Steve Rogers would never be able to get over how beautiful Bucky Barnes was. Bucky had always been beautiful. The first time Steve had described him that way, his mother Sarah had laughed.

"I agree, sweetie, but most boys don't refer to other boys as beautiful."

That was the first time Steve realized he might not think of Bucky the way he thought of other boys, of other people. That Bucky might just be more special to him than he'd realized. Steve was sixteen years old.

As they grew older, Bucky only grew more beautiful to Steve. He became the subject of Steve's drawings, the focus of his most secret fantasies, the most important person in Steve's life. Bucky wasn't just beautiful physically. The way he treated people - his sisters, his neighbors, strangers on the street - with kindness and never contempt. The way he treated Steve with compassion and never pity. The way his smile was always true for Steve, the way his friendship was always willingly given, if not always gratefully accepted. Bucky Barnes was perfect.

And then he was gone.

And then Steve found him.

And then Steve lost him.

And then Steve found him.

And then Bucky kept himself away because he thought he might hurt Steve.

And then he clawed his way through hell to get back to Steve.

The cycle of separation and reunion was relentless and cruel and miraculous, and Bucky grew more beautiful each passing day.

Steve was the luckiest man who had ever lived.

Because not only did Bucky come back to him, he told Steve he'd loved him forever, that he thought Steve was beautiful the same way since he was seventeen years old.

So, after the world was restored, Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes retired to Brooklyn. Well, retired for a certain definition of the term. Steve's more recognizable face led him to stay close to home, while Bucky relished the ability to roam his hometown freely for the first time in this century. Steve pursued his art, while Bucky volunteered at every dog shelter in the five boroughs. Steve tended plants in their rooftop garden, and Bucky shared their harvest with their neighbors most in need. And every day ended with the two of them in their home, enjoying the domesticity they both craved, their hundred-year-long bond now enhanced by more physical expressions of the love they'd finally spoken aloud.

Steve reveled in every blessed minute of it.

Bucky had always been tactile with Steve. Their youthful roughhousing turned into caring touches during Steve's illnesses and dispassionate pat-downs during the war. As much as Steve resented Bucky's coddling when he was younger, he loved every bit of attention he received now. Bucky massaged Steve's aching hands after long days of sketching, painting, or gardening. Bucky crafted meals from their garden's herbs and vegetables, covered their furniture with the softest of blankets, prepared comforting hot chocolates from a special blend of cocoa they found at a coffee house in Flagstaff. And as they each learned the other's bodies, Bucky showed an ardor and a generosity as a lover that Steve's previous partners never even hinted at.

After so many years of fighting everyone, including himself, perhaps especially himself, Steve enjoyed being the recipient of Bucky's love.

But he was beginning to think that maybe he was taking too much from Bucky, that Bucky gave more to him than Steve gave Bucky in return. Over the past few weeks, Steve had been thinking of how he wanted to change that, be more of a giver than a taker.

"Steve?"

"In the kitchen."

Bucky strolled in, looking effortlessly gorgeous as ever, despite a long day with Sam Wilson and others working at the Brooklyn VA. "Smells good in here." Bucky gave him a quick kiss on the back of the neck while peeking over Steve's shoulder. "What's for dinner?"

"Soup. Garlic bread."

"Enough time for me to clean up first?"

"Sure."

Steve spent the time while Bucky was in the shower to finish up dinner preparations. It was a simple meal. It had to be, because Steve was definitely not the better cook of the two men. But he could assemble a decent minestrone soup from ingredients on hand, including some from their garden. When he heard the shower turn off, he pulled the garlic bread from the oven and ladled the soup into bowls with a dollop of homemade pesto on top. By the time Bucky returned, dinner was ready.

Bucky surveyed the table with a soft smile on his face before he sat down. "Thank you, sweetheart. This looks wonderful."

Bucky was the one who looked wonderful. Damp hair framing his beloved face, comfortable t-shirt and sweats accentuating the strength of his body, the relaxed nature of his movement. Steve found himself so overcome with affection that he was unable to speak, so he sat down.

Bucky ate a spoonful of soup and emitted a pleased sound. As he tore off a piece of bread to dip into the soup, he said, "So, what did I do to deserve all this?"

"I literally used your homemade stock and bread. I just kinda put it together."

"But you put it together with such love."

As Bucky grinned and winked at him, Steve melted. He felt as tongue-tied as he did as a sixteen-year old, hopelessly in love with his best friend. "Well, I do, you know. Love you."

"I know, sweetheart. I love you, too, which means you can tell me anything, right?"

Steve nodded, and they enjoyed their meal in silence for a few moments. Then Bucky asked about Steve's day, and the conversation flowed easily until the last of the food was gone.

"Thanks for dinner. It's always good to come home to you, and this just made it extra special today."

A mixture of relief and guilt hit Steve. Relief because Bucky had appreciated his efforts, but guilt because the effort was remarkable enough to mention. All of this must have shown on his face because Bucky said, "Hey, really, what's going on in that handsome head of yours?"

Steve chewed on his bottom lip. It was so difficult for him to articulate what he'd been feeling. "It's just... you take such good care of me, but I don't feel I do my share for you."

"This is a relationship, not a competition, you know."

"I know." Steve sighed. "But you've been taking care of me for over a century. I was such a burden when we were younger, and I don't want to be that way now."

Bucky reached out and grabbed Steve's hand tightly between his own. "You have never been a burden to me. Not then, not now." He squeezed Steve's hand for emphasis. "I've never been with you without wanting to be here. I've never cared for you without wanting to do it." He hesitated a moment before saying, "You believe me, right?"

Steve heard the uncertainty in Bucky's voice. He knew Bucky had worried about Steve feeling obligated to him after he escaped from Hydra. He knew Bucky sometimes still feared his life would fall apart, that Steve would finally deem him unworthy and leave him. Steve rushed to reassure him. "I know. I do. Just like you know I'm exactly where I want to be."

Steve noticed the subtle relaxation of Bucky's shoulders. This was exactly the sort of thing that made Steve feel like he needed to work harder to hold up his half of the relationship. He needed to make Bucky understand how much he wanted to do that.

"I just feel like you do a better job of taking care of me than I do of you. Even in..." And then Steve tapered off and looked away, not knowing what to say next.

Bucky had no such problem. He cocked his head and teased, "Are you talking about sex, Stevie?"

Steve would have been annoyed about the heat flooding his cheeks if he didn't see a blush on Bucky's face, too.

"Well, yeah."

Bucky laughed at Steve's discomfort, the jerk. "I got no complaints, sweetheart."

"Neither do I, but..." Steve chuckled, too, shaking his head over how difficult it was to use words to discuss the acts they'd performed on almost every surface in their home. "Just promise me you'll let me do all the work while you focus on looking pretty sometime soon."

"I think I could allow that." Bucky leaned back in his chair, the smirk on his face belied by the tender heat in his eyes that made Steve swoon and want to burrow into his broad chest. "Soon like tonight, maybe?"

Steve was sorely tempted. But today had been a VA day, and those exacted an emotional toll on Bucky, one he willingly paid. This was the sort of detail Bucky always observed about Steve, who at that moment felt confident about how he should respond to Bucky's unspoken needs. Steve stood up, grabbing their empty dishes. He pressed a lingering kiss to Bucky's head as he passed by on the way to the kitchen. "Tonight, I was thinking hot cocoas while watching that British portrait painting competition show?"

Once again, Steve was pleased to see the contentment in Bucky's body language. Bucky smiled up at him, saying, "That sounds perfect, sweetheart."

Steve put their used dishes in the sink and then grabbed a kettle from the cupboard. In it, he stirred milk, cocoa, and sugar, enough for them to slowly sip the rest of the evening. As he warmed the mixture, he could hear Bucky puttering around their living room. He heard Bucky use the remote control to turn on the television and queue up the shows. He heard the rustle of fabric as Bucky heaped blankets upon the couch. He heard the clicking of lamp switches as Bucky adjusted the lighting to the soft, warm levels they preferred.

While Steve added a little bit of salt and cinnamon to the hot chocolate, Bucky's arms wrapped around him from behind. "You really are a superhero."

"No, you're the superhero." It was a silly response, but Bucky giggled and squeezed Steve close in response, and it was everything Steve had ever wanted.