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Steve Rogers paused outside the examination room to skim the new patient intake form. The patient's name was James Buchanan Barnes, he was thirty-five years old, and he had circled No for skin cancer, eczema, psoriasis, seasonal allergies, and infectious diseases but Yes for scarring/keloids. Under the section marked Please describe the reason for your visit to Stark Dermatology Center, the patient had printed in a spiky, boyish hand:
Car accident scars
Well, that's vague, Steve thought, amused, as he gave a perfunctory knock on the door before letting himself into the room. On the examination table sat a stunning young man with chestnut brown hair past his shoulders, a razor-sharp jawline lightly dusted with dark stubble, an adorable cleft in his chin, and a lovely, wide mouth with finely shaped lips. Steve couldn't immediately ascertain the color of his eyes, but his eyelashes were notably luxurious. He wore faded blue skinny jeans, unlaced black combat boots, and an oversized black zip-front hoodie with his hands tucked into the long sleeves.
Oh my God... he's beautiful.
The patient nodded upon Steve's arrival, casting his eyes upward to meet Steve's curious gaze. "James?" Steve asked, stepping forward and extending his hand.
Nodding, James uncovered his right hand to shake Steve's, and Steve took note of the strength and confidence in the man's handshake, a stark – no pun intended – contrast to the way he huddled inside his own sweatshirt. "You can call me Bucky," he said in a quiet, almost musical voice.
"Nice to meet you, Bucky." Steve smiled at him a beat longer than was strictly necessary before taking a seat on the rolling stool and sliding in front of him, clipboard in hand. "I'm Steve Rogers, and I'm a medical aesthetician specializing in laser scar removal. It says here you have some scarring from a car accident." Bucky nodded, but didn't elaborate. Great. I'll have to pull teeth to get anything out of this guy, Steve thought, suppressing a sigh before continuing, "When was the accident?"
"About four years ago," Bucky said, dropping his eyes. His uncovered right hand gripped his left, which was still ensconced in the sleeve of his hoodie.
"Oh, wow. So you've been living with the scarring for quite a while." Steve pauses, mind ticking through possibilities, before asking, "Can you tell me about what happened?”
Bucky gave another nod, appearing to shrink as he curled in on himself, and Steve's heart gave a pang at Bucky's obvious discomfort with discussing the issue. "Okay. Um. Well, the accident... I got rear-ended by a guy in a dump truck who didn't notice I was stopped at the red light. It pushed my car into the middle of the intersection, and I got t-boned on the driver's side by an SUV." He took a shaky breath, his jaw clenching. "When the car stopped spinning, it was on fire, and I couldn't get the door open or my seatbelt off. By the time they put the fire out, my whole left arm was engulfed. I never lost consciousness."
Horrified and engrossed, Steve couldn't take his eyes off Bucky's face, the slight tremor in his lower lip, or the sudden sheen of suppressed tears in his hypnotic steel-blue eyes. "I spent fifty-seven days in the burn unit," Bucky said, his voice even softer. "I had skin grafts and four or five surgeries. The pain was... indescribable. Sometimes I wanted to die. But eventually it healed enough for me to go home, even though I was pretty disfigured. I still am." He blinked hard to dispel the moisture in his eyes and raised them to meet Steve's. "That's why I'm here."
"Okay." Steve gave him an encouraging smile. "Thank you for telling me about it. That couldn't have been easy. Would you be comfortable letting me have a look at your arm?"
Bucky hesitated, his face flushing a dull red, before unzipping his hoodie and slipping his arms out of it. He wore a long-sleeved black Henley beneath, and Steve waited patiently while Bucky, chewing his lip, grabbed the back of the shirt and pulled it over his head. His face was redder still once his shirt was off, leaving him naked to the waist and clearly vulnerable.
Rising to his feet, Steve did his best to ignore the wild thumping of his heart as he approached the table and the timid, shirtless man sitting on it. It was impossible, however, to ignore Bucky's broad shoulders and sculpted torso or the lean musculature beneath his skin. His pecs, abs, and arms were well developed, and his collarbones could cut glass. It was also impossible to ignore the reason for Bucky's visit: his entire left arm was covered in mottled red scar tissue that covered the entire outside of his arm from the lower part of his shoulder to the back of his hand.
"I fucking hate it," Bucky muttered into his lap. "I wanted to cover it with tattoos, but I don't think I could handle the pain. It’s so sensitive, even one needle feels like a machete. And I can't – I'm not even comfortable with anybody—" He stopped there, shoulders quivering, and Steve, who couldn't stand watching him suffer that way, rested a hand on his unscarred shoulder.
"Hey," Steve said softly, and Bucky looked up at him, startled. "I can't tell you not to feel uncomfortable, because I know how deep that goes. But I do want to tell you I've seen a lot worse, and besides," he said with a shy smile, "scars or no scars, I think you look pretty damn good."
Something relaxed in Bucky's shoulders, and for the first time since Steve walked into the room, a smile broke across Bucky's face. Steve fell a little bit in love with that smile at first sight. It was wide, sunny, and radiant, and it crinkled the corners of Bucky's eyes in a most charming way.
"Now," Steve said with a grin, giving Bucky's shoulder a light squeeze before reclaiming his hand, "let's talk fractional photothermolysis."
**
Four weeks later, when he saw Bucky was scheduled to return for his first laser resurfacing treatment, Steve did a mental fist pump. As improper as he knew it was, he hadn’t been able to get the guy off his mind; his heart ached for Bucky, for what he’d been through, and for what he continued to put himself through long after the actual accident. More so than that, though, Steve had found Bucky funny, charming, adorable, well-spoken, and genuinely attractive. The scars did nothing to detract from that; they rather accentuated it, their imperfection casting his impressive physique, silky hair, and fine features into even sharper relief.
On his way into the procedure room, Steve popped a mint into his mouth. Couldn’t hurt. “Hey, you!"
"Hey, Steve." Bucky smiled from the table, where he lay in another pair of skinny jeans and the same pair of boots, shirtless with a paper drape over his torso, courtesy of the nurse who had taken Bucky's vitals before slipping out of the room.
"You ready for your first session?" Steve asked as he rolled up to the table, dragging a cart loaded with implements along with him.
Bucky nodded, eyes bright with anticipation. "I could hardly sleep last night, I was so psyched. Oh, and I've been moisturizing, just like you said."
"Perfect." Steve gave him a wink, pulling on a pair of latex gloves and holding up a tube of ointment. "I'm going to apply a topical anesthetic first, and then we'll wait about thirty minutes for that to kick in before we get started. Are you okay with me removing the drape? You can keep it over your chest and stomach if you—"
Making a face, Bucky swept the drape to the side, crumpling it in his right hand and depositing it into Steve's lap. "My chest and stomach, I'm okay with," he said wryly, and Steve laughed and tossed the drape into the nearby trash can.
Don't stare, Rogers. Get to work.
And work he did, liberally and thoroughly rubbing the anesthetic ointment into the stiff, gnarled skin of Bucky's arm, working from his shoulder downward. He managed to keep Bucky talking and smiling as he did so, the conversation not only a distraction for Bucky but also for himself, Steve's last-ditch effort to ignore the thick muscle beneath the scarred flesh, by the way Bucky's eyes followed him as he went, and by the twitch of Bucky's fingers as Steve massaged the ointment into the back of his hand.
"Thank you for trusting me to do this for you," Steve said, meeting Bucky's eyes as they wait for the anesthetic to take effect. Steve should probably be working – updating charts from earlier patients and such – but, as probably unprofessional and almost certainly unethical as it might be, he was far too interested in his conversation with Bucky, and in Bucky as a person, to leave him lying shirtless and alone in the procedure room for another twenty-five minutes or so. What does it matter if he's shirtless? Steve chastised himself, as if he wasn't fully aware of Bucky's attractiveness, of how nicely built he was, of how much Steve wanted to run his fingers through Bucky's patch of chest hair and kiss those deadly collarbones and lick a trail down those rippling abs—
Down, boy! Jesus!
"I'm just going to step out for a minute, if that's okay," Steve said, and Bucky nodded, his face falling almost imperceptibly. Warmth blossomed in Steve's chest at the sight, and he touched the fingers of Bucky's left hand. "I'll be back super quick. I promise."
"Okay." Bucky gave him a syrupy-slow smile, blinking up at him with those unfairly beautiful blue eyes, and Steve retreated from the room, waiting until he closed the door behind him to release a heavy, pent-up breath.
"You okay there, champ?" Sam Wilson, the nurse practitioner sitting at a desk nearby, raised an eyebrow at Steve.
"Oh, uh. Yeah. I'm good, man." Steve blushed and darted into the bathroom, where he leaned over the sink and splashed cool water on his face. Meeting his own eyes in the mirror, he shook his head, but he couldn't muster the disgusted expression he aimed for; the flush in his cheeks and the sparkle in his eye looked far too much like something else to pass for that.
It looked an awful lot like Steve had a crush on somebody.
He had a damn good idea who that somebody was.
Steve was not a stupid man. He was the valedictorian of his graduating class in high school. He was certified in cosmetology, and he had an associates degree in applied science. He had several years of experience in the medical field, specializing in the use of lasers to improve both appearance and range of motion – in many cases, even quality of life – for his patients. He knew damn well that dating a patient, no matter how attractive and charming and sweet and sexy he might be, was strictly off limits, and that he would risk his job and maybe even his career if he made a move on Bucky.
Get it together, Rogers, he thought, narrowing his eyes in the mirror even as he finger-combed his short blond hair into place. And go help that sexy teddy bear get his confidence back.
“Go get ‘im, tiger!” Sam called as Steve reached the door to the procedure room, and Steve shushed him, flipping him off for good measure. Sam merely laughed.
"Wow, back in under two minutes," Bucky drawled, and heat flowed through Steve’s veins yet again at the sight of him on the table, one knee bent, the other leg stretched out on the table; his right hand toyed with the trail of sparse hair leading down his sculpted belly beneath the low waistband of his jeans. Steve had a strong urge to leap into a pool of ice water. "Id've waited longer for you, you know."
Steve chuckled, taking a seat on the rolling stool again. “I’m a man of my word, and I promised I’d be quick.”
“Huh,” Bucky murmured, and Steve glanced up to find a devilish grin on his handsome face. “I hope that’s not always the case.”
An unbecoming snort of laughter spewed from Steve’s nose, and he clapped a hand over the lower half of his face as Bucky burst out laughing. “Oh, man,” Bucky said amidst his mirth, “that was too easy.”
“I hope that’s always the case,” Steve shot back, unable to curb his tongue no matter how inappropriate the comment, and it was Bucky’s turn to choke, a stream of near-giggles erupting from his chest.
“You’re killin’ me,” he wheezed, pausing to stare into Steve’s eyes before adding, “but there’s a lot of worse ways to go.”
Throughout the procedure, Steve kept Bucky occupied with conversation to distract him from the sting of the laser, which was dulled by the anesthetic but not deadened. They talked about where they grew up (both right there in Brooklyn), which high schools they attended (Steve went to St. Joseph’s, Bucky to Brooklyn Tech), their favorite food (both enjoyed Thai and Mexican but worshipped at the altar of authentic New York pizza), and whether they had pets (Steve’s golden retriever, Captain, had died the previous summer; Bucky had a calico cat named Wanda, which Steve found hilarious). They talked about their childhoods (both more or less stable), their parents (Bucky’s were both alive and well, while Steve’s dad, a soldier, was killed in Afghanistan and his mom had died of emphysema when he was eighteen), and their jobs (Bucky was an HVAC technician who owned a company along with his cousin). They discussed their homes (Steve lived alone in an apartment a few blocks from the clinic; Bucky rented a tiny, two-bedroom house with his high school best friend, Natasha, and her live-in boyfriend, Clint).
They didn’t talk about their love lives, however; at least not until, near the end of the procedure, Bucky said, “Thank you, Steve.”
“For what?” Steve glanced up, peering at Bucky through the protective glasses they both wore. He was working on Bucky’s hand by then, passing the hand-held laser slowly over small patches of skin at a time.
“I haven’t even seen the results yet, and I already feel better about my scars. I’ve been so self conscious about them, I haven’t worn a t-shirt outside the house in four years, let alone let anybody see me without my shirt on.”
“That must make dating a little awkward,” Steve quipped, wincing at the sadness that passed over Bucky’s face when he responded.
“Dating? What’s that?” Bucky heaved a sigh. “I was dating someone when the accident happened, but he only stuck around another six months or so. When he realized the burns were about as healed as they were gonna get, he ditched me. Had a few real mean things to say before he left, too. He even called me Quasimodo.” He laughed with exactly zero mirth. “He was kinda dumb, and he had the disability wrong, but I got the picture.”
Steve switched off the laser and pulled the glasses off his face. “Please tell me you didn’t take that to heart,” he said earnestly, clasping Bucky’s hand with the utmost care.
Rolling his head toward Steve, Bucky shrugged. Steve couldn’t see his eyes behind the glasses, and he itched to remove them himself. “Can’t say I didn’t,” Bucky said. “He spent a few months before the accident ranting and raving about how hot he thought I was, so hearing him tell me how ugly my arm was afterward... it hurt. It really hurt.”
“Bucky, don’t take this the wrong way,” Steve said, his deep voice low and impassioned, “but your boyfriend was not only a major fucking asshole and a huge idiot, but he must have been blind, too. There is nothing ugly about you, and I’m saying that as someone who’s never seen you without scars.”
Bucky hummed, smiling a little. “You’re real sweet, Steve. If I was with somebody like you back then, I might not even be here right now.”
Steve’s heart exploded into shards, and he lowered his head, tears stinging his eyes. The fact that this beautiful man hated a part of himself because a shallow Neanderthal had opened his foolish mouth and filled Bucky’s head with lies was nearly enough to turn Steve homicidal.
“But I could never be so lucky,” Bucky continued. “I’ve spun a lot of guys around the proverbial dance floor, but I still haven’t found the right partner. All the good ones are taken, straight, or both.”
“Well, not all of them,” Steve mumbled.
Bucky grunted, unimpressed. “Yeah, well.” Pulling off the dark glasses, he attempted a bright smile and almost hit the mark. “Enough about my nonexistent love life. What about you? You got a pretty wife and two-point-five kids at home?”
“Ah, no.” Steve set the laser aside and grabbed another tube, this one containing antibiotic ointment. “None of the above. I’m as single as they come, and I’m, uh, not interested in women, besides.”
“Ohh.” Bucky nodded, a faint smile curling his lips. Watching Steve apply a generous coating of the ointment to his arm, he asked, “Ever dated a patient, Steve?”
Steve’s heart pounded like a bass drum as he looked up to find Bucky watching him. He had never once wanted to be in any other line of work, but god damn, he wished he was anything other than a medical aesthetician at that moment! He’d pump gas if it meant he could follow the trail of breadcrumbs Bucky was dropping. Instead, he sighed deeply. “I can’t,” he said quietly. “It’s against the American Medical Association’s code of ethics to date a patient.”
Bucky hummed in understanding as Steve continued applying the ointment in silence. After a long pause, Bucky asked, “What about former patients? Is that allowed?”
“Well,” Steve said carefully, spreading the ointment over the back of Bucky’s hand, wishing he could turn it over and link their fingers together. “Yeah, that’s allowed as long as I don’t exploit the patient’s trust or anything.”
Nodding thoughtfully, Bucky fell silent as Steve capped the tube of ointment and began cleaning up, tossing gauze and gloves in the garbage and putting away the equipment. Telling himself he wasn’t speaking just to fill the silence, Steve went over aftercare instructions while he wrapped Bucky’s arm in gauze for the trip home. “And I want you to come back in a week for a follow-up so I can see how you’re doing. We can consult about your next session then, too.”
“Okay.” Bucky smiled in gratitude as Steve helped him into his loose button-down shirt and even buttoned it for him, quitting near the bottom when his fingers trembled more noticeably the closer he got to Bucky’s waistband.
“There you go. All set.”
“Thanks again, Steve. I mean it.” Bucky wrapped his unbandaged hand around Steve’s forearm, facing Steve, close but not inappropriately so. At least, Steve didn’t think so. It was hard to tell with his head swimming the way it was. “See you in a week,” Bucky said, his voice low and silky and positively dripping with promise.
After walking Bucky to the waiting room, where a beautiful redhead Bucky introduced as his roommate waited to give him a ride home, Steve closed himself into the bathroom again, willing himself not to have a nervous breakdown.
**
A week passed, and before he knew it, Steve was delighted to see Bucky’s chart at the top of his pile for the next morning. At 8:30 sharp, Steve stepped into the exam room to find Bucky sitting on the table, shirtless and grinning with his hair spilling becomingly around his shoulders.
“Good morning,” Steve said, returning the grin, because it was impossible not to. It lit up the room in a way the early morning sun could only dream of doing.
“Hey, Steve!” Bucky moved a little on the table in a way that could only be described as a wiggle, his grin widening in direct proportion to Steve’s. “It’s good to see you again.”
“You, too. How are you feeling?” Steve approached the table with his hands in the back pockets of his slim-fitting tan chinos. It was a posture he had perfected in front of a mirror; it made his pecs look awesome, especially in the blue button-down he had chosen specifically because it complemented his eyes. And his biceps. And his shoulders. The point was, Steve knew damn well he looked good when he sauntered into work that morning with a platoon of butterflies battering away at the interior of his abdominal cavity.
“Awesome! It bled a little the first day, and just like you said, it felt like a bad sunburn for a few days, but after that, it was fine. A little itchy, but that's it. How does it look?” Bucky asked, his eyes twinkling, and Steve made a show of looking him over, scratching his own chin thoughtfully as he did it. He noticed one thing that wasn’t different, and that was Bucky’s inescapable loveliness. He wore flip-flops and cargo shorts this time, and he looked both relaxed and radiant. Eagerly, Steve examined Bucky’s left arm, running his hand down the bicep to ascertain the skin’s elasticity and texture. The scars were still present, but they were already paler and less noticeable.
“The arm’s looking great,” Steve said honestly. “I’m thinking three, maybe four more sessions, and we'll—“
“No.”
Steve cocked his head in confusion. “No what?”
Bucky leaned back, bracing his hands on the table behind him. It appeared Steve wasn’t the only one who knew how to position himself to attract admiration. “I’m not coming back. I don’t want any more sessions. I’m good.”
“Oh.” Steve floundered for an answer. “If I did something to put you off, I’m really sorry. Our dermatologist, Dr. Banner, is also licensed—“
“No. Steve.” Bucky shook his head, chuckling. “You did everything right. You haven’t put me off. I’m doing this for a couple of reasons. First of all, I’m really happy with the way I’m progressing after just the one session. I wore a t-shirt here, for God’s sake! The scars are a little better, but more importantly, I’m thinking about them in a different way now. They don’t make me ugly. They make me unique.”
“I’m betting you were pretty unique before, too,” Steve said with a shy smile. “And I’ll go on record saying there’s nothing that could make you ugly.”
“Ugh. You’re so sweet I just want to unwrap you,” Bucky sighed, eyes rolling dramatically before they came to rest on Steve’s, “like a lollipop.”
Whoops, there they were: the butterflies Steve nearly forgot about all began flapping their wings in a unified frenzy, bringing with them a throbbing heat that settled in the pit of his stomach.
“And that’s the other reason I won’t be coming back.” Bucky stood, the action bringing him toe to toe with Steve, who didn’t budge. God, he smells good! “I don’t want to pressure you into doing anything even a little bit unethical, so I brought you this."
He handed Steve a folded piece of paper, and Steve opened it to find a page of lined looseleaf adorned with Bucky's spiky scrawl.
To whom it may concern:
Please be advised that I am voluntarily terminating my patient/provider relationship with Steve Rogers, Medical Aesthetician. I am very happy with the care Mr. Rogers has provided me, and his bedside manner is beyond reproach. I am terminating this relationship for personal reasons.
Sincerely,
James B. Barnes
Steve raised his eyes from the paper, his brows drawn together. "But what..."
Looking up at Steve through his eyelashes, Bucky gave him a shy smile. "I came here because I thought I needed to change the way I looked. You showed me that what I had to change was the way I thought. You saw me, scars and all, but you still treated me like a whole person. You have no idea what that means to me."
Breathless, Steve could only nod.
"I'm just gonna come out and tell you I have a major crush on you," Bucky confessed, blushing. "If you're not interested, that's okay. No pressure. But if you think you might be, I'd like to see you outside the clinic."
Steve's mouth opened, closed, and opened again before he found his voice. "Might be?" he managed, a dopey grin spreading across his face. "It's a little more than might be. I'm definitely interested. What are you doing tonight?"
"Hmm, that depends on you." Bucky reached up to toy with the collar of Steve's shirt. He was only an inch or two shorter than Steve, which meant Steve wouldn't even have to bend to—
Steve didn't bother finishing the thought. Instead, he wrapped gentle fingers around Bucky's left hand and leaned in, their lips meeting in the middle. Bells rang, the crowd cheered, and angels sang, at least in Steve's head, and when the kiss broke, both he and Bucky were grinning like fools. "I've been wanting to do that for about five weeks," Steve said with a chuckle.
"You and me both." Bucky raised an impish eyebrow. "That, among other things."
"I can't wait to hear all about those other things." Pained, Steve glanced at the clock on the wall and grimaced. "But I have another patient at 8:45. How about dinner at my place tonight?" He smirked. "We'll order pizza."
Bucky pulled out his phone, opened a new contact, and handed it to Steve to enter his information. "Hell yeah, we will."
After one more chaste, achingly soft kiss, Steve waited for Bucky to put his shirt back on before walking him to the door and opening it for him. "Have an amazing day," Steve said as Bucky started down the hallway, confident and relaxed and looking sexy as hell in his t-shirt.
Turning back for a moment, Bucky winked at him. "I'm looking forward to dessert."
Enjoying the spectacular rear view as Bucky walked away, Steve turned to find Sam staring at him, agog. Steve laughed and handed him Bucky's letter.
"Got 'im, Sammy."
**