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He should have done this earlier.
Because that expression is one he hasn’t seen in a long time. Not since the (largely a failure of a) hovering car, back when they were both young and innocent. When their heights were reversed. Before the war, before HYDRA.
The water around them tints everything a deep royal blue. It reflects both off and in the depths of pale stormy eyes, wide and delighted and absolutely captivated. They travel around, following eagerly after the colourful fish and sea creatures darting through the enormous tanks of water that made up the walls around them.
There’s a small wondering smile perched on Bucky’s lips as he silently gawks at a giant sea turtle approaching the glass; it eyes Bucky with curiosity before moving on through the water with strong flaps of its flippers. An enormous sand tiger shark glides by in the opposite direction and Bucky distractedly tucks a lock of silky brown hair behind an ear, nearly forgetting to blink with his awe.
Steve follows with a small smile as Bucky is taunted into an impromptu chasing session with a beautifully bright tropical fish; Bucky trots enthusiastically down the wide hall as the fish darts forward and backward teasingly in the water in front of him, sharp eyes tracking it with the focus of a cat hunting prey. Their little game ends with Bucky nearly bowling over a poor flustered shorter man, the fish twisting around in a graceful twirl before it swims away.
Bucky slows to a halt as he waits for Steve to catch up, and Steve’s fingers itch for a pencil. He has an intense urge to draw the scene before his eyes, to preserve it on paper: the sharp edge of Bucky’s jawline, with its endearing five o’clock shadow; the soft slope of Bucky’s collarbone, smooth pale skin exposed by the dip of his black v neck; the broad expanse of Bucky’s shoulders, hidden under supple black leather; the stunning curve of Bucky’s spine, curling inward at the small of his back; the strong lines of Bucky’s legs, sinfully accentuated by dark jeans that might as well be painted on with how tight they are.
When Steve is within arm’s reach, Bucky immediately takes off, weaving respectfully through the crowd that was just dense enough to lose a person in. Steve hurries after Bucky, settling a mildly possessive hand on the small of Bucky’s back, gently guiding him around people whenever he inches onward while he’s preoccupied watching marine life.
Bucky doesn’t seem to notice or doesn’t understand what such an action entitled, absently meandering through the crowd at a leisurely wandering pace, eyes roaming with childlike fascination. Occasionally, he presses back against Steve’s hand — just a brief faltering in his forward momentum, a soft nudge backward — like he’s reassuring himself that Steve is still there.
And Steve has no qualms with keeping his hand there, feeling the strong cords of muscle shifting as Bucky walks with that signature strut of his, confident and proud and so breathtakingly gorgeous. Bucky suddenly stops and Steve runs straight into his back — breathing a startled gasp, Steve instantly misses the warmth against his hand when Bucky fluidly folds into a crouch on his toes.
“Hello,” Bucky gently greets the crying child. “Why are you crying, what’s wrong?”
The child sniffles, peering anxiously out from behind little chubby fingers. He scans Bucky’s face, searching for something — trustworthiness? — that he inevitably finds, for he hesitantly lowers his hands and mumbles a reluctant response. “Can’t— can’t find my mommy.”
“Oh. Okay, how about we find your mom together?”
“Mommy said not to move if I can’t find her,” the child near whimpers, pawing at his tears.
“That’s right.” Although he can only see a firm back, Steve can hear the soft encouraging smile Bucky must have on his face in his voice from where Steve stands a few paces away. “But she’ll find you faster if she can see you. How ‘bout this — I’ll give you a boost and then we can look for your mom? We’ll stay right here, I promise.”
Lowering one knee to the ground, Bucky rests his leather gloved hands open palm down on his thighs, posture relaxed and unthreatening. The child hesitates for a moment, glancing fearfully at the crowd flowing around them like an ocean current, then runs forward between Bucky’s legs. He wraps his short arms around Bucky’s neck as best as he could, burying his face in one broad shoulder.
Bucky chuckles — a low rumble from deep in his chest, brimming with warmth — as he gradually straightens up to a stand, supporting the child’s weight with his flesh arm. “And what’s your name?”
“Tyler,” the child giggles, delighted with his new height advantage. One of his hands grasps lazily at a section of Bucky’s hair, the other resting near Bucky’s collarbone.
They find Tyler’s mother easily, thanks to the fact that she’s already wandering their way in her search for her son. Tyler waves happily from his perch as his mother’s panicked expression melts into relief and she fights through the crowd with renewed determination to reach them.
“Oh thank God,” she pants, stopping in front of Bucky to bend forward and place her hands on her knees. “I thought I lost my baby forever— thank you so much—”
Bucky’s smiling but his eyes are still wary, protective and unwilling to let go of Tyler until he is sure.
“—Mommy’s so sorry she got distracted looking for Daddy; Tyler, honey, don’t let go of Mommy’s hand next time, okay?” She holds a hand out to Tyler, who grasps her index finger and nods obediently.
That’s when a man nearly Bucky’s height walks up to them, strong and intimidating. “What’s going on here? Darling, is he bothering you?” He shoots Bucky an aggressive glare.
And Steve’s done passively standing by and observing. With one smooth stride, he’s at Bucky’s side. It’s without considering the consequences of his actions when he pulls his cap off his head to pin the man with a hard stare. “Is there a problem, sir,” Steve says with his stern I am Captain America and you will listen to me voice.
The man’s eyes go so wide, Steve nearly expects his eyeballs to pop right out of his head.
“Steve,” Bucky hisses in admonishment, reflexively tugging the brim of his own cap lower over his face as he carefully passes Tyler to his mother.
“Daddy,” Tyler calls, reaching out to curl his fingers around the shell of the man’s ear.
The woman laughs nervously. “I’m sorry about my husband, he’s very protective. Thank you so much for finding Tyler and keeping him safe— I don’t know how to thank you enough.”
“...I’m sorry for being so rude.” The man rubs the back of his neck with a sheepish wince.
Bucky shakes his head with a forgiving smile. “It’s alright. You didn’t know what was going on.” He snatches the cap from Steve’s hand and puts it back on Steve’s head with a halfhearted pointed glare.
Sorry. Steve ducks his head, peering through his eyelashes with round pleading blue eyes.
Rolling his own fondly, Bucky gives Tyler a wide grin and a tiny goodbye twitch of his fingers — the parents receive a nod — and strolls away to continue watching the marine life.
Steve turns to the family, raising a finger to his lips. “You never saw us here,” he whispers with a conspiratorial smirk.
“Thank—”
“We were just doing what anybody else would’ve done. Stay close to your parents now Tyler, we wouldn’t want you getting lost again.” Steve raises two fingers to his head in a mock salute, laughing lightly when Tyler mimics the motion.
They leave the family behind; Bucky instantly begins tearing Steve one the second they’re out of earshot.
“What were you thinking?”
“I—”
“Right, clearly you weren’t,” Bucky growls, low and hushed.
“But— At least they won’t tell anyone?”
Bucky sighs. He doesn’t doubt Steve’s ability to charm people within an inch of their life; even he — not often, mind you, just occasionally — caves to Steve’s calm logically persuasive words (not to mention his positively lethal puppy dog eyes), and Bucky’s been on the receiving end for longer than he could remember.
Steve moves closer, his shoulder pressed up against Bucky’s. “I’m sorry. Won’t happen again, I swear. It’s been so long since we’ve gone on a date and you were having so much fun— don’t be mad?”
Bucky doesn’t look at Steve.
“Please?”
“...This better not be on the news tomorrow.”
“It won’t,” Steve says with perfect conviction.
He knows victory is his when Bucky blinks for a beat far too long to be anything but deliberate. Slipping an arm around Bucky’s waist, Steve rests his hand just above the jut of Bucky’s hip, fingers splayed against a firm stomach.
“C’mon Buck,” Steve purrs, leaning in to press his lips to the side of Bucky’s neck.
Bucky huffs. “You’re an idiot.” The bite in his words is dampened by the way he doesn’t move away from Steve’s awkward embrace.
“I’m your idiot,” Steve murmurs into Bucky’s neck, mouth opening for teeth to nip teasingly at the pale skin.
“Who are you again,” Bucky sniffs primly, tipping his chin up loftily.
Steve muffles a forlorn whine with Bucky’s shoulder.
Bucky turns his head to kiss the part of Steve’s head that he could reach, and it actually more of a peck, Bucky’s lips brushing briefly against Steve’s temple. It’s no grand gesture, no dramatic declaration of love, merely something tiny and fleeting and quite possibly born in the spur of the moment, but Steve’s resulting smile is a spark bright enough to start fires and light up any night.
For the rest of the day, Steve is practically glued to Bucky’s side like an extra affectionate puppy, a part of him constantly in contact with Bucky. Somehow, it doesn’t seem to irritate him; no, Bucky smiles secretly to himself whenever he catches Steve attempting to murder people with his eyes — when anyone so much as glances in Bucky’s direction with anything beyond a perfunctory look or fleeting curiosity — like he’s Bucky’s own personal overprotective bodyguard. It’s actually awfully endearing, Bucky finds himself thinking.
The next morning, true to Steve’s words, there is no sign of them on the news.
Bucky shifts to lean over Steve and bestow a kiss between his broad broad shoulders. “You’re right.”
Steve hums drowsily in confusion, face still buried in a pillow.
“Not on the news.”
A low pleased sound, soft and sloppy with sleep. Steve rolls smoothly onto his back, reaching a hand out for Bucky.
“Don’t you have a morning run to go on,” Bucky teases.
With an insistent whine, Steve shakes his hand — Later. — and Bucky obliges, snuggling up to Steve’s side. They fall asleep together again, Bucky with an arm thrown over Steve’s stomach, Steve with his nose buried in Bucky’s hair.
Steve ends up forgetting about his morning run.