Chapter Text
Conversation wore on late into the afternoon, both Steve and Bucky wanting to make it clear to one another that this relationship was something that they wanted equally. Though for all his reassurances, Steve can still feel a slight hesitance coming from Bucky. Of course he understands why, as much as he wishes he didn’t. He knew that his past with Natasha was going to likely cause Bucky to be somewhat apprehensive towards him, and with good reason. In the entire time that Bucky had been back — save for the past couple of weeks that Steve had begun to finally let go — all his friend had seen was the way he’d been completely and utterly strung up on the woman. Words like ‘Love’ had been thrown around like nothing at all, and it was no real shock to Steve that Bucky would be slightly disbelieving when he’d said he loved him. After all, aside from one ancient letter he’d written decades ago, what proof did Bucky even have that Steve went that way at all?
Steve gets it, he really does. If this had been 1937, when Bucky was the ladies man that he’d once been, and the situations reversed — Steve being the one to spill his heart out to someone he believed straight — Steve would feel much the same. Bucky had never given him the slightest hint of swinging the other way, especially when he’d come home from a date reeking of sex and some dame’s perfume. It had been a lot of the reason that Steve never said anything back then. Bucky’d had a new woman on his arm every other week, had his pick of any dame in Brooklyn; what would he ever want with a queer like Steve? So Steve understands Bucky’s reluctance to accept the words ‘I Love You’ when they’d poured form Steve’s mouth, and does his best not to get frustrated
He tries his best not to get defensive too, but it’s difficult when Bucky just sits there staring at him with those beautiful grey eyes. Eyes that look so hopeful, yet so disbelieving at the same time. But he looks away and Steve wishes to god that h wouldn’t because he could stare into his eyes for the rest of time and be completely content. He sighs, a still jittery hand running through his hair. “What can I say to make you believe me? I thought that letter was clear enough.” He asks, looking across the coffee table at Bucky, who’s been sitting in the armchair with his head ducked down for the past half an hour — Since he’d brought his insecurities to light. “I mean, it wasn’t written last night, you know.”
“I know.” Bucky replies, while both his hands wring themselves around between his parted knees. “It’s just… Are you sure that this is something you really want, and it’s not just you not wanting to be alone?” He asks. Ashy blue-grey eyes glance up at Steve from under loose strands of dark hair that fell from Bucky’s messy ponytail, and Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil and sketch pad. He looks so impossibly innocent — so much like his old self, even — that Steve wants to capture it. If for no other reason than to show Bucky that yes, he’s still the same stupid jerk kid that Steve fell in love with back in the thirties. They only hold their gaze for a second before Bucky ducks his head again, chewing on his lower lip nervously.
Steve sighs again and forces back the adoring smile that wants to rip through his features. As much as he wants to gaze at Bucky like he hangs the damn moon, Steve feels that he needs to keep a serious face in order for Bucky to not only listen to, but truly believe his words. “Listen to me for a minute; those things I felt for Natasha… They pale in comparison to how I have always felt about you, Buck. I could never admit it back then. Not to myself, and especially not to you… I was so afraid you’d just turn and run, and I couldn’t live with that. I couldn’t live without you. I never knew that you felt the same way until that night, and how could I? You hid it too.” Steve gets up from his space on the couch, and moves across the living room to where Bucky sits. He kneels down on the floor, sitting back on his heels as he takes Bucky’s face in his hands. His fingers slide into soft dark locks of hair, his thumbs sitting just in front of his friend’s ears, brushing gently along his temples. “Look at me, would ya?” He says gently, while tipping Bucky’s up. Their eyes meet again, and Steve lets Bucky’s gaze linger so he can see the honesty in them while his flesh and blood hand reaches up to take hold of Steve’s wrist. “I only wanted things with her because I didn’t think I could have you. She was the one playing second fiddle to you, not the other way around. Now? I could care less about what happened between she and I. The only person in this world that could ever make me truly happy is you, Buck. And that’s the Honest-To-God truth. Look me in the eye and tell me I’m lying; I know you can read me better than anybody.”
Bucky’s eyes peer deep into Steve’s as he’d asked, searching for some kind of hesitation, some sign that Steve wasn’t sincere. But after a few moments, the other’s eyes soften even more and a tiny smile tugs at his lips as Steve brushes his thumbs across Bucky’s cheekbones. The brunets hand drops away from Steve’s wrist and he looks away after a minute, his teeth catching his lower lip between them. He was clearly thinking hard on all that had been said, trying to find some kind of loophole or even the slightest of half-truth. Steve just sits quietly in front of him on the floor, hands since lowering themselves into his lap as he waits for Bucky to say something, hoping that his words were convincing enough, because he had nothing else to give to show just how deeply his feelings for Bucky ran. “So you really want this, huh?” He asks after a little while, eyes flicking back to Steve. “Even if I’m still all kinds of fucked up?”
Steve nods. “Of course I do.” He replies, reaching out to place a hand over Bucky’s joined ones.
He smiles again, shaking Steve’s hand away so he can place his flesh one on Steve’s cheek. The look in those grey-blue eyes is so content, so happy that Steve could have cried right then and there. The way those perfect lips pull so gently at the corners into that far more perfect smile is enough to stop Steve’s heart completely. “Ok.” Bucky says after another lapse of silence.
“Ok?” Steve repeats. He leans into the warmth pressed against the side of his face and feels himself smile, and his heart about to burst in his chest.
“Yeah.” Bucky laughs. “Lets do this.”
Steve’s smile break into a full on grin as Bucky slides himself off the chair and into Steve’s lap. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s waist, tugging him in close, while Bucky hugs back, face buried into the side of Steve’s neck. It’s an impossible feeling, Steve thinks as he holds his best-friend-turned-boyfriend tight to his chest, the elation and lightness that flows through his every nerve. For once in his life, something that he’d wanted for himself had actually worked out. He had Bucky. They were alive and for the most part, doing pretty good. They were together. They were everything that they should have always been.
He doesn’t quite remember getting up off the living room floor, or even sitting back down on the couch; Steve was too high on bliss to focus on the little details like that. All he knows is that he’s sprawled out on his back; one arm behind his head and the other one wrapped tight around Bucky’s waist. The brunet lays on his side, back pressed against the back of the couch and his head on Steve’s shoulder with his metal arm flung across his chest. He’d draped one leg across Steve’s, his knee wedged between them to keep Steve in place. One of them had pulled the blanket off the back of the couch and draped it over them, and Christmas movies play on the television, though neither were paying any attention.
Steve can’t quite see Bucky’s face from this angle, but he can tell that the other has fallen asleep. His breathing is deep and regular, heart beat steady and calm. From time to time his fingers twitch in his dreamy state, balling up into Steve’s tee, or loosely gripping his shoulder. It’s the first time in recent memory that Bucky had willingly let himself drift off to sleep without some coaxing, and Steve credits that to the extreme comfort he assume Bucky feels. With a small smile, Steve rests his head on Bucky’s and lets his eyes sag closed. Perhaps a nap, wound up in the arms of the man he loves was just the thing he needed.
He drifts somewhere between sleep and wakefulness, somewhat conscious of the things going on around him. The apartment is silent, save for the television, and he’s pleasantly warm and cozy on the couch. For a change, all is peaceful. Jarvis isn’t alerting them to some potential threat that needs attending to, nobody is barging into their apartment to drag them off to meetings that neither of them care to attend, and surprisingly, none of the team has come to force them in interact with other people when all either of them want is to be left alone. It’s nice. Eventually, sleep overtakes his tired and worn body and he drifts off. Pleasant thoughts and images dance behind Steve’s closed eyes. Warm kisses and low laughter shared in the privacy and comfort of their darkened bedroom… Walking hand in hand through the streets of New York… Hours spent in pleasured bliss at the hands of his lover… All things that Steve knew would come in time.
By the time Steve comes to a couple of hours later, his phone is buzzing persistently in his pocket, and Bucky is poking him in the ribs, mumbling that he better answer it before he breaks it. Groggily, Steve pulls the phone from his jeans and squints at the bright screen. Sam’s number is flashing on it, and a little icon in the corner tells him that he’s got a dozen missed calls, and a bunch of texts too. He presses the talk icon and puts the phone to his ear. “Hello?”
“Where the hell have you been!?” Sam snaps. “Is everything alright? We’ve been calling you both ALL FUCKING DAY! What, did you forget how to answer the damn phone?”
Steve laughs and drags a hand down his tired face. Leave it to Sam to worry about them. “We’re fine, Sam… Kinda fell asleep, sorry. What’s up?”
“What the hell happened to you guys last night? One minute you’re standing by the bar with Barnes, chatting with almost every person the room, and the next… The two of you are just gone. No one’s seen or heard from either of you since Tony’s speech last night, and honestly Cap, we were staring to get a little worried.” Sam asks, his tone less sever now. Steve assumes it’s because he’s got the assurance that they’re both alright.
Steve laughs quietly. “Everything’s just fine, Sam. Bucky wasn’t…” He looks down at Bucky, who’s looking up at him in turn. The other man shrugs before he settles back down on Steve’s chest. “He wasn’t dealing so well with all the attention and wanted to leave. So I brought him home.”
Sam makes a thoughtful noise on the other end of the line. “I can see that. How’s he doing now?”
It always amazes Steve just how much Sam cares for the soldier. He’d done a lot for Bucky through his recovery, and Steve feels that Sam has taken Bucky under his wing —so to speak — and gone over and above his usual duties as a counsellor to ensure that he pull through. Steve also knows that out of everybody, Bucky trusts Sam early as much as he does Steve himself. Sam had never once given him a reason not to, and only ever treated Bucky like anyone else. He never looked down on him for his fragile mental state, and never pushed him into things that he thought Bucky wasn’t ready for. Sometimes Steve thinks that if it wasn’t for Sam, that Bucky would never have come so far so quickly.
“He’s fine.” Steve replies. “Calmed down after I got him back to the apartment where he could relax.” Steve’s hand runs up and down the back of the man napping on his chest, and he feels him squirm a little bit before snuggling in even closer. “Figured we’d stay off the grid today, let everything die down a little bit.”
“That’s probably a good call.” Sam says. “Didn’t get any of the texts then, I guess?”
“Texts?”
“Yeah, Tony sent out a mass text this morning to let us all know that he’s got Christmas dinner taken care of. We’re all meeting at his floor at eight, if you’re up for it. “
Steve looks down to Bucky again, who he knows is listening to the conversation. The brunet groans softly and cuddles in closer still for a second before forcing himself to sit up. He gives Steve a lazy nod and yawns. It’s hard to suppress the laugh that wants to escape his mouth at the sight; Bucky’s hair has fallen from it’s messy ponytail and sticks up awkwardly on the side that had been pressed to Steve’s shoulder. “Yeah, we’ll be up in a little while.” He tells Sam, while he reached up to smooth Bucky’s hair back down. The other man smiles at the touch, and turns his face to press a kiss to Steve’s palm.
“Great. See you then.”
Sam hangs up, and Steve tosses his phone onto the coffee table before returning his gaze to the man above him. The thought of having to leave their state of peace and quiet to go and deal with Tony, the rest of the team, and the various other Heroes that Tony associates with is not one Steve cares to entertain. Especially not with the way Bucky smiles down at him with that unintentionally seductive quirk of his full lips. All Steve really wants to do right now is kiss the other senseless, and enjoy the day together.
It’s as if Bucky read his mind, because before Steve even finishes the thought, those lips are pressing gently against his, and cool steel fingers are resting on his hip. Steve kisses back without hesitation, and reaches up to cup the other’s jaw. He feels Bucky’s thumb push aside the fabric of his t-shirt, running lightly over the ridge of his abdomen. Steve shivers, hand sliding up into Bucky’s hair. It feels like little bolts of lightening are running through his veins, sending each hair standing on end and every nerve vibrating on high. Kissing Natasha had never felt like this, so intense and satisfying in the simple action that it was. She’d felt like lust and heat. Bucky felt like love and warmth, with just a slight bit of need behind it all. Need that Steve starts picking up on as he feels Bucky’s lips part over his.
Steve isn’t about to deny himself this, even if they do have to go get ready for dinner… Not when Bucky’s tongue passes through his open lips, licking gently into Steve’s mouth. He sighs against Bucky’s mouth, letting his tongue join in too. He loves this, the way Bucky kisses with such heat and desire. He’d seen his friend make out with dozens of women over the years, back before the war, even a couple at various bases over seas, and always found himself wondering what it felt like. And now that he knew, Steve didn’t ever want to stop. Their lips move against one another’s in a slow, lingering way that feels much more practiced than it really is, hands moving across each others bodies in light, almost hesitant touches.
Bucky shifts himself between Steve’s legs, his left arm now supporting his weight, while his right hand travels slowly down Steve’s waist. He takes his time, letting his fingers map the familiar body in an entirely new way; acquainting himself with the way Steve’s ribs feel under his hands, getting to know each little dip and curve of his muscles. Steve’s are running across the expanse of Bucky’s back in the same slow, sensual way, sometimes sliding up into his hair as their kisses grow more heated. It becomes hard to ignore the way his jeans grow increasingly tighter and tighter around his crotch, and the way he can feel Bucky starting to grow hard against his hip. Steve smirks into their kiss, one hand running the length of Bucky’s back before coming to a halt once it slips into the back pocket of the other man’s jeans. Bucky laughs lowly and pulls back from their kiss long enough to breathe. “Jeez Rogers, you that desperate for it?” He chides. Steve just rolls his eyes, before he drags Bucky back down for another long kiss.
He could have kept it up for hours, lying there on the couch, making out with his best friend like that. But they did have plans, and Steve really needed a shower. “C’mon…” Steve mutters against Bucky’s mouth. “Get up. Gotta meet… The others… In a little bit.”
Bucky isn’t at all impressed when he pulls way enough to look Steve in the eyes. “You’re telling me that dinner with Tony is more appealing than this?” He asks with a smirk.
“Just get up!” Steve laughs, before pressing one final kiss to Bucky’s lips. “I need to get cleaned up.” Bucky lets him up with a playful pout, watching with darkened and lusty eyes as Steve heads off to get a shower.
Steve takes his time showering, his mind reeling over the events of the past couple weeks. Hearing that Bucky was in love with him had been the best thing to ever happen to him, and to finally come clean about his own feelings felt that much better again. Now, they had one another, and with any luck, it would be everything Steve had ever wanted it to be.
Hot water pours down his back and shoulders, and Steve smiles, reliving the first kiss they’d shared only hours ago. It had been everything he thought it would be; gentle and electrifying, passionate yet simple. He shivers as the same electric feeling floods through his body, leaving his skin tinging all over again. It’s then that he hears the bathroom door unlatch, and watched through fogged glass as the figure of his friend moves through the room. “Don’t worry, I won’t look.” Bucky taunts as he passes by the shower to where the sink sits. “Needed a shave, and you were taking too long.”
“Yeah, because you barging in on me in the shower is something that’s never happened before.” Steve calls over the rushing water. He recalls several instances back in the thirties in which a hungover Bucky would stumble into their tiny bathroom to hurl his guts up into the toilet. But even so, he shuts the water off and cracks the glass door open enough to grab his towel from the hook.
Bucky scoffs from across the room, and Steve hears him turn the sink on. “Different circumstances back then.” He replies, as Steve steps out from the shower. Bucky looks over his shoulder and Steve can see the way his eyes instantly darken over, watching as little droplets of water slide down his bare chest and abdomen. “Jesus.” He laughs before turning back to his task at hand. “What are you? Are you even a real person? Because I really don’t think so. Christ alive…” He mutters, still eyeing Steve through the mirror with that same lusty look. Steve just laughs and leaves the room, letting Bucky get ready in peace.
He picks through his dresser for a few minutes before settling on a simple, comfortable outfit for the evening. A pair of black, well fitting jeans sit snuggly around his hips, and a green-and-blue plaid shirt covers a plain white v-neck tee. Dinner, when at Stark’s place was never an overly formal affair, and that was just fine by Steve. He was in no mood to socialize with people he hardly knew, having done enough of that the night before.
The situation still feels eerily familiar though. And if Steve thinks about it hard enough, he can still smell the scent of the old cologne that Bucky used to use for dates, and the pomade that he’d used to slick his neatly cut hair just so. It was a life time ago, and they were both so very different, but standing in his bedroom, listening to the sound of Bucky’s voice humming along to some song in his head over the running water while he shaves… Steve almost feels like it’s the thirties again.
He’s rolling back the sleeves when Bucky leans against the doorframe of his bedroom, already dressed and ready to leave. And goddamn, he looked… Wow. Dark slim fitting jeans clothe his legs, and disappear into a pair of black leather combat boots, that are only partially laced. A light grey henley sits underneath his black sweater, clasped together across his broad chest by toggle-clasps; a look the mimics his uniform jacket in a more comfortable way. He pushes the sleeves back over his forearms, and Steve can’t help but watch the way the silvery metal catches the light. Bucky’s got his hair tied off in his usual messy ponytail, though the front pieces that never stay tied back and fall around his face. Steve can’t help but reach out and tuck a strand behind his boyfriend’s ear with a soft smile.
Bucky rolls his eyes and laughs. “I’m cutting it off.” He states, as yet another piece falls into his face. “It’s starting to piss me off.”
Steve shrugs. “I think it looks good long, but… Whatever you wanna do.” He says with a small grin. “Suits you like this.” His hand reaches up again to push the thick strands away from Bucky’s eyes, his hand resting on the join of his right shoulder and neck. Bucky smirks a little bit and steps in closer, his arms instantly winding around Steve’s waist. He can’t get enough of this, being able to hold Bucky close like this, like he’d always wanted to but never could before. They’d always fit together so nicely before; even when Bucky was the larger of the two, and he’d be the one to wrap around Steve. He wasn’t even that much smaller in terms of size now; perhaps just an inch or two shorter, and slightly more narrow through the shoulders. But regardless, he fit nicer in Steve’s arms than any woman ever had.
Their lips meet several times as they stand there in the middle of Steve’s bedroom, arms wound tight around each other, reluctant to let go for even a minute. He could get lost in this if he let himself, the feeling of Bucky’s lips against his was heavenly. “We should…” Steve starts between slow, short kisses. “Probably get going.” Bucky makes a displeased sound against his mouth, before reluctantly dragging himself away from Steve.
Once inside the elevator, they make little contact, knowing that there are likely cameras everywhere. But Steve can’t help letting his hand slide out towards Bucky’s on the elevator’s railing, his fingers casually resting atop those belonging to the other man. Bucky’s lips tug into a little smile as he ducks his head, cheeks turning a very faint pink. “So, what are we going to tell them?” The brunet asks softly. But Steve can hear the nervousness in his voice.
“Who says we have to tell them anything?” He asks rhetorically. “What we do in our private life is our business.” He shrugs and glances over at his boyfriend, a small smile on his lips. “What we have now is enough for me. I don’t give a fuck if they ever know.”
Bucky laughs quietly, shaking his head. “You kiss your mother with that mouth, Rogers?”
Fuck the cameras. He thinks quickly. Steve snorts in reply to Bucky, rolling his sky blue eyes. “She’s long dead, so no. But I do plan on kissing you with it.” He retorts, leaning over to catch Bucky in a quick final kiss before the elevator slows and stops at Stark’s floor. They break apart before the doors open and assume more natural, less compromising positions.
The room is filled with friends and people Steve considers family, and the television on the wall displays an image of a fireplace crackling happily. Music flows from the hidden speakers, and the large tree in the corner is decorated in much the same way as the one from the Gala — little figurines of each of the avengers, with Steve’s shield representing the star at the top. He makes a special note of the little stuffed bears hanging on the tree, wearing uniforms of all black with its left arm silver, and smiles a little. Of course, after the previous evenings announcement at the Gala, Bucky had to be well aware that he was part of the team. But if he didn’t believe it yet, Steve could only hope that seeing his likeness in stuffed bear form on Tony’s christmas tree would help.
“Hey! Look who showed up!” Tony calls cheerfully from across the room. Steve can’t help the laugh that leaves him as he enters the room; Tony is already bordering on three-sheets-to-the-wind, cheeks a little rosy from the alcohol, with another half a glass in his hand, and a Santa hat perched on his head. “Everyones favourite super-soldiers!”
Steve clasps hands with Stark for a second before moving into the room, leaving Tony and Bucky alone to talk arm-upgrades. They seem to be the last to arrive; Thor and Jane sit off to one side chatting with Phil Couslon; Clint, Natasha and Sam are standing around Stark’s bar laughing and carrying on. Pepper and her family stand around the kitchen, while Peter Parker, his girlfriend Mary-Jane and his Aunt May all gather together on the couch, deep in pleasant conversation with Wolverine.
“Dinner won’t be much longer!” Pepper calls sweetly. “Head on into the dining room!”
The crowd pour into the large dining room as told, and take seats. Natasha sits across from Steve with Clint, her big green eyes trying to connect with his, though Steve refuses to engage. Bucky sits on his right hand side — where he always had, even years before — and Bruce on his left. Tony takes his place at the head of the table, with Pepper not too far away. Before their host takes his seat, Tony clears his throat, tapping on his wineglass with a knife to get their attention. “Before we eat,” He starts, looking around the table. “I just want to say a few things. First of all, congrats to the team and the other heroes for keeping the earth safe for another year. I know it’s a big job, sometimes far more dangerous than we’re given credit for, but I’m glad I have people like you guys fighting with me.
Secondly,” Tony’s eyes turn to Bucky then, and Steve feels the brunet beside him recoil just a little bit, his muscles tensing. “I feel the need to apologize to Sergeant Barnes for the incident at the gala.” Bucky swallows and lets his gaze meet Stark’s. “I know what I did was pretty low, and I should have discussed your introduction to society with you a little more before I put you on display like that. And I am truly, truly sorry for any discomfort I have caused you. It was never my intention.”
Steve watches as Bucky visibly relaxes. The hardness leaves his eyes and gives Tony a small smile. “No harm done.” He replies, before that smile turns devious. “If I’d known you wanted to show me off, I woulda written a speech.”
Tony laughs, and the others around the table chuckle quietly. Steve can tell from the look in Tony’s eyes that his apology is sincere. Tony Stark is many things, but a liar isn’t one of them, especially when he apologizes. He thinks. “Finally,” Tony says, gathering all their attention back once again. “I want to say thank you to everyone for coming. The holidays are a time for family, and looking around at all of you, that’s what I see.” He picks up the glass of wine on the table before him, and the rest join him. “So, here’s to family. Here’s to a happy and peaceful new year.”
With that, everyone takes turns clinking glasses before the meal is served by Tony’s personal wait-staff. Of course, it’s divine; turkey cooked to absolute perfection with all the sides a person could want, and boats of the most delicious gravy Steve had ever tasted in his life. Conversation was polite and jovial, and laughter fills the air as food is devoured. Somewhere, old christmas songs that Steve recognizes from years ago are playing and he feels impossibly nostalgic.
He’d never gotten this kind of a Christmas, even before his mother passed away. There was never this much food, or even very many gifts. But the one constant in his life, at his table each year for dinner — after they both ate lunch with his family — was Bucky. He remembers his mother singing the same songs that play in the background now as she tidied away the dishes. And later on in the evening, Sara Rogers would sit on the couch with her son and the second-child-she-never-had, and read them the same story. Steve can still smell the musty pages of the old, thick, leather bound copy of Charles Dickens A Christmas Carol, can still see the faded-yet-beautiful illustrations. He remembers curling in close to his mothers right side while Bucky sat at her left, her arms wrapped tight around the both as she all but recited the familiar words from memory. When the story was done, and both boys were on the verge of sleep, Sara would wriggle her way out from under the little bodies and place a blanket over each of them, before pressing a loving kiss to their foreheads and smoothing the hair from their eyes. Steve sighs, a tiny ghost of a smile drifting across his lips. If only you could see this, Ma. He thinks, before glancing upwards.
Dinner plates are cleared away and the servers bring around tea and coffee, and place trays of deserts on the table. Steve helps himself to a gingerbread Iron Man, snickering at the adorable icing job. “So, Steve,” Sam cuts in after a while. “You ever call your girl back from last night? She seemed like a real keeper!”
Steve feels his face heat up and shoots Bucky a sidelong glance. “Yeah, we’ll see how that goes.” He replies, sipping his coffee to avoid having to reply. Honestly, since the previous evening’s conversation with Bucky, Ana had been the last thing on his mind. Sure, she was a lovely woman, but… His eyes dart to Bucky again and Steve forces himself to stop from breaking into a grin. Ashy eyes catch his, and Steve sees a smile tug at Bucky’s mouth too.
“We might make an honest man outta you yet, Rogers.” Tony chimes in from the head of the table. “Even if you’re old enough to be her great grandfather.” That garners a laugh from everyone.
Slowly the group start leaving the table, filtering into the various areas of Tony’s quarters as they continue their socializing. The feeling of nostalgia keeps pressing down on him as he watches the couples crowd around the living room while Tony begins to tell stories and jokes that keep them all in stitches. He loves seeing his team like this; stress free, with no worries about having to save the world again. It’s such a rarity these days. He gets up from the couch where he’s been sitting, casually sipping a drink and slides silently towards the balcony door, before heading out into the night.
Steve leans against the steel-and-glass barrier that surrounds the balcony of Tony’s penthouse as heavy snowflakes fall around him. Its quiet here, and it gives him the time to reflect on everything. He can hardly recall a more perfect Christmas in his entire life; friends —No, family — in the room through the sliding glass door, Bucky… It was everything he’d ever wanted in life. And now, it was his. Steve smiles and watches the snowflakes drift lazily down from the sky, breathing in deep lungfuls of the crisp winter air. Up this high, the fumes from cars and sewers often went unnoticed, especially in the cold.
What Tony had said about them being more like one big family was true. Most of them had no blood relatives left living, and the team was all they had. And the more Steve thought about it, the more he liked the idea of adopting these guys as his surrogate relatives. Sure, Tony was a pain in the ass most days, but that’s what brothers did… annoy. Pepper reminded Steve a lot of his mother; very perspective, very soft spoken and caring. She may be a business woman, in charge of one of the biggest weapons and energy companies the world over, but Pepper was soft and friendly underneath. Thor was the big brother who refused to let anybody pick on his younger siblings. Sam, your typical father figure; always wanting to fix things that were broken, even if they were people.
And then there was Natasha…
Speak of the devil...The sound of high-heeled boots on stone pulls him from his peaceful state, and he nearly instantly tenses. He knows Natasha’s presence well enough to know she’s moving across the balcony without having to look. “Hey.” She says, her voice soft and friendly. “Can we talk for a minute?”
He looks over his shoulder and shrugs. “I guess so.” He replies, before returning his gaze to the falling snow, watching as several flakes land in his glass of whiskey and dissolve in the dark amber liquid. “What’s on your mind?”
“You know I hate this, right? Us not talking anymore.” Natasha begins, leaning back against the railing beside Steve, with her arms folded over chest. She looks nice tonight. Her hair curled and pinned off her face, though it falls over her shoulders prettily. Big green eyes are ringed with long dark lashes, and her make-up is simple and elegant. Dark skinny jeans disappear into brown leather boots that rise to her knee, and a pale blue, v-neck sweater fits her body to a tee. Steve turns towards her and leans one elbow on the railing, and her eyes meet his. “Is there anything I can say to make us alright again… As friends, I mean?”
Steve shrugs again and turns his eyes back out over the city below. “I forgive you, if that’s what you’re looking to hear.” He replies, though his tone unintentionally suggests otherwise.
Natasha sighs heavily. “You now I never meant to hurt you, right? I never meant to lead you on. Hell, I didn’t even realize you felt anything for me until you said so. I just assumed we were having some fun, and that was it.” She tells him, her eyes scanning his face. Steve keeps his expression unreadable, and Natasha huffs. “Look, I’m not the kind of person who develops attachment like that. I don’t fall in love with the people I sleep with. And I’m sorry if I didn’t realize that you are until it was too late.” She reached up and puts a hand on his shoulder, causing him to turn his gaze towards her. “But this ‘strictly business’ attitude that I keep getting from you… We used to be friends, Steve. Good friends. And I miss that.”
“Maybe you should have thought about that before lying to me about you and Barton. Perhaps you should have taken that into consideration when you crossed that line.” He tells her. He can see the way she shrinks into herself, even slightly, and instantly regrets being so harsh. “Nat, I know you didn’t mean to do it, but the fact remains; it happened... And it hurt.”
“I know that, and that’s why I’m trying to apologize.”
Steve takes his eyes from her to glance inside the room beyond the big glass door. Bucky’s steely gaze is fixed on them as Sam chatters away happily. Steve can read the concern in them even from here and gives the tiniest shake of his head, to let his new lover know that it isn’t at all what it looks like. But still, Bucky’s eyes don’t leave the back of Natasha’s head. Steve looks back to her and sighs, dragging a hand through his hair. “Can you at least explain to me where I went wrong?”
The woman snorts at that, folding her arms over her chest again. “You? Steve, you didn’t do a damn thing wrong. Fuck sakes, if I were any other woman, I’d have been falling all over myself to try and keep you around. You’re the perfect gentleman, the kind of guy women want to bring home to mom and dad.” Natasha’s eyes darken over then as she looks away. “And thats why I balked.”
He quirks an eyebrow then. “What do you mean?”
Natasha sighs and bites down on her lower lip. Steve knows that she still isn’t sure how to explain herself, and he feels a little bit bad about asking, pushing for an answer. “Put it this way; there haven’t been very many people in my life that have told me they loved me, and fewer still who meant it. I’ve been fucked around so many times, so many ways, that I’ve developed something of a self preservation mechanism. Someone gets attached, I drive them away because I know I don’t deserve their affection. So when you said that you loved me… I did what I always do. I lashed out, did my damnedest to hurt you to make you see that I’m not the kind of person you should have in your life.”
“But Barton is different?” He asks.
She makes a little, annoyed noise in the back of her throat that tends to signal frustration. “Clint saved my life when he was supposed to kill me. He saw something in me that most people don’t, or can’t. Hell, he’s just a fucked up as me, especially after what happened in New York with Loki. We’re both so broken that I guess we somehow keep one another together.” Natasha explains. And he knows that it’s the truth. He knew the story of how Clint had been sent to kill her for SHIELD while she was still working with The Red Room, but Clint had made his own call instead. And in some ways, Steve was grateful that Clint went against orders; Natasha was a valuable asset to have on their team… And she’d been a good friend. She sighs again and looks up to him, doing her best to try to smile. “Besides, you seemed to have a good time with that woman from last night.”
Steve nearly chokes on his drink as he rolls his eyes. “Ana? She was nice enough, sure.” He says, once again, letting his eyes drift back to Bucky. “I dunno though. I’ll see how it goes, I guess.” They stand in silence for a few minutes, watching the snow drift down over the city below. He didn’t realize before, just how much he’d missed her company in the time that they’d spent apart. Even when they didn’t say one word to each other, her presence — much like Bucky’s — eased his normally racing mind and kept him at ease. He missed her. “It’s going to take time, you know.” He says, once again leaning against the balcony railing.
“And I totally understand that.” Natasha replies. He feels her hand lay between his shoulder blades in a comforting way. “I just had to make sure that it can eventually be left in the past, and we can be ok again someday.”
He smiles a little bit. “Someday.” Beside him, Natasha nods slowly before turning and leaving him to his thoughts once again. He doesn’t stay outside too much longer, and makes his way back into the penthouse to enjoy the rest of the night with his friends.
The party begins to die down not long later as the clock ticks towards one in the morning, and Steve can feel his eyes growing heavy. The guests start to dissipate, and Steve takes that as his cue to leave too. He shakes Stark’s hand and thanks him for the meal and drinks, before heading back down to his own floor with Bucky in tow. Once they enter the elevator, the brunet lets out a long sigh. “God, I thought we’d never leave.” He groans, pushing a piece of hair off his face again. “As great as they all are… Small doses, man. Small doses.”
Steve snorts as the elevator stops and the doors slide open. The old photo album still sits on the kitchen table, and the letter rests on top of it, and Steve smiles, unbuttoning his shirt as he crosses the living room. “I know what you mean.” He sighs. But his thoughts are elsewhere.
Who would have thought that something as simple as a few scrawled words on a scrap of paper, and an old photo album was the cause of all this? He thinks, running his fingers down the cover of the book on the table. Maybe if I had sent that letter while I was in Erskine’s program… Maybe we could have had something of our own back then. He looks up, and is met with Bucky staring back, a quizzical look on his face. Then again, why dwell in the past, when I have an entire future to spend with him now?
“Do you want those back?” Bucky asks, motioning towards the photo album and letter on the table.
“No, they’re yours.” He replies.
The other flashes him a tiny, shy smile before moving to gather to two items up from the table. Steve watches as he carefully refolds the letter and tucks it back in the envelope, then places the envelope inside the book for safe keeping before gathering the photo album up in his arms, tucking the book close to his chest. His eyes turn back to Steve, while he leans against the table. “You look tired.”
Steve nods, and as if on cue, yawns. “Yeah, I guess a nap after thirty-six straight hours without sleep isn’t exactly going to cut it.” He jokes. “I guess I should turn in.”
They stare at one another for a second before Bucky nods in reply, making to head down the hall to his own room. But he pauses when he reaches Steve’s side. Steve turns to face him and arches an eyebrow; Bucky stands almost stock still, eyes traveling up and down the length of Steve’s body with his brows furrowed. “This is real, right? Everything that happened earlier today? I mean… I - I’m not hallucinating or anything, am I?” Bucky won’t let his gaze connect with Steve’s, and he begins to get that panicked, frantic look in his eyes that he gets when he starts to stress out. “This is actually happening… It’s not some fabricated memory being forced into my head?”
Steve’s heart breaks just a little as he hears the way Bucky speaks. It had been the first time in a long time that Bucky accused something of not being real. And to hear it now, especially over something so good was a slap in the face. He reaches out and takes the book from Bucky’s arms and sets it on the table once again. “Bucky, look at me.” He says, gently reaching over to tip his friends chin upwards, so their eyes lock. “This is real. You are not dreaming, you are not hallucinating.” He lets his hand fall away from the other’s face as he speaks, though he holds his stare for as long as Bucky lets him. Grey eyes dart away quickly and a strong, callused hand reaches towards Steve’s.
“So… You do…?” Bucky asks.
“Always have, Buck.” Steve tells him softly, knowing what his friend is asking. “For as long as I remember. I love you, and don’t you ever think otherwise.”
Bucky’s hand leaves his then and instead presses to the left side of Steve’s chest, where his tattoo is partially visible through the thin fabric of his white t-shirt. His plush lips quirk up into the tiniest hint of a smile as trails it down Steve’s torso, before letting it fall away again. “‘Till the end of the line…” Bucky mutters, almost too low for Steve to hear.
But he does, and he mimics Bucky’s ghost smile. “Damn straight.”
The brunet reaches out again, this time to cup the side of Steve’s face in his palm. It’s a brief, though warm and loving touch, and Steve feels every nerve in his body ignite even at something so simple. Once again, Bucky’s hand falls away and he smiles, a true one this time, grey eyes meeting Steve’s blue ones. He doesn’t say anything more, just picks up his photo album and heads off down the hall to bed. He pauses at his door and looks back to Steve. “Good-night, Steve.” He says gently, before heading inside.
Steve just grins to himself, shaking his head. “Night, Buck.” He mutters to himself before padding down the hall and into his own bedroom.
Late into the night, Steve feels a weight sink down the empty side of his mattress, and a warm arm snake around his waist. But he just smiles and laces his fingers through those of the hand that presses itself to his chest. Bucky sighs contentedly and lets his body fold in around Steve’s, lips pressing to the back of his neck before drift off to sleep without a word.
And Steve can’t remember ever sleeping so peacefully in his life.