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Bucky loves Clint. Honestly, he does. He loves Nat, too, and he’s so happy for them.
But he hates weddings, and he hates crowds, and he hates that despite being one of Clint’s best friends, he doesn’t actually know anyone else in the goddamn room.
So yeah, Bucky’s pissed, but not the kind of pissed he wants to be.
“Lighten up, Barnes,” Natasha says, floating into the seat next to him. Bucky glares harder. Natasha laughs.
“It was a beautiful service, Nat,” he tells her. He’s not lying, either. Just because he haes weddings, that doesn’t mean he can’t recognise an amazing one when he’s there. Natasha smiles at him, blushing slightly.
“Thank you for coming, I know this isn’t your scene, but it means the world to Clint.” Natasha twists her ring absently on her finger while she talks, a loose strand of hair falling onto her face. Her eyes are bright, and she’s been smiling all day. Happiness looks good on her.
“I couldn’t not come,” Bucky says. Sure, he hates it here and he wants to go home, but it’s Clint fucking Barton’s wedding and there’s no way Bucky’d miss that for the world.
Natasha opens her mouth to say something, but is interrupted by another woman squealing and pulling her out of the seat to gush over the ceremony. Bucky takes it as his cue to leave.
There are snacks around, and glasses of champagne and wine and vodka shots because Natasha is wild. Bucky grabs a glass of red wine and makes his way to the corner of the room. It’s 3pm and while he may be a wreck, and this is a wedding, but he’s not going to start on shots.
“Bride or groom?” Someone asks, and Bucky jolts when he realises the corner is occupied. Occupied by a tiny little guy in an ill-fitted suit looking just as out of place as Bucky feels.
“Groom. Both, but mainly the groom. How about you?” Bucky asks, taking a sip from his glass and leaning against the wall.
The other guy swings in his chair and nods. “Bride. Went to school together.”
“Cool,” Bucky says, bringing the wine back to his lips and taking more of a gulp than a sip. The guy watches him for a moment, before grabbing his own glass and draining it, all without breaking eye contact.
Once his glass is empty, Bucky places it on the table in front of the other guy and raises his eyebrow, a silent challenge.
“Oh, you’re on,” the guy mutters, slamming his glass down next to Bucky’s and pushing himself up from the table. “Wait here.”
He’s gone, slipping into the crowd, and Bucky’s left watching after, mildly confused and sort-of-very tired. He sits down in the free chair.
“Hey, asshole, that’s my seat.”
Bucky looks up, and yep. They guy’s back with a tray loaded with a couple of shots, six wine glasses, and a full bottle. Bucky grins at him and reaches for one.
“Wait,” the guy says, placing a hand on Bucky’s wrist to stop him from drinking. “Shot first, then let’s make this a game.”
Bucky considers this for a moment, looking his new friend over. He’s still standing up, one hand flat on the table while the other rests on his hip. He’s short and skinny (and cute, but fuck off brain) and looks like he could only take about three standard drinks anyway. Bucky’s no Natasha, but he can hold his own. He grins and sets the wine glass back on the table.
"3, 2, 1," The guy says, and they take their shots together.
”What’ve you got, pal?” Bucky asks, putting his shot glass back down.
“Tell me something about you and Nat or Clint, and I have to guess if it’s true or not. If I’m right, you drink. If I’m wrong, I drink. We alternate.”
Bucky’s gotta admit, that actually sounds like fun. “Okay,” he says, leaning his elbow on the table and looking up at the guy.”Clint and I met in the army.”
The guy’s eyes flit to Bucky’s empty sleeve before meeting Bucky’s eyes again. “True?”
“Nope,” Bucky grins, knowing he’d get that one. “We served together, but actually met as kids. Became better friends in the army, though.”
“Fucker,” the guy mutters before taking a swig from his glass. “Okay. I’m older than Natasha.”
There’s literally no way Bucky can answer this without guessing, so he just shoots into the dark. “False,” he says. The guy shakes his head.
“Nah, I’m six weeks older.”
Bucky drinks to that.
“Okay. Clint gave me my name.”
“What’s your name?” The guy tilts his head to the side, causing some of his hair to fall in his eyes. Bucky wants to brush it out of the way, but he’s only had one full glass of wine.
“James Buchanan, but everyone calls me Bucky.”
“James Buchanan,” the guy repeats in deadpan. “Like the president.”
“James Buchanan Barnes ,” Bucky amends. “So only two-thirds like the president.”
“Oh, I’m saying true. Did Clint mishear? That’s understandable for someone who isn’t even hard of hearing.”
“Yep, it’s true,” Bucky sighs, taking another drink. “What’s your name?”
“I’ll give you three guesses, and if you can get it I’ll take a drink.”
“Fuck off, Rumpelstiltskin,” Bucky snorts. That surprises a laugh out of the guy and he nods.
“Okay, okay. Yeah, okay. I’m Steve,” he says, looking far more animated than he had when Bucky first intruded on his corner. “Okay. Nat taught me basic Russian in high school.”
“Действительно? Правда.” Bucky says. Steve’s face falls.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he groans, and takes a drink. “I can’t speak Russian.”
“Then I should be drinking,” Bucky says. “I guessed true.”
“Of course you did. You have to drink twice, then, because I did one extra,” Steve says, pushing Bucky’s glass closer to him once he puts it down. Bucky shakes his head.
“No, not my fault you’re an idiot. Stop changing the rules as you go!”
“You’re not fun,” Steve mutters, taking a drink despite not needing to. Bucky takes one, just to match. It wouldn’t be fair, really, to let Steve get drunk alone.
“I’m growing my hair out because Clint said it looks hot,” Bucky says.
“I would not put it past Clint to say that. He has got good taste,” Steve muses, doing that adorable little head-tilt thing again. Bucky tries not to think too much about what Steve implied. “True.”
“False, mother fucker!” Bucky crows, but he takes a drink anyway. Wine doesn’t usually do it for him, but this stuff’s good. “Clint told me it looks hot, but that’s not why . It’s an army thing.”
“That’s cheating,” Steve protests, finishing his second glass. His cheeks are flushed, and Bucky knew it, he fucking knew this guy would be a lightweight.
“Not cheating. Give me another glass.”
“Nat taught me how to use make-up, so now I’m really good,” Steve says as he hands Bucky a fresh glass from the tray on the table. Bucky takes it from him but doesn’t drink.
“Come here,” he says instead, beckoning for Steve to come closer. Steve obliges until he’s right up in Bucky’s face. There’s no trace of make-up on him, but this guy has been friends with Nat for a while.
“True?” He guesses after a long moment. Steve blinks and stands up straight.
“Huh?” He says, flattening down his shirt as if he hadn’t even realised he’d leant down into Bucky’s space.
“True, Nat taught you how to do make up,” Bucky repeats.
“Yeah. She used to use concealer to cover up my bruises back in high school,” Steve sighs, taking the glass out of Bucky’s hands and drinking from it.
“Why did you have bruises?” Bucky asks with a frown.
“Because I’m badass,” Steve says. “I’d fight anyone about anything.”
“More like a dumbass,” Bucky snorts.
“I’ll fight you ,” Steve hisses, but he hardly looks menacing as he sways on his feet with a wonky tie draped loosely around his neck and blazer drooping off his shoulders.
“You’re drunk,” Bucky points out.
“So are you,” Steve shoots back. Bucky’s not drunk, he’s fine. He can hold his damn alcohol. He looks at his hand, as if that would help him. Oh yeah, so maybe Steve has a point.
“It’s a wedding. Let’s not fight,” Bucky suggests, toeing off his shoes, because his feet are sore.
“That’s on my bucket list, to start a fight at a wedding,” Steve says, oh so casually. He’s swaying a bit more now, and Bucky glances at the empty glasses around them. They’ve really had a lot more than he realised.
“Come sit down before you fall over.” Bucky moves to stand up, but suddenly Steve’s hands are on him, forcing him back into the seat.
“I can’t take a seat from a one-armed veteran!” Steve hisses. His hands are warm and sturdy and they feel nice, despite only being a brief point of contact. That just goes to show how touch-starved Bucky is.
“You gotta sit down, Stevie,” Bucky insists. “I don’t want you fallin’ over. Sit on me.”
"I’m not sitting on you,” Steve says firmly as he moves to sit on Bucky. He’s a little bit bony, and heavier than Bucky thought he’d be, but it’s so nice to be so close to someone again so Bucky doesn’t say anything, just smiles up at Steve.
“I like it when you sit in my lap,” Bucky says.
Fuck.
“You’re like a teddy bear,” he continues, as if he can actually save himself from that comment.
“You’re really warm,” is all Steve says.
“You mean hot,” Bucky corrects, because sure, maybe he was on the path to redemption judging by Steve’s response, but that would just be too easy. No, Bucky loves digging his grave.
“That too,” Steve hums, rolling his head to smirk at Bucky. “But you are very warm. It’s… nice.”
“Very nice. I miss human contact sometimes,” Bucky admits. (This wine must have a very high alcohol level, because it usually takes more than one shots of Nat’s special Russian vodka for Bucky to start blabbering.)
“Yeah, it’s real nice.”
They’re quiet for a moment. Bucky takes the time to look around the room. There are still lots of people, but plenty have left, too. It’s manageable now, or maybe he’s just had enough drinks to deal with it. The semantics don’t matter.
“When Clint showed me the ring he got for Natasha I thought he was proposing to me for a minute,” Bucky giggles suddenly, drinking because the glass is right there, and it’s fun. Steve shifts in his lap to look at him with a shocked expression.
“No,” he gasps, eyes wide. “That’s so sad. That’s so.. Sad.”
“It didn’t happen!” Bucky laughs, shaking Steve slightly. Steve closes his eyes for a second as his body stops shaking under Bucky’s hand. When he opens them again they focus on Bucky.
“Fuck. You got me,” he groans, sloppily pouring more wine into the glass. Somehow they lost Bucky’s, or maybe this is Bucky’s and they lost Steve’s- point is, they’re down to one glass. Steve drinks from it, his lips stained red from the alcohol.
“Your turn,” Bucky says.
“I was meant to go home hours ago, but only stayed because I couldn’t find my wallet and can’t pay for a cab,” Steve says. He’s put the glass back on the table and has Bucky’s hand sandwiched between his own.
“False,” Bucky says immediately. “Steve, the venue is a hotel. A hotel that’s been booked out for everyone here. No cabs needed.”
“Okay,” Steve says for the millionth time tonight. “Okay. First of all, fuck you logic. Second of all, you’re taking advantage of me because I’m drunk and not making sense.”
“I’m drunk too, pal,” Bucky scoffs. “That’s the whole point of this game.”
“Whatever.”
“Me, Nat, and Clint. We had a threesome.”
Steve looks at Bucky, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “True,” he says with confidence.
“Wait,” Bucky says, regretfully pulling his hand from Steve’s to reach the glass from the table. He grabs it, moving too quickly for the full glass of wine. The red liquid splashes out and lands on his pants, but they’re black pants so it doesn’t show up. He’s just glad it didn’t land on Steve’s pants. Bucky looks back at Steve, focusing until there’s only one in his vision. “How do you define threesome.”
“Oh God,” Steve gasps, thumping himself on the chest a couple of times as he splutters. “If you have to ask me that, it counts.”
“You know what we should do?” Bucky says to Steve. He lays his hand palm-up on Steve’s knee, an open invitation for him to hold it again.
“What should we do?” Steve asks, not picking up on Bucky’s cue. He drinks more of the wine, then passes the glass to Bucky. Bucky finishes it off before passing it back to Steve.
“We should make a speech. To Clint and Nat. Because we love them and we’re happy they’re happy.”
“Good idea. I thought you were going to say we should have a threesome,” Steve says. Bucky pushes at Steve to get off his lap.
“That’s a terrible idea. We’re both drunk, we can’t consent to a fucking threesome,” Bucky mutters, clambering to his feet. The room starts spinning and Bucky clutches to Steve.
“You never really notice how,” Steve says, pausing to hiccup. “How drunk you are until you stand up, right?”
“Right,” Bucky agrees, taking a moment to regain his balance. “Where’s the mic?”
They manage to find the mic without falling over, and that in itself is a fucking miracle. Bucky follows Steve up onto the stage, still clinging to him so he doesn’t fall over. He’d be embarrassed, maybe, except this is a fucking wedding and Bucky’s wasted.
“I’d like to make a toast,” Steve begins, not even slurring his words as he looks out over the crowd that’s gathered.
“Toast,” Bucky whispers to himself, suddenly very fucking hungry.
“Not that kind of toast,” Steve says to Bucky, but into the mic. A ripple of laughter passes through the crowd and Bucky beams, because he did that.
“But if there world were toast,” Steve continues, mind racing off on a tangent, “You, my precious Natasha, you would be the jelly. So sweet and beautiful and perfect in every way possible.”
“And Clint, you’re the peanut butter because you’re nutty!” Bucky interrupts, letting go of Steve to grab the mic. “But you two work so well together.”
Steve’s arm snakes around Bucky’s waist, and he knows it’s to keep him balanced, but for once he doesn’t mind.
“Maybe Nat’s the peanut butter. She sure is salty enough,” Steve snorts, leaning over Bucky.
“That’s very touching,” Natasha says, suddenly appearing on stage with them. Bucky beams at her.
“Who the hell introduced you two?” Clint groans from her side. “I can’t decide if this is a very good thing or very bad thing.”
“It’s good,” Steve says, still leaning into the mic in Bucky’s hand. “Bucky told me about the time that you two and him had a thr-”
“How much did you have to drink?” Natasha interrupts, moving the microphone away from them and turning it off.
“Not as much as Bucky,” Steve laughs, jabbing him in the ribs.
“Not true! I totally won the game,” Bucky protests, taking Clint’s offered arm.
“Great, you played a drinking game at our wedding,” Clint mutters, but he’s grinning anyway. “Let’s get you to bed.”
“We’re sleeping together,” Steve says from somewhere behind Bucky. Bucky twists in Clint’s arms to wink at him.
“You are not sleeping together. Not tonight,” Nat groans. “You’re both drunk. Maybe another night?”
“If they can’t say no that doesn’t mean they want to say yes,” Steve says in some sort of mantra. Probably something someone drilled into him at a young age.
“Bingo,” Bucky says, highly approving of that person’s methods.
“Bucky and I are sleeping together tonight,” Steve says again as they’re lead down a hallway.
“Steve-” Natasha says, but he cuts her off again.
“You’re so pretty, Nat. I love you so much. I’m so glad you’re married.”
“I love you too, Steve,” she sighs.
“Bucky,” Clint says, turning him so he’s facing a door. “This is where you’re sleeping.”
“What about Steve?” Bucky asks with a frown. He wants to cuddle, damn it. He hasn’t cuddled someone in ages.
“Steve will be in his own room,” Clint says, helping Bucky out of his suit and into bed. He’s just got his undershirt and boxers now, and he feels like a kid with Clint leaning over him, tucking him in.
“Hey Clint,” he says. Clint looks at him.
“Nat’s your wife,” he says, and a massive smile breaks out over Clint’s face. It’s adorable and Bucky can’t help but laugh.
“She is. Will you be okay if I go back out there now?” Clint asks, magically appearing a glass of water out of thin air and setting it on the night stand.
“Yes. Yes. Yes, yes. Go and kiss your wife. Thank you for taking me to bed.”
“I didn’t take you to..” Clint sighs as he makes his way to the door. “Sleep well, Bucky. Thank you for coming.”
“Ayy,” Bucky says, watching the door click closed. And Bucky’s alone. And Steve’s across the hallway, also alone. Bucky gets up.
He’s super stealthy. Like a ninja or some shit. He even thinks to look through the peep-hole before slipping out of his room and into the corridor.
“Steve,” he hisses, rapping on the door. "Steve!”
There’s a muted thump from inside the room, then the door swings open and there’s Steve, squinting at Bucky.
“Bucky!” He grins, grabbing Bucky’s arm and dragging him inside. “Are we sleeping together?”
“Like spoons,” Bucky confirms, climbing into bed after him. Steve’s colder than Bucky thought he’d be, but it’s okay because Bucky always runs hot at night. He grabs Steve around the middle and pulls him close until his back is flushed up against Bucky’s chest.
“G’night, Bucky,” Steve mumbles into the pillow, already half asleep. His fingers lace through Bucky’s, and Bucky finds himself smiling into Steve’s hair.
“G’night, Stevie.”
Bucky wakes up with tiny little gremlins throwing fridges around in his head and a throat dryer than the fucking Sahara. He lets out a low groan and rolls over, smack into another body.
Fuck . He didn’t, did he? Bucky lifts up the covers, relieved to find both himself and the other guy wearing clothes
“Bucky?” The other guy mumbles, blinking sleep out of his eyes as he looks up at him. Steve, his brain supplies, and the night before starts filtering back to him.
“What time is it?” Bucky asks, slumping back down next to Steve.
Steve rummages around for a second before answering. “6:37am.”
“Jesus,” Bucky groans, rolling over so his face is buried in the pillow.
“We went to sleep at, like, eight last night.” Steve tells him. “We got drunk pretty early.”
“I can’t even be bothered being embarrassed about that.” Bucky admits, not bothering to move his face. His words come out muffled.
“We made the bride and groom put us to bed at 8pm on their wedding night,” Steve laughs.
Bucky laughs too, still seeking the comfort of sharing a bed. Steve shuffles over next to him, until their sides press together.
“This okay?” He asks tentatively as he drapes an arm over Bucky’s back.
“One-hundred percent,” Bucky confirms, letting himself drift back to sleep.
Steve’s up when Bucky wakes up again, and there’s a glass of water sitting directly in Bucky’s line of sight.
“My baby,” Bucky sighs delightedly as he reaches for it.
“You’re welcome,” Steve snorts,and Bucky looks up to see him folded in the armchair across the room. He’s got a pencil tucked behind his ear and paper spread out in his lap. Bucky wants to kiss him.
“We should do this more often,” he says once he's put down the empty glass. Steve raises and eyebrow at him.
“What? Get drunk and cuddle?”
“Yeah. Maybe even skip the drunk part,” Bucky says, feigning nonchalance. “Replace it with kissing.”
“Are you-” Steve says, setting aside his paper and taking the pencil out from behind his ear, “-is this your weird way of asking me out?’
“So what if it is?” Bucky huffs, pushing himself up into a sitting position. Steve laughs, crawling onto the bed and pushing right into Bucky’s personal space. He can’t find it within him to be bothered by it.
“Then I’d say yes,” Steve grins, reaching out to kiss Bucky. (Drunken morning breath and all.)