Chapter Text
rush of river songs, smell of air
before rain, spray of flowers
with strange names. Yes, there is
Reason to this ripening.
You are goldened by my tongue.
–Marjorie M. Evasco, from her poem “Elemental”
It’s finished. The garden he’s worked on for all those weeks is finished. He exits the path that winds across it, and sits at the table off to the side, just observing. It’s objectively good, one of the best works Bucky’s done, but it’s bittersweet. Once he goes home tonight, there will be no more threads tying him to Steve, no more hoping that he would show up in the entrance with coffee to keep him company.
Bucky hears footsteps coming up the stairs and the creak of the door. He tries not to get his hopes up – it’s probably just Tony, seeing what the garden has finally amounted to. Then –
“Hi, sweetheart.”
No. It can’t be – it is. There Steve is, standing in the doorway, like something right out of Bucky’s wishes. He even has a thermos of coffee with him and a gift, a slim, rectangular thing that he holds like it’s precious. He told Becca – hell, he told himself – that just being friends with Steve is enough. As it turns out, that’s a lot harder to put into practice. He wants to stroll right up to him and wrap himself up in his arms, in his scent and his golden magic, but he doesn’t. Instead, he stays right in his seat, looking right into crystal blue eyes, and greets him back. “Steve.”
Steve puts the thermos and package down on the table and sits across from him. He’s turned towards the garden, facing away from him. “It’s beautiful, Bucky.”
Bucky licks his lips. Is that all Steve came up here for? “Thank you. I worked hard on it.”
“I know,” Steve says, “I saw you make it.”
Bucky sucks in a harsh breath from between his teeth. Why is this so difficult? “Why are you here, Steve?”
Steve waffles for a minute, doing that thing where he thinks and chews on the inside of his cheek in a habit Bucky still finds endearing. “I want to say sorry. I hurt you, not just during that fight, but every time I left for no reason. I made you feel like I didn’t care about you. I’m sorry.”
At first, Bucky wants to deny the very need for an apology, but he sees Steve’s sincerity, contained in his hunched-over shoulders and his barely-there smile. His Stevie is a headstrong man, but here he is, saying sorry. Bucky can’t disregard that.
“Thank you. For apologizing. I needed to hear that, I think.” He pauses, and again, it is difficult to stay just friends. He repays Steve with the same sincerity he showed him. “We still can’t pick up where we left off, though. My heart can’t take it.”
Steve hangs his head, but his eyes don’t dim. “I know that, but I promise not to leave this time.” He turns away from the garden and looks straight at Bucky eyes, boring right into him. “I moved into a new apartment. And I stepped away from the shield.”
Steve laughs, a light and breathy thing. “So it’s not Captain America speaking to you. It’s just plain, old Steve Rogers, and he promises to stay. ‘Til the end of the line.”
He can’t be serious – stepping away from Cap? Bucky could see him cutting his hours, maybe taking less missions, but quitting entirely? He would never ask for this, especially not selfishly for himself.
Bucky grabs Steve’s hand over the table with alarm. “Tell me that you didn’t do that for me. Steve.”
For some reason, Steve smiles at him, so wide that even his bottom teeth show. Bucky can even feel a sudden burst in Steve’s magic, the energy pulsating in quick beats.
“Not just for you,” Steve says. “Partially, sure, you were that catalyst, but it was for me. With you, I saw a life outside of all of that. I love helping people – and I still will, in other ways – but for now, I just want to live my life.” He squeezes Bucky’s hand. “And I want to live it with you.”
At first, it doesn’t seem real. Then, it hits him. Bucky can be with Steve – really, be with Steve – and then he can’t control himself. He moves to stand in between his spread knees, and he can’t do more than whisper a response. “I want that too.”
Steve lights up, smiling even wider. He grabs Bucky by the waist and pulls him into his lap, and Bucky laughs, hiding his face in Steve’s neck. Bucky can feel his magic rising up inside, buoyed to the surface. Without meaning to, he makes new flowers sprout in the garden, the vines climbing higher up their poles, the Earth responding to all this new light.
Steve pulls away from him ever so slightly, cupping his face in his hands. Bucky didn’t know how much he missed the roughness of Steve’s callouses until now, pushing his cheek further into his hold. “Sweetheart,” Steve whispers, “can I walk you home?”
It’s the innocence of the request that does Bucky in, and he presses himself even closer. His hands sneak up the back of Steve’s shirt, not even doing anything, just resting there to feel skin on skin. “Yeah,” Bucky says, “you can.”
****
They ride the trains together and Bucky quietly enjoys that they did this over taking a car. Sure, it means dirty stations and the cold-wet grime of New York City streets, but it also means they can walk like all the other honeymoon-happy couples he’s seen buying flowers in the shop and in the movies. He doesn’t think he’s felt this happy with something as simple as walking with someone else since high school, when his crush offered to take him to his locker. What can he say, Steve makes him a romantic.
A few streets away from Bucky’s apartment, Steve points at another residential building. “Do you see that?” Steve tugs at Bucky’s hand. “I live there now.”
It’s one of the older ones, with an original brick facade. Vines crawling up the staircase. An independent coffee shop and an artisanal bakery on the ground floor. Honey-sweetened pastries and cinnamon hot chocolate. In other words, deceptively expensive.
“Really?” Bucky wonders how he can afford to live there, but with Steve’s back pay and Stark bankrolling whatever Steve’s new job is, he doesn’t question it. “Finally moved out of the tower?”
“Yeah. I figured it was time, since Tony and I were the only ones living there.” Steve grins at him cheekily. “That means I’m close enough to bug you every day now. You’re never getting rid of me.”
Bucky laughs, and it dies down into a soft smile. As if he’d ever want to get rid of Steve. “Oh, poor me.”
When they’re in front of the shop, Bucky intending to pass through it to get to his apartment, he sees Steve’s thinking face again. Abruptly, Steve stops in front of the shop and puts his back to the wall, pulling Bucky in and bringing him close. They stand chest to chest under the dim glow of the yellow streetlights as the passersby ignore them and carry on.
“So, is this where I leave you?” Steve puts the brown package down to free up his hands, and tucks a lock of Bucky’s hair behind his ear. “Can I get a good night kiss?”
It feels like the end of a first date. Boy walks girl home, doesn’t ask to come up, and gets a good night kiss in return. Bucky’s been that boy for previous people, albeit without any girls involved. But this isn’t like a first date – he and Steve are much more than that already, so they don’t have to follow the same script. They might have skipped some steps on the path here, but a guidebook is for losers anyway. “No, not right now,” Bucky says.
Steve’s eyes widen by a fraction and he takes a step back, putting space between them. He shoves his hands in his pockets. “Oh! That’s fine. My fault for assuming that you – uh. Yeah.”
“Come here, silly.” Bucky grabs his jacket and pulls him back in. He can see the hot red blush on Steve’s cheeks, reaching all the way to his collar. “I didn’t mean you couldn’t kiss me. Just that ‘good night’ implies that it’s the last kiss, and I want more than one tonight.”
Steve’s confidence bounces back. He pushes his knee between Bucky’s legs to close the already tiny space between them. “Is that so?”
“Yeah,” Bucky breathes out. “Do you wanna come up?”
“Aren’t we supposed to take it slow? That’s what the books and the movies say, sweetheart. Don’t you want me to court you like that?” Steve’s words are sweet, but they’re betrayed by the hot brand of his hands, already underneath Bucky’s shirt, one resting on his hip and the other climbing up his back.
Bucky giggles, light and airy, and he touches his forehead to Steve’s. “I want you to be sweet to me, whatever form that takes. Come upstairs. I’ll make tea.” He glances at the package, still unopened. “And you haven’t given me your gift.”
“Okay,” Steve agrees. “Let’s go up. I’ll cash in those kisses later.”
Bucky takes his hand and leads him up to his apartment. Steve puts his shoes on the same spot on the rack that he always used, and he hangs his coat up on the hook that’s basically his already. Bucky starts on their tea and, from his spot in the kitchen, watches him put the package on the coffee table.
Alpine leaps from her cat tower with a loud meow, running to the living room to meet Steve. She winds around his legs, causing him to laugh and bend down to pet her. She pushes her head into his touch, before flipping onto her back to ask for belly rubs.
“Hi kitty.” Steve gets on his knees to continue to pet her. “You still remember me?”
Bucky emerges from the kitchen, two mugs of steaming tea in hand, and looks down at him. “Of course she didn’t forget you. She loves you, remember?” He sits on the couch, putting the mugs down, and pats the space next to him to encourage Alpine to join them.
She doesn’t, returning to her tree, but Steve sits next to him on the couch, handing him the package. “I made this for you,” Steve says, rubbing at his nape.
Bucky accepts it and takes care to untie the twine and peel off the tape, not wanting to just rip through the packaging and potentially damage the gift. He unwraps the first corner to find a frame and a splash of color. A painting, perhaps. He takes off the rest of the paper, revealing a picture of both of them surrounded by stars. He recognizes it as an interpretation from that night at the Adirondacks, tracing his finger across the five stars Steve said looked like Alpine’s ears.
He imagines this is what a sunrise feels like. Light penetrating the dark, in that place way deep down.
He looks at Steve with suddenly wet eyes. “What is this?”
Steve scoots close to him on the couch, putting a hand on Bucky’s thigh. “It’s a painting. Of Us. You helped me make art again, so I want you to have it.”
“I did that for you?” Bucky doesn’t tear his eyes away from the painting, but he can feel the weight of Steve’s gaze on him.
“Yeah,” Steve says, “and much more.”
Bucky swallows and puts the painting faceup on the table, so he can continue seeing it, even just on his periphery. He throws a leg over Steve and sits on his lap, wiggling a little bit to get comfortable. He can feel the strong muscle of Steve’s thighs, his hands flying up to encircle Bucky. “Can I have those kisses now?” he asks, looking up at him.
“Sure, baby,” Steve’s voice grumbles in that deep and throaty way Bucky loves, and finally gets to act upon. “You can have kisses whenever you like.”
“Yeah?” Bucky wiggles in his lap again. When he feels a tell-tale hardness against his ass, other ideas occur to him. He smiles with a wicked bent. “Can I have other things too?”
Steve’s eyes turn darker, and he clutches him tighter. Bucky can feel the warmth of Steve’s chest through his shirt. “Whatever you want.”
“Then,” Bucky says, leaning close to whisper in his ear, his breath ghosting hotly over Steve’s neck. “I want you to take me to bed.” He throws his head back and laughs when Steve stands up immediately, picking him up as if he were feather-light, and tosses him onto his bed.
Steve tugs at the hem of Bucky’s shirt, asking him to take it off. When he nods, Steve pulls it off of him deftly to reveal soft skin, smooth except for the rows of stripey, raised scars where Bucky’s left arm meets his shoulder. Steve pulls away slightly, just enough to look Bucky in the eyes when he asks, “Do I need to be careful around your arm?”
Bucky throws his arms around him, his hands clasped behind his neck. “Try not to put too much pressure on my shoulder, but don’t worry too much. I’m pretty tough.”
Steve nods in acknowledgement. True to his earlier promise, he cashes in those kisses, pressing a hot line of them from Bucky’s navel, all the way up to his neck. Bucky arches his back, leaning into the touch. It accentuates the soft curve of his belly, the give of his waist. He takes the opportunity to just look at Steve, who has positioned himself between his legs, still running his hands over whatever skin he can get them on. Jesus, he’s pretty, Bucky thinks, and he’s all mine.
Steve pulls off his shirt too, and tucks his thumbs under the waistband of Bucky’s skirt and underwear. “You still okay?”
Bucky helps him, kicking both garments off and tossing them to the floor. “So okay.”
He was going to say something else, but the words turn to smoke once he feels Steve trail kisses up the inside of his thighs this time, inching closer and closer to his cock.
“That’s good,” Steve says, with a wicked, troublemaker’s grin, “because I’m going to take care of you.”
****
Bucky breathes heavily, exhausted but content in the afterglow. He’s lying down with his body half on top of Steve, head resting against his chest, enjoying the gentle way Steve plays with his hair. Shifting to bend over and pull the blankets further up, he feels a sharp twinge of soreness. From experience, he knows that Steve is big enough to have him aching ‘til tomorrow, and the thought brings him a private sort of delight. The physical reminder that Steve is his.
“Sweetheart?” Steve says, kissing Bucky softly on the crown of his head.
“Yeah, Stevie?”
“I love you. Just wanted you to know that.”
Under the dim moonlight, Steve’s words are a benediction. It’s not a surprise. It can’t be, not in the light of Steve’s recent life-altering actions. Still, hearing it floods Bucky with a lightness he can’t replicate, not with potions or spells or any type of magic. He cannot transmute anything to match this moment. It’s only ever Steve.
Bucky clambers up the bed, turned on his side to look into his eyes. “I love you. I just wanted you to know that too.”
If Bucky were an artist, he’d spend years finding a way to capture Steve’s reaction. The flicker of surprise, followed by quiet acceptance. The way eyes shut like he can’t believe it’s real because closed eyes mean he’s dreaming. But he’s not an artist, and he already has his painting. So instead, he closes his eyes too, and presses himself close enough that the divisions between them blur.
“I love you,” Bucky says again, just because he can.
Later, he will gather the courage to tell Steve that there is no one else in this city of beautiful people he’d rather be with. Nowhere else he’d rather be than here: counting the freckles on Steve’s shoulder and promising never to forget their number.
But that’s for later, so he presses a kiss to Steve’s warm skin and asks, “Stay with me?”
“Always.” Steve puts an arm over him, one hand buried in his hair. “Always.”
Image: Steve and Bucky lay in bed, holding each other.