brooklyn_boy (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
brooklyn_boy) wrote2022-04-10 11:40 am
brooklyn_boy) wrote2022-04-10 11:40 am
For FrozenAssets
The strange thing was that Steve had never really been alone before. The closest he got was in DC with the small apartment and the ghosts of the past he kept close to him at all times. But even then, he had the Avengers. He had constant contact with Tony and the rest of the team. Missions to keep him occupied so that the moments with just his record player and books felt like a break more than stifling isolation. But now, after all that had happened?
Now he truly felt alone.
Europe had the unique ability to move forward in time while preserving the past in small isolated bubbles. Steve slipped into England at nightfall and trusted his new beard and darker hair to stop instant recognition from getting him arrested. He was a fugitive, after all. The only place he was truly safe now was Wakanda and he'd fled from that protection as soon as he could.
It wasn't ingratitude that had him running. It wasn't duty either although he used that as a convenient excuse. It was that ever since Bucky closed his eyes in the cryotube, Steve had felt an ache of loneliness open up inside of him and for the first time since waking up in the 21st century, he couldn't figure out how to handle it.
The feeling was unfair to Nat and Sam. Both of them were around more than they weren't and were there for him in a way that was complicated and profound. They both had turned their back on so much to stand at his side. But Nat had her own missions to disappear on and Sam had a family he couldn't reach that tore him up inside. And Steve? The only family he'd ever known here was once more locked away. Close enough to touch and yet still inaccessible. Failed yet again by Steve who tried so hard to protect his best friend and came up short.
Too slow to grab his hand. Too late to save his mind. Too weak to keep him safe. Forever destined, it seemed, to say goodbye and be left behind.
To be alone.
And so he ran. He ran back to one of those bubbles in time that England had. A bar made, destroyed, and then rebuilt on the same ground like a phoenix rising. The place where he and Bucky had drank a beer and started their journey into the war. Where Bucky had looked at a six-foot man brimming with muscles and had seen a little guy from Brooklyn where he'd always been. And where Steve had gone back to mourn that first time he'd lost Bucky two days before he died himself.
Steve wasn't sure why he needed to be there. He just did. At this time of day it was closed and dark which fit his mood well enough. Nat had taught him how to get into such places unseen and when he did, the past pushed against him like a too-tight hug. It was comforting and suffocating all at the same time and the choked out sob bubbled up before he could stop it. He wanted to go <i>back</i>. Back to the war when things were so much simpler. Back to the days when he knew who he was and what role he had to play. Back when he had Bucky and wasn't so <i>alone</i>, even in a crowd.
He walked to the counter and it was new and not when his hands fell on it. It looked the same as where he and Bucky sat. New wood made with old designs; the attempt to make things the way they'd always been and getting as close as you could while still falling short. His nails scratched against the wood as they curled into fists, body bowing over the spot like he were praying. Perhaps he was. For what though, he couldn't say.
Steve's head lifted up and red eyes looked at the bar, desperate for a drink. There was a row of items there from the time the bar was destroyed. Trinkets and antiques left behind after the bombings and the bloodshed. Steve walked behind and let his fingertips brush over them, remembering when they had been new. Mugs. Buttons. Medals. And there, at the end, something different. Something brighter than the rest. Something old and new at the same time that called him back in a way he couldn't explain.
Steve reached for it, unsure of what it was or why it seemed so important. But it did. And as his fingertips stroked over it, the burst of nostalgia that came over him was enough to bring him to his knees. Like he was touching the past. Bridging the gap.
If only such a thing could be done...
Now he truly felt alone.
Europe had the unique ability to move forward in time while preserving the past in small isolated bubbles. Steve slipped into England at nightfall and trusted his new beard and darker hair to stop instant recognition from getting him arrested. He was a fugitive, after all. The only place he was truly safe now was Wakanda and he'd fled from that protection as soon as he could.
It wasn't ingratitude that had him running. It wasn't duty either although he used that as a convenient excuse. It was that ever since Bucky closed his eyes in the cryotube, Steve had felt an ache of loneliness open up inside of him and for the first time since waking up in the 21st century, he couldn't figure out how to handle it.
The feeling was unfair to Nat and Sam. Both of them were around more than they weren't and were there for him in a way that was complicated and profound. They both had turned their back on so much to stand at his side. But Nat had her own missions to disappear on and Sam had a family he couldn't reach that tore him up inside. And Steve? The only family he'd ever known here was once more locked away. Close enough to touch and yet still inaccessible. Failed yet again by Steve who tried so hard to protect his best friend and came up short.
Too slow to grab his hand. Too late to save his mind. Too weak to keep him safe. Forever destined, it seemed, to say goodbye and be left behind.
To be alone.
And so he ran. He ran back to one of those bubbles in time that England had. A bar made, destroyed, and then rebuilt on the same ground like a phoenix rising. The place where he and Bucky had drank a beer and started their journey into the war. Where Bucky had looked at a six-foot man brimming with muscles and had seen a little guy from Brooklyn where he'd always been. And where Steve had gone back to mourn that first time he'd lost Bucky two days before he died himself.
Steve wasn't sure why he needed to be there. He just did. At this time of day it was closed and dark which fit his mood well enough. Nat had taught him how to get into such places unseen and when he did, the past pushed against him like a too-tight hug. It was comforting and suffocating all at the same time and the choked out sob bubbled up before he could stop it. He wanted to go <i>back</i>. Back to the war when things were so much simpler. Back to the days when he knew who he was and what role he had to play. Back when he had Bucky and wasn't so <i>alone</i>, even in a crowd.
He walked to the counter and it was new and not when his hands fell on it. It looked the same as where he and Bucky sat. New wood made with old designs; the attempt to make things the way they'd always been and getting as close as you could while still falling short. His nails scratched against the wood as they curled into fists, body bowing over the spot like he were praying. Perhaps he was. For what though, he couldn't say.
Steve's head lifted up and red eyes looked at the bar, desperate for a drink. There was a row of items there from the time the bar was destroyed. Trinkets and antiques left behind after the bombings and the bloodshed. Steve walked behind and let his fingertips brush over them, remembering when they had been new. Mugs. Buttons. Medals. And there, at the end, something different. Something brighter than the rest. Something old and new at the same time that called him back in a way he couldn't explain.
Steve reached for it, unsure of what it was or why it seemed so important. But it did. And as his fingertips stroked over it, the burst of nostalgia that came over him was enough to bring him to his knees. Like he was touching the past. Bridging the gap.
If only such a thing could be done...
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Steve is smiling though. He definitely hasn't learned that lesson even in the slightest but it's familiar and comforting to do the call and response game again. With all that had happened, Steve's almost forgotten the natural way they fit together. Not like this, clearly, although the fit now is exception as well. No, just how they fell into step. Like the fight with Tony. Like running through the airport and communicating with a look.
Bucky doesn't complete him so much as he is that last, completing piece of the Steve Rogers puzzle. Without it you get most of the picture but it's always lacking. Always less than it could be if only someone gave it what it needed.
As Bucky arches, Steve trails kisses from neck to navel. The awkward position has him pulling out just a bit but there isn't time to grieve that. Not when Steve straightens back up and makes that final thrust. And like magic, Steve is connected with Bucky more intimately than he ever has been before. He pants hard, shocked by what he's done even though he definitely shouldn't be. The feeling is beyond words and Steve just stares at Bucky in awe.
And then, yeah. Okay. Biology screams that he should move and that sounds like a really good idea.
"I'm...I'm inside you," he breathes as he pulls back and inexpertly thrusts back. With the way slick now, it's smooth and hot and easy to get as deep as he wants. Steve's memory provides the place his fingers had hit before and it is different trying to find it with a different appendage, but he's trying. Trying with each slow thrust and small adjustment.
And between that, he bends completely over Bucky to share his air and pepper kisses whenever their faces bump close enough.
"Jesus... I...I get the appeal now," he says with an airy laugh that breaks into a moan. "Oh...God, Buck..."
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Bucky’s stomach twitches under the lips trailing down along it. Here he’d figure this was Steve’s first time, figure he’d probably snap right inside, but Steve’s so ridiculously slow and tender that Bucky’s heart just doesn’t know what to do with it as he watches Steve treat him like he’s not some busted shell of a GI.
Gun-calloused fingers stroke along Steve’s temple, then brush back the stray bangs before carding through his hair as Steve sinks lower and lower; far more flexible than he ever was before the War. The movement slides his dick out just a little, leaving something in Bucky aching a little to get filled. Like they’re answering a call, Bucky’s hips jerk to try and get him back deeper, back to pushing in so deep that it’s anyone’s guess where he and Steve begin.
And just like that, Steve rocks forward to sink right in with such a deep, decisive thrust that it rips a raw groan from Bucky’s throat. Like a string pulled, Bucky’s body bows upwards to drive his own aching cock against Steve’s stomach in a hot line against the muscles there.
“I know. Feels aces, huh?,” Bucky breathes out, hushed like it’s a secret between them, looking down the length of their bodies with dark, hungry eyes, his cock throbbing at the sight; Steve’s pressed balls deep against him, completely impaling him. A little shimmy and he’s gasping all over again, feeling the shaft opening him up and nudging tantalizing close against that spot inside him. Both hands settle below Steve’s ass - okay fine, he really likes feeling the play of muscle as Steve begins to figure out how the thrusting thing works, to wordlessly help him find a rhythm as Steve rains kisses on him like he can’t bear to be apart.
His toes curl as Steve slides back in, nice and slow and deep, with Bucky angling his hips upwards and bearing down just to tighten around Steve. Teeth catch at Steve’s earlobe. “Fuck, you’re big. You always packing this heat?”
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Bucky tightens around him over and over again which is incredible and also really annoying. Steve is recalling every nun he had as a teacher from first to eighth grade just to not blow it completely the first time. Even with Sister Bruna and her hairy mole, it's a close call when Bucky bites his earlobe. Apparently that is something he likes a lot. Look at this: learning opportunities.
Steve hums to swallow a guttural noise threatening to erupt out. It almost sounds like a purr that way which isn't exactly wrong.
"Nah... This is... just my Tuesday equipment."
Steve grins down at Bucky, proud that he was able to think of a joke right now. That smugness doesn't last too long though as his hips snap forward with a burst of biological impatience and he decides, yeah. Yeah, that is a real good way to do this, too.
The pace picks up, bed squeaking faster and louder as an erotic accompaniment to the sounds of moans and smacking flesh. Steve rests his forehead against Bucky's, eyes closed as he drinks in this feeling. As he tries to memorize every single feeling and sense experience, in case this is the only time he will ever have this.
The next sound out of him is a sharper cry. His breathing goes uneven and shallow as the peak comes into view.
"God, Bucky..." his voice is softer than he means it to be. "Oh...oh God. You... You're so incredible. So amazing."
'I love you,' he thinks but doesn't say. Although he's not entirely sure it's not written all over his face all the same.
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That squeezes another laughter-tinged with a moan from Bucky. Bucky’s eyes squeeze closed as he’s gotta sink his teeth into his knuckles as he ends up clenching tight all over Steve again like a vice. His other hand squeezes hard on Steve’s ass since he can’t punch his shoulder just then for that crack; “Fucking hell, you bastard, you gotta - you gotta stop making me laugh.”
Trust Steve Rogers to somehow still find a way to be a real wise-guy even when he’s got his dick buried deep inside him, and yet it’s so right, because it’s still them. Like this is just a natural continuation of how things’ve been between them if one of them took the first leap, and it feels like nothing’s changed for the worse between them or got weird. (Or maybe it would be with his Steve - if Bucky wasn’t a coward, but in this moment, Buck’yll pretend he’s having this with the one back home too).
Steve’s starting to find that spot inside him again, and it’s even better with the heavy weight of his cock sliding against him as he spears Bucky open. Bucky’s face turns so he can press kisses to the inside of Steve’s wrist braced near his head as the bed rocks under them both and Bucky rolls his hips upwards just to feel the full slide as Steve’s cock snaps back in with a throaty groan. Steve might’ve never made time with someone before, but hell if he’s not a quick learner.
Bucky pulls him down into a searing, fierce kiss as they move together and the springs squeal under them with each smack of Steve’s hips against his. Steve isn’t looking to treat him with the kid gloves, and hell, if he’s not loving it more than he ever thought he would. A sheen of sweat glistens along Bucky’s skin as he clutches tight at Steve like he’s not planning on letting him up short of a shelling or something, nails dragging welts down his back as he rocks up over and over to take whatever Steve’ll let him have while his cock drools between them.
Bucky breathes hard into Steve’s lips as that gorgeous cry squeezes out and Bucky circles his hips on his cock seated deep inside with a hiss escaping between grit teeth. They’re both trembling together, so close to blowing it that Bucky’s making a mess between them and his balls ache.
“It’s always been you, Steve.” Steve doesn’t gotta say it. Bucky’s hands smooth along the stinging tracks to cup Steve’s jaw, beard scratching against his palm as he presses kisses, tender, lighter, slower than the pounding between them. The headboard smacks into the wall, wearing at the paint. “It’s always been. Why do you think I followed you through thick and thin?”
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Like a true sap, Bucky whispers sweet words between them and that, more than the clenching and the moving and the arching has Steve tumbling over the edge. It's always been him, Bucky had said. It had always been him and for Steve, it had always been Bucky. Always and forever and God, he loves this man so much. Too much, probably. But there's nothing for it at this point. Nothing to do but let it sear him from the inside out.
"Oh, Bucky..." The moan is a sob as Steve pushes in hard and comes hard enough to lose his vision. Everything is electricity. Lightning hitting him and setting the contact areas on fire. His body pulses with it, each one almost painful with how intense it is. But it's good. It's so, so good. Steve gasps his air as the waves go through him and leave him, at the end, completely spent.
He keeps thrusting, slower and more gently to make sure he's taking care of Bucky, still. His arms are shaking where they hold him up and his entire body is tingling. Part of him is wondering how much of that is inherent just to sex and how much is more specifically due to sex with Bucky. It's a mystery he doesn't actually want solved since he's satisfied to live in ignorance and only have Bucky beneath him for the rest of his life.
Of course that is almost definitely not going to be a possibility, but he can dream.
"Always you," he concurs, the kisses so gentle now. And, fuck it. Why not? Why not when he has so little and so much to lose at the same time? When else will he get the chance?
"I love you..."
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Turns out, it’s not long. Just like everywhere else, Bucky follows in Steve’s footsteps.
“Steve-” Bucky groans, raw and filthy as everything crests and snaps as Steve’s cock throbs deep inside him in a burst of liquid heat, and just like that, Bucky’s a goner. Under Steve, Bucky’s spine arches upwards in a serpentine writhe before he stiffens under Steve, before his cock jerks and his balls draw up tight as his ass spasms around Steve. Seed splashes between them, paints their skins as Bucky gasps and grinds out several last, helpless thrusts before he sags under Steve, whimpering as he twitches his cock between them to smear the last few drops into Steve’s skin as Steve buries himself several more time before he finally stills.
Bucky’s chest heaves as he wipes at the sweat beaded out at his temple, as he gently peppers Steve’s jaw and the arch of one cheek with a trail of soft kisses, curling a leg along Steve’s waist while the other sags towards the sheets.
“Love you too, pal.,” Bucky murmurs, pressing a kiss to the corner of Steve’s lips. “I know I never really said it but…I do. Maybe I should’ve said something earlier. When we had time.”
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His heart soars with the words Bucky says against his lips. Gently, Steve eases his way free of Bucky's body so he can lay beside him. Pull the man into his arms and just relish the afterglow. They're completely filthy and Bucky is probably sore, but that is things they can deal with another time. Sometime after, when the sun is up and Steve can watch dawn rise along the hills and shadows of Bucky's face.
He kisses the tip of Bucky's nose and then his lips. No rush. No desperation. Nothing but love pouring out of him and into the heart he'd given his best friend so long ago, never to reclaim. This close Steve can feel it beat. He closes his eyes to enjoy it as anyone would with a musical masterpiece.
"We have time, now," Steve says. He opens his eyes and finds Bucky's. With everything that's changed, those were the same eyes that looked back at him before they closed inside a cryotube. And maybe, just maybe, that meant they had time in the future, too.
He can't hope. Hope is the way to a broken heart. But he can wait. Lord knows he's good enough at that. He can wait and see what the future has in store for them both. And right now he can just enjoy what it has given him here.
Steve kisses Bucky again, taking his time with it. Rolling onto his back and pulling Bucky closer to change their position. Another drawing he'll need to do to add to his growing list.
"You could say it," he whispers between them, caring nothing for what this might do to the past or the future or anything else. "You could tell me anytime you want because I know that I loved you in back alley fights and smokey dance halls and in army tents...just as much as I love you here and now. There's never been a time I didn't love you, Buck. And there never will be."
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Now Bucky sees it’s been something else all along. Because this? This is what his heart aches for. Bucky feels a little like he’s coming back down to Earth from the moon, as they sag against each other in a sweaty, damp mess, and Bucky aches in places he didn’t know he aches while Steve wrests a little whimper out of him when he pulls back and leaves Bucky deliciously sore and empty. Immediately, Bucky turns on his side so he can wrap his arms around Steve and tangle a leg with his, and just…savoring this between them. For once, there’s no War out there or Captain and Sarge responsibilities, or the worry that someone’ll stumble on ‘em and it’ll be a blue ticket.
“No neighbors or paper thin walls or GIs nearby. Hell, let’s pretend we actually own these digs. You made it big and bought the entire building,” Bucky laughs, warm and soft against Steve’s mouth before he’s quieted with a pleased sound as they kiss in the sweet aftermath like maybe they do got all the time in the world.
They don’t. Some instinct says they don’t, ‘cause he’s gotta go back somehow. But it’s at the back of his mind while Bucky laughs as Steve rolls him as easily as Bucky’d pick up his dates: Bucky settles, a long, lean form over Steve’s, with his elbows braced near Steev’s head as he brushes strands of dirty blond hair back from Steve’s temple and presses his temple to his.
“I’m too much of a coward to say it back then but I do love you. Always have,” Bucky says, pressing a trail of kisses to Steve’s thick shoulder, before snuggling down to curl up along Steve like he’s the best pillow to come out of America, and letting his head rest along Steve’s shoulder. “It’s just, we weren’t big on spilling our guts back then about our feelings. It’s different here.”
Bucky falls silent, thoughtful, tracing aimless circles along the sheen cooling on Steve’s skin. After awhile, Bucky breaks the silence:
“Maybe...maybe I’ll test the waters. Whenever I get back,” Okay, the idea scares Bucky shitless, but still, maybe it’s better to try while he’s still kicking, than never even know. “If you were me, how would you go about it without scaring him off? ‘Cause coming up on him and planting one isn’t gonna do it.”
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"I'm sorry... Are you asking for advice on how to seduce me?"
He giggles, still light from the glow of sex and practically drunk on the fact that Bucky returned his love. It's been a very long time since Steve first got his new body and felt unstoppable in it. That wild, heady insanity is back now though. Indestructible. Blessed. Whole, perhaps. The thoughts and feelings rush around inside him as they often do, but this time they are all uncharacteristically positive.
It won't last but it is nice for the moment.
"Geez, Buck. This might be one of the strangest questions I haveta answer and you have no idea what people in this time feel comfortable asking about in interviews." The first time someone with a camera asked 'Boxers or Briefs', Steve had frozen so completely that Tony needed to step in. "But... Honestly? You might be overthinking it, pal."
He reaches out and strokes the other's hair back. It's not necessary. Bucky's hair is so much shorter now than it is in this time. The contact, however, is desperately needed. Steve keeps stroking against his cheek, slow and tenderly.
"You and I here...there wasn't a lot we needed to say. I think it's because on some level we... We just already know. Won't think about it or do anything. But it's already there. And if you wanna test the waters, I really feel like just... Just you looking at me the way you used to look at dames? Maybe reaching out..." Steve reaches his hand for Bucky's and just holds it. "That'll get my brain working for sure. And if I think you're making a move, well. I can't have you beating me..."
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Except Steve just has to grin like that, and that earns him a gentle punch to the shoulder, before Bucky resumes skimming his knuckles up and down the firm muscles.
“Well… When you gotta put it like that, yeah. I guess so,” Bucky shrugs, face warm. Okay, so it’s a weird question. But Steve’s still Steve, so who better to ask? “It’s not like I can just tip you over and plant one on you. The you back in the War.”
Bucky’s eyes flutter closed for a moment as he presses into the caresses trailing down his cheek, turning his head just so he can catch at Steve’s fingertips with the corner of his lips for a sec. He’d kind of written this kind of thing off after a couple months after shipping out overseas. Some guys went a little wild in town, but Bucky’s interest had mostly dried up when all he could think of was going back into the meat grinder or worrying what Steve was doing without anyone watching his back.
Bucky finds himself grinning over at Steve as his hand settles on his shoulder and he nestles even closer. “I don’t know, pal, I can think of a few doozies the press tried to squeeze past for Captain America.”
Maybe he’s over-thinking it. Still, Bucky looks a little doubtful, but he doesn’t hesitate in tangling his fingers with Steve's and their ankles.
“Sure, sometimes we don’t need to spill our guts on stuff. I just know and so do you. Most of the time,” Bucky says, doubtfully. “I just don’t know what I’d do if you looked at me like I grew a second head. Or worse. It’s easier with you. You’re different in some ways. ” A slow smile creeps back onto Bucky’s face, and he pretends to bat his eyes like some doll on the big screen. It’s not the same when he doesn’t got the big lashes or doe eyes. “So you mean I should come at you like this?”
Maybe he’s covering up on how unsure he is. But,..it couldn't be that easy to get his Steve’s brain turning. Can it?
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Steve hadn't realized until now that he hasn't felt that way since before Pearl Harbor.
"No. No, Buck." He's still smiling and if he had a mirror it would blow him away how much the genuine happiness changes his face. Steve rolls them over so he can lean over Bucky with one hand holding him up. The other just can't stop petting at his hair and cheek.
"You gotta remember, we went on so many dates. I saw you with those dames and how you just tilted your head and got them to blush and lean in closer. It was like magic when I was younger. And then when I started figuring myself out, it was something I almost was hungry for. And sometimes...sometimes you would. And I would think..."
Steve shakes his head. No use thinking of the past when there was a naked Bucky underneath him and a past version of himself to seduce. Jesus. What had his life become?
"I know your face when you want someone," Steve says. He lets his own gaze heat up as though to prove his point, looking Bucky up and down from the new vantage point. "And maybe it was an act or a role you played...but to me then, it was real. And I know it in the dark. So just. Look at me like you want me. Let me see it. Reach out and..."
His breath studders for a second, throat seizing with an emotion he hadn't realized was welling up. Heartache. Longing. Hunger. Steve remembers how touch-starved he'd been his whole life and how touch-starved he remained up until this very night. It's the best advice to give Bucky in order to get Steve melting into his arms and it also feels like a personal betrayal to just lay it out on the table. Like reading his own diary aloud.
But if he can't trust Bucky with it, there's no one. And indeed, without Bucky, there is no one.
"Just touch me. You have no idea how bad I need it. Just touch me. Doesn't even matter how. That's it. I promise, that's all you need to do in order to have me, 'cause in most every other way, you already do."
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Bucky grins back, and he kicks the sheet off so they can roll, bodies nice and flush together, and his thighs parting so Steve can slot up against him. Bucky’s hands settle on Steve’s trim waist, thumbs rubbing circles along the firm skin. He’s far heavier than any dame Bucky’s rolled with, but honestly? It’s amazing. Really amazing. Steve’s weight makes him feel safer than he has in ages, and that gorgeous grin on Steve’s face?
Bottle it up and save it, if it doesn’t make a guy feel like a million bucks.
Bucky’s eyes drift half-closed as fingers comb through his hair, while Bucky pets along Steve’s flank, while a guilty, smug little shiver goes through him at the thought of Steve watching him. Noticing him. And noticing that little something that was in Bucky that he’d tried to stamp down, that always had him yearning for his best guy.
“And god, did I want you,” Bucky breathes out, almost a whisper and looking the tiniest bit guilty. “Surprised you never called me out or anything. Sometimes it’s hard not to look at you like you’re the sun, even when we got company.”
He reaches up, cupping at Steve’s jaw, before smoothing down along his throat. Fingers splay along Steve’s collarbones, letting him feel the gun calluses and heat.
“I will. When I get back. Maybe take it slow and subtle, but it’s gonna be hard considering I’ve had it bad for you for years.” Bucky doesn’t say the quiet part; that he can’t afford to be too patient anymore if he’s basically got his foot in the grave. His hand drifts back up and he draws Steve’s head down into another kiss. “Thank you. From both of us.”
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"It's bizarre. I am jealous of myself," he says softly. The laugh that comes out of him is half honest and half miserable because he can't really decide if he's happy to have helped them or not. Honestly, he doesn't even know if what he said here will make the jump back to the 40's. He doesn't have any memories of Bucky and him making time on the front lines. Does that mean he's now changed time? Or does that mean that this all is somehow erased? Bucky forgetting it all the minute he goes back?
Steve doesn't even entertain the idea that he doesn't go back. Fate is not that kind to either of them and to hope for it to be different is selfish in a strange, almost perverse way. Steve in the past needs his Bucky. Just like Steve perpetually needs his Bucky, including now when the man is frozen in Wakanda, mind in shambles.
He closes his eyes for a moment and tries not to think about that. Tries not to think about the moment when he reaches for the man beneath him and finds nothing but air. For now he is here. For now, Steve can have this.
"When you get back," he finally says, "tell me to enjoy the moment. Even in the war... there is so much I am going to miss faster than I realize. Both of you. Just. Enjoy what you can."
He smiles a bit and kisses Bucky harder than before.
"But right now...you're mine to enjoy, pal. And I am gonna take my own advice for once."
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“What a world, huh? Jealous of yourself.” Bucky nuzzles against his cheek, draping his arms along Steve’s waist and holding him close, heart aching at the misery half sitting in Steve’s voice. The world’s done a number to this version of Steve, and Bucky’s got no clue how to fix it. What Bucky can do in that moment is make sure Steve doesn’t go for a second without a reminder that Bucky’s right there with him. His hands roam unhurriedly along Steve’s body, while he presses soft kisses down the hollow behind his ear down along the thrum of his pulse, before they come together once again in a fierce kiss like they’re gonna imprint this moment no matter what happens.
If there’s anything Bucky’s learned on the front, it’s that good things don’t last long. Whatever good you found, you held onto it as tight as you could, ‘cause it could get taken the next moment. And something in Bucky’s gut knows this can’t last forever; two times crashed together in a way they were never meant to be. After all, there’s the fight back home. Steve and the Commandos. His family. And death waiting for him before the War’s one…and what if him being taken out is the only thing that saves Steve or the boys?
The Steve back home is somehow still (mostly) an optimist. Now Bucky, he’s not a pessimist. Just realistic. And the bill’s gotta come due somehow, right?
“Maybe something we both need to hear. But… I will. Promise,” Bucky whispers. Especially when his own days are numbered. Bucky nudges Steve, and rolls them over, sheets rustling, perched with his thighs framing Steve’s lap as he leans down over him. “And until then, maybe you can show me all the fun stuff the serum can do.”
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"Oh, pal. You're in for a very educative night."
He is grinning then as he flips them over and lets his body blanket Bucky's entirely. Their cocks are flush and at the perfect location to thrust against one another. But there is no rush as Steve lets his body slide against Bucky's. No urgency and no desperation as there was before. Steve may have only this moment, after all. And while he might want to make the most of it, he doesn't want to just gorge himself without really savoring what he's got.
"I love you, Bucky," he says between one kiss and the next. He knows sooner rather than later he is going to lose this. He can almost taste the borrowed time slipping away. So he needs it to be clear. He needs to say it and feel it while he can.
Steve kisses Bucky softer, one more time.
"I love you so much. Now and forever."
And with that done, he smirks.
"Now. Let's see how well your serum can match with mine..."
[Timeskip]
When Bucky finally slips off into a blissed out sleep, it’s with arms wound around Steve and a delicious feeling of relaxation that he hasn’t felt since shipping out. Even better? There isn’t even a single nightmare. For the first time in ages, he actually, finally sleeps.
And then Bucky’s eyes flutter open. What he notices first is what’s missing: the heavy exhaustion set behind his eyes like it’s never gonna leave, or the dull headache that seems like a second shadow. He feels….refreshed? Bucky’s eyes slip closed again - just for a moment, like when you’re thinking of turning off and taking another ten - as he pats around next to him for Steve. Only to come up with nothing. Not even in a dip in the mattress or the heat left behind him. It’s like that Steve, older, wiser, sadder, worn out and so badly in need of someone to let him lean on them, never existed.
Bucky’s eyes open with all the reluctance of a fella knowing he doesn’t want to come back to Kansas. His eyebrows furrow as he stares up at the ceiling; cracked and unfamiliar, and sure as hell not what he’d been staring up at hours ago. Even the sheets feel weird; ‘course they would, because he’s dressed in his uniform minus the boots, like someone found him all sauced up and dumped him some shuteye wherever they could.
If it weren’t for the pleasant ache all over his body, you’d almost think it was all a dream. Bucky frowns up at the ceiling before he takes in a slow, measured breath like he’s gotta brace himself to face the real world, and finally turns his head to the familiar shape sitting nearby.
“Steve,” Bucky breathes out, as he looks him over. The differences are like night and day; here’s Steve looking fresh cut and clean - the very picture of America’s favorite Captain sure as hell didn’t have a beard or long hair - and without that dark shadow set in behind his eyes. “What happened?”
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Steve never heard the answer because he was already out of the room and running.
It took him longer than he would have liked to find Bucky and the officers who had carried him over to a nearby couch. Mostly because he hadn't thought until after he was out of the room to ask which bar specifically they'd been talking about. But once he found Bucky and the small crowd of officers and a bartender hovering over him, he took control. Bucky was asleep with no sign of injuries. His eyes weren't even moving behind his eyelids so it wasn't like he was simply asleep. Scared, Steve barked at someone to go bring a doctor to his room and then got a gurney to carry him up to a bed upstairs. The bartender didn't even ask them to pay for the room and looked at Bucky with such deep concern that Steve couldn't help but note it. Bucky must be a very good patron here, he thought to himself and stopped the train of thought right at that station.
The medic came and checked Bucky out but could come up with nothing to explain it. He agreed there was no wounds and that, perhaps, this was just exhaustion catching up with him. After Azzano there had been a great many battles and not much time between. The medic told Steve to just have someone watch over him and to call again if anything changed or he didn't awaken by morning. A few soldiers offered to perform the duty (as did the bartender which was just about when Steve thanked him and kicked him out completely) but this was Steve's job.
He'd lived his life by Bucky's side and in his pocket. None of that was changing now.
So he'd waited. He'd prayed and he'd watched and wondered if this how Bucky had felt during his bouts of pneumonia and sickness. He brushed the hair from Bucky's forehead and monitored his pulse. And he waited. Until, finally, he hears his name being spoken aloud.
"Buck," he breathes out in relief, moving his chair closer to the bed so he can look at his friend closer. He reaches for his hand and takes it in a tight grip. The next sound out of him is a light laugh, wet around the edges but not giving into that sentimentality. "Jesus, Buck. Was this payback for the time you needed to call a priest in '35? If so, swell, pal. Point made."
He reaches over for a pitcher and pours a small glass of water to hold out for him.
"You were unconscious at the bar. For hours," he finally explains. "What happened? Do you know?"
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Jesus, I’m a real piece of work. I’m back here with my best friend and this is how I’m feeling? Get it together, Barnes.
“Maybe I like keeping you on your toes,” Bucky says, even as he’s scrambling to figure out what happened. All he’s got is the faintest trace of incense lingering on him;the kind that seems exotic, faraway and slowly fading. Just for a moment, Bucky’s curls his hands into the comforter thrown over him, mostly so he doesn’t go doing something stupid like dragging Steve down into a fierce kiss. One thing to talk about it with that other Steve. One thing to press kiss after kiss to him like he’s never planning on stopping. Another thing to come face to face with his Steve who doesn’t got a clue. Bucky’s resolve wavers.
Then Steve’s grabbing his hand, and Bucky sucks in a sharp little gasp like he’s feeling his hand on him all over again. His fingers tangle with his and squeeze tight, holding Steve in a way he’s never let himself after the 107th’s rescued. People can overlook it after you get dragged out looking half dead. Just not any other time. Bucky gives him a squeeze, resting his hand over there’s. See? He’s not going anywhere.
His eyebrows shoot upwards all the same as he echoes;.“Hours? You kidding me?”
Bucky has to fight a little with the pillows -who’s bed is this, anyway? - until he can sit up. Reaching for the water, Bucky cradles it in his hands as he searches the room like it’ll give him a clue, then Steve’s face.
What happened is a version of you and I practically wore a bed down to scrap metal. Bucky thankfully doesn’t blurt out. “I just came here to have a couple drinks and that it’s. Been a long week and that last mission was pretty rough. Guess I must've been more beat than I thought.”
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"We couldn't wake you for love or money, pal. Tried salts, water, even hittin' you. Musta really been a long week to put you out like that." Steve makes no move to hide the suspicion from his voice but that is as far as he's willing to take it. As long as Bucky is hale and hearty, Steve figures his business should be his own.
For now at least.
He gets up from the chair and moves to perch himself on the bed beside Bucky's thigh. The mattress sinks more than he's used to considering he weighs so much more. It's still something he needs to adjust to. He taps on Bucky's leg to silently request he grant more space and then just leaves his hand on his knee.
"Scared the hell outta me, Buck," he admits as soft as though he's telling a secret. But then he laughs and brushes the sentimentality away. "I just get you back and then you go and pull the Snow White act? Almost made me haveta find some poor dame to kiss your ugly mug." He squeezes Bucky's knee just a bit more firmly than is friendly.
"Don't do it again, okay?"
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It’s not like Bucky knows what caused him and that other Steve’s times to crash together, or how he got back. But Bucky’s also not telling the story, and if there’s something he’s never been great at, it’s fibbing a big one to his best friend. Like passing out and not coming to for anything like a real Rumpelstiltskin nothing anyone should worry about it.
Still doesn’t mean Bucky’s not gonna cling to it anyway. Besides, it wasn’t like he died.
That’s still coming up, apparently, Bucky thinks, with a throat suddenly gone dry and takes a long sip even as Steve gets up and the mattress dips under his weight just like it did when the other Steve crouched onto the mattress before pushing Steve back. Bucky chokes a little on his drink, and covers it up by clearing his throat as he scoots a little so Steve’s got more space. But it’s the hand settling on his knee that almost gives Bucky up, because he can’t quite help that frozen second where his leg falls open just a little bit as if for Steve all over again.
Where things were familiar, comfortable, now Bucky can practically feel a shift between them. His thigh tenses under Steve’s squeeze, like a little shiver’s rolled through him, before Bucky knocks a shoulder into Steve’s.
“Sorry,” Bucky mutters. It’s not like he meant for any of this to happen. And the last thing he wants is for Steve to worry, and maybe trying to bring a smile is what digs Bucky’s grave a little deeper, because he has to open his big mouth without thinking; “Imagine if you couldn’t find any cute birds around. You’d have to do the honors.”
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The shiver that skates up from the fingertips on Bucky's tilted knee. The tension somehow moving from Bucky's thigh through his shoulder and into Steve's. The heat along his cheeks at the jest of a kiss. All of these are clues to help Steve understand what the Hell is going on here. What happened in the hours that had passed since he'd seen Bucky last? What had changed?
For a moment the bartender from downstairs and his odd concern floats through Steve's mind. Another thing he isn't entirely sure of the reason for. Although, maybe he is.
"I dunno if I'm ready to slum it that far," Steve aims to tease back. It falls flat from the complete lack of enthusiasm on delivery. His heart just isn't in it because it's instead clogging up his throat, beating its way to a heart attack. Steve's hand is still on Bucky's leg and not going anywhere. He's got a whole other hand that's free and burning with a need to touch something. Maybe the edge of that fake smile so he could rub it off. He settles instead on pressing it to Bucky's forehead like checking for a fever.
The doctor had already done that but there's no harm in checking again. Especially when it gives him an excuse to touch Bucky's face and the guy was too comatose to realize the redundancy of the gesture.
"Buck," his voice comes out soft and private. His hand falls to Bucky's neck and both give a reassuring squeeze. Static before a storm. Steve feels the atmosphere around them with the same charged potential. "Buck, you can talk to me. Something...Something happened, didn't it? You know you can trust me with it.
"I may be America's Captain but I'm your friend first. Always."
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Bucky rolls his eyes and lets his shoulders sag as he pretends like he’s putting a real effort here into dealing with Steve mother-henning now. He’s not running hot like Steve does. Actually, most days, it seems like he’s always cold, or his stomach gnawing even when he eats the full ration back in camp. But there’s nothing feverish waiting for Steve’s palm.
Bucky kind expects that to be it. His stomach flutters like someone tossed a fistful of butterflies there the next moment; Steve leans in closer, concerned, voice soft, and his hand settles along the nape of his neck and how did Bucky survive until today when his best friend’s looking at him like that? He sucks in a sharp, soft gasp.
At this point, Bucky’s kind of clutching at his glass like it’s his lifeline in the growing tension heavy in the air. Steve’s noticed it; the way that something’s off, that they aren’t quite fitting back into the slots they always have with each other. It’s like Bucky’s eyes have been opened, and now he can’t see things differently even if his life depended on it.
“‘Course I trust you. With my life,” Bucky sets the glass aside so he doesn’t end up spilling it, and he turns to look at Steve, hand curling along his forearm as he searches his face while he figures out which way this is gonna go. But something’s gotta give, and he’s not gonna turn tail. “I guess after that last mission, I’ve been doing some thinking. About the War. All this.” About us, Bucky thinks. “Does it feel like it’s becoming the Mission and only the mission?”
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Jesus. He needs to get a hold on himself. Bucky had been comatose just minutes ago. This was inappropriate at the best of times. Right now it's inexcusable.
'I've been doing some thinking...,' Bucky says. Steve flinches in the second it takes from that sentence to the next. Nothing good usually came after those words, he'd heard from others. But then Bucky is talking about the War and isn't that a strange thing to find war a less dangerous topic than anything else? Bucky goes on, talking about the Mission. Steve frowns but that's all that moves so Bucky's hand doesn't dislodge and he doesn't draw attention to his own which are still planted.
"I...uh," he says a few seconds before he actually knows what he's thinking. This is feeling like it's the mission and only the mission? Well...
"I mean...yeah? Yes?" Confusion is plain on his face, like Bucky had asked if the Dodgers were better than the Yankees. "What else would there be if not the Mission, Buck? We're at war and it's not like I thought the serum came with a vacation..."
Even now he knows bone-deep how complete that trade off was, too. Either way, walking into that chamber he knew he was going to be giving up his life; either he died and lost it that way or he didn't and it no longer belonged to him. But it makes sense that Bucky might question that truth. He never made that sacrifice. His life was leased to the army, not sold.
It made sense that he'd be thinking about what comes next. What exists beyond the blood and dirt. Bucky still has those options open.
He shifts back and shrugs. "But... I mean, yeah. I can see where you might be gettin' restless. Need a break or something..."
Steve's stomach falls into his feet, terror like ice down his spine as he thinks he knows where this is going.
"Is...uh. Is that what you need? Some time off? 'Cause I can ask and see if they can't camp you up somewhere to rest up. Lord knows you and the guys all deserve it..."
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It’s there and gone, but Bucky catches the actual wince across Steve’s face. Like…like maybe he already knows where Bucky’s going with this, and maybe that other Steve didn’t read his own time right. Maybe this Steve, his Steve, already subjects where ethos is going…and was hoping to avoid the subject if their friendship was gonna survive another day.
Bucky’s own stomach clenches with uneasiness. And for a second, Bucky even thinks of pulling it back, settling on something safer. But if not now, when? According to the future Steve, Bucky’s already a dead man walking. And maybe Bucky should also take that other Steve’s words to heart. Why live knowing his days are numbered and not have the guts to see where this even goes? Steve’s still touching him, a hand resting ont eh nape of his neck and splayed along his knee, with Bucky’s other hand over his.
Bucky’s jaw tightens, look firm like he’s bracing himself for a leap. Only…
Bucky stares at Steve for a second, startled, ‘cause that wasn’t exactly where Bucky had been going. Of course he’d like a break, any guy would. But it’s war. The War. And Bucky didn't take the first exit out when he had one, and how he's gonna even think about it when Steve's out here fighting?
“I mean, sure, who doesn’t? I just don’t think the brass is gonna be keen on one of their best sniper’s kicking their boots up,” Bucky says, doubtfully. Maybe this was too subtle. With a sigh, Bucky pulls Steve’s hand from his neck, but only so he can clasp both of Steve’s hands in his and look him in the eye like he’s trying to get Steve to see a glimmer of where he’s going without making Bucky spill his entire heart. He’s never been good at that. “I just meant…. I don’t know, the last couple of days got me thinking. About how maybe a guy should appreciate the good moments, while he’s got it.”
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Here's what he has: Bucky has been thinking about appreciating the good moments. He's bringing up that fact after being in what was essentially a short coma at a bar. There's a bartender that probably means nothing but who Steve just can't dismiss. And there is this tension, pregnant and heavy around them which he can't figure out the origin of.
All of that has to be related somehow but how? And why? And what the Hell happened to his friend?
Steve finally shifts and it's pretty much just an adjustment of posture. His hands stay where they are. He can't discount the idea that something odd might happen again and, if it does, he needs Bucky within reach.
"Buck," he says softly, confused. "Is this... Are you..."
He rearranges the clues and thinks he might have a new image bubbling up from the smoke in his crystal ball: Bucky being knocked out, the bartender being very concerned and eager to assist, Bucky talking about enjoying good moments while he can, needing breaks...
Steve swallows hard.
"Did...did you take something? In the bar?"
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Literally forgot I didn't reply and then went to the thread to see if I'd missed yours.
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Sap.
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