Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

I can't tell you what it really is, I can only tell you what it feels like

And right now it's a steel knife in my windpipe

"Steve! Get your ass out the door or we're gonna be late!" Natasha's voice cut through Steve's music that was playing quietly in the background, and he just chuckled slightly to himself. He always enjoyed antagonising her and breaking her usual cool-as-a-cucumber attitude.

Still, he figured tonight wasn't the best night to wind her up.

"Yeah, yeah, don't worry. I'm on my way." he yelled in the direction of his door and grabbed his wallet and keys before making his way to the living room.

Natasha was pacing silently behind the kitchen counter that overlooked the living room and, at the sound of Steve's footsteps, she looked up to send him a look that clearly said about time. Steve just widened his eyes slightly, attempting his best expression of innocence. Natasha smirked, unaffected.

Busted.

"You're lucky you're cute." was all she said before grabbing her coat and rushing through the door with an effortless grace that Steve envied. He followed her, making sure the door locked behind him.

"I think you mean ruggedly handsome." Steve pouted slightly. Teddies are cute. Steve is not cute. Steve is manly and strong and ferocious...

Okay, maybe not that last one, but he'd just about prefer anything other than cute. It reminds him of when he was a scrawny kid just starting to gain an interest in girls and kissing, (though the former interest didn't last long), only they seemed to like him just as a puppy-like presence. Something cute and fun to play with every now and then, but nothing to take seriously. Natasha knows this and never fails to use it whenever Steve annoys her.

They walked quickly to where Steve's car sat, black and sleek in the darkness with raindrops reflecting streetlamp light in thousands of tiny sparkles across the hood and roof. Steve ducked into the driver's side while Natasha, (who naturally was already sat and settled by the time Steve sat down), whipped out her phone, fingers flying across the screen no doubt to let Clint know they were on their way.

Steve pulled away onto the road and followed the light traffic through the city to where their usual small group of friends were waiting.

"You know, showing up late to my own engagement meal doesn't make the best impression. Clint might worry I'm getting cold feet already." Steve glanced over to see her customary smirk and he snorted lightly.

"Please... Clint knows you're head over heels for him, even if you're like the ice queen in public, we all know you two are disgustingly infatuated with each other." Steve grinned, pleased for his friends finally getting to this point that the others had all seen coming for months now.

"Now, now, Stevie, bitterness doesn't suit you." She grinned and stretched lazily against the seat.

Steve sighed in frustration, "Don't call me that. And you know I'm chuffed for you both."

"Sorry," she said, unrepentant, "and yeah, I know it. And the plus side is now you get me and Clint as wingmen. Package deal, bro." Steve saw the flash of her grin out of the corner of his eye and groaned.

"I'm gonna die alone." he deadpanned.

She just laughed lightly and picked up her phone again when it trilled at her.

They spent the rest of the short drive in comfortable silence. Steve could see Natasha jiggling her knee in either anticipation or maybe even nerves, but Steve knew better than to call her on it. Natasha would sooner punch him in the throat than admit fear or any other form of weakness.

He loved her for it. And if he wasn't firmly set on his base playing for the other team, he reckons he would have tried to marry her himself.

They arrived at the restaurant only 2 minutes past 7, despite Natasha's worry, and they scoped out the place for their friends as soon as they walked through the door. Turns out they didn't need to though because Clint was waiting, right by the front desk, and the way his face lit up when he saw Natasha made Steve simultaneously want to throw up in one of the nearest plant pots and invest in a t-shirt with their names in an arrow heart.

Sickening, but lovely to see.

After Clint removed himself from Natasha's face, Steve coughing none-too-subtly after they'd been attached by the lips for several minutes, Clint pulled Steve into their customary man-hug, though he held on a little longer than usual, and if Steve's whispered "congratulations, man" came out a little more choked up than normal, well, he was reasonably sure Clint wasn't going to tell.

And not jut because Steve had an unholy amount of blackmail material on him, having known him for several short and insane years. Mostly because Clint looked suspiciously bright-eyed too as he pulled back. 

Clint lead them through the restaurant, past the bar that sat, square and brightly lit, in the middle of the room to where the others were sat at their large table. Their table was in one corner of the room, so it felt nice and secluded, as if it were only them in the whole place, and he figured that it would be ideal for any drunken toasts later.

The lights that hung from the ceiling were bright enough to see by, but not glaringly so, giving the place the relaxing atmosphere that his rag-tag group of friends all loved, making it their favourite restaurant. Steve suddenly thought back to the first time Clint and Natasha met- Steve hadn't long moved in with her, fresh out of the police academy, and Natasha had come for their usual Friday night get-together with a few others they knew in the city. Bruce lived in the flat opposite theirs, and he brought Clint with him one night after their work together, and the rest was history.

Their group had gained a couple of new faces since then. Natasha brought in Maria; Maria's boss, Tony, had come to her during a night out one time for an apparent emergency and proceeded to sit himself down firmly into their group; Tony then brought Pepper, his childhood sweetheart and the only woman who could handle him; Pepper brought in Jane, who it turned out works in the forensics team in the same building as Steve; Jane brought Thor and then, of course, came Loki; Steve had brought Sam in just days after working with him as his partner, and together they soon brought along Peggy, a fellow member of the police force they met when collaborating on a case.

They'd all been inseparable ever since. It had been just over a year since their group had been complete, and, despite the many changes and the various troubles that each of them had experienced, they never failed to make time for each other.

It was a comfort to Steve, knowing that amongst all the shittiness, he'd found not one, but a whole group of decent people to have his back...

Steve was snapped out of his nostalgia as Sam came up and slapped his back in greeting. The whole group, excepting Loki, was here tonight.

"Where were you, man? You looked a million miles away." Sam grinned and Steve chuckled slightly.

"Just thinking about the days before I met your sorry ass. Such bliss." Steve sighed in fake longing and grinned when Sam shoved him playfully.

"Yeah yeah, brother, you'd be dead a hundred times over if it weren't for my sorry ass watching yours."

"True... and it would be such a shame to lose an ass this great." Sam laughed delightedly at Steve's unusual moment of boasting, whether put on or not, and, as usual, Steve found his own bubbling up in response. Sam's perpetual good-mood was infectious.

"If you two are done with your bromantic reunion, we're ordering starters- you know if you deny Thor food for too long we're gonna have to let him eat one of you. And like you said, Steve, your ass looks pretty good." Jane smiled teasingly from where she sat, tiny in comparison to Thor, who had an arm draped around her chair and was laughing loudly at Jane's surprising humour. It was one of the first things Steve noticed and liked about her. She may be small, but there was a hell of a lot of attitude lurking in that tiny body.

Steve made his way round the table to a free seat between Clint and Sam, covering his behind with a joking grin as he went.

The chatter that floated across the table was comfortable and filled with excitement aimed toward Natasha and Clint. Pepper was already deep in conversation with Peggy and Natasha, swapping ideas over colour schemes it seemed, while Clint was talking down the table to Tony, looking more and more alarmed at the ideas Tony was spouting for the bachelor party.

Thor was helpfully supplying even more sordid details for every new horror Tony came up with, and Steve and Sam were laughing, just enjoying the back-and-forth, occasionally talking about work when either of them had a sudden thought about a case.

Steve and Sam worked together at the police station, and Sam had been the best friend Steve could have hoped for. Even when Steve had been promoted for an opening for a Detective before Sam, the guy just grinned and demanded they go for drinks to celebrate the fact that Steve would "no longer be making Sam look bad standing next to him in the uniform."

The conversation slowed slightly once the food arrived, and it was only once their plates from the main course had been cleared away that Steve noticed the empty seat next to Tony and Bruce down the other end.

 "Hey Clint," Steve asked confusedly, "who's missing? We knew Loki wasn't coming because of his disciplinary thing didn't we?"

Clint glanced over at the empty space. "Err... oh! That's right- Tony asked his new security guy over. I've met him a couple of times, cool guy."

Tony butted in then excitedly, "Yeah! Guy's hilarious! Also kinda crazy... you remember that freak who tried to stab me at that press-conference last month? Well he barely got 3 steps away from the crowd before getting his arm broken in about 5 places by my new ninja friend. Think he had experience in security over in Russia so, you know, that explains it I guess." Steve felt his eyebrows rise, a little alarmed he hadn't heard of this before.

Tony took one look at his expression and chuckled gleefully. "Aw, come on Cap, he's harmless really, promise. Got a wicked sense of humour when he's not kicking ass for me. He couldn't make it to dinner, some last minute issue over some charity thing tomorrow. But he's gonna get here for dessert and drinks."

Tony started in on the story in detail, but Steve automatically tuned out the details once Clint asked Steve something about where the hell you go for a tuxedo in their area.

Another 20 minutes or so passed, and they were all pleasantly buzzed; the guys from more rounds of beer than they cared to count, and the girls slowly consuming pitcher after pitcher of delicious-looking cocktails.

At one point they dared Steve to drink half a pitcher of Purple Rain. He did so, much to the raucous delight of the others, prompting about a thousand good-natured gay jokes, most of which came from Tony.

It wasn't long after that, that Tony picked up his phone and stepped outside to go and find his chief of security. Steve was almost bent double in laughter at Sam's one liners he was trying out on Peggy, each one getting worse than the last, when Tony's voice cut through all the talk at the table.

"Everyone, I'd like you to meet my power-ranger-esque security guy, James."

"I really only answer to that when my Ma calls me it," Steve froze, still leaning against the table from his aching diaphragm, "call me Bucky."

No.

"Er, Steve, you okay man?" It was only after Sam asked him that, that Steve realised he'd spoken out loud. He didn't know what expression was on his face, but it can't have been anything good because there was a layer of concern behind Sam's eyes.

Steve didn't answer, couldn't. He knew that voice, he knew that name.

And he sure as hell knew he wasn't prepared to face it so suddenly.

He stood abruptly, stepping away from the table so hurriedly that he almost stumbled, taking care not to look in Tony's direction. He barely registered the shocked faces of his friends, excepting Natasha, whose face was carefully blank, wheels of her brain turning, trying to figure out the reason for Steve's outburst, as he walked stiffly but quickly in the direction of the bathroom.

He thought he heard Tony say "Is the Cap gonna puke?" through the heavy silence, but then he was finally far enough away not to feel their gazes against his back, body stumbling heavy through the wooden doors into the bathroom. It was the one furthest from the bar, half hidden behind the grandeur of the entrance, so, like now, it was usually empty.

He managed to get to the sinks on shaky legs, adrenaline rushing through him. It was such a stupid reaction he wanted to laugh deliriously, but he drowned it with a splash of water from the ornate sinks. The bathroom was all black tiling and dim, green lighting, which had always made Steve feel like he was in an alternate world. Perhaps an underwater cave, or a forest at night. Now it felt dangerous. Like the past was lurking in a corner, waiting to knock him to the floor like the sound of Bucky's voice had again all these years later.

He heard his strained breathing as though from a distance. It was like an out of body experience, the memories that came with the man flooding him so suddenly it was like drowning in his own head.

The breaths stopped suddenly though when he heard the door open, a hum of voices filtering through for a few seconds before becoming muffled once more.

He didn't need to look up. He knew who it was.

"Steve."

He fought a flinch. He took a few deep breaths to steady himself before he slowly straightened and turned to see the face that had dwelled only in memory for so long.

Bucky was stood a generous three paces away, slightly tense, like Steve, as if bracing for a fight. Steve said nothing, simply taking in his appearance for a minute or two.

He was slightly taller. Not as tall as Steve, but only by an inch or two. And from what Steve remembered, his character and attitude always made him seem taller anyway. His face was more defined, his cheekbones had lost their sharpness slightly and looked stronger in a way that made it clear his more baby-faced years were gone. His hair was styled up and away from his face, all the better for Steve to see his features.

The dark brown of his 5 o'clock shadow only served to make him look even more handsome, especially in contrast to his eyes. They were the same mix of grey-blue Steve remembered. But where they were once filled with a constant promise of mischief and youth, they were slightly more reserved. Steve noticed the crinkles at the corners that Bucky had always hated; before, they'd always been a tell-tale sign of worry or stress or nervousness to Steve, and he never failed to recognise it and make it his mission to cheer Buck up until the lines had smoothed away once more.

Steve's eyes flickered lower, down to his feet and back up. He noticed Bucky was doing the same.

Bucky's body had lost the lankiness of childhood, and even the lean muscle of his teenage years didn't compare to the quiet brawn of his body now. From what Steve could see- which wasn't much, Bucky was annoyingly covered in a dark blue shirt and black blazer, slacks loose, collar open- he'd gained a hell of a lot of muscle, especially on his upper body. Though his slacks were tight enough on his thighs that Steve hardly dared to think of the muscles that lay hiding there.

God, this would be so much easier if he was ugly. Please, please, let him be a total ass now and ruin any attractiveness he has...

"Are you okay?"

Or not. God dammit.

Bucky's face was carefully composed, the only show of emotion noticeable in the slight press of his mouth, his slightly narrowed gaze. And even these were only really noticeable to Steve because once upon a time he'd known this boy- man, now- better than he'd known himself.

"I don't know." Steve blurted it out without thinking, nervous under the intensity of Bucky's gaze.

"I'm sorry. I didn't realise..." Bucky turned away, struggling with words, something Steve had never seen him do before. "Tony always mentioned someone called 'Cap' but... it was obviously only just now that I realised that was you. Though I'm still not sure why he calls you that exactly..." Bucky trailed off to stop himself rambling, shifting his weight to the other foot.

Steve smiled wryly, "Neither am I. I'm only a detective. But he called me Captain America one night- totally plastered- and he found it so amusing that it stuck." Steve found himself shaking his head, smiling at the memory. He quickly stopped when he realised Bucky was looking at him with a- wistful? Nostalgic? expression.

"You finally did it then. I'm pleased for you, Stevie."

"Don't call me that." Steve snapped so fiercely that he surprised himself, let alone Bucky.

"Sorry." Bucky said awkwardly.

Steve let out a shaky breath and turned for a moment to splash another handful of water on his face, fighting off the still-tipsy edges of his mind.

When he turned back around, dabbing at his face with a paper towel, Bucky looked like he was wrestling with some thoughts. Just as his mouth opened to speak, another man entered the toilets.

Steve and Bucky stayed silent then, but couldn't seem to look away from each other. The man clearly noticed the tension because he just grabbed some tissue from one of the stalls, coughed awkwardly and scurried back out.

Bucky was silent for another short moment.

"You have every right to be angry-" Bucky started but Steve's bitter laugh cut him off.

"Thanks, but I don't need your permission. I am angry."

"Would you let me get this out?" Bucky said, a hint of anger in his own voice now. "I've picked up the phone so many times wanting to get in touch, so many times I almost-"

"Almost..." Steve scoffed involuntarily.

"For fuck's sake, Steve!" Bucky shouted, hand clenching at his side. "I get it, okay? You're pissed, and you have every reason to be... but it's been years. I'm not that guy anymore. I know who I am. And I'm sorry, I really am, but I can't go back and change what happened now. So you can either accept my apology or hold onto your grudge."

Steve glared warily at Bucky, eyes narrowed. When he didn't say anything, Bucky continued.

"I wouldn't blame you if you did. Hell, you can't hate me more than I have hated myself over what I did, but nothing's gonna change it now," he repeated, bitterly, "I've never been much of a believer in coincidences, and tonight isn't any different. I got my chance to apologise like I've wanted for so long, now it's up to you. We could just... just get coffee one time, for old time's sake. I'm dying to know how you got on at the academy. I thought about you a lot over the years, wondered what happened after you left for New York."

Steve's entire body was stiff with longing and anticipation by the time Bucky was finished. Though his mind was screaming at him to run a mile in the other direction, his heart nodding brokenly in agreement.

"I..." Steve started, "I accept your apology." he said quietly. Bucky's eyes brightened a little with hope.

"But I'm not the guy I was anymore either. And I don't ever want to go back there." Steve said, and saw the hope sputter and die in his once friend's eyes. "It was nice seeing you, James." Steve said tersely, and  tried to get around  Bucky to the door, but before he knew it a hand was gripping hard at his elbow, yanking him back slightly with the momentum of his stride.

"Don't you do that. Don't you call me that." Bucky gritted out, trying to rein in anger.

"It's your name, James." Steve said carefully and deliberately emotionless.

Bucky turned and grabbed at Steve again, a hand on each of his arms now, thumping him back against the wall after Steve lost his balance a little.

"Don't..." Bucky said once more, choking a little on the word. "Why can't you see how sorry I am? Why are you... punishing me for it?" he shouted, voice rising, infused with what sounded like a blend of panic and frustration.

"I'm not punishing you, Bucky. But I'm not your friend anymore. We haven't even seen each other in... what, five years?" Steve said firmly, not liking being so close to Bucky.

"Five and a half." Bucky corrected blankly.

Steve blinked in surprise. But quickly stifled it and tried again.

"Yeah... well... we're not eighteen no more, Buck. We've got our own lives now. Maybe another day..." the words fell so flat that Steve didn't even try and finish the insincere promise.

"Another day." Bucky repeated miserably, his eyes looking past Steve, seemingly lost in thought.

Steve pulled Bucky's arms away and tried to step awkwardly out of the corner, over Bucky's feet because he seemed to be frozen in place.

It happened so fast then that Steve couldn't even be sure how. He stepped over Bucky's foot and tried to follow it with the other, but, somehow, his hip clipped into Bucky's and he wobbled with only one foot firmly on the floor. His right arm instinctively grabbed onto the closest thing, which happened to be Bucky, and Bucky, caught by surprise, tried to steady Steve. Instead, they both half-tumbled back against the wall once more, Bucky attempting to compensate for Steve's weight by getting their footing back.

He got it back alright.

But when Bucky's foot finally found a firm purchase against the slippery floor, it just so happened to be in the space between Steve's sprawled legs.

Naturally.

This also meant that his thigh ended up pressed lightly against Steve's groin, brushing against his dick, and he couldn't help the arousal that spiked through him, pulling a surprised groan from his mouth. Steve froze and watched as Bucky's eyes snapped back so fast to Steve's embarrassed gaze he's surprised they didn't roll right out of his head. Steve glared at Bucky, daring him to say something.

He didn't say anything. At least not with words.

Before Steve could try and recover what little dignity he had left, Bucky had pushed his lips against Steve's, and he could feel the barely controlled emotion behind his lips.

Bucky pulled back abruptly, mouth already forming an apology, until Steve quashed it by pressing his lips clumsily to Bucky's once more.

Steve knew he was fucked the minute he'd gotten within one step of this new, handsome and hard-headed Bucky. Knew he was screwed the moment Bucky had asked forgiveness, for a chance to get to know Steve again. He knew it figuratively, and now he was suspecting he knew it literally.

The moment Steve initiated that kiss, the tension between them ignited into a desire so fierce that Steve's legs felt shaky for the second time that evening. Bucky's hands were on his waist, clutching so tightly they bordered on painful, like he was afraid Steve was going to disappear if he didn't hold on tight enough.

Steve understood the feeling. He'd had plenty of dreams that featured Bucky over the years. Granted, they weren't of the steamy, messy-morning variety, but they were filled with images of his face, his hands pulling Steve out of fights, only to let him go so that he was falling, falling, falling, alone...

But no. Bucky was here now, this was real. Steve's brain finally caught up with the program, one hand clutching tightly at the front of Bucky's shirt, the other getting a grip on the back of his head.

Steve was still in his half-fallen position from when he'd stumbled, so he was leaning up to meet Bucky's mouth, greedily, his lips parted to draw breath, but Bucky wasted no time in using Steve's pause to trace his tongue around the inside of Steve's mouth. He seemed so sure, like he knew the map, and was just retracing old lines, points from A to Z, and Steve supposed that made sense. This wasn't the first time they'd done this after all.

Steve felt his back slip slightly against the wall as Bucky pushed even closer to Steve's body, seeking friction. Without breaking the kiss, Bucky helped haul Steve back up so that they wouldn't end up sprawled on the floor and then pressed his body even closer so that they were thigh to thigh, chest to chest. Heart to heart, Steve thought a little deliriously and almost burst into laughter.

That'll be the Purple Rain hitting his bloodstream.

This was a mistake, Steve knew it, felt it like that prickling sensation you get on the back of your neck when you turn the lights off in your apartment, alone. Like someone's watching you, only to turn round and end up scoffing at yourself because, like expected, there's nobody there. Though, this time, Steve kind of thought there was. He could almost picture himself at 10 years old, small and scrappy, glaring at Steve over Bucky's shoulder, disappointed at Steve succumbing so quickly to lust and past memories of love and friendship. Present-day Steve though felt like flipping past-Steve the bird.

He never did know when to run from trouble, why should he start now?

As if sensing Steve's conflict, Bucky pulled away from where he was biting on Steve's now-puffy lower lip, looking him straight in the eyes, a couple of strands of hair displaced and falling onto his forehead.

"This isn't a good idea." he said a little breathlessly, trying for a calm tone, though the hard line of his dick pressing into Steve's hip made that effort useless.

"We never were." Steve said simply and pushed Bucky off him, though making sure not to let him out of his grip. Instead, he walked back in the direction of the disabled cubicle, walking slow enough so that Bucky could see his intentions and- a small part of Steve hoped- stop Steve from making a big fucking mistake...

Bucky followed him.

As soon the door was locked they lost any reservations they had and held onto whatever part of each other they could.

Steve was currently obsessed with the glimpse of muscled skin teasing him from Bucky's open collar, and worked his hand under the shirt enough to grip his shoulder, thumb pressing and feeling the muscle, determined to get a handle on this new body of Bucky's.

Bucky seemed to have the same desire because his hands were running continuously over Steve's body, any area he could reach, down his abdominal that tensed a little in response, round to the small of his back, up his spine, taking care to feel every nob through Steve's suddenly tight-feeling shirt. They were currently at his shoulders, tracing the edges of the blades.

Steve broke away once more for air- it was becoming a habit, forgetting he needed it when he was like this with Bucky, so desperate over a past dream. Bucky just moved his mouth elsewhere, down his neck. He felt an excited growl vibrating in Bucky's chest and, that combined with the graze of Bucky's teeth against his collar bone, pulled a whimper from him. His cheeks flushed red in embarrassment at the needy sound.

Bucky just chuckled against the skin of Steve's neck that he had been tasting while Steve caught his breath and Steve's mind was yanked back to a memory from years ago. Only a couple of months before everything went to hell in a hand basket. Bucky had gotten one of his older co-workers at the tobacco store to buy him a bottle of cheap whisky, and he'd come running to Steve with the biggest grin on his face, bottle covered with a paper bag in hand, telling him to get his coat because "it's about time for Steve to learn regret from getting hammered".

They'd drank it together in the park, watching as the sky began to turn orange and purple and red as the sun set. Steve may not have been the tiny kid he was at ten, but even at seventeen he was only just growing into his new height and muscle, and it didn't take long before he was laughing freely, tripping over as he and Buck headed for the big oak they used to climb.

When they got there, Steve had yanked Bucky into a kiss- after making sure they were hidden between the vast trunk of the tree and the wooden fence behind them of course- and Bucky had allowed it for a few seconds before pulling away, chuckling a little nervously, but still with excitement in his eyes, so Steve hadn't taken it too hard. He'd then chucked a handful of leaves at Steve, laughing at his slurred protests, and said affectionately,"You get real needy and handsy when you're drunk, ya know that?".

He most certainly did realise it since then. But he never got any complaints from one-night stands so he couldn't care less.

Bucky certainly wasn't complaining now, either, as he shoved Steve up against the wall, right next to the lowered sink, and moved his hands up to cradle Steve's head, kissing him enthusiastically once more.

It felt too gentle, though, like Bucky was trying to make up for the past. Anger flashed through Steve at the thought. He bit down a little hard on Bucky's tongue.

"Ah!" Bucky gasped and glared at Steve in confusion and annoyance.

Steve smiled, eyes narrowed in a challenge, hoping Bucky got the message that this was not going to be a gentle experience. He wanted no illusion of love or care if they were going to do this. This was just something to get out of his experience.

And they were either going to go hard or not at all. Not that Steve was going to go too far with Bucky for a few reasons. The biggest one being their history and the way this was going to mess it up even more in Steve's head when Bucky was gone again. The second reason being that they were in public, and Steve wanted to keep at least a little claim of class to his name, and full-blown sex in a toilet cubicle would swiftly eliminate that.

Bucky stood, chest heaving slightly, pupils wide with arousal. He cocked his head to the side a little, like Steve was a puzzle to be considered at all angles, and clenched his jaw. Steve's dick twitched in anticipation.

"Fine... have it your way, Stevie." Steve's nostrils flared at the deliberate use of nickname to antagonise him, but before he could decide whether to punch Bucky in his stupidly attractive face or go with a less honourable punch to the balls, Bucky gripped his jaw once more and crushed his lips against Steve's in a way that was almost painful.

Steve put all his anger into the kiss then too and decided that if Bucky was going to play dirty, so was he.

He distracted Bucky by opening his mouth to delve into the hot depths of Bucky's own with his tongue. Meanwhile, he grabbed at Bucky's belt where he felt it digging into his front. It took only a few seconds of fumbling before Steve had it undone along with the top two couple of buttons on his slacks- he wasn't sure if he'd actually pulled the buttons off completely but thought in vindictive smugness that he didn't care anyway- and thrust his hand down past Bucky's boxers to grip at his extremely frustrated-looking erection.

Bucky groaned loudly into Steve's mouth, caught by surprise, his breath hitching as Steve dragged his fist agonisingly slowly up his shaft. He quickly recovered from his surprise, though, as the next thing Steve knew, his own trousers were being yanked open by Bucky. With no belt, Bucky had it much easier, only having to pull roughly on the buttons and drag the zip down, carelessly enough that Steve worried for the sake of his dick.

Those worries vanished though when Bucky rubbed at the tip of his cock through the material of his boxers. Steve hissed, the feel of the cotton both too much friction but not enough. What he really wanted was Bucky's hand, and so he clenched his own hand tighter around the base of Bucky's dick so that he'd get the fucking memo and just touch Steve already god dammit.

Bucky grunted in response and quickly stopped his teasing, pushing Steve's pants down far enough to expose the top of his thighs, and he wasted no time in tugging at Steve's dick. Steve could feel calluses on his fingers and shivered at their roughness against his sensitive skin.

They worked each other until their fierce kissing became just an occasional press of lips between panted breaths. At one point, Bucky grabbed at Steve's thigh and lifted it just slightly to his hip so that he could put his own thigh between Steve's legs in a way that kept constant pressure on the underside of his dick, while his hand continued working at the shaft and tip. And the way he was flicking his wrist over the tip...

Steve wasn't going to last long.

"Bucky." he didn't mean to say his name, swore he wouldn't as some petty show of distancing himself.

"Yeah, me too." Bucky moaned lowly and his head fell against Steve's shoulder as his pace quickened, knowing they were both riding close to the edge of their orgasm.

Which of course is the exact moment someone walked into the bathroom.

Steve realised it a few seconds later than Bucky, had almost shouted at him for stopping the movement of his hand and threatened violence if he didn't fucking keep going-

But Bucky slapped a hand over his open mouth just in time for Steve to register the creak as the bathroom door swung back, the shuffle of feet approaching the urinals.

Steve was frozen beneath Bucky, clarity returning to him for the first time since Bucky had followed him in from the restaurant. The adrenaline from the possibility of being caught made his cheeks flush, sweat beaded at his temples, and he breathed shakily out of his nose. He was actually struggling to get enough breath because of Bucky's hand clamped down over his mouth, and Bucky seemed to realise after a moment, because his hand moved away, allowing him to take a few deep breaths before covering his mouth once more.

Steve looked at Bucky in confusion. He clearly wasn't going to make a noise now, how stupid did Bucky think he wa-

Bucky's hand dragged slowly up Steve's shaft, making sure to press his thumb against the slit in his tip. It became clear then why Bucky had kept Steve's mouth firmly covered, because if it hadn't of been there, the choked off groan he made would have been a fully-fledged, porno-worthy moan.

Steve glared at Bucky, envisioning lasers sparking from his eyes and burning a hole through his stupid, stupid head.

Bucky just flashed a shit-eating grin that was painfully familiar to Steve.

Have it your way, Barnes.

Steve squeezed Bucky's dick hard enough that Steve knew it would dance along the line between pleasure and discomfort, and Steve heard just a squeak of sound Bucky strangled in his throat before it could give them away to the man shuffling outside.

Steve bit his lip to keep from laughing at the look Bucky was making as he fought desperately not to make a sound from Steve's continued squeezing. He shifted it every now and then, just as Bucky would relax, but Bucky soon gave up on gritting his teeth against the arousal, instead biting hard onto the space where Steve's neck met his shoulder. He sucked hard enough that Steve knew there'd be a mark there for at least a couple of days, which pissed him off because really? It's so hard to hide hickey's in that spot...

Jerk.

Somehow they both decided to cease fire without words, and just stood there, waiting for the guy to zip up and leave already. It suddenly occurred to Steve that whoever it was could be one of his friends- it wasn't like they'd seen where Steve had gone from their table at the back. Christ, it could be Clint or Sam, or Bruce, or- heaven help him- Tony. No... he's sure if it was Tony he'd have busted them by now. The man can smell trouble from a mile away.

They heard the tap run for a few seconds and Steve silently cursed the man when he used the drier as well instead of the paper towels. Steve trembled every now and then when his dick would send reminding pulses of pleasure, as if angry at the lack of attention.

After what seemed an eternity, they heard the main door open, and, once the hum of voices faded out again and the door clicked shut, Bucky removed his hand from Steve's mouth, gripped Steve's waist and they both finished each other off with absolutely no finesse.

Steve felt pleasure coil in his gut and tensed as he came into Bucky's fist with a cry of pleasure. Bucky followed barely a heartbeat after, with a quieter grunt of satisfaction and a whisper of something Steve couldn't make out through the sound of blood rushing through his ears.

They both stayed still, dazed from their high for a few minutes.

Bucky was the first to pull away, what with Steve being the one who was shoved against the wall. He grabbed some tissue and, after getting most of the mess off his own hand, handed Steve another bunch.

Steve moved slowly, wincing when a sliver of skin on his thigh touched the cold, bare wall. When he looked down at the mess of his hands he cursed, noticing a little cum on his shirt. He did what he could with the tissues and barely noticed when Bucky unlocked the door, disappearing for a few moments before returning with a dampened paper towel.

His helpfulness annoyed Steve, irrationally so.

"Thanks." Steve muttered, dabbing carefully at the stain though he didn't hold much hope.

"So..." Bucky ventured, caution in his voice, "that was... unexpected."

Steve snorted in amusement. "No shit."

"I don't think that's gonna come out." Bucky suggested helpfully as Steve gave up on being careful and scrubbed at the mark he'd only made worse.

"Thanks." he said, voice dripping with sarcasm.

"What are we going to tell the others?" Bucky asked and Steve tensed up.

"We are not going to tell them anything. You're going to go back out there and tell them I threw up and went home. Tony's probably already running his mouth about that being what happened."

"What if they ask why I followed you?" Bucky was frowning, eyeing Steve warily.

"I don't know! Christ, Bucky, just..." Steve threw his hands up, too drowsy and fuzzy from alcohol and an orgasm to think this hard. "Tell them you had to go to the bathroom anyway or something."

"Alright... why don't I leave instead though? I didn't know you were going to be here but now- I don't want to ruin your night."

"Too late."

"Look, you don't get to be a dick about this you know. You're the one who dragged me in here." Steve glanced up at Bucky and was annoyed to see that he barely looked rumpled. Apart from his untucked and slightly wrinkled shirt, his outfit looked fine. And his hair only needed a little arranging to look perfectly in place like it was before they jumped each others' bones.

Steve also saw that Bucky was fast getting annoyed at Steve, but Steve wanted him to get truly mad, mad enough to leave and never want to see him again.

"Yeah well, you didn't stop me." Steve said lamely and knew his reasoning was shit when Bucky's eyebrow raised in disbelief.

"Neither did you." Bucky countered and Steve huffed out a tired laugh.

"Whatever, it's over now. This was fun but, it's getting late and I'm still too drunk and surprised to deal with anymore tonight." Steve shouldered past Bucky gently, heading to the sink to wash the last of the stickiness from his hands.

"Steve, I..." Bucky was back to struggling with words. But Steve knew there was nothing he could say to make Steve feel less confused and conflicted about this whole situation.

"It was nice seeing you again, Bucky. You look good, and I'm glad." Steve said quietly, standing straight and forcing himself to meet Bucky's gaze. It was layered in concern that made Steve bristle defensively. It's not like he was going to break down crying...

"But that's the end of it. Goodnight, Bucky." He added, then walked past Bucky and refused to look back at him, not even pausing when he heard Bucky's mumbled "Goodnight, Stevie." 

Instead he carried on walking, straight out the entrance and into the chilly October night. He put his hands on his hips, taking deep gulps of air to clear his head, though the cold air burned his throat and made his puffy lips tingle, reminding him of all that had happened.

One of the doormen asked if he was okay and he forced a sheepish smile on his face, assuring him that he'd just had one too many. The man smiled back, no judgment on his face, having probably dealt with a gazillion drunken people in this job, and hailed a taxi for Steve.

He thanked him and ducked into the safe seclusion of the taxi. Natasha had only had a couple of cocktails because she hated being drunk, so she'd bring his car back. He pulled his phone out to send a quick text to the group chat, apologising for leaving so suddenly and repeating one of Tony's jokes from earlier about how, for such a big guy, Steve can't hold his alcohol for shit. That should help Bucky's story go down easier.

When Steve got back to his apartment building, he slowly pulled himself up two flights of stairs before he remembered the lift had been fixed for a week now, sighing in annoyance but walking up the last two anyway, stubborn as usual.

It took him a few tries to unlock the door, but when he did, the relief that hit him was immense. This was his home now. He'd built his own life far away from the past, and just because coincidence had brought him and Bucky back together, didn't mean Bucky would have to stay in his life.

He's friends with Tony, though, and probably Maria too then, a treacherous voice in Steve's head remarked snidely.

Steve ignored it and headed for the cupboard to grab a glass of water. He was both dreading and looking forward to the moment he would be sober enough to deal with this evening with the best possible outlook. Dreading it because he'd rather just not face it at all, and looking forward to it because he wanted to just put it behind him and go back to the blissful ignorance he had an hour or two ago.

There was nothing left to do tonight though. Natasha wasn't here, and he could feel a headache starting to form, so he made his way to his room instead, throwing himself down on the mattress with a comfortable sigh. He managed to toe his shoes off and pull his soiled shirt over his head, lacking the patience to deal with the buttons, before he gave in to the heavy droop of his eyelids and fell into a deep but troubled sleep, filled with blurred images of the face of a boy he knew and the face of a man he didn't.

He wasn't sure which one would turn out to be the biggest nightmare.

And he sure as hell wasn't sure he wanted to find out.

Chapter Text

I can't breathe but I still fight while I can fight

Steve was walking home from school, breathing heavier than usual thanks to the unexpectedly hot day. The smell of baking tarmac wafted within the waves of heat that weighed down the air around him, making his lungs strain just that extra bit harder.

It was as he turned into the alley, a well-worn shortcut home, that he saw a group of boys picking on another smaller kid- and coming from him that was saying something- who looked like he was about ready to pass out from fear.

"Hey!", his scrawny body felt the familiar flare of anger over an unfair fight, "why don't you leave him alone? He didn't do nothin' to you." not that Steve had been there to see how it started, but he'd bet his life it hadn't been started by the kid cowering like a kicked dog at the three lug-heads' feet. At a second glance, he recognised the boy from one of his classes. He was meek and spent most recesses in a classroom, rather than face the ever-waiting schoolyard jerks.

The bullies didn't even look up until Steve yelled it out a second time.

"Why don't you just shut ya mouth, pansy." the biggest of the bullies sneered at him and, typically, puffed up like a peacock with glee when his lackey's laughed.

"Only if you shut yours first, moron." Steve snapped out and, internally, groaned knowing he could have at least tried for a civilised route again. Just that morning Steve's Mom had sat him down and made him promise to pick his fights better. He wasn't sure how he could justify three-against-one as a reasonable choice.

The one who spoke before, the ring-leader so it seemed, froze for just a second before turning around slowly, his expression turning from shock to embarrassed anger quicker than Steve could take a breath.

"You want us to stop so bad, fine," he smiled dangerously at Steve, "you can take 'is place."

Mom's gonna kill me was the last conscious thought Steve had before the three guys descended on him. From then on out he turned to the familiar gut instinct of snapping limbs and ferocious determination to land a punch or kick wherever he could.

It was only after the two skinnier ones held an arm each and effectively pinned him in place for the stocky leader to take free shot after free shot, that he admitted maybe he'd bitten off more than he could chew.

"You're nothin' but a jumped up fairy, you think you can tell us what to do?" Steve decided to call the beefy one ' the Mouth' right then and there. God, did he seem to love the sound of his own voice.

His fist landed solidly into Steve's gut and, despite gritting his teeth, a small groan left him at the force. He instinctively tried to bend double against the nauseous feeling that erupted, but dumb and dumber still had a firm grip on him and pushed his arms uncomfortably far back so he had no choice but to stand straighter.

The Mouth sniggered again with the other two and stomped a foot down on one of Steve's feet, following up quickly with a kick to the shin. Steve hissed against the pain and refused to make it easy on them.

Steve grinned, "Better a fairy than a brain-dead chimp like you.", and he kept on grinning even after it earned him a fist to the face. A weird kind of satisfaction roiled in his chest that, even if he couldn't defend himself physically, he'd always be able to enrage them with words. Like all bullies they wanted submission, and all the punches in the world wouldn't satisfy them without the expected surrender.

The Mouth grabbed his jacket then and hauled him up and around to throw him to the dirty floor of the alleyway.

"You're gonna pay for that." the Mouth snarled, face pinked in frustration. With a nod to his friends, they all proceeded to take turns kicking at him or grinding his limbs down into the dirt with their boots.

Steve spat out some blood.

"That all you got? I know girls who could hit better" he gritted out. One eye was already closing up, he could feel the familiar heat and numbness.

He was beginning to worry over the lack of feeling in his lower left leg as well but he was pretty sure it wasn't broken so really there was no point in worrying about it.

The Mouth growled in frustration and he raised a boot that looked like it was headed for his ribs when-

"Hey! Get away from him!"

This was a moment Steve would have branded into his mind for years to come. He remembers thinking somewhat deliriously that the voice was his, because the anger and promise of a fight he heard behind the words was almost identical to his own when he'd called out to the bullies earlier.

The irony of the reversed position wasn't lost on him.

Whoever it was, it sounded like another young boy- the voice was deeper than Steve's but not in a way that suggested it had broken yet. Steve couldn't see past one of their legs and the trash cans behind them to get a view of his potential ally. Either way, he clearly wasn't someone that intimidating because the three morons' expressions barely changed after glancing up.

"Back off man, or we'll sort you out good too." the Mouth yelled back.

"Yeah? Why don't you just try that." mystery guy drawled back and Steve was curious at the quiet confidence simmering beneath the words.

Everything moved pretty quickly after that. Steve attempted to sit up as soon as they turned their backs to him, and, despite having to stumble on his damaged leg, he grabbed the lid off one of the trash cans and slammed it into the back of the tallest boy's knees with all his strength. He watched as the boy went down with a surprised cry and clutched at one of his ankles, face tight with pain.

"You...fag!" he spluttered, purple with rage and most likely embarrassment as Steve just grinned, feral, before looking up to check on the remaining two.

They were scuffling with an unfamiliar boy, obviously the one who had stepped in, and Steve could see even from here that they were no match for him. The boy was tall but not in a lanky sort of way. He looked strong for his age, though he wasn't beefy like the Mouth was. It was a more subtle strength that showed through his controlled movements and the way he held his head high even when it was ducked to avoid the strikes of the two bullies.

Steve couldn't see his face, just a short cut of brown hair and clenched fists landing perfectly placed punches to the bullies' stomachs. One of them was already on the floor, curled over, and it looked like the Mouth wasn't far behind.

Mystery boy raised a fist again and landed the last right hook to the Mouth's jaw, stepping back slightly to watch him thud to the ground, howling in what Steve was sure was exaggerated pain.

And they called him a pansy.

"Why don't you three run back to whatever hole you crawled from. I see you picking on anyone around here again, you're gonna regret it." the guy said it in such a calm way that the thinly veiled threat was made all the more ominous, and Steve found a tiny part of him wondering what it would be like to see him really lose control on these goons.

He didn't have time to wonder too long though as the guy scuffed his foot in the direction of the Mouth and turned to walk back to Steve. He didn't say another word and instead looked askance at Steve, grabbing one of Steve's arms after he got a nod of agreement, to help him limp out of the alley and back down the street. They didn't stop until they reached a bench a couple of blocks away and Steve finally had to stop to catch his breath.

"Thanks," he huffed out, "you know, for helping me out back there."

"Don't mention it, I've seen them around before, yelling and just being dicks. Been waitin' for an excuse to teach 'em a lesson," he muttered, mouth curved up into a small smile. He turned towards Steve then and looked him up and down, pausing once he reached his bruised face.

"They look like they got you good." he frowned in concern and a little left over anger.

"I had 'em on the ropes," Steve grumbled.

The boy laughed delightedly and grabbed one of Steve's hands, inspecting his bloodied knuckles.

"You should get those cuts cleaned out. Mamas always telling me 'James, it ain't no good fighting, even for good, if you go and get yourself killed from an infection.'" he- James apparently- smiled in a fondly exasperated way, much like Steve did over his own mother, although with some guilt thrown in too.

Steve laughed lightly and nodded, observing his scraped knuckles.

"Sounds like your Ma would get on with mine. She's gonna kill me when she sees me like this again." Steve gestured towards his scuffed clothes, smeared with grime a little, and he grimaced at the thought of worry and disappointment on his Mom's face.

"I had a hunch this wasn't your first fight. You're kinda scrappy for someone your size." At Steve's disgruntled look over the comment on his size, James held his hands up and grinned at him. "It was a compliment. If I were a jerk like them I wouldn't fancy taking you on one-on-one."

Steve huffed out a laugh and hissed slightly as it aggravated his side that had taken a particularly hard hit.

"Hey, why don't we get you cleaned up at my place so you don't look so bad for your Ma?" the offer took Steve by surprise, and he glanced up in surprise.

"You sure?" he asked warily.

"Why not? I live a couple of blocks from here, and I can give you a lift back on my bike." James looked a little excited and seemed genuine, so Steve nodded and they both stood.

As soon as Steve was upright, a hand was thrust forward and his new acquaintance said proudly, "Name's James, but you have to call me Bucky. What's yours?"

Steve took James', or, well, Bucky's hand and shook it, trying not to seem too surprised or eager over the friendly gesture.

"Steve Grant Rogers."

"Well Steve Grant Rogers, it's nice meetin' you." the words seemed a little less natural, like Bucky was following etiquette his Ma had taught him, which made Steve want to laugh because it really did seem like their Ma's were of a similar kind.

Steve and Bucky shared a smile, and then they both began to walk- slowly- to Bucky's house, which turned out to be just down the street from his own. Bucky's body was a solid, warm weight against Steve's side as he leaned on him most of the way.

Bucky's Mom had taken one look at the scrawny boy leaning on her son and began to fuss, sitting Steve down in the bathroom and cleaning his cuts and grazes with a finesse that made it clear she'd had practice.

Bucky grinned at Steve over her shoulder but made sure to look appropriately abashed when his Mom told him it's not funny to be gettin' in all these scraps, James, and you'd better not have dragged this boy into somethin' you started. But after Steve quickly told her that Bucky had probably stopped Steve getting beat up bad she hummed, appeased for now, and tried to hide a slightly proud smile from the two boys.

After he'd been cleaned up, Bucky's Mother invited him to stay for dinner. Steve ran to his house 8 doors down, taking no notice over his protesting lungs, and when his Mom rushed out to ask why he'd taken so long walking back from school, she paused, fearing the worst when Steve limped in with red cheeks and unkempt hair. She started to fuss over him but then stood still, blinking in shock when Steve explained what had happened and asked if he could eat at Bucky's house. She said yes, of course, but made sure to tell him to be polite and return the offer and get home before dark.

After Steve had kissed her on the cheek and ran back out, she smiled, relieved that Steve seemed to have finally found someone with the same spirit. It didn't do well to be alone so much as a young boy, and she hoped that Bucky would stick around and be the friend he needed and deserved.

That evening was still one of Steve- and Bucky's favourites. They'd looked over Bucky's comics and Steve had shown him how to draw a little while Bucky's Mom made dinner. When they finally sat down to eat Mrs Barnes' chicken and veg dinner, Steve made sure to tell her how delicious it was and that she was a great cook. It wasn't a word of a lie.

Bucky's Ma smiled, pleased, and told them they could leave the table and go 'get out from under her feet while she washed up', and they wasted no time in doing so.

They fooled around on Bucky's bike for a bit in the street, riding in circles and taking turns to chase each other on it. And whenever they had to stop to give Steve's lungs a break, Bucky didn't seem annoyed at all, and instead, they sat on the lawn a few metres apart and threw a ball back and forth while they chatted about school, girls, cars, anything that came to mind.

It still scared Steve sometimes how easy it was even then, right at the start, to lose himself with Bucky. They just seemed to fit together, the conversation never strained, laughs genuine, and, in that moment, Steve dared to hope he'd found a fast friend.

When they finally parted ways, Bucky walked Steve only halfway home when Steve protested, saying "I'm not a dame, Buck, I can make it back on my own just fine."

Any annoyance in Steve was squashed though when Bucky said he knew, he just knew already that Steve was a magnet for trouble and clearly needed him around to watch his dumb ass, and Steve snorted and shoved him slightly.

That night, Steve slept soundly, and Bucky decided to stick around that Rogers kid a bit more because he seemed like someone worth facing the world next to.

Looking back, Steve recognised the poetry in the fact that they met in violence. And if some days he wished Bucky had just kept on walking and left Steve to crawl home bloody by himself... well, it didn't do to dwell on what-ifs.

                   <>----------------------------<>

Steve woke up groggily with his heart beating fast, mind clinging to the edge of a familiar dream of dusty streets and warm air, but he lost it as soon as he woke; the echoes of the dream slipping like sand through his fingers. He was distracted from chasing it though thanks to the small knot of pain throbbing right in the middle of his head.

He groaned lightly, recognising the familiar grasp of a hangover, keeping his eyes pressed firmly shut. His mouth was astoundingly dry and for a few moments he just sat there, swallowing and trying not to feel like he'd slept with cotton wool on his tongue.

It took a few moments before the light he could see even against his closed eyelids didn't seem so harsh, and he opened them slowly. His face was turned towards his bedroom window, which was totally uncovered for the sunlight to freely stream in and cheerily probe at Steve's dozing form. Steve sighed in mild annoyance, realising he must have forgotten to shut the curtains when he stumbled in last night...

Last night.

Oh.

Oh shit... Steve shot up so fast that he went lightheaded and toppled sideways off the bed. The thud jarred his body and the throb in his head intensified angrily at the disturbance.

"Crap..." Steve groaned and fought off a hint of nausea that was creeping up his throat.

He laid still for just a minute or two, concentrating on not puking his guts up all over the carpet when a couple of light but firm raps echoed through the room.

He heard it open, as expected, and knew that as soon as he mustered the will to pull himself up he'd see Natasha stood in the doorway. He sighed and braced himself for interrogation before grabbing the edge of the bed with one hand and hauling himself up until his elbows were planted firmly on the edge of the mattress, his chin resting between them.

Natasha had an eyebrow raised as she looked over what little she could see of Steve, no doubt taking in his rumpled state and overall worse-for-wear appearance.

"I heard a thump, thought maybe I should check you didn't concuss yourself." She stated with a smudge of amusement colouring her voice.

"I'm touched." Steve huffed as he pulled his body up and back a bit further until he was wedged in a corner between the bed and the side table.

"You look like shit." And now there was definite amusement in her tone.

"You say the nicest things," Steve said dryly and scrubbed a hand over his face.

"So," here it is, Steve thought, "you want to tell me what the hell happened last night? You ran away quicker than Clint that time he pissed me off and I threatened to cut a hole in the crotch of his tux right before the wedding."

"Honestly? I don't want to talk about it."

Natasha was silent and he could practically hear her calculating.

"Okay." she shrugged and turned to leave the room. "There's pancakes if you want them."

Steve felt his mouth water at the thought, but his brow scrunched up in wary confusion. Natasha does not simply make pancakes. And she certainly doesn't make them for Steve. Not without wanting something in return.

She really wants to know about last night... oh well, Steve thought, may as well get breakfast out of it. He knew he'd cave eventually anyway.

He pushed up on his arms that were resting comfortably on the edge of the mattress and was pleased to find he didn't feel any worse standing than he did slumped on the floor.

He dragged himself to the bathroom to get rid of the hung-over zombie look, and after splashing some cold water on his face, he walked out to the kitchen, feeling much more alert. As he walked down the hallway his stomach growled at the wafting smell of cooking batter and a syrupy undertone.

The sight of Nat stood at the stove, gently flipping pancakes was disturbingly domestic. For anyone who knew her, the sight of her cooking is like seeing a panther in the wild wearing an apron. It's not that she can't cook- the opposite in fact- it's just that when she does cook, it's either because she's buttering you up for information, dazing you with a delicious treat before a calculated attack, or there's a seriously big occasion. Like the apocalypse perhaps.

Maybe there was some Russian holiday today or something because Steve was pretty sure his dramatic exit from Natasha's engagement dinner didn't warrant her excellent cooking skills.

Unless she's mad at you and plans to poison you, Steve considered as he sat at the counter, eyeing the pan hungrily. Oh well, Natasha's blueberry pancakes were good enough that he wouldn't be too mad to kick the bucket having had them in his stomach.

He almost laughed aloud. Perhaps he was still drunk.

He must have been smiling because Natasha quirked an eyebrow at him curiously when she glanced over.

She didn't ask any more questions about last night for now though, only asked, "Syrup?", without looking up.

"Like you have to ask," Steve replied.

Natasha scooped the thick pancakes both up onto the spatula and flipped them once more- just to show off, Steve's sure- before putting them neatly on a plate and generously drizzling golden syrup over them in pretty, effortless swirls.

"You're my favourite person. Like, ever." Steve sighed blissfully and just sat inhaling the stack of pancakes for a good minute or two before he caved and shovelled them into his mouth.

Natasha tsked as his enthusiasm dulled his table manners, but the smile that quirked her lips said she was actually pleased. She knew her strengths and boy did she play to them.

When Steve was about halfway through, and slowing down now that the initial ravenous feeling had passed, Natasha begins tapping her fingers on the tabletop in a manner that seemed absent-minded, but Steve knew better.

Wait for it... he thought to himself.

"So what did you think of Bucky?" she asked, attempting at nonchalance.

"Who?" Steve exaggerated his confusion, deciding that if Nat was going to pretend this wasn't one of her friendly interrogations then he was going to play dumb right back.

Nat smirked and her eyes flashed in a way that said touché, then poured a little extra syrup on the bottom pancakes left on Steve's plate that had missed out on the first drizzles.

"C'mon Steve, I haven't seen you run that fast since we went shopping that time and you thought you saw your dirtbag ex, Brock. You looked like you'd seen a ghost." her tone slid into a cautious, questioning one.

Steve looked at her face and saw only quiet patience. It was one of the things he loved about Nat. As much as she would try and get Steve to open up, he knew that if he said calmly and simply that it wasn't something to share, she'd let it go. She constantly danced along the line that most other people barrel over into pushy territory, and it was perhaps for that exact reason that Steve decided to trust her with the truth.

Just... maybe not all of the truth.

Like having sex in the restaurant bathroom during Nat's engagement celebration.

Steve sighed and turned away from Natasha's unwavering gaze, pushing his plate away from him. Nat quickly scooped it up and took it to the sink, running hot water and keeping her gaze away from Steve, probably knowing that it would be easier for him to speak without feeling so on-the-spot.

"Last night,", Steve began slowly, weighing each word carefully, "I guess I did kind of see a ghost. Buck- I mean, James... he was..." Steve swallowed dryly, "we were best friends. Back when I was in Brooklyn, and we were just a couple of dumb kids. I was, what, 10 years? I met him when I was getting my ass handed to me, he stepped in and saved me from a hospital trip, maybe worse, and we were friends. Easy as nothin'."

He picked at a loose thread on the cuff of the Henley he'd thrown on. Natasha continued to quietly scrub a pan.

"He was a year above me, I had some kind of hero worship for him to begin with. I don't know, we just clicked. We were more like brothers in the end."

"So my engagement do ended up being a Long Lost Family episode?" Natasha queried.

"In a way, yeah," Steve bit his lip, not knowing what else to tell her, "but James and I... that was the first time I'd seen him in almost 5 years. When I was 19, we had a bit of a falling out, right before I applied to the MPD, and we never managed to make up before I left. Truth is, I don't know if it's something we could make up over."

"Even now?"

Steve grimaced, recalling James' hopeful look the night before.

"Especially now. He never tried to get in touch before now, so as far as I see it, a random chance meeting doesn't change that." Steve scratched at a chip in the kitchen side and didn't dare to look up until he'd schooled his expression into something safe.

"But you miss him." It wasn't a question, and Steve gave the half-truth in answer.

"I'll always miss him." He raised his head, mouth twisted into a rueful smile as he continued the thought in his mind- but not enough to forgive him.

Natasha seemed to hear the words unspoken and turned from the sink to face him, hand on hip.

"Was it really so bad that it's better to be miserable without his friendship than to let the past be the past? We've all made mistakes."

Steve's expression shuttered and he clenched his fists

"It was bad enough, and I'm in a good place without him. I just want to leave it at that."

"Steve-"

"I'm still tired, I'm gonna go crash for another couple hours," Steve replied, and Natasha sighed but waved in acknowledgement. He pushed away from the counter and walked back to his room with leaden feet, and if he leaned against the closed door and blinked back frustrated tears... well. No one knew but him.

<>----------------------------<>

Across the city, Bucky walked into Tony Stark's office. His obscenely lavish office, he might add.

Despite it being 2 o'clock in the afternoon, the man had the lights dimmed to mimic a soft dusk evening light, probably to help with the massive hangover he was working through if the way he was slumped over the desk was any indication.

"So on a scale of one to that-time-you-bet-Thor-you-could-beat-him-at-taking-Sambuca-shots how shitty are you feeling right now?"

"Fngh... quiet voices, Barnes." Tony groaned and rubbed at his temples half-heartedly. "And don't be ridiculous, nothing will ever come close to that level of pain for as long or short as I live."

Bucky grinned and made himself at home in the plush armchair facing Tony.

After Steve had left, Bucky had found his way back to Tony and his friends' table in a haze. It was hard enough to suffer the various gazes of curiousness, concern, and even a little mistrust from the glimpse he caught of Natasha's face, without fighting the urge to run after Steve and demand he let Bucky set the past right.

Tony seemed to gloss over the entire thing, talking louder than ever, including Bucky in conversation for the hour or two he stayed, not even mentioning Steve's sudden, suspicious absence to the rest of the group. He had asked Bucky just one question: did he know Steve? Bucky had answered before his brain really had time to think it through, said they were neighbours once, a long time ago... That seemed to be enough to satisfy him, and from then on Tony's focus was making sure Natasha's glass was never empty- hell the whole table's glasses. And all the while he made sure Natasha's glass was never empty- hell the whole table. No wonder he looked like the walking dead. In fact, Bucky wasn't sure why Tony was working at all today, let alone calling him in for a meeting.

"You know, the new security systems are still running just fine. I've got Falsworth still running diagnostics on the interface between your Jarvis system and the cameras, but there's no major bugs, just a few growing pains. He's barely got to work for his money." Bucky smiled again, imagining the middle finger he'd get if Monty could hear him.

Tony waved him off and his face twisted when even that seemed to cause him some discomfort.

"Sure, of course, total trust in you and your weird team of merry cyber-men. That's not why I called you."

"You mean you just wanted a dose of my natural charm?"

Tony finally met his eyes at that and scoffed, though it caught in his throat like gravel in a wood chipper. He grunted and took several gulps of water from the tumbler beside him, the ice shivering against the expensive glass.

"That too," he finally replied, "but also, I've got an issue I need help with."

"Gee, Stark, I'm flattered but I don't think we're that close yet." Bucky drawled.

Toy glared, "God it's like talking to Steve, did they have mandatory lessons in sass in your neighbourhood or something?"

Bucky mirth abandoned him at that question. He could almost see the way Steve's lips would press together and twist just slightly at the edges in anger at being compared to him, the hate and blame he still carried for Bucky clearer and sharper than ever after last night. But then, he also remembered the time Steve would copy him in pretty much everything, a time when he was just a skinny, only child who looked at him as one of the few people he'd trust with his life.

Couldn't be further from the truth now. Now, he can barely stand the sight of you. An insidious voice whispered through his mind and he shied away from it. If only he could still kiss away that anger in Steve like he used to.

Instead of letting Stark catch a glimpse of the painful memories surrounding him, he took a page out of Stark's book on humour as self-defence.

"Please, Steve learnt everything he knows from me."

"That so?" Stark suddenly looked a lot more interested in the conversation. Bucky saw the questions in his eyes and did a swift U-turn.

"So what's this issue you need me for then? Pepper finally want someone to try and re-programme your brain?"

"Har har... interesting concept but no, something a little more glamorous. A Stark party." Tony's grin managed to light up his face even in the darkness of the office.

"I'm talking an all out gala, baby. Champagne, schmoozing with the most mundane politicians and the sexiest models- everyone of any importance and high profile will be there. Stark Industries is looking to collaborate with someone. A very particular someone, and what better way to impress and talk business than with a few hundred fireworks and alcohol to smooth over the ridiculous amounts of bargaining and bartering we'll have to do?"

"I'll take your word for it," Bucky replied dryly, "and I'm truly impressed that you can even think about alcohol just the morning after poisoning your liver." Bucky took out a small notepad from his jacket pocket, wanting an idea of numbers and location to begin planning the security detail.

"So when are you planning this party, Mr Gatsby?" he asked, scrawling 'POLITICIANS -.-' on a fresh page.

"I'm thinking it won't be too different to the time you sorted out my birthday bash that time, you know, really you've already done half the work you can just copy the plans, really hardly no big thing just-"

"When, Tony." Bucky levelled him with a flat look."

"Pff, I don't know, how about," Tony waved his hands around and found an interesting spot in the corner to look at, rubbing at his chin, "a week today?"

"Excuse me?" Bucky closed his notepad and leant forward in his chair, eyebrows drawn together dangerously.

"Let me just clarify... you might still be drunk but did you just say a week?"

"Err, if I say yes are your murder-brows going to take permanent residence on your face? Because those frown lines will ruin your good looks."

"Stark." Bucky snarled and pinched the bridge of his nose, willing himself not to strangle the man.

"I know, I know it's a little short notice but," at Bucky's incredulous look he changed tactic, "aw come on, I promise it won't be as crazy as my birthday. It's mostly just standard security making sure no one gets in who's not on the list and making sure no cat fights between the Burberry models after a few too many tequilas!" Stark pleaded.

"You're killing me, if there's politicians that means co-operating with their own security details which means paperwork and planning which takes time." Bucky insisted.

Tony sighs and comes round his desk to sit on the corner nearer Bucky.

"I know. I'm asking a lot, but I swear there's a good reason, and I promise I won't-", he cocks his head and amends, "I promise I'll try not to ever throw something like this again without at least a month's notice."

"Can I ask what that reason is?"

"You can, and I'd be happy to answer expect this company I'm dealing with is a big deal, so much so they'd sue me if I so much as breathe a word about the fact we're planning to team up until they're good and ready to do so." Tony has the manners to look at least a little apologetic.

"You're not biting off more than you can chew with them, are you, Tony? Because while I'd love to watch you wrestle with some sharks after this headache you're giving me, I think Pepper and Steve are attached to you." Bucky trips up a little at Steve's name, but Tony has the grace to ignore it.

"Probably, but that hasn't stopped me before. I hate working with anyone, but in this case, they have something I need. Plus, I've got you now, so really what could go wrong?"

Bucky groans at that.

"Don't tempt fate, Stark."

"So... you gonna bail me out here? I'll hand deliver you the oldest bottle of whiskey I can find, take part in the party, hand the reins to your team for the night?"

Bucky pauses but then sighs in defeat.

"Fine," Tony punches the air gleeful, "but I'm gonna need a list today of all the guests. I need a location, the politicians clearly marked out and any details you already have of their security."

"Absolutley! Anything you need, we'll send it out to you. And by 'we' I mean someone else trustworthy because sooner rather than later I need to take some serious pain killers and pass out." Tony grimaces.

"I'll keep someone on my inner P.A. circle aside just for this. Knew I could count on you, Buckaroo."

"Call me that again and I'll find a way to make drowning you in a champagne bucket look like an accident." Bucky said flatly.

"I bet you say that to all the guys."

"You know you're not half as cute as you think you are." Bucky said, standing up, phone already in his hand ready to sort out this nightmare of a party.

"Of course I am, why do you think Pepper hasn't killed me yet?" Tony smirked.

"Because she is a paragon of patience and virtue that we all live in awe of." Bucky grins back at Stark's squawk of indignation. The (sometimes questionable) genius begins to chatter about his ideas for the party while handing over the initial guest list he'd actually gotten ready himself, much to Bucky's surprise, though Bucky's brain switches off somewhere around the champagne glass tower. Leave the sparkles and show to the party planner, all he has to focus on is getting everyone out of that madness safe.

"You're an angel, James, I'll send you your Christmas bonus early!" Tony shouts as Bucky's getting ready to leave.

"Yeah, yeah, just keep me updated and linked in to the party planner and I won't kill you, yet."

"If I get into your bad books before the party I'll just hide behind Natasha and Steve. She might be a stuffy government worker but the woman knows how to pick a gown, and Steve in a tux is enough to divert anyone's attention, murderous or otherwise." Tony's smirk is  a little too knowing for Bucky's liking

"No civilians, Stark. Keep it business, please." He shakes his head on his way out. Don't put temptation like that in front of me, he adds in his head.

The sudden brightness of the hallway, combined with the sudden image of Steve's shoulders in a fitted suit had Bucky wandering in a slight daze back to the elevator. But, when the soft 'ding' breaks through, he calls Falsworth, knowing Dum Dum is busy getting things ready for the small charity event taking place this evening.

It only takes one ring before Monty answers.

"Falsworth's one-man security operation, how can I help you?" his dry British accent has Bucky grinning through the phone.

"Hey, I need a bodyguard for my cat, I was told you're the worst man for the job. Is ten bucks an hour cool with you?"

"Bite me, James."

Bucky laughs out loud at that.

"Only if you ask nicely."

"In your dreams. What did Stark want?" Monty asks, curiosity colouring his tone.

"About that... I need to start planning a gala. Some big business meeting dressed up as a party. It's gonna take up all my time from here on out, so Dugan's going to oversee the charity thing tonight on his own."

"When exactly is the date of this party?" Monty's tone suggests he doesn't really want to know.

"A week."

"Shit." Bucky let's Monty's cursing colour the air blue away from his ear for a few seconds while the elevator slowly moves down the last fifteen floors.

"Not so much a party for us then." the Englishman finally settles on.

"Not so much." Bucky agrees.

"How are we playing this?"

"From tomorrow, it's all hands on deck with this. I'm putting Dum Dum and Dernier on location, securing boundaries, setting up on site so nothing gets in or out without going past us. Gabe's going to help me with logistics, number of bodies we need, priority guests and their own muscle how to keep 'theirs' and 'ours' balanced and happy. Jim's going to do most of the meetings and phone calls, liasing with the security companies and bodyguards themselves, God knows how he handles them so well."

"And me? You're not going to keep me from the fun, are you Sarge?"

"Call me that and I might," Bucky grumbles, "but no. The security system in Stark's tower is going great, but I still need you to keep one eye on that, just in case. Other than that, I want you on CCTV, comms, the like. I need you to sort it so that we've got eyes and ears on everything we need to when this shit show starts. There's going to be a lot to cover but... Stark's invested in this, so we need to be on top of everything."

"Sounds serious." Monty comments.

"You know I think it is, enough that Stark is taking it seriously."

Monty hums thoughtfully down the line.

"I'm heading back home now to start drawing up plans, get the wheels in motion for us all tomorrow." The elevator finally sits at the ground floor, and Bucky strides out into the lobby with his mind already in motion.

"I look forward to it." Monty drawls down the line.

"I'll bet." Bucky snorts. "I've gotta ring Dugan, see you later."

"That you will, goodbye Sarge." He hangs up just as Bucky's about to cuss him out for calling him that stupid nickname again.

"Goddamn Falsworth." He mutters, and makes his way to the subway station that will take him back to his home office. Stark repeatedly tries to make him take a company car, but Bucky doesn't mind the ride. It helps ground him after all the glitz and madness of his clients' lives, Tony Stark being the most dazzling client he's ever had.

As he grabs a seat, thanking whatever higher power there is that Stark didn't ask to meet closer to rush hour, he looks up and swears he sees a flash of wheat-blonde hair through the opposite window, a firm, strong silhouette. But when he leans forward, a name on the tip of his tongue, he sees it was actually just a college kid. Lean, but not as solid, not as tall as Steve. His blonde hair isn't nearly as bright, falls too long on his shoulders, and his face too round. His heart clenches uncomfortably and he feels bitterness and frustration well on his tongue.

Bucky shakes his head and realises it had been years since he'd last seen the ghost of Steve Rogers in strangers on the street.

Years since he had hoped that, one day, the ghost would become reality; that one day it wouldn't just be an illusion.

Years since he wished that Steve Rogers would just remain buried in his past.