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——
It’s three in the morning, and Bucky is in bed. The cool breeze of late summer ruffles the curtains that hang half-open over his window, and the low bedside lamp is on, casting deep shadows across the room that creep like ghosts up the walls.
He’s crying, quiet as he can, fat tears streaming down his cheeks as he tries to control his shaking. It’s getting more and more difficult with every minute that crawls by.
He rolls his head to the side as he weeps, and despite laying beside his dearest friend, the one person he loves above all others, he feels deeply alone.
A photo album lays open on his chest, heavy with pictures. Bucky thumbs the pages again and again, long past actually looking at them. He’s looked at these pictures a hundred times, a thousand. He aches as he thinks this might be the last.
“You’re okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs beside him, voice thick with sleep.
Bucky jumps, cursing as he wipes a shaking hand over his face. “Christ, Stevie. No warning.”
Steve huffs a laugh and rolls to face Bucky. His big blue eyes blink open, pupils shrinking as the light hits them. “You’re gonna be okay,” he says again.
Bucky sighs, hiccuping a little as he fights back his tears. “I’m fine, go back to bed,” he whispers.
Steve watches him as time stretches heavy between them. Bucky refuses to look at him, but he can feel those eyes on him, peeling back his layers to see what he is on the inside. It’s always been that way. Steve reads Bucky like a well-loved book.
“I gotta tell you somethin’,” he finally murmurs.
Bucky can’t make himself look at Steve, and he has no words for him. So he waits.
But Steve says nothing. Instead, he slowly lifts Bucky’s right hand from where it rests on the photo album. Gently, no more than the barest brush of skin, he presses his lips to Bucky’s fingertips and sighs.
Panic burns in Bucky white-hot. “No,” he snaps, yanking his hand away. He turns to Steve, glaring, and his voice comes out strangled. “No, no. You can’t do that, Stevie.” More tears fall, bitter, and he wants so much to go back to four months ago.
Steve glares right back, fiery and hard-headed as always. “Why the hell not?”
“Because,” Bucky cries. “I’m leavin’ in the morning. I’m going off to die.” An ugly sob rips out of his chest, and all the hurt he’s been burying for months claws out of him all at once. He shakes with the force of it. He tries to call it back; he can’t. It’s too late.
“Bucky,” Steve says, voice so small in the quiet of their hole-in-the-wall apartment. He crawls up the bed, planting a hand next to Bucky’s shoulder to hover over him. His glittering eyes are hard, and his brow is scrunched in a frown. “Don’t talk like that. You’re comin’ back.”
“You don’t know that Steve,” Bucky gasps. He throws his head back to avoid Steve’s piercing gaze, squeezing his eyes shut against the agony threatening to stop his heart. “You don’t know that.”
“I do,” Steve says firmly, shoving his hand down once to shake the bed. “Look at me, Bucky.”
He doesn’t want to, but the command in Steve’s voice makes him stupid, so he does. His eyes blink away the hot tears that drip down to the thin mattress, and he looks up into all of Steve’s righteous fury.
“You’re comin’ back, Bucky Barnes,” Steve growls, “because you have to. I’ve spent my whole life with you. I refuse to spend the rest of it alone.”
Bucky sobs, face twisting with grief. “Stevie,” he breathes. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I wish I didn't have to go.”
“I know that, Buck,” Steve says more gently. He pauses for a long moment, eyes searching Bucky’s face. They catch on his tears, and Bucky feels the burn in his cheeks as he cries there beneath him. Steve sighs and leans in closer. “I know. But you gotta know before you go how much I love you. You gotta know what’s waitin’ for you when you get home.”
Bucky chokes on a strangled cry. “Stevie,” he groans through his teeth. “Please, you can’t.”
“Why?” Steve asks. “Because you don’t love me back?” He sounds like he already knows better, but his eyes betray a heavy, clawing fear.
Bucky holds his eyes, crying quietly as his fights to say the one thing he can’t bear to. “No,” he whispers. “Because I do.”
A gush of air rushes from Steve’s lungs, blatant relief. “Why didn’t you say?” he breathes. “You never said.”
“Oh, Stevie,” Bucky says, voice thick with tears. “I would never open that world of hurt up to you. Never.”
Steve frowns, and there’s a spark of anger in his eyes. “I don’t have a say in it? I don’t get a choice whether to love you or not? I can’t stop myself, Bucky, it’s all I have in me. It’s all I think about, all day. I daydream about loving you. I go to sleep loving you and I wake up to love you all over again.” Tears gather in his ocean-deep eyes. “Love me back. That’s all I ask.”
He leans over Bucky, holding his breath as he waits for an answer, but Bucky feels robbed of words, robbed of air. His golden mop of hair hangs down over his forehead, glowing like a halo in the dim lamplight, and Bucky’s lungs hitch, a deafening hiccup of air. He’s so beautiful, he thinks. How has he always been so beautiful?
“Yeah,” Steve says with a wry, watery smile. “That’s what I thought.”
He drops down, face only an inch from Bucky’s. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he murmurs, deep voice rumbling like thunder through Bucky’s chest. “And you’re gonna kiss me back.”
Bucky just nods as tears stream down his face.
Steve closes that last breath of space between them to ghost the barest kiss over Bucky’s lips. He’s so soft, warm, and it feels to Bucky like this was always meant to be this way. He’s only ever supposed to kiss this man.
A quiet sob shakes from his lungs and he reaches a trembling hand up to thread his fingers through Steve’s hair. He tilts his head and swipes his tongue over Steve’s lips so softly, asking.
A groan rolls out of Steve’s chest, spilling over Bucky and sticking to his ribs like warm honey, and this kiss loses any hesitancy. It’s hunger, now, two souls fusing as hands cling and teeth bite. Bucky has never been kissed like this before. He never wants anything else.
He pulls away with a soft smack of lips, panting hot breaths over Steve’s spit-slick skin. “I’m leaving you,” he cries. “I’d make you a widower before you could do anything about it.”
“I don’t care,” Steve breathes, lips moving against Bucky’s as he speaks. “You don’t want me, that’s fine. I’ll roll over and go back to sleep like nothing happened. But if you do, then have me. ‘Cause if I never get to see you again, I wanna remember this.”
A wounded sound breaks from Bucky’s chest. “Stevie,” he cries. “I want you more than anything in this whole world. More than I’ve ever wanted anything in my whole stupid life. Don’t ever think I don’t.” The fingers still threaded in Steve’s hair tighten to pull him close.
He pants, fingers clenching and releasing as he tries to choke back some of the want burning through him like an inferno. “Let me have you,” he breathes. “Please.”
Steve’s lips curl up in a satisfied smile, right against Bucky’s own. “Yeah, Buck,” he murmurs. “I will.”
Bucky growls and yanks Steve back in by the hair to kiss him fierce, nipping and licking and sucking his tongue. Steve drops his hips to meet Bucky’s and Bucky cries out, a strangled sound that shakes from his lungs right into Steve’s.
“Yeah,” Steve murmurs, voice low and rumbling. “That’s it, Buck.” He rolls his hips again and Bucky’s jerk up in response.
Suddenly, Bucky sits up and pushes Steve back, and the photo album that had been pressed between them falls to the floor, scattering pictures across the hardwood.
Steve looks down, eyes tracing over the mess of pictures, and he chokes on a wounded sound.
It’s just them, together, at all stages of life.
Five years old, in front of the school they met at, shoulder to shoulder while they smile like only children do. Steve’s smaller than Bucky, even then, and he looks like an angel sent right from Heaven to Bucky, his guardian, his Stevie.
Twelve years old, in the park, sitting together under the shade of a thick tree, two halves of the same popsicle sticking out of their mouths. Their faces and fingers are sticky and red from the fruity ice melting over their skin in the summer heat.
Eighteen, fresh out of school, standing together in Bucky’s family apartment. They have their arms around each other, and they’re grinning like stupid teenagers as Bucky’s sister snaps the picture. He and Steve had gone out for milkshakes that day, to celebrate.
And then two years ago, twenty-five years old, leaning against the bar in a dance hall. Steve is looking at the camera, lopsided grin stretching his cheeks, but Bucky is looking at Steve.
He was always looking at Steve.
Steve’s breath hitches, and Bucky can see tears gathering in his eyes as he looks over all the moments of their life together.
“I love you,” Steve says, voice rough but firm. “I have always loved you.”
“Stevie,” Bucky cries. “I have never, not for a single day since we met, not loved you.”
Steve sobs and presses in close again to kiss Bucky sloppy and rough. He’s kissing Bucky like he won’t have another chance. Angry tears slide down Bucky’s cheeks when he realizes he might not.
Sudden want strikes Bucky through the chest, and he wraps his arms around Steve and rolls them so he’s over Steve, now. “You mine, Stevie?”
Steve nods frantically. “Yeah,” he croaks.
“I wanna hear it,” Bucky growls, even as tears still roll down his cheeks to stain Steve’s bare chest. Possessive fire threatens to choke him to death. He’d let it.
“‘M yours,” Steve cries. “‘M yours. You gotta come home, Bucky, you gotta. What’ll I do if you don’t?”
Bucky’s face twists as misery washes over him in a cold wave. “I’m gonna,” he says fiercely. “I’m gonna. For you.”
Steve nods. “You gotta promise me. Promise me you’ll come back.”
Bucky tenses as his eyes squeeze shut. He shouldn’t promise anything. He won’t be able to keep it. But as his eyes open and he looks down at the love of his life crying beneath him, he can’t stop himself. The words spill out of his mouth before he can call them back.
“I promise, Steven Grant. I’m comin’ home, and we’re gonna be together. We’re gonna argue over dinner and laundry. We’re gonna go dancin’ and see movies and listen to the radio way too loud. We’re gonna talk about my stupid science novels, and I’m gonna watch you draw, and we’re gonna lay in bed together without an inch of space between us.
We’re gonna get old, you and me, together like we’re supposed to. You got that, punk? I’m gonna leave tomorrow, and you’re gonna wait for me to get back.”
By the end of it, his chest is heaving with his passion and fury. His eyes hold Steve’s unblinking, and he watches absolute relief roll over Steve’s face.
“Yes,” Steve breathes. “Yes.”
“You’re mine, Stevie,” Bucky says through his teeth as he presses hot kisses over Steve’s face and neck. “You’ve always been mine.”
“I have,” Steve cries, hiccuping through his own grief.
“You’re gonna keep me goin’ out there,” Bucky says, voice pitiful and breathless. “The only thing I wanna stay alive for.”
“Bucky,” Steve gasps as his hips roll up. “C’mon, do something about it. Somethin’ I can remember.”
Bucky groans, head dropping to Steve’s shoulder as he rocks his hips down in a dirty grind. He sits back on his heels and trails his hands down Steve’s sides. He can count his ribs, and he can feel the irregular heartbeat underneath, so strong despite its weakness.
His fingers catch in the band of Steve’s boxers, and he tugs them off slowly, peeling them down his narrow hips. With a rough groan, he yanks them off, freeing Steve’s flushed cock.
Steve is panting, shaky, rasping breaths that rattle out of his lungs, and Bucky is struck with panic.
“You gotta breathe slow, honey,” he murmurs as he lays out over him again. “Slow for me.” He presses his lips to Steve’s, just holding them there as he counts measured breaths against Steve’s skin.
Steve’s breathing slows to match his until it no longer rattles, until it’s deep and even, and Bucky smiles against him.
“So good, honey,” he coos. “Always so good.”
Steve whimpers as his eyes slide closed, and Bucky takes the chance to shove his own boxers down, bunching them up around his thighs.
“You ready, sweetheart?” he breathes, threading a hand through Steve’s hair.
Steve just nods as his eyes blink open, deep and blue as an ocean storm. He’s the prettiest thing Bucky has ever seen, and all the fire that fuels his little body through every day has burned down to the sweetest candle flame. He’s precious like this, languorous beneath Bucky, and Bucky wants it again and again.
He’ll come home to this. He will.
He drops his hips down and wiggles a little to slot their dicks together between them, and they groan in unison, rough breaths that fan over each other’s flushed skin.
“I love you, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs as he rolls his hips once, twice.
Steve moans deep, carding his fingers through Bucky’s hair. “Good,” he says fiercely. “You’d better.”
Bucky huffs a wet laugh, rocking rhythmically, now. A steady friction builds up between them and Bucky grunts and moans, pressing his forehead to Steve’s. He has a hand in Steve’s hair and a hand on his hip, fingers digging into his flesh hard enough to bruise.
They move together in tandem, like it’s easy, like it was always supposed to be like this. Bucky pants, trying to pace his breathing for Steve to match.
“So good, sugar, look at you,” he groans, eyes raking over Steve’s flushed face. “So good.”
Steve gasps, hips stuttering at the endearment. “All yours, Buck,” he breathes. “Yours.”
“Yeah, ya are,” Bucky growls as his pace picks up. “All mine.” He grinds down dirty and hard, fingers clenching around Steve’s narrow hip, and heat pools in his belly. It feels like liquid fire trickling through his body, searing through every nerve as it heats him through.
Steve cries out at a hard grind, head thrown back against the pillow as his back arches so pretty. “Buck,” he moans. “‘M gonna—“
“Yeah, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, fierce and needy. “C’mon, sweetheart, give it to me. Let me have it, I wanna see how pretty you look when you come.”
Steve shouts, a desperate cry of pleasure as his hips jerk hard, rhythm gone. A rough, wounded sound punches out of his chest as his cock pulses, and he spills between them, right against Bucky’s belly. It’s hot, sticky, better than anything Bucky has ever felt in his life.
“Oh, Jesus wept,” he curses, fucking down hard. Steve’s come slicks the way, and Bucky sobs as he slides easily against him, hot and wet. He’s shaking, hands planted beside Steve’s hips as he moves.
And he’s crying, miserable tears that slide down his cheeks to land on Steve’s belly. The heat in him is in an inferno, and he feels scorched, he feels changed to the core. His head is swimming, and he’s fucking hard, and he’s weeping with something he can’t call back.
A steady hand finds his hair. Fingers tighten and pull. A cheek presses to his own, wet with shared heartache.
And then a voice breathes right into his ear, soft and sweet. “Come for me, Bucky. Let go.”
It’s all he needed to hear. With a hoarse cry he grinds down hard, hips stilling as he spills over Steve’s belly and chest. “Fuck,” he cries. “Stevie.”
“Yeah, Buck,” Steve breathes, reverent. “Look at you. Always so pretty.”
Bucky sobs as he falls to his elbows above Steve. His tear-filled eyes open to find Steve watching him with a little smile playing at his kiss-bitten lips.
“Thank you,” Steve breathes, satisfied.
Bucky’s chest goes tight. “I love you,” he whispers, brow furrowed. “I love you so much.”
Steve’s smile grows slowly, like a flower opening in Spring.
“I know,” he says, voice steady. “I know.”
——
They’ve been back at camp for two days, and Steve has hardly seen Bucky. He’s looked for him, asked around for him, but every time he thinks he might know where he is, he’s gone.
So it’s just been two days of Steve trudging through camp with his head on a swivel, attending meetings with Peggy and the Colonel and Stark, forcing himself to eat, laying awake all night as his superhuman ears pick up every bit of noise around him.
And he’s miserable with it. Messed up. He doesn’t know how to handle this, how to handle himself, his new body, his new rank. He’s starting to get looks from the soldiers, from the other officers. Especially from Peggy.
Finally, on the third day, with his eyes that are suddenly so much better, Steve sees him across camp. A flash of silver eyes.
He’s off before he even registers the movement, sprinting across the muddy campsite as he weaves through tents and fire pits. Wide-eyed stares follow him as he runs, but he doesn’t care. He needs to get to Bucky before he disappears again like some kind of ghost sent to haunt him. He reaches him in seconds, sliding to a stop in front of him.
Bucky stops short, eyes going hard and cold as he looks up at Steve. “Steve,” he says, voice rough. And Steve can always tell when he’s been crying.
“Bucky,” he groans. “What the fuck?”
Bucky snorts as a mask of nonchalance slides over his face. He looks exhausted—eyes red and glazed over, shoulders hunched, posture loose. Steve wonders when he last slept.
“Why do you care?”
Steve frowns and falls back a step. “What do you mean?”
Bucky shrugs, looking over Steve’s shoulder. “Think it would be better if you just left me alone.”
Fury hardens Steve’s face, and he feels the pull of a vicious glare. “Barnes, I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into you, but you need to cut it out,” he growls, stepping close until he’s looming over Bucky.
Bucky’s eyes go a little wide as they lock on Steve’s, and he shrinks back. “Don’t know what you’re talkin’ about, Steve,” he murmurs.
“I haven’t seen you in three days, Bucky,” Steve says miserably. “I get you back from Death himself and you disappear on me.”
Defiance hardens Bucky’s eyes. “Maybe I didn’t want to be found.”
Steve growls, grabbing Bucky by the shirt collar to drag him across camp to where his officer’s tent sits. He shoves him through the tent flaps and yanks them closed behind himself.
“And why the fuck wouldn’t you want me to find you?” he snaps, hands in fists at his sides. He’s itching to fight, has been for days.
Bucky’s gaze falls to the ground between them. “Why would you want to?” he croaks, refusing to meet Steve’s eyes.
Steve leans back, frowning hard. “Why wouldn’t I want to?” he murmurs as confusion clouds his head. “Why wouldn’t I want you back?”
There’s a miserable huff of a laugh as wet silver eyes finally meet Steve’s. “Look at you, Steve. You don’t need me anymore.”
A wounded sound grinds out of Steve’s chest. “I don’t know what you’re talkin’ about. ‘Course I need you.”
Bucky laughs, but it’s ugly and humorless and bitter. “You ripped through a Hydra base by yourself. You’re a good four inches taller than me and you weigh two hundred pounds. You’re feared, and you’re respected. I’m nothing, now.”
Steve sees red. “I did that for you. Only you. I couldn’t even think to leave you there if there was a single ounce of a chance you’d still be alive. I defied direct orders to drag you out of that hell, and I’d do it again and again.”
Bucky holds his eyes, and they’re melancholy in a way Steve has never seen before. His heart breaks as he watches Bucky’s eyes cloud over with something miserable.
“Shoulda left me there, Stevie.”
Steve cries out, shocked. “Don’t say that,” he growls. “Don’t you fucking dare. Every second since you shipped out has been agony. Misery. Nothing short of hell to me. You don’t know what I’ve done to get to you. To you,” he snaps.
“I didn’t do this for me,” he snarls, gesturing angrily at the body he doesn’t yet feel comfortable in. “I did it so I could have some hope of seeing you again.”
A beat of silence passes before Bucky whimpers, the smallest cry of pain that reverberates through the tent. “Stevie,” he breathes.
“Yeah,” Steve croaks, close to tears now. “For you, Bucky. You know why?” He clears the space between them in two long strides to step right into Bucky’s face. “Because I’m yours,” he says fiercely. “And there’s nothin’ you can do about it.”
Bucky’s face twists with an agony so acute Steve can feel it himself, and he sobs once, a harsh sound of heartache. “I missed you every goddamn day,” he cries. “I laid on that fuckin’ table and you were the only thing that kept me goin’.”
Steve’s face softens from anger into grief, and all the fight bleeds right out of him. “Buck,” he whispers. “Don’t leave me when I just got you back.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky breathes. “I’m sorry.”
Steve pulls him into a tight hug and buries his face in Bucky’s warm neck. Tears fall freely, now, and he can feel Bucky shaking against him. Slowly, too hesitantly for Steve’s liking, Bucky wraps his arms around him and squeezes with all his strength.
“I love you,” Bucky whispers.
Steve pulls away, only far enough to meet Bucky’s eyes. “I love you, too, Buck. More than I’ve loved anything in my whole stupid life.”
That must have been what Bucky needed to hear. He buries his face in Steve’s chest and sobs as his fingers curl in Steve’s coat. “What did they do to you, Stevie?” he cries miserably, hands mapping out Steve’s new body.
“They made me better,” Steve murmurs as he presses his lips to Bucky’s ear.
Bucky shoves him back, glaring hard. “Don’t ever talk like that,” he snaps, even as tears stream down his face. “There was nothin’ wrong with you in the first place.”
“You don’t like it,” Steve breathes as his face falls. He takes a step back, heart tight in his chest. His breathing picks up, rougher than it has been since Brooklyn, and he feels panic lance through him white-hot. “You don’t like it.”
Bucky’s face crumples. “That’s not what I said,” he cries quietly. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then why are you all the way over there?” Steve says, voice so small. “Why haven’t you kissed me yet?”
Bucky freezes as his eyes go wide. “Stevie,” he breathes, eyes flicking to the tent flap and back. “We can’t. There’s nothin’ we can do here.”
“Why the hell not?” Steve says. “Why can’t I love you?”
The silver of Bucky’s eyes glints with defiance. It’s a flash of the Bucky Steve knows and loves.
“You want me, sugar?” he growls as he advances on Steve. He backs Steve toward his cot with slow, steady steps.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes as he stumbles and sits heavily on the cot.
Bucky smiles, defiance melting away into something softer. “You mine, Stevie?” he murmurs, cupping Steve’s face in his hands. “You still my sweetheart?”
“Bucky,” Steve croaks. “Nothing could ever make me not.”
A wounded sound punches out of Bucky’s lungs and he surges forward, crashing his lips against Steve’s. And it’s only the second kiss they’ve shared, but Steve knows that it’ll be one of the most important. It’s rough, sloppy, everything Steve needs. He can feel Bucky shaking against him, and he knows he needs it, too.
Steve threads his fingers through Bucky’s hair and yanks him back. “You’re okay,” he breathes. “You’re okay, and I’m here, and I’m never letting you outta my sight again.”
A shuddering gasp cuts the silence as Bucky weeps. “Stevie.”
“I know, Buck,” Steve murmurs. “I know it. Just come here, okay? Come back to me.”
Bucky nods, tears streaming down his cheeks, but neither of them makes a move. It’s quiet for a long moment as they just look at each other, and Steve can hear the sounds of an army around them. People talking and laughing, pots clinking over camp stoves, matches striking to light cigarettes. He hears everything, now.
Mostly, though, he can hear Bucky’s heart thumping heavily under the cage of his ribs. Slowly and with great reverence, he presses his ear to Bucky’s sternum, closing his eyes to listen as his lips part on a sigh.
Bucky’s fingers thread through Steve’s hair and clench into a fist. “I love you, Steven Grant,” he says, voice rumbling in Steve’s ear. “’Til the end of the line. And even then.”
Steve chokes on a breath, digging his fingers into Bucky’s shirt to hold him close. “I thought I lost you,” he cries miserably.
“You didn’t,” Bucky murmurs, petting through Steve’s hair. “You never will.” Strong hands find Steve’s shoulder and push him back to lay out on the cot. “Gonna kiss you, Stevie,” Bucky whispers. “And you’re gonna kiss me back.”
Steve can only nod as he cries and sinks down.
Bucky climbs up into the cot and lays out over him, pressing his full weight to Steve’s strong body. He leans down, and his warm lips find Steve’s, slow this time, claiming. Bucky swipes his hot tongue over Steve’s lips, asking, and Steve opens up to him and sucks gently on his tongue.
Bucky groans, but Steve knows he’s fighting to stay quiet. He rocks his hips down hard, lips still brushing Steve’s. “Get your pants down, sugar,” he says, voice low and rough.
Steve whines, quiet and quick. He shoves his hands between them to yank his fly open and wiggle his pants down to his thighs. The second he’s exposed to the cool air, Bucky’s hand is on him.
“Look at you,” Bucky coos. “Impossibly prettier. Beautiful. And sweeter than sugar, aren’t you.”
Steve cries, rolling his hips into Bucky’s hand. “I thought it was too much,” he gasps. “I thought I changed too much.”
“You didn’t,” Bucky murmurs. “You could never change too much for me. You know why?”
Steve shakes his head, watching fire make silver eyes molten.
“Because you’re mine,” Bucky growls with a rough twist of his wrist. “Nobody else’s. Not ever.”
Steve cries out, bucking up hard into the circle of Bucky’s fist, and Bucky is nearly knocked from his lap.
Bucky huffs a laugh. “So strong, sweetheart. Finally matches the inside.”
Steve chokes on a sob and Bucky pulls his hand away. “Need you to be quiet, sugar,” he says, voice pitched low. He looks around the cot and snatches a shirt off of a crate beside it. “Bite this,” he says, and there’s command to his voice as he presses the shirt against Steve’s mouth that Steve is helpless to ignore.
He whimpers and bites down on the rough fabric. Bucky wraps his hand around him again and he groans hard, muffled, now.
Bucky smirks. “That’s better isn’t it, honey,” he purrs. “We can’t be too loud here, gonna get caught.” He leans down to kiss Steve’s cheek sweetly, pressing his words into his blood-hot skin. “I want you to come for me, Stevie, just like this.”
Steve sobs through the shirt as Bucky twists his wrist on a rough downstroke. He’s rocking up in time with his strokes, now, hard thrusts into the hot skin of Bucky’s curled hand. A want like he’s never felt lights up every cell of him until he’s weeping with it, eyes heavy-lidded with lust as he looks up at Bucky above him.
“Yeah, that’s my sugar, huh,” Bucky coos, sitting back on Steve’s thighs. “So pretty under me, Stevie, pretty as a picture.”
Steve pours every ounce of his love and relief out into the look he gives Bucky, begging him with his eyes to understand it, to feel it, to know it deep.
Bucky smiles softly as his hand picks up speed, twisting now with every stroke. “I know, honey,” he breathes. “I know it.”
His other hand cups Steve’s balls and gives them a gentle squeeze, and then his fingers are trailing lower. Steve sucks in a harsh breath as anticipation stings through him electric, and Bucky presses hard against the skin right under his balls.
Steve shouts, muffled, and he comes just like that. His eyes roll back as his dick throbs in Bucky’s hand, spilling over his belly and his shirt. He sobs, fingers digging into Bucky’s thighs hard enough that he knows there will be bruises there.
“So pretty, honey,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve can hear the grin in his voice.
He opens his tear-filled eyes and find Bucky’s black with lust. He rips the shirt out of his mouth and yanks Bucky down to his chest to kiss him hard as he pants and gasps.
“Want you to fuck me, Buck,” he growls as quiet as he can.
Bucky groans, a low, strangled sound. “Right here?” he breathes, tugging at Steve’s hair.
“Right here.”
There’s a long pause as Bucky searches his face, and Steve knows he’s listening hard for the noises outside the tent. The sun’s going down, and the blue light of dusk seeps in under the tent flaps. He can still hear the army outside, but he can also hear how hard Bucky’s heart is beating.
“Okay,” Bucky finally murmurs, nodding slowly. He plants one last kiss on Steve’s lips and gets up to dig around in Steve’s pack. He makes a little cry of victory and comes back to the cot holding a tin of Vaseline.
With hurried movements, he unlaces Steve’s boots to tug them off and throw them to the ground. His pants are next, yanked down his legs and discarded, and then Steve is fully bare, and Bucky is groaning at the sight of him. Steve feels the blush creep down his neck.
“Jesus, Stevie,” Bucky breathes. “Look at you.”
Steve cracks a wry smile. “Hope you like it, ‘cause there’s no going back.”
“Oh, honey,” Bucky purrs. “You look good enough to eat.”
Steve huffs as his blush goes violent, and he throws an arm over his head to grip the edge of the cot. “Good,” he whispers.
Bucky scoops a little Vaseline out of the tin with two fingers, and his left hand goes to the back of Steve’s thigh to heft his leg up and out. “You ready, sweetheart?”
Steve growls. “If you don’t get a move on, I’ll—“
Bucky cuts him off with a finger, sliding in to the knuckle, wasting no time. “What was that, sugar?” he smirks. “You’ll what?”
Steve grunts at the burn and the stretch, fingers digging into the edge of the cot. “Smart ass,” he murmurs as he pushes down against the pressure.
It’s good. It’s so good, Steve can barely breathe. He thanks God for the serum, because he’d absolutely be having an asthma attack by now. Even still, he pants and huffs rough breaths as Bucky just hangs there unmoving like a bastard.
Bucky hums. “Think I might need to put that shirt back between those pretty lips, huh,” he murmurs, grinning wickedly. He drags his finger out, catching on the rim, and he picks the shirt back up, and as he shoves it in Steve’s mouth he pushes back in with two.
Steve whines low and long, bucking his hips to take Bucky as far as he can go.
Suddenly, there are footsteps approaching, and both men freeze as their eyes go wide and their gazes lock.
“Excuse me,” a young man says from just outside. “I’m looking for Captain Rogers?”
“Not here,” Bucky snarls, twisting his fingers.
Steve chokes back his pitiful whimper as he hears the footsteps retreating.
“O—okay,” the kid says quickly, hurrying away.
Bucky beams. “Captain Rogers, now, huh? You got a title prettier than mine.”
Steve huffs a laugh, shrugging a little.
Bucky laughs and rolls his eyes. With a wicked smirk he pulls his fingers out and presses in with three, spreading them to give Steve a good stretch. Steve loses his breath as his brain whites out.
“Look so pretty like this, sugar,” Bucky coos softly as he smiles. “All stretched out on Daddy’s fingers.”
Steve sucks in a harsh gasp as his eyes go wide. His hips jerk hard like he can’t help himself, and he groans long and loud, eyes rolling back a little as his back arches off the cot. He can’t help the needy noises he’s choking back as he lays there stuffed full.
Daddy. The endearment has him burning up like a forest on fire. He finds himself trying to say it again and again, but his mouth is full of fabric.
Bucky can tell, though. “Oh,” he says slowly. “You like that, huh.”
Steve looks up at him with eyes wide and wet, and he nods, whimpering pitifully.
The visible pleasure on Bucky’s face has Steve’s chest swelling with some kind of pride. His own cock is hard again, laying heavily on his belly. It gives a valiant twitch as Steve clenches on Bucky’s fingers.
Bucky looks down at him and his brows raise. “Huh,” he says lightly. “That's a fun side effect, isn’t it.”
Steve rolls his hips up, begging, but Bucky just chuckles. “Not yet, sugar. Want you to come with Daddy’s cock inside you.”
Steve cries out, complaining through the shirt. Come on, jerk, he wants to growl. Fucking do it already.
Bucky laughs like he read his mind. “Alright, honey, you’re ready, I know.”
He’s careful as he slides his fingers free and wipes them on his pants. His steady hands find his own zipper and he tugs his pants open roughly, yanking them down to his thighs.
His cock is so pretty, thick and long and flushed red. Steve wants it in him. Wants it in his mouth, in his hand, in his ass, anywhere he can get it. He has to squeeze his eyes shut against it all as he takes deep breaths to calm himself.
Bucky shuffles up the cot and nestles himself between Steve’s spread thighs, and he leans down to press a sweet kiss to his cheek. “You’re gonna feel so good on Daddy’s cock aren’t you, sugar.”
Steve whines and nods, begging. He wants to be so good for Bucky, wants to give Bucky even an ounce of the pleasure Bucky has given him.
“Alright, sweetheart,” Bucky purrs. He takes his cock in hand and gives it a solid pump before he lines up and presses just the head of it into the tight clutch of Steve’s body.
The fabric in Steve’s mouth is rough as he bites down on it, and his hips jerk up to pull Bucky in further.
A hot breath punches out of Bucky’s lungs and he falls forward, braced with his hands beside Steve’s head. “Jesus,” he growls quietly. “So good.” He pushes harder, sinking in inch by agonizing inch until he bottoms out with a harsh grunt. “Fuck.”
And if Steve thought Bucky’s fingers were good, this is something else. He’s stuffed full, he can feel Bucky in his throat but he wants more of it. As much as he can get. The burn of it lights him up, short-circuits his brain.
He buries a hand in Bucky’s hair and grips him tight as he whimpers and whines.
Bucky chuckles breathlessly. “Gonna give it to you, honey, don’t worry.” He drags out slow, holds there for an eternal second, and fucks in hard, burying himself in one rough thrust.
Steve cries out. Please, he begs through the damn shirt. Please. Please.
Bucky rewards him with another slow drag out followed by a brutal thrust. Panting hard, he gives Steve a second to adjust before he really gives it to him, fucking Steve through the cot.
“Feels so good, sugar, hot and tight and perfect, and all mine, huh?” Bucky growls, low and quiet.
Steve nods, eyes wide and wet as he looks up at Bucky above him. He’s a sight to behold like this, brow furrowed as his piercing eyes rake over Steve’s face, kiss-bitten lips parted as he pants and growls. He’s beautiful.
Bucky groans, and Steve knows he’s fighting back all the noise his body wants to make. “Not gonna last long, sugar, I’ve missed you too fuckin’ much.”
Steve sobs, rolling his hips up in time with Bucky’s hard thrusts. His neglected cock throbs between them, dribbling pre-come onto his belly.
With a sharp thrust and a hard grunt from Bucky, Steve cries out, eyes rolling back in his head as he comes untouched. He whines and writhes as his hips stutter, and with a pained groan he sags, going loose under Bucky.
“Holy mother Mary, Stevie, sweet cryin’ Jesus,” Bucky curses, eyes wide as they flick from the mess Steve made to Steve’s eyes. His hips stutter, rhythm lost. “You feel too fuckin’ good comin’ on Daddy’s cock, honey, can’t stand it.”
With a harsh grunt he stills, mouth open in a silent scream as tears stream down his cheeks and he spills deep. Steve watches with wide eyes, moaning softly as he feels Bucky’s cock throb.
He whimpers when Bucky pulls himself free and collapses on top of him. He’s panting, gasping for breath, and Steve wraps his strong arms around him and holds him close.
Bucky lifts his head to look at him and huffs a laugh as he tugs the drool soaked shirt out of his mouth. “Satisfied, sugar?”
Steve just groans and drops his head back to the cot.
Bucky laughs, shaking in Steve’s arms for another reason entirely. “Yeah, me too, punk.”
It’s quiet for a while, only cut by the sounds of the camp that bleed into the tent. Steve clutches Bucky close, pressing kisses to his lips and cheeks, breathing him in.
“I am sorry, Stevie,” Bucky finally says. “I shouldn’ta been like that.”
“’S okay, Buck,” Steve murmurs as his arms tighten around Bucky. “I love you. More’n anything. Just… never doubt that.”
Bucky sighs, eyes warm and bright like the Summer sun. “I know you do. I know.”
——
Bucky is living in a shitty little apartment in Bucharest, and he has been for nearly a year. With a bag of plums in hand, he takes the stairs leading to the apartment two at a time, opening the door and slipping inside.
It isn’t empty.
The man from the bridge is there, in a uniform that’s so painfully familiar that Bucky has to take a step back. There’s a shield on his back, and Bucky’s heart tightens in his chest.
Bucky’s journals are scattered everywhere, filled, notated and marked up. They’re physical evidence of his memory returning. They are Bucky Barnes’ soul made tangible.
And the man from the bridge is reading them.
“You got a problem with privacy?” Bucky asks, voice thick and rough with disuse.
The man whirls around, hand going to his shield as his eyes harden. When he sees Bucky standing in the doorway, he drops his hand.
“Bucky,” he breathes, and Bucky can see absolute relief on his handsome face.
“I am,” Bucky replies, nodding his head.
Steve looks wounded as his shoulders slump. “How you been, Buck?” he asks quietly, not making a single motion.
“Survivin’,” Bucky says as he takes a step into the room to close the door.
Familiar ocean eyes watch his every move, tracing over his features, landing on his eyes. “Do you know who I am?”
“Steve Rogers,” Bucky says carefully. “Captain America, leader of the Howling Commandos.”
Steve chokes a little, face twisting with grief. “Anything else?”
Bucky huffs. “Probably the stupidest kid I’ve ever met in my life.”
Steve’s eyes soften as he cracks a hesitant smile. “Why do you say that this time, Buck?”
Bucky tilts his head. “Is it true?” he asks quietly as he takes another step forward. “That you sunk a plane into the ice?”
Steve tenses as his eyes go a little wide, and Bucky knows he’s caught him when he takes a half step back, hands spread out at his sides. “I had to,” he murmurs. “There were—“
“Bombs,” Bucky says, cutting him off. “Yeah. I heard. But you and I both know you coulda gotten out of that.” He takes another step closer, hands clenching into fists and relaxing. The mechanics of the left whirr obscenely loudly in the otherwise silence of the apartment.
“Bucky,” Steve groans. “What was I supposed to do, huh? You were gone.” His voice cracks, and his blue eyes fall to the floor. “Couldn’t stand it. All the pity, all the hurt, all the looks I got. It was easier that way.”
“Steven Grant,” Bucky snaps, jaw clenched. “I swear on my ma’s grave, I will personally fucking kill you next time you think of doing something so stupid.”
Steve sniffles as tears gather in his eyes. “Do you remember?” he asks miserably. “Do you know why?”
Bucky watches him for a long moment, eyes searching his face. There’s a century of heartbreak there, and the weight of the world. His eyes flick around the room. “That one,” he says, pointing to a journal on the kitchen table. It’s easily the most used, heavily marked, with colorful little flags sticking out the sides.
Steve frowns as he follows Bucky’s line of sight. He takes a step and picks up the journal, careful, like he’s afraid of it. He looks up at Bucky, waiting.
“Read it,” Bucky says firmly, hands loose at his sides.
Steve pauses for a second, just holding his eyes, and then he nods and pulls off the band holding the journal closed and cracks it open.
His brow furrows as he scans the first page, and then his breath catches audibly. His face twists with grief, and a tear falls to the well-used pages.
That journal is Steve’s journal.
It’s everything Bucky can remember about him. Everything he picked up over the last two years; everything he read, and found, and heard. It all fills the book, the biggest one, page after page of Steve.
Steve flips to the last page and whines.
Bucky knows by heart what that page says. He says it out loud, rough voice rumbling through the deathly silent apartment.
“I promise, Steven Grant. I’m coming home, and we’re gonna be together. We’re gonna argue over dinner and laundry. We’re gonna go dancing and see movies and listen to the radio way too loud.
We’re gonna talk about my stupid science novels, and I’m gonna watch you draw, and we’re gonna lay in bed together at night without an inch of space between us.
We’re gonna get old, you and me, together like we’re supposed to. You got that, punk? I’m gonna leave tomorrow,”
Bucky’s voice cracks.
“and you’re gonna wait for me to get back.”
Steve is crying freely now, eyes reading over the page again and again.
“I promised, didn’t I?” Bucky croaks as his face softens.
Steve nods slowly, still looking at the journal in his shaking hands. “Bucky,” he breathes.
“I know, Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, closing the distance between them in several long strides. “I know it. C’mere.”
Steve collapses to his knees, head bowed as he cries. Seeing him like this hurts like a knife to the heart, and Bucky wants more than anything to erase the decades of pain this man has endured in such a short time. He wants to wipe him clean of it, the anguish. He wants Steve to be whole again.
“Stevie,” Bucky murmurs, kneeling in front of him. “You gotta know I love you. You’re the first thing I remembered. The only thing, for a long time.”
Steve sobs, pitching forward to bury his face in Bucky’s neck. “I missed you,” he cries miserably. “Every goddamn day.”
Bucky’s heart breaks, twisting hard in his chest. A shaky breath rattles out of him and he wraps his arms around the man in front of him. “I missed you, too,” he breathes. “But I’m back. And I’m never letting you out of my sight again.”
Steve huffs a wet laugh, shaking a little as he laughs soundlessly against Bucky, a little wild with grief. “They told me you were dead,” he says, still shaking. “And I believed them. I shoulda gone back for you.”
Bucky sighs, squeezing Steve as hard as he can. “It’s not your fault, Stevie. Never.”
“We were supposed to get old together, Buck,” Steve groans, fingers digging into the thick fabric of Bucky’s coat.
“We will,” Bucky says fiercely. “We will get old together. You and me. Like I promised.”
Steve shakes, racked with sobs. “Okay,” he gasps, struggling to breathe. “Okay.”
Bucky nods, pressing his cheek to Steve’s head. “C’mon, Stevie, it’s alright. I’m here. Breathe for me, sugar.”
Steve whines, fingers digging into the leather of Bucky’s coat so hard he thinks it might rip. “Daddy,” he breathes, voice barely audible even in the still of the apartment.
Bucky sighs, forehead falling to Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, sweetheart,” he says, voice rough. “I’m here.”
Steve falls back on his ass, burying his face in his gloved hands. His crying has slowed, but he’s still hiccuping. “I’m sorry,” he says miserably.
Bucky crawls across the floor and sits next to him, pulling the huge man into his lap. “C’mere,” he murmurs, pulling Steve’s hands away from his face. He carefully tugs each finger of his gloves until they slide free, dropping them to the ground.
Steve sighs, a shaky rattle of a breath. Bucky’s heart clenches in his chest in a little spike of conditioned fear until he remembers Steve’s lungs are healthy, now.
Steve’s eyes, red and a little glazed, meet Bucky’s, and his lips curl up in just the barest hint of a smile. “I love you,” he breathes.
Bucky smiles, a twitch of muscle that feels unfamiliar, yet. “I love you, too, Stevie.” His steady hands find the fastenings of Steve’s suit to gently and slowly tug it open. When he slides his broad shoulders free, Bucky spreads his palms over Steve’s warm skin over his undershirt.
He leans in, lips ghosting over Steve’s as they share breath. “I’m gonna kiss you,” he murmurs. “And you’re gonna kiss me back.”
A wounded sound punches out of Steve’s chest and he dives forward, slotting his lips against Bucky’s like his life depends on it. The kiss is messy and wet, a rough clash of teeth and tongue, and Bucky groans, long and loud.
“I can’t believe you’re here,” Steve gasps between long kisses, face screwed up with a bittersweet blend of grief and relief. “Can’t believe it.”
Bucky smiles, threading his fingers through Steve’s hair. It’s longer these days, shaggier. More to hold onto.
“I am,” Bucky says. “Came through a whole lifetime just to be with you, how ‘bout that.”
Steve cries, shoving at Bucky’s jacket until it falls to the floor. He presses heated kisses along Bucky’s neck and shoulder, pulling back only enough to yank his shirt off.
His ocean eyes catch on the heavy scarring around Bucky’s left arm, and his breath hitches.
Bucky pulls away, shame bleeding through him in a molten, viscous way. “Don’t look at it,” he says gruffly.
Steve shakes his head, bending down to brush his lips along the seam of the metal joint. “It’s you,” he murmurs reverently, breath ghosting over Bucky’s skin. “Why wouldn’t I look?”
Bucky sobs once, eyes squeezing shut. “Thought you’d hate it,” he cries. “I hate it.”
“I could never hate a thing about you, Bucky Barnes,” Steve says firmly, fingers sinking into Bucky’s long hair to tug his head back to meet his eyes. “Not a damn thing.”
A tear slides down Bucky’s flushed cheek. “Okay,” he breathes.
Steve nods. “Yeah, Buck. It is.” He presses back in, mouthing along Bucky’s shoulder and neck on his way to his lips. His hips roll down into Bucky’s lap and they both groan.
Bucky’s hands fall to Steve’s waist, tugging his pants open. “How you wanna do this, sweetheart,” he says softly as he looks up at Steve above him.
“Just wanna touch you,” Steve murmurs, bending down to press a biting kiss to Bucky’s lips. “Just let me touch you.”
Bucky’s breath hitches and he nods, laying back against the hard floor. Steve falls over him, landing on his palms, and his hair looks like a halo, like it always did. Bucky whines, soft and broken.
“Stevie,” he cries, brushing the backs of his fingers across Steve’s flushed cheek. “Where do we go, now? What do we do?”
Steve sighs, calming a little, and holds Bucky’s eyes. “I have friends,” he says simply. “They’ll take care of us.”
Bucky’s eyes turn to the ceiling, avoiding Steve’s piercing gaze. “They don’t know what I’ve done,” he says miserably, fingers tightening in Steve’s shirt. “You don’t know what I’ve done.”
“All I need to know,” Steve says fiercely, tugging Bucky’s hair a little to look into his eyes, “is that you love me and you’ll try. That’s it. Can you do that for me?”
“I can,” Bucky breathes. “I’d do anything for you.”
“Come back with me,” Steve whispers. “Come home.”
Bucky’s breath snags. He’s so tempted to run away again, to disappear like he’s good at. He could slip away, never to be seen again. Steve doesn’t know what he’s done, who he is, and Bucky is so afraid that he’ll find out. That he’ll hate him.
But those ocean eyes… fiery and stubborn, like they always are. Bucky sinks deep into the cool waters of those eyes, and everything else falls away. He’s eighteen again, sitting on a stoop next to an angel, the one the lord saw fit for Bucky alone.
“I will,” Bucky says, voice steady. “I promised.”
A rush of a breath shakes from Steve’s chest and he drops his head to Bucky’s shoulder. “Thank you,” he breathes. He pulls back again, just enough to look Bucky in the eye. “I will never leave you behind ever again.”
Bucky cracks a grin, still crying a little. “I know.”
Steve beams, tears still streaking down his face. “We’ll get a place. In Brooklyn,” he murmurs as his hands slip to Bucky’s waist to yank his pants open. “An old brownstone somewhere, like we always dreamed of.” His warm hand sinks into Bucky’s pants, palming him softly. “Just you and me, Buck.”
Bucky nods, panting quietly. “It’ll have a studio, just for you, sugar. Lotsa light and space for your easel. I’ll get you all the charcoal you could ever use.” He cries out when Steve wraps his calloused fingers around his cock, stroking him slowly.
Steve hums and tugs Bucky’s pants down to his thighs to take him fully in hand. “We’ll go to that deli you like so much, every day. You know it’s still there?” he says, smiling. He ducks down and kisses Bucky sweetly, twisting his wrist as he strokes him.
Bucky gasps, rocking his hips up. He reaches for Steve, yanking his pants over his slim hips. He tucks his legs over Steve’s and does a neat roll, landing on his hands above him. “You know we can hold hands now? Where everyone can see?” he breathes, eyes a little wide with wonder. “It’s allowed. We don’t hafta hide.”
A slow grin creeps over Steve’s beautiful face. “I know. You know what else we can do?” he asks, sinking his fingers into Bucky’s hair.
“What?” Bucky says, leaning down to press kisses everywhere he can reach.
Steve pulls him up to catch his eyes. “We can get married, Buck.”
Bucky’s face twists up, and his heart aches in his chest. He cries, head sagging forward as he squeezes his eyes shut. “We can get married,” he breathes, awestruck.
Steve nods, humming. “Yeah, Buck, we can do it right. Ceremony, rings, paperwork, everything. You wanna?”
Bucky lifts his head, eyes searching Steve’s hopeful face. He smiles, toothy and bright despite the tears in his eyes. “‘Course I do, don’t hafta ask me dumb questions, Stevie.”
Steve laughs, and it’s full of relief and joy. He throws his head back and sighs. “Good.”
Bucky huffs a laugh, grin still splitting his cheeks. His hips slot right against Steve’s, cocks pressing together in a way that makes them both shiver. “You gonna be Mr. Steve Barnes, now?” he teases, settling his full weight against Steve.
A wounded cry breaks from Steve’s chest. “Yeah, if you want me to,” he says, voice rough and needy. “Like the sound ‘a that.”
Bucky purrs as his hips roll. “Yeah, me too, sugar. Mine forever, huh?”
Steve laughs, a little breathless, digging his fingers into Bucky’s hips. “I thought we weren’t askin’ stupid questions.”
Bucky chuckles, rocking steadily, now. “You know I’ll never get tired of hearing it,” he murmurs, sliding a hand up into that halo of hair. “Say it again.”
The smile Steve cracks is stunning. Like the sun hanging high in a clear sky, like the light of sunrise over a glittering lake. “I’m yours, Bucky Barnes. Only yours.”
Bucky smiles and sighs, rolling his hips in a slow, dirty grind. “Yeah ya are.” His hand leaves Steve’s hair and snakes between them, taking them both in the circle of his fingers.
Steve cries out, groaning through gritted teeth as he rocks his hips up, a slow, steady motion. Bucky twists his wrist like he knows Steve likes and Steve sobs with it, fingers pressing bruises into Bucky’s hips.
“So pretty, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, mouth hanging open as he watches Steve moan and flex beneath him. “Always so goddamn pretty.”
Steve huffs, kiss-bitten lips parted as he sucks in rough breaths. “Oh, Jesus,” he croaks, hips stuttering. Bucky can feel him shaking, a full body shiver rippling through all of his muscles.
Bucky grins, breathless. “You gonna give it to me, sugar?”
Steve nods, whining. A hard twist from Bucky’s curled fingers has him shouting, back bowing off the floor as he comes, eyes rolling back as he spills over Bucky’s hand.
“Oh, honey,” Bucky growls, fucking into his own fist, palm planted next to Steve’s head as he loses rhythm.
Steve moans, tugging Bucky in by the hair for a bruising kiss, hard and sloppy and so, so good. His hands are everywhere, mapping out Bucky’s body, remembering every inch of him.
“I love you,” Steve groans, still pressing desperate kisses to Bucky’s lips. “I love you so goddamn much.”
Bucky sobs against his lips, hips jerking hard once, twice before he comes with a high whine in his throat. His hips still, and he falls to his elbows above Steve.
For a while they just hang there, suspended in satisfaction, relief. Their breathing slows, and their skin cools. Bucky lays fully over Steve, dropping his weight against the strong chest beneath him.
Time goes a little gooey around them, sticky and heavy.
Steve lifts Bucky’s face in his calloused hands, just holding him there to look at him. He says nothing, doesn’t really need to.
Bucky’s quiet, watching Steve with soft eyes, and a calm he hasn’t felt in a long time eases over him, like leaves in Fall.
——
It has been eight days.
Steve is honestly surprised he’s lasted this long without Bucky, sitting alone in the quiet of their now-empty home. He spends most of his time in his chair by the fire, soaking in the heat that pours out of the hearth in his house chilled by the winter wind.
He’s had visitors, here and there.
Their daughter, Sarah, and her three grown kids. They’ve brought him dinner every night this week, sat with him around the table and filled his empty house with life.
Natasha has wheeled in a couple times, just parked next to his chair wordlessly for hours. They don’t have to talk, not these days. They just know.
Sam is long gone, a death that hurt Steve more than he thought was possible. He was a good man, every second of every day. Tony left not long after, and that hurt, too. One by one, the team was gone.
Nothing compares to losing Bucky.
A hundred and sixty-three years is a long time to be alive. And he’s loved Bucky for a hundred and fifty-eight of them.
Bucky kept his promise, though. They got old together. They had stupid squabbles, they made up, they did everything together, they lived a life, full and loving. Somehow, someone up there saw them fit for it, a good existence after all the pain.
Steve is grateful for him, every day of his unnaturally long life.
The house is cold without him there. Lifeless. The shadows loom higher and higher, and no sound breaks the still.
Steve looks out the window in front of him, watching as a heavy snow swirls through the air. Chunky flakes fall from the sky, collecting on the awnings and fire escapes of the red brick buildings around him.
He sighs, tired eyes catching on the lamp post right outside the window. There’s a little halo of light, a ring of orange glowing bright in the cold December night. It’s comforting, the only light in the living room aside from the fire.
Steve’s eyes scan over the walls around him. Dozens of pictures hang on these walls, framed and laid out in the story of his and Bucky’s life.
A beach wedding and a mountain honeymoon. An adoption. Training wheels, little dresses, school dances. A dog, two cats, a little girl with eyes like honey and a smile as bright as the sun. Graduation. Grandchildren, friends, family.
What a story, he thinks, eyes growing heavy as they fall to the largest one. It’s him, arm around Bucky as they stand together outside a brownstone in Brooklyn, grinning ear to ear with a key in hand.
Steve smiles and lays back as his eyes slide closed. A lifetime’s worth of happiness and love creeps over him warm and slow, and with a final sigh, he goes still and quiet, settling into his final rest like Winter snow.
The end of the line has come, and he’s ready to meet Bucky at the platform.