Chapter 11
When I wake up the next morning, we're both completely dressed. I didn't really have the strength to change my clothes, and Steve was nice enough not to say anything about it, so we fell asleep together in the bedroom. We're pretty much in the same position as we were when I fell asleep: my head resting on his chest with one of his arms around me.
I realize my left arm is on his stomach and I instantly feel guilty. The arm's kinda heavy, and it must've been pretty uncomfortable for him to sleep with it over his body. I ease the weight slowly, trying not to wake him, but he moves as soon as I do.
"Morning," he whispers, voice low and pasty, and I move a bit more freely, rolling to my back to lie next to him, and turning my head to look at him. He's smiling at me, and it makes me feel like I must be dreaming.
"Morning," I say, smiling back at him. I never expected for my little oasis to be this perfect. Not even in my wildest fantasies.
"Slept well?" he asks, rubbing his eyes, and I sigh.
"Like a log. You?" his smile gets wider.
"Never better."
He looks so nice in this light. Even more so than usual. His skin looks warm, almost golden. Or maybe it's the fact that now I know he feels the same way I do.
I run both my hands through my face and my hair. The things he said last night start coming back to me one by one and I feel like I might just combust from pure anxiety. How the hell am I even allowed to have someone like him saying stuff like that to me?
He rolls on the bed till he's close to me again and places his lips on my neck really gently. My skin's getting shivers as soon as he touches me and my head falls back to give him space, but he pulls back a second later.
"I'll go make us lunch," he says, and I open my eyes and leave out a cry.
"Please tell me you meant 'breakfast'," he laughs as he pushes himself away by lying a hand on my chest.
"No, I didn't." There's a smile in his voice.
I look at the digital clock on the nightstand and the bright red numbers tell me that it's noon. I don't remember having slept this late in forever. Maybe I haven't done it since I was a child . I feel groggy and kinda disoriented, like my body doesn't know what the hell is going on, but I'm… happy. I'm actually happy.
I go to the bathroom while Steve's in the kitchen and I look at myself in the mirror for a few minutes. The dark circles under the reflection's eyes are a bit lighter. The tired look has faded a bit, not as bitter or menacing. I sigh deeply and allow myself to close my eyes, because I know he's not going anywhere, he's under control right now. I think about Steve's words from last night, his whispering voice, his steady pulse, his honest eyes. I let it take over me, flood me like a river.
When I open my eyes I'm smiling in the mirror. It's my smile. My face. Me. I pull my hair back, inspecting myself. Maybe I should cut my hair, shave, get a different look. That would give me something different to look at. I scratch my beard, pulling at it a bit. It's too messy, but I kinda like it. I didn't have it while I was with HYDRA.
I could trade the long hair and no beard for a long-ish beard and short hair. That seems like a good idea, and I'm already halfway there anyway.
By the time I get out, Steve's already making the pancakes. I try to ignore the impulse of wrapping my arms around him from behind and kissing his neck, because it feels like that would be too much and kinda out of line. Would I come off as needy? I think maybe I might, so I just say "Hey, man, smells good. Need any help?"
"Almost done. You could make some juice if you wanted to."
"Fresh squeezed?"
"Yeah, you're up for it?" I mumble an 'of course' and get on with it. I cut the oranges in half and then just squeeze them one by one. Using my hands is easier than looking for utensils.
I make two glasses and put them on the table as he finishes cooking.
"I think pancakes are my favorite," I say when I take a sweet buttery piece into my mouth. It feels kinda weird to have a favorite of something, I'm so used to not even getting a choice. Steve's smiling, but he shakes his head when I ask him why.
"You coming to the gym again today?" he says instead, and I make a face.
"I don't know, man. Don't want you to get sick of me," he laughs and serves himself another pancake.
"Don't see that happening anytime soon." I smile, but quickly think of another topic. It still feels weird to take compliments seriously.
"I'm thinking about cutting my hair," I say trying to sound casual. He makes a noncommittal face. "Maybe like I used to wear it back when I was…" I stop talking when I notice that I'm about to say 'back when I was me' and think of anything else. "In the army," I finish, and he ignores the hesitation.
"Looks great either way," he says while he eats, as if it was the most normal thing in the world to say stuff like that, and then adds: "If you want, one of these days we can walk home again from the gym and stop by my barber."
"That'd be nice," I reply. It sounds like a good plan.
We don't 'run into' anybody that afternoon. We just workout for a few hours, and then get back to the apartment. Same on the third and fourth day. By the fifth, we're both a little more comfortable with each other while exercising. He jokes a bit more, I don't try to cover myself as much. I understand that it's OK if he sees me, he won't freak out about the arm, or the way I use it while exercising.
I ask him if we can stop by his barber on the way to the apartment, and we both get a haircut. It's weird to allow someone I don't know to get so close to me, and with scissors non the less, but Steve says the guy's cool, so he must be. I trust his judgment.
Steve just needed a trim and a shave, but I look like someone completely different when they're done with me. They cut most of my hair and trim my beard a little, so I won't look like a hippie. I remember seeing a picture of a place called Woodstock while I was catching up on the Vietnam War, and I don't really like that look.
I put my hat on to walk home, but I notice Steve can't seem to stop staring at me. "Does it look weird?" I ask while turning a corner. He shakes his head.
"It looks really good. More like I remember you." I offer him a small smile, and he takes my hand and kisses it while we're walking, like it's completely normal. I can tell I'm blushing and my heart is pounding, but we walk holding hands for a moment, and no one seems to pay attention to us. He lets go on the next corner, but I can't shake the feeling that's flooding over me: I'm not walking, I'm flying.
If all I've suffered, if everything I went through was to bring me to this moment, then I know the universe is not so bad.
When I look in the mirror that night, I can see myself in the reflection again. I run my fingers through my short hair, and I smile when it gets pointy and messy. It looks a lot more like the way it looked before I joined the army. It looks like mine. My choice, my decisions are plastered in my looks.
The sixth day is almost unbearable. The humidity is so high, it feels like I'm trying to breathe water. I'm glad I cut my hair, or it'd be sticking to my face right now.
Steve takes his shirt off while working out and I just sit still looking at him for a while. The way he's breathing makes me think of him completely naked, moving against me and hiding his face on my neck. He's fucking gorgeous. His broad back, that small waist, the smoothness of his skin… he turns around as he keeps hitting the punching bag, and it looks like he's showing off. I stare at his shoulders, and the lines of his pecs. His tight core and that fucking line of muscle that frames his pelvis. I could kiss my way through his entire body. From right below his chin, down his abs and all the way to his-
I shake my head and excuse myself from the room when I feel like I might just jump him and take all his clothes off right here, and I need to fucking control myself, so I go take a cold shower, because I can barely stand to see him like that and not do anything about it.
I think maybe I should say something, tell him that I want him, but every time I'm about to do it, I get tongue tied, and the words get stuck in my throat. We haven't really done much of that stuff since that time I acted like an idiot. Just a few kisses here and there. He's sweet and caring, but he doesn't seem to be… horny anymore, and I'm starting to think maybe this is better for him. Maybe this feels OK for him, maybe this is enough. If it is, I don't really want to put him in a situation where he has to turn me down. Or maybe I'm just a fucking coward, and I don't want him to turn me down. Probably that last one.
The excruciating heat goes on a couple days longer, until the sky finally gives out, the storm breaks and the rain comes. The storm is intense, furiously hitting the windows, so we decide to take a break from the gym. The plan is to stay home, maybe watch some movies. We've both been sleeping in the bedroom, but we decide to turn the sofa into a bed again so we can lie down while watching TV. The day is dark, so it feels almost as if it was night time. The heat subsided quickly when the rain hit, and now it's cold, the contrast between temperatures only makes it worse, so we're both cuddled up under the covers in the living room. The sound of the rain is making me drowsy, but I don't want to fall asleep.
"Buck, I've already told you, your arm doesn't bother me." His voice is soft. He's lying on his back, and I have my head on his chest. Up until now I had my metal arm awkwardly resting over my own body, because I didn't want to leave it resting over his.
"It's too heavy," I say, but he reaches for my hand, and I comply. I try to keep it light, supporting most of the weight, but he practically drags my hand till it reaches his mouth and kisses it before settling it on his chest, like he's making a point.
"I'm a supersoldier, remember? I think I can handle you putting your arm on me." I leave out a laugh and relax a bit. Truth be told, I enjoy the way his body feels under my hand. Too fucking good.
It hasn't even been a minute, but the movie starts to blur, and I can't keep my hand still. I run it slowly down his chest, then to his side and up again. I remember the first time we kissed, me touching him, slowly allowing myself to explore him. God, I love to be able to touch him like this. I love the fact that I'm not immediately punished for having something so good in my life. My fingers run over one of his nipples and I can feel it tensing up as I do. Maybe the hand's too cold. The metal does tend to get annoyingly cold sometimes. I'm about to pull away, but he puts his hand over mine, so I don't. I try to figure out if it's because he wants me to stop moving, or because he doesn't want me to pull away.
I don't really want to ask, but his heartbeat takes away the need to do so. I still have my head over his chest and I can hear it loud and clear, spiking as I move again, this time a bit ballsier. I follow the lines of his chest, and then go up to his shoulder.
I try to be casual as I flex my leg, getting it over his hip to feel him, because I really want to feel him like that again... and I notice the way he stops breathing for a second. He's hard. Like really hard. I know he can tell that I've noticed but he doesn't say or do anything. We go a few seconds in silence, and then it hits me. "Oh, fuck", I whisper and pull away to be able to look at him. His eyes are fixed on the TV.
"Has this been happening a lot?" He makes a face.
"Pretty much all the time," he answers, and oh my fucking god , we've both been giving each other space?
"Why didn't you talk to me about it?" I ask, trying to keep my voice steady but he shrugs and makes an unconcerned face.
"It kinda felt like I pushed you too far the other day. Like I rushed things. I didn't want you to feel like you needed to do something about it." I squint my eyes, because this can't be.
"You don't want us to do something about it?" he leaves out a short laugh, like I just said something ridiculous.
"Of course I do, I'm not dead. But you don't need to." That kinda settles it: we're both fucking idiots. I laugh a bit while I rest my forehead on his chest, just out of pure frustration.
"OK," I say mostly to myself after a second, nodding, because I don't want to explain to him that I do need to. Not because I feel forced or anything like that, but because I actually, literally feel like I need to touch him, to be with him. I need to, or one of these days I'll casually burst into flames while I watch him working out. I just thought he didn't want to after my little breakdown the other day.
Slowly, I put my leg on the other side of his body as I move my mouth closer to his neck and rest my lips on his skin. He closes his eyes and his hands fly to my hip. We're both just wearing underwear and t-shirts, and I purposefully lower my body so that I can feel him in my crotch for a second. His breath gets stuck in his throat, but then I keep moving, so that I'm pretty much how I started, but on the other side of him. I want to keep touching him, and a metal hand won't do anymore. Except now I'm a lot closer. My right leg is over his hip and between his, and I can feel his dick on my thigh. Feeling just how hard he is makes me bite my lip till it hurts. I mean, I'm the same way, but it's just amazing actually being able to get him like that. He swallows kinda nervously and breathes deeply and I can't help kissing him.
I slip my hand under his shirt, touching his tensed up abs and going up his chest. His heart is pounding. We kiss while my hand keeps going up until his shirt is completely out of my way.
He pulls back just an inch and looks at me when I feel his hand going down my back. He reaches for my ass and I think he'll grab it, but he doesn't. Instead, he pushes me closer to him, causing my dick to press up against his hip. A moan escapes my chest because I wasn't expecting that, and I see him smile just before I hide my face on his neck. Maybe this is how I actually spontaneously combust.
He eases his hand and then pushes again, and I'm already a fucking mess. I can feel my sanity shattering, and I couldn't care less.
I move a bit, so that I'm half on top of his body, using the leg I have between his to put pressure on him too. I kiss his neck for a while, rocking against him slowly and lazily. There's no rush, and it feels so fucking good, I want it to last forever.
He runs his hands up the sides of my body, lifting up my shirt as he goes, and I rest on my side and put my arms up so that he can take it off.
We end up side by side, facing each other with our legs intertwined, so I take his shirt off too. Feeling his skin against mine drives me crazy, so I press myself against him while I get back to his mouth. I run my right hand up and down his back, loving the way his skin feels.
I move my mouth down to his collarbone, then to his chest and let it linger on one of his nipples. I press it between my lips as my hands go down the sides of his body to take off his underwear. His dick practically jumps out of its restraints and hits me in the stomach.
I wet my hand and go right to it. Steve's hands fly to his own hair as soon as I touch him, and he leaves out this gorgeous breathless whine. I'm on his other nipple now and I can feel his anxiety building up. I won't be able to have him like this for much longer before he tries to take back a bit of the control, before he feels the need to reciprocate, so I have to make the most of it. I pull away and I'm about to go down on him when he clears his throat, so I wait for him to speak. His voice comes out shaky.
"The other day…" he starts, and I keep moving my hand steadily so that he can talk, but firmly, so that it won't be too easy. "You said you wanted to touch me," I smile and kiss his collarbone while I keep touching him, like I'm proving a point or emphasizing his words. "And for me to touch you," he adds and I shrug.
"There'll be time for that," I kiss on one side of his neck and then look at him again. His hips go a bit up as his dick twitches in my hand. I wonder how the fuck is he still talking right now.
"And then you said that you wanted other things," I nod but don't say anything. I'm so close to him now that I can feel his dick half pressed to my stomach, but I keep my eyes on his. He's breathing the way he used to back when he had asthma attacks, heavy and superficial.
"What other things?" I laugh when he finally says it and I look down intentionally for a quick second.
"Well…" I leave out close to his ear. "Let's just say that you can do whatever you want to me," when I pull away, he's got a conflicted expression. He's biting his lip, but his brow is furrowed. His eyes dart to my lips for a quick second, and I wish we would just kiss and let things go wherever they might go. But when I kiss him, I can tell he's not done talking, so I pull away.
"I don't want to do whatever I want, I want to do stuff that you'll like. Things that'll make you feel good too." He looks me straight in the eye as he says it, and I love the feeling that it gives me. I wonder how the hell is he able to do that, I have to hide my face every time I say something even remotely intimate.
"I'm pretty sure we have similar interests right now, Stevie," I joke, and twist my wrist as my hand goes back down on his dick, causing him to open his mouth.
"I…" he starts, but he runs out of air. The light from the TV changes, and it makes it look like he's blushing. Or maybe he is, I don't fucking know anymore. He gently rests his hand in my right arm, so I stop moving. He swallows hard and takes in a broken breath. "I kinda need to hear you say it, Buck," I raise my eyebrows to look at him. "I don't want to cross any lines this time," and suddenly it all falls into place. He hasn't been holding back because he didn't like what happened the other day, or because he's giving me space, he thinks he did something wrong.
"You didn't," I say, but his gaze is steady, relentless. I bite my lip again and hide my face on the side of his neck, while I leave out a long sigh. His hands touch me gently, on my lower back and in the back of my head.
"Don't worry, babe, we can stop if you're not comfortable, it's OK," his voice is so tender, but he's being such an idiot. I leave out a frustrated growl and push myself up so that I can look at him.
"I don't want to stop," I say, voice steady and clear. At least I have that going for me, although I can feel the heat going up the back of my neck. The smallest of smiles twists his lips and I kiss him on the corner of his mouth, mainly because I can't help it. "I do want to touch you," I start, and I have to swallow because my mouth is so dry. I start moving my hand again and try to concentrate on the little sound that escapes his mouth. "And for you to touch me," I add, and his hands start moving too, touching my side and my arm. "And I loved what we did the other day, the… rubbing-against-each-other thing." His hands go down my body without him taking his eyes off of mine, and he pulls down my boxers just enough.
I lower my hips immediately, moaning when I feel his dick against mine. I move up and then down a bit. The feeling is incredible and almost overwhelming, but I know that I have to keep talking. He has to know how badly I want him. So I reluctantly pull my face away from his skin. It goes against my every instinct, but I need him to know that I'm telling the truth. "I want to have you in my mouth." I say, and I feel his dick tensing even more for a short second. I realize it's a bit easier to talk when we're doing this. A lot easier, actually, so I keep moving as I continue, my tongue finally untied. "Want to know what every part of you tastes like." I lick his neck slowly, taking my time. I can feel him swallowing hard, and his fingers tense, digging into my shoulder and my back.
"And I want to be in your mouth too," I add, brushing his lips with my flesh fingers. I'd love to be in his mouth, he has the nicest lips. I move more desperately against him while I look at his mouth, simply because I can't resist it. "You've always had the most beautiful lips," I say, out of breath. "The most kissable, fuckable lips I've ever seen," he puts his hand on the back of my neck and pushes me towards him to kiss me again. The kiss is messy, despertate, almost aggressive. Absolutely sinful.
The mere idea of his lips sliding down my dick and his tongue swirling on the tip- I stop thinking about it because otherwise I might just cum right now. I swallow hard and take one of his hands, pining it to the pillow right above our heads. He intertwines our fingers and I pull my face away again. I'm out of breath, but I like the way he reacts to my words, so I want to push it further.
"Then I would like for you to fuck me," I say, and I feel his whole body tense up against mine, "If you're into that." He just moans and grabs my ass with his free hand. I think it's safe to say that he's into it. "Are you?" I press, and he growls.
"I want it so bad, babe. I'll make you feel real good, I'll do anything you want," he promises, and I shiver. I'm moving faster, and I barely pause to wet the both of us with my hand.
"And maybe I could fuck you too, but we can talk about that." I smile when he closes his eyes and uses his hand to press me down harder. Seeing him like this is driving me completely crazy, it's almost too much. Almost.
My head spins for a second when he turns the both of us to be sort of on top of me, although we're both kinda on our sides. He keeps up the same rhythm while he rocks against me. I can feel myself losing control in the most amazing way imaginable.
"Is it OK if we finish first? Like this?" His voice is lower that usual, and it's like he read my fucking mind. I nod, and he moves harder, still looking at me. I can see him fighting it, I don't want him to fight it. "I want you to cum for me," I say, and he closes his eyes and lets himself go, and I feel him cumming while he moans my name. Seeing him like that is all it takes for me to be thrown over the edge with him. The pleasure is so sharp I can barely handle it. I shiver when he moves again, and it takes a few seconds for me to calm down… but we are far from stopping.
Literal hours go by before I'm able to keep my hands off of him. It's like the more time we spend together, the more time I want. And the quick recovery time -courtesy of our serum treatments- has us bouncing back in no time after each session.
I close my eyes and feel the pleasure slowly subsiding. This has to be the most amazing thing I've ever felt, and I'm holding on to it like my life depends on it, because I think it just might. The waves of pleasure just kept coming, taking over my body and making my limbs numb. It went on forever , and I'm not even sure that it's completely over.
"How the fuck is that even possible?" I say when I'm able to speak again, and then shiver when I try to move. He's lying on his back beside me, trying to catch his breath too.
He reaches for his shirt and offers it to me."I have to wash it anyway," he says, so I use it to clean myself a bit, and then he takes it and does the same before throwing it to a corner of the room.
He looks at me for a second with a concerned look. "Are you sure you're-" he starts, but I cut him off.
"Steve, I swear, if you ask me if I'm OK one more time, god help me, I'm gonna punch you," he laughs, because he knows I'm joking, and I wait for him to be quiet again before I speak. "I think I've never felt better," I say quietly, and I see his smile through the corner of my eye.
"Was about time you felt good. Just for the sake of the balance of the universe." I leave out an unconcerned laugh. I think the word 'good' doesn't cut it, but I can't bring myself to correct him.
I see him moving a bit, and then feel the sheet gently falling over the both of us, followed by the covers. I smile, because it makes me feel way more comfortable, not so exposed.
After a few minutes of silence, I feel him looking at me, so I turn my head towards him. I'm still a bit dizzy, like I'm floating. My left hand is resting over my chest, and he reaches for it and intertwines our fingers. I look at the contrast between the shiny metal of my hand and the pale flesh of his.
"Can you feel things the same way with it?" he asks, and then takes my hand close to his face and kisses it lightly. I feel my chest swelling.
"Yeah, pretty much. It just takes a bit more effort for something to hurt." He frowns.
"Well, I don't want to hurt you," he says nonchalantly, and kisses my wrist. I can't help but smile, but I turn to the ceiling again, it's kinda overwhelming to know the massive amount of truth in those words. He doesn't want to hurt me. I feel like everybody's been out to get me for a long, long time.
A few more minutes pass in silence, and I start to drift off, but I don't really want to fall asleep. I don't want this moment to end. I don't want any of this to be over.
"Had you done that before?" He whispers, and I look at him again. His eyes are tired, but I can see the curiosity in them. "With a guy, I mean," he clarifies, so I shake my head.
"Not that I remember, no."
He whistles and I laugh. "Then why with me?" I laugh some more. I feel like I'm drunk.
"Sounds like you're complaining, man," I say as a joke while I turn to lie on my stomach.
"God, no," he laughs for a second. He seems kinda drunk too. I don't remember having seen him like this in a long time, maybe since before the war. "I'm just curious. We haven't really had a chance to talk about this. I didn't even know that you liked men."
"Yeah, I didn't know either, so it kinda took me by surprise too. It was weird at first, I tried to fight it, but I've dealt with it already. I'm cool now."
"How did you realize?" I make a guilty face and hide my face in the pillow for a second.
"It kinda hit me when I saw you walking around in a towel." I dare to look at him again, and he's got his brow up and his cheeks are softly blushed. "How about you?" I ask before he can say anything because this is way too embarrassing to be discussed. He swallows hard and sighs.
"Kinda the same. Took me a while to accept it, but I'm OK with it now," I shake my head.
"No, I meant: 'have you been with a guy before?'"
"Oh," he turns his body on his side to face me and he's so close I kinda lose my train of thought. "A guy kissed me once, does that count?" he says with a face and I shrug. I have no idea. He leans in and kisses me, catching my lower lip between his for a few seconds. It's mellow and slow, sweeter than any kiss I've had before.
"It didn't feel anything like this, though," he adds when he pulls away a little, running his thumb on my lips. I want to ask how this feels to him, but I don't have the balls.
"Why? How did it feel?" he's still looking at my lips.
"We were at a bar -the team and I- and I went to the bathroom. Sometimes people recognize me and come up to me, but they usually respect certain places. This guy was a bit drunk so he didn't." He makes a pause and snorts a laugh. "Earlier that week I had gotten a dog out of the way of some falling stuff. I think it was rubble or something like that. The poor dog was terrified."
That's the most Steve thing he could've said, and it makes me have to get closer to him. I slide my arm over his waist and up his back. He scooches closer too, but I don't know if he's aware that he's doing it.
"He tells me that it was his dog, that she was everything that he had, thanks me, and then grabs my face with both hands and plants a kiss right on my lips." He laughs a bit. "Then he just up and leaves. I don't even think it was really a kiss. I mean, it was, but not like a real one, I think it was just like a… an enthusiastic thanks? Maybe? I don't know." I don't like the idea of someone else kissing him, but I have to admit that it sounds pretty funny.
"And how did it feel?" I ask when I realize he hasn't said anything about that.
"Honestly? I don't really know, all I could think about was 'God, I hope he washed his hands', " I laugh out loud at that and he looks at me smiling. He shrugs after a few seconds, "I don't even think it counts as a kiss… but it got me thinking about it."
"It would, yeah."
He stays quiet for another minute, just looking at me and running his fingers on my face and my hair, and the moment is so incredibly intimate that I have to remind myself a few times that it's OK to feel this way, that I trust him. Because I do, wholeheartedly, but how could someone get used to something like this? Part of me still expects that I'll be punished for feeling this well.
"And then you got here, and you were so… attractive. I couldn't keep my eyes off of you, couldn't think about anything else. I wasn't expecting to feel this way for you." I smile, because even if it sounds like he's crazy, I know he truly believes it. "I tried to leave you alone, to keep quiet about it. I really tried. But I just couldn't anymore."
I leave out a laugh. "Well, you beat me to the punch for about a second, I was just about to say something to you too."
His face lights up and he pulls his head back a few inches, looking at me. "Really?" I nod, and he bites his lip. "It would've been nice to hear you say it." I laugh again -I can't seem to stop- and clear my throat.
"It was something on the lines of 'Hey, baby, did it hurt when you fell from heaven?'" I can't keep a straight face, and he tries, but fails almost immediately.
"You're a jerk," he says and shakes his head. He rolls to be in his back and I follow him, keeping our faces close.
We're both smiling, but I kiss him anyway. "I was gonna say that I had been a bit confused lately… about how I felt about you." I make a pause and kiss him again. "I was gonna tell you that it was OK if you wanted me to leave."
"I wouldn't have asked you to leave. Even if I didn't-" he says, but I interrupt him.
"I know. I just had to give you a choice."
I roll back to my side and sigh. "But I'm glad I didn't say it. It was bullshit," he frowns and looks at me. "I wasn't really confused. Everything was pretty clear," I offer him a smile, because the words get stuck in my throat, but I hope he gets it anyway. Based on the way he kisses my hand, it seems like he does.
"It's kinda weird to think about how things would've been for us if we'd stayed in our time, isn't it?" I look at him as he speaks. "For us," he clarifies, gesturing to the both of us with a wave of his hand. I try to picture how it would've been.
"You think we would've ended up doing something like this?" I ask, but I already know the answer. Probably not. It wasn't something you could even consider back then. It wasn't accepted. Like if any kind of love could be more valid than the kind I feel for him right now. My hand is in his now, and I watch him as he slowly takes it to his face again and gently presses his lips to each one of my knuckles.
"I know I would've thought about it," he says quietly. "I mean, you know I've always loved you, you were there for me when nobody else was. And I admired you so much… I think it would have been a matter of time before I'd figured out how nice it would've been to kiss you goodnight instead of just hugging you."
There's tears in my eyes now, but I try to ignore them as best as I can. How the fuck is he able to say stuff like that? Why would he even think stuff like that? "You admired me, man?" I say, trying for a joke but failing miserably. Anyone would be able to hear the knot in my throat from miles away. He looks at my eyes again and rests his hand on my face as he speaks.
"Of course I did, Buck. You were always my hero." He whispers. "You still are," he adds, and there's not a trace of irony in his voice. Not an ounce of mockery. He's just as honest and truthful as always, and I can't keep my eyes from welling up. It's taking all my strength to take this seriously, to not joke about it or brush it off, to actually listen to him. I'm trying so hard to believe it, but my brain is fighting it just as fiersfully.
"You were always mine," I say slowly and he smiles, but the smile is way too big and feels kinda forced.
"Thank you, serum," he jokes and I frown. He's always telling me that I shouldn't do that, and then goes and does it himself. But then I think that maybe he's being serious too, that maybe he really believes that, just like I do when I say stuff like that, and I can't stand the idea. So I try to tell him otherwise as clearly as I can.
"I'm talking about the scrawny guy too. The one who was always willing to stand up for what was right. Even against all odds," he smiles. "You're the best person I know. You always were, serum or no serum." His smile turns sweeter and it creeps up to his eyes. He looks warm with that smile. It's so hard to talk when he's looking at me like that. Someone like me shouldn't be allowed to have someone like him looking at them like that. But he's here, and he's looking at me like I'm the most amazing thing in the world, so I just let it flood over me and I kiss him on the corner of his smile.
"I've told you," I add when I pull away. "I'd follow that guy anywhere."