brooklyn_boy

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...

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

From:

frozenassets

Bucky’s eyes lower to watch the tiny wrinkles caught on Steve’s shirt ease out as he smooths a splayed palm over them; they don’t usually get guys as big as Steve out here, and if any strong men got drafted, they lost a lot of it on the front lines where rations could get tight. So sometimes they got trouble with Steve’s measurements; close but not perfect, so the shirt looks like it’s clinging tight to Steve’s broad frame. Steve’s built like a Greek God because Rebirth made him that way. Bucky’s finally used to it. Of course he can admit he looks good.

But something soft, wistful, settles on Bucky’s face. If he’d been braver, he could have been exploring Steve before the war. “We’d have landed in hot water quick. I don’t know about you, but - “ Bucky’s gaze slides back up to Steve’s eyes, his grin wicked. “- I know I can’t keep it down.”

Just something to leave stuck in Steve’s head the rest of the week.

He trails his touch along his shoulder, imagining it bonier, narrow. Steve would be light and slender, but you’d better prepare yourself for a living hell if you figured him delicate or busted. Maybe his hands would have some charcoal dusting along the fingertips and knuckles; just enough to leave smears on their skin while they had Sinatra floating in the night and no real hurry to hop to anything.

It’s when Steve mentions after the War that something falters in Bucky’s face; it’s quick as a blink, a moment’s uncertainty, sadness, uneasiness all flickering across Bucky’s face before he covers it up. He’s not supposed to make it through the war.

Bucky’s also never gonna put that on Steve. Instead, he squeezes his shoulder and grins broadly up at Bucky. “Of course I want to. Just gotta play it smart, I don’t want to give my folks a heart attack. But we’ll find a nice place, thick walls, maybe a nice view of the ocean or something. Hell, I bet I can afford to take you to the Ritz at least once in my lifetime. It’ll be our first real date.”

From:

brooklyn_boy

The idea of being at the Ritz with Bucky is enough of a dream for Steve to miss whatever had flickered over his friend's face a second before. He'd already let out a heartfelt groan as Bucky implied that he was gonna be very vocal and appreciative in bed. His forehead rested against the other's shoulder as he reined his hormones in and fought back the urge to really find out if that was true or if Bucky was bluffing to get him going.

Not here. Not here where the place was crawling with soldiers and people already were looking at Bucky with a closer eye thanks to his episode in the bar. He could imagine one wrong noise coming out of either of them and Bucky on a boat back to New York, him alone and chastised in Europe. It wasn't fair, really. The other men were taking the local ladies out and to locked rooms just like this. It wasn't anyone's business what happened behind those doors. And yet they both knew acutely that it was.

Maybe it was for the best. Bucky had just come out of what looked like a brief coma. Sex probably was a bad idea after that just in general.

"The Ritz? You really think you'd be able to show me that good a time?" Steve tilts his head and grins up at Bucky with a megawatt smile. He's teasing; both of them probably will come out of this with more money than they've seen in their entire lives. The Ritz might be able to be a weekend getaway with the Captain America bonuses.

"I feel like I'd lay down on those nice sheets and someone'd come in and shoo us both out so we didn't muck 'em up. Middle of the night I still wouldn't believe they let two slobs like us in. Without having to come in through the kitchen? Hard to imagine..."

From:

frozenassets

Even if I’m not gonna make it out of the War, I can at least pretend I got a future, Bucky thinks. Judging from how the other Steve reacted to him, there’s no reason to think he’s wrong about it. And besides, Steve - no matter when he’s from - just isn’t a liar. Can’t even pull off a decent poker game. So Bucky smooths his hand up along Steve’s spine to tangle into the hair kept picture-perfect when he’s outside as Cap, mussing it up just because he can, and combs back through the strands like it’s a nice, lazy afternoon where they actually got all the time in the world.

There’s gotta be something on the horizon: come on, they found him sauced out or something and had to drag Steve from a meeting. It’s not even like Bucky knows what the hell happened, or how he came back to his own time. Only that they’re gonna have to deal with whatever comes from that. Just…maybe not tonight.

Bucky’s aims a look as pleased as the cat that caught the canary at the ceiling when Steve goes still against him. It’s all in that little shiver as Steve imagines what Bucky’s throwing out there. And frankly, he’s not quiet unless he’s trying really, really hard. But now you know, pal. Bucky doesn’t stop petting through Steve’s hair, even as he aims a smug grin down at him.

“I know I could, as long as you clean up nice,” Bucky says with a wink. Like Steve doesn’t look like a dish already.

Bucky squirms under him, gets nice and comfortable and curls an arm under his own head like a pillow, stretching his legs out so he can make some more room for Steve. “We can roll in fresh duds, you bat your pretty blues at everyone and I’ll turn up the charm if I gotta. But I don’t know, sneaking through the kitchen and grabbing a room someone hasn’t snagged for the night…It’s got potential. We’d have to be out quick, but I bet we’d leave it a whirlwind.”

From:

brooklyn_boy

Being Captain America was like having someone rewrite his entire life. Steve Rogers was a story more than a real person. A person to pity and perhaps, for some, admire as the origin of a hero. The fact that Steve Rogers lived on didn't seem to make it into many comics or newspapers. That small, sickly man had died in public perception so that Captain America could save the world. But with Bucky, he lived on. And was just as much of a hellraiser as he'd ever been.

Steve's eyes go dark as he imagines the two of them sneaking in and out of the Ritz. They'd never even dared such a risk before. If they'd been caught before they would have need to sell everything they owned to just pay half the bill. But now when there is no real danger, the idea seems right up their alley. Steve shifts up Bucky's body and lowers his voice as he speaks close enough to have their lips touching.

"I like the idea of that. Those fat cats would have never allowed us to even get in the lobby before. Why should they get our money now? You and I have been sneaky enough out here. We could sneak our way in with the staff. Get a nice suite, if we're gonna be goin' through the effort. Those are more secluded anyway." His grin widens, devilish.

"We can see how long it takes for a noise complaint."

Yeah. That new fact of Bucky's is gonna burn a hole in his imagination until he's able to explore it more. For the moment though, Steve satisfies himself with a hard kiss and a roaming hand skirting back up Bucky's side, against the skin. When he pulls back it's hardly even far enough to stop sharing air.

"Whirlwind. Yeah. I think you're the man with the plan this time..."

From:

frozenassets

He can’t even imagine Captain America doing anything sneaky. Not that guy. But the Steve Rogers he grew up with? Well, that might be another story. But it’s fun to pretend. Just like they used to when they’d lie there sprawled out in the summer heat, too hot to do much else, or sitting on the roof dangling their legs over the side and talking about what they’d do when Steve made it big one day. Bigger than Rockwell!

Bucky loops his arms right along Steve’s lower back like they’re slow dancing, Bucky’s fingers just teasing at the rise of Steve’s ass as he smiles up at Steve softer than he has in ages. Maybe they could even sneak in a little dancing somewhere else where the floorboards don’t creak. Steve’s gotta be more graceful after the serum, so maybe Bucky’s toes got a chance this time.

“The one with the best view of the city, of course. Penthouse even if we can score it,” Bucky whispers into the kiss, arching up under Steve as a broad hand skates up along his side, grinding more than he should up against Steve in a little tease of pleasure; not enough where Bucky’s gotta get worried about springing something on Steve, but enough to enjoy a good tease. “Maybe it’ll have thick walls for ritzy people who like their privacy. Think what we could’ve done with walls thicker than tissue.”

And if either of them had bit the bullet and said something earlier. Bucky hooks his thumbs in Steve’s belt, pulling him close and letting him feel the dig of leather into his lower back while Bucky satisfies himself (like he’s ever really gonna get tired - never!) with the taste of Steve’s mouth, the softness to his lips.

“Maybe I’d scope a bunch of places just as fancy out. We could break into them, have a room at every swanky place in town. Maybe even all the way from Brooklyn to Los Angeles.”

From:

brooklyn_boy

The grind makes sparks fly down Steve's spine, eyes fluttering shut as he rides the wave of pleasure it provides. Without thinking he is pressing down against Bucky as well, chasing the feeling. His mouth slots against the other's easily now from recent practice and it's the work of a second to be kissing him slow and deep. It's only when a moan bubbles into his throat that he breaks away and controls himself once more with a few breaths.

"Maybe," he says with a voice a bit more husky than it had been before. "We are thinking too much about this all. Nice rooms, sure, but the view is gonna be wasted when we are just taking in the sights from our bed."

He's not used to innuendo, really, and his cheeks go pink with the insinuation he made. Something tells him it will get easier with time and how often he is likely going to be doing it. Just a smirk and a look from Bucky has always been enough to get his blood pumping faster. Now when he knows the shape of his lips and the feel of his body beneath him it will be far harder to not want to indulge.

Thank God they already share a tent most of the time. No one should ask any questions about it then when they retreat for the night together and close the flaps up as tight as possible. Some privacy even in this Hell so he can hold Bucky close and promise all the things they'll do when back on American soil. That thought alone almost takes some of the weariness from Steve's bones.

"Ya know," he says softly, "Actually, I don't even care where we are. So long as I got my best guy beside me, It'll be the best place in the whole country."

From:

frozenassets

Steve’s hips pin against his in this delicious little circle that presses him into the bed, grinds his fly against his like he’s planning on tracing the line of it out. Bucky has to crush a low, thready groan against Steve’s mouth just to muffle it, clutching at Steve’s belt to drag him against him as they both chase a dangerous friction that could lead somewhere it really shouldn’t. At least not right now.

“Geez, Steve, and here everyone thinks you’re America’s Golden Boy,” Bucky’s eyes go darker, hungrier, cock giving a little lurch against his underwear. And because he can’t help himself, Bucky rocks upwards, gives himself one last grind up against Steve’s length hidden away in his uniform with a ragged gasp. “Keep talking like that and I’m gonna be in trouble.”

Just one more. You know. He’s good for now, really. It doesn’t stop Bucky, of course, from letting his hands roam along the rise of strong muscles and the narrow dip of Steve’s waist: Steve cuts such a sharp number in any uniform that it makes Bucky badly want to tear it off him and touch. Especially when Steve’s bringing up all easy-like how they’re not even gonna care about the room with all the fucking they’d be doing.

And now Bucky knows just how far the serum can go.

Pillowing his head with an arm curled underneath, Bucky tilts his face to look up at Steve over him, a soft look settling in the grey eyes that meet Steve’s. That’s gotta be the nicest thing anyone’s ever said to him. Steve means every single word.

Gently, Bucky grazes his knuckles along Steve’s jaw, ending in a caress that traces along his pulse down to his collarbones. “Yeah. I mean I was happy living in that shoebox of an apartment. Even when the draft kicked in or when we wouldn’t get more than a minute of hot water. Didn’t matter as long as it was with you.”