"You still knocking 'em back or…?" Bucky asked, eyelids a little heavier than usual.
His wrist was twirling in a counter-clockwise direction, swirling the alcohol amongst the ice in his glass. A silly smile was creeping onto his face, blue in his eyes sparkling from the bulbs suspended by the ceiling. The dim lighting in the establishment heightened the contrast between Bucky and his surroundings as he licked his lips and looked dreamily into Steve's eyes.
"I can keep going all night." He chuckled.
He looked around and sighed, they had been waiting for Peggy since ten o'clock.
The other man raised an eyebrow at his companion.
"You have no idea." Steve said before pouring the remains of his drink down his throat.
Bucky's head tilted to the side as he placed a hand under his jaw, he began to slide across the table. The blonde watched as pale eyes moved from right to left in his line of vision. Before the smaller soldier slipped off the edge, the super hero reached out and gently grasped his friend's forearm.
"You've had a little too much." Smiling and sighing sympathetically, he began to stand, still holding onto the compliant arm. "Come on."
Steve moved around the table and put his hand in his pockets. He watched while the smaller man staggered to his feet, grinning and gripping the table. The blonde nodded to the barkeep and slapped a pair of twenty dollar bills on the counter, rotating to watch as his friend slowly stepped over to him. A broad shoulder pushed the door open and a thick arm shot out to hold it for a wobbly Bucky. He waved giddily to the only other remaining party in the bar and moved out onto the sidewalk. He looked up into the streetlight and beyond to the stars that shone over the grimy, wet streets of Brooklyn. The moon was peeking out between two sluggish rainclouds which cast enormous shadows with their companions over the seemingly abandoned apartments and silent shops. There wasn't a soul afoot but the few soldiers enjoying all the temporary comforts within American borders and the homeless sitting on crates and drinking various bottles of liquor.
Bucky turned around and looked back at Captain Rogers. His hands were still in his pockets and he was watching his feet as they made their way along the soaked sidewalk. The sounds of his feet were uninterrupted but for the sounds of Bucky's sloppy steps, shouts and guffaws from down the street, and the hissing of sewers, cats and whatnot. The moonlight illuminated his neat strands of gold and his long lashes shimmered every time they moved over his downcast eyes. His giant shoulders rotated back and forth as he unconsciously let an insurmountable amount of swagger flow from his person. Suddenly, the smaller man's footsteps faltered and his legs gave out beneath him. He stumbled and pitched toward the ground with a less than manly outcry.
The sound was mangled as his friend extended his arms and pulled the drunk into himself.
"Bucky!" Steve hissed. "Be careful!"
The sergeant braced himself against the larger man, his head spinning as he fumbled in getting his legs to work.
"I am fine!" He laughed, patting the formidable hands holding him in place. "I can walk."
Reluctantly, the captain let him go and watched, concerned, as the other leaned away and stood momentarily before swinging back into the hard chest with an "oof!".
"Gee, man, you really packed on the muscle, huh?" He let a hand smack against Steve's chest as a flush rose to the former chorus girl's cheeks.
"I, uh," He never finished the sentence.
Bucky seemed to have fallen asleep.
"Bucky?" He straightened, lifting the smaller man off the ground. "Bucky?"
"Mmmm, take me home, Steve." He whispered.
Tiny request it was, it sent a debilitating shiver through the mighty body and shook the little guy underneath all the beef at the core. Bucky's featured turned solemn and his head lolled to one side, his clean-shaven cheeks shining white in the moonlight. He smiled a sympathetic smile and raised his hand to the other not-so-shaven jaw line. Steve's heart leaped into his throat as the hand moved parallel to his cheek and all the possibilities of what might happen in the next four seconds ran through his mind.
"Steven." Bucky called in a coy voice. "Steven."
"Bu—" The hand smacked him in the face.
"Take me home." He repeated firmly.
The taller man straightened his neck and let out a breath he didn't know he was holding.
"Of course," He sighed, maneuvering the other soldier so that he was being carried bridal style.
He didn't think that giving himself the chance to live through one fantasy with a half conscious Bucky would do any harm. Even if the fantasy was backwards of how he had always dreamt it.
The superhero took a few steps in the direction of the hotel he and the other soldiers were staying at and paused. It was quite a ways off, a little too far to walk at such a time in the night. He turned and looked back toward the bar and then across the street. He knew the layout of Brooklyn well and remembered when Stark had told him of a little place he would sleep at on business trips.
"…If you take a left on 45th and go straight up North St., you keep walking until you hit Wilcon and then make another left and keep walking until you pass Norrey's Tailoring and you'll be right across the street from paradise…" He remembered Stark explaining to a beautiful dame inside the lab. "Feel free to stop by anytime you need anything. You, too, Captain, but only in emergencies in your case."
He was on Wilcon St. and it was only a couple blocks from where he stood, his delirious pal in his arms. He strolled through New York and cautiously made his way from the bar. He recalled stories of gangsters running the streets of America's largest city at night from his childhood. Looking from side to side, he felt as if something were creeping up behind him, or more specifically, someone. Stilling, he checked over his shoulder and heard something rattle in an alley he had passed a couple yards ago. He quickened his pace, Bucky groaning as his body knocked harder against the other one in swift movement.
There was a man in an overused coat sitting upon a crate on the opposite side of the street, he watched as the man with an awe-inspiring physique made his way down the sidewalk, holding in arms a suspicious gathering of human parts. Steve looked around for the establishment that was pointed out in the tale and discovered it to be on the opposite side of the road from him. Gripping a loopy man, he looked above and saw a light on the second floor of the building he was before. A happy creature moved to the front door of the building and tossed a drunken man over one shoulder. He didn't question what possessed the weapons expert to be awake at this hour and quietly tapped on the door.
A loud clang could be heard from beyond the barrier.
"WHAT IN GOD'S—" Another collision of two things metallic. "OW, OH, SWEET JESUS."
He listened closely as something unholy fell apart behind the door and several heavy, bare footsteps came toward the entrance.
"Who in the hell comes knocking on my door at this hour," He heard the man mumble as he toyed with the various locks and bolts on what must have been a laboratory and not a home.
With utter irritation, he flung the door open and stood in the center of the threshold. He didn't say a word.
"Did we come at a bad time?" Steve shifted his weight from one side to the other, the head of his buddy trying to let his eyes make contact with Stark's own.
Howard watched with interest as the sergeant rested on an enormous shoulder.
"Will you let us in?" The mechanic frowned but stepped aside, a large metal cylinder in his hand.
"Do you know what time it is? What happened to him?" Stark pulled his goggles completely off his head.
His faced was greased with the black gook that coated old pieces of metal that had been touching for some time. He was wearing a heavy apron and had a pair of torn up, black gloves in his pocket. Three pieces of the darkest brown hairs were out of place, sitting lazily upon a sweat covered brow and his tiny, characteristic mustache was uncharacteristically unruly. His eyes were wide and darting, as if he had drunk too much coffee and he was the tiniest bit out of breath. His shirt had various instances of triumph and defeat splattered over it and there was a potent stench of copper filling the air.
"Uh, n-no," His lips pouted in his stuttering. "But I was wondering if that offer to drop by was still standing."
He looked around the studio for a couch or lounge, even a chair.
"Uh, yeah, I guess." Stark tossed the cylinder onto a table and put his hands on his hips. "I'm on the clock, though, I've got a deadline that is in…a few hours."
He looked at his watch and missed the blonde sigh in mourning for a chair. All there was lying around the entire first floor were various metal, plastic, and glass items, tables, and packaging.
"Do you have a….uh," He looked down at the floor and patted Bucky's backside.
"I really gotta get back to work, buddy." He held his hand out toward the metallic, winding and endless stairs. "Just make yourselves at home in one of the rooms up there."
Before the guest could give thanks, the man with the mustache put his goggles back on and slipped away into a back room. He closed the door behind him and started banging loudly with something metal on something else metal. Steve attempted to yell but couldn't get his voice to rise high enough. He shook his head and moved to the grand stair, shifting Bucky back to bridal style. The other man became a bit more aware of his surroundings, completely opening his eyes for the first time in half an hour.
"The ceiling is white," The smaller soldier wondered aloud. "Not dirty. Where are we?"
"Home." He said reassuringly, taking the last step.
"The orphanage has yellow ceilings." He closed his eyes again and hummed a tune that Steve had not heard in many years.
"It sure does." The able-bodied man pushed open the deep wood of a door that lead to a room at the end of the hall.
There was nothing inviting about the bed chamber. It was Victorian style, with dark, mahogany furniture and cream-colored wall paper; the design matched the one on the bed spread and there was nothing to identify who had or might inhabit the room. It was void of any personal items and the only loose thing that might have been seemingly out of place, was a folded up quilt sitting on the tiny lounge at the foot of the bed.
Steve spun with man in his arms and studied the dwelling with confusion. He was about to question whether the weapons genius actually slept in the room when a nasty groan sounded from next to his chest.
"Stop with the twirling," Bucky wailed dramatically, covering his eyes and slurring his words.
"Alright, alright." The soldier laid his comrade on the bed and sat beside him.
As the other twisted into the sheets, Captain Rogers attempted to remove his not-so-worn shoes. The right came off without the shorter man knowing, but his legs started to flail as Steve moved to the left.
"Hey, now," He growled, putting his weight on the appendage. "Stop wiggling."
Bucky groaned again and tried to roll under the larger man's weight, his legs twisting as the unbearable force held them in place while his torso shifted. The dark-haired soldier put his face in the pillow and let out another animalistic sound. As the taller man pulled his weight off, he received an unexpected kick in the nose.
"Ah!" He hissed as his head recoiled.
The strike didn't cause any pain but he was taken aback by the action. He turned toward the headboard, a pale face attempting not to giggle staring back at his shocked, Bahama-blue orbs. Bucky's self control broke as he leaned forward and reached for Steve's face.
"Ohoho, Steve." His amusement outweighed his remorse.
Cradling the large head, he used his right hand to stroke the overgrown man's cheek. There was a momentary stillness as the superhero basked in the sound of the other's soft laughter, reverberating from a booze-stained chest to an eager ear. Bucky's calloused hand patted the side of the taller man's face as he pulled him into a motherly snuggle on the bed, Bucky smiled and rubbed the space between the blonde's shoulder blades comfortingly. The position was only comfortable for the sergeant; the other was halfway on the floor.
"I was so happy," The intoxicated man started in a quiet and lethargic voice, resting his head atop the blonde locks. "When I saw you in that laboratory."
Steve breathed inaudibly.
"I thought, 'An angel has come to save little, ol', worthless me'." The hand on Captain Rogers' face stilled as the one between his shoulder blades slowed.
The bigger man stood, solemnly, and looked his friend in the eye with the most serious expression he could grasp.
"Bucky," He called in the dim light, his voice deep with concern.
He pushed his way into the bed and shoved his companion to roll onto the other half of the mattress. His warm hand reached out and grasped the seemingly anemic one with almost brutal force. Aquamarine eyes barreled deep into icy, white ones as Steve sat up, rising above the sergeant and resting on his elbow.
"This," Said sergeant spoke before the other soldier could convince himself to voice his thoughts. "Is just like when we were children and we were sharing that bed in one of the older kid rooms."
He smiled pathetically and looked down at their interlocked hands. Bucky still stared at him, his eyes waiting for a connection. The well of confidence that had swollen in the blonde dissipated and he kicked himself for not being able to sleep that night long ago. He flexed his jaw muscles and sat upright.
At the head of the bed was a window looking out into the street, covered by sheer, white curtains. The combination of the moon and street lights created a pale, yellow aura in the room as a bright streak shined on the Captain's worried brow. He looked out at the darkened rooms and lonely, slimy-looking sidewalk and bit his lower lip. It was a serene scene like this that set Steve in a melancholy and romantic mood. His mind was racing through the thoughts that plagued him every night, thoughts that would get a man burnt alive, lynched, or sent to hell. He had to remember the world that he lived in and all the freedoms and limits it gave a man, there was no way he could let his imagination dictate his actions. Head hanging low, he looked at the windowsill and put his hands in his pockets. There was only so much heartbreak a man could ta—
"Steve." Bucky called, on his back with his hands reaching for the man by the window.
The taller man reluctantly and embarrassedly shuffled back over to the bed and stood with one hand in his pocket and the other on his head. His knees bumped against the edge of the mattress and he scratched the nape of his neck, abashedly. The pale man opened and closed his hands as if reaching for boobies, instead grasping the other's thighs. He jumped back a bit, tickled by the grabby fingers.
"Steve," He repeated, smacking the bed on his left side.
It was obvious that the muscled soldier would not fit in the corner created by the diagonal of Bucky's body. With a dopey smile and his hands still pocketed, the blonde circled the bed and kneeled on the mattress, towering over the drunken man. Quickly, the other reached for him and pulled the mutant soldier down by his tie.
"No!" Bucky screamed, clueless to the fact that he had yanked the eerily heavy and innocently unsuspecting man down on himself. "Ow!"
He crashed down on the shorter soldier and crushed him into the sheets. Said soldier straddled him and screamed, throwing his head back and gasping as the pair sprang back up. Steve struggled to free his hands from his uniform pockets, his head, chest, and knees pushed into the two smooth things under him.
"Bucky!" He shouted, caught off guard by the attack.
"Mmmm." He responded, relaxing and letting his body loosen under the man.
One of his arms wrapped around the broad back as Steve's collarbone pressed against his Adam's Apple.
"Shh-shh-shh." The sergeant rubbed between the swollen trapezius and let his head roll to the left.
The impressively chiseled face gave way to a crimson blush created by a frightening chill through his body. The feeling of those soft lips brushing against his sensitive ear was a dream come true for the blonde. He let out a shaky breath as he freed his hands from his pockets and placed them on either side of Bucky's pliable body. Allowing his nerves to feel the sensation of the alcohol tinged breath a bit longer, Steve slowly broke the contact between their chests and pushed himself up to look down on the other. Blue orbs connecting with the icy ones once again that night as Bucky's head tilted to study his friend. An apologetic look crept upon his pathetic face as he let his hands meet on the godly chest and rub over the buttons that were placed directly over the superhero's nipples.
With his heavy lids and pouting lips, he almost looked as if he understood every emotion and impulse that shot through Steve's body. Like he had known all these years what desire had been hidden behind those sad eyes of the previously smaller man. How it had been swirling, boiling and gushing from limb to limb, rushing to the fingers of the sergeant at each touch over the years and reversing from burning to freezing in the boy's gut as his mind over thought every hug, smile, pat on the back, laugh, or stare that had come from Bucky. As if he shared the same sinful wants, knowing that every late night wet dream was nothing more than a fantasy, a prerequisite to his fate of begging for redemption at the hands of the devil, his kryptonite and darkest secret. He hoped that the man could see past his defenses and know that there was more to this friendship than mutual admiration and respect.
Bucky's hands moved up, curving over the enormous shoulders and smoothing down the fabric of his comrade's collar before letting his calloused fingers creep up into the blonde strands. As Steve's well trained reflexes of refraining from indulging his need for his companion's body and its heat caused him to pull away, the legs straddling him tightened and attempted to hold him down gently.
"Steve." He all but whimpered.
Another second passed as the blonde's years of heartbreak and patience for this moment flashed before him. He knew he deserved this. He tilted his head and closed his eyes, leaning down and pressing his lips to the smaller man's own.