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“Is that… is that all you got? ‘Cause I can… I can do this... all day!”
The sickening crack of a fist connecting with a nose that follows the wheezing declaration is so loud that it stops Bucky in his tracks and makes him wince. It sends a phantom pain through Bucky’s nose as well, and he reaches up to touch it.
“You just don’t know when to quit, do you Rogers?” A cruel voice sneers, and then there’s the sound of something solid— a body, Rogers’ body, Bucky assumes— slamming into some trash cans.
“You just don’t… don’t know how to… how to take no… for an… answer,” Rogers spits back through his heavy breathing, his deep voice angry. There’s some more rustling of the cans, and Bucky can only assume that Rogers is righting himself.
Rogers’ attacker laughs— if it can be called a laugh. It sounds more like an ugly cackle, almost like the screech of an animal getting run over. It’s completely unpleasant, and it makes Bucky’s skin crawl.
“Oh fuck off, Rogers. She wanted it. She was just playin’ hard to get,” the attacker jeers, his tone lecherous and slimy. Bucky doesn’t know what exactly happened to instigate this, but from this comment alone he knows for certain that this grade A douchebag deserves every blow the Rogers guy can serve him. “What would a cocksucker like you know about what a woman wants anyways?” Another crunch. A stifled, pained outcry. More trash can clanging.
And suddenly, Bucky’s blood is boiling and his feet are moving, carrying him towards the voices coming from the alley. His mother taught him to always stand up for himself and for those that needed it, and he’s not about to disappoint her now. He rounds the corner, and before his brain can even catch up with his actions, he’s grabbing a fistful of cheap fabric and hauling the attacker back.
“Hey! What the fuck do you think you’re doing?” He barks, releasing the shirt so he can shove both hands into the guy’s chest, sending him stumbling backwards. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Rogers sprawled out, face down at the foot of the metal trash cans. He’s a small guy, much smaller than Bucky expected, but that’s not really all that important. There’s a god awful rasping sound coming from him as he starts to lift himself up on shaky arms, but Bucky can’t worry about that right now. Not when Rogers’ attacker has regained his bearings and has registered what just happened.
Bucky focuses back on the attacker. He’s big. A few inches taller than Bucky, even, and much bulkier. He looks like the kind of guy that would go around bragging about eating raw eggs and nails for breakfast. Bucky’s not afraid of him, though. Big guys like this don’t tend to use their brains in fights. Just swing their fists.
Before he can do so, however, Bucky winds his own fist up and smashes it right into the guy’s face. He can feel and hear the crack of his fist, and he can’t stop the satisfied feeling that blooms as a result. A broken nose is just the beginning of what the dick actually deserves.
But Bucky’s not here for a full blown fight. He just wanted to get rid of the guy, and he knows that he needs to check on Rogers. His breathing sounds even worse with each passing second and it’s starting to really worry Bucky.
The attacker is doubled over clutching at his nose and there’s blood dripping through his fingers. His eyes narrow into a glare he directs at Bucky, but as Bucky matches the stare with an even fiercer intensity and takes a step towards the man, all towering confidence, he can see a flicker of fear flash in his eyes. Bucky takes another step and reaches out to grab at the front of the man’s shirt. It shows just how cowardly he truly is when he flinches and doesn’t try to put up a fight.
“I suggest you get the fuck outta here, asshole, or there’s gonna be a whole lot more where that came from,” Bucky snaps, doing his best to sound and look intimidating.
It must work, though, because the second he lets go of the attacker’s shirt he’s scrambling out of the alley, not looking back once. As soon as he disappears from sight Bucky lets out a breath and smooths his hands down the front of his shirt, trying to collect himself before he faces Rogers. He knows he needs to be calm and level-headed in order to help him, that any leftover traces of anger won’t do either of them any good.
When he turns towards Rogers, Bucky notices he’s still on the ground, though he’s managed to prop himself up onto his hands and knees. He’s got one hand on his chest and he’s trying to suck in breath after breath, but the speed and desperation at which he’s doing so only seems to be making things worse.
“Shit,” Bucky mumbles, hurrying over to Rogers. He kneels down next to the man and gingerly places a hand against his back. “Fuck, okay, I’m going to help you sit up, pal. No way you’re going to get any air into those lungs if you’re bent over like that.”
Rogers nods— can’t really do much else— and Bucky takes that as his cue to carefully manhandle him into a sitting position, making sure that his back is pressed straight up against the trash can to help create a clear path to his airway.
Once Rogers is securely upright he pauses for a moment to try and slow his breathing, but when that doesn’t work he goes for his pocket, hastily stuffing a hand inside to dig around. It doesn’t take long before he finds what he was looking for, and when he pulls his hand out, Bucky notices his long fingers curled around an inhaler.
Rogers shakes it, uncaps it, and brings it to his lips, taking two quick puffs before the heaving of his chest begins to finally slow. He removes the inhaler from his mouth, attempting to take a few slow, deep breaths and tips his head back against the trash can. The motion causes Rogers’ hair to finally fall out of his eyes, and Bucky’s able to get a real look at him for the first time.
Now it’s Bucky’s turn to be the one that’s short of breath because, holy fuck, this guy is so damn pretty . Even with blood dripping down his chin and coating his teeth. He’s all high cheekbones and sharp jawline and gorgeous blue eyes. Even his nose, crooked from being broken a few too many times, fits nicely with the rest of his features.
Realizing that he’s been staring for much longer than considered appropriate, Bucky tears his eyes from Rogers’ face. He’s still crouching, still leaning over Rogers, and he sits back on his haunches to give the man some space. “So, uh, Rogers…” he starts slowly, unsure of how to address the man. The name the attacker used— Rogers— sounds like a last name, but it’s all Bucky’s got.
“Steve,” Rogers— Steve supplies between pants.
“Steve,” Bucky repeats. He likes it. Steve Rogers. It’s a nice name, rolls off his tongue well. He could get used to saying it. “I’m Bucky,” he replies. “But um, are you… are you okay? Can you breathe?” Bucky asks slowly, searching Steve’s face for any signs of his answer.
“Not really,” Steve wheezes, though he already does sound much better than he did before. His blood crusted lips curl into the brightest grin and he looks directly into Bucky’s eyes, then says, “You kind of took my breath away.”
A surprised laugh bubbles out of Bucky and his brows furrow. “Did you just… is that a line?” He asks in disbelief.
Steve lifts the inhaler back up to his mouth and slowly wraps his lips around it, batting his eyelashes at Bucky over top of it. Damn bastard’s making a show of it, and Bucky can’t look away. Who knew trying to breath would be such a turn on? Steve over-exaggeratedly sucks in as he puffs down on the inhaler, going above and beyond to hollow his cheeks just enough to put a certain kind of image in Bucky’s mind. And god dammit, this is not how he expected things to go when he decided to turn down this alley. Not that Bucky’s complaining, though.
Two dramatic puffs later and Steve lets the inhaler slip from his lips with a pop. “Do you want it to be a line?” He asks coyly, arching a brow at Bucky.
“I uhh…” Bucky starts, not sure how to go about answering Steve. Does he want it to be a line? Steve’s pretty damn cute, and despite the fact that he started the fight Bucky saved his ass from, he started it for a good reason. Bucky can see that Steve has a good heart, and truth be told, he wouldn’t mind getting to know him a bit better. See if maybe that good heart has room for one more thing to care about. “I actually wouldn’t mind that,” Bucky decides, a warm smile curving onto his lips.
Steve’s eyes absolutely light up at that, flirty coquettishness quickly replaced by genuine happiness. Bucky’s heart trips over itself at just how cute Steve is. “Great. Good, yeah. Really good,” Steve replies, his cheeks taking on a soft pink hue. He presses his lips together for a second, seemingly contemplating his next words before he finally decides to just go for it. “So, I take it that means you’ll say yes if I ask you to join me for pie and coffee around the corner?”
“Oh? Now?” Bucky says, a pleasantly surprised expression settling across his features.
“I kind of owe you,” Steve says. “For, y’know, punching that asshole— who I totally had on the ropes, by the way.”
Bucky snorts. “Sure you did, pal.”
“I did!” Steve argues, but quickly waves it off. “But, I mean it. Think of it as a thank you?”
Bucky pauses, taking a moment to pretend to mull it over. He has to bite down on his lip to hold back his smile. “Or a date,” he says, keeping his tone as casual and nonchalant as possible. “Think of it as a date.”
It’s Steve’s turn to look surprised, but that surprise quickly melts into pure joy. “Or a date,” he confirms, matching Bucky’s tone.
“In that case,” Bucky grins, “I’d love to.”