Work Text:
Bucky hasn’t been home from work long—just enough to have taken off his shoes and to have accepted a beer from Steve, who is smiling and a little bit muddled in that happy way he gets when he’s been spending time painting. The further evidence of his afternoon is caked under his fingernails, and in a smudge of bright green where he must have pushed his bangs out of his hair without realizing there was paint on his hands.
Bucky, on the other hand, feels wrecked in that specific “stayed in the office until 8pm kind of way” and slumps over on their sofa, pulling his socked feet up under himself, and taking a pull on the beer.
There’s a comforting sound of music trailing out of Steve’s studio (well, technically their office, but Bucky’s big plans to be organized at home fizzled pretty fast, so he’s used his desk approximately one time so far). For Steve’s birthday in July, Bucky had gifted him with a real, fully restored Silvertone console record player, and they’ve been having fun hunting down records for Steve’s collection ever since.
Today it sounds like he’s listening to Count Basie, which had been a gem in a grab bag set of ten they’d found on eBay for cheap—most of the rest hadn’t been worth saving, but Steve plays this one a lot.
It occurs to him that he’s going to have a hard time outdoing himself on that gift—but he really needs to start thinking about it soon. It’s tipping now into the second half of September, and their anniversary is coming up fast in October.
He can tell Steve has something in mind already, because he’s locked himself away a few times in the studio, which he normally never does, and has emerged each time looking extremely pleased with himself and shooting looks at Bucky. Steve very rarely has it in him to keep secrets, or to be furtive, not unless he’s really determined to surprise. So whatever it is, it’s probably thoughtful. Bucky will probably cry.
Speaking of which—Bucky perks up as Steve bustles around the kitchen, opening a beer for himself and peaking into the oven. The smell of something cooking wafts over to Bucky. Steve gives him a furtive look over his shoulder, which turns pleased when he sees Bucky’s interest.
Steve has recently very much thrown himself into the project of becoming a decent cook. At first they’d been cooking together, Bucky trying to ease him in, but Bucky’s been working a lot of these long nights lately and Steve had decided to forge ahead doggedly in his own education—with sometimes mixed success. But whatever he’s attempted tonight smells really good, and Bucky sighs, sinking into the sheer goddamn domesticity of it all. If he let himself get just 15% more horizontal right now, he could definitely pass out just like this.
He’s just opening his mouth to make a joke to Steve about bringing him his pipe and slippers when he’s distracted from it by his phone buzzing insistently in his pocket. He pulls it out, vaguely alarmed to find it actually ringing. Usually only Steve actually calls him. Becca’s name flashes over the screen.
He answers, warily. “Hey Bex, what’s up?”
“Bucky—” Becca’s voice is a little garbled, and Bucky sits up straight right away, worry zinging through him when he realizes that she’s crying.
“What is it? Are you okay? It’s not the baby—?” Bucky asks, and he meets Steve’s eyes across the apartment, his eyebrows shooting up in concern when he hears Bucky’s tone.
“No-oo, I’m okay,” Becca says, miserably, “Can I come up for a few minutes? I’m supposed to pick up Soph but I can’t go to mom’s like this.”
“Where are you?”
“Just about to ring, can you buzz me up?”
The buzzer at their front door goes off right on time, and Bucky gestures confirmation to Steve to go ahead and let Becca in.
“See you in a minute,” Bucky says. Becca makes a wordless kind of agreement, and hangs up.
“What was that about?” Steve asks, while Bucky frowns down at his phone, anxiously wondering the same thing and imagining a million possible awful scenarios.
He looks up and shrugs. “No idea, but she’s stopping in for a few. Guess she’ll tell us.”
“I’ll make some tea,” Steve says, moving to put the kettle on. Ever since Becca had announced her pregnancy in the winter, Bucky noted that the non-alcoholic items in Steve’s pantry and fridge have never been allowed to be out of stock, just in case she comes by. It’s cute.
There’s a sharp knock on the door, and Bucky gets up to let Becca in.
Bucky can’t help that his natural response to the state of her is a horrified expression. Becca takes one look at his face and bursts out in laughter—which melts almost immediately back into crying. Which she’s clearly been doing a good amount of, if her puffy eyes and red nose are any indication.
“Shut up,” she says to Bucky, shoving his shoulder back so she can step into the apartment around him, even though he hasn’t said anything.
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Your face did, let me be,” Becca says, tartly, snuffling a little as she shucks her jacket and hangs it on a hook. She’s wearing scrubs under it, in a startlingly violet color printed with little constellations. “If I wanted that I’d’ve just gone straight to mom’s.”
“Uh—” Bucky says, uncertainly, looking over her head at Steve, who just peers back unhelpfully with his own eyes wide and shakes his head in confusion. “Okay. You want to—sit down?”
Becca nods, waddling over to their dining table and pulling out a chair to sink into. With her due date only a couple weeks out, her belly is massive and (in Bucky’s opinion, which he learned the first time around to keep to himself) uncomfortable looking.
Bucky trails after her, trying not to look too much like he’s afraid she might go into labor in their kitchen. But how is he supposed to know! His sister doesn’t cry. Barring visible signs of injury, the only explanation for her turning up on their doorstep with her usually capable air replaced by uncontrollable tears has to have something to do with whatever strange, alien process is taking place in her body.
He takes a cautious seat in one of the other chairs, still feeling ready to leap to his feet if it’s required. Leap to his feet and call his mom, anyway—other than that he’d be pretty useless.
Becca rolls her eyes at him and gives another watery laugh, wiping irritatedly at her leaking eyes.
“I’m fine Bucky, stop looking like I’m about to combust.”
“Would you like some tea?” Steve asks from the other side of the kitchen island, gesturing with the kettle.
Becca leans back in her chair, sliding low. “Steve, honey I love you and your tea and your fruit juice and ginger ale—but no. I want a beer. Please tell me you have something dark?”
Steve flicks Bucky a questioning look, clearly delegating the task of following up on that to him—the coward.
“Um…is that…allowed?” Bucky asks. He immediately regrets it. Becca’s head whips to him with a glare only made more ferocious by the red rims of her eyes.
“Yes Bucky, it’s allowed. I’m in my third trimester, this kid is fully baked, I’m a fucking nurse—I’m allowing it. Science allows it.” She sighs, closing her eyes and resting her hands on her baby bump wearily. “I’ve had the worst day ever and I am going to have my one beer.”
“Oh, okay then,” Bucky says. Far be it from him to question science, or a sister who has already successfully produced one too-smart-for-her-own-good spawn and therefore probably knows what she’s talking about.
Steve mutely opens the fridge and fishes out a beer, bringing it around and sitting down opposite Bucky to slide it across the table to Becca.
Becca takes a long pull from the beer, her eyes closed in a kind of rapturous ecstasy. She drops it from her lips and gives one of those ahhh sounds like people are always doing in beer commercials. Bucky smiles, and takes a sip of his own.
“So…” he starts, carefully. “Rough day?”
Becca laughs again, the sound trailing off into a groan as she rubs her face roughly.
“Yeah—kind of—I mean I don’t know. I’m working the rest of this week and I’m too pregnant and I’m tired as shit.” Her voice starts going dangerously high again, and Bucky reaches out and pats her on the shoulder ineffectually as she continues. “And we were supposed to have our baby shower this weekend but my ‘friend’,” the words come with viciously sarcastic air quotes, “informed me today that we’re going to have to cancel because her husband has the flu.” Becca flaps her hands. “It’s not like he was even going to be at the party, he could totally just stay in bed and it would be fine! But apparently he can’t survive without her waiting on him hand and foot for four hours on a Saturday and I normally wouldn’t even care because baby showers are stupid except for this being a freaking accidental baby and I really could’ve used some baby shit because I threw all of Sophie’s out last year like an id-idio-oot.”
The final word gives way to a miserable wail, and Becca drops her face into her hands again, shoulders shaking.
“Oh no,” Bucky says. He looks to Steve for assistance. Steve shakes his head in alarm. Bucky tries rubbing Becca’s shoulder again—it doesn’t seem to help.
“Is there—um—can’t mom help?” Bucky asks.
Becca looks up again, wildly incredulous. “Bucky are you serious, have you been to mom’s recently?”
Bucky frowns, trying to remember the last time he was there. “Uh—no? They’ve come over here the last couple times we did dinner…?”
Becca slaps his hand away from her shoulder, annoyed. “Yeah because their kitchen is like, basically down to the studs right now! How did you miss this? All mom talks to me about is either this kid or the remodel, god you’re oblivious—and I’d told her it was fine to go for it like two months ago because fucking Shelley had already offered to host this dumb thing.”
Her face looks like it’s threatening to crumple again, and Bucky raises his hands quickly in surrender.
“Right, the kitchen—that…that really sucks Bex. I’m…sorry?”
Becca looks a little pacified, and takes a deep breath, settling herself. Steve reaches behind himself and pulls a box of tissues from the counter, putting it in front of her, and she laughs self-deprecatingly.
“God I’m sorry you guys. I hate being like this. It’s the fucking hormones.” She snatches out her hand for Bucky’s and squeezes it. “Don’t tell mom, okay? I don’t want her to feel guilty—she’s been wanting this kitchen thing for like ten years and it’s not her fault I’ve got flaky friends.”
“So a baby shower,” Steve says, surprising both Barneses into looking over at him, as he’s kept silent through the rest of the exchange. “It’s a—a party where people bring you things for the baby?”
Becca chuckles, releasing Bucky’s hand to pat Steve’s.
“Basically. They’re stupid, but…” Her mouth twists. “But I was really looking forward to mine.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” Steve says, eyebrows creasing.
Becca sighs and rubs her face again, then smooths her hair. She sits up straighter and reaches for her beer again, taking another gulp.
“Whatever. I’m just going crazy because it’s supposed to be fall but it’s been hot as shit still and I just want this little bitch out already—” she breaks off, looking horrified, and grabs Bucky’s hand again. “Oh my god, never tell her I said that—I love her so much and she’s already going to be a fucking Virgo, she doesn’t need that kind of angst. I meant I just can’t wait to meet her, very much outside of my body like, now.”
Bucky tries his best to follow the train of thought, and from Steve’s intensely focused expression he thinks he might be having trouble tracking it too.
“So what would—” Steve begins.
“Wait, a Virgo? What is Sophie?” Bucky cuts over him, that part of the sentence registering.
Becca rolls her eyes. “Have you met Sophie? She’s an Aries.”
“Me and Bucky could host your party.”
Becca and Bucky both turn to look at Steve, blankly.
“What?” Becca says.
“What?” Bucky repeats.
Steve’s jaw sets stubbornly against their incredulity. “I said, if you just need a place to have your friends over, they could come here. We could do the baby shower here.”
“Steve…” Becca begins.
“You’d never even heard of a baby shower until ten minutes ago!” Bucky says accusingly.
Steve folds his arms over his chest and leans back in his chair, and Bucky gets the sinking feeling that he’s already lost this battle. When Steve looks like that, there’s usually no getting around him. But of all the hills to die on…
Bucky looks to Becca for aid, but she’s looking at Steve, too surprised to notice.
“It’s just a party with baby stuff, right? I don’t have any plans this weekend—do you?” He asks Bucky, pointedly.
Bucky shakes his head, feeling well and truly called out. “No I guess I—but I have work all week—so do you! I don’t know if we could—”
“Of course we could,” Steve says. His face further says that he’s already made up his mind. Bucky flops back in his chair and takes a long drink from his beer.
“I guess we could then,” he says finally, waving his arm at Becca. “There you go, problem solved.”
“Are you—is he serious?” Becca asks, eyes going wide in wondering dismay, turning to Bucky.
Bucky laughs dryly, and flaps his hand at Steve. “Look at that face, Bex. That is the face of Captain America promising that he’s going to throw you a fucking baby shower or die trying.”
Steve huffs, dropping his arms from where they are crossed over his chest and generally trying to look less Captain-y. It doesn’t lessen the effect of his determination.
“Ooh he’s serious serious,” Becca says, smacking Bucky’s hand teasingly. “You guys I never expected you to—but—would you really?”
She’s asking Bucky now, since it’s clear Steve has his heart set on it. And because she’s his sister who he loves, and because he wants this new baby Virgo—whatever that implies—to get as much attention as all babies apparently deserve, he relents. He makes a broad gesture to Becca along with his shrug, grinning.
“Yeah, I guess we’ll really.”
Steve and Becca both look relieved, and Bucky can’t help but shoot Steve a curious glance at his reaction—how and why he got so invested in this in the span of twenty minutes will be a mystery of Steve’s personality that he’ll have to ponder. But they both look extremely happy. And Bucky—even if he isn’t keen on the idea itself—does love making Steve (and Becca, sometimes) happy.
“I guess—just tell us who we need to invite and—whatever.” Bucky says.
Becca claps her hands. “You guys oh my god I’m gonna cry again!”
“Please don’t,” Bucky says, earning him another shoulder smack.
“Okay,” Becca says, rising awkwardly from her chair. She lifts the beer to take another long pull before slamming it to the table. “I gotta get to mom’s to pick up Sophie or she’s going to think I fell under a train. You have no idea what this means to me. I’ll get you access to the email invite so you can update it for your address and stuff.” She leans down to kiss Steve’s cheek, and Steve blushes, looking incredibly pleased. Bucky receives only a ruffling of his hair, to which he responds with a hiss of annoyance. Becca grins. “You’re the best.”
They both rise to walk Becca to the door, and she waves off their offers (Steve’s offer) to walk her over to Bucky’s parents.
Bucky shuts the door behind her, leaning against it and letting his head fall dramatically back with a sigh.
“You,” he says, opening his eyes to point at Steve, “have a long night of Pinteresting ahead of you, sir.”
Steve looks back at him with a deceptively innocent expression. “What’s Pinterest?”
Bucky snorts, and stalks to the fridge to get himself another drink.
“Pinterest is about to be your new best friend. Sit down and get ready to be overwhelmed.”
Steve smirks, scooting his chair back in at the table and smiling up at him sweetly.
“Whatever you say, light of my life,” says Steve.
“Shut up Steve,” says Bucky.
*
If Bucky thought that introducing Steve to the world of Pinterest Party Planning would teach him a lesson, he thought wrong.
Unfortunately for Bucky’s desire for petty vengeance, but very fortunately for Becca, Steve takes to the planning of the baby shower with unparalleled zeal.
Each day of that week, Bucky arrives home (later than he’d like) from Stark Industries to find stacks of packages piled outside of their door with sticky notes signed by Kate (Sharon) with variations of the message have fun! :)
Steve unboxes it all gleefully into stacks around their living room.
“Bucky look! How great are these?”
Bucky cranes his head wearily to look over the back of the couch at Steve, his incredible wingspan spread wide holding up a garland of monkeys holding hands.
“Very cute,” Bucky says, turning back to his tablet.
“A lot of the themes were uh…really pink,” Steve continues, ripping into another box. “But I didn’t think Becca would like that, and Sophie isn’t that into princesses and that stuff. I thought ‘jungle’ would be fun, kids like that right?”
“You know this party is for the adults though, right?”
“Yeah but it’s about kids,” Steve replies, undaunted. “Everyone loves jungle animals.”
Bucky makes a wordless noise of agreement, though it seems like a dubious argument to him.
Something soft hits the back of his head, and Bucky grunts, turning around to pull a stuffed tiger off the back of the couch where Steve had just chucked it at him.
“You’re cranky,” Steve says.
Bucky sighs, looking at the tiger. “This is cute. For the baby?”
“For Sophie. I think she’s going to feel left out with all these baby presents.”
Bucky smiles, for real this time, and strokes the soft head of the little tiger. “That’s extremely thoughtful of you.”
Steve ducks his head, embarrassed and pleased. “Thanks.”
A couple more days pass, their living room transforming into a festive looking jungle little by little each time Bucky comes home from work. He tries not to be so grumpy with Steve’s enthusiasm—he’s been working hard, harder than normal on a project he’s been put in charge of launching for his department at Stark Industries.
On Thursday, he comes home earlier than he has any day in at least three weeks, and tonight he’s not dragging—he bangs the door open and tosses a handful of envelopes into Steve’s lap with one hand, brandishing a bottle of champagne with the other.
“Guess who got a visit from the CEO today?” Bucky says, eyes sparkling. Steve’s eyebrows go up.
“You?” Steve asks, a corresponding smile spreading over his face, even though he hasn’t heard the news yet.
Bucky nods, suppressing the excitement he feels—he’d intended to play this very cool, like he isn’t over the moon about it.
“Turns out all the work I’ve been doing on this campaign paid off.” He pauses for dramatic effect. “You’re currently looking at the new Deputy Director of Stark’s Philanthropic Initiative!” He abandons his attempt at being chill, and flings himself happily into Steve’s lap, dislodging a pile of some kind of soft white cloths to throw his arms around Steve’s neck. “Apparently Kim handed in her month’s notice two weeks ago, and Pepper came down to tell me they’d decided to promote me to the spot, effective October 1st—can you believe it??”
“Course I can!” Steve says, staunchly, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s waist as Bucky laughs.
“I mean, it’s not like it’s a huge division like being management in—I dunno, Research and Development or something,” Bucky says, sheepishly. “But I’ll have so much more input on our resource allocation and—I dunno, I think Pepper is looking to expand it, so it’s kind of exciting…”
“Bucky,” Steve says, looking at him meaningfully, “it’s a huge deal. You’re a big deal! It’s obvious that you’ve made a serious impression if they reached over some of the folks with more seniority to promote you.”
Bucky grins, face flushing at the praise, which he secretly agrees with—but it’s different hearing someone else say it, and having that someone be Steve, who for all his modesty is obviously a big deal himself.
Steve is watching him, a kind of close, secret expression on his face.
“What?” Bucky asks, half-laughing and half-suspicious.
Steve just shakes his head, still smiling, and says, “We just…we’ve got so much to look forward to, you know?”
Bucky’s heart swoops, like it does whenever Steve talks frankly about their future together, even though it’s been happening more and more in the regular course of their conversations lately—the melty, warm novelty hasn’t warn off yet. He takes Steve’s face in his hands, swooping in to kiss him, and Steve tilts his chin back to let him.
Bucky turns to rearrange himself so that he’s straddling Steve’s lap, and looks at him seriously.
“I’m sorry I haven’t been a helpful co-host at all.” He tells Steve, still holding his face between his palms. “I promise I’m going to make up for it—I’ll take tomorrow off to help, now that my proposal is done, and Saturday I’ll chat up nurses and—and eat baby food and—whatever this is,” he waves his arm at the scattered white things.
“Decorate bibs,” Steve says, helpfully.
“I love you so much,” Bucky replies.
“Good,” Steve says, mouth tipping up at the corner. “I just want Becca to love it, and your mom to love it, and for everyone to think you landed a catch. Even if I have no idea what I’m doing.”
Bucky throws his head back, laughing. “Steve if this is all about winning over my folks I gotta tell you—I’m already pretty convinced that they’d choose you if we ever broke up.”
Steve beams. “Better not give you any reasons to break up with me then.”
Bucky shakes his head, smiling softly down at him. “No, I don’t think I’m gonna.”
Steve tightens his arms around Bucky’s waist, and Bucky leans in for another kiss.
They kiss for a few moments, and Bucky feels like his chest could just about burst with the joy. It feels like there’s nothing else, right in this moment he can’t think of one more single thing that would make his life better than it is right now.
He pulls back again, and sweeps Steve’s floppy gold bangs out of his face.
“I’m really sorry I’ve been so distracted. I can’t believe all the stuff you’ve done on your own…” he trails off, for the first time realizing how much shit Steve has managed to do for this party while Bucky’s been working overtime. “Jeez you must be having a light week huh?” He frowns, a thought occurring to him. “Oh god, you know what this means right? It means we’re totally jinxed and you’re going to get called on a mission tomorrow and I’m going to have to karmically pay up by having to face the whole thing alone aren’t I—”
“No,” Steve laughs, bouncing his legs a little to jostle Bucky into silence, “no I’m actually—I think I’m going to be—taking a break. From missions. For a bit.”
Bucky stares at him, and finds that there’s a pink tinge creeping up Steve’s neck, and coloring the tips of his ears—which is how he knows Steve is saying something important, even if his tone is casual. He wonders if this is to do with the secret Steve’s been scheming to himself about.
“Yeah?” He asks, trying not to rush to conclusions. “What’s up?”
Steve ducks his head, dropping his face to kiss Bucky’s shoulder. “Nothing’s up. Sam’s just been training with the shield a lot the past couple months and I—we decided he’s ready. To um…take it out on his own for a bit. Try out being Captain America.”
Bucky’s heart clenches. There it is again, Steve saying things that make him go taffy-soft inside. Because this is a topic they’ve discussed, however tentatively. It had happened sometime when they were talking about maybe getting married and…whatever else. And although Bucky hadn’t been the one to raise it, Steve had made some comments about his job—how one day he’d hope not to be running around quite so much to the corners of the globe at a moment’s notice. Being home for dinner, and breakfast…that kind of thing. Bucky hadn’t really thought it would happen any time in the foreseeable though—just thought, yeah, maybe if they ever really wanted to settle into this, think about a family even…
“You for real, Rogers?” He asks, a little husky.
Steve nods, his eyes soft and intent on Bucky’s.
“What do you…think?” He asks Bucky, tentative.
“I think that maybe the next time I see Sam I’m going to kiss him right on that dumb mouth of his.” Bucky says, grinning.
“Uh uh,” Steve replies, hand gripping at the back of Bucky’s neck and reeling him in for another kiss. “How about a Thank You card or something instead?”
“I can do that.” Bucky whispers, mouth lingering over Steve’s. He twines his fingers in the soft, silky hair at Steve’s nape, pressing in so that he can feel Steve’s heart beating steadily against his.
“When were you gonna tell me the big news?” Bucky asks, drawing back to look at Steve again, fingers continuing to fiddle gently with his hair. He’s still not really sure what to make of it, other than it making him feel like he’s been handed a million dollar bill, whatever else Steve means by it.
Steve looks down, finding Bucky’s other hand and playing with his fingers resting on Steve’s chest.
“I was going to wait and see if it worked first. Didn’t want to get your hopes up and disappoint you.”
“Impossible!” Bucky says with mock outrage. “You never disappoint me.”
“I broke another mixing bowl today,” Steve remarks, looking up at Bucky through his lashes.
Bucky snorts. “Fine—you very rarely disappoint me, and then it’s usually only on the topic of your destruction of kitchenware, how’s that?”
“Better, much nearer the truth,” Steve says, and lifts Bucky’s hand to press his mouth against his fingertips. “I very rarely find you disappointing either.”
“Mmm, my my, such praises,” Bucky says. But it’s only a half-hearted kind of sarcasm as he finds himself slightly distracted by his fingertips at Steve’s mouth.
Steve looks up at him, devil that he is, and lets his lips part—and Bucky can’t resist that kind of invitation. He runs his thumb across Steve’s full bottom lip, slipping it further into Steve’s mouth as Steve’s hand tightens its grip on his thigh.
“What do you say we—” Bucky clears his throat, “—go and not disappoint each other in a more appropriate room of our house?”
Steve smirks, swiping his tongue out over the pad of Bucky’s thumb.
“What’s wrong with our couch?” Steve asks, voice rumbly and low in his chest.
Bucky has a hard time concentrating when Steve pitches his voice down like that. But not so hard a time that he can’t give Steve a dry, deprecating look. Then he turns his gaze pointedly around the room at the assorted bibs, smiling monkeys, and various other baby items.
Steve follows his gaze, and the focused heat of his expression abates a little as he tips his head back, chuckling. “What, this stuff doesn’t turn you on?”
“You asking me to call you daddy?” Bucky shoots back.
Steve’s face twists harder than Bucky’s ever seen it at that suggestion, and Bucky cackles.
“Mm there’s one kink off the table I see,” he says through his laughter, and Steve gives him an even more baleful glare. “Guess it’s only fair since I’d kill you if you ever called me ‘baby’.”
“That,” Steve says, gathering his horrified dignity around him again and smoothing his face out, “is not the same thing.”
“Whatever you say d…earest.” Bucky draws the word out, and Steve rewards him with a sharp pinch to his side, which has Bucky dissolving again uselessly into giggles.
“Okay, okay I give,” he says, finally, wiping his eyes. He slings his hands loosely once more around Steve’s neck. Steve’s hands settle at Bucky’s waist, and after a moment he shifts, flexing his abs and arching upward, just enough that Bucky notices. Steve is still, occasionally, shy about his body. But the longer they’re together, Bucky thinks, the more it seems like Steve has begun to enjoy a little bit of showing off for Bucky—and the reaction it usually gets from him.
This moment is no different, and the laughter fades from Bucky’s lips, replaced by a spark of heat—and remembering what they were getting at a couple minutes ago.
“I admit, the happy monkey forest isn’t doing it for me,” he says, trailing his hand down Steve’s chest, resting with his palm flat against Steve’s taut stomach. “But you are. So how about you take me elsewhere and have your way with me, huh?”
Steve nuzzles along Bucky’s neck for a moment, humming agreement.
Then they both stand—Bucky grabs the champagne, and Steve’s hands don’t leave his waist, pushing him down the hallway, until they close the bedroom door behind them.
Neither of them end the night the least bit disappointed.
*
Saturday dawns bright and early. Bucky even, out of guilt for his absence the week leading up, gets out of bed in a single digit hour. Granted, at that point Steve’s already been up for several—but it’s a herculean task nonetheless and Bucky, at least, gives himself an A-for-effort.
Their living room has by now been transformed into a bright green jungle—fake leaves cover half of their walls and table surfaces, and animals peep out between the foliage at funny intervals.
It’s extremely silly—but Bucky can’t help but realize that Steve is actually…pretty good at this. He doesn’t know quite exactly how many hours worth of Pinterest Steve had crammed into his eyes to make this happen, but by Bucky’s estimation his version definitely holds up to any of those insta-influencer-moms on the internet. It’s adorable as fuck.
They make a final run to the grocery store for a few of the things that wouldn’t keep well overnight, or that they didn’t have room for in their fridge, and they’re done with a good half an hour to spare before the party time that went out on the invitation.
Steve wrings his hands nervously, and walks from carefully curated station to carefully curated station, making sure everything is there. Their apartment isn’t small in Brooklyn terms, but it isn’t huge either—Bucky marvels at the fact that somehow Steve managed to arrange: a buffet, a gift table, a bib decoration table, a spot dedicated to beverages, and a rotating games/activities table around the edges of it, with plenty of room left over for their guests.
Still, it makes Bucky consider faking some kind of illness just looking at it all.
But he won’t, obviously. Because he loves Steve. Or does he…? Bucky eyes the stacks of diapers, arranged for some unknown horror of a “game” involving a very creepily life-like babydoll. He shakes his head. No. He for sure loves Steve. He can do this.
The first buzz comes at the door, and Becca and Winnie are ushered into the apartment with a requisite amount of oohing to set Steve at least a little bit at his ease.
Winnie immediately starts crying, and pulls Steve, looking sheepish but gratified, down into a tight hug. Then she demands that he show her everything, and they embark on the tour. Becca, who even Bucky has to admit looks extremely cute with her giant belly in a striped dress, steps over to him, eyes glinting.
“Was this literally all Steve?”
Bucky makes a face at her, putting his hand to his chest in offense. “You dare impugn the honor of me, your own beloved brother?”
Becca knocks his shoulder with hers. “Thought so. Still though—like, damn, right? Did you know he would pull something like this off?” She lifts a sort of tropical flower garnishing a bowl of salad beside her. “This is cute shit!”
Bucky watches her replace the flower, giving her a wry, sideways smile. “I will be one hundred percent honest with you—with the caveat that I love Steve more than my own sorry bones—I absolutely thought this was going to be a shitshow.”
Becca slaps her hand across her mouth to muffle her bark of laughter, and Steve and Winnie both look over at them—Winnie reproachfully, since she has enough experience to just assume they’re up to no good, and Steve with bemused curiosity. Bucky just smiles back, and Becca hides her face in his shoulder until she’s done laughing.
“Why did he…” Becca begins, regaining her composure and trying to ask the question with a little more grace. “I mean I would never have asked you guys to do this. It’s seriously so sweet. But why would Steve want to?”
Bucky folds his arms, watching as Steve shows Winnie the little instructions he’d written up for the bib decorating table in his delicate, precise handwriting.
“He’s trying to prove something,” Bucky says, truthfully, not taking his eyes off Steve’s wide shoulders. “I’m just not sure what yet.”
Beside him, Becca shrugs and grins up at him. “Hey, I guess for my part I’d better not look a gift horse in the mouth right?” She trails her fingers over a spray of leaves tacked to the wall next to her. “I can’t fucking wait til I can show pictures to Shelley. This shower kicks her shower’s ass.”
Bucky laughs, and loops an arm around his sister’s shoulders, pulling her into a quick, tight hug. Becca may be a piece of work, but she’s his sister and he really does love the crap out of her. And because life is short and because Bucky’s as happy as he ever thought he could be, he tells her just that.
“I love the crap out of you, Bex, you know that right?”
Becca laughs softly, and looks up at him, her face suddenly thoughtful. “I love you too, Bucky.” She glances over to the far corner of the apartment toward Steve and Winnie. “You’ve changed. Since you came back.” Her tone is light, and she doesn’t make eye contact with him, but Bucky can feel himself blushing anyway. She squeezes her hand around his back. “It’s good stuff. You should be happy.”
“I am,” Bucky admits, not sure why it feels so weighty to be telling her, like this, surrounded by jungle animals and finger foods. “Happy.”
“Good,” she says, and she stands on her tiptoes to kiss his cheek, before letting her arm drop away from him.
They both look away from each other, hastily, feigning interest in some of the party decorations nearby. It’s always been a fact that Bucky and Becca have loved each other in equal measure to how much they’ve fought like cats and dogs. It’s not often that they talk without at least a little bit of banter like a garnish, even on the serious stuff.
Bucky’s always known that when it comes down to it, Becca would kill a man for him. And he’s always trusted that she knows when it comes down to it, he’d do the same for her. It’s a rare thing to just say it without anything else on top. Bucky blames the pregnancy hormones—probably like, in the air or something, making him go all sappy and misty-eyed. Damn baby.
There’s another buzz at the door, and Bucky gives a last squeeze to Becca’s shoulder, moving around her to let up the first round of party guests—whoever is in what he mentally terms the “punctual” group, since it’s 1pm on the dot.
Actually, once they reach the door, it turns out to be about half of the guest list. There’s a crowd of ten or so who filter in shortly thereafter. Bucky wonders if it’s a nurse thing to be on time.
Then he spots a familiar, decidedly un-nursely blond head in the group. He reaches across a nice older lady to wrap his hand around the arm of the person in question, tugging hard.
Clint makes a “sup dude” gesture at him.
“Clint—what the fuck are you doing here?” Bucky hisses, pulling him around the counter into the kitchen, which is relatively empty.
“Hey man, congrats on the new niece,” Clint says.
Bucky just stares back at him, eyebrows high.
“Steve invited me?” Clint tries again.
“Why?” Bucky asks with disbelief.
“Okay, well, it’s like, he sort of invited me,” Clint begins, stepping out of Bucky’s grasp and over toward the island. He inspects all of the food offerings carefully before selecting an entire mini-tart to shove in his mouth. He turns back to Bucky and continues explaining around it. “Basically we found out about it at the Tower because Steve was asking Pepper for advice in—shall we say—a communal locale—”
“Where he didn’t realize you were eavesdropping you mean,” Bucky interjects, handing Clint a napkin huffily.
“Right. But then we were like, dude—why didn’t you invite us, your closest friends and colleagues?” Clint says. “And he was like ‘it’s not a party for me it’s for the unborn baby’,” Bucky shudders at the description, but lets Clint continue uninterrupted, “So we were like, bro we could buy shit for a baby? But then Steve was like noooo you’ll freak out Becca’s nurse friends. So we were like, okay how about just like, half of us? And then he was like, no—so anyway we compromised on two of us and we drew straws and I won. And Natasha,” he adds, gesturing vaguely behind himself.
Bucky’s eyes dart over his shoulder, and quickly find the redheaded woman, chatting happily with his mom over the gift table. He hadn’t noticed her walking in like he had Clint—but he supposes that’s to be expected with the Widow. You don’t notice her until she wants you to. He’s spoken with her a handful of times, at the Tower with Steve, and always left the conversation not exactly sure what he’d said in the course of it.
He glares at her for a moment too long, drawing her attention over to him. She turns luminous green eyes in his direction, giving him a big, ostentatious wink. He scrunches his face at her, and she returns to whatever conversation she had been having with Winnie, and his mom looks charmed. Why wouldn’t she be? Natasha is wearing a green sundress with bright white flowers, she looks perfectly appropriate for the situation. Winnie probably doesn’t even realize who she is.
Bucky turns back to Clint, who is an altogether easier target for his annoyance and interrogation.
“You brought a present?” He asks, sternly.
Clint does a weird sort of half backbend out of Bucky’s grip to swipe another pastry from the table. “Dude I sent like, four hundred diapers to the address on the registry. Babies need so many, it’s wild.”
“Hmmph,” Bucky says, accepting that for the time being. “And Romanoff?”
“Pshhh, Nat? She got her this like—I dunno, swing thing? I guess? It’s like…handmade in Norway or something, I didn’t really ask man…”
Bucky grumbles. He actually, surprisingly, knows exactly what Clint is talking about. Becca had put it on her “dream” list, with no expectation that anyone would actually buy it. It’s very expensive and thoughtful. Damn.
“Just—just behave okay?” Bucky says to Clint.
“I don’t know if you know this, but basically everyone else finds me charming and delightful,” Clint says, picking up a plate now and beginning to pile it with food. He brandishes a pair of serving tongs at Bucky. “You’re the weird one who gets all awkward at other people’s parties.”
Bucky makes another face, this time at the unfortunate nugget of truth in that. Whatever. Clint is a walking disaster. Bucky just genuinely doesn’t like people.
Which reminds him. He does a quick scan of the room, and finds Steve cornered by two of Becca’s nurse friends. They’re clearly having the time of their lives. And Steve looks like he’s…doing okay, actually. Bucky smiles. His shoulders might be a little hunched, which of course does nothing to make him less conspicuous in his “special occasion” blue shirt, but he doesn’t look like he’s trying to sink into the floor yet. That’s good.
Bucky remembers his promise to be a good co-host. So he makes himself a (strong) mimosa, and when the buzzer sounds again, letting in a handful of new party guests, he puts on a welcoming smile and does his best to do the small talk thing.
It’s mostly women who fill the apartment for the afternoon, though as soon as the hosting had changed hands to Steve and Bucky they’d opened it up to be co-ed.
(“Isn’t it…kind of sexist to assume only women care about babies?” Steve had asked. “Why yes Steve, it is—but also it means we generally enjoy a get-out-of-baby-showers-free card so…is the patriarchy really that bad…?”)
Still, there’s a couple of men—husbands of some of Becca’s friends. And a solitary gay guy—another nurse friend, maybe a year or two younger than Bucky, who finds Bucky immediately in the crush of people, laying his hand on his arm and flicking his eyes significantly at Steve.
“If I could get away with murdering you and just stealing your life…” he says, quirking an eyebrows.
“I know right? Oh shit, I love your shirt,” Bucky replies, as is only polite in under the circumstances.
Soon their apartment is filled to the brim with raucous laughter and the hum of conversation. It avoids being entirely boring if only by the virtue of majority of the guests already knowing each other, so insipid small talk is done away with for the most part in favor of some truly terrible stories from the hospital trenches—you have to hand it to nurses, Bucky thinks, they know how to work a bolidy-fluid-based anecdote.
Bucky checks up the most on three people: Steve, Becca, and Clint. Steve, because he historically hasn’t super enjoyed groups of people fawning over him. Becca, because it’s a party for her and however much shit he gave Steve about it, he wants her to have a good time. And Clint, because he knows Natasha is going to be fine, but he doesn’t really feel at ease with the confluence of people in his life right now, gathering for this baby thing, and it makes him feel less like the odd man out to project those anxieties onto Barton.
But everyone is…good. In fact, just about everybody milling around the medium spaced apartment seems…to be having a good time? Bucky shakes his head, his natural social anxiety getting the best of him as he has a hard time believing it.
He pours himself a second mimosa. And then a third.
It isn’t until he’s half way through that flute that someone—he thinks it’s Becca’s friend with a lot of kids…Jess? Maybe?—declares that they can’t let all of the games that Steve had thoughtfully prepared go to waste. And even though her husband is here, somewhere, Bucky notes that she wraps her hand around Steve’s bicep as she says it, trying to get everyone on board.
Bucky frowns. That’s his ridiculously large and strong bicep to fondle, not Jess…i…fer’s.
Jenn…Jess…releases Steve, and Bucky takes another sip of champagne. But it suddenly is clear to him that there are no less than three ladies very in Steve’s space right now, as they urge him to get one of the games started.
Steve ducks his head, blushing, and searches out Bucky’s eyes across the room. And Bucky knows that Steve really honestly spent a lot of time putting together this stuff, so he smiles widely, encouraging him.
The one Steve initiates is at least one of the ones Bucky thought was kind of funny (rather than gross, like trying to guess baby food flavors). He’s got three baby dolls laid out on a table, with diapers beside them. The point of it is to have three people be blindfolded and race to see how fast they can put a diaper on the fake baby.
Like most baby shower games, Bucky thinks, it’s stupid—but at least it’s entertaining. He notices Becca keeps out of it, and she shoots him a look with a very slight roll of her eyes, which he returns.
Ultimately, the ladies in the room decide that the activity will be the most fun for them to put the husbands to the test. One of them, married to Becca’s favorite charge nurse and a few years their senior, agrees amiably. Another is pushed forward reluctantly from a corner. And for the third, even if he doesn’t fit the category, the women gathered around unanimously decide that Steve should play.
Steve goes red now from the collar of his shirt straight up to his hairline.
Bucky watches from the kitchen as blindfolds are tied, everyone in the living room turning to place their odds on the performance of each contestant.
Now, Bucky loves Steve. But even with the goggles of love, he's not the least surprised person in the room when Steve is…weirdly good at this? In fact, Steve blindly diapers that weird baby doll in like, half the time it takes the other two.
Steve takes off his blindfold, and sheepishly posits that it was just luck. The women in the room—and Andrew, the nurse friend—all swoon. Bucky, unfortunately, isn’t immune either.
He hadn’t been joking, even when he’d been joking, about how he’s not into Steve as a daddy. But Steve as a Dad? That’s an entirely different situation. Bucky sets his champagne flute down, and watches as Steve shakes off the compliments—Becca’s friends telling him what a great one he’d make.
Suddenly, he feels the need to remind everyone just exactly who else lives in this apartment with Steve Rogers. He winds his way between a couple of people, sidling up to Steve’s side.
“Hey,” He says, as Steve looks down at him, pleased and surprised.
“Hey,” Steve says back. “I won the diaper change thing.”
“I saw,” Bucky says. Then he pulls Steve down to kiss him.
PDA isn’t something either of them is particularly wild about. But just this moment, Bucky really does want everyone to be reminded of what they are to each other. And either sensing that, or from some desire of his own, Steve doesn’t resist.
Somebody—possibly Clint, Bucky thinks—whistles, bringing him back to himself. He lets Steve go, smiling at him for a moment. Steve peers back with a little too much understanding in his small smirk for Bucky’s preference, but that’s a sacrifice worth making to prove a point.
After that, the group breaks apart again into conversation. Bucky, just in case Steve asks about it later, sets himself to decorating one of the baby bibs. He manages what he thinks is a tolerable drawing of a giant, talking plant saying the words “Feed me Seymour.” It gets a sort of confused side-eye from Becca’s charge nurse friend, but Bucky knows Becca will appreciate it.
He mingles a little more, though he can feel himself reaching the limits of his desire to socialize. In his periphery, he catches Steve a few times, shuffling uncomfortably.
But thankfully, things soon wind down, with Becca’s friends taking their leave. Bucky says “thank you, so glad you had a good time,” enough times that it loses its meaning completely. He’s almost shocked when he turns from the door after the last round of it and finds only his mom and Becca left, aside from Steve.
“Oh thank fuck,” he mutters to himself.
Ray (who’d managed to get out of attending himself on the argument that it would be good if one of them hung out with Sophie during to avoid an abandonment tantrum later) brings his car around to pick them up and load up the presents. Bucky’s glad, if only because it means neither of them have to offer to make the walk to escort them back to his parents’ house.
Finally, at long last (though really it’s only been about two and a half hours), the door shuts for the last time, leaving the apartment empty and quiet but for the two of them.
Bucky looks around gloomily at the post-party mess, and up again to see Steve looking similarly tired and unenthused amidst the detritus of cups and plates and half-eaten salads.
“I know we should clean…” Bucky starts, and Steve heaves an enormous sigh, hands on his hips as he toes at a diaper on the floor, discarded after the game. “But what if instead of that, we didn’t and just hid from it in our bedroom with some cake?”
Steve looks up at him from under his eyebrows, pursing his mouth. But there’s the start of a crinkle at the corner of his eyes.
“We’ll just have to do it later,” he says. It’s a very reasonable statement of fact, but Bucky can tell from his tone that he’s open to being persuaded.
“That’s later,” Bucky says, moving across the apartment toward Steve to wrap his arms around him, wheedling. “Maybe it’ll all be cleaned by the baby fairies before then. And wouldn’t we look like idiots if we just did it and didn’t even wait to see if it’ll all go away on its own?”
“Baby fairies,” Steve repeats. “You make a good point.”
Bucky sways on his feet, and Steve brings his arms up to clasp his hands behind Bucky’s back for support.
“I can’t believe you invited Clint and Romanoff,” Bucky says, shaking his head with a laugh.
Steve huffs an aggrieved sigh. “I was cornered!”
“I heard, and that we could’ve had the full Avengers squad here.”
Steve shakes his head with a pained expression. “I want you to know, I did my best. I even told Tony he couldn’t participate in the drawing to attend because he’s your boss so it would be a ‘conflict of interest’ which barely even makes sense. I thought it went about as well as expected, all things considered.”
Bucky rubs his face against Steve’s shoulder, chuckling. “Yeah I it could’ve been worse. We did pretty good huh?”
“Think Becca was happy?”
“Yeah, elated,” Bucky says, a little muffled in the fabric of Steve’s button-down.
“Good,” Steve says on another sigh, resting his cheek on Bucky’s hair. “Let’s never talk to anyone else ever again.”
Bucky barks a laugh at that, and tips his face up to place a quick kiss on Steve’s jaw. “Deal. We talked to like…at least eight hundred people today by my calculations, and you know what that is? Growth. We deserve to hibernate forever now.”
Steve just nods, and doesn’t even comment on Bucky’s hyperbole, which is how Bucky knows that Steve is well and truly done in for the day.
“Come on,” he says, releasing Steve’s waist and grabbing for one of his hands. “Cake and avoidance, they’re calling our names.”
Steve allows himself to be shepherded toward the hallway to their bedroom. Bucky pauses just long enough to consider the half a sheet cake left on its tray on the counter, and to opts against the insurmountable task of finding plates and cutting slices, instead picking up the whole thing and two forks and calling it good enough.
Bucky kicks the bedroom door shut behind him and sets the cake platter on top of his dresser, while Steve flops spread eagle onto the bed with a groan.
Their bedroom, in comparison with the rest of the apartment, is cool and quiet and tidy, looking the same as it ever does, which in this moment makes it a haven.
Bucky kicks off his shoes and slides his belt out from its loops, dropping it on the floor. And because Steve is apparently overcome, he walks over and tugs his shoes off as well, tossing them into the corner by their closet.
He rifles through one of the dressers and tosses Steve a t-shirt and pair of sweats, which land on his face, muffling his response. Bucky kicks off his own slacks and pulls on his pajama pants, stealing one of Steve’s t-shirts for himself too.
Steve teases him for the habit, because Steve’s shirts are loose and baggy on Bucky even if they always look small on Steve. But Bucky insists its one of the perks of living together that he can steal Steve’s clothes whenever he wants. Even though they’re doing their laundry together these days, Steve’s shirts still retain that Steve smell, and Bucky loves it.
By the time he turns back to the bed with the cake tray in hand, Steve has gotten himself into his soft clothes as well, and Bucky nudges his foot until he rolls over with a grumble and scoots up the bed to sit up against the headboard. Bucky climbs up on his side, and sets the cake on the bedspread between them.
“You’ll get crumbs on the pillows,” Steve remarks, too mildly to really be a protest.
“Delicious, something for later,” Bucky fires back, stabbing a fork into the edge of the cake.
Steve sighs and picks up his fork, lifting one of the frosting roses whole from the top of it—just a gob of purple-dyed sugar.
“Gross,” Bucky says around a mouthful of cake.
“Efficient,” Steve says, after politely swallowing his bite first.
“You can only say that because your blood metabolizes sugar too fast to give you the head rush. We mortals have to balance it with the cake-y part.”
Steve snorts, strategically relieving the cake of another frosting flower. “The cake part has just as much sugar, Bucky.”
Bucky shakes his head, taking another very well-balanced forkful of cake, filling, and frosting. “No, it has flour too and that tempers it. It’s science.”
“Whatever you say,” Steve says, in the tone that really means whatever you are saying is incorrect but I don’t care enough about it to argue with you. Which is enough for Bucky to consider himself the winner of the exchange usually.
They eat cake for a few minutes in comfortable, blessed silence. Eventually, they both max out on sugar and chocolate, dropping their plastic forks on the tray.
Bucky summons up just enough energy to stand up and put the platter back on his dresser, and that only because he wants it out of the way for maximum sprawling across the bed space. Steve’s head is already heavy on his pillow, curled up on his side, facing in. Bucky flops down next to him, squirming under Steve’s arm until he lifts it, wrapping around Bucky to pull him close, tucked up against his body.
Bucky thinks he’s still got a little too much champagne and sugar and leftover socializing humming under his skin to actually fall asleep, but it’s nice just being spooned and letting all of his tension finally bleed away into the warm cocoon of their bodies.
In his ear, Steve starts to snore, lightly—a soothing white noise that Bucky, even after a couple of months to get used to sleeping together, still finds unaccountably charming.
*
In the end, he must drowse a bit, because he wakes up, with a blanket thrown over him, to the soft noises of Steve moving around the room, putting away their discarded party clothes.
“Steve,” he says, stretching out his back to feel it pop satisfyingly, “no cleaning yet remember?” He falls back against the pillows with a sigh. “Or at least tell me to help you so I don’t feel like a dick.”
Steve smiles at him, and shuts the lid of their hamper. “Just this room, I promise. We can still pretend the rest doesn’t exist until tomorrow.”
“Okay,” Bucky says, his jaw cracking in a yawn. It’s not that late yet, really; there’s light still filtering in through the window, even if it’s the warm, hazy glow of the sun mostly setting. Maybe he should get up and do some tidying now—if only so that he can sleep in tomorrow without feeling guilty about it.
But he doesn’t get up to move just yet.
“Come back, be lazy with me,” he says, patting Steve’s empty side of the mattress.
“Give me two more seconds,” Steve says. Then he snorts, picking something up from behind the door. “No idea how this got here,” he says, holding up a diaper. He tosses it into the trash bin in the corner.
Bucky watches him, mind returning to a line he’d only begun to explore in the middle of the party chaos.
“Hey Steve?” Bucky begins, thoughtfully, watching Steve gather up his shoes and place them neatly under his dresser.
“Hmm?” Steve asks, absently scanning the room. Evidently he doesn’t find anything else out of place at the moment. He turns his attention to Bucky again, padding over to scoot into his spot next to him.
Bucky chews at his bottom lip, and idly twines his fingers into Steve’s.
“You still wanna be with me even though I can’t change a diaper with my eyes closed?”
Steve laughs lightly, and squeezes Bucky’s hand. “Pretty sure that’s not a standard parenting requirement.”
“Even though I’m not sure I know how to do it without a blindfold?” Bucky persists. “Because real babies wiggle and yell when you do, as I recall vaguely from Sophie’s early years.” He pauses. “I wasn’t really here much when she was a baby. I don’t know if babies even like me.”
He’s not sure why he feels self-conscious about the fact, all of a sudden.
No—that’s obviously not true. He knows exactly why a day of celebrating expectant parenthood has him self-conscious. But whatever, either way.
Steve, sensing his mood, rolls over to lie down too, rearranging himself so that he mirrors Bucky’s position, both of their heads on their respective pillows and face to face.
“What have you got into your head Buck?” He asks, seriously. “What’re you worried about?”
Bucky flushes under Steve’s intent gaze, at his tenderness—but also the less pleasant kind of tenderness in the doubt prickling at him, which pains him a little to poke at in order to answer Steve’s question honestly.
“I just…you heard all those ladies today. You’re gonna be a literal super-dad. Maybe you should get someone…better at it.”
Steve smiles, but to Bucky’s relief he doesn’t laugh.
“I don’t want someone better at it. I like you.”
Bucky shifts restlessly, feeling stubborn, and says with a little more force, “Maybe you’ll change your mind when it’s time to pull the trigger.”
Steve reaches across the small gap of bed between them, anchoring Bucky with a hand at the side of his neck, making Bucky look at him. “You think I’m gun-shy, Barnes?”
Bucky shakes his head minutely. “I don’t know…are you? No doubts?”
Steve levels him with a serious blue stare. “Not even a little. You wanna have a baby? Let’s do it.”
Bucky leans into Steve’s hand, laughing exasperatedly. “No I don’t mean right this minute. Just someday, how do you know I’m not going to suck?”
“You won’t,” Steve says back, simply.
“You think that now,” Bucky says, irritated. He’s not sure why he’s still arguing, but feels like he has to say it anyway. “Anyway we still have to—I mean there’s some—other trigger pulling. Before that one.” He blushes. It’s not like they haven’t discussed this before, but it feels different in this context, he feels more raw about it. “Like getting married and…and whatever. If we want to.”
“So? I want to,” Steve says.
Bucky sighs, rolling his eyes a little, even though his heart flutters at Steve’s matter-of-factness.
“Steve, I’m trying to…be serious a minute.”
Steve sits up on one elbow, looking down at Bucky now, his eyebrows pulling into a not-quite-frown.
“I am being serious.”
He brushes a lock of Bucky’s hair back from his face, and Bucky closes his eyes, enjoying the touch. Steve slides his hand under Bucky’s jaw, tipping his face up, and he opens his eyes again. Steve’s eyes dart between his, mouth parted slightly, as if he’s trying to decide what to say. He leans in and presses his lips to Bucky’s, firm and gentle. Then he pulls back again, sitting up, and Bucky’s eyes follow him—Steve sets his jaw, looking determined.
“I am being serious,” he says again, lower this time, hand still cupping Bucky’s face. “You want me to prove it? Let’s get married.”
Bucky’s chest clenches, but he fights down the feeling like his heart wants to climb into his throat, and gives Steve a chastising look.
“That’s not being serious,” he says, his voice rising a little. “You can’t just—just say that to prove a point, it doesn’t count.”
Steve stares back at him for a moment, calculating. Then he lets out a long, sharp breath through his nose, and lets go of Bucky’s face, sitting up all the way and turning his back on him. Bucky props himself up on his elbows, waiting for whatever counterargument Steve—by the set of his shoulders—definitely intends to make.
What he is not prepared for, however, is for Steve to turn back around with a very small, very incriminating item in his hand.
It’s a velvet box.
Steve turns his body all the way around onto the bed, so that he can pull himself onto his knees.
Bucky scrambles up too, scooting back against the headboard with his hand over his mouth so that he doesn’t blurt out anything stupid because wait, what the fuck is happening??
His heart thunders so loud in his ears he thinks for a moment that he’s gone deaf.
Then Steve opens the box and holds it forward with both hands, and there’s no mistaking—
There’s a fucking ring in there.
“Bucky, I love you,” Steve starts, and Bucky can’t help the squeak that escapes under the fingers still clamped over his mouth, and he brings the other hand up to cover it too for good measure as a smile steals over Steve’s face.
“You make me happier than I ever thought I’d have any right to be,” he continues, and Bucky feels unbidden tears pricking immediately at the corners of his eyes as he tries, in vain, to stay calm.
“And I’m not proving a point, because I’ve known I wanted to spend the rest of my life with you if you’d let me for months. I’ve been crazy about you since just about the day I met you, and I’m crazy about the kind of life we’ve talked about having together.” Steve pauses, taking a deep breath. “And this isn’t exactly how I planned this—” He shakes his head, ruefully, “I had a whole thing, for our anniversary but—tell me this counts, and tell me that you want to?”
He peers at Bucky with wide, earnest eyes, and Bucky is caught for a moment, rendered speechless. Steve gestures with the ring box, and adds, unnecessarily, “Marry me, I mean—I’m asking you to marry me.”
Sensation returns with a whoosh to Bucky’s fingers and toes, and his hands fall away from his mouth with a gasp, his face splitting in a wide, painful grin.
“Holy fuck Steve, this is—you really were being serious,” he says, with a laugh edging just this side of hysterical.
Steve grins too, but his eyebrows pull together for a moment in half-concern. “That’s a yes, right?”
“Yeah it’s a yes,” Bucky says, flinging himself forward at Steve, so that he tumbles backwards flat on the bed with Bucky above him, both of them laughing helplessly.
“I can’t—believe” Bucky says, between peppering Steve’s face with kisses, “you just—proposed—to win—an argument—”
“I didn’t!” Steve says, a little indignantly, though the effect is lessened by the elation in it, he tilts his head back, and Bucky’s mouth finds its way down the column of his throat. “I’ve been waiting to do this for—it doesn’t matter, but you’ve been it for me for a long time. I was worried it was too fast but—”
“Way too fast,” Bucky agrees, mumbling the words against Steve’s jaw. “Can’t believe it took you this long.”
Steve hums in his throat, and then rolls them over, pinning Bucky underneath him. And Bucky can see the ring box still in Steve’s hand next to his head—and it makes him dissolve into disbelieving giggles all over again as Steve tangles their legs together.
After a minute or two, Bucky subsides into quiet again, letting his eyes rove over Steve’s face hovering above his. Steve’s expression mirrors a little of the amazed wonder Bucky feels, like any minute they’re going to wake up.
“Did you—is this why—” Bucky starts, not sure what he’s going to ask, the words tumbling out as his tired brain connects the dots, “having Sam take over? Not wanting to go on missions any more?”
Steve nods, slowly, again lifting his hand to smooth Bucky’s hair back from his forehead. “Yeah,” he says, and swallows. “I wanted—when I asked—to have a clear conscience. That I could make you promises and actually keep them. That I’ll be here—for all of it.”
“Steve,” Bucky replies, overwhelmed. “You don’t have to—if you’re not ready to retire—I’d say yes anyway, just like it is. I’d want it even just how it is.”
“I—” Steve says, ducking his head, “thank you. But I’m ready. I don’t want to be tired—like that, anymore. Not when I know what I could have instead.”
“Oh,” Bucky says, voice small. It’s so big. Everything about this wild, dreamlike hour has been so much bigger than he could ever have prepared himself for, even if he’d had some inkling of Steve’s plans.
Or maybe he should have known, from Steve’s funny serious secretiveness over the past couple weeks—that he was planning something big, barreling full steam ahead like only Steve Rogers could.
But maybe there’s no way, to prepare for something like that. Falling in love, making a life together—it’s gradual, a process. And it’ll keep on being a process from today, turning their lives as boyfriends into a life as husbands. Bucky’s mind can barely wrap itself around the word. But whatever process has lead up to it, and whatever will follow—this question, this decision is a moment. Before it they were one thing, and after it they find themselves something else. Bucky wraps his arms around Steve and promises himself that he won’t forget a single detail, a perfect snapshot framed and hung in the gallery of his memory.
“How’d we get here, Steve?” Bucky asks, his voice tinged with just a little of the depth of his feeling. “How’d I get so goddamn lucky?”
Steve breaks into another bright, happy grin. “Funny you say that—Lucky-the-dog was actually going to play a big part in my grand gesture. Clint’s going to be bummed I couldn’t hold out.”
Bucky scrunches his face with a laugh. “I’m sure I would’ve loved it. But this is perfect.”
Steve’s face drops lower, hovering just an inch or two away from his. “I don’t have an anniversary gift for you now.”
“I’ll find it in my heart to forgive you,” Bucky whispers.
But he isn’t really paying attention to the thought as he allows himself to be fully distracted by Steve’s lips on his.
After a certain point, you can’t really ever kiss someone like it’s the first time again, once another person becomes as familiar to you as air. But you can start (and keep) kissing them like you mean to do it for the rest of your life.
Tonight, of all nights, that’s how Bucky kisses Steve, and how Steve kisses Bucky back.
Like they’re going to do it forever—and forever can’t come soon enough.