalp is soothing, a reminder of how it feels
to be petted by him. Once he’s finished, Steve’s all heavy-lidded and smiling
when he says, “Your turn,” and then, “Bend down, Buck, you know I can’t reach.”
Smiling, Bucky squats just enough for Steve to reach his hair, lathering it up
with shampoo and finger-combing through the tangles he’d put in it earlier.
“Good, now stand up and tilt your head back for me,” Steve says. He shields
Bucky’s eyes with his hand and keeps working his fingers through to get the
rest of the shampoo out as water cascades over Bucky’s head. “Good.”
When they get out, flushed from the heat and each other’s touch, Bucky giggles
when Steve dons a fluffy robe and a pair of slippers like he’s suddenly aged
seventy years. “Oh, my god,” Bucky says, gathering Steve up so he can kiss the
damp hair on top of his head. “You’re too much.”
Steve swats at him like he’s actually indignant about Bucky’s sap, but he’s got
this sly little smile tucked in the corner of his mouth when Bucky pulls back.
They snuggle up on the bed again, sheets still vaguely musky because Steve
shrugged at the notion of changing them, Bucky curled against Steve’s thigh
receiving the best kind of absent-minded pets while Steve draws in his
sketchbook. The sketchbook that started it all. Bucky loves that sketchbook.
“Hey, Steve?”
“Mm?”
“Why’d Howard call you Captain America?”
Steve’s hand stills for a moment while he barks a laugh. “Ah, jeez, I was
hoping you’d forget to ask me about that.”
Bucky reaches up to grab Steve’s wrist, kissing the bruises on his knuckles
even as the pulse of anger rockets through Bucky’s chest in remembrance.
“Nope.” He releases Steve’s wrist and lets him go back to the pets.
“Ugh, god. Okay, so, you know how I told you history’s my favorite subject?”
“Uh huh,” Bucky says distantly.
“Well, I took AP U.S. History with Howard sophomore year. I thought he was kind
of annoying at first – a real flirt, tryin’ to charm the pants off of Coach
Hill so she wouldn’t remember to assign us the essays, but she always did.
Anyway, we got grouped up together with Falsworth and Jenny McIntyre for a
project and –” Steve’s red in the cheeks, not quite flustered…embarrassed,
maybe. “Well, I pretty much commandeered the whole thing. I didn’t think Howard
actually did any of the readings or even cared about the class at all, so I
just. Took control.”
Bucky hums a happy noise. “You’re real good at that.”
Steve pinches Bucky’s shoulder.
“Ow! I’m serious; you are!”
Rolling his eyes, Steve says, “Anyway, that’s kinda where it came from. He
started calling me Captain America and never really stopped. Satisfied?”
“Yep.”
Later on that night, Bucky’s more than a little reluctant to leave Steve, but
Natasha and Peggy show up and around the same time his phone starts blowing up
with Snapchats and text messages from the fellas so he knows he’s on borrowed
time. Monty offers to swing by Steve’s place after he gets off work to pick
Bucky up since he’d left his car at his place the night before.
They all hang out with Bucky in the parking lot, Natasha smoking a cigarette
while Peggy and Steve chitchat. Steve’s still warm and happy beneath Bucky’s
arm, looking great in Bucky’s letterman jacket, and Bucky’s back in the
leather. After she’s finished with her cigarette, Nat saunters back over to
join them, slinging an arm around Peggy’s waist as she asks, “So, how’d it go
with the panties?”
Bucky chokes on air and Steve hisses Natasha’s name, smacking her on the
shoulder as she smirks and hides behind Peggy.
“Oh, bloody hell, Natasha,” Peggy says, rolling her eyes.
“What? He had to know that Steve wouldn’t be able to figure out the sizing on
his own.”
“Steve,” Bucky says, cheeks heating. Steve’s got his hands covering his face
and his shoulders are shaking with laughter. It’s infectious; Bucky can’t even
get mad.
Not too long afterwards, Falsworth pulls up, honks, and Bucky kisses Steve on
the side of the mouth and tells them to have fun with a pointed look.
 
*
 
Morita and Bucky have been trying to see who can get the best streak for
tossing popcorn in the air and catching it in their mouth when Gabe finally
says, “A’ight, bruh. Since no one else is gonna bring it up – what exactly
happened last night?”
Bucky very nearly chokes on the popcorn he’d been chewing. He sighs. “Uh…”
“Yeah,” Dum Dum says, flipping his phone around. It’s playing a YouTube video
of Bucky swinging at Obadiah Stane. “What the hell was all that about?”
Cringing, Bucky says, “Ya know…I don’t really – he hit Steve. I kinda…lost it.”
“Kinda?” Gabe snorts. “You broke two of his ribs and he got a nasty black eye.
He ain’t pressin’ charges because Howard told him he couldn’t.”
“Wait,” Dum Dum asks, “Why’d he hit Steve?”
Bucky takes a deep breath, trying to ignore the niggling feeling of anxiety
working its way through him. (He’s really not looking forward to the, “I told
you so.”) “’Cause Steve hit him.”
Dum Dum’s expression goes tight, his lips flattening beneath his scraggly
mustache to show that he’s just barely reining in his disapproval. “And why did
Steve hit him?” he asks carefully.
Bucky shrugs. “Because he was making fun’a me,” he says. “I guess. I dunno
really. I, uh, had a panic attack an’ Steve was tryin’ta get me outta there an’
then we just stopped an’ all that other stuff happened.”
There’s silence for a bit. Gabe breaks it with a, “Well, shit.”
Not a single one of them was there when it happened. Just him and Steve.
Falsworth was already out front waiting on them and the others didn’t show up
until Bucky’d already done some damage – and, Christ, he would’ve done more if
Gabe hadn’t pulled him off.
Just when Bucky’s halfway to mad all over again, Dugan goes and says, “Didn’t
know you had a panic attack, pal. Sorry we weren’t there.” Bucky deflates,
guilty for his misplaced anger.
Shrugging, Bucky says, “It’s alright. Steve helped.”
They don’t really talk much about it after that.
 
*
 
Before class on Monday, Bucky sits in his car after his drive in, Venti chai
tea latte sitting innocuously in the cup holder like this is any other day. But
it’s not. He’s nervous and Steve was really encouraging when Bucky’d texted
that he was scared, but he just really doesn’t want to have to face the whole
student body right now. He doesn’t want to hear people talking about the fight
or the party but he knows better than to expect anything different. This is
high school, after all.
And not only that, but Bucky knows he’ll also have to face Stane later on in
practice.
He knows it’d only be worse if he turned around and went home like a coward.
Heaving a great big sigh, he grabs his bag and heads inside for first hour.
 
*
 
“Bucky! Hey, Bucky, wait up!”
Holding in a sigh, Bucky pauses in the hallway on his way to English so that
Howard can catch up. He pretends to be winded when he finally does, clasping
Bucky’s shoulder and smiling at him in that stupidly dazzlingly way he does.
“Heya, pal,” Howard says, “I just wanted to say I’m sorry ‘bout what happened
on Friday. Obie never knows when to shut his trap and it’s always a hundred
times worse when he’s been drinkin’.”
Bucky shrugs, bristling a bit at the contact. “It’s alright…”
Howard just grins and then looks Bucky over. “You know,” Howard says, voice
dropping into the low, flirty tone that got Bucky in loads of trouble back in
the day, “You and Cap are real cute together. Wish I’d’ve thought of that a
couple of years ago. Would’ve loved to have a go at you both at the same time.”
With a wink, he backs off, walking backwards toward his own class. “Catch ya
later, Barnes.”
As soon as Bucky makes it in to class, he’s texting Steve about the little
encounter to which Steve just replies: God, what a skeeze. and then: Damn, he’s
right though. With a snort, Bucky starts in on the bell work question.
By lunchtime, Bucky’s already antsy to see Steve again, like two whole hours
apart is too damn much and he’s a little embarrassed by the way he scoops Steve
up like a long lost lover when he exits the south hall doors to meet Bucky
outside of the commons.
“Whoa, put me down,” Steve says, smacking at Bucky’s shoulder. He giggles,
though, when Bucky nuzzles into his neck to place a tiny kiss just below his
ear. “Missed you, too, B.” Steve staggers a bit when Bucky gets him back on the
ground, steadying himself with a hand tangled in the pouch of Bucky’s hoodie
like he’s dizzy.
“You okay?” Bucky asks.
Steve rolls his eyes and starts walking toward Gabe’s car. “I’m fine. C’mon,
Barnes, you’re gonna make us late.”
While the fellas are talking about what happened after they’d already left the
party, Steve settles up against Bucky’s arm in the booth and rests his hand on
Bucky’s thigh. It’s an innocent, slightly possessive gesture, but it makes
Bucky feel like he’s swallowed the sun. He’s floating just a bit by the time
everyone is gathering up their trash and he can tell that Steve notices when
Bucky nearly tumbles his way out of the booth to follow. When they get back to
the school, Bucky stays attached to Steve’s side and just smiles at the good-
natured teasing the Commandos throw their way.
“You gonna be okay to go to art?” Steve asks quietly.
Bucky nods, not quite trusting himself to speak lest he let loose an
embarrassing barrage of nonsense like he had on Saturday.
Steve just offers up that tiny secret smile and says, “If you say so.”
Art goes by much too quickly for Bucky’s liking, but he’s come back down to
earth before he has to leave Steve again. He sighs, feeling the anxiety filter
back in as he sits through student council, knowing that he has less than fifty
minutes before he has to face Stane in the locker room. Falsworth seems to
notice his agitation because he takes over quite a bit of the work without
making a peep.
But the thing is, Bucky’d been panicking for nothing. Obadiah doesn’t look at
him twice throughout the entirety of seventh hour, running drills like it’s any
other day even though he winces each time he bends to touch the line. It’s
fifty minutes of Bucky trying to tell himself to calm the fuck down even though
he still wants to beat Stane’s face to a pulp for laying a hand on Steve. It’s
fifty minutes of Gabe and Dernier and Falsworth trying to keep in the line of
sight so that Bucky doesn’t march over there and do it anyway. By the end of
it, though, Bucky knows better than to feel comfortable.
He’s got an eye on Stane the whole time they’re trudging back to the locker
room and when Stane looks up and catches Bucky’s eye, the color leaves his face
and then he quickly averts his gaze. Bucky’s never seen him leave the locker
room so quickly.
Dernier whistles low and says, “Il semble qu’il a vu un fantôme,” to which Gabe
responds, “I know, man.”
“What?” Bucky asks, still bristling.
Gabe tugs his shirt on over his head. “He said it looked like Stane saw a
ghost.”
As Bucky’s heading to his car, he tenses up, seeing someone leaned up against
the driver’s side door – but relaxes when he figures out that it’s Steve. He’s
mad all over again when he sees the purpling bruise beneath Steve’s eye.
“Heya, Stevie,” Bucky says.
“Hey,” Steve returns, brows furrowing even as he tugs Bucky down for a quick
kiss. “You alright?”
“I…”
Again, Steve frowns and gestures for Bucky to get inside the car, going around
to hop into the passenger side himself. “What’s on your mind?” Steve asks, more
of a command than a request.
Bucky looses a weighty breath. “I am not…” He clenches his fists, takes another
deep breath. “I really ain’t prone to violence like that,” he starts, shifting
a bit in the seat to get comfortable. “But seein’ him, even with the bruises on
his face an’ wincin’ all during practice, I still wanted to go over there an’
–” He bites off the rest of the sentence, scaring himself with how much anger
he feels all over again.
“Hey,” Steve says quietly, guiding Bucky to look at him over the console. “You
didn’t do it, though. And I’m proud of you for that.” He leans in and presses a
kiss to Bucky’s forehead.
“Asshole didn’t even apologize for hitting you.”
“Asshole should apologize for saying shitty things about you.”
Looking over at Steve with exasperation doesn’t really do any good when Steve
looks like he’s only just barely holding it together. Bucky bursts out laughing
at the same moment as Steve, feeling like he’ll never be able to do anything to
deserve this guy. Steve kisses him again, chuckling just enough to make it more
teeth than lips and then presses their foreheads together like an echo of that
first time they were ever in Bucky’s car together and – Bucky kind of wants to
cry with how much he loves him.
“So, uh,” he says, clearing his throat. “You need a ride home?”
Steve reaches for the seatbelt as Bucky starts his car. “Nah, not home. But I
wouldn’t mind a ride to the shelter, if you’ve got the time.”
“Sure thing, babydoll.”
Saint Michael’s Rescue Mission is a squat two-storied building in obvious need
of repairs. The shingles look patchy, the gutter’s falling off, and the door’s
practically hanging off its hinges. Steve looks happy at the sight, perking up
the moment it comes into view as he chatters away to Bucky, meanwhile Bucky’s
mentally planning out repairs and figuring costs for the project, wondering if
he can talk his mom or dad into heading it up.
“Bucky?”
Attention back on Steve as he parks, Bucky says, “Yeah?”
“You wanna come in with me for a while? You can meet the nuns and maybe some of
the guys.” The look in Steve’s eye is so incredibly hopeful that Bucky wouldn’t
be able to say no even if he’d wanted to.
As Steve leads the way in, beaming and chattering while Bucky’s compiling a
list of tools and assessing other projects that might need to happen – the
baseboards are splintering, there’s towels stuffed on the windowsills, and the
whole place looks like it’s in need of a paintjob.
“Hey, who’s in charge here, Stevie?” Bucky asks, trailing slowly behind.
“That’d be me,” a firm voice says. The woman’s decked out in a habit, tall and
willowy with hands that are gnarled with age. “Sister Mary Prudence. You must
be the ‘Bucky Barnes’ that Steven speaks of so often.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Bucky says, nodding and reaching forward to shake her hand.
She shoots a glance at Steve – and Bucky just knows he’s still beaming – and
then smiles at Bucky as her other hand comes up to clasp his between both of
hers. “So polite. Now, tell me, young man. Surely, your parents didn’t name you
something so ridiculous.”
Though he wants to bristle at it – because who is this lady to assume something
like that; what if they had? – he finds that he really can’t. There’s something
about her that demands respect, and then there’s the fact that Steve seems to
be just barely holding in snickers. “No, ma’am. My given name is James Buchanan
Barnes.”
“James is a good name. Biblical. That’s what I’m going to call you.” She takes
a deep breath, eyeing Bucky up for a moment before she says, “Now. You asked
who was in charge of this home and I’d like to know why.”
Bucky glances at Steve, who’s wearing that tiny grin again, and then looks back
to Sister Mary Prudence with determination. “I’d like to fix this place up, if
you don’t mind. My dad’s an architect an’ I’ve worked construction for the past
three summers. I know a little bit ‘bout fixin’ places up.”
Surprise is written across her features, raised brows shifting the wrinkles
tucked beneath the veil of her habit. “Steven,” she says, after smoothing her
expression, “Go help Sister Agnes get started on the supper.” After Steve
disappears with a respectful, “Yes, ma’am,” she turns to Bucky once again. “Are
you religious, James?”
There’s no point in lying. “My ma’s Episcopalian an’ my dad’s Jewish. But…no,
ma’am. I ain’t.”
“And yet there’s goodness in you, just as there is in Steven.”
All at once, Bucky sees exactly what Steve had been so enthused about.
Together, they walk the grounds of the shelter and Bucky writes down his ideas
for repairs while she introduces him to the three other nuns and a handful of
guests. The layout is relatively straightforward. It used to be a building
meant for business suites, but most have been converted into rooms. There’s a
bathroom downstairs that could use some fresh tiles, some wiring showing in one
of the bedrooms, and a boarded up window in the office. She explains to Bucky
that what they receive in donations goes to feeding and clothing those that
need it. The rest goes to paying for doctors’ visits or toys for the children.
They pass through the halls again and Bucky peeks into the kitchen to see Steve
– beautiful, golden angel laughing in delight at something one of the guests is
saying to him – serving steaming bread rolls onto tray after tray. Bucky might
not be religious in the sense that Sister Mary Prudence had asked, but looking
at Steve and seeing the way he is…it almost gives him reason enough to believe.
“James,” Sister Mary Prudence says, eyes sparkling as she gestures for Bucky to
keep following her.
She leads him back through the halls to the office, pointing at a chair across
from the wide mahogany desk. It’s gashed in places and in need of a polish, but
a beautiful piece of furniture.
“You do realize that I will not be able to provide the funding for this project
that you have in mind,” she says, looking at him with a steady, even gaze, “and
seeing as how you’re not a member of the Church, I wonder why you want to
concern yourself in the first place.”
Bucky swallows, feeling oddly like this is a job interview. He scratches at his
head, loosening his bun enough that a few tendrils escape. “With all due
respect…This place is a bit of a dump. You’ve got people in there that need a
leg up…an’ I know they’re probably happy enough with a warm meal an’ a roof
over their heads, but I figure it don’t hurt to make sure the roof ain’t gonna
fall in while they’re sleepin’, ya know?”
Mouth tilted in half a smile, Sister Mary Prudence says, “Thank you for
speaking frankly, James.” She looks down at her clasped hands and says, “I can
see why Steven has chosen you.”
And that’s a weird way to phrase it, but hell, that’s pretty much the way Bucky
sees it too. Steve picked him and Bucky’s going to do his best to deserve that
with everything he’s got.
Bucky catches up with Steve a little while later, a list of supplies typed out
on his phone and a mental appeal planned out for his dad.
“Heya, Buck,” Steve says, brightened in a way that Bucky really only sees when
they’re alone together. It’s heady. “You headin’ out?” He’s already setting
aside his cleaning gloves and making his way over.
“Uh, yeah, I think so. I’ve still got homework an’ stuff.”
“Here,” Steve says, “I’ll walk you out.”
Everything about Steve seems lighter and happier, like he’s finally shared
something so intrinsic with Bucky that he’s got no other worries. There’s a bit
of a bounce in his step and he’s not shy about grabbing Bucky’s hand – even in
front of Sister Agnes. Bucky can feel that he’s blushing, but Steve doesn’t
seem to think twice about it, so Bucky shouldn’t either. Again, he realizes
it’s easier to just fork his worries on over to Steve.
“You gonna need a ride home?” Bucky asks once Steve’s successfully led him over
to his car.
“Nah,” Steve answers, “Aunt Liza’s gonna pick me up. She’s off tonight so we’re
supposed to go to dinner.”
And that harmless little statement has scenarios flittering in front of Bucky’s
mind’s eye – mostly multiple versions of him and Steve at a restaurant, gazing
at each other over a flickering candle or maybe crossing their eyes just to
make the other laugh. It’s acute enough to make Bucky’s breath catch. He wants
that. He wants that with Steve.
Steve leans up and kisses Bucky. “You get your homework done and I’ll text you
when I get home from dinner, alright?”
“Aye aye, Cap,” Bucky retorts, grinning as he unlocks his door.
Groaning, Steve says, “You’re really making me regret telling you that story.”
He doesn’t seem mad at all when he waves Bucky off and disappears back inside
the shelter.
***** a bad day and a welcome home *****
Chapter Summary
     The minute he gets home, Ma looks at him with furrowed brows and
     pursed lips, asking with her expression what’s wrong before she heads
     into the kitchen to make tea. Sighing, Bucky follows after her and
     sits at the breakfast counter with his head in his hands while he
     waits for the microwave to beep.
Chapter Notes
     [MUFFLED SCREAMING]
     //impromptu hiatus
     i hope you lovelies are doing well! thank you for being patient and
     for all of the kind, encouraging comments and messages :) check out
     the tags for updates!
When Bucky gets home, there’s a message from Obadiah Stane waiting for him on
Facebook. It’s this big long spiel about how he didn’t even know what he was
saying and that he hopes what happened – and he never once mentions the “it”
specifically, doesn’t say a damn word about Steve – won’t come between them
since this is their last year together in school. It’s all very schmoozy and
charming in the way that Howard can be, but absent of any remorse whatsoever.
It pretty much just serves to make Bucky angrier.
But, knowing better than to trust himself right now while his emotions are
still running so high, Bucky sets his phone down and pulls out his homework
instead of typing that fucker back with a nasty diatribe.
And it’s probably a good thing that he lets that settle, because Becca calls a
few hours in and Bucky’s glad that he’s able to answer with a customary, “Hiya,
peanut,” instead of something biting.
“Hey, yourself, fuckhead,” she replies, and from there it’s easy to fall into
the, “How’ve you been?” and all of that.
Apparently art school is going really well. That project she’d turned in after
getting Bucky’s blessing helped her pass the last of that class with a solid A
under her belt. Now all she’s got left is finals, just the rest of this week,
and she’ll be home for the holidays. And it feels like it’s been so long that
Bucky’s almost startled at the thought of what all has happened since she left.
He used to tell Becca everything, sitting at the foot of her bed, but now that
she’s gone to SVA, Bucky realizes how much he’s kept to himself over the past
few months.
“Hey, Bec?”
She gives a distracted little hum that, after Bucky blurts out, “I have a
boyfriend,” turns into a shrill, “What?! Why didn’t you tell me?”
Laughing, Bucky says, “I’m tellin’ ya now.”
“Well? Go on then,” she says, still sounding shrill, “Tell me about ‘im!
Sheesh, Ma didn’t say a damn thing about it when she swung by.”
Brows raised, Bucky says, “She didn’t even tell us she visited ya, sis. Rude.”
“All we did was have lunch,” Becca says, tone an audible version of a shrug,
“an’ don’t change the subject, Bucky. Tell me about your boyfriend.”
Honestly, Bucky doesn’t even know where to start. He thinks back to the first
time he ever told his dad about Steve, how he’d threatened to get out the
wedding binder, and now, with each minute that Bucky spends with Steve and each
new thing that he learns about him, each new smile he sees, each touch they
share…Bucky can see how that had already been written into his skin. Only now,
it’s more obvious. He knows it’s way too soon, and they’re way too young, but
Bucky knows in his bones that he was put on this earth to be Steve’s in
whatever way Steve would have him. He knows that he loves Steve. It might be
the fleeting, teenage type of love, but right now it’s so potent and so
overwhelming that he could almost believe it’s the forever kind. Hell, it
hasn’t even been a month yet and he already knows. He might’ve known from the
first time he’d ever seen Steve smile. If not then, then definitely the first
time he heard Steve laugh.
“Wow,” Becca says, “It must be serious if you’ve gone an’ broken your brain
already. He ain’t like Howard, is he?”
Barking a laugh, Bucky says, “What is it with you guys an’ Howard? He ain’t a
bad guy, he’s just…”
“An egotistical, selfish prick, yeah, I know. Tell me about your boyfriend,
Bucky, or I swear I’m gonna do a flyin’ elbow into your face the minute I walk
in the door.”
After a sigh, Bucky’s finally able to gather his wits. “His name’s Steve. Steve
Rogers.”
“Steve Rogers…Wait, I think I know who that is! Kinda scrawny fella, blonde
hair, always looks like he’s pissed off?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, not even trying to quell his wistful tone. He already
misses Steve and it’s only been a few hours. Bucky officially feels pathetic.
“God, Bec, I don’t even know how to explain to ya how gone I am for this kid.
He’s so smart an’ funny an’…”
“He treat ya right?” she asks, hesitation edging into her tone.
“Yeah,” Bucky replies, not even remotely trying to control his inflection,
“Steve takes real good care’a me.”
“Ah, Jesus, Bucky, gross.”
Laughing, Bucky flips onto his stomach and muffles his snorts into his pillow.
“Sorry, it’s just. He’s a great fella, Bec. Like real great. Heart’a gold. Oh!
An’ he’s brilliant at art – he drew this quick sketch’a me that you’d think
almost think was a picture. Didja ever have a class with ‘im?”
Becca says, a smile audible, “Nah, but I’ve seen some’a his stuff before. He
could probably get a full ride to SVA, if I’m bein’ completely honest. How long
have youse guys been datin’?”
“Uh, since early November, I think?” Bucky’s shrug goes unseen. “I don’t really
remember. I think I got the date in my phone.”
Giving a low whistle, Becca then asks if Steve’s met the parents to which Bucky
explains that they didn’t scare him off and that they, in fact, love him more
than Bucky and Becca combined because he’s so damn polite. She scoffs and then
starts in on asking Bucky about Gabe and the other fellas – but mostly Gabe.
Her crush on him has been glaringly obvious since they were all still in that
awkward middle school phase, which is, in and of itself, impressive. Nobody
looks good in middle school.
“Yeah, yeah, shove it,” Becca says, and then, “Whatever. I gotta go – but hey!
I’m comin’ home Saturday! You ought’a invite Steve over, yeah?” At Bucky’s
pause, she continues, “I’m serious, bro. I wanna meet your fella.”
“Okay, okay,” Bucky acquiesces, “I’ll see if he wants to, but I ain’t makin’
any promises, alright?”
When he mentions his conversation with Becca over dinner, his parents brighten
and then suggest throwing a party in Becca’s honor, inviting the rest of the
fellas and some of her friends that she’s kept in touch with from school.
Dad is standing at the sink, washing the dishes, and Ma is pouring herself a
glass of red wine when Bucky says, “I also wanted to see about somethin’ else,”
and then starts in on explaining Saint Michael’s and how it’d be a great
opportunity for him to get volunteer experience and experience for work since
he won’t be able to contract again until the summer. What really sells it,
though, is when he mentions that he’ll still get his homework done before he
does anything else and after that, his dad’s talking about how he’s been in the
mood for some pro-bono work and then his ma chips in something about a tax
write-off – which Bucky doesn’t really care about. All he wants is for these
people to be in a safe, healthy, and comfortable environment.
His dad’s office is tucked in the back of the house, overlooking the backyard.
Right now everything is brown and dead, but in the spring it makes for nice
scenery. At least now, it’s allowing in the last vestiges of sunlight.
“So, you don’t wanna do a complete remodel, just fix up a few of the rooms?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, tucking his feet beneath him on the loveseat opposite the
bookshelf. His dad’s poking around on his laptop at the desk, probably pulling
up a blueprint of the building or maybe checking out the zoning. “I mean, you
should probably come take a look at it before we solidify anything. It ain’t a
pretty buildin’ or nothin’ but the nuns ain’t all about appearances anyway.”
He forwards the ideas he’d started in his phone to his dad and then they start
in on the most tentative of all lists of supplies that Bucky might need,
outlining a time frame and budget.
While they’re still working things out, Bucky’s phone vibrates against his
thigh in its Steve-specific pattern, like their very own secret knock or
something. The message says: Home from dinner!
“That your Steve?” Dad asks without even looking up from where he’s typing.
Bucky looks up at him and then he says, “I heard ya smile, kid.”
Trying to quell it, Bucky says, “He just got home from dinner with his aunt.”
“Oh, that’s nice,” George says. “Tell ‘im your mother an’ I say hi.”
Heya, Steve. Dad and mom say hi. How was dinner?
The message he gets in return says: Aw, tell them I said hi back. Dinner was
soooooo good, but probably a mistake…
Grinning, Bucky texts back: Pizza?
Bucky can practically hear the chagrin in Steve’s next message: …I should know
better by now, right?
“Oh, and don’t forget to invite ‘im to the party on Saturday,” Dad reminds him,
typing out another flurry on his keyboard. “You know Becca’d kill ya if ya
didn’t.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grumbles, typing out a quick request to Steve. It says: So,
I don’t think I mentioned it earlier but my sister is coming home for winter
break. She gets here on Saturday and my ma was thinkin about throwing her a
little party. Wanna come? “Steve says hi back, by the way.”
Bucky’s dad says something along the lines of what a polite boy Steve is and
then goes back to clicking around on the internet. He gets absorbed in the
amount of time it takes Steve to text back, so Bucky starts packing up his
stuff, waving a goodbye to his dad over his shoulder before he heads off to his
room. He’s more than a little tempted to flop down on his bed for a nap, but
he’d put off the rest of his AP Chem homework so he settles at the desk
instead.
Finally, his phone buzzes against the surface: Of course, what time?
The fact that Steve doesn’t mention anything about other people showing up –
that he’d be comfortable meeting Bucky’s sister while being around his whole
family – without any hesitation whatsoever makes Bucky smile down fondly at his
phone screen. Probably around 2ish? Knowing Bec, she’ll probably wanna take a
nap first and then pig out. Any particular food you want?
Bucky’s already planning on going with his ma to help out with the shopping for
this little shindig, but it never hurts to get a little input ahead of time. He
knows that he’ll be stuck in the kitchen Saturday helping her make all of
Becca’s favorite things – and Bucky feels guilty about how jealous it makes him
– but it’ll be worth it just to see her gorge herself on sweets and then whine
about it afterward. There will more than likely be a few different types of
cookies, a cake, and definitely a pan of Hello Dollies. Dad’ll probably insist
on a veggie tray but other than that, it’ll be carb-city.
That’s sweet, but you don’t have to do anything special for me.
Huffing a sigh, Bucky sends back: Maybe I want to…come on, Steve. Just tell me
somethin. Otherwise, I’ll end up buyin one of everything.
Bucky, nooooo.
Steve, yes.
 
*
 
On Wednesday, they get a review in Calculus that covers every chapter they’ve
gone over since day one and just looking at it makes Bucky want to cry. And
then after that, in practically every class they get the same treatment and
it’s only then that Bucky realizes that the semester is almost over and they’ve
got midterms the next week and his grades are not where he wants them. The AP
classes are kicking his ass even though he spends plenty of time on homework
and studying, and he knows he has to keep his GPA up what with his last SAT and
ACT dates coming up in January and application deadlines and –
Bucky’s distress is palpable by lunchtime.
The guys keep trying wrangle him into the conversation, but he’s got anxiety
thrumming along his skin so hard that all he can think about is how much shit
he has to do before next week. He can’t even muster up a fake grin. His hands
are clenched into fists against his thighs and Steve keeps shooting him worried
glances, but doesn’t press the issue until the bell rings for them to leave art
class and he’s standing there like a righteous angel, hands on his hips and
eyes blazing, looming in a way that shouldn’t be possible for someone so tiny
as he says, “Alright, tell me what’s wrong.”
And he might be stressed out, but Bucky knows better than to argue with that
tone. It doesn’t stop him from shrugging and avoiding Steve’s gaze.
“You haven’t said two words all day and I just – I didn’t do something, did I?”
Bucky’s eyes snap to Steve’s so fast, his vision swims. “What? Jesus, no,
Steve, y’didn’t – Just,” Bucky huffs a breath, stepping out of the way of a
gaggle of some oncoming freshman and scrubs a hand over his eyes before he
says, “It’s just me. I’m – it’s my stupid head. Ain’t nothin’ you did,
alright?”
Some of the tension seems to seep out of Steve’s shoulders, but he’s still
frowning, brows furrowed. “Alright, then. Just…I’m worried about you.”
Guilt seeps right through Bucky’s core. He can’t help but reach forward and
drag Steve in toward him, tugging him close enough to bury his face in the
crook of Steve’s shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs. Then lets out a shaky,
“Fuck.”
Steve’s hand is solid in the center of his back, grounding in a way that makes
it easier for Bucky to breathe.
The moment they pull apart, Bucky’s letting out a shaky breath and saying,
“Sorry,” again where Steve can see it.
“Hey, no,” Steve says, “It’s alright. I don’t wanna make you late or anything,
but just…you know you can talk to me about anything, right?” Everything about
his expression is sincere and it makes the breath catch in Bucky’s throat.
“Okay,” Bucky says, nodding and feeling all of five years old.
Steve gives him one of those tiny grins and squeezes his hand.
Though he’s tempted to skip the rest of the afternoon either to go home and
sleep off the shakes or to stay by Steve’s side, Bucky leaves the art room and
heads to student council. Falsworth fixes him with a funny look but it fades
beneath a grin when he starts in on his plans for placing the decorations
throughout the halls for the school’s upcoming charity fundraiser week. It’s
definitely a lot less stressful than all of the reviews he’s gotten in all of
his other classes, so he’s grateful to be able to relax just a little bit. Over
winter break, they’re supposed to help some of the art kids who signed up for
the committee to decorate the halls and Bucky’s actually been incredibly
excited about the transformation the school’s going to undergo for a few weeks.
But now, thinking about all of the stuff that he has to get done in the
meantime is really putting a damper on things.
By the time they get to practice, Bucky’s so tense that he knows he’s going to
overexert himself. And he does. He pushes himself way too hard and feels dead
tired afterwards, leaning against the wall of the showers with his head ducked
under the spray.
After getting dressed, Bucky’s on edge enough that the fellas don’t even try to
include him in the usual post-practice banter – and then it goes quiet enough
that he nearly snaps on Stane when he approaches with a, “Hey, man, can I talk
to you for a sec?”
Taking a deep breath, clenching his fists and shooting Gabe a look that says
he’ll keep his cool, Bucky nods and follows Stane out of the locker room for a
bit of privacy.
“What is it?” Bucky asks, folding his arms over his chest.
Obadiah’s throat bobs as he swallows, like he’s nervous. The bruises on his
face are fading, but from what Bucky’d seen in the locker room, the ones on his
ribs are still pretty intense. All of that shouldn’t please Bucky as much as it
does.
“I just. Are we cool?”
“No,” Bucky says, jaw muscles twitching. “Absolutely not.”
Stane actually looks a little distressed at that. “Bro, come on, I already
apologized.”
“Actually, you didn’t. Not once in that shitty little ass-kissing message you
sent me did you once say the words, ‘I apologize’ or ‘sorry.’ But that ain’t
why I’m pissed. Ya wanna know why I’m pissed, Stane?” Bucky doesn’t realize
he’s closing in on the guy until Stane takes an obvious step back. He takes a
deep breath, uncrosses his arms, letting them hang at his sides, punctuated in
clenched fists. “I’m pissed ‘cause you hit Steve. I’m pissed ‘cause he ain’t
done shit to you before an’ you went and hit him so hard he hit the ground. And
you know what? I’m glad I beat your ass ‘cause of that. So, no, Stane. ‘Til you
apologize to Steve, we ain’t alright.”
Bucky’s physically shaking as he walks to his car, breathing hard and vision
blurring. He doesn’t dare turn around, doesn’t look to see if Stane’s still
there looking after him, if one of the fellas heard him yelling and decided to
come intervene.
He barely has the wherewithal to key open his door and the moment he shoves his
bag in the back and shuts the door behind himself, Bucky’s leaning his head
against the steering wheel and trying not to die. He can’t – he can’t let Stane
know he’s falling apart like this, so Bucky focuses on his breathing and pulls
out of the lot. Bucky shakes the entire drive home.
Confrontation actually scares the shit out of Bucky. He prefers to let things
lay where they will, let time take care of the anger, annoyance, or frustration
until he’s able to look at someone again without getting mad. But well…the
asshole hurt Steve and that’s not something that Bucky’s going to let fly.
The minute he gets home, Ma looks at him with furrowed brows and pursed lips,
asking with her expression what’s wrong before she heads into the kitchen to
make tea. Sighing, Bucky follows after her and sits at the breakfast counter
with his head in his hands while he waits for the microwave to beep.
Ma’s great in the way that she doesn’t push for information but is still there
for him whenever he’s ready. She’s always had a sixth sense about when Bucky’s
had a panic attack and Bucky wants to cry because of how she still treats them
the same way after all these years. But just the thought of knowing that she’s
worrying about him has Bucky sighing again and then saying, “Bad day.”
She puts a napkin over the top of the mug while the teabag steeps, coming
around to squeeze an arm around his shoulder and kiss his temple. “You gonna be
okay, honey?”
Bucky shrugs. He wants to be okay. He wants to function like a normal human
being without getting fluttery panic in his chest or anger thrumming through
his veins, but he doesn’t know what that’s like. He’s never known what that’s
like.
“I guess,” he eventually says. “I, uh…Today’s just. I’m stressed out. Midterms
are next week an’ my grades ain’t all where they should be. We got a ton of
reviews today an’ I feel like I don’t remember anything at all.”
Her hand squeezes his shoulder and Bucky leans back into her, eyes pricking.
“You remember what you’re supposed to do when you’re feeling overwhelmed?”
“Breathe. Make small goals.”
“Good,” she says, nudging him with her elbow. She goes back around and sifts
sugar into the mug, stirring it gently before sliding it across the bar to
Bucky. “So what are you going to do?”
Bucky takes a deep breath and cradles the mug in his hands. “Breathe and make
small goals,” he says with a crooked grin.
“Very funny, smartass.”
It’s all familiar and safe with his ma there to support him, the tea to calm
him. Bucky takes a deep breath and closes his eyes. “Okay. I have four big
reviews. Calc, Chem, English, and Art. They’re all around a hundred questions,
but they ain’t due ‘til next week. I can…I can divide up the questions and work
on a certain amount each night.”
“See, there you go,” Ma says, grinning the way Bucky sometimes sees in the
mirror, “That’s not too bad, right?”
“Right.”
After tea and a little more encouragement where Ma rubs Bucky’s back and tries
to get him to quit freaking out so bad, Bucky heads up to his room and texts
Steve that he’s home. He’s got a few messages from the fellas in the group text
to answer, so he tells them all that he blew up on Stane, didn’t hit him, but
let him know that he wasn’t happy. Gabe tells him that he’s proud for not
hitting him again and Dum Dum jokes that he probably should’ve.
The reply he gets from Steve is: Good. Do you want to come over and start on
this calc review with me?
Biting his lip, Bucky takes a deep breath and tries to decide. On one hand,
Steve’s actually incredible at calculus and Bucky already knows just how much
he’d help. On the other hand, Bucky has about a million other reviews to work
on too and he just knows that he’ll get distracted by Steve in some way.
But…maybe a compromise can be made.
I probably can, but I need to work on some other stuff first if that’s okay? is
what Bucky ends up sending.
He gets back: Sure, Buck. Just let me know before you head over.
Bucky figures that if he works on about fifteen to twenty problems per night
he’ll be able to get each review done before the due dates. He knows there will
be some questions he’ll struggle with, so he’s not going to try to hold himself
to it. If he misses a few problems, it won’t be too big of a deal. (At least,
that’s what he’s going to keep telling himself. Maybe he’ll believe it one
day.) It’s still a lot to do, but now, with the goal he sets, it’s not quite as
scary.
English is generally the easiest subject for Bucky and he ends up getting his
quota done within an hour, moving on to chemistry just as soon as he’s
finished. His stomach starts growling about halfway into it, so he breaks for a
quick dinner of mac ‘n’ cheese, then hops right back to it. After he finishes
up with chem, he figures he might as well work with Steve on both the calc and
art review, so he tugs his hair back into a bun, shoves his feet back into his
boots, and throws on his pea coat.
He texts Steve and then heads across town, lugging his backpack up to the fifth
floor and then knocking on Steve’s door.
It flings open and there’s Miss Liza, grinning up at Bucky like she’s actually
really pleased to see him. “Steve said you’d be coming over,” she says,
gesturing for him to come inside. “I made black bean burgers if you want one.”
“Oh,” Bucky says, offering a smile as he trails after her, “I already ate
supper, but it’s real nice of you to offer.”
“Yeah, well,” she says, tying her hair back into a ponytail, “I know how you
growing boys are. If you get hungry, just let Steve know.” She squeezes his arm
and then shrugs into her coat before heading out for a night shift at the
hospital.
Bucky takes a deep breath, suddenly a little more worried that he’s not going
to get anything done.
Knocking on the doorframe to the ruckus room, Bucky slides into view of Steve,
who’s listening to music at top volume, humming to himself as his pencil
scratches over the paper. His face splits into one of those sunshine smiles as
soon as he looks up, tearing the headphones out of his ears before standing on
his tiptoes to kiss Bucky. “Hi,” he says, still grinning as he pulls back.
“Heya, Stevie,” Bucky returns, smiling softly back.
Steve says, “You look a little better.” He kisses Bucky again and then turns to
gesture toward the desk. “You want the desk, the chaise, or d’you wanna work on
the floor? Kitchen table’s kinda tiny, but we might be able to make that work
too.”
“I…I don’t care,” Bucky says, scratching behind his ear. He huffs a dry little
laugh. “I, uh. Probably not the chaise, though. ‘Fraid I won’t get anything
done on that, ya know?”
Looking wry, Steve ducks his head and gives a quiet chuckle as the tips of his
ears go red. “Yeah, okay, gotcha. How about we do the kitchen then?”
“Yeah, that – that’d probably be best.”
Trailing after Steve, Bucky swallows hard as he glances at Steve’s ass, telling
himself over and over that he has no time to get distracted. Not when he has
thirty more problems to do. It’s a struggle, but Bucky keeps his expression
mild as he sits down, watching the way Steve bites at his lip as he tries to
figure out how they’re going to fit all of their junk onto the small surface.
“Hmm, it alright if we just share a book?” Steve asks, looking up through his
ridiculous eyelashes at Bucky. “We can go one at a time, even though it might
take a little longer."
“For you, maybe. Sorry I’m gonna slow you down.”
“Oh, can it, Barnes,” Steve says as he gathers up a pile of opened letters and
transfers them onto the counter beside the shiny toaster. He tugs his fringe to
the side, out of his eyes, and huffs as he sits down. He scoots the chair
across the linoleum, nudging up against Bucky’s side, close enough to knock
their knees together. “You’re better at this than you give yourself credit
for.”
Bucky might be blushing as he looks down, pulls out his review sheet, his
binder full of a list of formulas and his notes. Steve props the textbook up
against the wall using the napkin holder and the salt shaker, giving a
triumphant little, “Hah!” once he gets it to stay.
They start off with a few proofs, trying to show how and why derivatives work
and it takes Bucky significantly longer than Steve, but once he’s finished and
he checks his answers against Steve’s, he’s relieved to see that they’ve got
the same stuff written down. From there they actually go on to do derivatives,
getting increasingly more difficult as they work their way through the problems
– and this is shit that they did at the very beginning of the year. Bucky can’t
remember half of it and he’s stuck flipping back through the chapter while
Steve’s waiting patiently for Bucky to finish and he just –
He can’t breathe. He can’t do these stupid problems. He’s going to fail the
midterm and he’s going to fail calculus and he’s going to fail the AP exam and
he’s not going to get into college and he’s –
He can’t breathe.
“Hey, whoa, whoa, Bucky,” Steve says. His hands are cold on Bucky’s cheeks. His
voice is a bit sharper when he says, “Look at me, Bucky.” It’s an order, not a
suggestion, and – okay. That’s. Bucky can work with that.
Looking at Steve, his wide blue eyes fringed by ridiculously long lashes, and
the furrowed brows above, and matching their breaths, Bucky feels slightly
calmer.
“That’s better. Breathe with me, alright?” Steve’s – he’s too good. He’s
coaching Bucky through the panic, helping him pull in breaths, hold them, let
them out slowly. “It’s alright. I know it feels like it right now, but it’s not
the end of the world if you can’t figure out some of the problems. It’s okay to
ask for help. We can work through them together, split them up into steps and
go by the examples. It’ll be just fine.”
Still shaking, Bucky focuses on matching their breaths and listening to Steve’s
platitudes. Chin tucked onto Bucky’s shoulder, arm wrapped around his waist,
Steve finally quiets and just waits while Bucky shivers and sweats and tries to
remember how to breathe without help. It’s comforting and all, but at the same
time, Bucky hates it. Usually, when Steve’s holding him like this it’s because
they’re enjoying themselves and each other, the kind of comfort that comes
after sharing something precious with someone. Instead, Bucky just feels the
bad kind of vulnerable and he’s…sad and angry, disappointed that Steve has to
witness this. Again.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky chokes out, clenching his shaking fists on top of the table.
Steve’s thing fingers come down to rest on top of Bucky’s, soft and gentle as a
summer breeze, neither prying nor coaxing; it’s just a show of support. His
thumb rubs over the arch of Bucky’s knuckles, playing at the edge of a fading
bruise. Quietly, he says, “It’s alright.”
“That’s the –” Bucky’s voice breaks and he has to clear his throat, blinking
away the hot prickly feeling around the corners of his eyes. He lets out a
shuddery breath and scrubs at his face with his free hand, ignoring the way his
fingers still tremble. “I ain’t…havin’ a good day.”
Nodding, Steve looks a bit troubled by that information but he leans in and
presses a kiss to the crest of Bucky’s cheek. “I’m sorry, Buck.”
“I hate this,” Bucky admits.
“I hate it for you,” Steve says, looking so sincere about it that Bucky can’t
help but smile. It’s watery, but it’s a smile nonetheless. Returning it, Steve
asks, “Do you want to take a break for a bit?”
If they take a break, in whatever way Steve’s thinking, Bucky’s not sure that
he’ll want to keep at it. “Nah,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “I just – can
you help me on this one? I dunno what to do next.”
After one last tiny kiss, this time to Bucky’s shoulder, Steve scoots his chair
even closer and leans in to show Bucky his notes. He delves into the problem,
splitting it up into parts and showing Bucky which words clue into what exactly
the problem is asking for, coming up with little tricks to show him when it’s
best to use which rule to figure out the derivative. It’s shaky, tentative, but
Bucky feels like he grasps the concept just a little bit better. Two problems
later he needs Steve’s help again, and then again four problems after that.
Each time the rules change, it takes a bit to jog his memory, but Steve helps
quite a bit.
With a sigh, Bucky gives up after ten problems and tells himself that he’ll
just make up for the deficit during the weekend – party and construction
project planning be damned. He’ll figure out a way to get it all done.
“You started on the art review yet?” Bucky asks, swiping a few loose tendrils
of hair behind his ear. His breaths still feel a bit like fire in his chest,
but at least his hands aren’t shaking as much anymore.
The way Steve frowns says that he’d rather not worry about that right now, but
then his lips quirk just a bit and he says, “Not yet. Sure you don’t want to
take a break first?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says, “I’ve gotta get at least fifteen of these done tonight or I
ain’t gonna finish by the time these things’re due.”
Steve’s expression goes soft, full of admiration just before he shakes his
head. “If you say so.” He huffs a dry laugh and then grumbles, his mouth
crooked in a wry grin. “Jeez, you make me look like a lazy bum.”
Thankfully, the art review questions are easier than Bucky’d anticipated.
Steve, because he’s already taken the class once before and far surpassed it,
remembers most of the answers and helps Bucky out when he needs it. They
actually end up getting all of the questions answered, to Bucky’s surprise,
which must be why they end up back in the ruckus room on the chaise, caught up
in the taste and feel of each other’s lips.
It’s slow and sweet and everything Bucky has missed since Saturday. Steve feels
so tiny under his hands, his hips tilting on Bucky’s lap in a lazy grind. It
doesn’t feel like there’s any kind of expectation – not even like Steve
necessarily wants to get off, but more like he just wants to keep Bucky pinned
right where he has him.
Steve pulls back and Bucky blinks slowly, feeling weirdly dazed for a simple
makeout session.
“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks.
Bucky proffers a little grin. “Slightly less stressed.” It’s still there,
thrumming beneath his skin the way it always does on a bad day, but it’s not
quite as insistent as it had been earlier. The relief of getting a certain
amount of work done always has that kind of effect on him.
In his lap, Steve squirms just the slightest bit, a sly smile lighting up his
face. “How about we make turn that ‘slightly’ into ‘incredibly,’ eh?” He runs
his fingers over Bucky’s hands, up his sleeves to encircle his wrists. “Do you
have to be home at a certain time?”
Breath already coming a little quicker, Bucky shifts and answers, “Just before
midnight is fine.”
Giving a pleased little hum, Steve says, “Well, if you want…I’ve got an idea if
you feel up to it. I’ll make sure you’re feeling alright before you have to
go.” He squeezes Bucky’s wrists, grounding him in the moment. “Would you want
that, Bucky? Wanna be a good boy for me?”
A whine escapes Bucky’s throat before he can help it, hips shifting and brows
knitting together as he nods. “I…” he breathes, “Yeah, I do. Please.”
And when Steve grins, the feeling that courses through Bucky is ten steps
higher than relief. “Good,” Steve says. He takes a breath and it’s almost like
he shrugs off a piece of himself, bringing up something bigger and more
authoritative to the surface. He climbs up off of Bucky’s lap, standing just
beside the chaise as he cracks his neck and then says. “We’re going to try
something new. Get on your knees.”
And, wow – if Bucky’d been standing, they would’ve buckled. He limbs feel
watery as hell when he slides down from the cushion of the chair, his knees
hitting the floor a bit harder than he’d intended.
“Hands behind your back.”
“Wh –”
Steve quirks a brow. Standing there above Bucky, with his hands on his hips and
his legs spread shoulder-width apart, Steve looks like he could take Bucky
apart with no effort whatsoever. “Hands behind your back.”
Bucky complies.
“There we go,” Steve says softly, stroking the side of Bucky’s face. When Bucky
leans into it, Steve gives a little laugh. “So pretty on your knees…” After one
last gentle caress, Steve pulls back and goes to sit in the chair at the desk.
Bucky goes to follow, but Steve holds his hand out to stop him. “Stay right
there for now.”
It’s only a little awkward, Bucky kneeling too far away to touch and unsure as
to what exactly they’re doing. Taking a second to suck in a deep breath,
because it seems like Steve’s waiting on something with the way he’s just
studying Bucky’s face, Bucky tells himself to relax. He closes his eyes and
with each exhale, focuses on loosing the tension in an extremity, one at a
time. When Bucky opens his eyes, blinking into clarity, it’s to the sight of
Steve rubbing himself through his sweats.
Keening, Bucky shifts restlessly and watches Steve’s hand.
Steve gives that secret smile, like he’s proud already. “Didn’t even have to
tell you. God>, it was like watching you melt or something.” His fingers flex,
followed by a twitch of his hips – and then he’s biting his bottom lip, making
it even plusher and all the more tempting. “Tell me – tell me what you want,
Buck.”
“Wanna –” He breaks off into an embarrassed laugh, trying to ignore the way his
face heats at just the thought. “Jesus,” he says under his breath, and then a
little louder, clear enough for Steve to make out, “Wanna taste you – give ya a
suckjob, if you’ll let me.”
Steve shudders, giving himself another squeeze so that Bucky can clearly see
the thickening outline of his cock. “That’s alright by me –” When Bucky starts
shuffling forward, though, he holds a hand out again, making Bucky stop right
in his tracks. “– but I think we should have a few rules, maybe try something
new?”
“Okay,” Bucky says, trying not to let his wariness seep into his tone. The
tension, however, slides back into his shoulders and apparently it’s not subtle
enough to go unnoticed by Steve.
“First,” Steve says, “I want to see you relax again. Can you do that for me,
Bucky?” He looks expectant, but not in a way that feels overwhelming. It’s
hopeful, more than anything. Earnest. “Alright, come here.”
Shuffling over, wrist still clasped in one hand, Bucky ends up nudged against
Steve’s knee, the soft gray fabric soothing enough to start the slide into
mitigation. Bucky lets out a shuddery breath and closes his eyes, willing
himself to give up the tension. He visualizes it in his mind’s eye – a tangled
knot, coarse and unwieldy, heavy like a shadow – and then he sees Steve’s hand,
outstretched and ready for it, prepared to work his magic and lighten the
burden with his deft fingers. He watches it unravel, like the simple touch of
Steve’s light is enough to disintegrate the negativity.
“Very good,” Steve croons, deep and soft. “Look like you’re going deep. How’re
you feeling?”
“Good. Green. Better like this, with you holdin’ it for me.”
Snickering, Steve strokes at Bucky’s cheek and says, “Yeah, okay. Oh, wow, you
went down fast. That’s – you’re doing great, Bucky.”
Bucky opens his eyes, astounded by the pleasure on Steve’s face. “’M I good?”
“The very best. Always so good for me,” Steve sincerely answers. “Alright, I’m
going to ask you to do a few things for me, okay? Think you’ll be able to keep
being good for me?”
Nodding, Bucky blinks slowly and says, “Uh huh, ‘f course I will.” He sighs.
“Missed this.”
Steve smiles and pets up into Bucky’s hair. “I know, baby. I could tell. That’s
why I’m gonna give you exactly what you need.” He’s so sure, so confident.
Bucky believes him. “Alright, if you think you can do it, stand up for me.”
“Need help.”
“Alright, Buck,” Steve says, holding out a thin arm for Bucky to use for
leverage, “Here, I’ve gotcha.” He grunts as Bucky pulls himself up, using the
seat of the chair when he wobbles into Steve. It puts their faces close
together, and Bucky can’t remember why he shouldn’t kiss Steve, so he does it,
not thinking of any consequences. He hisses when Steve bites at his lower lip,
whining when Steve doesn’t let up, and then whimpers when he finally releases
it; then the feeling of the blood rushing back in has Bucky keening out a
little sob. He’s already braced against Steve, looking him right in the eye as
Steve gives a firm, “Stand up, Bucky.”
With a shiver, Bucky finally gets his mind coordinated with his knees and does
it. “Sorry, Steve.”
“Mm,” Steve hums, “We’re going to have to work on your listening skills. Get
you better disciplined.”
Bucky’s mind is too fuzzy to run through possibilities of what that could mean,
but the moment Steve starts working at Bucky’s belt, he’s going tense and hard
all at once. “Y’gonna spank me? ‘M sorry, Steve, I’ll be good. I’ll listen,
promise.”
Steve pulls the belt free of its loops, his jeans sagging just a bit as Bucky’s
hips turn with the force of the movement, a look of surprise taking over his
expression. “Hush, I’m not spanking you. This time, anyway,” Steve says. His
expression softens just a bit and then he orders, “Turn around. Give me your
wrists.” The leather is rough in some places and supple in others. Steve wraps
it around and around until it’s snug around Bucky’s wrists. He slips a finger
through, testing. “Too tight?”
Shaking his head, Bucky gives a muzzy, “No, ‘s nice. Makin’ me…feel real good,
Steve. Already. Like it, ‘cause ya always make me feel so good.” It hits him
like a brick, actually.
“Good,” Steve says with a chuckle. He slowly works Bucky’s jeans down his hips,
and Bucky dutifully steps out of them when Steve taps at his thigh. There’s the
fwap of them hitting the end of the chaise, layered on top of Bucky’s discarded
jacket and then Steve’s saying, “Now, turn and get back down on your knees for
me. Between my legs this time.”
Bucky spins around, only a little off balance until Steve steadies him with
hands on his hips. With Steve’s help, he goes back down to his knees, settling
into the open-v with his shoulders nudged up against Steve’s inner thighs. He
looks up at Steve and – it’s. It’s intense. Liquid fire sets up in Bucky’s
chest and he just – it feels like this is where he belongs. Right here.
“It is, Bucky,” Steve says, stroking his thumb up the crest of Bucky’s cheek.
“This is right where you need to be. You worked so hard and now you deserve a
reward.”
The breath that Bucky looses is a shaky, “Huh,” sound, heavy enough from the
praise to have him clutching at his own fingers and trying to melt into Steve’s
touch.
“That’s it, baby,” Steve says, “You’re doing so well already.” He grabs Bucky’s
chin, not quite roughly, but a great deal firmer than his touch has been thus
far. It lets Bucky sink back just a bit, finding an anchor in Steve’s fingers
digging in just below his chin. “You listening to me?” At Bucky’s shaky nod,
Steve says, “Good. I’m going to give you a choice. The fact that I’m giving you
this choice means that I want either option equally. You pick whichever thing
you want; neither one is wrong, understand?”
“Okay.”
“Alright, then tell me,” Steve says, still eyeing Bucky with that serious
authority, “Either you come first, or I do. Which is it going to be?”
And – oh, god.
Bucky’s under, but not so far that he can’t decide, “Ah, y-you, please, Steve,
please, I wanna – want to.” He’s sure his eyes are wide, paving way to the
desperation in his heart. His mouth is already watering, just thinking about
getting his mouth on Steve again.
But Steve doesn’t mind; of course Steve doesn’t mind. The way his grip softens
and his palm trails down the column of Bucky’s throat to rest on his shoulder
makes it feel as though Steve is actually pleased with Bucky’s choice. “Shh,
you’re still thinking too much, B. The whole point of this is to get you to
stop thinking.” He strokes at the skin of Bucky’s throat, bending just enough
to loom, looking all riled up in a way that makes Bucky feel hot all over.
“Wanna know what you’re gonna do for me?”
“Yes,” Bucky responds, voice a scrape of a thing.
“Want you to stay right where you are,” Steve says, this wicked glint in his
eye, “You’re going to keep looking at me. Do you understand?”
Nodding, Bucky tries to breathe beneath the weight of what Steve’s insinuating,
clearing a bit of the fog from his mind. Eye contact. Whatever Bucky does, he
has to do it while looking at Steve.
“Tell me,” Steve says.
Bucky’s head swims. “Yes.”
“Alright then,” Steve continues, spreading his legs a bit more as he slumps in
the chair, and it gives a squeak once he’s finally settled. He nods down toward
his crotch. “Get after it.”
Breath hitching in his chest, Bucky leans forward just enough to nose at the
line of Steve’s dick through the sweatpants. The fabric is soft, worn, and even
though it’s fairly thick, Bucky can still smell through it the musk of precome,
maybe just from how turned on Steve is. It’s enough to have Bucky swallowing
hard, biting at his lower lip as he blinks up at Steve. Steve bites out a quiet
curse and then Bucky’s mouthing at him, his bottom lip catching on the fabric
just over the head of Steve’s cock.
He’s not sure which of them makes the louder noise, but it makes Bucky’s
eyelids go heavy.
“Look at me, baby,” Steve orders, voice wavering a bit when Bucky finally
blinks up at him. His hips shift and Bucky tries to follow the arch of his
dick, chasing after Steve in a way that makes him feel like he must look hungry
for it – and he is. It’s impossible to be embarrassed about it when Steve’s
looking at him in the same damn way, eyes dark and expression hot. Steve’s
voice turns into a lilted croon: “Very good, Bucky. Damn, that’s a…that’s
nice.”
With another shift, Steve’s shimmying his sweats down just enough for Bucky to
finally get his mouth on skin.
Steve gives a soft groan and reaches down to card his fingers through Bucky’s
hair. “Fuck,” he hisses when Bucky tries to get more into his mouth and misses,
the head of Steve’s dick glancing off of his chin. “You’ve got the prettiest
mouth. I’ve always had – guh, the biggest thing about it. Used to be
embarrassed about how often I’d catch myself staring at it.”
Bucky moans, unabashed, and gravels, “Hands,” just before he finally manages to
get his mouth around Steve’s dick. He sucks hard, using more teeth than he’d
maybe intended, but Steve gives a sharp noise and tugs on Bucky’s hair, his
head flopping back against the chair. Bucky flattens his tongue and runs it up
and over the length, working Steve’s cock back into his mouth just as soon as
he can. Steve tastes the way he smells, clean but still a bit musky in the way
that just says guy and Bucky loves it. He really, actually, truly loves the way
that Steve’s hot and heavy in his mouth, thick enough to tug just at the seams
and – he just.
It feels like they can’t get any closer. Not with the weight of Steve’s gaze
pinning him down, so vulnerable with his dick in Bucky’s mouth but still,
somehow, in control. Bucky can’t get enough.
“Yeah, that’s – so good, Bucky.”
Steve’s eyes are warm and secure, shadowed just a bit behind the frames of his
glasses and the glare of the overhead light, but still, Bucky feels safe. He
feels like Steve, even sitting there, feeding the length of his dick between
Bucky’s lips, is taking care of him.
“So good,” Steve pants over and over, still looking at Bucky like he’s given
him the world. “Fuck, if you knew how much I thought about this… Mouth’s
fuckin’ perfect, Buck. Always – f-fuck – torn between wanting to kiss you and –
wanting to mess you all up with my dick.” Steve swallows wetly and humps up
into Bucky’s mouth, giving him just a bit more cock that he can handle,
groaning and gripping Bucky’s hair when he pulls off to suck in a breath. “God,
I can’t even tell you how many times I’ve thought about when you let me come on
your face. Haven’t – fuck – let myself come since then. Wanna do that with you
some time – make you wait. Bet you’d do so well. You’d be so pretty like that,
desperate and begging me to come. Ah, jeez. So pretty and all mine. My perfect,
good little boy.”
The feeling slips in faster than Bucky knows what to do with, and he knows,
distantly, it’s mostly due to the praise.
Bucky has to pull off; he can’t breathe. It’s so heavy, but so meaningful – the
best kind of pressure.
He moans and floats and nuzzles as close as he can, staring into Steve’s eyes,
trembling with how much he wants to please him, make him come. Soft, tiny licks
to the thin skin of Steve’s balls, just below, back above, has Bucky’s eyes
going unfocused, staring at Steve unseeingly. He groans, tries nuzzling closer
and feels calmer when Steve’s hand tilts his chin back, when his cock slides
smoothly back between Bucky’s lips. Bucky sucks and swallows and makes what is
probably far too much noise, but he’s – so happy. Steve’s petting his cheek and
his hair and using Bucky just the way he wants.
“Yeah, just like that, Buck. You’re doing so well. Nothing better than your
mouth.” He leans in, far more flexible than Bucky can be impressed with while
he’s so untethered, and presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead. Breathless,
wrecked, Steve says, “Keep this up and you’ll get to come very soon.”
Bucky moans loud, his lips tingling around Steve cock, and Steve’s hips jolt,
making Bucky take too much, but he’s looking at Bucky like that and Bucky’s
eyes are watering but this is good. This is what Steve is giving him and it’s
good and it’s what Bucky wants because it’s what Steve wants and that feels
good – it feels so goddamn good.
“God,” Steve whines, sounding as desperate as Bucky feels, “Letting me fuck
your mouth like this…letting me use you. So pretty on your knees lookin’ up at
me. Fuck, fuck.” His fingers come down to press against Bucky’s cheek, feeling
himself from the outside, and Bucky hums absently, so far down that he really
can’t do much more than let himself be moved. “Oh, fuck. I’m gonna come, B.
Gonna – d’you…?”
Mouth open, head resting against Steve’s thigh, Bucky swallows and keeps
staring straight at Steve.
Breathless, soundless, Steve’s mouth drops open as his expression tightens, his
hand bumping against the underside of Bucky’s chin as he works himself over,
come striping into and across Bucky’s lips. It’s hot and wet and everything
Bucky’s wanted; he feels boneless, perfect, with eyes never leaving Steve’s
apart from a heavy, slow blink. Come puddles beneath his cheek, seeping into
Steve’s sweats and then Steve’s giving a shaky, “Fuck,” and leaning in to kiss
at Bucky’s mouth.
For some indiscernible amount of time, Bucky’s coaxed this way and that while
Steve kisses him, murmuring encouraging sounds until Bucky tugs a bit back
toward the surface.
“Steve,” he says, smiling dumbly up at him once his vision’s a little more
focused. “’s I good?”
“You were so good, Bucky. You were the best – perfect.” Steve leans in to kiss
Bucky again, over his cheeks, his chin, his lips. “So, so good that I want you
to come for me, okay? I know – you need it, Buck. I want you to have everything
you need.”
Bucky’s eyes feel strained and still unfocused, but Steve’s so pretty and
pleading and Bucky loves him. He’ll do whatever Steve wants.
“I know how close you are, Bucky,” Steve says, voice wrecked and reedy. A
thought blooms through the clouds of Bucky’s mind, a beam of sunlight that says
that he’ll need his inhaler soon. “Been leaking all over my shin for ages,
rutting against me like you couldn’t help it…”
Without a smidgen of a doubt, Bucky knows it’s true. It’s a tight coil in his
belly, burning like it’s been there forever – ever since Steve tied him up,
told him to get on his knees, looming above like a deity with a similar fire in
his eyes, cradled between his thighs and ready for Steve, whenever he might
want it.
And Steve wants it now.
“You’re doing so, so well,” Steve murmurs. His touch is soft where he’s
smoothing the hair away from Bucky’s forehead, so gentle and sweet that it
brings tears to Bucky’s eyes. Leaning in, Steve presses kisses all along
Bucky’s jaw, his hand coming down to rest on Bucky’s back, broad and warm and
coaxing. “Always so good for me; ‘d never want anyone else.”
“A-ah, S-ste – Steve –” Bucky’s rutting, staring at Steve’s face and feeling
the heat course through his body. It’s too much – he’s too close, but it’s not
– it’s not enough. He can’t –
“Shh, relax, baby,” Steve says, voice little more than a gravel of praise,
tinged with gold and gray like shimmering ore mined from a cavern. He’s
stroking over Bucky’s shoulders, soothing the frayed knots of tension. “You
can. I’m right here and I’m so proud of you – everything you do, Bucky. You
always make me so proud and so happy.”
Bucky cries out – and he only knows it’s him because he’s watching the purse of
Steve’s lips as he shushes him – because there’s nothing but affection and
patience in Steve’s expression. He wants – he wants to touch Steve so bad. He
wants to press his fingers into Steve’s hips and nuzzle against his stomach. He
wants to kiss the notches between Steve’s ribs and the indent between his pecs.
He wants, he wants, he wants, but he can’t have because his hands are tied
behind his back and he’s completely at Steve’s mercy, only able to give as much
as Steve wants to take and has to save the rest for later.
It’s the best, worst feeling there is. Bucky loves just as much as he hates it.
“Whenever you’re ready; I’m right here. You’re safe. You can let go and I’ll
still be right here for you. Fall apart for me, Buck. I want you to come.
Always so, so good for me – want you to come right now.”
With a shuddery shout, Bucky grasps at the coil, sinking into it, ruts a final
few times against Steve’s shin, eyelids going heavy as his cock pulses against
the fabric of his boxer briefs, Steve’s sweats, and he shivers, but his gaze
never leaves Steve’s for a second. He’s shaking so hard, held together only by
Steve’s hands rubbing over his back and his cheek, the leather binding his
wrists.
Steve’s lips are wet against Bucky’s cheeks, his chin, his lips. He’s murmuring
softly into Bucky’s ear and petting him so nicely. He croons, “Good boy,”
between kisses, and then says, “Take as long as you want; you were so good for
me,” in the exact way that makes him feel warm all over.
Bucky can’t focus on much else.
The pleasure is different afterwards, cresting and drifting instead of just
floating, and Bucky feels like he could come back down at any point, just one
tug on the kite string from Steve and he’d be able to find his footing back on
solid ground. But Steve’s accommodating in the best kind of way, running his
fingers through Bucky’s hair to help him lose focus on the end result and
instead enjoy the ride, back to skimming the surface of reality, becoming a bit
more self-aware. It’s easy to notice the stiffness in his shoulders, biceps,
and forearms, less so within his thighs and knees.
“Ah.”
“It’s okay if you’re not ready yet,” Steve’s saying, and it’s fuzzy, but Bucky
can make it out. He hears the, “…beautiful when you’re like this. Just wanna…”
and faded snatches of other things that make him wonder if he ever wants to
come back, wants to get up off of his knees and join the real world. It’s hard
to want that when Steve’s telling him such nice things. “Nowhere else I’d
rather be. Love doing this with you.”
A whimper leaves Bucky’s throat without his control. It’s so close to what he
wants, to what he feels and hopes is felt in return.
“Steve,” Bucky whispers, nuzzling against the damp spot on Steve’s sweatpants.
“Stevie.”
Steve’s lips quirk and he says, “Hey,” quietly, like he doesn’t want to spook
Bucky. “You back with me?” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple and works some
of the tension out of Bucky’s shoulder. “Ready to get up?”
Still unable to form real words, Bucky nods and tips upright with Steve’s hands
steadying his shoulders.
“How’re you feeling?” Steve asks, voice still barely more than a murmur. He
rubs his hands up and down Bucky’s arms, eyeing him seriously in the pause.
“Was that too much?”
“No,” Bucky answers, feeling completely wrung out, “’s good. A lot. Tired.”
Steve hums something unintelligible and then orders Bucky to stay upright while
he stands. His hands are gentle, rubbing at Bucky’s wrists on the way down to
work nimbly at the belt, slipping it from Bucky’s wrists just as soon as it’s
loose enough. All the while, he’s whispering praises and endearments, saying
just how proud he is and how well Bucky listens. He helps Bucky stand and leads
him around the corner into his room where Bucky all but collapses onto the bed,
reaching for Steve and whining when he shushes him, says, “Give me just two
minutes and I’ll be right back. Promise. Count to one hundred twenty.”
Though it takes some mental coaxing, Bucky gets started counting just in time
for Steve to return, wide eyed, looking concerned, and a little breathless.
“Hey, see? Back.” He bounces onto the bed, eyes trained on Bucky’s face as he
reaches for his wrists.
He kneads into the skin, rubbing at where Bucky hadn’t even realized he’d been
tugging at the strap of his belt. The skin is pink, irritated, but it doesn’t
really look like it’ll be noticeable later on. Steve massages him for a while,
nudged up against him on the bed until Bucky gives a tug, silently asking for
Steve to move so that he can get more comfortable. And, bless him, Steve knows
exactly what Bucky’s going for, sitting up against the headboard so that Bucky
can rest his head on Steve’s thigh.
“Gonna need to get you cleaned up in a sec. Don’t want you to be uncomfortable
for too long,” Steve muses. “Are you – Tell me how you’re feeling.”
“Tired.”
Honestly, Bucky feels wrung out in the best possible way, like all of the
tension he’s ever carried has leaked out of his muscles and been molded into
something manageable by Steve’s capable hands. It’s temporary, Bucky knows, but
for now he’s happy to bask in the feeling of not having to worry about anything
at all.
“You…” Steve takes a breath and restarts. “I know I’m not supposed to second
guess you, but…you were crying for a bit there. Do you need me to do anything
else?”
Bucky takes a deep, shuddery breath. “Jus’ this, ‘s good.” There’s a beat where
Bucky keeps slowly processing Steve’s words and then he says, “’s cryin’?”
“Yeah,” Steve says softly, bringing Bucky’s wrist up to kiss the chafed skin.
“When you were about to come – and when you did. It was…it looked intense.”
Though he doesn’t really know what to say to that, Bucky hums and flexes his
fingers against Steve’s sweats. And he can’t find the damp patch where he’d
drooled, and apparently cried, so he realizes that these must be a fresh pair.
He wonders what else Steve did while he was away. Hopefully, he used his
inhaler.
“Inhaler?” Bucky asks, too tired to form the full sentence. He takes a deep
breath and relaxes incrementally.
“Used it. I’m good. Stop worrying about me,” Steve says, petting over Bucky’s
hair. “Just breathe and relax. Want you to keep feeling good.”
It takes time, obviously, but Steve’s content to chatter a bit while Bucky
takes his time returning to coherency. Steve talks about stuff he’s read
recently on a BDSM forum, how it’s pretty neat that Bucky has already done so
well to go under the way he does. Apparently, it’s not all that common for
people to reach subspace without some element of the heavier stuff, and
especially not so often. Bucky feels pretty proud of himself when he hears
that, full of warmth and a bubble of pride, especially with the way Steve’s
voice gets all awed and honored as he explains it.
After a while, Bucky shifts around so that he’s looking up at Steve again,
struck frozen for a moment because of how intense his gaze is, and then he’s
sliding up Steve’s body to press kisses to lips and run fingers through the
silky blond strands of his hair.
“Thanks,” Bucky says.
“For what?” Steve asks, huffing a tiny laugh when Bucky’s hair tickles his
throat. His palm is broad over Bucky’s shoulder, eyes sparkling as he looks up
into Bucky’s eyes.
“Takin’ care of me. Do it like it’s your damn job.”
Steve shrugs, craning up to kiss Bucky’s mouth and then tugging him down hard
enough for Bucky to almost collapse, still working off residual tremors. “Love
doing it.” He pats at Bucky’s flank and then says, “Speaking of which: off.
Gotta clean you up properly.”
Which, yeah, Bucky agrees. He’s probably got Steve’s come crusted on his cheek,
but of course Steve’s just gross enough to find that hot instead of, well,
gross.
Bucky rolls off to the side, slightly more in control of his limbs, and lies
back on his elbows, content and quiet while Steve tugs the boxers down his legs
and proceeds to give him a thorough wipedown with the washcloth he’d retrieved
while Bucky was supposed to be counting. It feels…incredibly intimate, lying
there on display while he’s soft. Vulnerable. But Bucky obviously trusts Steve
more than anyone, and Steve’s grin when he finishes up only validates that
feeling.
The grin turns into a sly smirk and Bucky’s almost tempted to try to cover his
junk, but the lassitude is still heavy in his bones and plus he trusts Steve.
If he were going to do something, there’s pretty much a guarantee that Bucky
would like it.
“Hang on, I’ve got something for you.”
Steve crawls off the bed, disappears into his closet – and for a few moments
there’s the sound of rummaging, hangers shifting on the bar, a drawer opening
and closing – and when he reemerges, he’s brandishing –
“Oh,” Bucky sighs. It’s much too soon, but his cock gives a hearty twitch and
he knows that Steve sees it because he’s bared completely to his eyes. “Didn’t
know if ya kept those.”
He hops back onto the bed, still grinning like he’s the cleverest bastard
alive, and crawls up between Bucky’s legs to press a chaste kiss to his mouth.
“Think I’d throw these babies away? Must be out of your mind. Did have to wash
‘em, though.”
Steve’s giddy as he slides back down, working the panties up Bucky’s legs and
urging him to lift his hips. He’s gentle with it, but the moment that’s done
his eyes are dark and he’s roughly grabbing Bucky by the hair, baring Bucky’s
throat and kissing him hotly. It’s quick and dirty and more than enough for
Bucky to get interested again, but the second he starts making noises, Steve’s
backing off, slinking away to sit up on his knees and stare at where Bucky’s
lying there with his chest heaving in the black panties they’d wrecked together
on Saturday.
Eyes somehow darker, Steve says, “You look good.”
Teasing, taunting, Bucky stretches out and sucks his lower lip between his
teeth, letting it pop on the release.
“Oh, my god,” Steve breathes, eyes obviously trained on Bucky’s mouth. “You’re
going to be insufferable about that now, aren’t you?”
“Dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout, babydoll,” Bucky teases. His words are still
half-slurred, like his lips and tongue have gone lazy.
Steve snorts. “Yeah, yeah. Anyway,” he says, patting at Bucky’s ankle, “I’m
gonna wash those and give them back next time you come over, okay? You don’t
mind to wear your panties home, do you?”
Shaking his head with wide eyes and a bitten lip, Bucky doesn’t bother hiding
the way it makes him shiver, his dick twitching like he hasn’t had enough.
“Don’t mind a bit.”
“Good,” Steve says. He flashes a grin and then speculatively eyes Bucky.
“How’re you feeling?” `
Taking a deep breath, really assessing, Bucky says, “’m good,” with a smile and
then leans up, shuffling forward until he can wrap his arms around Steve’s
waist. He nuzzles into Steve’s chest, nearly knocking him sideways, but Steve
just twines a hand in Bucky’s hair and grasps at Bucky’s hip with the other. He
sighs, trying to clear his mind for a more thorough answer. “Just. ‘s not the
same as last time, but that ain’t a bad thing. Feels more like the others.”
Though he can’t see him, Bucky can hear the way Steve’s frowning. It’s more
than likely just confusion, but he still takes a peek at Steve’s face just to
be sure.
“…So, it wasn’t as good?”
“No! No, it was – it was still great, Stevie. Feels good. I don’t mean –” Bucky
takes a breath, trying to well and truly come back to himself so that he can
explain it correctly. “It’s just…different?” He relaxes back into the feeling
of Steve’s body, trying to convey just how relaxed he’s feeling now, pleasure
still cresting along his skin, intensifying intermittently like the glow of
lightning bugs. His chest still feels light and his head is clear. “Still real
good.”
Steve hums, and it’s the kind of hum that means that this won’t be the last
time they talk about it. Bucky’s okay with that. Right now he just wants to
hold and be held by Steve.
 
*
 
The rest of the week is a little bit easier to bear with Steve’s gentle
encouragements, but he’s still a bit unsteady, taking each day with as much
grace as possible even though the stress creeps along his shoulders and down
his spine. They don’t get a chance to see one another outside of school again
until Friday night, when the fellas need help picking out a welcome home gift
for Bec. Bucky tries to assure them that she’s a spoiled brat who doesn’t need
anything, but they tease that they love her more than Bucky, so his attempts
are futile.
They’ve been walking around the mall for an hour trying to figure out something
she’d like when Steve finally pipes up, “Hey, she likes art, right? Why don’t
we try The Warehouse off 49th?”
All of the fellas blink at him for a beat; Bucky barks a laugh. “C’mon, fellas,
you’re really tellin’ me you didn’t think about she’d want artsy shit? She goes
to art school, for Christ’s sake!”
After they’ve piled into Gabe’s SUV and trekked across town, Steve leads the
gang into The Warehouse like he owns the place. He’s all bundled up in a
handful of scarves and some fingerless gloves, Bucky’s letterman jacket layered
on top of a thick, gray sweater. He looks like he should be cozy enough, but
when Bucky threads their fingers together, Steve’s feel like icicles. As they
wander the isles, Bucky takes Steve’s clammy hand between both of his, bringing
it up to his lips for a quick kiss before he lets it go so that Steve can
fondle the art supplies.
Bucky wanders off in another direction, leaving Steve to mumble to himself
about focal length or something, and finds a set of hand stretched canvases
that Becca would probably love.
As he’s sifting through them to look for ones that don’t cost an arm and a leg,
Steve appears by his side.
“Oh, does Becca paint too?” Steve asks. He actually looks curious, not just
polite, and Bucky’s caught in a wave of affection. Steve just gives Bucky a
tiny, prompting grin.
“Uh, probably not as much as she used to,” Bucky says. He shifts a few more
canvases forward and eyes one that has a few imperfections. It’s ten bucks
cheaper; Becca’ll love it. “Bet school’s taken all the fun outta doin’ it, but
maybe she’d want to do somethin’ for fun while she’s on break.”
Steve hums his interest and then wanders off again to go look through the
bargain bin.
Bucky hears his friends but generally can’t see them through the aisles, but
every now and then, one of them will pop out with an armful of stuff for which
they probably don’t even know the purpose. He snickers to himself as he takes
out a couple of the canvases, happy to have found something for his little
sister even though he knows his parents have probably gotten her something
ridiculous.
The fellas end up going in together on a set of really nice paints and Steve
looks relieved, if a little embarrassed, when they include him on the group
gift.
Afterwards, they eat dinner back at Gabe’s and then Steve and Bucky split off
to go back to Bucky’s.
The moment they walk in the door, Bucky calls out a hello and follows the sound
of laughter to the kitchen. His parents are huddled together watching a video
on Ma’s tablet, probably something linked from Facebook, and Bucky watches them
for a moment with an involuntary grin, his hand secure in Steve’s.
It takes a minute, but Dad notices them and pauses the video. “Oh! Hey, fellas.
How’d the gift huntin’ go?”
Bucky holds up the drawstring bag (that he’d been convinced to buy in efforts
to be more eco-friendly from the dude behind the counter) containing the funky
shaped canvases. “Good,” he says, “Steve and the fellas got her some paints.”
“Well, good,” Ma chimes in, coming around the island to press a kiss to Bucky’s
cheek. “I’m going to go change clothes and then do you boys want to go with me
to the store? There are still a few more things I need to pick up for
tomorrow.”
Looking to Steve, Bucky gives a shrug and then Steve says, “Yes, ma’am. Sounds
good to me.”
Winnie beams at Steve and then rushes off, leaving Bucky and Steve with George.
“So, Steve, Bucky here tells me that you volunteer over at Saint Michael’s.”
“Yes, sir, I do.” Steve’s eyes light up and Bucky just knows he’s got a goofy
grin on his own face. “I have for about three years now. They’re a good group
of folks.”
Bucky’s busy watching Steve chat with his dad, not really paying attention to
what’s being said until Ma comes up behind them with her keys jangling, a sly
grin on her face as she asks if they’re ready. Loaded up into the car, with Ma
insisting that Steve ride shotgun while she drives, Bucky sits in the middle so
that he can monitor the interrogation he knows is coming. Ma doesn’t even
pretend to have an ounce of subtlety when she says, “So, Steve. Tell me about
yourself.”
By the time they get to the grocery store, Steve’s cheeks are pink but he’s
accepting the teasing with a certain amount of grace, floundering awkwardly for
words every now and then but diverting Ma’s attention by asking about how she
met Dad. Once they’re inside, Bucky kind of hangs back, just listening to them
chat with one another. It’s almost nice to see that Steve can’t stay cool and
in command all the time – that things like compliments get him so easily
flustered.
Ma relents after she’s retrieved a cart, splitting the list in half so that
they can tackle the store as quickly as possible.
“You alright?” Bucky asks Steve, nudging him with his gently shoulder while
they’re looking for shredded coconut and sweetened condensed milk.
Steve nods, trailing a bit after Bucky’d jostled him. He gives a half-grin,
says, “Nothing I couldn’t handle. Yet, anyway. Your mom’s so sweet.”
“Yeah, she’s the best.” Bucky’s proud of his parents. He’s always thought they
were pretty much the greatest thing, and he’s glad that his opinion on them
hasn’t waned throughout his teenage years.
They meet back up with Ma after they’ve found the assortment of ingredients for
all the baking they’re going to do in the morning and she’s talking loudly on
the phone to one of her coworkers as they load up the belt. Bucky gestures for
Steve to just wait, because he can handle it, but Steve’s stubborn as hell and
won’t just stand around. Ma digs through her purse for her wallet and Steve
takes the plastic bags (with only a mild look of distaste, because at least
they’re recyclable) full of groceries and puts them in the cart. Bucky can tell
that Steve’s arms are shaking a little by the time Ma’s pushing the cart back
to the car, so he walks behind him, massaging Steve’s biceps and bumping into
his back every few steps.
Back home, Ma shoos them away and instead enlists Dad to help unload the
groceries, so Bucky drags Steve up to his room and shuts the door behind them.
He lets out a breath he hadn’t known he was holding and slumps against it
before he’s crowded against it by Steve.
“What’s the plan for tomorrow?” Steve asks, tilting his forehead against
Bucky’s cheek for a minute before craning up for a quick kiss.
Bucky hums. “Becca’s s’possed to be home around ten. Want me to pick you up
before the party?”
Steve walks over and flops onto Bucky’s bed, opting to snuggle into the covers
as he says, “If you want. If not I c’n drive myself.”
Maybe it’s because he looks so good in Bucky’s bed, or because he’s slurring a
little because he’s tired, but when Steve blinks heavily, Bucky can’t help but
get closer, close enough to press a kiss to Steve’s forehead and quietly say,
“Ain’t like I mind.”
He snuggles up next to Steve, on top of the covers just in case one of his
parents decides to check on them, and starts babbling about Becca and how
excited she is to get to meet Steve. He knows he’s gushing about his sister,
talking about how awesome she is and how much cooler she is and how all of
Bucky’s friends have always loved Becca way more than him, but Steve just
smiles indulgently, asking questions and twining his fingers with Bucky’s when
he gets a bit too enthusiastic with his gestures.
 
*
 
Becca comes slamming into Bucky’s room at ten in the morning on Saturday with
a, “Guess who’s home, fuckhead!” and a flying elbow onto his bed. Bucky groans
and tries to shuffle out from under her pointy elbows but grins at her, trying
to clear the sleep out of his eyes and his voice as he mumbles out something
about being glad she’s home. There’s the familiar long brown hair, green eyes,
freckles and whatever floral perfume she wears that Bucky hates because it
makes his ears itch. He’s missed her so much.
She doesn’t bother saying anything about the semester, just grins and uses both
hands to mess Bucky’s hair into his eyes and then says, “I’m gonna nap. Wake me
up before you go get Steve, alright?”
Bucky grumbles out an affirmative and sighs once Becca’s shutting the door
behind herself. He heads downstairs for some coffee and finds his mother
working hard on mixing brownie batter.
“Morning, sweetie,” Ma says, grinning and looking at him from over the top of
her glasses. “Your sister say hi?”
Nodding, Bucky sidles up next to rest his head on Ma’s shoulder and then leans
over it to get a whiff of the brownies. She makes them with cocoa powder and
melted chocolate chips, and they’re so sweet that they make Bucky cry a little.
They smell like his childhood and Bucky’s throat feels weirdly dry considering
he’d just taken a sip of coffee.
Ma just pats at his cheek and then says, “You wanna get started on the Hello
Dollies?”
Bucky crushes up graham crackers, chops pecans, and throws all of the
ingredients together in a baking pan before Ma comes over to add a little extra
sweetened condensed milk. She laughs when Bucky groans (because he knows he’s
going to regret all of these come Monday at practice) and then shoos him to go
take a shower.
There’s still a little over an hour before he needs to leave to pick up Steve,
but Morita and Dum Dum text to say they’re bored and ask if it’d be okay to
come a little early, so Bucky goes to wake Bec and tell her some of the fellas
are on their way. She squeaks and asks if Gabe’s coming, and Bucky says he is
just to laugh when she almost falls out of the bed, still tangled up in her
comforter in her scramble to get to her bathroom.
Dad’s back home with a veggie tray and an armful of steaks (even though it’s
looking like it’s definitely going to snow) for the grill on the patio when
Bucky comes back down to let his dad know that people are on their way, so he’s
going to go ahead and get Steve.
“Hey, wait,” Dad says, “Ya think this’ll be okay for Steve?” He shakes a box at
Bucky, who recognizes the Morningstar labeling.
“Should be fine,” Bucky answers, toeing on his boots by the door. “I’m gonna go
pick ‘im up. Morita and Dugan might get here before I’m back with Stevie.”
“Alright,” Dad says, already distractedly walking into the kitchen. “Drive
safe!”
It’s lightly snowing by the time Bucky’s on the road, talking to Steve on
speakerphone as he carefully maneuvers through traffic to the other side of
town. Steve sounds nervous, taking weird hitchy breaths and pausing a bit too
long like he’s fussing with his hair or something. Bucky laughs, picturing it,
and Steve sounds fond and annoyed at the same time when Bucky asks if that’s
what he’s doing. Which means he’s lying.
Once he’s pulled up and trekked up the stairs, Bucky knocks on the door and
allows Steve to tug him inside. Steve presses a kiss to his chin and then leans
in to rest his forehead against Bucky’s collarbone.
Taking the cue, Bucky wraps his arms around Steve’s back and tugs him close.
“She’s gonna love ya, babydoll. You got nothin’ to worry about.”
“Pshh, who’s worried? I’m not worried.” Steve nuzzles even closer, his deep
voice muffled into Bucky’s sweater.
“Uh, huh. Well, we’d better getta move on. I’m pretty sure Morita and Dum
Dum’ll be there before us. Becca hates Dum Dum, by the way.” Bucky presses a
kiss to Steve’s forehead, offering a half smile when Steve looks up at him.
“Did I ever tell ya ‘bout the time he made her eat a dog biscuit?”
Steve snorts a laugh. “No?” He ushers Bucky out of the door and locks it behind
them.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, laughing, “He’d convinced her it was a cookie, jus’ shaped
like a bone, an’ she believed ‘im. Told this big, long story ‘bout how his ma
was tryin’ out some new recipes an’ so she didn’t wanna be rude an’ say it
smelled like shit, but ya know.” He trails down the stairs in front of Steve,
taking it slow and pausing every now and then to tell more bits of story,
trying not to make it obvious that he’s doing it for Steve’s sake. The look
Steve gives him once they reach the ground floor says he caught on, but he
doesn’t make a fuss about it, so Bucky counts it as a win.
“She ever do anything to get back at him?” Steve asks, buckling into the
passenger seat. He swipes hair out of his eyes and readjusts the beanie on his
head.
Bucky fiddles with the heat dials until there’s a blast of warm air circulating
through his car. “Oh, yeah,” he answers, “She shaved off one of his eyebrows.
We got the pictures to prove it.”
Laughing, Steve rests his hand on Bucky’s thigh and looks out of the window.
It’s an absentminded, but welcome and grounding gesture.
When they finally make it back home, the snow’s coming down just a little
heavier and Bucky guides them inside and into the heat of the house and the
warmth of laughter coming from the kitchen. Morita, Dugan, and Falsworth are
shoving brownies into their faces while Becca’s making obscene noises about the
plate of Hello Dollies she’s hoarding.
There’s a chorus of, “Steve!” when they all finally notice that they’ve
arrived.
Bucky snorts. “Gee, thanks fellas.”
Becca skips over – and now that neither of them are sleep muddled, Bucky
finally gets a good look at his baby sis, seeing her new haircut with the blue-
green underside, the frames that look a lot like Steve’s, and –
“What the fu-rick,” Bucky amends as the patio door slides open, a burst of cool
air accompanying his father, “are you wearing, peanut?”
Ignoring the question, she hugs Bucky around the neck and yanks on his bun
before she rounds on Steve. “Steve,” she says, holding out her arms for a hug,
“Bucky can’t shut up about ya. It’s nice to finally see ya in person.”
Morita makes kissy noises while Dum Dum pretends to gag, and Falsworth just
stands there smirking.
“Nice to meet you, too, Becca.” Steve’s smile looks almost bashful, his cheeks
and nose dusted a rosy pink as he pulls back from Becca’s tight hug.
“Bucky’s…actually, he talks about you a lot too. Feel like I already kinda know
you.”
Becca beams and tugs him in again. Bucky snags a Hello Dolly off of the plate
while she’s distracted and runs over to hide behind Dum Dum once she notices.
The doorbell rings, though, and then the door creaks open to reveal Gabe and
Dernier, arguing in French about something or another. Becca shouts, “Gabe!” at
the top of her lungs and launches herself at him for a hug-tackle. Gabe just
barely manages to pass the gift bag to Dernier before he’s got an armful of
Barnes.
Dernier smiles and clasps his hands together, jostling the gift, as he says,
“C’est mignon!” which even Bucky knows has something to do with how cute they
are.
“How’ve you been, Bec?” Gabe squeezes the life out of Becca and Bucky rolls his
eyes.
After a few moments, they realize they should gather plates and relocate to
somewhere they can all be comfortable instead of just standing around. (Really,
Ma just comes in to take some cookies out of the oven and tells them the den’s
got plenty of places to sit.) Bucky and Steve hang back just a bit, waiting for
a bit of space to maneuver the veggie tray out of the fridge. Steve loads up on
veggies while Bucky snags himself a plate full of goodies and they trail into
the den to see all of the boys focused, smiling Becca’s way as she tells them a
story.
It’s something Bucky hasn’t seen since the summer and it makes his heart
clench.
“Well, hey,” Gabe says, ruffling Becca’s hair until the colorful underside
shows, “we all gotcha somethin’.” He gestures to Dernier who smiles widely and
presents the slightly crumpled gift bag to Becca.
“Bienvenue à la maison,” Dernier says, and then a little more carefully,
“Welcome home.”
“Merci, Jacques,” Becca says, her eyes watering up as she looks around to
everyone. “Thanks, fellas. You all really didn’t have to, ya know.” Even as she
says it, she’s yanking the wrinkled tissue paper out of the bag and then cooing
over the paints, asking if any of them knew how hard it was to get a couple of
those colors and then babbling about how she’s going to paint something for
each of them before she has to go back to SVA.
After a while, some of Becca’s old high school friends show up and then music
is put on and there’s punch and steak and burgers, like this is some summer get
together instead of a welcome home party in the middle of winter. Becca’s
clearly missed her friends, Bucky’s friends, and every so often, when Bucky
gets up to find more snacks or sneaks off to have a second to himself, he
returns to see her chatting with Steve and eyeing him up in the way she has all
of Bucky’s past significant others. Steve always looks just a little flustered,
awkward like he doesn’t quite know how to hold himself without Bucky there to
anchor him.
The thought, of being just as important to Steve as Steve is to him, has
Bucky’s heart hammering as he slides in for the save.
“Hey, now,” Bucky says, slinging an arm around Steve’s shoulder. “No need for
all that.”
“What,” Becca says innocently, “I was jus’ tellin’ him ‘bout the time you ate a
worm after readin’ that book in third grade.”
“Honestly, B,” Steve says, looking at him with this teasing glint in his eye,
“I don’t know if I should stay involved with someone who took How to Eat Fried
Worms so seriously.”
“I was, what, six? Seven? Even I knew better.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky grouses. “This was a terrible idea. You two are just gonna
team up on me now, ain’tcha?”
There’s a bit more teasing and then Bucky notices Gabe’s shooting him “SEND
HELP” vibes because he’s been cornered by Carlie, Rosie, and Jackie (who’ve
tried to get Bec to go by “Beckie” ever since they were in first grade
together) who seem to be a little too eager for a group of sophomores.
“Hey, ‘ve you talked to the girls yet?” Bucky asks his sister. “I think they’re
gonna eat Gabe alive if ya don’t pay attention to ‘em soon.”
“On it,” Becca says, like it’s a top secret mission. She zooms away to
insinuate herself between her friends and Gabe, but somehow it doesn’t look any
better. If anything, Gabe looks even more panicked, so Bucky presses a kiss to
Steve’s temple before he says, “Be right back,” and goes to Plan B.
“Barnes, bruh, you gotta come stay over soon or Mamé’s gonna kidnap you.” A
little bit of the desperation leaks from Gabe’s expression and gets replaced by
relief. “She says she misses your coffee dates.”
“Ah, shit, yeah, it has been a while. Promise I will soon.” Bucky scratches at
the back of his neck and then hears Steve laugh from across the room, his eyes
closed and his face bright and open as Dernier gestures widely and nearly
sloshes some punch from his plastic cup. “Hey, I think Steve wanted to ask ya
somethin’.” As he drags him over, Bucky eyes Gabe to make sure he knows that
was a lie.
Gabe’s relief is palpable, freedom from a gaggle of teenage girls letting
breathe a little easier, and he squeezes at Bucky’s shoulder.
Steve’s saying, “Cela pourrait être pire,” and whatever he said must’ve been
hilarious because Dernier snickers and then repeats exactly what Steve said
before delving into something too quick for Bucky to parse through. Gabe
laughs, too, and Bucky feels completely clueless, but warm and content with his
friends and family around him.
 
*
 
Hours later, once Becca’s friends leave and the fellas head back to Gabe’s,
it’s just Bucky, his family, and Steve sitting in the kitchen, snacking on
leftover sweets and sipping tea while Becca regales a tale of the time she fell
asleep in the darkroom and had to wait for a janitor to unlock the room the
next morning. Steve’s laughing and looks almost comfortable now, leaning in
like he’s listening all attentively, and responding with stories of his own
art-related mishaps.
Stuffed and worn out, Bucky’s comfortable and happy enough to just sit close to
Steve and listen to the rumble of his voice, happy to be surrounded by all of
the people he loves.
Becca eyes Bucky and raises an eyebrow, to which Bucky shakes his head, cheeks
pinkening. He rolls his eyes and Becca quirks her other brow, so Bucky shakes
his head and then pouts his lower lip. Sighing, Becca stands up and gathers up
both of their mugs for refills and Bucky, smiling just a little smugly, goes
back to watching Steve…
…who’s looking at him with a mixture of wonder and horror.
“You’ll get used to that,” Winnie says, waving her hand between the siblings.
“When they were really little, Becca hardly ever said a word because Bucky’d
talk for her. They’ve always done that.”
“But how,” Steve blurts.
Becca laughs and Bucky shrugs, smiling at Steve. “Magic. I dunno.” Yawning,
Bucky accepts the mug from Becca and fades out of the conversation for a bit
again, at least until Steve’s nudging him a little, and Bucky jolts. “Sh-crap.
Sorry.”
“Steve, are ya stayin’ here tonight?” Becca asks. “I feel like we haven’t
gotten to talk much an’ Bucky’s about to pass out into his mug.”
Huffing a little chuckle even as his ears go red, Steve glances toward Bucky’s
parents and says, “Uh, no. Actually, I probably need to head home pretty quick.
I’ve gotta help out with breakfast at Saint Michael’s.”
Bucky yawns again, so wide that his jaw cracks, and then he’s trying to stand,
swaying just a bit as he does.
“You sure you’ll be able to take him?” Ma asks.
“Yeah, it’ll be fine. Lemme jus’ grab a hoodie.” Bucky turns and heads toward
the stairs, and, once he’s out of sight from his parents, gestures toward his
room with his head.
After he hears Steve stammer out an excuse, he follows fairly quickly behind
him. The moment the door’s shut, Bucky’s murmuring, “Steve,” and pulling him in
for a hug. They’ve been fairly scant of PDA and Bucky hates being this close to
Steve but not able to touch him the way he wants. He wants kisses and cuddles
and all kinds of dumb, embarrassing things, but he can’t exactly kneel next to
Steve’s knee and beg to be pet while Bucky’s whole family is sitting around the
table.
The hug turns into Bucky leaning a bit too heavily on Steve and then Steve’s
pinching at Bucky’s side. His gasp is sharp, pain replaced by the headiness of
having Steve’s eyes on him so intensely.
“Need you to wake up,” Steve says. “Otherwise your mom’ll have to drive us and
then we can’t makeout in your car the way I know you want to.”
“Wake me up, then,” Bucky says grouchily.
Steve tugs sharply on Bucky hair and gets his other hand around Bucky’s jaw,
angling him for a kiss that’s just this side of bruising. Bucky can tell he’s
whining into Steve’s mouth, grasping at his jacket and trying to Steve closer.
He just – he wants. It’s sudden and hot and consuming. Bucky gasps, making it
all too easy for Steve to take advantage of the movement to bite at Bucky’s
lip, slip his tongue into the space while Steve crowds him up against the wall.
Dizzy with want and Steve, Bucky leans down and lifts Steve from just under his
ass, hitching Steve’s legs around his waist and leaning against the wall,
feeling pinned even though he’s the one who did it to himself.
“Bucky,” Steve says, eyes full of heat just before he leans back in for
another, rougher, kiss.
Bucky’s getting hard, heavy with the need to rut against the way Steve’s
writhing in his hold, twisting Bucky’s hair over his fist and scraping his
fingers into the patchy stubble over Bucky’s jaw. He squeezes at Steve’s
thighs, hoping to get his message across when –
There’s a knock.
Of course there’s a knock. Bucky’s whole family is still awake and downstairs
and Bucky’s supposed to be taking Steve home. They disentangle as quickly as
possible, Steve disappearing into Bucky’s ensuite bathroom as Bucky clears his
throat and calls, “Come in.” He quickly ducks toward his closet, pulling out
the closest hoodie and tugging it over his head just as his door opens. It’s as
good excuse as any as to why his hair’s all messy and Bucky tries to look
innocent as his sister steps into his room.
“Hey, can I…” Her eyes light up as she stares Bucky down. She hisses, “You were
totally makin’ out with ‘im, weren’tcha?”
“Oh, my god,” Bucky mutters, tugging his hair band out and redoing his bun.
Otherwise, he ignores the comment.
“Anyway,” Becca says, mischievous glint in her eye as she folds her arms over
her chest. “Can I come with?”
Bucky narrows his eyes at her and says, “I guess,” just as he hears the toilet
flush. The sink runs and then Bucky hears the hiss of Steve’s inhaler.
“Sweet,” Becca says, just as the door opens, scampering off to her own room.
“I’m gonna get my shoes!”
Sighing, Bucky rubs at his eyes and opens them to see Steve smirking at him.
“She comin’ with us?”
Bucky adjusts himself, not even bothering with an attempt at subtlety because
it’s partially due to Steve anyway. He grumbles a, “Yes,” and then leads the
way downstairs to grab his wallet, keys, and shoes. Steve follows at a more
sedate pace, ending up almost getting knocked over by Becca when she decides to
slide halfway down the bannister.
“Be back later!” Bucky calls, not bothering to wait on a response from his
parents.
Becca lets Steve have shotgun and once they’ve dropped him off, she climbs over
the center console much to Bucky’s annoyance. “Would it kill ya to use the
door?”
“Kill me? No. Require effort? Yes.” Becca straps in and barely waits until
Bucky’s put the car into reverse before she gives a squealing little shriek,
bouncing in her seat. “He’s so fuckin’ cute, Bucky! How in the hell didja
manage to land him?”
“Gee, thanks, peanut.”
“Shut up, fuckface,” she says, rolling her eyes and waving a hand. “You know
what I meant.”
Bucky sighs, sleepiness creeping back up on him now that Steve’s out of
proximity. “Yeah, yeah. But, honestly? I dunno, Bec. He’s perfect.”
“And he calls you, ‘B,’ that’s too fuckin’ much.” Becca covers her face with
both of her hands and kicks her feet. “God,” she says suddenly, punching him in
the arm.
“OW,” Bucky says, “Don’t fuckin’ punch me while I’m drivin’, dumbass. I could
kill us!”
Becca ignores him. “Why the fuck didn’t you tell me that Gabe got even hotter?!
Is he single?”
“Jesus, Bec.” Bucky tries to rub at the spot that’s throbbing on his arm.
“Is he single?” Becca asks again. She raises her fist like she’s ready to punch
him again.
“Ack, fuck, he’s –” It’s…not that. Gabe’s asexual. He’d told Bucky that – or
something pretty similar with a shrug and a smile when Bucky’d asked what his
type was a few summers ago. It’s not difficult to explain, really, it’s just
not Bucky’s shit to tell. “I don’t think he wants to date anyone.”
Becca settles in the passenger seat, huffing a breath that makes her bangs go
all haphazard across her forehead. She doesn’t seem to really get it, because
she’s mumbling, “Well, I guess that makes sense. I mean, if I were him, I’d
wanna keep my options open for college, too. Probably smart…”
Bucky lets that sit, even though it feels a little bit like lying, and manages
to get them home in one piece.
Up in his room, Bucky kicks off his shoes and shrugs out of his sweater and
jeans, flopping down on his bed that still smells just the tiniest bit like
Steve. It makes Bucky feel safe and warm even as his stomach swoops at how much
he misses him already. So, he pulls out his phone, texts Steve: Home safe!
Steve’s response is immediate: Good. Your family is the cutest btw. Becca seems
to adore you.
She does, and it’s mostly because Bucky spent as much of his childhood as
possible trying to prove that he was the coolest older brother ever. He’s
always included her in everything, even when other kids made fun of him for
always letting her tag along. Nat never minded and Peggy thought she was a
sweetheart. The fellas clearly adore her, even though they had to bear her
horrible middle school phase.
Bucky replies: I’m just glad Ma didn’t pull out the baby albums.
Baby albums? She has everything on her phone, don’t worry. You were the cutest
little chunk I’ve ever seen.
Groaning to himself, Bucky buries his face in his pillow.
His phone vibrates one last time: Payback for the bowl cut pictures! ;) Get
some rest, B. Text me when you’re up.
With a smile, Bucky texts his goodnight and leans over to turn off his lamp.
***** midterms and a first date *****
Chapter Summary
     Bucky wakes up on Sunday morning well before his alarm goes off. At
     first, he’s grumbling to himself, wondering why the fuck he’s awake
     so goddamn early, but when he rolls over, he sees his phone screen
     lit up against the darkness.
Chapter Notes
     guess who gets to graduate in May (hint: it's me) but also guess who
     is experiencing a severe case of senioritis (hint: it's me again).
     anywho, i figured 7 months is long enough to wait for an update, so i
     split this one in half and decided this was sufficiently long enough
     to post. as always, feel free to harass me on tumblr!
Bucky wakes up on Sunday morning well before his alarm goes off. At first, he’s
grumbling to himself, wondering why the fuck he’s awake so goddamn early, but
when he rolls over, he sees his phone screen lit up against the darkness.
Relative darkness, anyway, because the glow coming through the curtains denotes
the rising sun.
Shoving his hand into his hair, Bucky yawns and then scrubs his hands over his
eyes before turning the brightness down enough that he can actually focus on
his phone’s screen. It proves to be too difficult, though, Bucky’s vision
swimming, so instead he locks the screen and clutches his pillow before falling
back into his dream.
The second time he awakens, it’s because Becca is pulling his hair and saying,
“Wake up, fuckhead, I wanna go on a walk,” because she’s the most inconsiderate
human being on the planet. When he says as much, she pinches the back of his
arm, where it’s the most sensitive, and whines, “Get up,” directly in his ear.
“I wanna go before it snows later!”
Because Bucky is a goddamn saint, he huffs a barely audible sigh, rolls over,
and sits up, his blankets pooling around his hips. He shoves his hair out of
his eyes and grumbles something affirmative enough for Becca to scamper away.
Before doing anything else, Bucky checks his phone, vaguely remembering the
early hours of the morning. It’s a text from Steve: I know you’re not up yet
(and I hope this doesn’t wake you) but I already miss you. So, just text me
when you’re up I guess. Or call me. Either one’s fine. Miss you.
It’s…Bucky’s pretty sure that Steve has never done this before, and yeah, it
has his heart pounding its way up into his throat, fluttery with fondness and a
bashful kind of pride, but it’s also a bit worrisome. It makes him wonder if
Steve’s okay. Because it would be a lot to process, even if Steve’s not really
thinking about it directly. Bucky’s family is close and affectionate and even
though it’s the same way with the fellas, he’s pretty sure it feels different
to Steve, seeing them all together like that. Bucky doesn’t want to assume
things, but. He’s pretty sure Steve might be feeling lonely now.
Just thinking about it makes Bucky’s heart ache.
He types out quickly: I’m up. I miss you too, Stevie. You alright?
He’s barely up and out of bed before Becca comes flouncing back in. She makes
disgusted noises about seeing Bucky in only his boxer-briefs, but it doesn’t
seem to stop her from flopping down onto his bed while he shuffles into his
closet and tugs out some warm clothes.
“Ya ready, peanut?” Bucky asks, ready to tug his sister bodily down the stairs
and out the door since she’d been the one so adamant about taking a walk. She’s
looking way too comfortable in Bucky’s bed and he’s the one who would’ve been
content to sleep for another few hours. “C’mon, you said ya wanna take a walk;
so let’s take a walk. I got a shitload of homework to finish.”
“Oh, right,” Becca says, tossing her hair over her shoulder, “Some of us ain’t
finished with midterms, I guess.”
Rolling his eyes, Bucky tugs on his boots and then a beanie and gloves before
holding the door open for his sister.
 
*
 
Steve still hasn’t responded by the time Bucky and Becca get back from their
walk. Bucky tries not to think too much of it, but still feels more than a
little worried. Becca sits on the end of his bed while Bucky sits at his desk
and tries to parse through his final review notes, cracking open his Calc book
to work through a few more problems just for practice.
By the time noon rolls around, Bucky is, miraculously, finished with all but a
few questions on his English review and finally he hears from Steve. It’s a
text that says: Yeah, I guess I just felt weird last night. Are you okay?
Bucky types out: Aside from bein hungry, yeah. Only got a few questions left on
the English review and then I’m all set for midterms next week. Weird how?
Tabling his phone, and the reviews, Bucky traipses downstairs to forage for
something to eat for lunch and ends up making a pile of sandwiches (because
he’s starving) to sneak back up to his room. And as soon as he shoulders the
door shut, he sees his phone screen lit up with a message from Steve: I…don’t
know how to explain it, actually. I just. I wanted to hold you and make sure
you were alright. It was...weird.
Mouth full of PB&J, Bucky sets his phone aside and tugs his laptop over to
start doing some research. He’d read all about sub drop after his own
experience with it, but hadn’t thought to see if people like Steve could go
through anything like that as well. A few seconds later, Bucky’s phone buzzes
with a “gotta get back to work” from Steve that doesn’t really make Bucky feel
any better about the whole situation, but, on the bright side, it does allow
time for him to really thoroughly search for information about people like
Steve. Dominants. Doms.
Most of the sources he’s skimmed say lots of stuff about impact-play. It’s a
little confusing, because they’ve never done anything impact related, aside
from maybe a few playful swats here and there, so there’s no way that that
could actually apply to the situation.
Honestly, Bucky’s sorta-kinda warming up to the idea of Steve giving him more
than just that. He’d probably be cool with a lot more than just a spanking, but
wouldn’t want to do anything that would interfere with football or track,
which’ll be starting after winter break.
It’s a scary thought, but one that Bucky’s had more than a few times. Sometimes
he wonders just how far he’d let Steve take him. It takes almost nothing to
send Bucky down into that headspace where he feels warm and safe and floaty;
just thinking about it is enough to make his skin hum. If they did more…if
Steve actually hit Bucky, with intent, just his hand on Bucky’s bare skin…
Shaking his head, Bucky casts aside his thoughts with a steady breath and gets
back to reading.
Another common indicator of “top drop” seems to be going from a scene to the
real world in which they have significantly less control.
Which, when Bucky thinks about it, makes a ton of sense. Steve’s an incredibly
smart fella – the kind that could probably get pretty damn far without any kind
of guidance, just because he’s got the particular brand of drive that most
people lack. He’s being raised by his aunt, and while she’s admittedly pretty
cool, she’s not Steve’s parent. And then on top of all of that, another problem
is that he’s tiny and sick and stuck retaking classes that he’s already passed
just because he didn’t have the money to concurrently enroll in university
courses. None of that is cause for pity, of course, but Bucky does feel a
little bit bad that it seems to all be getting to Steve.
He doesn’t deserve that.
Either way, Bucky can’t be absolutely positive that Steve’s going through this
at all. The only thing that Bucky can resolve to do is ask.
Becca barges in not even two minutes later with an, “I’m bored,” flopping down
on Bucky’s bed like she owns the place. She probably thinks she does.
Bucky casually minimizes the browser. “I dunno what you want me to do about it,
kiddo. I’ve gotta study.”
Blowing out a sigh, Becca rolls onto her side. “But I wanna talk about boys.”
“That’s too bad,” Bucky breezes.
“I mean, girls are fine too, ya know,” she retorts.
Bucky shrugs. “I’m more into fellas lately.”
“Ugh,” Becca groans, “you’re no fun. Givin’ me nothin’ to work with. What
happened to ya, bro?”
Pulling a face, Bucky opens his mouth and –
“No, no. No. No. Nevermind.” She puts up a hand, disgust curling the corners of
her mouth. “I don’t – god, you’re fuckin’ gross, Bucky.”
“You asked,” Bucky points out with another shrug. He giggles a little bit to
himself, and then he remembers how he’s supposed to take Steve on a date
sometime in the near future, turns to his sister and says, “Hey, where d’ya
think I should take Steve on a date?”
Becca twists onto her side, narrowing her eyes at Bucky. “What does he like?
Aside from, ya know, you.”
Bucky scratches at his head and tries to really think about it. “Art?” They’d
talked about stuff a while back – movies and shows and stuff about their
childhood – but they’d never really hit their current hobbies and interests.
Bucky knows that Steve paints and creates all kinds of neat stuff in his free
time, like that vintage war poster hanging up in his room. He kind of gets the
feeling that Steve really seems to enjoy the aesthetic of the WWII era, but
doesn’t know what he could do with that aside a trip to a museum. “Should I
take ‘im to an art gallery – The Met, or somethin’?”
“Christ, Bucky, you don’t even know what all the fella likes?”
“We’ve been a little busy!” Bucky says, trying (and failing) to keep from
getting screechy. “Why ya gotta bust my balls about it? He ain’t complainin’.”
“Oh, my god,” Becca retorts, rolling her eyes. “No sense of romance. Okay, what
ya need to do is drop hints throughout next week to see what he’d be up for.
See what he thinks about the classic dinner an’ a movie thing, if he’d like to
go, I dunno, ice skatin’ or somethin’.” She waves a hand, rolling her eyes at
whatever she sees on Bucky’s face. “An art gallery’d be nice but you need to
know why. Don’t just do stuff ‘cause ya think he’d like it; find out why he
likes it so you can appreciate ‘im more. Know what I’m sayin’?”
Bucky wonders when the hell Becca learned all this stuff. Last time he checked,
she was still only fifteen. Who the hell let her get so wise?
“What?” she asks pointedly.
“Nothin’, just…” Bucky shrugs, smiling. “Thanks.”
“Don’t mention it,” Becca says with a shrug, “an’ don’t gimme any details.” She
rolls off of Bucky’s bed and manage to land on her feet, ruffling Bucky’s hair
as she passes him by, saying, “Just snag me a date with Gabe an’ we’ll call it
even,” on her way out.
“Oy vey,” Bucky mutters at his computer screen.
Only a few hours pass before Bucky hears from Steve, and he’s gotten enough
studying done to make him wonder why in the hell he’d been stressing so hard
about this earlier, so he doesn’t feel any guilt whatsoever about settling back
on his bed with his phone cradled against his ear, no obligation to do anything
other than give a warm, “Heya, Stevie,”” when he answers.
“Bucky,” Steve says, barely more than a breath, “Hi.”
Hesitation plagues Bucky for a moment; concern wrenches at his heart, urges him
to go ahead and ask, “Everything alright?”
There’s silence for a beat, a blown breath that articulates frustration and
discontent clearly enough. “Yeah, I mean. I’m fine. I’ll be fine.”
“Hey,” Bucky says softly, coaxing the way Steve’s done for Bucky a million
times, “Just tell me what’s wrong.”
Steve sighs again and says, “I just want to see you. Can I – Nevermind, it’s –
I’m being stupid –”
“Stop tryin’ to talk yourself out of it. Whatever you’re…whatever’s goin’ on
with you is important. You’re important.” Bucky takes a deep breath, realizing
just how close he is to saying something he wouldn’t ever be able to take back.
He’s felt it for long enough but it’s. It’s still too soon. His voice shakes,
goes quieter even as he says, fierce as anything, “An’ I just want you to know
that I care about you. Same as you care about me. So just. You can talk to me,
yeah?”
“I know,” Steve says, voice strained over a humorless laugh. “Thanks. Hey, I
gotta go. I’ll text you later on.”
The line disconnects before Bucky can get a word in and – yeah, he’s definitely
thinking that top drop is a thing. It hardly takes any deliberation on Bucky’s
part at all before he’s shrugging on a coat, toeing on boots, and – hey, might
as well kill two birds with one stone.
“Hey, dad?” Bucky calls as he’s clomping down the stairs, heading toward Dad’s
study until he hears his answer from the direction of the garage. When he gets
there, he sees his dad elbow deep in the hood of his car. “Uh, whattaya doin’?”
“Puttin’ in a new radiator,” George answers, “Wanna help?”
“Yeah, uh,” Bucky says, tugging his coat right back off and pushing the sleeves
of his Henley up to his elbows. “You think afterwards we could go to Saint
Michael’s? Maybe get a lay of the land?”
George grunts a little as he tries to get the new thermostat fitted just right,
saying, “Yeah, sure, just – can ya go run the hose for me?”
Bucky opens up the garage and shivers at the burst of crisp winter air. “Gotta
flush it, ‘uh?” It’s a little bit of a hassle to get the hose going since the
pipes are just about cold enough to freeze the water.
“Yeah, got all rusty this summer, I guess.”
It’s relatively easy to fall into the steps and gentle commands doled out by
his father, helping him flush the reservoir and reinstall the thermostat,
disconnect all the hoses. There’s a certain rhythm to car repair that Bucky’s
always loved, and it’s always ten times easier when there’s an end result in
sight. Really, it’s no secret that Bucky’s always been a pretty task-oriented
kind of guy and the fulfillment that comes from seeing something he’s worked on
up and actually running is hard to match.
Except, of course, the whole thing he does with Steve.
Once they’ve washed up and checked to make sure nothing’s leaking, Bucky’s dad
drives them over to Saint Michael’s and – Bucky’s weirdly nervous when they
pull up. It’s just past seven, which means that they should’ve just finished
serving dinner, so hopefully the nuns’ll have a little bit of time for them
before evening Sacrament of Penance. Sister Mary Margaret, one that Bucky’s
only met in passing, greets them at the front door and then disappears down the
hall, presumably to get Sister Mary Prudence.
Voice low, Bucky’s dad leans over and says, “I see whatcha mean, kiddo,” and
nods toward the water damage on the far wall. He’s wandering around the lobby
area, hands in his pockets, when Sister Mary Prudence makes her appearance.
“I presume you’re James’s Jewish father?” she asks bluntly and – Jesus Christ,
this lady doesn’t mess around.
Dad wheels around, looking weirdly chastised for a man his age when he finally
faces her. “Yes, ma’am,” he says, offering out his hand for her to shake.
“George is fine, though, Sister Mary Prudence.”
Bucky very nearly snorts, because that’s definitely where his humor comes from,
but smothers it just in time to see Sister Mary Prudence’s mouth curl into an
amused grin.
“I suppose that’ll work,” she says drily. Her hands disappear into the folds of
her robes as she squares up, eyes intense as she looks at George. “James tells
me he’d like to do some repairs. Would you like a brief tour of the premises?”
Bucky follows after them, eyeing over the problematic places he’d noticed and
mentioned to his father as they go through the building, watching as his father
nods and speaks softly with Sister Mary Prudence, asking questions about the
building’s history. They loop around toward the kitchen and – Bucky sees Steve
and he –
“Hey, Buck,” George says, “Why don’tcha go on an’ give Steve a hand with those
tables? Sister an’ I should talk about contracts an’ all that fun stuff. I’ll
come an’ getcha when we’re done, alright?”
“Okay, Dad,” Bucky says, voice nearly hoarse.
Steve looks – he looks thinner and wanner than Bucky’s ever seen him, tiny as
ever in a sweater and his ever-present green coat. There are dark circles under
his eyes and a concerning twist to the corner of his mouth, making him look
even more pissed off at the world than usual.
He crosses the kitchen and heads on through to the dining area, watching Steve
struggle to mop around the heavy collapsible chairs. “Heya, Stevie,” Bucky
says, and – Steve jumps, but smiles so brightly that Bucky could almost believe
that he’s okay.
“Bucky,” Steve breathes, closing his eyes like he’s savoring the sight, like
Bucky’s just a hallucination, welcome though he may be. When they open again,
they’re shiny and crinkled around the edges. “What are you doing here?”
Bucky saunters a little closer, tugging Steve in for a quick, clinging hug.
“Here with Dad to see about the repairs. Sister Mary Prudence is definitely
tryin’ to put him through the paces.”
Steve huffs a laugh and leans back against the edge of one of the tables.
“Wouldn’t expect anything different.”
“Hey,” Bucky says quietly, moving close enough that he can nudge the back of
Steve’s hand with his own. “You okay?”
Looking up at Bucky, an intensity that Bucky’s only used to seeing when he’s –
when they’re – so, yeah, it’s a little weird that Steve’s looking at Bucky like
this when they’re in a homeless shelter that essentially doubles as a Catholic
church as well as Steve’s place of employment. Sort of. Regardless, Steve’s
silent, but he’s licking at his bottom lip and furrowing his brow, clearly
trying to parse through something.
“Yeah,” Steve finally answers. “I think so. I’m really glad you’re here.”
Bucky wants – he needs to ask Steve if he thinks he’s experiencing the whole
top-drop thing, but it’s definitely neither the time nor the place to discuss
such a thing, so instead he asks Steve if he wants a little bit of help
cleaning. Steve, predictably, gets a little bristly at that, but Bucky honestly
just wants to help and when he tells Steve as much, he seems to understand. He
gives Bucky gentle orders to move certain chairs or to fold them up and put
them in the storage closet.
“How much longer are ya gonna be here, Stevie?” Bucky asks once he’s put away
the last chair.
Steve finishes mopping up the last corner. “Uh, ’til eight,” he answers,
unfolding the ‘wet floor’ sign before sticking the mop back into its container.
“Why?”
Shrugging, Bucky says, “Dunno. Just wanted to know if I could call you when I
got home, but apparently I’m gonna have to wait.” He folds his arms and bites
at his lower lip.
Sidling up next to him, Steve blows out a breath and tugs his hair out of his
face. He leans a hip against the table Bucky has his palms on and reaches out
to touch Bucky’s cheek, quickly sliding it down to rest on his shoulder like
he’d maybe remembered where they are. The softest of smiles graces Steve’s
lips, and just like that it’s gone, hidden beneath a serious look as Steve
says, “Thanks for being here.”
“Anytime,” Bucky says, wishing he could just lean in and kiss Steve. “I mean
it.”
Steve’s just barely opened his mouth to respond when Bucky’s dad comes in
through the arch leading to the west hall. His mouth clasps shut and he gives
Bucky a tight, slightly strained smile and drops his hand from Bucky’s
shoulder. “Just. Call me tonight,” Steve says softly.
Bucky replies, “Promise,” and then watches Steve shrug on that persona that
makes Bucky’s knees weak, all confidence and bravado, as George approaches.
“Steve,” George says, with a smile, “Pleasure to see ya. How’ve ya been?”
Steve looks a little bit at a loss, but he recovers quickly and says, “Alright.
How about yourself?” like there had been no hesitation at all. It might only be
obvious to Bucky that he’s lying through his teeth about being fine, but
Bucky’s dad accepts Steve’s words at face value and goes on to tell Steve about
Bucky helping him with the new radiator in his car.
Bucky watches the way Steve’s brow raises and his mouth quirks before he clears
his throat and says, “That’s, uh. I didn’t know about – Pretty cool.” He clears
his throat again and says, with a bit more forced pep, “Guess I’d better finish
up here. You guys take it easy.”
George gives a cheesy, “Don’t work too hard!” and then leads the way back
toward the main hall.
It should probably bother Bucky more than it actually does that Steve doesn’t
actually look up at him when he says, “I’ll call ya later,” but Steve does
wave, so Bucky figures he’s busy processing, or whatever.
During the ride home, the car is filled with Christmas music playing softly on
the radio and Dad’s chatter, but Bucky’s stuck on thinking about Steve. He
seemed to relax a bit when Bucky was there, but the moment it wasn’t just the
two of them, he tensed right back up. Which is…okay. But Bucky’s definitely
still worried about the guy.
Back home, it takes every ounce of Bucky’s willpower to buckle down and go back
over his reviews one last time instead of calling Steve.
He’s supposed to have two each day, so he’ll have more time to cram each night.
First thing tomorrow morning, he’ll have to take his Calc midterm and then in
the afternoon, after a two hour break for lunch, it’ll be art. The day after
that he probably won’t Steve at all, at least not until lunch, since their
schedules don’t line up. Bucky’s kind of dreading it.
Thankfully, though, after Wednesday, they’ll have an entire two weeks to relax
and enjoy the holidays.
When nine o’clock finally rolls around, Bucky can’t call Steve quickly enough.
For a while, Bucky just chatters about school and fucking Stane and how he’s
been studying his ass off for midterms and hanging out with his sister, but
eventually, Steve’s near silence grates on Bucky more than it probably should,
so he finally just asks, “Are ya feelin’ okay?” Aside from being genuinely
concerned for Steve’s health, he’d been looking at options for taking Steve out
on a date, but if he’s feeling sick or fatigued or whatever, then Bucky’ll have
more time to plan.
Steve sounds like he’s trying very hard to hold in a sigh. “Fine, Bucky.”
“Steve…” Bucky starts, trailing off when he realizes that he’s. Not scared, per
se. But he doesn’t want to make Steve think that he’s pitying him or anything
like that, especially not when he’s actually hoping to plan a date that Steve
enjoys so much with Bucky that it helps get him out of his top-drop funk.
Which, now that Bucky’s really thinking about it, is probably a result of their
last time together, when Bucky’d felt everything so intensely that he’d
apparently cried in the middle of it.
Kinda makes sense that Steve would be a little freaked out about it.
After a deep breath, Bucky asks, “You know I’m okay, right?” He pauses for a
second, listening for Steve’s reaction. From what he can tell, that tiny noise
of surprise tells Bucky that bingo. Got it right on the nose. “I don’t think I
really, uh, gave you the chance after last time to really ask me how I felt an’
stuff. Which, it was – fuckin’ incredible, you have to know that. If I didn’t
like somethin’ ya know I’d tell ya, right? I trust ya, Stevie. An’ I love what
we do.” Bucky takes another deep, steadying breath. “You gotta trust me when I
say stuff like that or we’ll have to stop doing it an’ just...I don’t know, try
to take things easy.”
“I…” Steve blows out a breath that comes through as mostly static across the
line. “Yeah, okay, Buck.”
Bucky asks, “Good?”
“Yeah, I’m – we’re good. Sorry I wasn’t…talking to you. I trust you, too, ya
know?”
“I know ya do, Stevie,” Bucky says, “But, hey, as soon as midterms are over,
we’ll get to spend some time together right?”
Steve makes a soft, low sound, like he’s wistful and happy all at once. “Of
course,” he says. “You got any plans for the weekend?”
Bucky huffs a laugh, caught between wanting to tell a fib just to keep Steve
surprised and needing to tell Steve the truth. “I’m plannin’ on takin’ ya
somewhere. On a date.”
“Bucky Barnes, you sly dog,” Steve says, interest clearly piqued, “Where to?”
“Uh-uh, it’s a surprise. But, uh, which day would work better for ya this
weekend?”
Steve sounds entirely too amused when he answers, “Friday or Sunday. I’ll be at
Saint Michael’s most of Saturday.”
“Alright,” Bucky says, “good to know.”
Chatting about nothing in particular, Bucky falls into the kind of lull that
only Steve can put him into, not quite floating, but comfortable and safe and
happy. Aside from maybe working out, there’s pretty much nothing on earth that
can get him calm like Steve’s deep voice. It’s not until Steve gives a gentle,
“Hey, Bucky, we both oughta get some rest before our tests tomorrow,” that
Bucky really snaps back to it.
“Right, okay.”
Something about Bucky’s tone must give away the fresh wave of tension, because
Steve says, “I know you’re worried, but you’re gonna do great,” before they
hang up –
– and it turns out that Steve’s right.
Mr. Foltz grades their tests once everyone has finished and hands them back to
go over when they’ve still got thirty minutes left of their stretched first
period. Bucky practically melts into the cool metal of his desk when he sees
the ninety-six percent in red ink and circled, suffused with relief and pride
and – gratitude, honestly, because there was no way on earth he would’ve gotten
this good of a grade had Steve not studied with him.
Even though Foltz has a policy on not sharing grades in class, Bucky can’t help
but turn and grin hugely at Steve once he’s able to stop gaping at his paper in
stunned disbelief. And Steve just looks so fucking proud that Bucky wants to
curl up at his feet and beam up at him, accept whatever kind words and gentle
touches Steve wants to dole out.
The remaining thirty minutes pass with Bucky mostly just staring at his work,
the little red checkmarks at the bottom of almost each problem that indicate
he’d written it all out correctly. He’s thrilled, mostly, and then beating
himself up over the two problems that he’d flubbed up, realizing his mistakes
before Mr. Foltz even starts to go over them.
Afterwards, when the bell rings for them to be released to their extra-long
lunch, Bucky’s practically bouncing on his heels as he makes his way over to
Steve.
A slow, proud smirk spreads across Steve’s mouth. “How’d you do?” Steve asks,
taking Bucky’s hand as they make their way out of the classroom and head toward
the commons.
“Got a ninety-fuckin’-six,” Bucky practically shouts, squeezing at Steve’s
palm. “Holy shit, I couldn’t hardly believe it, Stevie – he ain’t even curved
it yet, an’ I already got an A. That’ll bring my grade up for sure.”
“I’m so proud of you,” Steve says, grinning up at Bucky.
They emerge into the commons, teeming with students of all ages – even the
goddamn freshman, ugh – clamoring for tables or making a beeline for the
parking lot, and Bucky’s kind of rethinking their plan to eat in the cafeteria
and then head toward the library to get in a little extra studying before their
art midterm. Mostly, he wants to take advantage of the two hours to suck
Steve’s dick in thanks, but he stops that thought in its tracks when he sees
Gabe making his way through the crowd towards them.
“Cap, Bucky,” Gabe says, voice lilting like he’s pleasantly surprised, “The
fuck y’all been lately? Haven’t see ya since –”
“Becca’s party on Saturday,” Bucky fills in, nudging Gabe in the shoulder.
“Don’t even, pal.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Gabe says, shoving Bucky back. The motion jostles Bucky into
Steve, but Steve just slings an arm around Bucky’s waist and goes with it,
quirking an eyebrow at Gabe until Gabe looks properly apologetic. “Y’all wanna
go get somethin’ at The Diner with me and Jacques? Morita’s studyin’ and Dum
Dum’s bangin’ his girl or some shit, I dunno.”
Bucky looks to Steve and gives him a shrug, his eyes wide and bright, and
smiles when Steve answers, “Sure, Gabe,” and then delves into something in
French while they follow Gabe out to the parking lot.
The Diner isn’t as packed as it usually is, like most kids wanted to get
something fancier or go home to nap, but the food’s cheap and the conversation
is easy. Bucky’s feeling a lot less stressed than he had all last week already
– just one test down, and he’s bounced back to normal. In hindsight, it’s kind
of annoying, because Bucky knows he shouldn’t get anxious the way he does when
he’s aware of how hard he’s willing to work for what he wants to achieve, but
it’s going to happen anyway. These ups and downs have followed him his whole
life and they’re not going to stop now.
Steve and Jacques share one side of the booth while Bucky and Gabe sit across
from them, flicking fries and balled up napkins at each other until their
food’s gone.
With his foot trapped between both of Steve’s, Bucky feels relaxed enough to
sink just a tiny bit, laughing loosely at Gabe’s recounting of some double date
he accidentally went on with Dum Dum, Lakshmi, and her best friend Hannah.
She’d been nice enough, but way too handsy, and afterwards Dugan had promised
Gabe he’d detail his car for him.
“I mean, it’s only fair, right?” Gabe asks, leaning forward onto his elbows.
Dernier pats at his wrist and says something that sounds consoling in French,
but it makes Steve snort, so Bucky’s not so sure. Gabe shoves his hand off and
pouts.
Smothering a laugh, Bucky says, “Yeah, pal, I’d say that’s fair. Oughtta make
‘im shine your shoes while he’s at it.”
Steve laughs and Gabe looks dubiously at Bucky, asking, “What decade are you
even from, bruh?” as he jostles into Bucky with his shoulder. “Do people still
get their shoes shined?”
They keep teasing and shoving each other around even as they make their way out
to the parking lot and back to school. There’s still plenty of time for Bucky
and Steve to go to the library, but Bucky’s feeling confident enough to
suppress the urge to cram since he’s already got most of it memorized, thanks
to Steve.
“You want to head to the library or stay here?” Bucky quietly asks Steve after
slinging an arm around his neck to press a kiss to his temple.
“I’m good wherever you are,” Steve answers.
It gives Bucky pause, because that – Steve’s bossy and it’s something Bucky
really likes about him, which makes that whole thing kind of problematic.
Regardless of that niggling thought, Bucky keeps his concerns unvoiced and
sticks close to Steve’s side throughout the rest of lunch, quizzing each other
over art problems between joking around and listening to Gabe whine about his
German midterm while Dernier messes around on his phone.
By the time the bell’s about to ring, Dum Dum and Lakshmi have made it back and
Falsworth has resurfaced from the depths of the science labs and, even though
Morita’s still MIA, Bucky’s chest is warm at the thought of (almost) his whole
group of friends all together again.
The art final is literally just a regurgitation of the review Mr. Fraser had
them do; the only difference is that the questions have been shuffled. Bucky
huffs a laugh when he realizes it and feels the nudge of Steve’s boot against
his own as they start filling in answers. Steve finishes first, of course, and
Bucky makes sure to double check all of his answers before he turns his in,
leaving both of them to sit silently while the rest of the students struggle
through their own exams. The moment the last kid hands in her test, Mr.
Fraser’s music starts playing through the speakers and Bucky relaxes fully into
his chair, reaching out at the same moment that Steve does so they can hold
hands beneath the table.
With the other students talking and music playing, Steve gets a little
frustrated with how many times he asks Bucky to repeat himself, so Bucky
gestures for Steve’s sketchpad, opening it from the back so that he doesn’t
accidentally see something Steve doesn’t want to share, and passes him a note
like they’ve gone back in time to middle school.
“Come get your tests,” Mr. Fraser calls out from his desk.
For a second, panic grips Bucky’s throat and squeezes, but one look at Steve’s
eyebrow quirking tamps it down somewhere beneath Bucky’s ribs.
The day’s already just about over and Bucky feels like he hasn’t done much of
anything – but then he thinks about the two solid A’s to his name, the fact
that he’s spent his entire day with Steve, and well. That’s definitely okay
with Bucky. The mark of a day well spent.
They say goodbye at the end of the day, even though Bucky’s pretty sure Steve
would’ve accepted a ride home if Bucky had prodded just a little bit more, and
Bucky drives home feeling more content than he has in over a week.
Tuesday is pretty much a repeat of Monday, minus the extra dosage of Steve-
time, so Bucky blazes through his AP Chem midterm and then gets to dick around
in student council with Falsworth after lunch. It’s a relatively easy day,
considering all of the flashcards Bucky’d had to memorize, and Wednesday’s
supposed to be even easier. All he has left is English, and then he’s pretty
much free to go.
Wednesday night, after everything is all said and done, the entire gang gathers
at Gabe’s house for a Thank Fuck That Shit’s Over party, pizza and cheap beer
flowing freely beneath Gabe’s mom’s watchful eye (only because she’s already
hidden all of their keys and refuses to let any of them leave the den). Bucky’s
not anywhere near buzzed, but he does feel loosely relaxed and happy to be
surrounded by all of his friends and Gabe’s family before they all split up for
the holidays.
“What about y’all,” Gabe is asking around another mouthful of pizza, “You goin’
anywhere, Barnes?”
“Figured you’da already asked Becca by now,” Bucky comments, smirking around
the mouth of his beer, “but nah, we got that outta the way durin’ Thanksgiving.
Family usually heads our way since we’re pretty much middle ground.”
Steve’s looking at Bucky kind of funny, like he’s excited maybe, but he doesn’t
say anything even when Gabe starts in on teasing Bucky about that time he’d
taken a girl he’d been dating to a family Fourth of July barbeque and she’d
been a vegetarian. Which, yeah, clearly that relationship hadn’t lasted much
longer or been all that much to begin with, but still. Rude.
It’s not until the end of the night, snuggling up against each other while Dum
Dum and Dernier snore loud enough to drown out the movie none of them are
actually watching that Steve finally broaches the topic by asking, “Staying
here, huh?”
“Yeah,” Bucky answers quietly, feeling way too mellow with Steve petting over
Bucky’s hair to have a serious conversation.
Thankfully, Steve just grins, says, “Good,” and keeps petting Bucky.
 
*
 
Bucky wakes up to Dum Dum’s socked toe going up his nose and flails a bit
wildly until he remembers Steve, and instead settles for gripping Dum Dum’s
ankle and twisting so that he spills over the carpet and Morita sprawled on the
nearby loveseat. Once the squawking and shouting has settled, Bucky flops back
down against the makeshift pallet and shoves his hair out of his face, Steve’s
hand curling around his shoulder, blinking slowly and wrinkling his nose in a
sleepy smile as Bucky’s heart tries to settle.
It’s the middle of the night – technically early morning – but the light
filtering in from beyond the curtains leaves a soft glow around Steve’s
outline, and it’s so beautiful that Bucky’s breath hitches in his chest.
“You okay?”
Steve’s voice is deep, rusty with sleep and his eyebrows are creased with that
familiar worry-line; his hair is tousled into a mess, longer than Bucky’s
really ever seen it before, falling into Steve’s eyes. It’s kind of disgusting
how much Bucky loves him, honestly. Roughly, Bucky manages a, “Yeah,” with a
nod and then curls closer to Steve, resting his head against Steve’s chest.
He doesn’t actually go back to sleep, doesn’t think he can after that rude
awakening, so Bucky just listens to Steve breathe, his heartbeat (mostly)
steady beneath Bucky’s ear.
Slowly, one-by-one, the fellas all wake up, texting or reading the news or
scrolling through Twitter feeds as the morning wears into the afternoon and
stomachs start angrily growling. Steve’s is surprisingly loud, startling Bucky
into dropping his phone on his face – at which Steve and Dum Dum, who’d
apparently witnessed the fiasco, crack up.
“Assholes,” Buck says, rubbing at his nose, “the both of ya.”
Steve snorts, but shoves a finger into Bucky’s ribs, just asking for trouble
considering that Bucky knows literally all of his ticklish spots and can get
him back when he least expects it.
“I’m fuckin’ starving, y’all,” Dum Dum says, scratching at his belly as he
stretches, “We should go to The Diner for pancakes.”
“Nah, son. Waffles.” Gabe sounds wistful – Bucky can’t see him from where he is
on the floor, but he’d know that tone anywhere. “Hashbrowns, fried eggs…grits,
oh damn,” he says, sitting up like a shot, “Two minutes and then I’m leavin’
without y’all fuckers.”
There’s a mad scramble for shirts and sweaters and shoes, then they’re all
piling out into Gabe’s SUV.
“God,” Bucky says, reaching across to the front seat to tug Gabe’s ear, “You
lucky fuck. Ain’t gotta worry about this, huh? Mine’s always always lookin’
like a birds’ nest.”
“Oh piss off,” Falsworth says, ruffling Bucky’s hair. “You always look like a
bloody model. Windswept like you just stepped off a runway.”
“Out of a magazine,” Morita chips in.
“You don’t even have spots like the rest of us.”
Bucky snorts. “Whatever. You fellas know I went through the whole acne shtick
already. I served my time.”
Steve, the traitor, just says, “They do have a point, Buck.” He hands Bucky the
hair tie from his wrist – and since when has he carried those around? – and
offers up a smug grin.
A few more rounds of chirping and they finally make it to The Diner, quieting
only when a veritable mountain of food has been delivered to their table. After
chowing down, the ride back to Gabe’s is more sedate and then everyone
disperses with half-assed goodbyes and promises to hangout sometime before New
Year’s Eve so they can get a plan going for that.
Then it’s just Steve and Bucky, sitting in Bucky’s car in the parking lot of
Steve’s apartment complex – an echo of the first time they’d ever really met;
instead, this time it’s softened by sunlight and snow. Bucky’s more than happy
to move the driver’s seat as far back as it’ll allow, giving way to the easy
slide of Steve into his lap.
Steve’s eyes are bright, his fingers freezing as they skim over the planes of
Bucky’s face before he leans in, whispers, “Hi,” and presses a kiss to Bucky’s
mouth. Slow and soft and chaste and slick, Steve kisses Bucky as he holds him
exactly where he wants him, and it’s nothing like the frantic pace of their
very first kiss. Bucky will remember that fondly, forever, but this – this
right here – is exactly the way he feels when he thinks of Steve and what it’s
like to be with him, a smooth descent from gentle words and touches into
something that fills Bucky up from head to toe, makes his chest feel light and
his head quiet.
It makes Bucky think, I love you, I love you, I love you, in an insistent
tandem with his heartbeat, vital and all-encompassing, as sure as Steve’s ribs
expand with each inhale beneath Bucky’s hands.
As gently as it started, so it ends, and Bucky’s content to just sit there for
the rest of the day with Steve in his lap, forehead settled against Bucky’s
shoulder, the gentle huffs of his breath against Bucky’s collarbone. It’s
calming more than arousing, really, the way Steve pets over Bucky. Intimate.
“Do ya really have to go in today?” Bucky asks, rubbing over Steve’s back
through his coat. It’s even the same one he’d been wearing the first time
around.
“Told ‘em I would.” Steve climbs off of Bucky’s lap and back into the passenger
seat, flipping open the visor to make it look a little less like they’d been
making out.
Bucky sighs. He knows better than to ask Steve to go back on his word, but it
doesn’t make it any easier for Bucky to be as selfless. Concerning Steve,
Bucky’d be happy to just hide him away so no one else can take up his time but
Bucky. Which, yeah, is incredibly unrealistic and insanely possessive.
“Alright,” Bucky says eventually, scratching at the back of his neck. He
doesn’t want to mention his plans for Sunday, just in case the weather gets bad
and he has to cancel, or something like that. He’d rather the date be a
surprise. So, instead, Bucky hedges with, “I’m pretty sure I’ll be there on
Saturday to start on the renovations.”
“They’ll be glad to hear that,” Steve says. He smirks, hand on the door handle,
and then says, “Thanks for the ride.”
Bucky can’t help but giggle intermittently the whole drive home.
 
*
 
Becca bounces onto Bucky’s bed not even three minutes after he gets home, hair
going everywhere as she lies back and holds her phone directly over her face.
She should know better than to tempt Bucky with something so easy, so he leans
forward and nudges her phone so it falls directly onto her face – “Ow,” she
shouts, rubbing at her nose and swatting at Bucky as he laughs, “ya fucker.”
After she settles, resuming the rapid-fire texting, Bucky asks, “What’s up,
peanut?”
“Shh. Talkin’ to Gabe.”
There’s something about Becca’s expression that Bucky can’t quite pin down. She
looks more…focused…than she usually does when she’s texting him. “…About what?”
he asks. Generally, their texts are so inane that Bucky can only stand to read
over Becca’s shoulder for a few minutes.
That’s not the case this time.
Becca shoves her phone at Bucky and says, “Whaddya think this means?”
All it is, is a series of emojis, Gabe’s standard alien emoji between the
creepy-mustache guy and the chick with the brown hair that looks like she’s
doing sign language. Bucky doesn’t really get it at first…but then he scrolls
up and – if Gabe were anyone else…Bucky might call that flirting. Which is.
Misleading, considering what Bucky knows about Gabe.
“Uhh,” Bucky says.
Becca flops her hand over her forehead, lamenting with a deep sigh. “See! I
ain’t gettin’ my hopes up or anything, but. What if I should –”
“Bec…just. Wanna let me talk to him?”
“No! Jesus, what am I, twelve? Just.” Abruptly, Becca sits up, tossing her hair
to the other side in that way that Bucky’s seen Nat do back when her hair was
long. She’s huffing, starting and stopping multiple times before she apparently
decides on, “Ugh, give me my phone back.”
She stands, paces for a few seconds and then looks expectantly at Bucky, and
says, “You’re useless,” with her arms flopped out when he’s got nothing for
her. “I’m gonna call Nat.”
Huffing a laugh, Bucky flops back on his bed and texts Gabe, trying to see what
the hell’s going on in the first place. He doesn’t have to wait for more than
three seconds before his phone’s ringing and Gabe’s sighing down the line at
Bucky, saying, “Man, I don’t know. Is it weird that I want to date your
sister?”
Baffled, Bucky repeats, “You wanna…date my sister.”
“Yes, bruh, that’s what I just said, but. I don’t know if she’ll – you know. Be
okay with only…certain things instead of all the things, know what I’m sayin’?”
“Jesus, Mary, and Joseph.”
“Bucky, man…I’m –”
“No, Gabe – sorry, just.” Bucky sighs and gathers his thoughts. Yes, Gabe’s his
best friend, but Becca’s his little sister. He isn’t even eighteen yet himself
and she’s not even sixteen. “I ain’t sayin’ you’re a bad fella for her. But.
She’s still a kid, man. And. I’m glad it’s you, honestly, because – and don’t
go tellin’ her I said this, but – she’s had the biggest crush on you for as
long as I can remember. It’d be…good for her. But. Maybe tell her about – you?
And let her grow up a little, please, for the love of god. She’s only fifteen.”
There’s silence from the opposite line, then a crackle of static like Gabe
sighed. “Yeah. Jesus, this is. I’m sorry, man.”
“Pal, you really don’t need to apologize. I ain’t mad.”
“It’s gotta be weird, though. She’s your sister.”
Bucky laughs. “And you’re my best friend. Can’t think of a better fella for
her.”
There’s maybe a two second pause before Becca slams back into Bucky’s room,
trying to wrestle his phone away while hissing, “Jesus, Bucky, really?” and,
while Bucky’s laughing, he hears Gabe thank him and then the line goes dead,
courtesy of Becca’s elbow in Bucky’s gut. She’s spitting mad, furious that
Bucky’d interfere in her love life and screaming at him at the top of her lungs
– which just goes to show exactly why Bucky thought it’d be better for Gabe to
give it some time – but after she runs out of energy, she’s got tears streaming
down her cheeks, even though her eyes are covered by her hands.
Bucky hugs his sister. “Bec, I swear, I don’t mean nothin’ by it. I just
wantcha to have a chance to – just talk to Gabe, alright? He’ll explain it.”
“I’m still mad at ya.” Becca’s voice is muffled against Bucky’s chest, but she
sounds so pissy that it’s almost cute.
Laughing, Bucky presses a kiss to his sister’s hair and says, “I know.”
Once Becca leaves, Bucky’s a little bit at a loss of what to do. It’s – almost
concerning how much his life has changed in just the matter of a few months,
how much of an impact Steve has had on him. He doesn’t even remember what he
used to do in his free time. But then he figures he might as well finish
ironing out the plans for the date he’s taking Steve as well as St. Michael’s
on Saturday.
He gets online to check out the ice skating rinks in Central Park, because he’s
only ever been to Wollman and that was years ago, so he looks at the prices of
rink time and skate rental, and lock rental too just because he doesn’t want to
chance getting their shoes stolen. Lasker looks to be cheaper than Wollman, and
a little easier to get to from the train station. It’s a three hour ride, which
could be either awesome or terrible depending on who they’re saddled with, but
Bucky’s already bought the tickets for that so there’s no use worrying about
that now.
Wikipedia is the devil, though, because after looking at the page on Lasker
Rink, he gets stuck in a loop on looking at historical New York neighborhoods
and restaurants to visit.
By the time dinner rolls around, Bucky’s eyes are blurry from staring at the
computer screen and he’s just about ready to fall asleep. But Becca knocks and
yells through his door that dinner’s ready, so he trundles down to the kitchen
and grins when he sees that his mom made chili.
“Oh, my god, I love you, mom.”
Winnie snorts, ladling a generous portion into a bowl before passing it to him.
“Yeah, yeah,” she says, “only ‘cause I feed you.”
Bucky presses a kiss to her cheek and eats kind of voraciously until his
belly’s full and his family is looking at him like he grew a second head. But,
whatever, he’s pretty sure he’s hitting another growth spurt and he keeps
forgetting to eat multiple times throughout the day because that constant,
gnawing hunger has been present for pretty much the last two years.
George says, “Oh, god, you’re growin’ again, ain’tcha?”
Sheepish, Bucky nods, and goes to refill his bowl. “Probably. Haven’t really
thought about it, but I’ve been all achy for a while.”
Whistling under his breath, George says, “You’ll be taller’n me soon enough,
kiddo. Why don’tcha slow down a bit, for your old man’s sake?”
His parents keep teasing him about eating them out of hearth and home, but
Becca stays quiet and doesn’t make eye contact throughout the entire meal.
Bucky’s kind of concerned, but he knows that whatever Gabe told her will have
her coming into his room to talk about it soon enough.
Groaning and overstuffed, Bucky heads back to his room and lies back on his
bed, regretting all of his life choices as he stares up at the ceiling.
Steve calls at a quarter until ten, finally home from the shelter, and Bucky’s
heart is pounding in his throat as he hears himself say, “So, are you free
tomorrow?” His voice is actually airy,flirty, instead of like, deep and suave.
“Oh, Mr. Barnes,” Steve drawls in response, “why do you ask?”
Bucky laughs. “Well, Mr. Rogers,” he replies in kind, “I might have a little
somethin’ planned.”
“Oh, yeah?”
Humming an affirmative, Bucky flips over and grabs his laptop, double checking
the times on the train tickets. “Think ya can be ready by, say, nine in the
mornin’?”
“I suppose I could swing that. Anything special I need to, uh…be prepared for?”
Again, Bucky hums. “Cold weather with a chance of relatively short-lived
boredom.”
“Extra scarf and sketchpad,” Steve says, laughing a little bit. It’s full of
warmth and delight and Bucky could listen to it forever. “Got it.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky says. “Don’t forget your gloves, neither.”
 
*
 
Friday morning, after Bucky wakes up to a flying-elbow doled out by his sister,
he blearily makes his way downstairs and makes himself a steaming cup of
coffee. His hair’s a mess, longer than it’s ever been, and he’s feeling frumpy
and anxious and hopeful all at once. It takes him a while to decide on what to
wear and by the time he’s ready to get out the door, he doesn’t have a whole
lot of time to mess around before going to pick up Steve.
And Steve – he looks sleep-rumpled but bright-eyed, grinning that familiar tiny
smile before he leans up and kisses Bucky’s cheek in greeting. “Morning,” Steve
rumbles, “Why so early?”
“We,” Bucky says, leaning in to dole out another kiss, this time to Steve’s
mouth. He gets distracted, chasing the taste of cinnamon or…maybe apple off of
Steve’s lips, and by the time he’s satisfied, Steve’s looking almost as dazed
as Bucky feels. He hums out an indulgent sound and then leans in for another
quick (relatively speaking) peck.
“…Bucky,” Steve says, tone a low warning.
“Hmm?”
“Where are we going?”
Bucky, remembering suddenly that they’re on a timetable, curses under his
breath and then drags Steve toward his car. “We’re gonna be late, babe – oh,”
he says, wheeling around to face Steve, “Did you bring your inhaler?”
“Yes…it’s in my pocket – Bucky.” Steve is nearly whining, sounding less amused
and more petulant. “Where are we going? Why do I need my inhaler?”
“First,” Bucky says, grinning even as he tugs Steve toward his car again,
“we’ve got a train to catch. Probably won’t be hard for you to figure it out
from there.”
Even though Steve gives a grumpy grunt and frowns, he’s still got this
delighted look in his eye, like he’s up for whatever Bucky’s dragging him
around to, simply because it’s Bucky. It’s a heady feeling.
They make idle chitchat as Bucky drives down to the Amtrack station, texting
his parents once they’ve gotten into line to board. Steve’s standing there with
his arms crossed, frowning into the distance while Bucky tries not to bounce
with excitement, thrilled at the prospect of spending the entire day,
uninterrupted, with Steve. No worries, no stress, nobody they know nearby so
that it makes it feel like they’re the only two people in the world – Bucky’s
never been happier to have a first date.
He bumps his hip against Steve’s side and then tucks his own gloved hands into
his pockets. “So, uh,” he says, going for coy, “Wanna hold hands?”
Steve barks a laugh, loud enough to make some of the other passengers look
their way. He’s grinning up at Bucky, the sunlight catching his eyes and
glancing off of his teeth, surrounding him like a holy aura, or something.
Bucky sighs happily, but keeps affecting the shyness. It’s an echo of what he’d
felt all throughout the beginning of the school year, something he’d wanted to
ask Steve before they’d ever said two words to each other. Bucky must be
transparently displaying his feelings, because Steve just beams right back at
him and then reaches out for Bucky’s hand.
“Thanks, babydoll,” Bucky whispers as he grabs ahold.
“So,” Steve says, clearing his throat. His cheeks have darkened up a bit, and
he looks down, eyelashes casting a shadow over his cheekbones in the late
morning light. “Central Park, huh?”
“You got it,” Bucky says, squeezing Steve’s hand. He can’t feel the heat of it
through their gloves, but it doesn’t stop him from imagining he can feel it.
“Now, we don’t have to do anything I’ve got planned, but I thought it’d be real
nice to take ya ice skatin’. Whaddya think?”
A smirk sneaks up onto Steve’s mouth. “Think I’ll show you how it’s done,
Barnes.”
Bucky laughs. “Oh, yeah?”
“Uh huh. Shaky legs and shitty lungs. We’re gonna race and I’m gonna kick your
ass.”
“Them’s fightin’ words,” Bucky teases, “You wanna make that a bet, Rogers?”
“You’re on.”
The train approaches, brakes squealing as it eases into the station. The doors
open with a hydraulic hiss, passengers pouring out, some stumbling blearily
into the sunlight while others beeline toward the exit, clearly ready to get on
with their days. It’s interesting to watch, to think of how each of these
individuals have their own thing going on in their heads, their own worries,
their own ambitions. Bucky and Steve are only secondary, background characters
in the grand scheme of these peoples’ lives in the same way that they are in
Bucky’s and Steve’s. It’s weird, almost astonishing to realize.
Bucky and Steve stay connected via their clasped hands, trailing single-file
down the aisle toward the very last row of seats on the right-hand side, where
Bucky booked their seats. “Here we are,” he says with an exaggerated flourish.
Once they’ve gotten seated and stowed their respective backpacks, Bucky takes
Steve’s hand again, peeling his glove off, finger-by-finger.
He stows the glove in his pocket.
“So about that bet…”
Steve says, “Uh huh,” cheek dimpling with the effort of not smiling.
“What do I get if I win?” Bucky asks, stroking his thumb over Steve’s index
finger, a callus catching on the wrinkled ridges.
“Hmm.” Steve flips his hand, snagging Bucky’s ungloved hand with his own. His
voice drops as he leans in to ask, “How serious of a bet do you want to make
this?”
Bucky shivers. “Uh…”
“Because I could say,” Steve starts, trailing a finger down the center of
Bucky’s palm. It makes him shiver again; he had no idea his hands were so
sensitive. Steve clears his throat and then leans closer, breath ghosting over
the shell of Bucky’s ear. “Winner gets to pick who tops.”
Again, Bucky shivers, but this time it’s so hard that he feels like he’s going
to shake right out of his skin. He, kind of belatedly, realizes that he’s
breathing a little louder and he’s definitely starting to get hard. They
haven’t even left the station yet and Steve’s already killing him.
Bucky damn near chokes on his tongue, coughs to clear his throat, tries to
shift subtly enough to not call attention to the fact that his zipper is making
him kind of uncomfortable.
“Just think on it,” Steve says. Then he turns to stare out the window, and
Bucky can’t really talk to him (without rudely getting his attention) until he
decides to face him again.
And Bucky does. Think on it, that is.
He thinks about skate blades carving into the ice, flushed cheeks and sweaty
hair, heaving chests and searing smiles. It takes pretty much all of his
willpower to keep from getting completely hard, because there’s a bathroom
behind them, but Bucky doesn’t want to have to resort to that. He
wants…whatever he can get, and he wants it with Steve. Jacking off has kind of
lost its appeal ever since they got together and Bucky getting picky about his
orgasms means that he’ll stave them off until Steve says so because that’s how
and when he wants them.
Because Steve’s still not looking at him, Bucky’s limited on his options. He
takes his phone out of his pocket and types, one handed: loser doesn’t get to
come ‘til the other says.
Biting at his lip, Bucky keeps fiddling with his phone, scrolling through
Twitter and Instagram even as he sees Steve startle at his pocket vibrating,
take out his phone, read the message and gasp. Out of the corner of his eye,
Bucky sees the wet flick of Steve’s tongue as he licks his lower lip. Bucky
swallows.
The train finally lurches to a start and in the window’s reflection, Bucky can
see Steve’s smirk.
 
*
 
“First kiss?” Bucky asks.
Steve groans, letting his head fall forward into his hands, his hair spilling
over his bony knuckles. “No, Bucky, c’mon.”
“What, it can’t be that bad – like, I know it ain’t me.” Bucky can’t help but
grin, imagining maybe getting to share that together. Grumbling his answer into
his hands, the tips of Steve’s ears go pink and he struggles against Bucky
trying to pull his face free by his thin wrists. “C’mon, Rogers, don’t be
chicken. Just tell me.”
Laughing, Steve gets loose from Bucky’s grip and shoves at him before going
back to doing up his skates. He eventually says, “It was Peggy, okay?”
Bucky’s delighted more than anything. “Mine was Natasha! Weird. Kinda funny,
though – they’re together, we’re together…” He gets the distinct feeling that
Steve’s rolling his eyes at him. “Anyway, at least it wasn’t Howard for neither
of us.”
Laces finally done up just so, Steve stands and offers out his hand to Bucky,
saying, “Well, what are you waiting for? We’ve got a bet to settle.”
The ice rink isn’t as full as Bucky’d anticipated, but there’s still a pretty
solid handful of people – New Yorkers and tourists alike. It looks like one
little girl is getting skating lessons and another little boy, probably not any
older than three, is being led around by his father, yelling and laughing while
his father grins and speaks to him in French. A group of teenagers, probably on
winter break just like Steve and Bucky, are slowly making their way around the
rink, stopping to shove into each other and laugh, or to make out with each
other in couples.
Between the buildings and the sparse trees, the wind bites at Bucky’s cheeks
and leaves Steve looking flushed and misty-eyed. It’s nearly one in the
afternoon, but Steve and Bucky easily find a gap to take to the ice, hand-in-
hand. Steve’s a little wobbly at first, and Bucky’s not any better. It’s
definitely been a few years since he’s been on the ice, which is funny to think
about, considering how he’d wanted to be an NHL player when he was really
little. He probably still has all of his old Sabres gear tucked away somewhere
in his closet.
Lost in his thoughts, Bucky’s right blade catches on an uneven patch of ice and
he nearly drags Steve down with him. Instead, they steady each other, shouting
and laughing and trying to keep from knocking into other skaters.
“Oh, my god,” Steve says, “I didn’t think it was possible. You’re worse than
me.”
“Trash talk, Rogers.”
Steve laughs, a delighted peal that echoes around Bucky’s heart. “But it’s
true!”
Bucky says, “Yeah, yeah. Two more warm-up laps an’ then it’s go time.”
“Still think you can beat me?” Steve asks, grinning widely at Bucky’s dubious
face. “Oh, yeah. You’re going down.”
Together, Bucky and Steve take their warmup laps relatively slowly, getting
caught in congestion in the form of a little girl falling onto her face while
trying to do some figure skating move that’s probably a little too advanced for
how tiny she is, and then her big brother helping her up. He apologizes to them
in a thick accent, sorry for holding them up as far as Bucky can tell, and
Steve’s smiling like the sunshine as he tells the kid it’s no problem, asks if
they need any help.
Bucky’s heart is in his throat.
By the time they make it back around toward the entrance, Bucky’s eyeing Steve
through his peripherals watching for any twitch that says he’s going to take
off and leave Bucky in a trail of snow from his skates. Only, when it actually
happens, Bucky has no warning. They drop hands at the same exact time and then
Steve’s digging in and gone before Bucky could even position his feet properly
to take off.
Laughing, shouting, “Cheater!” Bucky follows, gaining on Steve who’s laughing
and weaving through skaters like he was born to do it. And that’s when Bucky
figures out he’d been duped. Bucky pretty much wipes out once he finishes the
lap, knocking into Steve to send them both sprawling onto the ice, panting and
laughing.
At least, until Steve’s panting turns into thick wheezing.
Bucky reaches into Steve’s jacket pocket, freeing his inhaler and nudging it
into Steve’s hand. “Here, babydoll,” Bucky says, trying to keep his voice even
and calm even though his heart’s still pounding just as hard as if he were
still skating full speed. “Sit up, c’mon. There ya go.”
Steve takes a puff, and then another, and then another, still breathing in
thick, heavy breaths that don’t seem to be helping. Bucky can feel the eyes of
too many people on them, but he pays them no mind, letting his skin crawl while
he’s trying to get Steve back to breathing normally.
“Hey, it’s alright,” Bucky says, half to Steve and half to himself. His hands
shake. “The medicine takes a minute, yeah? The cold probably ain’t helpin’ but
you’ll be alright. Soon as you’re ready we’ll go find a nice place to warm up
an’ maybe get somethin’ to eat. Heard your stomach growlin’ on that second
warmup lap; thought you were gonna keel over.”
As Bucky keeps babbling, Steve watches his mouth move and takes breaths that
sound a little bit more even, looking less like he’s going to pass out or go
into shock.
Just as Bucky’s about to start back up with the chatter, a woman approaches
slowly with a concerned look, hand raised like she’s approaching a spooked
animal. “Hi, I’m a doctor,” the woman says with a bit of a twang, “Would y’all
like any help?”
Steve’s still gasping a little bit, but doesn’t seem to be struggling like he
had been a little bit earlier and Bucky defers to him, glad when Steve shakes
his head.
“Uh, no thanks, ma’am,” Bucky answers for them, “’Preciate the offer.”
“Alright,” she says,. “If y’all decide ya need any help, I’ll be right over
there.”
Before she walks away, Bucky nods and then goes back to keeping an ear out for
Steve’s breathing. “Sounds a little better,” he comments.
“I’m good,” Steve pants out before taking one last puff of the medicine. He
coughs a couple of times and clears his throat; Bucky notices that Steve’s lips
are tinged blue.
“Are you sure?”
And Bucky’s actually still a little fucked up over this, so he’s definitely a
little confused whenever Steve just starts laughing again and then says, “I
won,” with only a thread of reediness. He takes one last dose of albuterol and
then tucks his inhaler away into his jacket pocket.
“Yeah,” Bucky says, hands shaking, “’cause you cheated.” He doesn’t run his
hands over Steve’s face the way he wants, but Steve must sense some of Bucky’s
desperation because he grabs his gloved hand and lifts it to his mouth, doling
out a kiss to his covered knuckles.
Steve’s lips are still a little blue, his teeth chattering as he accepts the
hand that Bucky offers. It takes a little bit of jostling because they’re on
skates, but eventually Bucky leads Steve over to a bench, goes to grab their
shoes from the locker to Steve’s grumbling protest that he can do it himself,
and then takes a seat next to Steve.
“You gettin’ hungry?” Bucky asks, bending to tie his laces. “I finally got that
OpenTable app that Dum Dum was talkin’ about.”
“Sounds good,” Steve answers.
OpenTable suggests a place called Lady M Cake Boutique and, even though
Bucky’ll have to transfer funds over from his savings so he’ll be able to
finish getting Christmas presents, the expense is absolutely worth it. It’s
warm and cozy, both from the ovens and the décor. Plus, Bucky has never seen
Steve enjoy eating so much – and seeing him enjoy the shit out of some
chocolate cake from a place that looks like it could pay for some kid’s college
tuition with the goods it has just up front, well. It’s kind of surreal. For
himself, Bucky orders a slice of the weird looking flat cake made of crepes and
–
“Jesus tapdancin’ Christ, that’s good,” Bucky says, eyes wide as he looks up at
Steve. “Stevie, c’mon, you gotta try this.”
Steve just slides Bucky’s plate around his own, offering up his chocolate
raspberry as payment.
By the time they’ve made it out of there, Bucky’s got a whole crepe cake thing
in a box tucked under his arm, other hand secured in Steve’s grip. He’s
thinking about just sharing it with Steve on the train ride home, but he’d
already texted his mom (and Becca, because he’s an idiot) to talk about this
insanely delicious dessert and, well, Bucky’d rather not risk his neck. The
women in his family are serious about their sweets.
“So, what other first date questions do you have for me?” Steve asks, mouth
puckered in a wry little grin.
They take their time walking back to the train station, bellies full and hearts
fuller. Bucky’s still feeling a little shaky from Steve’s asthma attack, but
when each time he looks Steve over or squeezes his hand, Steve squeezes back or
shoots him a smile as if to say, “Don’tcha worry, Buck.” Even walking this
slowly, Bucky’s still a little worried about Steve. He just – he wants to wrap
himself around him, keep him safe from the cold and the wind and anything that
might agitate his lungs.
Bucky distracts himself by asking questions, like top three favorite movies of
all time, or what Steve would do in the event of a zombie apocalypse. His
answers aren’t really anything Bucky’s expecting – he’s never seen Firefly or
Serenity, and he wouldn’t have thought about finding a deserted island himself.
Steve’s full of surprises, has been since day one.
By the time they pull back into the station, Bucky and Steve have been giggling
helplessly, snuggled up against each other.
“This was a lot of fun,” Steve says, wobbling a bit as he stands, turning to
look up at Bucky. “Well. Aside from the asthma attack; definitely could’ve gone
without that. But, we should – we should go on dates more often.”
Bucky squeezes Steve’s hand and then herds him down the line, staying close
enough to reach out and steady him if need be, but not so close as to be
stepping on the heels of his boots. When they get in his car, Bucky cranks the
heat as high as he can stand it for Steve’s sake. They’re both quiet during the
drive, reflective, and by the time Bucky parks at Steve’s complex, he’s
crossing the border from tired to sleepy.
“You look about ready to pass out,” Steve says quietly, tugging at an end of
Bucky’s hair.
He’s probably not expecting Bucky to hum and press into the motion, but that’s
okay. Steve takes it in stride. He gives another tug and then gently pulls the
hair tie out, running his fingers through it and working out the crease from
being in a bun all day. “You keep doin’ that an’ I’ll go down for you right
now,” Bucky half-slurs, “Not exactly first date etiquette.”
Steve laughs, soft and delicate, but he does stop playing with Bucky’s hair.
“That mean you’re gonna walk me to my door?”
Nodding, Bucky smiles softly and says, “Might even give you a kiss before I let
you go.”
“Wouldn’t that be nice,” Steve muses.
They hold hands; Bucky feels warm and safe and happy, glad that Steve’s here
and his. Outside of Steve’s door, they smile at each other and then look away,
uncharacteristically bashful, like this really is their first date. So Bucky
cups Steve’s face and leans in to kiss him like it’s their first kiss, just to
seal the deal. It’s nothing like their real first date, their real first kiss,
but maybe more like something they’d have together in some universe where they
weren’t exactly the way they are now.
Bucky doesn’t mind this soft hesitance, not at all, but he’s pretty damn happy
with the way things actually are.
He pulls back, brushes his nose against Steve’s, and says, “Night, babydoll.”
Steve grins, slow and secret. “Goodnight, Buck. Text me when you get home.”
Walking backwards toward the elevator, Bucky tosses him a salute and says,
“Will do.”
End Notes
     Let's see how many high school clichés I can fit into one fic. Come
     cry with me about Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers on tumblr!
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