A/N: Fill for a prompt at capkink.

Bucky

5

Steve was sick, just like he always was, and Sister Clarice had already shooed him back to his own bed three times that night, though sympathizing. He was glad it was her that caught them, cuddled up under Steve's blanket, rather than Sister Bernadette. She'd have been far more cross with them, regardless of the state of his best friend's health. This time it was a chest cold, and they were lucky in that the nuns had managed to afford him some medication this time. Unfortunately, the orphanage didn't get enough money to care for all the children as they really needed to, and Steve had gone without before.

Bucky was scared for Steve; the medicine wasn't quite working fast enough for his liking. He could feel in his own chest how shaky Steve's breaths were, and as a result he didn't even joke about how the vertebrae in Steve's back were digging into his sternum. They stayed silent, though both awake, praying in their own heads that this wouldn't be the time that he didn't make it through the night.

Acting on impulse, Bucky pressed a delicate kiss to the crook of Steve's neck.

They fell asleep not long after that, and in the morning, Sister Clarice pretended that she didn't know that Bucky had gone right back to Steve's bed the last time she had asked him to return to his own.

4

Sometimes, Steven G. Rogers just didn't know how to shut up. It was one of those few things that actually could irk his best friend, though if anyone else said anything, they'd be eating a knuckle sandwich. For a little guy, he sure was a big man with big ideals, and a big bit of courage to match. Bucky wished sometimes that Steve would have the body to match, or could at least be healthy, but he was the one always saying that the stuff that happened to you helped make you who you are. Without this, Steve might not be the same guy. Of course, that meant his big mouth and big ideals got his butt beat every couple of days, and he didn't have the body to come out of it on top.

"I had 'em on the ropes." Steve says for what feels like the millionth time as Bucky drags him up off the sidewalk and onto his feet. They were in some back alley, no one else around, and he knew he couldn't bring Steve back to the orphanage looking like he did. Lip bloodied, hair all out of place, dirt on his trousers, he would certainly draw the sight of the holy dames, as he liked to call them.

"Sure you did, kid." He responds, pushing strands of blonde out of the other boy's face. "Let's get you to the deli. I'm sure Mr. Piscitelli will let us use the sink in the back to clean you up a little." He started to walk, but Steve stayed put. "What's a matter? We can't stay here all day."

Looking back, he saw Steve was staring at the ground.

"They said you just hung around me 'cus 'o pity." He scuffed his boot in the dirt. "I punched him first."

He was floored. Was that really what they all thought? Was that what Steve thought? He walked back purposefully, tugged Steve's chin up, and planted a firm kiss on his lips, careful to avoid the spot where one was split.

"You listen here, and listen good, 'cus I'm only saying it once. I love you, Stevie. You're my best friend, and I hang around with you because I want to, not because of pity. Okay?"

As Steve twisted out of looking him in the eye, he ducked down and moved himself accordingly until he finally got a nod out of him.

As a joke, he added, "Though I'd appreciate it if you didn't tell anyone what I said. I've got a reputation to keep. They'll call me a sap."

Steve laughed, "And I'd punch 'em in the jaw for you."

3

When Bucky gets back, long past curfew, though none of the nuns noticed, he found Steve sitting in his bed, shading his latest drawing to perfection. It was something he'd just picked up when someone who took a liking to Steve gave him the supplies. At this point they were sharing a room, Sister Bernadette long having given up any hope on separating the two for healthy periods of time, particularly after the thunderstorm incident wherein Steve woke everyone up, and Bucky was the only one who could calm him.

"So, how was the date?" Steve asked, seemingly disinterested as he kept his eyes on his picture.

"She was a real looker, Stevie, I'm tellin' ya!" Bucky flopped to his own bed and stared at the ceiling. "It's a shame how it ended, though." This, of course, caught Steve's attention.

"How'd it end?" He asked, putting down the sketchbook.

"We'd just gotten done dancing right? And I walked her home, just two blocks over, so it wasn't a big deal, but it was the gentlemanly thing to do, and then she leaned in to kiss me."

"And that's bad because…?" Steve didn't get it.

"I haven't, uh…" Bucky looked over to him, blush rising on his cheeks. "I haven't kissed anyone before, and I kind of freaked out. I don't think she'll want to see me again. She thought I didn't want to kiss her and she stormed inside. Then her father was standing in the doorway, giving me the nastiest look, like 'how dare you upset my little girl' and 'you shouldn't be that close to her, anyways' all wrapped into one."

"It's okay, Buck. You're only 15, you've got time." Steve reassured him before getting up and joining him in his bed.

"Yeah, but what if it happens again? I mean, I want to go out and have a good time, and most of the time that includes a pretty dame. If they want to kiss, and I can't do it, word'll spread, and I won't get dates anymore. What I really need is to kiss someone while I'm not all nervous."

Steve rolled over onto his side to face him, and Bucky followed. They kind of gravitated to each other like that.

"So kiss me." Steve says, all innocent. Bucky knows he means it, too. He doesn't think of the things that immediately sprung to Bucky's mind, like what would happen if they were to get caught. The nuns already thought that they were a little to the unnatural side with how they were so codependent.

"It's a bad idea, Stevie." Bucky informs him, though as the idea settles in his mind, it's getting more and more appealing. He's willing to bet that Steve hasn't kissed anyone yet either, and they've known each other for so long that they wouldn't pick on each other for doing it wrong.

"Everyone's already asleep." Steve mumbled, "They won't know." Perhaps Steve did think of these things…

After a few moments to contemplate his options, he leaned in and kissed Steve, right on the lips like he'd done that one time in the back alley, but instead of it being quick, it was slow, and Steve did it right back. He repositioned himself, pulled at the other boy's lower lip a bit, and found that this kissing thing really wasn't so bad. It was…nice. He smiled.

"Not so hard after all."

Steve smiled back and returned to his own bed. "Nope."

2

One of Steve's greatest shortcomings was his lack of faith in himself. As much as he stood up against the bullies, their words still sunk in, and he had this habit of thinking lowly of himself. Bucky's convinced this is the reason why the girls he pairs his best friend up with just don't want to be with him. Confidence is attractive to a girl. Or, well, everyone. The sad thing was, he was confident in everything he ought to be BUT himself. That didn't sit well with Bucky, and after what felt like the thousandth unsuccessful double date, they went home to their crappy apartment together. Much as he knew that Steve actually did want to dance, despite his comments to the contrary, there was only so much that he could do.

Looking over to their small, finicky radio, he walked over and turned it on, then snagged Steve by the wrist before he could walk off.

"What are we doing?" Steve asked, genuinely curious as to why he had been suddenly pulled into Bucky's personal space.

"Dancing," He replied, moving them into the appropriate positions and beginning to sway. Steve quickly got the idea and moved with him, and Bucky was almost surprised that there was no protest. Maybe they were just that close that there needn't be one. They'd known each other over half of their lives, and been closer than anyone else they ever knew in that entire time.

The music was slow, something by The Ink Spots, if memory serves, and they swayed to it like they were meant to…fit perfectly together. And as the song ended, Bucky leaned in.

Their lips slotted together so perfectly, so much better than the other kisses they'd shared, and for once, Bucky felt a tingle in his gut that he just couldn't explain. They took their time in pulling away, opening their eyes again, and he honestly couldn't remember when they'd shut them.

"Thank you." Steve whispered, and Bucky wasn't certain that he'd spoken at all. If he had, it was for the dance more than the kiss; he was sure of it. "I think I'm gonna turn in." Steve said as he took a smooth step backwards, out of his arms. Bucky felt kind of cold then. "Are you going to join me?"

Bucky nodded. It would be just like old times, when they would sleep in the same bed, even when they shared a room with two, just because it was nice to be so close.

They didn't say a word about it the next morning.

1

So this was it- the night before Sgt. James Barnes shipped off with the 107th, the same unit Steve had wanted so badly to be in. Out of habit more than anything and some part of him that didn't want to leave his best friend on his own, he'd set them up with two dames for the evening, and he'd ended up with both of them, just as he always did. That made him feel like a real jerk, even if it was Steve who walked away to once again try his chances at getting in.

He did make sure to leave early. Telling them he needed to get his rest was only a half truth, but he wasn't about to tell them he really just wanted to get home to lay with Steve one last time. Bucky had no illusions about this; as much as he wanted to, his chances of coming home at the end of it all were slim. He was going to die for his country, plain and simple, in some field somewhere in the dead of winter, uncomfortable and alone. His last thoughts, if he had time to have them, would be of Steve, who he loved more than anything, or anyone. Maybe that's why he was really doing this. He'd enlisted on the day he went with Stevie to the recruiting office, probably wouldn't have gone in if he hadn't been there with him. Of course, there was the draft, but he might not have gotten drafted. Maybe he was going over there to fight for the both of them.

He always fought for the both of them.

He wouldn't go willingly to his death because everybody said it was right, but he would do it for Steve.

Turning the key in the lock to their (formerly) shared apartment, he made a point to enter as quietly as possible, just in case Steve was already asleep. It wouldn't matter much if he was, Bucky would slip into bed with him, hold him, watch him until he couldn't keep his eyes open anymore, and wake him in the morning to say one last goodbye. Of course, it was pointless. Steve was still up, sitting at their little table they'd salvaged from a woman down the street who had gotten an even bigger one. Glass of their cheap alcohol in hand, Steve looked positively miserable, showing in his body what he'd been unable to hide in his eyes all day.

"Hey, Steve." Bucky greeted him, feeling a bit miserable himself.

Steve didn't say anything; he took another sip of his drink.

"Gonna ignore me on my last night here?" Bucky closed the door behind him and strode across the short distance to stand in front of the other man.

"I didn't expect it to be this hard."

He knelt down so he could look at Steve, and there was that feeling again, the one he'd been fighting for a year now since that dance they shared; only now he knew what it was. Reaching up, he wiped a tear away from his face, just like he'd done a thousand times before, and this time he made it a conscious choice to kiss him. He leaned ever so slightly to the side so their noses wouldn't bump, took a breath, and did it. Bucky tasted the saline of the tears Steve had cried before he returned, the booze he'd been drinking, and maybe a little of the popcorn he'd had earlier in the evening, but that was nothing to the overwhelming sensation of the eager, even desperate way that Steve kissed him back. He knew in that moment that if they had their way, they'd both choose to stay like this forever. It was impossible; time was coming to an end for them, and this was all they'd get.

Wrapping their arms around each other seemed like the natural progression, followed by Bucky picking him up to carry to bed.

In the morning he'd feel like crap for waiting so long to really show Steve how he felt, but they'd both know that they'd have seen it a mile away if they'd have looked. Promising to write, Sgt. James Barnes departed, hoping like hell he was wrong about not coming back.

Steve

1

Three and a half days. That's how long it had been since Steve made the choice (not that it really was one, so long as it involved Bucky) to risk life and limb all alone in enemy territory to rescue the 107th and any other Ally troop captured by HYDRA. It was nighttime now, and he was getting ready in his small tent to go look for his best friend (lover?) who had been getting poked and prodded at by the doctors since they'd all gotten back. It was disconcerting to not know what Zola did to him in that place that no one else had ever survived, but he wasn't about to look a gift horse in the mouth. If Bucky's okay, that's all that matters.

Of course, given his friend's aversion to being a patient, and his aptitude for impatience, Steve should really have not been surprised when Bucky slipped into his tent and coughed to announce his presence.

"Hey," Steve greeted him, unsure of what else he could say. Apart from the walk back, it had been months, a year even, since he'd seen the other man. He looked tired, for the most part, hair a little longer and less groomed than before, but more or less the same. It was all so surreal that he wondered for the thousandth time since that night in their apartment in Brooklyn if all this was real. He wondered for the first time since then if he'd get to stay with him.

"Hi, Steve," Bucky softly spoke.

And for a moment, the world stood still…all was quiet.

He remembered how much bigger Bucky used to be by comparison to him…how he'd wrap himself around Steve like he was the most precious thing in the world, especially when he was sick. He remembered when Bucky would be the one to rescue him, dust him off…and that one time he kissed him and they thought nothing of it. He remembers falling slowly for him, kissing him for real when he was still young enough not to really understand that Bucky was it, the only one for him. He remembers dancing, and feeling like it would be the only time, but taking everything he was offered without complaint. And most of all, Steve remembered Bucky making love to him when he thought it was their last chance to be together.

Bucky loved him, and Steve could see it now, written in his eyes…etched into his very soul. He closed the distance between them, and kissed Bucky like he had a few times before, and yet like he never had. They clung to each other, desperate, longing, and even a little scared. Anyone could walk by at any time, see their shadows through the tent, and this was war; there was no promise of a happy ending. But this was Bucky and Steve, Steve and Bucky, and this was all they had.

They didn't let go…not really, and crawling into bed together for the first time in ages was all they really needed.

In the morning, there would be planning, and paperwork, and battles to be fought, but right now, curled up to Bucky just like he always had, he felt like it was all okay.