Work Text:
1930: 1
Steve couldn’t feel his feet. He was trudging through the slush lining the sidewalk as fast as he could. His shoes felt heavy, his socks were soaked through. His mother had told him he shouldn’t go. She knew there was nothing for it, of course. Steve was always as stubborn as a mule. A good boy of course. Never talked back, always did all his chores, did good in school, was kind and trustworthy. But he was bullheaded. Bucky had insisted that if the weather was bad he shouldn’t try and come over for Christmas eve. Bucky would come by on Christmas Day when he could to see Steve and they could exchange gifts then. Of course, Steve was invited to the Barnes’ for Christmas Eve, he had been every year since he was 5. But the older Steve got, the worse his health seemed to get, ailments piling on top of each other like ashes in a fireplace. Winters were getting particularly bad. Steve had asthma and a weak heart it seemed. He was also prone to pneumonia. The melting and refreezing of the sidewalks didn’t help any. But, there was still nothing for it. Missing out on Christmas Eve with Bucky wasn’t really an option that occurred to Steve. Bucky was his best friend and he wasn’t going to miss out on Christmas with him. Risk be damned. However, he did have the sense to know that Bucky might be upset he walked over in the snow, even though it was only a block. So he hesitated on the front step of the Barnes house, hand raised to knock, unmoving. Then suddenly the door was flung open towards the house and Bucky’s face, warm and glowing with laughter, was right in front of Steve. He’d been on his way out to leave a full garbage bag on the curb when he almost knocked Steve off the front step.
“Steve!”
Steve stood speechless, with his hand still raised, staring into Bucky’s face. He could faintly hear Bucky’s family inside, laughing and talking. A cinnamon smell was wafting out of the open door behind Bucky. And Bucky… Steve knew that he shouldn’t look at boys the way he wanted to look at Bucky. But caught by surprise like this, he couldn’t help himself. Bucky’s suspenders were slung around his hips, and the top buttons of his shirt were unbuttoned. He had a pink flush high on his cheeks, creeping down into his open collar. His eyes were sparkling with laughter. He was beautiful, and Steve couldn’t tear his eyes away until Bucky was grabbing his shoulder and shaking him lightly.
“Stevie what’re you doin’ out here? You’re gonna catch your death!”
The concern in Bucky’s eyes makes Steve’s heart ache. A soft smile tugs at the corner of his lips.
“Couldn’t miss Christmas with my best pal.”
He gives Bucky a playful shove on the shoulder. He was suddenly nervous that his dangerous trek through the poor weather so he wouldn’t miss a holiday with Bucky would betray his true feelings. He couldn’t do anything that would jeopardize their friendship. Bucky was the one steady force in Steve’s life besides his mother. Warm, gentle, kind Bucky, who head approached a scrawny Steve at the park the summer they were five and six. Bucky who told off the boys who bullied Steve for his size or called him a fairy. Bucky who helped Steve clean up his scrapes after he fought off the boys who bullied the neighborhood girls. Bucky who’s laugh made Steve’s heart skip a beat and whose touch on his shoulder made his body feel electric. The Bucky who Steve… No. He couldn’t say that. Not even in his own head. He knew it was wrong and he shouldn’t feel that way about another boy, especially his best friend. So even though sometimes he let himself look a little longer at the slope of Bucky’s neck and shoulders when his back was turned, or think about how soft his hair would feel running through Steve’s fingers, he wouldn’t speak the true nature of his feelings, even in his head. It was hard, especially when Bucky was looking at him with concern and something unreadable in his stormy grey eyes.
“Well damn Stevie, come inside at least. Ma’ll be furious if she finds out I’ve been keeping you standing out here in the ice.”
Bucky’s smile turned brighter and he rushed to the curb to set the bag he’d come out with down, before cheerfully tugging Steve inside and chattering about the pie his ma had made and how it was even better than last year somehow. Steve warmed up quickly even with wet socks, basking in the glow of Bucky’s cheerfulness, clearly forgiven. Mr. Barnes was playing with Becca in the living room, her laughter echoing into the kitchen. Mrs. Barnes started fretting over Steve as soon as she set her eyes on him, insisting Bucky go fetch a pair of dry socks for him to borrow and sitting him down for dinner even though he said he’d already ate. It was home, being part of Bucky’s family. And he let himself be fret over, tucking away his usual scowl and ‘I can take care of myself’ comments. It was Christmas after all, and Christmas was for family.
A bit later Steve had finished washing up his own dishes, at his insistence, and the Barnes family was gathering in the living room to start the gift opening. Steve paused in the doorway, just breathing and letting the atmosphere soak into his bones. He wished this moment could last forever. Bucky broke his train of thought as he came up to him in the doorway saying, ‘come on Stevie I can’t wait for you to see what I got for ya’. Bucky paused for just a brief moment facing Steve, smiling brightly. That’s when Becca turned to face them and cried out,
“Look momma, Steve and Bucky are under the mistletoe! Mistletoe means you have to kiss.”
Steve’s stomach practically hit the floor when all the light went out of Bucky’s eyes. An unreadable expression crossed his face and he swallowed hard. Steve felt worse than that time Bobby Adams had socked him in the gut so hard he couldn’t breathe right for a week. He didn’t know what to say. Any joke or soothing words to break the tension that had somehow circled them were caught in his throat. I mean Becca was just a kid and didn’t know any better, he reasoned. So why didn’t Bucky just crack a joke and shake it off? Why was he looking at Steve like he was gonna be sick. Steve felt tears welling up that he desperately wanted to push away. And true to form, Bucky knew Steve almost better than Steve knew himself. He cleared his throat and put on a smile that Steve saw right through, tossing a joke back to Becca.
“Mistletoe’s meant for couples, squirt. Like ma and pa.”
He gripped Steve around the neck and rubbed his knuckles into his hair - Steve always hated when he did that - and planted a loud smack onto the top of Steve’s head. It was rough, and embarrassing. Becca laughed and went back to playing with her ma as Bucky let Steve go in favor of a light clasp on his shoulder. This time the small smile Bucky gave Steve was genuine, but there was something guarded there that hadn’t been there before. And it would stay there for a long time.
1936: 2
It was going to be a bad Christmas. Bucky shook the snow off of his coat and shivered. Their apartment was always cold. Bucky had been picking up as many shifts down at the docks as he could, but winter always slowed the work. Heat was expensive, but truthfully Bucky would rather go hungry for a week than let the apartment be cold during this brutal winter. As he stepped out of his slushy boots he could hear Steve puttering around the kitchen. No swearing, no banging, maybe today had been a better day. Steve’s days had slowly been getting better all around, but he still had some low times. It had only been a few months since they’d buried Sara and Bucky had moved in. Steve had fought him tooth and nail on moving in.
“I can get by on my own Buck.”
He’d said it angry. He’d said it sad. He’d said it with some look swimming in his ocean eyes that Bucky didn’t quite understand. Or maybe he did and just told himself he didn’t. Because he’d felt it in his own chest when he caught Steve watching him when he thought Bucky wasn’t paying attention. Bucky lay awake in bed too many nights, willing himself to beat down the feelings that came crawling up his chest when he thought about Steve too long. There were too many reasons not to. One, he and Steve were best friends and had been since childhood. Two, he knew he shouldn’t think about guys that way. Sure, he was quite a ladies man. Or at least he painted himself that way. But the truth was that he never thought about the girls that he took dancing the way he did about Steve. Steve was all slim shoulders and spitfire. His artist's hands distracted Bucky on even his best days. His eyes were a million shades of blue that sparkled when he got to rambling about politics or economics or something else that Bucky truly wasn’t interested in, but he would let Steve talk about for hours, just to watch those baby blues sparkle. And three, he was almost sure that Steve didn’t look at him that same way, didn’t feel the same way. That was really the biggest reason Bucky wouldn’t let himself think on his feelings. He could handle the others, if Steve returned his sentiments. But he told himself he didn’t. He couldn’t. Bucky was just his best pal since they were kids, and he was just helping out a pal by living with him after his ma passed. Simple as that. He sighed deeply as he padded down the hallway towards the kitchen, quiet so he didn’t annoy Steve, but loud enough as to not surprise him.
Steve was at the sink washing out some paintbrushes. Grey water ran down the drain, slowly getting lighter and lighter. Steve’s fingers were stained black at the tips, and he had a small smudge of black right on the back of his jaw. He probably didn’t even know it was there. Bucky stood by the table and just stared at him, he couldn’t help it. Steve was so beautiful. Bucky almost never got moments like this, Steve was so aware of when there were eyes on him. Price of being a troublemaker, Bucky often muses; you can always tell when someones watching you. But now, whether Steve is just ignoring Bucky, or whether he is lost to thought, Bucky is savoring the moment. He lets his eyes drift over Steve. The sharp slope of his shoulders, the way his golden hair curls very slightly at the nape of his neck. Bucky wants to get his hands all over him. Soft, rough, god any way Steve would let him. He shuts his eyes tightly for a moment. He knows he can’t just stand here gaping, or he might do something stupid. So he takes a moment to breathe a few deep breaths, and clears his throat, putting on his most winning style and approaching Steve at the sink.
“Honey I’m home!”
He says it in his most cheerful ‘I’m such a charmer’ voice. He’s been using that voice a lot on Steve lately. He plays it off. Steve has been real down and Bucky just wants to cheer him up, that’s all. What’s a little joke flirting between two best friends? But he’d never tell Steve that he hadn’t started as a joke. No, the first time he’d said that phrase to Steve was the third night they’d been living together. He’d come home from working at the docks, on a surprisingly balmy October night. He’d been sweaty and dirty, and dead tired. And when he’d come in the house, Steve had been in the kitchen making dinner. It must have been a good day that day because Steve had a record on, and he was humming as he’d cooked, endearingly off key. And Bucky had stripped his shoes off in the hallway and peeled off his wet work shirt, coming into the kitchen to have his breath stolen right out of his lungs. And he’d not had the presence of mind in that moment to stop himself when he rang out ‘Honey I’m home!’. His thoughts had been only Steve, cheerful and soft. But Steve had spun around and given him such a look of shock that Bucky had played it off as a tease and dug his knuckles into Steve’s scalp, like he did when they were kids. And so now it was their ritual. Bucky came home from work and greeted Steve like his honey with as much put on charm as he could manage - which was usually so much it earned a scowl and an eye roll from Steve, and sometimes a smile if Bucky was lucky. Today though, it earned him… nothing. Steve was resolutely facing the sink, methodically rubbing out his brushes under the water. Bucky’s spirits sank. Not even so much as a ‘shove off’ from Steve meant it must have been a really bad day. I mean realistically, why wouldn’t it be? It was the day before Christmas Eve. Even though Steve always spent the eve at the Barnes house, since he was five anyways, Bucky knew how much the holiday meant to Steve and his Ma. Until Bucky came along, and really after too, all Steve and Sarah had in the world was each other. And though Steve didn’t go to church much past the age of fourteen, his ma still went every Sunday, and they always went to midnight mass on Christmas Eve together, Bucky usually walking Steve to the church to meet her there as she was coming back from a shift. So the first Christmas without her, Bucky had to reason was gonna be a bad one.
He approached the sink cautiously. Steve stood resolutely facing away from Bucky, but upon further inspection he had stopped washing his brushes and was just sitting with his hands limp under the water running into the basin, getting colder by the second. Bucky reached past Steve while placing a gentle hand on his middle back, and turned the faucet off.
“Ya alright Stevie?”
He didn’t use the nickname much anymore. Steve pretended that he hated it, so Bucky would pretend right along with him. He knew how Steve fought tooth and nail every day to be taken seriously, so if this was something that helped with that then Bucky could play along. But sometimes it slipped out. Usually dripping with concern as it rolled off Bucky’s tongue.
“‘M fine, Buck.”
The way his breath stuttered around words so soft Bucky could barely hear them, said otherwise. So did the way he didn’t fight when Bucky slowly took the brushes from his hands to set them on the side of the sink, a gentle push on his shoulder to make him face Bucky. A Steve who didn’t offer Bucky any smart remarks as he got home was a bad sign. But a Steve that was letting Bucky manhandle him - in as small of a way as it was - with no protest, was even worse. Steve had had days like this before, of course, as few and far between as they may have been the older he got. Days where the fire just wasn’t in him. Days where he really and truly needed Bucky to catch him. And boy was he falling. Bucky paused there for a minute, his hands on Steve’s sharp shoulders, just searching his face. Steve’s blue eyes looked far away today, a deep well of sorrow brewing in them. As much as Bucky loved that he could be here and care for Steve, he was always nervous that all the ways he really wanted to care for Steve would slip out. But as far gone as Steve looked today, he figured blurring the lines just a little might not hurt. So he carefully brushed his fingers through Steve’s hair, near his temple.
“Real bad day today huh Stevie?”
Steve meets his eyes for real then. There’s a flash of defiance in them, but he doesn’t pull away from Bucky.
“I told ‘m fine Buck. I can get by.”
An affectionate smile toys at Bucky’s lips. Steve’s scowl doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
“I know that Steve. Ya know I do.” Bucky keeps his voice soft, treading lightly over this small trust Steve is offering him. “But not today though, huh? How bout you let me take care of ya for a bit?”
Steve’s eyes soften. Bucky knows he’s got him. Even for a spitfire like Steve, pushing away comfort gets exhausting. He swallows thickly and nods, dropping his gaze to Bucky’s feet. Bucky gives Steve’s shoulders one last squeeze before letting his fingers slide down Steve’s arms to grasp his hands. He tugs him softly, getting Steve to follow him over to their tiny living room. He steers Steve gently to sit on the threadbare couch and then starts bustling around the room. He starts at the stove, starting a small fire. They usually try and not start fires unless they’re cooking, or it gets cold enough that Steve’s fingers start turning blue. But today feels like the occasion for a fire, Bucky decides. Once it’s crackling softly he moves to the record player next to the couch. It doesn’t always work well - it’s scratched it’s share of records - but Bucky seems to have luck with it. He finds the Bing Crosby record. It was the only Christmas record they had, and it had belonged to Sarah. She would always play it on Christmas Day after she and Steve got back from mass in the earliest hours of the day, and make them hot chocolate. They don’t have anything for hot chocolate, and Bucky thinks he might burn it anyways if there was. So he settles for the record. He fiddles with the dial to keep the volume low and makes one last stop before joining Steve on the couch. He almost trips in the hallway coming back from their bedroom, swearing under his breath and catching Steve’s attention for the first time. Steve has moved to the corner of the couch, drawing his knees up to his chest. He looks up at Bucky with wet eyes as he comes into the room carrying Sara’s quilt in his arms. Steve had left it folded on a chair in their room these past few months, but it was soft and warm. She’d made it to comfort Steve, and Bucky would be damned if that wasn’t what it was used for.
Bucky sat on the opposite side of the couch, facing Steve. He settles himself against the arm and stretches the quilt out, draping it softly over the back of the couch. He pauses for a minute, hesitates. They haven’t done anything like this in a long time. They’d seemed to both avoid touching each other unless they had to, in recent years. Bucky wasn’t really sure what Steve’s reasoning had been, and it wasn’t like he could ask. Realistically he told himself he probably didn’t want to know. But he knew for himself that he was always afraid that if he touched Steve a little he wouldn’t be able to stop. He hated the thought that things might change in their friendship, or that he could do something to lose Steve. And the older Steve got, the more surly he was. So Bucky just didn’t. But today was not a normal day. So he softly gestured to Steve and patted his hand against his chest. No words needed. Steve hiccups a little, also hesitating, but then all but launches himself at Bucky’s chest. Steve pushes himself between Bucky’s legs and buries his face in his chest, arms wrapping around his waist. Bucky pulls the quilt down over them both, draping his arms over Steve’s back. They stay like that for a long few minutes. Just breathing. Steve’s whisper is almost imperceptible.
“God I miss her, Buck.”
Steve’s whole body shudders as he starts to sob into Bucky’s chest. His tears come hot and fast and Bucky chews his lip so hard he thinks it might bleed to keep from sobbing right along with him. He squeezes Steve tight and cards his fingers through his hair lightly. They lie like that for a long time, until Steve’s breathing evens out. Bucky’s not sure if this counts as taking care of Steve but he’s trying. He pets Steve’s hair over and over until he feels Steve go heavy with sleep. Bing Crosby is softly crooning ‘Mistletoe and Holly’ on the record. He places a very soft kiss to Steve’s temple then and whispers,
“Merry Christmas Steve.”
1942: 3
“Honey I’m home!”
Steve allowed himself to smile for only a split second before putting on his best scowl and turning from where he sat in front of his easel to face Bucky. Bucky was shucking off his coat when he caught Steve’s eye and his face broke into a truly blinding smile. Steve just rolled his eyes at him and turned back to his painting while Bucky stepped out of his boots, but his heart was clenched tight in his chest. Bucky was always beautiful but damn if winter didn’t somehow bring out the best in him. The work at the docks was still holding all right, and Bucky was solid muscle in all the right places, with windswept hair and cheeks glowing from the cold. He stalked up behind Steve pinched him in the ribs then, earning a yelp from Steve.
“Where do ya get off Barnes?”
“Nowhere recently, why, ya got a recommendation?”
Steve narrowed his eyes at Bucky like he was trying to contemplate which way he would like to murder him in his sleep tonight, and Bucky just grinned at him brightly and waggled his eyebrows.
“You been workin at that all day Stevie, don’tcha think you can take a break?”
It’s true, Steve had been working on the painting all day, getting up to make Bucky coffee before he left for work and just staying up. It was a commission that wasn’t due till after the holidays, but Steve didn’t like to leave his work till the last minute. Then he wouldn’t have time to agonize over the details with his perfectionistic gaze.
“Ya got plans that don’t involve me getting paid Barnes?” He turns back to keep working and this time he is the one receiving an eye roll.
Bucky huffs an over-dramatic sigh and goes to flop on their sagging couch. “It’s Christmas Eve Stevie. I know ya know that. Was thinkin’ we could bundle up and go up and see the tree.”
Steve chewed on the inside of his lip while he continued to paint and ponder Bucky’s suggestion. They hadn’t gone to see the tree the last time there’d been one, and he felt a pang deep in his chest thinking about it now. Back in the late summer when Bucky had gotten his orders, he’d started on this campaign of doing things with Steve that he deemed ‘special’. And now it was Christmas and he was shipping out soon. Steve could feel the tears pricking in his eyes. Realistically, it probably wasn’t a good idea to hike it up to Madison Square Gardens. It wasn’t snowy so at least it was dry, but it was still cold. Cold wasn’t good for Steve, as much as he tried to pretend it was fine. He didn’t want to get sick and be more of a burden to Bucky, worrying him before he shipped out. And the tree was only going to be lit for half an hour anyways. That’s what they’d heard on the radio earlier in the month, what with the new regulations. So it wasn’t a smart idea. But thinking about this being his last Christmas with Bucky for… well who knows how long, Steve felt powerless to resist anything that Bucky could ask of him. So he put his brush down and cracked his fingers before turning to face Bucky on the couch. Bucky was staring at him, or I guess had been staring at the back of his head before, with a dreamy look on his face. He smiled lazily at Steve and Steve staunchly resisted the urge to go flop on top of him and bury his face in Bucky’s neck.
“If you wanna go see the tree then let’s go see the tree.”
Bucky’s grin lit up the room and he leapt off the couch, dragging Steve off his stool and spinning him around, his arms tight around Steve’s shoulders and Steve’s feet lifting off the floor.
Steve scowled deeply and pushed Bucky off of him. “Alright Barnes keep your shirt on. Ya act like I’m a dame invitin’ ya up to stay the night.” Bucky’s response is just to bounce his eyebrows at Steve suggestively.
Steve tries to keep from turning bright red and stiff as he trudges upstairs to layer his socks.
The tree is really beautiful. By the time they get there it’s twilight, and the stars are popping out lightly. Steve can’t really feel his toes or anywhere on his face, but it’s all worth it for the look on Bucky’s. The soft winter twilight mixed with the warm tree lights is making his eyes sparkle like Steve has never seen before. He’s breathless and glowing, talking excitedly about the tree and gesturing to it through the crowd. Steve is having a hard time tearing his eyes away from Bucky though, forcing himself to look at the tree and reminding himself to not be so obvious. Get it together Rogers. Bucky’s all smiles and cheer though as he suggested they stop into the little diner that’s on the corner for a cup of hot chocolate, saying he got a Christmas bonus from his boss that week. His joy is contagious and Steve let’s Bucky steer him through the door and into a booth with an arm around his shoulder. They get their hot chocolates and sit in silence for a bit, just sipping and warming up, both from the mugs and each other’s company. Steve is watching people through the window when he hears Bucky clear his throat roughly. He turns to see Bucky staring down into his mug with what looks like tears in his eyes.
Steve frowns at him. “Buck what’s goin on.”
Bucky snaps his head up to look at him then, pushing his expression from surprise to hurt to smiling in a split second. He sniffs and drags the back of his hand against his nose and puts on a smile. “Nah it’s nothin Stevie. Nice view huh?” He deflects.
He looks back out the window then and fiddles with the handle on his mug. But Steve isn’t buying it. Bucky may have always been one to cry easy and often, but not usually in public for seemingly no reason. Steve hesitates, and then reaches to gently lay his fingers on Bucky’s wrist.
“Bucky come on, talk to me.”
Bucky drags in a shuddering breath and goes back to staring into his mug. Steve doesn’t move his hand.
“I just…” Bucky starts. Stops. Swallows. Continues in a whisper. “Just gonna be hard to get by without you I think, Stevie.”
Steve feels like he’s been punched in the gut. He never felt that he could tell Bucky that all his attempts to enlist weren’t just about doing his duty to his country. Sure, they were about that. Of course they were. Everything was about duty to the greater good with Steve. But they were also about the sense of duty he felt to Bucky. Yes, Bucky had been there to care for him a lot over all the years they’d known each other. Knowing Steve in any capacity meant you’d probably help him out when he was sick at least once. But Steve felt a deep need to care for Bucky. He felt he was the only one who knew how kind and soft and sensitive Bucky really was behind closed doors. He couldn’t bear the thought of him being all alone in some tent somewhere with no one to care for him and hold him if he needed it. And here Bucky was, basically admitting to Steve that he did need it. Steve felt his jaw clench almost painfully tight.
“Imma try and enlist again tomorrow. I just gotta…”
“No!” Bucky is gripping Steve’s wrist now, with a surprising amount of force.
“No Steve. Ya gotta stop. Swear I don’t get why ya wanna get out there so bad. But I thank God every day that the army won’t take ya. I don’t know what I’d do if ya… if ya…” He ducks his head quickly but Steve sees the tear splash into his hot chocolate as Bucky sniffs noisily.
Steve is stunned. He’d always just kind of assumed Bucky hadn’t wanted him to keep trying to enlist because.. Well mostly because it was a lost cause. But also because of some kind of brotherly ‘war is hell why wouldn’t you wanna stay if you can’ kind of feeling. This feels a lot more like something else. Something Steve barely admits to himself that he feels, let alone ever imagined Bucky would feel for him. Bucky is still gripping his wrist as his breathing steadies and he looks back up at Steve.
“Promise me Steve. Promise me you’ll stop trying to get out there. Ya gotta stay here and keep yourself safe. That’s the only thing that’ll keep me going out there is knowin you’re home safe.”
Steve swallows hard and forces himself to hold Bucky’s gaze. He knew deep down that despite any sense of duty, or whatever he felt he had to prove, that if Bucky had asked him to fly up into space and get him the moon, Steve would find a way to do it. His mouth turns up in a small smile.
“Okay Buck. I promise. I’ll be safe for you.”
All the breath goes out of Bucky and he drops his head, his forehead resting on Steve’s hand, Steve’s wrist still held in his grip. The waitress circles back around and Steve jerks his hand away, but not quite quick enough. She smiles thoughtfully at the two of them. Steve knows they’re a sight, mugs gone cold, holding hands and nearly crying over each other at the table.
“Can I get you boys anything else?”
“No ma’am, but thank you.”
She smiles a little more mischievously then. “Alright. Just holler if you do. Seems awful serious over here, don’t you go messing up my lucky table.” She walks away leaving them both with stunned expressions, but not before she gestures up to the window frame.
Steve doesn’t know how they didn’t notice it before, but hanging from the short curtain above the window, is a tiny sprig of mistletoe. A lucky table indeed, Steve thinks to himself. He can feel himself blushing all the way down his neck as he turns to find Bucky’s gaze not on the window but on him. He has that sort of dreamy expression he had on earlier that day on the couch. It’s making Steve’s stomach do flips in a way he’d rather it not in public. He clears his throat and fiddles with his hands on the table before Bucky reaches out and taps his wrist softly, thoughtfully. He’s grinning at Steve again, like Steve really did go out and get him the moon, and Steve warms like Bucky’s his sun.
“Come on punk, better get home before it’s too dark.”
Steve chuckles softly as they put on their coats and start out into the cold. They pause for just a moment under the diner’s stoop and Steve grabs Bucky’s elbow lightly, Bucky looking down at him with the same sunny grin.
They give the tree one last look and Steve whispers softly, “Merry Christmas Buck.”
1943: 4
The heavy scent of pine stung in his nose as Steve huffed out a breath. Beside him Bucky gave a full body shiver against the frozen dirt. Luck, the guys had said. The captain and sarge getting watch duty together. Luck, or a carefully crafted diversion which led to a rewritten duty sheet, Steve would never tell. The tree he was seated against was digging into his back. He was surprised he could still feel it, what with the cold and the three layers of clothes on him. Honestly though, he couldn’t admit that he was sweating under all the layers. All the other guys were bitching about how they hadn’t felt their toes fully in days, and for good reason. The German forest air was crisp and sharp, biting into whatever skin it could find on man and woman alike. And yet here was Steve, on watch out in the open, not even in a tent, sweating. The audacity he thought to himself. His new body felt… out of place, to say the least. He was nearly a head taller than almost all the guys, and a hell of a lot wider, and apparently ran a million times hotter. He shifted again in his spot on the ground and Bucky slowly turned his head to face Steve.
“The hell’s the matter with you Rogers? You sit on a stick or something?”
Steve felt his ears getting hot thinking about the “or something” he could be sitting on. The worst thing about this new body running like a furnace was how easily he blushed now. God he just prayed silently it was too dark for Bucky to notice. He’d survived all these years so far hiding how he felt every time he so much as looked at Bucky, now was really not the time to bring it up if there ever was one.
“Nah.” He cleared his throat gruffly. “‘M fine.”
Bucky narrowed his eyes at him. “God you’re a shit liar.”
Steve turned to look at him now. Big mistake. The dappled moonlight drifting in through the trees illuminated Bucky’s sharp cheekbones and the cut of his jaw. His gray eyes were practically glittering in the soft white light. Steve felt his throat and his pants getting tight. Shit.
“Really I’m fine.” His voice sounded unnaturally high to his own ears. Get it together Rogers. “I’m just a little uncomfortable.” He forced a small smile, hoping it looked as calm and innocent as he was trying to be.
Bucky’s face went a little twisty. “Thought this serum or whatever got rid of all your shit. What do you mean you’re uncomfortable? You gettin sick and lyin’ to me?” Bucky had shifted to lean towards him a little more, studying Steve’s face. God it would be easy to lean in and just…
But Bucky wasn’t flirting. He was concerned. And god did that make Steve’s heart ache. He knew Bucky had been hiding how bad off he really was after Steve had pulled him off that table in Azzano. And for a while Steve had just been so happy Bucky was alive that he hadn’t pushed him to talk about what happened. But it was becoming increasingly apparent to Steve that Bucky wasn’t fine, at all. He wasn’t sleeping very much, he was pale, with too large circles under his eyes. But worst of all he just seemed… not there. It felt like he was heavily guarding something, not talking much, even to Steve, and often sporting some kind of pained expression with a far away look in his eyes. And yet here he was, looking at Steve with concern. And Steve just suddenly couldn’t stand it.
“What are you talking about? Me getting sick? I should be asking you if you’re okay. Not the other way around Buck.”
Bucky shrinks back then and scowls at Steve before looking away. “I’ve told ya I don’t know how many times already that I’m fine.” He shivers.
Without thinking about it and definitely against his better judgement, Steve reaches over and grabs Bucky by the bicep and drags him against his chest, dropping an arm around him.
Bucky huffs indignantly and pushes a little at Steve’s arm, though halfheartedly despite him grumbling, “The fuck you doing Steve. Can’t do this kind of shit out here.”
Steve just holds him tighter. “No one out here right now but us Buck and you know it. You don’t get to pretend that you’re just fine anymore. I’m not havin it. That’s not how we do things and ya know that.”
Bucky goes very still in Steve’s arms. Steve would almost think he wasn’t breathing if it weren’t for the small puffs of steam rising up above their heads. They stay like that and Bucky whispers into the dark.
“Don’t even know how to talk about what they did to me Stevie. It was so awful I just find myself tryin not to think about it at all or I’m at risk of breakin down right out in the open.”
Steve squeezes his eyes tight against the sting of tears and presses his nose into Bucky’s hair. He’s trying to think of something comforting to say when Bucky is talking again.
“You know when you first showed up and I was on that table, honest to God I thought I was dead at first. There was just no way you were there in the flesh, healthy and whole. A real knight in shining armor for me.” Steve smiles softly into Bucky’s hair at that. Bucky continues. “Then after we got back and everything settled, it started to hit me that you probably weren’t gonna need me any more. I’d always been the one takin care of you when you were sick or hurtin after a fight with someone twice your size. And now here you are, a brick house of perfect health come to save us all. And you weren’t gonna need little old me to care for you no more. And worse then, I’m probably the one needing care now. And I just was so torn up thinking you weren’t gonna bother with me no more.”
Bucky has wrapped his arms over Steve’s arm that’s around his chest, squeezing tight. Steve had been so focused lately on making sure Bucky was okay and safe and doing everything he needed to do, his body finally matching his sense of duty, that he hadn’t really stopped to think about the repercussions of him being healthy now. Not that he thought Bucky would want him to stay sick, but it was a shift in their dynamic that Steve had never really thought about existing till it was gone and the hole was staring him in the face. But the thought that Bucky was worried that Steve just kept him around cause he needed him was making him boil inside his chest.
He placed a forceful kiss onto the top of Bucky’s head. “Don’t start talkin nonsense Barnes unless you want me to beat your ass. Talk about me not bothering with ya cause I don’t need ya. You’re wrong on both accounts. I do need ya. You’re the only one who really keeps me out of trouble and ya know that. I’ll need ya by my side till the day I die you jerk. And second, I don’t keep ya around just cause I need ya I…” The words get stuck in his throat and not a minute too soon. He worries his lip a little, debating. Given the circumstances, an I love you between friends may not seem out of place. And it wasn’t like they hadn’t said it before, though it had been some time. But Steve feared that it might sound as much like a proclamation of undying devotion as it was. He was warring silently in his head, nose pressed back into Bucky’s hair when Bucky squeezed his wrist lightly.
“Me, too, Stevie. Me too.”
Steve let out a rush of breath. Oh. Did Bucky just... He couldn’t have. Steve opened his mouth to say something as Bucky turned in his arms to look at him, grey eyes gleaming in the low light.
“Sarge! Cap! Where ya at fuckers.”
Morita’s voice is low and approaching. Their watch must be ending. Steve reluctantly lets go of Bucky and they both stand, stretching their limbs. Morita and Falsworth are in sight now. Morita grins at them.
“Thought you two might be getting busy under the mistletoe. Few other ways to keep warm out here.”
Steve’s blush is replaced with a furrowed brow. “Mistletoe?”
Falsworth gestures to the bushes around them. “Mistletoe in its natural habitat.”
Bucky laughs softly and grabs Steve’s arm to drag him back to camp.
2015: 5
Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose tightly. If he turned his head to look through the cheap motel curtains he would see snow falling softly outside in big flakes. The street light was bathing the room in soft yellow light. It was the end of another very long day. An unsuccessful and long day. The sounds of the shower poured softly under the bathroom door. Sam always claimed it first when they would finally stop their searching for the day. Three months straight on the road, still no contact with Bu.. the Winter Soldier. Steve always tried to catch himself before calling him Bucky. Even in his own head. He was Bucky, physically. But was he still Bucky? It was hard to say. Sam kept telling Steve that after all the years of trauma, he might not be the Bucky Steve remembered anymore, and that he needed to accept it. Even though Steve knew it was true it still crept up into his brain like a compulsion that he had to push down. Just the chance that he was Bucky, somewhere deep under all those calluses and HYDRA armor… it made Steve’s brain feel like jello and his eyes swim just thinking about it. He’d never said it openly, but he knew he wasn’t very good at disguising his feelings for Bucky. God the guy barely even existed and Steve was like a lovesick puppy chasing after him across the country. He knew Sam knew what it was, he didn’t have to say it out loud, and Sam wouldn’t make him. He wasn’t even sure if he wanted to or could discuss it in the open. So many years of shoving his feelings deep into his chest until it physically hurt, that didn’t just go away. The fear that it might not be reciprocated, the anger and the jealousy thinking of Bucky being with someone else. And now, they’d been following him around the country, always ending up at some decimated HYDRA base that they didn’t even know existed until it was reduced to rubble, with nothing more than a flash of vibranium fleeing the scene to let them know they were on the right track. That part always confused Steve. Did Bucky want Steve to chase him? To potentially find him? There was no way he didn’t know they were on his tail, and there was no way he couldn’t outrun them, leaving even less than a trail of crumbs. But he was never quite in reach. Steve’s head was starting to throb thinking about it and he slid down a little more in the chair, letting his head hit the back rest and closing his eyes. He was nearly asleep when Sam emerged from the bathroom a few minutes later. He moved across the room to stand behind Steve and peer out the window at the thick snow.
“Gotta be honest, not how I thought I’d be spending my Christmas this year.”
Steve felt a pang deep in his chest but forced his eyes to stay closed. Shit. He hadn’t even realized it was Christmas. The days had been blurring together for a month or more now and he just wasn’t keeping track. Didn’t care to be honest. But of course Sam did. Sam had a family. People to spend the holidays with. People who loved him. And here he was standing in some dingy motel in… Wisconsin? Where were they anyways? Steve sighed a heavy breath.
“Fuck man. I honestly didn’t even remember it was Christmas.”
The statement wasn’t entirely true. He didn’t realize it was Christmas but only because he’d been pointedly ignoring the fact that Christmas was coming. Christmas had become some sort of weird trigger for Steve. It was one of those things he refused to admit bothered him. Despite all of Sam’s prodding, he still couldn’t bring himself to see a therapist for what Sam referred to as “rampant ptsd with a dash of depression”. He wasn’t sure if it was the fact that somewhere deep in his mind was the nagging thought that men don’t need to talk about their feelings, nor do they need help, that he grew up with. Or if it was the fear of being known. As much as he hated it sometimes, the Captain America persona was a really great way to hide your emotions. He could slip into that strong persona and push down the inferiority, hurt, and guilt that he felt simmer below the surface. He could choke on the low grade stabbing sensation he always felt in his heart when he put on the shield and ran off to be useful. But here, now, it was harder. He felt like he was becoming laid bare, the running across back roads and abandoned buildings slowly stripping his “uniform” off little by little. And now, it was Christmas. And he was trying to pretend it wasn’t. He knew Sam didn’t mean anything by it, but being forced to acknowledge it meant being faced with all the memories attached to the label. And god, those memories hurt the worst. Why? He never could figure out why they stung so bad, when he allowed himself to linger on them. Sure, he had celebrated Christmas. He loved it as a child. He could remember all the warm lights, the spiced food, the laughter and extra bit of something that would hang in the air in Brooklyn during the holidays. People's smiles were warmer, words kinder. And he and Bucky… He choked quietly on the sob that was worming it’s way up his throat. He and Bucky had had Christmases together. As children, in his mothers house, or the Barnes house. Surrounded by her love and comfort, trading small gifts they’d gotten with whatever they’d had. Steve could feel the exuberance that had painted itself across Bucky’s face when he would open his gifts from Steve, as if it was yesterday. It never mattered what they exchanged, just that they were together. And they’d had Christmases as men. Those were the bad ones. Bucky had borne the brunt of Steve’s emotional stuntedness when his mother had died, just a few months before Christmas. Steve had so desperately tried to crumble and let the earth swallow him up in those days. But Bucky… he’d always been there. He’d just stayed and stayed and stayed. Even when Steve knew he didn’t deserve it. Maybe it was just the fact that that terrible and haunting Christmas could still be considered their last “normal” Christmas together. It had been fake smiles by day and silent tears into Bucky’s chest by night, but at least it had been them, holed up together in that ramshackle Brooklyn apartment. The only Christmas they’d had together since then had been freezing in some German forest. Together, but barely. He shudders. His chest hurts. His head hurts. The feelings of hopelessness and wasted time are mingling with the heartache. But therein lies the problem; he knows he won’t stop, he couldn’t physically if he tried. Not when it’s Bucky. But it was really hitting home the way he’d dragged Sam into this mess and he didn’t deserve it. He’d been just ignoring the feelings of guilt, trying not to choke on them. But now realizing Christmas had snuck up to bite him in the ass… there was nothing for it. He tentatively opened an eye and looked up at Sam, still staring out the window with a wry smile.
“You’d do it for me.”
It’s all Sam says for the moment, all he needs to. Steve knows it’s true. Of course he would do it for Sam. Sam is his best friend. He’d do whatever he needed from him, no questions asked. Somehow it feels different though. The Avengers are really all Steve has (with the exception of Bucky if they ever catch up to him).
He worries his lip between his teeth. “Yeah but, you’re all the family I’ve got. I know you got people back in New York. Probably missing you something awful.” He knows he’s mumbling. Can’t help it. There’s too much emotion sitting in the back of his throat for him to speak loudly.
Sam just shrugs. “Family is family is family, man.”
Steve can’t really contain the quiver in his lip this time. He bites his tongue roughly to keep in the wet hiccup threatening to spill out. Sam, who can read Steve like a book and just seems to know everything anyways, reaches out and gives Steve’s shoulder a soft squeeze.
“Thanks.” Steve says softly. It’s not a lot. But it’s enough for now.
“Don’t get all sappy on me Rogers. Next thing I know you’ll be breaking out the mistletoe.”
Steve chuckles softly and is rewarded with a blinding Sam Wilson grin ™ . “You know, I was kind of thinking I might save my mistletoe for someone else, if we can catch him in time.”
2023: +1
Christmas in New York may have changed a lot over the years, but it was still cold. Steve is shivering lightly as he steps off of the elevator and heads down the corridor to his and Bucky’s apartment. He’d been keeping up with his early morning runs, as long as there wasn’t snow on the ground, despite the cold and the fact that Sam had tapped out a long time ago. He walks in and pauses quietly as he toes his shoes off, listening for signs of life. Hearing nothing, he can safely assume that Bucky is still sleeping. It is only eight, he thinks, and Bucky has had a fondness for sleeping in as he’s adjusted to life in the tower. Steve would if he could, but since the serum he just hasn’t found himself able too, and besides, his days feel better when he gets up and moves first thing. But he would never - could never - stop Bucky from sleeping as long as he wants. Or whenever and wherever he wants, really. Bucky sleeping at all these days, peacefully, is a miracle, and Steve staunchly refuses to deny him. He stares at Bucky’s door for a bit, hands resting on the back of the long couch in the living room, like he always does when he gets back from his runs. He feels the sigh creeping up before he can stop it. The longing in him, to be by Bucky’s side in that way he never could be, has been growing exponentially it seems over the past year. Sure, there have been a few nights here and there spent together in one of their beds, or even sometimes on the couch. But only following especially bad nightmares, and those were shrinking in number, for the both of them. Steve wanted so desperately every night as they went their separate ways, to just take Bucky by the hand and say ‘Please stay with me.’ To wrap him up and keep him warm as long as humanly possible. But they’ve been through so much together, and somewhere in Steve’s subconscious he’s been telling himself that the past six years have changed so many things for them, that if Bucky wanted him that way, he would have said. And Steve refuses to push Bucky into anything ever again, no matter how bad it hurts him. So he sighs again and shakes out his shoulders before he takes a quick, blisteringly hot shower, and starts making coffee. It’s another hour before Bucky comes stumbling out of his room, grumbling, and takes Steve’s coffee cup out his hand and adds cream to it, before planting himself in the overstuffed armchair that faces out the floor to ceiling windows. And Steve just lets him. He gets up and pours another cup of coffee and goes back to sit at their little breakfast bar, this time facing Bucky. They sit like that for a while, not talking, just watching the city crawl by down below them, sipping on coffee that does nothing for them but taste like nostalgia. Bucky breaks the silence.
“It’s movie night tonight.”
He’s still looking out the window. It’s a small declaration that doesn’t really require a response, but Steve gives a groan as one anyways. Not that he doesn’t enjoy movie night, don’t get him wrong. The fact that they can all get together and just… be. Doing something that doesn’t involve life and death, it’s wonderful. But movie night is always an ordeal. Tony orders too much food but usually not something everyone actually wants to eat. Clint and Sam fight over the movie choices, usually settling on whatever Natasha told them to play in the first place. At some point, Tony will panic that he forgot to send the car to pick up Peter, and Pepper will soothe him and say that she already did it. And then everyone will fight over who sits where, even though they all end up the same way every time. Natasha and Clint take the reclining double wide armchair. Bruce, Wanda, and Peter take the reclining couch in the back, and Bruce will fall asleep no later than halfway through the movie. Tony and Pepper take up a whole couch in the middle, because Tony will not watch a movie unless he’s laying down and nobody can find a reason to fight him on it. And Sam, Steve, and Bucky take the sectional in the front, Sam reclining on the L, and Steve and Bucky seated on the loveseat. And tonight is Christmas Eve, so it’s going to be a holiday movie.
Bucky turns to Steve and cocks his head at him. “Thought you liked movie nights?”
“I do.” Steve takes a long drag of coffee. “Just a lot of work to get to the good part sometimes.”
Bucky hums softly before saying quietly, “I like them. Nice to feel normal again, you know.”
Steve feels soft. It had taken so long for all of them to become a family, the longest for Bucky to feel like he belonged. He’d spent the first of many movie nights, standing with his back against the door of the theater room, cloaked in shadow. Eventually Steve had coaxed him to sit next to him on the couch, now he sat in the middle, pressing between Steve and Sam.
Steve gave him a sappy smile. “You deserve a normal Buck. Least of all a normal Christmas.”
Bucky snorts. “Don’t think we’ve had too many of those Stevie.”
Steve smiles and raises his mug in ascension. “That we haven’t.”
Sure enough, Clint is arguing with whoever will listen to him about why they should watch Home Alone as the Christmas movie, saying it’s the… GOAT? That can’t be right, Steve thinks, before he gets distracted by the fact that Tony has ordered three different types of cuisine for them: pizza, chinese, and indian. At least there’s variety, Steve thinks. Luckily, Peter is already there so that’s one less thing for everyone to worry about. Steve and Bucky just stand in the doorway for a minute, observing the quiet chaos surrounding them. Bucky is smiling that small smile he sometimes gets that he once told Steve was when he could feel he was making new memories, and Steve feels himself going all hot and melty on the inside. Keep it together, Rogers. Just another movie night, same as always. Sit, watch the movie, don’t touch Bucky as much as possible. He’s so focused on hyping himself up internally that he misses the fact that Bucky has made his way to the food table to chat with Pepper and help her unload boxes, and that Sam is approaching him with another Sam Wilson grin ™.
“Missed you on the run this morning.” Steve says into the hug Sam squeezes him into.
Sam rolls his eyes dramatically. “Come on man, it’s Christmas Eve and it’s negative something-that-shouldn’t-be-allowed out there. I know you didn’t really expect me to get my ass whooped today.”
Steve laughs lightly. “No I guess not.” He relaxed his shoulders. Talking to Sam always put him at ease. He felt like he was truly himself around Sam, nearly the same way he was with Bucky. Maybe it was because Sam could read him like a book in a way that really only Bucky had before him. Which most of the time was a good thing, but sometimes it felt like it was gonna get Steve into trouble.
“So,” Sam starts, taking a moment to give the back of Bucky a pointed glance, and turn back to Steve. “I seem to recall quite some years ago that you’ve been saving up your mistletoe for someone. And yet here we are, about eight Christmases later for you, and at least three for him.” He fixes Steve with a look like he’s trying to read his soul. Steve feels himself blushing lightly and curses under his breath.
“I think if it were going to happen it already would have, you know? Don’t wanna be just another guy not allowing him agency.” Sam frowns at him with narrowed eyes. Not like he thinks Steve’s lying, because he’s not. But like he can tell he isn’t telling the whole truth, which he isn't. Steve swallows hard and says, quieter. “Feel like I missed my window on this one Sammy.”
Sam’s eyes soften at him before he starts to laugh. Steve furrows his brow at him. Sam grips his shoulder and gives him a light shake. “God I love you Rogers, but sometimes you’re a damn idiot.”
Steve looks at him incredulously as he continues. “You’d have to be a blind man to not see the way that man looks at you. I think he’s just been waiting for you to get your act together.”
Steve huffs at him. That wasn’t right. He surely would be able to tell if Bucky still felt, or ever felt for that matter, that way about him. He opens his mouth, and then shuts it again before he even says anything. Sam just laughs again lightly and grins brightly.
“Think it may be time to break out that mistletoe, man.”
Pepper is giving Bucky a very intense side eye, and he is very pointedly ignoring her. Well he ignores her until she bumps her hip against his, ‘accidentally’.
“Something I can help you with?” He continues to look at the table in front of them, pulling the food out of bags and boxes and arranging it on the table for easy access. Pepper rolls her eyes at him and says nothing, but affixes him with a glare.
Bucky sighs at her, but his lips are quirking up in a small smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
She shakes her head in exasperation. “I just want to know what you’re up to. Don’t tell me you’re not. I know what a man who is up to something looks like.”
He looks over at her. She’s a ball of fire in a poised casing. And she can read Bucky like an open book. It was long ago that she first stopped him in the communal kitchen, a soft hand on his arm and a softer smile on her lips, whispering, “How long?” He’d ducked his head shyly then and mumbled something incoherent in response, glancing up first at her, then at Steve, laughing and chatting easily at the dining table. She’d only patted him softly in response, and hadn’t pushed him. But since then he knew she watched them, him. And the past few months his feelings had… intensified. His life had been long and hard in many ways, but something had shifted in the past six years with Steve. Something that he didn’t know how to interpret. Sure, he’d loved Steve since he’d known him. Sometimes it felt like he’d loved him even before he’d known him, since the day he was born. But there had been so many reasons to keep it to himself before. And then came the middle, where he forgot his own name, but somehow couldn’t forget those ocean eyes. And then it felt like the world was really gonna end this time, just when he and Steve were finally becoming some kind of normal. Only it didn’t. And they were normal. As normal as two 100 year old super soldiers with PTSD could be. But Bucky could feel something was shifting, even if he didn’t know what it was. And he couldn’t take it anymore. He’d decided he had to be honest about how he felt, and hoped to god it wouldn’t ruin their friendship when Steve didn’t feel the same way. Because even the pain of Steve not returning his feelings was more welcome than the pain of keeping them locked in his chest. Bucky had vowed some years ago that he was never going to push himself into his head like that again, even if it made things worse.
So he turned to Pepper and offered her as easy of a smile as he could. “I don’t got plans, really. Not the way you think I do anyways.”
She grins a little brighter. “But…” she pokes at his ribs lightly with her fingertip and he laughs.
“But something.”
Pepper looked like she was going to ask something else, but Bucky gave her a mischievous grin and turned to where Clint and Nat were staring each other down in the middle of the room and announced, “I think we should watch It’s a Wonderful Life.”
Immediately all the heads in the room turned towards him. Bucky rarely offered an opinion about what movie they watched, even when asked point blank. And he had NEVER suggested a movie before. He smiles softly at the attention and continues.
“It came out the year after, you know,” He inclines his head towards where Steve is still standing next to Sam and raises his eyebrows insinuating they should know what he means. And they all do, obviously. “I’ve still never seen it. I think that would be a good Christmas movie.”
Pepper wraps an arm around his waist from behind and squeezes. “Then that’s what we’re watching. No questions asked.”
And no questions are asked. Everyone settles happily, grabbing food and going to their normal places without argument. Steve settles against the arm of the couch, tucking his legs under him. Bucky comes and settles next to him, bringing one of the pizzas, not bothering to bring plates or anything. He knows he and Steve will have it finished in the next two minutes. FRIDAY dims the lights and starts the movie. After placing the pizza box on the floor, empty, Bucky turns and stretches his legs along the couch, his back pressing up against Steve's shoulder. He pretends he doesn’t notice the way Steve’s breathing picks up. Instead he ‘innocently’ shifts back a little more, pushing his back against Steve’s shoulder and slipping down so his head can rest near Steve’s neck. Slowly, creeping, inching, Steve brings his arm out from where it’s plastered against Bucky’s back, and wraps it across Bucky’s chest. Bucky feels the smile creeping up his chest as his heart pounds against Steve’s forearm. He turns his head to nuzzle it into Steve’s shoulder, pressing his cheek there and breathing in the scent of Steve, his cologne and soap smell clinging to his t-shirt. Steve’s breath hitches lightly when he looks down at Bucky. Bucky pretends he doesn’t feel Steve’s gaze on him, and lets him stare, a soft flush creeping it up into his cheeks. Then, just as slow and creeping, Steve presses his nose into Bucky’s hair. Not really kissing, but just breathing Bucky in. They don’t move for the rest of the movie.
The silence is comfortable as Steve and Bucky walk back to their apartment. Bucky’s hand casually brushes against Steve’s a few times on the way out of the elevator, heading down the hallway. Steve tells himself it’s just an accident. It happens when you’re two broad men walking down narrow hallways or through doorways side by side. He shouldn’t let it get his heart all fluttery like it does and he wills the feelings down, trying to push them out of his chest and into his stomach at the very least. They get to their door and Bucky hesitates for the barest moment with his hand on the doorknob. Anyone who wasn’t watching Bucky as close as Steve was always watching Bucky wouldn’t have even noticed. Steve was opening his mouth to ask Bucky what was wrong when he seemed to square his shoulders resolutely, and pushed open the door. Steve stepped into their apartment behind him and his jaw dropped. Taped to their ceiling, seemingly almost one per square foot, is dangling sprigs of what is unmistakably mistletoe. Steve takes a few slow steps in and just keeps staring at the ceiling, mouth open.
“Wha…?” Is all he gets out after a long silence.
Bucky just stands quietly, a few feet in front of him, fingers twisting together in front of him the only thing giving away that he’s at all nervous, his expression remaining an easy smile. Eventually Steve drags his eyes off the display and to Bucky’s face.
“Buck. Did you do this?” A pretty stupid question really, who else would have done it?
“That’s a pretty stupid question, Rogers. Who else would have done it?” Bucky grins at him a little more playfully and Steve huffs an indignant sounding laugh.
Bucky steps forward slowly, speaking in a low tone. “Well I didn’t do it alone. Pepper and Nat helped. I was worried you were gonna find out before the end of the night… Or that you might, I don’t know, hate it.” Bucky reaches out and takes Steve’s hands in his very gently, sweeping his thumbs across Steve’s knuckles. He ducks his head down out of Steve’s gaze. Steve hasn’t said anything else and is just kind of searching Bucky’s face in shock. Bucky did this… for him? Why? I mean another stupid question. There’s really no interpretation needed for something like this. But he’s just shocked. He’s also very distracted by the way Bucky looks at this moment. He’s always thought Bucky was the most beautiful man - no, PERSON - he ever laid eyes on. But now, in the soft lights of the Christmas tree and the city lights pouring in through the windows. He’s bathed in a soft yellow glow, a blush resting high on his cheeks, his eyes sparkling. Gorgeous.
“What did you say?” Bucky’s brow furrows at Steve. Shit. He said that out loud. It’s been so many years holding it together, somehow always managing to pull himself off the edge and not say what he always felt when he looked at Bucky. And here he was just letting it slip. Well, he thinks, maybe it’s time to stop backing down.
“I said you look gorgeous.” He meets Bucky’s eyes and gives him a soft smile, willing himself not to turn bright red. Bucky bites his lower lip lightly and oh god. If Steve wasn’t already gone on him he definitely would be now.
Bucky grasps his hands a little tighter. “Stevie I… Everyone has told me for years now, that there’s nothing wrong with asking for what I want. What I need. So I just need you to know that I have wanted to kiss you under the mistletoe at every Christmas we ever spent together.” He says it in a rush, gripping Steve’s fingers tightly.
Steve opens his mouth. Shuts it. Opens it again. He can feel tears prickling behind his eyes and his throat getting thick, not to mention his brain feels like jello. He feels like an idiot for not saying something sooner. Was he really dense enough to have missed the fact that Bucky had apparently loved him since they were children? Why had he ever thought the risk of rejection was worse than keeping it all in. He squeezes his eyes shut and swallows roughly before opening back up to Bucky’s expression getting a little more nervous, his brows knitting together. Well, that won’t do. So he swallows his pride, his nerves and dips his head towards Bucky, just barely brushing their noses together. He’s millimeters from Bucky’s lips and he hears his breath hitch lightly.
“I think we’ve waited long enough.”
And the soft, then insistent, and hot press of Bucky’s lips and eventually tongue against his, Bucky’s fingers carding through his hair and the way his breath gets caught in his throat when Steve slides his hands over his shoulders, back, and ass, it’s definitely worth the waiting. When Bucky is tugging him by the shirt, hand, hair, towards his room, Steve thinks that if he can keep on kissing Bucky, it’s gonna feel like Christmas every day.