HUD: So this idea was borne from the Futurerama Fry meme where he's holding out a wad of cash and demanding his money be taken, and mixed with me listening to Centerfold on the way to work. I hope you enjoy, and sexual content ahoy!
When Bucky was a kid he lived in Brooklyn, borne and raised. He enjoyed his maths and sciences and art; he wasn't very good at art, but there was a kid smaller than the rest who was phenomenal. He could turn a blank sheet of paper into something magnificent with just a piece of charcoal. Bucky'd always admired from afar, not too sure how to tell another boy how amazing he thought he was.
Turns out that kid lived in his neighborhood, and they took the same subway home, too. Bucky still hadn't had the guts to talk, but he tried to keep his little friend safe. He'd seen some other kids messing around and teasing the little guy, and Bucky knew the fire in that kid's eyes would only answer in a beating. Luckily, Bucky was there for it.
It was an afternoon that promised rain, and Bucky was on his way home with a yawn. The weather had poisoned him since the morning, when he woke to clouds instead of sunlight. It didn't help that it was Friday, too, and he had absolutely nowhere to be 'til school on Monday again. Bucky walked by the alley between his Ma's favourite boutique and his favourite sweets shop. The sounds of muffled voices and a scuffle caught his attention, and when Bucky peeked into the alley, he felt bile raise in the back of his throat.
It was the little blond guy from his art class, standing toe-to-toe with middle schoolers a head plus taller, easy. He squared his jaw and shoulders, snapping back with obvious venom at whatever they'd said to him. Bucky swallowed and stepped into the alley just as the biggest of them took a swing at Bucky's classmate. Bucky sprinted.
"Hey!" He hollered, launching himself at the one attacking. He'd caught him off-guard and he stumbled back into one of his goons. Bucky stood in front the crouching boy, putting himself between him and the other three bullies. "How 'bout ya keep to yerself an' pick on someone yer own size!"
Bucky was told, even as he aged, that when he got heated or overly excited, the Brooklyn came out thick in his accent. He didn't recognize it then, but when Bucky thinks back on that day his own voice would've made him wince.
"That gonna be you, Barnes?" The taller sneered, and that's when Bucky recognized them from his gym class.
"Damn straight," Bucky snapped, holding his arms up. They all came at him at once, but Bucky held his ground and didn't move or flinch, even when a punch landed in his stomach or against his jaw. He didn't beat them, by any means, but he gave as good as he got and they eventually scampered off when a beat cop entered the picture.
"You kids go on home, now," the cop said as he hurried after the chortling middle schoolers, leaving Bucky alone with the boy he'd jumped in to protect. He cleared his throat and stepped away, giving space.
The blond looked up once Bucky was a foot or so away. His eyes were the brightest blue Bucky'd ever seen on a person, and they were filled with a fire Bucky knew would always be there.
"I don't need your help," the kid said, pushing himself up on shaky legs. Bucky couldn't help but grin.
"Had 'em on the ropes, then?" He teased, offering his hand to help. Those blue eyes swung from his hand to his face and narrowed slightly.
"What do you want?" The blond demanded instead of taking his hand. He leaned against the wall, and the way his breathing rattled made Bucky nervous that he'd broken something. "I don't got anything for you to steal."
Bucky laughed, the sound so abrupt that the scrawny kid flinched. "Steal? Nah, you've got me all wrong, pal. I was just goin' home; this is my usual way."
Those blue eyes knew Bucky was lying, but he'd do it again if it always made that little smirk of a smile follow it. When his offer to help went ignored again, Bucky just grabbed the other's arm and yanked him over. He threw the blond's arm around his shoulders and stooped to scoop up his discarded messenger bag. It was slow moving, mainly because the smaller of the two fought Bucky to walk by himself.
"I don't need your help," he hissed, trying to pull his arm free. Bucky just tightened his grip.
"My name's Bucky," he steamrolled. "What's yours?"
The blond stared at the side of Bucky's face for so long that Bucky swore he could feel a hole.
"Steve," he finally answered. Bucky grinned and bumped their hips together.
"Nice to meetcha, Steve. What block you live on?"
They became fast friends, nearly inseparable after that. Bucky and Steve stuck together all through middle and high school, getting into shenanigans too big for both of them or maybe only really too big for Steve, but Bucky had his back no matter what.
Bucky never did work up the courage to tell Stevie what he really thought of his art. Sure he commented when he noticed Steve sketching away and got him more supplied for his birthday and Christmas, but for all of Bucky's courage, it failed him where Steve was concerned. That was why he didn't tell his best friend he'd been accepted into a studying abroad program until two days before he left, when Bucky's mom called to invite Steve to his secret going away party. The betrayal in those eyes turned them from Bucky's favourite colour to something darker. He'd seen Steve upset before during their decade-long friendship, but never had he worn the mask of betrayal. It hurt Bucky, but he knew he didn't feel it nearly as acutely as sweet Stevie, the only person whose heart was bigger than his body ever could be.
Bucky'd stayed beside his best friend during sickness and health, and boy did Steve always give him a run for his money. Too many times had Bucky been beside him, afraid he'd never wake up from a fever-induced haze, and no one had ever seen him cry before Steve, even his own Ma, but when Bucky'd been sure Steve stopped breathing more than once Steve was the only one around who saw it.
And Bucky didn't have the courage to tell him he was leaving the country for five years.
He didn't see Steve at his party, didn't see him the next day, didn't even see him on the way to the airport. Bucky couldn't help but not be surprised - Steve had a little bit of a temper, but he always came around when Bucky needed him. He figured that his luck may have run out this time.
Bucky swung his duffle bag over his shoulder, whistling lightly under his breath. He leaned back against the wall, watching the other travelers grab their bags. He didn't mind waiting, preferring not to be caught in a group of strangers anyway.
He was back state-side, finally, after six long years. He'd finished his program quicker than most and stuck around for an extra semester for further certification. Bucky was glad he had, using the time to brush up on his applications for work. He had an interview for Stark Industries in the Research and Development division in a couple of days; Bucky planned to use his free days getting settled in and working on his pitch.
Bucky saw both of his suitcases on the luggage corral and pushed away from the wall to rescue them. Once he had all his worldly possessions in tow, he moved to the service counter to borrow the phone and dial a cab. While he waited he popped into the onsite bank and exchanged all his euros for dollars, rubbing the familiar bills between his fingers and feeling awfully nostalgic.
In the cab ride he tapped his knees and stared out the window, marveling at how New York hadn't changed a lick in his absence. He'd grown his hair long and didn't shave as regularly as he used to, but the city was still the same. Same old hotdog carts, same old newspaper stands, same old millions of people trying to get somewhere different all at the same time. It was comforting.
The cabbie dropped him off outside of his Ma's apartment building in Brooklyn; Bucky paid and sent him off with a wave before stuffing his hands in his jacket pocket and staring up at the building. Still the same brick, maybe a new trim on the lower level windows, but this was his childhood home and he wouldn't trade it for anything.
Bucky's Ma was still the same woman, her dark hair pulled back behind her neck and sporting new laugh lines. Bucky hugged her tightly, breathing in a smell he'd missed desperately. Winnifred accepted him with open arms and moved him directly to the kitchen where Bucky already smelled a home baked pie in the oven. They ate the entire thing between the two of them, catching up from the last time Bucky wrote a letter home. He wowed her to proud tears with his fluency in German and Russian, switching between them easily as he praised her cooking.
Bucky wandered the apartment as Winnie got ready for work, dropping his bags in his room. It remained untouched, exactly as it had been when he left six years prior. He drifted along the walls, grinning at silly posters and his own poor doodles. He looked at the cork board he'd used for pictures, his eyes taking in everything.
There were photos of him and his Ma and his sister (Winnie explained that she was living at university in her letters). Mostly, overwhelmingly, were all the pictures of him and Steve. From when they were so young to when they were teens, pictures of them together in a photo booth at Coney Island, pictures of Bucky holding the camera outstretched in his right hand with his left slung around Stevie's shoulders. Stevie, who always smiled with his entire body, his eyes shiny and his teeth glistening. Bucky even had a few of just Steve he'd taken with a disposable camera. His favourite was one of Steve leaning over a sketchbook propped open on his lap, a look of total concentration on his face. Bucky'd snuck it with the flash off, and took the camera to be developed without Steve. It had been at the end of the roll anyway, and Steve was too busy looking through the glossies to notice Bucky pocket one.
Bucky met Winnie in the living room as she left, kissing her cheek and wishing her a good night at the hospital. She gave him back his old spare key and left with instructions to not leave the stove on or the water running. Bucky agreed with a cheap grin and waved her on. He watched her car pull away from the curb before setting out himself, intent on seeing his best friend.
Bucky had written to Steve countless times, even more than his Ma, but never got an answer. In the six years he'd been gone, he'd only heard how Steve was doing through his Ma's letters. He'd been accepted into an art program in college, and he was doing well, still lived in Brooklyn; Bucky couldn't help but feel a little shitty.
He knew, had he told Steve sooner he was leaving, Steve probably wouldn't have acted so brashly and answered his letters. He still sent them, anyway, once a month. When he was starting to pack to come home, he'd written in his arrival time for his flight. He'd kind of hoped that Steve would meet him, but he knew he wouldn't. He also hadn't expected Steve to hold a six-year grudge either, but he wasn't too proud to admit being wrong regardless of how much it hurt.
Bucky started whistling the same tune from the airport, his hands shoved into his pockets. He kept his eyes forward, only sparing a glance at someone if they stepped too close. He waited at a light, shifting his weight. Steve - if he lived in the same apartment - was only a ten minute walk from Bucky's place. His letters weren't returned to him due to a change of address, so Bucky was feeling hopeful. He used the extra time to think of what he was going to say to Steve.
During his time away and Steve's radio silence, Bucky'd had some serious time to think. He realized why he hadn't wanted to tell Steve he was leaving, he realized why his unanswered letters hurt so much, he realized why he could never bring himself to just call him even long distance, and he'd realized why he wanted Steve to meet him at the airport. He'd been all Bucky could think about when he still lived in Brooklyn, they'd been inseparable, practically living out of each other's pockets, and when Bucky suddenly lost that, he couldn't ignore the obvious anymore (even if the obvious was Steve, he was still a good distraction from himself). He'd somehow, along the line, fallen hard for his scrappy, big-hearted best friend, and he'd do anything to keep it from Stevie and act like nothing changed if he didn't feel the same, but Bucky had no way of knowing. He'd changed while he was gone, after all, filling out more and more or less looking like a damn hobo (not then, he'd checked the mirror before he'd left) when he stepped into the general public. He'd learned to keep his head down overseas, where some of the locals weren't too keen on Americans, even students.
Bucky crossed the street and moved under the awning of an outdoor newsstand. He suddenly needed a cigarette, his nerves flaring up. He bought a pack of menthol and a lighter with his Russian ID card and stood off to the side, using the walls of the stand to block wind. Once he took a long drag and sighed, Bucky felt better. He stood and people watched for a moment, the little stick of joy dangling loosely from his fingers. When he drew another drag and went to stomp the embers into the sidewalk, he froze.
That couldn't be. Bucky had to be fucking dreaming. He was dreaming, still on the plane or still in Moscow or whatever because this couldn't be real life. Bucky finished stomping out the cigarette and stepped back into the newsstand, feeling his throat clench and his mouth dry.
Bucky'd seen his fair share of girlie mags, sex mags, whatever people called them these days. He knew about Hustler and Playboy and Playgirl because he wasn't a fucking prude and he'd flipped through all of them more than once. This, though; this one took the cake.
Bucky grabbed the magazine and hurried back to pay, ignoring the weird look the very male cashier gave him for buying a sex mag marketed towards women. He shoved the sealed magazine into his jacket and practically sprinted back to his Ma's apartment. He'd hardly been out for fifteen minutes before he was slamming the door behind him and locking himself in his bedroom like he'd done when he was a kid.
Shakily, he unwrapped the plastic and just stared. The cover was enough to catch his attention, but that still wasn't the confirmation he'd needed. Which was why he'd bought the magazine, for research. Obviously.
Bucky opened the cover to find the page he needed and flipped. There, right in the goddamn centre of the beat book, were the only eyes Bucky'd know better than his mother's.
Steve. Steve fucking Rogers, Steve scrawny-as-all-hell Rogers, stared back up at him in all his nude glory. And oh, Bucky wasn't the only one who'd filled out.
The Steve Bucky stared at wasn't the same Steve he'd left back in Brooklyn. He was obviously taller, probably taller than Bucky now, and ridiculously ripped. Like, he must just live in a gym because damn. His arms were huge and flexing, crossed behind his head. Steve's blue eyes were so bright and coy that Bucky involuntarily swallowed. He followed the lines of the face he knew so well down to a chiseled chest and abdomen of a stranger, except there was the faint trace of a scar Bucky knew his Stevie had above his hip from a kick a bully'd been lucky with, and this Steve had it, too. Bucky swallowed again.
If this was his Stevie (a big IF), he still had the same narrow waist that Bucky loved wrapping his arm around when they walked together, under the context of being maybe slightly drunk. With those broad shoulders, his waist seemed even more narrow, but Bucky didn't let his eyes linger for too long (dangerous territory). He moved his gaze back up to Steve's face, tracing the lines of those slightly pouted lips with his eyes. He knew that expression; that was the beginning of the Rogers' Infamous Puppy Eyes, and Bucky was ashamed of how much trouble that look always seemed to get him into. Still, six years later, it was very much the same thing.
Bucky jumped, feeling his face heat, when the phone went off in the living room. He cleared his throat sheepishly and shoved the magazine under his pillow. The call was Winnie, telling him not to wait up for her for dinner. He said he wouldn't and realized with a start that he'd been staring at that picture of Steve for several hours, totally lost in thought.
Bucky swallowed. He needed to see Steve.
It took time, and cunning, Bucky guessed, because it seemed almost like Steve was avoiding him. He rang the day after Day Zero, but Steve's mom picked up. He grinned, glad to hear the voice of his second mother, and spent the better half of an hour catching up with Sarah Rogers. Finally he ventured to ask about Steve, and had to listen to Sarah's exasperated sigh.
"Ya know, Bucky," Sarah said, her voice still so much comfort after six years of absence. "I haven't really seen him. Usually he's here all weekend, eating all my leftovers, but I haven't seen him since we had dinner on Wednesday." Bucky thanked her and listened to whatever else she said after, but he couldn't be bribed to remember what.
After that, Bucky took a cab to Steve's dorm, but Steve's roommate, a handsome black man with high cheekbones and a charming tiny gap in his front teeth, met him at the door.
Bucky blinked. Did Stevie upgrade to all hot friends, suddenly? His roommate wasn't nearly as ripped as Steve was now, but he definitely wasn't anyone to take lightly. "Uh."
The man smiled. "You must be Bucky."
Bucky felt himself fluster; Steve'd been talking about him? "Yeah, you?"
"Sam Wilson," Sam said, offering a handshake that was every bit as firm as Bucky'd been expecting. Bucky pumped his arm, feeling painfully inadequate. No way Stevie would look his way with this guy hanging around. "Mrs. Rogers called lookin' for Steve a few hours ago, said to tell him you're back and lookin' for him."
Oh. Sarah had talked about him, not Steve. Bucky tried to ignore his disappointment, hoping it didn't show. If it did, Sam was a good enough guy not to mention it.
"I'll come back another time, then," Bucky began, hooking a thumb over his shoulder. "I'll get outta your hair, Sam. Nice to meetcha - "
"Oh no, where you think you're gettin' off to?" Sam asked with a sly grin so broad Bucky could count his straight teeth. "Not everyday Steve's long-lost pal comes strolling in. I want details of the blackmail variety, man, and you're the lucky guy who's giving it to me."
Bucky felt a slow smile creep across his face. He could talk about Stevie, for hours if he had to, easier than he cared to admit. Sam looked like a good listener, so he let the other man lead him to the cramped kitchen of his and Steve's room and passed a beer over. Bucky started with the first time he'd spoken to Steve in that alley.
Bucky ended up spending more time with Sarah Rogers on the phone and Sam Wilson in person than he'd planned to. Every time he called, Sarah answered; anytime he knocked, Sam did. Neither could really explain where Steve was or why he wasn't ever there when Bucky made an appearance. Sam apologized after their third run-in, saying Steve'd be right back but, hours later, there was still no Steve and he and Bucky caught up on whatever show Sam was watching for the week. Bucky knew what it meant, but he shrugged off Sam's apology and Sarah's incredulous tone. If Steve really didn't want to see him, he'd need to actually tell him, himself. Preferably in person.
So Bucky could see if the Steve he'd stared at every night in that magazine really was his Stevie.
Bucky's interview with Stark Industries came and went, successfully, and he started the following Monday. It was such an amazing feeling that Bucky couldn't really contain himself, buying flowers for his Ma on the way home and hugged her so tight he picked her off the floor and swung her. She laughed and smiled with him, and Bucky took them both out to dinner that night to celebrate.
He was so happy and excited that he could burst, but there was a part of him that wanted to share it with Steve, and with the man actively avoiding him, his only avenues were Sam or Sarah.
Which is why, the next day, he didn't feel at all ashamed to drop in on Mrs. Rogers unannounced, with another bouquet of flowers and one of his Ma's homemade cakes. He knew it was one of Sarah's favourites, seeing as how their boys' friendship made them friends for life, as well. Bucky hoped Sarah and Winnie would still speak after Steve openly ostracized him and Bucky went with it, because he'd always support whatever Steve decided to do in his life.
Bucky made good on distracting Sarah from any sort of contact with her cell or the home phone to not alert Steve, something he neglected to do with Sam. She provided glasses of milk and they chatted for an hour before Bucky heard a key turn in the front door. He offered to wash their dishes as an excuse to not be the first thing Steve saw when he came in, taking his empty glass and their plates with cutlery to the sink as Sarah placed the cover back over Winnie's double chocolate angel food cake with strawberries reverently.
Bucky turned on the water and filled the sink partially, soaping up a sponge. He could hear Sarah's greeting, moving further away from the kitchen; he could hear Steve's deep voice answer her warmly. When he turned off the water and began his chore, he could make out words.
"I'm sorry I haven't been by, Momma," Steve said, shuffling around a wall over from Bucky. He could imagine the apologetic smile on his face, looking at the carpet or kicking his feet. Steve was always a firecracker, but never to Sarah Rogers. She made him act like a little boy again. "I've been busy, is all."
"Oh I know, honey," Sarah answered warmly. Bucky moved the plates over to be rinsed. "Don't be apologizing to me."
Bucky added the forks and glass to the rinse pile while Steve spoke: "You have someone over, Momma?"
Bucky snorted; took long enough. He certainly wasn't being subtle.
"In the kitchen," Sarah answered, and just like that Bucky could hear Steve walking through the dining room to round the wall of her kitchen. Curiosity must have killed that cat, Bucky mused, when all movement behind him stilled. Bucky finished rinsing everything and rested them on the rack to dry. He didn't turn around until he'd plucked a towel from the handle of the oven to dry his hands with. When he did, Bucky couldn't really fight the grin taking over his face.
Steve Rogers, his Stevie, really was the one from the magazine. Bucky'd been right about his height; Steve must have hit a growth spurt right after Bucky left the states, now a literal foot taller. That was certainly gonna take some getting used to. His shoulders were broad, his arms toned and pulling at the fabric of the navy sweater he wore that seemed almost a size too small. His jeans looked comfortable and had a few flecks of red and yellow paint across his left thigh, almost like he'd wiped his hands off but didn't remember the paint being there. His hair was tousled from the wind outside, and his eyes were still Bucky's favourite shade of blue. Even with the disbelief and betrayal shining in them, Bucky still loved Steve's eyes.
"Hey, Stevie," Bucky greeted, tossing the towel back where he'd found it. "I thought you were smaller."
Bucky warmed at the flicker of humour his teasing brought to Steve's eyes, but it was gone as soon as it came and Bucky felt less whole without it. Steve still hadn't said anything when Sarah came up behind him.
"Look who it is, Steve!" She cooed, wrapped a thin arm around one of her son's larger ones. "I'm so glad to have both of my boys together again. It's been so quiet without you around, Bucky."
Bucky's grin turned sheepish. "Sorry, ma'am."
Sarah tutted and laid the side of her cheek on the highest point on Steve she could reach - his bicep - and smiled fondly. "You're back, now."
That was that.
Sarah patted Steve's arm and pulled his cheek down when he looked at her, pressing her lips to his jaw. "I'm going to meet Winnie for our girl's night. You two should catch up; I'll be back in a few hours."
Steve murmured well wishes to her while Bucky waved; she waved back as she brought Bucky her now empty glass of milk, grabbed her coat, and left. The only sound was the click of the lock as tumblers fell into place. Then, silence.
Long, deafening, silence.
Bucky was content to lean against the counter, soaking in the new sight of his friend. Steve, for all of his new size, was still the same-old little shit, and was the first to cave.
"Guess I should have known I couldn't avoid you forever," he said with a sigh, running a large hand through his blond hair, further tousling it.
"Guess I was right about you avoiding me," Bucky quipped, earning him a lazy glare from Steve. "Any reason why?"
Steve's arm fell and crossed with the other over his chest. "If I've got to explain, then there's really nothing left."
The finality in Steve's tone cut Bucky to the bone, like Steve had long given up on their friendship. Bucky shifted his weight and shoved his hands into his jean pockets. "Stevie, I know what I did was wrong, but I wrote you every month and I've been trying to see you since I touched down and I can't seem to catch you."
"That why you're here, using my mom?" Steve cut in. Bucky shook his head.
"Don't blame her, she didn't know; I just wanted to talk to you," Bucky answered. Steve's nostrils flared as he drew a deep breath through his nose. "Will you talk to me?"
There was a moment where Bucky thought he'd get through, an emotion flashed across Steve's face that was so familiar that Bucky'd felt like he'd finally come home, but it must have been a trick of the light, because Steve's expression seemed to close off even more and Bucky swallowed the bitter taste of defeat.
"I can't," Steve said, sounding as sad as Bucky felt. Bucky pressed his lips in a thin line and pushed off Sarah's counter with a nod. Steve didn't want to talk? Sure, he could do that; maybe he'd finally be able to respect Steve's wishes and feelings and not butcher them again. He'd go along with whatever Steve wanted.
"Sure thing, pal," Bucky replied, trying and failing to keep his grin lighthearted and the pain from his eyes. He knew the moment that Steve's resolve crumbled right before his eyes, but he'd already made his decision and Bucky wasn't going to let him go back on his word. He stood side-by-side by his best friend for the first time in six years and probably the last; his forehead came to Steve's shoulder. Bucky clapped a friendly hand on his shoulder and nodded again. "You look good, man. Guess I'll see you around." Bucky squeezed Steve's shoulder tight for just a second, enjoying and hating how warm Steve was beneath his palm (part of him was still frozen through with Russian winters and hate) before letting his hand fall back into his pocket.
Steve didn't answer, and Bucky didn't look back. He collected his coat from the hanger by the door and let himself out.
Bucky stopped by the corner store next to his Ma's apartment before going upstairs. He'd gone through the newest pack he'd bought during his bait-and-catch with Steve, smoking the last before he'd gone up to see Sarah what felt like a lifetime ago. Bucky opened the window to the fire escape and climbed out, leaning against the railing.
Bucky watched the smoke drift around him as he puffed, silently, watching the movement on the streets below. He could see down the entire block and even a part of the nearby park. He lazed, remembering the times he and Steve would sit there, him smoking and Steve sketching.
Bucky sighed. Steve.
Bucky was fully prepared for a fight, an argument, maybe even Steve would take a swing at him and level him with his new strength, but the continued shut out wasn't on that list. He'd hoped that seeing his best friend would remind him that Bucky was, in fact, still his best friend, but whatever Steve had built himself up believing why Bucky hadn't told him he was leaving must have been traumatic.
Bucky wanted to explain what he'd learned, why he didn't tell Steve he was going, but with that cold shoulder, Bucky didn't think he'd ever get another chance. It was the most heart wrenching thing Bucky had to deal with in a really long time, second only to when he thought Steve had died. Now, Steve looked like he could get hit by a tank and walk away without a scratch, whole and breathing without a hitch, and Bucky couldn't be happier. Really.
He'd rather Steve be alive than talking to him, if the choice came down to it. It just fucking sucked.
Bucky threw butt after butt off the edge of the railing, chain smoking to keep from chain drinking, the sun dwindling and casting shadows across the streets below. Winnie still wasn't back, which Bucky was fine with. He didn't really feel like talking, now, especially not to his Ma.
When he opened his second pack, the phone rang.
Bucky ignored it and let it go to voicemail. Winnie's voice floated from the kitchen where the handset sat on the counter. After, the line went dead. Bucky shrugged and lit his next cigarette. The phone started again. Bucky ignored it, tucking the wrapper for the pack in his back pocket. Whoever it was hung up before the voicemail could kick in again. When the phone didn't immediately ring a third time, Bucky relaxed across the railing again.
Five minutes later, the phone's shrill ring startled Bucky from his mournful thoughts again. He looked over his shoulder at the bright light he could just make out from his distance and shrugged; if it was important, they'd leave a voicemail. All of five people knew he was in town, two being out for dinner, one being at a fucking university, the other sitting in a posh office across town, and the last -
The last was leaving a voicemail.
Bucky jumped again when he heard Steve's voice crackle over the old answering machine.
"Buzz me up, Buck."
Bucky stared over his shoulder, dumbfounded. Seriously? Was Steve here? Was he downstairs, in the lobby, waiting for Bucky? Bucky blinked and looked down at the street.
No, Steve wasn't inside, he was outside, staring up at where Bucky was still leaning on the fire escape railing five stories up with a mobile pressed to his ear. Bucky blinked in disbelief.
The machine cut off and he watched Steve shove the phone into his pocket and held his arms out. "You gonna let me up, jerk?" He hollered, making Bucky grin despite all of his previous morose actions.
"Gimme a sec, punk!" Bucky shouted back, grinning wider when he noticed a few people snapping their gaze up to him. He flicked his freshly lit cig over the railing and swung back into the apartment, going to the pad by the door and hitting the green button before moving into the kitchen. He chugged a bottle of water to soothe the burn he'd been ignoring in his throat while he smoked. Just as he tossed it, he heard a knock on the door.
With a deep breath and a swipe of his tongue over his lips, Bucky opened the door. Steve was there, in all his handsome glory and Bucky had only a second for whatever he was going to say to die on his lips before Steve shoved his way into the apartment and wrapped both of his arms around Bucky in the fiercest hug he'd ever had.
Steve was so warm and his grip was stronger than any other time he'd hugged Bucky when they were stupid kids and he smelled like sunshine and cinnamon and Bucky could only cling back desperately at his best friend, his face buried in Steve's larger than life shoulder and neck and his hands clinging to the back of that navy sweater, as he tried to remember what breathing was and how not doing it became a matter of life or death.
"I missed you, Buck," Steve finally said what felt like an hour later, the two of them still pressed together.
"Missed you too, Stevie," Bucky answered, trying to tell himself that the hoarseness of his voice was because he'd been chain smoking. He didn't miss Steve tightening their embrace but didn't mention it. "I'm sorry."
"Me, too." Bucky felt his brow furrow and tried to push back to see Steve's face.
"What're you sorry for?" Bucky asked once he could see Steve.
Steve hadn't pulled back too far, his arms still around Bucky's back. He was smiling, too, which wasn't all bad, right?
"For this." And then Steve was kissing him, and Bucky felt his brain short circuit and his heart pound. Steve's lips were as soft as he'd hoped, pressing just enough to make Bucky want to push for more. Just as Bucky remembered what the hell was going on and he should probably do something, Steve was breaking the contact. Bucky could do little but splutter as Steve hauled his right fist back and clocked Bucky square in the jaw, grabbing his arm with his left hand to keep him from falling down. "And that."
Bucky cradled his jaw in his hand and winced. "What the hell, Rogers? Way to show a guy some love."
"Had to get your attention some way," Steve replied with a cheeky grin, moving pass Bucky and into Winnie's kitchen. "I'll get some ice, wanna get that door?"
Bucky turned to see the front door still wide open and two sets of curious eyes from the neighbors across the hall. Bucky just shrugged and gestured vaguely behind him. "Lover's quarrel."
Bucky shut and locked the door and met Steve in the kitchen just as the blond finished fishing out a pack of frozen peas from the freezer. He offered the green bag with a concerned smile that made Bucky roll his eyes. "You can't be upset if you're the one that did it."
Steve shrugged and stepped closer to Bucky to press the bag to his swelling jaw himself. Bucky winced. "Could have avoided it all, is all."
Bucky knew what he meant. He swallowed around the lump in his throat. "Listen - "
"I know," Steve answered softly, his eyes on the peas bag. "I figured it out, myself, later. When I tried to figure out why'd you just up an' go without a 'fuck you' or anythin'." Steve's eyes flicked to his, and Bucky felt his heart stammer at how blue they were. "I figured it'd be real hard to tell someone you love you were leavin' and not comin' back anytime soon."
Bucky swallowed. "Yeah, I couldn't tell you an' hafta see that look, ya know?"
"Yeah," Steve sighed, smiling slightly. "Still didn't make me feel any better."
"I know, it's still the stupidest thing to date I've ever done."
Steve grinned. "Even more stupid than that time we went skinny dippin' in February and had all our clothes stolen?"
"Way worse," Bucky agreed. "That was just one night we froze our asses off; I've been frozen for six years."
Steve's grin fell at Bucky's frank admission. "I should have wrote you back, Bucky, but I just - "
"No, I know," Bucky sighed. "Can't blame you. Just, uh, glad you got some of your frustration out." He gestured to his jaw, making Steve chuckle.
"Yeah, me too," Steve said.
"You certainly hit harder than I remember," Bucky continued, working his jaw with an exaggerated grimace. It made Steve snort and chuckle and Bucky was so close he could feel it vibrate in his own chest. It made him want to kiss Steve again, but he wasn't sure if that was allowed.
Never hurt to ask.
So when Steve flipped the pea bag over to a less thawed side, Bucky swallowed. "So are we gonna talk about it?"
"What's there to talk about?" Steve asked nonchalantly, his eyes calm as he looked back at Bucky. "I slugged ya one good time, I'm good."
"So we're good?" Bucky pressed. "No more using Sam and your Ma as a distraction?"
Steve smirked that little smirk that always made Bucky willing to follow him anywhere. "Nah. I figure they're probably tired of seein' your ugly mug hangin' around."
Now it was Bucky's turn to snort his laugh. "Too true. Sam's way too good-looking to be friends with a hobo."
That openly got Steve laughing from his belly and Bucky joined right in with him, grinning so wide that his jaw hurt but he didn't care. It was too good to laugh with Steve again, to see that his best friend may have changed outwardly but was still the same kid from Brooklyn on the inside, still apologized to his Ma for being out for too long and still willing to sit around with Bucky and wile their time away.
"Speaking of that," Steve began after his giggles were under control. "Your hair is the longest I've ever seen. What made you grow it out?"
Bucky shrugged. "To blend in, I guess. Russians still aren't too keen on Americans, some of 'em, anyway. It's easier for me to look the part with half my face hidden."
"I like it." Steve's free hand came up to push back some of Bucky's hair, freed now from the lazy bun he'd tied it up in earlier in the day. He knew his hair must be a damn mess but Steve didn't seem to care, a tender edge to his gaze that made Bucky want to kiss him again.
He still needed to ask, anyway.
"So are we gonna talk about that?" Bucky whispered, his breath caught in his chest when Steve's hand stilled, resting now on the nape of his neck.
"We could," he answered, fingers heavy and warm on Bucky's skin. "We should."
Bucky felt himself nodding. "Yeah, think I may need to sit for this one."
Steve gave a nod of his own and stepped away from Bucky, his presence immediately missed. Bucky was left to hold the peas by himself, which was absolutely no fun, so he tossed them back into the freezer before trailing a step or so behind.
Steve sat on the armchair while Bucky settled himself on the couch. The air turned awkward, then, and Bucky wondered if that was the first time he'd ever felt that way around Steve. They'd been nothing but shameless around the other, from changing together or sleeping in the same bed as kids or whatever, but now, faced with spilling all his secrets, Bucky was once again surprised at how cowardly Steve Rogers tended to make him feel.
"I suppose," Bucky finally began, keeping his eyes on his lap as he tried to find his voice. "In school - "
"Seriously?!" Steve demanded, making Bucky grin at his slack-jawed expression.
"No you punk, shaddup and listen 'til the end," Bucky snapped with little venom; Steve's cheeks flushed from embarrassment and he bit his bottom lip with a nod. Bucky still grinned and continued.
"Before I saved your ass from those middle schoolers," Bucky began again, winking at the defiance welling up on Steve's face. "We were in the same art class. I always admired your work, how much better you were than me when we were still the same age an' in the same class. Still do, Stevie; but I know I never told you, did I?" When Steve shook his head, Bucky sighed and leaned his head back on the couch cushions. "Prob'ly should've, might've saved us some trouble along the line."
"What're you getting at, Bucky?" Steve asked. Bucky looked over at him, taking in his relaxed position but knowing he was anything but, and smiled softly.
"You take all the courage outta me, Rogers," Bucky murmured. "I can stand by you, follow you in all your harebrained shit, stand 'til the end of the line with you, but when it comes to you, I clam up. I can't lose you, Stevie, so I never told you. I never told you how much I love your work and when you used to draw me when you thought I wasn't paying any attention, how much it hurt for me t' tell ya I was leavin', why I lost all my fuckin' nerve and knew that if I did, just that look on yer face would make me cancel everythin' without a second glance; but most of all..." Bucky trailed off, his eyes again on his lap because he knew he was rambling and his accent was so thick he sounded ridiculous to himself but he still couldn't look at Steve, because even though that kiss had been fantastic and the best three seconds of his life, Bucky still didn't believe the implications behind it. He swallowed thickly.
"But most of all, most of all was the fact that I'm in love with my best friend an' I didn't fuckin' realize it until I was halfway across the damn planet an' you were here, living yer life without me in it an' it hurt but I couldn't blame anyone but myself," Bucky finished, his hands folded calmly in his lap but shaking so much and Bucky was terrified. He'd never been so terrified in all his life until then, right then, where he sat on his Ma's couch to hear if the man he'd come to love felt the same way about him.
"I read all your letters," Steve said after Bucky was finished. Bucky snapped his eyes over in a hurry. Steve wasn't looking at his hands as Bucky had been when he spoke; in fact, he looked like he was right at home and met Bucky's gaze. "I didn't answer you because I'd thought - " Steve paused, taking a deep breath. "I'd thought you left without a word because I'd let something slip. Buck, you've been all I could think about for most of my life. I realized a long time ago it was more than brotherly love I felt for you, and I was horrified at myself that I'd chased you away, somehow, without meaning to. I never thought you'd ever feel the same, and I was sure I'd wrecked spectacularly before I could even get off the ground." Steve laughed, shaking his head at himself. All Bucky could do was stare, feeling relief and realization surge through him at the same time.
Maybe, had he actually looked at Steve, he may have seen it all those years ago. Now, he thought back and remembered the unreadable looks Steve would toss him, the need to always be right by him, not always touching but near enough to, and when Steve would draw him. Once, Bucky felt like he'd been almost ready to show him something, but it seemed that Steve lost his nerve too soon and backed out. Had Bucky really been looking at Steve, he'd have seen it and saved them both so much time and heartache.
Bucky laughed, too, finally. He laughed longer than Steve, feeling the pricks of tears on the edge of his eyes. He laughed until his belly ached and still continued because he didn't feel like he'd ever stop laughing at himself for being such a damn fool.
"We sure are a pair, ain't we?" He offered once he'd quieted, stealing a fond glance at Steve.
Steve just smiled that sweet smile of his and nodded. "I'd say so."
Bucky slid from the couch and stood to stand in front of Steve, who's eyes never left his. Bucky was proud to see Steve look up at him again, for once that day, and felt nostalgic. "Can I ask you somethin'?"
"Shoot," Steve answered softly, as if he already knew the question. Well, if he could read Bucky's mind, then Bucky had no problem reading his.
"Can I kiss you?"
"I'd like that," Steve murmured as Bucky braced his hands on either side of Steve's face on the armchair and closed the distance between them, their lips slotting gently and perfectly together.
The kiss was so pure that Bucky's heart sang. He knew he'd made the right call, putting himself out there with nothing but a dream and hope. Steve was so amazing, his mouth pliant and dropping open just so to slip Bucky a little tongue. It surprised a moan out of him, which seemed to bolden Steve; he buried both hands in Bucky's hair and pulled him closer. He nudged and tilted the angle until Bucky moaned again and followed the tug of those hands, warm and tantalizing on his skin; Bucky pressed Steve back into the cushions of the armchair until he could straddle his waist.
Steve groaned when Bucky pressed against his chest, his hands sliding down Bucky's shoulders and back to rest on the waistband of his jeans. He pulled Bucky closer with a jerk and Bucky's hardened cock twitched with the friction. It was enough to make Bucky gasp, enough for Steve to take over the kiss again, enough for Bucky to keen low in the back of his throat, enough for Steve to growl back, something that Bucky never would have imagined his little Stevie doing. It sent a thrill down his spine and another directly to his groin, which was rapidly pulling blood flow from his brain to more important places.
"Steve," he gasped, turning his mouth away from Steve's hungry lips to talk. It didn't work; Steve just licked and nipped a hot trail along his jaw and down his neck. "Can't - "
"Hmm?" Steve coaxed, wrapping his arms tighter around Bucky's waist. The action pressed Bucky's groin into his ridiculously hard chest and drawing a strangled moan from them both.
"Can we - shit - not do this here?" Bucky managed, planting both of his hands on Steve's shoulders to push him back. "Dammit, down, tiger!"
Steve allowed himself to be pushed back with a wide grin on his kiss-swollen lips, red from passion and Bucky's days old scruff. "Where ya wanna go?"
"Maybe outta direct sight of the front door? Already gave the neighbors some gossip - really don't wanna give my Ma a fright if she comes in," Bucky paused. "Or your Ma, seeing as how they're out together."
Steve grimaced, and Bucky felt the pressure on his ass lessen (no doubt the thought of Sarah and Winnie walking in was enough of a cockblock for the both of them). Steve exhaled slowly, as if trying to calm himself enough to speak, before a sly smirk spread across his lips. "You trust me, Buck?"
Bucky, knowing the things that followed Steve's 'Trust me' lines, narrowed his eyes warily. He'd have to remember to ask Sam later how much trouble Steve got him into during his absence. "Am I gonna regret agreeing?"
"Nah," Steve assured, moving his hands down to give Bucky's ass a squeeze. "Well, maybe if ya don't hang on, that is."
"What-!" Was all Bucky could manage before Steve was standing, his hands beneath Bucky to keep him in place. Bucky instinctively wrapped his legs around Steve's waist to keep from sliding down his body, and Steve's light chuckle was worth his undignified squawking for a moment.
"I got ya, Bucky," Steve promised, and Bucky flicked his eyes to Steve's and smiled. The honesty and promise and affection were all so obvious Bucky wondered how he'd missed it before.
"Sure, yeah," he answered ineloquently, knowing Steve would know what he meant. Steve did, setting off towards the short hallway that led to Bucky's old room; Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's shoulders at the first sign of movement.
"Same room?" Steve asked.
"Yeah," Bucky answered, reaching behind himself to fumble with the doorknob for a second. He had the door free and Steve was nudging it the rest of the way open with his knee and then kicking it shut once they were inside. The sun was still out enough for twilight, casting long shadows and orange light across Bucky's room and over his bed.
Steve kneeled on the edge of the mattress and gently tossed Bucky, the other man bouncing enough to make him laugh. Steve just grinned back, yanking Bucky's boots off and behind him with thuds; his own sneakers followed after and then his shirt, and Bucky was looking at that godly form in person instead of on a glossy sheet. His mouth immediately went dry with the thought and the worldly action of Steve crawling up from the bottom of his bed because he looked like a fucking predator and Bucky was more than willing to be his prey. Totally.
Steve's blue eyes were darkened almost as navy as the sweater he'd tossed behind him and his pupils blown wide when he finally reached Bucky. Bucky didn't hesitate to add his own shirt to the growing pile over Steve's shoulder before pulling the man in by his broad shoulders the rest of the way. Steve kissed him with a fervor that Bucky had never felt before. Steve's eyes were only for him, his hands exploring bare skin and leaving hot trails in their wake, and his body reacted to every one of Bucky's sighs and moans and nips and licks.
Steve pushed Bucky further into his mattress and covered his body with his own. Bucky thought the weight of the other man's bulk would have been suffocating but when Steve's jean-clad erection grazed Bucky's own he gasped.
Steve leaned back from where he'd been nipping Bucky's clavicle, putting a few inches between them. "I'm sorry, Bucky, I just - I've thought about this for so long - I'm so sorry - "
"Woah, no," Bucky answered defiantly. "That was by no means a bad thing. Actually, no, it was because we're both still wearing pants." Steve's grin was blinding. "Wanna fix it?"
"Gladly." Hardly a minute later and Steve had them both naked, and when he settled back where he'd been before, it took all Bucky had left not to come right then and there. Their groans were equally deep and equally aroused, Bucky's eyes seeking Steve's again for just a little added confirmation. Steve seemed to be asking the same thing, too, both knowing that there really wasn't any going back from what was about to happen.
And Bucky couldn't have been happier.
"Bucky," Steve said hoarsely, his voice sounding about how Bucky felt. Bucky pushed the hair sticking to Steve's damp forehead back and grinned.
"Yeah, punk?" he answered, his stomach flipping when Steve's expression shifted from arousal to adoring, his smile softening with it.
"You got any lube layin' around?"
Bucky nodded and fumbled in the drawer beside his bed, pulling free the little black tube he'd bought after his first night of jerking off to Steve's Playgirl spread with just his spit. He popped the cap and poured a generous amount into Steve's open palm. Steve carefully lined up their bodies and rested his weight to his knees. "You ready?"
Bucky nodded, his heart swelling at the thought that Steve was still giving him an out, if he wanted it. He was too good for Bucky, but Bucky was a selfish bastard and he damn well wasn't about to share Steve with anyone ever again.
"Do your worse," Bucky teased, smiling when Steve quirked an eyebrow at him.
"I would if you weren't making me so impatient," was all Steve gave as warning before he adjusted his position again and grabbed both of their cocks in his large, lubed hand. Bucky immediately jolted, the moan he gave swallowed instantly by Steve's mouth on his again.
Steve moved his hand slowly, at first, working out a rhythm for the both of them to adjust to. Soon he found it, Bucky squeezing his eyes shut and gasping for breath. The friction was too much all at once, but Bucky was damned stubborn and held on as long as he could, his hips moving on their own against Steve above him. Steve had way more control than he did, and Bucky was pretty glad their roles weren't reversed because he'd be a jerking mess right about then.
Steve's grip tightened the same time the heat in Bucky's belly became too much. He gasped against Steve's mouth as his hips jerked erratically.
"Steve, I'm gonna - "
"Me, too," Steve grunted, and not even a breath later they were both coming in hot spurts between them, Bucky's stomach catching the worse of it and saving his sheets. That orgasm was single-handedly (ha, Steve would be proud of his wording) the most intense of his life. Steve's infallible strength finally gave out as he flopped onto Bucky, leading Bucky to believe he was in a similar state as the pair of them gasped for air. Bucky's arms wound their way around Steve's back and narrow waist and held on for dear life.
The only sounds in the room was their heavy breathing and Bucky's heartbeat pounding away in his own ears. He sighed and closed his eyes, resting his cheek against Steve's temple as he took a deep breath.
Steve spoke first.
"Can we do that again?" His voice was strong albeit still breathless, but Bucky knew what he really meant. He was asking if everything was okay, if Bucky was fine and not feeling any regret.
"Of course Stevie," Bucky replied softly, pressing a kiss to Steve's cooling temple. "You gotta get up, pal, you're like a goddamn furnace."
Steve sighed and rolled onto his back beside Bucky. "You know, one of these days I'll get you to a point where you can't keep a coherent thought, let alone speak."
"Fat chance, Rogers," Bucky answered with a lewd grin that somehow managed to make Steve blush, even though they were both naked in Bucky's childhood bed with their mingled come cooling on their stomachs. Bucky's grin just grew. "I'd appreciate the try, though. Might need the practice."
Steve's eyebrows quirked suggestively, sending a shot of heat down to Bucky's groin that made his grin falter. Steve Rogers was going to be the death of him, he just knew it.
Steve sat up and leaned over to kiss Bucky, sweet and tender. "It'd be an honour."
Now it was Bucky's turn to flush, feeling heat steal up his neck and cheeks. "Dammit, Stevie, you're such a shit."
Steve grinned, knowing exactly what he'd done. "Maybe, but I'm yours."
Bucky gave a put-upon sigh and rolled his eyes, ignoring the way his heart fluttered pleasantly. Steve was finally his. "I guess; no one else'll take ya with that kind of attitude anyway."
Steve just kissed him again until Bucky was breathless and pushing at his chest. "Can I clean up the original mess before we make another?"
Steve pulled back guiltily, like he'd been caught with his hand in the cookie jar; Bucky laughed and turned to pull his pillowcase free of his pillow, not wanting to use either of their shirts. He cleaned Steve first and then himself, dropping the soiled material over the edge of the bed before wrapping his arms around Steve's neck and yanking him back to the mattress with a hot kiss.
There was a crinkle beneath Bucky's pillow that made him freeze when Steve looked up. He'd forgotten about the magazine! Well, he hadn't forgotten, just kinda left it where he'd had it the night before. He hadn't been expecting company, in his defense.
Bucky watched Steve's eyes widen with recognition before glancing over at Bucky. Bucky cleared his throat as Steve pulled the magazine totally free from its hideaway.
"Steve, I can - "
"Where'd you get this?" Steve asked, immediately cutting into Bucky's attempted apology. Bucky cleared his throat.
"Bought it at the newsstand on the corner between our streets." No use in hiding it. "You can imagine my surprise."
Instead of being angry, as Bucky'd been expecting, Steve just gave a sigh and flipped the magazine open. Bucky sat up to see better as Steve flicked to his spread. Bucky bit back a grin.
"The one in the pool is my favourite," Bucky said almost proudly. Steve flinched slightly, almost as if he'd forgotten Bucky was there, and looked over.
"This is not my finest hour," Steve offered, his voice heavy with disappointment. "For my art degree, I have to volunteer with a few programs around the city. I chose body posing for one, and there were Playgirl agents in one of the classes." Steve ran a hand through his hair, making the golden strands stand up even more. "She offered me a modeling gig that gave a pay I couldn't argue with. Didn't think I'd get into one of their magazines, but here it is."
There was a beat, then: "Please don't tell my mom."
Bucky laughed loudly before slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it. Steve's face was red again, most likely from embarrassment than arousal this time, but Bucky couldn't help himself. When Steve awkwardly cleared his throat Bucky knew his fun was over.
"Nothing to be ashamed of, Stevie," he finally said, getting his mirth under control. "You look fucking amazing. Caught my eye."
"I caught your eye when I was still a scrawny little idiot," Steve countered, making Bucky grin at the truth of it.
"Yeah, but this spread, though," Bucky said, biting his lower lip. "Kept me company since I been back; why'd you think I had lube handy?"
Steve's flush came back darker than before, his eyes wide. "Seriously?"
The disbelief in his voice made Bucky bristle at Steve's apparently still low self-esteem. "You think you're not good enough for me, Stevie?"
"No, no!" Steve answered immediately. "No, I just - uh - was surprised. You really like it?"
Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve could be so dense sometimes. "Of course I do, Stevie. I loved you before you beefed yourself up; speaking of, how'd you do it, anyway?"
"Trained with Sam after the growth spurt," Steve answered, a soft smile on his face. Bucky's words caught up with him, then, making Steve's smile widen. "You love me, huh?"
"Of course, you punk," Bucky mumbled, punching his best friend's arm lightly. "I'm with ya 'til the end, remember?"
"I do, yeah," Steve said, his voice just as soft as his smile. "Me, too; with ya 'til the end."
Bucky was pretty sure there were some vows unintentionally made in there somewhere, but he didn't call him on it and neither did Steve. Maybe they weren't so unintentional, Bucky decided, when Steve leaned into a kiss softer than any they'd shared that night. It made Bucky's head reel at what made him so lucky, why Steve chose him of all people, but he'd decided to stop questioning anything to do with Steve Rogers if he wanted to remain sane.
As long as Steve was happy, Bucky knew he'd go along with whatever Steve decided. Even if that was unwittingly being a fucking centerfold and begging Bucky not to tell his Ma, Bucky could go along with that. Something always had a hold on him when it came to Steve, something he had a name for that wasn't packing up anytime soon.
Bucky would be keeping that magazine, Rogers' Infamous Puppy Eyes or not. No way was Steve tossing it.
Ever.
A/N: There we go! How was it? Share dem thoughts, please! :)