[The pub was one thing, loud and full of soldiers with money to spend having not yet seen overseas combat. It was a nice enough establishment, but the smell of cigarette smoke reminded him a little of acrid stench of burning work camps, and the alcohol, while good and strong, just didn't seem to provide the same enjoyment as it used to. It came with a sharp aftertaste which was bitter on his tongue.
Perhaps it was so pungent because he knew that he was going back into combat. There was no particular fear of death or dying, but the horrors and stresses of combat were still ever present. He'd be following Steve, little Brooklyn street fighter, Rogers right back into war where any number of them could die. It was his duty, one he accepted as easily as the bartender getting him another scotch. If it happened, it happened. He was a combat veteran by most standards, and he'd kill the enemy to protect his new unit. That was that.
And Steve... there was a handsomeness that had always been in the strength of his friend's views of the world, strength of personality and playful awkwardness in the face of dames, flirting, and dancing. Now everyone saw Steve as the hero the gent had always been, except that big body fitted a role that society accepted. Nothing had changed on the inside save perhaps become all the more determined and shining through. Steve was where his friend had strived to be, and Bucky could find no fault in that. Finally things were going Steve's way.
Then there was Agent Carter. After so long in the company of battered, fatigued and often crude men, she was a shining red pillar of female perfection. And she had eyes only for Steve. Her blatant rejection of him stung pride long cultivated in his success of wooing those of the opposite sex to at least a drink and a dance. She was no-nonsense about it; Steve was who she was after plain and simple.
Bucky was jealous, pricked and spurned but chagrined in those emotions because this was what Steve deserved. He was far more jealous that this beautiful hard-assed ramrod straight woman was exactly as his friend had always been meant to have. His pride only shied from her rejection, but the rest of him withered silently with the idea that he would be losing Steve to such a perfect, hard-headed specimen. Damn it burned him a bit to know he was losing his best friend - and sometimes shy aggressive kissing partner - to such a fabulous dame. As Steve deserved the world and more in his mind.
November was peaky in London, and from the pub, he and Steve meandered their way back to the barracks. There had been offer of an officer's private room for Steve being a Captain and all, but they ended up in the same barracks instead. He suspected that Steve had declined to private room, which mean they slid into barracks full of snoring, shifting, farting, mumbling rows of men. Bunks big enough for two men if they squished to save on space if necessary; such was the soldier's life. It had been worse on the trains or in the two-man tents.
He stopped in the doorway and gestured for Steve to follow him around to the back entrance, which was closer to where their own bunks were stationed. It was after dark, the cold picking at his cheeks and nose as he tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets.]
That Agent Carter... she sure has her eye on you. You're not going to screw this up with two left feet, are you? I'll burst out of this invisibility if you do.
[ If only Steve knew what he was thinking, he would have told Bucky that there was little to worry about; that while Steve was drawn to her, the vivacious, no-nonsense sort of charm, Bucky would not lose him. Not when Steve's heart has never stopped being Bucky's. It's just that they haven't really broached the subject, hadn't had the time to talk about it before the war swept in and set them on their respective paths.
He thinks of Peggy, a beautiful, strong-minded woman who shared so many similarities with his best friend that it was more than a little unnerving; but the truth was that Bucky had been the one who loved him first, who saw him for what he was ever since they'd been children, and liked him anyway. In Bucky, Steve knows himself; and when they came back to the back entrance, his brows were raised at that comment. It was just a touch more self-deprecating than Steve was used to; in fact, Bucky hasn't quite been himself after he was rescued, and Steve couldn't blame him. He had been tortured, and anyone would be off their game if they'd been tortured the way his best friend was.
It made him angry all over again, the idea of Bucky trapped in that cell on his own; and it had filled him with a grim determination to continue destroying HYDRA bases so that it couldn't happen again. He could see the pink in his cheeks and nose, and Steve instinctively stepped closer, protective and concerned. He didn't feel the cold as keenly now, but said nothing -- and instead sighed.
Didn't Bucky know, the idiot? Peggy might be stunning and gifted, but Steve only had eyes for his best friend. But what if Bucky liked her, too? What if he had come on to her because he had been interested? He wasn't sure what to do about that; but what he knew was this -- he would never want to get in the way of Bucky's happiness, no matter how much it would hurt. After all that Bucky had been through, he deserved happiness. ]
[In London they weren't expected to do more than return at curfew, but the cold air still tugged at him. It reminded him more than once of his time on the line when the temperatures dropped over night and all one could do was sleep as comfortably as possible in their slit trenches with the Moaning Minnies tittering the possibility of death upon them all. Cold nights those... sleepless nights. Always followed with the heat of the day in the Italian scrub lands.
He was keenly aware of Steve's proximity; the big man gave off heat like a fire at times and even now, he could feel the caress of it against his hands and cheeks. It hadn't yet penetrated his uniform and didn't particularly expect it to either. They'd be safe in their bunks soon enough, nestled down among similar men and yet so completely different from them.]
She seems nice enough. [It was a casual remark, the kind in Brooklyn he used to reserve his judgement on if it was worth pursuit. This time it meant he wasn't even considering it given how she fancied Steve. Never would to step on such a good opportunity, and he was perfectly comfortable setting aside their more... intimate time together for his friend to pursue such a welcomed future.
He reached out, catching Steve's uniform tie in his hand and began to lead them into the barracks and out of the direct cold. He knew his way to their bunks by heart, even in the dark, but his thumb rubbed the material like it would sometimes do to Steve's bare skin. He'd felt that skin on their trek back, his hands too cold and Steve's warm sides so plainly available.]
[ Things don't change. Steve still charges blindly forward while Bucky considers all the angles and possibilities, while he reserves judgement and thinks of all the things that Steve doesn't contemplate. He is, after all, the more thoughtful one of them both; the charmer and America's sweetheart (albeit temporarily displaced). Bucky is the man who gets the girls, the one whom Steve has always held a torch for.
He lets himself be led by the tie into the barracks, and in the quiet darkness of the empty, tiny little space they both share (Steve had to do a lot of convincing for the others to let the both of them share an area together; and ultimately he had dug his heels in stubbornly). His hands had brushes over his often on the way here, as if Steve had thought of wanting to take his hand but never quite having the chance to.
What kind of a future does he have without Bucky? He'd caught a glimpse of it, bleak and dark and empty without his best friend's smile, and his heart clenches. He lowers his voice, soft and quiet so no one would overhear. He frowns. ] Peggy's a great lady, beautiful, too. You can't ask me that kind of question.
[Bucky was glad they were in the dark because it would have been obvious he was rolling his eyes otherwise. Of course Steve liked him; the blond had risked life, limb, and new-found rank to run across enemy territory to rescue him from HYDRA. There was never any doubt in his mind that Steve cared very much for him, but the question was not of him (in his mind anyway), but of a future with Agent Carter.
They had a small spot just off to the main barracks, though he had no idea how Steve had gotten it. Perhaps trading in that officer's room for one among the common man had some weight? Either way, the military was convinced and they had their own spot even if it was a hop, skip and a jump to the rest of the men.]
I'm your best friend and that gives me certain rights to ask you anything I want. [Even in the dark, he flipped head back to grin at Steve as he pulled the blond into their small shared space.] It's not even a complicated question, Stevie. You either like her or you don't.
[ He swears he can almost hear that eye-roll, because it's so Bucky that it makes him smile in return despite himself. He's happy to come with him, and he's pressing Bucky up against the wall of the small space; he's done it before when he'd been much smaller and he knew that Bucky was just letting him have his way.
This way feels different. Good, but different. He can see him better now, take him in greedily; the sharpness of those green eyes -- he had never been able to place the color of Bucky's eyes until now; he'd been effectively colorblind before this. He's even more beautiful to him now, this man cast in sharp contrasts that makes his breath catch. ]
I do. Very much. [ He admits quietly. ] But not quite in the way I feel for you. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.
[It wasn't the first time that Steve had crowded him to a wall, and he doubted that it would ever be the last. Normally it was a small bony sharp-angled body that shouldered him against a wall and he allowed it because he could rest his arms on Steve's narrow shoulders while they worked out whatever it was that made the determined little mite put him there in the first place. Now was plainly different given that Steve was both taller and wider at the shoulders than he was, and he felt like he disappeared behind the blond.
There was a sense that he was going to actually have to stay exactly where he was until Steve deemed it worthwhile to let him slip out. Their bunks were nearby he knew, but in the darkness, it seemed like the room was gaping around them. He instead settled back against the wall, turning his head to peer through the darkness at Steve's face, his fingers still stroking the blond's tie.]
I suppose that depends how you feel about me, Rogers. For one, you have a future with her: marriage, kids, a nice house. You want that, don't you?
[ Steve points out, ever the punk. Yes, he's wanted marriage, kids, and a nice house; but those things had been abstract concepts, especially now when they're in the middle of war and all he's bent on is bringing Bucky and the others back home safe, ending it with minimal casualties. He's very sure that Bucky's got scars of his own -- already the man isn't the same one who's left him at the expo. He looks older, more haunted, and he can't even begin to imagine the depth of torture he'd been exposed to at the base.
He looks down at him, stepping closer as he makes out his features so clearly in the darkness. He cups his face, shaking his head. He's soft, quiet, leaning to whisper the words in his ear, earnest and honest. All he sees now is Bucky, and going home safe. ] Buck, I just got you back. Are you gonna spend the whole night asking me these things?
[If all those long winters, all those rough illnesses, all those last rites by the priest hadn't helped Steve to hit the dirt, he had no reason whatsoever that such a big bold body was going to succumb to anything less than a direct hit with a tank shell. Even then, he considered Steve able and willing to just deflect it or throw it back defiantly just to prove that nothing could kill the blond. Steve had fought too hard to enter this bloody war to get taken out.
He curled an arm around Steve's waist, just to once again get a feel for the thickness of it. He could not entirely get over how big Steve was compared to that little bean sprout who he was pulling out of fist fights. Yet, his grip tightened at the whispered words into his ear.]
Someone has to ask the hard questions, Rogers. You never could make a decision about pursuit of a fine dame. I clearly need to point you in the right direction. Unless you've got something to say, punk?
Yeah, I do. [ Steve says quietly, because now is really not the time to talk about Peggy, not when he has Bucky back with him -- he had been so afraid that he'd find a dead body on that examination table; he'd been so willing to throw everything away to rescue his friend. And now he finally has Bucky back with him, did Bucky really think Steve was going to spend it talking about someone else?
Bucky curls his arm around him again, a familiar, beloved gesture in the strictest, most private of their moments, and he shudders at those words, eyes lidding at how Bucky could make him feel like an inadequate teenage boy all over again.
He turns his head a little, so that he can whisper, warm breath tinged with alcohol fanning against his stubbled skin. ] I don't want to talk about anything else. I almost lost you, Buck. This ain't about me tonight.
[He waited in the mostly dark room, aware of the heat which Steve's body produced which seemed like it was worming through his uniform jacket. There was a spiciness to the air that they breathed, both of their natural scents and that of the scotch that he had been drinking and eventually convinced Steve to try. It brushed over his face when Steve spoke, dizzying him with how nice and firm that big body was leaning against his own.
The whisper was as if they were sharing some secret, but he knew Steve's secrets. His friend was like an open book, and regardless of the months that had gone by, it remained the same. Steve hid so little from him, even if he knew that there was no future for Steve with him. There was no happy ending; he'd heard the stories about the military running out men who found comfort with other men. There were the specific stockades and the medical doctors poking them like something was wrong.
Well, there was nothing wrong with caring for a punk like Steve Rogers. If anything, it was wrong that not everyone did.]
Then who is tonight about, hmm? I ain't going to go to pieces discussing the war nor my time in that camp, Steve. What do you want to talk about?
[ He knows what can happen if they get caught -- and Steve isn't certain that they'd be made exceptions if it really did. There are people who still have it out there for him, resentful that there's only one of him, the surviving legacy of Erskine's great work. And more importantly, he would rather suffer than have Bucky punished alongside him too; which would be unfair considering everything that he's been through. It makes him angry to know that such rules exist, barbaric and terrible -- in his opinion, love is love, and whom a man loves has nothing to do with his character.
He cups his face and studies him, heart aching at how he's thinned, the haunted look in his eyes. Bucky was the golden boy in Brooklyn, charming and silver-tongued and a hit with the ladies. Right here, like this, with shadows of war in his eyes, their days in Brooklyn seem like years away. He leans in to kiss his mouth, searching but tender, as if he's been starved of him for days as he keeps him pinned against the wall. ]
[His eyebrows hitched towards his hairline at the demand, so like Steve that he huffed noisily in the dark of their barracks. There had always been something between them, young and fresh but brotherly enough that he could never quite tell if any advance on his part would be accepted. A shiver ran down the length of his spine, and he slowly lifted his hands to set them down on Steve's broad shoulders.]
Sir yes sir.
[It was a tease, a ruse to cover over how much he actually wanted to do this. So long on the front lines, so long in that camp with little hope save to protect the men around him. Now, just here in the dark, he could be selfish. He could let go some of the ramrod front that he put up to show his confidence even when he wasn't emotionally into doing so.
Instead, like a selfish jerk, he leaned across the distance between them tried to kiss Steve's lips. He missed, somehow not yet used to the height difference that was opposite to what their lives had been. His lips found to edge of Steve's chin, but James Barnes was not a quitter. No way, no how. He had facial navigational skills like every good fella, and he kissed his way up to Steve's lips like there hadn't originally been an error in his aim before. He made certain to make the kiss worth Steve's while, and aimed to steal more than lips even on the first time.]
[ They could both be selfish together. Steve smiles when he misses, wry and fond because of the difference in their heights, the way Bucky has to get used to him. But his own insecurity is allayed; that Bucky still wants to kiss him even when he's bigger now, broader. His own touch is clumsy when his hands come to smooth over his back; Steve's always been used to a different angle, and this is new.
This is also nice. Here like this, they don't have to pretend to the world, and here, he can protect Bucky, too. Things between them are changing and it's frightening, but he'd be damned if he'd let that come between them. He smiles and gives Bucky what he seeks, passionate and heated, his mouth parting to invite him in as fingers tangle in his dark hair. ]
You mean too much to me. [ He murmurs quietly against his mouth, pressing flush against his body, wanting to feel Bucky's against him. See how they're different now, but still the same. Steve still wants him the same way, gets hard the same way, too. ]
[He almost wanted to laugh at how ridiculous they are, clumsy kisses and hands on each other like they are back in Brooklyn hiding behind the school yard tree with bloody knuckles and split lips. There was almost the same urge to grin or laugh too, even if the circumstances were vastly different.
Bucky took the invitation without hesitation, his tongue first rasping against Steve's teeth and then delving in to flick against the warm slick tongue that awaited him. His fingers bunched up Steve's uniform jacket at the shoulders, and he found it just as humorous that he had to push himself to his toes in order to kiss Steve like any gentleman should.]
I won't be leaving the war to be waiting for you in Brooklyn. [In his mind, meaning too much meant that he should sit on his hands, and he wouldn't. He pressed back against Steve to feel the subtle strength of the pressure on his body to remain against the wall.]
[ Bucky can crumple his uniform all he wants -- at this point he wants it off him. He wants to touch him, to run his fingers over his body to make sure that it's really him. His fingers fumble with Bucky's buttons, but he manages, hands (larger than before) coming to smooth over his best friend's chest, that warm skin that spans under his own.
Steve thinks, still, that his Bucky is perfect; the golden boy of Brooklyn, the charmer, the one thing that is most important to him. He feels him push back, and he smiles at that comment, exploring his mouth, tasting the beer on his tongue.
He pushes Bucky's shirt and jacket off his shoulders. In between breathless kisses, he murmurs.] You said you'd come with me. I want you by my side, Buck. [ His lips ease downwards, tracking over his neck. ] What would I do without you?
[Only when Steve's fingers begin on his buttons that he was assured of just where this was going to go. All the tensions since Austria, walking to the Allied Italian line, transferred back to England and then the awareness he was going back to combat all faded to an almost desperate need on his part. His hands slid down the front of Steve's chest, far more confident as he worked open the blond's jacket and button-down shirt. He pushed his hands up under the white t-shirt, scraping his nails over the ridges of Steve's abs.
Yet, he shifted his shoulders to allow his own uniform to be pushed from him, dropping his hands so that the material could slide down his muscled arms and hit the floor with a soft sound as he caught it on his thighs and lowered it slowly, like he had plenty of practice seeking intimacy in situations where quiet was necessary.]
Like I could leave you to get into fights on your own. I still need to wade in and save your bacon, Rogers. [His hands returned to Steve, shoving off the uniform jacket and then dragging off that t-shirt. His fingers - gentle, curious and confident - roam over that impressive chest, stroking nipples with his thumbs before he shifted his hips to pressed his thigh right into Steve's groin.] You'd be lost without me. We follow each other everywhere.
[ Steve had been ill for awhile -- and these days his ailments had been more difficult to shake, which is why he had to be away for a bit. His mother's friend had a small clinic by the sea that was said to be good for his terrible lungs, and with any luck it would clear up in a few days. Steve hadn't wanted to leave Bucky on his own, worried for his best friend (and quite recently, also a sort-of lover; he hasn't quite sorted out that one yet). But he had to go, to restore himself and to hopefully recover if he wanted to live a long enough life to keep Bucky sustained.
He doesn't want Bucky starving along with him, and he wants to be healthy enough for him to be able to have his fill.
And so, after four, five days, Steve makes his way home, quietly eager to see Bucky again, hoping he hadn't gone and gotten himself to any trouble while he'd been gone, even if Steve is the one more prone to getting into trouble. He unlocks the door to their shared apartment and pushes it open -- all is quiet, very quiet, and Steve closes it behind him, calling out. ]
Bucky? Bucky, I'm -- [ He stops dead in his tracks when he sees a motionless body on the bed that he shares with Bucky. Wait, what? ] Bucky?
[Illness came and went with Steve, and normally it didn't affect him as much as it probably should. He, of course, was concerned for his best friend because it was difficult to watch Steve go through yet another round of illness which was a day or so for most people but upwards to a week for the blond. He cared for Steve as much as possible, but there were times the lung ailments were bad enough that a trip to the hospital or a clinic was necessary. It had been awhile since Steve had had to go away.
He survived easily the first three days without meals, working more to have some extra money for when Steve came home. The rent needed to be paid, food needed to be purchased and he was in desperate need of some shoe repairs. With no one to come home to, he worked harder at the docks or any other odd job that he could find. Usually a charming smile and a wink earned him at day's work in most places.
By the fourth day, he was noticeably edgy and hungry. By the fifth, it was almost impossible to keep his 'normal' appearance anymore, which forced him to lure a pretty young woman to their apartment. She had been easily taken in and just as easily lured into the throes of passion where he drained every delicious drop of energy out of her. She died with the prettiest smile on her face.
He had bathed, washed his clothing in the left-over water and stood in his best pair of woolen trousers. He hummed a low pleasant tune as he combed his hair and set some grease to it before freezing at the sound of the door opening. He glanced at the body, her full breasts still rather exposed and sighed a little. He had been sloppy, hadn't he?
He stepped out from around the corner, his skin still faintly glowing and his teeth almost a blinding white when he smiled. And smile he did, tapping the comb on his palm as he swaggered his way over to his blond.]
Steve! You're home! You should have called, you know. I would have come and met you on your way in!
[ Even in a situation like this, Bucky is a distraction. He is alluring, so very stunningly beautiful when he's flush with power, at the peak of his abilities. There are so many reasons why women (and men) flock to him in droves even when he isn't trying, and he's very sure Bucky isn't trying right now.
But he can't look away from the naked dead woman in their bed just behind Bucky, the knowledge that Bucky had been hungry enough to partake all of her life essence made his heart clench and his stomach turn. He hadn't meant to be away this long, to break his promise to his best friend.
He swallows hard and looks up at him, wide-eyed. His incubus is preening like a very handsome peacock, the embodiment of perfection, as if it's just like any other day that he's got a dead woman on their bed. She looks like she's sleeping, pale and unmoving, and he doesn't know what to think. ]
[Steve's shocked disapproval was obvious, but he was in far too good a mood to allow it to hit home on him. He was very much aware of what he had done, but there was no regret for it and never would be. He had to eat, had to survive and she had not complained even at the end when he drank down the last of her energy. No, no, she had still weakly cried out her pleasure and then gone away completely.
He came to stand in front of his small blond friend, even if on those lonely nights he had repeated to himself the word 'lover' like it was a dream. Steve was so very special and would never end up like that one on the bed; he never allowed himself to get hungry enough to even risk that kind of situation.]
I'll stash the body after dark. [He waved away the pointed protest with another big smile.] Let's focus on you being home! I missed you, and I earned extra coin so when you came home we could celebrate with a big dinner! What do you say?
[ Steve had never stopped thinking about Bucky, his boy from Brooklyn, so very strong and handsome and so very not human. He's had plenty of time to get used to the fact that his best friend and now lover is a breed of demon, a stunningly beautiful one that fed on others to survive.
Seeing him like this, so strong and so compelling and so warm, he can't help but feel a pang of guilt. Still, he could never bring himself to turn from Bucky, no matter how horrific it is -- and a small, traitorous part of him twinges at how Bucky must have pleased this woman and thought about him all the time. He takes his hand, threading small fingers through his as he looks up at him, biting his lip. Dinner can wait. ]
Did you think of me when you were doing it with her?
Her name was Gloria. I didn't get more than that because it didn't matter.
[Callous perhaps, but he had needed her for one purpose and that alone. He had drawn her in easily and shown her the time of her life before she had passed, and he spared her no more thought than that. She was a food source and certainly warranted no more of his attention now that Steve was here and looking well.
He squeezed Steve's delicate fingers between his own, using the new hold to draw the blond to him so that he could curl his arm around Steve's waist and hold his lover against his body. He was giving off considerable heat, burning in the energy he had acquired.
Yet, the question had him looking scandalized.]
Lord no! I would never sully the memory of what we do together with her. I only think of what we do together when you are here to perform with me. I am loyal to you in that way, Steve. No one fills my head with happiness like you can.
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Perhaps it was so pungent because he knew that he was going back into combat. There was no particular fear of death or dying, but the horrors and stresses of combat were still ever present. He'd be following Steve, little Brooklyn street fighter, Rogers right back into war where any number of them could die. It was his duty, one he accepted as easily as the bartender getting him another scotch. If it happened, it happened. He was a combat veteran by most standards, and he'd kill the enemy to protect his new unit. That was that.
And Steve... there was a handsomeness that had always been in the strength of his friend's views of the world, strength of personality and playful awkwardness in the face of dames, flirting, and dancing. Now everyone saw Steve as the hero the gent had always been, except that big body fitted a role that society accepted. Nothing had changed on the inside save perhaps become all the more determined and shining through. Steve was where his friend had strived to be, and Bucky could find no fault in that. Finally things were going Steve's way.
Then there was Agent Carter. After so long in the company of battered, fatigued and often crude men, she was a shining red pillar of female perfection. And she had eyes only for Steve. Her blatant rejection of him stung pride long cultivated in his success of wooing those of the opposite sex to at least a drink and a dance. She was no-nonsense about it; Steve was who she was after plain and simple.
Bucky was jealous, pricked and spurned but chagrined in those emotions because this was what Steve deserved. He was far more jealous that this beautiful hard-assed ramrod straight woman was exactly as his friend had always been meant to have. His pride only shied from her rejection, but the rest of him withered silently with the idea that he would be losing Steve to such a perfect, hard-headed specimen. Damn it burned him a bit to know he was losing his best friend - and sometimes shy aggressive kissing partner - to such a fabulous dame. As Steve deserved the world and more in his mind.
November was peaky in London, and from the pub, he and Steve meandered their way back to the barracks. There had been offer of an officer's private room for Steve being a Captain and all, but they ended up in the same barracks instead. He suspected that Steve had declined to private room, which mean they slid into barracks full of snoring, shifting, farting, mumbling rows of men. Bunks big enough for two men if they squished to save on space if necessary; such was the soldier's life. It had been worse on the trains or in the two-man tents.
He stopped in the doorway and gestured for Steve to follow him around to the back entrance, which was closer to where their own bunks were stationed. It was after dark, the cold picking at his cheeks and nose as he tucked his hands deeper into his coat pockets.]
That Agent Carter... she sure has her eye on you. You're not going to screw this up with two left feet, are you? I'll burst out of this invisibility if you do.
no subject
He thinks of Peggy, a beautiful, strong-minded woman who shared so many similarities with his best friend that it was more than a little unnerving; but the truth was that Bucky had been the one who loved him first, who saw him for what he was ever since they'd been children, and liked him anyway. In Bucky, Steve knows himself; and when they came back to the back entrance, his brows were raised at that comment. It was just a touch more self-deprecating than Steve was used to; in fact, Bucky hasn't quite been himself after he was rescued, and Steve couldn't blame him. He had been tortured, and anyone would be off their game if they'd been tortured the way his best friend was.
It made him angry all over again, the idea of Bucky trapped in that cell on his own; and it had filled him with a grim determination to continue destroying HYDRA bases so that it couldn't happen again. He could see the pink in his cheeks and nose, and Steve instinctively stepped closer, protective and concerned. He didn't feel the cold as keenly now, but said nothing -- and instead sighed.
Didn't Bucky know, the idiot? Peggy might be stunning and gifted, but Steve only had eyes for his best friend. But what if Bucky liked her, too? What if he had come on to her because he had been interested? He wasn't sure what to do about that; but what he knew was this -- he would never want to get in the way of Bucky's happiness, no matter how much it would hurt. After all that Bucky had been through, he deserved happiness. ]
Do you like her, Buck?
no subject
He was keenly aware of Steve's proximity; the big man gave off heat like a fire at times and even now, he could feel the caress of it against his hands and cheeks. It hadn't yet penetrated his uniform and didn't particularly expect it to either. They'd be safe in their bunks soon enough, nestled down among similar men and yet so completely different from them.]
She seems nice enough. [It was a casual remark, the kind in Brooklyn he used to reserve his judgement on if it was worth pursuit. This time it meant he wasn't even considering it given how she fancied Steve. Never would to step on such a good opportunity, and he was perfectly comfortable setting aside their more... intimate time together for his friend to pursue such a welcomed future.
He reached out, catching Steve's uniform tie in his hand and began to lead them into the barracks and out of the direct cold. He knew his way to their bunks by heart, even in the dark, but his thumb rubbed the material like it would sometimes do to Steve's bare skin. He'd felt that skin on their trek back, his hands too cold and Steve's warm sides so plainly available.]
Do you like her, Steve?
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[ Things don't change. Steve still charges blindly forward while Bucky considers all the angles and possibilities, while he reserves judgement and thinks of all the things that Steve doesn't contemplate. He is, after all, the more thoughtful one of them both; the charmer and America's sweetheart (albeit temporarily displaced). Bucky is the man who gets the girls, the one whom Steve has always held a torch for.
He lets himself be led by the tie into the barracks, and in the quiet darkness of the empty, tiny little space they both share (Steve had to do a lot of convincing for the others to let the both of them share an area together; and ultimately he had dug his heels in stubbornly). His hands had brushes over his often on the way here, as if Steve had thought of wanting to take his hand but never quite having the chance to.
What kind of a future does he have without Bucky? He'd caught a glimpse of it, bleak and dark and empty without his best friend's smile, and his heart clenches. He lowers his voice, soft and quiet so no one would overhear. He frowns. ] Peggy's a great lady, beautiful, too. You can't ask me that kind of question.
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They had a small spot just off to the main barracks, though he had no idea how Steve had gotten it. Perhaps trading in that officer's room for one among the common man had some weight? Either way, the military was convinced and they had their own spot even if it was a hop, skip and a jump to the rest of the men.]
I'm your best friend and that gives me certain rights to ask you anything I want. [Even in the dark, he flipped head back to grin at Steve as he pulled the blond into their small shared space.] It's not even a complicated question, Stevie. You either like her or you don't.
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This way feels different. Good, but different. He can see him better now, take him in greedily; the sharpness of those green eyes -- he had never been able to place the color of Bucky's eyes until now; he'd been effectively colorblind before this. He's even more beautiful to him now, this man cast in sharp contrasts that makes his breath catch. ]
I do. Very much. [ He admits quietly. ] But not quite in the way I feel for you. I'm not sure if that's a good or bad thing.
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There was a sense that he was going to actually have to stay exactly where he was until Steve deemed it worthwhile to let him slip out. Their bunks were nearby he knew, but in the darkness, it seemed like the room was gaping around them. He instead settled back against the wall, turning his head to peer through the darkness at Steve's face, his fingers still stroking the blond's tie.]
I suppose that depends how you feel about me, Rogers. For one, you have a future with her: marriage, kids, a nice house. You want that, don't you?
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[ Steve points out, ever the punk. Yes, he's wanted marriage, kids, and a nice house; but those things had been abstract concepts, especially now when they're in the middle of war and all he's bent on is bringing Bucky and the others back home safe, ending it with minimal casualties. He's very sure that Bucky's got scars of his own -- already the man isn't the same one who's left him at the expo. He looks older, more haunted, and he can't even begin to imagine the depth of torture he'd been exposed to at the base.
He looks down at him, stepping closer as he makes out his features so clearly in the darkness. He cups his face, shaking his head. He's soft, quiet, leaning to whisper the words in his ear, earnest and honest. All he sees now is Bucky, and going home safe. ] Buck, I just got you back. Are you gonna spend the whole night asking me these things?
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[If all those long winters, all those rough illnesses, all those last rites by the priest hadn't helped Steve to hit the dirt, he had no reason whatsoever that such a big bold body was going to succumb to anything less than a direct hit with a tank shell. Even then, he considered Steve able and willing to just deflect it or throw it back defiantly just to prove that nothing could kill the blond. Steve had fought too hard to enter this bloody war to get taken out.
He curled an arm around Steve's waist, just to once again get a feel for the thickness of it. He could not entirely get over how big Steve was compared to that little bean sprout who he was pulling out of fist fights. Yet, his grip tightened at the whispered words into his ear.]
Someone has to ask the hard questions, Rogers. You never could make a decision about pursuit of a fine dame. I clearly need to point you in the right direction. Unless you've got something to say, punk?
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Bucky curls his arm around him again, a familiar, beloved gesture in the strictest, most private of their moments, and he shudders at those words, eyes lidding at how Bucky could make him feel like an inadequate teenage boy all over again.
He turns his head a little, so that he can whisper, warm breath tinged with alcohol fanning against his stubbled skin. ] I don't want to talk about anything else. I almost lost you, Buck. This ain't about me tonight.
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The whisper was as if they were sharing some secret, but he knew Steve's secrets. His friend was like an open book, and regardless of the months that had gone by, it remained the same. Steve hid so little from him, even if he knew that there was no future for Steve with him. There was no happy ending; he'd heard the stories about the military running out men who found comfort with other men. There were the specific stockades and the medical doctors poking them like something was wrong.
Well, there was nothing wrong with caring for a punk like Steve Rogers. If anything, it was wrong that not everyone did.]
Then who is tonight about, hmm? I ain't going to go to pieces discussing the war nor my time in that camp, Steve. What do you want to talk about?
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He cups his face and studies him, heart aching at how he's thinned, the haunted look in his eyes. Bucky was the golden boy in Brooklyn, charming and silver-tongued and a hit with the ladies. Right here, like this, with shadows of war in his eyes, their days in Brooklyn seem like years away. He leans in to kiss his mouth, searching but tender, as if he's been starved of him for days as he keeps him pinned against the wall. ]
Just kiss me, Buck.
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Sir yes sir.
[It was a tease, a ruse to cover over how much he actually wanted to do this. So long on the front lines, so long in that camp with little hope save to protect the men around him. Now, just here in the dark, he could be selfish. He could let go some of the ramrod front that he put up to show his confidence even when he wasn't emotionally into doing so.
Instead, like a selfish jerk, he leaned across the distance between them tried to kiss Steve's lips. He missed, somehow not yet used to the height difference that was opposite to what their lives had been. His lips found to edge of Steve's chin, but James Barnes was not a quitter. No way, no how. He had facial navigational skills like every good fella, and he kissed his way up to Steve's lips like there hadn't originally been an error in his aim before. He made certain to make the kiss worth Steve's while, and aimed to steal more than lips even on the first time.]
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This is also nice. Here like this, they don't have to pretend to the world, and here, he can protect Bucky, too. Things between them are changing and it's frightening, but he'd be damned if he'd let that come between them. He smiles and gives Bucky what he seeks, passionate and heated, his mouth parting to invite him in as fingers tangle in his dark hair. ]
You mean too much to me. [ He murmurs quietly against his mouth, pressing flush against his body, wanting to feel Bucky's against him. See how they're different now, but still the same. Steve still wants him the same way, gets hard the same way, too. ]
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Bucky took the invitation without hesitation, his tongue first rasping against Steve's teeth and then delving in to flick against the warm slick tongue that awaited him. His fingers bunched up Steve's uniform jacket at the shoulders, and he found it just as humorous that he had to push himself to his toes in order to kiss Steve like any gentleman should.]
I won't be leaving the war to be waiting for you in Brooklyn. [In his mind, meaning too much meant that he should sit on his hands, and he wouldn't. He pressed back against Steve to feel the subtle strength of the pressure on his body to remain against the wall.]
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Steve thinks, still, that his Bucky is perfect; the golden boy of Brooklyn, the charmer, the one thing that is most important to him. He feels him push back, and he smiles at that comment, exploring his mouth, tasting the beer on his tongue.
He pushes Bucky's shirt and jacket off his shoulders. In between breathless kisses, he murmurs.] You said you'd come with me. I want you by my side, Buck. [ His lips ease downwards, tracking over his neck. ] What would I do without you?
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Yet, he shifted his shoulders to allow his own uniform to be pushed from him, dropping his hands so that the material could slide down his muscled arms and hit the floor with a soft sound as he caught it on his thighs and lowered it slowly, like he had plenty of practice seeking intimacy in situations where quiet was necessary.]
Like I could leave you to get into fights on your own. I still need to wade in and save your bacon, Rogers. [His hands returned to Steve, shoving off the uniform jacket and then dragging off that t-shirt. His fingers - gentle, curious and confident - roam over that impressive chest, stroking nipples with his thumbs before he shifted his hips to pressed his thigh right into Steve's groin.] You'd be lost without me. We follow each other everywhere.
incubus v2.
He doesn't want Bucky starving along with him, and he wants to be healthy enough for him to be able to have his fill.
And so, after four, five days, Steve makes his way home, quietly eager to see Bucky again, hoping he hadn't gone and gotten himself to any trouble while he'd been gone, even if Steve is the one more prone to getting into trouble. He unlocks the door to their shared apartment and pushes it open -- all is quiet, very quiet, and Steve closes it behind him, calling out. ]
Bucky? Bucky, I'm -- [ He stops dead in his tracks when he sees a motionless body on the bed that he shares with Bucky. Wait, what? ] Bucky?
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He survived easily the first three days without meals, working more to have some extra money for when Steve came home. The rent needed to be paid, food needed to be purchased and he was in desperate need of some shoe repairs. With no one to come home to, he worked harder at the docks or any other odd job that he could find. Usually a charming smile and a wink earned him at day's work in most places.
By the fourth day, he was noticeably edgy and hungry. By the fifth, it was almost impossible to keep his 'normal' appearance anymore, which forced him to lure a pretty young woman to their apartment. She had been easily taken in and just as easily lured into the throes of passion where he drained every delicious drop of energy out of her. She died with the prettiest smile on her face.
He had bathed, washed his clothing in the left-over water and stood in his best pair of woolen trousers. He hummed a low pleasant tune as he combed his hair and set some grease to it before freezing at the sound of the door opening. He glanced at the body, her full breasts still rather exposed and sighed a little. He had been sloppy, hadn't he?
He stepped out from around the corner, his skin still faintly glowing and his teeth almost a blinding white when he smiled. And smile he did, tapping the comb on his palm as he swaggered his way over to his blond.]
Steve! You're home! You should have called, you know. I would have come and met you on your way in!
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But he can't look away from the naked dead woman in their bed just behind Bucky, the knowledge that Bucky had been hungry enough to partake all of her life essence made his heart clench and his stomach turn. He hadn't meant to be away this long, to break his promise to his best friend.
He swallows hard and looks up at him, wide-eyed. His incubus is preening like a very handsome peacock, the embodiment of perfection, as if it's just like any other day that he's got a dead woman on their bed. She looks like she's sleeping, pale and unmoving, and he doesn't know what to think. ]
No, it's all right. Buck, you killed someone.
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He came to stand in front of his small blond friend, even if on those lonely nights he had repeated to himself the word 'lover' like it was a dream. Steve was so very special and would never end up like that one on the bed; he never allowed himself to get hungry enough to even risk that kind of situation.]
I'll stash the body after dark. [He waved away the pointed protest with another big smile.] Let's focus on you being home! I missed you, and I earned extra coin so when you came home we could celebrate with a big dinner! What do you say?
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[ Steve had never stopped thinking about Bucky, his boy from Brooklyn, so very strong and handsome and so very not human. He's had plenty of time to get used to the fact that his best friend and now lover is a breed of demon, a stunningly beautiful one that fed on others to survive.
Seeing him like this, so strong and so compelling and so warm, he can't help but feel a pang of guilt. Still, he could never bring himself to turn from Bucky, no matter how horrific it is -- and a small, traitorous part of him twinges at how Bucky must have pleased this woman and thought about him all the time. He takes his hand, threading small fingers through his as he looks up at him, biting his lip. Dinner can wait. ]
Did you think of me when you were doing it with her?
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[Callous perhaps, but he had needed her for one purpose and that alone. He had drawn her in easily and shown her the time of her life before she had passed, and he spared her no more thought than that. She was a food source and certainly warranted no more of his attention now that Steve was here and looking well.
He squeezed Steve's delicate fingers between his own, using the new hold to draw the blond to him so that he could curl his arm around Steve's waist and hold his lover against his body. He was giving off considerable heat, burning in the energy he had acquired.
Yet, the question had him looking scandalized.]
Lord no! I would never sully the memory of what we do together with her. I only think of what we do together when you are here to perform with me. I am loyal to you in that way, Steve. No one fills my head with happiness like you can.