Archive of Our Own ^beta

Steve sat in his studio staring at a blank canvas on his easel long after he heard the metal doors to the freight elevator slam shut, followed by a mechanical rumbling as the elevator lowered to the ground floor. Bucky was on his way back to his house with plans to write. He had a deadline approaching, he was procrastinating on writing the ending to the first Brian Casey novel, and his editor had called to ‘see how things were going’ every day that week. Maybe one of us will get some work done today, Steve thought to himself.

Steve: Help me, dude! I have no ideas here.
Clint: ??? what are you stressing over today?
Steve: This gallery show, I thought a change of scenery would help give me ideas, and inspiration, but I have 4 months to finish and nothing to show so far
Clint: What’s in the current sketchbook? Still pages and pages of Bucky?

Steve blushed, even though there was no one there to see him. Clint knew that he had never stopped drawing Bucky, not really. He would try not to, but then he would notice that the stranger he had been sketching had Bucky’s eyes, or smile. Always dark hair and blue eyes, despite other differences, as Steve subconsciously drew his ideas of what Bucky may look like now, after 5 years, 10, 16 years. And that hadn’t really changed, except now he was drawing the real Bucky again, who had been in front of him moments before, touching him, and kissing his lips before leaving.

Steve: Yeah, still him. The real him now. And trains.
Clint: Then make the show about him. Or trains. It's really up to you.
Steve: Somehow I doubt I can make an interesting show about riding on trains with a boy.
Clint: I think you just found your theme. :) Stop thinking and just start drawing. You got this.
Clint: You got him back, man. Life is good.

Steve just sighed and set his phone down, thinking about what Clint had said. He slipped out the window at the back corner of the loft, and onto the fire escape. Being the top floor, it was almost like a balcony, with views of the canal and west side of Brooklyn. The sun had set about an hour before, and the blue hour had given way to dusk, as streetlights and buildings began to light up, drowning out any stars in the sky.

Clint was right. Steve had his Bucky back, but it wasn’t how he imagined it. Bucky wasn’t how Steve remembered or imagined him to be. He thought of the man he had found, and had struggled to recognize as his childhood best friend, and felt sad for him. He had returned to a man who was shy, skittish almost, wary of strangers like a dog who had been beaten and didn’t trust niceness anymore. He had run and hid from the doorbell, and Sam had just shrugged like it was a normal occurrence. Steve tried imagine what had happened and repeatedly cringed at the worst case scenarios of bullying and abuse his brain supplied him. Maybe he could talk to Sam about it, the only other person Bucky seemed to trust.

Steve: Hey man, you free for coffee sometime this week?
He sent the text to Sam, and slipped his phone back into his pocket, shivering slightly as a cold breeze whipped across the fire escape, and went back inside. He by passed the blank canvas, and headed for the kitchen in the living area of his loft instead, and warmed up some leftover pasta for dinner.

He sat on the couch eating, barely tasting the food he shoveled into his mouth as his brain flashed through memories of Bucky, Natasha, Peggy, Clint, and Kate. Everyone who had really understood him. It was a short list, he realized.

At 17, Steve had come out to himself as far as realizing he wasn’t straight, but really had no idea beyond that, and no idea what to do with that knowledge. Like any suburban teenager would do, he turned to the internet to confess that he liked girls, and wasn’t sure how he felt about being one. His parents were dead and his aunt and uncle had become his legal guardians. It was no secret that they were taking him in out of a sense of duty, or pity perhaps, rather than desire, and Steve vowed to move out as soon as possible once he turned 18.

Natasha was the first real friend he had made since leaving Brooklyn, and Bucky, being assigned as roommates at Northwestern University. She was studying dance, and Russian, and named a different tiny town no one had heard of (but was real) every time someone asked where she was from. She was kind of terrifying, but they got along great from the start. Years later, when Stephanie finally came out as Steve her, Natasha admitted that she had always suspected that.

He only stayed at the University for a year, having taken a wide range of art and media and web coding classes, but feeling too indecisive about what he actually wanted to major in, dropped out instead of going deeper into debt. He eventually enrolled in one of Chicago’s City colleges instead, taking classes that interested him as he could afford them and paying up front. It wasn’t going to get him a degree, but he was still learning.

He met Clint on a message board for GLBT youth while he was still at Northwestern, and had met in person after months of private messaging through the site. They met in person at the Belmont El stop, at the edge of Boystown one night, and as promised, Clint took him to his first Queer artist hipster party in a Chicago loft. Steve had never felt so at home before, while simultaneously feeling confused, and nervous.

He stood in the corner nursing a beer, watching the party around him. He watched a girl with a shaved head and x’s taped across her nipples dance with a drag queen, a guy who looked like he was having the time of his life dancing with fluorescent eye makeup and glitter all over his body, and several people whose gender he couldn’t determine. Something about not being able to tell intrigued him, and felt comforting in a way he couldn’t explain.

Clint returned with a tall brunette at his side.
“Oh, He’s cute.” she asked, voice deeper than Steve had expected “What’s his name?” She asked grinning at him.
“Oh, no, this is Steph” Clint replied, looking apologetically at Steve “She’s not…”
“No?” the woman asked, raising her eyebrows slightly at them. “Well, good to meet you Steph, I’m Kate. Let’s go dance.”

It was almost a year later when Steve slid up next to Kate at a party, feeling brave after a couple drinks. He had been living in the city, sharing an apartment in Logan Square with Clint and working at Whole Foods for a couple months, and Kate had become one of his best friends.
“Whats up, Kate?” he asked nervously.
“Hey, Steph.” Kate replied, raising her glass slightly.
“So remember when we first met at that party, and you thought I was…” he rambled.
“Transgender. What about it?” She asked with a knowing smile.
“You were right, and um, I ,uhh.. I’m Steve.” He stuttered.
“How’s it going, Steve? You know, it's funny how most of us choose names that are super close to our birth names. Or we come up with a new variation on Aiden. I was Keith.” She was smiling at him now, hand on his arm while he slowly came down from his near panic.

Steve let himself relax under Kate's touch, realizing that all this felt right.

Steve jumped slightly as his phone chimed in his pocket, pulling him out of his memories. It was a text from Sam.

Sam: Tomorrow afternoon? Meet me at the VA around 2 and we’ll go to a place nearby.
Steve: That works for me, see you tomorrow.

Being able to work whenever he wanted to was both a blessing and a curse. It meant being able to make plans easily around his friends busy schedules, but it also meant no one was forcing him to get to work.

He picked up his sketchbook and looked back at the pages he had filled in the past week. It was almost all Bucky, with the exception of a few quick sketches of train passengers. He flipped further back into the book, and found a detailed sketch of Bucky on the Q train, Coney island and the Beach just coming into view in the background. The expression on his face was almost child-like, expectant as he looked out the window. It reminded him of the El in Chicago, and Clints face as they rode the train to a party or show. His own face when he rode home from the therapy session when he had finally gotten his prescription for testosterone.

He turned to a blank page in his book, and began sketching a scene from years ago of Clint, Kate and him on the brown line train, it was his 21st birthday and they were taking him to what they claimed to be the ‘best bar night of the month’ called FKA night, or Formally Known As.

“Were almost to the zig-zag turns!” Kate announced, jumping up into the aisle of the train car. “Train surfing!”
Clint and Steve jumped up to join her. Planting their feet wide and putting their arms out to balance. They all fought to hold back laughter as they waved their arms and leaned back and forth to try to keep their balance as the train wove through buildings on the elevated tracks, making 90 degree turns. Touching the seats or hand rails meant you lost at train surfing, and would have to endure minutes of ridicule.

Steve had to admit that Clint and Kate were right, and that FKA night was pretty awesome. The music was good, everyone was gay or trans or queer in some way, and while there was the expected high levels of drama, there wasn’t much hate or judging that he noticed. Normally he stood out a bit as the weird skinny kid in public, but here, it got him the right kind of attention from guys and girls. (According to Kate, he usually looked super androgynous, and it made people uncomfortable when they couldn’t figure out if he was a guy or girl) More than once Clint had to pull him out of a makeout session because it was time to go home. Steve had learned the hard way that it was easier to say goodbye to his friend of the month and get in the cab with Clint than to take 2 trains and a bus home because he drank away his cab money.

He met Peggy one night at FKA, and she followed them to the cab after Clint announced it was time to go and climbed into Steve’s lap in the back seat. Steve just nodded and shrugged, totally cool with the situation, and less than an hour later, Peggy was in Steve's bed, naked except for her panties. Steve turned off the light, and stripped down to his boxers and binder before climbing into the bed next to her. He pinched her nipple while they kissed, making her whimper and beg, and slipped a hand into her underwear, teasing her clit while she trembled and gasped, finally bucking her hips with a cry and sank into the mattress. After a moment, she reached toward the waistband of Steve’s boxers but he brushed her off saying he was fine and just wanted to go to sleep. He lay in the dark, listening to Peggy’s breathing as he fought off an anxiety attack, resisting the urge to run from his own bed and the blissed out woman in it.

Steve took Peggy to breakfast the next morning, and walked her to the train station, saying goodbye with a quick kiss before she disappeared underground. They dated a few weeks, going to art exhibits, and to dinner, and spent several nights on Peggy’s couch talking over movies with the occasional make out session. Peggy would often try to take it further, but it never took long for Steve to change his mind and put a stop to things. One night, she had fallen asleep on Steve’s couch, half on his shoulder, and Steve, after gently waking her up, invited her to stay the night again. They were laying in the dark, when Peggy spoke, interrupting the silence that had turned awkward.

“I hate to bring it up this way, but we need to talk” She said, almost hesitantly. Steve tensed up slightly next to her, turning slightly in her direction. Good talks never started with those words. “I like you, and I’ve enjoyed spending time with you, but I don’t think you really want to be with me, like this.”

“Peggy, I uh.. I” Steve struggled to reply, but didn’t really have anything to say.
“It’s ok, Steve. It’s fine that you don’t want to have sex with me, or maybe with anyone. I’m sorry that you made yourself feel uncomfortable trying, because you really didn’t have to. And I’m sorry that I kind of used you in a way.”

“Used me? What do you mean by that?” Steve asked, sounding slightly hurt.

“I’m a lesbian, Steve, and you are definitely a guy. I feel terrible for saying this, but I thought you were cute when I saw you at the bar, and when I realized you’re not on T yet I thought maybe… But you remind me too much of the guys I dated when I was trying to be straight, and why I like girls, because sorry, but you helped me realize I want to be with someone who identifies as female. I feel like I used you to experiment with a pan or bi-sexual part of me that really isn’t there. And I think you want to be with a guy.”

Steve smiled in the dark, and rolled over to pull Peggy into a hug.
“Thank you” He said in a half whisper. “I don’t think you used me, and I’m not mad, kinda happy to hear that, actually.” Because he was, he wanted to laugh at being dumped by a lesbian for being a guy.
“And for the record, It’s not that I didn’t want to have sex with you, and let you touch me, I just couldn’t. I think the idea of it scared me a little, made me anxious about what's actually in my pants, and the idea of breaking the facade of being a guy…” he trailed off, unsure of how to continue.
“And that’s fine.” Peggy assured him. “That’s what therapy is for, to work through that anxiety. Maybe you will meet someone who you can feel comfortable with physically someday, or maybe you won’t. Not all relationships have to be about sex.”

“We can still be friends, right?” Steve asked, sounding worried.
“Definitely” Peggy replied “Now, let's get some sleep.”

Steve looked down at his sketch book, he had filled several pages of memories of his friends from Chicago, remembering the exciting energy as they headed to a bar or party, the subdued rides home when they were ready to pass out, fighting the urge to fall asleep on the red line. Of Peggy, holding onto a pole by the train door as they headed to a restaurant or gallery. It was weird how many of his memories involved riding trains through the city. He realized Clint was right, and he probably did have a show here.

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Steve had gotten up early the next morning, and had 7 of his 15 pieces sketched out before meeting with Sam for coffee. He felt a bit awkward about his plan to ask about Bucky behind his back, but he was worried, and wasn’t sure Bucky would give him a real answer. Sam though, he trusted to at least tell him if he should actually be worried.

They went to a small coffee shop a couple blocks from the VA, with dark wood and big comfy couches. The few customers looked comfortable, with books and laptops out, studying, or working, or just relaxing. They got coffees, and sat in a couple armchairs in the corner.

“So I’m guessing you want to talk about why Bucky looks like a kicked puppy half the time.” Sam said, getting right to the point.

“Yeah, I think I do at least, but I don’t want to be invading his privacy talking about him like this.” Steve replied.

“I wouldn’t worry about it. He knows we all think he's weird, and I think he almost prefers not having to talk about it himself.”

“I keep imagining all these worst case scenarios about what might have happened, of trauma and violence. Who hurt him Sam?” Steve asked

“It’s nothing like you think, no bullying or abuse, but I think someone did hurt him.” Sam replied, looking sad as he tried to assure Steve. “I don’t mean to be saying it's your fault, but It was you.”

Steve’s breath caught as he realized what Sam said.
“When I left him alone, when we were 14 and we were already in love with each other.”

Sam just nodded. “From what I’ve figured out over the years, he never really made new friends after you left, but became even more introverted. He was the weird nerdy kid who almost never talked, and who’s real life existed on line, in science fiction related chat rooms and message boards.”

Steve just sighed, imagining it all easily.
“We were always the weird, nerdy kids.” Steve explained, “but growing up we had each other to be weird with. And we were always together too, his mom treated me almost like another one of her own kids, saying that If I was going to stay over for dinner so often, I could at least help with some chores.”

Sam laughed a little. “That hasn’t changed much.” He told Steve. “I end up doing dishes almost every time I have dinner over at Bucky’s moms house.”

“Bucky and I tried to stay in touch, and we started out chatting all the time on AOL, but It wasn’t the same when we couldn’t actually see each other in person anymore. Neither of us could afford the trip to visit. Then the great social media reset happened, and AIM and Myspace were abandoned as Facebook took over, and sometimes even the people in your top 8 got lost. He kinda disappeared, I changed my name, and we lost contact. I tried to look him up, but couldn't find any solid ways to contact him.” Steve explained, sounding a little bit anxious.

“That's because you were searching for Barnes, and he was only online as Jay Winters, the weird, secretive writer.” Sam replied, dismissing Steve's worries. “I get how it is, I don’t talk to any of my best friends from college anymore, even though we promised to all stay in touch forever. Then again, I wasn’t in love with any of them.”

“I didn’t know it at the time, but I did talk to him a few years ago.” Steve mused. “I e-mailed Jay Winters with a few questions while I was working on a paper on one of his books. We exchanged e-mails about the lead character for a couple weeks. He wouldn’t have connected the name Steve Rogers to me, having known me as Stephanie Grant, and I had no idea Bucky had become an Author.”

“Damn, thats kinda crazy.” Sam said. “So I gotta ask, what was James like as a kid?”

“He was super protective, always stood up for me when other kids tried to make No girls allowed rules, and… Wait.” He hesitated a second “you know I’m trans, right?”

“Yeah, James outed you to explain how the Steph he had always talked about was back.” Sam explained, looking apologetic.

“That's cool, I assumed something like that would happen.” Steve assured him. “I’m not like, totally out to the public, because I don’t want to be known as “the trans artist”, but I don’t mind friends knowing. But anyway, he was pretty shy as a kid, always making me do the talking when we were buying food or anything that involved small talk with a cashier or something, but he never seemed scared like he does now. When it was just us, he would talk a lot, constantly making up stories and acting them out with his action figures, and model planes and rockets, and the barbies my well meaning family kept buying me.”

Sam looked down at his cup, frowning slightly.
“I guess it’s good that the found some kind of creative outlet, with his novels. Did you know he was 17 when his first one was published?”
Steve just shook his head, impressed.
“He started using the Jay Winters name then, cause he thought no one would take him seriously if they knew he was still in highschool, and I think he got too comfortable hiding behind it.”

Sam and Steve stayed sitting in the coffee shop chatting long after their cups were empty, until Sam had to get back to his office.
“Hey Steve!” Sam called, as they left the shop, heading in opposite directions, “Don’t worry about him, he’s ok, in his own weird way.”
Steve just nodded in reply, not looking fully convinced and continued toward the bus stop.

“Steph, I’m bored.” Bucky groaned, tossing the G.I. Joe figure he had been fiddling with onto the rug in front of him. “Let’s go somewhere.”
“Like where?” Steph asked, feeling around in her pockets for change. “I only have $2. That’s not enough for anything.”
“Let's ride the train to Coney Island. We don’t have to go anywhere even, just to the end of the line and back. And I got money from walking Mrs. Warner's dogs yesterday, I’ll pay your fare.”
“You wanna just ride the train for no reason?” Steph asked, sounding skeptical. “What’s the point of that?”
“I dunno, something to do I guess?” Bucky tried to explain. “We’ve been sitting here doing nothing for days, I just wanna go anywhere. You can bring your sketchbook and draw all the weird people, and I’ll tell you stories about them.”
“Sure, let’s go.” Steph agreed with a shrug. “I’m with you.”
“Yeah?” Bucky asked, jumping up to find his shoes “to the end of the line?”
“Of course, Buck.” Steph replied. “I’m with you to the end of the line.”

Steve went straight to his studio when he got home from having coffee with Sam, and pulled out a large canvas and bright oil paints to paint himself and Bucky as 12 year olds, watching the city fly by out the train windows. He remembered the excitement they had felt, the slight rebellion at riding the train without a parent for the first time, and already knew this painting would be a central piece in his show.

He had lost track of time when his phone buzzed with a text, surprising him back into reality. He realized it was nearly midnight as he looked at the screen to read a text from Clint.
Clint- So how's the art going? Is the train theme working out?
Steve snapped an image of the incomplete painting in front of him and sent it to Clint as an answer.
Steve- I think It is, I have ideas for paintings of you, Kate, Peggy, and Bucky, memories of riding the trains with the people who helped me figure out my queer identity.
Clint- Nice, I like that theme. You can’t forget Dugan then. Your including him too, right?
Steve cringed slightly, wondering how he hadn’t thought of the guy he had dated for almost 2 years before now. He definitely needed a painting of his own, and it should be easy with the number of sketches Steve had of him from when they were together.
Steve - Yeah, Dugan is going to get at least 1 piece, just not sure what his is going to be yet.
Clint-Awesome, I think Kate and I are going to try to come visit for the opening. I’ve never been to Brooklyn.
Steve - It will be good to see you too again, even if I know you’re more interested in meeting Bucky than seeing me.

Steve pulled out a box from under his bed full of old sketchbooks he hadn't looked at in years. It was full of old drawings from Chicago, and the early days of his physical transition. He dug out the one from 2012, containing mostly sketches of Tim Dugan, or Dum Dum as Steve often called him. He had tried not to think too much about him, missing him too much some days. Their relationship had ended amicably, agreeing not to attempt a long distance relationship when Dugan had to move to LA for work, but it was still painful sometimes.

They met at Pride, at an after party in a boystown bar about 6 months after Steve had started testosterone treatments. Dugan had approached Steve, offering to buy him a drink, and Steve had thought it was a prank at first. They exchanged numbers that night and Steve finally agreed to a date almost a week later.

“I haven't really dated in a while, cause I get a bit anxious about the physical stuff, and my dysphoria gets bad. I hope you can be OK with that, cause I can't promise I'll ever be comfortable with it.” Steve admitted shyly as they rode the blue line train back toward Logan Square after dinner.

“I’m totally fine with that, promise.” Dugan told him, resting a hand on Steve's thigh. “You set the pace, babe, I won't push you into anything”.

Steve smiled, resting his head on Dugan’s shoulder. “want to come back to my place to watch a movie or something?” Steve asked, “and I really mean watch a movie.”

“sounds good to me”. Dugan answered with a smile.

It was later on the couch when Dugan asked Steve if he could kiss him, that Steve knew he had found a good one.
“I like kissing” Steve replied, leaning in and taking control as their lips pressed together awkwardly at first, before both relaxing into it.

The physical side of their relationship was very off balance for a while, as Steve was happy to get Dugan off with a hand in his pants as they made out, or to get on his knees and suck him off, but never let Dugan return the favor, claiming that seeing how happy Dugan was after coming was enough for him. Any time Dugan questioned that, Steve would claim that he jerked off alone occasionally, and Dugan would find himself hoping that was true.

About 6 months into their relationship, they had figured out what was ok in bed, and what would trigger an anxiety attack. Chest and genitals were a hard no, don’t ever touch zone for Steve, which hadn’t surprised Dugan at all. Stomach, sides and hips were usually ok, and Steve was surprised by how much he liked having his ass grabbed while they ground their hips together. Steve knew that it was stupid, and that Dugan was well aware of the fact that he had breasts and a vagina (and would occasionally wonder how it would feel for Dugan to touch them), but that didn’t mean he was able to overcome the panic and fear that consumed him anytime Dugan got too close.

They were laying in bed one night, Dugan coming down from the orgasm from the blow job Steve had just given him, while Steve claimed to be good from just watching him come, as usual.
“I’ve been thinking, and I wanna ask you something.” Dugan announced, sounding half asleep.
Steve was a little worried. “Ok, what's up?” he asked
“How do you think you would feel about a strap on? About fucking me with one, to be specific.” Dugan asked.
“I… um… You want me to top you?” Steve asked. “I don’t know. Maybe? It’s honestly not something I’ve thought a lot about.”
“You don’t need to answer now, just think about it.” Dugan told him, worried that Steve would work himself into an anxiety attack. “It’s your choice, babe, you know I won’t push you if you're not ok with it.”

A week later, they were in one of the many sex toy shops in Boystown, where a sales clerk was excitedly helping Steve pick out a harness (and giving advice based on her own personal experience with several models) while Dugan was looking at dildo’s trying to decide how big he wanted Steves dick to be.
“You choose the dildo.” Steve had told him, “seems fair since you’re the one who’s going to be fucked with it.”
Dugan was tempted by the blue glittery one, but ended up choosing a flesh colored instead, figuring Steve was feeling nervous enough about it already.

Dugan was laying on Steve’s bed, prepping himself while Steve was in the bathroom getting into the harness.
“This feels kind of ridiculous.” Steve called to him through the closed door. Dugan noticed the hesitance in his voice, and hoped it didn’t mean Steve was about to change his mind.
“I know babe, but all sex is kind of ridiculous if you think about it too much.” Dugan replied, hoping he didn’t sound too impatient. “Now get out here and fuck me, I’m ready for you”

After another moment, Steve came out of the bathroom looking nervous. He was wearing his shortest binder (which Dugan would never admit out loud, because he knew better, but looked like a sports bra) and the strap on with the dildo sticking out of it.
“You look so hot like that, look how hard you’ve already made me just thinking about it” Dugan encouraged as Steve began to blush. “Now get over here.”

Dugan took control, sensing Steve's nerves and talked him through it all. He pulled Steve into his lap first, kissing at his neck and mouth as he stroked Steve's back, trying to help him relax. It wasn’t long before they had a generous amount of lube on the dildo, and Dugan was grabbing Steve's hips and helping him guide the dildo into his ass.
“That's it babe, slow and steady” Dugan encouraged “now move your hips a little, like how you grind against me when were making out.’
Steve didn’t speak, but found it easy, natural even, to get into the rhythm. By the time he found Dugan’s prostate and was making him cry out with pleasure, Steve was grinning. When Dugan came, bucking his hips with a shout and shooting come onto Steve’s stomach, he felt a wave of euphoria wash over his own body. Not quite an orgasm, but it felt good, and his eyes welled up with tears.

Steve gently pulled the dildo out of Dugan, and half ran to the bathroom, returning wearing boxers instead of the harness and carrying a damp cloth. He put the cloth on the night stand and slipped into the bed, curling up next to Dugan with his head on his shoulder, arms wrapped around him, tears still flowing down his face. A moment later, Dugan had come down from his orgasm and looked over at Steve, grin turning to a frown when he noticed the tears.

“Hey, babe, you're ok…. It's ok…” Dugan assured him. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to push you, we don’t have to do that again.”

“No, no… It’s not, I’m happy you Dum Dum, I promise.” Steve told him, smiling though the tears. “It was good, really good. You were perfect.”

“Then why the tears?” Dugan asked, sounding confused.

“Because I didn’t think it could be like that, that it would feel that good with the hardness pressing against me, and that I could make you feel that good. It’s just… It’s a lot right now, but it’s good. I want to do that again.” Steve explained, hoping he was making sense.

Dugan just pulled him closer, kissing him deep and slow. “I’m glad. I want to do that again too.”

Steve stared at a page in the sketchbook, grinning as he remembered the man, and the day from the drawing. It was a few weeks after their first time using the strap-on, and Dugan had been trying to convince Steve to try other types of toys, going on about the joys of vibrators. It was one of the few times he had agreed to stay still long enough for Steve to draw him, leaning against the counter in the kitchen. Steve assumed he was expecting a new toy in return. He took the sketchbook back to the studio, setting up a new canvas and began sketching out a new piece, using the drawing of Dum Dum as a reference. He had a rough outline done, of him and Dugan riding the train back from the sex shop, Dugan holding the upper hand rail with the other arm around Steve’s shoulders, while Steve clung to his waist, discreet paper bag in his other hand. Their faces wore matching expressions of nervous expectation.

After about an hour of work, Steve heard the elevator rising up to his top floor loft. There was only 2 people it could be. Either Natasha was checking in, making sure he had remembered to eat that day, or Bucky had finally decided to use the key Steve had given him weeks before.

“Hello?” He heard Bucky call out, just after the elevator doors opened with a slight squeak.
“I’m in the back, I’ll be out in a minute.” Steve called back. He wasn’t ready for Bucky to see any of the pieces yet, knowing it would lead to explanations of his past relationships, and that wasn’t a conversation he was ready to have that night.
“Ok” Bucky called back “I brought pizza, If you’re hungry.”
Steve hurriedly packed up his pencils, and closed the sketchbook, heading out to see Bucky and realizing, now that he thought about it, that he was starving.

He found Bucky on the couch, with 2 pizza boxes on the coffee table in front of him.
“Hey, babe” Steve said, sitting down next to Bucky, and leaning over for a quick kiss. “How’s the writing going?”
“Good.” Bucky replied, looking far less stressed than the last time Steve had seen him. “I think It’s done. I finally figured out the ending and sent the final chapter off to Fury about an hour ago.”
“So why do you say you think, then?” Steve asked, slightly confused.
“Because the publishing house still isn’t fully on board with the idea of a trilogy yet, they keep pushing me to make the story a one off, and I’m sure they will say it’s too much of a vague cliffhanger.” Bucky explained.
“Oh, but don’t you have the whole series planned out already?” Steve asked.
“I do.” Bucky replied with a grin, “And Fury knows about the whole plan and is on team trilogy, so I’m not worried. I am sure they will make a big deal about it though, just because they can.”
Steve just nodded, and then blushed as his stomach growled.

Bucky just laughed, passing over the top pizza box.
Steve opened it and gasped in surprise. “You remembered!” He exclaimed.
“Of course I did, Stevie. Who could forget something as disgusting as olive and pineapple? You do still like that shit, right?” Bucky explained, cringing slightly at the topping combination.
“I do.” Steve replied, stubbornly. “And it’s delicious. The perfect combination of sweet and salty.”
“If you say so, Punk” Bucky answered, opening his own meat lovers box and digging in.
“Jerk.” Steve replied.

They sat together, eating pizza in silence aside from the occasional content moan through full mouths, until they had both had enough, abandoning leftovers to the table and sinking back into the couch. They ended up cuddled together, Steve’s head on Bucky’s shoulder, leg hooked over his knee.
“Thanks for dinner” Steve mumbled, sounding sleepy and content.
“No problem, Babe” Bucky mumbled back, stifling a yawn.

It was a few moments later when Steve sat up with a groan, and then stood and stretched his arms over his head.
“Let’s go to bed” Steve suggested, reaching a hand out to haul Bucky off the couch.

They stumbled to the corner where Steve's bed was hidden behind a curtain, both exhausted having sacrificed sleep for their art the past few days, striping down to boxers and practically collapsing onto the bed. Bucky curled up into Steve's side, hand resting on his chest as he ran his thumb idly over the faded scar under Steve’s left pec. Steve shivered slightly at the touch before relaxing with a long sigh.

The first time Steve took his shirt off in front of Bucky, he had gotten nervous, the closest he had come to a panic attack in years, but he gritted his teeth and got it over with. Bucky gave the scars from his breast removal surgery a casual glance, as if he had expected it, and then turned his attention to Steve’s abs and pecs, before smiling up at Steve.
“Looking good there, Babe.” he said with a grin. “Not sure I would have guessed, If I didn’t know” He said, gesturing vaguely at Steve's chest and scars. The were thin, and had faded quite a bit over the past 5 years. Bucky had obviously been looking for them.

The first time Bucky touched his chest, Steve expected to find himself feeling panicked, nearly pushing Bucky’s hand away out of habit, but was pleased to find that he wasn’t bothered by it, that he enjoyed it even.

“I forgot to ask” Bucky mumbled into Steve’s shoulder as soon as he was comfortable. “How's the art stuff going? Did you figure out the theme for your show yet?”

“I did.” Steve replied, slightly hesitantly “It’s pretty personal, but kind of not at the same time, if you don’t know the stories.” He explained vaguely. Which was true, to the casual viewer it could be generic portraits of train passengers. The art didn’t need the back stories to make sense. “It's kind of about everything that happened to me since I left, how I ended up how I am now.”

“Sounds awesome, Stevie. I can’t wait to see it. I wanna know everything about you that I missed.” Bucky replied.

“Tomorrow.” Steve answered. “I’ll show you a few and tell some stories tomorrow. Now get some sleep, Jerk.”

“I love you too, Punk”