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every-aj-needs-an-angel · 8 months

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Chapter 9!! I genuinely cannot believe I've actually kept up with this 😅 honestly I'm the worst ask every teacher who ever wanted coursework from me 😂 the love and support I've received from everyone who's enjoyed this has been mind-blowing and I'm so grateful to each and every one of you 💖

Betting It All On Love

Robin, surprisingly, took him shopping, which was only surprising because of how much she truly hated it. She hated the crowds and the trends the masses felt a weird compulsion for, and that was before she got on to the whole thing about consumerism. But she knew how much he loved it, knew how a new outfit could bolster his mood, how the hum of voices echoing through the space soothed something deep in his soul.

The one advantage to still having anything to do with his biological parents was that they still paid off the credit card they'd given him when he had gone on a class trip to the zoo in middle school, so on the rare occasion he felt the need to go wild in the aisles, he didn't feel like he had to feel too guilty about using it. Especially when that meant he could buy Robin the plaid coat she hadn't been able to take her eyes off of from the moment they'd walked into the mall.

Especially when she grinned like that at her every reflection as she wore it around the air-conditioned space, which was far too chilly for the tee and shorts combo she'd chosen for the day. Not that Steve was quite sure why there was a surf and ski clothing store in the middle of Nevada, but it didn't matter, he knew the coat would be perfect for when winter came to Indy. It hadn't been quite perfect in the moment, of course, and he was seriously considering giving in and just going into the nearest store to buy her yet another hoodie.

"Steve, I'm hot!" Robin whined as she wandered listlessly by his side.

"So take the coat off," Steve reasoned calmly, shifting the shopping bags in his hands to take some of the pressure off of his tattoo.

"But then I'll be cold!" she countered.

"Truly a cross to bear," Steve muttered under his breath, rolling his eyes to himself as he steered them back towards the souvenir stand; because no way we're they ever going to own another average hoodie, it was going to be the most disgustingly gaudy 'I heart Vegas' glaringly obviously touristy hoodie humanly possible.

Except as they continued to stroll along their new route, it took them right past the food court, Robin enthusiastically exclaiming "Ice cream!" That was how they ended up crammed into a booth, the amount of bags they'd acquired practically pushing them off their seats, a giant bowl of banana split sitting between them as they both picked their favourite parts out of the dessert.

"So, how's things going with Chris?" Steve asked as he shoved a spoonful of strawberry ice cream into his mouth.

Robin nodded, chewing thoughtfully on the caramel coated banana, "Good," she admitted, blushing deeply and ducking her head. "She's amazing, Steve, I've never met anyone like her. She's like a ray of fucking sunshine, you know? Like the kind cats curl up in. Just joy and warmth and, I don't know, magic, or something," she gushed, waving her hands and her empty spoon around as she talked, saying more about her feelings than what was actually coming out of her mouth.

She bit the inside of her cheek but couldn't keep the lovesick grin off of her face as she stared into the distance, gazing vaguely at the lime green vinyl of the booth seat just over Steve's shoulder, "I swear to God, at Charlie's last night, I was this close," she pinches her finger and thumb together so there's only the tiniest sliver of light between them, "to asking her to marry me! And not just drunken Vegas marrying, like full on, come home and meet my folks, months of planning and white dresses, marrying. That's insane, right?" she asked, finally looking at his face.

Steve wasn't entirely sure how he was supposed to respond, part of him was insulted that she thought his marriage was less than because of how it had happened. Part of him was just incredibly proud of her. It was crazy, and it also wasn't crazy at all. Sometimes when you know you just know and given how long they'd all actually spent together, it wasn't like she was just jumping in feet first. Robin had probably spent more hours with Chrissy than she had ever spent with Sammi and that relationship had felt like it was never ending.

Luckily, he was saved from actually answering when, after swallowing another mouthful of partially melted chocolate ice cream, she jabbed her spoon at him and exclaimed, "And oh my god, Steve! In bed! The best I've ever had!" And Robin might've continued to elaborate on that, but Steve had unceremoniously dropped his spoon to cover his ears and “la la la” loudly until her lips stopped moving.

It was a running joke between the two of them, the first guy he'd been on a date with after Billy had been phenomenal. Alex had blown Steve's tiny small-town mind, and even though they’d both agreed that their relationship would only ever be a casual hookup, it hadn’t stopped him from wandering around for three whole days like he was on an actual cloud. Robin had quickly become sick of his permanent grin and had asked him "what the fuck he had to be so happy about?" She hadn't liked the answer and ever since whenever either one of them went into specifics about their love life that was what the other one did.

She laughed, and he did too knowing full well she'd tell him, in intricate and unnecessary detail, all about Chrissy's skills in the bedroom as they finished their shopping spree; they still had to find Dustin’s book after all, and they both knew he would listen while she gushed about what an incredible lover she'd snagged, and he'd try desperately not to be green with envy that she'd found the love of her life and was actually going to get to keep her.

They didn't talk about Eddie, he could tell she wanted to, she kept opening her mouth to ask questions and then just snapping her jaw shut and carrying on, distracting him with pretty things and tasty foods. Part of him was glad. Part of him wanted to talk it through with her. Part of him just wanted to enjoy time spent with his best friend and live in the delusion that everything was fine. He had no doubt there'd be plenty of time to talk about it when they got home, even if Robin and Chrissy immediately moved in together, and he had to learn to talk to Chrissy the same way he talked to Robin (which he honestly didn't think would be that difficult) he had no doubt that they’d make space and time for him to mourn his loss, and maybe even mourn it with him.

At least with Chrissy across the hall, he'd finally have someone to watch sports with again. Chris' taste in sport had so far been Robin's only complaint. She'd been excited to finally find someone she was attracted to who actually liked sports but had been quickly disappointed to find out that Chris preferred watching basketball and the NFL like Steve, which meant that Robin still wouldn't have anyone to watch soccer with.

Even though Steve was always happy to watch it with her, he just didn't share her enthusiasm for it. That was the thing that apparently baffled Robin, because “how could any self-respecting bisexual not enjoy a field full of men in tiny shorts chasing a ball?” And honestly, it was the chasing the ball part that seemed to be the off-putting bit. It kinda felt more like watching golden retrievers in the dog park, and although the whole point of football and basketball was to get a ball in a goal, he was proud that neither were a game a dog could play.

As he was ambling around the bookstore looking for the fantasy section, it occurred to him that it would probably be the last time he’d be asked to do anything like this for the kids. Not that you could really class a bunch of twenty-somethings as kids anymore, but it occured to him somewhat horrifyingly that all of them were about to start going out into the real world. They’d all soon be grown-ups and would soon have to deal with all the problems that came with being an adult that were coming for them thick and fast. Real relationships and jobs and rent, for most of them this summer would probably be their last one at home with their parents.

It might even be the last summer he had a chance to see some of them ever again. Max still wanted to go home to her dad and the chances of him getting an invitation to California were probably slimmer than he’d like to admit. As he picked up the copy of Earthshaker he’d been searching for, he vowed to himself to spend more than one weekend back home before they all headed back to college. Take his camera home, organise a big party, and tell them all how much he loved them. It’d be fine, the summer wasn’t over yet.

Robin interrupted his rapidly derailing train of thought when she came bounding around the bookshelf, a stack of books cradled to her chest like a newborn. He purposefully didn’t ask, especially when he could see that the one on the top of the stack read ‘Nuclear Medicine In Tropical And Infectious Diseases’. He just grinned knowingly and waved Dustin’s book in the direction of the register, mainly because they both knew full well that given the opportunity, Robin could and would happily spend the rest of their vacation immersed in the endless racks and shelves.

He did, however, self indulgently snag the latest Jackie Collins novel to add to his growing collection as he passed by the display. Sweet old Mrs Johnson had been the one to get him hooked. She used to read them when she would babysit, at first to herself, but then there’d been a bad storm one weekend when he was six and the electricity had gone out for hours. It was winter so although it had been early in the evening, it was dark and he was scared. But Mrs Johnson had just pulled him into her lap and let him curl into her while she read by candlelight.

He hadn’t really understand the story itself, but she had had a nice voice, and he had liked listening to her read. From then on it had been what they had done on rainy days. In fact, the weekend before she had died, it had been stormy, and they’d spent two whole days curled up in her favourite armchair in his living room while she read to him.

The books had made him mad for a while, after she’d left him, but then when he was older and trying to navigate high school he quickly realised he preferred the salacious crime novels to Shakespeare or Chaucer that were, as far as he was concerned, basically the same thing but written in another language. It hadn’t been until he was older still that he realised that some of the characters in those books had also been vital in helping him create the King Steve persona that kept him safe for four years.

Steve hadn’t realised how quickly the day had disappeared until they made it back to the hotel. Not that he minded, his stomach full from the tacos they’d been unable to resist, and he’d had a wonderful day with his best friend.

They’d bought so many things that even in the short walk from the lobby, his fingers had started to take on that distinctive claw shape as the handles had dug into his skin. Sighing heavily in relief as he finally released the bags onto his bed, and again in frustration as Robin cheerfully tried and failed to check their voicemails, nearly making a collect call by accident. He used his one still fully functioning finger to press the necessary buttons, flopping down next to his best friend on her bed.

Beep. “Hi. It’s me. Chrissy,” she paused giggling to herself, “I hope you two are free tonight! Meet by the creepy looking goat statue at six?” she sounded so happy and hopeful, Steve couldn’t keep the endeared smile off of his face. Robin almost cut the message off before Chris had had chance to finish, and he couldn’t help feeling like a bit of a hero when he stopped her movements just in time to hear “Okay, see you soon. I love you!” Beep.

Robin’s eyes immediately bugged out, if she wasn’t careful it was likely they’d fall out of her head altogether. She glanced franticly between Steve and the phone, her whole demeanour screaming “You heard that, right?” Steve grinned and jostled her playfully, enjoying the deep blush on her cheeks and her silent fluster as she processed what she’d heard.

Not that they really had time for an emotional crisis, “Come on, blushy! If we’re meeting at six, that only gives us half hour,” he reasoned, flipping himself off the bed and heading to his wardrobe to find his black pinstripe shirt and dark jeans. He had no idea what they would be doing, but it’d be a fine outfit for an evening in Vegas.

He was standing over the sink adding some serum to his hair when he heard her mumble from the doorway, “Isn’t it a bit early for ‘I love you’?” She sounded so small and hesitant, he dropped his hands immediately, stepping over to her and wrapping his arms around her shoulders, being extra careful not to get sticky fingers on her fancy blazer.

“Is it ever too early to say how you feel?” he asked, pressing his cheek against the top of her head.

“I don’t know” Robin muttered glumly, grabbing two fistfuls of the back of his shirt and scrunching it between her fingers anxiously. “There’s no way she meant “I love you” right? I mean, she can’t be in love with me, Evie. It doesn’t make any sense! We’ve known each other for what? A few days! There’s no way she could… She must’ve meant “love you” you know? Like in a friend way,” she rambled frenetically; whether she was trying to convince him or herself, he really couldn’t say.

Steve hummed thoughtfully, “Does it feel like love in a friend way?” he asked evenly.

She scoffed harshly like he expected her to, “No! But she wasn’t just talking to me, she was inviting both of us,” she pointed out.

It frustrated him how easily she could convince herself that people couldn’t possibly love her. He sighed heavily trying really hard not to roll his eyes, “She was talking to you,” he affirmed, because he had heard that message, and contrary to popular belief he wasn’t actually stupid, and he’d witnessed with his own eyes how crazy Chrissy was about her, how crazy she was about Chrissy.

Huffing loudly, she removed herself from his hold, so she could look him in the eye “But it’s been days!” she whined, still trying to convince someone that the facts weren’t the facts, probably because she was actually just kinda scared.

Steve just shrugged his shoulders, “Yeah, but how many hours has it been? How many hours did you spend with Mickey? You were in love with her. How is this different?” he asked, rather reasonably considering she was driving him up the wall because how could she not know by now how easy she was to love.

“Does sleep count?” she asked, wincing even as the words fell out of her mouth.

He laughed dryly, “No, Robbie, you can’t count hours you weren’t conscious for!” he deadpanned, tugging her back into his chest before she could start pacing like a caged tiger.

She made a pained sound in the back of her throat as she leaned heavily into him, gripping the sides of his shirt, moving her fingers around as she counted against his ribs. Eventually, after at least three recounts, she huffed the way she always did when he was right for a change.

“Do you think maybe you’re freaking out because you feel that way too?” he asked calmly.

“Maybe,” she muttered sighing heavily like she was holding the weight of the whole world. He knew he’d hit the nail on the head when she huffed a frustrated breath through her teeth and pushed him off, “How would you feel if Eddie said that to you!” she accused, pointing a finger at him.

Steve snorted derisively, too tired to be anything but honest, “Honestly, I’d be fucking delighted. I’m so fucking in love with him, it’s insane!” he admitted, trying desperately to ignore how whiney and pathetic he sounded.

All the fight dissipated out of her as he spoke, her eyebrows scrunching together in sympathy, “Really?” she asked softly, a pained look taking over her face when he nodded solemnly, “Have you told him that?”

Steve snorted a humourless laugh, “No! Jesus, Bobs, I’m not a complete fucking idiot!”

“But you just said--”

“Yeah! Because it’s obvious you feel the same way!” he yelled, not entirely sure why he was shouting. It wasn’t her fault he’d got himself all tangled up in infatuation again, “Sorry,” he muttered.

Robin wasn't fazed though just waved off his apology and raised a singular eyebrow at him, “And it’s not with Eddie?!” she asked condescendingly, folding her arms over her chest.

“No!” Steve exclaimed, because it was very unobvious, thank you very much! Robin didn’t argue with him, just threw her arms in the air like he was being the frustrating one, tutting and heading back into the bedroom to finish getting ready, leaving Steve to deal with the silence and his half serumed hair.

Chrissy, as it turned out, had procured tickets for a boxing match of all things. It wasn't something neither he nor Robin ever would've chosen, but apparently Chris' best friend from her cheerleading days, Beth, was now a ring girl, and she had pulled some strings and got them into a private box. They had their own bar and a balcony view over the proceedings, meaning they could see everything without getting coated in blood, it was different but once-in-a-lifetime experiences were kinda what Vegas was all about.

Robin was leaning with her back against the bar, Chrissy curled into her running her hands up and down the lapels of Robin's jacket, both of them giggling and whispering like schoolgirls. As much as he was glad Robin seemed to have overcome her earlier conflict, he was starting to find it all a bit sickening. It wasn’t their fault, and he wasn't really mad with them at all, he'd just been in a terrible mood since bickering with Robin and the dark cloud hanging over his head had only worsened when Eddie hadn't been waiting with Chrissy in the lobby like he had hoped.

He'd offered to go back to the room, part of him wanting to let them have a night to be together, the other part just wanting to be alone so he could sulk some more, but neither of them would let him. They’d giddily pulled him into their hold, linking their arms with his and practically frog marching him out the front door of the hotel and into the waiting taxi.

In the seclusion of the private space, however, and with two or three shots in each of them, both girls had dropped all their inhibitions and seemed to have forgotten all about him. Honestly, he’d never been a third wheel before, not even with Tommy and Carol but he was seriously starting to feel like he should go home and call Barb and apologise for every time he and Nancy had made her feel how he was feeling because maybe he was technically married, but he’d never felt more single or more alone.

He sighed heavily, snagging a beer from the bartender and heading out onto the balcony, leaning heavily against the railing surveying the crowd below him. The venue was packed, not a single empty seat to be seen anywhere, which struck him as odd because the match wasn't due to start for at least another twenty minutes, and he'd been to enough ball games in his life to know that normally there was a mad dash to grab your seats before the game actually kicked off; but apparently the ring girls were supposed to be their entertainment, like some sick warm-up act.

The last time he'd seen a crowd as rowdy was at the strip club when he'd been inexplicably invited to Mark's stag do. Mark was his dad's number two, the guy being lined up to take over the company when his old man finally bit the dust. The bloke had spent the whole night weirdly trying to rub it in Steve's face how close he and his dad were, only finally shutting his mouth when after four beers Steve had lost his temper and had casually asked: "So are you sucking his dick, or--?" Mark had blushed furiously, started stuttering and stammering and had quickly disappeared. Steve had just downed the rest of his beer and hailed a cab, heading home to Robin to bemoan a wasted Saturday night.

Robin had whined about how it hadn't been fair that he'd been invited, but she hadn't. Everyone at the company had assumed they were a couple and after their first few jobs together they'd learned to just stop correcting people. Mainly because if they didn't their coworkers wanted to know why there weren't dating and usually "because we're like siblings" wasn't a good enough answer and then they had to deal with months of constant badgering and peer pressure to hook up. Robin had been right, of course, she would have enjoyed the strip club far more than he had. Personally, he thought grown men drooling over a half-naked woman, especially ones young enough to be their daughter, was a little grim.

A petite brunette who he assumed was Beth when she'd bounced up and down waving excitedly to him as she had headed into the ring, and her friend, who were both dressed in nothing but a metallic bikini and high heels, seemed to be enjoying themselves, however, especially when Beth's friend caught the attention of a stag do sitting in the front row.

The groom-to-be was obviously a high school jock surrounded by his "bros" and by the looks of things, either his father or the father-in-law-to-be who was glancing anywhere but at the ring, looking like he’d rather be anywhere else. It made Steve shudder to think that if his life had gone a little differently, if he and Nancy had stayed together, if he'd stuck with Tommy and the team, would that be him now? Would that be his dad? Or worse, poor Ted?

Thankfully he didn't have more time to dwell on it when Robin appeared next to him bumping purposefully into his side, swapping his empty beer for a cold one with a gentle smile. Chrissy quickly joined them on the balcony carrying a beer and a tray of nachos to share, shouting over the noise of the crowd to explain the rules to Robin when she had asked how they'd know who won.

Steve knew Robin knew the rules of boxing. Mainly because her grandpa had been an Olympic boxer, but he wasn't about to call her out on it. Plus, he liked how patient Chris was with her, he thought it was sweet when he wasn’t busy being a grumpy bastard.

The ring girls left the ring, Beth waving enthusiastically, shooting Chrissy a few hand gestures that Steve didn't understand but made Chrissy belly laugh as she headed out of sight. Then it was time for the match to get started; two gigantic blokes followed by a team of helpers charging into the ring, bouncing on their toes next to the smallest ref Steve had ever seen.

There was a bit of chatter and then the bell dinged, the ref moved, and the giants started to dance around one another, sizing each other up and dodging a few hits before the real action started. One hit, two. The excitement of the crowd and the anticipation were getting Steve's adrenaline pumping.

That was why he jumped three feet in the air when he felt hands land on his waist (that's what he told himself anyway).

Eddie laughed brightly as Steve spun around, his hands raised placatingly, "It's only me!" he yelled, giggling adorably. He smiled, placing a careful hand on Steve's shoulder and squeezing some of the tension out of his shoulder blade with gentle fingers. Slipping Robin a placating smile as she no doubt glared at him over Steve's shoulder. He elbowed her absentmindedly, giving her a look that said "eyes on your own date!" before turning his full attention to Eddie.

Steve was honestly kind of dumbfounded by Eddie's presence, when Chrissy had been alone in the lobby, he'd just assumed that Eddie wouldn't be joining them at all any more. He wouldn't have been at all surprised to find out that Eddie had packed up and gone back to Indy with Dan, even if he had spent the past half an hour trying desperately not to think about the implications of that. Especially when Chris had deliberately not said anything when Robin had asked the only question that had been on Steve's mind, “Where’s Eddie?”

Even a foot away Steve could tell something was off, Eddie’s eyes were puffy and bloodshot, and he’d done a terrible job of trying to hide it behind a thick layer of eyeliner. There was a permanent red patch down the side of his nose, like he’d scratched or rubbed at it too many times, bursting the tiny blood vessels. His hair was overly oily at the roots like he’d spent the day running his fingers over his scalp and his fingernails were bitten down to the quick; the skin looked painful to even look at and Steve had no idea how he’d dealt with acetone and nail polish to repaint his nails.

It was the gasp of the crowd reacting to the first real punch landing that brought him back to himself. Steve glanced behind him in time to see blood pour from the slightly taller one's mouth, followed by cheers and screams as the smaller of the two landed a second punch.

Steve shook his head, immediately turning back to Eddie, "Hi," he mumbled in astonishment.

Eddie smiled cautiously, "Hi," he greeted, stepping closer and reaching up to tuck a loose strand behind Steve's ear, "I'm sorry I'm late," Eddie yelled over the roar of the crowd, "Can we talk? After the match?" he asked nervously.

Steve's brain very obviously and very quickly went to the worst case scenario, that Eddie was here to officially ask for a divorce, but his poker face must not be what it once was because Eddie cupped his cheek gently forcing Steve to meet his gaze, "No! Nothing bad, I promise. I just want to tell you about my day, maybe we could go for that dinner we talked about?" he asked hopefully, pulling Steve’s SuperEl shirt out from behind his back and offering it to him.

Steve blinked at the shirt for a second and felt the smile tugging at his cheeks threatening to split his face in two. Hope starting to bloom unchecked in his chest, making his heart skip out of beat. Eddie's hopeful little smile had been the most adorable thing he'd seen since he'd seen him drooling into his pillow that morning.

Eddie beaming back at him when Steve nodded bashfully, nervously tugging the collar of his shirt through his fingers, came in a close third. Eddie’s hand got dislodged from his face when his head automatically flicked back to the action when the crowd let out an elongated "ooh!" as one of the boxers went down hard.

Steve took the opportunity to take Eddie by the hand and lead him out onto the balcony, leaning against the railing to face the action, waiting for Eddie to mirror him and get absorbed in the match, then turning to watch Eddie react with the most adorable second-hand winces as the smaller boxer tried and failed to get up.

Steve quickly found himself wanting to watch Eddie more than the fight. He tried to stealthily turn his whole body so he was leaning sideways against the railing. The metal bar digging into his ribs a painful reminder that he was here and this was real. That Eddie was with him, and he wanted to go to dinner and talk. That he wanted to tell Steve about his day! Wanted to take him on a proper bonafide date! Because he’d brought Steve his shirt. Honestly, he’d forgotten that he’d even left it in Eddie’s room. The thought that he must’ve hung it up in the closet for him, so it wouldn’t get wrinkled was so sweet it was making his heart want to burst out through his chest.

He knew he must look like the worlds most lovesick fool stood staring at Eddie's profile like he was the most beautiful man on the planet (which he was) and like he was the luckiest man alive to even be in Eddie’s presence (which he was) but he just couldn't find it in himself to care, he was going to take this moment while he could and store it in his heart forever.

The bell dinged again and Eddie looked over, flicking his eyes down noticing Steve's posture and smirking to himself. Steve felt the blush creeping up his neck and turned back to the action, forcing himself to not push himself too far into Eddie's personal space, but he needn't have worried. As soon as Steve was settled against the railing again, Eddie threw his arm around his shoulders, jostling him lightly and smiling joyfully at him, pressing a gentle kiss into his shoulder.

As the match went on Eddie's arm slowly slipped down his side holding onto his waist, then slipped further down to his hip where Eddie gave up and just hooked his thumb through Steve's belt loop, tucking his chin over his shoulder and pressing the odd kiss to any bit he could reach but just staying as close as he could, curled tightly into Steve side for the rest of the night; until the bigger of the two boxers had been knocked down for the final time, and it was time for the masses to disperse.

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Part 10

tag list my beloveds @estrellami-1 @gregre369 @adhdsummer @nerdfighteratheart @anaibis @dolphincliffs @hbyrde36 @marinarasarah @deadflowercollector @lunabookworm @a-couchpotato @wonderland-girl143-blog @ddharrington @abstractnaturaldisaster @lololol-1234 @bestwifehaver @steviejeebiez

#you know i proof read these things to death but tense changes and punctuation are my kryptonite!!#i'm just going to post this before i edit it again. sorry if there's any mistakes #steddie vegas au #steddie au #steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #robin buckley #chrissy cunningham #platonic stobin #platonic hellcheer #background buckingham #steve's pov #aj writes

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evanstarff · 6 years

Text

Tender

Pairing: Stucky x Reader; Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes x Reader

Word count: 8000 – you punks better get nice and comfy.

Summary: In the mood for life with a nomad and his white wolf.

Warnings: Angst, fluff, smut. Swearing. Do not read if you are under 18, because smut – please and thank you.

A/N: Reader is female and adopted.

This one’s for the eternally beautiful and inspiring @barnesrogersvstheworld for her #barnesrogers1K Writing Challenge! Her godly talent punched me in the face once and it was awesome 😂💗💗💗 My prompt was “shiver” – I had no idea where to take this except all over the place, so here we are. Please see endnotes for points of inspiration.

Masterlist here.

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It’s cold.

Cold in the way that carved its home in the pockets of a once warm heart. Prickled ice through skin and muscle, like a succubus of the sun.

Blankets and shelter were sourced through both careful wings and red-turned-white hot tenacity, but the chill touched bone.

Steve sat back in the quinjet. A momentary corner away from comrades he'd never feel able enough to repay. His anchor; a way of escape and a way of living – if some might call it that.

Still. It was a home.

The delay was palpable as Steve waited for the answer. Brushed gloved hands coarse through growing locks. Felt fingers scratch the furs across his jaw. A new habit picked up between cities and harrowed holes from the few small spaces where three souls found solace.

Black sand rose up from the bead, then connected in the shape of blue crystallised pulse. Framed with light as a familiar, gentle face appeared. Warm brown furs sketched along the line of a jaw and matched a curtain of hair drawn back in a bun.

“Steve.”

Bucky’s voice was heavy with unspoken affection. Breathed its way through vibranium-scuffed blue light and Steve felt it swell in his chest.

“Hey Buck.” Voice weighted in relief. “How's it going?”

Measured smile pressed through the lines of a softer face. Masked an emotion that could barely be contained.

“Not bad.” Eyes light blue with pixel perfect grey. “Where are you now?”

A soft chuckle blown passed warm lips. “You know I can't say.”

“Looks cold.”

“It’s alright,” Steve glanced down at his gloved hands. “Nothing we can't handle.”

“Nat looking after you?”

“Always.” Fingers fiddled with fabric, pulling them off and perched the beads just so to free his hands. “Sam too.”

Bucky smirked with begrudging respect. Crackled a dark laugh through the line. “He better be.”

Steve laughed, full and bright. “You guys make a good team.”

“To keep you out of trouble? We’d have to be.” Smile warmed affection through cheeks and bone.

Words came easier now and sentences pushed forward slow and sure.

Sunset still looks good this side of the world, can’t get enough of them – yeah, Buck, I remember that one time for my birthday and I completely forgot too – the Dora Milaje are something else. I’m a little scared of them actually – yeah, I would be too – Watched them train the other week and almost lost my guts when one of them looked at me funny. Shuri tried to push me into their training circle.

Laughter eased warmth through skin and muscle.

Steve felt the breath of home, hot in his soul.

Then the line flickered and his heart leapt fear in his throat. A few shaky moments passed through his lungs as the hologrammed image of Bucky returned, sweeping relief through his body.

He was silent on the other side. Cheek tensed in thought. Looking for the right way to say – what exactly, Bucky wasn’t quite sure. And then he spoke.

“She misses you.”

A tightness crawled from Steve's chest to his throat.

“I doubt it, Buck.” The words were practiced in his mouth yet pieced together wrong in the air.

“I think she doubts it too.” His reply was careful. Deliberate. “You know how she is.”

Stubborn to a fault.

“She spends a lot of time with the children – the elders too.” Bucky smirked as he continued. “I think she hangs around them more than I do.”

“Well, pal – clearly, you’re not old enough for her.”

“Funny that.”

They were silent for a time. Thoughtful. Relished the space between them.

“I should go.” Steve said at last. Reluctant.

“Yeah, okay.”

Steve measured the next words in his mouth, but it was Bucky who spoke.

“I’ll tell her you missed her.”

Bucky watched Steve’s face flicker something painful. A fraction of intensity retreating behind a mask. Composed now.

The quiet between them pulled stitches from the seams of time.

“Buck?”

“Yeah?”

Steve's voice was low. “I missed you too.”

Four words shivered down his spine and Bucky swallowed a cry.

“Yeah,” Recomposed himself and allowed a grim smile that ached in Steve’s chest. “Me too.”

A beat. And then another. The beats were never long enough.

“Buck, I’m sorry.” He truly was, right down to the hungry pit in his heart. “We should –”

“Yeah,” Bucky let out a breath. “See you soon?”

“A few weeks – maybe less,” came Steve’s reply. “I’ll talk to the King. Figure something out.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” Smile creased with worry on Steve’s face. “See you soon, pal.”

Their faces were torn together for one devastating moment. Then the line drew closed as Bucky disappeared into the light.

Dark again became the space where Steve took counsel with his thoughts.

He slipped the kimoyo beads back on his wrist. Curled tighter the tunic you’d pushed to him the last time he visited. A “top of the range Shuri special”, you’d called it. Your laughter had eased through his heart with the warmth of a kiss. Refused his remonstrations and set the children onto him, until he at last chuckled acceptance much to your triumph.

Steve realised it no longer smelled of you. Nor did it of him.

An ache settled cold in his heart.

---

Skinny moon carved a sombre smile in the night sky as water ran sharp through your fingers. It fell clean on dishes before being placed careful on the counter. Ears pricked and heart heavy to your bedroom door. Hands dried on a well-worn cloth and reached for the mug of tea on your way to your room. Grateful for your apartment on the outskirts of the Golden City.

Bucky felt you enter long before the door shut cold, pulling him close through the stringy lens of time.

First, when he woke with probing eyes of children, then all at once as he watched you in the glow of many a golden sunset. Warm and clear and sure in all the messy parts of him.

Your mug was placed hot on your bedside table next to his kimoyo beads. You tucked yourself into your father’s chair that sat beside your bed. It was one of few things he’d adopted into the nation those years ago – along with you.

Your father found you as a small child, curled around that chair. Lost in an orphanage of unwanted pieces from a nation torn by civil war, where he pushed through quiet diplomacy and friendship on the Panther Tribe’s instruction. Took you in amidst the terse-turned-warm words from the elders and the Border Tribe all those years ago.

Now you sat across from Bucky’s careful form. Two outsiders in a nation newly open to an endless and always changing world. You saw his face impassive with an unspoken tremor cottoned up in his chest. Pressed your hands to his knees as he met your gaze with heavy grey-blue eyes.

“Is he alright?” The question tangled with worry and curiosity that you could not fully grasp.

A breath passed his lips and eyes blinked. “I think so.” Fingers ran through shouldered hair as tendrils in his temples pulsed and settled. “Fuck, I hope so.”

Bucky’s words were wretched and angry, charging in your chest and you rose from your seat to kneel before him like a soothing prayer.

“Hey.” Hands gentle with a familiar warmth in his thighs. “He’s not alone. They look after him.” Nat. Sam. Two names without faces that felt strong and secure in your heart.

“I know.” Shaky breath now settled. “I know.” Repeated words to convince himself more than anything else. Grim smile seeped through his face and became a little brighter as they reached slate-grey blues.

“He misses you, you know.” Smile now teased across his sweet face as you felt the ache of a shadow cross your own. “I know, because you miss him too.”

“Hah,” Sardonic wit shielded the knot in your stomach. “I doubt it.”

“He said the same thing,” Bucky pressed on, humour in his throat and in his eyes. Hand reached out to pull you up and warm into a lap shaped like you. Tucked a strand behind your ear and thumbed your cheek. You let him press lips to your furrowed brow, his breath hot against your skin.

“You miss him.” Truth poorly disguised as a scoff. “You miss him like I miss him.”

“Maybe.” There was a sound in your voice that you chose not to comprehend as it pushed clarity into your heart.

“We can do maybe.”

We.

Lips smiled against your mouth as your body shivered anew with possibility.

---

II.

Bucky Barnes slept with the stars and woke with the sun.

Eyes brushed open with calloused hand that ran hopelessly through sleep-mussed hair. Knotted in the way that spoke of quiet dreams. He was warmed by your face rested on that favourite part of his neck, pulsing life through your skin. Your pretty head buried into him and he listened to your heart beat slow.

You inhaled softly with sounds of sleep. Smelling skin, wildflowers, ochre. A little straw from his company with the stars. Everything that was unmistakably him. Feeling fingers moved with such tenderness from your hair to your cheek, chin. Mouth.

A cheekbone brushed against his heart as he pressed a kiss to your brow and Bucky felt the smile curl against his neck as you spoke.

“Morning lover.”

His chest grew full like the light of a sunrise in a field.

“It’s today, isn’t it?” You continued, sitting up with suddenly nervous eyes.

“Yeah,” Bucky smiled. “He’ll come find us.” Eyes bright with excitement.

He’d come find you.

---

Sam had dropped him off somewhere near the border of Kenya. Boot-clad and tired feet landed beside curious eyes and faces that thought him peculiar. The quinjet pulled back up to a familiar sky with the promise of return after some many days. Shoulders shielded by a blue-rimmed tunic, Steve’s footfalls were strong and determined as he began the hike towards the Border Tribe.

Time coursed heat through mud, dirt, and shards of grass. It wasn’t quite worth it to run, though sometimes he thought it better to. He’d have gotten there faster and it never felt like there was enough time to burn.

“Captain.” Familiar eyes dark and warm rested on the figure striding through the field.

“W’Kabi.” Warm timbre in his voice.

“Another meeting with the King?” He spoke in riddles.

“You could call it that.” Small smile curled in Steve’s face.

W’Kabi returned the gesture. The two soldiers nodded in respect and understanding.

“They are by the lake.”

And Steve continued walking.

Drew to a stop much later as the familiar clearing came into view, glowing warmth to his face and in his heart.

Bucky.

You.

Him. Hay bales pulled and launched through the air with the grace of one arm and the ferocious strength of two. Smattering of goats strolled beside him as he crouched down to stroke one, small and furred in gold beside another, brown and curious.

You. Playful insults pulled and launched in his direction from the lake, smile brilliant on your face. Hair glowed in the sun against bared shoulders. Small classroom of children at your feet and counting flora. Little hands helped a stray stem make their way into your hair. One pressed hands to your face as you gifted fingers with a kiss before the elders came to herd them away.

Steve watched chestnut strands folded back in a bun and silhouetted in the afternoon light. Partially clothed in a familiar tunic and pants that hung low and comforting around his waist.

Bucky felt his presence before he arrived. Piercing and delicious in his heart and a familiar feeling of home disseminated through his soul. Slate blue eyes glanced away from the next bale and met pools of blue from across the golden clearing.

“Steve.”

You looked up at the sound of his name, eyes no longer fastened on the beloved children scampering away. Felt the muscle one called a heart thunder a wild storm against your chest amidst the sunny afternoon.

“Hey Buck,” his voice was warm. Emotional as arms embraced him firm and longing. Pulled back with a glance that said too much. “You look good.”

“Yeah, can’t say the same for you.” Struck a kiss, firm and full on Steve’s forehead.

You let go of the laugh that rumbled in your chest. “Don’t listen to him,” you offered, suppressing the tremble in your heart. “You look fine.” Finally let your eyes meet his own with careful hesitation.

Steve’s hair was a little longer now. Darkened against his crown and low at his neck, then drawn wild and coarse along his jaw. Uniform roughened and dirtied as a quiet darkness hid beneath his otherwise warm gaze. Strong arms pulled you to him and softened against his otherwise broad and hardy form.

You decided he’d never felt more like home than in this moment.

“You’re late,” you teased against the fabric of his suit. The painful spark in Steve’s heart slowly melted away when he met your eyes and took you in.

“Missed the rendezvous point,” he shot back and you cracked a lopsided grin that made him want to kiss it right off.

So he did. Just one. Hot and deep. And then another. And another. You tasted of plums and sun-kissed earth. Sweetened electricity to all the places in his mouth and in his heart.

Bucky coughed. Loud and abrupt.

“I’m sure that wasn’t the only thing you missed, pal.”

He pulled away from your lips with a face-splitting grin as you threw a handful of goat feed in Bucky’s direction.

Steve barked a laugh. Warm and full in his mouth and slow in his heart.

---

Crumbs. Always with the fucking crumbs. It was like babysitting bear-sized children.

“Typical,” you roasted to no one. Palm pushed specks of cookies and sweet potatoes parts off the counter to the bin. Ignored the feeling of something missing as it sat holed up in your chest.

You recalled the sudden distance carved between you and Steve soon after he kissed you earlier that afternoon. The walk back through the Golden City was weighed heavy in quiet conversation between two ancient souls while you distracted yourself with the chorus of the night. They had wandered off into the maze of the city as you excused yourself back to your quarters. Feigned a tiredness that was not quite untrue.

Steve had not met your eyes and the sinking in your heart grew cold as Bucky’s eyes worried on you. His sweet face tensed just a fraction with slate-blue eyes searching yours as he accepted your words. Told you he'd come find you later.

And so they did. Collapsed through your door and to the comfort of your room, hearts and minds given to an exhaustion of emotions.

You shook your head. More for yourself than the readings of the universe. Rounded through your kitchen and into your room with your midnight coffee; the substance had a strange tendency to help you sleep.

You folded yourself into the blue pillowed armchair seeking comfort. Took in the moonlight filtered through your blinds and finally let yourself glance to the two soldiers asleep in your bed. It was often favoured over the too-small frame in Bucky’s hut whenever Steve found a handful of days to come and see him.

Legs just touched with faces close. Close in the way that spoke of comrades yet breathed so gentle. Lingering fingers laced with lingering hearts. Intimate in the way it made you feel like you were intruding just by watching them.

They were beautiful in a way that was catastrophic.

You set your mug down on your desk and tucked your robe around you closer like a warm hug. Your favourite Shuri special, though the internet called it an ‘electric blanket’ much to her extreme displeasure. Eyes rested on the book you’d been thumbing for days yet never gotten far enough to call finished. Your mind was too focused on matters of the heart that were now amplified since he arrived.

This time was different.

You tried to focus on the words before you as resting eyes seeped through your resting body. Exhaustion and worry took you quiet into slumber.

The night woke you warm between tangled legs and cradled against a familiar solid chest. Heavy and comforted amidst soft sounds of sleep. Earth and wildflowers measured with the sweet smell of his skin and chestnut-dusted beard against your neck and in your lungs.

You let your eyes open slow in the darkness, realising you'd somehow migrated from your chair to the comfort of your bed. Allowed your breath to steady out. Eyes adjusted and then recognised grey-gold strands glowing in the moonlight. Matched to a careful face with eyes bright through the shadows.

Steve.

Endless and always Steve.

His fingers brushed gently through your hair and away from your brow. Your face grew warm. Tucked close between two souls and tangled hearts that lit up blue and slate-grey in your chest.

“Sorry for taking over your bed.” He was quiet as you unfurled yourself from Bucky's embrace, suddenly feeling too vulnerable.

You glanced at the time. 3AM. Few questions of the heart could ever be solved now.

“It’s okay.” You told his rueful eyes. “Really.” Allowed your hand to cup his face, gentle and sweet. Beard soft against your palm. “You guys seemed like you needed the rest.”

You cautiously pushed off the bed so as not to rouse the sleeping wolf and grabbed your now cold mug of coffee. Tucked your tunic around your shoulders and padded out to your kitchen.

It was too hot in your room. Warm in the way that was glorious yet suffocating all at once.

You measured the water from your tap and washed your mug. Welcomed the cold and sobering stream through your fingers.

“Hey.”

The ache in your stomach twisted just a fraction as you turned around at the agonising sound of his voice.

“Shouldn't you head back to bed, Rogers?”

“Your bed,” Steve corrected as he leaned against your kitchen counter. Smart-ass remark with that heartbreaking smile. Hair mussed with sleep and framed so beautifully against his kind face.

You breathed a quiet chuckle through your lips as you dried the mug and placed it clean on your dish rack.

“I don’t mind,” you told him. Glanced up and measured a careful smile on your lips as you let your eyes wander over him. His presence seemed to dim the light in your kitchen and slow time down to a stop.

You felt the atmosphere mooring with something unspoken. It was there in between the prickled sparks of warmth shared in the field earlier that day and the sweet pocket of comfort in your bed just now.

“Are we OK?”

Steve blinked. Unsure of your question.

“What do you mean?”

“This dance.” The words scratched low in your throat and thick in your heart. “We’ve been doing it for months, ever since Bucky and I…”

You heard yourself trail off.

Steve felt strands of hair through his fingers and palmed across his face as he felt the words sink in his chest. Anything he could touch and hold onto to quell the tides in his body.

“Steve,” you began and felt your voice falter.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he answered at last in a tone so low you almost didn’t hear him.

You found your legs cross the quagmired distance between you both. “I don’t either.” A shaky breath let loose between your lips and you took another. “You both feel the same for me.”

You felt incredibly naive.

A short infinity passed through the spaces between and then you realised your face was damp. Hot. Emotions threatened to engulf you with a heart that was tired from it all.

“Good night, Steve.”

Clarity wandered into his heart and he swallowed it whole.

You were halfway to your room when he reached for you. Trapped your face with strong hands that ever so slightly shook. Steve felt a breath stutter through his body as blue burned eyes searched yours.

This time was different.

Lips pressed soft and fragile to yours and you tasted salt and sleep. Something new. Carnal. Felt the groan pass through his lips as tongues touched. Mouths bitten and you felt a whimper from your throat cloud the space between. The sound entered him with a shiver. Pierced the dam in his veins and suddenly, he kissed you freely. Drinking you like a man parched in the arid desert that no longer gnawed in his mind.

“It feels the same for me too.” Words at last. Wet and fervent on his lips.

Steve kissed you until the morning light.

---

III.

Two pairs of worn and weary feet rested cool in the afternoon of a sunlit lake. One shaded by a bright crimson robe of a life renewed, the other by rolled trousers of blue and white; ones that had seen too much and found too little.

Grassy shards of light quivered across the field as the sun sailed light through the wide sea of the sky. Words and stories exchanged with fervour and emboldened in the new day. Memories matched to feeling. Held fingers and palms, steady in each other’s arms. Knowing all that distance was worth it to be here now.

“You ever think about having kids?”

Steve's voice smacked of shock. “What, with you?”

“No, with the goats.” Stupid punk. “I meant in general.”

“Never.” His reply grated through the air. “Come on, Buck – you know that’s not for us.”

Silence sank slow and steady between them, like pebbles being pulled from the shore. Steve watched the roiling surface of the lake carry ripples outward. Circles that drew in and then away from where bared ankles broke the surface. Reached the bank and then surged back slowly toward him. Always back again. Like coming home in ways he did not expect.

“Maybe.” Bucky spoke again. Honest. “I never really thought about it until…” He trailed off.

Steve felt the breath deep in his lungs and exhaled. “Until her.” He finished, eyes glancing to him at last. Full and understanding. The last couple of years had been kinder to him than they had been to Steve.

“Yeah,” Bucky agreed. Thoughtful. “Until her.” A beat. “Sometimes you.” He laughed a nervous laugh. “Sometimes her, but I mean – she probably has enough to figure out without us adding to it.”

The chuckle wandered warm into his mouth and Steve let himself feel hopeful in the daydream.

How strange it was to be nostalgic for a time they could never have.

“You seem different now, you know.”

A scoff escaped his throat. “Was it the beard that gave it away?”

“Attitude’s still shit though,” Bucky shot back with laughter in the corners of his mouth. He continued. Softer now. “Your heart sounds different.”

Steve met his eyes with an expression that no painter could begin to compose.

“Can’t hear the waves in there anymore.” He let the water ripple around his feet. Shimmering out and then in again. “You’re strong.”

Heat seeped through his neck at Bucky’s words, remembering how close they lay the night before. Different from the cold nights as children in a Brooklyn winter. Warmer. Easy and open.

Steve trembled at the memory. He felt naked when Bucky glanced at him with slate-blue eyes, longing and grateful. Held his breath as he guided a careful hand around the strand brushing his brow and pushed it behind his ear. Thumbed darkened furs that hid a kind and weary face.

“Hair’s not much different either.” Bucky said at last. “You still look awful.”

Laughter punctuated the air, like strings of fear snipped free. “Looked at yourself in the mirror lately, Buck?”

“Nah, I look great.” Bucky replied, cocky and sure. “She told me she likes it.”

Quiet smiles were shared between each other as they shifted their eyes to you in the clearing.

They watched you. Your hands outstretched and comforting to the children you taught and played and loved. Little bodies and little faces buttered with ochre, moving with you like water through a noble river and adoring its earthen banks. Confident. Effortless. Your face sunlit and bright against the lake.

Giggles met childish replies as you grinned back at the class. Casted your eyes to the sun that told you it was late in the day as you nodded to the elders, conversing in the knocks and skips of Xhosa and then some. Children were cajoled together and throwing faces and smiles back to you by way of goodbye.

You turned your head to the soldiers seated on the banks of the lake. Two beings forced to pick through the vicissitudes of the universe. A universe that was constantly turning, moving and would not wait for them to catch up.

“Hey!” Bucky called your name at full force, breaking the reverie. You cut your eyes to him, grin bright and wide on his exquisite face. “You love my hair, right?”

You felt the ease of his smile prickle its way into your chest as feet carried you to them. Folded legs behind broad backs that now curved towards you in the resting sun.

“The children love it,” Steve offered, eyes sly and teasing as you sat comfortably. Pressed a kiss, sweet and simple to your crown.

“Love is for children,” you told them and your own voice felt far away. “That’s how I learned anyway.” You brushed grass from your knees and sun from your eyes. “They suck love out of our bones and make it feel all worth it.”

The glint in Bucky’s eyes was now laced with something else. He took your hand, feeling its warmth press through his skin. Wanting to touch you and bring you back.

“Doesn’t leave a lot left for us.”

“It leaves enough,” you told him. Gazed sure and true to him as Steve pulled you close with strong hands.

Enough to feel worth it, he decided. Even when things felt simple, the weight of the days to pass were layered. Nuanced. Complexities that could not be resolved in the ways he thought he knew.

And yet here, he found this sense of expansiveness. Between Bucky. Between you. If only for a handful of days.

It was enough. He was whole.

---

Time crinkled in pieces through night as hands searched for warm skin beneath the sheets. They found chestnut hair tangled with a golden head and a pink mouth, hot and sweet.

“How long do you think we can keep you for?”

“Maybe a few more days.” Palm pressed carefully to your cheek.

You grinned, eyes pretty with mischief. Pushed a kiss soft and sweet to his lips. Lingering against tongue and then pulled away with a swell in your heart.

“I have so many dreams and fantasies about you, I can’t tell which is which anymore.”

He chuckled, warm and bright to match the green-speckled blue in his eyes. “It’s easy.” Kiss on your nose and golden beard tickling against your cheek. “Dreams are when you’re asleep.” Tongue stroked breathless and gentle against skin. “And fantasies are when you’re awake.”

“If you want them to be real, just say so.” Pink lips brushed against your neck as your mouth met another.

“If I could, I would kiss you all day long.”

Lips smiled against lips in response. “What a line, Rogers.”

“Stole it.”

“From me.” Gruff vibrations against your neck. “Just like everything else.”

“Sure, Buck.”

Chuckled sweet and lush in your ears. It seeped longing in your chest and spiked through your core.

Mouths brushed forceful on hot skin. Faces drawn back between eyes burned blue and another stormed grey. Fingers pushed through dark chestnut strands a little rougher than before, pulling a growl through tongues and coiled sweet between thighs.

“Do that again.” Enunciations low and darkened in his throat. “And I will kiss you all day long.”

“Try me, Barnes.”

Lips touched rough and prickled goosebumps along your neck. Hands casted paths of wildfire across skin. Waist. Thighs. Your mouth. Burned through muscle, skin, and touched bone.

“I want you.” Mouth against veins. “Helpless,” Lips pulled pulse. “Tender.” Hand travelled slow and cupped your face. “Open.” Thumbed your mouth apart and breathless. “With only me to help.”

Tendrils of heat licked their way into your core and then he heard your breath hitch as words poured hoarse.

“Kiss me, my love.”

Your voice pulled a sweet, agonising affection that ached through their hearts.

They devoured you.

---

IV.

Steve was folded in the blue-cushioned armchair he now claimed as his own.

Fabric on the armrests wearied and worn yet still special in the way few often saw. Star-spangled uniform folded with strong, decisive hands on your desk alongside one of Bucky’s many tunics. Kimoyo beads rested on top. Your eyes carried to a shirt pulled too tight across shoulders to legs extended, long and inviting.

Fingertips sketched soft lines along your calves. Sweet Bucky and roughened pads gentle and tender on your skin.

Good for holding your body, your face. Better for pulling you apart.

“Read to me.”

The words were low in his throat as Bucky rested his back against your headboard. Watched you from shadowed lashes under the afternoon light, dappled through the window of your quarters. Rested on ponytailed hair that pushed longing between his thighs. Bare shoulders, down your spine to the curves of your cheeks. Modesty protected only a little.

Waiting fingers caressed the backs of your legs as you lay on your stomach beside him, weight propped on your elbows and back bared to him. Poetic universe opened before you with eyes casting over words that etched a song into your soul.

You took a breath. Then you spoke.

“Whoever you are holding me now in hand.” Breath let out. “Without one thing all will be useless.”

Fingers became palm and drifted higher. Achingly slow. The sheets shifted beneath you.

“I give you fair warning before you attempt me further.” Heat now pressed from his fingers to the flesh. Closer.

You continued.

“I am not what you supposed, but far different.”

Steve brushed strong and careful hands on the paper before him. Pencilled notes and images added to the pages of a well-worn journal, borrowed from a hut beside a lake. Lulled by the sound of your voice and a shade of something more.

“Who is he that would become my follower?” Your voice was smaller now. “Who would sign himself a candidate for my affections?”

Steve glanced up at the sound of your breath, hitched suddenly and almost a gasp. Blue met slate grey, blown hot and simmering in return.

Fire stirred between his thighs.

“The way is suspicious, the result uncertain, perhaps destructive.” The prose felt warm in your mouth. “You would have to give up all else, I alone would expect to be your sole and exclusive standard.”

Bucky slid careful fingers against your heat. Pressed gentle. Sweet.

The next words were cut breathless from your throat as his fingers slip beneath hemline. Thighs pushed wider. Just. So.

Steve shifted in the armchair and watched the facade of composure slowly crest away from your face.

“Your –” A quiet agony swallowed in the back of your mouth. “...novitiate would even then be long and exhausting.”

The distance between your breaths became shorter as fingers stroked. Strolled slow and leisurely.

“The whole past theory of your life and all conformity to the lives around you would have to be abandon’d.”

You almost spat out the last line. Forced yourself to concentrate on the words in front of you. Heat licked fire through your body and caught Steve’s eyes to you. Shadowed and carnal in yours.

“Therefore release me now.” Fingers now moved a touch faster with specificity. “...before troubling yourself any further.” Teasing heat through your core in the way he knew you best.

“Let go your hand from my shoulders.” You swallowed the moan that threatened to surface, breathless. “Put me down and depart on your way.”

You ripped your eyes away from the pages allowing one gasp. Moved to glance back to Bucky behind you, but strong hands forced you to look ahead into fired pools of blue.

“Eyes on me, lover.” Steve’s voice was dark in his throat and hot against your lips. Golden furs caressed along your jaw, your nose. Your mouth.

You continued.

The words came easier in the next verse as you breathed deeply. Resolve carried you forward.

And then Bucky. His arm hot and firm against your belly, pulled you up toward him. Propped the seat of your spine to eye level.

Rough.

On your knees.

“Shh,” Steve's eyes are burned into on yours and you felt the air rush away. “You know the next line.”

Bucky's hand found agonising comfort on your bare skin.

You continued.

“Here to put your lips upon mine I permit you.”

And then his love licked the softly edged parts of you, pulling a gasp from your lips. Breathless as chestnut hair whispered adoration between your cheeks.

“With the comrade’s long-dwelling kiss –” A cry swallowed through your throat with difficulty as Bucky folded lips with ease. “...or the new husband’s kiss.”

Steve’s mouth found yours. Lush and almost bruised with distraction on your tongue.

“For I am the new husband.” His voice was low as he continued the next line for you. Eyes invited bonfire and yours closed in desperation.

“And I am the comrade,” Another whisper, hoarse and so soft. Lips pressed to the sweetness in your salt, flush from inside like a lover.

You continued. The words now shook in your mouth.

“Or if you will.” Gasp, breathless and lost past your lips. “Thrusting me –” Words clipped low as you shuddered against tongue and muscle. “...beneath your clothing.”

Steve burned blue on yours, catching fire. Patient as you pulled air from somewhere within the haze. Fingers fisted, then opened to try to contain the feeling.

“Where I may feel the throbs of your heart or rest upon your hip.” Words sprinted forward and his hands were on either side of your face and ripping fire through your skin. Your fingers reached up to cling his own by way of something to hang on to.

Bared between pools of blue and the desperate tension in your core, you felt more naked than ever.

“Slower.” Steve’s voice was low and heavy through your spine. Lips swollen and pink and tone shaking if you listened careful enough.

But you did not. You continued.

“Carry me when you go forth over land or sea, for thus merely –”

It began low in your belly and you moaned. Shuddered. Discarded the pages and tried again. Closed your eyes. Then opened. Glanced hazy at the vision before you. Noted the strain in his blue burned eyes, embers of heat and want.

You continued. From memory.

“For thus merely touching you is enough – oh – is best.” Ragged groan stuttered from your lips and those blue burned eyes darkened in yours.

Thighs trembled with the effort of trying to keep yourself from splintering. Bucky’s breathy laugh was hot with fingers wet against your folds. Vulgar and sweet.

Hands, clammy and fisted on the sheets. Something to grip. You found more words deep within your soul. Prepared them on your tongue and swallowed with determination.

Strong hands wrapped firm against your neck to steady your body. Thumbs on your cheeks, rubbing your bottom lip, then hooked in your mouth. Eyes pushed up to him and Steve kissed your wretched face. Nerves prickled through knees that were now unsteadied. Tingled up your thighs, through your hot centre. Your chest was tightened slow and swallowing up in your throat.

Steve released your lips with eyes that beckoned.

You continued.

“And thus – OH – touching you – fuck!”

Bucky released you. Broke the river in your mouth. Epicentre detonated from your belly and fractured through your body like a hurricane. Hot and cold and desperate through your entire being. Impressionist paintings splashed on the canvas of his mind as he watched you come apart before him.

Disintegration.

Goosebumps fizzled through your thighs and splintered down your spine. Coursed through blades one called shoulders. Knives carving electricity all drunk and delirious through your skin, muscle, bone. Everything became muted and hollow with white noise.

Steve soaked up your pleasure with his mouth. Pulled it through your lips as your shaky gasps steadied and slowed. Reached behind you and pushed your love into Bucky. Lips against teeth and tongue and grinning as you lay shivering between them; folded beneath them like a servant praying to gods. Exhausted. Entrenched and vulnerable to the universe.

Everything was quiet.

Fingers drifted slow across tender skin. Slate blue eyes drew wide open. Naked. Drawing heat through familiar places. Strong hands pushed chestnut hair behind ears. Cupped gentle against a face so beautiful it almost broke his heart.

His eyes rested on your face, utterly wrecked and raw as you slipped into slumber.

Strong hands. Good for pulling you apart. Better for holding you together.

Bucky found Steve through the haze.

He continued.

“And thus touching you,” Pink lips brushed whispers on hot skin. “Would I silently sleep and be carried eternally.”

Then Steve's lips found their home in Bucky.

Hands drew careful paths on skin, pulling bliss from deep beneath his chest. Through muscle, skin and mouth. Finding light in new places when palms quickened to hips. Backs. Cheeks. Heat. Gentle and rough, a shiver through thighs and in his face, and then sweet again. Satiated his soul.

His heart sounded different, it was true. Strong.

They were light shone gold and simmered over lover’s spit.

---

The call came through on a Sunday of rain and washed through the depth of night.

Steve awoke before the first ring as if long anticipating its arrival.

“Nat.”

“Rogers.”

He peeled himself careful from beneath Bucky's sleeping embrace and padded to the kitchen. Lit by moonlight and the whisper of morning.

“Are you…?”

“I'm good.”

Nat pressed forward with words of quiet urgency disguised as a simple update. Voice husky and low and all the more so as it crackled through the old comms device that ran on analog airways.

“You know how it is.” Her words were short. Nonchalant and delivered with an untold worry of tomorrow. “A little rough and ready.”

Steve heard the familiar smile crease in the corners of her mouth, the kind that did not reach her eyes.

“Sam?”

“Oh, he's fine.” Her throaty chuckle breathed through the airwaves. “Little worse for wear, but nothing we can't handle for now.”

Steve felt the anxious pit worry deep in his belly.

“Nat.” What words could there be to give them. He swallowed the weight in his throat.

She accepted the silence before speaking again. “We’re alright, Steve.”

He heard her pause. “We'll see you at the border. Tomorrow at dawn, like we agreed.”

It was an unspoken request. The kind that Steve would not ignore.

“I gotta go, Rogers.” A pause. “Tell James I said hi.”

And she was gone with the dull click of the tone.

Steve let out a breath. Heavy in the air and terribly slow in his lungs.

Moments passed by in sweet silence as the emerging light of the day bloomed across the kingdom. Across mountains painted gold and green through the horizon, then spiked with the familiar pylons of the city that shared its namesake. Stretched the beginnings all anew.

It was so beautiful.

“You look after her, would you?”

Bucky almost cried with laughter at Steve’s question. “You know she’s tougher than she looks, right?” Smacked a kiss to his forehead, quick and stupid. “Give her some credit.”

Steve allowed himself a smile. Glanced up at the sun-splintered light across the kingdom in the early morning glow. Leaned back and relished the hard rock surface from the mouth of the panther beneath his palms.

“Yeah,” he breathed a chuckle through his nose. “I know.” A pause and then fingers ran through flaxen hair. “You know –”

“You haven’t done this before.” Bucky’s hand reached and matched his own as they rested on its journey behind his ear. Careful on Steve’s cheek and then lips pressed tender to his own.

“Neither have I.” Slate-blue eyes measured full with emotion as Bucky breathed slow. “It’s –”

“Different.”

A thin, nervous line of a smile crested through his mouth and into the corners of his eyes. Glowing in the sunrise painted pink and ochre, seeping purple and ink from the stars.

“Yeah,” Bucky decided. “Different.”

“She’s inside me like you are, Buck.” A sigh, quiet and unsure. “It’s almost like breathing.”

A hum of contentment. He knew. It was a bit like that with you. You and your easy, adoring ways. Constant like the dawn.

Time burned slow, then dissipated fast when it came to things that mattered. Smatterings of feeling and moments soaked through the fabric of his soul with a peace that Steve found hard to cherish so freely.

Still, he tried. Then he scoffed as realisation prickled through his memory.

“I think this is the first time you’ve dragged me into something that wasn't my own doing.”

Bucky laughed full and familiar. “Says the punk whose ass needed saving in every second New York alleyway.” Eyes casted back to those burning blue against the light. “It’s worth it.”

He watched the smile on Steve’s face flicker anguish, then glow such affection that it swallowed up the space in his chest.

“Thank you for saving me, Buck.”

The expression on his face shattered like a pebble puncturing stillness from a lake. His kiss was almost bruising on Steve’s mouth. Hot and desperate. Bucky was never one for sentiment, he knew as much, but the remnants of the days shared would linger on his lips for weeks to come.

Steve was warm and breathless when Bucky pulled away. Thumbed the terrible ache away from his heart and feeling the golden furs comforting beneath his palm. Grief disguised behind a calm and gentle face as sly eyes took over. And then he spoke, sure and true.

“She kinda saved us.”

You’d saved them, it was true. Yet Steve wondered how long it would be before they might have to save you. What time would there be left to save?

“Steve,” Bucky's voice broke through his reverie as the sun reached its destination in the sky. “Come back.”

Shoulder patted firm and deliberate. Golden strands were curled behind his ear with careful fingers that now stroked brow, then cheek.

“Don’t leave us before you leave us, yeah?”

Blue eyes burned through the light of his renewed life as he glanced at Bucky. Thought of the possibility of home in the field with him. Those wretched bleating goats. The children and you. Bathed in golden light.

Steve smiled rueful and warm.

Endless. Always.

---

You awoke bone-tired and dry. Like a towel hung out coarse on the line and too long in the heat of the summer. Stretched legs and arms like that of a child reaching for shaded respite from a sun stroke beneath the sheets.

They were not here.

Eyes flickered open and wandered through the small spaces in your room. Noticed Steve’s things were folded tidy and deliberate on the armchair he now claimed his own.

You felt weightless when you saw the light from your kimoyo beads. A message from Bucky that told you where they were. Where they chose to be until sundown and not to worry.

The rest of your day was cobbled together like a novel with pages torn out by the fistful. You drifted through some of the day with the merchants. Chose fruit, dark on the skin and golden and tart to the flesh. Other ingredients filtered through the hours in a way that you weren’t quite sure how to assemble. You took to the familiar clearing and exchanged words and laughter with the children, the elders. Cheer that did not reach your eyes. Sat in the company of goats beside the hut that did not house the two soldiers who lit bonfires in your heart.

You knew how it worked. You’d always known how it worked.

The fragments of time you could grasp felt shorter on this side, carried by the weight of something that you could not fully comprehend.

Their strong and gentle forms found you later that evening. Soaked by the day and the light of one last sunset. Curled against each other as if weaved together through the careful threads of time. They waited in the spaces of your room, now full with all the reckless and exquisite parts of them. You always felt like you were intruding and it worried deep in the recesses of your heart. And yet – they always seemed to have space for you.

Steve watched your lips, a line of refrain and worry. Curved brave and asked a question that you already knew the answer to.

“You're leaving in the morning?”

He gifted you a silent smile with grim eyes that wore a sorrow that he could no longer hide. Quiet. So blue. Took your hand and brushed soft knuckles to his lips as he melted you to him. Pressed you to his chest, face inhaling your hair and breathing in all that was you.

“Before dawn,” came Bucky’s voice. Slow and pained.

“Not sure when I’ll be back,” Steve’s words were on your lips and shaking in your heart.

You pulled back. Gifted him back a smile with a sense of ending. “It’s okay.” You heard yourself say. Eyes glanced wet and sweet to him. Then to Bucky. “It still feels the same.”

The night became hazy and strained. Frantic. Rough, then gentle around the edges and then starved again.

You were pushed and collided so close to them that you could almost hear their great chests trembling in yours.

---

Morning came slow and quiet. Muted in light and feeling.

Peaceful.

Steve watched you. Wrapped close and comforting against Bucky's sleeping form. Against his heart. Breathed in the scent of you as he pressed lips sure to your brow, and then your lips.

Another to Bucky. His cheek, his mouth.

“Steve.” Quiet and breathless as eyes flickered open.

“I gotta go, Buck.” Smile carved quiet devastation on his face. “I’ll be seeing you.”

One more. Aching lips and tender with desperate hands. The tremor broke in his chest with the glow of the dawn as he pulled away.

Steve was long gone when the sunlight reached the sill of your window.

Hands reached across the bed and an emptiness made a home somewhere in your heart. It pushed your face into the sheets and you breathed deeply. Felt him ache through your chest to your bones.

Your pillows smelled like him. You loved the way he smelled. Freshly washed. Mussed.

Freshly loved.

The shiver coursed through your body and Bucky felt it in his soul.

You missed him.

---

Endnotes

Skype inspiration in Part I is sourced from @valyavalkyrie’s post and @barnesrogersvstheworld imagines, except that I changed it to kimoyo beads, because of course Steve would have one as would Bucky and the reader.

The last bit of Part III is paraphrased from this scene from Paul Thompson Anderson's film, The Phantom Thread (2017).

The poem in Part IV is Whoever You Are Holding Me Now in Hand by the always heartbreaking Walt Whitman from Leaves of Grass (1860). Some interpretations of this poem say it describes an unspoken love between two men, hence why I chose it.

Part IV is also inspired by the very excellent video series, Hysterical Literature (2012) by Clayton Cubitt. The first one with my very favourite Stoya is highly recommended. Some inspiration also courtesy of @tropicalcap’s filthy brilliant headcanons.

More adopted reader backstory here and here and here. Masterlist here.

Special thanks to @borkingbarnes and my IRL cousin for proofreading my trash 💗

Oh yeah, the Spotify playlist I had on loop while writing this piece.

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