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Bucky was humming the theme tune for Indiana Jones as he shimmed through the window of the Geddis Hall dorms. Technically, he should have used the door. He would have used the door, but the security guard was a dick and Bucky wasn’t gonna want to stand around and argue that all he really wanted was to use the damn vending machine, not hook up with every girl (and guy, picky he was not) in the building while his stomach tried to eat itself out of hunger.
Technically, it was Clint’s fault.
“Dun da-dun dun,” He mumbled as he toppled into an undignified heap on the hallway floor. “Fuck, ow. Dun da-dun.” The hall was almost identical to the one across the road – except their colour scheme was a pea green and Fleming was a mustard yellow. Both made him wanna puke.
The hallway was deserted, which was good, because Bucky had just climbed through the 2nd floor window in the middle of the night and he really, really didn’t want to get beaten to death by some overzealous student. Or security guard. He just wanted to get some candy before he died. He avoided the vending machine in the front lobby, because he couldn’t risk the guard ID-ing him. Or trying some spot sobriety test. He wasn’t drunk. High, probably, but not drunk. Fucking Clint and his ‘herbal’ brownies. He’d been avoiding the vodka Natasha had brought over, thinking that he’d been doing so well, but faced with a full tray of brownies, he’d caved.
And then he found out that Clint had raided every vending machine in the building – locked in his room with his stash of candy and soda. The next time Bucky saw him, he was gonna kill him. Probably by like, using lazers. Yeah. Or sharks.
Steve was jolted out of his trance-like state by his phone vibrating on the desk beside him. He’d been staring at the same page for about an hour, he was sure – he’d learned a sum total of nothing and now his head hurt.
SamW: Dude, this is your best friend reminding you: it’s midnight. Stop studying. Eat something. Drink something.
Steve smiled before glancing up at the computer screen. Shit, it really was midnight – he’d started this essay at noon. Which had been when he’d woken up.
Grabbing his glasses from the desk where he’d taken them off, and his wallet, he sent a quick text back.
Steve : I was actually asleep. Thanks for waking me, asshole.
He’d only just managed to get to his feet when the phone in his hand buzzed. Trying to read his message, lock his door and not drop his wallet on the ground took longer than he’d like to admit, but he’d been sitting in the same position for hours, he was probably gonna get DVT or something.
SamW : Ha, yeah right. You’ve been trying to get that polsci essay done all day I bet. Dickface.
So he was grinning a little as he turned the corner of his hallway, only to hear someone butchering the Indiana Jones theme, getting a bit lost half way through, and ending up humming the Imperial March.
He paused just before he took the corner – making sure he wasn’t actually hearing things by touching his hearing aid – and then walked on.
His floor had two vending machines. One sold cold sodas and ate dollar bills without any remorse, and the other sold candy bars that always got stuck just before they fell.
Sitting on the floor in front of the candy machine was a very, very attractive guy. He was sitting crosslegged, skinny black jeans and a grey hoodie – his long hair tied back into some kind of bun maybe? Like a model or maybe a dancer would do it. Steve had a comb and a sidepart – his hair was too thin to do anything fancy. The very attractive guy had obviously got bored of the Imperial March, and was now trying to ‘dun dun’ his way through another theme – this one Steve didn’t recognise.
“Um, hello?” He said, stopping a few feet from the vending machine, and the guy on the floor.
“Doobie doobie do,” the guy replied, and then blinked. “Oh – dude, this fucking thing is eating me.”
Inspector Gadget was running through his head, because what else worked, yeah? He obviously was being cursed for breaking into the other dorm – maybe someone had done it before, and that was why they’d boobie-trapped their vending machine to attack him.
“Um, hello?” Someone said, and Bucky just needed to finish the song – but he blinked and saw...
A dude.
A kinda small, kinda stupidly attractive dude. The kind of dude that Bucky would totally want to get to know better – but his fucking arm was trapped in a vending machine. “Oh,” He managed to get out before his brain kindly filtered his thoughts in to: “Dude, this fucking thing is eating me.”
The guy looked seriously confused, and Bucky couldn’t do anything but tap on the glass – where his hand was stuck inside the flap of the machine. “I’m pretty sure setting traps in your vending machine is a bit overkill.” He pointed out. “I mean, come on, I even paid for this stuff, and you set it on me.”
“I didn’t set it on you.” The stupidly attractive guy said, rolling his eyes. Nice eyes.
“You’ve got that sexy hipster thing working for you.” Bucky said, and then grimaced. “I mean... dude, bro – eh, take it as a compliment if you’re straight?”
“I’m not.” Attractive hipster dude said, walking over. He had a phone in his hand, and a wallet.
“Taking my compliments?” Bucky said, leaning his head against the machine again. “Harsh, man. Totally harsh.”
The attractive guy just smiled, and Bucky liked that smile, and may have told him as much, if he wasn’t starting to loose that pleasing buzz from the shit that Barton put in his baked goods.
“So, what floor are you on?” Attractive guy asked, looking him over. Bucky was reminded that he was wearing his ratty hoodie thrown over a pair of jeans. Shit, he’d just picked if off his floor – which he was pretty sure would get quarantined by the CDC if they ever did a spot check of dorm rooms, and this guy was standing there in...
Well, he was wearing what looked like blue jeans, a white t-shirt and a red shirt – topping off his look with a pair of thick black framed glasses and...
“Pink socks?”
Steve had forgotten about the socks. Not that it should matter, because you know, socks weren’t exactly the focal point of an outfit, but this stupidly hot idiot with his arm stuck in the vending machine thought he was a ‘sexy hipster’ and Steve hadn’t ever been called sexy anything before, and now the colour of his socks was actually really important to him.
“laundry mishap.” He shrugged, hoping that would be the end of it.
“I bet.” The guy smirked. “I’ve got a baby pink shirt to match.”
“Really?”
“No, punk – do I look like the kind of guy who owns white anything?” He snorted, which wasn’t attractive at all, just fogged up the glass of the machine where he was leaning his head. “I don’t have time for sexy guys wearing the flag. My arm is being mauled by your highly dangerous prank.”
“It’s not a prank.” Steve managed, well aware that he was already blushing from the ‘sexy guy’ comment, because... no. He wasn’t. He was 95lbs of skin and bone and this guy looked like he’d be able to bench press a car. “Why did you stick your hand inside anyway? Everyone knows this thing just needs a kick to the side.”
The guy mumbled something, and looked at his arm still stuck on the wrong side of the glass.
“Sorry?” Steve said, hating himself even more. He tapped his left ear, the one with the hearing aid in it, and shrugged. “Didn’t quite make that.”
“Oh, right.” The other guy said, and made a few (bad) attempts and signing ‘long story’ with one hand. Steve was fairly sure that people didn’t normally learn sign unless someone they knew was hard of hearing – and he wasn’t good enough at the movements for it to be a family member. There was only one other person in the building who was deaf, so Steve had it easy.
“You want me to get Maya for you?” He asked, looking around. She lived on the top floor, so it didn’t really make sense for this guy to be on his floor, but what the hell, he was obviously drunk.
“Who?” He asked, and then grimaced. ‘Who?’ he signed (badly).
“I can hear you just fine if you talk.” Steve pointed out. “Maya? Top floor? Dance student?”
“Sorry, right. Yeah.” The guy said. “Sorry. Um, don’t know a Maya.” He paused. “Why? You think she’s the one who made the machine try to kill me?” He glared. “People die from vending machine related deaths all the time. I’m going to be one of them, aint I? Jesus.” He looked at Steve, who could see the corners of his mouth tick up. “Tell Barton he’s a fucking asshole, tell my Ma I loved her.” He used the hand not in the machine to wipe away a tear he wasn’t actually shedding, dramatically. “Natasha can have my record collection.”
Several things clicked into place for Steve all at once. “Barton? Clint Barton?” He said, rolling his eyes. Clint was pretty well known on campus for being a complete stoner and - despite this – was also rumoured to be picked for the USA archery team for the next Olympics. His tiny Russian girlfriend was rumoured to be some kind of spy and/or an assassin for the KGB, FSB or any number of other scary sounding letters. Mostly though, she was a gymnast – and had her own Bronze medal from the last Olympics. “You’re James Barnes.”He managed.
If reputation was currency, James Barnes was loaded.
Everyone knew of him, although few people had actually met him – he apparently had excellent grades despite never showing up for any classes, was apparently super fit despite never been seen at the gym, was being courted by Team USA for Boxing, Judo and weirdly: gymnastics. He trained with the same people as Romanov and the school was very proud of their sports stars.
And he was sitting with his arm stuck in Steve’s vending machine.
“Bucky,” he complained, “Just call me Bucky.” He looked over at the guy who was now looking at him like he’d just popped out of a spaceship or something. “And you are?”
“Me?” The guy asked, before blushing some more. Bucky liked that blush. It turned him pink and warm and had only happened when Bucky called him sexy. So... there was that.
“Yeah, I can’t keep calling you ‘ridiculously good-looking guy’ in my head, it’s too long and I’m kinda stoned.” That got another blush, and Bucky found himself preening just a little.
“Steve.” He said, after a couple of seconds, and then his phone buzzed. He obviously wasn’t expecting it, because he jumped almost a foot backwards, and almost threw his phone, frizbee style, across the hall. “Shit.” He said, before swiping over the screen and holding it up to his ear. Bucky noticed he only had the one hearing aid, unlike Clint, who needed two. “Hey Sam.” He said, looking anywhere but at Bucky – which kinda annoyed him, although he didn’t know why. Who was this ‘Sam’ guy anyway? “No, I’m just getting something to eat now, no – no I don’t wanna meet you at the party, honest.” He paused, obviously listening to the guy on the other end. Bucky glared at the phone, the cockblocking phone. And then he glared at the cockblocking vending machine that was still chewing on his damn arm. “Have fun, wear a condom.” Steve said after too long listening to the guy on the phone.
“Wrap it before you tap it!” Bucky called out, then snorted again, as Steve blushed crimson.
“What? No, Sam, no, it’s not... Jesus Sam, I’m not – he’s... Sam? Sam?” He took the phone away from his ear and looked at the screen. “He hung up on me.” He said after a few seconds.
“What a jerk.” Bucky pointed out.
“He thinks I’m getting laid.” Steve said, looking at Bucky for a few milliseconds before looking back at his phone. “As if.”
“Yeah.” Bucky agreed. “I mean, I’m good, but I’m not that good – the logistics of having one arm in the machine would make it kind hard, the added danger of getting caught in the hall makes it kinda hot – but reduces my chance of escape by quite a bit.” He paused. “I mean, I’ll give it a go, if you’re up for it, though.”
The look on Steve’s face was... well, hot, but also fucking hilarious. “Unless you’re totally straight? Hetroflexible?”
“I have honestly no idea what that even means.”
“It’s like... you’re straight, but I’m hot, so... shit happens, right? I could totally be your token ‘I was gay once in college’.” Bucky pointed out. “Something to tell your kids when they get all ‘you don’t understand me at all, you’re so square and old’, yeah?”
“I am gay.” Steve said, looking adorable and confused.
“Well, I’m stuck in a vending machine,” Bucky pointed out. “But I’d do you.” He looked Steve up and down, letting his eyes linger for longer than he probably should have. “At least twice. In lots of interesting positions.”
Steve wasn’t exactly sure why James – Bucky – was hitting on him, poor guy must be way more high than he thought he was, but he was kinda enjoying it. The idea that Skinny Steve Rogers could get a guy like Bucky to think he was attractive was quite the ego boost, and he found himself basking a little. High or not, he’d take that compliment.
“Yeah?” He managed, not sounding quite so strangled as he felt, although he knew his face was burning. “At least twice?”
“Oh, yeah. At least – maybe more if you don’t mind switching.” He paused. “Some guys don’t, but fuck it, yeah? You’re hot, and I’m hot, and we should totally make interesting shapes together.” He winked, sending Steve’s blood pressure even higher. “Got lube in the wallet, by any chance?”
Steve’s mind stuttered, and then broke completely at that. “I don’t carry lube around with me!” He said, sounding just as scandalised as he felt. “I’m not gonna fuck you in the hallway.”
Bucky though, roared of laughter. “No, I mean,” He laughed, taking huge lungfulls of air that just highlighted how broad his shoulders were when he flexed. “I mean,” He repeated. “That you could have used the lube to get my arm out of the vending machine.”
If it was possible to die of humiliation, Steve was about to find out.
Bucky would have actually pissed himself laughing if there was enough liquid in his body. Steve looked like he wanted to crawl into his own ass and vanish, and Bucky was unable to stop. Yeah, so maybe he’d kind set the whole conversation on the wrong track, with the sex and stuff, which – yeah, he was totally gonna have with this guy – but the main issue was still that his arm was being devoured by a machine.
“Dude,” He wheezed, after a good couple of minutes just watching Steve blush. “Can you at least try to help me before you run off?”
Steve nodded, obviously not planning on opening his mouth at all ever again, and Bucky smirked. The smaller guy walked closer to the machine and knelt down beside Bucky, not touching at all, which Bucky quickly changed by shifting his ass on the ground so his knees were touching Steves thigh. “Okay,” He said, bracing himself. “How bad is it?”
Steve looked through the glass, head close enough that Bucky could just lean forward and kiss the hard line of his jaw if he wanted, but that would mean moving from his current position which hurt his arm the least from where it was trapped. Instead, he lifted his free arm and placed his hand on the base of Steve’s back, enjoying the blush on his cheeks and the warmth of his skin seeping through his ridiculously patriotic clothing choices.
“Well,” Steve said, “I can guarantee that you won’t have to cut off your arm any time soon.” He looked back into the glass and then back to Bucky. “Just how high are you right now?”
“Not as high as I was when I thought sticking my arm in this thing would be a good idea, why?” He asked.
“The only reason you can’t get your hand out is that you’re holding onto a chocolate bar.”
“I don’t get how I’m the idiot, here.” Bucky said, sitting on Steve’s bed and glaring at the roof. Steve had stuck a poster there, one of the Team USA promotional things, of Clint fucking Barton. The bullshit reason he’d given Bucky had been that Clint was a good role model for the deaf community and Bucky should be more supportive. He knew full well that Steve only put it up there because he was an asshole of a boyfriend.
“Because turning down an opportunity to train with the best in the world ‘because reasons’ is not actually, a valid reason.” Steve shot back.
He’d changed since Bucky had started dating him, not in the important things, but small ways. He blushed less, but that’s probably because Bucky had made it his life mission to make that man go pink and he’d gotten used to it, he wore his hair a little differently – with product. That had been Natasha’s doing, and although it looked great, Bucky did miss the softness of his hair before.
He still zoned out when he was studying, still got lost in his art, still forgot to eat... but he stood up for himself more, went out with friends a little more (not a lot, but more than never) and he never once expected Bucky to put him first. And that was why they were having this stupid fucking argument.
“I don’t wanna go to Washington.” Bucky said, refusing to look at Steve, who was on his feet, hands on his hips and glaring at Bucky. “I wanna stay here. Graduate.” Stay with you, but that went unspoken.
“Pierce is the best trainer for you.” Steve pointed out, for the millionth time that night. “He’s-”
“He’s creepy, is what he is.” Bucky said, voice hard. “I don’t wanna go and train with him for reasons, and all of them are ‘Pierce is creepypasta’ okay?”
Steve’s whole body language changed, almost instantly. “Why didn’t you say anything?” He asked, sitting on the edge of the bed, and Bucky instantly pulled him down, moving over so they were both looking at Clint’s overly airbrushed face.
“Cause it’s a stupid reason not to go.” Bucky said, trying not to mumble. “I don’t wanna leave you, I don’t wanna go through his ‘regime’ of training.”
“I don’t want you to do anything you don’t want.” Steve said, tucking himself closer, which was one of Bucky’s secret (not so secret, everyone knew) favourite things about Steve, his okay-ness with cuddles.
“You okay with me staying here and bugging you for another couple of years?”
“Yeah, Buck.” Steve said, snuggling closer. “I’m totally okay with that.”
“Good.” Bucky sighed. “Now take that fucking poster down before I set it on fire.”