brooklyn_boy | For FrozenAssets

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...

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Steve melts against his touch like a dream come true. Bucky’s smiling as he presses into the kiss, savoring the taste of Steve’s mouth and the coarse hair against his palms as he cups Steve’s jaw. It’s when they part (but just barely), that Bucky husks out a low laugh against Steve’s lips.

“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.”

Steve leans up and kisses Bucky hard on the lips. His hand finds the back of Bucky's neck and holds it close as drinks the other man in for all he is worth. When he pulls back, he's smiling easy and soft, comfortable with the lapful of Bucky he has. Steve's hands fall to his hips and he sits up to get them both as close as possible.

"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..."

And Steve shows him just what the serums can do. Really puts them both through their paces and by the time the sun’s just started to peek out through the heavy mist still twining around the buildings outside, the bed has worn a rough groove through the old paint, and they’re plastered against each other in a sated, sweaty mess.

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?”

The message that had gotten to him was 'Sergeant Barnes was found at the bar and is unconscious and not waking up'. Well, no. The message hadn't actually come to him. It had come to the senior officer meeting he was in via a private named Jameson. Jameson hadn't even looked at Steve as he delivered it, matter-of-fact and all business. No one in the room even moved in their seat as someone asked calmly if he had received some sort of head injury.

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?"

Nothing could’ve prepared Bucky for the sharp stab of disappointment that goes through him when he realizes he’s back in his time, and not waking up tangled up with that other Steve from a far future. Shame flushes hot in a brief, curious flicker across Bucky’s face, but for all this - his - Steve knows, it’s only ‘cause he’s the reason Steve’s hovering over him looking as worried as Bucky used to when he thought he’d have to call that priest.

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.”

Steve knows Bucky well enough that he doesn't believe that story for a second. There's something stilted and almost tentative about the way he's carrying himself. And even the way he holds Steve's hand for that short squeeze? It feels different than just a few hours before. Nothing Steve can put his finger on. It's just the vague feeling one gets around something that should be familiar and is just a little bit off; like a sock where the heel is off-center. Steve pushes it aside for the moment though.

"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?"

“Well...I mean, it’s been mission after mission. HYDRA doesn’t rest, so why should we?” Bucky doesn’t notice that he’s turning the glass in restless circles in his hands as he pretends like he’s scoping the place out… and definitely not avoiding Steve’s eyes. It’s pretty damn clear that they both aren’t buying what he’s selling here.

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.”

Somehow, with barely any words and barely any touches, the room's energy shifts hard enough to make Steve's ears pop. Just like before, it's nothing that he can identify specifically. All he can fall back on is the sensations in his own body:

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."

“You’d probably take any poor sap’s teeth out anyway,” Bucky retorts, though it’s kind of like he’s fumbled in a dance and trying to catch up. It’s like seeing the ghostly outline of two Steve’s here, and even for a second, having the line between them blur. Steve’s hand is firm and resting on his knee, and it’d only be an easy shift for it to slide elsewhere like it had hours ago with that other Steve. Then Steve’s leaning in, palm pressed to his forehead like Bucky’s running a fever; like Bucky used to for Steve, only now he’s the one who can’t get sick anymore.

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?”

Bucky's sudden inhale takes half the air out of Steve's lungs with it. He can imagine, for a second, the sound in another context but with his hands still against the other's skin. Steve hates himself for the sudden and vivid fantasy. The atmosphere in the room and the weight of some unspoken pressure here just brought it up without him even aware it was coming. It's an effort to dismiss it, especially with how tense Bucky is and how he speaks so soft. How that hand goes around his arm and the heat from it might as well be a brand.

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..."

“I know, War’s not all gonna be fun and games,” Bucky sighs. “It’s just….” and he spreads his hands for a moment, a little helpless at first to describe what he’s feeling here and he might as well indicate well…everything here.

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.”

Steve is still for a long moment once Bucky has finished speaking. He knows acutely that he is being presented with clues to what is really bothering Bucky, but none of them seem to fit. He's got jigsaw pieces pushed up next to building blocks and then some connect-the-dot pages for fun and all of them are supposed to make some bigger, grander picture. Steve can't see it. He can't even figure out the angle he's supposed to be using.

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?"

Bucky couldn’t possibly look more stunned then. Sure, he was trying to fumble them towards the subject he’d never have gotten the guts for before his time collided with the other Steve’s. Sure, he was trying not to scare Steve off too. But come on! Steve’s this blind? It’s like that one time that cute doll - Eliza, the grocer’s daughter down the street - had been moon-eyeing over Steve for weeks on end, even tried to ask him out (sorta) and the entire thing had flown right over Steve’s head. One of the few girls to have a thing for Steve, and he’d missed out.

Honestly, it’d been kinda painful.

Now Bucky’s feeling a little like Eliza. He squeezes Steve’s hand, emphatically, as he shakes his head. “What, no! No, nothing different than when we get the night off,” And just in case, Bucky tacks on. “I just have my usual. Couple shots of whiskey. That’s all.”

Bucky looks down at Steve’s hands gripped in his, wondering how the hell he’s gonna get this point across to Steve. The other Steve just…got it. His own Steve’s so oblivious that Bucky’s wondering if maybe the other Steve read the past one wrong. Or something. Look, Bucky likes fantasy and science-fiction but he’s no experiment in time travel stuff.

Bucky dares a glance up at Steve to see him looking at him with concern. Like he's trying to be there for him like any best friend should, but he’s not sure what’s going on or how to help.

“What I meant - “ And Bucky stalls about, ‘cause now he’s afraid Steve’s not gonna quite get it if he works it out. So instead, Bucky’s hand twists in Steve’s shirt as he tugs him towards him and gasps out, “Please, please don’t hate me for this -”

Their lips crash together the next second in a fierce, hard kiss that Bucky narrowly avoids clicking their teeth on.

Just recently Steve had been sitting with Peggy over tea and just talking about their lives. It was a nice, warm memory amidst the battles and pain. The two of them sharing childhood anecdotes and teasing each other about some of their stranger moments. And in the middle of it all had been Bucky. Not in person, but definitely in spirit. He was centered in almost every story Steve told and every memory that made him smile. The night wore on and Steve hadn't even realized how much he'd been talking until he finally glanced over at Peggy and saw it.

She knew.

Steve could see from the patient, fond, almost pitying expression on her face that she knew now. And it was a miracle she wasn't disgusted or running from him for it. If anything she seemed almost charmed. But still, the fact that his heart was so exposed that he could just bare it without even meaning to?

Well. That wasn't actually new information, really. But it did underline how lax he'd become with hiding it. Something he couldn't afford out here if he wanted them to stay together. Something he couldn't afford full stop if he wanted to keep Bucky in his life.

Or so he thought.

Steve shoves Bucky back a few seconds into the kiss. It's instinctual, his eyes darting around the locked and private room as though someone was hiding in the curtain. Even when he's sure they're safe and alone, he looks almost horrified for a second. Like his most private, desperate dream had somehow clawed its way into reality just to expose him. Just to push Bucky away from him. But the horror fades away quickly since the only one doing any pushing here was him.

And, Jesus Christ. Bucky had kissed him.

Steve stares at his friend, stunned now more than anything else. His lips are warm and tingling from the hard kiss they'd just received. It had been short but Steve was replaying every second of it in his head. Bucky asking for Steve not to hate him. The way he got tugged in close. The feel of his best friend's body so near to his own, lips pressed to his and gently shifting. He'd dreamed of a moment like that. Wanted it for longer than he could even remember. And it had happened. It had really happened.

And Steve had stopped it. Which... yeah. Okay. That was a bad idea. Steve could worry about what this means or why it's happening later on. Right now though...

"Bucky... Buck," he says in a hoarse voice. "I could never hate you. Hear me?"

Steve's a lot less confident than Bucky or his future self had been. He uses his grip on Bucky's shoulders to pull him forward and almost tentatively shifts his head to press a peck to the corner of the other's mouth. Even that alone makes his body light up like a Christmas tree and his cheeks go pink.

"Never. And definitely not for this..."

Steve blushes all the more as he leans back in to try a more firm, passionate kiss like Bucky did. This time however teeth can't be spared and he lets out a soft curse before trying again with a bit more care.

Steve’s lips are soft; unlike the future Steve, there’s no sting of a coarse beard, or an answering groan as they part in a shocked gasp. It’s clear in an instant; Steve’s not expecting his best friend to plant one on him, and he’s not kissing him back in those next couple seconds. Then hands settle on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky’s heart runs ice-cold and his mouth goes dry when Steve shoves him back. It’s a little rough, mostly because he took Steve by surprise and he’s still got strength he never had before, and Bucky has to catch himself on the headboard quick.

God, how could he be so stupid? To assume this Steve might feel the same? If the other Steve didn’t remember them becoming a thing back in the War, then it must’ve never happened, or maybe time travel’s a lot like roads that are similar but run alongside each other.

Now they stare at each other, Steve’s eyes wide as saucers and looking fucking horrified Bucky drops his head, gut twisting, and looks away as his throat works on a hard swallow as his mind races on what he should say. What can he say to salvage this? He’s ruined their friendship. Probably ruined the squad, if Steve starts second-guessing himself and doesn’t trust him to have his back right.

“I-” Bucky starts, then falls short. He doesn’t got a clue what to say. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. I know you’re not like that”

Even if Steve’s telling him he could never hate him, Bucky can’t get that Steve’s look out of his head or how quick he pushed him back. Maybe they’ll work together but how can they be okay after this? Bucky’s tense under Steve’s grip, and it’s only when he feels Steve pulling him towards him that he looks up, just in time to see Steve press in closer just to land a soft peck - the kind when you were just starting out, playing it safe - to the corner of Bucky’s lips.

Bucky gapes, thrown. “You’re not disgusted-?”

It’s as far as Bucky gets, because Steve’s leaning in, capturing his lips with a faint click of teeth that Bucky both winces and laughs with sheer relief into, while as he drags Steve in all the way closer against him with a low, wanting, desperate sound. Whatever’s going through Steve’s head, it can wait. Bucky’s almost too afraid to dig closer.

Even living in each other's pockets, Steve doesn't know everything about Bucky, clearly. He hadn't known the man wanted to kiss him, first of all. And he also had no idea he could make noises like the one he just did. That deep, keening sound that sent Steve's blood into his lap and responding with one of his own. It is softer and almost surprised. Steve doesn't know where it even came from but it comes up again as he shifts one hand to the back of Bucky's head, carding through the short hairs.

He's touched them before. He and Bucky would give each other haircuts when they lived together and noticed one of them needed it. Steve knows the feeling of the other's hair as well as he does his own. But touching it like this feels new and almost erotic. Steve's blunt nails scratch at Bucky's scalp as his hand curls a bit and straightens again. He shivers as though he were the one feeling it.

Steve breaks the kiss for a second just to breathe, eyes blinking open and drinking his friend's features in at this new, intimate distance. They're close enough that even just shifting his head has their noses bumping. The sensation brings a smile to his face and Steve continues to do it intentionally, now. Nuzzling like a puppy between short pecks.

"I'm not disgusted," he says needlessly, smile growing. "Jesus. I figured if you'd ever...you know. Known... That would be the last nail in the coffin for whatever kept you with me."

He strokes the fingers of his free hand along Bucky's jawline, up to his temple and then down again. Steve hasn't stopped smiling yet. His face almost hurts with it.

"But, seriously? You... me?! You can have anyone. You practically did back in Brooklyn. I know the new body and all helps, but... You'd seriously want this with me?"

The groan squeezes out at the gorgeous, low, startled little sound Steve makes; at the kiss itself or the fact Bucky’s the one kissing him back, but Bucky’s not about to cut it short to find out. Nothing seems to matter when he’s got his Steve pressing into the kiss, or sliding fingers into his hair while Bucky clutches wrinkles into Steve’s uniform.

Bucky’s grip smooths out the next seconds, hands splayed flat over Steve’s chest as he tastes Steve’s mouth like it’s new all over again, and leans in closer. Arousal flickers down in a hot path down past his belly, as blunt nails drag against Bucky’s scalp, Bucky’s breathing thick and uneven by the time they part. Bucky opens his eyes, their noses grazing against each other as Bucky takes Steve in; the gorgeous flush of pink to kiss-teased lips, the way his hair’s a little ruffled and the dazed little smile on his best friend leans in. Bucky’s smiling, relieved, thrilled, heart fluttering as they curl towards each other, nuzzling against each other’s lips between short, teasing kisses.

“I guess I was too afraid to say anything until now. Not until all this,” Bucky sighs. It had taken the War and then meeting the Future Steve to give Bucky some courage. Bucky looks down at where he’s toying with one of the clasps on Steve’s jacket, but leaves it at that: this is already a big leap, and Bucky’s sure as hell not about to scare Steve off by going too far, too fast. Whatever Steve wants, at the speed he wants, as far as he wants. Whatever that looks like, Bucky knows he’ll be thrilled with anything. He’s wanted Steve Rogers for so long that he’s happy for anything. “You felt the same? Really?”

What about Peggy, Bucky almost asks. He doesn’t hate himself that much, so he keeps his mouth shut. Whatever this is, even if it’s short or a one time kinda thing, Bucky’ll take it.

He looks back up, cupping along the angle of Steve’s jaw and tilts Steve’s face into a slow, thorough, deep kiss before framing Steve’s face in his hands and looking him dead in the eye, utterly serious. ‘Cause Steve has to know -

“It’s not ‘cause of the serum. Or all this - “ the new body, the power. Never has been. Bucky continues. “-I’ve wanted you long before anyone dreamed up Project Rebirth. All those birds who turned you down didn’t know what they were missing or they were blind. “

Steve blushes a rosy red, head ducking like he can make himself small again, now. He grins up at Bucky through his lashes before looking away again with a fond eye roll. "You're the blind one if you looked at my scrawny body and wanted anything other than to give me a sandwich."

But Bucky's words hit him deep. After the serum it's been like he possessed someone else. His body, healthier, stronger, and bigger than before is not his own as much as it is. People looking at him now don't register as people looking at him. Captain America is a force of his own and Steve Rogers died somewhere in Jersey. To everyone except for a small few, it seems.

One of the main people being Bucky.

With the other man's hands on his face, Steve covers them with his own and returns that deep kiss from before. He's new at this but a fast learner. He even manages to nip a bit at Bucky's lower lip before pulling away. The blush is still all over his cheeks but Steve's gaze is less embarrassed than heated now. Heated and oh so terribly in love.

"I wanted you for so long, Buck. I couldn't risk losing you by saying anything... But yeah. I felt the same. Probably since I started feeling anything for anyone... It was always you..."

“Hey, don’t go talking like that, you were always a looker to me,” Bucky scoffs. Here’s the Steve Rogers that people just aren’t gonna see out there. Well... not unless you were Peggy, ‘cause depending on the day, Steve either looks like he might trip on his own feet or somehow finds how to be smooth as butter with her. For a second, Bucky has to wonder at how Peggy fits in with all this. The selfish part of him that knows his days are numbered? Isn’t so sure about playing nice anymore.

Whatever happens, he doesn’t even want to think that far ahead. Bucky finds himself grinning back, feeling a little like that guy back in New York and not the guy who can take a life these days without even batting an eye. His heart flutters, light as a feather for once, when Steve covers his hands with his and presses in for a deeper, bolder kiss; maybe not a lot of practice but he’s quick to learn and Bucky’s there to help show him, slowly deepening the kiss and answering the delicious nip with a swipe of his tongue along Steve’s lower lip.

Just a tease, but not going in too heavy. Bucky can be a regular gentleman, just watch him.

It’s just a little tough when Steve’s looking at him like that. The guy looks like a real dish. Bucky’s hands rest on Steve’s shoulder as he scoots closer, so they aren’t having to lean over his bunched up legs. Their thighs press warm and firm against each other.

“Look at us, a regular pair of clowns,” Bucky has to laugh. Here they are, after years of dancing around each other in silence. He sobers though, because; “I don’t know where this takes us. But I’m along for wherever the ride goes, pal. Got it?”

Steve is quiet for the moment as he thinks over what Bucky said. It's a loaded offer and Steve isn't sure if he should bat it away to deal with some other time or curl around it like the grenade it is. Either way, he feels suddenly exposed, even in the room alone. Steve leans in and pecks Bucky soft on the lips before holding up a finger to ask him to wait just a second. He has to make sure he is protecting his friend. His love, now, who is offering him so much more than Steve ever hoped he could have.

He goes to the door and opens it just a crack to let the soldiers nearby know that Sergeant Barnes woke up and that Steve's going to watch over him for the rest of the night. They can go tell the brass but no one is to disturb them. He even uses his Captain America voice to make sure the point gets across. Sergeant Barnes needs to rest and recover and Steve has it under control.

When he closes the door, he locks it for good measure. Steve turns it so softly that the 'click' is barely audible even to him.

Steve is still thinking as he shrugs off his coat and kicks off his shoes. He's not bold enough to lose the pants or shirt so he settles back into the space he'd had before still mostly dressed. What he's lost though lets the warmth of Bucky seep into his skin like the hot water bottles Sarah used to keep Steve alive over the winter. He cups Bucky's jaw and exhales a soft sigh.

"This could take you to a blue ticket," Steve says honestly. Neither of them are going to pretend that Captain America would get dismissed even if he was caught blowing half the 107th. The only one in danger would be the expendable ones. The ones not on posters or in comic books, covered in stars and stripes.

"I'm... I'm not sayin' that to push you off. Buck, you gotta know that I want this wherever the ride goes, too. But I just... I wanna know you're really sure about this. It could wreck your life if people found out..."

Bucky finds himself holding his breath as Steve mulls it over. It’s an offer that can be anything, honestly. However Steve wants this to go. Hell. Bucky’ll even be just peachy-keen sitting here with him, stealing the minutes that Captain America normally can’t spare.; Steve didn’t run for the hills after that kiss. He’ll take it.

His shoulders slump a little with relief when Steve leans in and plants a soft peck on the lips in answer. Wordlessly, Bucky nods. Steve’s not leaving, he just needs a minute to…deal with the GIs outside? Bucky’s teeth sink into his lip, worry flitting across his face. Jesus, how loud were they talking? What if the fellas heard? Bucky stares at the broad span of Steve’s back blocking his view, but Steve’s actually making use of his bulk now to block the guys from staring into the room.

The worry fades just a little when Steve locks the door and turns back to the bed. It fades even further, diving into relief when Steve decides he’d really like to make himself comfy for the night; shoes kicked off and coat left on a chair. Bucky kicks the sheets off him and makes room for Steve, sliding his legs under him and slinging his arm around his waist as Steve settles back next to him with a creak of bed springs that Bucky’s gonna pray aren’t going through the walls.

Bucky sucks his head and sighs. “Yeah, I know. No way they’d give you one, but me on the other hand…”

Like Captain America was gonna get caught in funny business, and if he was, no way they’d make a show or punish him. But anyone else? No way Bucky wouldn’t get a blue ticket and an dishonorable discharge.

Grey eyes find Steve’s as he looks up at him, while Bucky’s hand curls over Steve’s, palm pressed to the line of knuckles as he gives his hand a squeeze and bumps his shoulder into his side as he lowers his voice even more, just in case. “I know, this stupid, it’s dangerous. But I told you, I’ve been thinking things over lately,” and it’s not like he’s gonna make it past the war, so….

(Bucky keeps his trap shut on that one.)

He goes on. “I’m damn sure. If not now, when? Watching more moments passing us by?”

Steve's eyes go hard for a second and he pulls his hand free to point a finger in Bucky's face. "Let's get one thing straight here. This may be a whole lotta things. But stupid ain't one of them. Okay?"

He lets the seriousness of his expression fade into a smile and doesn't do anything with his finger except bop Bucky's nose. Which, a second later, he apologizes to with a soft kiss. Yeah, yeah. He's a sap. Sue him.

Steve settles into the bed more and almost curls around Bucky. It's still an odd position for him and he feels that strangeness acutely. Part of Steve is still the scrawny kid with heart problems. But the rest of him is getting used to what he has now and if it lets him hold all of Bucky in his arms? Yeah. It's alright by him. Steve kisses the corner of his mouth just because he can and sighs.

"Alright. Alright Mister Gonna-get-Wise-All-of-A-Sudden," he teases with a smile. "You're right. We need to make this time as good as we can. Even here. Even when it could be dangerous."

Steve strokes his fingertips along Bucky's cheek.

"I dunno what made you take the chance tonight, but I'm glad you did. There's precious little out here that's not ugly and full of pain.

"If I got lucky enough to have something this good fall into my lap, I'd be a fool to not hold onto it with both hands. And my ma didn't raise a fool..."

“No more talking about anything being stupid. God it,” Bucky grins, both hands up in an ‘i-surrender’. “Let’s just call it ‘risky’ as hell.”

But come on, it’s the walking picture of foolhardy here. Between two guys in the middle of a war? With Captain fucking America? If anyone’s gonna have the magnifying glass on them, it’s going to be Steve. Which means they gotta play it safe, not look like anything more outside of closed doors. Bucky rolls his eyes at the nose bop, even if half of him’s relieved that some of the silliness from back home still peeks out now and then, and leans in smiling into a soft press as Bucky captures Steve’s lips in a nice, slow kiss.

Bucky’s mouth quirks into a smile at the kiss along his mouth, heart light as a feather for the first time in years when Steve says he wants to play ball. Shifting his weight, Bucky turns on his side towards Steve as Steve practically curls around him like Bucky used to do for him back in the day. With his arm slung across Steve’s waist and his other curled up under his own head, Bucky looks between them like they’re away from the war, maybe camping at the Grand Canyon, sharing a secret in the late evening hours when no one’s really willing to sleep.

“No, she sure didn’t,” Bucky smiles softly, looking at Steve close up like he’s discovering new sides to his oldest, best friend. His Steve doesn’t have that look in his eyes like tragedy’s been burned into him yet. Maybe Bucky can do something to keep that from him longer. Bucky curls close to him, sliding his hand up so he can toy with the short hairs at the back.

His thumb strokes along the arches of his cheekbone, then travels down along the path carved by the angle of a strong jaw. “I just wish I’d said something earlier if this is how you felt. We got a lot of lost time to make up.”

"You're not the only one who coulda said something," Steve points out. He can't stand Bucky blaming himself for anything and never could. The guy hung the moon in Steve's eyes from the moment they'd met; he couldn't accept him putting himself down when Steve could put it on himself instead. "I'm supposed to be brave, right? Supposed to be the one who takes the risks and all. I coulda told you something. Coulda said how I felt. 'Specially when you got shipped out and that mighta been the last time I saw you..."

Steve's quiet for a moment, his own eyes drinking in Bucky from the new, close distance. Having full color vision for the first time has allowed him to really see the depths of Bucky's eyes. It's let him appreciate the hues of his hair and the gentle way his cheeks go ruddy with drink. Steve has no idea how he survived so many years without it now that he can take it for granted. And he'll never forget the first time he got to see it.

"I was so scared," he confesses quietly in the warm air between them. "And then... When they told me you were one of the men missing... When they said they were makin' your letter to send home to your ma and sisters..." His voice cracks on that last word and he has to close his eyes a moment just to rally back.

"I woulda done anything to save you. Anything. Far as I see it, all the months of being their performing monkey was worth it just so I could bust you outta that shithole and bring you back." His fingers trail over Bucky's jaw, go up to his hairline, migrate back down and over the pulse in his neck. Steve can't find enough places to touch. "Seeing you on that table was the best moment of my life just because I could hear you talkin' and knew you were alive. Got to see you in full color for the first time. Got to see you smiling up at me...hear my name in both ears from your lips."

Steve has held on about as long as he could. He holds Bucky around the back of his neck, thumb brushing small circles under his ear before pulling him in for a kiss. It's a desperate one. The one Steve would have pressed against his mouth right there in Azzano if he'd known it would be returned. His eyes are bright as he pulls away from that moment and back into the room with Bucky in his arms. He smiles weakly but with true joy behind it.

"I shoulda done that then."

Honestly, Bucky never even figured Steve was into guys. No matter what some fellas said when they saw what Steve looked like, Bucky was so sure that he wasn’t an invert. Especially when you saw how tongue-tied Steve got around girls. The guy just had bad luck with them, that’s all. But Bucky never figured in a million years that Steve was interested in guys, much less the one standing next to him. So he never asked. Was too afraid to.

“It’s on both of us,” Bucky concedes as a smirk flickers across his face, tilting his jaw up a little so Steve’s fingers can slip along the hollow of soft skin underneath. His eyes drift closed for a moment with a pleased rumble as Steve touches him like he can’t get enough. Hell, he can’t get enough, and what they’re doing isn’t even the heavy stuff. But he could practically live on this for the rest of his life and be thrilled. “Bet it would’ve been one helluva send-off party though.”

Bucky’s face softens a little at the edges as Steve’s voice cracks just a little, and his smile fades as Steve’s voice dips like he’s admitting something else Captain Rogers couldn’t let out in public: that he worried like the rest of them, that he got scared too. Bucky lets out a soft sigh, deep and slow, out as he listens and lets Steve have it all out, stroking along a broad arm, feeling thickly corded muscle and strong forearm, and those clever hands that are the same that Bucky tangles his fingers with and brings them up between the with an encouraging squeeze.

It comes out like Steve’s been holding it in and unable to breath a word. It’s gotta be a relief.

“But I’m not, and it’s thanks to you,” Bucky curls in closer, ankles tangled with each other. Whatever happens in the future, it’s not Steve’s fault. “I thought I was hallucinating back on the table, but seeing you was just…” Something tightens in Bucky’s throat, on the lump threatening there, and he breathes out through his nose to try and force it down, hide the waver in his voice like he tries to hide the waver in his hands on some days. He shakes his head. “...I keep coming back to that moment I realized it was you there coming to get me.”

Bucky’s hand tightens on Steve’s, arm winding around his shoulder as he breathes hard into the kiss, hard and a little desperate along the edges, as if all he wants just then is to think of Steve, and not that hell hole that feels like all of him didn’t get out from. Bucky’s eyes linger on Steve’s lip, leaning in to indulge himself in a tiny, soft nip. “I thought about it, you know. Back the night when you formed the Commandos. Almost had enough liquid courage in me, and then I saw you come in dressed to the nines.”

For FrozenAssets

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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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