A/N: Hey, guys. Sorry about that wait. This is a new pairing for me, so the writing doesn't flow as well as other things.
Anyone who said working out was a natural high had obviously never been high. There was no comparison. That being said, Bucky did like working out. He liked the burn of his muscles; the stretch and pull and strain. It made it easier to concentrate on something else, something other than his life.
"Barnes!"
Bucky froze mid-rep. He closed his eyes and counted to ten. He'd only gotten to seven before the guard—he knew his name now, Rumlow—gave him a rough smack to his arm. "Did you hear me, Barnes? I said on your feet."
Biting the inside of his cheek, wanting to snap back that he hadn't actually told him to get up. He reached for his prison issue shirt. Rumlow slapped his hand away. "Now," he said.
"I have to wear a shirt," Bucky said, confused and irritated.
"Oh, yeah? Why?"
"My lawyer is here, right? It's...professional." He tugged self-consciously on his undershirt. Natasha was always immaculate. He'd look like a sewer rat next to her.
Rumlow snickered. "Professional." He turned to his fellow guard. "Look at the professional here. What do you think you are? Some hot shot businessman?" He scoffed. "Come on, businessman. I have some stylish accessories for you. Get your ass up." He held up the shackles with a vindictive smile on his face.
Bucky stood slowly, holding Rumlow's gaze. "Ready to comply," he said in his most deadpan voice, and he lifted his hands so they could put the cuffs on him.
Irritation flickered over Rumlow's features, and Bucky wasn't surprised when he "accidentally" kicked his shin—hard—instead. Really, really hard. Despite his best effort to act as though the guard hadn't fazed him at all, he couldn't help the small limp. Of course, Rumlow only propelled him forward faster.
When the door opened, Bucky forgot about his pain for a fraction of a second. Natasha was there in the room, but she wasn't alone. Steve was with her. Steve wearing a slick, black suit. Steve, who stood up with a smooth grace, his eyes following him as he was lead to a chair and made to sit. Steve's eyes narrowed, and they followed the guard out the door. As soon as the door was closed, though, they flicked back to Bucky.
Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, self-conscious. He was really underdressed compared to Steve. And Natasha. Fucking lawyers. Also, why was the room so hot? Usually every room in this whole damn place ran too cold.
Natasha cleared her throat, and only then did Bucky realize he'd been staring at Steve. He'd have felt bad except Steve was staring back.
"What's going on?" Bucky's voice came out rougher than he meant it to; more gravelly.
A smile played at the corner of Natasha's lips. "I brought in a specialist to work with you on your testimony. Now, play nice for a minute. I seem to have left my briefcase in my car." She shouldered her bag as she leaned across the table toward Bucky. "There are no cameras in this room."
Bucky's cheeks heated, and Natasha had swept out of the room before he could even begin to form an articulate response. He looked back to find that Steve too was blushing, and that disarmed him somewhat. When he saw Steve's eyes rake over his form, he almost laughed.
He was a junky and fucked up in about a hundred and five different ways, but Bucky knew when he was being checked out. He also knew when someone liked what they saw. Whatever else was going on right now, Steve liked Bucky like this—disheveled and stripped down to his tank top.
Fair was fair. Bucky allowed himself a moment's appreciation for the sight in front of him. Steve Rogers looked damn good in a suit, with his hair perfectly tousled and yet still professional. When he'd reappeared in his life a couple of months before, Bucky had been too shocked, too far gone in his hopelessness to have appreciated the sight in front of him.
He'd begun to hope, and that made him extremely nervous. His brow furrowed, and he dropped into his seat. Trepidation stirred in his belly. He still had no idea why Steve had helped him, and he wasn't sure he appreciated it. By now, he knew better than to hope. His life had proven to him over and over again that hope was a dangerous thing.
This bastard had made him hope everything would be all right once before. He was the reason everything had gone to pieces then. Bucky didn't think he'd survive it this time. He didn't have any fight left.
As though sensing the turn to the atmosphere, Steve sat down slowly, his hands on the table as though showing he had nothing to hide. "You were limping when you came in."
"Hello to you too," Bucky said.
Steve looked abashed. "Sorry. It's just…" He nodded toward the door Bucky had come in. "They're still mistreating you."
Despite himself, Bucky had to fight the smile that threatened. "You know, you're the only one surprised at that."
"It's their job to protect you, Buck. If they can't handle that job, then they need another. They—" Steve frowned when Bucky started full on laughing. "What's so funny?"
"You are." Bucky shook his head, grinning at the other man. He brought his cuffed hands up and dug the heels of his palms into his eyes. "I'm too tired to hate you anymore. It just takes too much energy."
"I told Natasha you wouldn't want to see me," Steve said, all earnestness. "It's just that she said you kept asking about me."
"Yeah. I can't figure out why you're doing all this. Helping me."
Steve looked down at the tabletop. "Feels like the right thing. I don't think you're guilty."
"You don't know me." His voice sounded more tired than angry even to his own ears.
Steve raised his head. "There's a pretty convincing argument that you didn't do this, Buck. Is it possible you did it?" He grimaced. "Sure. But that doesn't feel right. I'm not delusional. I'm not saying you're not an addict, but you've never been angry when you were on something. It's never gotten bloody."
"There's a first time for everything."
"Maybe, but I think there's a story that fits better."
Bucky laughed again and shook his head. "You still think it's your job to save people."
Steve looked sad. "My job isn't about saving people. It's about justice."
"You're a sweet kid, you know that?"
Steve tilted his head. "Are you making fun of me?"
"A little. It's just so you." Bucky smiled. Looking at Steve, he cocked his head, fixing him with a tired but amused look. "You're trying to save me again."
"I...don't know how not to." He hesitated but quirked an eyebrow. "I don't think I can make it worse this time. So there's that, at least."
"Yeah, I might be in over my head a bit this time." He raised his shackled hands and rested them on the table. "If this isn't rock bottom…"
"You're going to be okay, Buck. We're going to win this thing."
"That's what you said last time."
"Last time, I was a kid who trusted adults to do the right thing."
"And now you're an adult who still trusts adults to do the right thing."
"You don't believe I can help."
Bucky raised his head, looking at Steve. He had such pretty, earnest eyes. Steve in his crisp suit, with his tousled hair, and his good, respectable life. Steve who still believed in justice.
On impulse, he flipped his hands over, palm up. Confusion flitted over Steve's face, but he reached out and put his hand in Bucky's. A strange thrill went down his spine. Steve's hand was warm, his skin soft. For a second, emotion welled in Bucky's throat, and he had to swallow hard. "That you believe it…" He shook his head. "It's more than I've gotten from anyone in a long time. Whatever happens—"
"We're gonna beat this thing, okay?"
There was that voice again. Like Steve thought if he said it with enough conviction, everything would magically go his way.
So often since they'd last seen each other, Bucky had been angry, remembering his old friend's stubborn belief.
It'll be okay, Buck. We can make it stop. You and me. It's going to be okay. Trust me.
How often had he heard those words in his head when he was at his lowest. When he woke up in an alley or in some dilapidated house with a new track mark and no memory of the night before. When he'd been arrested before and had been forced to detox, when he was rolling around in agony on the floor, he cursed Steve Rogers' name.
Looking at him now, though, Bucky knew he'd always been full of shit. Steve had never done anything but try to help him. It hadn't been his fault he couldn't when they were kids. Now, he had power, and more friends at his side. If he still couldn't help Bucky, that wouldn't be his fault either.
Bucky tightened his grip on Steve's fingers, squeezing once before he pulled back, dropping his hands on his lap.
It was only fifteen minutes later that Rumlow was shoving him back in his cell. Literally, unnecessarily shoving him. Buck stayed facing the wall, his eyes closed. He didn't want to see the cell door close. As it was, he couldn't help but hear it. He flinched at the sound of the locks sliding back into place. A claustrophobic feeling began to encroach on him, cutting off air to his lungs and closing his throat. He breathed in through his nose and out again slowly.
The ugly feeling that crept over his skin then was one thing Bucky wished had stayed in the past. It had been the one thing he absolutely hated about being friends with Steve when they were kids. Then, as now, Steve was just so...good. Bucky? Bucky never had been that good. Despite what Steve always said—that he'd been the bad boy and Bucky the one who pulled his ass from the fire—it had never felt that way.
It always felt like this. Like Steve was clean, polished and beautiful, and Bucky was better off left in this tiny cell, dirty and alone, away from all the civilized people. It was why Bucky had never really been surprised when his life went the way it did.
Moving woodenly, Bucky went to his bed and sat. It had been so surreal to see Steve again. Little Steve—not so little anymore.
When they were kids, Bucky had played a good game, pretending he was someone he wasn't. Yeah, he'd been popular, but it wasn't a real kind of popularity. Those kids liked him because he was good at ball or because he was quick with a comeback.
Steve? Steve had always seen him. It unnerved Bucky as much as it made him feel…
Well. It made him feel, that was all.
~16 Years Ago~
The first kiss was an accident.
Steve had gotten himself into trouble again, trying to take on a bully twice his size. Luckily, it was after school this time, so Bucky had been able to dispatch the asshole, peel Steve's ass off the pavement, and get him the hell out of there before any of the teachers was the wiser.
"Man, there's something wrong with your head." Bucky shook his head as he dragged Steve down the street, his hand clamped around his wrist. "Come 'ere. Let me look at your stupid face."
Steve scowled, but he stayed still as Bucky looked over his wounds. He'd have a shiner, but it wouldn't be his first. Bucky grunted and stepped back. "You're going to get your brain knocked loose one of these days, you know that?"
His friend flashed a cheeky grin. "You mean I got brains left?"
Bucky snorted and gave Steve a light shove. "Shit for brains is what you got, but you keep sticking your head where it don't belong, you aren't even gonna have that anymore. Seriously, Steve. I know you got a good reason. You always got a good reason, but if a guy can wipe the floor with ya, you gotta stay out of it. "
"That's the problem, though. Everyone stays out of it, and no one does anything. I don't like bullies."
Bucky gave an exasperated growl. "Fine, okay. Look, is your mother home?"
Steve made a face. "Is she ever?"
Bucky felt a pang at that. Steve was alone so often. He wanted to invite him over, but Alexander was such a prick about other kids in the house.
His stepfather was a prick about a lot of things.
"Okay. Let's go to your house then. If you're going to keep throwing yourself at these assholes, you should at least know how to throw a punch."
An hour later, they were both sweaty, stripped down to their undershirts. Steve didn't have anything resembling strength, but he was stubborn as hell. He kept at whatever Bucky was trying to teach him even though his hand was obviously hurting.
"Let's try something else real quick," Bucky said.
Steve, predictably, shook his head. "I almost got it. Come on. Just one more time."
"Rest your knuckles, man." Bucky shook his head and gave Steve's hair a playful ruffle. "Anyway, that was a dumb place to start. I doubt you'll get a chance to get a punch in."
Steve made a face and lunged for him. Bucky laughed, side-stepping him easily. He grabbed his friend by the arm and pulled him backward so his back was against Bucky's chest. He got him in a headlock. "See what I mean?" He tightened his hold as Steve struggled. " So what you want to do is—Whoa!"
Bucky found himself falling backward as Steve had hooked his foot around his and thrown himself back with all his weight. As they landed, the breath was knocked from Bucky's chest. Steve rolled off him, propping himself up on his arm. "You okay?" he asked, eyes wide.
For a second, Bucky was too shocked to do anything. He blinked upward, kinda staring, shocked. Steve's eyes got even wider, and he gave Bucky a little shake. "Hey, Buck. Come on. What's wrong with you? Are you okay?"
And then, Bucky had sprung. With a cry, he launched himself forward, knocking Steve off balance and then onto his back. He was over him with his legs pinning Steve's and their faces an inch apart.
What he meant to say was, "Gotcha!" but the word died on his lips the second he and Steve were face-to-face. Instead, what he did was close that last inch. He felt Steve's hot breath on his face, and he was gone. He tilted his head forward and kissed him. Hard.
Steve let out a muffled, "Mmph," that vibrated against Bucky's lips, but a second later he responded. He tilted his head into the kiss.
Out of breath, Bucky broke the kiss with a gasp, rolling onto his back simultaneously. As he stared up at the ceiling, he felt the blood leave his face. He gulped for air as though he was drowning. His heart was pounding, and his throat was tight.
He heard his step-father's voice in his head.
Beside him, Steve slowly sat up. Bucky closed his eyes. He had no idea what to say or do. Every part of him was fighting a stupid response to punch the hell out of Steve's pretty face. He was scared and angry, and angry that he was scared. He fully expected Steve to start yelling.
He didn't. He stayed still except for his ragged breathing. That was the only sound in the house—their breaths. It was a full two minutes before Bucky decided he couldn't take it anymore. He sat up and chanced a glance at his friend.
Steve was staring. It wasn't an incredulous stare or a disgusted stare. No, it was a kind of wide-eyed stare, his lips parted in a small 'o' of surprise. It was so god damned cute, Bucky wanted to smile.
He was cute and sweet and Jesus Christ, how long had Bucky wanted to kiss him? Despite the chaos in his head, he wanted to kiss him again right then. His whole body itched with the temptation. He licked his lips, and almost groaned when Steve's eyes followed the motion. His friend's cheeks tinted red.
Bucky was going to do it again. If he didn't get the hell out of there, he was going to do it again.
He pushed to his feet. "I, uh… I forgot something. I forgot about…" He shook his head, looking around for his shirt. "I have to go."
As he all but ran away, Steve hadn't said a word.
A/N: Poor kiddos.
How you guys doin'?