A/N: *waves nervously* So this is quite obviously a departure from my usual fare lol, and a good amount of you lovely folks who follow me are probably wondering where the heck this even came from, and my answer is... I'm not totally sure? Lol. See, in the course of two years I've gone from completely anti-Stucky to kinda sorta just accepting it to now having a genuine appreciation for the ship, but I'm horridly picky about what I will and won't read. And I guess this fic came about because it's what I'd like to read myself but I haven't really found anything that fits what I had in mind, so I decided to just do the thing and write it myself. I don't really plan on writing anymore Stucky after this but I won't say never either, so for now I just hope some of you wonderful readers like this and enjoy it :) if not, at least I got it out of my system. Lol :D thank you guys in advance for reading, and thank you to midnightwings96 for reading it over and never discouraging me from writing anything that happens to strike my fancy out of nowhere :D please review and let me know what you guys think! *goes back into nervous hiding*
The Quinjet touched down in a small, abandoned field outside of Kasimov, Russia, away from prying eyes and even from any residents for at least twenty miles. It was the dead of night at the end of a very long, long, terrible day, and both of the aircraft's occupants were bloody and bruised and quite literally beat to hell.
Powering down the aircraft and drawing in a breath that was too deep and made his aching ribs hurt worse than they already were, Steve unbuckled himself from his seat and looked behind him. As soon as he did, that ache within only grew exponentially worse.
Bucky wasn't sleeping. That was too gentle of a word for his current state. He was unconscious and slumped in his own seat, only buckled in because Steve had managed to fasten all the restraints before they took off, and he was pale and bloody and hurt and...
Steve swallowed hard and looked away for a moment, trying to mentally curb the nausea rolling through his stomach. Once they'd left the old Hydra base in Siberia and gotten into the Quinjet, Bucky had stared at what was left of his metal arm until Steve had forced him to stop. The longer that he looked at it, the paler his skin grew and the darker and further away his eyes became, and Steve's heart had lurched in ways that inspired both rage and immeasurable sadness in his very bones.
Then Bucky had babbled something half in English and half in a language Steve wasn't even sure of, and he fell unconscious only a few moments later after breathing out the coordinates to a safe house. Steve didn't know what he had gone through all those years ago after he fell - though he could imagine, and he did, far more than was healthy - but he could only assume how having his left arm ripped off again, even an artificial one this time, was uniquely and sickeningly horrifying. He was probably reliving the whole entire original experience, not to mention how much pain he must have been in.
Steve tried to wake him up, but he was still out cold. Not having the heart to force the issue, Steve simply pulled him out of the chair and got him to his feet, then supported his mostly dead weight as he started walking them out. Bucky woke up enough to walk on his own a little bit, but they both stayed silent as they left the aircraft and made their way to the safe house's front door.
Steve wondered if Bucky had safe houses all over the world from his Winter Soldier days. The thought wasn't a reassuring one, but if it was true, at least it was coming in handy now. They wouldn't be able to stay here for long, but they should at least be able to get cleaned up and patched up and sleep long enough to function the next day.
It was a small and old house, somewhat dilapidated and the sort of forgotten-looking residence that wouldn't make anyone think twice. That was the point, of course, and when they walked across a creaky, splintering wooden front deck to the front door, they walked inside to one of the dustiest and most depressingly empty houses he'd ever seen in the current century.
But it seemed fitting, somehow, after what they'd both just endured. After all, Bucky wasn't the only wanted fugitive anymore. Steve was now a wanted international criminal too, though that was the farthest thing from his mind as the door swung shut behind them and Steve looked around the dark house in mild confusion.
"Remember where the bathroom is?" Steve muttered dryly.
Bucky, leaning on Steve's side, opened his eyes blearily and replied, "Upstairs."
Of course. He should have figured even that wouldn't be easy.
Together, the two of them made their way upstairs as slowly as two men of their actual chronological ages might have, one step at a time. Steve was exhausted himself and in pain in quite a few places but he barely registered it, focusing everything on keeping Bucky going and getting him to where they needed to go.
The first door that they encountered in the tiny, musty-smelling hallway was one that opened to the sole bedroom in the whole place. Steve decided to steer them there first, walking Bucky inside and flipping on the light, letting him go when Bucky shifted away to lean against the doorway.
Steve looked at Bucky and clenched his jaw at what he saw. His eyes were closed again, breathing labored and body slumped against the wall, but he only spent a few seconds like that before he opened his eyes and then determinedly, slowly, made his way to the queen sized bed at the room's center.
Bucky sat down with a small, pained groan on the edge of the bed, furrowing his brows and glancing at what was left of his left arm again. The blast that had taken the limb off had been so imprecise and crude and the evidence was in the mess of mangled wires and metal that was left behind. Steve's mind was racing, wanting to get that stump covered so Bucky couldn't look at it, wanting to get him cleaned up, get him some water and some kind of food, but he couldn't do all those things at once. He had to prioritize, and in the end he decided to find them both clothes to change into first.
The small dresser in the room across from the bed ended up containing the basic essentials for them both, as Steve soon found out. He had no idea if the clothes had ever been worn or even what decade they were from, but they would work for the time being. He set down a white t-shirt and dark blue pants next to Bucky and asked as Bucky rubbed his right hand over his left shoulder, "Do you... do you want to get cleaned up first, or... maybe need some help with... that?"
Bucky briefly glanced up at him before shaking his head and dropping his hand. "No. I can manage." He paused. "I think."
Steve sighed and gave his right shoulder a small, comforting pat. "Okay. I'll go see what I can find in the bathroom. Let me know if you need anything."
Bucky nodded absently, eyeing the clothes with a clear but subtle dread in his eyes. Steve wished he'd just accept his help, but he also knew better than to smother him or make him feel as if he needed help. He'd always been like that, even back when they were kids, and Bucky probably needed right now more than ever to not feel as if his independence had been compromised.
So Steve stepped away and retreated to the tiny, barely-functioning bathroom across the hall. By some miracle the hot water worked, so Steve washed off his face and his hands as best as he could before peeling himself out of his uniform and putting on the old clothes, which were a size or two too small but got the job done. Then he located the first aid kit under the sink, and he was on his way out when he caught his reflection in the mirror and paused to stare at the mystery looking back at him.
He wasn't sure if he'd ever felt so confused and so sure of himself at the same time. He didn't regret a single action that he'd taken since the start of this whole mess, from getting to Bucky before the authorities did in Romania to dropping the shield only hours earlier and giving up his mantle for the sake of something - or rather someone - who meant even more to him than Captain America ever had. But his actions had also led them both here and caused Bucky's injuries, and Steve had no idea what all of these events meant for the future. Especially Bucky's future.
A quiet groan of pain from the bedroom broke Steve's train of thought, and he quickly caught himself and left the bathroom, armed with supplies. When he walked back into the bedroom, he found Bucky dressed and sagging a little, all of that effort clearly taking what little strength he had left right out of him. The short sleeve of the t-shirt he wore covered what was left of his metal arm, so he at least couldn't stare at it anymore. He looked up when Steve walked back inside, eyeing the first aid kit and letting out a low sigh but not protesting when Steve sat next to him and handed him a warm, damp cloth to wipe the dried blood off his face.
Bucky's makeshift uniform laid at the floor near his feet, bloody and in dire need of a wash that it wasn't gonna get any time soon. Steve watched him warily as he cleaned off his face, the cloth almost entirely pink with blood once he was done with it, and then Steve held up a few alcohol swabs and said sympathetically, "I gotta... it's gonna hurt, but..."
"Just get it over with," Bucky grumbled, so that was what Steve did. Knowing that Bucky would heal almost as fast as he would himself, he made quick work of cleaning all the visible cuts on Bucky's face and in his hairline - the worst might have been his nose, courtesy of Tony's iron boot when Bucky had been laying there defenseless - and Bucky stayed quiet and strong through it all.
He even cracked a small joke as Steve put a small bandage just over his right brow, forcing a tiny, pained grin as he said, "Feels kinda like I should be the one patching you up. Always used to be."
Steve paused and asked, "You remember that?"
Bucky glanced down at the floor and muttered, "I remember everything, Steve."
"So you really were lying to me back in Romania," Steve noted, drawing away and setting the first aid kit aside for the time being. He needed some attention himself but it could wait.
"Wasn't exactly expecting to come home and find you there," Bucky said in defense of himself. Then he paused and added, "Glad I did, though."
"I don't know," Steve sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees and staring forward at nothing in particular. "You might have been better off without me. Might have gotten away faster. Avoided all of this."
"You know I wouldn't have," Bucky replied. "Don't think there was any avoiding any of this."
And what a disheartening idea that was. But Steve still wasn't sure. "Tony, after they brought you in... he offered me a deal. I sign the Accords, he gets you transferred to the States to a psych facility instead of prison. I was gonna sign, I was, but then I found out he had Wanda locked in her room at the compound and I just... I couldn't."
"Wouldn't have mattered if you signed anyway," Bucky noted somewhat miserably. "Not with what happened after."
Steve nodded. Zemo triggering Bucky changed everything. It set the course of events on autopilot and stayed stuck that way, to where Steve felt powerless almost the entire time and like he was just a passenger to it all, unfolding like a particularly horrible nightmare.
"I'm sorry," Bucky said quietly and unexpectedly, voice strained.
Steve turned and looked at him in surprise. "For what?"
"Everything," Bucky said, still not looking him in the eye. "I'm the reason all of this happened. Why your friends are in prison. Why Stark... all of it."
"No," Steve shook his head, watching Bucky's eyes get a little glassy and a little darker. "No you're not. Zemo did all of this. He played us all. Played on the worst parts of us that he possibly could have."
Bucky gave a small, seemingly careless shrug. "All he had to do was show Stark the video. Can't blame him for reacting like he did. I deserved it. You didn't, but I did."
Steve shook his head and angrily snapped the first aid kit back together, pushing it off the bed and to the floor as he grumbled, "No, you didn't. You haven't deserved any of this."
Bucky chuckled hollowly, more just an airy noise through his nose, and he said, "Maybe you'd think different if you remembered what I do."
And the thing was, Steve couldn't really argue with that. For all that he had been through in his complicated lifetime, he'd never experienced anything like what Bucky had. He could only imagine the guilt and the self-hatred that he'd struggle with if he had.
"Look," Steve said quietly, "I can't tell you how you should feel. I'm sure I'd feel the same if it was me. But what I can tell you is that I don't regret anything I've done over this last week. I'd do it all again in a heartbeat."
"I know," Bucky nodded, finally looking up at his friend. "You're still an idiot."
Steve couldn't help it. He grinned and then huffed out a laugh, watching Bucky grin back a little bit too. "Well. Some things never change, right?"
That seemed to ruin Bucky's short-lived moment of light-heartedness. His face slowly fell and he looked away again, seeming to wrestle with something inside. "Some things do."
Steve knew what he meant by that. "I know you're different now, Bucky. And that's okay. I'm different now, too."
Bucky glanced up at him, expression skeptical. "I don't know. You seem the same to me."
"Well," Steve sighed, leaning back and looking down at his hands, knuckles bruised and joints aching, though he knew it wouldn't last long. "Trust me. I have. Hopefully not for the worse, but... I don't know. It's been a weird century so far."
"Aliens are real," Bucky noted, watching his fingers play absently with the rough, old material of his pants near his knee.
"Yeah. I'm friends with one," Steve chuckled.
"But still no flying cars."
Steve shook his head. "Still no flying cars."
Silence fell for a moment, and Steve was caught by how familiar and how different someone could be all at once. This was still the same man that Steve had grown up with and had known since they were kids on a Brooklyn playground, and yet he was, at the same time, no longer that same person. It might have been harder for Steve to accept had he not felt similar deep down inside. It was something he couldn't fully express to anyone in a way that made sense, but Bucky could understand. He might have been the only one in the whole world who could.
"You left your shield back there."
Steve lifted his head, glancing at Bucky again. "Yeah."
"Does that mean you're done?" Bucky asked.
"... I'm not sure," Steve admitted. He'd hardly had time to process it all, let alone come to any real concrete decision, but one thing was at least clear. "I don't know if I'll be done, exactly, but... I can't be Captain America anymore. Not like this. Not after everything that's happened."
"... S'my fault," Bucky muttered, looking away again.
Steve sighed and ran a hand through his hair, shaking his head. "No, it's not. And you can argue all you want, but I'm not gonna budge on that point."
Bucky didn't reply, putting one side of his hair behind his ear and briefly closing his eyes, like he could hardly hold them open anymore. Steve noticed this and said, "We should both probably try to sleep while we can. I'll go get us some water," he said, getting up. "I'll be right back."
Bucky nodded, glancing back at the bed as Steve made his way out of the room. Steve bypassed the kitchen in favor of water bottles stored in the Quinjet, not wanting to take a chance on what would come out of the kitchen faucet. By the time he came back inside the house and returned to the bedroom, Bucky was sprawled out on the left side of the bed above the covers, seemingly asleep already.
Setting the waters down on the old rickety table with a full inch of dust next to the bed, Steve debated for a moment on what to do. He could go downstairs and crash on a couch that he could barely fit one leg on, or he could just take the left side of the bed and sleep next to Bucky like he had countless times before. He wouldn't have thought twice about it back then, and he only was now because he wasn't sure of Bucky's state of mind or willingness to be in close quarters with anyone, even him.
But in the end, exhaustion won out and Steve crawled on the unoccupied side of the bed, eyes feeling unbearably heavy once the prospect of sleep was more than just a theoretical thing. But he hadn't even settled in fully before Bucky suddenly awoke, looking over in bleary alarm and tensing like he was about to bolt from the bed and possibly the whole room.
Steve froze, watching him sit halfway up with a somewhat wild look in his eye. "What? What's wrong? Are you okay?"
After blinking rapidly a few times and looking around like he was trying to remember where he was, Bucky managed to mutter, "I - yeah, I just... I haven't... s'been a long time since..."
Steve studied him carefully, taking a guess as to what was bothering him. "Since you weren't alone?" When Bucky nodded, still not relaxing back down to the bed, Steve nodded and said, "I'm sorry. I can go downstairs instead, but I just thought - since we always used to -"
"Yeah, yeah, when we were kids," Bucky nodded, furrowing his brows like he was trying to remember. "I know."
"But I can leave if you'd rather have the room to yourself, if -"
"No, it's okay," Bucky said, easing back down a bit, letting out a deep breath. "I'm fine."
"It's really no problem if you'd rather -"
"Steve," Bucky said with clear exasperation, "I said I'm fine."
Steve took a breath and finally relented, ceasing his babbling. "Okay. Sorry. Just... didn't want to..."
"Yeah, I know," Bucky replied, settling back down on his back, head nestled in the regrettably flat pillow beneath it. "Thanks."
Steve settled down as well, also laying on his back and keeping his eyes on the ceiling, unlike Bucky who already looked like he was half asleep. It was a testament to his comfort level with Steve that he could drift back to sleep so quickly, and he decided to take that as a positive sign. He needed as many of those as he could get.
Steve closed his eyes and let his breathing even out, welcoming the pull of sleep until Bucky's voice unexpectedly made him startle back to full consciousness.
"What are you gonna do about your friends?"
Steve frowned and thought back to when they'd left the base in Siberia. T'Challa had been there, holding Baron Zemo down and restraining him until authorities could arrive and apprehend him. He and Steve had shared a few words, and Steve learned that T'Challa had followed Tony to the base from the Raft, where the other Avengers were imprisoned.
"I don't know," Steve replied. "But I'll get them out. One way or another."
Bucky was quiet for a moment. "I'll help. If you want me to."
Steve nodded, though Bucky's eyes were still closed and he couldn't see the gesture. "Yeah. Yeah, we'll figure it out."
"... What about that girl you kissed? What was her name?"
A small, fleeting grin tugged at Steve's lips. "Sharon. Sharon Carter."
Bucky's eyes opened. "Carter?"
"Yeah. She's Peggy's niece. Lived across the hall from me for months in D.C. and I didn't even know."
"... She still around?" Bucky asked, a hint of caution in his voice. "Peggy?"
Steve clenched his jaw, closing his eyes again. "She's gone. Funeral was the day of the bombing in Vienna."
"... Shit," Bucky muttered, head turning to give Steve an apologetic, understanding look. "I'm sorry."
Steve nodded, meeting the other man's eyes. "She lived a good, long life. Had a family and everything. Made a huge difference in the world. I got to have her back for a few years, which was more than I thought I'd get."
Bucky nodded, looking away. "I'm glad you had her. And your friends."
Steve frowned, those words striking a very raw nerve that they hadn't been meant to hit. He didn't look away from Bucky as the dull ache in his heart returned as a result of thinking about how very alone Bucky had been all along.
Steve had woken up in a new century and a new world feeling as alone as a person could, but he hadn't truly been alone. He'd had people looking out for him - Fury, Coulson, and later Nat, Sam, Tony, and Peggy too during lucid moments - but Bucky... he hadn't had anyone. He had broken his conditioning and started running as soon as he could, holing himself up in Romania and getting by on his own, without another soul to talk to.
But he had survived. He'd survived so much, and to still be even half the man that he once was... it was incredible. Steve was sure that he'd always feel like that skinny, sickly kid next to the bigger, stronger, tougher Bucky, even now when technically he had the physical edge over him. Slightly, anyway.
Just as Steve found the words to say - mostly apologies that he wasn't there for him, didn't go back and find him after he fell, crashed into the ice and was useless for 70 years while Hydra made Bucky an unstoppable weapon - he heard a soft snoring sound come from across the bed. He was truly asleep now, lips parted and chest rising and falling peacefully, and Steve let out a breath and turned back to staring at the ceiling.
He'd tell them all those things later. He would apologize until Bucky forgave him, though he knew Bucky didn't blame him for any of it.
He drifted off himself soon after, succumbing to his exhaustion at last. They managed to sleep peacefully side by side for five hours before one of them woke up screaming, which was really far longer than either one of them had dared to hope for.
Steve jolted up in a panicked daze at the sound of agonized, pained, tortured screaming. He looked to his left and found Bucky lying on his front, gripping his pillow tight in his hand and writhing miserably in the sheets, face twisted in what looked like horrific pain. The sounds coming from his throat sounded hideously like the scream that he'd let out as he had fallen all those years ago - sound that had consistently haunted Steve ever since he had heard it - and he reached out for his friend without a second thought.
Saying his name quietly, making sure not to shout or otherwise startle him and make the situation even worse, Steve tried to gently shake Bucky awake. It didn't work, however, and Bucky kept shouting and making horrible sounds as Steve dragged him to sit up, supporting his weight and trying to force him to wake up.
But when Bucky finally opened his eyes, Steve realized what was truly going on. His blue eyes were glassy and unfocused, mouth still babbling and body mostly limp, and suddenly it felt like Brooklyn in '33 again. That was when Bucky had started having what people now called night terrors, and seeing him in the throes of one now was even more horrifying than when they'd been teenagers and Steve had thought that his friend was dying rather than just experiencing a disturbing sleep occurrence that he wouldn't remember the next day.
This was different than back then. Bucky screaming things like no and please and Russian words Steve didn't understand, all while his eyes were open and fixed on Steve even though he couldn't see him. It made Steve nauseous and anxious, and the fact that Bucky's mother wasn't around to help pull him back to reality made things all the worse. She used to come in and gently pull her son into her arms and just let him slowly come back to her, always whispering words of comfort to him and doing her best to make sure that he knew he wasn't alone.
Steve decided to do the best imitation of her that he could, mainly because it was the only thing he could think to do at all. He pulled Bucky into his arms and sat back against the flimsy headboard behind them, settling them both down and doing everything he remembered Bucky's mother doing. He ran slightly shaky fingers through Bucky's cold-sweat dampened hair, tried to pull him back to reality with his voice, held him tight and did his best to wait for it all to end.
It seemed to go on and on, Steve growing more and more on edge and desperate the longer it dragged on, but it didn't last forever. Eventually Bucky grew quiet, screams turning to low whimpers before disappearing altogether, and the tension left his body along with them. His breaths grew even and his quiet, almost inaudible snores returned, and he sunk back into a peaceful sleep with his fist gripping Steve's shirt, face pressed to his chest and tears drying on his cheeks, and his body curled into his side.
Steve left out a deep sigh of relief, then began to wonder what to do about his current predicament. If he tried to move Bucky out of his arms and back to his own side of the bed, he might wake him up and that was unacceptable after what they'd both just been through. Before he could make a decision one way or the other, however, he was asleep again himself, and the point became moot.
They slept for another hour like that, neither of them moving an inch. The morning was swiftly approaching but it was still dark outside, everything silent except for the sounds of their breathing and the occasional cricket chirping outside the bolted-shut windows.
What eventually brought Steve out of his slumber and back into reality was something very faint and pleasant-feeling. His eyes fluttered open slowly and he vaguely registered the sensation of tingles shooting down his spine, but it took him a bit to determine the cause of it. In a another moment, he realized why it was happening.
Bucky had shifted a little bit in their sleep. Now his hand was laying open on Steve's chest, no longer curled into a tense fist, and he'd tipped his head back at some point as well, causing his breath to wash over the hollow of Steve's throat with every exhale. That's what was causing the involuntary shivers.
That was fine, Steve thought. No big deal. His arm holding Bucky close was dead, however, so it was time to move him back to his own side of the bed. Steve drew a breath and then prepared to move, but he made the mistake of moving his left leg - the one that was closest to Bucky and pressed more firmly against him than he realized - and he accidentally brushed against something that was semi-hard and not what he expected.
But if it had just been that, he still would have been okay. Sure, it was a little awkward but they were both men and it wasn't as if anything could be done about it. But as it happened, that tiny little movement of Steve's leg also happened to make Bucky exhale in a way that was almost a breathless moan, and that was what made Steve freeze and panic a little bit inside.
Bucky didn't freeze, however. Still quite asleep, he seemed to have liked what he'd felt and he tried to chase after it, a tiny, barely-there rock of his hips making Steve's panic deepen and his face all but explode in a deep blush.
Oh God. A night terror he could sort of handle, but this... this was... well, it was different and certainly unprecedented. All those nights spent as kids and then teenagers and young adults in cramped spaces and this had never happened. But then again, Bucky had never been nearly as lonely and touch-starved as he had to have been now, even while unconscious.
And Bucky didn't stop at one time, either. Instead he exhaled a little more raggedly and did it again, and Steve swallowed hard and mentally flailed trying to figure out what to do. He could just lay there and do nothing, and he wouldn't have minded doing that - really, he wouldn't have - but that wouldn't be fair to Bucky because he never would have done this had he been aware of himself, Steve knew that much. And besides, Steve would have wanted to be woken up if he was the one mindlessly grinding against the hip of a friend that he was sleeping next to.
He made up his mind and opened his mouth, prepared to say his friend's name and (hopefully) wake him up. But just before he could get the word out, Bucky burrowed in a little closer, seeming to instinctively seek out more warmth and more skin, and he found it and pressed his face into the side of Steve's neck.
Steve slowly closed his eyes and sighed silently. The longer he waited the more difficult this was becoming, but he couldn't seem to get a word out and he definitely wasn't risking moving again. Bucky was breathing hotly against him, still rolling his hips too, and then he fully and legitimately moaned and something finally snapped in Steve at the same moment that a wave of heat unexpectedly crashed through his body.
"Bucky," he suddenly all but gasped, giving the other man a rattle that was harsher than intended. "Buck. Wake up."
And he did. Bucky woke up with a startled jolt and, being essentially draped on Steve already, ended up rolling fully on top of him in a mindlessly protective, cautious way and asking in a dazed and still half-asleep rush, "What? What's happening?"
... Well, this wasn't turning out the way that Steve had intended at all.
They were extremely close, closer than Steve had been to another human being in... well... possibly his entire life. Not only that, but Bucky was looking around the room for danger and thus jostling them both the slightest bit, which wouldn't have been a problem had Bucky not been very hard and pressing down Steve's own growing problem. He wasn't sure when it had happened, but it had and Bucky was going to figure that out as soon as he realized they weren't in danger.
"Nothing," Steve choked out. "Nothing's wrong. Everything's fine, I just... you were..." He blushed brightly, quite visible even in the darkness of the room, and Bucky stared at him in confusion until Steve involuntarily shifted a little and the resulting friction made Bucky's mouth drop open.
Now it was Bucky's turn to blush and recoil under a massive wave of embarrassment. "Shit, fuck," he groaned, squeezing his eyes shut and trying to wriggle away some. "I'm sorry."
"It's okay," Steve managed, ears burning and stomach performing odd acrobatic feats that he wasn't used to.
"No, it's fucking not," Bucky grumbled, maneuvering off of him with his right arm as best as he could. "I'm sorry. Shit. I -"
"It's okay," Steve repeated, a little more firmly this time, and when Bucky stopped trying to get away and looked at Steve like he was crazy, it took entirely too long for Steve to realize that Bucky had stopped because Steve had stopped him.
"... It's okay," Steve repeated a little more softly, trying to convince himself more than Bucky at that point. Bucky continued to stare at him like he was nuts, at least until he glanced down between them and seemed to suddenly notice that he wasn't the only one currently suffering. He looked back up at Steve in disbelief, as if he was trying to figure out if he was still dreaming or not, and Steve had no idea what to do or say.
They stayed frozen like that, breathing but not moving and neither saying a word until Steve blurted out the first string of words that his brain managed to piece together. "You can... if you want, you could..."
Bucky's eyes widened fractionally. "I can what?"
Steve swallowed down a sudden lump in his throat. "Nat... Natasha says that... um... that it's common these days for friends to... um... she offered one time but I turned her down, and -"
Bucky squinted, thoroughly lost. "What?"
"I don't know," Steve finally confessed, throwing his head back in frustration. "I'm just trying to help you however I can."
Bucky's confusion seemed to grow exponentially, which wasn't what Steve had expected. He'd expected shock or a sudden burst of laughter, but instead Bucky stared into the distance for a moment and then asked, "Is that something that you... that we used to do?"
Steve shook his head immediately. "No, never. No."
"Then why -"
"I don't know," Steve said again, trying to shrug and ending up grinding against Bucky slightly instead, which made them both suck in a sharp breath of air and Steve cringe to keep from doing it again. "Just forget I said anything."
But Bucky didn't forget. Instead he was quiet for a few seconds and then murmured, "Jesus, Steve, you're as red as your shield." When Steve did nothing but clench his jaw and continue looking at anything but Bucky, he then asked, "Do... do you want to...?"
Insides jolting and twisting at the question, Steve looked up at him and immediately shook his head. "No." He paused. "I don't know." Then his blush very possibly grew to cover his entire body as he admitted, "I've still never... not even once. With anybody."
And that was the true shocker, in Bucky's eyes. More than three years out of the ice and Steve, Captain America, was still a virgin. Any other man in existence would have used his literally perfect physique to seduce the entire world and make up for lost time, but Steve wasn't like that. He never had been and he never would be. He was still the same Steve he'd always been, still the most familiar thing in Bucky's life - maybe even the only familiar thing - and he had just embarrassed himself beyond belief by offering to help Bucky with a problem that they both apparently shared.
Bucky blinked a few times, searching Steve's features even though he was squirming under the scrutiny, finally asking, "You'd want to?"
Steve paused. "... Would you?"
Leaning all of his weight on his right arm, barely holding him up above Steve, Bucky dropped his eyes and muttered, "It's been so fucking long, Steve. Half the time I can't even..." He clenched his jaw and shook his head. "Can't even remember what it's like."
Steve then managed to grin and joke, "Me either." Bucky grinned back at him, albeit tight and strained, but it was a small smile nonetheless. Then he managed to add before he lost his nerve, "Offer stands."
The grin slowly fell off of Bucky's face. Steve watched in concern, insides still twisting and turning, and then Bucky glanced down again and deliberately and fully consciously rolled his hips - slowly - and watched Steve's mouth fall open and an almost inaudible gasp leave his lips.
"You sure?" Bucky asked, lowering himself down a little more, letting himself enjoy the press of another body to his, even if it wasn't as soft or small as the ones that littered his memories. But it wasn't just a warm body either, not in the slightest. This was someone he trusted with his life - possibly the only person in the whole world that he could trust, and certainly the only one that he would even consider being vulnerable and intimate with, even if he probably never would have thought of it himself. He couldn't break Steve, and Steve wouldn't be repulsed by him or who he was, or what had been done to him.
He kept moving, keeping it light and experimental and cautious, and even that was enough to make Steve's eyes roll shut as he groaned breathlessly, "Yeah."
"Positive?" Bucky asked, though he still didn't let up. "Don't wanna fuck up anything with us. I can't. You're all I've got."
Steve opened his eyes upon hearing those incredibly honest words, emotions getting stuck in his throat and pushing down the words he was trying to get out. That was when he noticed Bucky's arm starting to tremble as it supported his considerable weight, and he didn't think twice about his next course of action. He brought up his arms that had been lying useless at his aides the whole time and rolled them over, putting Bucky on his back and saving him from having to exert himself. He was still recovering from a horrible ordeal, after all, and he didn't need to do any of the work, super soldier or not.
Bucky looked up at him in a sudden daze, the change in position catching him off guard. Steve looked down at him, still a little struck that the long-haired, mildly scruffy man in front of him was the very same one who used to never be seen in public with a hair out of place. "I'm positive," he replied at last, the low timbre of his own voice surprising him. "Don't worry. I mean... it kinda makes sense, doesn't it?"
Bucky shook his head. "No. Not for you. You're not like me. You're... you're you and you can have anyone you want."
"... Hasn't really worked out so well for me," Steve said, his breath hitching when Bucky reached down and started tugging down Steve's pants first, then his own. The first fleeting contact of skin on skin made Steve hold his breath and force himself to calm down, body erupting with heat already and shocking him at how fast and consuming it was.
Bucky's hand cautiously moving to Steve's back over his shirt, hesitantly as if he feared it was unwanted, he then said, "Don't tell me you still don't know how to talk to a woman."
"Not really, no," Steve shrugged, shifting his hips and then rolling them down, the simple, light contact making them both gasp quietly like the deprived men that they were. Bucky's hand slid to the back of Steve's neck and pulled him closer, making their foreheads touch, and then Steve added breathlessly, "Guess it's a good thing you're not one of those."
"Shut up," Bucky murmured back with clear affection in his tone, and Steve grinned back at him for a moment until Bucky started pushing up against his every thrust and making everything feel that much better. He closed his eyes and didn't realize how close their lips were getting to one another until he felt the faintest, most cautious brush of a kiss that he'd ever experienced, hardly enough to even be called a kiss.
He opened his eyes after, finding Bucky looking back at him and feeling his fingers gently resting on the back of his head, within his short blonde hair. Just a few seconds passed before Steve closed his eyes again and leaned in, this time for a real kiss that made them both lose their breath.
For all the kisses that Steve had enjoyed in his life - and there had been one or two clear standouts - he'd never had one quite like this before. It was heated and desperate from the start, Bucky seizing the contact and savoring it with every fiber of his being, no restraint between the the two of them. Bucky moaned into his mouth and did things with his tongue that made Steve's head spin and bring back memories that he'd buried a long time ago.
And Steve wasn't the only one. When they broke apart, Bucky opened his eyes slowly and furrowed his brows. "We've done that before," he realized, and Steve reddened and briefly let his rhythm falter.
"... You said it didn't count," Steve muttered, smiling a little. "We were 16 and we got into your mom's liquor cabinet, first time you got me drunk. You started talking about girls and you said I needed to learn how to kiss and..."
"... And I taught you," Bucky grinned a bit devilishly.
"Yeah, you did," Steve grinned back, though his face was still aflame.
Bucky's fingers tightened in his hair again and pulled him back down, stealing another kiss before noting, "You still taste the same."
"So do you," Steve replied, and Bucky captured his lips again and shut him back up. Steve melted into the kiss, and from there, everything else came so naturally it was a wonder that it truly was the first time they'd ever done this before.
It was all quiet groans and the sound of skin sliding against skin, kiss-swollen lips meeting again and again and taking what they could while they could, no questions or second guessing. Their mutual pleasure grew slowly, as any more direct touching than what Steve allowed would have ended things too fast, and it was by the furthest that Steve had ever gone with someone else. By contrast, it was probably one of the most innocent sexual encounters that Bucky had ever had, but his quiet moans and the heat in his eyes and the faint tremble in his body gave away how much he was savoring every last bit of it.
Steve just wanted to make him feel better for a little while. He'd been through so much pain, so much loss, so much, and he deserved so much more than Steve could ever give him. But he could give him this, a few long, blissful minutes of relief and a human connection that they had both lacked for far too long.
"Steve," Bucky groaned against Steve's mouth, hand now under the back of his shirt and moving restlessly, short nails biting into the skin between his shoulder blades as he grew more desperate. "God."
"It's okay," Steve told him somewhat mindlessly, words leaving his mouth on autopilot as he dropped his face against Bucky's neck. "It's all right. I'm here, I've got you."
Bucky moaned as Steve rained kisses down his neck, eyes closed and nearing the breaking point. "I'm gonna... fuck, Steve, I'm..."
"Go on," Steve murmured, bringing his lips back to Bucky's and tangling his hand in his hair, holding him close. "I've got you."
Bucky clutched him harder, body tensing and moving erratically until it all came to a head and his lips parted and eyes rolled shut, back arching and pleasure wracking through him at last. Steve watched him in awe, having never seen someone come apart like that with his own two eyes - in person, anyway - and it was beautiful. He was beautiful, and Steve followed him over the edge before Bucky had even caught his breath.
For how long they had gone without anything like it and how overwhelmingly sweet it had been to finally feel another's person's touch, they took their time in coming back down to earth. Steve kept most of his weight off of Bucky, ever mindful of his injuries and bruises, and after he could tell that Bucky's breathing had calmed, Steve lifted up his head and chanced a look at his friend.
Bucky eyes were shut, bliss still etched on his face, and it made a much prettier sight than pain did. Steve took a mental snapshot, committing it to memory so that if he had the guts to later, he could draw it. Then, once he'd had his fill, he leaned down and brushed a tiny kiss over Bucky's jaw, and Bucky stirred and winced a little.
"... You made a mess."
Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky when he opened his own and flashed him a sated grin. "I did?" Steve asked, pulling off of Bucky and taking off his too-small t-shirt. "Think you've got at least half the blame for that, pal."
Bucky made a noncommittal noise, letting Steve use the shirt to clean them both off passably well. They both needed to hit the shower, really, for more than one reason, but neither of them had any will to leave the bed any time soon. They were exhausted all over again, this time in a mostly pleasant way, and they could steal a few more hours of sleep before they had to get up and get moving.
Tossing the shirt carelessly on the floor, Steve then collapsed back down to the bed. He felt lighter now, looser and far more relaxed, and judging by the way that Bucky was laying there with his shirt half up his chest and his pants still stuck somewhere mid-thigh, seemingly without a care in the world.
Outside the windows, day was breaking and the sun was making its slow ascent in the east. The world was still spinning and countless people within it - officials, law enforcement, intelligence agents - were strategizing on how best to apprehend the two men currently curled up in bed together half-asleep. They were the two most wanted men in the world now, two soldiers who had both given their lives in service for their country and yet were still breathing and now on the run from a generation of folks who wouldn't even have existed had it not been for the sacrifices of men like Steve and Bucky.
But that was the world they lived in, and they'd deal with it and find their way through it. Steve was sure of that. And when Bucky turned towards him with sleepy, sweet eyes and shot him an amused, almost ironic grin, Steve couldn't help but laugh a little and shake his head. What a strange, unexpected night.
"Let me guess," Steve said, throwing the old, thin blanket over both of them, "just practice, right? Doesn't count?"
Bucky shook his head tiredly, still giving him that little grin. "No. That definitely counted."
"I'll be sure to update my resume," Steve remarked dryly, and Bucky shook his head and closed his eyes,
Steve did the same, lying on his back again and letting the lure of sleep pull him back under. He was halfway there when he felt the bed shift next to him, and before he could even open his eyes, there were lips on his giving him a sweet, grateful kiss.
The kiss catching him by surprise, Steve opened his eyes after Bucky drew away and muttered, "Thank you."
Steve smiled and nodded. "You don't have to thank me. I wanted to... uh..." he trailed off, having not thought that particular sentence through very well.
Bucky grinned, amused, and then dropped down next to Steve on his side, facing him. "Yeah. I could tell you wanted to."
Steve rolled his eyes. "Shut up."
Bucky did in fact fall silent, and so did Steve. As light began to slowly pour into the house and bring the new day around, both men fell back asleep and stayed asleep until they damn well pleased, which was later than either one of them had slept in ages.
Soon enough they'd have to get up and go, get back on the run and figure out where they were going to go and what they were going to do. Nothing about any of the potential paths before them were simple or pleasant, but at least they weren't alone. They'd face what came their way together, like they'd always used to, and just knowing that helped them to sleep a little better than they ever would have on their own.
They were, quite simply, irreplaceable in each other's lives. And whatever that did or didn't mean for the future, they didn't have to worry about it then. For at least that night and that following morning, they were safe and they were together. And that alone was more than either one of them thought they deserved.