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Paris is… French.
Bucky doesn’t have a whole lot of experience with Frenchness other than what he’s read in books and seen on TV, but after forty-eight hours in the city, he’s already encountered an unnecessary amount of cutesy bakeries selling baguettes in all shapes and sizes, seen at least four people wearing a beret (though to be fair, they may have been tourists) and had one lady yell at him in rapid French when he accidentally tripped over her tiny, fluffy dog. As French things go, Paris so far seems to fit the bill.
Don’t get him wrong; it’s a nice city. It’s got history and cool, old buildings and museums and fancy food. His hotel is basic but nice enough and as a New Yorker, he’s pretty quick to figure out the metro system.
The real issue with Paris, Bucky realizes a few hours into his second day in city, is that the twinkling lights, the bridges with their heart-shaped locks, the gentle accordion music and the cozy little restaurants, are all working together to create the most romantic atmosphere possible, and as such conspire against newly-single twentysomethings visiting the city for the first time all on their lonesome. Turns out there’s a reason Paris is called the City of Love, and love is something Bucky decidedly does not have right now.
Only last month, Bucky got dumped by his good-for-nothing boyfriend. Ex-boyfriend. Whatever. He's still pissed Dean got one up on him and broke up with him, since Bucky had actually already decided weeks ago they were pretty much through. He just hadn’t gotten around to the actual breaking up part yet. It was just that Dean and he had been living together for a few months at that point, and the prospect of either finding a new place or moving back in with his parents for a while were enough to keep him from actually sitting Dean down and having The Talk. Bucky’s not stupid. He knew it probably was too soon to move in together, but rent in Brooklyn was sky high and Bucky’s shitty job as a lab assistant didn’t pay him all that much, so it seemed like a smart idea at the time.
It became clear pretty quickly that they were not as well-suited as they’d initially thought, and having to deal with Dean’s dirty socks all over the apartment and his toothpaste stains in the sink kind of sucked the romance out of the whole thing. Granted, the fact that those little things bothered him so much were probably a pretty clear sign that they just weren’t a good match in the first place, but the apartment was nice and close to Bucky’s work and so he sucked it up and stuck with the guy for a lot longer than he probably should have.
And then fucking Dean had had the gall to break up with him.
Once he was done spluttering indignantly, Bucky had immediately gathered his belongings and moved back into his old bedroom in his parents' place in Flatbush. Which was fine, for about three days. He loves his parents, he really does, but his mother in particular is… a lot, not to mention his two younger sisters who are still living at home. His oldest sister is alright, but she has her own place on the Lower East Side now, so they couldn’t even stick together like they used to do. All in all, it wasn’t long before Bucky just had to get away.
Away from his family, away from the funk he’d found himself in after the break up, and away from New York, if only for a little while.
One sleepless night while he was mulling over his options, Bucky had an idea: what he needed was to go on one of those tours of Europe that almost everyone in his class had done straight after graduation. The one Bucky had missed out on because he’d broken his left arm in some unfortunate drunken prom shenanigans and was grounded for about three months (and everyone who said he was too old to be grounded clearly had never met Bucky’s mom). Not unimportantly, said trip would give him ample opportunity to show Dean that he wasn’t just sulking about at home (even though he had been) but that he’d moved on and was in fact thriving.
As an architectural engineering major, Bucky has always wanted to see the Eiffel Tower, so the first stop on his itinerary would be Paris. From there, he figured it’d be easy enough to travel on to Madrid, Rome, Prague, Berlin, Amsterdam and, finally, London. Europe was tiny, right? Of course, the whole trip would be well-documented on Instagram and Facebook and Twitter, because how else would people know Bucky was out there having the time of his life? So, the next morning, Bucky handed in his notice at his shitty lab job, dug into his savings to book a plane ticket to Charles de Gaulle, et voilà, as the French say.
Unfortunately, apart from the whole him being single and Paris being the City of Love issue, one other thing Bucky hadn’t really taken into account was how difficult it is to get pictures of yourself having a great time when you’re travelling alone. Selfies are out, of course. The whole point of this trip is to make it seem like he’s not lonely and/or pathetic. What he needs are candids of him looking sophisticated while reading a classic French novel (translated, of course) in some cute little park, or pictures of him partying with a bunch of good-looking people including mildly underfed, stylish European girls and ruggedly handsome Australian backpackers. Or even better; a snapshot of him cozying up to some beautiful French man in front of the Eiffel Tower.
So far, Bucky hasn’t spoken to anyone for long enough that he’d be comfortable asking them to take a ‘candid’ pic of him, and he’s been too jetlagged to go partying since arriving early yesterday morning. But the Eiffel Tower is on today’s schedule and Bucky’s got high hopes for it.
The tower itself is fascinating, in an architectural engineering gimmicky kind of way. Not very romantic at all from close up to be honest, but hey, if the whole world says it’s the pinnacle of romance, who is Bucky to disagree? After he’s looked his fill and taken a bunch of photos, he buys himself an overpriced soft serve and strolls onto the huge lawn that stretches out to one side of the imposing structure. It’s June, so the weather’s good, and there are people sitting on the grass, some of them with blankets and picnic baskets while others are just lounging about with bottles of wine and beer.
Bucky looks around, letting his gaze pass over every male in the vicinity to assess their eligibility.
Too old. Too bald. Too in a relationship with someone else. Too young. Too weird –
And then he spots him.
Perfect.
No, but really. The guy is literally perfect.
There’s a group of young people sitting about half a dozen yards away, chatting in rapid French and laughing together and just generally having the kind of time Bucky wishes he was having. He does a quick mental inventory of the group and identifies two same-sex couples and a pair who seem to be boyfriend and girlfriend, but the guy that’s caught Bucky’s eye doesn’t seem to be with anyone in particular.
Thank god.
Because he’s a stunner. Broad-shouldered and narrow-waisted, and with blond hair that shines like molten gold in the sunlight, this guy ticks absolutely every single one of Bucky’s boxes. Despite his strong jaw and nose, there’s something about his features that makes him look downright pretty, and Bucky can’t see his eyes from here but he’s willing to bet they’re a beautiful, celestial blue.
Suddenly, the guy gets to his feet in one swift motion and lifts his arms over his head, stretching out to his full height in an attempt work out the knots in his muscles from sitting cross-legged on the grass for who knows how long. Bucky curses softly, because not only is he gorgeous, but he’s also tall. Very tall.
For a hot minute, Bucky just stands there, staring. He doesn’t even really notice his ice cream starting to melt and drip over his fingers, possibly because his brain is also melting. He lets his gaze flit over the man’s outrageously fit body, from his wide shoulders down his broad back which tapers off into an itty bitty waist, to his small but perfectly formed ass and down his long, long legs. Damn.
Blondie starts to move then, walking towards one of the trashcans a few yards away. Enthralled, Bucky’s eyes track the way his biceps strain the short sleeves of his white tee as he lifts his empty hand to run his fingers through his fine, blond hair. When the guy has chucked the food wrapper into to the trashcan and starts to make his way back to his friends, Bucky makes a split-second decision. He drops the rest of his ice cream cone on the ground (sorry, nature, but also you’re welcome, pigeons) and quickly wipes his hand on the lower part his jeans, straightening his shoulders and breaking out into a light jog.
He’s going to ask this guy for a picture of the two of them smooching in front of the Eiffel tower.
He’s probably insane, but what the hell, right? Life’s too short not to take a chance every now and then. If he says yes, Bucky will have an amazing photo to make his ex jealous and he’ll have gotten to kiss this drop dead gorgeous guy to boot. If he says no, then that’s a shame, but it’s not like they’ll ever see each again anyway. No harm done. Unless he gets punched in the face. But honestly, Blondie seems like a nice person, and the fact that he’s got a bunch of LGBTQ friends makes Bucky think that even if he’s not into men, there’s a good chance he at least won’t be offended by another guy propositioning him.
Also, he’s French. It’s called French kissing for a reason, right?
He manages to catch the guy just before he can rejoin his friends.
“Hey,” Bucky says, a little breathless.
Blondie turns to him in surprise, his eyes flicking up and down Bucky body for a second. It’s an innocent enough gesture, just a stranger sizing up another stranger, but Bucky still feels a thrill run up his spine at having this guy’s eyes on him. And he was right. They really are beautiful.
“Do you speak English?” Bucky asks, articulating clearly.
The guy blinks at him. “Yes?”
His voice is deep and rich and Bucky has to swallow hard before he can go on.
“Okay, great,” he says a little too brightly. “So, my name is James and I was wondering if I could ask you something a little bit weird.” He huffs a laugh. “That’s an understatement, actually. More like something crazy.” The guy just raises an eyebrow and doesn’t say anything yet, so Bucky barrels on. “So, basically, I’d love to show my ex-boyfriend what a grand old romantic time I’m having in Paris, but as you can see, I’m kind of on my lonesome, so that’s not going too well so far. So, that’s why I was wondering if… I mean, I don’t know if you’re into guys and even if you are you might not be into me, but um – What I’m trying to ask is, is there any chance I could convince you to take a picture with me of us kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower so I can pretend I’m on a romantic holiday with a gorgeous French guy?”
Bucky sucks in a breath at the end of his rambling speech, fighting the urge to turn around and run off as he waits for the response.
Slowly, as the meaning of Bucky’s words sink in, a flush starts to spread over the man’s cheeks.
Oh no, Bucky thinks, and he’s a blusher.
“Um,” the guy says finally, lifting a hand to rub the back of his neck. “Sure, yeah. One thing though, I’m not French. Sorry.”
Bucky’s eyes widen. “Oh my god, you’re American,” he groans, smacking his palm to his forehead. “Shit, I thought since I heard you speak French – I mean, not that I was creepin’ or anything, I happened to overhear, and I just thought…” He trails off awkwardly, realizing he probably shouldn't be telling this guy exactly what he'd been thinking.
“French major,” the guy explains, a tiny smirk now tugging on the corners of his lush mouth. “Did a year abroad in Paris and I still come back here sometimes to visit my friends.” He waves vaguely behind himself towards the motley crew on the grass. “I’m from New York, though. Brooklyn.”
“No way,” Bucky exclaims. “Whereabouts?”
“Oh, uh. Crown Heights?”
“No way,” Bucky says again, “that’s where I’m from!” He looks at the guy consideringly for a moment. He doesn’t think they’ve met before, because he’s pretty sure he’d remember meeting a dude built like this one is, but they’re about the same age and apparently grew up in the same neighborhood. Chances are they have some acquaintances in common. “What’s your name?”
“Steve,” the guy answers, after a brief pause. “Steve Rogers.”
“Huh,” Bucky says, rubbing his chin. “I think my sister Becca used to go to elementary school with a Steve Rogers for a while. Rebecca Barnes?”
A beat, and then Steve’s eyes widen. “Bucky?”
What.
“Uhh,” Bucky replies intelligently. “Y-eahh... Do we – I mean, have we met?”
Oh, no. Did he have a one night stand with this guy and forget? God, it would be just like him to sleep with the world’s hottest guy and be too drunk to remember any of it.
But then Steve huffs out an incredulous laugh, and says, “I mean, we never officially met.”
Bucky blinks at him. “Oh. Then, how..?”
“I, um. Well, let’s just say I knew who you were,” Steve says, a little cryptically. “I changed schools eventually ‘cause I was being bullied so much, but I always remembered your sister. Rebecca was one of the only kids at that school who used to stand up for me.”
That certainly sounds like Rebecca. Bucky frowns, racking his brain. “Yeah, from what I remember, she always spoke really fondly of you. Which is why I’ve remembered the name, I guess. But –” He hesitates, not wanting to inadvertently offend Steve. “Didn’t you use to be a tiny little guy? That’s how she always made it seem, at least,” he adds hastily.
Steve just nods. “Yeah, that’s right. Shrimp of a kid, I was. Always sick and kinda frail, but I could never keep my mouth shut when I saw some of the bigger kids being dicks, so I was basically a sitting duck.”
“Jesus,” Bucky says. “I’m sorry to hear that, Steve.” He lets his eyes trail deliberately over Steve’s impressive form before adding, “Pretty sure those guys would think twice about messin’ with you now, huh?”
Steve’s blush deepens, and Bucky inwardly high fives himself.
There’s a slightly awkward silence, and then Steve clears his throat and says, “So, uh. About this photo…”
“Yes,” Bucky says quickly, still eager to get better acquainted with Steve’s lips. All in the name of art, of course.
“Do you… I mean, now that you know who I am, are you still interested in, you know…” Steve’s gone back to bashfully rubbing the back of his neck, and Bucky kind of wants to tackle him to the grass and kiss him senseless.
“Absolutely,” he says emphatically, and that only makes Steve blush harder.
“Right. Okay. I’ll just ask…” He gives Bucky a small smile and jabs a thumb over his shoulder. Turning around, he calls, “Hé, Dernier.”
A guy in his thirties with thinning hair and a moustache looks up. “Oui?”
“Tu veux bien nous prendre en photo?”
“Mais bien sur.” The guy gets up, dusting his hands on his jeans before walking over to them. Steve quickly introduces them.
“Bucky, Dernier, Dernier, this is Bucky. He’s an… old friend.”
“Nice to meet you, man,” Bucky says, shaking his hand.
“And you,” Dernier replies in accented English, taking the phone Bucky hands him. “Where do you want to stand?”
“Oh, uh.” Bucky quickly scopes out the territory. “I guess here will do, actually.”
“Just make sure you get the tower in the background,” Steve adds, stepping up besides Bucky until there’s only a foot or so between them.
“I see,” Dernier says, vague distaste in his voice now. He still dutifully takes a few steps back and drops to his haunches, trying to frame a good shot. “Okay,” he says. “On three, garçons. Un, deux –”
“Oh, actually,” Bucky interjects, feeling a little embarrassed. “We’re going to, uh… kiss.” He glances up at Steve. “Right?”
“Right,” Steve replies, wide-eyed.
“Yes, yes.” Dernier waves a hand. “Whatever you like, just do it, please. Je n’ai pas toute la journée.”
“Alright,” Steve says, turning to face Bucky.
Bucky looks up at him, his gaze dropping from Steve’s blue eyes to his full, pink lips. As an automatic response, Bucky’s tongue darts out to wet his own lips, breath catching when he sees Steve’s eyes track the movement.
“Allez!” Dernier calls out impatiently, and Steve jerks into action.
Lifting his big hands to cradle Bucky’s face, he leans in and gently presses their mouths together.
It’s.
It’s like sinking into a warm, soothing bath. Like lying down on the beach at Coney Island after a swim and letting the summer sun dry his skin. It’s like coming home after a long day and crawling into bed, curling around another warm body that fits perfectly against his own.
Bucky sighs into the kiss, his hands drifting to Steve’s waist as he lifts up onto his tiptoes to get even closer. Distantly, he hears Dernier say something to them, but neither of them pays him any mind. He has no idea who makes the first move, but somehow, the kiss deepens. Suddenly, Steve is licking into his mouth as Bucky’s hands tighten on Steve’s waist, and then it’s like a blaze, erupting from his core and spreading through his body like wildfire. It’s like a blast reverberating in his bones, like smouldering embers driving away ice of winter.
Bucky makes a sound into Steve’s mouth, somewhere between surprised and pleading. He presses himself closer, chasing after that exhilarating rush of sensations as he feels Steve pulling him impossibly nearer. The world around them ceases to exist, narrows down to just the two of them getting lost in the kiss –
Until a piercing cat call cuts through the air and startles them out of their bubble.
Bucky breaks away with a gasp. Steve’s hands fall away from Bucky’s face, dropping to his sides as he looks down at Bucky with wide eyes. He looks stunned, but Bucky is pretty sure his own face isn’t faring much better.
“Uh,” Bucky says, his voice coming out kind of wobbly. He clears his throat, licking his lips and still tasting Steve.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He runs a hand through his hair and takes half a step back, creating just enough space between them to take away the temptation of just leaning in again and picking up where they left off.
Turning towards Dernier, Steve asks, “Um, did you get that?”
But Dernier isn’t alone anymore. The rest of Steve’s friends have abandoned their bottles and gathered around him to watch.
One of the girls snorts. “More like you got that, Rogers.”
Bucky grins at Steve. “You could get more of that if you want.”
A flustered, slightly bashful smile spreads slowly over Steve’s handsome face. “Yeah?”
Bucky holds Steve’s gaze, biting his bottom lip as he gives a slow nod.
“Well, how about you let me take you out to dinner first?” Steve asks, eyebrows raised in a hopeful expression, as if there’s any chance that Bucky would turn him down.
“Okay, Stevie,” Bucky smiles. “Wine and dine me like one of your French girls.”
***
“I saw you once, when you were picking Rebecca up from school.”
Steve leans back in his chair, swirling his wine in his glass as if he’s a regular sommelier, but it’s clear that it’s a nervous habit more than that he’s trying to show off.
“You must’ve been thirteen, probably. I was eleven. I remember seeing you and thinking you were the most beautiful boy I’d ever seen.” He huffs out a self-conscious laugh, eyes fixed on the white and red checkered table cloth. “I was probably a little young to think things like that, but it’s what I thought. I asked Becca about you the next day and she gave me this knowing look, but I left school soon after and we never saw each other again.” Looking up, his eyes find Bucky’s. “I basically spent the next five years looking for you. Tried looking you up on social media, when that became a thing.” He cringes. “That sounds creepy as fuck, huh? Anyway, I never was able to find you. Or your sister, for that matter.”
Bucky swallows hard. He probably should find it creepy, but honestly, all he feels is flattered and touched.
“Yeah,” he says hoarsely. ”Becca doesn’t do social media, except for through her campaigns. She’s an environmental activist now. And I go by James, online. Bucky was just a nickname my sister gave me when we were little.”
Steve hums, giving him a thoughtful look. “Do you still use it, though? ‘Cause I’ve always liked it. It suits you.”
“I do,” Bucky smiles. “With people I’m close to. You can call me Bucky, if you want.”
“Bucky,” Steve says, looking far too fond. It dislodges something in Bucky’s chest that he hadn’t even known was stuck, making him feel like he’s able to breathe freely again for the first time in far too long.
It’s easy, talking to Steve. Bucky knows they technically never met, but it still feels like they’re just catching each other up on their lives instead of getting to know each other entirely from scratch.
Steve tells him he’s supposed to go back to the States the next day, but when he mentions he’s a freelance illustrator and can work wherever, Bucky’s brain glitches and he blurts out,
“Come with me.”
Steve cocks his head questioningly. “To where?”
“Anywhere,” Bucky says. And he means it. “I was planning on going to Madrid next, and then see what I felt like after that, probably finish in London before flying back to JFK. I’d love for you to join me. Um. If you like.”
There’s a slightly stunned pause in which Bucky curses himself inwardly for potentially ruining a good thing by being too impulsive and not knowing when to rein it in. As usual.
But then Steve smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling, and it’s like sunshine, bright and golden and happy, warming Bucky through and through.
“Alright,” Steve says. “Okay, I’ll come with you.”
Five weeks later
“Hey, buttface!”
Bucky closes his eyes for a second and chuckles. “That’ll be Becca.”
Grinning at him fondly, Steve grabs his boyfriend’s hand before they turn around in unison to see Rebecca navigating her way through the throng at the airport arrivals area.
“Hey, Becs,” Bucky says, throwing his free arm around her shoulders and hugging her tight. He doesn’t let go of Steve’s hand. “Still ugly, I see.”
“Not as ugly as you,” Becca mutters affectionately. When they break apart, she gives Bucky a quick once over. “Never thought I’d see the day where you were more tanned than me.”
Bucky snorts. “Yeah, well. This one here convinced me to skip Prague and Berlin and hang out on the Adriatic coast for two full weeks instead.”
Steve shrugs, pulling his most innocent face, the one that he’s learned Bucky can’t resist. “The views, Buck. The artist in me couldn’t resist them.”
“Cut the crap, Stevie,” Bucky says. “You spent more time drawing me shirtless on the beach than you did the coastline.”
“I never said which views, now did I?” Steve replies smartly.
“Oh, you…” Bucky rolls his eyes but leans up to throw his arms around Steve’s neck anyway, drawing him into a kiss.
“Yeah, no, sure, don’t mind me. This isn’t making me want to throw up at all, it’s fine.”
Steve draws away from Bucky and turns to sheepishly face Bucky’s sister. “Hello, Rebecca. It’s good to see you.”
She smiles at him, wide and genuine, reminding him so much of Bucky it’s like he’s seeing double.
“Good to see you again, too, Steve,” she says, pulling him into a hug. “I always wondered what happened to little Stevie Rogers.”
“Likewise,” Steve says, touched. “I tried looking you up on social media so many times, but it was like you just disappeared.”
“Yeah, I’m sorry about that. I was going to give you our address, but then one day you were just, pooff, gone.”
Steve winces. “Yeah, my mom pulled me out of school the day after I got beat up by that kid Rumlow again.”
Becca nods. “I heard he’s doing time for fraud now. Got mixed up in some bad business after he left high school.”
Somehow, that really doesn’t surprise Steve.
“Speaking of social media,” Becca continues, a sly smile on her face. “That picture you posted on Twitter blew up, Buck. Mom sent it to me right after you made the tweet, and last time I checked it had tens of thousands of likes and retweets.”
Steve blinks. “Picture?” He turns to Bucky and raises his eyebrows. “You told me you weren’t even using any social media during our trip.”
When they arrived in Madrid, Bucky had told Steve over some of the best paella he’d ever had that he decided he didn’t care what anyone else back home thought anymore – especially his ex – and that he’d much rather live in the moment with Steve than seeing it through a lens or worrying about the perfect angle for his Instagram. Seems Bucky maybe hadn’t been entirely honest with him there. Steve doesn’t actually mind either way, but Bucky doesn’t know that.
Next to him, Bucky stills. “Uh. Oh yes. I may have made one post to Twitter before I logged out of all my accounts.” He holds up his hands, palms turned up. “In my defense, you know how impulsive I get sometimes, and it was a total joke and I kind of forgot I even made it.”
“Well, let’s see it then,” Steve says, keeping his face impassive.
Buck pulls his phone out of his backpack, tapping the Twitter icon and quickly logging in. It immediately goes crazy with notification sounds and messages.
“Holy shit,” Bucky breathes. “458.000 likes?!”
Curious now, Steve leans in to look over Bucky’s shoulder. “Show me?”
Bucky hold up his phone to show him the post.
It’s one of the pictures Dernier took of the two of them kissing in front of the Eiffel Tower, right before they really got into it. Steve’s got his hands on Bucky’s face, and Bucky’s are on Steve’s waist as he leans up on his tip toes.
The caption says:
I hope this guy i met at the Eiffel Tower and asked for a pic of us kissing so i could pretend i had a romantic time in Paris is doing good.
Steve lets out a bark of laugher, throwing his head back and clutching his chest out of genuine mirth.
He’s still chuckling as he gets his own phone out and opens his camera. “Rebecca, would you mind taking another pic of us? I’d think I’d like to make a tweet of my own.”
“You got it,” Rebecca winks, taking Steve’s phone and stepping back.
Turning around again, Steve is met with a slightly apprehensive looking Bucky Barnes. “You’re not mad?” Bucky asks tentatively.
Steve shakes his head, brushing a lock of hair off Bucky’s forehead. “Nah, Buck. I just think it’s time we let the world know how the story continued.”
A slow grin spreads over Bucky’s tanned, handsome face, his grey-blue eyes twinkling mischievously.
“I like the way you think, baby.”
Steve winks at him, then wraps an arm around Bucky’s lower back, below his backpack, and grabs the back of his neck with the other one, before dipping him backwards and kissing him square on the mouth.
He posts the picture to his own Twitter in response to Bucky’s tweet. The caption reads:
He’s doing pretty damn fine, sweetheart. I love you.