We Moved the Furniture So We Could Dance

"You gotta stop looking at your feet."

"Sorry," Steve mumbles, still staring at his and Bucky's feet, thinking maybe if he looks long and hard enough his feet with finally get it. Bucky lets go of his shoulder long enough to take hold of his chin and lift his eyes from the ground. "A gal won't mind if you can't dance if you look at her with those eyes of yours."

"She'll mind if I break her toes."

"You're too light to do that."

Steve glowers and purposely steps forward onto Bucky's toes with as much force as he can muster.

"Did a draft come through across my toes or was that you?"

"Jerk."

Bucky laughs and pulls Steve closer. "C'mon now. We gotta teach you to dance before tomorrow night."

"The girls don't even want me along," Steve's eyes drop to his feet again. "They're just there for you."

"Well I want you to come along so," Bucky gently pulls Steve head up again and smiles, "chin up and learn how to control your legs."

-x-

"So, did that super-soldier serum do anything for your dancing abilities?"

Steve shook his head. "Hopeless as ever."

"Good thing people don't really ask you to dance anymore," Bucky says, getting a laugh out of Steve.

"No, I suppose they don't. Dancing changed anyhow; even if I knew how to dance then I wouldn't know how to dance now."

"You're too hard on yourself. Weren't that bad back in the day." Bucky leaves the couch to flick through their record collection, one of the few nostalgic things they kept in the apartment.

"No need to save my feelings, Buck. I can't keep time and I injured the poor girls you suckered into dancing with me."

"I thought you were a great partner."

"Liar," Steve grins.

Finally finding something fitting, Bucky pulls a record from its sleeve – blocking Steve's line of sight so it'll be a surprise –and slides it into place on the player. "Let's see if you're still as bad as you say."

"Buck, please. No." A blush creeps it way onto Steve's cheeks.

"C'mon. Old time's sake."

"Bucky."

"Steve," he mocks, hand open, waiting for Steve to take it and join him. He flicks the corner of his mouth upward in a smirk, egging his friend on, daring him to say no.

Steve swats Bucky's hand away. Sighing, he pushes himself off of the sofa and caves. "Fine."

A triumphant smile crosses Bucky's face as he puts the needle on the record and walks back over to Steve. He places his hand on the small of Steve's back, much more muscular than he remembered, much sturdier. Lifetimes ago he was afraid he might snap a bone if he held Steve too tight. Now he could easily toss the guy out a window a few stories up and give him little more than a scratch. The metal hand closing around Steve's is a pretty big difference too.

"Would you rather me switch—"

Steve shakes his head. "This is fine," he says, tightening his hand around Bucky's

"Alright. Just try not to step on my toes; it'll hurt now," Bucky quips.

Steve lightly taps his foot on top of Bucky's. "I'll go easy on you, old man."

Bucky chuckles and takes a step back, pulling Steve with him. "Shut up, punk."

They dance a small circle around the center of the living room without a word, occasionally having to change course after lightly bumping the sofa or a chair.

"I remember doing this in our dinky little apartment, pushing the furniture to the walls so we'd have room," Steve says.

"Not that we had a lot."

"Space or furniture?"

"Both."

"And the floor was freezing."

"Thank God you've got A/C and heating now so we're not sweating to death in the summer and catchin' frostbite in the winter."

"Would matter much anymore."

"No, I 'spose not." Bucky notices a distinct lack of stepped-on toes and he hadn't had to right Steve after he tripped on his own feet yet. "I thought you said you still weren't any good at this."

Steve just shrugs and pulls Bucky closer as the record continued to a slower melody.

"Doesn't seem right, Captain America telling lies."

"Cap might not lie, but Steve Rogers isn't always above it."

"If you wanted me to dance with you all you had to do was ask," Bucky grins, lightly stepping on Steve's toes in the process. "Plus, I owe you a few dances."

"Seventy years' worth, I'd say."

"That's a lot of dancing to do."

"Didn't think you were the kind of guy to try and back out of your debts."

"Not when I've got you around to keep me honest."

Steve presses himself against Bucky, neither of them anywhere near as small as they used to be. He used to be able to rest his head against Bucky's chest. Now he's just a hair taller than Bucky and has to settle for resting cheek to cheek.

Maybe now it's just the fact that he's the only person Steve can truly relate to – super soldier from the world war two era kept on ice is a very specific and very, very small subset of the population – but there's still something reassuring and inexplicably 'home' about being this close to Bucky.

Bucky holds him tighter, keeps Steve as close as possible. He's the only familiar thing he can cling to and he worries constantly that one day Steve will disappear and he'll be left scrambling in fragmented memories once again. Those thoughts are pushed from his mind as he forces himself to focus on the moment, on how satisfying it is to finally share a dance with his best friend without pretense.

"Glad you finally stopped looking at your feet, Rogers," he murmurs, barely audible even next to Steve's ear.

"I had a good teacher," he whispers back before gently kissing Bucky's cheek. Bucky pulls back a little and catches Steve's lips.

"If you're gonna kiss me, kiss me proper."

Steve smiles and tries to hide his face in Bucky's neck as he blushes. Resting against each other, the two of them continue to sway in small, contented circles. The record had run out, but they didn't mind; they had a lot of catching up to do.