Archive of Our Own

If you’re alone at the holidays and don’t mind spending time with your fellow awkward (and alone) neighbors feel free to pop by my apartment on Christmas Day around 2:00. I’m a professional chef so there’ll be edible food but if you’d like to bring something to share: food, booze, or otherwise, go for it.

Steve stares at the tacked up flier next to their mailboxes. He’s pretty sure Bucky Barnes, Apt 8C is Hot Dude From Upstairs he’s been not-so-subtly sorta stalking since he moved in ten months ago. He’s never been that kind of person but Hot Dude/Bucky Barnes, Apt 8C is just so.

So.

Yeah.

There’s long hair, and a face, and thighs. Really nice, thick thighs. And the tendency to not wear underwear under his very thin gray sweatpants when he washes clothes. There’s also the fact that when Steve sees him come in from the cold and they happen to meet in the building’s lobby all he wants to do is crawl into his lap and press his face into the scarves wrapped around Hot Dude’s neck. He wears lots of scarves. Lots of soft, knitted, chunky scarves.

He just looks really really soft. Like really soft.

And when he smiles? Sweet sweet baby Jesus, when he smiles.

Steve sighs.

He’s pathetic. Pathetic and lovestruck and a complete idiot. Steve is terrible at love and boyfriends and relationships. He’s always been shy and awkward and Bucky is clearly not. Bucky is clearly miles out of his league and probably has a super hot girlfriend, or boyfriend, or both. Maybe even several. Yeah, he probably has like eight or nine people he’s casually involved with in totally healthy ways that involve nightly sex that Steve assumes is the really good and dirty kind. Probably extremely acrobatic too.

Bucky looks bendy.

Steve sighs again.

He’s such a loser. He digs around in his backpack for a sharpie and writes Bucky’s name, apartment number, and the time on his hand.

Yes, he’s pathetic, but he’s okay admitting it. Especially if it means spending what would otherwise be yet another lonely Christmas feeling a bit sorry for himself with a really hot guy, who’s obviously really good at sex, and wears his hair in messy buns, and smiles as bright as the goddamn, burning sun.

Yeah, Steve’s more than okay with that.

It’s been nine long years since he lost his mom. The first few Christmases after her death his friends all stepped up and took turns passing him around, making sure he had somewhere to be on Christmas Eve and Christmas Day. He has really fucking great friends, but after a while he got tired of being yet another thing on their busy holiday checklist. He knows it isn’t intentional but the, ‘who gets Steve this year?’ question always makes him feel like a burden. He’s always wished he’d have his own partner, and one day his own family, to spend Christmas with, and that the ‘who gets Steve this year?’ game would be done. But having a grand total of three relationships over the course of seven years, none of which carried through to the holiday season, left that wish unfulfilled.

Instead here he is, alone and pining over a way too hot neighbor, while planning on going to said hot neighbor’s apartment for the opportunity to ogle him on Christmas Day like the great jolly perv he is.

Ho ho ho.

Now all he has to do is decide what kind of booze to bring that’ll numb the overwhelming sense of embarrassment and painful awkwardness he displays on a regular basis.

Merry fucking Christmas!

~*~

Over the course of the week leading up to Christmas Steve debates with himself about whether or not he should get Bucky a present. Aren’t you supposed to get hosts presents? He’s never been to a formal, official party before. His friends would laugh in his face if he brought them gifts. But on the other hand, is it really a formal party? Honestly it’s just a dude inviting all the losers in the building to eat Christmas dinner with him.

So that’s kinda weird, right?

Not exactly a, ‘buy a host a gift’ type of situation.

He ends up buying a couple of bottles of wine that he can say are for the people at the party or he can pretend are a gift for Bucky, depending on how the situation plays out. It’s not the worst plan he’s ever had.

He also spends about three days deciding on what he should wear. Sorta dressy, khakis and a nice button-down? Casual, jeans and a nice Christmas sweater? Super dressy, an actual real live suit?

Oh god, if it’s a suit Steve is fucked. He owns exactly one. And he wore that the day he buried his mom, so, yeah. Probably not the most festive of choices.

What he really wants to wear is his flannel pajamas and reindeer slippers. Fuck the system.

On Christmas morning he decides to throw caution to the wind and chooses casual. He wears the jeans Clint tells him makes his ass look like a, ‘nice juicy peach,’ and not a, ‘little, tiny speed bump on the way from your back to your thighs.’ He also chooses to put on the soft blue sweater with the rows of little white snowmen, reindeer, and santas on it. Clint always tells him blue brings out his eyes.

Of course Clint also says the sweater makes his tits look rockin’ but Steve is going to ignore that part.

And as he’s tying up his Chucks he realizes he relies on Clint Barton to dress him way too often. Like he’s Dolce and Gabbana. Or whatever. Clint is more Goodwill and sweatpants with holes in the crotch and pizza stains so he has no idea how he came to be a fashion guru in his life.

Seriously, Clint is a disaster worse than Steve.

It’s a mystery.

Steve grabs the bottles of wine on his way out the door and prays to the party gods...and conversation gods...and the spending time with your super hot crush gods, that he doesn’t say something horrific or awkward to Bucky for the next couple of hours. He has a tendency to overshare when he’s nervous or drunk, and looking down at the bottles in his hands he’s thinking he’ll be both by the end of the afternoon.

He knocks on door 8C at exactly 2:00 and hears a shout from inside right before the door swings open and he’s graced with the sight of Bucky standing in front of him in the world’s ugliest Christmas sweater and hair held back in a messy bun and a pair of reindeer antlers with Christmas baubles hanging from their tips.

Bucky looks absolutely ridiculous and is just about the hottest human being Steve has ever seen in real life.

It’s really fucking unfair that someone wearing what Bucky is wearing should also be so heart-stoppingly gorgeous doing it. If Steve were wearing the same thing he’d look like a complete dick. But Bucky?

Steve sighs.

“Oh my god, someone made it!” Bucky says happily. “I thought for sure it’d be just me and Mrs. Palmer.”

“I’m the only one?” Steve asks in a panic. Oh god.

Oh god oh god oh my fucking god.

“So far!” Bucky seems way too fucking happy about the fact that Steve is the only loser at his party. “But it is only just 2:00 so you never know who might show up yet.”

“You said 2:00 on your flier,” Steve says inanely.

“I did indeed.”

“So I came at 2:00.”

“You did indeed.”

Bucky’s just standing there smiling at him and Steve doesn’t know what the fuck to do.

“I brought wine,” he says as he shoves the bottles at Bucky.

“Awesome, thank you so much.” Bucky grabs one of the bottles with his left hand and Steve’s now free hand with his right. He pulls him into the apartment and drags him over toward the kitchen where absolutely fucking delicious smells fill the air. “And now that you’re here can you keep an eye on the food while I go get Mrs. Palmer.”

Steve turns panicked eyes at Bucky. “I don’t cook.”

“Not a problem, pal. Everything is good to go, just keep an eye out in case anything bursts into flames. I really love my kitchen, I don’t want it to burn down.”

“Yeah. okay. Sure, I can do that.”

Steve’s not entirely sure he can do that.

“Great,” Bucky says enthusiastically as he slaps Steve on the arm and heads out the door.

Okay.

So. Here he is. Alone. In Bucky’s apartment.

If he were a better person he would stand quietly and dutifully in the kitchen keeping an eye out for rebel fires, but he’s not a better person, he’s a nosy person, and he can’t resist the urge to go snooping.

Honestly, what did Bucky expect leaving a complete and total stranger alone in his apartment?

What an idiot.

He doesn’t get more than six feet from the kitchen before an orange cat winds its way around Steve’s legs and a Boxer woofs at him from the doorway of what he assumes is Bucky’s bedroom. He hears the clicking patter of tiny nails on the wood floor and a Yorkshire Terrier comes prancing out behind the Boxer. When it sees the cat it gives a couple of high-pitched yips, the cat hisses at it and it shuts up immediately.

Steve has unknowingly wandered into a pet shop of some kind.

Because he hardly has time to accept the fact he’s surrounded by two dogs and a cat when he’s surrounded by three dogs and a cat when a one-eared mutt trots out from another room.

“Well. Hello, everyone,” he says. “I’m Steve. Please don’t bite, and/or eat me. Thanks.”

Despite his hundred and one health issues he had as a kid thankfully being allergic to animals of any kind wasn’t one of them so he squats down and gives the cat a little rub on its head. The Boxer walks up to him and lets out another woof, right in his face, before he starts licking it. The mutt nudges Steve’s thigh with his head and the Yorkie makes sure to come up for a pet but on the opposite side of Steve that the cat is on.

“I hate to tell you all this, but you’re terrible watchdogs. I mean really, really bad. It’s embarrassing.”

“Oh my god, I know right?” comes Bucky’s voice from behind him. Steve jumps a bit at the sound while Bucky continues. “I’ll be killed in my sleep someday. I’ve resigned myself to the fact.”

“Oh Jamie, you’re so dramatic.”

Steve looks back over his shoulder and sees a little old white-haired lady standing in the kitchen with her walker.

“She was already halfway here, even though I told her I’d come and get her,” Bucky says as he comes over and kneels next to Steve. The animals instantly transfer all of their attention and affection to him, Steve can’t blame them. “Guess she can’t wait to see me can you, you old tart?”

Steve’s mouth drops open and Mrs. Palmer lets out a cackle.

“Good lord, like you don’t know you’re a dish,” she says as she waves her hand at him and heads into the kitchen. “If I were only forty years younger.”

“Forty? Bah, I’ll take you right now just as you are. You know I’ve got a thing for grandmas.”

Steve snorts and Mrs. Palmer shouts at him to, “stop being a goddamn pervert, Jamie Barnes.”

Bucky leans into Steve, he’s so close they’re just a breath away from each other and Steve loses his own. “She really loves me,” he whispers, “don’t let the name-calling fool you.” He winks at Steve and leans away.

Steve’s pretty sure he should talk to Mrs. Palmer at the end of the day about forming some kind of club for people who have been unfairly assaulted by Bucky Barnes’ face and voice and charm.

“I shoulda warned you about these guys before I left to get Mrs. P,” Bucky says. “And also assured you I’m not a crazy animal hoarder —”

“Are you entirely sure about that,” Steve interrupts him. “I mean, y’know.”

Bucky laughs at him as he points his finger at all of the animals surrounding them.

“Honestly, not a hoarder, just have a massive soft-spot for sad sack animal stories. Combine that with being a total pushover, and, well, here we are. Bucky Barnes’ Animal Kingdom.”

“If that’s what you need to tell yourself,” Steve says.

Bucky points at him and laughs. “I knew I’d like you.”

“You did?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “Whenever I’d see you around I always thought you seemed like someone I could be friends with if we ever met properly.”

Steve looks up at Bucky, watches him scratch at the mutt’s belly. “Really?”

“Of course,” Bucky says. “You sound surprised.”

“Because I am.”

“Why?”

“Well, I don’t really give off friendly vibes. I’ve been told more than once that I usually walk around looking like a righteous anger ball.”

“What?” Bucky laughs.

“My friends Maria and Tony, they say it. Apparently I have resting anger face.”

“I guess I must be a masochist of some kind then because I really like your anger face, I find it quite appealing.”

Steve can feel himself getting red in the face and he’s pretty sure he’s staring at Bucky with starstruck eyes like a big dumb cow. He manages to get out, “Okay, weirdo, if you’re into that kind of thing.”

Bucky laughs. “Yep, anger balls and grandmas, they’re my things.”

Steve can’t stop himself from snort laughing, which he’s sure just adds to the attraction, but Bucky is more than a little bit strange and Steve can feel himself falling even faster.

“I’m really glad you know all of these super personal things about me,” Bucky says. “I’m not at all embarrassed by how our friendship has started.”

As much as Steve would like for the next words out of Bucky’s mouth to be, “Please go out on a date with me, I’ve been secretly crushing on you for the past ten months,” he’s filled with warmth at the thought that Bucky considers this not altogether auspicious beginning to be the start of a friendship. If he can manage to get his crush under control he’ll more than welcome Bucky as a friend. He’ll welcome Bucky in his life any way he can get him.

“I’ll make sure to share some really embarrassing personal information of my own before the day is over.” Steve smiles.

“Well Merry Christmas to me.”

Steve laughs and reaches out to pull the cat into his lap. They’ve been sitting on the floor amongst the animals having a ridiculous conversation and he hopes Mrs. Palmer stays busy in the kitchen doing whatever it is she’s doing so he can stay sitting with Bucky forever.

“Bruce Willis,” Bucky says out of the blue.

“What now?”

“Bruce Willis,” Bucky repeats and points at the cat. “His name.”

“You named your cat Bruce Willis?”

“Yeah. Why? Is that weird?”

“Maybe a little bit.”

“Well look at him,” Bucky says. “He’s clearly not a Fluffy or a Marshmallow or something so demeaning.”

Steve holds Bruce Willis up in front of him and the cat meows plaintively at him. “Clearly,” he says.

“And this is Pearl,” Bucky says as he points at the Boxer, “The mutt is Agnes, and the Yorkie is Rambo.”

Steve looks over at the little Yorkie as it yips at the sound of its name and is pretty certain he’s meant to spend the rest of his life with Bucky Barnes and his ridiculously named animals.

“I’m not even going to ask,” Steve says.

“What? He’s totally a Rambo,” Bucky says as he picks him up and gets kisses and yips from the very intimidating Rambo.

“He looks it.”

Bucky laughs as he gets up, still holding the squirming, yipping Rambo. “I gotta go check on the food, I think Mrs. P is in there eating it all before we can get to it. Although I made enough to feed an army and so far it’s just the three of us.”

Steve’s about to say that it’s fine with him when, as if on cue, someone knocks on Bucky’s door. He claps with excitement, and Rambo yips, as he goes to open the door. It’s an elderly man Steve thinks lives on the fourth floor. After that it’s like the dam breaks and one person after another shows up at the apartment. Each time there’s another knock on the door Bucky gets even more excited and it’s unbearably adorable.

By the time Bucky starts serving up food to everyone there has to be at least twenty-five people crammed into the apartment. Bucky asks Steve to help him make sure all of the older folks have proper chairs to sit in and are comfortable, which Steve does...right after he gets done staring at Bucky with heart-eyes and sighing deeply. They’re an eclectic group, the youngest of them looking to be in college, and oldest probably being Mrs. Palmer who Steve guesses is in her eighties. Bucky introduces himself to everyone when they come through the door and somehow he directs them toward another person, or small group, that they fit in with perfectly. Everyone is talking and not a single person is sitting awkwardly on their own. Steve’s amazed and has no idea how Bucky did it, but there they all are, talking and stuffing themselves full of Bucky’s unbelievably delicious food and the booze everyone seemed to bring as a gift.

It ends up being a pretty fucking merry Christmas, much to Steve’s surprise.

And the best part of all? Bucky spends most of the afternoon and evening wherever Steve is. He talks to everyone he’s welcomed into his home, but he keeps coming back to talk to Steve and every time he does Steve feels warmer and warmer. He wants to believe Bucky feels the same magnet inside of him that Steve does, the one that draws him again and again to Bucky because the more they talk, and the longer the hours become, the more Steve wants him.

He’s just as funny and charming and clever as Steve suspected he’d be when he hadn’t known him and he was still just Hot Dude from upstairs. Now he’s Bucky Barnes and he cooks food that tastes like sex and has stupidly named pets and has a heart so big and kind he wanted to bring all of the lonely misfits together on a day when they feel their own loneliness especially keenly.

Bucky took away their loneliness, and to Steve, who knows the pain of it intimately, that is an impossibly beautiful gift he’s given them all. And without even seeming to know just what it is he’s done. To be so effortlessly and thoughtlessly good, well, Steve can barely stand to look at him by the end of the night he burns so brightly in his eyes.

As it gets later and the guests begin to leave one by one Steve sticks around. He knows it’s a bit desperate, especially since he was the first one to show up that he’s planning on being the last to leave, but he’s fine with it. He wants Bucky to himself again. When Bucky tells him to wait, that he’s walking Mrs. P back to her apartment but that he wants Steve to stay until he gets back, the feeling of patheticness leaves Steve entirely.

“Here I thought you’d’ve grabbed all my valuables and gone,” Bucky says when he gets back.

“I was planning on it but then I saw the tangle of cords behind your TV and couldn’t be bothered to unwind them all. I’m a lazy thief.”

“Oh that’s a good thing then.” Bucky smiles at him and something bright flutters in Steve’s chest. “To be honest though you could have my TV, my only valuables are the dogs and cat.”

“Oh my god, if I tried to leave with them it would’ve been a complete shitshow.”

Bucky laughs. “They’re a complete terror to take for a walk, you should join us sometime.”

“With an invitation like that.” Steve grins, he can’t help it.

“I’ve taken Bruce Willis with us too, he has a little cat leash and everything.”

“No, absolutely not. You do not have a cat leash.”

“I do, and Bruce loves it.”

“It’d be so fucking embarrassing to be seen with all of you,” Steve says.

“So you’re accepting the invitation?” Bucky asks.

“Of course I am.”

“I knew it.” Bucky laughs as he walks over to Steve’s side. “You’re into the weird shit.”

“That obvious, huh?”

Steve can hear Bucky chuckle under his breath and they just look at each other with stupid grins on their faces. Bucky really is honestly beautiful, Steve would love to paint him. He’s full of sharp lines and fierce, handsome beauty, but there’s a softness to him too that makes it almost impossible to look away from him. And his eyes, grey now in the warm light of the fireplace and twinkle lights of the tree, but Steve knows he’s mooned over them when they were blue in the bright light of day. He has a sudden, painful need to know what color they are first thing in the morning, when Bucky first opens his eyes, his long lashes brushing his cheeks before those eyes open up to the world.

Steve could die happy if he saw that just once.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky asks, voice quiet and low.

“What?”

“You. Thinking.” Bucky repeats. “What were you thinking about just then, there was a softness in your eyes.”

Steve feels himself flushing red. “Nothing. Just zoning out.”

“Hmm.”

Bucky sounds like he doesn’t quite believe Steve, and Steve doesn’t blame him. He’s a terrible liar.

“Your pictures,” he says as he points to the first one on the mantle above the fireplace. “I was just wondering who was in all of your pictures. Tell me.”

Bucky’s face lights up at the opportunity to talk about the people in the pictures. He goes through and points at his mom and dad, who are apparently in Turks and Caicos on a long overdo vacation courtesy of Bucky and his sister Becca, which is why he’s alone at Christmas. Becca is with her husband’s family. There’s someone named Sam with his dog, Bert, a trio named Thor, Jane, and Darcy, and more of Becca’s kids. The final one, a picture of Bucky grinning madly at the beach with an absolutely gorgeous redhead, breaks Steve’s heart.

“And that’s my girl, Natasha. Nat. Natty.”

Bucky is all smiles when he says her name and Steve knew it. He knew it. He knew Bucky had to have someone in his life and Steve’s only been kidding himself this entire time.

“Your girl?” Steve asks.

Natasha.

Nat.

Natty.

“Yeah, she’s in Russia right now visiting family. I was going to go with her but I just couldn’t swing the days off at the restaurant. It’s not like you can knock off to Russia for the long weekend, right?”

“Right,” Steve says weakly.

“She’s been gone a week and I’m already going crazy without her.”

“I can imagine.” Steve’s voice is quiet. “She’s gorgeous.”

“She keeps me sane,” Bucky says. “I’m all over the place without her. I’m surprised I could even manage to plan and pull off this Christmas meal today. I either go over the top or I don’t do enough, Nat manages to sort me out so I’m happily in the middle. She’s the best, you’d love her.”

Steve smiles faintly. “I’m sure I would.”

“Well. Anyway,” Bucky says as he claps his hands once. “That’s the friends and fam.”

“A good bunch.”

“Yeah. Yeah, they are.”

Their voices trail off and they end up looking at one another in an awkward silence. It’s the first awkwardness of the day, really. Up until this point Steve hasn’t felt weird or awkward or scorchingly embarrassed and it’s been nice, but having talked about Bucky’s girlfriend has really put the halt on things for Steve. He knows now Bucky’s seeking him out for a friend, nothing more, and he knows he should be okay with that, but it’s hard. He’s been able to fool himself just a bit all day long and now that that small little teeny tiny piece of hope is gone all of Steve’s natural insecurities come roaring back to life. He’s probably going to be a complete disaster from here on out.

“It’s not that late,” Bucky says, finally. “Do you wanna watch a Christmas movie? I’ve got a few old DVDs, or we could see what’s on Netflix.”

Steve says, “Lemme guess, Die Hard is one of those DVDs.”

“Of fucking course. I’d be ashamed if it wasn’t. I’m pretty sure I still have a VHS copy too.”

“My faith in you is restored.”

Bucky laughs that gorgeous laugh of his and oh god, does Steve wish he could have it for himself for the rest of forever, basically.

“Sooo,” Bucky draws out. “Wanna Die Hard it? Or whatever, it doesn’t matter. We can watch something else. Contrary to popular belief, and the feelings of Bruce Willis, I’m not actually obsessed with the movie.”

Steve raises an eyebrow in disbelief and gives Bucky a sort of half-grin. Bucky’s such a fucking liar, he’s totally obsessed with Die Hard. And Steve wants to stay and watch it with him, more than anything, but he needs a bit of a break right now. He needs time to process Nat, and everything she means.

“I wish I could,” Steve says. “I’d love to feel the surrealness of watching Die Hard with Bruce Willis. I mean, who gets to experience that?” Bucky snorts at him. “But I can’t, I’ve got to be at work really stupidly early tomorrow morning so I better call it a night.”

Bucky looks really disappointed and Steve finds it really fucking unfair. Why does he get to look like Steve kicked a puppy right in front of him? It’s Steve who’s had his heart broken less than five minutes ago.

“Okay. Gotcha. I know how that is,” Bucky says. “Well, thanks for coming.”

“Thanks for having me, all of us. I don’t think you really know what you did for us today.”

Bucky tries to wave Steve off.

“No, seriously,” Steve says. “This time of year, when you’re alone? Hell, even if you’re not, it’s a bitch for a lot of people and inviting us into your home to share the day with you was really fucking special and I just wanted you to know that.”

“Thanks, Steve.”

The soft smile Bucky gives him squeezes at his heart and he smiles back before heading over to the door.

“You’re welcome, Bucky,” he says over his shoulder as he opens the door. “See ya later, maybe?”

“For sure,” Bucky says as he gives Steve a small wave.

“Goodnight.”

Steve slips out the door and closes it before he can turn around and say something stupid. So what if Bucky is completely unattainable, who cares that they can only be friends, nothing can take away from this day. For a few hours he got to pretend.

And it’s one of the best Christmases he’s ever had.

~*~

Steve wakes up the next morning feeling like he has a hangover. He knows he didn’t drink all that much at Bucky’s the night before so it’s probably more of an emotional hangover than anything else. He’s always been this way, he feels too hard, too much, and exhausts himself with it.

He looks over at the clock, it’s after ten and even though he wants to get up and get out of the building and just walk around for awhile to clear his head he knows he’s just going to hide in his apartment for the rest of the afternoon. He doesn’t want to run into Bucky after he told him he had to work early this morning.

Maybe sometime in the middle of the afternoon. At least that way it’ll look like he’s worked a full day.

He spends the rest of the morning and early afternoon putzing around his apartment. He makes a half-assed attempt at breakfast and ends up burning the eggs. God, Bucky’d probably make perfect eggs. Eggs from heaven. He rolls his eyes at himself as he scrapes the decimated eggs into the sink and turns on the disposal. He thinks about taking down his Christmas decorations for a hot second then decides he’d rather watch three hours of the Food Network instead.

A little after two he decides it’s late enough to make his lie plausible if he should happen to run into Bucky. When he opens his door he finds a post-it stuck to it.

Steve-
Hey. I was thinking since we didn’t get to have a movie night last night maybe we could have one tonight? Shoot me a text.
-B

Steve stares at Bucky’s number that he’s left after his initial, at his surprisingly neat handwriting, and sighs. Goddammit. Why is he making it so fucking hard? Can’t he just leave Steve alone? It’d be so much more convenient if he’d just walk away and never talk to Steve again.

It takes all of three seconds for Steve to debate with himself about whether or not he should text Bucky. In fact, before he can even begin to set up a pro/con list in his head his fingers are already typing Bucky’s number into his phone.

Yeah. Sure. I can do movie night.

This is Steve by the way.

A guest from Christmas.

I’m not talking about an elf, or Santa, I’m an actual human. Altho one year I did get a job as an elf at a Santa photo spot but that’s another story for never. I’m never going to bring that up again. I don’t even know why I did this time.

Seriously. Never ask me about the elf thing.

Ever.

I am super serious about this. I will slap your face the next time I see you if you bring it up again.

Steve realizes he’s just left Bucky a series of texts that get more and more disturbing as they go and there’s nothing he can do to take them back. He wants to stop. He wants to shove his phone in his pocket. He really really does.

But.

I’m just kidding. This isn’t Steve, this is Bernard. The weird guy from yesterday who ate nothing but yams. Steve Rogers would never have sent those previous texts. Steve is actually a really calm and collected guy.

Extremely cool, ask anyone.

Okay. So we’ve established I’m the weird yam guy and that Steve Rogers is fucking awesome, probably too awesome to hang out watching movies with you if we’re being completely honest here, but I’ll be sure to pass along the message anyway.

When I see him next.

Probably when I’m out buying yams.

Steve almost screams when his phone buzzes back at him with an incoming text, and only just stops himself from flinging it down the hall.

Oh god.

Ohgod ohgod ohgod.

Hey yam man! What’s Santa like? I wanna hear all of your elf stories, they’ll totally be worth a slap.

My place. 7:00. Bring yams.

Steve’s laughter turns from amused to hysterical. Jesus tapdancing Christ. This is just a shitshow waiting to happen.

He can’t wait.

~*~

“An elf, huh?” Bucky says immediately after he opens the door. He’s just standing there leaning against the doorframe looking horrible, nothing he’s wearing matches and he’s wearing a stocking cap inside. What a douchebag.

“I told you I’d slap you,” Steve says as he stomps inside.

“Worth it.”

Steve rolls his eyes. “So. Are you wearing every knitted item of clothing your grandma ever made you or what?”

“I know I look good,” Bucky says as he slides his hands down the front of his ratty cardigan. There’s laughter in his voice and it makes Steve smile. “And it’s not every piece. I have one more sweater but it has hearts all over it and obviously needs to be worn on Valentine’s Day.”

“Obviously.”

“Hey, don’t judge, it’s cold as fuck out there. I was frozen through by the time I got home.”

He’s fucking adorable standing there looking all soft and knitted and Steve wants to tell him so but all he says is, “Well, let’s get a movie going and get under a pile of blankets.”

“You’re full of good ideas,” Bucky says. “Is that an elf thing, or…?”

Steve punches Bucky in the arm as he passes by him on his way to the kitchen and he has the audacity to laugh at him instead of crying out in pain.

“I got a shit-ton of Chinese on the way home. I hope you’re hungry.”

“Starved.”

There are already a couple of blankets piled up on the couch, which is enormous and looks comfy as hell. Steve can’t wait to sink down into it with Bucky.

“Beer, Diet Coke, water?”

“Beer sounds good.”

“Excellent,” Bucky says as he piles everything onto a tray and walks it over to the coffee table where he sets it down. Steve looks over the feast, he has no idea where to start. It looks like Bucky ordered everything on the menu. “Dig into whatever. I figure we can share. I promise I don’t have cooties.”

“Hmm, I dunno, Buck,” Steve says. “That sounds like something someone with cooties would say.”

Bucky cracks out a loud burst of laughter and hands Steve a carton. “Shut up and eat some lo mein,” he says as he grabs a carton for himself and flops down on the couch next to Steve. He sticks his chopsticks into his beef and broccoli and reaches for the remote. Steve watches him pull up Netflix.

“You’ve got a movie in mind already?” Steve asks.

“Not really, I figured we could scroll through and see what we can find. Do you have any Christmas movie traditions?”

“I do, but they’re embarrassing.”

“Come on, tell me.” Bucky smiles at him and like Steve is going to say no to that face.

“My mom and I always watched White Christmas, it was her favorite.”

“What’s embarrassing about that? I fucking love that movie.”

Steve looks over at Bucky, he has a mouthful of lo mein and he knows there are a couple of noodles hanging out of his mouth. “‘Oo do?” he mumbles around the food.

“Danny Kaye dancing, Rosemary Clooney singing? What’s not to love?”

“Nothing.” Steve smiles at Bucky. “Let’s watch it.”

“Yeah, let’s.”

They spend the rest of the night eating way too much food, drinking way too much beer, and watching way too many movies. Steve can’t help himself though because the moment Bucky starts singing along during the ‘Sisters’ scene in White Christmas he knows he’s stupidly and irrevocably in love with him. Like the, ‘there’s no hope for me I’ll never be in love with anyone else like this for as long as I live,’ kind of love. It’s desperate and hopeless and yet Steve’s never felt happier.

Just being with Bucky is everything. Steve knows he can’t have him, can’t have his heart, but he can have his time and his laughter and his voice and Steve’s fine with being greedy.

They both fall asleep sometime during movie number five.

Steve wakes up to find himself hugging Bucky’s shins like they’re his favorite teddy bear. Bucky’s head is on the armrest and he’s on his side with his legs tucked up to his chest. Steve somehow got himself squished up behind the bend of Bucky’s legs and is using his thigh as a pillow while hugging his shins. They’re a pile of blankets and pillows and limbs and Steve’s never been more warm or comfortable.

Steve sits up as Bucky shifts and slowly starts to wake up too.

“I take it we didn’t make it through A Christmas Story.”

“Not even close.” Steve smiles.

“What time is it?”

Steve reaches for his phone on the coffee table. “A little after seven.”

“So early? Shit.”

“I know.”

Bucky groans and stretches out his legs and lets them flop onto Steve’s lap. “Wanna take the dogs for a walk then go grab some breakfast? I’m starving.”

“Really?” Steve asks as he looks at the destruction on the coffee table. There are six or seven empty takeaway cartons and more half filled ones in the fridge.

“What?” Bucky asks. “That was hours ago.”

“You’re a pig.”

“Like you’re not starving too.”

Steve laughs. “I am. I totally am. I could literally eat an entire column on the menu.”

“Phil’s?” Bucky suggests.

“Perfect.”

~*~

They spend the next two hours eating their way through the menu at Phil’s Diner and talking about anything and everything that comes into their heads. Steve learns about Bucky’s family, his path to becoming a chef, his first kiss, his first love, the time he broke his left arm in two places, and that he learned how to play the beginning of Baba O’Riley on the piano but doesn’t know how to play anything else. Steve tells Bucky about his mom, that his favorite book is The Little Prince because his mother read it to him at least ten times, that he can pick up a fork and eat with his toes, and the fact that sometimes he gets so lonely it aches inside of him like a little black ball of rot and regret.

He’s never said that out loud before.

To anyone.

He sits there shocked that he said it, he’s frozen in place, a knife in one hand and a fork in the other as he stares at Bucky in surprised embarrassment. Bucky reaches across the table and pulls the knife out of Steve’s hand so he can lace their fingers together.

“Right here,” Bucky says as he points to just below the center of his chest with his free hand. “Like a knot.”

Steve shakes his head. “Like a knot,” he quietly agrees.

Bucky gives Steve’s fingers a squeeze before he lets his own slip from between them. Steve’s fingers flex and reach out at the loss before he can take his hand off the table and tuck it in his lap.

Something turns over inside of him. He never thought Bucky would know anything about how it feels, the pain of it. He knows everyone is lonely at some point, everyone experiences it, but he never would have imagined Bucky had felt that lingering ache. Bucky’s so lovely, so beautiful and friendly and kind that until this moment it’s been impossible to think of him sad. It’s stupid of Steve to be so surprised, but it’s a nice surprise all the same.

“There’s someone out there,” Bucky says, “that’ll make that loneliness lessen, or maybe even go away entirely.”

“You think so? I dunno if everyone gets to have that someone.”

“You will though,” Bucky says. “Someone like you? You will.” He sounds so sure of it that Steve almost wants to believe him.

~*~

They decide to take a detour on the way home and head over to Bucky’s favorite used book shop. Despite being able to find anything and everything you could possibly want in New York and its boroughs it’s getting more and more difficult to find good used bookstores still around. Steve has walked by this one a few times but has never gone in to look around.

The minute he steps inside he knows why it’s Bucky’s favorite.

It’s a complete and utter mess.

Jam-packed with books that end up in precariously leaning stacks anywhere there’s space for one, and shelves that bow under the weight of the books on top of them. It’s an endless labyrinth with little nooks and crannies for reading and Steve’s pretty sure two black cats. He’s come across a black cat three times now and he’s almost certain the third time had been a different cat so he’s just going to go all in and say there’s two.

He loses Bucky for well over a half hour and ends up reading a book about ancient Egypt in one of the reading nooks. He figures Bucky will find him at some point if he looks hard enough. After reading page sixteen a cat curls up in his lap. On page thirty-one another winds itself around his feet and Steve quietly laughs to himself in victory. Two cats it is!

“What’s so funny?” Bucky’s voice is quiet and low, intimate in a way he surely doesn’t mean it to be as he squats down next to Steve’s chair and halfway whispers in his ear. “I mean I know ancient Egyptians were absolutely hysterical, but —”

Bucky’s voice trails off and Steve rolls his eyes.

“I’m laughing about the cats.”

“Yeah, they’re hysterical too.”

Steve shoves at Bucky with his elbow. “I just won a little bet with myself.”

“What about?”

“I kept running into black cats and even though they looked exactly alike I knew there had to be two, and voila,” he says as he waves his hand at the two cats by him.

“Hate to burst your victory bubble, pal, but there are actually three.”

“What?” Steve asks, for some reason highly insulted by this information.

“Yeah, three,” Bucky says as he nods toward his right side. Steve looks over the arm of his chair to see a black cat rubbing itself against Bucky’s shoe. Steve sighs and Bucky shrugs. “Sorry, dude.”

“Somehow I don’t think you really are.”

Bucky just laughs and Steve shakes his head and goes back to his book. Bucky disappears again, for nearly an hour this time, but Steve’s content to stay in his chair and work his way through the stack of books he’d gathered up to flip through. He’d been hoping to whittle down the pile by at least half but so far he hasn’t whittled away a single book. When Bucky finds him a second time he ends up buying the entire stack, but Bucky buys even more so he doesn’t feel too extravagant.

As they leave the shop Bucky reaches over and takes Steve’s bag from him to carry. Steve wants to protest but it’s one of the nicest gestures anyone has ever done for him and besides, Bucky offers Steve his elbow and he’s too busy blindly and besottedly hooking his arm through Bucky’s. He has no idea why Bucky’s doing it but he’s not going to let the opportunity pass him by.

Bucky lifts up the two bags he’s holding in his left hand. “I see you’re about as good as I am at sensible book buying.”

Steve laughs. “I think I’ve decided that no decent person is a sensible book buyer. I’m not sure I want to know you if you’re not a compulsive book buyer.”

“Lucky me then,” Bucky says as he swings their bags at Steve. “I’ve passed muster.”

“Only by a little though.”

“I figured as much. I’ve always suspected you’re annoyingly hard to please.”

“I’m extremely annoying,” Steve says.

“Nah,” Bucky says as he tugs Steve closer to his side. “I think you’re actually quite the opposite.”

Steve can feel himself blushing, knows it’s working its way up his neck and over his cheeks just like it always does. He never looks brightly alive and beautifully flushed, no, he’s always all mottled red and looks like he’s dying from scarlet fever when he blushes. He’s never been a cute blusher. It’s always been a great disappointment in his life.

“Whatever,” he says as he shakes his head and keeps looking down at his feet so Bucky doesn’t see his flushed face.

“Learn how to take a compliment, Rogers.”

Steve can feel Bucky looking at him but he keeps looking down at the ground. It’s nothing he hasn’t heard before. He’s never been suave about accepting compliments. The trouble is he never knows what to say in response. Does he compliment the person back? Should he just smile and carry on? Just say thanks? But when he thinks about just saying thanks he thinks it sounds a bit like, ‘yeah, thanks, I know I’m awesome.’

He needs to learn to just get on with it and say thanks and move along.

But then he wouldn’t be the awkward social disaster he’s always been.

“Thanks,” Steve mumbles.

“What’s that now?” Bucky asks.

“Thanks,” Steve says a bit louder.

“Ah, there we go.”

Steve looks up because he can hear the smile in Bucky’s voice and he needs to see it. Even though he knows his face is still a red mottled mess it’s all worth it when he lays eyes on that smile.

“Should we head back? I need to take my ridiculous children out for a walk.”

Steve laughs. “Sure. Do you mind if I come with? I need to see this tragedy in motion.”

“I was hoping you’d ask. I’m gonna let you walk Bruce.”

“I can’t wait.”

~*~

Their walk is a hilarious disaster and Steve loves every minute of it.

The dogs are fairly well-behaved, at least they stop and go when Bucky wants them to, but Bruce? Well there was no denying he was a cat. He did whatever the fuck he wanted whenever the fuck he wanted to do it and Steve spent so much time laughing that his sides hurt and there were tears running down his face. Bucky just looked on in exasperation like he expected so much more out of both of them. Steve just looked at him and shrugged and started laughing all over again while Bruce sat licking himself.

They all end up back at Bucky’s well past lunchtime so both of them, as well as the animals, are starved.

“Let’s have a refrigerator buffet for lunch,” Bucky says as he stands in his small foyer and unwraps his scarves.

Steve’s only barely avoiding Bucky’s arms and elbows in the small space as he looks up and asks, “A refrigerator buffet?”

“Yeah, just open up the fridge and eat whatever you want out of it. There’s a shit ton of leftovers from Christmas and our movie date.”

The word ‘date’ stops Steve in his tracks. Bucky doesn’t seem to realize what he’s said because he’s kicking off his boots and shoving all the dogs further into the apartment while Steve just stands there in shock.

He must just mean it as a generic sort of term, he can’t possibly think of their movie night as a date. Not when there’s Natasha. And zero chance in hell that they’d be on an actual date even if there weren’t.

“Sounds like a plan,” Steve says, trying to ignore the beating of his heart at the thought of him and Bucky on an actual date.

Bucky walks over to the fridge and swings the door open. “Have at it. I’ll get the kids fed and us some silverware and then we’ll pig out. Grab whatever you want and bring it to the coffee table, there’s gotta be some crazy murder mystery special on somewhere we can watch.”

They spend the afternoon on the couch with Bucky’s pets watching old reruns of 20/20 and game shows from the 70s until Bucky reluctantly gets up and tells him he has to head out to work.

“I promised my co-worker I’d take over the second half of the dinner service tonight otherwise I’d spend the rest of the day here with you.”

Steve looks up at him and Bucky’s staring at him, reluctance written all over his face like he actually does want to spend the rest of the day with him.

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asks.

“Sorry, I’m doing an open to close.”

“Saturday morning, early afternoon? I’ve got to be at the restaurant at three.”

Steve sighs. “Working til two-thirty.”

“Tell me you have Sunday off?” Bucky pleads.

“I have Sunday off.” Steve smiles. “Monday too.”

The only word to describe Bucky’s smile is beaming and Steve’s stomach does a flip-flop.

“It’s fucking fate,” he says.

“You too?”

“Me too.”

“What do you wanna do? I don’t know if you can top Bruce-walking.”

“Pal, nothing tops Bruce-walking.”

Bucky’s voice is so serious Steve actually snorts when he laughs at him.

“How about this,” Bucky continues, “come with three choices and we’ll figure it out from there. Or we’ll just plant our asses on my couch with the babies and veg for two solid days.”

“Ain’t nothin’ wrong with that plan.” Steve’s grinning from ear to ear, thoughts of two whole days with Bucky rushing through his system.

~*~

Steve wakes up on Sunday to the sound of his phone binging at a text. It’s from Bucky and he’s demanding brunch.

It’s eight in the morning.

too early fuck off

Bucky just sends back like seven lines of laughing emojis.

i think i love u most in the morning

steeeevieeee

steven

steve

ok fine b at mine at 11

Steve sends back an ok emoji and goes back to bed. With a smile though because even though Bucky is an irritating asshole he’s also an adorable asshole and Steve can’t help himself.

~*~

“Okay, here are my three,” Bucky says after shoving a forkful of pancakes in his mouth. It sounds more like, ‘Oay, ere er ma’free.’

“One,” he says, thankfully after he swallows, “the Met or MOMA, I haven’t been to either in forever and it’d be nice to spend a day wandering.”

Steve nods, they’re both good choices.

“Two, Medieval Times.”

Steve starts laughing. “We’d have to go to fucking Jersey.”

“So? It’s Medieval Times, Steve. There’s no distance too far for Medieval Times.”

“You’re a huge, sad dork.”

Bucky grins. “Sweet talker. And number three, Jump City.”

“Jump City?”

“Yeah, that trampoline place they just opened up in Elmhurst.”

“Okay, so we either act like the cultured adults we are or we’re giant nerdy children. There’s no in between with you, is there?”

“Well if my choices are so outlandish let’s hear yours. I can’t wait,” Bucky says as he leans back in his chair and gives Steve his full attentions. He’s even stopped eating so Steve knows he’s serious.

Steve laughs. “Fine. Here are mine; one, ice skating, two, Brooklyn Zoo, and three, going to one of those wine and paint places and getting totally sloshed as we paint vases of flowers.”

“I’m one thousand percent behind drunken painting but mine are still the superior choices.”

“Go ahead and think that,” Steve says as he shovels hashbrowns into his mouth. “Whatever makes you happy.”

“Okay, okay, okay,” Bucky says, hands waving. “I have the perfect day, I can see it in my mind.”

“Do tell.”

“First Medieval Times where hopefully we’ll begin our journey toward total shit-faced-ness,”

“That’s not a word.” Steve laughs.

“Total. Shit-faced-ness.” Bucky repeats. “Then the wine and painting place to finish off the deed the mead started.”

“We’re going to have to drink excessive amounts of mead and wine to get to the levels of shit-faced-ness you want to achieve. I doubt the alcohol content of mead is high enough to be helpful to us on our journey to drunksville.”

“Hah! You used the word, therefore making it a word.”

“That’s not how language works, Buck.”

“Whatever. I mean we’re already a couple of mimosas and Bloody Marys in already. We’ll be fine. I’ll bring a flask of extra strength mead just in case to bolster our alcohol intake if you’re so worried.”

“Great. I can see absolutely nothing going wrong with any of this plan.”

“And then,” Bucky continues, completely ignoring Steve’s pessimism, “drunken ice skating! I was going to say Jump City but one bounce on that level of shit-faced-ness and I’d be barfing my mead and grog all over the place.”

“I’m not sure either is a good option,” Steve says.

“Oh, come on, live a little. It isn’t fun if there’s not a risk of drunkenly breaking your wrist.”

“I do not think that word means what you think it means.”

“Don’t be a buzzkill, Inigo.”

Steve sighs and gives Bucky a look. “Well, I suppose if I’m gonna die I might as well die dramatically.”

“That’s the spirit!”

He just laughs and watches Bucky finish the rest of his food. Even though he’s complained the entire way he knows he’s going to follow Bucky and do whatever the fuck his little heart desires. He’s going to follow him willingly like the besotted little lovestruck idiot he is even though every single thing about this plan says it’ll end in some sort of horrific and disastrous way.

~*~

They end up back at the building a little after midnight, they’ve long since achieved the shit-faced-ness that Bucky was hoping for. They’re leaning into each other and in the middle of a very beautiful and moving rendition of ‘So This is Christmas.’

“Goddamn. Fuck me, man,” Bucky says, slightly teary-eyed. “John Lennon, man. He was a fucking beautiful soul.”

“Super beautiful,” Steve agrees.

“They all were. All the Beatles. George. Fuck, I love George, man.” Bucky stumbles against Steve as he tries to lean in and see which elevator button to push as they stand in front of the closed elevator doors.

“There’s only two choices. It’s the top one, dude.” Steve laughs. “It’s always the top one. Top one goes up.”

“And Paul,” Bucky keeps mumbling before suddenly shouting, “Ringo! Fucking Ringo! Steve. Stevie. I wanna have a baby and name him Ringo. I fucking love Ringo.”

The elevator opens and Steve pushes Bucky inside. “I’ll get the floor buttons. I can still see numbers.”

“Good on ya, Steve. You’re amazing. I can’t get over how amazing you are. Like do you even know, Steve? Do you even know how amazing you are?”

Bucky has slid down the elevator wall and is sitting with his legs straight out in front of him. He’s looking up at Steve with his big grey-blue eyes that are still sort of watery from thinking about John Lennon and he’s so fucking beautiful and Steve wants him so bad. So bad. Just to kiss. Just once. Maybe he could keep breathing then if he only got to kiss those red lips once. And they’re truly red, so red. Bucky’s been licking them and biting at them and with the alcohol they’re like a goddamn fucking beacon so Steve kneels down between Bucky’s legs, let’s himself be pulled into that beacon’s beam.

“You’re beautiful,” he tells Bucky. “I’ve never seen anyone in real life who’s beautiful like you. You got lights comin’ outta you. Beaming and glowing. And your mouth. Goddamn, Bucky. Your mouth.”

Bucky’s smiling at him, a glazed over look in his eyes as he reaches out and tries to touch Steve’s lips with his fingers. It takes him a few tries to touch them and when he does it’s gentle but his fingertips burn Steve’s lips. He reaches up and wraps his own fingers around Bucky’s and holds them to his lips anyway, even though they burn, because he needs to kiss them too. Kiss them and the palm of Bucky’s hand and then Bucky is sitting up straighter, leaning toward him and suddenly it’s Bucky’s lips Steve’s kissing instead.

Bucky’s lips.

Red red lips.

Steve’s stomach drops out of him, butterflies whipping it away, and it’s not the alcohol, it’s Bucky and the taste of him beneath it. It’s the rush of him and all the love Steve feels for him. Can admit in this very moment that he feels. He feels so fucking much. And he does, he does love him, love Bucky. How can he not? In his mind he knows he’s stupid to feel this much, this fast, but it’s okay. It’s okay. Bucky’s kissing him and it’s the most real thing he’s ever felt.

It’s all so fucking beautiful.

He feels Bucky’s hands grasping at him, holding him so hard and tight it almost hurts, but it hurts so good and Steve doesn’t want to ever be let go. He’ll fucking drift away back into nothing if Bucky lets him go.

Bucky says his name, whispers it breathless against his lips, and he feels it everywhere, pulsing in his gut, his dick. God. God.

But then the elevator dings and the doors open onto Steve’s floor and the moment is suddenly over. Like a snap. Steve pulls back, slaps his hand over his mouth, and stares at Bucky. How could they? How could he let himself go like that? Oh my god.

“I’m sorry,” he blurts out. “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” Bucky’s just staring at him so he keeps babbling. “Natasha. I can’t believe I threw myself on you. I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Wha? Nat?” Bucky’s not even forming complete words.

Steve pushes himself away from Bucky as he scrambles backwards and tries to get away from him and out of the elevator as quickly as possible.

“Steve,” Bucky calls out as he reaches for him. “Where are you going?”

“I gotta go. I gotta.” Steve stands in the doorway of the elevator, stuck in shock for a second. “I. I gotta go now. I’ll see you later. Please don’t hate me.” The words come out just as the elevator dings and the doors try to shut on him. They knock against him and open back up again with a shudder as he quickly steps back.

“Steve, I don’t hate you.” Bucky sounds so confused. “Why would I hate you?”

Before Steve can say another stupid word the doors close on Bucky. Steve turns and runs down the hallway to his apartment before his legs give out on him completely and he collapses on the floor in a giant pile of misery.

~*~

From the time the elevator doors closed on them the night before until the time Steve finally rolls out of bed at nine to pee the next morning Bucky has texted him fifteen times.

Before collapsing into his bed and pulling the blankets over his head so he could have a good cry Steve had turned off his phone. He knew Bucky would text, or maybe even call if he got desperate enough. Steve didn’t want to risk it.

Waking up to the chain of texts Steve congratulates his last night self.

The texts go from confused to annoyed to a final one that tells Steve Bucky is going to come to his apartment in the morning so they can talk face to face like real live people. Steve has no excuse not to talk to him, they were supposed to hang out again today, but there’s no way in hell he’s going to open the door when Bucky knocks. He can’t. He’s too fucking embarrassed.

He let his mouth and his heart and his dick take over last night when he kissed Bucky. He wants to be able to blame it on the alcohol, they drank enough of it, but he really honestly can’t. That kiss was all him. One hundred percent him. Everything he’s been thinking about and yearning for over the past week.

Around ten o’clock Bucky knocks on his door, Steve prides himself on not answering, even when Bucky pleads with him through the closed door. He keeps asking why? Why did Steve run away? Why does he think Bucky should hate him? His voice is so confused it breaks Steve’s heart, but he keeps still, keeps sitting on the couch until Bucky finally goes away.

He knows he should’ve opened the door and talked to him but he knows Bucky would’ve made some excuse for him and said it’s okay, but it’s not. It’ll forever be awkward between them and he’s never ever wanted to come between a couple. There’s no fucking way he’s going to be the other man. Not that he is the other man. Bucky didn’t cheat on Natasha, Steve was the one who kissed him, the blame is all on him, but he knows if he lets himself spend any more time with Bucky he’ll do it again. He won’t be able to help himself.

Especially not now that he knows that kissing Bucky is like fucking flying through a sunset sky.

Steve holds his phone in his hand. He’s not a fucking child, he needs to just call Bucky and tell him he can’t see him anymore, at least not for awhile. He needs some time to get over feeling like a complete idiot and time to get over his stupid crush on him.

Except it really isn’t a crush. Steve knows what a crush feels like; almost real, yet not quite. Not quite. What he feels for Bucky though? The way he can feel the glow of his love for him flowing through every particle, every cell in his body? That’s love. Real, fucking love, and Steve doesn’t know how the hell he’s going to get over that.

He sighs and tosses his phone onto the couch next to him as he gets up and goes to put on his boots and jacket. He needs to take a walk, clear his head out, and then maybe he can deal with putting on his damn big boy pants and calling Bucky.

~*~

“I assume you’re Steve Rogers.”

“Jesus fucking Christ!”

Steve nearly jumps out of his fucking skin when he hears the voice from behind him as he checks his mail. When he turns around he sees a stunning redhead sitting in one of the battered old chairs in their apartment lobby.

Natasha.

It has to be, Steve hasn’t been able to forget that gorgeous face since he saw it in Bucky’s pictures.

“Steve, right?” Natasha repeats.

“Yeah. Um. That’s me. I’m Steve.” He rolls his eyes at himself and his asinine response.

“I figured as much. James always had a gift for vivid descriptions.”

“Oh yeah?”

Natasha raises an eyebrow at him and says in simpering voice, “Oh my god, Natty, he’s like all American blonde beefcake; tall and built and stupidly gorgeous, but like boy next door realness. I’m pretty sure he smells like apple pie and freedom and I want to eat him. Literally. That ass, fuck me, I could eat it for days.”

Steve knows for a fact he’s fucking beet red and his mouth is hanging open.

“So when you walked in,” Natasha says, “you can see why I assumed it was you.”

“Eat my ass?” Steve manages to get out.

“For days. And mind you, he could. He’s really good at it. You might want to look into that once we clear up this ridiculous clusterfuck the two of you have gotten yourselves into. I am glad though you can’t reproduce because neither one of you are very bright.”

“What?”

And there Steve goes again, just proving her point.

“So based on what James cried-slash-shouted at me over the phone, and let me tell you I’m only just back from Russia so you can imagine my jetlag, but I’m pretty sure I have everything one hundred percent accurate.”

Steve just nods at her. She’s so calm and confident that he fully believes she understands everything that’s going on even if Steve doesn’t.

“Because James tends to ramble and forget that people can’t hear what he’s thinking in his mind he skips over certain key points, the key point here being the fact that he and I are not a couple. Not now anyway, we used to be ages ago, but that’s so far in the past that it hardly registers with us sometimes. However, the way he describes our friendship, our purely innocent and platonic friendship, tends to sound like a relationship.”

“You mean the two of you aren’t —”

“Fucking? Life partners? Boyfriend and girlfriend? No. We aren’t.”

“Lemme just, lemme just digest this a bit,” Steve says as he drops down into the chair across from Natasha. “There’s nothing between the two of you?”

“Nope. Nothing.”

“Are you sure?”

“I should hope so or my husband Sam would have something to say about it. I mean I’m pretty sure James would be into a thruple situation but he’d drive Sam over the edge in less than a week.”

“So when he said, he didn’t really mean?” Steve is stumbling over his words but he honestly doesn’t know what to say. “He’s not with anyone?” Steve adds, he can barely choke out the words as the reality of it sinks in, that they could actually be something, that maybe he’s free to love him. It’s too much, the sheer happiness of it is overwhelming him and making him embarrassingly emotional.

Natasha obviously notices it, sees how teary-eyed he’s getting at the possibilities, because she leans forward and takes his hands in hers.

“He’s not with anyone, apple pie.” She smiles at him. “Well, except for you. Like he’s one thousand percent with you. I’m embarrassed for him the way he’s been talking about you. Sam told me to suggest a restraining order but who knows? Maybe you like that kind of thing.”

Weird sobby laughter bursts out of Steve. “I do. I like that kind of thing,” he says. “In fact, I fucking love it.”

He watches Natasha smirk at him. “I thought as much.”

“I gotta go,” Steve says as he quickly stands up. “I gotta tell him.”

“I didn’t tell him I was coming over here to sort things out. Technically I know he’s not a child and can sort his own shit out but he’s so tragically bad at it I thought I’d intervene, especially with something this important. I don’t need another three weeks of his tragic lamenting.”

“Uh-huh,” Steve says, he’s barely paying attention to her as he rushes over to the elevator. While he’s waiting for the doors to open Natasha leisurely strolls over to stand beside him. When the doors finally open and he gets in she casually leans around the corner and wraps her fingers around his index finger before he can press the button for Bucky’s floor. He gives her a look as she moves his finger over to the one for his own floor.

“James is sitting outside your door like a vagrant waiting for you to get back. He called me from the floor where he’s pining and feeling intensely sorry for himself.”

Steve must have a pathetic lovestruck look on his face because Natasha shakes her head and mumbles, “sad,” under her breath.

“You’re like some sort of fairy godmother,” Steve says inanely.

Natasha just smiles and gives him a wave and says, “I know,” as the elevator doors close on her.

Steve stands and watches the numbers as they creep painfully slowly toward his floor. He’s basically bouncing on his toes. He can’t wait until the elevator stops on his floor and he can run down his hallway and tackle-kiss the gorgeous pathetic little vagrant pining outside his apartment door.

~*~

Steve slips through the doors before they even fully open onto his floor and rushes down the hall. He has to turn a corner but when he does there’s Bucky, just as Natasha said he’d be, sitting on the floor outside his door. And he looks just as sad and pathetic as she said he did as well.

He bursts out laughing because he’s so fucking happy and Bucky is the most goddamn beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

Bucky hears him and turns toward the sound of his laughter. He must be fucking glowing with happiness because it only takes a second for Bucky’s frown to turn into a gorgeous smile, all sunshine and light.

“Steve?” he questions as he stands up. “What?”

And then Bucky’s laughing too, not knowing why, but caught up in Steve’s obvious happiness all the same.

Steve had paused for a moment as he came around the corner, but hearing the sound of Bucky’s laughter pushes him forward again and he all but flings himself into Bucky’s arms. They knock into the wall as Bucky wraps him up in a tight hug.

“What the fuck?” he asks, still sort of breathlessly laughing.

Steve takes Bucky’s face in both of his hands and touches his forehead to Bucky’s.

“I fucking love you,” he blurts out.

Bucky lifts his head and leans back so he can look into Steve’s eyes. The look on his face makes Steve laugh again and love him even more, he looks confused as hell but happy too and the mixture is hilarious.

“I love you too,” he says, and Steve feels his heart beating out of his fucking chest. “Like crazy in love with you but the mixed signals you’re sending me here, babe are messing with my fucking head.”

“I know, I know,” Steve says as he kisses Bucky’s cheek and chin and mouth. “Oh god, I know. I’m sorry. I am. But I needed to get that out. You needed to know I love you.”

Bucky laughs against Steve’s lips when he goes in for another kiss.

“Yeah, being told someone loves you is nice,” Bucky says. “But you ran away from me last night. What the fuck happened between then and now?”

“I got a clue?” Steve says sheepishly.

“About what?”

“Last night I thought you were with Natasha.”

“With Nat? How? Her and Sam only just got back from Russia last night.”

“Oh my god, you idiot, not physically with her,” Steve says, then stops for a second. “Well I guess physically but you know, physically.” Bucky is looking at him like he’s lost it completely but Steve keeps going. “Sex! Sexually physical. Because you said she was your girl and I thought okay she’s his girl and he’s completely off-limits and that totally blew because I’ve had a massive crush on you since I saw you getting your mail in your gray sweatpants.”

“My gray sweatpants?”

“You weren’t wearing underwear, Bucky. I’m not sure you realize how you look in those but let me tell you, it was A Moment for me.”

“A moment in your pants, Steve?” Bucky waggles his eyebrows at him.

Steve rolls his eyes. “Yes, my love, a boner. There was a boner in my pants.”

“Yeah, there was,” Bucky says proudly.

“Anyway,” Steve says loudly as Bucky quietly laughs at him. “I thought you were with Natasha and this whole goddamn fucking week I’ve been desperately trying to not fall in love with you, and, well, that worked out great for me.”

“I’m right there with you, falling just as hard,” Bucky says before he leans in and kisses Steve, kisses him like the night before in the elevator when Steve thought he’d goddamn float away. He ends with a smattering of light, barely there kisses. “I might as well have tried not breathing.”

“You were breaking my heart, Bucky.”

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky says as he strokes the side of Steve’s face.

“You didn’t know,” Steve says as he takes Bucky’s hand and kisses his palm. “It’s not your fault. I was the one who jumped to conclusions and never asked any of the questions I should have.”

Bucky tangles his fingers up with Steve’s as he asks with a grin, “Nat’s downstairs, isn’t she? She hasn’t answered my texts in thirty minutes and Sam insists she went to get groceries when I called him and then you show up with a very nearly fully functioning brain.”

“Hey!”

Bucky just laughs and gives Steve a look.

“Okay, fine. She’s downstairs, but I was gonna call you so we would’ve gotten here eventually.”

“Eventually?” Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Yesss. Eventually,” Steve repeats, then mumbles, “with probably several weeks of moping and misunderstanding in between.”

“Ahh, yeah, there we are.” Bucky smiles. “That’s more our style.”

Steve shakes his head at Bucky and goes in for another kiss. He’s gotta shut Bucky up somehow, they could talk about their, well, mostly Steve’s, stupidity for hours, but kissing is a far better way to spend their time.

“By the way,” Bucky whispers in his ear, “I know how good my dick looks in those sweatpants. There was no hope for you, babe.”

Steve laughs then goes back to kissing Bucky.

He’s right though, there was no hope for Steve at all.

Him and Bucky?

They're inevitable.