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Steve had always loved the city in the morning. Even more so now; it’s the only time it even comes close to being quiet. He takes a deep breath of early spring air. It’s not the same medley of scents that were there when he grew up, but it’s comforting nonetheless.
He sets off in the direction of the animal shelter. Bruce told him about it; said he might like volunteering there. When he found out they needed people to exercise the dogs, he knew that no one was better suited to help than him. Most days Steve struggles to burn off his own energy, so he can relate.
It’s madness to complain about peace, so he’s been furrowing his super soldier stamina where he can. He trains with Tony and Nat every other day, which helps immensely. They’ve encouraged him to fill the rest of his time with exploring the world as it is now. Let your hair down, Cap, Tony always says. One day he’ll know what it’s like to ache for something no one understands.
The three miles to the shelter goes by fast. His body is humming and awake, ready for more. It’s still surprising, sometimes, to feel so...invigorated. He remembers the days when his body would barely let him get out of bed like yesterday.
Nina greets him warmly and leads him back to the kennels. It’s always a cacophony in here. The dogs wiggle and yip in their kennels as they go by. Most of these dogs know him by now; they’re the long term residents. The ones no one wants to adopt for one reason or another. He tries not to let it depress him. At least when they’re here, they’re warm and fed and cared for.
“I hope you’re ready for Bert, because he’s ready for you,” Nina says, stopping in front of a kennel with a brown and white blur of fur and slobber. Steve smiles and lets the dog lick his fingers through the chain link. Engelbert Pupperdink the boxer mix has been here as long as Steve’s been volunteering. He’s a beautiful dog with way too much energy and no concept of how big he is - sort of like Steve had been fresh off the serum. Maybe it’s not so surprising that Bert also likes to get in fights.
He’s a lot to handle, but Steve and the shelter staff know that Bert’s a loveable idiot that just needs a patient family and some good training. They’ve hinted more than once that Steve should just take him home, but Steve has never felt right about being an absent pet parent. Even in peacetime, he travels a lot, and is out of the house far too long to give a dog like Bert what he needs.
“Is it ok if we’re gone a few hours?” he asks. Sometimes they ask him to focus on one dog, and sometimes they ask him to do short runs with three or four, depending on the day and needs of the dogs.
Nina nods. “It’s a nice day, so we have enough volunteers.” She hands him the harness and leash. “Knock yourself out.”
He likes doing long runs with Bert. The dog is tireless, and after a few initial hiccups in which Bert would veer in front of him because squirrel and cause them to both eat pavement, they’ve found their balance. The world fades away and it’s just the sun and his breath and jingle of Bert’s tags.
He stops to take a sip of water at one of the fountains in the park. It’s Wednesday, so he always takes this route. It means he gets to jog by the acro yoga class.
He’d be good at the acro yoga. He’s strong enough to hold up the entire class, probably, and learned enough about lifts and acrobatics in the USO show to ease right in. But he’s more interested in the instructor.
It’s been a long time since Steve had a crush. The guy is undeniably attractive - dark hair, sharp, stubbled jaw, kind eyes - but it’s his demeanor that got to Steve. Two months ago, when he sat down for a break that was more for the dog than for him, he noticed the class for the first time and he was smitten.
The guy is patient. Encouraging. He listens. Even in these weekly jog-bys, Steve has been able to see how the people in the class have grown and progressed. They try things that scare them and leave the class exhilarated at their accomplishments. This guy has something , and Steve is not ashamed to admit that he’d like that something to be focused on him.
It would be easy to walk over and ask questions. Most people are eager to interact with a person with a dog. Well, the dog moreso, but Steve has had his fair share of conversations with strangers as the face at the other end of the leash. It would be so, so easy.
He’s not sure what holds him back. In the past…
In the past he was brazen. Steve Rogers was no shrinking violet, nor was he the apple pie loving virgin that everyone imagined. He shakes his head; he knows why people think that, but that doesn’t make it less dissonant when he has to pretend to live it.
He doesn’t know why he feels compelled to be more careful in the future, where no one knows him, than he did in the past. He supposes it all depends on one’s definition of knowing .
He realizes that he’s zoned out, and that he can’t hear Bert panting anymore.
Oh, fuck. Fuck. He dropped the leash.
Fuck .
He rockets to his feet, panic high in his chest. Bert hasn’t made it far. He’s making a beeline for the acro yoga class, and --
And the Cute Instructor brought his dog today.
“Oh shit, oh shit --”
He’s seen Bert get in fights with other dogs. At the shelter they say he was never socialized so he doesn’t know to interact; he’s a walking social faux pas, and other dogs do not want to deal with his fumbling. No big deal when the other dogs are big enough to put Bert in his place. But Cute Instructor’s dog is probably twenty pounds lighter than Bert, and it only has three legs.
Steve runs.
And, well, he’s pretty fast when he needs to be. It’s still not fast enough. He skids into the middle of the class, already apologizing, except…
Except Bert has flopped on his back and is happily letting the other dog inspect him. Steve just stares for a second. He should be happy Bert is making a friend, but mostly, he’s dumbfounded.
“It’s okay,” a voice says. “She won’t hurt him.”
Steve turns. Cute Instructor is really very nice looking up close. He blinks and decides it’s best to leave out Bert’s failings, since this is probably the only dog friend he’ll ever have. Forever alone, Tony would say.
“I’m really sorry. I’ll just grab him--”
“I’ve seen you watching before,” the instructor says, and manages to make it sound casual and not like Steve is creepy. “Are you interested?”
Oh, you have no idea.
“Oh. I, uh, used to do lifts in a show.” Steve smiles. It’s not a lie. He’ll just leave out the part about how he was lifting Harley Davidsons with chorus girls on them. The girls taught him, for the most part. Some had backgrounds in gymnastics, and others in cheerleading. A few of the girls called in favors from their friends to show him how to lift and catch them; back then, there were more male cheerleaders than female, until the war took them away. Suffice to say, Steve did not hurt for company of any gender in those heady days. “I was admiring your work." Yes. Right. His work. "You’re a good teacher.”
“Thank you.” His answering smile is genuine. “You’re welcome to join us anytime.”
“Do I need a partner?” he asks, just to prolong the encounter.
“No, we’re more than happy to share the love.” The instructor holds out a hand. “I’m Bucky, by the way.”
“Steve. And that’s Bert.”
Bucky chuckles. The two dogs are playing in the grass like they’ve been friends forever. Bert is a little overenthusiastic, but the brindle mutt doesn’t seem to mind.
“That’s interesting. Indy doesn’t usually like other dogs.”
“Neither does Bert.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Maybe they’re soulmates.”
“Hey Bucky?” one of the students calls. “When you get a second, can you help us figure out what we’re doing wrong?”
Right. He’s teaching. Steve apologizes and heads to the sidelines. He doesn’t have it in him to drag Bert away, though. The dog looks like he’s having the time of his life. He takes a few pictures of Bert and Indy playing and sends them to Nina. This is definitely a milestone.
After that Steve relaxes, losing himself in the white noise of a city park on a spring day.
Eventually, Bucky sits down next to him. When Steve looks around, he can see that the class has ended. Bert and Indy are laying in the sun in what the shelter staff refers to as a ‘cuddle puddle’.
“We should exchange numbers.” Bucky looks the slightest bit shifty. “So our dogs can have playdates.”
Ah. The interest is reciprocated.
“I’d love to.” Steve fishes his phone out of his pocket. “I should tell you, though, that Bert isn’t actually mine. He’s waiting to be adopted. I take him for runs twice a week as part of the SPCA’s running program.”
“That’s awesome. I didn’t know they had programs like that.”
“Yeah. It really helps the dogs burn off their energy. Gives them a break from the shelter, too.”
Bucky puts his number in Steve’s phone and Steve texts him, the way Maria instructed him when he was first getting used to a mobile phone.
“What show were you in?” Bucky asks.
“40s revival. Man With A Plan.”
The musical they made, based on the USO tour show and a version of his life that took a lot of liberties, was leaps and bounds better than any of the movies.
“Nice. I saw that when I was a kid. I always wondered how much of it was true.” He cranes his neck to look at Steve. “Do you think that guy in the costume during the invasion was really Captain America?”
Steve shrugs. “Stranger things have happened.” Like alien invasions.
They sit in companionable silence, watching the dogs cavort, until Nina texts him to ask when he’s coming back.
They text back and forth with ease, and meet up later that week under the guise of letting the dogs play. If they make out for a half hour while Indy and Bert bicker over a frozen Kong, nobody needs to know.
It’s his first kiss since he came out of the ice 11 months ago.
Nobody needs to know that, either.
Bucky teaches acro in a studio, too. Steve goes to his next few classes. There’s a woman named Aminat who's also on her own, so they’re paired up. Aminat is a retired dancer who moves like silk in a breeze; Steve can’t help but admire her. They both have a great time.
He’s had to run after the last two classes for meetings with Nat, but today he has nowhere to be, so he stays until everyone clears out. Bucky eyes him appraisingly once they’re alone.
“What?” Steve asks.
“You’re pretty strong.”
There’s no use denying that. He wouldn’t call this easy, but it is nowhere near as strenuous for him as it is for the rest of the class. He likes it, though. He likes working with a partner, syncing bodies, achieving something together.
“So I’ve been told.”
Bucky taps his fingers against his lips, thinking. “I don’t get to be the flyer very often.”
That makes sense; Bucky is solidly built. Great for a base, but not so much for a flyer.
“I can hold you.”
“You sure?” He isn’t sold; no one is left to be a spotter. If something goes wrong, they could really injure each other. Steve won’t let that happen, though.
“Positive.”
It takes a little time to find their groove. Bucky has to manipulate his body differently than he’s used to, and he has to learn to trust Steve. Steve has to figure out the way Bucky’s body moves and balances, and where he can hold that’s comfortable. It’s incredibly intimate.
They get there. A little time, and Bucky is draped over him in dancer’s pose. After a minute, Bucky slowly lowers his leg, giving Steve the time to compensate for the change in weight distribution. Then he reaches for his ankles.
He’s solid but he’s flexible. Fuck. He wants to think Bucky is flirting a little, but he won’t assume. Nothing has happened since that first time. However, they also haven’t been alone. Or touching each other.
“Feels good,” Bucky murmurs. “I’m too heavy for most people.”
“Not for me,” Steve says. Bucky’s hair is tickling his chest. Bucky smiles and then releases his ankles. He reaches, and Steve understands the signal. He puts his hands up, ready to support Bucky’s weight. He uses his feet to ease him forward, and Bucky manages a slow, graceful back handspring to return to the ground. They don’t break eye contact the entire time, and that is…
Bucky’s definitely flirting.
He stands over Steve, eyes flickering over his body. “I don’t kiss people at work. But if you follow me home...”
Steve doesn’t need to be told twice.
That’s how it goes for a while. Meet up for the dogs and talk for hours. Acro classes, then an hour of flying for Bucky, which clearly puts him in the mood, and then really, really good sex.
On the yoga front, they get good enough at working together that they start to try more challenging things. Bucky sets up his phone camera to capture them and the images are startling to Steve. He doesn’t recognize himself, even in the ones where his face is visible. The simple fact is that it’s been a long time since someone photographed Steve and not Captain America, and it’s never been with this hair or this clothes or this level of focus.
SHIELD had advised him to avoid photographs. No one knows he’s alive, but facial recognition is en vogue right now, and someone at the FBI had long ago inputted the whole of the US Military MIA database on the off chance that they could find a few people. Personally, he thinks that if those people are alive, they’ve stayed missing for a good reason and don’t want to be bothered. He might know a thing or two about that.
He made up his mind a long time ago, but sometimes it still feels strange to just be living. Like he’s shirking his duty somehow. But he knew the moment he saw those weapons made from the Tesseract that he could not and would not work for SHIELD or Nick Fury. He’s wary of working for any government agency when it’s clear that the government has become something he doesn’t fully understand, in the face of problems he couldn’t have imagined. The amount of pull and autonomy he had in the forties doesn’t exist anymore. He’s expected to fall in line. Steve has never been able to obey blindly.
Bucky sidles up and puts his arms around him. “You all right?”
“Yeah. Just thinking about work stuff.”
“What do you do for work? I don’t think we’ve ever talked about it.”
“Ex-Army,” Steve says, trying to sound nonchalant and probably failing. “I do global security consultant work now.” That is what he does under the Stark Enterprises umbrella, but technically, he’s employed by no one, because that branch of the company doesn’t exist on paper. Tony tries to pay him. His back pay is more than enough, though, and he doesn’t really want a boss.
“Me, too,” Bucky says into his back. “Just Reserves, though.”
“There’s no ‘just Reserves’,” Steve huffs. He twists around in Bucky’s arms. “Serving is serving.”
“Felt like doing time after a while.”
Steve cups his face and smiles at him, sad for reasons he doesn’t fully understand. Fighting for his country was everything Steve had ever wanted. Of course, one rarely knew what a dream entailed until he was living it.
He kisses Bucky tenderly, but the wind is gone from both of their sails.
Steve didn’t think it was possible, but the sex gets even better after that. And more frequent. The orgasms leave him shaky and exposed. Sometimes he feels like crying. It’s never been like that before.
It takes him some time to puzzle it out - time in which he willfully dashes himself against those emotional rocks. It’s because Bucky does things with his entire self; nothing’s held back. Sex with him is full of passion and eye contact and stolen kisses, ebbs and flows, tangled limbs. There’s never a moment where he isn’t 100% present. He devotes himself to it, and to Steve. It’s intense.
For his part, Steve has had plenty of sex, but not like this. He’d done things for fun or mutual pleasure, and not necessarily for deep connection. This is new, and it’s getting under his skin.
Thing is, he doesn’t know if this is different for Bucky or just for him. Maybe Bucky fucks everyone like this. Maybe there’s nothing meaningful about it and Steve is just reading into the first real intimacy he’s had in the twenty-first century.
There’s no way to ask without risking the entire arrangement, and that’s not something he’s willing to do.
Bucky wants to try something called lotus position that night, and Steve is unprepared for the sensuality of it. Bucky’s entirely in charge and he takes his sweet time. It wrecks Steve in the best possible way, invading all his senses, closing the world down to nothing but Bucky.
He feels turned inside out when he comes, like his nerve endings are being pulled to the surface by a magnet. The magnet is Bucky; his rapturous face, the hot grip of his body, the shine of sweat as he works himself on Steve’s cock. His orgasm is as slow and sweet as the rest of it.
Steve can barely form thoughts afterwards. But eventually, when he can, all he can think is that it can’t just be him. It can’t be. And if it is, he had better find a way to deal with that.
He wakes up at two in the morning unable to breathe, asphyxiated by sourceless panic.
Indy is there, pushing her soft head into him. Bucky, too, spooning him until it passes. And it does, sort of. The panic departs. In its wake, there’s something else. It feels like going under in the cold black waters of the Arctic all over again. He fought it then. He doesn’t fight it now.
Steve doesn’t even know what he’s crying for. Doesn’t much matter. Sometimes it just needs out.
Bucky holds him, nose burrowed into his neck. Sandwiched between him and a warm ball of concerned dog, he eventually drifts off, more tired than he’s been in a long, long time.
“I’m sorry about last night.”
Bucky gives him a pointed and deeply unimpressed look. “Don’t apologize for being a person with emotions. Indy and I are not into that.”
Steve nods. He’s not really into that, either, but…
“I really...that took me by surprise. I don’t…”
He’d gone to therapy like SHIELD and about twenty other people suggested. He made up his mind to invest in it even if it made him nervous and uncomfortable. How many shell-shocked guys had he told to take care of themselves back in the day? He’d always hated people who didn’t take their own advice. So he committed, and it helped. And sure, sometimes he still gets a little sad or feels disconnected, but nothing like last night. He hasn’t cried like that since his mother died.
“No explanation needed,” Bucky says. “But I’m happy to listen if you want to talk.”
“I wish I even knew what to talk about.” Steve shrugs, mystified. Maybe it’s time to check back in with the therapist. It’s been a few months.
“Sometimes it be like that,” Bucky says, with a sage nod, and goes back to his Instagram feed.
He’s halfway through rehashing it when Cheryl interrupts him and asks,
“Steve, have you ever been in love?”
“Uh.” He blinks. “I...think I could have been with Peggy. If we’d had any time.”
That’s one of those things that makes him sad on occasion. Peggy’s still alive somewhere, he knows that, but he doesn’t see much point, now. She’s in her nineties, and she’s lived a full and brilliant life without him. There’s no need to stir up the pain for her. If, indeed, there’s any sense of loss at all for a man she kissed once when they were trying to stop the world from ending.
Bucky, though…
“Oh, shit,” he says. “Do you think that’s what it is?” Even as he says it, it clicks. He’s in love . He loves Bucky. Oh shit . “I have no idea if he--we haven’t talked about--what if he--”
What if he doesn’t feel the same way?
And there’s the panic.
He walks home with his head buzzing. He is absolutely, unequivocally in love with Bucky. He’s also petrified that Bucky doesn’t feel the same way, and still processing the pain of never even having the chance with Peggy. The thought of going through that again - of opening himself to the potential of love, of partnership, only to lose it - is what got to him the other night.
He liked Peggy a lot. Maybe he didn’t love her yet, but he wanted to get there. Whether it lasted or not, he wanted to have the time to feel what it was like to love an incredible person with every fiber of his being, and know that he was loved in return.
That potential is there with Bucky, and it’s needling at his hard-fought peace with the twenty-first century.
You’re going to have to talk to him, Cheryl said.
She’s right, of course. That doesn’t stop the pit of dread from opening up in his stomach.
He doesn’t sleep much, but he still gets up to go to the shelter. Bert shouldn’t miss out on his run because Steve is a mess. He already feels a little better after pounding the pavement out to the SPCA. When he gets there, though, Nina drops a bomb on him.
“Oh, Steve,” she says. “I forgot to text you. Bert was adopted!”
“That’s great!” he replies. And it is . Great. He just...might have...liked to say goodbye.
He runs two other dogs, a pitbull named Negroni and a hound mix named Foster. The run keeps him from getting lost in his own head, or caving to the irrational fear that Bert’s sudden removal from his life is an omen of things to come.
He’d wanted someone to recognize how great Bert was so badly. Just not today.
He texts Bucky.
No more playdates. :( Bert got adopted. It’s good but I’m kind of sad cause I didn’t get to say goodbye.
Bucky responds with: Come over and be sad here.
That’s definitely better than being sad alone.
Indy greets him at the door, but there’s another dog there, too. Steve thinks he might be hallucinating. Bert is in Bucky’s apartment.
“Buck--” he starts.
“Nina said you keep insisting you can’t do right by him because of your work schedule. Good thing you have me to watch him when you’re away or stuck in meetings.”
Oh, hell. He feels himself tearing up a little. He crouches down to meet Bert, who’s wiggling happily. He puts his face into the fur at the dog’s neck.
You have me .
He can’t read into that. It’s just a turn of phrase.
“You sure?” he asks.
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Wouldn’t have done it if I wasn’t.”
Steve had no intention of rocking the boat today, none at all, but the words just come out of him, maudlin as can be.
“Bucky. Will you go steady with me?
Bucky laughs, delighted. “Isn’t that what we’ve been doing?”
“I don’t know.” There must be a look on his face, because Bucky gets serious quick, reaching out to pull him to his feet.
“Guess I should’ve said something.” He sounds apologetic.
“Yeah.”
“Your mouth ain’t broken, though.”
“I was afraid to scare you off,” Steve mumbles.
Bucky presses a gentle kiss to his lips. “Same.”
Steve leans against him, eyes closed, full of relief and warmth. Until he realizes that Nina straight up lied to his face for this little scheme, and Bucky was the one driving the bus.
“Assholes,” he says, smiling. He’s so happy he feels like his chest might burst.
Bucky laughs again and then pulls him toward the bedroom.
It’s only a matter of time before they try something a little too difficult on the yoga mat. Something where strength can’t substitute for technique or experience.
One second they’re okay, and the next second Bucky is hurtling headfirst toward the hardwood. Steve reacts. He does something that normal people can’t. He’s been careful all this time, but faced with the prospect of Bucky being hurt, that goes out the window.
Bucky doesn’t hit the floor. He’s spooked, though. Not just from the fact that he could have broken his face or his neck. One doesn’t have to be an expert in physics to realize Steve should not have been able to do what he did to stop it.
He doesn’t say anything, but every now and then Steve can feel Bucky looking at him, deep in thought.
Three weeks pass before he’s ready to fly again. This time they have a real mat down and no plans for anything crazy.
“Steve.”
“Huh.”
“You’re too strong.”
“Yep,” he says, and hoists Bucky above him.
“Are you a mutant?” Bucky asks, peering down. Steve can see the veins in his arms, the muscles flickering with effort. He’s so beautiful.
“In a manner of speaking.”
Bucky folds his body, letting gravity push him into the pose. “What does that mean?”
“Let’s get your picture. Then we’ll talk.”
It’s a gorgeous picture. Their mostly-bare bodies are perfectly aligned, and you’d have to be blind to miss the gravitational pull between them.
“Get talking,” Bucky says over a post-workout boba tea.
Steve pokes at the boba in the bottom of his. It’s a weird drink but he likes it.
“Uh, so, do you remember when we first met and you asked me if I thought the guy in the Captain America costume was really him?”
Bucky stares. “Yes…”
“It was.” He can’t quite look Bucky in the eye. “My mother’s maiden name was Carrigan.” That’s the name he’s been using, the one Bucky knows. “But her married name was Rogers.”
There is an interminable pause. It’s excruciating.
Then Bucky kicks him under the table. “Man with a Plan, huh.”
In that one sentence, Steve knows that he believes him, and that everything is going to be all right.
“Original cast,” he can’t help but say, smug.
Bucky snorts, shakes his head, and puts his feet up to rest across Steve’s legs.