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moonstruckbucky · 4 years ago

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The Recruit (8/?)

Summary: Becoming a SHIELD agent had been your dream and finally, you’ve achieved it. You’re at the top of your class in every field except one—hand to hand combat, and it doesn’t impress Captain Rogers in the slightest. Instead, it seems to convince him you’re useless, setting off a tense relationship between the two of you. In an effort to bridge the gap, Bucky offers to help you train to earn your way back into Steve’s good graces. What could possibly go wrong?

Pairing: Steve Rogers x fem!Reader x Bucky Barnes (not Stucky)

Warnings for Chapter: Angst, pouty Steve. More soft Bucky. That’s it, that’s the warning.

Notes: Thank you all for the feedback of the previous chapter and for your patience while real life took over for a bit. Someone mentioned that they felt like Bucky/their relationship wasn’t featured enough, so I hope this chapter fulfills that for you! x

Also, a giant thank you to @marauderskeeper for this beautiful artwork!!! I’m so fucking in love with this! How perfect is this artwork, y’all?!

Steve finds patterns in the ceiling, shapes. It’s near-silent in the room save the sound of peepers through the open window, the soft breathing beside him. The weight against his chest shifts, sighs, rolls over, and he swallows thickly. Traces the lines of her body even though they’re all wrong, catches the scent of her hair - the wrong color.

He isn’t a stranger to the modern concepts of love and relationships, but it’s an indulgence he doesn’t frequently partake in. The women he meets are great, just none seem to strike that chord in him. None that seem to challenge him or intrigue quite like you.

The woman leaves with a friendly smile, an easy exit with no lingering questions of another night together or anything. He remains in bed for a little while longer, hands tucked up behind his head as he connects constellations in the ceiling. Training begins in thirty minutes, and he inhales deeply to quell the raging in his belly. He’s nervous; it’s the first he’ll see you after his apology.

He’d heard about your successful mission and he’s proud, almost excited for you, even though he knows he has no right. His treatment of you only serves to prove he’s failed as Captain; he’s meant to lead and guide and encourage. Instead, he judged and ridiculed and humiliated, drove you to the point of persevering to prove him wrong.

And you did. He’s embarrassed, ashamed - but proud all the same.

He dresses slowly in the SHIELD-issued black tac pants and navy t-shirt, the SHIELD logo emblazoned on the breast. Someone like Nat or Bucky or even Sam might accuse him of stalling as he carefully and meticulously laces his sneakers, but to anyone else he’d appear sluggish. To anyone else, he’d say he’s tired, that he’d had a late night, but if it were any of the aforementioned three, he’d pointedly keep his mouth shut.

He’s nervous - he’s man enough to admit it. He’s unsure of what to expect, unsure if he’d imagined his apology and your reluctance to believe him. He hates not being sure, not being confident, hates being thrown off his axis, out of balance. Structure, routine, and control is weaved into his DNA, and by apologizing, he’s given up that control, given a piece of him away for someone to do with as she pleases.

He hates it, loathes the way it makes his movements slower, stiffer, like he slept on a bad mattress all night instead of his cushy pillow-top next to a warm body. A warm body he really had no business bringing back here last night, but he brushes that thought away.

He takes a little longer than usual brushing and inspecting his teeth, snarling into the mirror and using floss of all things until he looks at the time and knows he can’t put this off any longer. Schooling his features into impassive steel, Steve sweeps from his room. The ride in the elevator down to the training room is spent building up a wall in his mind, a wall away from her - from you.

You’re already there when he enters, along with Bucky and a few other recruits. You’re smiling, teasing Bucky, and it puts lead in his chest. Absolutely scorches when you notice him and your smile promptly drops. He feels his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows heavily, and the burn in his chest lessons only a little when you offer him a respectful nod.

He returns it, catches Bucky’s eye and his friend gives him a reassuring smile. Steve’s not sure it helps. Mentally shaking it off, he begins the session, starts them off with running laps while he and Bucky spectate.

Steve can’t help but watch you; you’ve got near-perfect running form and you seem unbothered by your knee. You keep pace with everyone, even set it once or twice, and his scrutiny of you means he catches every little side-glance you give his best friend. The little curl at the corners of your lips, a darting glance away.

He catches the same expression on Bucky’s face - and he knows. How could he not know? The way he’d intervened when Steve was being unreasonably harsh, the easy, gentle teasing between you just now, the ever-present smile on Bucky’s face whenever he looks at his phone, the secret glances now as you increase the pace and pull ahead.

As Steve moves the group on to sparring sessions, the looks between you and Bucky become less sneaking and more appraising, and Steve has to dig hard beneath to find any joy that his friend has found his own happiness. Steve knows Bucky deserves it, after all he’s been through and yet.

The obvious connection between the two of you makes his chest hurt and jaw clench so tight it aches. When Bucky calls on you to demonstrate with him, Steve has to hide his curled fists in the pockets of his sweats.

His mind is muddled; he has no reason to be this angry - jealous, surely - but angry? No. Aggravated enough he wants to knock Bucky’s teeth out, sick enough at the sight of the two of you, moving in such synchrony, that he almost looks for the closest trash barrel.

Instead, he pushes the recruits hard, calls out tips to avoid making his previous mistake again, and offers assistance where it’s needed. An adjusted position here, a tip about roundhouse kicks there. He can almost ignore you and Bucky grunting and shouting only feet away.

You, meanwhile, are almost hyper-aware of Steve and the one-eighty he’s seemed to have made. He’s keeping his distance, though you don’t miss the pinched expression to his face or the underhanded glances he shoots you. Probably anticipating a snarky reply or otherwise prove you aren’t trying to remain civil.

He’s made his way over as Bucky pulls you into a headlock, the position warming something deep within you. His arm is loose enough around your neck that he isn’t cutting off any air, but his pelvis is flush with your backside and you even think he’s grinding it - imperceptibly enough that it goes unnoticed by the others. He’s fresh, you’re learning, pushing boundaries wherever he can.

Normally, you’d play along, dig and push a little back, but not with Steve watching the way he is. Arms crossed, feet hip-width apart in his typical Captain stance, but he’s far less rigid than he was. You execute S.I.N.G. (solar plexus, instep, nose, groin) with anxious butterflies, but you manage to successfully complete the move, spin, and move to jab Bucky again.

Steve’s voice is even gentle when he tells you, “Move your feet. Don’t lock up or remain stationary.”

It’s such a far cry from his previous gruff behavior that it throws you, knocks you slightly off-kilter so that you stumble into Bucky’s chest. With heat in your cheeks, you push away from him, try to resume as if you didn’t fumble at all. You’re meant to be the picture of indifference and yet Steve’s one-eighty has you completely floored.

Should you be, though? He did promise you he’d be better, and so far he’s kept that promise. Perhaps a part of you hadn’t believed him, hadn’t had any reason to believe him - about anything. The fact that he’s trying stirs something in you, and it leaves you open to wind up face-down on the mat.

“Shit,” you grunt as the wind rushes from your lungs.

“That’s what happens when you get distracted,” Bucky teases before reaching with his metal hand to help you to your feet. “Your enemy won’t hesitate to exploit that opening if you give it to them.”

“Yeah,” you agree on a sigh, “yeah. Let’s do it again.”

The warmth in your cheeks doesn’t cool as you run through your spar again. This time, you manage to block out Steve’s close scrutiny and get Bucky on his back, a knee pressed into his chest. You know he can toss you off without a hitch but he lays there, lets you have the win.

“Better,” Steve compliments with an approving nod. You can’t bring yourself to meet his eyes, so you stare at his chest - which, to your shocking admission, isn’t all that much better. The intrusive thought forces you to duck your head, busy yourself with your water bottle as Bucky and Steve begin a rundown of the next exercise.

If either notice you take a little longer to collect yourself, they don’t say anything. After a few more moments of distracting yourself with your water bottle, you return to the group as the Captain and Bucky begin a mock-mission to sharpen your skills.

By the time you’re released from training, you’re covered in a layer of sweat that shimmers under the overhead lights, your mind is tapped, and your entire body feels like it went a round or five against Mike Tyson - super soldiers in your case, but they’d pulled their punches. The muscles in your back pull taut as you stretch, a tightness that makes you wince, expel a tiny whimper.

A gasp as a set of hands lands on your back - one warm, the other just slightly cooler - and the thumbs dig in, find the tightest muscles and press.

“Fuck,” you hiss, arching against Bucky’s skilled hands. A pained smile over your shoulder and, “Hi.”

“Hi.” He grins and leans forward to drop a kiss to your temple. “You did good today.”

“Feels like I went ten rounds with an MMA fighter, but thank you.” Another hmph as Bucky digs his knuckles into your lower back, and a sigh as the tightened muscles release. You slouch against him, disregarding the slight dampness to his compression t-shirt, and turn your face into his neck.

“Feel better?” he asks, throat vibrating against your forehead. Wordlessly, you nod.

“Until tomorrow when it really sets in. You’ll have to carry me everywhere,” you retort cheekily, tilting your face to meet his glimmering eyes.

“Oh, will I?” A teasing upturn of his lips and your eyes dart to them, hold there for a moment as your heart trips over itself in your chest.

“Uh huh.” A pause, then you shrug. “Or you can just stay in bed with me.”

The darkening of his eyes is offset sharply by the awkward look that suddenly shadows his face, cheeks going rouge as he quickly averts his eyes. It’s an odd reaction, and you tilt your head, mouth popping open before he overrides you.

“Whatever you want, doll,” he assures with a smile, all traces of bashfulness gone.

It’s a bit disconcerting how quickly his charming, easy-going demeanor is back in place, but you chalk it up to his former status as an assassin. Give nothing away, a mask he can flip off and on. He further pulls your mind away by lifting your hand to his lips and dotting small kisses across your knuckles.

“C’mon. Should take an ice bath for those muscles.” And he tugs you down the hallway.

“Mother of fucking SHIT.”

Bucky chortles, applies pressure to your shoulders to keep you from popping out of the bathtub he’s filled with ice and water. There’s a burn in your limbs from the cold, and your nails scrape at the ceramic of the tub, squeaking in the small space. Breath rushing in and out as you try to relax, loosen your sore, tightened muscles to let the coldness do its job.

But it’s hard, your mind whines, and your verbalize said whine pathetically.

“It’s so cold.” It’s a whisper, because speaking any louder is downright impossible as your brain works overtime to warm your body.

“I was frozen in ice off and on for seventy years,” he reminds you teasingly, “you can handle it.”

You hiss a laugh, and it makes his mouth twitch. He recalls the first time he ever made a joke about his history with HYDRA. Steve nearly shit a brick before chiding him about how he shouldn’t joke about such things.

“Steve, it happened to me,” he’d reminded, “I should be able to joke about it all I want. Better than going into total shutdown every time HYDRA is mentioned.”

Steve hadn’t said anything after that, but each time Bucky made a jab at HYDRA, he didn’t miss the disapproving gleam in his friend’s eye.

He feels relief that you laugh, feels, well, normal, and like he’s made progress if he feels he can confidently joke about his trauma. He knows he’s made progress, but there are still instances where he feels the others aren’t so sure.

With you, though, he doesn’t have to second-guess it. You don’t treat him like glass, like he’s going to shatter at the first sign of distress. It’s refreshing from the overbearing manner with which Steve treats him on most occasions. He’s thankful you hadn’t known the Bucky from before, the one Steve grew up with, the ghost of a time that’ll never come again. You’ve nothing to compare him to, nothing to miss like Steve does. It’s as refreshing as ice cream on a hot day...or an ice bath following a rigorous workout.

“C-Can I g-ge-get out yet?” Your teeth are chattering, arms crossed tightly over your chest and rubbing at your arms, riddled with gooseflesh. Your lips are even turning slightly blue as they wobble with the cold.

“Can you feel your muscles?” he asks, reaching for the towel he’d placed on the toilet seat.

“I ca-can’t f-f-feel my lips, never m-mind my mus-muscles.” The snark is lost amongst the clicking of your teeth, but it gleams heavy in your eyes. Smirking, Bucky holds out the towel and helps you stand on shaky legs, like Bambi on ice.

Leggings and sports bra plastered like a second skin, they in no way help to warm you even out of the ice, and after you’re wrapped in the towel, Bucky gives you your privacy to strip down and get changed. Movements unsteady, your wet clothes are plopped into a pile on the tile floor and new, warm, dry clothes are hastily thrown on. Despite the rigorous workout this morning, you feel freshly invigorated, like maybe you could run a mile - once feeling comes back to your legs, that is.

Burrowed in the new clothes, you step out of the bathroom to see Bucky reclined on your bed, looking quite at home. It puts a warm, fuzzy feeling in your chest as you approach, and it only grows when he opens his arms for you to burrow into the heat of him. His arms wind around you, the metal one a comforting weight against your back.

It’s silent for a little while, a peaceful blanket pulled over the two of you in the small space of your room. Bucky’s chest rises and falls gently beneath your cheek, slow breaths, and you almost think he’s asleep until he speaks.

“Whatcha thinkin’ about?”

You ponder for a couple beats. “What’s your favorite part of the 21st century? I mean, you were frozen off and on for so long, you didn’t really get a chance to enjoy anything right?”

He hears the trepidation in your voice, the slight intonation that you might actually be crossing a line by asking. He smiles, chuckles a little so you know you haven’t offended him.

“Is it predictable to say the food?” At your head shake, he goes on, “I mean, in the 30s and 40s, we barely had nothin’. Sometimes we’d all go to bed hungry with no dinner, and sometimes I gave my sisters my portion of food. I was the oldest, you know? Had to take care of my family. But now...now there’s just, so much. And so many different kinds! You know, when I first came to the compound, after Shuri fixed my noggin, I didn’t eat a lot. Ate only what I thought I was allowed to eat. One small serving. Was still going to bed hungry even when all this food was at my disposal.

Then Steve came to talk to me. Told me he was the same way, when he first came out of the ice. Said he had to take it slow because even though he was bigger, his body wasn’t used to eating so much. Neither was mine, even though I was healthier when I... before. HYDRA didn’t feed me, not really. No hot, home-cooked meal for the Fist. It was MREs, or a feeding tube - if I was awake long enough at the base. My system got used to it, and then when HYDRA fell, it was always...Ramen or canned meat, some fruit, if I could afford it. Nothing real substantial. Even in Wakanda, I was still only eating small portions. My first three-course meal here, I puked it all up. I was so astounded by the fact that I could eat as much as I wanted to, but my body wasn’t ready for it. It was used to rationing itself on small meals, used to fasting sometimes, too. But it got better. I ate a little more at each meal, got my body used to eating three times a day. Started working out more, too, to up my hunger. Eventually I could put away three servings at each meal and still have room for dessert. I’ve got a wicked sweet tooth.”

The last line is so unexpected, it makes you snort, choke on the breath, before you can laugh for real. It’s short, though, when you take in the entirety of his story and realize there’s so much you still have to learn about one James Barnes, so much of himself to reveal, so many layers to peel back so you can see who he truly is. A little skip in your heartbeat betrays your excitement to find out, if he’ll let you.

"I’ve got a list,” he then says, “of things people have recommended I try. Maybe you can help me cross some of them off, huh?”

“Bucky Barnes, are you officially asking me on a date?” you tease, leaning your head back to aim a cheeky smirk his way.

His chest rumbles against with that warm chuckle that warms you to your bones. “Suppose I am. You gonna leave a guy hangin’?”

“Hm, I suppose then I could assist you with this foodie bucket list. We’ll make a cultured man out of you yet.”

#the recruit #steve rogers x reader #steve rogers x you #steve x reader #bucky barnes x you #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x you #bucky x reader #steve x you #steve x you x bucky #bucky x you x steve #bucky x reader x steve #steve x reader x bucky

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that-damn-girl · 5 years ago

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New Nicknames

(Oneshot)

Pairing: Stucky (Bucky Barnes x Steve Rogers) (MCU)

Second part of my collection of oneshots/drabbles for Stucky in the same universe in chronological order - His. Could be read as a STAND ALONE drabble since ‘His’ is NOT a series.

Type: Fluff, cuddling.

Words: 1250+

Summary: Steve comforts Bucky as they give nicknames to each other.

Warning: Ignore any sad endings in 'Avengers: Endgame'.

A/N: This is my submission for @writingsoftheloser 's 1.5K Writing Challenge. Congratulations honey, and thank you for letting me participate! My prompt was 'Lady's mantle - Comfort'. I am so sorry I asked for an extension of 2 days and posted this nearly 2 weeks later. Hope you like it.

A/N[2]: I heartily thank @mysiepereira for letting me use their fanart (below, NOT MINE) for this fic. Please go checkout their account which has multiple such cute artworks. Tell me if they don't melt your heart.

Life had become beautiful for Bucky with Steve by his side as not only his best friend but also a loving boyfriend. It was a promotion he knew he'd remain grateful for the rest of his life.

Steve was sketching in his notebook on his bed, his legs crossed in front of him, under the slanting rays of the sun through his window when Bucky knocked and entered his room, closing the door quietly behind him.

Smiling gleefully at his secret lovely boyfriend - he loved calling him that, Steve put his notebook down and sat up straighter as Bucky neared his side of the bed. Clutching Steve's face, Bucky leaned down to kiss Steve's pink lips softly at first, but when Steve grabbed his butt and pulled him nearer, the kiss was anything but that.

Bucky parted with a peck to Steve's nose and forehead before making Steve lay on the bed, "Hey Buck, what are you doing?"

Bucky didn't answer until he climbed Steve halfway through, "Hey Stevie, your pecs are my new pillow." He placed his head down on Steve's voluminous left pec and hugged him close.

Like a golden retriever, Steve barked out a laugh, "Guess I'd have to sign up as your human pillow now, huh?"

Bucky smiled, "The best." He pecked his pecs before resuming his position. He listened to Steve's heartbeat, calming himself down.

It had been difficult hiding their relationship from the team. Though they had admitted it to themselves, it had been difficult just thinking about being open to others about something which despite being legal was considered scandalous in the eyes of many still.

They weren't ashamed of themselves. Why should they be anyway? But it wasn't easy to overcome the fear of society instilled in their brains from back in the day about same sex relationships.

The team hadn't suspected anything as of yet. Ever since the "bliped" had returned, Bucky and Steve were practically joined at the hip. Sometimes Sam and Nat would be an addition too. They had anyways spent most of their time together before the start of their relationship. Once they were together, the team didn't even bat an eye at them always hanging out together, which made it much more easier for the pair of super soldiers helplessly in love. It was ordinary for the team and the staff. For them, pure bliss.

Behind closed doors, they'd find their solace in either Bucky's or Steve's room. For them, any place would work, really. They just needed to be in the company of each other to make a mundane moment magical. Somedays tough, it was a necessity.

Even with the help of the generous Wakandans and all the others who helped him recover after being free from HYDRA, Bucky couldn't revert back to his old self in the blink of an eye. Getting all those things he wasn't subjected to for decades - the freedom, the love, it overwhelmed him.

He still had trouble speaking and voicing his opinions, no matter how small or big they were. Everytime he thought of saying something, he unconsciously expected to be punished for speaking out of turn. Somedays, he had trouble forming words to express himself. Not that he didn't know vocabulary, but he couldn't translate his feelings into words.

Never having been taken away the basic right of speech before, Steve couldn't fully understand the reality of the torture Bucky had gone through if he were to be honest. But he tried. He had promised himself that he'd try to be there for Bucky, to support him, comfort him, be there for him anyway he could, anyway Bucky wanted or needed him. He would be the sun or the moon if the need be.

Because it was Bucky.

His Bucky.

He'd be damned if he let his lovely boyfriend let down ever again.

"How are you feeling, Buck?" Steve asked like a mother would to their child. He rubbed soft circles on Bucky's back.

Bucky wanted to say he was fine, but he wasn't. That day he woke up feeling not as good as usual. Steve had made Bucky promise to voice out whatever whenever he wanted without any hesitation, so he said, "Down."

"Thank you," Steve kissed the top of his head and pulled the both of them under his blanket. Steve understood it was hard for Bucky to say how he felt. To encourage it, he always thanked Bucky for not shutting him out and communicating with him even when he might not want to talk to anyone.

"You?" Bucky asked him. Grinning, he said, "As good as a human pillow could feel." Bucky chuckled.

"You remember that day we were training those agents?" Steve asked, combing Bucky's hair through his fingers. He hummed in response.

"I saw a few of those dames fawn endlessly over you, specially when they got a look of your backside. Some lads too. Made me so jealous."

Bucky furrowed his eyebrows, afraid Steve would become insecure, "Of me?"

"No," Steve replied, "of those who got to admire your beauty while I couldn't."

Bucky sheepishly grinned at Steve, "Oh, is that so?"

Steve hummed, "Everybody wants to have a look at my beautiful boyfriend."

Bucky laughed, "I like that."

Steve thought for a second, "What, 'beautiful boyfriend'?"

"Yeah. I - uh, I love it when you call me your boyfriend in general, and that has a nice ring to it. I like it." Bucky said, hiding his face in Steve's chest.

Steve grinned impossibly wide, "My beautiful boyfriend, Bucky." He wrapped his arms around the metal armed marshmallow who melted atop him.

"What would you like me to call you, handsome hunk?" Bucky asked in a teasing tone.

Steve chuckled, pausing for a second, "I don't know if you'll be okay with it..."

"You don't gotta worry about that, Stevie. It could be anything as long as you are mine." Bucky reassured him, absent mindedly drawing patterns on Steve's chest.

"Uh..." Steve began, unsure how to bring it up.

Bucky whispered, "Anything, Stevie."

Taking a deep breath, Steve continued without much confidence, "You - uh, remember what you called the girls you used to date back in the day?"

Taking a moment, he said, "I think I remember," Bucky lifted his head to look up at the love of his life, "doll."

Bucky would never forget how fast Steve changed colour, "Yeah, that..." He tried looking elsewhere, embarrassment clouding his demeanor.

Bucky was having none of that. He reached out to bring Steve's face towards himself and kissed him slowly, biting his lip gently at the end, "I'd loved to call you that." He hugged Steve tighter this time as he lay on top of him, "My doll."

Steve was thankful Bucky didn't face him this time, since he swore his face must have become as red as the henly Bucky wore.

Laying on top of him, Bucky felt Steve's heartbeat quicken when he called him that. He snuggled further into his chest, relishing the love and warmth he received.

Yeah, life had become very, very beautiful for the beautiful boyfriend and his doll.

~~~

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a-splash-of-stucky · 6 years ago

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you look so perfect standing there

Pairings: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes [Not reader-insert]

Summary: When Bucky steps in a Natasha’s model at a shoot, he does not expect the photographer to be this hot.

Warnings: Bucky in lingerie, Bucky thinking very dirty thoughts about Steve, awkward flirting. No smut, but a lot of smutty thoughts. Language.

Notes: Written for @wehaveabucky’s writing challenge, using the prompt: Photoshoot.

The author of this fic has a gratuitous kink for Bucky in skimpy underwear. I regret nothing. Also, if you ever want to give me a present, I will never turn down fics/artwork involving Bucky in lingerie. Visual inspiration for look [1] [2] and [3]

Stucky Masterlist

Bucky flops onto his couch with a tired sigh, grateful to be off his feet after spending an entire day chasing after a bunch of hyperexcited pre-schoolers. He loves his job, loves the kids in his class but man -- school trips are the worst. Of course, it’s just his luck that this week he’s had to go on three of them.

Thank fuck for child-free weekends.

Bucky hooks his toes under the lip of his coffee table and drags it over. Of course, he could sit up and reach over for the box of pizza, but that requires too much effort. His phone starts ringing just as he’s about to dig in. Cursing under his breath, Bucky wrestles it out of his back pocket and presses the answer button.

“’lo?”

“Barnes,” comes a crisp voice.

“Romanov,” Bucky replies, as he flips open the pizza box and grabs a slice.

“You’re free this weekend, yes?” she asks.

Bucky freezes, hand poised in mid-air. “Uh…I did have plans,” he says slowly.

Natasha snorts. “Really?” she drawls. Bucky can imagine her pursing her lips.

“Oh yeah,” he agrees, as he stuffs half the slice into his mouth. “M’gonna sleep in, sit on the couch all day, marathon Parks and Rec, eat a shit ton of junk—,”

“Great, you’re gonna be my model,” she announces.

Bucky splutters in surprise. “I’m gonna what now?”

“A model, Barnes. Y’know—,”

“Yes, I know what a model is, Nat,” he snaps, “But why me?”

“Eh, you’ve got a decent ass,” she replies.

Bucky snorts indignantly. “Excuse me, I’ll have you know that my ass is – wait, did you just compliment me? You think my ass looks nice?”

“I said it looks decent,” Nat says, enunciating clearly. “And stop fishing for compliments. Look, you know that I’ve got a new line of lingerie coming out for the store, right? My model cancelled on me last minute, and I needed someone on short notice.”

“I’m flattered to be your plan B,” Bucky says dryly.

“Actually, you’re more like plan E.”

“Oh, fuck you,” Bucky grumbles.

Nat huffs. “So. You in? This Sunday, for a couple of hours.”

Bucky sighs heavily. “Nat. I’m a teacher, I can’t—,”

“It’ll be completely anonymous,” she assures him. “Body shots only, your face won’t be included. And it’s not like you have any identifying marks on your body, so…”

As her voice trails off, Bucky heaves a dramatic sigh. “Okay, fine, but you’re buying me pizza after.”

“Deal. I’ll send you the address in a bit.”

----------

When Sunday rolls around, Bucky is most definitely not nervous. Of course not. That funny feeling in his stomach is just…indigestion. Possibly excitement. No nerves whatsoever.

Maybe he’s a little nervous.

He shows up to the location about ten minutes before he’s expected to be there. Nat’s directions have brought Bucky to an empty loft space in downtown. Bucky can understand why Nat’s chosen to have the shoot here; the exposed brick walls, wooden floors and overall industrial vibe is exactly the kind of aesthetic she tends to go for.

The loft is bustling with activity when Bucky arrives. People are dragging around lights, backdrops and various pieces of furniture. Bucky cranes his head around, looking for Nat. He startles when someone taps him on the shoulder.

When he turns around, his nearly gasps in surprise. His brain descends into chaos as his eyes are confronted the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen; blonde, with bright blue eyes and a disarming smile that Bucky wants to kiss right off his lips. Blondie is built as fuck, his broad shoulders and chest tapering into a ridiculously small waist. He’s dressed in a pair of jeans that hug his muscular thighs and a light blue t-shirt that clings to him like a second skin.

“Hi,” Blondie says, “You’re James, right?”

Oh. Oh, dear God, he’s talking to you – answer him you idiot, ANSWER HIM!

Why does his inner voice sound a lot like Rebecca?

“Uhh,” Bucky says. He mentally face-palms himself and tries not to outwardly grimace.

Nice going, Barnes.

Blondie quirks an eyebrow, a hint of a smirk tugging on the corner of his lips.

“Y-yeah, I’m James,” Bucky says, wincing internally at his stutter. “But, uh—just call me Bucky. Only my ma’s allowed to call me James.”

“Bucky, huh?” Blondie says, “Nice to meet you. I’m Steve.”

“Steve,” Bucky echoes distractedly, too busy watching the mesmerising movements of Steve’s lips. He really, really wants to kiss them. “Yeah, yeah, it’s uh…nice to meet you too.”

Get it together, Barnes, where’s your game at?

If Steve’s amused by Bucky’s bumbling pleasantries, he doesn’t let it show in his expression. “So, I’m gonna be your photographer for today,” Steve says casually.

Fucking hell, Bucky is not gonna survive this day.

“Oh,” Bucky squeaks, “That’s great. That’s cool, yeah. Yeah, really excited to work with you, Steve, Nat’s told me about you.”

Steve laughs softly, ducking his head in embarrassment. “What’d she say about me?”

Hngh, how can this man simultaneously be the hottest and also the most adorable thing on this planet? It’s not fucking fair.

Bucky grins. At least, he thinks he’s grinning.

“Only the good stuff,” he replies, “She told me that you’re the only person she’d trust to run this shoot.”

Steve shakes his head like he can’t believe Natasha said that about him. To be fair, that woman does not give out compliments easily. He clears his throat and meets Bucky’s eyes once again. “Okay, well—um, we’ve got a pretty packed schedule today, so if you wanna head to hair and makeup and get changed and whatever…I’ll just…I need to finish setting up.”

“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “Yeah, see you in a bit, Steve.”

Steve flashes him another one of easy smiles and squeezes Bucky’s shoulder before he walks off. The lingering warmth of his hand sends shivers down Bucky’s spine. As Steve walks away, Bucky takes the opportunity to ogle his ass – those jeans are doing wonders for him. And that shirt? Hello sexy shoulder muscles.

Bucky heaves a shaky breath and runs his fingers through his hair.

He is so, so fucked for this shoot.

----------

“Oh, hey Wanda!” Bucky calls, as he walks into the dressing area. “You’re here to make me look good, I take it?”

“Yup,” she says, “Drop your bag anywhere, then come sit by the vanity. You need all the help you can get, so we’d best get started.”

“Har-har, Wan,” Bucky drawls. He drops the gym bag holding his change of clothes beside the vanity, then plops down in the foldable chair that Wanda pointed to. The surface of the table is littered with an assortment of beauty utensils, and the mirror has huge bulbs built into the frame.

“You look a little nervous,” Wanda comments, as she clips his bangs out of the way and starts to smooth some sweet-smelling cream all over his face. “Why’re you nervous? I know for a fact that this isn’t your first shoot.”

She’s right. Back when Natasha was in fashion school and just launching her online boutique, Bucky had often been the person to model her garments. He’d also done a few other modelling gigs back when he was a broke-ass college student, for some quick cash. He and Wanda had met on one of those gigs; when Bucky introduced her to Natasha, the two of them had hit it off, and now they’re something of a team.

So yeah, Wanda is correct; this is not Bucky’s first photoshoot.

“’S my first one in lingerie, though,” Bucky mutters. He closes his eyes as Wanda starts to buff some foundation onto his face.

Wanda snorts. “Buck, you’ve done underwear modelling before, right? How’s this any different?”

Bucky shrugs. “Dunno,” he replies, even though he does. This photoshoot is different because the photographer is the most beautiful man that Bucky’s ever seen and Bucky desperately wants to bone him. Or be boned by him, whatever, Bucky’s not picky.

As Wanda picks up her powder, Bucky frowns in confusion, a lightbulb going off in his head.

“Wanda, why the hell’re you puttin’ makeup on me for?” he asks, “Nat said my face wasn’t even gonna be in the shot.”

Wanda pauses, her brush in mid-air. “Crap,” she mutters, “I forgot. It’s like a reflex, sorry. I’ll wipe it off—,”

“Wait!” Bucky blurts. She freezes in surprise.

If he’s going to have any chance at getting into Steve’s pants – or at least, at getting Steve to ask him out on a date so that he can eventually get into Steve’s pants – then he’s going to need every piece of help that he can get.

“I didn’t say I didn’t like it,” Bucky says, shooting her an easy smile. “I do. It helps me get in the right headspace.”

“Oh,” she says, blinking in surprise. “Oh, okay then, I’ll just…continue on.”

“Please do.”

“But seriously, relax, Bucky,” Wanda says, as she sweeps powder onto his face. “You got this.”

Bucky sighs. “M’ just a lil’ nervous, is all. Haven’t done this in a while, don’t go to the gym as often as I used to.”

“Bucky Barnes? Insecure in his own skin?” Wanda scoffs. “Puh-lease, now there’s a joke if I ever saw one.”

----------

Natasha drops by the hair and makeup area just as Wanda leaves in search of an extension cable.

“Romanov,” Bucky hisses.

She arches an eyebrow at his tone. “Yes, James?”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” he growls, careful to keep his voice down so as to not draw anyone’s attention.

“Tell you what?”

Bucky makes an exasperated noise and gestures towards Steve, who’s setting up some lights with the help of a couple of assistants. Natasha follows his gaze and, when she spots Steve, chuckles darkly.

“Oh, that you’d be parading around in lacy underwear in front of a blonde beefcake?” she asks, folding her arms over her chest.

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yeah. That.”

“Whoops, it must’ve slipped my mind,” she says innocently.

“Some friend you are,” Bucky grumbles.

She hums thoughtfully as her eyes drift back to Steve. “He’s bi, you know? And single, too.”

“Fuck me,” Bucky groans, his heart doing excited somersaults in his chest.

Nat snickers. “No, but that’s something you might wanna ask Steve about,” she teases.

“Oh, fuck off,” Bucky snaps, turning away from her to hide his blush.

“Who knows, Barnes,” she sing-songs, “Something good could come out of this. Look, you’re gonna be parading in front of him in black lace, so make the most of it, is all I’m saying.”

Bucky snorts. “Would you kill me if I have a boner in like, half the pics?”

She turns on her heel and stalks off, shoulders shaking with silent laughter.

----------

Once Wanda has finished his makeup and arranged his hair into a loose bun, she hands Bucky a pair of black lace panties, which, apparently, constitute his first ‘outfit’.

“Off you go,” she says, ushering him towards the corner of the dressing area, where a privacy screen has been set up. “There’s a mirror behind the screen and there should be a robe hanging off of it.”

Bucky dutifully trots off to get changed. He unzips his hoodie and slides his sweats and boxers down, leaving his clothes folded in a neat pile beside the mirror. The lace is surprisingly soft against his skin and the black compliments his skin tone nicely. He’d been worried that the lace would be too revealing, but actually, the pattern is busy enough to not leave him too indecently exposed. Bucky twists around to check the view from the back and gives himself a pat on the shoulder; his ass looks good.

When he looks at himself dead-on, though, he can’t help but feel a little self-conscious. Maybe he should’ve done some extra crunches when he went to the gym yesterday, or possibly even opted for something other than the greasy Chinese takeout he had last night. Either way, his abs are not as defined as they could be.

Is Steve the kinda guy that likes a toned man? Or, is he okay with a little bit of pudginess? Well, if Bucky’s going to be prancing around in his underwear in front of Steve, he’s going to damn well make sure that he looks smokin’ hot. That means pulling out all the stops.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls.

“Yeah?”

“Can you c’mere for a sec?”

“What’s up?” she asks, popping her head around the side of the screen. When she catches sight of him, she gives a low whistle. “Woah, Bucky, you look nice.”

“Thanks,” he murmurs, flushing hot. “Um—d’you think you could…abs?” he mumbles, gesturing vaguely towards the region of his body in question.

“Abs?” she echoes, confused. “What about ‘em?”

“Could you…make ‘em look more obvious?”

Wanda smirks knowingly. “You want me to contour your abs, Bucky?”

“Yes,” Bucky sighs. “Make me look like I go to the gym five times a week.”

“I mean, yeah, I can do that, but you look great, so I don’t really see the point. What brought this on?” Wanda asks, as she steps around the privacy screen. She pulls out a brush and some contour powder from the utility belt strapped around her waist.

“Nothin’, I just wanna look good,” Bucky says.

She cocks her head to the side. “Look good? But you—oh my god,” she gasps.

“What?”

A maniacal grin stretches her lips. “It’s because of Steve, isn’t it?”

Bucky narrows his eyes at her. “No, it’s not,” he says tersely.

“It is, it totally is,” she giggles, “Oh, did you know that he’s—,”

“Bisexual and single, yeah, Nat’s already told me that.”

“More importantly, he’s your type,” she whispers contritely, nudging Bucky with her elbow.

“I don’t have a type,” Bucky retorts defensively, “I just go for the nice guys!”

“Uh-huh,” Wanda says, a dubious expression on her face. “The nice guys with blonde hair and thighs that were made for grinding on, am I right?

Bucky doesn’t dignify her with an answer.

(She’s totally right)

“Flex your muscles. Tense up,” she instructs.

Bucky does as he’s told. Wanda dusts contour powder over his body.

“What d’you think about body oil?” she asks, as she moves her brush to his iliac furrow, sculpting out those lines too.

“What do I think about body oil?”

She looks up at him, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Imagine – glistening abs, glistening shoulders, looking like you’ve just had the best sex of your life—,”

“Sign me the fuck up.”

----------

After making himself look like a vision of sex, Bucky throws on a black silk robe and pads off in search of Steve. Bucky finds him standing beside a pile of white sheets that have been spread out on the floor. They’re piled on top of each other, creating sensual ripples in the fabric.

“Hey, Bucky!” Steve chirps, flashing another one of those killer smiles. “We’ve just finished setting up, you’re just on time.”

“This is the set?” Bucky asks, jerking his chin towards the unassuming mountain of white fabric.

Steve nods enthusiastically. “Yep. We couldn’t find a real bed on such short notice, so we kinda had to make do. The plan is for you to roll around in the sheets, with me standing above you, and then I’ll get a few shots. Sounds cool?”

“Yep!” Bucky replies, voice a little strangled.

Sure. No big deal. He’s going to be rolling around in silk sheets, in his lacy underwear, with Steve standing over him. No big deal.

“Great. So, if you’ll just drop the robe, we can get started.”

Bucky takes a deep, fortifying breath, then unties the sash holding his robe together. He doesn’t miss Steve’s sharp inhale as the silky garment slips off his shoulders. Despite his nerves, Bucky has to bite the inside of his cheek to stop himself from grinning. He hands the robe to an assistant and then crawls onto the sheets. When he’s in the middle of them, he twists around so that he’s lying on his back.

Steve is watching him with an unreadable expression on his face. “If you could just let your legs fall open a little,” he instructs, “Bring your feet in – yeah, just like that.”

Once he’s arranged Bucky to his satisfaction, Steve picks up his camera and stands between Bucky’s legs. The air is filled with the rhythmic snap of the shutter, as well as Steve’s murmured encouragements and instructions. Bucky’s nerves fall away as he gets into the zone. He manipulates his body as Steve directs, arching and flexing and relaxing as required.

The knowledge that his face won’t be in any of the shots doesn’t stop Bucky from giving Steve his best bedroom eyes. Bucky tips his head back invitingly, baring his throat and letting his lids droop half-shut. He parts his lips on an exhale, the corner of his mouth crooked up in a soft smile. He hopes that Steve is picking up his signals.

Steve curses under his breath when Bucky slips his right thumb into the waistband of his panties and tugs them down a little, as if he were about to slip them off. Bucky spends some time teasing Steve like this, sliding his fingers back and forth, and slipping a couple down the front, so that his fingertips are brushing the base of his cock. He arches his back and thrusts his pelvis upwards, his lips parting of their own accord on a silent moan.

“Uh, Bucky?” Steve asks, tearing his eyes away from the camera for a second. His tongue darts out to wet his bottom lip; Bucky notes the flush of colour on his cheeks.

“Could you—um, could you roll over, please? I need to – uh, I need to get some shots of your a—I mean, I need to get some shots of the back,” Steve stutters.

“You wanna get some shots of my ass, Steve, all you gotta do is ask,” Bucky drawls, smirking to himself as he rolls onto his stomach.

He finds himself naturally bringing his knees up under him and pressing his chest to the floor; the position draws attention to his lace-clad ass. Bucky can feel the weight of Steve’s stare, intense and heated, as it rakes over his back. He has half a mind to start grinding against the sheets, humping the floor like he’s some horny teenager.

Once Steve’s gotten all the shots he needs, Bucky gets sent off to Wanda to change into his next set. She’s waiting in the dressing area with a knowing smirk on her face.

“What?” Bucky asks, as he walks past her.

“Don’t ‘what’ me, Barnes,” she says, turning to keep pace with him. “I think the only way you could’ve been more obvious was if you ripped the panties off and flat-out asked him to fuck you. Like, seriously, we all thought we were seconds away from watching you two shoot a porno!”

“Yeah, well,” Bucky shrugs, despite the flush crawling up his cheeks. “Didn’t want to give him any reason to doubt, y’know? If he wants it, he wants it and I’m gonna let him have it.”

“You should’ve seen the look on his face when you rolled over,” she comments, as Bucky steps behind the privacy screen. “I’m pretty sure he was about to have a heart attack.”

“My ass does that to people,” Bucky agrees. Wanda snorts in response.

The next set that Bucky changes into comprises of more pieces. There’s a pair of white thigh-highs with a lace trim, a garter belt to hold them up and some matching lace panties to complete the look. These panties are cut differently to the ones that Bucky currently has on; nearly half his ass is going to be on show.

Luckily, Bucky’s ass is at peak form. All those squats have finally paid off.

“Hey Wanda?” he calls, as he takes the lingerie pieces off their hangers.

“Yeah?”

“Do I put panties over garter, or garter over panties?”

“Garter over panties,” she replies, “You only do it the other way ‘round if you’re planning to take the panties off, which we’re not doing.”

“But what if I wanna take ‘em off?”

“Barnes, none of us wants to see your bare ass,” Wanda sighs.

“Steve might,” Bucky grumbles.

The garter belt and clips are a little fiddly, but once everything is in place, Bucky has to admit that he looks good. The thigh-highs elongate his legs and the belt emphasises the smooth curve of his waist. His cock is snugly held by the lace panties and the bottom of his ass cheeks look especially perky.

If Bucky were Steve, he’d fuck Bucky.

Bucky slips on his robe and pads back out to the main area, where an assistant points him to where he’s needed. From the looks of it, he’ll just be shot in front of a simple black backdrop – Bucky is thankful that this set-up doesn’t involve Steve standing over him, as he doesn’t think that he’ll survive another round of that. A couple of light boxes cast a warm glow.

Steve catches his gaze and smiles, gesturing for Bucky to step onto the set. This time, when Bucky drops his robe, Steve is more open with his appreciation; his eyes widen noticeably, and he pulls his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze roams over Bucky’s body hungrily and, when their eyes meet again, he doesn’t bother to apologise.

“You look good,” he says instead, voice dark and husky.

A rush of heat travels down Bucky’s spine.

The current set-up is more similar to modelling gigs that Bucky’s had in the past, but the fact that he’s strutting around in fancy lingerie is definitely new. He’s also never wanted to fuck his photographer this bad, either.

“Okay, Bucky, if you could just tip your head back and cross one leg in front of the other – yes, hold it, just like that,” Steve praises, peering into the viewfinder as he snaps a few pictures. Steve encourages Bucky to move around and do whatever feels natural, so Bucky finds himself twisting himself this way and that, focusing on creating sinuous, sensuous lines with his body.

“That’s great, Buck, real good,” Steve murmurs, every now and then.

Bucky finds it ridiculously endearing that Steve’s somehow managed to make a nickname out of his nickname. He likes how the syllable sounds as it rolls off Steve’s tongue, the easy familiarity behind it. Bucky wants to find out what his name sounds like rolling off of Steve’s tongue when Bucky’s sucking on his dick or riding his cock, but that’s a mystery to be solved later.

“Turn around for me, please? Great, could you put one hand on the back of your neck and look at me over your shoulder?”

Bucky does as he’s told, craning his neck around until he’s looking at Steve. He notices how Steve’s gaze is appreciative as he casts it over Bucky’s back and ass. When their eyes meet, the corner of Steve’s lip twitches, like he’s resisting the urge to smirk. Bucky wouldn’t call himself vain – well, no vainer than the average person, at least – but he’s looked at the mirror enough times to know that he’s got a little bit of muscle definition going on back there when he flexes. Clearly, Steve likes what he sees.

Bucky makes sure to arch his back so that his ass looks perkier. He tells himself that he’s doing this for the sake of modelling the panties, but really, it’s because Bucky wants to shove his ass into Steve’s face.

Figuratively and literally.

----------

Bucky’s final pair of panties are deep-red and high-waisted, with a criss-cross ribbon design in the back. Wanda also hands him an oversized, white, long-sleeve button-down to wear; it hangs off his shoulders in a sultry manner.

Bucky is accosted by Natasha after Wanda finishes touching-up his makeup and dousing his hair in more texturing spray.

“Barnes,” she says primly.

“Yes, Natasha?”

The smile she gives him doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You’re modelling for an advertising campaign, yes?”

Bucky nods in agreement.

“Good,” she says, “Keep that in mind.”

His brows pull together in confusion. “What’re you…tryna say, Nat?”

“Stop acting like you’re on a porn shoot.”

Bucky blanches. “Am I…that obvious?” he asks, as they start walking to the next set.

She quirks one perfectly plucked eyebrow. “Look, if you wanna seduce Steve, then don’t let me stop you, just…maybe stop trying to get him to fuck you on the spot?”

“I…make no promises,” Bucky says.

Nat snorts. “Then I retract my promise of buying you pizza.”

Bucky’s eyes land on Steve, who’s conversing with a couple of assistants on the other side of the space. “If I get to have a slice of that beefcake, I think I’ll be okay,” he tells her.

“Oh my god,” Natasha mutters, shoving his shoulder. “That was terrible. I’m leaving you, go away.”

Bucky walks away from her, still cackling.

The final set consists of a chaise lounge that has been positioned in the corner of the space, in front of an exposed brick wall. It’s angled so that it is bathed in the sunlight pouring in from a nearby window. The chaise is upholstered with maroon velvet and sits low to the ground. There are cream and off-white blankets draped over it in a haphazard manner, and someone has piled on some throw pillows.

Steve grins when he spots Bucky, not bothering to hide his meaningful once-over. Because Bucky’s wearing the oversized shirt, Wanda hadn’t bothered to give him a robe. And, since the shirt is unbuttoned, Steve can plainly see the red panties that Bucky is wearing.

“How do I look?” Bucky asks, as he makes a show out of turning around in a circle.

Steve tilts his head to the side, an amused smile on his lips.

“Stunning,” he replies softly.

Bucky swallows, his throat suddenly going dry. Jesus, is this guy even real?

Steve asks Bucky to lie on his couch with his head against the arm rest, legs sprawled out over the blankets.

“I just want you to relax into it, Buck,” Steve says, as he brings his camera to his eyes. “Less posing more…softness. Like you’ve just woken up.”

With those directions in mind, Bucky slouches further into the chaise and brings one knee up, resting his wrist atop it as his shirt pools around him. With the too-big garment constantly slipping down his shoulders, Bucky has multiple excuses to run his hands over his body, under the guise of rearranging the material. The shutter clicks continuously.

Bucky has long recognised the value of having a narrative to use when he’s modelling; if he can become someone, if he can step into a character’s shoes, then it becomes much easier for him to deliver the desired aesthetic. With his skimpy red panties and his oversized shirt, it’s easy for Bucky to imagine that he’s spending the night at Steve’s place, and that he’s borrowed Steve’s shirt so that he’s not totally naked as he lounges on the couch. Oh yeah, that’s a dream he’s happy to entertain – maybe they’ve been seeing each other for a while and this is the first time that Bucky’s spending the night at his place. Yeah, that would explain why he doesn’t have any clothes here.

Or maybe – maybe Bucky’s some sort of kept boy, a sugar baby, perhaps. Steve’s given him these nice panties and has now asked Bucky to model them for him. Distantly, Bucky wonders if Steve would be into that kind of relationship.

Steve calling his name snaps Bucky out of his whimsical daydream.

“Huh?” Bucky says, blinking owlishly at Steve. Damn, what’d he just miss?

Steve smiles benignly. “I asked if you could get up on your knees so that I could see the back.”

“Oh,” Bucky murmurs, “Yeah, sure.”

He rearranges himself so that he’s kneeling on the chaise, facing the brick wall behind it. Bucky slips the shirt off his shoulders and gathers most of the material in his hands, so that it drapes over the backs of his legs and leaves his ass completely exposed. When he hears Steve’s sharp intake of breath, he smirks – the criss-cross design exposes the top of his crack in a rather scandalous way.

Steve moves around him, taking shots at various angles. Bucky tenses his muscles and flexes his back, contorting his body every way he can, to give Steve some variety to work with.

“That’s good, Buck, that’s real good,” Steve praises, “Could you turn to the right a little – yes, just like that.”

The entire photoshoot is over in a depressingly short amount of time.

Steve calls it a wrap with a booming voice and a loud clap of his hands. Bucky shrugs the shirt back onto his shoulders, but leaves it unbuttoned as he walks back over to the dressing area, unwilling to hide his body from Steve’s appreciative gaze. The man in question gives Bucky a friendly smile as Bucky walks past him. Steve opens his mouth like he’s about to say something, but gets distracted when Natasha calls him.

Bucky grabs the bag that he’d dumped beside the makeup station and brings it to the changing area. He slips out of the panties and the button-down, then pulls on the street clothes that he’d brought with him; CKs, a pair of black skinny jeans and his favourite red pullover. Bucky stuffs the hoodie and sweats that he’d been wearing earlier into his bag, bids goodbye to Wanda and is scanning the studio for Nat when someone catches his wrist.

“Hey,” Steve says breathlessly, when Bucky turns to face him.

“Hey yourself,” Bucky replies.

“I—uh, I just wanted to say that I had a great time working with you today,” Steve says, ducking his head shyly. “Uh—yeah, you were really fun to shoot. It’s always nice to work with someone playful and responsive.”

Bucky flushes, scuffing the toe of his Converse against the floor in embarrassment. “Um—thanks. That’s—yeah, it was real great working with you too, Steve. You—um. You really knew what you were doing.”

Really, Barnes? Can you not handle a compliment or something?

Steve ducks his head in acknowledgement of the praise, a tiny smile on his lips. “Thanks,” he murmurs. Steve opens and closes his mouth a couple of times, as if he were about to say something, but then thought better of it.

“You doin’ anything nice this afternoon?” Bucky asks, as he readjusts his grip on his bag.

Steve snorts. “You, I hope,” he mumbles. There’s a half-second of silence, before his eyes widen and a scarlet blush blooms over the apples of his cheeks.

“I—I mean,” he stammers “I—uh, shit, that’s not what I—I mean, yes, I’d like that but—okay, fine laugh it up.”

Bucky is giggling – giggling, like he’s some sort of schoolgirl – at Steve’s mortified expression. “Well, that’s one way to be direct,” he jokes, as he wipes the tears from his eyes.

If it were possible, Steve’s flush goes even redder. “I—what I meant to say,” Steve sighs, “Was—would you, uh, I mean, are you busy this afternoon?”

Bucky cocks his head to the side and appraises him. “Well,” he drawls, “I did have plans.”

Steve’s face falls. “Oh,” he says quietly. “Oh, that’s okay, I don’t wanna—,”

“I was gonna go home,” Bucky continues, talking over Steve. “Take a bath, order in some pizza, crack open a beer, maybe watch some Game of Thrones.”

He trails off with a shrug. “But, y’know. ‘M open to other suggestions,” he says, knocking his shoulder against Steve’s.

“Really?” Steve murmurs, a smile gracing his lips. “Well, maybe you’d let me take you out for a coffee?”

Bucky bites his lip and nods. “Yeah, Steve. Yeah, I’d really like that.”

#wehaveabuckyswritingchallenge #steve rogers x bucky barnes #stucky fanfiction #stevebucky fanfiction #wintershield fanfiction #stucky fanfic #stevebucky fanfic #wintershield fanfic #my writing #stucky smut #you look so perfect standing there

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flowerfan2 · 8 years ago

Text

Love Is Not A Victory March - Cap RBB

Stucky, M, 14.3k, A03 Canon compliant through CACW Artist: SulaMoon Author: flowerfan2

Thanks to @sulasaferoom for creating the amazing artwork that inspired me, to my beta @perryavenue for being the world's best beta, and to everyone at @capreversebb for running this amazing challenge.

Summary: A few months after the civil war fiasco, Bucky and Steve have started a new life together in New York. But when Steve gets hurt, all their plans are threatened. It’s up to Bucky to figure out what to do next.

Bucky feels like a cliché as he hovers next to Steve’s hospital bed, waiting for him to wake up. He can’t relax with Steve in this condition – fuck relax, he can barely breathe, barely function at all. Steve is ripped apart and broken and Bucky doesn’t understand how he isn’t dead yet. Although they are keeping him heavily sedated, Bucky can see the pain etched into Steve’s face. He’s not sure how to weather it, alternating between pacing back and forth across the airless room and sitting next to Steve and holding his practically lifeless hand.He’s not the only visitor there, of course. No one is about to leave a recently de-triggered former assassin alone with Captain America, even if Captain America himself would insist that there’s no danger. But Steve isn’t able to insist on anything right now, and that’s the entire problem. The first time the doctors ease up on the sedation Steve wakes up moaning, a horrid, animal noise that sends Bucky into a blind panic. Bucky comes back to himself curled up in a ball on the hospital floor, Natasha crouched down next to him, a hand bravely kneading the back of his neck. “It’s okay,” she murmurs. “They gave him more painkillers. He’s okay now.” Bucky lets Natasha help him up, but avoids meeting her eyes as he resumes his place at the side of Steve’s bed. He doesn’t need her pity. Bucky just needs Steve to wake up. He can’t fathom what will happen to him if Steve doesn’t wake up.

It would be the most ironic end to their story, Bucky thinks – miraculously back together again, in a world where what they had always danced around could maybe, actually be possible – but without the time to figure it out.

It had only been a few months since the whole civil war fiasco, after which Bucky had removed himself from the situation by going into cryo in Wakanda. Part of him had hoped Steve would talk him out of it, convince Bucky with earnest pleading not to put himself under, tell Bucky he couldn’t stand to be apart from him for a moment longer. But it didn’t go that way. Bucky knew Steve was probably just trying to respect his wishes. As soon as Bucky was frozen, however, and safely under T’Challa’s care, Steve apparently started moving mountains around to find a cure for Bucky, and to figure out what they would do when he eventually woke back up.

Amidst all the research and sciencing, Thor had showed up one day and listened solemnly to the Wakandan doctors explain the situation. Three days later Thor brought a specialist from Asgard to examine Bucky. Within twenty-four hours, Bucky’s mind was his own.

Now, only weeks since getting back to the States, it’s Bucky who is left awake and aware while Steve’s unconscious body lies unresponsive in front of him.

In the hospital later that day more Avengers crowd in, all wanting to show how concerned they are, but Bucky doesn’t move from his spot. He lays his head down on the bed next to Steve’s arm and ignores everyone. His tired mind can only do one thing at a time right now, and that one thing is listening to Steve breathe. Let the rest of them argue about aliens, and impossible weapons, and strategy. He’s got a job to do, and it doesn’t involve anything except staying right here, his hand on Steve’s chest, feeling it rise and fall and rise again, steady despite it all.

Hours go by. Doctors come in and out. They all agree that keeping Steve sedated is the best thing for him right now. There will be another surgery soon, but not yet, they say. Let him rest until morning.

Bucky’s dozing when he hears a new voice, low and urgent. Fury, talking with Coulson. Bucky doesn’t quite understand how the two of them relate to each other. In his short exposure to them, Bucky prefers Coulson. The conversation he overhears does little to change his mind.

“What the hell happened?” Fury hisses, in a tone that implies that whatever it was, Coulson was to blame.

But Coulson doesn’t take the bait. “They moved fast,” he says calmly. “Too fast for our team. They shorted out Stark’s suit, got Cap’s shield away from him, and blasted something at Nat and Clint that knocked them out for too long. Cap went at them head on, with nothing but his fists.”

“Why didn’t he call for backup?” Fury asks.

“And let his team get eaten by giant lizards?” Coulson replies. “Have you met him, Director?”

“Nearly got eaten himself,” Fury grumbles.

“Would have, if not for Barnes.”

Bucky holds himself still, even though the sound of his name makes him want to cringe. He isn’t supposed to be involved with Avenger business. It’s not clear to Bucky whether they think he’s not ready yet, or if they don’t want him anywhere near civilians with a weapon – other than his new metal hand, of course, courtesy of T’Challa, which SHIELD has graciously let him keep.

But when the team went out on an emergency call this morning, rushing to stop the giant alien lizards who were on a rampage in Central Park, Bucky went too. He didn’t tell Steve, just slipped out of their Greenwich Village apartment a few moments later, keeping to the shadows as he trailed him uptown.

When Steve had to choose between blocking the lizard that was heading for Natasha, and the larger one that was heading for a group of school children, Bucky took out the one threatening his teammate, clean and quick. Steve saw him then, sent him a grateful look, and then continued on to fight the larger lizard. Bucky fought next to Nat until she came out of her daze, but when he looked around again for Steve, three more giant lizards had appeared, even bigger than the others. And somehow Steve had lost his shield.

By the time Bucky got into position to take a shot, one of the lizards had Steve pinned. Then it grabbed Steve by the leg and shook him back and forth through the air. Bucky could feel his heart slow, his vision close down to focus only on making the shot as the lizard thrashed, Steve hanging like a rag doll from its mouth. Bucky shot the lizard, bullet finding its mark in the lizard’s eye. But he could do nothing as Steve crashed to the ground.

The rest of the battle was a blur. He stood over Steve, shooting anything that came near, not letting himself think about whether Steve was dead or alive. Stark managed to reboot his suit, and eventually they incapacitated all of the lizards. At some point Natasha convinced Bucky to put down his gun, saying that they wouldn’t let him into the ambulance with Steve unless he stopped aiming it at the paramedics.

And now he’s here, uselessly sitting at Steve’s bedside. Steve’s got broken ribs, a fractured collarbone, and a broken wrist – all of which will heal in a few days. What has even Dr. Banner truly worried, though, is the damage to his leg.

Bucky saw it, just a glimpse, as they loaded Steve into the ambulance. From mid-thigh to ankle, Steve’s right leg is ripped apart, mangled almost beyond recognition. He’s not sure the serum is a match for this kind of butchery. No one is.

They’re operating on Steve in stages, trying to accommodate whatever healing Steve’s body will do itself, and not interfere. Bucky heard the doctors arguing about pins, and metal plates, and regeneration. Stark was there too, hands flying as he described his ideas for fixing Steve.

None of that is Bucky’s problem, however. Not like they’d listen to him, anyway. He will simply sit here next to Steve, for as long as they let him. Count his heartbeats; listen to him breathe. He can do that much.

They take Steve away for surgery again the next morning. Bucky waits in the room, sitting on the floor in a corner. Natasha brings him some food in a bag, and he eats it, hoping it won’t just come back up.

She stays with him for a while, not making him talk, just a warm presence at his side. Her red hair is longer than he remembered it from before he went into cryo in Wakanda, and it falls over her face when she leans her head on her knees.

It’s hours before they bring Steve back to the room. Coulson tells them that the surgery went well, that Steve’s femur seems to be healing itself already, although the bones in the lower part of his leg are shattered and may not come together on their own. They’re considering a knee implant, but haven’t decided yet, they want to wait and see.

“They want to wake him up in a little while,” Coulson says, giving Bucky a level stare. “If you can be present, it might help.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “You mean, try not to faint and actually be useful.”

The edge of Coulson’s mouth twitches with the hint of a smile. “Yeah, that’s what I mean.”

Bucky’s right there when Steve opens his eyes. Steve has trouble focusing at first, but then he sees Bucky, and something in his expression relaxes even through the pain.

“Bucky…”

“Hey, pal. Try not to move, okay?” Bucky puts a hand to Steve’s face, then pulls it back, settling for resting it on his shoulder.

“Everything hurts.”

“Yeah, you got pretty beat up.”

“Never liked lizards.”

Bucky chokes on a laugh. “No, me neither.”

A doctor comes closer and Steve shifts his attention to her, doing his best to answer her questions. She gives him a run-down of his injuries when he asks. Bucky sees Steve’s face grow even paler, and he finds his uninjured hand and gives it a squeeze.

“You’re already healing fast, you’re gonna be fine,” Bucky whispers when the doctor turns away.

But Steve doesn’t look convinced, craning his neck to try to see his leg – but there’s nothing to see, blankets pulled up over bandages and braces.

A different doctor comes to talk to Steve about pain level and meds. He opts for a lighter level of sedation, and so he’s still awake when the doctors finally leave the room.

“Tell me the truth, Buck. How bad is it?”

Bucky doesn’t hesitate. “Real bad, Steve.”

“Is it, um…” Steve waves a hand down towards his leg, grimacing as he jostles his broken collarbone. “Is it still there?”

Bucky curses himself for not heading this one off sooner. “Yeah, buddy. Your leg’s still there. No metal leg for you yet.” He pauses, waits for Steve’s barely there smile, then goes on. “But there’s a lot of damage to your bones and muscles. Knee’s pretty messed up.” Fucking monster bit off half your leg, Bucky thinks. It’s a miracle you’re still alive. He tries to think of something positive to say. “Some of it’s already healing.”

“But they don’t think it will all heal?” Steve’s voice is small, so much smaller than it should ever be.

“No one knows. It’s too soon to tell.”

Steve nods. “Right.”

“You always healed before, though. You’ll be okay.”

Steve’s eyes drift shut, then open again, finding Bucky. “You’ll stay?”

Bucky sits back down in the chair, about as familiar now as the furniture in their new apartment. “I’ll be right here.”

“Good.”

The next time Steve wakes up, he looks even worse than before. There are bags under his eyes, and pain etched into his face.

“Sure you don’t want the better drugs?” Bucky asks, plucking an ice chip out of a cup with his metal fingers and placing it carefully on Steve’s tongue.

“No. Maybe… maybe later.” Steve swallows hard. “There’s something I remembered, that we need to talk about.”

This can’t be good, Bucky thinks, but he obediently sits back down and clasps his hands together in his lap, the cool vibranium one and the sweaty flesh one.

“Okay.”

“I made a deal,” Steve says, his eyes flickering away from Bucky’s and then back again. “So we could come back to the States after you woke up.”

“This isn’t like that job you took with those mafia boys, delivering packages, is it?”

Steve wrinkles his nose. “They weren’t mafia.”

“Keep telling yourself that.”

“They paid better than Mr. Martin.”

“Case in point.” Bucky taps his foot nervously on the tile floor. “Stop deflecting, what did you do this time?”

Steve frowns. “I’m not deflecting, you’re the one that-”

“Steve.”

“Fine.” Steve pulls in a long breath, his hand going up to touch his collarbone as he does it. “Feels better now, actually.”

“Steve,” Bucky insists. “Focus.”

“Right, okay. Well, you know I’m not going to sign on to the Sekovia Accords. But I didn’t want us to have to be on the run forever, nice as Wakanda is. I had to get us both off the hook. Fury was anxious to keep the peace and reassure the public that I was still on board. So I made a deal with SHIELD.”

Bucky had figured as much, but it doesn’t explain Steve’s obvious concern. “What’s the hitch?”

“In exchange for immunity for us both, I have to keep being Captain America, for at least five years. I negotiated more leeway than the Sekovia agreement. I’ve got input into what I’ll do, and who’ll be on my team. I can refuse missions, and I don’t have to work for anyone but Coulson or, if not him, someone else I agree to.”

“Sounds okay.” Bucky huffs. “What aren’t you telling me?”

“If I stop – if I change my mind, and won’t be Captain America anymore, they can reverse the deal. Take away the immunity.”

A cold shiver runs down Bucky’s spine. “You said if you won’t do it anymore… what if you can’t?”

Steve closes his eyes, his hands fisting against the sheets. “I don’t remember what the agreement said. But I don’t think they’re just going to pay me disability and let me retire.”

Before Bucky can respond, a nurse comes in and fusses over Steve, then takes him away for more tests. Bucky watches him go, his mind spinning. After a while he settles down on the floor in the corner, and tries to get some sleep.

He hears Natasha come in before he opens his eyes, and realizes that she has been taking care of him assiduously ever since Steve was hurt. Probably about time he acknowledges it.

Natasha gracefully lowers herself to the floor next to him, a paper cup of coffee in her hand. “Sugar?”

“Little soon for pet names, don’t you think?”

Natasha guffaws, coffee spewing out of her mouth.

“Barnes,” she chokes, “damn.” She wipes the coffee spot on her pants with her hand, and looks at him intently, as if seeing him for the first time. Maybe she is. “How are you?”

Bucky shrugs. “Trying to figure out how to stay out of jail.”

Natasha sits up a little straighter and sets her shoulders. “I’m in. Go.”

******

Thanks to Natasha, Bucky finds himself in Hell’s Kitchen that night, trailing a man wearing a dark suit and sunglasses. The man is using a cane, tapping it back and forth on the sidewalk in front of him as he walks. Bucky thinks he has gotten a bit cocky about it – even Bucky can tell he doesn’t really need it.

Bucky watches him go into an unimpressive brick building, and notes the dark sign reading “Nelson and Murdock – Attorneys at Law” mounted next to the door. Guess he’s working late tonight – but at least Bucky knows he’s in the right place.

He checks the alleys and the side streets, getting acquainted with the location, and then vaults up on to the fire escape. He’s in the same jeans he’s had on for almost a week, a clean long-sleeved blue t-shirt courtesy of Natasha, a sweatshirt jacket with the hood up, and a brown leather jacket that Steve bought him when they got to New York. Not exactly his first choice for scaling buildings, but Natasha had convinced him that showing up at Murdock’s office in full Winter Soldier gear might be counterproductive.

When he finds the window to Murdock’s office, he stills, listening. Murdock’s alone in the room, although he can hear other voices nearby. He peeks into the window, and when he assures himself that he’s not going to get a better opportunity, slides it open and jumps inside in one smooth movement.

Murdock is instantly on guard, his posture revealing that he’s more than just an office worker.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Bucky says quietly. “A friend said you could help me.”

Murdock tilts his head, takes a few steps away from his desk. Closer to the exit, and his still unaware colleagues.

“What did you have in mind?”

Bucky slides his hood off of his head, and lets Murdock look him over – blind or not, he’s got some kind of vision, it’s clear. “I’m Bucky Barnes. My friend Steve Rogers has a legal problem.”

If this wasn’t so important, Bucky would be amused by the awed expression that appears briefly on Murdock’s face, quickly smoothing into something more professional.

“Holy crap, did you say Bucky Barnes?” Another man bursts into the room, and Bucky clamps down hard on the urge to draw his gun.

“Foggy, please,” Murdock sighs.

The man approaches Bucky, hand out to shake. He’s not nearly as trim as his partner, and his messy hair looks like it hasn’t been brushed in days. But his face is open and warm, and Bucky finds himself almost grinning as he takes his hand.

“Franklin Nelson. Call me Foggy. I’m Matt’s law partner.” Foggy finally lets go of Bucky’s hand and steps back, hands on his hips. “Wow. Bucky Barnes.”

“In the flesh,” Bucky deadpans, daring them to look at his metal arm. They do.

“Mr. Barnes, please, take a seat,” Murdock finally says, and Foggy hurries to pull out a chair for him. “Why don’t you tell us how we can help you?”

Bucky’s got a copy of the agreement between Steve and SHIELD on his phone, and he holds it out for Murdock. There’s a bit of a shuffle as Foggy takes it from Bucky – guess there are some things Murdock can’t actually see, or at least doesn’t want anyone to know he can see – and finds the relevant provisions as Bucky explains the situation.

After some discussion, Murdock takes a breath, and Foggy stops rambling, waiting for him to speak.

“It’s pretty tightly written.”

“I have an idea,” Bucky interrupts, before Murdock can say there’s no hope and throw him out of his office. “If you can get them to agree.”

They listen, Foggy practically bouncing on his toes.

“It might actually work,” Murdock says.

“You’d do that?” Foggy asks. “You’d do that for him?”

Bucky shoots Foggy a sharp look. “I’d do anything for him.” Foggy may be a fanboy, but he clearly doesn’t know Bucky as well as he thinks he does.

******

Bucky makes it back to the hospital well before dawn, ignoring the curt nods from the security goons posted outside Steve’s door. Natasha had assured him that everyone assigned to Steve’s detail was trustworthy, but they’re not on Bucky’s (very) short list of people who actually fit that bill.

She’s in the room when he gets there, sitting on the floor in the corner, reading something on her phone. Bucky spends a few moments standing by Steve’s side, matching his breathing to Steve’s, and listening to his heart beat. When he’s satisfied that Steve is stable, sleeping as peacefully as someone in his condition could sleep, he joins Natasha on the floor.

“Good meeting?” she asks, attention still on her phone.

“Good meeting,” he replies. “Thanks.”

She sighs and slides the device into a pocket, finally raising her head to look him over. Her gray-green eyes are clear, assessing him calmly. “Okay if I get some sleep?” Can you take the next watch? is her unspoken question.

Bucky nods. “Go ahead.”

Wasting no time, Natasha closes her eyes and crosses her arms across her chest, leaning her head back against the wall. Bucky listens to the clock on the wall tick softly and tries to let himself relax, too. He slides an inch or two closer to Natasha, who snorts softly and then leans her head against Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky’s not sure why Natasha trusts him the way she does, but he can’t help feeling profoundly grateful for it. He imagines it is tied up in her dedication to Steve, which makes as much sense to him as anything does these days. She’s been looking out for him on Steve’s behalf since she let them get away at that airport in Leipzig. But it’s not all just because of Steve, not with the way she is so carefully gentle with Bucky, yet never shows an ounce of pity. She understands.

He knows it’s only a matter of time before Natasha gets called away on a mission, but for now, there’s no one else he would rather have backing him up.

Steve wakes in the early hours of the morning, a slow groan getting Bucky up on his feet and checking him over, fingers brushing lightly down his arms.

“Buck?”

“I’m here, Steve. You’re okay.”

Steve blinks up at him, good hand reaching out to grab his arm, then falling back down on the bed. “’m still in the ‘ospital.”

They must have given him the stronger sedative during the night, Bucky thinks, taking Steve’s hand and holding it in his. “Yeah, pal, you’re still in the hospital. But you’re okay. You’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

“’kay.”

Bucky stands there for a while, holding Steve’s hand. The tenderness he feels looking at Steve’s sleeping face is almost paralyzing. Steve is so strong, Bucky knows he’s going to pull through this. He has to. There’s no other option.

*****

A week goes by, and Steve does get stronger, as Bucky knew he would. They don’t talk about the immunity deal again. Bucky’s biding his time. He figures that even SHIELD will give Steve a few weeks of peace before raising the issue.

But it’s Steve himself that pushes it, in the end. He’s just had another surgery, and the doctors are explaining how they are placing and removing artificial components in his knee as his body actually regenerates bones and cartilage.

“We’re getting a good feel for how quickly your body heals itself in this type of situation,” Dr. Cohen says, showing Steve her tablet and swiping through several screens. “If your progress continues at this rate, I’d estimate that the majority of your knee will be reformed in six to eight weeks.”

“I’ll be able to walk?” Steve asks, and Bucky’s heart slams into his stomach. Geez, get right to the hard questions, why don’t you?

“It’s much too soon to tell,” Dr. Cohen says, choosing her words carefully. “We just don’t know how far the serum will take you. But with physical therapy there’s a good chance you’ll get back significant use of your leg.”

Steve accepts this, but Bucky isn’t as polite.

“What the hell does ‘significant use’ mean?” He turns to the other doctor. “You’re the ortho. What do you think?”

“Dr. Lopez and I are on the same page,” Dr. Cohen begins, but Bucky interrupts her.

“Pretty sure she can speak for herself.”

“Bucky,” Steve interjects, “it’s okay.”

Dr. Lopez raises her hands in a placating motion. “Everyone, take a deep breath. I know this is a terrible situation for both of you, and you’re worried about Steve.” She directs this last bit at Bucky. “I don’t blame you for being impatient. But there’s an awful lot we don’t know about what’s going on here. Frankly, no normal person would have survived what happened to Steve. The blood loss alone would have been too much.”

Bucky doesn’t realize Steve is holding his hand until he feels a squeeze grounding him.

“I can tell you this, though,” Dr. Lopez continues. “In all my years of working with SHIELD, with inhumans and aliens and all kinds of unusual biological situations, I’ve never seen anyone heal quite the way Steve does. It’s organic, and it’s not magic, but it’s putting him back together. I’m hopeful that he’ll make a full recovery.”

Dr. Cohen shakes her head a little, clearly annoyed that Dr. Lopez has gone off script. “You can’t promise that,” she mutters. “The muscles in his calf…”

“Are healing well,” Dr. Lopez says. “Look, Dr. Cohen is right. We aren’t promising anything. But if your body is able to put up with these continued surgeries, and lets us guide the process, I really do think you’ll be on your feet again.”

Steve digests this. “Thanks. It helps to think about it that way.” He takes in a deep breath, and lets it out slowly. “But – best case scenario. What’s the soonest you think I’ll be back to one hundred percent?”

The doctors exchange a look, and then Dr. Lopez responds. “Best case scenario? Three to four months.”

As the doctors leave the room and a nurse steps in to check the dressing on Steve’s leg, Bucky notices Coulson lurking outside the doorway. Although Coulson never really looks like he’s lurking, more like he just happened to innocently walk by at the same moment you notice his presence.

Bucky follows the doctors out, and Coulson turns to come with him.

“Cup of coffee?” Coulson asks, and Bucky nods. They walk down the hall to the crappy coffee machine in the small sitting area, and Coulson pours a cup for Bucky, then one for himself. He leans against the countertop, pristine in his dark suit and white shirt, and waits.

Bucky takes a sip of the coffee – lukewarm and terrible as always. “I’m guessing you heard that?” Bucky says. There’s no way he didn’t.

“I did. Sounds like Captain Rogers has some work ahead of him.”

“But not Captain America work,” Bucky says, watching Coulson’s face. The man is a pro, however, and Bucky can’t read a thing. “Here.” Bucky takes Murdock’s business card of his jeans pocket, and hands it to Coulson. “Give him a call.”

He downs the rest of his coffee, tosses the paper cup in the garbage, and goes back to Steve’s room. His message has been delivered; now he’ll let Murdock do his job.

The nurse is leaving as Bucky enters the room. Steve looks up at him. Bucky can tell he’s debating his next words.

“I talked to Coulson,” Bucky says, and Steve lets out a breath. Just because Steve hasn’t mentioned the immunity deal and the possible consequence of him not being able to do his job as Captain America doesn’t mean he hasn’t been thinking about it. “We’re going to work it out. Don’t worry.”

Steve takes this at face value, and he relaxes. “Good, that’s good.” His eyes drift close. “Thanks, Bucky.”

Don’t thank me yet, Bucky thinks, but he sits down next to Steve and takes his hand. Steve squeezes it softly, then drifts off, and Bucky is left to wonder how in hell he is going to tell Steve what his clever plan actually involves.

*****

Another week goes by. To say Steve is getting antsy would be like saying Bucky is a decent shot – it doesn’t begin to describe the intensity of Steve’s impatience with hospital life.

“I just don’t understand why they can’t let me go home,” Steve whines for the hundredth time that day. They’re letting him sit up now, the bed cranked up to support him, but it doesn’t do much to soothe his mood.

“Probably has something to do with the fact that your knee has to be stabilized and they’re operating on you every three days,” Bucky answers. It’s pretty much the same thing he’s been saying all morning.

“I could come back for the surgeries.”

“It’s your knee, Steve. Kinda important.”

“Why don’t they just rip the whole thing off and start over?”

“What, your leg?”

Steve looks abashed, but then nods. “Yeah, I mean, it worked for you.”

Bucky stills, about to lash out at Steve with a reminder about how it really, really didn’t work for him, but then figures a guy who has been immobile in bed for going on a month probably deserves a break. He’s trying to calm himself into a more reasoned response when Steve speaks up again.

“I’m sorry, Buck, that was a stupid thing to say.”

Bucky just nods, eyes trained on the floor.

“You never told me about how you got the arm. It must not have been easy.”

He can’t help the bitter laugh that escapes from his throat. “Nope.”

“Tell me,” Steve says, face carefully neutral.

“You don’t need to hear it.” Stories about the torture Bucky underwent at Hydra’s hands don’t seem like appropriate bedside conversation.

“Maybe I do.”

Bucky meets Steve’s eyes, and sees the same caring, concerned expression that has been Steve’s modus operandi since they reunited. Fine, have it your way, he thinks. But it’s still hard to start. “There’s not much to tell. They had to try multiple times before they found a way to attach it that my body wouldn’t reject. And even then, the first few were too heavy.”

“You couldn’t use them?”

Bucky swallows hard. If only it were that simple. “One pulled off, when I was fighting. Took some of my shoulder with it. Don’t remember what happened after that.” Except overwhelming, searing agony. “But the next one was attached differently,” he waves his hand towards his chest, “deeper inside. It stayed on, but it hurt so much I passed out from the pain. They kept waking me up, over and over, shocking me, but I just passed out every time. When I woke up the next time, there was a new arm. And it was five years later.”

“Holy crap, Bucky,” Steve breathes out.

Bucky’s eyes are hot with tears, and he chokes down a sob as Steve’s arms come around his shoulders. “Steve, don’t, you shouldn’t move…”

“Shut up,” Steve mumbles, and lies back down against the bed, pulling Bucky with him. “Don’t need my leg to give you a hug.”

It’s awkward, lying on Steve’s chest, half on the bed and half off, but it’s the safest he’s felt in weeks. Steve holds him tight, and rubs his back, and Bucky lets himself cry.

*****

That afternoon, however, Steve starts up again about how he needs to get out of the hospital.

“I’m going crazy in here, Buck,” he insists. “I can’t sleep, with all the noise and the interruptions. And I bet you don’t sleep at all. That can’t be healthy for either of us.”

Bucky does sleep – when Natasha is there. But Steve does have a point.

“I don’t like it either,” Bucky admits. “But I don’t know what to tell you.”

Steve opens his mouth to complain some more, but then it’s as if a light bulb goes off in his head. “Buck, when’s the last time Tony asked you if there was anything he could do?”

Bucky takes out his phone and checks his text messages. “Forty-three minutes ago. He suggested bringing over shawarma for dinner.”

“Tell him to come. And get ready to see Howard’s son in action.”

Bucky has a feeling he’s not talking about Iron Man, and he’s right. Tony latches on to their problem like a dog with the very best bone in the entire yard. He’s like a whirlwind of ideas, with potential solutions coming so fast that he can hardly articulate the next challenge before he’s solved it.

“Newtower – that’s what I’m calling the new Avengers tower, didn’t like it at first, but Pepper does, less braggy, as if I care, but I do listen to her sometimes no matter what people say – absolutely the right place for you. Medical floor’s already built out, Rhodey’s there, PT guys are the best. Was hoping you and Barnes would come visit, your apartment’s got the coolest views, we can blow out the bathroom, make it accessible – you guys do want to live together, right? I mean I just assumed, everyone does, but I probably should have asked, I’m crap at that kind of thing, but there’s plenty of space if you don’t want to, we can give Barnes the one right next to yours…”

Tony goes on in this vein almost non-stop while Bucky and Steve eat dinner - Tony’s favorite shawarma wrapped in pita, chicken kabobs, and falafel with hummus. Steve looks happier than Bucky has seen him in a long time, and he starts to understand with a sickening lurch how much Steve really likes Tony, and how hard it must have been for him to fight him, even to save Bucky.

“Tell me your doctors’ names, I’ll talk to them tonight. Get your files to my medical people,” Tony continues, talking about specialists and procedures and new equipment he can have shipped overnight to the medical facility in the tower. “And I’ll just build it, if we can’t get one, I’ve got an idea-”

Tony abruptly stands up and leaves the room, and Steve smiles at Bucky. “We really are idiots for not thinking of this sooner.”

“He’s so nice to you,” Bucky blurts out. “Even after we…”

Steve shrugs. “We kissed and made up.” His face goes red. “Not literally, we didn’t actually kiss-”

Bucky laughs at Steve. For a guy who’s been holding his hand off and on for the past month, he’s awfully touchy about the implication. “I get it. But… how?”

“He knows it wasn’t your fault, what happened to his parents. And he understood why I didn’t tell him what little I knew. I guess he just needed some time to come to terms with it.”

“Still…”

“We’re a stronger team together than apart. And we all really want the same things.”

“Shawarma?” Bucky jokes.

Steve grins. “Sure. Truth, freedom, the elimination of Hydra, and shawarma.”

Over the next few days Tony texts them with updates on the various strings he is pulling to put his plan into action. Apparently Dr. Lopez and Dr. Cohen have agreed to make as many house calls as needed to care for Steve at the tower, lured not only by Stark grant money for their current research projects but access to the state of the art Stark labs.

And Tony has an answer to the problem of how to safely stabilize Steve’s knee. “Give me until Friday. Then we’re breaking you out.”

Steve has to go through another surgery before then, but he seems less miserable about it all, knowing that the end of his hospital stay is near. And when Tony shows up Friday afternoon with a long, black case, Bucky knows it isn’t a fancy new machine gun for his collection.

The doctors swarm Tony when he opens it, each wanting to judge for themselves. But they finally back off when Steve speaks up.

“Um, patient over here? Mind filling me in?”

Tony takes the object out of the case and holds it up. It glistens royal blue, like a car with a new paint job. Bucky doesn’t miss the red and white trim along the hinges and fasteners, either.

“It’s a cast. Except better.” He explains how the custom made cast will not only immobilize and protect Steve’s knee and leg while he’s healing, it can be adjusted as his knee heals, and eventually can be recalibrated to allow him to flex at the knee in specific, controlled amounts as he undergoes physical therapy.

It covers Steve’s right leg from mid-thigh to his ankle, his pale, bare foot sticking out at the end.

“Could make you a little bootie for that, to match,” Tony muses, as the doctors evaluate his work.

Bucky’s impressed, but he also sees Steve grimacing as he tries to hide how much it hurts as the doctors fit him into the device.

“Are you sure walking with this won’t interfere with his recovery?” Bucky asks.

Both doctors turn on him like nuns catching him with a comic book. “He can’t walk in it,” Dr. Cohen says, horrified.

“No, he definitely can’t walk in it,” Dr. Lopez repeats. “Absolutely not.”

Tony shrugs and mouths “sorry,” but Steve doesn’t seem overly upset.

“That’s okay. I don’t want to screw anything up worse. Just tell me what I can do.”

Bucky tunes out the following debate. He’ll catch the end, get the final word, and make sure Steve listens. He wouldn't care if Steve was strapped to his bed for the next month, as long as he gets better eventually. But he’s all for Steve being able to take a piss by himself, if the docs deem it safe.

*****

The next day Steve is finally discharged. Agent Coulson shows up to wish him well. As an orderly pushes Steve out on a gurney (deemed best for transportation, despite the fancy cast), Coulson walks calmly on one side, Bucky on the other. Natasha and Clint show up too, and Tony came along in the custom medical van. Coulson either thinks there’s a risk of something happening to Steve in transport – something that requires multiple Avengers – or he’s just hedging his bets.

Once they get to the tower, Coulson moves away. “Expect a call soon,” he says under his breath to Bucky. Murdock had left a message for Bucky yesterday, saying that negotiations were proceeding well, so he’s not completely surprised.

Their apartment in Stark’s tower is actually much nicer than Bucky had anticipated. It’s plenty big, but furnished in warm tones, with two comfortable couches and several chairs in a casual living room, a well-appointed kitchen with cherry furnishings, and two bedrooms, each with a king-sized bed. Both bathrooms are larger than one would expect, one with a huge tub and a shower big enough for two.

Bucky has dreamed so many times of a place just for the two of them, a home to call their own. A place where Bucky might have a chance of figuring out whether the feelings he has for Steve are reciprocated. He has fleeting memories of exchanging glances with Steve before the war, of fingertip touches, of goodbyes that held larger meanings than the words themselves. Bucky thinks Steve felt the same way. But since Wakanda Bucky has been biding his time, waiting to see if Steve would give him a hint. Take pity on a guy with unreliable memories. Then the giant lizards came.

Bucky sighs as Tony continues to explain the features of the apartment. As he looks around, Bucky realizes that the whole suite has been designed (or re-designed) to be accessible for a person in a wheelchair, and Bucky wonders, not for the first time, how Tony manages to do so many good things in so little time yet be such a monumental pain in the ass.

Speaking of, there’s a state of the art wheelchair waiting at the kitchen table, and it’s been constructed so that Steve’s leg in its special shiny cast is supported by it, sticking almost straight out in front of him.

“Can that really be comfortable?” Natasha asks, as the aides Tony has hired help Steve off the gurney and into the wheelchair.

Steve grimaces. “Not really.” His face is pale, and he’s no longer trying to make jokes to set his friends at ease. The cast is lighter than it has a right to be, but clearly all the moving around has exhausted Steve. Adventure over.

After some further discussion, Steve is helped into bed, and their guests leave, one of the aides promising to come back later to help Steve get ready for bed and check the dressing on his leg. As Tony heads out, he reminds Bucky that if he needs anything, he just has to ask for it.

“And I don’t mean ask me, although you can do that too.”

“Jarvis?” Bucky asks, and Tony nods.

“Jarvis 3.0, really, but it’s a mouthful. Jarvis is fine.”

Bucky sees Tony out, closes the door behind him, and lets out a long breath. This is what Steve wanted, and he’s going to do his best to make it work.

He takes another look around the place, opening drawers and cabinets, and checking out the supplies in the closets and bathrooms. The apartment is well equipped, no doubt.

When he gets back to Steve’s bedroom, he hovers in the doorway until Steve looks up at him.

“Come here,” Steve says, waving his hand. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, careful not to jostle Steve’s leg. “What do you think of the place?”

Bucky sighs. “I like it.”

Steve grins. “Don’t sound so disappointed. Did you think it would look like something outta the Museum of Modern Art?”

Bucky grins back. “Maybe.” He looks at Steve, and Steve looks back at him, and all of a sudden they are both shaking their heads.

“How the hell did we get here, Bucky?” Steve asks. “Living in the lap of luxury, waited on hand and foot…”

“Don’t know.” Bucky holds Steve’s gaze, and feels a swell of emotion. He’s halfway towards leaning down and kissing him, just going for it right there, when Steve moves to make himself more comfortable on the bed and grimaces in pain.

“Is it hurting?” Bucky asks, glancing down at Steve’s leg, lying on top of the blankets in its fancy blue case.

“Yeah,” Steve says simply. “But I don’t want any meds,” he says stubbornly. “Now that I’m home, I don’t have to be so loopy all the time.”

Bucky nods. “Up to you, pal.”

Steve lets out a breath, relieved, and looks up at Bucky from under his lashes. “Think I’ll just sleep for a while.”

“Okay.”

Bucky hesitates, wondering how weird it would be if he joined Steve for his nap. Steve opens his mouth, as if to ask him to stay, but nothing comes out.

“Sleep well.” Bucky touches Steve quickly on the shoulder, and makes himself leave the room, shutting the door behind him. His own preferences aside, Steve needs the rest. Not that Bucky is going far – he figures out how to use the upscale coffee maker, and brings a cup with him as he settles on the floor just outside Steve’s bedroom door. When he stills, he can hear Steve’s breathing, and that’s enough for him.

*****

Later that evening, the aide arrives to help Steve get ready for bed. The aide is tall and thin, and looks like he just ate something that disagreed with him. Bucky doesn’t recognize him from this morning.

“Jarvis?” he asks quietly, when the man has gone into the bathroom to get his things ready. “Who is this guy?”

“Martin Walker,” Jarvis replies. “New to the Stark medical team, borrowed from SHIELD for this assignment.”

Martin heads into Steve’s room and Bucky follows close behind. The man startles, and turns to Bucky.

“We’re all set here,” Martin says dismissively, and turns back to Steve.

Clearly not an operative, Bucky thinks to himself as the man puts his back to Bucky. Or a really stupid one.

Bucky slides around him and positions himself by the bed, one hand on Steve’s shoulder.

Martin looks up from the latches on the cast and frowns at Bucky. “Why don’t you give us some privacy? This isn’t going to be pretty.”

“We’re good,” Steve says tightly, and moves to take Bucky’s hand.

The movement catches Martin’s eye, and he frowns, then takes a step back from the bedside, eyes roaming around the room. Bucky follows his gaze – there’s not much of them in there yet, just two duffels of clothes Natasha brought them from their apartment.

Martin looks at Bucky coldly and shrugs. “Fine, have it your way.” Martin reaches towards Steve to push the blanket off his other leg. Bucky can tell Steve is trying not to flinch. Then Martin mutters under his breath. “Never knew Captain America swung that way, think someone would have warned me.”

Bucky’s got his metal hand around the man’s bicep and is hustling him away from Steve before anyone has a chance to say a word.

“What the hell? What’s your problem?” Martin sputters. “I don’t give a shit if you hold hands, if that’s your thing.” He doesn’t have to speak the slur for Bucky to hear it.

“We won’t be needing your services,” Bucky replies, shoving him out the door. He locks it behind him, struggling to catch his breath. He did the right thing, not hurting that man, but every instinct is telling him to follow him out and beat the crap out of him for even thinking about insulting Steve Rogers, for daring to put his vile hands near Steve’s broken body.

“Bucky?” Steve calls. “Buck, come here, will ya?”

“I didn’t kill him.”

“I should hope not,” Steve says calmly.

“Didn’t even hurt him.” Although his arm might bruise. That would be acceptable.

Steve smirks at Bucky. “Must have taken a lot of self-control.”

“Damn straight.” Bucky sighs. “Asshole.”

“Yeah.” Steve pauses, and his eyes catch Bucky’s. Bucky feels a tremor run through him, and for a brief, anxious moment Bucky thinks he’s going to tackle it head on, the elephant that’s been in the room ever since Wakanda, and save Bucky from his doubts. Because Bucky definitely swings that way, and he’s pretty sure Steve does too.

But Steve just frowns and moves on. “Guess you’re going to have to call another aide. Jarvis, can you-”

“Nah, I’ll do it,” Bucky says. “We don’t need an aide.”

Steve tilts his head at Bucky. “You sure?” He’s not questioning his capability, Bucky knows. Bucky’s had enough medical training over the years to be able to patch himself up when needed, and they both know basic field medicine. Even more importantly, Bucky has been taking mental notes for the past week on what Steve needs for home care, ever since Tony offered to let them stay in the tower.

“’Course I’m sure.”

The supplies he needs are already set out on the bed, thanks to Martin, but Bucky doesn’t jump straight in. Instead he leans down, hands on Steve’s shoulders, and presses his face to Steve’s cheek. It’s an awkward kind of hug, but Steve laces his arms around Bucky’s back and breathes him in. They both need a moment of comfort, it seems.

Finally Steve releases his hold, and Bucky stands up. “Ready?” he asks.

“Ready.”

The shiny cast opens along hinges, like a violin case, revealing an inner structure designed to hold Steve’s leg immobile even while the wound is being treated. Bucky tries to act professionally, letting his training take over. If he’s going to cry over Steve’s mangled flesh, he’ll do it on his own time, not when he’s spreading ointment over the exposed wound and covering it with fresh bandages.

“Buck?” Steve’s voice is determined. “How’s it look?” Steve is trying to push himself up on his elbows to see, but even with his powerful abs it’s a tough angle.

“You really want to see?”

Steve nods.

“Don’t move.” Bucky goes into the bathroom and comes back with a mirror the size of a legal pad. He found it in the ample first aid kit in the closet – apparently someone understands that sewing up your own injuries is easier if you can see them.

He holds the mirror over Steve’s leg, tilting it until Steve nods. There’s a long silence, just the sound of the two of them breathing, and then Steve speaks. “Thanks.”

Bucky finishes wrapping Steve’s leg, and then closes the outer shell of the cast over the brace. When he latches it up, Steve lets out a long breath.

“How much did that hurt?” Bucky asks.

“Not so much,” Steve replies, and then laughs when Bucky looks at him disbelievingly. “Really. This thing holds it so still, it’s not bad.”

Steve’s already wearing boxers and a t-shirt – he’s been in pajamas all day – so there’s not a lot to do for him at this point except make sure he takes his meds and uses the facilities – which, Steve informs Bucky, he is absolutely doing by himself.

But Bucky helps him hobble in to the bathroom, waits outside for him, and guides him back to bed. Steve looks exhausted by the time he’s under the covers again.

“Do we need to tell Tony about that guy?” Steve asks.

“Was going to do that as soon as you went to sleep,” Bucky admits. “Not sure how the hell he got hired.”

“Wasn’t necessarily anything wrong with him,” Steve says.

Bucky shoots him a sharp look. “Are you kidding? There were so many things wrong with him I don’t know where to start. And how do we know he isn’t Hydra?”

“He was a jerk, and a bigot. That doesn’t make him Hydra.”

“It’s a good start.” Bucky huffs, and leans his head back, although he knows he doesn’t actually need to talk to the ceiling. “Jarvis, can you take care of this for us?”

“Already done, sirs,” Jarvis says.

“Does he report on everything that goes on in here?” Bucky asks Steve, and then rephrases his question. “Jarvis, what’s your privacy setting for us?”

Jarvis proceeds to explain the various possibilities and overrides to his standard mode, but after a few minutes Bucky’s heard enough.

“So you’ll report on anything dangerous or life-threatening, get us take-out when we’re hungry, and ignore any personal stuff?”

“That is not quite it, but close, sir,” Jarvis replies.

Bucky shrugs and glances at Steve, who seems satisfied with this answer. “Guess if you didn’t trust Tony we wouldn’t be here at all,” Bucky says to Steve.

Steve nods. “Yeah, pretty much.”

Steve’s quiet while Bucky gathers up the bandages and related items and puts them away. When Bucky returns, Steve’s eyes are closed.

“Good night, pal,” Bucky says softly, one hand on the door.

Steve’s eyes flutter but don’t open. “’Night, Buck.”

*****

The next morning a friendly woman with a blue streak in her hair and a plastic rainbow bracelet just peeking out from under her sleeve shows up to check Steve’s wound. Bucky grins to himself. He’s surprised Tony didn’t outfit the medical staff in rainbow scrubs.

The day passes calmly. Steve has a few more days before he needs another surgery, and so he’s more relaxed than he’s been in a while. Of course, that might also be due to having his own space away from the constant interruptions of nurses and the beeping of machines. In the afternoon, Steve falls asleep on the couch with a documentary on baseball in the background. Bucky spends a few minutes staring adoringly at him, this big handsome guy slumped over, snoring, with his mouth open, before he shakes himself back to reality and goes to check his email.

As he expected, there are several messages from Matt Murdock. Bucky skims them, groans at the attachments, and decides to make dinner before getting down to business.

Of course, the lasagna that seemed so simple when described on the outside of the pasta box winds up taking him longer than expected, and then he needs to make a salad so Steve gets some fiber, and before he knows it, it’s time to go to bed again. Business will have to wait for tomorrow, Bucky figures. It’s not as if Coulson doesn’t know where to find him.

*****

An unfamiliar noise wakes Bucky during the night and before he knows it, he’s crouching on the floor next to his bed, his Glock in his hand. But it’s not an intruder, he realizes quickly. He’s out of his own room and by Steve’s bed in an instant.

In the dim light Bucky can see that Steve is tangled up in the sheets, fists clenching at his sides. He’s thrashing around and calling out, but Bucky can’t tell what he’s saying.

“Steve, you okay?” Bucky asks in a whisper, not sure what to do. Steve doesn’t answer, clearly still in the throes of his nightmare.

Bucky’s paralyzed for a moment, not wanting to make the situation worse. Has this ever happened before? What did he do then? What would Steve want? He can’t remember.

He sees the glint of Steve’s cast and suddenly he’s holding Steve, a hand on either shoulder to try to slow his movements. He can’t let Steve thrash around like this, he could hurt himself.

“Stevie, hey, it’s me. Calm down, okay? You’re safe, you’re okay.” Bucky firms his grip on Steve’s shoulder, and puts his flesh hand on Steve’s cheek. He turns Steve’s face towards his own and tries again. “Steve, wake up, it’s a bad dream. You’re safe. Steve, please, wake up.”

Steve inhales sharply. His eyes blink open, wide and panicked, then finally focus. “Bucky?”

“Yeah, pal, it’s me. You had a nightmare.”

Steve’s breathing hard. “I… where am I?”

“Stark Tower, in New York.”

Steve appears to take this in, and his hands slowly relax. “Shit. I’m sorry.”

“Nothing to be sorry about.” Bucky wills his heart to stop pounding. “Everything’s fine.” Bucky takes his hand away from Steve’s face and starts to step back but Steve grabs his hand and holds on.

“I woke you up,” Steve says plaintively.

“It’s alright. It’s a nice change.” Damn, his filter is completely gone at this point.

Steve gives Bucky a curious look. “Oh?”

“Not that I want you to have nightmares,” Bucky starts, and then just shakes his head as Steve snorts back at him. He’s not going to even try to explain further – did he just tell Steve he’s glad to have him to watch over? That he’d rather be here with him than by himself? Yeah, pretty much.

Steve tries to straighten the sheets out, and winces as the movement tugs on his injured leg.

“Let me help you with that,” Bucky says. The sheets are damp, and Steve is embarrassed, and everything is going quickly downhill until Bucky has a brilliant idea.

“Wanna sleep in my room, worry about this in the morning?”

It’s not as blatant an invitation as it might seem. He and Steve had shared a bed a million times, growing up. Neither of them wanted to sleep on the floor during sleepovers, and what began as a relatively innocent solution when they were kids continued as the years went by. Bucky loved having Steve sleep tucked up against him, his skinny body and bony limbs pressed close, even if nothing untoward ever happened.

Despite what Bucky clearly remembers, he still holds his breath while he waits for Steve’s response. A lot has happened since then, and Bucky’s not the same guy he used to be.

But Steve’s face lights up and he holds out his big arms for Bucky to help him out of the bed, and Bucky can’t suppress his grin.

He gets Steve into his own room (which is identical to Steve’s, right down to the navy blue bedding), and carefully tucks him under the blankets. He brings Steve a clean t-shirt to change into, and tries, unsuccessfully, not to sneak a glimpse at Steve’s perfectly muscled chest. Steve catches him anyway, and smirks. “Like what you see?”

“Don’t start something you can’t finish,” Bucky quips.

Steve just stares at him, and then barks out a laugh. “God, Buck, you’re gonna kill me. I’m too tired for this tonight.” Steve grins at him and pushes at the covers. “Get in here and go to sleep.”

Bucky obeys, curling up on his side. He’s facing Steve, who is lying on his back to keep his leg flat. His heart is racing, and he’s not sure he’ll ever be able to sleep, not before running tonight’s events over and over in his mind for the next few hours.

It only gets worse when Steve slides his hand across the small gap between them and wraps his fingers around Bucky’s wrist. “Thanks for talking me down,” he says softly.

“Nightmares suck,” Bucky says.

“A little less, tonight,” Steve replies, and closes his eyes.

And that’s it, that’s the topping on the cake. Bucky’s never falling asleep again. He’s swamped with warmth, with love for this man, and with the hope that just maybe, Steve loves him too.

*****

The next day Bucky is sitting at the dining room table, staring at the computer, when Steve wheels up next to him.

“You trying to give yourself a haircut?”

Bucky blinks at him, confused, and Steve mimes how Bucky is tugging on his hair.

“Oh. No. It’s just… so many words.” Bucky has been trying to read the revised immunity agreement for the past thirty minutes, and at this point, all he sees are letters swimming across the page. He sucks in a deep breath and lets it out.

“Will you read it for me, see what you think?” Bucky asks, and turns the laptop towards Steve.

Steve nods and scrolls to the top of the document. “Buck, is this…?”

“It’s our new deal. Been revised a few times. We just need to sign it.”

“You got this done?” Steve looks at him, impressed, and Bucky feels a warm puff of pride.

“Yeah.”

Steve looks at the document on the computer, then back at Bucky. “I suppose I should read it before I sign it?”

“Ha ha.” Bucky grins. “Yeah, you probably should.”

Steve turns back to the document. Bucky can tell when he gets to the part about a substitute Captain America, and he feels his chest clench in anticipation of Steve’s reaction.

“Before you get upset,” Bucky says, hoping to put it in the right context before Steve blows up, “it was my idea.” Steve is constantly worried that Fury is going to pressure Bucky into something, and he needs to know that isn’t what happened.

Steve turns to him, face purposefully neutral. “So… you’re going to be Captain America?”

Bucky shrugs. “Yeah. For a while, anyway.”

Steve looks away, expression closed. “You don’t know what it will be like – the publicity, the attention. People watching your every move. Taking pictures, posting them online. Analyzing everything you say. Bucky, you’ll hate it.”

Bucky shrugs again. He probably will hate it. But it’s nothing he doesn’t deserve, some measure of sacrifice for all he’s done. And Bucky had hoped, somewhere down inside, that Steve would be happy with him for doing this. It doesn’t matter in the end, though, he’s going to do it anyway.

“Bucky, it’s too much.” Steve closes the laptop, and looks around like he’s going to find Coulson standing there waiting to take Bucky away. “I can’t let you do this for me. It’s too much.”

“Steve, I’d do fucking anything for you,” Bucky breathes out. It’s the truth. Always has been, always will be.

Steve catches his eye and holds his gaze steadily. It feels like Steve can see straight into him, and Bucky shivers. Bucky’s not sure what Steve is looking for, but he seems to find it, finally nodding and pulling Bucky into a hug.

“Okay. Okay. Thank you, Buck. Thank you.”

Bucky’s shaking, and Steve holds him tighter, practically pulling him into his lap. If it weren’t for Steve’s heavily casted leg Bucky would have taken him up on it, curled up on him and let everything else fade away, but as it is, it’s pretty good.

*****

Steve’s next surgery goes well, and he’s rewarded with a new cast from Tony. It’s almost exactly the same as the old one, but it has an attachment that comes down over his ankle and foot.

“This is just for very short distances,” Dr. Cohen warns, as Steve tries it out, hobbling around the room. “To get from your bed to the couch, for example. You shouldn’t take more than a few steps at a time.”

“And it may increase your pain,” Dr. Lopez says. “Be aware of it. Don’t push too hard.”

Steve ignores her, turning to make another loop around the room. Bucky’s tempted to stop him – from the wrinkle on Steve’s forehead Bucky’s pretty sure that walking on his bad leg is in fact probably hurting like hell – but Steve generally doesn’t much care for being told what to do.

“Does the pain mean he’s damaging the leg?”

Dr. Lopez shakes her head. “Not really. His tibia and femur are almost completely healed. The muscles aren’t, but we’re almost at the part where physical therapy will help. Walking a few steps a day is a good start.”

“And my knee?” Steve asks.

“That’s still going to take some time.”

*****

That night Steve is exhausted again. It worries Bucky to see just how quickly he tires himself out.

“You should get into bed,” Bucky suggests, when Steve almost face plants into their dinner.

Steve grunts his annoyance. “It’s not even seven o’clock.”

“We could watch tv for a while?”

Steve considers this. “Your tv is better,” he says.

This is a blatant lie. They each have giant flat screen televisions in their bedrooms, as identical as all the other furnishings. But Bucky knows better than to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Steve wants to hang out in his room, he’s not going to question it.

An hour later, midway into some Star Wars sequel that Sam put on Steve’s list but doesn’t mean much to Bucky, Steve is sound asleep. They had given him his meds and checked his bandages before they started the movie, so there’s no reason to wake him up. Bucky lowers the sound on the television and turns off the lights, then changes into what serves as his own pajamas, flannel sleep pants and a long sleeved t-shirt he stole from Steve.

When he settles under the blankets, Steve shifts towards him, and leans his head on Bucky’s shoulder, his hand coming over to rest on Bucky’s chest. “’Night, Buck,” Steve says sleepily.

“’Night, Steve.”

It takes Bucky ages to fall asleep, long after he has turned off the television. But when he does, his only dreams are good ones.

*****

“You sure you’re ready for this?” Steve’s voice comes from the living room.

“Just as sure as I was the first five times you asked me,” Bucky replies. He zips the suit up, makes sure the harness that will hold the shield is attached snugly, and grabs the cowl off the bed. Time to play ball.

“Whoa, look at you,” Steve says when Bucky exits the bedroom. “Damn, you look good.”

Bucky can feel his face heat, and he ducks his head. “It’s a nice suit.” It’s a slightly toned down version of Steve’s last model, but with the shield design on his left upper arm, in the place of the red star that used to be on the metal underneath. He turns away, heading for the kitchen where at least he can have a cold drink, and Steve wolf whistles at him.

“What?” He spins back around. Was Steve actually admiring his ass?

Steve pushes himself off the couch and limps over to Bucky. “It’s not just the suit, although I must say Tony paid close attention to your measurements.” Steve wiggles his eyebrows and runs a finger over Bucky’s chest.

Huh, Bucky thinks. Maybe Steve isadmiring his ass. Not a bad silver lining to this whole mess.

Then Steve’s face turns serious. “It’s got the Kevlar lining, right?”

“Of course,” Bucky says.

Steve puts his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, biting his lip, but doesn’t say anything.

“Don’t worry, Steve. I’m gonna be fine.”

“You can’t know that,” Steve says, voice tight.

“I’m Captain America,” Bucky says, striking a pose. “I’m invincible.”

Steve sighs. “You’re not. I’m not.” He waves a hand at his injured leg. “Exhibit A.”

“I know. I’m just teasing.”

“I know,” Steve says quietly. “Just… are you sure you’re ready?”

Bucky doesn’t chastise Steve for asking the question again this time. “If I’m not, we’ll find out soon enough.”

There’s a ping on his phone, Natasha telling him she’s in the car outside, and Bucky turns to go.

“Wait.” Steve grabs his arm, and pulls him in for a tight hug, a hand behind his head holding him close. Bucky feels a damp kiss to his forehead, and then Steve lets him go. “Be safe, Buck.”

For the next few hours, in the car with Natasha and on the quinjet, it’s all Bucky can think about. That kiss. It wasn’t a romantic kiss, was it? It was a brotherly kiss, a friendly kiss, an “I’m worried about you” kiss. But Steve had clearly been ogling him in the suit, and sleeping curled up against him… although that might not mean anything, either.

Finally Natasha flicks his shoulder with her finger, hard enough to sting even through the suit.

“Hey,” he protests, and she glares at him.

“We’re landing in less than half an hour. Get your head in the game, Barnes.”

Bucky realizes she’s right – he can’t go into a fight distracted like this. And it’s not like him to let personal concerns interfere with his mission. Or, more accurately, he thinks, it’s not like the Winter Soldier to let personal concerns interfere with his mission. Not that the Winter Soldier had any personal concerns – until he did, and look how that ended up.

Bucky moves towards the back of the small plane and sits down on the floor, leaning his head on his knees. He takes deep breaths, tries to clear his mind and focus on their goals. He remembers how it felt to know only his mission, to have no other purpose. Slowly a cold wave settles over him, and the world narrows.

When they land, he and Natasha scope out the area. They easily identify the scientist they’re looking for, but when he comes out of the research facility he’s surrounded by six heavily armed guards.

Without comment, Bucky takes the guards down with Steve’s shield, and sends a tranquilizer bullet into the scientist. He leaves the man for the clean-up team to collect, and returns to the jet.

“What the hell, Barnes?” Natasha’s voice sounds like it’s coming through a fog, and Bucky has to struggle to process her words. “You care to let me know what that was all about?”

Bucky looks around. They’re back at Stark Tower, alone in a briefing room. He doesn’t remember the trip back.

She leans down and whispers in his ear. “We need to get our stories straight before Coulson skypes in. Anything you care to share?”

But Bucky is confused, his thoughts swirling, and he doesn’t know what to say. Moments later Coulson’s face appears on the laptop screen in front of them, and Natasha calmly recounts the details of their mission.

“Sergeant Barnes, anything you want to add?”

Bucky blinks at Coulson, and shakes his head. “No, sir.”

“This was your first time in battle since Steve was injured. Your first official op with the Avengers, as Captain America or otherwise. Any problems?”

“No.”

“Romanov, you agree?”

Coulson’s a top-notch spy, but Natasha’s easily his equal. “Yes, sir. Glad to have him on the team.”

When Coulson signs off, Natasha moves to the door, blocking Bucky’s way. “We’re talking about this tomorrow,” she says firmly.

“Fine.”

He takes the stairs up to the floor with his and Steve’s apartment, the twenty flights flying by. It’s the middle of the night, and Steve is fast asleep in his room. Bucky strips off the suit and climbs into bed, shaking. He screwed up. There’s nothing he can do about it. Bucky buries himself in the blankets, and waits for dawn to come.

There’s screaming all around him, shrieks of pain and fear. He sees himself pummeling the target, face bloody and broken. He can’t stop, his metal fist striking again and again, and yet the target is still screaming.

“Bucky, Bucky, wake up.”

“I can’t stop, I can’t, help me, help me!” Bucky screams. He feels strong arms wrap around his body, pinning his hands against a firm chest, and he cries with relief. It’s Steve. Steve’s got him. He can’t hurt anyone anymore.

“Bucky, breathe. You’re okay. Breathe.”

Steve pulls him tighter against his chest, lets Bucky curl into him, pressing his face into Steve’s neck. Slowly his body relaxes. He realizes that he’s half lying on Steve’s fancy cast, and a wave of shame washes over him. Bucky’s supposed to be taking care of Steve, not the other way around.

But when he tries to pull back, Steve just holds him tighter. “You’re not going anywhere,” Steve says, rubbing a hand over his back. “Go to sleep, Bucky. Go to sleep.”

*****

“That was some nightmare,” Steve says mildly when Bucky joins him in the kitchen the next morning. There’s a platter of scrambled eggs and toast in the middle of the table, but Bucky doesn’t feel much like eating.

“Yeah.”

“Mission didn’t go well?”

Bucky shrugs. “It was fine.”

Steve sits down next to him and tries to catch his eye. “Want to talk to one of the SHIELD therapists? Maybe the one you met with before?”

“I’m fine, Steve.”

“Natasha doesn’t think so.”

Traitor, Bucky thinks. “You talked to Natasha?”

“She’s worried about you. Said you kind of blanked on her.”

Bucky shrugs again. “I’m fine. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“Well, Natasha’s coming over here in a few minutes. Said maybe you guys would go for a run.” Steve gives Bucky a pointed look, then flicks his eyes up to the ceiling and back to Bucky.

If Steve is worried about Jarvis overhearing the conversation, then whatever happened might be even worse than Bucky suspects.

“Okay, good idea.”

He and Natasha put several city blocks in between themselves and Stark Tower before she ducks into a coffee shop. Bucky follows her, sees the glances she gets in her tight black running outfit, and has to laugh at himself, decked out in his finest baggy sweats and two layers of long-sleeved shirts.

They settle outside on a bench, coffees in hand. The early spring sunshine is bright, but doesn’t do much to warm them.

“You were all happy and lovesick, and then something changed.” Natasha states. “Explain.”

“I’m not lovesick.”

She narrows her eyes at him. “That’s not what we’re discussing.”

Bucky sighs. “I don’t know, okay? I was just trying to focus on the mission. Everything was fine. We took out the Hydra goons, tranq’d the scientist, and that was that.

“We?” Natasha says. “You acted alone, partner. Like I wasn’t even there. Wouldn’t even talk to me for the whole ride back.”

Bucky shakes his head, the sick feeling in his stomach intensifying. “I don’t remember the trip back,” he confesses. “I don’t remember anything between shooting the guy and being in the briefing room.”

Natasha is silent as she finishes her coffee. “We should tell Coulson.”

“No,” Bucky turns to her, panic rising in his gut. “He’ll rip up the immunity deal.”

Natasha doesn’t flinch. “I didn’t say I was going to tell him. Just said we should.”

“Shit, just… please don’t tell him. Give me another chance. I can do better.”

Natasha leans her head against his shoulder, like she did back in the hospital when they watched over Steve. “You didn’t do badly, Barnes. Hell, you did great. The perfect soldier.”

“That’s what I’m worried about,” Bucky says softly.

“Yeah. Me too.”

*****

The Avengers are called to assemble again that afternoon, an emergency in Philadelphia, something to do with the Liberty Bell becoming animated and taking off down the street.

Steve follows Bucky around the apartment as Bucky gathers the pieces of his suit. He’s frowning so hard Bucky is tempted to warn him that his face is gonna stick that way.

“It’s too soon,” Steve finally says, as Bucky ties his hair in a ponytail. “You haven’t gotten any rest.”

“I don’t decide when crazy shit happens, Steve. I gotta go, have to be upstairs in five.” His heart is racing, but there’s nothing to be done. Maybe he can calm himself down on the plane.

“Bucky…”

“What?”

“Come here.” Steve tugs him close, puts a hand on the back of his head and tucks his face up against his cheek. They stay that way for a long moment, Bucky breathing in Steve’s scent, clean laundry and skin and a hint of aftershave. “You know I’m no good without you, right?” Steve whispers, and Bucky’s heart nearly leaps out of his chest.

“I’m not going anywhere, Steve,” he says, wrapping his arms around Steve’s broad shoulders. “I’ll be back, I promise.”

When his phone pings he pulls back, and is shocked to see Steve’s eyes bright with tears.

“I’ll stay, if you want,” he says quickly, because no immunity deal is worth this. They can live somewhere else, fuck America, it’s nothing next to Steve.

“No, no, that’s not what… no.” Steve wipes his eyes and straightens his shoulders. “Sorry, just feeling sentimental. Go.”

“You sure?”

Steve shakes his head. “Yeah. They need you, the team needs you, I’m being silly. Just – come back home, okay?”

Bucky leans in and kisses Steve smack on the mouth before he can think about it, and then he’s out the door and flying up the stairs to the roof without so much as a goodbye.

He climbs into the jet in a daze, barely registering the greetings from Clint and Tony, the news that Thor is joining them later, the update on the operation from Coulson. They make a stop to pick up Natasha, who calmly sits herself down next to Bucky and hands him another coffee. With sugar.

“Status report?” she asks under her breath, when the others start debating whether Thor’s hammer will make the Liberty Bell ring or just smash it.

“I kissed Steve,” Bucky breathes out, and Natasha leans her shoulder against his metal arm, chuckling softly to herself.

“It’s about time.”

When they get close, Bucky shakes himself and starts to stand up, but Natasha stops him with a hand on his arm. “No need for any mind tricks this time,” she says steadily.

“I have to focus. I can’t be thinking about…” he waves his hands helplessly. “Things. Him. When I fight.”

She looks at him squarely. “You can. You have to. It’s hard, I know, given your conditioning.” She doesn’t even stumble over the word, doesn’t shy away. “But if you keep going back there… you’ll lose yourself. It’s not worth it.”

“Speaking from experience?” he asks. He has a feeling he knows the answer.

“What do you think?” she replies, a trace of bitterness lacing her words. “Anyway, the whole team is here today. Don’t try to do this on your own. We have to work together.”

Bucky nods. “I’ll try.”

“Hey,” she says, tilting her head. “We’ve got your back, you know.”

His throat is tight, so he just nods again. He knows it’s part of the job, but it’s nice to hear it.

When they get to Philadelphia, it’s chaos. The animated Liberty Bell has vacated its home near Independence Hall and is hightailing it north, stopping traffic on Route 95 in both directions.

“Any idea what the hell is going on?” Clint asks.

Natasha relays the answer from Coulson. “Apparently it’s been treated with some kind of fancy alien molecule.” Natasha’s heading up this mission – Bucky is willing to act as their figurehead, but he has no interest in being in charge.

Nevertheless, Bucky-as-Captain-America has to take point, get out in front of the crowd, let people see that Captain America is there to protect them. So he does. Tony provides cover while Natasha and Clint work on getting the civilians out of the way.

Bucky finally gets close enough to throw his shield at the bell, which is lurching up the street faster than anything that big has a right to move. But the shield just bounces off and flies back to his hand. Bucky throws it again, using all the force his metal arm can muster, but the damn thing barely seems to feel it, rocking a bit and then continuing on its way.

“Try taking out its legs,” Tony says on the comms.

“It doesn’t have legs,” Bucky replies, gritting his teeth as he dodges a car that the Bell has shoved back towards him. “It’s just floating or something.”

“It’s got to be holding itself up somehow, some kind of energy field,” Tony says. He catches another car on its way back towards Bucky. “Get the shield under it. Knock out its knees.”

“Doesn’t have knees,” Bucky mutters to himself, but he tries it anyway, gliding the shield under the Bell as hard as he can. Much to his surprise, the Bell falters, and when he does it again, the damn thing slams to a halt right there on the surface of the highway.

Tony is cheering and shouting something about being a genius, brains over beauty winning every time, and Bucky wonders if Steve puts up with this kind of ribbing. He realizes that he probably does, and for a moment, being Captain America doesn’t seem quite so bad.

It takes hours to clean up the mess, ruined cars up and down the road, frightened people quickly turning from scared to thankful to pissed off about having their cars totaled and their days ruined. Bucky does his best to play the part, channeling Steve’s most polite public persona.

As the evening wears on, Bucky can’t help think about the kiss – the kiss - but it doesn’t get in his way, not enough to matter. And maybe the way he feels colors his interactions with the people in the street, making him a little more patient, more forgiving. This Captain America gig isn’t just about killing the bad guys – it’s also about helping everyone else. Having Steve on the edge of his thoughts might just be an advantage.

By the time they pile back into the quinjet it’s past midnight. Coulson lets them do a quick briefing over the phone, with the agreement that they give a more detailed report the following afternoon.

“Unless you send us out again,” Natasha mutters, and Coulson smirks at her from her phone screen.

“Next time I’ll wait until the Liberty Bell makes it to the Statue of Liberty and they join forces,” Coulson says. “If you’re too tired to do your job.”

He goes on to thank them for their efforts, ignoring Tony’s insistence that he deserves most valuable player recognition, and signs off.

Clint breaks out the bag of snacks, and walks around the plane like a flight attendant, offering little bags of popcorn and protein bars to anyone who is awake enough to eat. Bucky chews on a protein bar and swallows down a liter of water, and sits back in his chair. Natasha’s across the aisle from him, and she idly tosses a piece of popcorn in his direction.

“Good work out there, Barnes,” she says.

He shrugs.

“No, really. I’m glad to have you on the team.”

He can’t help the warmth that spreads inside him at her words. He thinks he knows her well enough at this point to believe them.

******

Bucky eases open the door to their suite, trying to be quiet. It’s still the middle of the night, and Steve needs his rest.

But there’s still a light on in the living room, and a familiar figure on the couch, tablet in hand.

Bucky takes a deep breath. He’s going to have to explain himself now, it seems. No sneaking into his own bed to avoid the topic until morning. “Steve, I’m sorry, I don’t know what…”

Steve’s face lights up when he sees Bucky, and it takes the words out of his mouth. Steve stands and crosses the room, his casted leg hardly slowing him up. He smiles shyly as he comes right up in Bucky’s space.

“You’re sorry?” Steve asks lightly, putting a hand to Bucky’s cheek.

Bucky leans into it, his eyes closing. It’s okay. Steve wouldn’t be holding him like this – he’s holding him, careful but sure – if it wasn’t.

“What are you sorry for?” Steve blinks at him, long eyelashes fluttering.

“Don’t know,” Bucky sighs, resting his face against Steve’s and breathing him in.

“Not sorry for this, I hope,” Steve replies, and shifts to place a firm kiss on Bucky’s lips. He pulls back, his blue eyes searching Bucky’s face, and Bucky melts.

“No, not sorry for that.”

“Good.” Steve kisses him again, harder. His lips are soft and wet, and Bucky’s mouth opens with a gasp. Steve licks at his lips, the slick heat of his tongue sending a shiver up Bucky’s spine. Bucky loses himself in it, pleasure surging through his body.

“Let’s get you out of this,” Steve says, sliding the harness off Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky leans his head against Steve’s and finds the zipper of his jacket, but hesitates as the thought of what’s happening registers. Is he really about to strip Steve out of his clothes? “Steve, is… is this okay?”

“What, you think we’re moving too fast?” Steve says calmly, rubbing a hand on the back of Bucky’s neck. “Seventy-something years not enough for you?” He smiles as he speaks, stepping back just a bit to let Bucky know he can have the space if he needs it.

He abruptly realizes that he doesn’t.

“Nah, you’re right,” Bucky says, a little breathless with it. “I’m good. If you’re sure you want…”

Steve surges forward again, covering Bucky’s face with kisses. “I want, believe me. I’ve wanted you forever.”

Bucky gasps and kisses him back, growling his agreement into Steve’s mouth. Steve almost loses his balance, and Bucky grabs him firmly under the arms, remembering that he’s balancing on his fancy Stark cast.

“What do you say we take this to more stable ground?” Bucky asks.

“If by that you mean the bed, it’s a deal.”

For an injured man and an exhausted Avenger they don’t waste any time shedding their clothes and getting into bed, although Bucky thinks his heart almost stops when Steve holds open the covers and he slides in next to him. He’s seen Steve naked before, of course, but not like this, not laid open and bare for him, for Bucky to look at and touch and taste. It’s intoxicating.

They arrange themselves so as not to put any pressure on Steve’s leg, Steve brushing off Bucky’s concerns with a hasty reassurance that Stark’s cast will protect him and by god, he is not going to let anything stop him now, which Steve immediately tries to demonstrate by leaning down and licking a stripe along Bucky’s hard length.

Bucky nearly cries out, but it’s clear that despite Steve’s determination, the position is kind of ridiculous for Steve given the cast. He pulls him up and kisses him soundly, then pushes Steve back by the shoulders and makes him lie down on the bed. “Maybe next time,” he says, guiding Steve’s hand to him instead, and taking Steve in his own. “Don’t want you hurting yourself.”

Steve doesn’t protest, and Bucky would like to think it is at least in part due to the fact that he has better things to think about. From the delicious noises he’s making as Bucky strokes him, he thinks there’s a good chance of it.

Then Steve focuses on Bucky, working him over until he’s panting and shaking, and Bucky loses track of everything except Steve, his touch and his voice, the smell of him all around him.

Steve changes the pace for a moment, kissing down Bucky’s chest and swirling his tongue around a nipple, and Bucky almost can’t take it anymore. “Oh my god, Steve.” He digs his face into Steve’s neck, gets a hand on Steve’s ass to pull them closer, and ruts shamelessly against him.

“That’s it, Buck, that’s it,” Steve encourages, hand tangling in Bucky’s hair as Bucky lets go, his orgasm rushing over him. Steve follows soon after with a shout. They’re sticky and sweaty and altogether disgusting, but as far as Bucky is concerned, he’s never been happier.

*****

The next morning Bucky wakes up cuddled against Steve’s bare chest. Steve is scrolling through something on his phone with one hand, his other arm holding Bucky close.

“Morning, sunshine,” Steve says, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s hair.

“Mmm. What time is it?”

“Nearly ten.”

Bucky pushes himself up on an elbow. Steve is bright eyed and alert, beaming at Bucky.

“You never sleep in,” Bucky says, confused.

“I made an exception,” Steve says, leaning in to kiss Bucky properly.

Bucky relaxes, parting his lips and letting Steve in, morning breath and everything. “I could get used to waking up like this.” He sighs and lays back down on Steve’s chest. “World doesn’t need saving today?” He pokes at Steve’s phone so he can see what he’s looking at. It’s a picture of Bucky as Captain America, taken yesterday when he was consoling a little girl in the aftermath of the Philadelphia battle. The headline is “New Cap: Fit to Wear the Suit?”

“You don’t need to read this,” Steve says, swiping at his phone and setting it aside. “People gave me crap all the time, you know. I hate that it’s happening to you, too.”

Bucky looks around at the Captain America harness draped over the headboard, pieces of the suit tossed on the floor where they landed when Steve took him to bed just hours ago. His gaze lands on Steve, naked underneath him, blue eyes full of love and concern.

“I’m all right,” Bucky says. “Really.” He leans down and kisses Steve, long and hot and deep. “I’m fine with either one of us wearing the suit, as long as we get to do this when it comes off.”

#@capreversebb #Bucky Barnes #Steve Rogers #captain america #Bucky as Cap #my fic #@sulasaferoom

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capreversebb · 8 years ago

Photo

Meet some more of the amazing artists participating in the @capreversebbchallenge! Here are some previous works from (top left to bottom right):

@a-kinkajou, @elendrien, @ilyone, @drjezdzany, @silentwalrus1, @justgot1 @hopeless--geek, @whatthefocault, @stonypathoffandom

Check out their Tumblrs, and click the thumbnail to see the direct URL to their artwork.

NB: These are not the works submitted to the RBB.

ART PROMPTS WELCOME! Got an idea for art you’d love to share? We want it! Message us, reply to this post or share your prompt here (<–click link) to tempt an artist

Artist sign-ups are closed but If you missed the sign-ups and you would still like to participate, please get in touch with us via Tumblr Ask or email us at caprbb at gmail dot com

#CAP RBB 2017 #Artist Promo

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flowerfan2 · 8 years ago

Text

Moondance - Cap Reverse Big Bang

Stucky, M, 30k words, A03. Canon compliant through CACW; canon divergent.

Artist: @araniaart and on A03 Author: @flowerfan2 and on A03

Summary: Steve and Bucky are faced with a new challenge after Bucky is poisoned during a mission; it changes his behavior and his body in increasingly perplexing ways. Bucky struggles with telling Steve what’s going on, but when Steve finds out his secret, it seems like things will be okay anyway… until they’re not.

Or the one where Bucky’s a werecat. Steve thinks it’s hot, at least until he realizes he could lose Bucky for good.

Many thanks to Arania for working with me and creating the amazing artwork that inspired me, to @perryavenue for being the world’s best beta, and to everyone at @capreversebb for running this great challenge.

See Chapter 1 (NSFW) under the cut or read it all on A03.

“Holy shit, Steve, that feels good.”

Bucky is sitting on the edge of the bed, his head thrown back and his hands clutching the mattress, while Steve kneels on the itchy hotel carpet in front of him. He slides off Bucky with a satisfying pop and grins when Bucky quickly looks down at him, eyes blown wide with lust and one eyebrow raised.

“You gonna finish what you started?” Bucky asks, voice low.

“I could,” Steve says, giving Bucky’s cock a teasing lick, “but I really want something else right now. Unless you object.”

Bucky responds by grabbing Steve with both hands and tugging him up on to the bed, meeting his mouth in a fierce kiss. “No objection here,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s neck, starting to kiss down his bare chest.

Steve lays back and lets Bucky play, squirming as Bucky takes his time worshiping Steve’s pecs and sucking on his nipples. He lets the fingers of one hand tangle in Bucky’s hair, and smiles as Bucky pauses to look approvingly up at him through his long eyelashes, then continues his ministrations.

Sure, not everything has been smooth between them since Bucky came out of cryo in Wakanda, finally de-triggered and slowly gaining confidence in himself. But recently this – the sex – has been awesome.

It’s been almost six months now, and Steve thinks they have found their rhythm. Mostly they have a quiet life, keeping house together in Brooklyn, each trying to find their way in this new century that still doesn’t seem quite real to either of them. More and more they’ve been taking part in Avengers missions, too. Bucky hasn’t come out and said it, but it seems to satisfy something in him to be a part of a team again, to be working towards a common goal, one that as best they can tell isn’t evil.

And if the thought of going out and fighting the bad guys gets both of them hot, well, ain’t no one complaining.

Bucky has finally made his way down Steve’s body, nosing against his thigh to move Steve where he wants him, fingers sliding back to tease, when Steve’s phone rings, immediately followed by Bucky’s, which bounces off the night table and falls on to the floor.

“Fuck.” Bucky sits up on his knees, hands sliding down Steve’s legs.

“Or not,” Steve says, twisting to get the phone. If it hadn’t been the ring both of them had set for emergency Avengers business, he’d have ignored it. But the whole reason they’re in this stuffy hotel room outside of Panama City is because there’s a former Hydra operative threatening to let loose some kind of robot army nearby, not to fool around on scratchy sheets.

Steve listens to Coulson’s instructions, nodding. “Yeah, Bucky’s right here.” He glances over, reluctantly watching Bucky squeeze his naked ass into his tac pants. “We’re on our way.”

******

The good news is that Coulson located the robots before they got to a more populated area. The bad news is that they’re in some kind of rainforest, and it’s hot as hell.

Tony and Steve are leading the way through a village that has seen better days, residents slamming the doors of their ramshackle buildings as they pass by. Natasha’s on flank, and Bucky and Clint are in the rear, Bucky staying on the rooftops as much as possible to provide cover.

The robots appear from around a corner, first just a few and then a dozen all lumbering towards them, hissing as they move.

“They kinda look like the creatures from Alien,” Clint says through the comm link. “Steve, that’s a movie where-”

“Seen it, thanks,” Steve says under his breath, as Clint continues to tell the story. Clint’s right, though – the creatures do look a little like the alien that Sigourney Weaver battled with, walking upright, with sharp teeth, and long bony tails waving back and forth behind them. But the heads are different, rounder, with strange pointy ears that twitch as the creatures move.

“Are we sure those are robots, not some kind of living thing?” Steve asks, when his shield comes back for the third time with slime on it.

“Affirmative,” Tony says, taking out three of the creatures in a row. “Jarvis says they’re robots. Just made to look like monsters.”

“Why the hell is that necessary,” Natasha asks, sending widow bites flying towards a robot that slipped past Steve’s shield. “Aren’t evil robots bad enough?”

Just then there’s a shrieking noise, and a circular object slams into the road next to Natasha. Tony swoops in and flies her away as they all brace for impact, but there’s no explosion. Instead smoke pours out of the device, and a noxious smell hits Steve’s nose.

“Masks on,” Tony shouts into Steve’s ear. “Unidentifiable, but probably not good.”

“Smells like skunk,” Clint says. “I hate skunks. Why’d they pick skunk?”

Steve pulls his facemask on, twisting to see if he can see if Bucky is doing the same. Bucky really doesn’t like having anything on his face, and Steve hasn’t needed to ask him why – the muzzle he used to wear as the Winter Soldier is probably not something he wants to remember. But after an incident last month where a mad scientist drenched them all in sleeping gas Coulson had insisted that Bucky be prepared to wear a face mask if necessary, and Bucky had grudgingly agreed.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve finally asks, unable to locate Bucky while simultaneously aiming his shield at the robots which are still coming at them.

“Too fucking hot for this,” is the reply. “Anyway, the smoke isn’t coming up here.”

“Bucky, you have to wear it, smoke rises, you can’t take the chance-”

“Calm your tits, Cap. He’s got his mask on.” Tony flies over Steve’s head and slams down next to him, shooting at robots all the while. He’s probably smirking inside his helmet.

Steve wants to yell at the both of them, but he’s too busy right now to get distracted. Any more distracted, anyway.

It’s a risk, he knows, going out on missions with Bucky. Because Steve can’t help but worry about him. Rationally he knows Bucky is more than capable of taking care of himself, but after all they’ve been through, to lose him to some random bad guy isn’t something Steve wants to contemplate. But Bucky made clear early on that he wants to fight, and Bucky’s not so keen on Steve being out here without Bucky to watch his six, and so here they both are, sweating and cursing in a hundred-degree rainforest and shooting at lumbering robots.

*****

Bucky did put his mask on, he’s not an idiot. He can smell the vile smoke as well as anyone on the team, and he doesn’t actually have a death wish. But his hair and skin are drenched in sweat, and the damn thing keeps sliding to the side and cutting off his ability to breathe through his nose.

He shoves at the mask again, trying to readjust it, but it just gets worse. Bucky tries to ignore it and focus on taking out the robots (they look scary, and there are an awful lot of them, but they don’t seem very good at evading Bucky’s shots), and he’s successful for a few minutes, but then he starts coughing and nearly chokes with the effort to get more air.

He flattens himself against the roof he’s lying on and takes off the mask, trying not to breathe until it is firmly affixed on his face again, but he can’t stop coughing long enough. The air he finally inhales is thick and leaves a sour taste in the back of his throat, but it doesn’t seem to do him any harm, and at least once he’s done he can breathe properly.

It seems to take forever to stop all the robots, but no one gets hurt, and they finally make their way back to the quinjet. They’re all sticky and miserable, except for Tony, who steps out of his suit clean and fresh as a daisy. Clint kicks his shin as he struts by on his way to the front of the plane, and Tony just rolls his eyes at him.

“Not my fault you don’t want a suit,” Tony comments, seating himself next to Steve.

“I don’t need a suit,” Clint mutters.

“What you need is a shower,” Natasha says, sitting down next to him. “Shove over and try not to drip on me.” Natasha has managed to find a towel somewhere, and she’s wiping herself off, frowning as she unzips her slime-speckled jacket.

Bucky’s further back on the bench, peeling himself out of his tac gear. His hair is drenched in sweat, and he catches the hair tie Natasha tosses him without even looking.

“Thanks.” He pulls his hair back into a little bun, relieved to at least get it out of his face.

“Pozhaluysta,” Natasha replies.

It amuses Natasha to speak Russian to Bucky. It had bothered him, at first, an unwelcome reminder of so many bad things that had happened to him. But as he has come to terms with things and focused on wiping out the red in his ledger, as Natasha phrases it, he decided he might as well put the tools that Hydra had given him to good use. And it’s convenient to speak Russian with her when he doesn’t want the others to know what they are saying.

It particularly drives Steve nuts, which is fun.

By the time they get back to Avengers Tower (it’s a new one, but just as swanky as the first) the sweat has dried everywhere, and Bucky is considering throwing his clothes in the garbage. They’re all spending the night here so as to be on hand for the debrief tomorrow. Bucky doesn’t mind – the shower’s way better than the one in their Brooklyn place.

Steve gets a call from Coulson as soon as they reach their floor, so Bucky happily snags the first shower. It feels good to be clean, but he’s got a whopper of a headache settling in, so he pulls on some sleep pants and a t-shirt and crawls into bed.

Steve joins him sometime later, curling up behind him and pressing a kiss to the back of his shoulder. He smells like coconut shampoo.

“Buck, you okay?” Steve smooths a hand down his arm, and Bucky slides back against him.

“Mmm, I’m fine. Just tired.”

“Me too.” Steve shifts, settling against Bucky with his hand around his waist. “Love you.”

“Love you too.”

*****

When Steve wakes up, he’s alone in the bed. This isn’t too unusual – sometimes one or the other of them just has too much energy in the morning to sleep in. Although Steve had been hoping for a little not-safe-for-work activity this morning, he also sees the logic of waiting until they get back to their own apartment.

Steve spends a few minutes sitting at the kitchen island with a cup of coffee, reading the paper (an actual paper, one he can hold in his hand, thank you very much). Turns out Tony likes to read real papers too, and has no problem having them delivered to anyone in the Tower who is interested – it was one of the things they had bonded over when Steve first joined the Avengers.

Things with Tony are more complicated now. After the whole war over the Sekovia Accords, with the Avengers taking sides and Tony trying to kill Bucky, well, it was probably too much to expect that everyone could just forgive and forget.

But while Bucky was in cryo back in Wakanda, Tony had read the Winter Soldier’s file, and done some digging, and then some more. Then he had helped organize a mission to take down a Hydra base, one that Bucky’s intel had led them to, and saw for himself one of the places they had kept Bucky, including the machine they used to wipe his memories over and over.

Afterwards Tony had gotten a message to Steve in Wakanda, and they started talking again. Steve hadn’t been present for the conversation Tony and Bucky had when Bucky came out of cryo, but the fact that Tony had made Bucky a brand new vibranium arm pretty much said it all. Tony saves the best tech for his friends.

When Steve finishes his coffee he pulls on jeans and a thin sweater and goes looking for Bucky. He’s not in the common area, or the gym. Steve takes the elevator up to the roof and walks out on to the elegantly landscaped patio. It’s pleasantly warm for early spring, and Steve smiles as he sees Bucky off to the side of the pool, facing the edge of the roof. He’s sitting in some kind of twisty yoga pose, eyes closed, sunning himself like a contented cat.

Bucky opens one eye as Steve approaches, and blinks lazily at him. “Morning.”

“Morning.” Steve sits down next to Bucky and takes in the view. He also looks at the city.

“It’s not time for our meeting yet, is it?”

“Nope.”

Bucky untangles his legs and stretches out, shifting to rest his head on Steve’s lap. Steve strokes his fingers through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky moans softly.

“Hey, you okay?”

Bucky shrugs. “Headache. But that feels good.”

“Okay.” Steve doesn’t push, just keeps winding his fingers through Bucky’s hair and rubbing his scalp. Bucky’s been doing so well lately, he’s allowed to have a down day. Or maybe it really is a headache. The serum doesn’t cure everything, at least not right away.

They sit there in comfortable silence until Steve’s phone pings with a reminder, and they have to go to work.

*****

Bucky’s up early, again. Although, to be fair, he never really fell asleep. It’s been this way for days, now, and it’s wearing on him. He doesn’t think Steve has noticed – he stays in bed until Steve’s breathing evens out, and then puts in another hour or two lying next to him before he gives up and goes into the living room - but it’s getting ridiculous.

He thought Steve might have been getting suspicious when he found him napping on the couch yesterday afternoon, but Steve just grinned at him and made him shove over, wrapping his strong arms around him and dozing off himself. But sleeping during most of the daylight hours isn’t really constructive, and sooner or later someone’s going to notice and start talking about therapy again.

The frustrating thing is, Bucky feels good. He’s in a better place mentally than he has been in oh, what, seventy years or so. But Steve won’t buy that, not when he finds out Bucky isn’t sleeping right.

Bucky decides to take a walk, pulling on a light jacket and going down to the street. There’s a bakery nearby that should be open already, and he and Steve both love their fresh bagels. The morning is overcast, and Bucky hisses in displeasure as raindrops start to fall the moment he leaves the store. His jacket doesn’t have a hood, so he’s left hunching his shoulders and dashing as fast as he can back to the apartment.

Steve is awake when Bucky gets home, but the bagels distract him from the fact that it’s barely 6 a.m. That and a text from Coulson Bucky apparently missed during his attempt to run between the raindrops.

At least this mission doesn’t involve a rainforest in South America. Instead they’re headed to somewhere in rural Maine. It’s just going to be Steve and Bucky, following up a lead on a former intelligence officer who may or may not have gone over to Hydra.

“Can’t they send a junior guy to cover this kind of thing?” Bucky asks, swiping through the information Coulson sent them.

“I guess if he is Hydra, he could be pretty dangerous,” Steve replies, although the look on his face says he agrees with Bucky.

“But what’s he doing in Maine?”

“Reenacting a Stephen King novel?”

Bucky and Steve had gotten hooked on King’s books, first The Dead Zone, and then The Shining and The Stand. Bucky started reading 11/22/63, but put it down after just a few chapters. While the Winter Solider didn’t have anything to do with Kennedy’s death, a book about political assassinations just didn’t hold the same escapist value for him compared with King’s more straightforward horror stories.

Steve frowns at Bucky’s comment, and takes another bagel out of the bag. “I’d like those stories to stay fictional, actually.”

“Like Hydra doesn’t do stuff far worse than Stephen King dreamed up,” Bucky retorts. He immediately regrets his words, though, as Steve’s face falls.

“Buck, I’m sorry, you’re right-”

“Shut up, it’s fine.” Bucky stands up and walks into their living room, stretching his shoulders. He doesn’t want to fight with Steve, especially not when he’s feeling so dopey. Right now, all he wants to do is collapse on the couch. Which gives him an idea.

“Hey, whaddya say we watch one of those Stephen King movies? You know, in preparation for the mission?”

Steve takes Bucky’s suggestion at face value and they quickly do some google research to find out which of his movies is most realistically set in Maine. Turns out lots of them are.

They’re barely twenty minutes into Cujo when Bucky falls asleep, his head resting heavily against Steve’s broad shoulder.

When Bucky wakes up, he’s curled up with his head on Steve’s lap, a fleece throw blanket over his body. The credits are rolling – and they’re not the credits from Cujo, they’re from the second King movie they selected. Bucky’s been asleep for more than four hours.

Steve waits until Bucky sits up, but then he takes Bucky’s hand and squeezes it.

“Tell me what’s wrong,” Steve says, soft but urgent. “Please.”

Steve may be easy-going, but he’s not oblivious.

Bucky bites his lip and shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Bucky,” Steve pleads.

“No, I mean it. Nothing’s really wrong. I’m just not sleeping well.”

But even as the words leave his mouth, Bucky knows he’s lying. Because something is wrong. He might have been fooling himself up until now, but suddenly he’s certain, deep in his bones, that something is wrong.

Steve’s not buying it, either. “I’ll call Coulson and tell him we’re not going tonight. ‘Tasha and Clint can do it.”

“Clint’s in Arizona, with Fury. And Tony, and Natasha.”

“Well, you can’t go.”

“I can, Steve. I don’t need that much sleep – you of all people should know.”

Bucky sees Steve consider this. It’s true, neither of them need more than a few hours of rest, and can easily get by on none at all for a day or two. It doesn’t explain why Bucky is so goddamned sleepy during the day, but there is no scenario that includes Bucky letting Steve go after this Hydra goon by himself. If it takes a little misdirection to get his way, so be it.

“Fine. But you’re going back to sleep when we get to the plane.”

“Fine.”

******

Steve lands the quinjet in a field not far from the ramshackle house the target is staying in, and they jog quickly into place. Bucky positions himself on the top of a nearby barn and watches through his rifle scope, even though Steve protests that guns aren’t necessary for the mission; they’re just there to watch and observe. Better safe than sorry, Steve, have you learned nothing yet?

Steve edges slowly up to the house, places listening devices by several of the windows, then withdraws to the shelter of a tree. His hair glints silver in the moonlight, and Bucky frowns – he might as well be shining a spotlight on his head, the idiot.

Bucky stares out into the night as the hours pass. Much to his surprise, far from being sleepy, he feels as if all his senses are heightened.

When a man comes down off the porch and starts walking towards Steve’s location, Bucky feels a familiar calm settle over him. It’s their target, no question. The man is walking strangely, his arms held out just a little bit from his body. Bucky focuses on the shape of his coat, noting the bulge around his midsection. The man pauses, moves to touch one hand to his opposite wrist, but he never reaches it – because Bucky fires, two quick shots, and the man is lying on the ground.

“Bucky! What the hell!” Steve is yelling through comm and sprinting over to the man. “You weren’t supposed to shoot him, we need to follow him, he wasn’t supposed to know we were here-“

Bucky speeds past Steve and reaches the man first, quickly pulling a band off his wrist. The man is motionless on the ground, and Steve stares at what he sees when he unzips his heavy coat. “Bucky… he was wearing a bomb.” Steve’s voice is quiet.

“Yeah, I know.”

“You – you knew?” Steve looks at the device in Bucky’s hand. “Where was that?”

“On his wrist.” If he had touched it, he would have set off the bomb – which from the looks of it would have blown Steve, Bucky, and everything in a ten mile radius to smithereens.

“How the hell did you see that thing on his wrist?”

Steve’s right to ask, Bucky realizes. Now that he sees it up close, the band is just a slim thing, narrower than a man’s watch. And the bomb, while deadly, didn’t really take up much space under the target’s jacket.

The question goes unanswered as they contact Coulson and wait until someone comes to retrieve the body. But when they’re back in the jet, Steve turns to Bucky with a nervous expression on his face.

“Tell me you agree – I know you’re a great shot, one of the best, always have been – but that was extraordinary, even for you.”

“Yeah, Steve. Yeah. It was.” Bucky presses his lips together. He saw the detonator on the guy’s wrist – and he saw the bomb under his jacket. From an impossible distance. In the dark.

“I can’t explain it,” Bucky goes on. “But… it’s a good thing, right?”

Steve looks away, fixing his eyes on the instruments as the plane lifts off. “Yeah, of course. Sure. You’re right.”

They don’t talk about it again, not on the rest of the ride home, not in the car from the Tower back to their apartment, and not when they tiredly tug off their clothes and pull on pajamas. They don’t talk at all. It’s almost as bad as the terrible sense of wrongness that has taken root inside him.

The sun is coming up by the time they fall into bed together, too shaken to do anything but hold each other tight. Bucky’s grateful that it’s morning. At least he can go to sleep for a few hours.

*****

Steve wakes to Bucky’s mouth on his, and his hand sliding under the waistband of his sleep pants.

“Bucky?”

“Steve, god, you’re gorgeous,” Bucky murmurs, nibbling at Steve’s jaw and then back up to his lips. “Wanna blow you. Can I blow you?”

Steve’s still half-asleep, but his body isn’t, and he quickly gets with the program. Steve groans as Bucky slides down his chest and takes him in his mouth, bringing him to full hardness within moments. There are things they should be talking about, he knows, but it’s been days since they’ve done this, and it can’t hurt to have a little fun first, right?

Bucky pops off with a slurp and grins up at Steve, who apparently has been babbling his thoughts out loud. “Definitely can’t hurt to have a little fun first. Although…” Bucky licks a stripe up Steve and swirls his tongue around the tip, “you should give yourself a break. It’s really not little.”

Bucky sucks him down again, and Steve can’t take his eyes off of him, his brown hair falling around his face and over Steve’s body, the muscles in his flesh arm clenching and releasing as his hands roam over Steve’s overheated skin.

Bucky comes up for breath, letting his hands slide up Steve’s chest, stroking and caressing his pecs. He braces himself on one hand and rolls a nipple with the fingers of the other, just the way Steve likes it, until Steve feels a sharp pain and draws back in surprise.

“Steve?”

“Fuck, that really hurt.”

Bucky looks panicked for a moment, looking down at his metal hand, but it’s flat on the bed beside Steve, not in any danger of hurting him. “Steve? What’d I do?”

Steve’s clutching his chest, and when he moves his hand to look, he sees three long scratches from his collarbone down to his nipple, blood welling out of the deepest one.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice is high and breathy, and Steve struggles to calm himself down before Bucky loses it.

“Hey, I’m okay, I’m okay.” Steve reaches down and pulls Bucky up towards him, ignoring the sting in his chest.

But Bucky isn’t calming down, and he pulls away from Steve, scrambling off the bed. “What’d I do?” he repeats, looking around the room as it there’s a clue hidden in yesterday’s discarded clothes.

“Bucky,” Steve says again, lacing his voice with authority. “Bucky, you just scratched me. It’s not a big deal. Come here, let me see your hand.”

Steve meets him at the foot of the bed, and makes him sit down next to him. Bucky holds out his flesh hand, and they both freeze for a moment, looking at it. His fingernails are long. Really long, like Pepper’s when she’s dressed up for a charity ball. And pointy.

Bucky tries to pull his hand away, but Steve holds it tight. He can feel Bucky trembling.

“Maybe it’s the serum,” Bucky says finally.

They both know this makes no sense – it’s never made his nails grow long overnight before.

“We need to tell someone.”

Bucky shakes his head. “No.”

“Really? You want to wait to see what other weird shit happens? Think this through, Bucky.”

Bucky stands up, pulling away from Steve. He’s regained his composure, at least on the surface. In some ways, this isn’t going to help – stubborn Bucky is a lot harder to convince than panicking Bucky. And neither one of them likes going to the doctor.

“I’m going for a walk. Need some air.”

Bucky stalks out of their bedroom, only to return a moment later to yank some clothes out of his drawers.

Steve sits on the edge of the bed, taking deep breaths, and trying not to think about how much the stupid scratches on his chest hurt. He can wait Bucky out. He’s done it before.

And Steve’s not about to go behind Bucky’s back to Coulson or anyone else. It has to be Bucky’s decision, to get help from someone more qualified than Steve. Whatever else Steve thinks about this situation, that much is crystal clear.

*****

Bucky’s nearly ten blocks away from their apartment when he finally slows down. He has no fucking idea what’s going on with him, but whatever it is, it’s changing him. And he hurt Steve. That’s unacceptable.

He turns off into an alley, slides down on the ground and buries his head in his hands. Two crap hands, now – a metal hand he still doesn’t trust, no matter how fancy Stark made it, and his one remaining flesh hand, now trimmed with deadly talons. They’re both covered in black gloves at the moment, the ones he puts on to hide his metal hand, and he can feel the pointy nails of his right hand stretching the leather of the glove.

Bucky knows he ought to tell someone. But he doesn’t want to. With every fiber of his being, he really, really doesn’t want to. He doesn’t want to get poked and prodded and experimented on. He’s not about to go into cryo and give up his agency altogether – that was a horrible idea, as it turned out, and he’s never doing it again. He could run – get away, somewhere where he can’t hurt Steve. But he’s tried to keep Steve safe by staying away from him before, and Steve isn’t very good at letting him go.

He sits there for a while, until his butt gets sore and he realizes that he’s so hungry he’s considering picking up the crumpled McDonald’s bag on the ground a few feet away and seeing if anything is left inside. Time to face the music, he thinks, and gets up off the ground.

When he gets back to the apartment, after a quick stop along the way, Steve is sitting in the kitchen . He’s got on a t-shirt with a flannel over it, and Bucky can’t help but wonder if he’s bothered to clean the scratches, or is just relying on the serum to heal them properly. Steve points to the cup of coffee he’s got in front of him. “Want some?” Bucky nods as he puts the bag of groceries down on the counter.

“What’d you get?” Steve asks.

“Nothing much. Chicken and mashed potatoes from the deli.”

Steve helps him plate it and they sit down together at the little table. Bucky bought two servings for each of them, and it only takes minutes until they’re mostly finished. Bucky gnaws at a drumstick while Steve refills their coffee mugs.

“I know you’re scared, Buck,” Steve says. “What can I do to help?”

Bucky looks at Steve, so earnest and sincere. ��You’re not going to make me tell someone?”

Steve fixes his eyes on Bucky. “I’m never going to make you do anything.”

“I’m… I’m not ready yet,” he says, hating the way his voice is shaking. “I need a few days to…” To what? he wonders. To be free, even if it’s just for a few more days?

“Whatever you need, Bucky.”

“Just… stick around, you know? In case I get worse?”

Steve nods solemnly. “There’s not a damn thing in this world that could take me away from you. Not now, not ever. We’re gonna get through this.”

Steve is well known for his stubborn streak, and his optimistic belief that he can conquer any foe. But when it comes to Bucky, well, he tends to come out on top more often than not. So Bucky will pin his hopes on this, on the word of Steve Rogers, and let the chips fall where they may.

******

They fall asleep in front of the television, after Bucky silently cuts his fingernails and files them until there’s no white left at all. Steve wakes with a start to the sound of their front door closing. He’s on his feet in an instant, alert for any sign of an intruder, but there’s no one there. Not even Bucky.

He makes a quick sweep of the apartment. Bucky’s favorite leather jacket is still hanging in the hallway, his leather gloves tucked into the pockets. He counts the guns he finds, and the knives, and lets out a long breath when nothing seems to be missing.

Remembering the morning on the Tower when he found Bucky looking out over the city, Steve slips on his shoes and goes up to the roof of their building. The light of the full moon makes it easy enough to see that Bucky isn’t there, either.

Steve doesn’t want to believe that he’s gone, not for long, anyway. Bucky had said he wasn’t ready to tell anyone, that he needed some time, and that’s probably what this is about.

But he asked me to stick around, Steve thinks. He wanted me near him, in case something went wrong. So why would he run away?

Steve wishes he could call Natasha, or even Tony, and get some advice. Better yet, get some backup, someone to keep an eye on Bucky, at least let him know where he is, if he’s okay. But he just told Bucky he wasn’t going to make him do anything, and he wasn’t going to bring anyone else into this. Telling the Avengers that Bucky has gone AWOL, even if he doesn’t mention the weird changes in Bucky, would clearly be a betrayal of that promise.

Steve sits back down in front of the television, mindlessly switching channels. He watches a crime procedural for a while, wincing at the predictable stories. Amazingly, one of the plotlines involves a family whose son has gone missing, but the police won’t let them file a missing persons report until twenty-four hours has gone by. Bullshit, Steve thinks. The worst stuff happens right away. Waiting twenty-four hours will only increase the chances of something terrible happening to your loved one. And yet that’s what Steve is doing, too. Waiting.

*****

Bucky stumbles back into the apartment in the wee hours of the morning. He’s disoriented, and finds himself in the bathroom, sitting on the toilet seat with his head in his hands.

He remembers feeling an irresistible need to be outside, and then the urge to run. But now he’s back home. His whole body aches, like he’s been in a fight, but he doesn’t remember fighting.

Bucky gets to his feet and finds some painkillers in a drawer. He swallows a handful down dry and turns to leave the bathroom when he catches a glimpse of himself in the mirror. He leans closer, and sticks a metal finger in his mouth, pulling his lips aside to see his teeth.

Holy mother of god. He’s got fangs.

Bucky staggers backwards and bumps into a shelf, sending shampoo bottles crashing to the floor.

“Buck? Everything okay in there?”

No, nope, no, definitely not okay in here, Bucky thinks, but he can’t seem to form any words.

“Bucky?” Steve sticks his head into the bathroom, face radiating concern. Bucky hadn’t even closed the door behind him. “I heard you come in.”

Bucky can see Steve struggling not to ask him where he’s been. Damn it, he didn’t mean to run out on him. What the hell is going on?

Steve apparently wins his internal battle, and refrains from chastising Bucky even a little, opting instead for a heartfelt, “You all right, Buck?”

“Yeah, I’m all right.” Bucky grabs the bottles off the floor and puts them back on the shelf, avoiding Steve’s eyes. “Just needed some air. Sorry to worry you.” He tries to keep his mouth closed as much as possible as he speaks. He thinks he might hyperventilate, though, and that would give him away for sure.

Steve’s face softens, and he steps closer, setting a hand on Bucky’s shoulder. It grounds him, just a little, and he focuses on his breathing.

“It’s okay,” Steve says softly. “I’m just glad you’re back.”

“Me too,” Bucky says. He doesn’t miss the confused look that passes over Steve’s face. He wants to cling to Steve, bury his face against his warm skin and let the world go away, but he’s all too conscious of the freakishly sharp teeth in his mouth and he can’t relax. “Think I’m gonna shower.”

Steve backs up a step, always so considerate when Bucky asks for space, even though part of Bucky wishes that for once he’d push back.

“Okay, sure,” Steve says, flicking his eyes up and down Bucky’s body, as if reassuring himself that he’s all in one piece, whether or not he’s truly okay. “I’ll, um, I’ll go for a run.”

******

Steve pounds the pavement so hard it’s a miracle he doesn’t leave cracks in the sidewalk. He knows recovery isn’t linear, knows from his own experience that even when he thinks he’s doing fine, he can have a down day or three for no reason at all. But he doesn’t think that’s what’s going on with Bucky. It’s not a Winter Solider thing, it’s something new, something more that happened to him, and it’s getting worse.

Yesterday Steve thought that at least Bucky was opening up to him about it. Neither one of them seemed to have a clue what was wrong, but at least they were on the same page in their cluelessness. But none of it explained Bucky’s disappearance last night, and the terrified look on his face when Steve found him in the bathroom this morning.

Bucky has that look on his face sometimes when he wakes up from a nightmare. Although they’ve been getting less frequent, it still breaks Steve’s heart every time. But each time Bucky has let Steve hold him, seeming to find comfort in his arms. He doesn’t pull away, not like this morning.

Steve cuts his run short, suddenly certain that whatever is going on, Steve doesn’t want to leave him alone. That’s what Bucky asked for, yesterday, before he disappeared – for Steve to stick around.

When he gets back to the apartment Bucky is curled up on the sofa with a book.

“Hey, babe.” Steve crosses swiftly to him and presses a quick kiss to his lips.

Bucky startles. “Hey.” There’s a wan smile on his face, and Steve supposes it’s progress. “You stink.”

Steve grins. “Sorry not sorry.” He leans down again and tries for another kiss, but Bucky turns his head to the side, digging his face into Steve’s neck.

“Guess I can live with it,” Bucky mumbles into his skin, his arms coming up to hold Steve tight, his hands bunching in Steve’s t-shirt.

“I was gonna take a shower, but I can stay…” Steve says, trying to gauge Bucky’s reaction.

“Nah, I’m okay. Go get clean.” Bucky lets him go, his eyes flickering up to Steve’s for a moment before he turns back to his book.

Steve rushes through his shower and is soon joining Bucky on the couch. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just shifts around until he’s curled up, head in Steve’s lap, eyes quickly drifting closed. Steve strokes his head and Bucky hums in appreciation. This position seems to be a favorite of Bucky’s lately. Not that Steve minds, but it’s different. And difference is not a welcome visitor, not when it seems to be imposing itself on Bucky without his consent.

Bucky sleeps nearly all day. Steve orders pizza for them, but Bucky just picks at it, eating all the pepperoni and sausage and leaving most of the rest.

“You could have said, if you didn’t want pizza,” Steve says. Bucky usually isn’t quiet about his desires, not when it comes to food (or sex, for that matter).

“What?” Bucky looks down at his plate, as if seeing it for the first time. “Oh. Sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry, dummy. You want something else?” Steve opens the refrigerator. “Roast beef sandwich?”

“Nah, it’s okay.” Bucky retreats back to the couch, leaving Steve to put away the leftovers. Steve busies himself for a few minutes emptying the dishwasher and going over what he wants to say to Bucky. He’s hoping to get him to agree to talk to someone about this tomorrow. He thinks they should start with Coulson – it’s relevant to their job, frankly, and Bucky probably needs to be evaluated before he can go out on any more missions. If Coulson wants to handle it differently, well, they can discuss it.

But when he returns to the living room, Bucky is fast asleep, and Steve can’t bring himself to wake him. Maybe it’s just a virus, or some form of the flu, and all this sleep is his body’s way of fighting it off. Sleep is good. He’s not going to argue with sleep.

But he’s not going to let Bucky sneak out on him again, either.

This time when Steve joins Bucky on the couch, and lets him curl up against him, Steve doesn’t go to sleep. And when Bucky wakes up and slips out of the apartment, Steve is close behind.

In the light of the full moon it’s not hard to keep an eye on him, at least for the first few blocks. But then Bucky turns into an alley and by the time Steve gets there, there’s no sign of him. Fire escapes on either side provide possible options as to where he’s gone, but Steve spends hours looking, with no luck.

He traces the path they often take when they run together, and adds a few detours, finally ending up down by the docks. It’s even emptier here than usual, no shifty looking characters staking out their territory. It strikes Steve as odd, but no more odd than everything else that’s been going on.

There’s an abandoned warehouse several blocks in, and when Steve sees a broken window that hasn’t yet been blocked up, he thinks he may have a lead – that, or he’s found the drug dealers newest favorite hiding spot.

He breaks a bit more glass out of the window and carefully steps inside. The first room he comes to is empty, but in the second, there’s a lump under a blanket on the floor that could definitely be a person. Steve’s heart beats hard against his chest. Oh, Bucky, what are you doing here?

Steve walks quietly over and crouches down, but then he freezes, one hand in the air on its way towards Bucky’s head. Because it’s Bucky’s face, but… different. His dark hair now extends down his neck and over his shoulders, and his ears are pointy and covered in a light coating of dark fur. Bucky’s flesh hand is clutching the edge of the blanket, up under his chin, and it’s got dark fur on it, too. And those sharp nails.

Steve has a sudden flashback to finding Bucky in Zola’s Hydra lab, a horrible chorus of no no no this can’t be happening to Bucky running through his head. But Bucky seems to be sleeping peacefully, curled up tight under this ratty blanket. He doesn’t seem to be in any pain.

As Steve watches, a long tail flicks out from under the blanket, waves back and forth a few times, and then drifts down over Bucky’s body.

It’s surreal, and Steve can’t quite believe it. But then in the past few years he’s fought with a giant green rage monster, and a god with a mighty hammer, and a man who can shrink himself down to the size of an ant. Not to mention T’Challa, who might have something interesting to say about Bucky’s current situation.

Steve may be a man out of time, but he’s never been short on brains. If he’s willing to suspend disbelief, it’s clear what has happened to Bucky. He’s a werecat. Werepanther. Leopard? Something big, and strong, and definitely feline. Huh.

Steve lies down on the cold floor next to his friend, his lover, and lets his mind process this information. He doesn’t flinch when Bucky shifts closer to him, as if instinctively seeking his warmth. Bucky’s ears twitch, and then he settles, nuzzling against Steve’s chest. He’s still Bucky. And Steve is still Steve. He’s not going anywhere.

Read the rest on A03.

#@capreversebb #stucky #@araniaart

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flowerfan2 · 8 years ago

Text

Moondance - Cap Reverse Big Bang

Stucky, M, 30k words, A03. Canon compliant through CACW; canon divergent.

Artist: @araniaart Author: @flowerfan2

Many, many thanks to Arania for working with me and creating the amazing artwork that inspired me, to @perryavenue for being the world’s best beta, and to everyone at @capreversebb for running this great challenge.

Moondance

Chapter 1