Chapter Text
This team—The Thunderbolts, or New Avengers, or whatever they're called— had felt like it was growing day by day, every single moment, since Bucky had agreed to join it. He’d barely had to offer guidance to the main leaders of the group, watching them already take control and step up, shrinking back and letting Yelena take charge while he kept a watchful eye on the team.
Truthfully, his eye had been less on Yelena, and more on her father. Or at least, the one who claimed to be her father. He was aware of their rocky history. But even during training sessions, Bucky had found it hard to tear his eyes away from the stocky body of the Russian version of himself, a torturous flush pulling at his face every time he thought of him.
He stands now, in the middle of their training area. He’s in soft athletic clothing, a pole in hand, swinging it almost absentmindedly in large, dangerous circles as his mind wanders between what he wishes and what might have been.
Alexei sees Bucky through the small window of the door, hand hovering over the handle in hesitation. Seeing him again almost every day after all those years apart is something he's not fully used to. They had fought side by side through the whole crazy Bob thing and then became Avengers, which fills him with so much pride. He always wanted this. He'd dreamed of it. Actually living it feels different to how he imagined. It's good, but things aren't quite how he thought they'd be.
It doesn't help that Bucky seems to shut down a lot. If he doesn't leave the room, he gives these strained looks that Alexei hasn't figured out what they mean. There's so much shared history that Bucky seems to not remember. It’s the mind wipes, he knows that. If it's not, Alexei can’t bear to face it.
He pushes his morose thoughts aside and opens the door, grinning wildly as he marches into the centre of the room towards Bucky. "Looking good," he booms. "Strong. Muscular. Ready to fight enemies. You train, I train. We unstoppable team, Да?”
Bucky is startled out of his thoughts as Alexei speaks, his head snapping up to look at him. Years of training help him cover the surprise with a cautiously neutral look, but he can already feel his face start to heat up at the casual praise.
"Thanks, wanna spar?" He can at least try to cover the incoming blush with vigorous exercise, maybe it'll even distract him from the view.
He's still not entirely sure why he reacts this way around Alexei, as if his body knows something he doesn't. Not knowing rubs him entirely the wrong way. He's been trying to avoid the feeling by avoiding Alexei himself, but the man always seems to find him. He wonders if he's doing it on purpose. Knowing him, the answer is yes.
Alexei pulls off his tracksuit jacket and chucks it to the side. Bucky seems tense, his human arm flexing too tight. His knuckles turn almost white as he grips the pole he has been swinging around. It remains still by his side as his eyes run over Alexei, an impatient look burning there that's all too familiar.
It's not easy to tear his own eyes away, but Alexei does. He picks up another pole to spar with, then turns back and rolls his shoulders, taking a wide stance and grinning. "Time to let it all out. You go first, Да?"
For a second, Bucky doesn't move. Then he switches the pole to his metal arm and lunges forward. Alexei chuckles and ducks to dodge the hit coming for his head.
Bucky's eyes narrow slightly at his words. Has he failed to hide his frustrations after all? Regardless he's right, a bit of sparring sounds perfect for letting out his pent up emotions.
He surges forward wordlessly, eyes following Alexei as he ducks his first attack. He swings wide, bringing the pole down on him and stepping closer to follow through.
Their weapons clash, the sharp clack ringing out in the otherwise silent room. Alexei's chuckle fills the silence, and Bucky can feel it in his own chest. There's something strangely pleasing about hearing the man laugh. The feeling just makes Bucky frown even more.
Alexei huffs a little at the force of Bucky's first hit. It's not unexpected, and neither is the look on his face. They've played this game once or twice before since living here in the tower. Bucky always comes out swinging. If he was trying to win, Alexei could use that against him, but he won't.
He pushes back and Bucky spins around like the devil he is out of any potential grasp. Alexei does the opposite to what's expected. He takes a step back and beckons Bucky forward. Those eyes narrow, fierce and determined. There's a second of silence where Bucky does nothing but stare, and then he surges forward and their weapons clash once more.
Alexei looks at Bucky past their locked arms and smiles. "Good. I like this.”
Bucky has to actively stop his mind from wandering as Alexei beckons him forwards, thoughts turning to sultry stares and hands pulling him in.
Instead, he does what he does best, attempting to punch the problem away. He throws himself, admittedly a bit haphazardly, at the other man. Standing as close as they are now, Bucky gets a good view of the large grin on the other’s face.
His eyes dart down to his lips, staring just a little bit too long before moving again, teeth grit. He lets his pole slide through his fingers, grabbing it near the end and spinning, attempting to take out Alexei's legs. It's sloppy, fueled by frustration more than anything, and it leaves him wide open.
Alexei lunges to the other side, grasping Bucky's arm and twisting. It doesn't stop him being hit, but it knocks Bucky off course and he growls in frustration so deeply, it makes Alexei shiver a little as memories of past encounters spring to mind.
He manages to follow through with his motion and pulls Bucky's arm behind his back, holding him close to his own body by the shoulders. "Try again. I have faith in you."
Bucky pushes off him, as expected, and Alexei lets him go, half a mind to drop his own pole and let Bucky have at him, but he knows that would only piss off his sparring partner. He needs to play fair for a bit longer.
The grip isn't tight but it still sends a thrill through him. His adrenaline spikes, the soldier in him reacting to being pinned making him want to thrash. A metal hand tightens dangerously on the weapon in his hands, and he barely manages to stop himself from breaking it in two.
He feels his face start to heat up again at his words. The closeness means he can feel his breath tickling against his face, and Bucky breathes harshly out of his nose, stopping himself from leaning into the touch.
He tenses, pushing away more in reaction than because he actually wants out. But Alexei lets him go, and he can't help the rush of disappointment.
Bucky can see the boisterous mischief twinkling in the man's eyes as he beckons him forwards again. It makes him want to kiss and punch him at the same time. The adrenaline carries him forward again, swinging harder and faster now. If Alexei wants to be hit so badly, he'll hit him.
The burning look Bucky gives him could melt ice. Alexei bites back a smile at the deepening frown. It does something cute to his face, although Bucky would deny it if he ever said that out loud.
Alexei crouches slightly, arms out and ready. Bucky takes a sharp breath and quickly shakes his shoulders, then starts running forward, landing with such a force that Alexei laughs out all the air in his lungs.
But Bucky doesn't stop. He barrels through and Alexei stumbles backwards. His legs give way from the force and he begins to fall. In seconds, he's flat out on his back on the floor with a warm Bucky sprawled over him.
"Good," Alexei rasps a little too softly, lifting his head up to see into the wild eyes of Bucky. "Now, defeat your enemy.”
He sits astride him, legs bracketing his bulky frame and forcing him to perch lower than he would like. Instead of hovering over the other, he's practically sitting in his lap, lower half flush with his. Panting softly he stares down at him, long hair hanging down, obscuring a single grey eye and framing the rest of his face.
He holds the pole across Alexei’s throat, a hand on either side pressing it into the soft skin, pinning him but not choking him.
He shouldn't be so breathless after such a short fight, and he could absolutely blame it on the adrenaline if his heart didn't also feel like it was trying to beat out of his chest. He wonders if Alexei can hear it, already thinking of ways to blame the—admittedly light—exercise.
”Now, defeat your enemy.” Something in him clenches at the words, a far away part of his mind twitching in acknowledgment as he presses the pole down a bit harder against his windpipe.
It takes everything in Alexei not to buck up into the warm press of Bucky sitting on top. He can't see much of his face now from the angle except the hard clench of his jaw. The rapid rising of his chest is tense and Alexei might get a chance to ponder that further later, but his only thought right now is the feeling of Bucky's weapon pressed against his neck.
The shock passes in seconds as Bucky merely holds it there, but then he presses harder and that's when Alexei finally does something.
He reaches out and grabs Bucky, aiming for his neck but somehow ending up clawing at his mouth, pulling at his lip until his fingers dip inside. Bucky seems annoyed, trying to shake him off. It makes him jiggle where Alexei both wants and doesn't want, so he pulls his hooked fingers, digging into gum.
Bucky hisses and presses down on his neck harder, making him gargle and Alexei can't help it. He throws Bucky off, watching him slide a few feet and then roll over, face down.
Dramatic American. Alexei huffs and sits up, but Bucky doesn't move for a while. He's breathing heavily, mumbling something, but when Alexei stands, Bucky doesn’t.
When fingers enter his mouth, he almost bites down in surprise, trying to shake him off instead. Suddenly he's being tossed off the man completely in a show of strength that can only come from the serum.
He lays there panting for a moment, trying to gather his wits about him. His gum throbs from where Alexei’s fingers dug in, a low level ache that is almost more pleasure than pain. There's a faint tang of blood against his tongue, and Bucky realizes belatedly that his lip has been split, already knitting itself back together thanks to his superhuman biology.
“Nice of you to finally fight back,” he mumbles, pushing himself to his feet and wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand, revealing the small smirk there as he lifts head.
He's annoyed—Alexei is infuriating in ways he can't quite explain, never failing to rile him up and get the blood pumping. His overzealous nature paired with his stocky frame, give off the impression of a big, friendly bear—if the bear was on steroids. But despite the frustration that still courses through him, he has to admit it's fun to spar with someone on the same level as him.
“Why don't you come to me this time?” He beckons Alexei in much the same way he did, his pole abandoned now, knees slightly bent and fists raised.
"Big talk. But you're right. Let's fight like men." Alexei raises his fists, mirroring Bucky's pose. He sees a faint trace of blood on his lip and feels a brief pang of regret. He hadn't meant to cause him an injury, no matter how well their bodies heal thanks to the serum. Being strong is what makes them who they are. There's no time for weakness. Weakness got you and others hurt. It made things complicated. In the years since they first met, Alexei had learnt that lesson well. Best keep things hidden.
He pushes the thought of Bucky's firm lips on his aside to focus. The American wants a fight and Alexei has to give it to him. That's the only thing that matters here.
He takes a step forward, almost believing Bucky will duck back, but he doesn’t. That smirk on his lips deepens just a fraction, like he thinks Alexei is going to pull his punches. He admits, he had been thinking about it, but when he steps forward again and finally takes a swing, he sees Bucky's expression shift.
He doesn't dodge the punch, lifting his arms up to block it instead, feeling the strength put behind it rattle down his arms. Alexei isn't holding back. Good. Truthfully the taste of blood only spurs him on, the combination of that and the knowledge he can get hurt, make his adrenaline spike again. Not in fear or frustration this time, but enjoyment. Bucky doesn't bother to hide it, too focused on guarding against the heavy fists being swung his way.
Pain is part of the process, you don't get stronger without going through a bit of it. Bucky has learnt that the hard way. In his youth, he considered a fight to be a loss if he didn't walk away with a bloody lip or a bruised cheekbone, and while he’s matured since then, the sentiment has stuck with him.
He blocks again, ducking his head to avoid a blow and jabbing upwards, throwing a punch of his own at Alexei's stomach—with his human hand of course. Alexei might be a super soldier like him, but the last thing he wants to do is get too overenthusiastic and break a rib. Bucky might appreciate the pain, but he's pretty sure Alexei won’t.
There's a silent dare in his eyes, in the way he plants his feet and takes the blows rather than dodging. C’mon, move me again.
His blood is singing in his veins, calling him to keep going, to push further. Alexei knows Bucky can take it being a super soldier and all, but it's the gleam in his eye that says he wants it—craves it—that really drives Alexei wild, making him question how much he should give.
It's a heady thought going further than he has before, but something boils in his gut at the same time. He's hugely aware of his own reasons for sparring with Bucky. Punches to replace other touches that he wants to give. As his fist meets Bucky's chest—just above where his heart is—Alexei breaks the silence.
"This is what you want, huh? You want me angry? You want a fight? Have me bash through your pesky armor until you're battered and bruised, ‘til you feel something?"
He throws three punches in quick succession on Bucky's arm, watching how he takes them all like it's nothing.
"Let me tell you," Alexei growls. "I feel it.”
Bucky grunts as fists collide with his chest, feeling Alexei’s knuckles bruise his sternum and gritting his teeth against the pain.
Something about Alexei's words unnerves him. Hearing him pick his psyche apart with such precision and ease suddenly makes his stomach churn with nerves. Is he that transparent? He's never considered himself to be one who wears his heart on his sleeve—not before the serum and especially not after.
But sometimes he spots Alexei looking at him with such knowing eyes. Eyes that see far too much of him and don't shy away. Eyes that don't look at him like a new friend would. Bucky has some idea; they’d known each other somehow before, when he still had his memories and his own will. Before hydra stripped him back down to nothing but a mindless drone.
But many of his memories have been lost, and at least the conscious part of his mind doesn't remember Alexei. Alexei remembers him though, that much is clear.
“It's a shame I'm not feeling anything.” A deflection. A lie. Covering up the sudden vulnerability he feels with a quick tongue and small smirk. “Hit me harder or don't bother.” He grinds out, stepping forwards and further into Alexei’s space.
The barb stings. Alexei knows Bucky doesn't remember what they had, even if he hasn't asked in so many words. He's felt around the edges, looked into those piercing eyes and seen no reaction. Well, there's a reaction, but not one of recognition. Never one of recognition.
And now, Bucky is pushing like he wants something from him. Settling some kind of score. Which is fair. He can be annoying, he's not entirely blind to his own faults. He’s well aware he wears a mask, one that Bucky's words are trying to dismantle.
Bucky stands inches from him, breathing heavy, darkened eyes boring into him. He smirks, standing firm. He's so close and Alexei takes a breath, inhaling that familiar scent of leather and pine that seems uniquely Bucky’s scent. More memories of missions in close proximity, of debriefs locked in storage closets or motel beds. He misses those days.
But the Winter Soldier knows nothing of their time together. Bucky doesn’t remember. Alexei screams loud in his face, then punches Bucky in the gut over and over.
"Hard? I give hard. You take it.”
Taking the blows, now that's a feeling Bucky’s familiar with. Being the punching bag. Persisting relentlessly regardless of his own wants and needs. Hydra trained him well—a bit too well—even after his deprogramming, being unable to back down from a fight still continues to be one of his biggest downfalls. He's used to getting knocked down and getting right back up again. And that’s what he does.
The might of Alexei’s blows make him fold over, forcing him to one knee with a wheeze, but he grabs at the man's forearms and forces himself back to his feet. For a moment, he pulls him closer, panting directly into his face before roughly shoving him away.
“Good.” He says breathlessly, the muscles of his stomach aching from the assault. It will be gone soon, but for now he feels it. “Now… defeat your enemy .” He twists Alexei’s words right back at him, gesturing come hither and preparing for the tackle he knows is coming, the anger clear on the other man's face now.
He welcomes it. Will gladly let Alexei take out whatever frustrations he has on him, especially knowing he's likely the cause.
There’s a burning deep inside that's clawing up his throat. His arm twitches despite the tension as he makes punch after punch to the almost ethereal look on Bucky's face. Damn him for twisting this fight away from his control. He has become like animal, seething and lashing out. This isn't how it's meant to go, but he's helpless to stop it now.
Sweat drips down his back. His skin feels too hot. Bucky, in comparison, looks cool and fresh. The faint trace of a smile on his lips, defiance in his eyes. It spurs Alexei on. He has to give Bucky what he wants.
There's bruising and blood on his knuckles. Wounds that will last longer than anything he gives Bucky. Perhaps this is the reason. Maybe Bucky wants him to feel it long after this fight is over. He suppresses a laugh. Bucky has forever been a mark on his heart. He doesn't need yet more reminders of how he lost him.
He pulls back, almost smug at the dulling in Bucky's eyes as he notices his step backwards, but then they switch back to that shine he adores when Alexei leaps directly into the air towards him like a bear.
The air is forced out of his lungs as the man launches himself at him, his full body weight landing hard down against his aching body. They roll a few times, before Bucky is slammed back against the floor, pinned under the other's larger body.
Being immobilized should panic Bucky, but it doesn't. Instead the hefty weight atop him almost feels familiar, and his body reacts before he can think to stop it. His hips press up into the welcoming heat rolling from Alexei's skin, before Bucky forces himself to go still, holding himself rigidly below him.
The smell of Alexei’s sweat hits him, getting stuck at the back of his throat as he tries to swallow around it. He wets his lips, puffing short bursts of air up into the other's face.
“I like it when you don't hold back.” Bucky rasps, throat sounding dry. Because he knows he has been. Alexei has quite obviously been tiptoeing around him, probing him without letting him in on the secret, afraid of triggering him or unlocking something he isn't yet prepared for. A part of him appreciates it, and another part is infuriated by it.
Searching grey eyes peer up into wild blue ones, not fighting back, laying still and tense below him as he waits for whatever comes next—another fist? Or something else? He's not sure right now which he would prefer.
Alexei pants, looking down at Bucky, at the way his hair splays out around his head, at those parted lips that he wants to kiss, to claim as his own.
Feeling Bucky shift beneath him isn't helping. He tries to muffle a grunt at the pressure, but it's difficult when the American looks so damn inviting beneath him. The things he would do to him so he could hear those exquisite sounds he remembers Bucky making before, all those years ago. Back then, they had been adversaries until they found themselves wrapped up in each other exactly like this. If Alexei is reading anything right—and he's not sure he is—it feels like Bucky wants it rough... and Alexei wants it, too.
He watches Bucky lick his lips and shivers. All he needs to do is lean down and press their lips together. That's all it would take. The line blurs and Alexei closes his eyes while his mind screams at him to make a choice. "Боже мой."
The longer he watches Alexei struggle, the more certain he becomes of what the man wants. But he’s still holding back for some reason, and Bucky just can’t figure out why. He feels his body shiver above his, straining to hold himself up instead of pressing down into Bucky’s welcoming body. So he rolls his hips again, purposefully this time, smirk stretching into a knowing grin as Alexei’s eyes snap open once more.
The Russian makes his heart stutter, panic gripping him for only a moment, before he realises there is no danger. The muttered exclamation rolling off of Alexei’s tongue feels unexpectedly intimate, sending a hot flush across his body. Another response he doesn’t understand, another question to add to the growing list of things he will eventually get out of him. But in this moment, he knows what his body wants at least.
Bucky’s hands move to clutch at strong arms, feeling them tense under his grip as he slides them up to rest on Alexei’s broad shoulders. His eyes fall to the man's lips and stay there, making it clear what it is he wants as he slowly lifts himself closer. It seems his teammate has finally made a decision too, inching down towards him until they’re mere centimetres apart, their breaths mingling. Bucky swears he can already taste him, his eyelids getting heavier with every panting puff of air.
The training room door swings open abruptly, and it takes Bucky longer than he would like to register the footfalls that stop abruptly with a squeak of shoes. His head turns, bumping noses with Alexei and pulling him out of his lusty stupor.
“Are you guys serious?” John stands by the doorway, dressed in his own training gear with a towel slung over one shoulder and a judgemental sneer on his face. “Can you guys not do whatever the fuck this is in our shared training area ?”
Alexei thinks he hears the door to the training room open, but he's so caught up in this reaction—in what it will feel like to once again kiss Bucky, to let out these feelings he's kept trapped inside for so long—that he doesn't stop immediately. He's halfway to Bucky's lips, before he realises there's a presence behind him. He gets no further in wondering who it is before Bucky bashes him in the face.
"Чёрт!" Pain blooms behind his eyes, up his nose, a little on his cheek. He's momentarily taken aback at the turn of events, but he gets enough wits about him to lean back, rising onto his knees, which happens to be inside Bucky's spread legs.
"You can't leave one place unsullied," John huffs. Bucky turns his head away and Alexei rises to his feet, his face feeling way too warm but needing to wrestle some semblance of control.
"Taco man, you can't take a little heat? Maybe fighting not for you."
John scoffs. "What would you know? I've only seen you come down here when… uh…" He trails off, but Alexei can see Bucky's reaction from the corner of his eye. What that look means is another matter. Alexei curses under his breath. Будь ты проклят, John.
Bucky gets his wits about him too, scooting back awkwardly and getting to his feet, taking a few steps away from Alexei like it will make any difference. He stands silently for a moment, glancing between John and Alexei, a frown pulling at his face at John’s words before a look of realisation takes its place. Another question for his list.
Bucky clears his throat loudly, standing straighter and feeling his muscles protest at the action. “C’mon Walker, you know how it is,” his eyes dart to look at Alexei, “the serum and adrenaline always mix funny…” He looks away, guilt at his excuse already swirling in his gut, but he covers it with a casual smile. John doesn’t look convinced regardless.
“Uh huh, whatever. Can you guys at least wipe this place down? You’ve got blood and sweat everywhere…” John grimaces as he glances about. “And god knows what else.” He murmurs, eyeing the room like he wants to run a UV light over things, just to be sure.
Bucky moves to retrieve his towel from a nearby bench, moving to do just that instead of standing and being scrutinized any further. John’s eyes follow him for only a moment, before he looks back to Alexei, his eyebrows raised in a silent question. He doesn’t wait for an answer before shaking his head. “You two, I swear…”
When Bucky is done, he gives his face a wipe over with the towel, wringing it in his hands slightly before looking at Alexei. “Good err, good session.” He finishes lamely, before turning and quickly fleeing from the tension of the room.
Alexei's shoulders sag after Bucky leaves the room. He's left with John, who's glaring at him and while it's usually fun to wind the pretend Captain up, he can't stop the call to follow Bucky. They were so close and now it feels like his chance is slipping away.
It's at that moment Bob appears in the door dressed in grey sweats, his hair a mess like he's gone 10 rounds already. He frowns. "What's up with Buck?"
"The usual. These two," John points at Alexei, then vaguely in the direction of the door, "can't resolve things normally, so they make it everyone else's problem."
Bob instantly locks eyes with Alexei and looks deep into his soul as he says, "Bucky's away punching walls, John is giving out his rubbish advice—sorry, babe, but it's true—and you are what exactly?"
"Preparing for important mission."
"Sure, that's it." Bob gives him the once over and Alexei hates feeling annoyed with Bob, but right now he feels it. Or maybe he's actually annoyed with himself and these feelings eating away his heart.
"This mission you would not understand. Too secret. Need to know basis."
"Everyone knows," John hisses.
"I leave now. Got early start tomorrow for successful mission. It will be best, just you wait and see how powerful Russian soldier does it."
Bob watches him intently as he walks out the room. He suspects John is also staring at him. None of that matters because he's currently warring with himself over finding Bucky, or going back to his room and pretending this whole thing never ever happened. He turns the corner and stops in his tracks, letting out a long breath, then inhaling deeply again. A sort of clarity settles in him as he finally makes up his mind.
Bucky barely registers Bob as he pushes past him, trying to get as far away from the training room as possible, as quickly as possible. He makes a beeline for his bedroom here in the tower, one of the farthest from the others, chosen on purpose. It's not that he enjoys being alone, the isolation just feels more familiar.
He crashes into the room, slamming his door open a bit harder than he intends with his rush, letting it bounce closed behind him. The frustration is back tenfold, and for a moment he just stands in the middle of his room, fists clenched by his sides, fuming. Fuming at the interruption. Fuming at Alexei for making him feel this way. Fuming at himself for running away.
His cowardice eventually makes him deflate, letting out a long-suffering sigh as he rubs his hands over his face, palms pressing into his eyes for a moment. His cheekbone throbs, and he finally remembers the brutal pummelling he's just received. He moves to stand in front of the full length mirror beside his bed, removing his shirt to assess the damage.
His lip is still slightly swollen, but the wound is almost gone already. Bruises bloom all across his ribs and forearm, and gently probing fingers find at least one damaged rib. He can't complain, he'd literally asked for it. And he knows Alexei could have done much worse if he'd wanted to. A bitter huff of air leaves his mouth as he realizes the man was still holding back.
His eyes find the reflection of his bedroom door, and for a while he just stands and stares at it. He's not sure what he's expecting to happen; a knock at the door? Or maybe even Alexei barrelling through it entirely—but nothing comes. It's a strange mixture of relief and disappointment that sits in his chest as he resigns himself to a shower and sleep, hoping that tomorrow's mission will at least distract him sufficiently.