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The first time Bucky heard the word, it was in a passing conversation with Sam. One girl Sam had dated had been asexual; that relationship didn’t last long—difference of opinions on when to start a family—but Sam still looked back on the time with a certain fondness.
It wasn’t until Natasha gave him some homework on the twenty-first century’s recognized sexual orientations that he figured it out why he’d always been so odd.
Asexuality is a lack of sexual attraction, Bucky read. And it fit. While all the men he enlisted and fought with chased after local women come nighttime at base camp, Bucky would often stay back and read or get obnoxiously drunk—which often ended with him singing raucous songs on the bar counters.
He tried to tell himself that he was just a late bloomer, that he’d be interested in sex and girls one day. It’s not to say that he hadn’t tried; Lucy Whittaker swore not to say a word that he’d backed out at the last second, but the shame had still crept up his neck, spreading to his cheeks, every time he saw her before he’d joined the army. But he’d always ended up back at Steve and an aversion to sex.
So the only problem with his newfound discovery was that Bucky was in love with Steve. Had been in love with Steve for…longer than Bucky cared to admit, but it had started when they were teenagers, maybe even kids. It had been the first thing to come back, once Natasha and Tony righted his mind after the brainwashing. And lately, it seemed like Steve might share some of those feelings. At least, that’s what Nat and Sam implied.
But why would Steve even like me? He always liked the dames. And he doesn’t even know my secret. And he won’t be interested in me after I tell him.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
When Steve barged into their apartment level of the Avengers Tower, Bucky slapped his laptop shut and spun around, trying to look nonchalant. Steve shot him a strange look, but stalked towards the bathroom, stripping off his sweaty white t-shirt as he went. Bucky averted his eyes, trying to afford his friend some privacy.
Bucky waited until the shower started up before opening the laptop and tapping away at the keys, trying to see if there was advice for coming out and admitting feelings for your best friend. Over thirty million hits. Huh. He clicked on the first site and pored over the information, soaking up as much as he could.
Ten minutes later, Steve was back, towel wrapped around his waist. Bucky still had a hard time believing that body housed his Stevie. But underneath all that muscle and sinew was a scrappy kid from Brooklyn who hated bullies and fought for what was right. A goofy smile slipped onto Bucky’s face at the thought of how many fights Bucky had saved pre-serum Steve from. And how special and right he felt when he’d wrap a friendly arm around his friend’s shoulders as they walked home.
He startled out of his reverie to find Steve’s piercing blue eyes staring at him, a curious expression on the super soldier’s face.
“Whatcha thinking about, Buck?” Steve asked as he made his way over to the kitchen to grab a drink from the refrigerator.
“Umm…” Bucky coughed and cleared his throat. With a forced laugh, he replied, “Just thinking about all the times I had to save your ass before you turned into Captain-fucking-America.”
Steve rolled his eyes and Bucky smirked, then they both laughed at the other’s expressions. Bucky continued tapping away at his computer, while Steve retreated with his bottle of Vitamin Water to presumably get clothed. As Steve walked away, Bucky eyed his friend, nerves bubbling up in his throat at even the thought of telling Steve that he might be in love with him, let alone that Bucky was asexual.
Bucky sighed, How am I going to do this?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Natasha shot him an exasperated stare and rolled her eyes. Next to Steve, the petite but fearsome Russian spitfire was his closest friend. It had helped in the beginning that she was the only one who spoke Russian—which, at the time, he remembered better than English—but what sealed the deal was her no-nonsense approach to life and her absolutely diabolical humor.
And man, did she know how to make a certain ex-sleeper soldier feel like he was the biggest idiot in the world. In this moment, Bucky agreed with that assessment.
It was three days and one botched coming-out attempt later. Bucky felt like his skin had been seared a permanent scarlet from the utter humiliation. Of course, Steve had no idea what Bucky had been trying to say and when he starting flailing for words, Pepper and Natasha had shown up, happily chattering away. Bucky bolted out of the common area and hid away on the shooting range for the remainder of the afternoon, nursing his pride and a few tears—which Nat knew about because she was the one to come and find him.
She listened with extreme care and diplomacy, waiting until Bucky finished telling her about how he was in love with Steve (but not the asexual part) before hauling him to his feet and dragging his sorry ass down to the gym. They spent the rest of evening sparring on the mats; correction: Natasha sparred and Bucky spent most of his time on the floor, feeling the bruises creeping up on him.
Finally, he got pissed enough to really start fighting back. And so they sparred like that for another hour before calling it quits.
Now, the two of them sat poolside and Bucky wondered out loud whether Steve could possibly like him back. Hence what started Natasha’s eye rolling. Seemed to be a visceral reaction to him these days.
She took some pity on him and softly said, “Just talk with him. Even if he doesn’t reciprocate, wouldn’t you rather have told him?
Bucky shrugged. He worried about telling Steve and it affecting their friendship. He didn’t want to lose that. And he said as much to Natasha.
She pondered that before saying, “I don’t think you have to worry about that with Steve. Something tells me you two will work it out.”
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“I’m gay.”
The product of ten minutes’ pacing outside the apartment door, Bucky blurted that out as soon as he opened the door with the retinal scanner. But that wasn’t what he meant to say at all.
Steve’s head shot up, bewilderment on his features as he stopped reading something on his tablet—probably today’s newspaper. He opened his mouth, shut it, and then looked considering.
Bucky was about ready to bolt when Steve finally said, “Is that what you were trying to tell me a few days ago?”
Unable to form words, Bucky nodded, eyes cast down at the floor. His hands shook and he struggled to draw in a breath. Why did I decide to tell him this? This was a terrible plan. Horrible, stupid plan. Now I can’t breathe. Why can’t I breathe?
Soft footfalls made their way closer to Bucky and then a strong hand rested on his left shoulder. Bucky managed a shaky breath; Steve tipped Bucky’s chin up and stared at him calmly as he said, “Hey, you’re okay. Breathe in for five seconds, hold it for seven, then back out for five. Okay, breathe in, one, two, three…”
Steve wasn’t running away or throwing things at him, so this was already going infinitely better than Bucky had hoped, though he really wished his PTSD wasn’t manifesting in this way, right at this inopportune moment. Normally it was sudden darkness or tight spaces that sent him hurtling into hyperventilation and sheer panic—so this was new. One more thing to look forward to.
After a few minutes, the shaking in his hands eased and his breath came back. He still couldn’t make eye contact with Steve, but at least he wasn’t on the verge of a panic attack anymore.
“Is there anything else you want to tell me?” Steve looked hopeful when he asked that.
Or is that just my imagination?
“I—uh, no,” Bucky stammered, instantly berating himself for chickening out. How hard is it to say ‘I’m a little gay for you, Steve, and might be in love with you, but I’m asexual, so there goes any chance of a relationship actually working’?
It was really hard, apparently—judging by the almost-panic attack.
“Okay,” Steve said and clapped Bucky on the back before walking back towards the dining room table.
Bucky was flabbergasted. “That’s it?”
Steve frowned. “Of course. You’re my best friend no matter what. Your sexual orientation doesn’t change anything.”
And that was that, though Bucky knew he had an even bigger truth to eventually own up to. It was a matter of summoning up enough courage to tell Steve the full truth.
He doubted that would be today. Or tomorrow. Or next year.
Damn, I’m fucked.
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
“I’m bi.”
This was later that day, right before Bucky was about to slink off to bed and leave Steve to watching the latest episode of Parks and Recreation. When Steve uttered those words, Bucky tripped and slammed into a wall, shaking a picture frame off its perch. Steve said WHAT?
Bucky regained his footing and turned back to Steve. He gulped, then said, “I’m sorry. Can you repeat that?”
“I’m bisexual…and I have feelings for you. No, wait, that’s not what I wanted to say. I’m in love with you,” Steve said, wringing his hands but maintaining eye contact with a dumbfounded Bucky. Steve took a few steps forward.
Elation and disappoint hit him from all sides; Bucky smiled, but it was a weak effort. His heart felt as though it was going to burst from his chest because Steve loved him back.
But he was asexual. He didn’t want sex. And Steve was going to want sex, and this was never going to work, all because he was a failure at the one thing a man was supposed to-
“Buck. Hey.” Steve’s voice cut through the downward spiraling of Bucky’s thoughts.
Bucky glanced up into his friend’s eyes and swallowed, trying to steady himself. There was only concern in Steve’s eyes though. The super soldier’s hand fluttered at his side for moment, like he considered reaching out for Bucky, but thought better of it.
Realizing Steve thought his reaction was to what Steve just admitted, Bucky rushed to fix it. Voice trembling, he croaked, “I love you too, Stevie. Always have.”
Silence fell between them.
Finally, Steve asked, “Okay…so why are you looking like someone died?”
Chest tightened, Bucky realized he was about to have another panic attack. He couldn’t do this. He’d already wrecked everything by admitting his feelings. Now there was nowhere for this to go but down in flames.
Hesitant, Steve stepped up right before Bucky and ran his hands through Bucky’s too-long, disheveled hair, whispering, “Hey, it’s okay. You can tell me anything. Wait, do we need to count breaths again?”
Bucky nodded once, all the while feeling his hands go numb and cold, breathing getting harder by the second.
Steve started timing the inhalations and exhalations, and the world started spinning the right direction again.
Bucky stared at the top of Steve’s bare feet. He hated having panic attacks. They made him feel so weak and utterly useless. He couldn’t even manage to breathe properly—a supposed involuntary body function. And even more mortifying, Bucky needed help to remember how to breathe to get through these attacks. The few times he’d had them alone? He shuddered. Bad times.
Strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and drew him in; one hand softly stroked the back of Bucky’s head and Bucky felt himself relaxing, resting his head against Steve’s shoulder. The ministrations continued even as Steve guided Bucky back to the couch. With a click of the remote, the TV shut off and Bucky had Steve’s undivided attention.
“You wanna talk about it?” Steve wasn’t pressing him. It was merely to ascertain whether this topic would be broached tonight or at a later date. Bucky could read that in his voice.
Bucky sighed. Not particularly. But he sat up, though his legs still were tangled with Steve’s. He decided he liked them like that and made no effort to move them. The physical contact might even lend him the strength to utter his next words.
“I’m not exactly…gay.” Once again, not what he wanted to say, but at least it was going in the right direction.
Steve’s eyebrows drew together at that, but made no move to question it.
Continuing, Bucky said, “I love you, Steve, but I’m sorry. I-I’m asexual, and I know that changes everything, so I’ll just go now.”
He made a move to shove off the couch but Steve tangled his legs further around Bucky’s, effectively stopping him.
Tone sharp, Steve queried, “Why would that change anything?”
Why would that…what? Stunned, Bucky struggled to reply. “But don’t you, you know, want sex?”
Understanding dawned on Steve’s face. He went from angry to empathetic in two seconds and leaned forward to draw Bucky back in even closer.
“You think I won’t want you because you don’t like sex.” No question, just a statement of fact. Steve eyed Bucky with adoration and a sad smile.
Bucky shivered—aftereffect of a panic attack—and nodded, unable to form words.
“Well, I still want to make this work,” Steve said, fingers tracing patterns on Bucky’s right arm.
“But you-”
“Love you and am perfectly happy with my hand and assorted…erm…stuff. Sex’s not required for me to love you,” Steve cut in, never breaking eye contact with Bucky.
“We don’t have to have sex?” Bucky couldn’t even believe the words he said. Too good to be true.
“Not if it makes you uncomfortable. I want both of us happy.” There was no hesitation, no uncertainty in Steve’s voice when he answered. Even his face was resolute.
Could he really be serious? Bucky couldn’t even to begin to imagine what that meant, if Steve was telling the truth.
Then it hit him. When had Steve ever lied, let alone to Bucky? The man was Captain-fucking-America for God’s sake; could he even lie? And what purpose would it serve?
~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~
Lying in (Steve’s) bed that night, Steve mumbled, “This explains why Nat’s ‘expose more skin around Barnes’ plan didn’t work.”
Bucky rolled over. “She told you to do that?”
Laughing, Steve said, “Yeah, she’s been trying to convince me to ask you out for months.”
“I was wondering why you suddenly hated clothes.” Bucky smirked, just a flash of white teeth in the darkness. Steve grabbed him around the waist and hauled him in closer and commenced the tickling battle of the century.
When they were both exhausted and hurting from laughing so hard, they curled up facing one another, an open and close parenthesis. Bucky sighed happily and scooted closer to Steve. Steve ran his hand across Bucky’s cheek, down his neck, and across his shoulder before whispering, “So how do you feel about kissing?”
Kissing, kissing he was good at. Bucky smiled again. “Why haven’t we started already?”
With that, Steve erased the distance between them and pressed his lips against Bucky’s. That kiss promised tomorrow and every tomorrow after.
Bucky smiled. Everything was alright in his little corner of the world.