Chapter Text
Steve was sitting in his office, pencil tapping lightly on the edge of his desktop, willing against all hope for his eyes to focus on the words swirling and blurring on the page before him. He must have read the same sentence at least three times without actually comprehending any meaning from it, his mind’s voice sounding out syllables over and over again in a wordless murmur. For all that the serum did to enhance his strength and resiliency, he was overcome with a fatigue that left his mind dull and sluggish.
He’d had another a nearly sleepless night. No sooner had his head hit the pillow the night before than he was being thrown awake, chest burning with a lack of breath he hadn’t felt since he was younger and in the throes of yet another one of his asthma attacks, the sound of Bucky’s hopeless, helpless scream still reverberating in his ears as if he had been transported back in time to that god forsaken train in the dead of winter yet again. He had all but propelled himself out of his tangled sheets as wave after wave of nausea coursed through him unrelentingly.
He had known that he would never get back to sleep without going to Bucky’s quarters to confirm that he was safe, that he was alive, that maybe someday Steve could actually find absolution for his greatest failing, for letting his best friend, his brother, his Bucky, fall. But Steve also had known that it was not fair to pull Bucky from his meager sleep for the sake of his own. And so he had stayed in his quarters, eyes stinging and red as he sat on the window ledge of his living room, looking out over the city until the night sky turned from the ashy, light-polluted gray to the pale violet and yellow of morning.
“I was just dropping by to see how that paperwork was coming,” your voice pulled Steve suddenly from his reverie, “But maybe that can wait.”
You were standing in the doorway to his office, your typically sarcastic face barely concealing genuine concern. Clearly, the painful ruminations of his nightmare had been visible on his face.
“Sorry, I, uh,” he looked down as the still unwritten report, “I didn’t get much sleep last night.”
You let out a soft laugh, as you walked into his office, leaning your hip against the desk and peering down at the blank lines, “Clearly. I’ve never seen you skimp on paperwork like this, thought it was your favorite.”
Steve smiled in return, looking up into your bright eyes, which were locked on his, concern still peeking through your otherwise calm demeanor.
“You sure it’s just insomnia? You know you can talk to me, right?” You were biting at your lower lip as you continued to gaze down at him.
His mind seemed to fog over. It was like he had forgotten how to speak, how to transcribe his emotions and thoughts into verbal syllables. There was a new look coming into your eyes and expression that he had never seen before, and it had rendered him speechless.
And when you got up from your seat on the edge of his desk and circled around to his side, your tongue gently licking your lower lip before your teeth began to worry at it again, everything that wasn’t you went fuzzy.
The sounds of the office floor outside his door muted to a low hum. The astringent smell of copier toner and hot paper faded as the smell of your light perfume cocooned him in a heady warmth. His peripheral vision blurred, contrasting sharply with the crisp image of your fingers reaching out to caress gently across his forehead and into his hair, sending a shiver of want and need down his spine.
“You can tell me anything, ask me anything, Steve,” you said softly, crouching more to his level, fingers still gently combing the bangs off his forehead in soft strokes.
All of this felt so surreal, yet so right that he didn’t dare to question it. And after all, why should he? He had spent close to two years yearning for you, craving your touch, and now here you were, running your fingers through his hair, his same desire and longing mirrored in your eyes, your posture, your every touch.
“Kiss me.” He almost didn’t recognize his voice, low and plaintive, the words sounding liminal, too timid to be a command but too rough with need to be a request.
Steve could see your chest rise rapidly with each heavy breath, your gaze darting between his eyes and his lips as you leant your face up to meet his, fingers tugging on his hair to draw him closer. And when you finally pressed your lips to his, he all but crumpled to his knees, pushing back his chair haphazardly to kneel on the floor next to you.
Your lips tasted of peppermint lip balm and coffee, and as they slotted with his, fitting perfectly, Steve felt dizzy with pleasure, arousal, want, and disbelief. It felt so real, so perfect, but how could this be real? How this actually be happening?
As he ran his fingers across the top of your shoulder to the nape of your neck, he marveled at how soft your skin felt beneath his calloused fingers, how you leaned into his touch with a shiver. And when your other hand gripped at his hips, pulling him by the belt until his body was flush with yours, he couldn’t stop the moan that rumbled up his throat.
All thoughts of the bustling office beyond his open door were forgotten as your hand released its hold on his belt to begin pulling his shirt up his torso as your lips began moving down his chin to his throat. He responded in kind, letting his hands explore the curves of your body, rucking up your skirt when he reached the lower hem to grant him better access to your legs.
And when his hands began massaging further up the backs of your thighs, he never knew that one syllable could sound so seductive, so enticing as you breathed out his name in desire and anticipation, “Steve…”
And when his hands finally reached the curve of your ass, his name began falling from your mouth again and again. “Steve,” sounding urgent. “Steve,” full of need. “Steve,” your voice getting low and raspy. Like, really raspy and deep, almost sounding like a man’s voice rather than your own.
“Steve,” he pulled back to see you, calling his name, all your desire now replaced with impatience. “Steve,” that voice was not your voice, but it was familiar. “Steve, c’mon, you big dummy,” and suddenly, right before his eyes, your face melted and morphed away, leaving Bucky’s bearded face in its place.
Steve jerked his head up from where it was resting on the desk, breath coming in deep jagged pulls as he quickly began to realize that it was just a dream, a very good dream, a very vivid dream.
“Stevie? You ok? You look, uh, a bit flushed,” Bucky was still standing in front of his desk looking down at him, seemingly torn between amusement and irritation.
“Yeah,” Steve cleared his throat, “Fine, Buck, fine. I must have nodded off.”
Bucky smirked knowingly, “Must’ve been a damn good dream, the way you were moaning Y/N’s name like that.”
Steve sputtered, his face growing hotter and redder by the second, “I was what? I didn’t, it was just, ah, shit.”
Bucky laughed, shaking his head, “Actually you weren’t. I was just messing with you, but I’ll take that stuttering as a confession.”
Steve’s look of concern dropped and was immediately taken over by a scowl, “Jerk.”
“Yeah, but I’m your jerk,” Bucky said smugly, still smirking. “Anyway, it’s time to get up, we’ve got that meeting with Y/N in ten minutes. Will that be enough time for you to fap off in here a couple times, or should I have her push it back a little while?”
Steve’s scowl deepened, “I think I need to set some parental controls on your internet access. You’ve been spending too much time on Tumblr.”
Bucky barked out a laugh as he turned to go, shouting over his shoulder, “At least I’m getting with the times. Ten minutes!”
Steve’s shoulders slumped forward, and he let out a long sigh as he rubbed furiously at his eyes. He was mortified and embarrassed, and couldn’t help but feel responsible somehow for the dream, and couldn’t escape the overwhelming sense of guilt of objectifying you like that, even unconsciously. He let out anther weary, stressed, and sleepy sigh.
This meeting was going to be long and hard. And he could almost hear what your knee-jerk response would be if you could have heard his thoughts just then, that’s what she said.
Another sigh. Yep, this meeting was going to be bad.
When he got to the meeting room two floors down, he was stopped by a friendly hand on his shoulder just outside.
“Steve?”
He turned to find the source of the familiar voice, “Sharon!” He greeted her with a smile, and they both shared a tight hug.
“How ya been?” He asked, pulling back to get a look at her, “Still stationed in Berlin?”
She smiled in her subdued way, “Yeah, I’m just here for a few weeks to consult on the still-pending corruption charges being brought against Cross Technologies after that whole incident with the Pym particle.”
Steve almost laughed, remembering the footage of a life sized Thomas the Tank Engine exploding out of a house and crushing a patrol car.
“What about you? You drinking enough water, getting enough sleep?” Sharon asked, remembering the number of times she had heard him leave his apartment in the middle of the night when she was still Kate, the nurse.
Steve raised his brows in feigned innocence, “Well, I am drinking plenty of water, but I can’t make any promises on the sleep part though.”
“Some things never change,” she smiled, placing a friendly hand on his shoulder.
And just at that moment he and Sharon were pulled from their friendly chatter by the sound of a cry and a grumbled cuss or two coming from the direction of the coffee station against the far wall. Steve looked over to see you feverishly blotting a large brown coffee stain on your work blouse with a wad of napkins, a look of disbelieving outrage on your face. At least he wasn’t the only one have a difficult morning.
The sound of Sharon clearing her throat pulled his gaze away from you, “A friend of yours?”
Steve was stunned. There’s no way she could know, not from that one longing look, right? He couldn’t be that painfully obvious, right? “Yeah, she’s um, I work with her.”
Sharon shook her head, smiling knowingly, “Well, maybe you should go help your friend out. You and I can catch up later. I’ve still got your number in my phone.”
Steve glanced back over at you, now attempting to mop up the puddles on the counter, before smiling back at Sharon, “I would love to. Free this afternoon?”
“I’ll pencil it in,” she said before walking off.
And with that he took a deep breath, did his best to push that damnable dream out of his mind, and strode over to you with a feigned confidence that he hoped was convincing.
Fake it ‘til you make it, right?