Chapter Text
Steve is in love with James Buchanan Barnes. Bucky is in love with Steve Grant Rogers. They’ve loved each other since childhood—cotton-candy laced fingers, Coney Island adventures, heart-stopping laugh fits, heartbreaking hospital visits. And the love carried on during their teenage years—unforgettable school dances, deep and intimate conversations under the stars, walks along the beach, singing as loud as their vocal cords would allow, awkward make out sessions (this was strictly for practice and experimental purposes, because although they adored each other, their ignorant minds didn’t know it at the time; they were oblivious horny teenagers who used each other to learn to kiss properly in order to impress girls.)
As an adult, not much has changed. Bucky is still determined, intelligent, and charming. Steve is still brave, brilliant, and kind. They are still dreaming of each other, subconsciously tracing each microscopic detail of the other and storing it all in an unacknowledged folder in their minds labeled: Top Secret: Most Important Data in Existence.
The howling commandos were an exceptional team, if Steve did say so himself. Jones and his infatuating humor and heart that brought joy to their otherwise unbearable, depressing nights. Dum Dum and his rigorous work ethic. Mortia and his attention to detail. Falsworth and his easy-going attitude that could release the most infuriating tension. Dernier and his reserved and warm presence. And then there was Barnes.
Fate had dealt Steve a good hand when Bucky Barnes had barged into his life during their childhood.
Steve still remembered that day like it was yesterday; he had sat with his legs crossed and head bowed alone on the crumbling stone steps, far away from the laughter of his peers on the opposite side of the playground. The sun had been restless all morning, pressing heat on his skin, a steady burn that he openly welcomed. The pain was a reminder that he was alive. Otherwise, he’d start to believe the cruel jokes from his peers: “Steve was the neighborhood’s ghost; no one spoke or saw him”.
He was fiddling with rocks when, without warning, the blazing sun went away. A coolness swept over, a block of shade covering him in an instant. Steve’s head snapped up, and what he saw was a smile that burned so bright it could have melted the sun. It was a boy, James, judging by his name tag. Then he held out his hand and said, “Hello, I’m James, but just call me Buchanan, which is my middle name. I don’t like James, it sounds waaay too boring. Buchanan sounds formal and sophisticated though, so just call me Bucky, actually!” Buchanan? James? Bucky? Whoever he was was the kind of boy that all the kids fell in love with as soon as he opened his big, talkative, rambling mouth. And Steve was no exception.
Even in the early days of their friendship, Steve was protective––borderline possessive––when other people tried to worm their way into Bucky’s life too closely. Even now, in the middle of a damn war, Steve still gets uncomfortable when any of the howling commandos get too close to him and threaten Steve’s position as best friend.
Bucky was no better off himself. Before the war, before the world broke, they used to be roommates. And it was perfect, except for the weekends when Steve would leave for upstate New York and babysit for a rich family. He would leave for seventy-two hours every single week, and Bucky would suffer from seventy-two different stages of withdrawal. He’d spend almost all his weekends deep inside a dame. He always had a woman when Steve was gone.
Being alone was not good for him. He had grown up as a middle child in a rather large family, easily forgotten; it did things to him, not getting attention from the people he loved most in the world. Women had given him the attention he needed––Steve as well, to a slightly larger extent.
Steve, on the other hand, spent a lot of time alone. His mom was always at work. None of their peers gave him the time of day, which secretly always disturbed Bucky; he just couldn’t wrap his mind around why others weren’t jumping at the chance to get close to such a brilliant and brave person like Steve. Steve had learned to love himself without having others’ attention. He was confident and secure with himself way before the serum; he simply had no other choice but to love and accept his own body because the world constantly told him it wasn’t lovable. He learned to rely on himself, which Bucky was trying to learn for himself, but it was a work in progress, which meant he still fucking hated the weekends.
Mondays were always Bucky’s favorite days of the week.
He would enter their home after a long and rigorous Monday at work to see Steve making dinner. Bucky immediately dragged his feet to Steve and dropped his head on his shoulders, sighing and breathing in the cinnamon-scent so alike Steve.
Steve chuckled, “Tough day, pal?”
Bucky nodded against him, “missed you.”
“Aw, don’t sulk.” Steve had a quirk in his tone, “I’m making your favorite dish.”
Bucky turned his head to see mashed potatoes.
“Ha, ha, good one buddy.” Bucky deadpanned.
Steve giggled in amusement. Mashed potatoes were not Bucky’s favorite dish. It was the 1940s, and they had eaten them so often that Bucky was good on them for a lifetime.
They sat at their dinner table in silence, Steve sketching birds in one hand, and eating with the other. Meanwhile, Bucky was force-feeding himself, bitterly swallowing potatoes.
Bucky cleared his throat, “We should go out tonight.”
Steve gave him the death stare and shook his head, “not with those dames who don’t even give me a chan–”
“Just the two of us.”
Steve grinned, slowly, “Really?”
Bucky smirked, “I met this girl while you were upstate.”
Steve rolled his eyes, “Surprise. Surprise.”
“Shut up and listen. Turns out her daddy owns the cinema, she told me we’d be able to see a nickelodeon for free whenever we want.”
Steve narrowed his eyes.
“Oh, Don’t give me that look.” Bucky groaned, “You should be jumping up and down in excitement–”
“Do you like her?” Steve asked, voice tight.
Bucky blinked, “what?”
“If you don’t like her, you shouldn’t use her.”
“Oh please,” Bucky snickered, “if anything, she was using me. You should have seen her last night on our couch, she was on me like a lioness.”
“Okay,” Steve muttered.
“She grabbed the sides of my face and kissed me deeply.”
Steve waved Bucky off, and slowly repeated, “okay,”.
“She was–”
“I said okay,” Steve snapped, “no need to hear the gruesome details.”
Bucky grinned, stood up, and leaned down to cup Steve’s face, “she was all like–” and he slowly licked Steve’s neck all the way to his forehead.
“What the hell Barnes!” Steve hollered, wiping a hand across his face.
Bucky doubled over, falling to the ground laughing.
“You’re so weird.” Steve rolled his eyes, but his smile and warm eyes gave him away as he watched tears of laughter stream down Bucky’s face, “Why make up something like that?”
Bucky sobered up and snapped his head up, “I swear she did that. And that wasn’t all, she had lifted herself on my hips, wrapping her sexy, long legs around me, and started grinding her sweet and wet vagina against my pelvis. And well, let’s just say she ended up getting what she wanted.” Bucky licked his lips at the memory.
Steve gaped, “I think you have a sex problem. It’s obscene.”
Bucky shrugged, “Well, if you call a ‘problem’ getting in the good graces of rich babes, then I’d like to have that problem for life. Anyways, get your coat on, let’s go.”
They watched The Wizard of Oz, and their minds were equally blown away. After the movie, they spent hours walking the streets of New York City and discussing the unique and whimsical plot.
“Are you pulling my tail?” Steve asked, stunned, “You would be the damn Tin Man. You can never keep a dame because you’re scared of love.”
Bucky nodded, “Okay, fine, I’m the one who needs a heart, but you are without a doubt the scarecrow, always doing something stupid and reckless.”
Steve crossed his arms, but couldn’t protest and instead replied, “Who would the wicked witch be?”
They both gave each other a look and simultaneously said, “Ms. Anderson!”
They laughed until Bucky caught his breath and said, “That woman was pure evil, always giving us loads of schoolwork like that.”
Steve laughed in agreement, and that was how they spent their night.
Bucky had paced back and forth in their shared living room apartment the following night. It was three in the morning, and Steve was nowhere to be found. He spent hours searching all the places he might be until he ended up back home. His mind raced, imagining all the worst-case scenarios. Is he lying in a ditch somewhere? Did someone beat him to death? Did he get sick and pass out? Where was he? Fear and anxiety took hold of Bucky all too unfamiliarly.
He was not used to being afraid. He was used to being the one to stay out, knowing that Steve was either with him or safe at home. Steve was a proper gentleman, unlike Bucky, who had the filthy mouth and flirtatious eyes and sinister hands and massive––that detail was irrelevant right now; all that mattered was the fact that Bucky was always supposed to be the cool, level-headed one, the one who lived every day without fear. He knew that that fearless quality about him had gotten him into trouble, he always acted impulsively like when he jumped out of moving trains, jumped in below-freezing water, backpacked in a forest (dragging Steve with him of course), even as a child he would ride those wildly intimidating coney island rides with a grin on his face (meanwhile Steve had a grimace on his face). All this was to say that Bucky rarely let fear have power over him.
That day, however, fear had its foot on his neck.
Bucky, sweat-drenched, heart pulsating, breath ragged, was just about to leave the apartment to search for Steve again when the front door opened and he saw the single greatest sight known to humankind.
“Steve!” Bucky ran over to him as the door shut.
Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Bucky kissed him on the lips, hard and fast (and platonic like any other time they do it); Steve barely registered it happened.
Then he threw himself onto Steve in a hug immediately.
“Ow!” Steve winced.
Bucky backed off and looked at Steve. He was utterly beaten. Bucky sighed, “I’ll go get the first aid kit.”
Bucky cleaned his wounds with shaky hands and said, “I was worried sick. I’ve been searching for you since midnight.”
“I’m sorry.” Steve whispered.
“What even happened?”
“Well, remember Brit?”
Bucky raised an eyebrow, “You mean your girlfriend? That petite ginger?”
“She’s not my damn girlfriend,” Steve flushed, “but yeah, her.”
Bucky cleared his throat, “Yeah, I remember. What about her?”
“Well, I met up with her, and we sat and shared some fries, just talking you know? Then we ended up playing cards at the park, it started to get late, so I walked her home. We shared a kiss and––”
“Okay, how is any of this relevant to how you got beat up?” Bucky had cut in.
“Shut up,” Steve replied, “I’m getting to it. Anyways, I’m walking back home, feeling all giddy and light when this guy, a small ginger, shoves me from behind. Turns out he’s her brother, and we get in a fight. By the time it’s over, I’m in so much pain and completely disoriented that I take the wrong train back. I get stuck at the edge of Queens because the trains stopped, so I end up walking all the way back home.”
Bucky blinked, “like I said, you’re the scarecrow missing a brain.”
“Shut up,” Steve laughed, but winced like it was painful.
“Hey, take it easy, pal.” Bucky said, “And also, while I was losing my mind worrying about you, I made a serious, life-changing decision.”
“What?”
“I’ve decided to be with you at all times when you leave this house.”
Steve replied, “That’s a bit…obsessive.”
Bucky shrugged, “It’s called caring for my best friend.”
“Like I said, I can get by on my own.”
“Like I said, it doesn’t mean you have to.”
Steve stared at him with soft heat in his eyes, then coughed, “so, uh, we should probably get some rest… I’ll sleep on your bed tonight.”
Bucky tilted his head.
“I’m in pain, pal. and your bed is bigger and softer.”
Bucky sighed, “Fine.”
After making sure Steve was comfortable, Bucky said goodnight and began to walk out of the room.
“Stay.” Steve suggested.
“It’s okay,” Bucky yawned, feeling delirious, “I’ll just crash on your bed or the couch.”
“My bed nor the couch is as comfortable. Just sleep here.” Steve scooted to the edge and lifted the blankets.
Bucky didn’t protest anymore; instead, he came up with the genius idea of playfully jumping on the bed like a child instead of crawling in like a normal person, which resulted in his nose landing directly on Steve’s sharp elbow.
“Shit!” Bucky cried out in pain.
Steve gasped, “I’m sorry!” he kissed Bucky’s nose, “sorry,” he kissed it again, “sorry,” he went in for another one, but Bucky jerked back.
“Not helping Steve!” he hollered, rubbing his nose.
“Sorry.” Steve muttered.
Bucky took a few deep breaths until the pain subdued, “not your fault. It’s mine for always being an overgrown child.”
Steve nodded in agreement.
Bucky rolled his eyes, “Goodnight, punk.”
“Jerk.”