Chapter Text
Thanks (Gracias) a polite expression used when acknowledging a gift, service, or compliment, or accepting or refusing an offer. “Thanks for being part of this story. It’s being quite a ride, and we’ll keep you updated.” 107 from Brooklyn, “El Faro: Gracias”.
“Morning,” Steve says, emerging from the bedroom still half asleep. His long hair is sticking in all directions and he’s wearing just white boxer briefs and a fraying t-shirt. He looks like a wet walking dream coming towards him to distract him from his phone and the apple he was eating.
“Looking good on your walk of shame, Rogers,” he says, and it earns him a morning kiss. “Any regrets?”
“I regret you for being so awake. It’s weird,” Steve answers as he scratches his head and takes a stool to sit beside him in the kitchen before he steals a bite of his apple.
“How are you feeling in the aftermath? Any different?”
“Well, I woke up to a full inbox of emails and texts from Sam and Pepper forwarding me every request for information they’ve gotten since yesterday, plus random pieces of news and gossip,” he says. “I believe it’s some kind of revenge for name-dropping them yesterday without previous notice.”
“I feel you,” Bucky agrees, swinging his notification-filled phone before Steve’s eyes.
“My top number of simultaneous notifications was like five until this morning.” Steve chuckles. “Also different? You were gone when I woke up, which was not only uncommon, but a nuance.” Bucky raises a questioning eyebrow. “It frustrated my morning sex plans.”
“Oh, Steve, I’m sorry but I’m afraid last night cannot happen again,” he says, trying to keep a straight face, but failing. “I already have a boyfriend.”
“You do, uh?”
He nods, “Check the internet if you don’t believe me. Everybody knows now.”
They both laugh—no, they giggle—something has definitely shifted.
“It’s all over the news,” Bucky goes on. He’s dying to tell Steve everything he’s found out. “But I’m getting a bit antsy about my relationship because Fox News is reporting that he doesn’t really love me. They claim that my beloved is being mind-controlled by a socialist lobby led by the Winter Soldier.”
Steve’s eyes widen at Bucky’s information. “You’re kidding.”
“I couldn’t make stuff like that up even if I wanted to,” he says. “I’ve written a list with the best news so far, wanna see?”
Steve stands up to brew some coffee while Bucky tells him everything he’s read about—the record of the show’s YouTube video, how they crashed the radio web page, the virtual support concentrations, the gifs, the hashtags. He tells him about the mayor wanting them to be virtual spokespersons for NYC Pride, the honorary presidency of the US Lighthouse Society, the honorary presidency of Spanish Lighthouse Society—in fact, you name a Lighthouse association, they’re most likely honorary presidents by now.
“Manhattan and Brooklyn seem to be in a race to be the first to name some corner in their queer neighborhoods after us,” Bucky goes on, having way too much fun with this. “Oh, and, the antique dealers in the state are requesting fucking clues from you to identify some Steve Rogers’ originals that might be forgotten in some dusty corner of thei—”
“Don’t think I don’t know what you’re doing, Buck,” Steve cuts in, smiling but with a firm voice. “I can see you’ve worked hard on all the sugar coating and information filtering just to take care of me because you’ve been performing a version of this dance since twenty six. I couldn’t be more grateful about any of it, but I I don’t need a shield. ”
Bucky hadn’t expected his shenanigans to go unnoticed, but he had hoped for a bit more time of silliness.
“I won’t deny any of that, but the information is not as edited as you might suspect. There’s some nasty stuff, of course, but the verdict is overwhelmingly good so far.”
“Feels really good to me,” Steve says, a heavy confession dressed up as light-hearted. “Just right.”
“Yes, just right,” he says in return. “Thank you.”
“No need to.”
Bucky smiles, and stands up. “You sure?” He asks as he sits on Steve, straddling him. He was just longing for some closeness, but changes his plans when he feels Steve half-hardness through his boxer briefs.
“Just don’t start anything you can’t finish,” Steve answers, staring challengingly at him.
“I see you wanna listen to more stories,” he answers, kissing him thoroughly. “I’m happy I left my favorite one for the end because I want to see your blush all over your body; would you like me to tell you?”
Steve grunts as he kisses him back, and Bucky thinks it counts as a yes.
“The interne—oh, shit.” He loses all coherent thoughts when Steve pushes his hips up and increases friction, but he will not surrender just yet. “The internet figured out that your beautiful eulogy about the color blue was all about my eyes.”
“Always showing off with your big words, even in moments like this,” Steve says, and Bucky isn’t sure that he’s actually listening to him, because he’s doing things to his neck and the conversation is becoming a blur. “Hold on to me.”
The command makes his dick twitch, and he obeys, holding as tight as he can while Steve stands up, to effortlessly move them to the bedroom and onto the still unmade bed where he pushes him against the mattress with all of his body weight.
Bucky groans. “So the blue the int—-” he tries to say, playfully. He doesn’t wanna give up.
“Buck, I always get a kick out of listening to you talk, you know that, but right now?” Steve says, shutting him up with deep kissing as he grinds against and tries to lower both their briefs at the same time. Always the overachiever. “Right now all I want to hear are those noises you make when I ride you.”
Bucky gasps, giving up. He knows he’s not winning this one.
“You’re playing dirty,” he manages to say as he feels their dicks touching.
“It’s the least I can do,” Steve exclaims, breathy. “I woke up this morning hard and fucking mellow, and you were gone. You decided to choose today to become an early bird, so I had no other option than to go and bring you back.”
“Your life is so unfair, you punk. Bad me.” He tries to go on with the joke, but Steve is already stroking their cocks together, so he accepts defeat. His brain is fried on sex and want.
Bucky extends his arm to reach for the lube so he can quickly prep Steve, realizing he has a just small window of time to prevent the party from being over before it starts.
This is not going to be a lazy morning fuck, so he goes for Steve’s ass without further warning, and gets a bitten lip and a deep hoarse groan in return. Both of them barely holding it together as Steve desperately fucks himself on his fingers.
“I’m not gon—”
Steve doesn’t let him finish his sentence since he’s suddenly everywhere just seconds apart: kissing him, removing fingers, and replacing them with Bucky’s dick to start riding him as promised.
He is always honest, after all.
After the initial shock, Bucky starts delivering, too, and there are growls and flesh and clashing teeth and sweat until Steve comes all over Bucky, dick untouched. It doesn’t take him long to follow, shouting Steve’s name as he comes. He’s suddenly really grateful to be out and in the twenty-first century so they don’t have to restrain any of this in fear of the neighbors hearing.
“I haven’t forgotten about the unfinished color story,” Bucky says a little later while they’re still panting, naked, and happy.
“Way to kick my ego, Buck since I barely remember my own name.”
“Your performance was outstanding, don't worry. It’s not your fault that I’ve always had more brains than you do.”
Steve kicks him in the shin. “Idiot.”
Bucky rises on his flesh arm—elbow in the pillow—so he can see Steve’s face better as he talks, and he smiles at the view. He’s gorgeous.
“Remember how I told you your epic words about the color blue had been carefully scrounged by the internet until a consensus was reached that I, James Bucky Barnes, am the proud bearer of said unnamed blue?”
“God, no. Did you really tell me about it?” Steve asks, mortified and with a deep pink already covering his cheeks.
“Not in as many words, but I gave you the general idea,” Bucky answers with a laugh. He loves mortified Steve. “I never told you the whole story, though. There’s this big Color Corporation called Pantone, and they loved loved loved your relationship with color, I guess.”
“I did it all for you, you fucking jerk, and now you’re joining the fucking internet in making fun of me. You’re heartless, I don’t wanna listen anymore,” he protests, covering his face with one hand.
“Yes, you do, you’re gonna love it.” Bucky insists, talking in between chuckles. “Pantone called Pepper who, of course, sent us all the information and internet speculation and, guess what?”
“No.”
“Then I’ll have to tell you,” he says, “because apparently you just had sex with ‘Pantone 107-B’. They wanna work with you to get just the right hue you were mushing about, and once you do they’re gonna make me the color of the year.”
Bucky is crying with laughter, and falls into the pillow again. It’s probably not that funny, but he can barely talk. He hasn’t had such a fit of laughter in forever.
Steve is already red down to his belly, hand still over his face, but he’s starting to chuckle too.
“Hold your laughter, punk, because you don’t know the best part yet,” Bucky adds, breathless and removing Steve’s hand from his face. He doesn’t wanna miss even a bit of his beautiful embarrassment.
“Please, have some mercy, and don’t tell me.”
Bucky ignores the plea, “They’re calling the color Blue-cky Barnes.”
Steve looks blankly at him for a moment and then breaks into a fit of free, beautiful, uncontrollable laughter that completes and matches his own. It sounds like the happiest of songs.