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It was the coldest December Bucky could remember since moving to Romania.
The whole valley seemed to sleep, drowsy under a thick coat of white; solemn and silent in that peculiar way only winter has of quieting things down, making life a slow, hushed business.
The fresh snow crinkled and crumpled like paper under his boots, the only sound echoing in the empty street. Even the glow from the pub was subdued; the usually boisterous laughter tuned down to soft chatter as he passed by, as if all the world couldn’t help but be quiet, Shh, quiet now.
Bucky tucked his scarf up to his nose and pushed on, tugging his cloak a little more snugly around him. It was slow going, crossing the village on a winter night, with his nose and cheeks numb from the cold and his limbs demanding rest after a long day.
The enchanted lampposts began flickering to life around him, splashing the street in shades of orange, and Bucky welcomed the little company. There, in each cone of buttery light, new snowflakes swirled gently in the wind, sprinkling his hair with frosty white.
It was a relief when his cottage finally came into view, rising crookedly at the edge of the small town; the last house before the road twisted and disappeared far, far into the tree line.
He was already in through the old gate and halfway up the steps when he noticed.
Something moved the in the shadows. A silhouette, hooded and dressed in a heavy black cloak, stepping warily into the sparse streetlight.
“Bucky.”
He could have mistaken the misshapen cape, the hunched shoulders beneath it; but never the voice. Never the slight frame of him, the gleam of burnished gold from his hair when the hood fell back.
Bucky’s heart raced in his chest, the cold and weariness suddenly forgotten.
“Steve? What are you doing here?”
Steve stepped closer, joining him on the cottage’s stoop. Their eyes met, Steve’s own bright and fierce and laced with worry, and Bucky knew. Oh, this is trouble, then.
“I need your help,” Steve said. Then, he pulled the folds of his cloak aside, revealing the bulging bag he was cradling underneath it. Carefully, so very carefully, he opened it. Bucky barely held back a gasp.
“Steve, how–”
Inside the leather satchel, bundled in a few layers of cloth, was the smooth swell of an egg. A dragon egg, dark, and shiny, and fluttering with life in its makeshift nest.
“I think it’s about to hatch,” Steve breathed, clutching the bag to his chest helplessly.
Bucky didn’t need to think twice.
“Let’s get inside,” he nodded towards the front door, “Then we can talk.”
He hustled Steve into the main room, lighting the lamps on his way with a quick spell.
Out of his cloak and in his damp socks, Steve was shivering visibly, even more so with his upper body curled protectively around his bag. Bucky snuck away to the bedroom to grab him a set of his own pajamas and a pair of thick socks, and after a moment’s consideration, he threw in a sweater too for good measure.
He dumped it all on the couch and gestured to Steve, who was still standing awkwardly in the doorway.
“Come on,” Bucky urged, “out of the wet stuff, into the warm stuff.”
Steve looked between him and the clothes, before nodding with a mumbled Thanks. The fact that he didn’t protest spoke volumes as to how tired he must be.
Bucky turned away, busying himself with the fireplace while Steve changed. He tossed a couple of fresh logs in and flicked his wand, watching as thin flames bloomed and stretched around the firewood.
He could hear the rustling of fabric behind him, the soft whisper of Steve’s breath; the little hiss as he peeled the last layer off and his skin was exposed to the cold air. Bucky swallowed, his eyes fixed on the growing flames.
“You shouldn’t have stayed out there for so long,” he said.
Steve snorted. “Seemed a bit rude to break into your house while you were away,” he quipped, his voice muffled behind the sweater’s wool as he stuck his head through the collar.
Bucky felt his mouth curl up into a smile.
“Since when do you worry about rude with me?”
Steve let out a huff, part breath and part laughter.
“All right,” he caved, “fair enough.”
Soft footsteps approached Bucky, padding feet that treaded lightly on the carpet. Steve knelt down next to him, the leather bag held safely in his arms. The tip of his nose was still pink from the cold, but the purple sweater looked cozy on him, the sleeves falling past his wrists to brush over the knuckles.
The fire burned brightly now, a delicious warmth radiating from it, and Steve shivered from head to toe under its touch. Bucky’s heart twisted sweetly behind his ribs.
“So, what should we do about this?” Steve asked, speaking softly over the crackling from the fireplace. He was looking down at the egg, his features etched with worry.
It made old instincts resurface – the need to comfort, to make it better, to fix whatever it was that was putting that look on Steve’s face. Following his guts, Bucky laid a gentle hand on Steve’s elbow, and did his best to ignore the fact that this was the first time they touched in months.
“May I?” He asked, gesturing to the egg.
At Steve’s nod, he took the bag from his hands, resting it in his own lap, over his crossed legs. Very gently, he scooped the egg out of its bundle and held it up to the firelight.
It was beautiful, to put it simply. The smooth shell was a deep ruby-red, dark like clotting blood, and across it shimmered flecks of gold, catching the light like jewels. It was so large it wouldn’t fit in both his palms, and it was warm, impossibly warm.
Bucky couldn’t help but stare, his eyes wide and his chest swelling with wonder. In all his years as a keeper at the Dragon Sanctuary, very rarely had he had the chance to see a dragon egg up close, much less lay his hands on it. Dragons were fiercely protective parents, and even the friendliest ones wouldn’t let any human near their nest. But this. This life shivering between his fingers. This was beyond magic, beyond miracles.
He stroked a hand over the eggshell and it fluttered under his touch, movement from within – as if the baby inside could feel him, too, and was trying to return the caress.
“Steve,” he murmured, overwhelmed by emotion.
If Steve noticed his state, he made no mention of it; but something had softened in his eyes. He understood, and that was enough for Bucky.
He took a deep breath, steadying himself.
“You were right, it will hatch soon,” he told Steve, rubbing the pad of his thumb absently over a golden spot. “Though it might take a few hours still. What we can do in the meantime is keep the egg nice and warm and... well, and wait.”
Steve nodded in agreement. Together, they built a new nest on the carpet, piling all the cloths from the bag in a circle around the egg so it would sit upright. They placed it close enough to the fire to keep it cozy, and both lingered there, watching, mesmerized, as shadows danced across the blood-red surface.
It was Bucky who finally broke the silence.
“I think I’ve got some leftover stew in the fridge,” he said with a shrug. “You hungry?”
Steve grinned at him, his eyes all sapphire and sweetness.
“I’m starving.”
The bowl fit just right in Steve’s hands when Bucky passed it over.
“I hope you don’t mind rabbit.”
Steve rolled his eyes at him, a pleased grin dancing on his lips.
“Rabbit suits me just fine, thank you.”
They’d made themselves comfortable on the floor, each one of them wrapped in a blanket Bucky had Summoned from the closet. Steve’s blanket looked like a big fuzzy cloud around him, swallowing him up. He looked so tiny, so young with that cowlick sticking up proudly on the crown of his head; with his spindly legs stretched out towards the fire, and the toes wiggling in their floppy socks – a couple of sizes too large on him, no doubt.
It was a sight so familiar, it made Bucky yearn for things long passed. All those evenings spent smuggling each other into their Houses’ dorms, stuffing their faces with chocolate frogs and Salamander’s Sneaky Snacks and coming up with absurdly elaborate plans to hex professor Phillips’ chair. The excited whispering, their wands lit like twin little stars under Bucky’s blanket; the taste of chocolate and peanut sticky-sweet on their fingertips. And then– Steve’s cold feet pressed up against his calves, the scent of his shampoo on Bucky’s pillow that would linger for hours and hours. But it was no use dwelling on it now.
The stew was scorching hot, steaming and filling the room with the comforting scent of all homemade meals, and they dipped their spoons in eagerly. Oh, it had kept well enough. The meat was tender, and the chopped potato so creamy, it melted like butter on Bucky’s tongue. Even Steve hummed appreciatively, grabbing a slice of bread to sop up some of the thick, hearty sauce.
“It’s so good, Buck. It’s really, really good,” he all but groaned, sticking more bread into his mouth to fill up an already rounded cheek. “This your mom’s old recipe?”
“Yup, same as always.”
“You know I loved her before, but I’m so glad she’s your mom right now,” Steve said, licking his spoon clean.
Bucky elbowed him in the ribs, gently enough that he wouldn’t spill any rabbit on himself.
A comfortable silence settled between them. The crackling fire enveloped them in its warmth, toasting the room to perfect coziness and casting long, dancing shadows on the walls.
There by the hearth, basking in its pure heat, the egg quivered in its nest – nothing but a shiver, a whisper of movement.
“So,” Bucky began softly, nudging Steve’s ankle with his foot. “You wanna tell me how you found this little guy? I thought you were in London these days.”
He saw Steve shift under his blanket, some unpleasant emotion passing on his features.
“I was. Was in the middle of a job, actually,” Steve said, the sweet line of his mouth twisting up. He lowered his bowl on his lap, curling both hands around it; staring down into the stew as if he could watch the past unfold in its depths. “Then my guy – this guy I was keeping an eye on – decided he needed a very special pet. Scales, blood, claws, Merlin knows what he wanted it for. All of it, maybe. But I got in the way.”
Steve swallowed, as if trying to get rid of the foul taste in his mouth.
“The dragon dealer managed to get away – smart guy, Apparated the hell out of there – but he left this one behind.” His eyes darted towards the egg, and then to Bucky, flashing with that passion Bucky had always admired him for. “I couldn’t just leave it there, Buck. If anyone else got ahold of it, you know what they’d do. I had to do something.”
His conviction brought a smile to Bucky’s lips. There was his Steve, the one he knew, and loved; the one he had missed, so much more than he’d ever even realized. So much more than he’d ever allowed himself to think on.
“I know,” he said softly, his chest warmed through with affection. “You could have taken it straight to the reserve, though.”
The fierce light in Steve’s eyes gentled, and he leaned into Bucky’s space, a teasing grin his face.
“But you see, I know this guy who’s really good with dragons so I thought, why not take advantage of that?”
Bucky snorted. “Of course.”
“No, seriously, Buck.” Steve’s hand came to rest of Bucky’s arm, his nimble fingers curling into the woolen blanket. Their eyes met; Steve’s own filled with fondness. “There are no better hands I would trust with this, than yours,” he said, so quietly and so simply, Bucky couldn’t help but believe him.
He tore his gaze away, heat creeping up on his cheeks.
“I guess it’s your lucky day, then.”
The kitchen clock struck nine, ticking diligently in the quiet of the house.
By now, it was well and truly dark outside; the window that opened on the garden showed nothing but a thick blackness, and snow kept piling on the sill, little by little, bit by bit, carried over by the wind.
Steve folded his legs up and tucked them under his blanket, making himself into an adorable patchwork ball. He scooted closer, pressing himself into Bucky’s side – and then he lay his head on Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky nearly stopped breathing. He went still, like he did sometimes with his dragons, too afraid to spook this wonderful creature and lose his warmth to even dare move.
“Tell me about you,” Steve said quietly. “You’re always so vague in your letters. How’s work?”
Bucky smiled. “It’s pretty good, actually. I’ve been– trying something new.”
Steve made a questioning sound, shifting against his shoulder.
“Something new?”
“Yeah,” Bucky exhaled, his heart all in a flutter. “It’s just, you know I always tried to keep the wolf out of my job. For years. Because I was afraid that it might cause trouble, right? Thought the dragons might be bothered by it, or feel threatened, or worse. Turns out, it’s really quite the opposite.”
“Yeah?”
“Yup. Maybe it’s because I don’t smell like a real wolf, even when I shift. Maybe they can tell that it’s still me, I don’t know– but most dragons at the reserve have grown fond of little wolf me, somehow,” Bucky continued with a grin. “There’s this one family of Ukranian Ironbellies, I think they sort of adopted me?”
Steve huffed out a laugh, pulling away just enough to stare up at Bucky, his eyebrows arched up comically high.
“Are you serious?”
“Wizard’s honor,” Bucky swore. “They let me play with their little ones, and– Jonna, the momma dragon? Last week, she brought back some meat for her babies and she tried to feed me, too. She was so upset when I wouldn’t eat it, she sat with me for a good ten minutes, trying to teach me how to chew.”
Steve burst into giggles, with such abandon he keeled sideways and slumped bodily all over Bucky’s side.
“Buck, that’s so cute,” he crowed, anchoring himself to Bucky’s arm as he shook with the force of his laughter. In retaliation, Bucky stuck his fingers in Steve’s hair and messed it up, scrambling it in each and every direction, earning an indignant squawk for his efforts.
“Yeah, yeah, you can laugh at my suffering all you want, but I had to eat the whole thing,” he groused. “And let me tell you this: raw meat is nice enough when you’re a wolf, but when you turn back into a human? Not so nice anymore.”
Steve tutted. His ruffled hair looked every bit like a bird’s nest now, and that teasing grin put dimples on his cheeks. He was the sweetest thing Bucky had ever seen since marshmallows and cream in a mug of hot cocoa, and not for the first time he thought Steve must taste just as nice.
“Poor Bucky, having to endure a dragon mother’s love,” Steve cooed now, patting Bucky’s chest placatingly. “I’m glad things are going well, though. I know how much you love your job.”
“I do.” Bucky nodded, gratefully. “And I appreciate that.”
They shared a long, meaningful glance and then settled back against the couch. Somehow it felt as if they were sitting closer together than before, drifting into one another just like when they were kids, ready to share one more secret before the lights went out for the night.
This time, it was Bucky that leaned into Steve first, bumping their shoulders together.
“There’s... there’s something else. Speaking of news, you know,” he muttered awkwardly.
Steve smirked, peering up at him through slitted eyes. “What else have you been hiding from me?”
Bucky cleared his throat, nervous.
“I... might be in the process of writing a book. Which will be published. At some point.”
He felt Steve pull away somewhat, and turned to find him staring, clearly taken aback.
“You’re—what?”
Bucky paused, rubbing the back of his neck in an awkward gesture.
“Remember the couple years I spent doing research in Russia?”
“You mean that one time when I only got to see you once in the span of two years?” Steve hummed. “Nope, don’t recall that.”
“That one,” Bucky nodded with a small, apologetic smile. “It seems that stuff was heading somewhere, after all. I kept in touch with the other researchers from the group, and – well, the idea had always been there, I guess. We just made it into an actual project last year,” he said, shrugging. “We’ve been putting our notes together and... somebody thought the manuscript was worth something, and now we have a contract with a publisher. You know, deadlines and everything.”
It had been a slow process, and Bucky and loved it and hated it by turns. It had taken him long months to organize everything into a first, pretty rough draft, working late into the night and leaving ink stains on all of his sleeves.
His kitchen table had seen the worst of it, between singed black rings from the hot kettle and crusted splotches of candlewax. The poor thing was still covered in clutter these days; loose parchment and scrawled pages, two inkwells and a chipped mug overflowing with quills, because he always managed to lose the next one.
Bucky’s fingers were sore on most nights, and he’d woken up with his cheek plastered to the table on a few mornings already. But seeing the look of sheer pride on Steve’s face now, he knew that it was all worth it.
“Bucky, that’s great!” Steve burst out, tossing his arms around Bucky’s neck and nearly sending them both tumbling in his enthusiasm. “I’m so happy for you, I really am. This is awesome.”
He sat back on his heels, disentangling himself from Bucky’s arms all too quickly. His blanket was slipping off, but Steve didn’t seem to care; instead, he fixed his hands on Bucky’s shoulders and squeezed gently, beaming.
“Merlin, look at you. Registered Animagus, respected dragonologist and a published author. You’re a cool guy now,” he teased.
“I’m a nerd, is what I am,” Bucky countered, but he was grinning as he did so. “It’s okay, you can say it.”
“And risk you ratting me out to your dragon mom? Nuh-uh, I’m not taking any chances, thank you very much.”
They fell into quiet laughter, a sound soft and warm like molasses; and when laughter tapered into chuckles and chuckles faded into silence, Bucky found himself seeking Steve’s gaze.
The smile curving Steve’s lips spoke of tenderness, of something terribly close to intimacy; the gleam in his eye burned more surely, more brightly than the flames in the hearth. It was all Bucky could do, to keep himself from gathering Steve in his arms and feel the softness of his hair between his fingers, see for himself how their lips might fit together.
He willed himself to stay still, but he couldn’t ignore the surge of pure affection he felt in his heart; that bone-deep yearning for everything that was Steve.
“I’m glad you’re here, Steve,” he said warmly, softly. “I’m glad you came to me today.”
“Well then,” Steve said, clearing his throat. “I hope you won’t mind if I visit more often.”
Bucky rolled his eyes in mock exasperation. “You know we always say that and never actually do it,” he chided, but Steve was shaking his head.
“I’m not just saying that. I know for a fact that this time, things will be different. I– I have news, too.”
“Hm?”
For a long moment, Steve hesitated, as if he were weighting his next words in his mind. Then:
“I got a job offer here.”
Of all the words Bucky could have expected to come out of Steve’s mouth, this particular combination had never even crossed his mind. In fact, the very notion felt so foreign, it took his brain a while to process it.
“Here?” He echoed, his brow furrowed in confusion. “Here in Romania?”
“Yeah,” Steve said, picking nervously at a loose thread in his blanket. His gaze kept shifting from one spot to the next, as if he couldn’t quite meet Bucky’s eye. “I asked a friend at the Ministry to check for any available positions, got myself an interview. It was good, actually.”
If possible, that made even less sense to Bucky. He couldn’t help but stare.
“So this– this didn’t just spring out of nowhere, it was your own doing? You asked for it?”
Still avoiding looking directly at him, Steve nodded. “Yes.”
Bucky wasn’t sure what to think.
A small, unsubtle part of him could only be happy – if all of this was true, then he and Steve would be living in the same country for the first time since their school days, which, of course, had an appeal all its own.
But the rest of him couldn’t help worrying; couldn’t help but wonder if Steve truly understood what he was getting himself into.
This was a big step. This meant uprooting his life and starting over, nearly from scratch, thousands upon thousands of miles away. It meant giving up on his projects in England; on the relations he’d built with so much effort, carrying them from precarious to successful against all odds. It sounded like something either very brave, or extremely stupid to do – which, admittedly, was exactly the sort of thing Steve would do. But for a good cause.
Bucky needed to know that this wasn’t just one of his rash decisions, a plan he’d thrown himself into recklessly with no care for the consequences.
“What of your job in London?” He asked, keeping his tone carefully neutral. “You worked so hard on that partnership.”
“Someone else will take my place,” Steve said without missing a beat. “I’ve already given Fury a couple names– good people, trusted, loyal.”
“You’ve really thought about this, haven’t you,” Bucky sighed. It was a relief, although it still didn’t answer the most pressing question – the one that had been sitting on the tip of his tongue this whole time. “I just... I don’t understand. Why are you doing this?”
“For the most selfish reason you can think of.”
It was only then that Steve lifted his gaze, and finally looked him in the eye. There was so much in there that Bucky couldn’t read – a whole world of emotions he couldn’t quite name, staring back at him from the stormy blue of Steve’s eyes.
“I did it because I miss you,” Steve said. “Because I want to be near you. Because no place has ever felt like home without you, and I was hoping– I was hoping you might feel the same way, too.”
It was all Bucky had ever wanted to hear him say.
The force of it, the barely disguised hope on Steve’s face left him completely dumbstruck. The moment stretched between them, slow and breathless, fragile like a candleflame in the wind. There were so many things Bucky wanted to say, and yet no words would come to him at all. But then, his silence only made Steve more and more insecure.
“I know that we never– well. And it doesn’t have to be like that, you know, I understand if you don’t want that with me,” Steve said with growing nervousness, stumbling on his words, “we can stay friends and that’s fine, I swear, I just wanted to–”
Bucky couldn’t stand it anymore.
“Steve.”
Steve stopped, frozen in place. He looked up and into Bucky’s eyes, startled, and for the first time in many years Bucky saw the young, vulnerable boy in him, the tender core beneath a tough skin. He was terrified, and Bucky loved him, loved him in that moment more than ever before.
He leaned into Steve’s space and took his pale hand in his own, tanned and lined with scars across the back – mementos of playful claws and baby firebreath.
“Do you remember when I first left New York? And you came to say goodbye?”
Steve’s lips were parted around a shallow breath. His hand was warm in Bucky’s hold, his pulse fluttering under Bucky’s fingertips.
“Yes,” he murmured.
“You gave me your House’s scarf,” Bucky said, smiling fondly at the memory, “said I was stuck with you, even a million miles away I would be stuck with you, no matter what. I wanted to kiss you so badly.”
“Buck,” Steve all but gasped. “That– that was ten years ago.”
“And it hasn’t changed since then.”
Mustering up all his courage, Bucky lifted his free hand and cupped it to Steve’s cheek, trembling at the feeling of his soft skin, the gentle scrape of a couple of days’ stubble.
“I still want to kiss you, very, very badly.”
A deep, overwhelming emotion flickered on Steve’s features, taking shape in the blue of his eyes.
“Then you should do it,” he said.
It was like a shot of adrenaline. With his heart threatening to burst out of his chest, Bucky tugged gently on Steve’s hand and watched, hypnotized, as Steve climbed into his lap, slipping out of his blanket and right into Bucky’s own, fitting himself between Bucky’s waiting arms.
The feeling of Steve’s body pressed against his own was a thrill Bucky never wanted to live without again.
He wrapped his hands around Steve’s narrow hips, circling his waist. He stroked his broad palms over the expanse of Steve’s back, curling his fingers in the sweater’s soft wool, holding onto him.
Steve cradled him in his hands, and traced gentle curves over Bucky’s cheek with the pad of his thumb.
Bucky stared up at him, transfixed. He could see the precious smattering of freckles over the bridge of Steve’s nose; the little bump where he’d broken it back in their fourth year and had it reset. He could see the rare flecks of green in Steve’s irises, and the spun gold of his eyelashes, and lost himself in it. The intimacy of their bodies pressed chest to chest. Sharing one warmth, tangled in one another. He could have stayed there until the end of time, frozen like a fly in a drop of amber, and never want for anything else.
“I thought you were going to kiss me,” Steve murmured against his mouth. His breath brushed hotly across Bucky’s skin, bringing with it a taste of him, and Bucky parted his lips to catch it.
“Not at all,” he mumbled distractedly, and then. Then his mouth found Steve’s, and the rest of the world crumbled away.
It was the first kiss after many years without a first kiss. Bucky had almost forgotten what it felt like, to touch another for the first time; the anticipation, the frisson; the electric feeling of it.
When Steve brushed their lips together, Bucky felt it down to his bones, the sensation zipping through him as bright and startling as lightning. It was sweet, tentative pressure; nothing but an introduction, this is you, this is me, let’s meet in the middle. They pulled apart all too soon, searching each other’s eyes.
“Bucky,” Steve rasped, wetting his lips, his eyes hooded under the golden spread of his lashes. Want curled in Bucky’s belly. He cupped the nape of Steve’s neck in his hand and kissed him again, swallowing a groan.
The second kiss was headier, growing frantic with their desire. They chased each other again and again; Bucky learned the heart-shape of Steve’s mouth against his own, and Steve pressed himself closer, sliding his slender fingers into Bucky’s hair. The moment his tongue traced Bucky’s bottom lip, heat burst within Bucky, like sparks struck off the flint.
Helplessly, Bucky let him in, feeling himself shiver at the intimate touch. He moaned at the sleek caress of Steve’s tongue against his own and titled his head to kiss him more deeply, eager to learn the very texture of him and commit it to memory. The taste of him, Steve – Steve who sought him like a man sought water in the desert, desperate, clutching Bucky close–
until he was jerking back, looking flushed and wild and all the more beautiful for it.
“Did you hear that?” He panted, his lips still wet from Bucky’s kisses. It made Bucky’s spine tingle with pleasure.
“Hear what?” He asked absently.
“It was something... something like...”
Steve trailed off. In the silence that took over, Bucky finally heard it, too. A sound so faint, like the very softest crack. A sound like brown leaves crunching under his boots, or–
They both turned their heads at once, eyes keen on the dragon egg, which still lay by the fireplace. To be sure, there, across the ruby-red surface, a thin fissure had appeared, darting over the shell with the frayed edges of a lightning bolt.
The egg itself was moving, shivering in its bundle while a new slit opened along the first, and another, and another, covering the shell in a web of broken lines.
Bucky and Steve exchanged a bewildered look, frozen in their embrace.
“Buck,” Steve gasped, “it’s really gonna–”
“Yeah,” Bucky breathed out.
Slowly, Steve climbed off of his lap, but Bucky didn’t let him go too far.
“Stay back,” he whispered, grasping Steve’s arm, “dragon eggs tend to be a little–”
A loud Pop! echoed in the room, sudden like thunder. Bucky turned just on time to see the eggshell splinter and burst from the inside, sending fragments flying over a two-feet radius around it. Dark shards rained upon the carpet, and more landed in the hearth, making the fire hiss and crackle with sparks.
Something tumbled out of the nest, falling awkwardly on the rug: a small body curled up into a ball, its tail coiled around it. Thin wisps of smoke rose from its dark, scaly skin.
Steve’s sharp breath echoed distantly in Bucky’s ears.
“Merlin and Morgana.”
There, lying helplessly before them, was a baby dragon.
They didn’t speak, for fear of startling the newborn creature with too much noise. Bucky shared a long look with Steve, and when Steve gave him a nod, he knew he could move.
He dropped his blanket and, as slowly as he knew how, crawled forward. Under Steve’s watchful gave, he crouched down low and waited.
The movement, or perhaps his scent, must have caught the dragon’s attention, for it raised its little head and fixed a pair of dazzling golden eyes on Bucky’s face. Bucky felt his heart skip a beat, thrumming with excitement.
“Hi,” he cooed softly.
The dragon stirred at the sound of his voice, blinking up at him curiously. Bucky seized his chance.
“Hi, baby,” he lilted once more. The baby dragon twitched from head to toe; it rolled onto its belly, its whole body turned towards Bucky, watching him almost expectantly.
Bucky decided to push his luck. He reached out his hand, palm up and open, and rested it just a few inches from the dragon.
“Is that right?” He cooed again, ever so gently. “Are you a baby? Are you the smallest baby in the world?”
The dragon made a garbled little sound, a soft gree which reminded Bucky of lion cubs – squeaky and broken and just as determined. He grinned and watched, quietly, as the baby dragon attempted to stand up for the very first time in its life. Its tiny claws sank into the rug for purchase, and then it was pulling itself up on unsteady legs, wobbling like a newborn lamb; its wings still folded and tucked closely against its back.
“That’s it,” Bucky encouraged, and received another happy gree in return. “That’s right, I know you can do this.”
Little by little, spurred on by the steady sound of his voice, the dragon crawled towards Bucky’s outstretched hand. Finally, it unspooled its long neck, showing off the ridges that notched its spine, and snuffled curiously at Bucky’s fingertips. The dragon’s snout was warm and soft as silk, and Bucky fought to hold still even though it tickled.
“Hi, sweetheart,” he said, feeling a little out of breath. The dragon chirped happily at him, nuzzling the calloused pads of Bucky’s fingertips, pushing into his touch with the blind trust only very young creatures know. Bucky swore he was melting right on the spot.
“You wanted to say hi, too? Baby wanted to say hi?”
The dragon gurgled excitedly, pawing at Bucky’s hand in the attempt to climb in. It nearly fell over in its rush, and Bucky cupped both hands around it for support, stroking his thumb absently over the baby’s front leg. The dragon preened under the attention, finally stretching its wings out for Bucky to see.
It was a sight to behold. Where the scales on its back were a deep red, glinting darkly in the firelight, the leathery webbing of the wings faded into strokes of pure gold. They quivered faintly, shimmering, and Bucky found himself mesmerized. It was like staring into live flames, red and gold chasing each other, flickering across the surface. It was magnificent.
And yet it was nothing compared to the living warmth of the dragon as it climbed clumsily into Bucky’s lap, curling up in the cradle of his crossed legs. It tucked its head in the crook of his arm, sweet like a kitten, and when Bucky lay his hand gently on the dragon’s back, he felt the endearing, unmistakable rumble of purrs.
“Steve,” he called helplessly. “Steve, I think I’m a mom now.”
He heard Steve chuckle behind him. Fabric rustled as Steve, too, crawled across the carpet, and then he was there; settling right next to him, kissing Bucky’s stubbly cheek.
“Congratulations,” he whispered. He pressed close, leaning into Bucky to have a good look at the little dragon.
Their heads rested together, and the feather-soft brush of Steve’s hair tickled Bucky’s cheekbone. He could only see part of Steve’s profile, but what he did see was a slow, fond smile curling his lips.
“Huh,” Steve mused quietly, “somehow you never picture a dragon being so small.”
Bucky turned his head to nuzzle the shell of Steve’s ear, grinning. “Well, they have to start somewhere, too. You wanna pet him? I think he’ll let you.”
Steve threw him a quick glance, soon fixing his gaze back on the dragon’s dozing form.
“I... yeah. Yeah, okay.”
“Okay.”
As gentle as he’d been with the dragon itself, Bucky took Steve’s hand in his own to guide it; but he felt Steve’s hesitance right away. It was clear enough from the way he held his breath, and his body stiffened a little where it was pressed up against Bucky’s side.
“Steve? Is everything alright?”
Steve nodded, too quickly for it to be entirely sincere.
“Yeah, just– you know. I’ve never touched a dragon before. You don’t see them often, out there.”
“You don’t have to do this if you don’t want to,” Bucky said, giving Steve’s hand a gentle squeeze to show that he understood. But Steve shook his head, determined.
“I want to.”
And because Bucky had never been able to deny him anything, “Here,” he said softly, bringing their joined hands a bit closer to the purring dragon. “Let him get to know you first.”
He let Steve make the first move on his own, keeping an eye on his hovering fingers. The dragon’s golden eyes slit open and it raised its head, nostrils twitching with interest, drawn to the novelty of Steve’s scent.
Steve held as still as a marble statue as the dragon examined his hand, sniffing and nudging and giving an experimental lick over a knobbly knuckle. Once it was satisfied, the puppy let out a pleased chirp and promptly burrowed back into the crook of Bucky’s elbow, purring louder than before.
Bucky chuckled with delight. “I think you were just granted permission there.”
“You think?”
“Sorry, I know. You can go ahead, if you still want to.”
Steve seemed to be holding his breath. Tentatively, he brushed a single fingertip over the dragon’s flank, where the ruby-dark scales faded into pale cream, keeping his touch light and his eyes fixed on the creature, looking out for any reaction.
At the touch, the dragon’s paws gave a little twitch, making Steve still his hand immediately; but all the dragon did was crane its neck and rub its muzzle against Steve’s fingers, prompting him to keep going. Gaining some confidence at last, Steve took a quiet breath and rested his palm over the dragon’s smooth scales, gasping at the sheer warmth that radiated from them.
The moment he splayed his fingers, the dragon rolled over to expose its cream-colored belly and draped its paws loosely around Steve’s hand, eyes closed and purring in bliss.
“Oh,” Steve said. It sounded like both awe and relief, and his breath ghosted sweetly over Bucky’s cheek.
“There,” Bucky murmured, “you guys are best buddies now.”
Steve huffed out a little laugh.
“He’s beautiful, Buck,” he murmured back, rubbing careful circles over the dragon’s belly. “I can’t believe they would have harmed something so tiny, so– so wonderful.”
“But they didn’t,” Bucky said firmly, making sure to meet Steve’s eye. “Thanks to you.”
Steve scoffed, but he placed a lingering kiss on the corner of Bucky’s mouth anyway; Bucky leaned into it, grateful.
“Are you free tomorrow?” He asked when they parted. Steve surprised him with a teasing grin.
“I’m free for a few days, yes.”
“We could take him to the reserve together, then,” Bucky suggested. “I could give you a tour, maybe introduce you to my new dragon mother.”
“Oh, meeting the in-laws. I see what you’re doing there,” Steve said with mock-suspicion. “Is she gonna give me the shovel talk?”
“Maybe,” Bucky hummed thoughtfully. “Dragon moms are very protective of their children.”
“Well,” Steve said. “She has nothing to fear from me.” He nuzzled Bucky’s jaw and pressed a kiss there, where stubble shadowed his skin. “Unless you want me to, I’m never leaving you again.”
Happiness, pure and simple, swelled in Bucky’s chest, settling deep into his bones.
“I was hoping you’d say that.”
That night, when Bucky lay in his bed and surrendered to sleep, it was with Steve curled up into his right side, and a baby dragon snuggled to his left.
Snow piled on his roof, icy and silent; but the blankets were thick, the bed a warm cocoon, and Bucky’s heart felt as full as his arms.