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The last thing Steve expected Tony Stark to leave him in the untimely event of his death was a cabin in Upstate New York – if this place can even be called a cabin, what with how big it is. If he’s honest, Steve never expected Tony to leave him anything, even after they’d patched things up.
The building is short, only one story, but it takes much more space than a cabin usually should. He knows it holds two bedrooms and a big bathroom, and he’s seen the size of the living room when Pepper walked him through the house last week – his whole Brooklyn apartment could fit in it. He remembers the books lining the walls, in the floor to ceiling bookcases, trinkets filling the space here and there, the whole bottom part full of records – some old, some new. There are shelves on the wall surrounding the TV, and the entertainment center holds more gaming consoles than Steve would ever know what to do with.
Steve isn’t sure he’s ever been in a kitchen as spacious as the one in the cabin, and he’s seriously doubting anyone would need that much space anyways, but he has to admit it’s nice. The counters are made of dark wood, the appliances new and shiny, and there’s a small two-people table tucked in a corner surrounded by mismatched chairs. It’s the complete opposite from any place Tony would ever get, would ever want to live in, and it warms Steve’s heart to think that Tony got it decorated and furnished how Steve would like.
It’s located in the mountains, a couple of hours out of the city, and judging by the lack of any other houses around the small lake, Steve assumes Tony owned the whole damn land. Half of which now belongs to Steve, apparently.
On the other side of the lake is a bigger house, two stories tall, where Tony had retreated to during the blip, happy to live his life in peace for once. If he focused hard enough, Steve could hear Pepper and Morgan moving about in the house. Grief and regret stir in his stomach, reminding him of the last time he was here, just last week.
God, he could have done so much more, should have done so much more. Maybe if he had, Tony would be here to enjoy this too.
Steve isn’t trying to focus on what’s happening on the Stark side of the lake though. No, he’s very much aware of what’s going on in his own cabin. With a deep breath, he looks away from the lake and turns back to his house, to his friends. Friends he didn’t think he’d ever have the chance to have together again.
Natasha was his lifeline during the blip, the only person Steve felt like he could talk to, the only person left he could count on. He’d told her things he’d never thought he would ever say out loud, confessed feelings and actions he thought he would take to his grave. And she’d done the same thing.
Before the war, the only person to know him inside and out was Bucky. They’d been through so much together, had lived through the unimaginable and found each other on the other side. And maybe they’ve done a lot of reflecting since finding each other again in Romania, since spending so much time together in Wakanda, but there are so many things Steve could never bring himself to tell Bucky. So many things he’s done that he’s too ashamed to ever tell his friend.
After Thanos, after the snap, he’d felt like he had nothing left to lose anyway so he confided in Natasha. He’d figured she was the one person who would never look at him any different, even after hearing all of his sins, all of his worst thoughts; and he was right. All she'd done was tell him he needed to forgive himself for everything he had to do to keep himself alive. And as for everything else – well, those words will always stay between him and Natasha, no one else.
The look on Clint’s face when he’d come back without Natasha, when he’d appeared on that platform alone, it broke Steve’s heart in ways he didn’t think were still possible after losing Bucky. He hadn’t thought there was anything left to break.
When Natasha had walked out of one of those portals, stepping onto the battlefield like nothing had happened in the first place, Bucky next to her and a grin on her face, Steve could have broken down and cried right there. They still had a fight to win though, and Steve couldn’t let himself be distracted. That was all he cared about in that moment – to win the fight and make sure they all went home after.
But now, all he cares about is that Sam is standing by the front door, a box in his hands as he waits for Bucky to get the last suitcase out of the trunk. There’s an annoyed look on Sam’s face, but Steve can tell it’s all for show – deep down, Steve knows how Sam really feels about Bucky, and it really isn’t what he tries to get people to believe.
All he knows is that Natasha is sitting in the kitchen, acting like she’s busy, but really, Steve knows she’s avoiding doing any of the heavy lifting. She brought in a small box labeled ‘books’ about half an hour ago and has not moved an inch since then. Steve lets it slide, happy to have his friend here in the first place.
This is all he needs – his friends, here, with him, alive. And it’s really all that matters.
He didn’t need any help in the first place, the three of them forcing Steve to let them help with the move. There really isn’t much to move anyway; Steve could have done it by himself in less than an hour. Although, he has to admit that having his closest friends in the same place, all together, after everything that’s happened feels comforting.
“That’s everything,” Sam declares, putting the box down on Steve’s coffee table.
Steve looks around the room, at the meager collection of boxes and personal belongings he brought with him. He can’t believe that this is it; over ten years of living in the twenty-first century and this is all he has to show for it. Three boxes of clothes, five boxes of books and sketchbooks, one box of old movies, two boxes labeled ‘Captain America, do not open’ that he can’t wait to shove in a closet and not look at again for a long time, and one small box containing all his belongings from the forties he managed to track down. There are three suitcases behind the couch, all of them filled with a mix of clothes, art supplies and personal items.
It’s not much, and to a lot of people, it’s not enough, but it’s way more than what he’s ever needed. It’s way more than he’d ever thought he’d own.
“Thanks guys,” he says as he makes his way to the fridge, pulling out one of the four-packs of beer Sam shoved in the freezer the moment he arrived, about an hour ago. He opens them and hands one out to each of his friends before sitting on the couch with a sigh.
The piece of furniture, along with his bed and the armchair on the other side of the coffee table, are the only furniture brought from Steve’s apartment in Brooklyn. The rest had already been here when he’d been handed the keys three days ago.
“So,” Natasha starts as she sits down next to him. “What now?”
“Huh?” Steve asks, eloquent as ever. He’s not sure what she wants to know here, Steve has made it pretty clear what his intentions are when he came back from returning the stones. He thought his intentions were obvious when he handed Sam a shield, when he told them he was taking a step back.
There hadn’t been much planning to any of it; he didn’t go back to 2012 with the intention of coming back with a brand new shield, and he sure as hell didn’t go back there with the purpose of letting that timeline’s Steve know where to find Bucky.
But that’s what he did.
He returned the Stones first, just in case something went wrong, then found Steve again. He debated for a while, if he should reach out or leave some sort of trail instead. In the end, he decided to put a file together with all the information that 2012 Steve would need to find Bucky – his Bucky.
Now, Steve needs a break. He needs some time away from everything and everyone to figure out what it is that he wants to do next. The one thing he knows right now is what he doesn’t want – he guesses it’s better than nothing, though he knows those things take time.
“I gotta take some time to figure out what my next step is.”
Natasha hums softly and takes a sip from her drink, her eyes never leaving Steve’s face. It used to make him squirm every time this look was directed at him, though after over ten years of friendship, it doesn’t faze him much anymore. But there’s something shining in her eyes, something that Steve has never seen before.
Steve has no idea what happened on Vormir only a few days ago – god, it feels like it happened a lifetime ago – and Clint hadn’t wanted to talk about it, shutting down and putting everything he had in the fight. Steve had seen the look on his face when Natasha embraced him the second she’d stepped out of the portal, how he’d had to keep himself from breaking in a million pieces at the sight of his friend. Whatever it was that had to be done, whatever happened there, it left an imprint on both Natasha and Clint.
The look in her eyes now tells Steve that she might want to take a step back too and reassess her priorities.
“I think we all do,” Sam mumbles slightly in his drink.
They’ve talked about what getting the shield entails, for hours on end when Sam was helping Steve pack up his apartment over the past few days. There are a lot of things to do, a lot of people to help, and that’s what Sam wants to focus on right now. When the time comes, he’ll pick up the shield in an official capacity. For now though, Sam wants to help as himself without getting Captain America into it.
Steve assured him times and times again he’ll always be available if Sam needs help with anything. There will never be a reason why he doesn’t pick up the phone, and he’ll jump on his bike to make his way wherever Sam is if he needs to. He hopes Sam knows he really means it – he doesn’t want Sam to feel like Steve gave him the shield just to get rid of the responsibilities. Steve would never dump that on his friends, least of all Sam. He just thinks Sam is the best person for the job, the only one who will wear the title with the same amount of dignity as Steve.
But Sam’s right. They all need time. They’ve all given so much, been through so much; they all deserve some time to figure out where to go now, what to do. They probably all need to look at what it is that they’re doing and weigh the pros and cons. As much as they’ve helped make this planet safer, they’ve also contributed to so much of its destruction.
Thanos could not have been avoided, Steve knows that; he believes that, but there are things that could have been avoided if it weren’t for the Avengers making Earth a target for everyone out there.
They stay silent for a long time, all of them seemingly reflecting on everything that happened recently. There is so much to talk about, so much to unpack, and there has been so little time, though it feels like none of them are ready to have a conversation about it yet.
Steve doesn’t want to talk about any of this either, doesn’t want to spend the rest of the day thinking about all of this. Instead, he grabs another four-pack from the fridge and passes beers around.
“Let’s forget about all that, just for today, yeah?” he says, sitting back down on the couch, smiling at his friends a little hesitantly. He knows his friends, he really does, but he’s still worried they’re expecting things from him he cannot give them right now – guidance, advice, comfort – and he’s scared he’ll never be able to again.
“Okay,” Bucky says, breaking the tension Steve can feel building up in the air. “Then should we talk about the fact that you apparently can lift the magic hammer now?” he asks with a laugh, relaxing in Steve’s armchair, throwing one leg over the armrest, a cocky smile on his face.
“Right?” Sam exclaims, sitting up in a flash, a teasing look in his eyes. “When the fuck did that happen?”
“We all know Steve’s been acting like he couldn’t pick that shit up since that party at Stark’s penthouse way back when.” Natasha’s smile is big and genuine, unlike anything Steve’s seen in years. It helps him to breathe a little easier, helps him relax in his own seat as the laughs she elicits fill the room.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Steve tries, feigning innocence, but he knows it doesn’t work – never planned on it. He can’t hide the happiness in his voice at the idea of the most important people in his life ganging up on him. “No one could have ever seen it coming.”
“Right, ‘cause you haven’t been the most righteous little shit since the day you were born, huh?” The look in Bucky's eyes, the intensity of it, it brings Steve right back to 1934, to the first time he let himself think that maybe Bucky’s teasing could be something else.
Steve lets out a laugh and sits back on the couch. God, he’s missed this, missed the four of them joking around together – though it’s never been quite like this, the hint of danger and the need to move always lingering in the back of their minds.
This almost feels like the few times they’d gotten together in Wakanda, when they were on the run but life somehow felt easier on a lot of levels. Steve doesn’t think there’s a time in his life where he’d been happier than back then, and they might all be coming to terms with what happened, grieve the ones they’ve lost and accept this new life, but Steve thinks he could feel the same again at some point.
“I gotta get going,” Natasha says getting up from her spot on the couch, “I’m meeting Yelena in the city tonight.”
The way she lights up, the way she seems just so happy at the idea of spending time with her sister – and wasn’t that a shock, the first time she’d told Steve about Yelena.
“I should head out too, I’ve got an early flight home in the morning,” Sam reminds them, finishing his beer in a couple sips.
After hugging both his friends, Steve watches them head for the door in silence. He doesn’t think there’s anything he could say to convey his feelings and he’s pretty sure both Sam and Natasha know how he feels.
Sam shares a look with Bucky, who gets up when Sam steps out, but doesn’t make a move to leave. Steve and Bucky stand there, looking at each other for longer than is probably considered normal or comfortable. When it comes to them two though, Steve knows nothing they do is considered normal.
“Thank you for being here, Buck,” Steve finally says, taking a step forward with every intention of reaching out to Bucky to give him a quick hug. Bucky takes a step back though, moving away from Steve just enough that he’s just barely out of reach.
Something clenches in Steve’s chest at the move, his brows scrunching in a confused frown. Bucky hasn’t pulled away from him since that day in Romania when Steve found him. It had felt the same back then too – kind of like his heart was being ripped out of his chest.
Steve may have always had a penchant for dramatics, but he’s barely exaggerating here. Losing Bucky – each time – had actually felt like all of his vital organs had been yanked out of his body, but watching Bucky pull away from him was a close second when it came to the most painful thing Steve had ever experienced. Number three went to the transformation that had come with the serum.
“Can I stay? Just tonight?” Bucky asks, and his voice is tentative, like it so often is nowadays. Steve hates to hear it, hates to be reminded of all the ways in which Bucky is not the same as he used to be. On the other hand though, he can’t help but be incredibly thankful Bucky is here at all; different or not.
“You don’t have to worry about me, Buck. I’m okay,” he assures him, because he knows what this is. He knows that this is Bucky trying to make sure Steve can make it on his own, this is Bucky being the overbearing friend that he is. And god, doesn’t it make Steve happy knowing that this part of Bucky is alive and well.
Bucky shrugs, not adding anything and walks out. Steve stands there for a minute, unsure of what the hell just happened.
Did Bucky just walk out without a word?
Before he has time to freak out properly, Bucky walks back into the cabin with a duffle that doesn’t seem to contain a whole lot of things. Steve can’t help the confusion he feels etched on his face, but he decides to ignore it, along with the feeling of relief when he realizes Bucky seems to be here to stay.
At least for tonight.
Somehow, that’s enough.
The fact that he won’t have to be alone when he wakes up tomorrow eases some of the tension he didn’t realize he’d been holding these past few days.
✬
Steve is confused when he’s woken up by warm sun rays shining through the window. He can feel the heat across his back, where the light hits just so, warming his skin. He hasn’t felt this rested in a long time, his nights usually plagued with bad dreams and painful memories.
There is no doubt in Steve’s mind this won’t last long; he knows his body, knows he’s just too exhausted for his brain to conjure nightmares. He just wants to enjoy it for as long as he can, embrace the calm before the storm he knows is coming.
Pushing himself out of bed, Steve exhales slowly, forcing his muscles to loosen up. He sits there for a minute, stretching his arms above his head to pop his back, before getting up and pulling on some running clothes.
The ground is hidden under a small layer of fog when he steps off the porch, covering his shoes and making it hard for him to see the path. He starts jogging nonetheless, letting his feet guide him through the woods at an unhurried pace.
His mind clears the longer he runs and before he knows it, he’s running circles around the lake, his head blissfully empty, his muscles pleasingly burning. The sun is now higher in the sky and the fog has cleared, the lush green ground now out in the open, grass stretching as far as he can see.
Steve slows down, letting his feet come to a stop after over an hour of strenuous running. He lets himself breathe in the crisp morning breeze, enjoying the freshness only a place like this can bring. As much as he loved running in Prospect Park back in Brooklyn or around the National Mall in DC, nothing beats what being in the middle of nowhere brings.
Leisurely, he makes his way back to the cabin, letting his eyes take in the landscape around him. The cabin comes into view a little too quickly for his taste, but he forces himself to go in and make breakfast.
When he’s done, Bucky is still nowhere to be seen, so Steve eats his food and leaves the rest on the table for when Bucky comes out. Or comes back – who knows where Bucky is.
For a second, Steve worries that maybe Bucky is gone, but he reasons that his best friend would never leave without a word, not after everything that’s happened. Plus, Steve can spy his boots next to the door and he can see the sun reflecting off what he thinks is Bucky’s bike.
But Steve has work to do, boxes to open and things to put away. He doesn’t really want to, part of him wanting to leave everything in the boxes and suitcases so he doesn’t have to deal with them and remind him of the past few days – the past few years. But he has to, he needs to. Unpacking his things will bring him closure, he knows it.
The day is spent in his room, putting away his clothes in the closet and art supplies in the desk drawers. His favorite drawing of his mother finds a place on top of the dresser, next to Steve’s bed, along with the few pictures he’d managed to track down after waking up from the ice. His Captain America boxes are shoved in his closet, hidden by his clothes and his empty suitcases.
Steve is so caught up in what he’s doing he forgets to stop and eat most of the day. It’s almost four in the afternoon when he sits down on his bed and finally takes the time to notice how hungry he’s gotten.
As he steps out of his room, he almost walks straight into Bucky, who’s getting out of the guest room at the same time. They both let out a small chuckle and make their way into the kitchen together.
“You’ve been locked in there all day,” Bucky says with a head tilt towards Steve’s room, a faux air of casualness to him that Steve notices immediately. He grabs a glass from the cabinet over the sink, filling it with water before turning back to Steve. “You good?”
“Yeah,” Steve answers, surprised to find that he actually means it. He’s not sure if it’s for the fact that he knew Bucky was in the next room the whole time, but he doesn’t really care; it feels good to not have to lie about how he feels for once. “I’m okay.”
Bucky gives a little nod, a small content smile on his face, his eyes downcast and focused on his hands.
“Good,” Bucky repeats quietly, finally walking to the fridge to fill up his glass. “You hungry?”
“Starving,” Steve groans, his stomach growling just at the mention of food, making Bucky laugh softly. Steve could get used to this, but he’s not sure he wants to allow himself to.
“Let me get something together.”
Steve has always been a horrible cook, although he’s had no other choice but to teach himself the basics in the past few years, out of necessity. He ended up being pretty good at making breakfast a few months after the ice. He doesn’t want to admit it was because breakfast was always something Bucky would make sure they ate back in the day – always making sure they had what they needed to eat enough to be able to go the whole day with no food. Breakfast always brought Steve an amount of comfort very few things could.
Once Bucky’s done, they move to the living room, plates full of food in hand. They eat on the couch, some movie from the eighties playing in the background, neither of them paying much attention to it.
“Thanks for this, Buck,” Steve says as he puts his empty plate down on the coffee table. There isn’t a trace of food left on it, Steve so hungry he’s pretty sure he could go for seconds if there was anything left in the kitchen. Maybe he could find something sweet to eat.
“I’m not leaving,” Bucky answers, voice forceful but not harsh before Steve can make up his mind about dessert. His eyebrows are pulled together and his eyes are looking at anything but Steve, though it doesn’t stop Steve from seeing the intensity of whatever it is that’s shining in them.
Steve knows this is probably something they should have talked about the night before, but Steve was just so relieved he didn’t have to spend the night alone in this new place, he didn’t dare ask any question.
They haven’t had time to talk about what Bucky wants now, about where he wants to go now that Steve and the others brought everybody back. Maybe Bucky would want to go back to Wakanda and get back to the life he’d built there before Thanos. Maybe he’d get a place in Brooklyn and try to live a normal life.
Whatever Bucky decides, Steve will support him. He’ll always support Bucky.
“What?” Steve asks, perplexed, after he realizes he’s been silent a little too long. Bucky is still looking away from him, but a tiny smile pulls at the corner on his lips. Steve almost misses it, Bucky shaking his head slowly.
“Steve, c’mon. You know I never wanted a part in any of the fighting. And my time in Wakanda…” there’s a wistful look on his face and something resembling regret flashing in his eyes. It’s gone after less than a second, making Steve wonder if it was ever there in the first place. “I want something like that again. And this place, I think it could be it.”
“Buck, are you sure?”
“C’mon it’ll be fun. It could be like Brooklyn, back in the day.”
Brooklyn…
Steve doesn’t want to think about Brooklyn and all the feelings that come with it.
He doesn’t want to think about that tiny apartment he’d lived in with his mother, then with Bucky, and he sure as hell doesn’t want to think about what it felt like to be close to Bucky all the time. To have Bucky help him through sickness and patch him up after an ill-advised fistfight. To have Bucky take him out dancing with girls from the neighborhood. To have Bucky be the only thing that kept Steve alive, that made it all worth it.
So no, Steve doesn’t want to think about Brooklyn, because then he’d have to admit to himself what it really was that he felt for Bucky back then, what it is that he still feels for him now.
After everything, this might be the scariest thing Steve has ever had to face.
“Sure, Buck,” he says instead, because he can’t get himself to tell Bucky no, never could, and he doesn’t want to. “It’ll be fun.”
✬
Steve wakes up the next morning to the smell of coffee and eggs, his stomach instantly grumbling. After the night he’s had, he’s not sure what he needs more – food, caffeine or more sleep – though he still makes his way out of his bedroom lazily, after pulling on an old t-shirt and the first pair of sweatpants he can find.
He follows the noise of pots and pans and the smell of everything Steve loves to the kitchen, where he finds Bucky humming under his breath as he puts the dirty dishes in the dishwasher, plates full of food already on the table while something else cooks on the stovetop.
Bucky looks so comfortable in this space, his feet bare, calves and half of his thighs left uncovered by the shorts slung low on his hips. He steps back to the stove, his back still to Steve, and he can now tell Bucky's tank is cropped, an inch or so of skin showing over the elastic band of the shorts. Actually, Steve is having a hard time looking at anything other than that little sliver of skin, and he knows for a fact little dimples are hidden just under the band.
Still oblivious to Steve’s presence, Bucky turns around, a pan in one hand, a spatula in the other. He barely even flinches when he spots Steve, and he doesn’t comment on the fact that Steve is staring, his mouth just a little open – he can feel it, can feel the way his jaw is just hanging there. He closes it rapidly, his teeth clicking together.
“Hey,” Bucky greets him, a soft smile on his face. He moves to the table to plate the eggs, an equal amount on each of them. “You hungry?”
Steve gives a silent nod and moves to the table. He tries to tear his eyes off Bucky, off his exposed abs and his bare shoulders and his exposed ribs where his shirt is cut low under his arms.
Bucky’s shoulders are out in the open.
Bucky’s scars are out in the open.
Scars that Steve knows Bucky hasn’t shown anyone who wasn’t a doctor since he went back into cryo in Wakanda. Scars Steve has only seen a couple of times and mostly by accident. Scars that Bucky has never openly exposed before.
Steve had given up on the idea that he’d ever get to see Bucky so relaxed and comfortable five years ago, when he watched his best friend turn to ash right in front of him. It’s still hard to come to terms with the fact that he’s got Bucky back, that Bucky’s here.
There’s something on the tip of his tongue, words burning in his chest, begging to come out, but Steve shoves them down.
This is too precious to ruin, too fragile to risk. Steve doesn’t think he could bring himself to say anything, too scared he’d send Bucky running – he’s not ready for Bucky to leave; not now, not yet.
Steve isn’t as oblivious as to think Bucky will actually stay here long term, no matter what Bucky himself says. He’ll grow tired of this place and will want to go back to a more fast paced life. Steve will be happy for as long as Bucky wishes to stay though, and he’ll be happy for Bucky when he leaves too. He just wants his friend to be happy, wherever that is.
✬
The first few weeks are fine.
Granted, Steve barely sleeps after the first couple of nights because he’s worried about his nightmares, worried about waking Bucky up, worried he’d worry Bucky. But it’s fine; Steve barely needs sleep, he knows he can go without it for a while.
It’s fine, he’s fine.
A while, though, seems to be shorter than it used to be.
Back in the war and for years after the ice, he’d been able to go months with nothing more than an hour or two of sleep a night. But Steve is tired now, in more ways than one. He thought he could keep this up, could force himself to stay awake until the early hours of the morning, until Bucky is out for his run. He hoped he could keep it up until Bucky left, though now it’s starting to feel more and more difficult.
As much as Steve wants to believe that Bucky’s happy here, he can’t stop thinking that his friend is humoring him. He’s been waiting for the other shoe to drop for almost a month now, and he’s pretty sure it will soon.
Bucky was never a homebody before, always finding ways to get them out of their tiny tenement, dragging Steve on double dates and any sort of event they could afford – or sneaking them in when they didn’t have the money. Steve can’t imagine Bucky will be happy here for long, in the woods, away from everything and everyone. And yes, Bucky said he wanted this weeks ago, but maybe he just wanted to make sure Steve was okay. Maybe, when he realizes Steve is just fine, he’ll go.
“Steve,” Bucky says, startling Steve. He’s leaning on the door jamb, a concerned look on his face.
Steve has been so lost in his thoughts, his brain so tired, he didn’t hear Bucky come into the room. Steve knows his open sketchbook is on the bed behind him, but Bucky isn’t looking that way so he isn’t too worried about his friend seeing what Steve has been drawing.
“Are you okay?” Bucky asks with a small amused smile on his lips. He hasn’t looked at Steve this way in so long, it almost hurts to think about. But Steve doesn’t want to think about what was; he wants to focus on what is. And that’s Bucky, in front of him, in the flesh.
“Yeah, why?” Steve says, trying to sound as casual as he can. He doesn’t need Bucky worrying about him.
“You’ve been on the same page for about ten minutes,” Bucky points out, his head tilting to the side, like a confused puppy, making him look so damn adorable. Steve really shouldn’t be thinking that, but he can’t help it, not when Bucky is looking at him like this.
“What? You been watching me, Barnes?”
“Oh, absolutely. It’s fascinating to see you not read for half an hour.”
“God, you’re a jerk,” Steve says with a small laugh and a shake of his head. It’s good to hear the teasing tone so clear in Bucky’s voice.
“And you’re a punk.”
“I may have been told a couple of times.”
“You’re also overthinking.”
“Buck…”
“Come on Steve. It’s all over your face.”
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”
Bucky scoffs at that, rolling his eyes, the movement so exaggerated it pulls a smile out of Steve. Bucky has always been so dramatic, especially when it comes to calling Steve out on his bullshit. Which is often, way more often than Steve wants to admit.
“I think you sometimes forget I’ve known you since you were six years old.”
“I definitely wish I could sometimes,” the obvious lie bringing out a sudden laugh out of Bucky, making something akin to pride swell up in Steve’s chest. He loves nothing more than to make Bucky laugh.
“Sure you do, asshole. Come on, dinner is ready.”
With a little shake of his head, Steve closes his book. Before following Bucky to the kitchen, he takes the two steps separating his desk and his bed and puts his sketchbook away. He doesn’t want to tempt fate and have Bucky stumble upon it. He doesn’t think he could survive the embarrassment of knowing Bucky saw the countless studies Steve has done of him.
✬
Steve doesn’t realize he’s fallen asleep until he wakes with a shout.
The room is still dark, and Steve feels like he’s freezing and burning all at the same time. He’s tangled in his sheets, the duvet feeling almost like a ton of bricks on top of him. He feels like he can’t breathe, like he can’t move.
“Steve?” says a voice from the other side of his bedroom door.
“I’m okay,” Steve calls out instead of letting out the whimper he can feel trapped in his throat. This is fine, he can still pretend like everything’s okay.
“Can I come in?” Bucky asks, his voice still just as soft and quiet, but there's a hint of worry, of fear, in there that Steve just can’t ignore. He’d do the same for Bucky.
“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, his voice so low even he can barely hear the word. He clears his throat and tries again, “Sure, Buck.”
There’s a long sigh in the hallway before the door opens and Bucky walks in. He’s wearing a threadbare dark red t-shirt and basketball shorts that appear to be on backwards. It loosens something deep in Steve’s chest, helping him breathe just a little easier, at the thought that Bucky threw clothes on in a hurry to come and see if Steve was okay.
“I’m okay,” Steve repeats when Bucky reaches the bed and gets in. Bucky seems to want to reach out and grab him – his hand, his arm, anything – but doesn’t, holding himself back and staying a safe distance away from Steve. Steve has to hold onto the blanket to keep himself from pulling Bucky close.
They haven't shared a bed since 1943, not since that last winter before Bucky shipped out when Steve caught the flu. After a week, Steve thought that was it for him, that this was the one time he finally wouldn’t make it through.
But Bucky had been there, bringing him warm food home every night, picking up more shifts at the docks to be able to buy some medicine. They couldn’t afford heating most of the time, so the next best thing had always been Bucky stripping off to his underwear and pressing close to share his body heat.
Steve would always force himself to breathe through it and not let his body respond, but he had to admit it was never that easy. The only saving grace was that his body was usually too busy fighting viruses and infections that it didn’t have any strength left to react to Bucky’s touch.
To this day, Steve is convinced he made it through that winter thanks to Bucky alone.
He hadn’t expected to be marching into Austria later that year, to rescue Bucky and the rest of his unit. He also didn’t think he’d get to make the best friends he’d ever had other than Bucky that winter.
The Howlies are the only reason Steve didn’t lose it when Bucky fell from the train the winter after that.
God, but Steve hates winters with a passion.
✬
When he wakes up, the first thing Steve notices is the sun shining through the crack in the curtains.
The second thing he notices is that he’s alone.
He shouldn’t be surprised and he sure as hell shouldn’t be feeling sad or angry right now, but he can’t help it. He sits on the edge of his bed for a few minutes, breathing deeply to try and relax his shoulders.
When he finally manages to pull himself up and out of his room, Steve makes a pitstop in the bathroom before he heads to the kitchen. He stops in his tracks when he notices Bucky, who’s sitting on the couch, a book in one hand, a pen in the other. His lips are absently playing with the end cap, his eyebrows pulled together in concentration. He doesn’t seem to hear Steve on the other side of the room, or if he does, he’s choosing to let Steve think the opposite. Either way, it works for Steve – he’s not sure he’s ready to face Bucky after last night.
He silently shuffles to the kitchen and pours himself a cup of coffee – if whatever Bucky makes can ever be defined as coffee. The liquid is still hot though and it smells fresh, so he assumes Bucky made it less than a handful of minutes ago, probably having heard Steve wake up. Steve isn’t sure how to feel about that.
When Steve takes his first sip, he can’t help the small grimace that pulls at his mouth, the taste so strong it almost makes him groan in disgust. It’s the same as it is every morning, and Steve really doesn’t know why he still tries to drink it black. He reaches for the creamer in the fridge, adding a splash of it, dumping a spoonful of sugar in his cup before he takes another sip, the taste now perfect. He can still make out the strong and bitter aftertaste of Bucky’s coffee, but he knows that making it this strong is the only way for it to have any sort of effect over their overactive metabolism so he can deal with it.
After a few minutes, Steve moves to the door on the other side of the room and pulls it open slowly, letting in the crisp air early May mornings bring. He breathes it in, stepping out on the wraparound porch to watch the sun start coming up over the trees on the other side of the lake.
Steve never thought, after everything he’s been through, that he’d find a place that would allow him to feel this peaceful. There’s a thick blanket of guilt now laying on his shoulder, just from thinking that he could ever be at peace, especially with what’s happened recently.
His gaze flicks down, away from the sky, focusing on the other building around the lake and feels his heart constrict a bit. God, Tony should be there, should be able to see his daughter grow up, his wife grow old. He should be here to experience everything life has to offer.
Steve should have been to one to give his life on that battlefield all those weeks ago.
The sound of Bucky moving around the cabin behind him makes the thought evaporate almost as fast as it had appeared; Steve has so much to be thankful for still. His best friend being alive and here, with him, is definitely one of them.
“Want something to eat?” Bucky asks gently from the porch, startling Steve slightly. He’d been so lost in his thought he hadn’t heard his friend come up behind him. When Steve turns to face Bucky, the crease in between his eyebrows is still there, looking more like concern than like the focus from earlier.
“Sure,” Steve answers, instead of asking Bucky if he’s okay or to share what he’s thinking.
They eat in companionable silence, the tense set of Bucky’s shoulders easing each passing second, which allows Steve to relax too.
Bucky doesn’t mention laying next to Steve in bed last night, doesn’t ask about his nightmare, so Steve doesn’t bring it up. If Bucky is going to act like nothing happened, then Steve is sure as hell going to do the same. He has no interest in talking about what plagues his nights.
Steve spends the day outside, on the lake’s shore, basking in the sun. He alternates between sketching lazily, the same few things over and over – if anything he draws looks kind of like his housemate, Steve’s the only one who needs to know – and reading one of the many novels lining the walls of the cabin.
It’s comfortable, it’s good. Steve tries to tell himself he deserves at least some of it.
Steve also tries to keep his eyes off Bucky’s chest, he really does. It’s hard though, when Bucky has been going back and forth between swimming and sunbathing all morning. He shouldn’t be noticing the way the sun’s rays keep hitting Bucky’s abs just so every time he inhales, forcing Steve’s focus towards them each time.
Bucky looks good. He’s always looked good, but he looks especially good these days, body healthy and smile barely ever off his face.
He was toned and lean from his teens on, from manual labor and constant physical activity. Then, he was all hard muscle and sharp edges from his years training as the Winter Soldier.
But since coming home, since breaking free of his conditioning, Bucky’s body has been a mix of tight muscle and soft edges. He looks better than he ever has, more at ease in his own body than Steve ever remembers seeing. It feels weird to be here with Bucky like this, to be able to have this peacefulness, to share it.
There’s a small smile on Bucky’s lips as he lays on his back, floating on the water like he has no care in the world – and god, Steve hopes that he doesn’t, not anymore. After everything they’ve been through, Bucky deserves this, deserves to have peace, to feel comfortable in his own body and with his mind.
Steve wishes he could say he has anything to do with it.
“Get in the water, man,” Bucky yells from the middle of the lake, still on his back.
Steve shakes his head and tries to focus on the moment. Maybe he should start getting used to this new version of Bucky; this happy and carefree version Bucky. This Bucky is happy, and content, Steve should stop being surprised every single time he sees any evidence of that. Bucky deserves as much.
Without a word, Steve takes his shirt off and walks to the water’s edge, testing the temperature with one foot. He hisses softly at the cold but moves further into the lake nonetheless.
“Damn, this feels good,” Steve groans, the water already up to his chest.
“Feels like yesterday we were doing this in Wakanda.” His eyes are still closed, his smile content as he floats around. Steve remembers how Bucky had loved the lake outside of his place in Wakanda, how he’d take a swim almost everyday.
“Almost was for you,” Steve says without thinking. He almost wants to slap a hand over his mouth when he realizes what he just said – they’ve been trying not to talk about the Blip, the time Bucky missed and the time Steve wishes he could forget.
“I can’t believe you guys kept trying for five years.”
“Would’ve kept trying for longer. Wasn’t about to give up on ya, jerk,” he tells Bucky with a smile, using the back of his right hand to push water straight to his friend’s face.
“You motherfucker,” Bucky shrieks, pushing his hair out of his eyes where the water made them stick to his eyes and turns to Steve with a playful glare. “It is so on.”
Steve doesn’t even try to swim away when Bucky charges towards him, but he does try to dodge the wave of water Bucky sends his way. He’s laughing so hard half the water gets into his mouth, making him cough a bit. He doesn’t care though, not when Bucky’s eyes are shining with more mirth than Steve remembers seeing since 1943; not when an actual, genuine, happy laugh escapes Bucky at the sight.
Bucky takes that as an opportunity to dunk Steve under the water, holding him down for a handful of seconds before letting him go. Steve comes up with a fake gasp that makes Bucky laugh again, causing something fond and happy to bloom inside of Steve’s chest.
As an attempt to ignore it, Steve reaches towards Bucky and grabs his right arm, pulling him forward. Their chests collide, but Steve disregards the warmth of it, using all of his strength to lift Bucky up and throw him a couple feet away.
A surprised yelp leaves Bucky’s mouth which turns into a cackle of glee just before his body hits the water. The splash it makes takes Steve by surprise, making him burst into laughter.
They haven’t been this carefree for such a long time. Maybe they never really were, Steve being too sick to have fun most of his childhood. And he wishes he could have enjoyed the few months here and there where he was well enough to go to the beach with Bucky and mess around in the water, had it not been for the massive chip on his shoulder.
God, he felt like he had so much to prove back then, thought he couldn’t allow himself to feel an ounce of happiness lest it made him look weak. There was no chance in hell Steve would let himself seem weak, even just to himself.
If he’s honest with himself, that was probably the only reason he never confessed to Bucky about how he felt. He was so scared to admit he actually needed Bucky that he kept on pushing him away, kept on putting this wall up between them when maybe they could have had something.
Steve is so lost in his thoughts he doesn’t notice Bucky making his way back to him, screaming in surprise when he feels something hard and cold wrap around his ankle. Before he has time to realize what it is, he’s being pulled down under the water.
“You dick,” Steve cries out when he manages to kick Bucky away.
“Don’t act like you hate it, pal,” Bucky counters with a chuckle.
Steve lets out a small laugh at that, because, yeah, of course Bucky’s right. Of course he’s enjoying this. They haven’t had a chance to be carefree in literal decades.
It reminds Steve of how happy a kid Bucky used to be, before everything; before he had to grow up way too fast and take care of his sisters and Steve. After all these years, after everything, Steve never thought he’d get to see it again.
“D’you remember when your mom took us to one of those free pools for my birthday one year?” deciding to remind Bucky of a happy memory instead.
“Oh yeah, and she yelled at me for like twenty minutes cause I pushed you in?” Bucky answers with a smirk, the edges a little sad and melancholic. “How could I forget?”
“My god, I forgot about that,” Steve says with a laugh, a hand coming up to clutch at his chest.
“You and Becca were making faces at me the whole time, I honestly don’t know how I kept a straight face.” Bucky’s smile turns a little wistful at the mention of his sister, but his eyes are shining with so much delight and affection.
“She would’ve whooped your ass if you so much as smiled.”
“No shit. I swear, I used to think she loved you more than me.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Steve says with an eye roll. “Your mom was so damn proud of you.”
“I know that now,” Bucky murmurs with a gentle smile. “I wish she could see I didn’t turn out that bad.”
“I’m happy that you’re here.” The confession comes out quieter than intended and probably a little too earnest for his liking, but there is nothing he can do about it now that it’s out.
Bucky’s big and happy smile softens a bit and his eyes turn gentle – tender, if Steve dares looking into it a little more intently. Steve’s heart beats a little faster at the sight, his breath coming up a little short at the meaning of the look.
“‘Bout time you realize I’m here to stay.”
Steve can’t hold back the surprised laugh that bubbles up and out of his throat and he shakes his head, exasperated. But he knows there’s a fond smile pulling at his lips and he can’t hide it.
“Yeah, guess you are.”
“C’mon, let’s get some food,” Bucky tells him, holding out a hand for Steve to grab, pulling him towards the shore and out of the water.
Like earlier, Steve has a hard time keeping his eyes off Bucky’s exposed skin, but he manages to keep himself from reaching out and touching like he desperately wants to. If Bucky sees the struggle in Steve’s eyes, he doesn’t mention it.
They eat lunch out on the porch, trading more memories and ribbing each other about past antics and old mistakes.
It feels so damn good to laugh with Bucky like this again.
Steve sleeps like a baby that night, waking up as the sun starts to rise, rays of light peeking through the curtains and illuminating the room with warm, orange light. He feels rested and happy in a way he hasn’t in a long time.
He really should have known it was only a one time thing though, because the next night, he wakes up to Bucky sitting on the mattress next to him and soothingly telling him he’s okay, he’s safe.
It happens again a few nights later, and once more the next week. And each time, Steve wakes alone in the morning and Bucky acts like nothing happened.
Steve isn’t sure how to feel about it – the mixture of anger and shame and safety and contentment he feels is confusing at best and unnerving at worst – but he can’t deny that having Bucky close, even for just a few hours every other night, makes him feel the calmest Steve’s felt in years.
Having Bucky ignoring it, never bringing it up is as welcome as it is aggravating. Steve knows that this is how they work – how they’ve always worked – supporting and helping the other without mentioning it, but he thought that after everything, it would be different; they would be different.
✬
It’s been three weeks.
In that time, Bucky has crawled into Steve’s bed seven times.
In that time, they have talked about it zero times. Steve has to admit the whole thing is starting to drive him a little insane.
Steve wakes up one morning, the right side of his bed still warm, though it’s empty. Bucky must have just gotten up. The sheets are still rumpled, the pillow still indented from where Bucky was laying his head, and something in Steve’s chest starts to ache.
Something needs to change, and it needs to change now.
He gets up from his bed, still half asleep but determined.
“Hey,” Steve hums, trying to convey confidence and determination but he’s not sure it comes through. He knows he doesn’t feel it.
“Morning,” Bucky answers, glancing up at Steve with a small smile. He doesn’t say anything, just like every other morning.
“I think we gotta talk.”
“Sure,” Bucky says easily. He puts his book down on the coffee table and turns his full attention towards Steve. “What’s up?”
“ ‘What’s up?’” Steve parrots, his hands lifting up in exasperation. “Bucky, really?” He tries not to sound mad, he really does. But his brain is only half online and he feels a little bit angry and a lot hurt, so really, he can’t be blamed for how irrational he’s acting right now.
Bucky doesn’t say anything, although he has a confused look on his face, his eyebrows pulled in question. He goes as far as to give Steve a little shrug, apparently unaware of the issue at hand. God, Steve wants to slap him. He also wants to kiss him.
“What are we doing?” Steve finally manages to ask, his voice pathetic even to his own ears. He really needs to learn how to get a fucking grip.
“I mean, apparently you’re trying to tell me something?”
“Oh my god, you are so infuriating,” he groans, rolling his eyes. Bucky loves being slow when it comes to this kind of conversation and it’s always unclear to Steve whether or not it’s on purpose. Steve refuses to think Bucky can be that much of an idiot so he chooses to think it is on purpose.
“Steve, can you just say what you wanna say?” Bucky insists, but he sounds so genuinely confused Steve can’t be mad – he’s not being stupid on purpose then.
“Why haven’t you mentioned it?”
“Can you stop being so vague?” Bucky sounds a little frustrated now, but there’s a hint of humor underneath it – on purpose then? Is Bucky fucking with him? Steve doesn’t have time to ponder.
“The whole… slipping into my bed when I wake up from a nightmare? Why haven’t you said anything about it?”
“I didn’t think you wanted to talk about it,” Bucky says casually, a comforting look in his eyes and a half shrug. There’s an edge to his voice that tells Steve he was just trying to pull it out of him. Bucky’s always been good at pretending to be clueless so Steve would spit it out. Though he’ll never admit it, Steve is grateful for it. “You didn’t bring it up, so I was following your lead. I didn’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable.”
“Jeez,” Steve breathes out, a hand rubbing at his eyes. “We’re really bad at this, huh?”
“At…?”
“Talking,” Steve explains, waving a hand around, proving his point. He was always bad when it came to talking about himself. “About our feelings.”
“Yeah well, I blame it on the thirties,” Bucky claims with a shrug and a stupid goofy smile on his face that makes Steve want to hug him. Then again, Steve wants to pull Bucky into a hug pretty much all the time – when he doesn’t want to punch him or kiss him, which is too often to be healthy.
“You can’t keep blaming everything on the thirties, Buck,” Steve accuses, though he secretly loves when Bucky is like this.
“Try me,” Bucky challenges, his smile turning cocky and defiant. He sounds every bit the little shit he’d been his whole life.
“Alright,” Steve answers with a laugh. He shakes his head in exasperation but he can’t hold back the fond smile. “Well, you keep finding things to blame on the Great Depression, I’m gonna go for a run.”
“Do you think I should make a list? We can go over it together.”
“I’m leaving,” Steve calls over his shoulder, making his way to the mudroom to get his running shoes.
“Oh, hey!” Bucky exclaims, and Steve can tell Bucky turned around on the couch to call after him. He can also hear the laugh in Bucky’s voice and tries to hold back one of own. “What are your thoughts on this country’s tipping culture?”
“I hate you,” Steve sing-songs from the other room, a smile on his face because he loves it when Bucky gets like this – playful and a little silly.
“No you don’t!”
He really doesn’t.
✬
Steve forces himself to only glance up at Bucky every five minutes at the most, trying not to make it obvious that he’s sketching his friend from across the room. He thinks he’s doing pretty good so far because Bucky hasn’t looked up at him once and he’s given no indication he’s noticed Steve studying his face.
Every time Bucky shifts and looks his way, Steve makes it a point to bury himself into his chair a little more, letting the pillows swallow him slowly. He’s managed to draw Bucky without getting noticed for decades; he’s not about to get caught now.
“Hey,” Bucky says softly from where he’s laying on the couch – when did that happen? – trying to get Steve’s attention. From the way he says it, Steve can tell Bucky has probably tried a couple of times before. Steve keeps himself from jumping in surprise, keeping the hint of embarrassment from his face as he keeps sketching, to make sure Bucky isn’t onto him.
They’ve been sitting in relative silence for a while, the only sounds in the room coming from the old radio in the corner and Steve’s pencil moving against paper. The song playing is slow but happy, fitting the atmosphere of the room perfectly.
Bucky seems to be doing little else lately, always a book on his hands. Steve can’t help but remember the way Bucky had read the only three books they had over and over for a whole winter, before he’d saved enough to get a new one. Steve used to wonder how Bucky could still look as enthralled and surprised by the stories after having read them over twenty times – he’s never figured it out.
Steve notices the book in Bucky's hand, a finger in between the pages to keep his place, the cover turned towards his chest, away from Steve. He shifts a second later, the book sliding on Bucky’s leg, the title now clear. Steve’s chest aches with nostalgia at the sight.
The Hobbit has been Bucky’s favorite book since it came out in the thirties and Steve remembers him reading it at least twice a year until the war. Bucky’s original worn down copy stayed in their Brooklyn apartment, while another, newer one made its way overseas when Bucky got drafted. Steve was never able to find it in Bucky’s stuff after he fell, and he remembers breaking down at the thought of not even having that one small thing to keep after losing Bucky.
That original copy was one of the first items from his old apartment he’d managed to track down after waking up. When he finally got it, he’d refused to touch it for almost a year in fear of it just disintegrating in his hands if he so much as dared lay a finger on it. It’s in his room now, part of the series of boxes he refuses to open – too many painful memories and items hidden away inside of them.
“Wanna watch a movie?” Bucky asks, pulling Steve out of his head once more, out of memories that still haunt him, even after all this time. As much as he tries to tell himself he needs to stop thinking about his past life, their past life, he still finds it hard to.
Steve shuts his sketchbook and puts it down on the table softly, turning towards Bucky fully from his seat in the armchair. Bucky is already staring at him, a small smile on his face, though there is a small look of concern on his face. There almost always is, so Steve isn’t sure what it’s about.
“Actually,” Steve starts, getting up without waiting for Bucky to react, “what do you say we do something a little less boring ?”
He walks to the other side of the room, feeling Bucky’s eyes on him as he goes but he ignores it. Or tries to. It’s been proving difficult to ignore anything that Bucky does because somehow it’s always the best and most interesting thing, no matter how trivial. (Steve might be a little pathetic. So what?)
The bottle he pulls from the shelf is still mostly full, only a couple inches of liquid missing from it. He’s had it for a long time, stared at it longingly for months back when he’d lost all hope during the Blip. But he knew if he started down that road, if he let himself numb his feelings like that, he wouldn’t have been able to stop. He’d tried to do the exact same when he’d lost Bucky the first time – what a disappointment it had been to realize he couldn’t get drunk anymore.
“Steve Rogers, since when do you know how to have fun?” Bucky jokes, his tone light and teasing, a gasp coming out of his mouth as a hand shoots to clutch his chest. It sounds so much like Bucky it makes Steve want to weep just a little. He swears he’s not heard him sound like this in decades.
Though he probably did. A few times over the last few weeks and maybe a few years ago in Wakanda. He thinks Bucky could have been happy there, could have found peace; he’s pretty sure he was close. Steve had felt guilty for bringing Bucky back into that whole mess for a long time after so many of his friends turned to dust; he doesn’t anymore.
“Why don’t you shut up and go grab a couple of glasses?”
“Fine,” Bucky answers with an over-dramatic sigh, rolling his eyes, but Steve can see the smile on his face and the way his shoulders hold no tension at all for the first time in days.
“What d’you have in mind?” he asks when he comes back from the kitchen, placing the tumblers down on the coffee table and turns back to Steve. “Did you wanna play bridge like the old man that you are?”
“Fuck off,” Steve says with a chuckle, opening the bottle to fill the glasses with a few ounces of mead. “I was thinking of something more like bingo.”
The laugh that Bucky lets out is loud and carefree and god, does Steve love to hear it. It’s the same laugh as that day in the water; the same laugh from Brooklyn, way back when.
“Of course, how stupid of me to think different.”
“You were always the stupid one out of the two of us,” Steve says, clinking his glass against Bucky’s in cheers.
“The hell I was,” he protests, taking a sip of his drink, subsequently letting out a low groan. “This is good.”
“Wait until you feel the buzz.”
“So, this shit can actually get us drunk, huh?” Bucky asks, sort of amazed as he looks at the liquid, slushing it around slowly.
“Oh yeah.”
“Nice,” Bucky murmurs with a nod, bringing his glass back to his lips. He takes another sip, a big gulp this time. He winces a bit at the taste, but he’s smiling big and happy.
They chat easily as they slowly make their way through their first drink, Bucky reaching for the bottle after half an hour, topping off both of their glasses. It’s nice and familiar in a way not much is these days, in a way nothing has in a long time. It makes him so happy to have a friend here with him; he’s been alone for far too long.
Steve is suddenly very aware of the fact that he misses Sam and Natasha a whole lot. They text every other day and Steve tries to make sure he gets them on the phone once a week, but it’s hard. He’s been missing Sam for five years, and now that he has him back, his friend is on the other side of the country.
Sam is doing what needs to be done though, helping displaced folks find their place again, after coming back. It’s admirable and it’s what Steve should be doing instead of hiding away in the mountains like a recluse.
Except being here is what he wants. And maybe that makes him selfish, and maybe that means people will hate him, but he’s done caring. He’s done doing what everyone else wants him to do; he’s given enough.
He’s given it all.
Sam is everything Steve can’t be anymore – which is why Steve handed him the shield all those weeks ago. Sam deserves it and Steve isn’t sure he himself still does. At least he doesn’t want it.
“You okay?” Bucky asks softly, pulling Steve out of his thoughts. That seems to happen a lot. But then again, Steve is stuck in his own head most of the time.
“Yeah, just thinking,” Steve assures him with a small smile. “You heard from Sam?”
“ Me?” He says it with a laugh, like this is the most ridiculous thing Steve has ever said in his life. Steve knows for a fact it isn’t – he’s been known to be absurd before; many times. “Yeah, ‘cause we’re the best of friends.”
“You do know you guys are not fooling anyone, right?” Steve asks with a laugh of his own, because he just knows Sam and Bucky actually really like each other and just love to play up this stupid little rivalry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, buddy.”
“Right, okay,” he answers placatingly, deciding he doesn’t want to entertain Bucky’s denial.
“Oh hey, do you have that Harry James record?” Bucky suddenly asks, jumping up from the couch and walking across the room to one of the bookcases that hold a massive collection of vinyls. Steve hasn’t taken the time to look through it, though he knows it’s sorted by genre as well as alphabetically – it’s not how he would’ve done it, but he doesn’t want to take the time to fix it.
The handful of records he brought from his own collection are in his room, leaning against the small record player on his desk he’d bought back in DC all these years ago. Everything out here was already in the house when he moved in, probably handpicked by Tony at some point. Which is why Steve hasn’t looked through it; half of the collection is probably a stab at Steve’s age, the other half likely music Steve never wants to listen to.
“Which one?” Steve asks in vain, knowing he won’t get a straight answer. He tries anyway – he always does.
“You know the one!” is the answer that comes from where Bucky is crouched, looking through the hundreds of records.
Steve doesn’t try again, because this is just Bucky being Bucky and he knows better than to ask questions. He knows he won’t get an answer anyways, not when Bucky gets like this. His friend gets so laser focused Steve is pretty sure whatever he says wouldn’t register anyways.
Bucky lets out a loud whoop when he finally finds what he’s looking for, his arm shooting up, Steve only seeing his hand and the record he’s holding over the back of the couch.
“I knew you had it!” he exclaims, getting up from the floor and going to put the record on the old gramophone on the secretary desk.
“You do know Tony put all this shit in here to make fun of me, right?” Steve says with an eye roll, though the huge smile on his face kind of cancels out the effect he was going for.
“Joke’s on him, this is your favorite record.”
“No, it’s yours,” Steve argues, albeit weakly. Bucky isn’t wrong, but neither is Steve. The record is only his favorite because it’s Bucky’s.
“Same thing,” Bucky mumbles with a very uncoordinated wave of his hand.
The song starts then, filling the room with loud instruments and so many memories. It reminds Steve of that tiny living room in the apartment he’d shared with Bucky for six years. Every time it would play on their old crappy radio, Bucky would jump up from wherever he was sitting – the couch, the chair, the table, the floor – and pull Steve to his feet. He’d wrap an arm around Steve’s shoulders, pulling him close. Steve always acted like he despised being made to dance around the tiny in his socks, but he secretly fucking loved it and he wishes Bucky could have known.
“Come on,” Bucky demands, standing right in front of Steve’s armchair, a hand extended towards him. “Dance with me.”
“Bucky,” Steve complains, just like he used to, just to see the false exasperated look on Bucky’s face.
This is a game they’d both enjoyed back then, though they never admitted it to each other.
“Please?”
With a huff, Steve slaps Bucky’s hand away and gets up. They move to the area behind the couch where there’s more space, Bucky’s left hand wrapping around Steve’s waist. Despite the cool metal that makes up Bucky’s limb, Steve feels like every single point of contact is burning. It gets even worse when Bucky cradles Steve’s hand in his and starts leading them into an easy waltz.
“You’re not as bad as I remember,” Bucky whispers when the song finishes and turns into another one. Bucky doesn’t stop moving, pulling Steve just a little bit closer.
“Well, you’re not the best at remembering, Buck,” he points out with a small laugh.
“You’re such an ass.”
“I’ve had some practice,” Steve says quietly after a minute or so. The song that’s playing now might be Steve’s favorite, though of course Bucky knows that. It’s probably why he’d picked this record in the first place. Bucky knows him just a little too well.
“At being an ass?” Bucky asks with a serious look on his face and mirth in his eyes. “‘Cause I don’t think you ever needed to get better at that.”
“At dancing, you jerk.”
“Found a bunch of dames to take dancing?” Bucky inquires, his eyebrows going up and down suggestively. It shouldn’t look as infuriating as it does.
“Something like that,” Steve mumbles, giving a small shrug.
Bucky doesn’t ask him to elaborate, so Steve doesn’t. As comfortable as he is with Bucky, there are some things he’s not quite ready to share with his best friend. One day, though. Hopefully.
“I should go to bed,” Steve finally says when the third song finally comes to an end. It feels so nice, being here and in Bucky’s arms, but he can’t let himself sink into it too much. He won’t.
“Oh,” is what comes out of Bucky’s mouth, the obvious disappointment in his voice taking Steve aback a little. “Yeah, of course.”
“I mean–”
“No, you’re right, it’s getting late. Plus, I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt tipsy like this, I kind of can’t wait to pass out.”
“Good,” Steve says with an unsure smile and a small nod of his head. “Thanks for… you know.”
“Anytime,” he answers, finally taking a step back. His hands fall away from Steve before he makes his way to the record player. He slowly pulls the needle off the record, plunging the room back into silence. It feels just a bit awkward now, the polar opposite of the comfortable quiet from earlier.
Bucky keeps his back to Steve for a few more seconds and when it’s obvious he’s not going to turn around or say anything, Steve retreats to his room, dragging his feet just a little bit.
Steve lays in bed for a while, his eyes wide open, his heart still beating a little too fast. His head is stuck somewhere in 1938, in an apartment building that doesn’t exist anymore. And if his eyes are a little misty and his chest a little tight, then he’ll tell himself it’s the Asgardian liquor he’s had tonight and no one needs to know.
✬
Steve startles awake, confused about what woke him up. He knows it’s not a nightmare because his heart rate is normal and he’s not covered in sweat. There is no sound coming from inside the cabin nor outside, in the woods. The room is still plunged into darkness and Steve has to focus for a second before he manages to see anything.
There’s the slightest sliver of light coming from under his door, and now that he’s more alert he can hear heavy breathing coming from the room next to his. It takes a minute to wake up enough to be able to concentrate on the sounds in the other room and when he does, what he hears is a soft whimper. Steve is up and across the small hall in less than a second.
With a deep breath, he lifts his hand up slowly, holding it there for a moment, wondering if this is the right thing to do. His fist barely touches the door, not wanting to startle Bucky with a loud noise.
“Hey Buck, can I come in?” he asks gently. He tries to keep his voice even and low, not wanting to spook Bucky. He knows his friend isn’t as jumpy as he used to be, but he still tries to be careful with him, never wanting to trigger a bad reaction.
Shuri and her team may have been able to undo whatever Hydra did to Bucky’s brain, erase the trigger words and anything else they’d put in there, but she was only a scientist. She was no miracle worker, though she’d tried her best.
Bucky also worked through a lot of things in therapy, though Steve knows there are still parts of his life that Bucky refuses to talk about. Steve wonders if his friend will ever be able to talk about those parts of himself – he hopes so, hopes Bucky will one day feel safe enough to.
That is to say, Bucky wasn’t magically fixed during his time in Wakanda. He still looks off in the distance for long amounts of time way too often for it to be normal, still shies away from touch when he’s not the one initiating. He sometimes still looks at Steve like he can’t believe he’s there.
Steve hasn’t heard him have nightmares in the past few weeks, but he knows it doesn’t mean anything. Especially when it comes to Bucky, who still thinks he needs to hide that kind of thing from Steve in order to protect him. Steve hasn’t needed this kind of protection in a long time; not since the serum, not since Bucky left and Steve had to fend for himself.
“Buck?” he tries again just a little louder when he doesn’t get an answer.
“Stevie?” Bucky’s voice calls from the other side of the door, his voice cracking on the last syllable.
“I’m coming in,” Steve warns, opening the door with some urgency though he tries to appear calm. Bucky hasn’t sounded so frightened and broken in so long – not since Romania, not since he thought Steve was there to take him in, to put him down.
Bucky is sitting up on his bed, his chest heaving, his breath coming out rapidly and Steve can see the sweat running down his skin from where he stands. He makes his way further into the room, walking slowly and deliberately so Bucky can see where he’s going before he’s even moving.
“Can I?” he asks once he gets to the bed, a hand extended towards Bucky’s legs. One limb is still tangled in the blanket, though it’s obvious Bucky had been trying to kick them away from him not long ago.
The only answer he gets is a minute nod and Steve would have missed it if he hadn’t been staring at Bucky’s face, looking for a response.
Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s knee and he lowers himself on the bed, sitting in the small space next to Bucky’s hip.
“Do you wanna talk about it?”
“Can you just… lay next to me?” Bucky asks, voice shy and insecure. Steve doesn’t think those are words he’s ever associated with Bucky before and it breaks his heart a little.
He doesn’t deny him though, and he doesn’t lose one more second before moving to lay on his side next to Bucky. There isn’t a lot of space, and they’re pressed close together, but Steve isn’t about to complain. Even less so when Bucky moves to lay on his side next to Steve, facing him, only a hair’s breadth between their faces.
Bucky is silent but his breathing starts to calm down, his chest moving up and down more evenly. His eyes are closed, though Steve knows he’s not asleep. He knows Bucky too well, has watched him fall asleep way too many times to be fooled by something as simple as shut eyes and a steady breath.
“You know,” Steve starts, voice barely above a whisper. They’re so close Steve doesn’t need to speak louder than that anyway. He could whisper from a room away and Bucky would be able to hear him anyways.
“Mmh?” Bucky prompts when Steve doesn’t say anything more. He has a hint of a smile on his face. He probably knows he wasn’t tricking Steve at all.
Steve stays silent for a little while. He’s not sure how he should say what’s on the tip of his tongue, not sure he should say it at all. He thinks this is something Bucky should know though, something Steve should share with him, after everything.
“I can’t believe it’s real sometimes,” Steve finally confesses. His voice trembles at the emotions bubbling up his throat, but he takes a steadying breath, knowing this is something he needs to say.
“What?” Bucky asks, his eyes opening and the full force of them settling on Steve. It used to take his breath away, to have this powerful a look be directed at him. And though it still makes his heart skip a bit, he has somehow gotten used to it.
“It doesn’t seem real sometimes… that we’ve brought everyone back.”
“Steve–”
“That I got you back.”
“I’m here,” Bucky assures him, his right hand reaching out to grab Steve’s. He squeezes his hand once, twice, before scooching away a little bit to lay in the middle of the bed. He pulls Steve with him so they can both lay on their back.
Their hands are still intertwined and Steve is scared that if he moves and brings attention to it, Bucky will pull away. So, he lays there, in silence, immobile, scared everything around him will shatter if he so much as exhales too loud
“It’s still there,” Bucky says, letting out a long and deep breath. “Everything I did, everything they did. It’s still a part of me.”
“It doesn’t have to define you though.”
“Hard not to let it.”
“I’m proud of you,” Steve tells Bucky, making sure he sounds as confident as he feels. He might not be sure about a lot of things these days, but what he knows for certain is that he’s never been prouder of anyone like he is of Bucky.
“Let’s just try and go back to sleep, huh?”
Steve just nods, following Bucky’s lead on the subject. If his friend doesn’t want to talk about this, then Steve won’t push him; Bucky will come around eventually, he always does.
“Come here,” he says with a smile, wrapping an arm around Bucky’s shoulders and pulling him down his lay on Steve’s chest.
They’ve never done this before. Sure, Bucky has held Steve close to his chest before, let Steve lay his head down on his stomach when he was sick, but it was always like that. It was always a sick Steve seeking comfort and heat against Bucky’s body and it was always Bucky trying to give it to him by wrapping him up in his arms and holding him close. It was never Steve pulling Bucky to his chest to offer him comfort. It sure never was Bucky throwing an arm over Steve’s stomach and holding tight, seeking warmth and sympathy.
Steve tries to calm his heart rate, knowing Bucky can hear how fast it’s beating against his ribcage, how erratic his breathing is. He tries to distract himself, rubbing his hand up and down Bucky’s back, relaxing them both with the touch.
After a bit, he manages to close his eyes and let his body unwind, though he can’t fall asleep.
Bucky’s breathing has been slow and steady for a while now, and Steve can’t just lay here anymore. He can’t take watching Bucky's head resting on his shoulder any longer. The bed is too comfortable, the pillows too fluffy and the smell of Bucky is everywhere.
Slowly and carefully, he manages to pull himself from under Bucky without disturbing him. Steve sits on the edge of the bed for a second or two, taking a deep breath before finally pushing himself off the bed. He doesn’t manage to stand up before he feels a hand wrap around his wrist.
Bucky’s eyes are barely open when Steve looks back at him, but his grip on Steve’s arm is nothing if not deliberate.
“Stay,” Bucky murmurs, and that really is all Steve needs to hear to get him to crawl back in bed, pulling the covers on top of them and reaching for Bucky again, letting him lay his head back on his chest.
It’s such a simple statement, such an innocent word, but it might be the one thing Steve’s ever wanted to hear come out of Bucky’s mouth.
When he wakes up the next morning, Bucky is still draped over him, one leg tangled in Steve’s, and it feels perfect. It feels right.
They fall into a pattern after that night, crawling into one of their beds together each night. It’s nice. It’s familiar and it helps. There are no more screams echoing in the dark of night, no more heavy breathing to try and hide, no more cold sweats making everything uncomfortable.
Bucky is still out of bed before Steve most mornings, but he doesn’t retreat back to his room or hide in the bathroom anymore. He makes sure to have coffee ready for Steve and food in any way he can. They don’t shy away from questions anymore, telling the other what’s on their mind, what’s keeping them up.
It feels so domestic, and if Steve is honest, it feels right.
✬
He can’t take it anymore.
Steve has always been proud of the fact he is a strong man – bull-headed, some might say – but he cannot be that strong. No one can.
There is no way anyone could survive this. Although, no one in their right mind would have put themselves in this position in the first place, but then again, no one is as stupid as Steve. That much is clear.
Because who the hell would let a situation like this get so out of hand?
They’ve been sharing a bed every night for over two weeks now. After the first few nights, Bucky apparently decided that cuddling Steve really wasn’t all that bad – might even be the best thing in the world – and so, every morning, Steve wakes up to Bucky wrapped around him like a cuddly octopus and he has to do breathing exercises to calm himself because there is no way he’s going to let himself get hard with Bucky pressed up to him like this.
It’s with his predicament in mind that he calls Natasha one afternoon. If anyone can help him, it sure is Natasha; she never shies from telling Steve exactly what he won’t admit to himself and it’s exactly what he needs right now.
Bucky is outside, doing god knows what – the only thing Steve knows is that he doesn’t have a shirt on and he’s sweaty and Steve really can’t keep looking at him through the window like a goddamn creeper.
“‘Sup?” Natasha says the second the call connects. She sounds busy, a little out of breath, and Steve hopes he’s not catching her at a bad time. Steve knows she will always answer Steve’s call, no matter what, knowing he only calls when it’s important.
“I need advice,” Steve announces, puffing up his chest even though she can’t see him, but it helps him feel more confident.
“Shoot.”
“So, there’s this thing with Bucky,” he starts, wavering slightly, though he hopes it doesn’t transpire in his voice. Natasha has seen him as high and as low as possible, but this is something new – he’s never quite told her about his feelings for Bucky, not in so many words any way.
“Let me stop you right there, Steve,” she says, cutting him off. Her voice is sharp though not unkind. “If you called me to ask me how to tell Bucky you’re hopelessly in love with him, I don’t wanna hear it.”
“Wait, what? How do you know?” Steve asks stupidly. Because, realistically, if there’s one person in Steve’s life who could see right through him and understand his feelings, it’s Natasha
“I’ve got no time, or patience to be honest, to deal with two stupid hundred-year-old super soldiers. Call Sam and leave me out of it.”
“Wha–” he starts to say, but the line clicks, indicating to Steve he’s just been hung up on. If she weren’t his friend, Steve would actually find it in himself to be mad.
He stands there for a minute or so, a little dumbfounded. A text comes through soon after, a simple ‘want the deets later’ that makes Steve smile a little. He figures he should follow the one piece of advice Natasha did give him and call Sam.
“Hey man,” Sam says as he answers the phone, a smile evident in his voice. “All good?”
“Yeah, everything’s fine.”
“Spill.”
“What?”
“I can hear it in your voice, Steve. What’s on your mind?”
Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, turning around so he’s not facing the window looking out towards the lake, where Bucky is apparently now swimming in.
God, he feels like a creep.
After another second or so, he finally gathers the courage to start telling Sam about his problem. He tells him about everything; the nightmares, the nights spent in each other’s bed, the cuddles and the talks. He talks about how it makes him feel, what he thinks it means.
Most of all though, he asks what Sam thinks it means, because he really can’t figure it out.
“Okay, so,” Sam starts, voice a little condescending but not mean. “What you’re telling me is, the guy you’ve been in love with your whole life is sleeping in your bed every night? And that’s an issue how, exactly?”
“What? Wait, how– how do you know?”
“Steve,” Sam sighs. He sounds exasperated and Steve can’t really blame him. He is a little dense sometimes. “Steve, my friend. I’ve got eyes. And anyone with eyes can see you two have been pining for each other for a century.”
“Huh?” is the only thing that makes its way out of his mouth.
“You’re an idiot.”
“Yeah, that’s what Nat said.”
“And she’s right. Can’t you two talk about it? Like… I don’t know, adults?”
“What if he doesn’t want to stay after I say something?” And that’s really what this is. Steve is so scared Bucky would pull away if he knew, would shut Steve out, would leave. Steve doesn’t think he could lose Bucky again.
“Oh my god, this is worse than I thought. Just talk to him.”
It takes a second for Steve to realize he’s been hung up on. Again.
He really needs new friends.
✬
“Sam says hi,” Steve tells Bucky nonchalantly as he picks up their plates from the coffee table and walks to the kitchen. He doesn’t need to look back to know Bucky’s following him, hopefully with the rest of the dirty dishes they need to put away.
“Does he?” Bucky asks, incredulous.
“Well, he didn’t say it, but I know he wanted to.”
Bucky lets out an undignified snort at that, shaking his head in amusement. “I’m sure he did, Steve.”
They clean up the mess they left after cooking dinner, too hungry to take the time to put everything in the dishwasher right away. They move around one another easily, rinsing pans, scraping plates, and emptying glasses. They do it all in silence, though it’s comfortable – it always is.
“When did you talk to him?” Bucky asks when they’re done. He sits on the couch, turning down the sound on the TV so they can talk.
“Oh, um, I called him earlier,” Steve says, taking a seat close to Bucky, though they aren’t close enough to touch.
“How are things?” He sounds casual as ever, though Steve knows what he’s really asking, what he really wants to know. Is Steve going to leave and help the relief efforts with everything?
There’s something in the back of Steve’s head that tells him that he should. That it would be the right thing to do for everyone – everyone but him. He used to listen to that voice incessantly, never thinking twice about jumping right in without much thought or planning.
Now though, he doesn’t want to listen to it. He doesn’t want to be anywhere else but here.
“He’s got it under control,” is what he says instead, because he doesn’t know how to put those thoughts into words.
“You made the right choice, passing down the shield to him.”
“I know,” Steve murmurs, because he does. It didn’t take long to realize Sam was the right person for the job and when it came down to it, Steve knows his friend will do a better job than he ever could with the title.
“Do you know what you want to do now?”
“Not sure what I want matters much.”
“Of course it does, Steve.”
“There’s so much to do, so much to fix. I’m not sure I can stand back and let everyone take care of it without me. I can’t believe I’ve been hiding away for weeks already. That’s not who I am.”
“You’ve earned this,” Bucky assures him, voice sincere. “You don’t owe anyone anything more than what you’re willing to give them. If you want to step back, step down, then you should. There are so many people out there taking care of everything, making sure everyone that came back is okay, has somewhere to go.”
“There’s so much to do,” Steve repeats, his voice so quiet and insecure, sounding as pathetic as he feels. The look Bucky gives him is sympathetic and so, so understanding it makes Steve want to weep. It also makes him want to curl up in bed, with Bucky wrapped around him, holding him.
“And you don’t have to do it all,” Bucky insists, sounding so certain of his words and of himself. He always manages to do that, to make Steve feel seen and understood, even when he feels like no one could ever see his point. “Hell, you don’t have to do any of it. You’ve done enough Steve.”
“I just want to rest.” The admission comes out more confidently than he thought it would, though it’s not really a surprise. It’s the only thing Steve really wants. to sit back and let other people fix the world. He can’t keep carrying all this weight by himself.
“And that’s okay,” Bucky assures him. His left hand comes to rest on Steve’s shoulder, giving it a small squeeze. Steve tries not to look too deep into the fact that Bucky is touching him with his metal hand, which he barely ever does if he’s got a choice. “At some point in your life, you’re gonna have to learn how to take care of yourself.”
“Nah, I got you for that,” Steve jokes, trying to defuse some of the tension he can feel in the air between them.
“You punk.”
“Jerk.”
“I hope you had someone else looking out for you while I was gone,” he teases, though Steve can hear the seriousness in his voice, a layer of it evident under everything else. Bucky has never been able to hide his worry over Steve’s wellbeing.
“Well, I had Nat. But it wasn’t the same.”
“No one special?”
Steve thinks about Sam’s words, about his feelings for Bucky, and figures this is his chance. He owes it to Bucky – and to himself – to be open about who he is, about who he’s loved in the past. They might not have talked about things like this before, whether before the war or after they found each other again, but Steve figures this has been a long time coming.
There might not have been anyone quite like Bucky in his life, but there has been someone he thought he could let in, could bare himself and his darkest secrets to. And he had, to some extent, though he wasn’t lying when he said it wasn’t the same.
No relationship – romantic or otherwise – has ever been quite like what he shares with Bucky.
“I don’t know, there was this guy a year or two after I woke up,” he starts, trying to sound a little more self-assured than he feels. “I thought it could work, I thought it was working. But then… after the Triskelion there was no space in my life for anything other than finding you.”
“A guy, huh?” Bucky asks, some sort of challenge in his voice. Steve isn’t sure how to interpret it.
“That a problem?” he counters defensively, because that’s the only response he knows – always fight, never flight.
“You actin’ like we weren’t basically all coupled up before the war.” The way Bucky says it, like it’s the most obvious thing in the world, like it makes sense, confuses Steve to no end.
None of this makes sense; they were never like that and Steve can’t remember a time where they ever acted like they were. Sure, they lived together and sometimes shared a bed. And yes, Bucky never minded that he was the only one to work most of the time, supporting them both and not asking Steve to pay him back. But Steve never saw them as anything other than friends, best friends, even if he’d always held onto the hope it could be more.
Has he been so oblivious his entire life that he missed this? Missed them acting like an actual couple? Steve can’t help but hate himself just a little bit.
“It’s not the same,” he tries to argue, though he can hear the lack of conviction in his voice. He’s sure Bucky can make out the slight waiver in his voice too.
“Isn’t it though, Steve? Because it sure as shit felt the same to me.”
“What are you saying?” Steve asks, because he’s so, so confused. What is going on? What is Bucky trying to tell him? God, he feels like the world’s biggest idiot right now.
“Steve, c’mon. You know damn well we’ve been dancing around this our whole lives.”
“Buck–”
“You know,” Bucky starts, cutting him off in a soothing tone, his eyes so gentle. He’s trying to make Steve comfortable, help him stop feeling like a moron. “I was sure Wakanda was it… I thought I had everything there. I had calm, peace. I was healing and I thought I had the person to share it all with. But there was… I was missing something and he knew it – we both knew it. Steve, I was always gonna be missing something, because no one is you.”
“After DC, after I saw you… Bucky, I’ve not been able to look at anyone since then. You gotta know, bringing you back was the only thing on my mind for the last five years.”
“It’s funny, you know. The first few months in Romania, when I started getting my memories back, it was like watching someone else’s life, experiencing someone else’s feelings. For a long time, I thought you and I were a thing, at least at some point.”
“I wanted to, I always wanted to, Buck, you gotta know that,” Steve promises him, voice pleading and so fucking pathetic. Bucky always made him just a little pathetic.
“I know that now. And I wish I knew it then too, but we’re here now. It has to mean something, right?”
And it does, god, it does. It means everything. Because Steve has been waiting his whole life to hear these words, though he never thought they’d come. He never thought it’d be possible for Bucky to even feel anything remotely close to what Steve feels for him.
“I still want to,” Steve confesses, his voice low but confident. He wants this, he needs Bucky to know it.
“You do?”
“How could I want anything else?”
“Jesus christ, Steve,” Bucky mumbles, closing the distance between them. He grabs Steve’s hand, squeezing it just a little before he pulls Steve towards him the last few inches.
Steve lets out a small laugh when his chest presses close to Bucky’s shoulder, but the sound dies down the second Bucky presses their lips together. He doesn’t stay silent for long though, a sound full of happiness and contentment and just pure relief making its way up his throat and out his mouth.
Bucky reacts instantly, one hand wrapping around Steve’s hip, the other one coming up to hold his jaw. Steve’s own hands find their way to Bucky’s neck, holding him close, too afraid to move them anywhere else. It’s not what he’s focused on though, because Bucky’s kissing him more insistently.
Steve doesn’t think his brain will ever work again. It’s very much worth it though.
His suspicions are confirmed when, twenty minutes later, after having made their way to Steve’s bedroom, Bucky’s hands and mouth bring Steve over the edge. It feels like a truck slamming into him, like he’s free-falling out of a plane, like every single nerve ending in his body comes alive, all at the same time.
There is not one thought in his head other than BuckyBuckyBucky.
He never wants it to stop, and he almost never wants his brain to come back online. But Bucky deserves to feel as good – if not better – than what is still pumping through Steve’s blood, and he’s the only one who can give it to him.
There is nothing he wants more than for Bucky to feel loved and cared for, like he deserves.
✬
Steve wakes up to the feeling of fingers trailing down his chest, closely followed by warm lips. He keeps his eyes closed, trying to keep his breathing in check so Bucky won’t notice he’s awake although he’s pretty sure Bucky could tell he was waking up before Steve even came to.
Bucky’s hands dance across his abs while his tongue trails the lines of his pecs, making goosebump spread all over his skin. He can’t hold back the tiny groan he lets out nor can he hide the smile that slowly spreads across his face.
It’s been like this for a couple of weeks now, waking up next to each other every single day, tangled in some sort of way. Sometimes, it’s slow and warm, both of them waking up bit by bit, tangled close together. Sometimes, it’s with Steve pressing delicate kisses against Bucky’s neck and face, much to Bucky’s annoyance.
Every single time though, it fills Steve with so much happiness and comfort, making him feel so at peace, so at home. That’s something Bucky has always made him feel though, safe and cared for, but this is unlike anything they’ve ever shared before, unlike anything Steve has ever felt before.
“Morning, Sunshine,” Bucky says against Steve’s skin, the smile evident both in his voice and against Steve’s skin. His lips are pressed low on Steve’s stomach, just above his happy trail. It’s making all the blood in Steve’s body travel south at an alarming pace. He’s pretty sure he would get lightheaded were he standing.
“Good morning,” Steve answers lazily, his hands finding Bucky’s head, his fingers grabbing at the strands gently. “What’s this for?”
“Happy birthday, baby.”
Bucky’s hands start trailing down, letting his fingernails scrape the skin of Steve’s hip. The fingers of his left hand are slowly warming up from the heat radiating off of Steve’s skin, though Steve doesn’t mind the chill. He never does, it helps him stay grounded, helps him stay in the moment.
After a few more minutes of innocent touches and dangerously arousing touches, Steve is just about ready to lose his mind. Bucky has touched him everywhere – everywhere – except where Steve really wants him to. His lips and tongue have dragged over about every single inch of skin of Steve’s neck and chest, lighting him up with every single touch.
It’s intoxicating, the effect Bucky has on him. The effect his touch has on him. And it drives him crazy in all the right ways.
“Buck,” Steve warns, his voice hoarse from lack of use, his throat dry, mostly from Bucky’s ministrations, though he’s not sure what he’s warning Bucky about.
“Want me to stop?” Bucky answers, his lips barely coming off Steve’s skin, his breath making Steve shiver softly. Steve can feel Bucky’s smug smile against his hip, can just imagine the look he has in his eyes as he says that.
“Don’t you dare.” It comes out weaker than he anticipated, breathier than he’d wished, but not less true.
He’s been waiting for this for too long to ever ask Bucky to stop.
✬
An hour later, when they’re both sated and relaxed, Steve has to admit to himself this is already the best birthday he’s had in years. Sure, it’s not the first birthday he’s spent with Bucky in the twenty-first century, but it’s the first time he’s spent this day with Bucky. He can’t help but feel incredibly happy just at the thought.
They lay in silence next to each other, their legs loosely tangled together, for a while. Steve is sure Bucky is asleep until he feels his boyfriend’s thumb gently start rubbing over Steve’s chest. He makes a pleased sound in the back of his throat, blindingly moving his own hand up to touch Bucky somewhere, anywhere. It lands on Bucky’s hip, the bone sharp under the soft skin.
It feels good, touching Bucky like this, especially after convincing himself time and time again that he’d never get to do so. And getting to lay in bed with each other, not a worry in sight, well, it’s a sort of peace Steve never thought he would know.
“C’mon, Nat and Sam will be here soon,” Bucky says after a bit, softly pushing Steve away from him, trying to get him out of bed.
“I don’t care. I wanna stay in bed all day,” Steve protests, because he’s mature like that. He can’t help it though, because there is nothing he wants less than to get up from his warm and comfortable bubble of Bucky. “Actually, I never wanna leave this bed again.”
“Get your ass in the shower, Rogers.”
“But Buck,” he whines. “It’s my birthday.”
“And your closest friends will be here in less than half an hour,” Bucky reminds him, a smile evident on his face. Steve refuses to open his eyes to look at him – if he does, he won’t be able to say no to him. “Also, you reek of sex.”
“But–”
“I’ll let you suck me off in the shower.”
It takes Steve less than a second to jump out of bed, uncoordinated and inelegant. He trips on the blanket, making him slip, dangerously close to slamming his face on the carpet before he rights himself and heads out of the room.
“What are you waiting for!?” Steve yells over his shoulder, already halfway to the bathroom. Bucky is on the bed, a huge smile on his face and so much love in his eyes.
Steve doesn't stop, though he wants to stand there and admire Bucky just a little longer – he’ll have all the time in the world when Sam and Natasha head back to the city next weekend. He’ll have all the time he wants to do everything he wants to Bucky.
Twenty minutes later, when he’s clean and dressed and his jaw is just a little sore, he watches his friends make their way down the driveway. When he pulls them both into a hug, the three of them clinging just a little harder than is considered normal – or healthy – for a little longer than is usually acceptable, Steve realizes something.
His whole life, he’s been looking to belong somewhere. Now though, he knows it was never a place he was looking for. With his best friends in his arms and his boyfriend standing just a couple of feet away, waiting to greet them, he knows.
This is what he’s been looking for. Not a place, but people. People who have managed to make him feel at peace, feel at home, no matter where they were.
Steve had never felt homesick, because he had always been surrounded by at least one of the people standing here right now – the only time he’d ever felt wrong was when Bucky shipped out, leaving Steve alone in the only place he thought he would ever call home. Little did he know the only thing that had made it feel that way had been his mother and Bucky.
The smile that spreads on his face at the realization refuses to dim throughout the day, no matter how many times his friends look at him like he’s insane, no matter how many times Bucky shakes his head at him. He doesn’t care; for once in his life, he’s got everything he wanted.
Steve couldn’t ask for more. He has his friends. He has Bucky. God, he finally has Bucky. This is all he needs. This is all he’ll ever need.