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It’s hard to explain exactly how it starts.
Maybe it’s the first time Steve laughs at a joke Bucky cracks, or the first time he edges closer when Bucky stands next to him, or the first time Bucky smells his cologne and realises that Steve has come up behind him as he’s working out in the gym.
It doesn’t really matter how it starts, but Bucky’s aware that he’s attracted.
It’s hard not to be attracted to Steve. He’s so handsome and, more than that, is so warm. He laughs easily, his blue eyes soft, crinkling, his teeth white and perfect—if you can catch his teeth before Steve throws his head back in amusement, that is. He throws his whole body into a laugh and Bucky finds it strangely compelling, irresistible.
Bucky can’t stop himself from touching Steve—from soft grazes, his body unconsciously turning towards Steve, his arm reaching out to touch Steve’s in the middle of conversation, smacking him playfully when Steve teases him.
Which happens a lot.
Steve is touchy-feely too, but he’s that way with that everyone, Bucky reasons. Right?
Right, he tells himself firmly.
Better not to dwell too much on it or put too much stock into small things—that way lies madness. So he enjoys Steve’s brushes, his hands fluttering over Bucky’s body as they talk, the way they seem to make each other laugh, endlessly, over and over.
One time, when Steve teases him, Bucky reaches over to smack him and Steve catches his hand quickly, laughing, threading his fingers through Bucky’s and Bucky feels that tug low in belly, feels his cheeks burn and his chest heat. He laughs lightly and says something—he can’t even remember what—and gently pulls his hand back, aware that people are watching them.
Another time, when they’re sitting in swivel chairs, talking about something or the other, Bucky finds that his unfortunate habit of leaning too close to Steve means that he’s somehow ending up kicking him over and over and over. It’s not a really hard kick or anything, but it does keep happening. Each time, Bucky apologises and rolls his chair back a little, but somehow, he always ends up moving close to Steve again, as if Steve is a lodestone.
Steve tells him it’s no big deal, he doesn’t care, but Bucky apologises anyway, until finally, in teasing retaliation, Steve starts to gently kick him back, holding the arms of Bucky’s chair firmly so he can’t roll back.
Bucky looks into Steve’s smiling face, into his sparkling, mischievous blue eyes, and laughs and laughs, trying and failing to push Steve’s hands off his chair.
Sometimes, though, Bucky tries to stay away. He’s deathly afraid of being too obvious, or of scaring Steve away, so he forces himself to keep some space between the two of them. Not emotional distance, but actual, literal, physical distance. He makes sure he and Steve are at opposite ends of the room while he talks to someone else, smiling and waving at Steve from afar, keeping his demeanor breezy.
But Steve always comes.
Sooner or later, Steve will be standing near him, very very close, his smiling mouth not very far from Bucky’s as he whispers about something or the other, his warm elbow pressing into Bucky’s, or his chest against Bucky’s back, hot and comfortable and firm. Bucky sometimes think that nothing will feel as good as those moments, of looking up and finding Steve at his side, his eyes soft and mischievous and happy.
It is so hard not to be thoroughly, utterly giddy.
It’s not always sunshine and flowers, though. Sometimes, Bucky sees Steve talking to someone else and feels his heart sink. Steve is wildly charismatic, very warm, very friendly and makes friends super easily—what if Bucky is just one of his friends? What if what Bucky thinks is flirting is just banter?
One time, when they’re on a mission together, Steve is so thoroughly absorbed, he doesn’t say a single word to Bucky for half the day. Bucky can’t help feeling depressed about it, and then also thoroughly irritated at himself—what kind of idiot wants Captain America to be distracted during a mission?
But when Steve is free, the very second he is, he’ll come over to Bucky. “Need help?” he’ll ask, his eyes friendly, his smile big and Bucky will forgive him, instantly, completely.
Their friendship starts slowly, in little gentle bursts, moving slowly into texting and then very gently into calls. It’s just supposed to be a work call, but there’s a lot of talk before that, and then when they’ve exchanged particulars about the mission and are supposed to hang up after exchanging goodbyes, somehow it doesn’t end. In fact, nobody hangs up—and, as Bucky listens to the silence of Steve on the other line, he feels his heart beating very quickly.
Just as Bucky is about to bite the bullet and end the call, pulling his phone away from his ear to press the red button to hang up, Steve launches into another subject, prolonging their conversation for a few more minutes. Laughing, Bucky presses the phone to his ear, feeling dizzy, giddy and utterly joyous.
Bucky listens to the sounds of the people talking around Steve and is very aware that Steve is choosing to talk to him over all his friends and that alone makes his stomach flutter.
They grow close organically, their senses of humour very similar, and sometimes when Bucky glances up, during those moments when Steve isn’t standing next to him, he sees that Steve is staring at him. It’s not always at his face—sometimes, it’s his body, which makes Bucky flush—and it takes real effort to not glance down and look at what Steve is looking at.
They get into trouble for talking too much, with Tony making sardonic comments about “distracted children” and Natasha actually pointedly glaring at them when they’re whispering during debriefs. Only Thor seems amused, his blue eyes almost understanding when Bucky looks at him—as if he gets this whole, all-consuming attraction that’s pouring out of every pore in Bucky’s body.
There is also the trouble of Steve being so attractive. People are drawn to him—not just women, but men too. And not all romantically. It is his warm personality, his ability to make people laugh, his empathy and, of course, everyone respects him.
Bucky tries not to feel jealous, but it’s hard to be completely okay with it. It’s hard to watch girls stand so close to him, to watch people hanging onto his every word like it’s the Word of God. Sometimes, though, Steve will very obviously step back from a girl standing too close and Bucky will hide a smile. Then, of course, he’ll wait patiently for Steve to come to his side and Bucky will stand very close and feel just a little smug.
He’s just that petty, okay?
There are a couple of moments that maybe cross from friendship to… well, something more. He can explain away everything else, but he can’t quite explain this. The elevators at Tony’s place are giant, to allow for the transport of his suits and other material and so there’s always plenty of room in there. So one day, as they’re heading home from a long day, talking and laughing as always, Steve steps into the elevator first with Bucky following.
Tired, Bucky moves all the way to the back of the elevator and leans against the wall there, continuing his conversation with Steve. But when the door closes, Steve straightens and begins to approach him. Steve is still talking, still smiling from the jokes they’ve just cracked at each other’s expense. He comes right up to Bucky, his mouth warm and stretched into a soft grin, his blue eyes looking into Bucky’s, his shoes brushing Bucky’s, his thighs just an inch away from Bucky.
In that roomy elevator, Bucky’s head spins, feels like his lungs have locked, feels like Steve is just going to lean into him when… the elevator dings and Steve has to get out at his floor. They say laughing goodbyes, even as Bucky’s heart is pounding, even as he is still completely, utterly giddy.
Why did Steve do that?
It goes on like that for weeks. One time, Dr. Banner asks if they’re dating and both of them laugh. Bucky sarcastically says they are, but Steve merely smiles, letting him speak, his eyes mischievous and amused. They’re too smart to make it weird, but Bucky feels his heart skip a beat, nevertheless.
But it never seems to go anywhere. It always feels like a one step forward, one step backward thing. Are they or aren’t they? Will they or won’t they? He feels like he’s in a sitcom where they keep teasing the main characters but won’t ever get them together.
The truth is, Bucky has no idea about Steve’s personal life—he has no idea who Steve sees personally. Who Steve is dating, who Steve is loving. Steve sometimes is curious about Bucky, but Bucky doesn’t share. One time, he peers over Bucky’s shoulder and asks what the name of a group conversation on Bucky’s phone. Bucky blushes and doesn’t answer.
Another time, when they’re texting, Bucky tries to end the conversation but Steve assures him he isn’t bothering him—although a second later, he texts Don’t you have something better to do than to talk to me? and Bucky immediately jokingly acts insulted, thinking that maybe Steve doesn’t want to text him, ending the conversation quickly.
Only later he wonders if maybe Steve was trying to find out what he was doing.
The truth is, he just doesn’t know.
But he’s too jaded, too hurt from previous encounters with bad boyfriends to put much stock into Steve’s blue eyes, into his warm smiles, into his adorable hugs. He knows better, knows that a guy like Steve is never going to be into a guy like Bucky.
It takes four months of this, until they finish an assignment together for Bucky to finally get an answer to his question.
They are stretched out under the summer sky, having just flown back to Tony’s place after a long week of reconnaissance culminating in an ultimate smackdown with the perp, who they successfully—and easily—defeat. Tired and exhausted, it is Steve who sinks down into the grass, saying, “Lie down with me for a sec.”
Bucky complies—because of course he does—and as they’re laughing about something else, he feels the side of Steve’s hand brushing against his and he freezes, his heart pounding. When Steve’s hand closes around his, it feels like the most natural thing in the world, as if Bucky has been waiting for this, as if the past few months were all building to this.
When they thread their fingers together, Bucky feels tears prick at his eyes—he’s waited for this so long and now it feels like it’s too good to be true. But Steve always knows and he’s already rolling over and he’s kissing Bucky and it tastes like sunshine under a night sky, like glorious yellow in a sea of black, like being lit up from within.
When they’re finished and lying back on the grass panting, Bucky feels his head spin and laughs because he is so utterly, thoroughly giddy.