Nerves coiled tight and sharp in the pit of Bucky's stomach as he left the main street and cut down a narrow side street that just barely qualified as more than an alley. It had been five years since he'd been to this place, but he knew it was still operating. He still knew people, would've heard through the grapevine if it had been shut down. He was always a bundle of anxiety whenever he got up the nerve to go—there were so many risks, so many things that could go wrong—and it was even worse this time. He had a lot more to lose and a hole in his heart that screamed at him that he shouldn't be doing what he was doing.

He wouldn't want me sitting at home pining away, Bucky tried to assure himself. Which was a pretty stupid thing to think to himself, really, because Steve had never known Bucky was queer and especially hadn't known Bucky thought of him as anything more than a friend. So, he wouldn't have known that his death would leave Bucky feeling sick with guilt over the idea of finding company. And yet he had had to tell himself over and over again that it wasn't a betrayal to go out and just think about maybe spending an evening with someone. He'd done it plenty (thought still infrequently) before the war and hadn't felt a lick of guilt over it. That night, he'd decided that the feeling of betrayal would only get worse the longer he put off getting back out there. He missed sex, damn it, and the last person he'd been with was Peggy (which he still did not regret but neither was it something he wanted to reminisce about when he was alone in his bed).

He knew he was close to the spot when the empty alleys and streets became populated. Prostitutes of all sorts leaned against walls. At the ends of dark alleys, shadows writhed and filthy sounds drifted out. He brushed past all of them, ignoring the solicitations and cat calls. Closer to where Bucky was going, the people got even more varied. Men in lipstick and dresses, women in suits with short hair and smoking cigars, all types mingled and chatted. This was queer territory. Somewhat to his surprise, Bucky felt a tightness in his shoulders loosening. He still had reason to be wary here—he could never forget that. Yet it was so nice to be able to run his eyes over the men he passed and not worry that they'd realize what he'd done and call him a fag because they were looking back at him.

The door he was looking for was weather-beaten, the word Genie's scratched through the chipped paint and into the wood. When he stepped inside, his eyes had to adjust to the low, smoky light. Though still not completely at ease, the last of the tension he'd been wearing like armor faded away as he looked around and saw men seated with men and women seated with women at the tables around the bar. It was all so much the same, right down to the little feeling of wonder flickering in his chest as he took it in. He remembered the first time he'd ever dared to follow the whispers of the "fairy" bar, how overcome with emotion he'd become just to step into a place where everyone knew he was queer, and he was welcome.

"Hey, doll, you comin' in?"

Bucky startled, belatedly realizing he had come to a halt just inside the door. He must look like a first-timer. He reached for his easy smile, the one he used to throw around to everyone so casually, and found it easier to find than expected. He gave it to the bartender who had addressed him. "Sure am." He ambled over to the bar and claimed a stool. "Been a while is all."

The bartender, a short, slim man with no Adam's apple smiled warmly. "Well, you're always welcome here. What can I get you?"

He ordered a beer to nurse and scanned his eyes over the room. He wasn't there just to be around others like himself. No, it'd been too damned long since he'd had a man—not since a frantic rut with a civilian in Italy, right before the fight that had left him imprisoned in Azzano. He didn't speak a word of English but damned if he didn't get his point across.

Of the men who looked to be equally on the prowl, Bucky immediately discounted several of them. Blondes were always off the table. The little guy at the end of the bar who looked like a strong wind would knock him over? Not happening. Same with the big, muscular guy with a clean-shaven face and laugh lines around his mouth. Used to, Bucky had tended to like big guys like him—as opposite from Steve as it was possible to get. Then Steve had gone and turned into the juiciest piece of meat Bucky had ever seen.

Christ, if I thought he was beautiful before, Bucky had thought on their march from Azzano to the 107th. Even as beat up and traumatized as he'd been, the sight of Steve's broad shoulders had been enough to make his mouth water.

Shutting that memory off right now.

Refocusing on his mission for the night, Bucky scanned the men in the bar again. His eyes alighted on a dark-haired man with haunted eyes seated alone at a table in the far corner. He had pleasant features, not plain but not heart-stoppingly handsome either. From his position, Bucky could tell he was neither a wisp of man nor made of muscle. Lovely.

He allowed himself to feel one final twinge of guilt before he shoved the feeling away. He even envisioned putting it into a box and locking it with a key, then shoving it into a distant place in his mind. He loved Steve, probably would for the rest of his life, but he had never been Steve's. Time to live his life.

With another swig from his beer, he picked up the bottle and made his way through the bar until he reached the lone man's table. "Interested in some company?" He gestured to the chair next to the man.

The man looked up at him, a hint of surprise in his (blessedly) green eyes. A small smile turned up the corners of his lips. "Join me."

Bucky slid into the seat, putting his beer onto the table. "I don't come here much," he admitted.

"Myself either, actually." His voice was nice, Bucky decided. Mellow.

"I used to come around more. I've been gone a while." Figuring he should just get it out of the way, he picked up the beer with his left hand and took another drink, more so the guy could catch sight of his shiny metal hand sticking out of his sleeve than any other reason. As expected, his eyes were immediately drawn to it.

"What…?" He reached a hand out, then stopped, probably realizing he'd been about to grab a total stranger's hand.

Bucky smiled, put the beer back down, and took that hand. He'd gotten used to only sensing pressure and temperature with his left hand. It was enough to feel anything at all. "It's an experimental prosthesis."

The man blinked owlishly. With his free hand, he touched the back of Bucky's, tracing his fingers over the smaller plates. "That's incredible."

"I'm lucky."

"The war?"

Bucky nodded. "I was with the 107th." It was close enough to the truth. This stranger didn't need to know who Bucky really was or what he'd done. "You?"

The man picked up a glass with a finger of amber liquid in it. He drained the rest of it. "The 2nd Infantry."

Bucky's eyes sharpened on him. "You were in Normandy?" The Howling Commandos, as preoccupied as they'd been with HYDRA, had still been aware of the greater war at large being fought.

"Omaha Beach," he confirmed. His haunted eyes sure as hell made sense now.

Bucky let out a low whistle. He might've been part of an elite squad, but this man had been through a meatgrinder. "Let me buy you another drink."

"How about your name, instead?"

"I'm James." He never used Bucky when he met men like this. Since he'd given away his original unit, he probably should've even used a fake name as an extra precaution, but that thought hadn't occurred to him in time.

The hands that were still cradling his metal hand gave it a squeeze. "Henry."

"Pleasure to meet you, Henry."

It didn't take long, really. They were both in the bar to achieve the same end—a bit of fun and then doubtfully ever see each other again. They flirted a bit, back and forth, but Bucky had known from the moment Henry told him to sit down that the score had already been called. Bucky found himself slipping with surprising ease back into old habits. Charming words and risqué jokes dripped from his lips an inch from Henry's ear. His right hand came to rest on the other man's knee and squeezed each time Henry spoke. Bucky watched Henry's mouth, flicking his eyes back and forth between Henry's green stare and his pink lips. When his tongue darted out to wet his lips in response to Bucky's intense gaze, Bucky licked and then bit his own.

"Do you want to…?" Henry finally rasped.

"Yes," Bucky said simply. Lead me, he willed. I don't care where you want me to go, just take me there.

A heartbeat passed. Henry nodded decisively and stood up then started towards the back of the bar, down the little hall that led to the bathrooms. He'd never let go of Bucky's hand; he was happy to follow.

Henry shoved open the door to the small bathroom. Bucky let out a startled but pleased gasp when Henry yanked him inside and immediately pressed him back against the door, taking his mouth in a searing kiss. Yes, Bucky's body seemed to cry as it leapt readily to life. Yes, this is what I need. Just moments into the kiss and already Bucky could feel his cock starting to harden. He was starved for touch, aching with need to feel a man against his body.

When Henry's tongue probed for entry between his lips, Bucky opened and let himself be devoured. He kissed as if he were just as starved as Bucky, plundering his mouth with a fervor that fanned the flames inside of him to a fever pitch. Bucky couldn't remember ever having been this desperate for a fuck. A bit of kissing and he felt ready to beg for it.

He didn't have to. Henry broke away from his mouth to suck in a breath then he leaned in and pressed hot, open-mouthed kisses along Bucky's jaw to his ear. He sucked Bucky's earlobe, and it made his breath hitch. "I want you to suck me," he growled in a voice gone low with need.

Desire shot through Bucky so intensely, he would've dropped to his knees on the spot if Henry hadn't had him pinned to the door. "Yes," he gasped. "Fuck yes, wanna suck you off."

Henry traded places with him, moving to lean back against the door while Bucky sank to his knees. Hands on Henry's thighs, he watched the other man unbutton his fly and pull his cock out. It was long and slim, curving upward just a bit at the tip, and the best thing Bucky had seen in recent memory.

Bucky wrapped his right hand around Henry's shaft and stroked it lightly, just learning the feel of it. Skin soft like silk yet so hard underneath. His mouth watered, needing to taste it, and he saw no reason to tease himself further. Leaning in, he dragged his tongue over the head, lapping up a bead of pre-semen that had already emerged from the slit.

"Fuck," the man above him hissed. Hands came up to sift through Bucky's hair.

"If you get the urge to pull, don't resist." With a hum of pleasure, he took the red, swollen head of Henry's cock into his mouth. It had been years since he'd sucked a cock, but it must be like riding a bicycle because he sure as hell didn't have a problem figuring out what to do with the hard flesh between his lips. Looking up at Henry from beneath lids gone heavy with desire, Bucky flicked his tongue along his shaft, sucking in a light but steady pull until he'd taken every inch and his lips pressed against the root. His gag reflex—which had never been very sensitive—lodged a minor complaint, but Bucky swallowed and breathed and the discomfort passed. Henry looked down at him with wide, lust-blown eyes. Oh, yeah, this is what I needed.

Quickly, Bucky found a rhythm that had Henry biting his lower lip and muffling his moans. Fingers fisted and tightened in his hair, sending delicious tingles down Bucky's neck and straight to his aching cock, trapped in his pants and awaiting its turn. Bucky didn't allow his eyes to fall shut. He focused on Henry, always looking up at him, even after the other man's eyes had fallen shut, head tipped back against the door.

Sooner than Bucky would've liked despite the ache in his jaw, Henry gasped, "Gonna come." He yanked at Bucky's hair to pull him off.

Bucky almost resisted. He didn't want to stop. Reluctantly, like he was making a great sacrifice, he acquiesced, pulling his mouth off with a lewd pop. Taking him into his right hand, he rasped, "Do it. Come for me." His voice had gone rough from the abuse on his throat, and he loved it. Loved the lingering ache in his jaw and the taste in his mouth and the smell of masculine sweat in his nose.

Henry covered his mouth with one hand and jerked into Bucky's hold, loosing a muffled cry as he orgasmed. Bucky got most of his semen in his hand and used it to keep stroking his cock. Some got on the floor but, well, it'd hardly be the first time that'd happened in this bathroom. Bucky admired the way Henry gasped and shuddered as he continued to stroke him. Eventually, Henry twitched and forced Bucky's hand away.

"God, that was good," Henry panted.

Bucky grinned and stood up. His knees ached but not as bad as he suspected they should've. Super-soldier toughness is good for more than combat, hmm? "Glad to see I'm not rusty." He grabbed a paper towel and wiped his hand.

The other man laughed. "No, you're definitely not. It's been a while, eh?" Moving sluggishly, he tucked himself back into his pants.

Bucky nodded. Do me a favor and don't ask why.

To his relief, Henry just smiled at him and said, "Your turn?"

Another "yes" was on the tip of his tongue, about to roll right off, when there was a clamor of footsteps from elsewhere in the bar. The kind of racket that many pairs of booted feet made together. No, no, not here, he thought, panic lighting up like a spark.

"Raid!" Someone screamed and all hell broke loose. Screams and shouts, the screeching and crashing of displaced and upturned tables. Feet pounded on the wooden floorboards as people struggled and ran.

Bucky looked over at Henry. The other soldier had gone pale. For the first time, Bucky noticed how young he looked, maybe even younger than himself. His lips silently formed the words, oh, god no.

Gotta get outta here. Bucky grabbed his hand and pulled the door open. Bar patrons ran past him, trying to reach the back exit in the hopes that the cops weren't out there, too. Steeling himself, Bucky held Henry's hand tight with his right, and began to shove his way through the stampede. If I'm arrested here tonight, there'll be no SHIELD for me. If Bucky Barnes got caught at a gay bar, he'd be lucky to ever work again, much less at a government agency.

He'd known there would be cops in the back alley. They weren't stupid. He was just surprised by how many there were. Even before he'd reached the door, still trapped several and a number of people back, he could see and hear the struggle going on in the alley beyond. "Go back," he shouted into the panicked crowd behind him. "There's loads!" As panicked men and women left the bar, they were being attacked with batons, whether they fought or not. So, the rest he'd warn to go back, try their luck with the front. Probably, the cops had burst in through the front to flush everyone out through the back. He should've guessed that, but his head had been foggy with lust and fresh panic.

The hand in his tugged at his grip as Henry tried to do what he'd said, turn back for the front of the bar. Bucky squeezed and pulled him back. Bucky would take care of him. He couldn't get everyone out, but he could at least protect this one man. "I've got you, just stay with me." He didn't look back to see if Henry nodded or looked at him like he was crazy. He just plowed forward through the bottleneck at the end of the hall. Frantic people shoved past him both ways, not sure where to go, just desperate to escape without a beating or arrest.

As soon as he emerged through the door, voices raised demanding he submit for arrest and hands groped at his jacket and shirt, trying to pull him off balance, trying to get him into a pair of cuffs. When a night stick swung at his face, he snapped his left hand up and crushed it, yanking it from the officer's hand and flinging it away.

The man's eyes went comically wide. "What the fu—"

"Back the fuck off or I'll put you down," he growled.

"You're under arrest for public indecency and assaulting a police officer!" Bucky wasn't sure which of the men in the alley said it. There were six coming at him from the front, standing between him and the mouth of the alley—between him and freedom.

The hand clasped so tightly in his gave a harsh yank, nearly slipping from his grasp, just as Henry yelled, "James!"

Bucky twisted and found that a burly officer had gotten an arm around Henry's neck. The other man was struggling, eyes wide with fear, but he was clearly going to lose the fight without intervention. Lucky for him, I'm a fucking super soldier with a titanium goddamned arm. Snarling, Bucky grabbed the constricting arm and squeezed until he heard a satisfying crack, ignoring the batons that struck his back and thudded uselessly against his left arm. The officer screamed and released Henry.

It was time to book it. Now that he'd hurt them and remained impervious to their attempts at beating him into submission, the guns would come out. If he could run at full speed, they'd never catch him, but Henry wasn't enhanced. He'd never keep up. Put them all down or run…

From the corner of his eye, he saw a pistol come up—decision made, then. In a flash, he'd released Henry and leapt the short distance to the officer with the trigger finger. Let's do this fast. He ripped the gun away, crushed it in his metal fist—I really owe Howard a Thank You card or something—then decked the officer in the face with his right hand before shoving him away. Every other officer in the alley got similar treatment. While already-cuffed and beaten bar patrons and the ones still trying to escape the raid looked on in amazement, Bucky methodically disabled each of the six officers in the alley. He had fought against Nazi's armed with weapons that did things not even Howard had understood—these guys were nothing. Careful not to kill, he punched and tossed and destroyed nightsticks and pistols until the officers all lay groaning and bruised on the ground.

Barely even panting, Bucky looked around for Henry and found him exactly where he'd left him, eyes wide as dinner plates. He held out his right hand (the knuckled were bloody, he noticed—from the cops or was it his own blood?), and, to his relief, Henry took it without hesitation.

Please, don't let them have gotten a good enough look at me to do an accurate sketch, Bucky thought as he clutched Henry's hand and booked it down the alley.

They ran for several minutes. Bucky snaked his way through side streets until he decided they were a safe distance away. Finally, he slowed at the end of one street. At the other end was a main road where, even this late at night, cars trundled steadily past.

"I can't believe—Oh, my God—" Henry panted. He leaned against the side of a building and gaped at Bucky. "Thank you."

Bucky didn't even feel winded. "Wasn't gonna let you get caught." He wished he could've gotten everyone out of there, knew he'd managed to save more than Henry, but still some would end up with new arrests on their records. Part of him wished he could've killed the cops, but he tamped down that particularly bloodthirsty impulse. He'd killed in the war, but that didn't make him a killer. Perhaps those cops he'd beaten tonight would think twice before picking on a "fairy" again. Never know when one of them might actually be a super-soldier with a metal arm straight out of a science fiction novel, right?

Henry kept staring at him. "How did you—James…What are you? Captain America?"

Bucky's breath left him like he'd been punched in the gut.

"What? What'd I say? Are you hurt?" Seeming to snap out of his shock, he appraised Bucky with a worried frown.

What would Steve have thought of all this? What would his Stevie have done tonight? Knowing him, he'd still be there fighting and damn the consequences. The thought made him smile. Yeah, that was probably exactly what Steve would've done. He'd had no tolerance for bullies and no compunction over what fight he picked.

"He was my friend," Bucky found himself saying. "Captain America. He was my friend."

Henry looked at him like he'd spoken a foreign language that he only kind of knew. "You were…friends with Captain America?"

"I was. I'm James Barnes."

The other man hissed in a breath through his teeth. "I thought you looked familiar. You were one of the Howling Commandos."

Bucky nodded. He wasn't sure in the slightest why he'd just told Henry that, except that he hadn't expected to hear the words "Captain America" in reference to himself. It had made him want to talk about the real Captain America.

"You probably get condolences from a lot of people, so I won't offer them. So, just, thank you, James. I don't know what I would've done if I got locked up." His face went pale again.

"You're welcome." Bucky didn't warn him not to go back or find a new bar. In a few months, Bucky would probably be out on the prowl again. This was just how it was. Either give in to the fear of what could be or embrace the risk.

"I hope I see you again," He said softly.

Bucky smiled. "Yeah, me too. Take care of yourself, Henry."

When he got home, Bucky collapsed onto his bed and put his head in his hands. Only time would tell if what he'd done that night would get out. He'd pray if he thought anyone was up there listening.