Inspired by: Before Sunrise (Film from 1995)
Listening to: Follow Me Home Full Album by Jay Rock
Warning: implied PTSD, brief mention of homophobia, off screen character death, and brief suicide ideation
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters
"You could have pooped while we were out, Sam."
"You know how I feel about pooping in public, Steve. It ain't gonna happen," Sam responds, his voice slightly muffled by the bathroom door.
Steve rolls his eyes and flops down on his bed, wondering if he's really going to end up wasting time holed up in their hotel room because Sam has a fear of shitting in public. He huffs out a breath and rolls onto his side, staring into space while he waits.
He and his best friend, Sam Wilson are currently studying abroad in Paris, France, after deciding over the summer that they wanted to experience another culture and country before they became caught up in actively pursuing their individual careers once they graduate NYU in the Spring.
"Hey, Steve-o, if you're done day dreaming now, I would very much like to continue our 'Farewell to France Walking Tour,' as you so put it."
Steve frowns as he's pulled from his thoughts, shifting so he can look at Sam, who is leaning against their hotel room door with his arms crossed and a grin on his face.
"Exactly how long have you been standing there?"
"So long that I'm starting to collect dust," Sam jokes. "Now, come on. Get your lazy butt up so we can finish exploring."
Steve shakes his head and climbs off the bed, grabbing his backpack (that contains his sketchbook, camera, brochures, and daily medication) before following Sam out of their shared room. They take the elevator down to the lobby and run into their Professor, Nick Fury, who is the head of the study abroad program at NYU.
"Afternoon," Fury greets with a nod into their direction. "You boys headed out?"
"Yes sir," Steve answers. "We want to get in some last minute exploration in before heading back to New York tomorrow."
"Nothing wrong with that," Fury says. "I trust that I don't have to tell you boys to be back before sunrise. Our flight leaves tomorrow at noon sharp."
"We understand. We'll be back with plenty of time to spare," Steve says.
"Good," Fury says with an air of finality. He nods one final time before walking away, presumably back to his room.
"Man, I swear Fury intimidates me more than my commanding officers," Sam with a slight shiver as soon as their Professor is out of earshot.
"You think it's the eye patch?" Steve asks as they cross the length of the lobby and walk out the front door.
Sam shakes his head as he falls into step with Steve. "I don't know—I had a few officers with eye patches, but none of them strike as much fear into me as Nick Fucking Fury. I swear, every time I see him, I start twitching with the need to stand at attention."
"He certainly is a man that commands respect."
Sam snorts. "No kidding."
They continue walking through the streets of Paris in a comfortable silence, taking in the bustling yet calming aura of the city. Steve turns his head and opens his mouth, about to ask Sam what else he wants to do today when the screeching of tires and an indistinct shout halt all movement.
"Incoming!"
Steve is snapped from his thoughts when Sam grabs his arm and jerks him to the right, pulling him out of the path of the bicyclist, who swerves at the last second to avoid hitting them and ends up crashing into a bush.
He and Sam exchange a glance before rushing over to help the cyclist, who is lying on the ground behind the bush in a crumpled heap while his bike is lying on its side a few feet away.
"I'm so sorry, I should have had more control over that bike," the cyclist apologizes as soon as Steve and Sam are within earshot.
Steve shrugs. "Shit happens," he says. He and Sam each take one of the cyclist's arms, though Sam ends up baring more of his weight as they help him out of the bush and back onto the sidewalk. There are a few people standing around and staring, but disperse once they realize there's nothing to see.
The cyclist steadies himself on his feet, brushing the dirt off his clothes. It's here that Steve is able to get a good look at him and he can't help but notice how gorgeous this cyclist is. Pale blue eyes are framed by long brown hair that barely touches his shoulders, dark stubble that surrounds his perfectly sinful red mouth, and a body that anybody would worship. He's beautiful and Steve's fingers twitch, wishing he had a sketchbook in his hand because he could draw this man for hours.
"Are you okay?" The cyclist asks, pulling Steve from his thoughts and causing him to scold himself mentally for drooling over this stranger, especially when he's standing right here.
Ignoring the knowing look from Sam over the cyclist's shoulder, Steve says, "I'm fine, just a little shaken up is all. I wasn't exactly expecting to nearly be run over today."
The man winces and Steve almost feels bad for causing that expression to cross his face. "I really am sorry about that. Can I make it up to you? I know a shop nearby. Let me buy you a cup of coffee?"
"You're offering me coffee?" Steve asks, amused. "I don't even know your name."
The cyclist winces again and Steve resists the urge to smile. He's going to have fun with this. "I'm Bucky—Bucky Barnes," he says, holding out his hand.
"Bucky?" Steve asks as he shakes Bucky's hand, trying not to linger when he lets go.
"It's a nickname," Bucky explains. "My real name is James."
"Ah. Steve Rogers and that guy behind you there is Sam Wilson."
Bucky turns and shakes Sam's hand, exchanging a short greeting before turning back to Steve. Sam points to Bucky and gives him the thumbs up gesture, causing Steve to resist the urge to roll his eyes so he doesn't risk offending Bucky, who is looking incredibly nervous.
"So, now that we've been introduced, what do you say? You wanna get coffee with me?" Bucky asks, trying not to sound hopeful and failing.
Steve opens his mouth to respond and is interrupted when a red headed woman marches up to Bucky and glares at him with narrowed green eyes.
"Bucky, what the hell? One minute you say you want to go on a bike ride together and the next minute, you are speeding off. Who are these people? And where is your bike?"
"Sam Wilson and Steve Rogers," Sam says, slinking up to Natasha and fixing her with his best smile. "Bucky boy here asked Steve if he wanted to get coffee."
Natasha raises an eyebrow. She glances between Steve and Bucky before a knowing look crosses her features. "Coffee huh? You know what; don't even worry about the bike ride. Paris is a large city and I'm sure I'll find something to do."
"I can accompany you if you'd like," Sam says smoothly.
Natasha looks amused at Sam's boldness before her eyes rake over his body. "Okay," she says as a hint of a smile crosses her lips. She shifts, linking her arm with Sam's before turning to Bucky. "Meet me at Café de la Rotonde at three a.m. I want to be back before sunrise so we don't have to rush."
"Got it," Bucky says. He watches Natasha and Sam leave, waiting until they're out of earshot before saying, "You know, I'm half tempted to stay out until sunrise just to spite her."
Steve snorts and shakes his head. He's silent for a beat before saying, "You wanna get that coffee now?"
"Yeah, let me get my bike."
Bucky walks back over to his still overturned bike and Steve tries not to stare at his ass while he bends over, but Steve is only human and Bucky has a fantastic ass. Steve makes sure he's looking elsewhere when Bucky turns back into his direction.
"Shall we go?" Bucky asks in that hopeful tone.
"Lead the way," Steve says, with a small smile.
.
.
They make a quick stop to return Bucky's bike to the rental shop before heading to Café de Flore, one of the most prestigious coffee shops in Paris. Steve is surprised that Bucky chose this of all places, especially since the small assortment of cakes and pies they decided to spilt is the cheapest food item on the menu at the equivalent twenty US dollars.
Steve takes a sip of his coffee now that it's had a few moments to cool down, his mouth watering at the richness of the dark roast. Not only is it more expensive than Starbucks, but it's also a hell of a lot better.
"I never did ask, but what brings you to France?" Bucky questions, breaking the surprisingly comfortable silence that had fallen over them.
"Oh, Sam and I are studying abroad here in Paris. We both go to NYU."
Get out? My cousin, Natasha, and I are studying abroad in Nantes with UCLA."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah. She's majoring in linguistics—she speaks Russian and French—while I'm doing engineering."
"What do you plan to do with that?"
"Build prosthetics for veterans. I was overseas for a time and lost my arm in combat protecting one of my friends from a rocket launcher. The original prosthetic I was fitted with was garbage and I was lucky that I have a friend who knows a guy who works with Stark Industries and was able to hook me up with a custom arm, but not everyone is so lucky. I wanna make good, reliable prosthetics that are also affordable."
"I'm sorry. That's a real good thing you wanna do."
"Thanks, I think so too," Bucky says before taking a sip of his coffee. "So, what are you studying?"
"I'm double majoring in art history and education. I want to be a middle school art teacher."
"Good luck with that."
"Thanks."
Bucky takes another sip of his drink. "What about Sam?"
"He's studying nursing and counseling. He used to be in the military as well and volunteers at the V.A. on weekends when he's not working; sometimes I go down with him and do what I can."
"What branch was Sam in?"
"Air Force, Pararescue."
Bucky furrows his brow. "His last name is Wilson, right?"
"Yeah."
"Was he in the 58th?"
Steve raises one of his eyebrows, not knowing where Bucky is going with this. "Yes?"
"I know of him. His codename was Falcon—he and his partner preformed high stakes operations that even the most trained operatives wouldn't dare to attempt. They used these flight suits designed by Colonel Rhodes and built by Stark Industries. He's saved me and my company on numerous occasions." Bucky pauses and shakes his head fondly. "How did you meet him?"
"At one of NYU's open houses, Sam had just completed his final tour and I was an incoming freshman. We ended up sitting next to each other and bonded over comic books. Once the open house was over, we exchanged numbers and have been roommates for the past four years."
Bucky whistles. "That's a long time to be with the same person."
Steve shrugs and grins. "We're not sick of each other yet."
Bucky laughs. "So, going back to earlier, what made you decide to go with art?"
"I've been drawing since I was young. I first showed interest when I was . . . three? Maybe? My mom was excited because she was art history buff and talked for hours about how she wanted to take me to the Louvre because she went when was younger. She unfortunately died before we were able to save up enough money to make the trip."
"I'm so sorry."
Steve shakes his head. "It's fine," he says before taking a sip of his coffee. He doesn't talk about his mother much, he lost her when he was only ten and grew up with an aunt who didn't give a shit about him and abandoned him after three months. He was doing fine on his own until he caught a nasty strain of pneumonia and collapsed on the stairwell. A neighbor brought him to the hospital where the truth was uncovered and he was taken to a nearby orphanage, where he lived for the next eight years until he started rooming with Sam in college.
"Did you go to the Louvre?" Bucky asks.
"Of course—it's the first place Sam and I visited when we first arrived. We went for the last time this morning and I gotta say, I'm really gonna miss it."
Bucky smiles. "I have no doubt in my mind that you'll find your way back," he says before furrowing his brow. "Wait, last time?"
"Yeah. Today's our last day because we need to be back for finals next week. After that, the semester's over and it's winter break."
"Oh," Bucky says, sounding slightly disappointed. "It's mine and Natasha's last day too. That's the whole reason we're here today. She wanted to see the Paris before we left."
"Yeah?"
"Yeah."
Silence falls over them and Steve takes one of the last remaining cakes and eats in one bite before washing it down with his cold coffee. It's disgusting, but he doesn't know what to say to fill the emptiness in the air.
"Hey, you know what we should do?" Bucky suddenly asks.
"Take over the world?"
"Like Pinky and the Brain?"
"Yes, Pinky and the Brain."
"One is a genius."
"The other is insane."
Bucky laughs. "That's not exactly what I had in mind but . . ."
Steve raises an eyebrow. "What did you have in mind?"
"Us exploring Paris together," Bucky says. "You know, see some sights, eat some food, find all the hidden spots, the whole nine yards. You could be like my unofficial tour guide or something?"
Steve huffs out a laugh.
"What do you say?"
Steve takes moment to think. Normally, he wouldn't do something like this but . . . he feels like he has this connection with Bucky. Like instead of him being here with a random stranger who nearly ran him over with his bike, he's sitting with an old friend and catching up on all the years they've missed. It's in this moment that he decides to fuck everything and be spontaneous for once in his life.
Steve pushes aside his coffee and leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. He looks Bucky directly in the eye, taking his curious, albeit nervous expression. It's a cute look on him and it makes Steve feel powerful, knowing that he can reduce this gorgeous hunk of a man to a nervous wreck. Inwardly smirking, he says, "I have one question for you."
Bucky twitches and the curiosity leaves his expression all together. "Which is?"
Steve grins. "When do we start?"
Bucky blinks and slowly returns Steve's grin. "We just did."
.
.
Steve takes Bucky to the Palais Garnier, which is one of the most famous Opera Houses in the world. He and Sam attended a special one night only production of The Phantom of The Opera, and even though he doesn't speak French, seeing that show was one of the most magical experiences of his life. He relays this information to Bucky and raises an eyebrow at the shocked look on his face.
"I was invited to attend that show," Bucky says, sounding regretful. "Our Professor, Maria Hill, was giving out tickets, but Natasha and I decided to go out and party with some of our new French friends."
"We might not have even seen each other that night—the place was packed," Steve says, looking on the bright side even though he's kinda disappointed that he wasn't able to meet Bucky sooner.
"Yeah, but still," Bucky says before sighing. He shakes his head. "Maybe it's our destiny or some shit. You know, that we're only supposed to meet for the first time on our last day abroad."
"I've never been much of a believer in destiny."
"Maybe I'll make a believer out of you."
"I'd like to see you try."
"Oh, those are dangerous words, Rogers. I never back down from a challenge."
"Yeah? Neither do I."
Bucky smiles, albeit smugly, before turning back to the Opera House while Steve is left wondering what Bucky could possibly be planning.
They stop for crepes at a store across from the Seine after a few hours of exploring the city. Bucky pays for both of them, despite Steve's protests that he has enough to cover the cost of his own meal.
"Hey, don't worry about it, it's my treat," Bucky says.
"Yeah, but—"
"You know that when someone offers to pay for something, it's not a wise to argue with them."
Steve snorts. "You sound just like Sam," he says, which causes Bucky to laugh. "Fine, I'll accept your crepe, but next time, I'll pay for myself."
"Okay," Bucky says, sounding amused and somehow in the back of his mind, Steve has a feeling that Bucky isn't going to let him pay for a damn thing.
"You know, it's not as impressive in person."
Steve turns and gives Bucky a disbelieving look. "Bucky, it's the Eiffel Tower. It's one of the most iconic and recognizable landmarks in the entire world."
"And yet, it looks so much better on camera."
Steve shakes his head and pulls out his own camera, which was a birthday gift from Sam. He snaps a few phots of the Eiffel Tower before forcing Bucky to stand in front of the landmark and pose. He frowns when all Bucky does it turn and flick the Eiffel Tower off, sticking his tongue out for good measure.
"Yeah, real mature Buck," Steve says, barely suppressing an eye roll before snapping the photos, knowing that he and Sam are going to end up laughing about these photos later.
"I like that," Bucky says once Steve lowers the camera.
Steve raises an eyebrow. "You like insulting and flicking off national landmarks?"
"No, I like you calling me Buck," Bucky says, a fond smile on his lips. "You're blushing."
"No, I'm not, fuck off," Steve denies, which causes Bucky to laugh.
.
.
Steve is in the middle of recounting the time when Sam was so drunk that he flirted with a coat rack for twenty minutes, when his phone chimes signaling an unread message. Steve apologizes and checks his phone finding two unread messages from Sam that read: "I hope you're having an awesome time with Bucky because I am having a blast with Natasha! I've never met a woman like her before—man, she is something else" and "My "Steve is embarrassing me to someone I don't know" senses are tingling. You better not be telling that coat rack story again or, so help me, I will end you."
"Everything okay?" Bucky asks.
Steve takes a breath to stop himself from bursting into laughter before he looks up from his phone and nods. "Yeah, that was Sam. He says that he and Natasha are getting along."
Bucky grins. "That's great. I will advise him to be careful though or else Natasha will eat him alive."
"Trust me, Sam is no pushover."
"Good. Natasha likes her men to have a spine."
Steve laughs before texting Sam back, saying that he's glad he is having a good time with Natasha and that Bucky is great. He adds that he wouldn't dare tell the coat rack story again, though he knows that Sam will easily see through his bullshit—he's been doing it since the first day they met.
"You know, we could exchange numbers if you want," Bucky suggests after Steve finishes sending his message. "I know this may seem . . . forward, but I'm really enjoying talking to you and I'd to continue to do so after we leave France."
Steve smiles and nods his head. "I'd like that," he says before swapping phones with Bucky so they can exchange numbers.
"Hey, do you have Facebook or Instagram?" Steve asks.
"Of course," Bucky says, without looking up from Steve's phone. "Natasha always makes fun of me for the amount of time I spend on social media and I just tell her to get with the times."
Steve snorts. "Sam is always telling me that I need to give the internet a break and get a hobby."
"Who needs a hobby when you have Netflix?"
"That's what I'm saying!"
Bucky huffs out a laugh. They exchange phones again, their fingers brushing as they do. Steve's heart skips a beat as he feels a spark of something flash through him at the contact and judging from the look on Bucky's face, he felt it too.
.
.
They're strolling along the Avenue des Champs-Elysees a few hours later when Steve hears the familiar sound of someone being punched. He runs away from Bucky, ignoring his surprised shout and the burning in his lungs as he stumbles on the scene of some poor kid being beaten by another kid, who's three times his size. Despite the danger, Steve moves forward, distracting the bully and managing to get in a several good hits to the bully's face and stomach.
The bully stumbles back yet recovers quickly and shouts something in French as he raises his clenched fist to deliver a counter attack, but he's unable to strike because Bucky grabs his arm from behind and whirls him around before connecting his fist to the bully's face. The bully, now realizing that he's outnumbered, runs way like a coward.
Bucky's sharp gaze follows the bully as he flees the area, making sure he clears the alley before turning to Steve with a confused look on his face.
Steve frowns. "I had him on the ropes."
Bucky smiles. "I know you did," he says before his eyes slide to the space behind Steve.
Steve turns, following his gaze and meeting the eyes of the kid who was being bullied. He notices the kid is about the same size and height as him, covered in various bruises and cuts. The kid is wearing a grateful smile on their face as they glance between Steve and Bucky.
"Merci," the kid says, nodding to the pair before leaving, pausing at the mouth of the alley to scan the area before turning left.
Once the kid has left, Bucky turns back to Steve, looking contemplative as if he's trying to understand why Steve would jump into a fight that seems impossible for him to win.
Steve sighs and decides to save him the trouble of asking. "I can't stand bullies."
Bucky blinks, seeming surprised that Steve spoke at all. "What?"
"When I was younger, I was bullied for being small, skinny, sickly, and it got worse when people found out that I'm bisexual. I stopped getting beat up in college, but I still get harassed verbally by my ignorant classmates and the only reason I'm not fighting them is because I don't want to lose my scholarship. Education was important to my mother—she never had a formal one and always wanted to make sure that I had one. I want to make her proud and I can't do that if I'm getting expelled for fighting, even though I have the right to defend myself."
Bucky nods, the corner of his mouth twitching. "The people who hurt you better not run into me because I swear I will kill every last one of them."
"Trust me, as much as I'd love to see that happen, I'd rather you not end up in jail for trying to "defend" my honor."
"It's just—it's disgusting to hit someone over something like that. Your value as a person is not diminished by your appearance, health, or sexuality. I just can't comprehend how some people get so hung up on other people's lives. They need to get over themselves and mind their own fucking business."
"Exactly."
Bucky huffs and runs a hand through his hair, still looking unsettled. "Steve, I can't even begin to tell you how amazing you are for being able to stand up to people like that."
Steve shrugs nonchalantly, though he can't help, but feel flattered by Bucky's words. "I'm just doing what's right," he says with a small smile. He falls silent before adding, "Can we agree to not tell Sam about this? He'll lecture me for hours if he finds out I've been fighting. Though, honestly, I wouldn't be surprised if he already knew. He has this weird sixth sense and seems to always know when I've done something stupid."
Bucky hums. "That makes two of us," he murmurs, fondly. He shakes his head in disbelief and smiles at Steve. "You have my word, you punk."
Steve snorts. "Jerk," he teases, which only serves to make Bucky's smile widen.
.
.
At sunset, Steve takes a picture of Bucky in front of the Arc de Triomphe with his arms spread wide and a carefree smile on his face. Once the photo is taken, Bucky motions for Steve to join him, taking the camera out of his hands and wrapping his left arm around Steve's shoulders pulling him close. Bucky holds the camera above their heads with his right hand, index finger hovering over the shutter button.
"Say tax exemption."
Steve looks at Bucky confused. "Tax exemption?"
Bucky snaps the photo before Steve is unable to change his expression and look back at the lens. He ends up laughing at the playback photo for ten minutes while Steve huffs and calls him an idiot.
.
.
"Tell me something that no one else knows about you."
Bucky rolls onto his side and gives Steve a curious look. "Like what?"
Steve shrugs. "Whatever you want."
Bucky goes silent, chewing on the inside of his cheek in thought while Steve settles in for the wait. They're currently taking a break from walking by lying in the Champ de Mars long after the sun went down, surrounded by trees and bushes while the Eiffel Tower looms over them like a protector.
"Okay, I got it," Bucky says, taking a deep breath before speaking again. "I'm pansexual."
"Pansexual?"
"It means that gender does not influence whom I am attracted to," Bucky explains. A small smile crosses his face. "I honestly can't even begin to tell you how great it feels to be able to tell someone. It's like . . . a weight has been lifted off my chest and I can breathe again."
"Thank you for trusting me enough to tell me. I promise I won't tell a soul."
"I know you won't," Bucky says, still smiling as nudges Steve in the shoulder. "Alright, your turn. What's something you've never told anyone before?"
Steve thinks for a moment, wondering what he could possibly say. Most of the things he's told Bucky today are things he's already confided to Sam except . . .
"I'm the reason that my mother is dead."
Bucky looks visibly startled by Steve's sudden admission, even though he tries to hide it. "Steve, I'm sure that's not true."
Steve takes a breath. "When I was younger, I used to get sick a lot, mainly in the winter. One year, I came down with a nasty strain of the flu—one of the worst cases that has been seen in years. At the time, my mom and I were living together in Brooklyn and were hit the hardest by a snow storm that affected the entire East Coast—nothing but constant blizzards and white outs. Once night, I ran out of my antibiotic and my mom decided to go to the local pharmacy and get some more despite the fact that it was dark, still snowing, and the walkways and roads were covered with a layer of ice. I didn't want her to leave, but she told me to stay in bed, eat my soup, and wait for her to return . . . but she never did."
He bites down on his bottom lip. "She didn't take her car since the conditions were bad and the pharmacy was only a block away, so there was no point in wasting gas. She didn't notice that a car on the road behind her had slipped on ice and ran up the curb until it was right in top of her. She died at the scene."
Bucky shifts, placing a warm, comforting hand on Steve's shoulder. "You know that's not your fault," he says quietly after a moment of contemplation.
Steve snorts doubtfully.
Bucky presses on. "Your mother was simply trying to take care of you—that's what parents are supposed to do. The only person at fault is the one who hit her."
Steve frowns. He doesn't believe a damn thing that Bucky is saying. He knows it's his fault—his mother wouldn't have left if Steve wasn't sick all the time. Steve bites his tongue, not wanting to cause an argument, especially since they have so little time together, and nods his head. "Okay, it wasn't me," he says quietly. He doesn't want to lie to Bucky, but he wants to get off this topic.
Bucky looks frustrated that Steve is lying to him, but thankfully changes the subject all together. They slowly resume some of the conversations they'd been having throughout the day, talking about their favorite shows, movies, and music, in addition to various other topics until their throats are raw from talking.
"Wow, I didn't realize how late it was," Bucky says after checking it watch. "It's after midnight."
Steve whistles. "Yeah, I can't believe we've been out all day and night."
"Well, you know what they say: time flies." Bucky shifts into a sitting position before rising to his feet and brushing off the blades of grass that clung to his clothes.
Steve silently agrees, climbing to his own feet and adjusting his clothes that have ridden up while he's been laying down.
"Alright, well, I should probably start trying to find that café Natasha wanted me to meet her at."
"And I should be getting back to the hotel: Sam's probably worried and I don't want him to tear the city apart looking for me."
Bucky nods. "Okay, I guess this is it."
"Yeah, it's been fun. Thanks for hanging out with me."
"Thanks for showing me a good time."
Bucky holds out his right hand and Steve takes it within his own. They shake hands once, twice, and when Steve meets Bucky's eyes, he knows that he can't let go.
If he lets go, Bucky will walk out of his life. Sure, they have each other's numbers and social media, but what are the chances of them actually following through with their promises of staying in touch and he wants Bucky in his life—as his friend, as something more, as a permanent fixture in his routine. He wants to tell Bucky everything, share every detail of his horrible past, and be able to stand with him at the beginning of every new day, ready to conquer the world and knowing he can do anything as long as he has Bucky by his side.
Steve's been told before that his instincts were questionable at best, but Steve knows without a doubt that if he lets Bucky leave, he would be making the biggest mistake of his life.
"Bucky," Steve whispers.
"Yeah?"
"I believe in destiny too."
"Oh thank god," Bucky says before tugging Steve forward by their joint hands and connecting their lips together.
Bucky's lips are soft and Steve doesn't hesitate in kissing him back, rising to his tip toes so he can throw his arms around Bucky's shoulders and tug him closer while Bucky's arms curl tightly around his narrow waist. They stand wrapped in each other's arms for what feels like hours, mouths moving sweetly and unhurried against the other's despite the anticipation that fills Steve's gut.
Bucky pulls away from Steve first, their mouths disconnecting with a wet noise. Steve is panting, trying his best to catch his breath and hoping he doesn't accidently trigger an asthma attack.
"You wanna get out of here?"
Steve smiles. "I'd thought you'd never ask," he says. He moves to reconnect his mouth to Bucky's but Bucky stops him with a warm hand on his chest.
"What about Sam?"
"He'll understand," Steve says.
Bucky smiles widely and Steve kisses it off him.
.
.
They rush to a nearby motel room, trying not to look too eager when they check in, but look that the manager fixes them tells them that they've failed. When the room door closes behind them, they come together, lips moving soft and slick against the other's. Clothes rustle as they're pulled off eager bodies and skin is licked, kissed and sucked raw.
Steve is pressed into the mattress and Bucky is hovering over him, taking his time mapping out Steve's body with his mouth, moving slowly as if he has all the time in the world. Bucky reaches for Steve's belt and looks up, asking silent permission with his eyes and Steve nods, watching eagerly as he removes his belt and pants, tossing them onto the floor before working on his own. Steve gasps when all of Bucky is exposed, fingers twitching with urge to sketch Bucky's beautiful, naked body.
Bucky smirks and throws his pants aside. He kneels on the bed and slowly crawls up Steve's body, licking a hot, wet strip from Steve's stomach until he reaches his lips, drawing Steve in for a long, messy kiss. "You look as though you want to draw me like one of your French girls, Stevie," he whispers in Steve's ear, causing him to shiver and hold back an embarrassing whimper.
"Don't talk, Buck, you'll ruin the mood," Steve says. He tries to sound exasperated, but instead comes off as desperate and needy, two things Steven Rogers most certainly isn't.
Bucky laughs lowly and kisses the skin just below Steve's ear. "Do you wanna fuck?"
In lieu of an answer, Steve moves his lips, grinding his erection against Bucky's, listening as he moans low in Steve's ear and honestly, if Steve wasn't a master of self-control, he could have come from that sound alone.
"Okay, yeah, I hear you," Bucky says as he grinds back against Steve.
Steve bites hard on his lower lip; he's shaking with anticipation and needs Bucky in him right now. "Do you have protection?"
Bucky nods, his hair brushing against Steve's cheek before he climbs off Steve and locates his pants, digging through the pockets until he pulls out a condom and a small bottle of lube. When Bucky returns to the bed, Steve makes sure that he doesn't leave for the rest of the night.
.
.
In the morning, Steve wakes up and Bucky is gone.
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Steve is walking back to the hotel, reflecting on everything that occurred yesterday as the first rays of sunlight breech the horizon. Surprisingly, he's not mad at Bucky for ditching him after he fell asleep, no he's more surprised at his reaction to Bucky's advances. Steve isn't the type of person to jump into bed with someone he just met, but he slept with Bucky without any hesitation. He let Bucky take his clothes off, see his exposed, inferior body, fuck him until they both passed out. He doesn't regret a single fucking thing because Bucky looked at him like he meant something, as though Steve was someone precious to him, someone valuable, and the more Steve thinks about the wonderful day he spent getting to know Bucky, the more a warming sensation blooms in his gut that spread throughout his entire body. He's hesitant to call it love, but he can't think of a better word to describe what he's feeling.
A smile crosses his face as he reaches the hotel, entering the lobby and taking the elevator to his and Sam's floor. He walks down the long hallway before arriving at his destination, using his key to open the door and slip inside. After a quick scan of the room, he finds Sam sitting in one of the plush chairs near the window, magazine in his hands and phone resting on the table next to him.
When the door closes fully, Sam looks over and grins before tossing his magazine aside. "So, where have been?" he asks.
Steve shrugs. "Out," he says simply. He crosses the room, grabbing his suitcase off the floor and setting it on his bed before moving around the room and the bathroom so he can collect all of his things.
Sam hums. "With Bucky?"
"No," Steve says, wincing because he answered a little too quickly. "Stop giving me that look, Sam."
"What look?"
"That look that says, 'I know what you were up to last night.' I can literally hear you grinning." Steve turns and stares at his friend unimpressed.
"Alright, you got me," Sam says, still grinning. "I'm a good guesser and you rolling back here at eight in the morning wearing yesterday's clothes and smelling like sex isn't doing you any favors. I'll let it go for now, but I promise that I will get the details from you one way or another."
Steve rolls his eyes. "Yeah right."
Sam raises a challenging eyebrow and Steve stares him down for a minute before shaking his head.
"So, how were things with Natasha?" Steve asks, curiously.
"I can't even begin to tell you how amazing it was," Sam gushes. "We went to the gardens, the top of the Eiffel Tower, we took a canoe across the Seine at twilight, I held her hand and kissed her goodbye—I actually kissed her, Steve. She has the softest lips and I didn't even care that she got lipstick all over me. She is the most cunning, most beautiful woman I have ever met." He sighs happily. "I think I'm in love with her."
Steve almost tells Sam that he knows the feeling, but he bites his tongue. If he says anything, Sam will wring the details out of him for sure and he still needs to figure out his feelings before he talks to Sam. "Well, I'm glad you had a good time."
Sam hums his agreement. "I'd say the same to you, but I know you ain't gonna tell me nothing yet." He pauses. "Bucky did do you right, though? Because if I find out he didn't, he will not live to see his next birthday, I can guarantee that."
Steve smiles, feeling a familiar warmth blooming in his chest. Sam always has Steve's best interests at heart and it makes him proud to have such an amazing friend. "Yes, Sam, he treated me right."
"Good," Sam says, with a nod, leaning back the chair and crosses his arms over his chest. He's silent for a moment before saying, "Oh, I covered for you with Fury earlier. He came in here while he was doing his headcount and asked where you were so I told him you were in the bathroom with the runs."
Steve makes a face. "Oh great, now he's going to probably spend the entire flight checking up on me to make sure I don't have an accident. Thanks for that."
Sam grins. "You're welcome."
Steve rolls his eyes and continues repacking his suitcase while he and Sam talk about nothing in particular. When he's done, Sam grabs both of their bags before heading down to the lobby, wanting to get a good seat on the bus that will take them to the airport. Steve stays behind, doing a last minute room check to make sure they have everything. He's about to leave the room when his phone chimes. He pulls the device out of his pocket and discovers that he has an unread message from Bucky. Curious he opens the phone and reads over the message.
Hey, I'm really sorry for leaving last night. Natasha showed up at our hotel room and threatened to kick down the door if I didn't come out.
That's alright. I mean, you wouldn't have left if you had no choice, right?
Of course not. I like you, Steve; I like you a lot. I feel like we have this . . . connection that transcends time or something. Like we were always supposed to be together.
That sounds a lot like the soulmate theory.
The what?
The soulmate theory. Where two people are connected so strongly that no matter where or when they are, they will always find each other.
Like an "I'm with you til the end of the line" sort of thing?
Exactly.
Steve sends the message and pockets his phone before leaving the hotel room after giving the area another quick glance. He's waiting for the elevator to arrive when his phone beeps and he has another text from Bucky.
I just got an idea and I think you're gonna like it.
Out with it, Barnes.
Here it goes: we should meet back up in Paris again in a year or two—you, me, Sam, and Natasha. I'd say we should meet up before then, but this trip literally drained our savings.
Steve smiles. The elevator doors open and he steps inside, pressing the button for the lobby before responding. That sounds like a great idea; I'll run it by Sam and let you know what he says.
Awesome. We can even meet at your stupid, unimpressive Tower because why the fuck not.
I'll agree with the meeting place, but not about the Eiffel Tower being stupid. It's an iconic landmark, Buck— a symbol of Paris.
I'm still not impressed tbh.
Steve rolls his eyes. He's about to respond when Bucky sends another message.
I'd love to continue this chat, but I have to go now. Our plane is about to take off and Natasha is yelling at me for texting. I guess I'll see you online soon and in person in two years . . . right?
Steve smiles widely. You can count on that.
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Two Years Later
"Are you sure you know where you're going, Sam?"
"Of course I do! Have I ever steered you wrong before?"
"Well there was that time when—"
"Boy, don't even think about finishing that sentence."
Steve laughs and Sam lets a brief smile cross his features before going back to intently studying the map in his hands.
It's been two long years since they've been to Paris and Steve is thrilled to be back, especially since Sam almost didn't get time off from the hospital because of a scheduling conflict (Steve doesn't have to deal with that since as a teacher, he always has summers off). He's glad everything worked out for them in the end—Steve feels as though Paris has been calling to him ever since Bucky first suggested meeting up and would have been crushed if they had to cancel.
"Alright, I figured it out. We have to do a little backtracking but I know where I'm going now," Sam says as he folds up the map and slides it into his pocket.
"Lead the way, oh wise one."
"Hilarious," Sam deadpans before shaking his head.
They start navigating their way through the busy streets of Paris, doing their best to avoid the crowds though it's difficult since tourist season is well underway. Steve sends a text message to Bucky, letting him know that they're on their way. He doesn't get a response, but Steve doesn't let that discourage him as memories of his first time in Paris flow to the forefront of his mind, creating a warm, fuzzy feeling that he gets when he thinks about Bucky. Though, Steve knows that he's always going to associate Paris with his boyfriend, seeing as this is the city where they first met.
Sam nudges Steve in the shoulder, cutting off his chain of thought and points across the street, signaling that they have arrived at their destination. They carefully cross the street and enter the Champs des Mars, almost immediately spotting their friends sitting side by side on a bench near the Eiffel Tower, Natasha reading a novel and Bucky on his phone. Steve exchanges a grin with Sam before they start jogging the length of the park.
Natasha looks up first and notices them approaching, smiling widely before nodding in their direction. She taps Bucky on the shoulder and he waves her off without looking up from his phone. She rolls her eyes, setting aside her novel and rising from the bench, holding out her arms that Sam readily enters once he and Steve arrive, his hands sliding along her hips before he kisses her, long and hard. Natasha sighs, her arms winding around Sam's neck as she walks backwards until her back is against a nearby tree and Steve swears he hears her moan when Sam presses his body against hers.
Steve directs his attention away from his friends and back to Bucky, amused at how absorbed his boyfriend is with his phone. He grins slyly to himself sliding into the open next seat next to Bucky. "Fancy seeing you here, soldier."
Bucky's head snaps up and whirls to the side, a bright smile overtaking his face. He quickly puts away his phone and pulls Steve into his arms, burying his nose in Steve's hair while Steve laughs and holds him close.
"I had just gotten your text saying you were on your way and was responding to it," Bucky says in complete disbelief. "How long have you been sitting here?"
"Not long," Steve says, grinning as he pulls away and looks into Bucky's eyes, the utter love and devotion in his pale blue gaze.
Bucky smiles and kisses him then, and Steve can't help but feel like he's just come home.