Blood shines like oil in the moonlight, dripping from delicate fingers, smeared across a strong chin.

Eyes glow a striking silver. A tongue darts out to clean blood-slick lips but only manages to dirty them further.

He wipes them clean with an old, rust-stained rag. "How'd you get it in your hair?"

Steve grins, a flash of sharp teeth, the tang of copper in the air growing stronger. "I'm an energetic eater, Buck. You know that."

"Mess eater, maybe."

"Energetic," Steve insists.

"If you say so, pal," he says, rolling his eyes.

Once Steve's face is as clean as it's gonna get, he presses a kiss to his lips. Steve all but purrs, clambering onto his lap and deepening the kiss.

Steve tastes like blood and coffee, bitter and harsh. He can't get enough of it, his hands coming to rest atop Steve's hips to keep him in place. Sadly, they soon have to pull apart to breathe, but they keep their foreheads pressed together. Steve's breaths come in harsh pants and he hopes against hope that it isn't his asthma acting up.

"You okay?" Bucky asks.

"Fine," Steve wheezes. "Just a lot of kissing and not enough breathing."

"Sorry."

"Don't be." Steve kisses him again, chaste. "I like kissing you."

The grin that stretches across his face must be blinding. "I like kissing you too, Stevie. You wanna get outta here?"

Steve slumps against him. "God, yes. But you're gonna hav'ta carry me because I don't think I can walk right now."

Steve's barely finished talking before Bucky has him in his arms. Steve huffs, pokes him in the chest. "I was kidding."

He shrugs sheepishly and carries Steve home anyway.

–––

It's warm and It smells like pennies and dandelions. He's half-asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness. A weight lays itself across his stomach and he stirs.

Lips brush against the back of his neck, where his scar resides. "It's me. Go back t' sleep, Buck."

Bucky smiles, tension draining out of him the moment he places the voice. "Steve."

"Mmhm." The hand on his stomach begins tracing soothing patterns on his skin.

Bucky sighs, his body going lax as sleep rises up to claim him.

–––

The door shuts with a soft click. It sounds like a gavel in the silence of the room. In the silence of his mind.

"Bucky?" Steve all but sprints out of the kitchen. The sight of him is all it takes for Bucky to fall apart, tears he'd worked so hard to keep back spilling out. His ass hits the floor and Steve is at his side in an instant, holding him tight to his bird-like chest. "Hey, it's okay, Buck. It's alright. What's wrong, sweetheart? What can I do?"

Bucky takes a shuddering breath and shakes his head. Chokes out a sob. He can't stop shaking his head. The letter crumbles in his grip, draws Steve's attention. He thinks about stopping Steve, about tearing the letter apart and setting it ablaze with his lighter. But he doesn't. Steve carefully pries the letter from his fingers and smooths it out on his thigh.

It's quiet for a moment. A heavy, suffocating silence falling over the tiny apartment like an unwanted blanket in the summer heat. It's stifling, and awful, but it allows Bucky to pull himself marginally back together. He stops sobbing, but tears continue to fall.

The silence is broken when Steve breathes out a simple, "Oh."

Bucky almost breaks again. He doesn't. Not yet. But Steve looks up at him with big, sad eyes and says, "Oh, Bucky."

That's when he breaks.

The condolence letter falls to the floor as Steve surges up to hug him.&

–––

"You're a fool." Bucky has to look &up& now, to chastise Steve. He isn't sure how that makes him feel. Annoyed, mostly.

"I know."

"And a dumbass."

"Know that, too," Steve says.

"A tank Steve? Really?"

Steve shrugs. To Bucky's great relief, he looks a little sheepish, at least. "I was mad."

"You punched a tank!" Bucky sputters, near chokes at the sheer audacity of Steve's apathy.

"I know. My hand hurts."

Bucky sighs, slumps against a tree. "One of these days you're gonna give me a heart attack, pal."

Steve beams and any of Bucky's remaining annoyance drains away.

–––

"I love you."

Steve groans. "So you say."

Bucky grimaces and rubs Steve's back as he retches yet again. It's a damn near miracle that they had found a trash can in time.

"I love you," Bucky repeats. It's an apology and they both know it.

Steve sighs. "I love you too. God knows why."

Bucky laughs.

He makes it up to Steve later. Reminds him why he loves him. Reminds himself how lucky he is.

–––

"Remember when I made you ride the Cyclone at Coney Island?"

"Yeah, and I threw up?"

Bucky eyes the zipline with trepidation. "Is this payback?"

"Now why would I do that?" Steve asks.

"Two minutes!" Morita calls.

Bucky bites his lip. Leans closer to Steve so that only he can hear. "I said sorry."

Steve's eyes flash wolf silver, then darken. "I remember. Vividly."

"Yeah? 'M I gonna get an apology for this, doll?"

The smile Steve gives him is borderline predatory. Then, considering Steve, him simply existing shows there's nothing 'borderline' about it. "We'll see."

–––

The blood drips, drips, drips.

The howling, oppressive in its volume, pressing down, down, down, suffocating him in sound and rattling him to the core, echoing in his bones. He never knows if it's just the wind

Moonlight, breaking through the branches of a pine tree, frost glittering under its silvery light.

The blood looks like oil in the moonlight, slick and black and valuable.

Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Swallowing, slick and hot. Twin silver orbs glowing in the darkness. Just the wind then.

"Almost done?" He asks, teeth chattering. "It's freezin' out here, Stevie."

Snap-snap, white teeth stained pink. One snap for no, two for yes. He was almost done.

"Okay. But I'm making cocoa when we get home."

He doesn't need codes to understand the exited yip that raises into the air. His chapped lips quirk, the dry air tugging at the thin skin. He licks them, and pretends the biting cold that follows doesn't bother him.