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Steve meets Sgt. James Barnes on his first day at SHIELD headquarters in DC.
Well, okay, that might be a bit of an overstatement, they don’t actually meet. Steve overhears a man yelling at Director Fury while he's waiting to officially report in, and then catches a glimpse of him as he storms out of Fury's office. He gets a brief impression of neat dark hair and ice blue eyes burning in anger. Then the man walks right by him with clipped military precision, not giving any sign of having seen Steve at all, much less recognizing Captain America dubiously disguised in civilian clothes.
Which Steve is fine with, because he's still not great at pretending he hasn’t overheard things unenhanced humans couldn't hear, which unfortunately extends to arguments that happen behind closed doors. You can't send my team into an op and not tell us there's civilians present, the man had shouted at Fury. We didn't even try a soft entry, and now there are dead civilians, because we got shitty intel. Dead non combatants and children, Nick, that blood is on my hands now! What kind of intelligence agency are you running that you didn't know there was a fucking child care facility in the bunker you just had me clear?
Steve had missed Fury's reply, since he’d apparently decided he wasn't dignifying the argument by shouting back, but whatever he'd said had lead to the other man storming out of the room, leaving Steve with a sick feeling in the pit of his stomach and the yet another bought of second guessing if joining SHIELD was the right call. This is Peggy's baby, Steve reminds himself for the hundredth time. The foundations of this organization were moral and good, and if they've strayed from her vision, then the least you can do is help them find the right path again.
"Sorry about that, Cap," Fury says, when Steve stands and catches the door after the other man. "That was Sgt. Barnes, leader of Strike Team C. He’s a damn good operative, but he’s got some, uh... problems with authority. I’m starting to think that’s why his Spec Ops commander was so eager to recommend him for SHIELD.”
Steve refrains from pointing out that from his perspective, Barnes’s argument seemed pretty valid. If he’s going to play the game with SHIELD, even a long con to try to get in on the ground and start making some changes so people like Barnes aren't put in positions that compromise their integrity, it probably isnt the best plan to start off by arguing with his new CO. Instead he falls into the practiced and familiar pose of military at-ease, and gives a mild “Yes, Sir.” in reply.
Fury gives him a knowing look, like he’s aware he’s being placated, and then continues. “We’d like you to head up Strike Team A. The leadership experience and tactical expertise you can bring to this organization is invaluable and–”
Steve lets himself lose track of Fury’s speech after that. It’s all very coded political talk for how much they’re looking forward to getting their hands on America’s favorite poster boy, and Steve doesn’t need to hear this speech again. His mind drifts back to Sgt. Barnes, his steely face and ice blue eyes. Steve wonders what his story is, where he comes from.
“Am I boring you, Cap?”
“No, Sir,” Steve says smartly, and tunes back in.
____
He doesn’t run into Barnes again, in the first week of his time at SHIELD. He’s introduced to his now Strike Team, composed of a bunch of ex-military fighters and, to his secret delight, Natasha Romanoff. Of all the disparate characters thrown together to make up the so-called Avengers, Romanoff made the most sense to him. She thought differently than he did, more of a spy than a soldier, but there was something in her that he related to. He couldn’t deny the appeal of a familiar face on his team either, at least one person he’d fought with before and knew he could trust.
However, it was a bit of a surprise when he got back from a morning run around the national mall, which was quickly becoming routine, to find her loitering outside his apartment. “I guess I shouldn’t be surprised that you know where I live,” he says as he approaches, and she gives him an amused little smirk.
“It’s in your file,” she says mildly.
“And why do you have my file?” He asks just as causally, unlocking the front door to his building and graciously gesturing her inside. He’s under no illusion that even the fairly extensive security system in his building would have been able to keep her out of she wanted to greet him from inside his apartment instead of at the front door. “I thought you were one of my operatives, not my handler.”
“You live in such a quaint, black and white world,” she says fondly, walking past him into the building.
The thing that no one seems to realize is that he doesn’t, though, not really. He’s perfectly capable of understanding what she just did for him, by coming here and allowing him to draw the conclusion he just made. She might as well have just told SHIELD is monitoring you closely, no matter how many teams they give you to command, they don’t trust you.
The 21st century doesn’t exactly seem big on trust.
Natasha brought breakfast with her, apparently, and the files of the rest of Strike Team A. “I’ve worked with these people for years, I figure I can give you my own personal evaluations of them. Help you lock down a hierarchy,” she says, smearing a liberal amount of cream cheese on a bagel and raising her eyebrows at him.
“I figured you’d be my second in command,” he says honestly, and she shakes her head, amused.
“That’s sweet, and I appreciate the lack of casual workplace sexism, but I work better when I don’t have people answering to me,” she says, and he can read between the lines there as well.
“How often are you going to be sent off on special assignments and unavailable to the rest of us?” he asks bluntly, and she meets his eye head on.
“As often as they need the Widow somewhere,” she says plainly, then taps one of the files. “Make Rumlow your number two. He’s a brute sometimes, but the rest of the team respects him and are loyal to him. I think he would have been given command of this team if you hadn’t decided to join SHIELD.”
“Sounds like a conflict of interest in the making,” Steve sighs, picking up the file to read more about Brock Rumlow. His record was full of commendations and praise, coming from as high up as Director Pierce himself.
“Maybe, but Rumlow knows how to play the game. If he wants a team of his own, having Captain America call him disobedient or subversive isn’t going to help, and the rest will fall in line with him.”>
Steve feels a sharp pang of longing for the simplicity of the Howling Commandos, for the men who were loyal to him because they believed in him and what he was doing, not because it was in their best interests to be so. The tidal wave of grief he’s been keeping buried threatens to surface again and drag him under, and he clears his throat, trying to ignore it.
"What do you know about Sgt. Barnes?” he asks instead, and it’s only the look of surprise on Natasha’s face that makes him realize that the question came out of nowhere. He’s maybe had Barnes on his mind a lot this week.
“The commander of Strike C?” He nods mutely, and she seems willing to go with it. “He’s a good man, from what I know of him. He worked on a couple of my extraction teams before he got promoted, always seemed pretty good at his job. I know he came from the Army Special Forces, served in the Middle East for a while. Clint says he’s a good sniper.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at her, because that statement spoke volumes despite it’s simplicity. “How’d he end up with SHIELD?”
She gives him a calculating look. “From what I understand, requested the transfer. You’d have to ask him why yourself.” To his horror, Steve can feel himself start to blush, and Natasha looks delighted. “Have you actually spoken to him?”
“No, I just– I overheard something, and I was curious about him. For professional reasons, in case we end up working with Strike C.”
“Mmhm,” she hums knowingly. “Well, that’s not likely, Strike C works mostly on military targets. Which is probably why Barnes was given command, I’m sure his Spec Ops experience is a bonus.”
“What kind of targets are we going to be handling?” Steve asks warily, and there’s something ironic behind Natasha’s smile.
“The kind that don’t exist,” she says, and taps the files in front of them again. That unsettled feeling in the pit of Steve’s stomach appears again, and he pushes it away. “So after Rumlow we’ve got Rollins–”
___
It takes him almost a month to see Barnes again, and even then it’s a total accident.
Hand-to-hand combat has changed a lot in the 70 years Steve spent sleeping, he’s has come to realize, and he’s done his best to get caught up. He’s trained in several different styles since joining SHIELD, but nothing works quite as well to quiet his mind as taped up fists and a good old fashion punching bag.
Luckily the shield training facilities have a couple of those around, no matter how rarely they get used.
Once it became clear that Captain America was going to stick around and use the gym a lot, the structural integrity of the punching bags quietly got a lot better.
Still, if he lost track of himself he could bust through one in an afternoon, and so he rarely let himself zone out completely while going through the motions of hitting a heavy bag. Which meant he was acutely aware of another person wandering over to the punching bags and starting to tape up. He glanced over to the newcomer, caught a glimpse of the dark hair and ice blue eyes that had been filling his mind for the last month, and completely mistime his next hit so spectacularly that he can actually feel the bones in his hand protesting at the impact.
He swears softly under his breath, jerking his hand back on instinct, and Barnes glances over at him, concern etching his face. “Hey, man, you alright?” He asks, and Steve nods, cradling his hand to his chest. A boxer’s fracture was nothing more than a minor inconvenience to this body, would probably heal in less than half an hour as long as he stops now and doesn’t push on through the pain. It’s been awhile since he’s done that.
“Yeah, it’s fine,” he says, because Barnes is still looking at him with obvious concern, and Steve knows he’s in danger of blushing again, so he turns away and starts gingerly unwrapping his hand.
He’s sitting on the bench at the side, injured left hand resting on his leg, trying to figure out how to unwrap his right without putting stress on the fracture, when he senses someone approaching. He glances up, startled to see Barnes coming towards him holding one of the snap-and-shake instant ice packs from the vending machine. Wordlessly, he drops into a crouch in front of Steve, gently placing the ice on his injured hand, already starting to bruise purple as it heals. He gestures to Steve’s taped up right hand and asks “Can I help you out with that?”
Steve nods, trying to swallow around the lump in his throat, and holds out his hand. “Thanks.”
Barnes just smiles at him, and his fingers are cool from the ice pack when the brush Steve’s wrist, finding the end of the tape. “I’m James Barnes, by the way.”
“Steve Rogers,” Steve says automatically, and waits for the usually I know or I put that together or I had a poster of you in my dorm in college, will you sign this picture of my cat.
It doesn’t come. Instead Barnes– James?– grins at him, and Steve’s stomach swoops. The smile does amazing things to the man’s face, his eyes crinkling and little dimples appearing in the corners of his mouth. “Nice to meet you, Steve. You should be more careful when you’re hitting things, I hear these bags are built to withstand a tank.”
Barnes knows perfectly well who he is, Steve realizes. “It’ll heal,” he says, suddenly irritated, and something in Barnes’s face shifts.
“Doesn’t mean you need to hurt unnecessarily,” Barnes says gently, holding Steve’s hand in his so he can unwind the tape from between his fingers. The touch feels startlingly intimate, and Steve’s stomach lurches like he just missed a step going down stairs. He can’t remember the last time someone touched him like this.
“I guess,” he says lamely, and feels a twinge of disappointment when Barnes is finished unwrapping his hand. Don’t go a little voice in the back of his head begs Don’t go, I just met you, but I feel like I need to know you better.
“Can I look at your other hand?” Barnes asks, and Steve blinks, startled. Barnes gives him an amused look. “You want to let it heal out of place?”
“It’s not that bad,” he protests, but offers his hand to Barnes none the less, letting the ice pack fall off it. Barnes takes Steve’s left hand in both of his, cradling it with the utmost care. Carefully, he runs both his thumbs along the bone of Steve’s middle finger where the bruising is concentrated, from knuckle to wrist. The touch is so gentle that it slams into Steve like a train, and he can feel his own pulse in his ears, in his cheeks.
“Just a fracture,” Barnes agrees finally, picking up the ice pack and putting in back on Steve’s hand.
“Thanks Doctor Barnes,” Steve quips before he thinks about, and a second later he’s almost embarrassed about it, except Barnes’s face lights up at the sass.
“Yeah, fuck you too pal,” he says cheerfully. “I’d be a shit CO if I didn’t have enough basic med training to find a broken bone.”
“Maybe we can grab lunch and you can share some other Strike command secrets,” Steve says impulsively, and Barnes gives him an assessing look.
“From what I’ve heard, you don’t need pointers. You got Rumlow to fall in behind you, I’d’ve never been able to do that. I’d probably have punched him in the dick by now.”
“Yeah, well, I guess being Captain America counts for something,” Steve deflects, feeling a little stung at being dismissed by this man. He goes to stand, but Barnes catches his right wrist gently.
“How about we get coffee and I share some DC-metro-area secrets instead? You just moved here, yeah? Can’t have had much time to find all the good places, yet.”
In reality, Steve hadn’t even tried to explore DC, beyond the memorials and national monuments. In New York he’d at least managed to find a little coffee shop that felt familiar enough not to be off putting. Here he hadn’t even tried. He ate most of his meals at SHIELD HQ anyway.
Barnes’s face is doing something odd, like he’s making an assessment and trying to figure out if he should say something. “I don’t... have a lot of friends here. By choice. I have a hard time feeling like people whose livelihood depends on their ability to lie are being genuine, ever. I have a feeling we might have that in common.”
Feeling startled, more seen and more understood than he has in months, maybe since waking up, Steve nods. “Yeah, I. I know how that feels.” Barnes gives him another smile, which he returns, trying to ignore how foreign the expression feels. “For what it’s worth, I’m a terrible liar.”
Barnes laughs, bright, and it makes Steve’s stomach swoop again. “You know, Steve, somehow I can believe that.”
___
They do get coffee. Barnes texts him the address of a place in a neighborhood Steve’s never been to before, but is easy enough to get to on his bike. He finds that he likes the place immediately, from the stonework walls to the comfortable looking leather armchairs scattered around the store, to the artwork and hand-made baskets on the walls. He’s reading a diagram on the wall which explains geography of Rwanda and where the coffee beans are grown when Barnes walks up to him.
“They buy the beans directly from the farmers,” Barnes explains, and Steve doesn’t jump because he’d heard Barnes approaching, but he does turn to look at him a little surprised.
“I’ve never given a lot of thought to where coffee comes from,” Steve admits, and Barnes nods.
“I don’t think you’re the only one,” he says reassuringly, and Steve glances at the wall one last time, before following the other man to get in line.
They settle down to talk over their coffee, and Steve learns that Barnes also grew up in New York, albeit 60 years later than Steve, that he’s got a little sister he adores, and that he goes by Bucky with his friends.
“Bucky?” Steve asks, amused, and Bucky rolls his eyes.
“I’m like the 5th James in my family, and there was no way in hell I was going by Buchanan,” which makes Steve laugh. Bucky has a way of making Steve laugh, like he’d forgotten how to do it until he met this man.
They don’t talk about work at all, but Bucky talks about his childhood and his time in the army, and somehow manages to encourage Steve to do the same without making it about all the ways things have changed. He asks Steve about the people who were a part his life growing up, the books he’s read and the movies he’s seen, and seems to take it in stride that the things that are familiar to Steve are things he grew up thinking of as being from his grandfather’s time.
Honestly, it’s refreshing to be treated like a person rather than a living museum exhibit, and Steve wasn’t even aware of how much that had been happening until someone stopped doing it. Bucky gently hassles him about his plain black coffee, and doesn’t point out that ‘Americanos’ were named after American GI’s in the war Steve fought, unlike literally everyone else who’s gotten coffee with Steve.
Still, when Bucky goes up to get refills for them, he comes back with two milky concoctions decorated with a flower pattern on the surface and a twinkle in his eye that seems like a dare. And well. When has Steve ever backed down from that?
The drink is as sweet as it looks, but tastes more like honey and spice than the artificial flavor he’d been expecting, and he finds to his surprise that he likes it. Bucky grins like he’s won something and Steve can’t give him the satisfaction. “I’m still not sure I’d call it coffee, though,” he says in his best disappointed grandpa voice, and Bucky straight up laughs in his face.
“No, you’d call it a latte,” he snarks back, smirking, and Steve’s heart throbs in his chest, feeling desperately fond.
It doesn’t help that Bucky looks amazing in his casual clothes, denim pants that cling to the muscle in his thighs and calves, grey button down shirt undone enough to show off the dip in his collarbones and the top of his chest, leather jacket thrown over the arm of his chair. His dark hair style up in a way that looks like it’d be incredibly soft to the touch. He looks effortlessly comfortable in the style that still feels unnatural to Steve, even though he hated the way he’d stood out when he dressed how he’d known all his life.
Attraction to men isn’t a concept Steve’s unfamiliar with, even in relation to himself, but it had always been something abstract. He’d never really felt drawn like this to any person other than Peggy, as more than an appreciation for beauty, an itch to sketch a lovely subject. Sitting across from Bucky Barnes looking casually gorgeous and drinking fancy coffee from a fancy shop, he’s forced to admit what he’s feeling is more than that. He wants to– He wants.
They’d moved on to talking about a book Bucky was reading, some retelling of vampire mythology from the perspective of a historian, when Bucky’s phone goes off on the table in front of him. He picks it up, reading the screen and grimacing. “I’m being called in,” he says apologetically, unlocking the screen to type back a reply.
“That’s fine,” Steve insists, resisting the urge to ask Bucky where he was being sent. Technically Steve’s security clearance is higher than his, so he’d be allowed to know, but Bucky had made it very clear he didn’t want to talk shop outside of work.
“We should do this again when I get back,” Bucky says with a suddenly shy smile, locking his screen and looking at Steve from under his lashes. “Assuming you’re not out on assignment.”
“Yeah, I’d. I’d like that,” he admits, and Bucky smiles at him, that bright smile that lights up his face and fills Steve’s stomach with butterflies. They gather up their things to leave together, and Steve can’t stop himself from catching Bucky’s elbow and saying, “Be careful.”
Bucky looks startled, and then his face goes soft like it had that afternoon in the gym. “I’m always careful,” he promises, and his voice is joking but there’s sincerity in his eyes, and he moves to wrap his arms around Steve before he realizes what’s happening. He hugs back automatically, a shiver races through his whole body at the subtle spice of Bucky’s cologne, the warmth of his body against Steve’s, the strength of his arms. He feels starved for touch, suddenly, and desperately doesn’t want to let go.
He does, though, when Bucky pulls back. They say goodbye and part ways, and Steve has to admit that he’s going to be clutching to the memory of being held like that for a long time.
___
He does, naturally, get sent out before Strike Team C gets back. He’d gotten about halfway through looking up their deployment, far enough to see they’re somewhere in the middle east, before the guilt overwhelmed him and he’d had to close the file. Natasha knowing where he lived because she had access to his SHIELD records had rubbed him the wrong way for a reason, he refused to do the same thing to Bucky, especially about ops he was leading. Having Captain America checking up on him might make Bucky’s superiors think he wasn’t capable of doing his job, which was the last thing Steve wanted to do.
Still, he can’t escape the pang of disappointment when his own op orders come through and Bucky’s not back yet. He acknowledges the feeling, then carefully tucks it away with all of the other thoughts which offer nothing but distraction from the job at hand.
They’re out in the field for almost two weeks. It’s also the first op he’s run without Natasha, who is off on some assignment that apparently was not within his clearance, which he prickles at. Still, the rest of his team follows orders to the letter, and are exceptionally efficient, and if he misses her presence it’s simply because he’s grown used to it. The op is simple, locate and expose an enemy operative, so they’re recalled from the field before their mission is complete.
It requires neither stealth nor discretion, which Steve thinks privately to himself, is why they sent Captain America in for this job. The goal was to spook people, not to snare them, which fell much more cleanly to the sentinel of Liberty than to the Black Widow.
Still, it’s an exhausting op, and Steve spends the entire time feeling exposed, like his back is being left open to attack. Rumlow’s a good second in command, and Steve knows his team has him covered, but the entire point of the op is for him to be seen. And seen he is.
They get close enough to the enemy asset for a fight to break out, which the handlers running the op from HQ seem to think is enough to make the other agency pull their operative. It’s a short fight, and beyond a couple bruises there’s no injuries on Steve’s team at all. They’re in high spirits as they fly back, but Steve’s feeling too wired to join in.
Hypervigilance from the field follows him back to DC, and he’s feeling jumpy enough that he decides to stay at HQ after getting medical clearance and fill out the op reports now rather than put it off until the next day. It’s dark by the time the report is done, and he’s forced to admit that at this point he’s just loitering in his office to avoid going home, where the silence is going to make his skin crawl.
He glances at his phone out of habit as he gets up to leave, checking there’s no one else at SHIELD who needs something from him, already making vague plans about taking the day off tomorrow and visiting Peggy. He’s surprised to find several messages waiting for him.
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 3:45pm
a little birdy told me Strike A got back today
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 3:47pm
literally a bird, Barton says you guys landed this morning
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 6:32pm
you alright, man? you’re not held up in medical are you?
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 7:05pm
don’t let the op follow you home. believe me, i know how hard it is to get it out of your head, but if you let it linger, you’ll never unwind
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 7:06pm
i got no plans for the night, i’d be happy to bring by pizza and beer
Steve’s heart kicks in his chest, and he glances at the clock in the corner of the phone screen. It’s almost eight thirty, what’s the chance Bucky hasn’t already eaten?
me 8:23pm
I can’t get drunk, seems unfair to drink your beer.
He hits send before he can second guess himself, and tells himself not to expect a reply. Chances are Bucky’s found something else to do with his evening alright. He goes about locking up his office, and is getting in the elevator when the phone buzzes in his pocket.
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 8:27pm
doesn’t mean you can’t enjoy the taste, or that maybe your brain doesn’t realize that yet? :P
Steve smiles down at the message, feeling a little surge of hope in his chest. He really should eat something soon, it’s been long enough that he’s going start feeling the effects of his accelerated metabolism if he doesn’t.
me 8:29pm
I’m leaving HQ now. If you’re still free I can give you my address.
The reply comes almost right away.
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 8:30pm
jesus christ, Rogers, why are you still at work???
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 8:30pm
go home!
Sgt. Barnes (Bucky) 8:31pm
give me your address, i will be there soon with pizza and good tasting beer. how many pizzas can you eat? for science.
Steve’s outright grinning at his phone by the time the elevator gets to the parking garage, making his way towards his bike. He sends Bucky his address, and says that science should know that he can definitely eat at least 2 pizzas. He doesn’t wait for a reply, just stuffs his phone in his jacket and climbs on his bike, suddenly eager to get home.
Bucky’s loitering outside his building in almost exactly the same spot Natasha had a couple of weeks ago, holding a stack of pizza boxes with a six pack on the ground at his feet. He grins as Steve pulls his bike up, and Steve’s stomach swoops in that familiar way he’s coming to associate with Bucky.
“Nice bike,” he calls out, and Steve grins, because it’s true. He loves his bike.
“First thing I bought in this century,” he says, patting the bike proudly, and Bucky raised his eyebrows.
“Really?”
Steve nods, climbing off the bike and going to unlock the front door. “Yep. SHIELD provided me with an apartment and clothes and a phone and stuff, when I first woke up. I didn’t need much.”
He doesn’t tell Bucky that buying the bike had been something of a moment of hysteria, where he’d looked at his bank account with it’s ridiculous number of zeros, and felt suddenly like nothing was real. Like the world wasn’t real, and he wasn’t real, and if he was going to be not-real in this not-real world, he might as well have a really nice not-real bike to go along with it.
Something must have showed in his face, though, because Bucky’s nudging him gently with the pizza boxes. “Let’s get inside,” he says gently, like Steve’s in danger of losing it on the sidewalk. He might not be entirely wrong.
The pizza is good, crunchy New York style because apparently it’s against Bucky’s upbring to eat anything else. It’s cheesy and rich and warm, and the beer Bucky’d brought is cold and refreshing, and Steve feels a bit like he’s thawing all over again as they work their way through the food. Steve does eat almost two whole pizzas, and Bucky does some impressive damage to a third, but the exhaustion from the op starts to creep up on Steve before fullness does.
He doesn’t realize he’s staring through the half eaten piece of pizza in his hand until Bucky breaks off in the middle of a story about his sister’s high school drama students, gently taking the slice out of his hand. Steve blinks, and that sense of not-real, nothing’s-real, I’m-not-real is threatening to creep up on him again.
“Hey,” Bucky’s says gently, trying to get Steve’s attention, and Steve tries to focus on him. “Hey, man, it’s alright. You’re home, you’re in your apartment with me, it’s alright.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees, scrubbing his free hand over his face and trying to mentally shake himself. Bucky’s hand squeezes his tightly, and he lets it ground himself. “I know.”
The smile Bucky gives him is knowing, a little soft and a little sad. “Look, you can tell me to fuck off, but I know what it’s like to come back from the field, where it’s your job to be on alert for yourself and your team. I know how hard that is to switch off. So I’m telling you, Steve, I’ve got this watch. You can relax.”
To Steve’s surprise, that actually works. He can feel himself unwinding a little, the rigid hold he has on himself loosening a little. “It’s different without Natasha. I didn’t realize how much I was relying on her until she wasn’t there. I trust Rumlow to have my back, but–”
“I wouldn’t feel comfortable with just him there, either,” Bucky says darkly, and not for the first time Steve wonders about the history behind that statement. Bucky tugs at Steve’s hand a little until he’s slumping over on the couch, leaning his body weight into Bucky’s side. There’s some stand up comedy act playing on the TV for background noise, and they both lapse into silence, pretending to watch it. Steve unwinds in increments, finds that he really does trust Bucky enough to let his guard slip a little.
Their hands are still linked, he realizes after a little while, and he starts absently playing with Bucky’s fingers. They’re longer than his, and Bucky’s got gun calluses worn smooth. Some part of Steve’s brain wants to wonder what those hands would feel like on his body, but he’s far too content with the casual intimacy of sitting curled together like this, holding hands, his head on Bucky’s shoulder. He’d doesn’t think he’s ever been this close to anyone, even Peggy. There was a war on, after all.
“What do you do?” he asks, tracing the vein on the back of Bucky’s hand with his thumb, and at Bucky’s soft interrogative noise he clarifies. “When you get back from the field, to let go of it. What do you do?”
“Call my sister, sometimes. Hit a bag, sometimes. Go out with my team, if they need it, need to see me doing okay, though that doesn’t really help me out too much.”
Steve nods sleepily, and thinks kind of hysterically that he’s totally going to fall asleep on Bucky, how rude is that? “Next time I’ll buy you pizza,” he says sleepily, and Bucky laughs fondly.
He wakes up the next morning horizontal on his couch, with a blanket draped over him and a note on the table in front. I kept watch until you were really asleep, then locked up after myself. Thanks for letting me help, Rogers
Steve smiles, and reaches for his phone.
____
It starts becoming routine after that, if they’re around when the other gets back from an op, they meet up for drinks and food, and help each other reacclimate to life again. Bucky after an op is almost a different person, with all of his warmth and openness shut away, he’s colder, harder, less emotional. Steve sees glimpses of the kind of agent he would be to face, the kind of soldier.
But for all that he’s quiet and withdrawn after an op, he does welcome Steve’s presence. At first he’s resistant to touch when he’s coming back to himself, where Steve’s craved it from the get-go, but together they figure out what works best for each of them. Eventually Bucky starts ending up with his head resting on Steve’s leg by the end of most nights, eyes shut and breathing with the rhythm of Steve’s hand in his hair. It’s as soft as it looks.
It’s becoming increasingly hard to ignore all the other ways Steve wants Bucky, how badly he wants to kiss him, how much he wants to slide his hand under Bucky’s shirt when Bucky’s holding him after an op, to feel the warmth of his skin. The most confusing part is that he’s fairly sure Bucky would welcome the change in their relationship. He’s met Steve blow for blow in flirting affection. It just never feels like the moment is right, and the intimacy they already have is so desperately good that Steve doesn’t want to push for more.
Then one of Bucky’s missions goes horribly, catastrophically wrong.
Steve’s at HQ working on a new training program for his team when Strike C comes in, a full 3 days before they were due back. It throws the whole place into a panicked frenzy, and there’s rumors abound, but one thing seems certain. At least two team members are dead, and the rest are in medical.
Feeling lightheaded in a way he hasn’t since he stepped out of Erskine’s box, Steve pushes his way down to medical. It’s a very organized kind of chaos, and by the time he catches a glimpse of dark brown hair, he’s gathered that two agents died at the scene, another on the plane, and one more is in critical care.
Bucky’s sitting in a chair, staring through space at nothing, his face covered in smudges that could be dirt or ash. By the looks of it someone had draped a blanket around his shoulders, and the hand that’s holding it closed is covered in blood.
Feeling a simultaneous mix of relief and horror, Steve approaches Bucky carefully. “Buck?” he calls, and when Bucky doesn’t blink or focus on him, Steve crouches down in front of him. “Hey, pal, c’mon, come back to me, yeah?”
“We thought there’d be sensors in the base,” Bucky says, and his voice is hoarse, staring at a point off Steve’s left shoulder. “I went in first to clear it. There was nothing. I cleared the whole base, there was nothing. There was no personale, there were no traps, no sensors, no alarms. There was just nothing. There was nothing. I cleared it. And then the world exploded.”
“Bucky,” Steve says again, at a loss, and watches with sympathetic horror as his friend’s eyes well up.
“Harper had shrapnel in her chest, I tried. I tried to keep her from bleeding out on the jet, I tried.” He looks down at his hands, covered in Harper’s blood and starting to shake, and then turns away from Steve to wretch dryly.
“C’mon, let’s get you cleaned up,” Steve says, decisively. Taking Bucky by the elbow, he tugs gently but firmly, getting the other man up and into the nearest men’s room.
Bucky stands pliantly at Steve’s side, lets Steve maneuver his hands under the water one at a time so he can scrub away the blood on Bucky’s skin. The tears come slowly but once they do, Bucky’s shaking with it, hard violent sobs that wrack his entire body. It’s the best Steve can do to gather him in close, hold Bucky tight like Bucky’d done for him so many times, and whisper over and over again that it wasn’t his fault. Steve’s sure of that. He knows Bucky wouldn’t have brought his team into a base that he didn’t believe to be clear.
Eventually Bucky’s sobs lapse into silence, and he’s just clinging to Steve, face tucked into Steve’s neck. When he pulls back to wipe his at eyes, Steve rubs his back reassuringly. “The best I can figure is that there were cameras we couldn’t see,” Bucky starts, “And that someone was watching remotely. They must not have wanted to catch just me, must have waited until I’d done a full circuit and brought the rest of the team into activate some kind of remote explosive.”
Steve nods mutely, because that seems reasonable. “You couldn’t have done anything else.”
“I’m not sure about that,” Bucky says dully, but it seems like a token protest. Bucky has never been one to doubt his own competency.
“C’mon,” Steve says again, brushing his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Let me take you home.”
Bucky shakes his head, stepping back and visibly gathering himself. “No, I need to wait until Mathews is out of surgery. You know you’d do the same if you were me.”
Steve can’t argue with that, but he can wait with Bucky, try to keep him from falling into shock again. If the med techs think it’s weird that he’s there, no one says anything, and no one bothers them or tries to get them to leave. Steve does persuade Bucky to take 15 minutes to go call his sister, let her know he’s home and safe, promising to come get Bucky right away if there’s any news.
It’s almost midnight by the time a med tech steps over to tell them Mathews is out of surgery and out of the woods, that he’s being moved to a local hospital to be monitored as he recovers.
Bucky slumps back into his chair, and Steve turns to him, decisive. “Home now,” he says, leaving no room for questions, and Bucky nods mutely. “You need to grab anything?”
“Nothing I care about enough that it can’t wait until tomorrow,” Bucky admits, and he lets Steve steer him towards the elevator to the parking lot. “I don’t think I should drive,” he admits, looking down at his shaking hands, and Steve is inclined to agree.
“I can drive you home,” he offers, privately thinking he doesn’t really want to leave Bucky alone right now anyway. “If you don’t mind me driving your car.” Bucky just hands him the keys.
But by the time they’re climbing into the car, Bucky’s looking troubled by something. Steve waits him out, spending a totally unnecessary amount of time adjusting the seat and and mirror, like he’s a full foot taller than Bucky, rather than maybe two inches. “Can we go to your place instead of mine?” Bucky asks, hesitant, and Steve gets it, doesn’t need to ask him to explain. While there’s something to be said for safety and familiarity, he understands not wanting to bring a bad headspace into a place you feel safe.
“Course we can, Buck,” Steve says gently, and Bucky nods mutely, looking out the window.
The worst of Bucky’s shaking has stopped by the time they get into Steve’s apartment, but he’s fallen into the cold distance that Steve associates with post-op Bucky. Something about it feels wrong now, though, and Steve just wants to gather him up close again. Instead he walks resolutely past Bucky, who’s just kind of hovering in the entry to the living room, and goes into his bedroom to find a pair of warm cotton pants and the softest henley he owns.
Pausing in the hall closet to grab a towel, he walks back to Bucky with his little pile held in hand. “You should shower,” he says gently, because Bucky’s still covered in the grime from the blast, and wearing his sooty, bloodstained tac gear.
“Alright,” Bucky agrees, and lets Steve show him to the bathroom, like he hasn’t spent hours in this apartment by now. Steve waits until he hears the shower turn on to go change himself, then finds a record he thinks is soothing to set in the player, and is just about done making tea when Bucky steps into the kitchen.
His hair is slicked back with water from the shower, wearing Steve’s clothes and looking impossibly, heart-wrenchingly vulnerable. Steve wasn’t prepared for this, for Bucky with every single one of his shields down, and it seals his breath. “You’re making tea?” Bucky observes, obviously shooting for gentle teasing. “Are you my mom?”
That makes Steve laugh, all of a sudden, because now that he thinks about it this is exactly what his mom always used to do when he came home upset about something. Send him off to wash up and turn on the radio and make tea.
He tells Bucky as much, and Bucky’s smile gets a little less brittle somehow. He walks over, tentative, brushing his fingertips against Steve’s arm in a silent question. Steve opens up for him in a heartbeat, drawing him close, and Bucky curls into his arms like a magnet. “When I got knocked over in the blast,” Bucky starts, his words muffled by Steve’s shoulder. “The first thing I thought, before I realized I was fine and started worrying about my team, was ‘if I die here, who’s going to bring Steve pizza?’”
He says it like it’s a joke so Steve laughs, but he’s still struck by the enormity of the statement. “I can probably find my own pizza,” he hazards, and Bucky sighs, letting his weight fall more fully into Steve.
“Yeah, well. The shape of the thought was more ‘who’s going to make sure Steve doesn’t lose himself’ but that’s harder to articulate in the split second between not being dead and realizing what happened.”
“I imagine so,” Steve agrees, and his heart feels so full it’s aching. He doesn’t want to think about life without Bucky, about having to add the grief of losing him to everything else. In a few short months, Bucky has become the touchstone by which Steve understands his place in the future. He doesn’t point out that he manages just fine when he comes back from ops and Bucky’s still out in the field, because the reality is he manages fine because he’s got the next time they see each other to look forward too.
Instead he just slides his hand up the back of Bucky’s neck to stroke his hair, and thinks privately to himself I love you, James Barnes, and this time I’m not waiting too long. I’m not losing you too.
___
Bucky has to report in the next morning, and if whispers follow them up from the parking garage about the fact that they arrived together, Steve ignores it. Nothing the whispers contain could approach the truth, that Steve had held Bucky until the day caught up with him and he fell asleep, then went to sleep on the couch himself.
He sets back to working on the training program he’d abandoned the day before, not expecting to get far. However, he does actually manages to get sucked into it enough that when a knock on the door prompts him to look up, he’s actually surprised to see Bucky leaning in his doorframe.
“How’d it go?” he asks, walking over to his desk to put tablet he’d been holding aside, and Bucky sighs. He steps into Steve’s office, nudging the door shut behind him.
“Well, I didn’t get dressed down, so about as well as I can expect,” he says, and Steve nods mutely, even though he’s not surprised. “They seem to think I did a pretty good job of getting everyone else out alive.”
He sounds skeptical, and Steve gives him a knowing look, leaning back against his desk. “What would you say to me if our situations we reversed?”
“You wouldn’t have gotten those agents killed in the first place,” Bucky protests, and Steve flinches, remembering with sudden clarity the ozone burn of hydra weapons as soldiers around him disappeared in blue flashes. Remembering the reek of alien corpses and watching Tony Stark’s lifeless form fall from a hole ripped in the sky.
Bucky makes a soft noise, steps forward to touch Steve, and Steve reaches out for him as well, barely aware of the window in his office door. “You’d tell me I can’t save everyone,” he points out, tugging Bucky a little closer. “But if I stop trying, then next time no one gets saved. You don’t get to be kinder to me than you are to yourself. If I can’t get away with that then neither can you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Bucky sighs, and Steve pulls him the rest of the way into a tight hug. There’s a charge between them when they pull back, and when Steve licks his lips, Bucky’s eyes flick down to his mouth.
“Let’s go out for lunch,” Steve says, suddenly aware of the fact he very much doesn’t want their first kiss to be in his office, and probably on a bunch of security cameras. He has no illusions about his privacy here.
The idea that he’s pretty sure a first kiss is the horizon for them makes him a little giddy, which is a bit out of place with the somber attitude in the rest of HQ as that morning, but at least Bucky’s stopped looking quiet so guilt ridden. He lets himself be persuaded into picking the lunch spot, so they end up at a little deli not to far away, eating side by side on the veranda outside.
Steve falls into the post op ritual easily enough, catching Bucky up on the book Steve’s been reading, telling him about Natasha’s latest well-meant bout of nosey snooping into his life, about the marathon of truly awful Shark movies he’d watched on Saturday.
It takes them through lunch, and Bucky’s laughing again by the end of Steve’s story about sharks in space, and by the time they’re throwing away their sandwich wrappers, Steve’s fingertips are tingling with anticipation. Bucky’s finally relaxed next to Steve, people watching lazily behind his sunglasses, and he’s so effortlessly beautiful, so incredibly precious. He’s almost enough to make Steve think it was worth freezing in the ice and waking up here, so he could have this moment with this man, who wouldn’t be born until 40 years later.
“Just kiss me already, will you?” Bucky says, faking exasperation, and shoots Steve a sideways smirk. “I’m dyin’ over here.”
There’s recognisable Brooklyn twang to his voice at the last bit, and Steve can’t help returning with his own “Shaddup,” so that Bucky’s laughing when their lips meet.
For all the sweetness of the moments leading up to this, nothing has prepared Steve for the reality of Bucky’s mouth under his. The laughter dies away quickly, and then Bucky’s hand is coming up to frame Steve’s jaw, hold him close so Bucky can adjust the angle of the kiss. And then it’s better, they’re lining up perfectly, and Bucky’s kissing back, warm and slick and sliding in a way that shoots shivers of excitement and pleasure down Steve’s spine.
They break apart for air, and Bucky’s licking his lips instinctively. Steve watches helplessly and then tugs him back in for another kiss, deeper and filthier this time as Steve chases the taste of him, licking lightly at Bucky’s lips. He can feel Bucky shiver, and a wave of want crashes through him.
Bucky pushes him away gently, and they part with a slick sound that Steve is going to remember for the rest of his life. “We’re in public,” Bucky points out gently. “And I know you don’t get pap’d a lot here compared to New York, but I don’t think you want to have to come out to the world because some teenager with a smartphone caught us making out at lunch.”
Which is a very well reasoned and logical argument, as is the fact that they’re both really supposed to be due back at work quite soon. Steve reminds himself of all of this, as he fights down the urge to tug Bucky into his lap. “You’re right,” he admits, and then because he has to say it, has to be sure they’re on the same page. “Buck– You’re the most important person in my life. You know that, right?”
Bucky gives him a soft, fond look, and leans in to brush a kiss against the corner of Steve’s mouth, lightning quick. “You too, pal.”
___
Bucky insists on going home that night by himself, because he says they both need time to process everything that’s happened in the last couple days.
It turns out he’s right, because Steve’s by himself for about 15 minutes before he’s hit with the reality of the fact that Bucky almost died, and that Steve kissed him, and that their relationship is changing in a way that seems to indicate that kissing and touching and probably sex are things that are very likely to happen. Soon.
Which leaves him standing at his kitchen counter, overwhelmed and unsure and a little panicky. He’s stuck staring through the floor and thinking about the implications of dating a man, and dating another SHIELD operative, on top of the reality that he’s in love with Bucky. He’s in love with Bucky. He’s in love with Bucky. He grins, helpless and overwhelmed and delighted. It wasn’t like he hadn’t known it was happening, he had, but.... He’s in love with Bucky!
He suddenly desperately wants to tell someone, but the people he has in his life to tell things to are Peggy and Natasha and Bucky himself. Well, Natasha would probably be delighted to hear about this, but Steve doesn’t want to deal with everything that would come with telling her. And while Peggy would probably also be happy for him, it feels like a weird thing to tell her, that he’s fallen in love with someone else. He should definitely, definitely tell Bucky, but probably not over the phone, and definitely after he’s had some space to himself to digest everything that’s happened to him in the past couple days.
So instead of telling someone, Steve roots around in the boxes in his closet that hold all the random junk from his apartment in New York that he hasn’t needed yet, and digs out a sketch book. He plugs his phone into the stereo and puts on a playlist of 90s pop music that Bucky listens to when he’s being goofy, and starts to draw.
Bucky comes to life under his hands, basked in sunlight and smiling, and while Steve hasn’t quite managed to capture the easy grace of him, the casual comfort Bucky has with himself when he’s not in a bad headspace, he finds that he wants to keep trying. Smilingly, he flips to a new page, and starts another sketch.
He’s getting ready to turn in for the night when his phone buzzes a text alert. Feeling a minor flash of dread that it’s a deployment notice, he scrambles to grab it, but instead he finds a string of messages from Bucky.
Buck 11:45pm
i realized i never thanked you for helping to hold me together for the past couple of days
Buck 11:46pm
i can’t imagine having had to go through this alone
Buck 11:46pm
well, actually i can, and it’s awful, so thank you
Buck 11:47pm
i want to buy you dinner tomorrow night. are you free?
Steve’s stomach swoops, and the giddy feeling comes back as he unlocks the phone to answer.
me 11:50pm
You don’t have to thank me, I’m glad I could be there for you. Unless I get sent out I’m free, and I’d love to go to dinner with you.
Buck 11:50pm
it’s a date ;)
me 11:51pm
Well, then I’d love to go on a date with you.
Buck 11:51pm
IT’S AN EXPRESSION ROGERS, UGH.
Buck 11:52pm
but it’s also a date so clean up. only the swankiest of outfits are allowed in the barbeque place i’m taking you to
me 11:53pm
I’ll dust off my tux.
Buck 11:53pm
!!!!!!!
Buck 11:53pm
do that, but for after the date
Steve can feel his cheeks burning, grinning so hard he’s genuinely glad there’s no one around to see him. He climbs into bed, rereading the conversation and smiling to himself.
me 12:01pm
If you’re lucky. ;) Go to bed, soldier, you’ve got work in the morning.
Buck 12:02pm
Sir, yes Sir.
Buck 12:02pm
night Steve
Steve falls asleep with the phone in his hand, feeling ridiculously modern, and also kind of ridiculously happy.
____
Despite being an officially named Date, dinner the next evening is remarkably similar to every other meal they’ve shared together in the past month. Steve had been kind of stupidly nervous about it, relented to the inevitable bout of prying into his personal life that was bound to ensue and actually had asked Natasha to help him get ready. She had teased him mercilessly, but also helped him pick out clothes wouldn’t look hopelessly frumpy to a guy born in the mid-80s, so he counted it as a win.
And it definitely seems to work, because Bucky looks a little bowled over when Steve gets to his place. Steve can relate, Bucky looks as gorgeous as ever, and the soft grey sweater he’s wearing looks like an invitation to touch. It feels incredibly soft under Steve’s hands when Bucky greets him with a kiss, leaving Steve to cup Bucky’s waist in his hands and lean back against Bucky’s front door to let himself be thoroughly kissed.
“Dinner,” Bucky says dazily when they break apart, and Steve nods, feeling a little punch-drunk himself.
The barbeque place Bucky had picked out is just as good as any other food Bucky’s ever recommended. Other than the way Bucky’s foot tucks against his ankle under the table, and Bucky’s hand keeps finding his, they fall into their familiar rhythm with ease. Steve asks after Bucky’s sister, and that’s enough to send them off.
They’re waiting for the bill in a comfortable lull of silence, when Steve asks “How’s Mathews?”
Bucky grimances. “Alive,” he says shortly, and Steve squeezes his hand, grateful for all of the avenues of touch that are suddenly available to him. “He’ll probably be able to walk again with a lot of physical therapy, but he’s out of the field for the foreseeable future. Probably forever.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve says, brushing his thumb across Bucky’s knuckles, and Bucky smiles at him, faint but real.
“My whole team is grounded for the foreseeable future,” he admits, and winces at Steve. “Which probably means you’re going to be busier than normal, I hate to say. We’re down four people, and everyone else really shaken up. I don’t think they’re going to be sending us out for a while.”
“They shouldn’t,” Steve agrees, but he feels the press of time all of a sudden. Bucky’s right, with only two Strike teams in operation, there was a pretty good chance that they’d be sent out into the field again within a couple days.
The waiter comes back with the check, which Bucky grabs before Steve can even try to look at it (“Do you know how much hazard pay I get? Fuck, you probably do, I don’t even want to know what they’re paying you. Just let me get this, I asked you out.”) and Steve bumps Bucky’s foot with his own.
“Come back with me tonight?” he asks, heart in his throat, and Bucky looks presently surprised before he schools his face into something more neutral.
“I don’t want you to feel like you have to rush into anything with me, Steve,” Bucky starts, and Steve almost laughs. Months of nights curled up against Bucky’s body, nothing about this feels rushed.
“I don’t,” he says honestly, and then hedges his bets and goes for the truth. “There’s been one other person in my life I’ve really wanted to have sex with, Buck. And I waited, and then I died, and she grew old without me. I don’t want to do that again.”
“Yes, if you could avoid dying on me I’d really appreciate it,” Bucky snarks back, but something in his voice is tight, and Steve squeezes his hand tight. “I was just trying to protect your delicate old timey sensibilities, Rogers.”
“Right, because premarital sex was invented in the 70s, I forgot,” Steve agrees, and when Bucky rolls his eyes, Steve grins. “I mean it, Buck. I’m done waiting. I just want to be close to you.”
“Well, when you put it like that,” Bucky says hoarsely, and signs his receipt very quickly when the waiter brings it back. Steve smiles, nervous excitement buzzing through him as he follows Bucky out of the restaurant. They hold hands over the gearshift as Bucky drives them back to Steve’s place, and Steve’s feeling ridiculous wooed, given that they’d eaten dinner at a place that gave out wet-wipes.
Still, once they get inside Steve’s apartment, Bucky looks suddenly bashful, a little shy in a way he gets sometimes. Steve hasn’t been able to figure out the pattern yet, and he wants to. Wants to spend enough time with Bucky that he knows the way he thinks as well as he knows himself. Still, he cradles Bucky’s cheek for a soft kiss inside the front door, and then says “I don’t want to put pressure on you either. We don’t have to do this just because I’m ready.”
Bucky laughs, sounding vaguely hysterical, and loops his arms around Steve’s neck. “I want to,” He promises, and Steve shivers when his fingers scratch through the back of Steve’s hair. “I’ve actually never had sex with someone I cared about as much as I care about you. I’m a little nervous.”
“I love you,” Steve says, because he’s pretty sure Bucky knows, but he still definitely needs to tell him. Even more than that he wants to tell him. Repeatedly. Maybe forever. “And also given that I’ve never done this before, no matter what happens this is going to be the best sex of my life.”
That startles another laugh out of Bucky, and Steve kisses him quiet, gently backing him up against the wall to kiss him more. Bucky breaks away before he can really get into it, pushing him away a little, and Steve backs off immediately. “No hey, no, come back. I just want to say I love you too,” Bucky says gently, getting his arms up around Steve’s neck again. “Don’t think you can slip that in there and get away without me saying something about it.”
Steve shrugs, grinning. “I was planning to tell you again,” he leans in to place a kiss on the hollow of Bucky’s throat. He shivers, and Steve chases the reaction, delighted. “Probably a bunch of times.”
“Okay then,” Bucky replies, clearly distracted, and Steve has to kiss him again. Pressed against the wall like this it’s easy to make the most of the couple inches of height he has on Bucky, especially when Bucky spreads his legs a little so Steve can get in close.
Bucky’s arms tighten around his neck, and then he’s nudging them away from the wall, sliding his tongue into Steve’s mouth in a way that’s totally distracting. That’s all the warning Steve gets before Bucky’s hopping up, and Steve catches him on instinct as Bucky’s legs wrap around his waist. His hands curl under Bucky’s thighs, supporting him easily.
“You could probably hold me like this for hours, couldn’t you?” Bucky asks, pulling back to rake his fingers through Steve’s hair. Steve shivers.
“Probably,” he admits, because physically he could, but Bucky is very distracting. He’s not sure he’d have the concentration to pull it off. Bucky grins like he can read Steve’s mind, filthy and delighted. He leans down to bite lightly at Steve’s lower lip, then sucks it between his and soothes the sting with his tongue.
“That’s pretty hot, just so you know,” Bucky informs him, and yeah, Steve can feel Bucky getting hard against his stomach. “That you can just pick me up and put me where you want me.”
“Need to be careful not to break you,” Steve says, as much as a reminder to himself as a warning to Bucky, and Bucky gives him an assessing look.
“I’m not very breakable,” he says finally, and Steve actually believes him. “But if you’re worried about it, you could just lay there and let me do all the work. I’m not particularly picky.”
Which is as good as a dare, and pretty much the best thing Bucky could have said to make sure Steve’s as active a participant as possible. The smirk on his face says he absolutely knows that, and Steve just does not have the brainpower right now to figure out if that means Bucky’s winning or not.
“Bed,” Steve grunts, and Bucky nods enthusiastically.
“Good plan, Captain, I like your thinking.”
“Sassy fucking noncom,” Steve accuses, and Bucky’s bright laughter bounces off the walls of the apartment.
For all Bucky’s big talk, they get about as far as getting their clothes off and get very thoroughly distracted. Bucky’s body is a revelation against his, miles of warm golden skin that makes Steve look pale in comparison. He can’t settle anywhere, can’t figure out where he wants to get his hands or eyes or mouth first, Bucky’s perky little nipples or his strong thighs or the beautiful hard line of his cock. Steve feels undone already, helpless and hopeless with Bucky under him.
Ultimately, it’s Bucky who grabs Steve by the back of the neck and tugs him down into a hot, searing kiss, and gets his other hand on Steve’s ass to encourage him to rutt his cock against Bucky’s. He falls into the sweet rhythm of it, and he knows he’s going to come too soon, but he’s never felt anything like this.
It seems like Bucky knows it too, because when Steve breaks away to gasp for air he starts talking. “Come for me, beautiful, come on, let me see it. You’re feeling so good right now, it’s okay, just let go, we got all night.”
Steve comes with a helpless cry, collapsing onto Bucky’s chest, and Bucky holds him tight, murmurs soft praise and affection as he drifts back to himself.
He’d be embarrassed about his stamina if he didn’t know this body, didn’t know how easy it would be to get hard again. He’s already starting to feel it when he moves up to kiss Bucky again, hungry for Bucky’s pleasure now that he’s had his. “What do you like?” he asks, propped up on one hand, the other stroking the skin at Bucky’s hip. “What can I do for you?”
“Steve,” Bucky says, sounding desperately fond. “Literally anything you want to try I’m going to like. This is your first time, not mine. Do what you want, I’m along for the ride.”
“Want to make you feel good,” Steve says, stubbornly, kissing the point of Bucky’s chin, trailing down to the spot on his neck that had made him shiver before. This time it earns him a moan.
“Well, touching my dick is probably a good place to start,” Bucky sasses back, and Steve pinches his hip lightly in retaliation. But then he does take Bucky in hand, feeling the warm weight of him, and it’s different than touching himself in a way that Steve hadn’t expected and couldn’t name.
Bucky lets out a soft sound, and tugs a little at Steve’s hair, clearly asking for another kiss which Steve is happy to give him. He gets distracted figuring out the rhythm Bucky likes, then playing with it, adding a twist here and there, swiping his thumb against the head occasionally. He feels like he’s just starting to get the hang of it when Bucky makes a soft, low sound and comes over his hand.
He collapses boneless against the bed, looking a little dazed, and Steve grins triumphantly. He brings his clean hand to rest on Bucky’s chest, propping his chin on his fist to watch Bucky come down, gorgeous and sex flushed. Eventually, he blinks a little, and meets Steve’s gaze. “You’re good at that,” he says, a little stupidly, and Steve grins.
“Well, I’ve got one too,” he points out, and Bucky smacks him lightly, with absolutely no force behind it. “I’m just saying, don’t expect everything else to come that easily.”
Bucky dissolves in snickers. “I’m hope we can both come that easily,” he repeats, and Steve gives a put upon sigh in reply.
He waits until Bucky’s done laughing, and then pushes up, ignoring the way it drags his erection against Bucky’s thigh. The desperation is gone now, anyway, faded to a pleasant hum. “I love you,” he says again, leaning down for a kiss, and Bucky arches up to meet him.
“Yeah, Rogers. Me too.”
They have plenty of time to explore that night, when Bucky pushes Steve over onto his back and slides down his body, slips his beautiful, silky hot mouth over Steve’s cock. Then again later, when Steve follows him into the shower, kissing down the corded muscles of his back to lick between his ass cheeks until he comes with a shocked, startled sound. And then again, in the quiet of the late night, curled together under the blankets on Steve’s bed, rubbing their naked bodies together until they make their earlier shower utterly pointless.
Steve wakes up the next morning with Bucky pressed into his side, sleep warm and groggy, and thinks again that maybe losing everything was worth it so he could live at the same time as Bucky Barnes.
Bucky calls him a sap, and sends him out to make coffee, which he’s all too happy to do.
___
Steve does get sent out again a few days later, and then again quickly after that. He steals what moments he can with Bucky between missions, spends whatever nights he can get in bed with Bucky. Some mornings they spend pouring over personnel files as Bucky works to pull together a new team, and other mornings they pull the blankets over their heads and forget about work, talk about movies and books and Bucky’s sister.
Then someone tries to kill Nick Fury, and Steve’s own Strike attacks him in an elevator, and the world turns upside down. He’s just deciding to run, to try to make a break for it and strike out on his own, when he spots Bucky heading towards his bike in the garage. He has a blinding moment of dread because oh God, no, please no, not this, please don’t take this from me, I won’t survive.
But Bucky’s just grimly locking down his own tac gear as the alarms blaze around them, face cold in the way Steve’s seen glimpses of before, but somehow he can tell it’s not directed at him. “So we run?” Bucky asks, and doesn’t ask anything more, like his loyalty could never be in question. Steve loves him so much he can’t breathe.
“I have a lead,” he says, and Bucky nods, climbing onto the back of Steve’s bike. He takes out the Quinjet that tries to stop their escape with one shot.
Bucky remains staunchly by his side, despite Natasha mistrust, through the escape from Steve’s Strike team and through the bombing of Zola’s bunker. When they decide to try to take down the Insight Helicarriers, Steve takes Alpha, Sam takes Bravo, and Bucky takes Charlie. The carriers are crawling with Hydra operatives determined to keep them from their targets, and Steve listens to Sam getting his wing compromised on one side, Bucky fighting his way through people he’s known for years on the other. They barely make the locks in time, and by the time Steve’s got his chip in place and is making a mad leap for the river, he’s lost track of everyone else.
He comes to in a hospital bed, Sam dosing in a chair on his right, and Bucky settled onto his bed on his left. “Hey,” he croaks, and both of them straighten up, looking at him with relief. “What happened?”
“You jumped out of a fucking helicarrier,” Bucky says, voice incredulous and relieved. “84 fucking stories up. Into a river. After being shot.”
“Oh,” Steve says, because his head hurts and he can’t think of anything else he should except maybe– “I’m sorry?”
“Better be,” Bucky grumbles, and Sam rolls his eyes. Bucky’s left arm is in a sling, and Steve makes a concerned sound, reaching for him, which turns out to be extraordinarily painful.
“Yeah, don’t do that. You got shot,” Sam reminds him, and Steve groans. “He got shot too, but he’s fine. They even think he’ll be able to use his arm again.” Bucky flips Sam off with his uninjured arm, and Steve decides it’s probably okay if he passes out again. They don’t seem to be going anywhere.
___
Turns out the Avengers are pretty happy to take on a flyer with years of combat experience and another expert sniper, even if he’s got a weak left arm with limited mobility. Tony enthusiastically insists that he can make some Stuff To Help With That.
Steve honestly just wants to be able to wake up next to Bucky every morning. Luckily, Bucky seems to feel the same way.