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Team USA Soccer @ussoccerpr
Congratulations to your 2019 FIFA Women's World Cup Champions! Team USA couldn't do it without your support—and Captain Carol Danvers has a special thanks for all of our fans!
[[still image from video, Carol sitting in front of a red, white, and blue background, the Women's World Cup logo in the bottom right]]

Steve Rogers @stevegrogers
@cdanversscore Hey Danvers, big fan here. We're hosting a little training camp for kids in two weeks. We'd love to give it some real legitimacy by having you and other @uswnt players join us. Whaddya say? 🇺🇸🏆

— ⚽ —

If there's anything better than a soccer pitch on a hot day under clear blue skies, Steve can't imagine it.

Well, that's a lie. It's a fuckin' steamer out today. The wet grass sticks all over his sweaty legs and hands, and it would be a lot nicer if it was fifteen degrees cooler. But he has his positive-thoughts line ready for the press before he can escape into the air conditioned locker room and take a shower.

But that is still—he glances at his watch—at least a half-hour away. Probably closer to an hour. Steve takes a deep breath, squirts a stream of water from one of the many water bottles around into his mouth, and heads back to a knot of kids who are swarmed around Sam Wilson.

"Hey, Sam!" Steve calls out as he jogs over, waving to his teammate. "Looks like you need some help!"

Sam grins and now actually puts in the effort of getting the soccer ball away from the kids, arcing it precisely over their heads to Steve, who neatly catches it in his feet and starts dribbling around the kids, who are excited to have a new player to fight for control. For the next few minutes Steve and Sam pass the ball between them, a skilled game of keep-away that will probably sound kind of cruel when he describes it to his mother. They're not alone in this game: Luke Cage lets a couple of kids dangle from his biceps; Clint Barton and Scott Lang let the little ones try to climb up their backs for piggyback rides; and in goal, Peter Quill let kids try pull-ups on the crossbar. These aren't the kind of soccer skills they advertised teaching to the children, but Steve thinks that the kids will like this better than strict instruction.

His group of mini soccer stars finally get the upper hand as Sam loses his footing and topples to the grass. Steve imagines the sound of "Taps" playing as Sam is covered in kids, like ants overwhelming their prey. He turns away, shielding his eyes as he looks down to the other end of the field, where the women's team is handling the little girls who have come out for today's clinic.

Originally, it was only the men's national team hosting the clinic. The team set it up months ago. While the Federation meant for it to be co-ed for the kids attending, sign-ups tended mostly towards boys, and not nearly in the numbers they were hoping for.

And then two things happened: the Women's World Cup, and Alexander Pierce, president of the US Soccer Federation, hired Pepper Potts for PR. She saw what clearly needed to be done, so they brought in some of the women who last month pulled off a fuckin' repeat championship on the world; lo and behold, the attendance for both girls and boys spiked to levels the USSF expected.

It's surprising to Steve how women's soccer is still seen by many as inferior. Particularly here in the US, where even the fact that he is Captain of the US Men's National Team doesn't blind him to the fact that the women's side performs at far higher levels. Their four championships to the men's nil speaks to that. Steve's happy to help shine a spotlight on his peers.

He glances at his watch; it's coming up on the end of the event, so it's time for one last game.

"Last shots!" he calls out, making big arm gestures to get the kids to start gathering around the goal. "Here's how we play. You each take a ball and line up at the top of the box. Scott will help you. Sam, Luke, Clint, and I will get on the goal line. We still can only use our feet and heads. No hands like real goalies and no bodies either. You all shoot at once, and we'll see how many of you can score on us."

The boys look a little suspicious at all the bodies lining up at the top of the penalty area , but Scott gets them in line, makes sure everyone has a ball—which the kids get to take home with them, and Steve is sure he will be signing every single one before they leave—and once the four men on the line have their hands behind their backs, Lang whistles for the shots to fly.

Predictably, a few go outside the goal altogether, and many find the feet of the "goalies". One or two don't quite make it all the way to the goal. But there are enough that sneak between them; Steve and Clint go for a couple of the same shots at the same time, which means others get past, more than half the balls reaching the back of the goal. Even a few of the ones that were stopped initially get follow-throughs and end up behind the netminders.

Steve claps his hands and high fives the little guys, and then they jog en masse over to the center circle at the halfway line. When they start spreading out, Steve whistles loudly to catch the attention of the women at the other end; within a few minutes, the players are leading all the kids in a cool down, helping them to learn to stretch safely.

He's not the oldest on the men's national team, or on his own club team, but Steve feels his age more keenly today, up against these kids with their endless energy. While it wasn't as taxing a workout as a regular practice, with far less running around than normal, Steve feels tired from the mental exhaustion of leading the clinic, minding the children. Steve gains a bit more respect for all his coaches through the years—especially the ones from when he was seven and had that boundless energy.

Cool down ends with everyone lining up to shake hands and thank each other for a great day. Steve can't help but notice that even though no such instruction was given, the two lines of kids are split between boys and girls, and the national teams' players have followed suit. Steve holds the frown off his face in lieu of his Deadspin-dubbed All-American Smile as they start to herd the kids back to their water bottles and bags. This clinic could still have been two separate ones for boys and girls, which doesn't sit right with him.

An intern waits with a fistful of sharpies. As the kids pack up, Steve starts roaming around, singing balls and shirts and cleats when requested. He answers questions for the shyer kids who took the whole time to find the nerve to speak up, and he poses for a whole lot of selfies and group shots. Finally, the last kid skips off the field with a bouncing ponytail and more energy than Steve can even imagine right now; in relief Steve bends at the hips, his hands dropping to brace against his knees.

"Jesus," Steve mutters. He hears some laughter coming up behind him. A hand slaps his lower back, and Steve stands again, turning to look around to see who's there.

"At ease, Cap," Sam Wilson says with a laugh. "Those kids wear you out?"

"I do not remember having that much energy at their age," Steve says, shaking his head. "I might get my mom a big thank you-slash-apology gift for all the times she let me drag her out to our tiny backyard to play."

Sam grins. "I'm pretty sure you've paid her back plenty, man." Steve nods as Sam gives him a little shove. "Come on, Lang brought orange slices!" he teases as he jogs off the field.

Steve shakes his head, chuckling, then strides to the sidelines where he'd dropped his bag earlier this morning. He waves to a group of the women who'd joined them, smiling as Lewis, Carter, Hilde, Foster, and Danvers wave back at him. He walks over for a proper hello.

"Hey gang, I'm so glad you all came out today. Sorry we didn't get to chat before the start," he says, "or even really officially meet." He's met a couple of the women's team before, including Danvers and Foster, but the other three he only knows from watching their games. He knows them as much as casual fans do.

"I'm Steve Rogers," he offers, holding out his hand to anyone who wants to shake it.

Danvers does first, grinning brightly at him. "Carol Danvers," she says, like he doesn't know. He grins back at her and shakes her hand firmly. The others quickly follow suit. He can't help but feel a little starstruck around these champions—some of them, like Danvers, have won multiple championships and Olympic medals. Jane Foster was on the last World Cup team, along with Val Hilde, while Darcy Lewis and Sharon Carter are new to this year's champion squad.

"Carter," he says, like he hasn't been thinking about this for months since the World Cup hype made this team household names. "Any relation to Peggy Carter out at Stanford?"

Sharon shakes her head, with a look so blank he realizes she must not have ever even heard of Peggy. "Sorry," she says.

"Nah, wild chance. She played there at the same time as me, coaches now." Sharon's eyes still reflect uncertainty, so Steve decides to back off it a bit. "You might have been playing a bit after her peak," he offers, with what he hopes is an affable smile.

"I've got a boyfriend," she says carefully. Steve can sense that the other women are trying to hold back snickers. He wasn't even considering going down that road; he's caught so off-guard that he splutters defensively, absolutely not helping his case that he wasn't looking into that sort of thing.

"I should go grab a drink, start getting my stuff together." He figures retreat is his safest play here. "I really appreciate you all coming out today, and I hope our teams can do some more stuff together soon!"

And he walks briskly away from the women, who all look far too amused. He doesn't run. Not even a jog. Nope.

At the sidelines there's a tub of ice and bottles of Powerade. Steve digs in to grab a yellow one, twisting off the top and gulping down half the contents without pausing for a breath. He swallows and heaves a sigh of exasperation, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. He's still working on the social side of being a captain, and that little bit of awkwardness sure didn't help his confidence. Add that to the pounding late July heat and he's a red, sweaty mess. He lifts the bottom of his shirt to wipe at the sweat on his face.

"Put those abs away, Rogers, they're too dangerous."

Steve drops his shirt and smirks. "Not to you, Danvers."

She smirks back and winks at him. "Not at all. So this went pretty well today, huh?" She runs a hand through her short cropped hair, then looks at it with a scrunched, displeased face. "Gross. Well, I had fun, Cap, did you?"

Steve's smirk loosens into a grin. "I sure did, Cap." He takes another sip of his drink, a little calmer this time. "Did they run you as ragged as they did me?"

Carol laughs, a deep and full laugh. It draws him in as her eyes sparkle. "Hell yeah. They're all trouble, I can imagine how riled up we got them."

"I thought exercise was supposed to tire kids out."

She shakes her head. "Nope," she said, popping the 'p'. "My best friend's got a great little kid, but she is always so...much." She waves her hand. "Hey, look, I didn't come over to talk about the kids, actually. I've been noodling on this idea, and I was wondering if it might interest you."

Steve frowns, but nods, gesturing for her to continue.

"I mean." Danvers turns from him a bit to look back towards the group of her teammates she'd left, and then at the separate group of Steve's teammates gathered at least ten yards away. "We do this thing together, but we're still separate, you know? And today we worked with the girls and you guys worked with the boys."

"Yeah. I realized it too late. I wish I'd said something. If we do this again, I'll definitely make sure we mix things up more."

Danvers nods. "That's cool, yeah, but I actually had an idea for something else entirely." She takes a breath, setting herself in front of him squarely. It reminds him of high school, when he had to make presentations and needed to get his shit together so he didn't mess up what he wanted to say.

"I've been thinking about starting a podcast. About soccer, because what else do I do with my life, y'know?" She grins, sticking out her tongue slightly. "I was trying to figure out how I could do it best, and it struck me that maybe you could do it with me? Get both captains talking about soccer, giving insights to our teams and training and...I dunno, everything?" Her stance relaxes a bit, but it takes him a moment to realize she's waiting for his response.

"Uh." He is a genius, clearly. "Wait, so, uh, a podcast?"

She lifts a corner of her mouth. "Yeah. You listen to them, right? I was thinking if you did it with me, that could help show some of the personality of the men's team, make you guys less boring—"

"Hey!" He has to stand up for his boys, even if he absolutely understands where she's coming from. "And yes, I listen to podcasts. History, usually. World War II and stuff."

He didn't realize it was possible for someone to roll their eyes as deeply as Danvers rolls hers. "See? Boring. Rog—Steve. I'm gonna call you Steve. Steve, you should do this with me. You know your shit and I know you want to give the team a better rep."

Danvers—Carol, he supposes he should call her now—isn't wrong, not in the slightest. "So, let me get this straight. It's you and me, talking about the beautiful game and the national teams?"

"And our clubs, and like, doing both can work together? It's complex, people don't always understand. Hardcore fans do better than most, but we could reach deeper if we make it less mysterious, right?"

The idea is percolating in his mind—he finds it isn't all that wild. "How often do you think we'd record?"

"Oh, I dunno. Maybe once or twice a month? I'm sure we won't be able to make it a weekly, but I think most of the good podcasts I'm hooked on try to update every other week. Sometimes having too many weeklies can get overwhelming." Carol bounces on her toes, and Steve can't help but grin at her barely restrained enthusiasm.

"I'm willing to give it a try," he says. She pumps her fist and then holds it up for him to bump, which he does with a laugh.

"Excellent. I am a go-getter, or so I've been told, so I'll work on details so all you have to do is show up when I tell you, does that sound good?"

"Yeah," Steve says, her enthusiasm starting to get him amped up about the whole idea. "Here, let me get my phone so I can get your number and email?"

"Why Steve," she says, batting her eyelashes at him, "I thought you'd never ask!"

— ⚽ —

Practice and a game take up the next couple days, but Steve manages to get a half-hour with his agent. Natasha Romanoff approached Steve in high school even before he'd had the talk with his mother about going pro after school. Not that his mom had been at all shocked by this, but the point was, Natasha understood Steve's hopes and dreams. She made sure that when the scouts came for him, he was ready with the best highlight reel and a slick presentation.

Steve's first choice was not Philadelphia, but they ended up drafting him and supported him while he finished his degree at Stanford, and he's genuinely never regretted it for a second. Natasha brought them in despite Steve's teenage skepticism, so he's trusted her implicitly since. If she brings him a sponsor or an event, he says yes. If he gets approached directly, he takes it to her before he gives a firm answer.

So, obviously, he needs to confirm with her that this podcast thing isn't a career killer.

"I love it."

She sits behind her desk, feet up on it as she leans back in her chair with practiced balance. She must have meetings alone with her clients today, because she's in leggings and an oversized t-shirt, red hair in a messy braid that falls over her shoulder casually. Steve suspects that Natasha puts as much—if not more—effort into this look in the morning as she does when donning her impeccably pressed suits and not one strand of hair is out of place.

"No, really, I think it's magnificent. I'm mad I didn't think of it first." Natasha sits up, letting her bare feet land softly on the floor. "I have been trying for years for you to get your personality front and center, Rogers. Now people will start to see the real you."

"Oh, shit," Steve mutters, trying to put a joking spin on the reaction, but it's more honest than he likes. He picks up the softball she displays on a side table, tossing it gently in his hand. Jennie Finch signed it; Natasha played softball in high school, so it makes sense that she's a fan of the Olympian.

Natasha shakes her head. "Steve, my dear, I don't understand why you hide so deeply in yourself when it comes to the public. You're fun! You're funny! I still want you on SNL—"

"Nat, soccer isn't popular enough for SNL," he says, tired at retreading this topic.

"Men's soccer isn't. But if you get to the Olympics, and if you are entertaining enough—maybe take off your shirt—you can get Leslie Jones to bring you on like she did with some of the women's hockey gals after they won gold." Natasha points at him and looks stern. "So my whole plan for you is riding on a gold-goddamn-medal, Rogers."

Steve blinks.

"No pressure."

"Right," Steve says, feeling intensely pressured, but hey, what else did he expect from a visit with his agent?

Natasha leans back again and gestures to him. "Tell me more about this podcast. You bringing on guests? Is it only about the national team?"

Steve nods, then shakes his head. "I think the idea is for club and country." He grins when she rolls her eyes at that old chestnut. "And yeah, we'd have some guests on. Carol's so outgoing, I think she'd have her own talk show if she thought it'd work well."

"But she thought it'd be better with you," Natasha points out, a satisfied smile on her face. Something about cats and canaries drifts through Steve's mind. "How well do you know her?"

"Not very," Steve admits. "We've met at a few functions, but the men's and women's teams have never done much together." He describes their more personable meeting at the camp.

Natasha taps her fingers on the desk. "Interesting. So she already had the idea, even though she didn't know you very well at all."

"I think Carol Danvers has a long game planned. I'm glad I'm not in her way." Natasha's smile sharpens, and he gets the feeling that she likes Carol a lot. "You'll give me her contact information? I'll have to find out who her agent is, but I think it's Goose."

Steve blinks. "Goose?"

"She's a bit particular about her clients, not really well known personally, but on a professional level she's kind of a legend." There's a hint of rare awe in Natasha's voice. "I'll have to get in touch. We want this to be all clean and breezy." She makes some notes on her laptop. "Also, to help with that, are there any subjects that you don't want to touch?" She types for a few more moments before she looks up at Steve's silence. "Well?"

Steve puts the softball back and strolls, too casually, around the perimeter of the office. "What do you mean?"

Natasha shrugs. "I don't know. Should we make sure the show avoids talking about your dad dying as a kid? Do you want to avoid anything that gets close to political? Do you want to stay clear of any personal stuff entirely?" She gives him a little smile. "I hope not that one, though."

There's a certain topic that looms in Steve's mind. "No, I don't mind getting personal. Or even political, to an extent. I'm sure the Federation's gonna have some thoughts on how far that goes for either of us, though."

"All right. Even anything small? If we can bring it up now, it'll make it less likely to be awkward if it comes up in conversation."

It's not small, but it doesn't have to be big, either. "Maybe. I don't know if Carol would go down that road, though."

Natasha stands up and walks over to Steve, putting a hand on his arm. "Steve, you can trust me with everything. I hope you will. You're a great client, and I don't mind if there's something messy about you, since it's so rare."

The way she looks into his eyes, he almost wonders if she knows. But then, as an agent, she probably wants all his skeletons out of the closet (oh god, phrasing!) and bared so she can figure out either where to bury them or how to dress them up so they're less scary.

Still.

"No, it's nothing. And nothing's off the table from my side of things. I'm happy to follow Carol's lead, really."

Natasha gives him one more beat to change his mind, then nods and heads back to her desk. "Perfect. This is why I love ya, Rogers. You're a dream! No drama, and you bring shit to me instead of demanding me to bring you more stuff."

Steve laughs softly and pulls out his phone. "Let me get you Carol's info so you can reach out."

And like that, it's settled: Steve is doing a soccer podcast.

— 🎙 —

Carol says she doesn't know anything about podcasting, but she is determined and clever. Two weeks later she emails Steve that they can call each other while she records it, and that can be enough to get started.

Steve doesn't know how to do a podcast either, but he suspects that the really good ones are more than recordings of phone calls.

Even if they don't get a great following, he'll probably learn some stuff, make a friend. So he calls her at the time she sets up, confirms they can hear each other clearly, and then they start.

DANVERS & ROGERS, EPISODE 1 "IT'S A SOCCER PODCAST, BABY, JUST SAY YES"

Timestamp: 00:00:00

CAROL DANVERS: We should get a theme song. Are you musically inclined?

STEVE ROGERS: Uh, no. No I'm not.

CD: That's a shame. [clears throat] Anyway. Hi! I'm Carol Danvers, and if you're listening to this podcast then you probably know that I play soccer for a living. I'm captain of the US Women's National Team, and captain of the Philadelphia Marvels. I've thought about doing a podcast for a while, but I don't think most people want to listen to me blather on alone for an hour every week or two, so I had to find someone to co-host with me. I finally found the right person and bullied him into joining me—

SR: [laughs softly]

CD: —so hey, welcome aboard to Steve Rogers! Steve, wanna tell all my fans about you?

SR: Hah, yeah, sure. I'm basically you, right? I also play soccer, captain of the US Men's National Team and the Philadelphia Forge. And Carol absolutely bullied me into being here today. She's the worst.

CD: Thanks, Steve. Love hearing from my fans.

SR: You planning to have, uh, callers in on this show, Danvers?

CD: It's not a radio show, Rogers.

SR: I know how podcasts work. [pregnant pause] Well, in theory.

CD: [snickers] In theory you know how to win a World Cup, too.

SR: [audible gasp] Holy shit, that is—

CD: I think I went too far.

SR: Ah. Look. Four to nil here, I can't exactly argue with you.

CD: Maybe not, but it's not like that's you, for all those years. And for as much as women's sports has a lot to work on here, the rest of the world has been playing catch-up to us. And boy have they been catching up, don't get me wrong. It's great. I love it.

SR: The tournament this year was absolutely phenomenal. Some of the best soccer I've ever seen. And you did pretty well, too, I guess.

[both laughing]

CD: Well, thanks. I'm glad you enjoyed that. We appreciated your support, tweets and stuff. It was nice to hear from the boys back home, y'know?

SR: It was absolutely my pleasure.

CD: And, hey, I did you dirty before, so let me say that your goal against Orlando last season in that second leg in the conference semis, that was. [lets out a breath] That was nasty and impressive, and I dreamed about it for, like, a month after.

SR: Ah, thank you! [soft laugh] Wish that game'd had a better outcome, but it was nice to add another play to my incredibly sparse offensive highlights reel.

CD: For those at home who don't know, and are wondering how the hell Steve's captain of the US team and doesn't have good offensive highlights, he is a defender, and a hell of a good one! So not many goals, but he's key to the whole, y'know, process.

SR: Yes, that process, Captain Danvers.

CD: Well, I shoot to win, baby. I'm not a defensive specialist. Tell me, Steven, how do you do the defense thing that you do?

SR: Gosh, I'm so glad you asked, Carol.

[Posted in the episode notes on USSoccer.com. Transcribed by Carol Danvers, August 2019]

When Steve gets the notice that the podcast is live—the episode has dropped—he's honestly a little surprised.

"You don't think it was terrible?" he asks her on the phone

"No way!" Carol says, sounding fairly delighted. "Dude, it was cool and chill. We weren't trying to do a lot, anyway."

Carol sends him numbers every few hours as the views increase. A few five-star reviews come in, more that are 3- or 4-star, but those seem to be deducting simply for the quality of the podcast itself, not the content or premise.

"It's cool," Carol says when they talk a few days later, ready to start thinking about the next episode. "We're both in Philly so I bet we could find some place to record. Plus Potts from PR called me to talk about making this a lot more formal—in how we produce it, not the format. So I think they're gonna fully back us and we'll do great!"

She pauses for a moment, then adds. "I mean. If you still wanna do this. If it wasn't your thing, please go ahead and tell me."

"I'm still in!" Steve asserts, surprised to find that he's almost defensive about how much he wants to keep doing this.

"You sure?" He can hear the teasing in her voice. "Because I can go, like, get Lang or Wilson. Oh man, Wilson'd be great at this..."

"Don't you dare!" Steve laughs as he protests, and so they agree: the Danvers and Rogers podcast will continue.

They record one more episode on their phones, in an effort to not let this totally drop off the radar while the PR and marketing departments get things more together. The first change, though, is the podcast title.

"We don't want to minimize that it's the two of you," Potts says on a Skype call one afternoon. Steve participates as he sits with his left leg in an ice bath with a trainer nearby timing him. Potts's cheeks are a bit pink; probably because he's shirtless. "But your team roles will be a bigger draw, and will also allow for changes in hosts once either of you have stepped down as captain."

"Steve, they're already planning to bench our old asses!" Carol cracks.

"Don't start rumors, Carol, there are ears everywhere."

Pepper touches her fingers to her forehead, seemingly mouthing the numbers one to ten. Steve chuckles once more, then asks, "What were you thinking of for the title then?"

"We're leaning towards 'Captain Americas'."

Carol twists her lips and hums, mulling it over. Steve squints as he thinks. "Shouldn't it be 'Captains America'? You know. Grammatically speaking?"

"Jesus you're a nerd, Rogers," Carol mutters, but Potts is nodding and making a note.

"A correct nerd," Steve mutters back.

"Other than grammar, any other objections?"

"We did record the next one as Dans and Rog just the other day," Carol points out, down to business again. Steve appreciates that a lot about her; he imagines it's part of why she's been so successful as a leader on her team. She can have fun, keep the mood light, but when it's time to get serious, she's there in an instant. Steve can be serious and get to work, but he probably needs to loosen up between those times. He hopes hanging around Carol Danvers will help with that.

"—can fully rebrand it once we get you in the studio," Potts says. "And speaking of that, we've got one picked out for you. We're working on the legal bits now. Carol, do you want to be the point of contact for that?"

"Sure. I'll loop Steve in when he has to know stuff," Carol says. Steve laughs at the tease—she already knows him well.

"Great. We're also working on hiring a producer for the show. That will take some of the work off you, Carol, so I think you'll like that."

Steve nods along, not too worried about bringing a third person on, he figures it'll be someone who can clean up their recordings and handle the posting. It will be good to take that job off Carol, for sure.

His trainer taps his watch and nods at Steve, so Steve pulls his leg out of the bath and puts the phone down to get a towel and dry off. After a moment, someone is calling his name, and he realizes he's left Carol and Potts staring at the ceiling.

"Sorry!" he says, picking up the phone again, grinning when they're both laughing at him. "Finishing up my remedies here. You need anything else from me today, ladies?"

Potts shakes her head. "You're fine, Steve. Thanks for joining us. We'll let you know when you can start recording in the studio!"

He says his goodbyes and thanks, ending the call and tucking the phone in his pocket as he heads back to the locker room to change back into street clothes.

— ⚽ —

The chime of a text message wakes Steve before his alarm. He squints his eyes harder against the sunlight that peeks in through his south-facing window. He forgot to draw the shade last night, not uncommon when he gets in after midnight and is too tired to think about how he might regret it in the morning.

His phone chimes again. He groans, rolling to his back and reaching over to grab his phone off the side table.

Carol Danvers: hey forgot to tell ya last night we gotta studio tour w the new prod today, 930. sorry!

The second text is the address of their rented podcasting studio, which Steve hadn't realized was a thing that one could rent. He's pretty sure most of his favorite podcasts are recorded in the hosts' home offices.

He texts her a confirmation that he'll be there on time, with an offer to bring her a coffee; she tells him her order with a kissy-face emoji. He laughs and puts the phone down again, stretching languidly in bed before he grunts and stumbles into the living room for his morning yoga routine. He's tried to get the team into it, but only a couple guys showed any interest. So much for team bonding in a hot yoga studio.

Breakfast, like most days when he's at home, is a protein shake that he long ago learned to find tasty. The address Carol sent him is about a half-hour outside the city, so he drinks it while he drives, listening to a peppy playlist on Spotify and thinking about the rest of his day after this meeting. He's got training with the club, then a video session with Coach Fury, and after all that there's a team dinner at Gabe's place. He thinks. Maybe it's at Schmidt's, but he's hoping not. That's not really the best attitude to have as a team captain, but the important part is that the attitude stays in his head and out of his mouth, off his face.

There's a Starbucks close to the studio where he buys Carol's coffee, adding one for himself as he finishes the shake. It's only nine-fifteen by the time he parks and heads into the building, but Sam's Wilson Family Mantra of there's no such thing as on time, you're either early or late constantly echoes in his mind.

Carol Danvers is loud, proud, and confident—some would call her arrogant—but when there's a job to be done there's almost no one he's met who is more focused. So that means as early as he is, Carol's already chilling in the lobby, one leg hooked up over the arm of the chair she's sitting in, grinning at him as he takes off his sunglasses.

"Rogers, you breath of fresh American air." Steve chuckles as he walks over to her, holding out her coffee. She takes it and lifts it to him in gratitude. She's still wearing her own sunglasses, which he imagines is out of a vague sense of privacy. Since the World Cup, she's recognized more frequently, which Steve doesn't envy in the least.

"That's what they call me," he says, sitting down next to her. No one ever calls him that. Not where he can hear it, anyway. "We still waiting on this producer?"

Carol nods, swallowing her mouthful of latte. "Yep. I already got the keys to our room, though, so once he's here we can head on in."

"So we aren't sharing it? It's not like we get it every 2 weeks on Thursday afternoons?"

"Nah, with our wacky schedules, Potts figured it made more sense to rent it full time. We'll make the money back through ads."

That surprised Steve. "Wait, we're gonna have ads? For what? And why? We aren't doing this to make money."

Carol looks like she was about to answer his first questions, when the last comment makes her snort. "Steve, babe, you're pretty but you're dumb." He sticks his tongue out at her, because he's also totally mature. "With all the calls for equal pay right now, including from me on this very podcast? Yeah there's no way they're gonna be spending more than totally necessary on this thing, not without trying to earn some back. So we'll hawk some mattresses and pre-portioned fresh meals and, I dunno, probably some Nike shit?" She shrugs. "It'll look good. And hey, if it gets us a place to do this with decent mics and an actual producer, I'm fine with adding more sponsor deals to my roster."

It shouldn't surprise Steve to hear Carol speak so easily on the business side of national team soccer—she's right, she spent twenty minutes of their very first show going through numbers of how the men's and women's teams are paid for the same or similar tournaments; at the end of it he'd admitted he hadn't really understood the gap in such clear terms. For Steve, being captain is mostly a field and locker room job, getting the guys focused in practice and games. He takes the job seriously, is proud every time he puts the band over his sleeve, but he now understands that for Carol the role of captain doesn't stop when everyone goes home.

He's about to say something on that point, but then the door opens and a man walks in, and Steve finds his attention utterly stolen.

The man's tallish, probably close to Steve's height, slimmer at the shoulders while still clearly in good shape. He looks more like a soccer player than Steve, whose shoulders are particularly broad. He's wearing a Team USA sweatshirt from the last winter Olympics, sleeves cut off to display his arms, which are well-defined; he thinks the left deltoid may have a tattoo on it, but it's facing away from Steve. Light blue shorts fall to his knees above tanned legs that end in some Nike slides. His brown hair is in a messy bun with bright red sunglasses slid up to rest on his head. There's stubble on his cheeks and chin. When he sees the pair of them he smiles a bright, toothy smile, and his eyes crinkle happily.

"Well shit. Until right now I figured there was a good chance I was being punked. But hell yeah, Steve Rogers and Carol Danvers!"

Steve stands up, smiling broadly as he holds out his hand to what must be their producer, while his mind very clearly whispers: Oh no. He's hot.

"Hell yeah yourself, ah...?" Crap, was he supposed to know this guy's name already from Carol; had he forgotten it?

"Bucky," says Bucky the Producer, shaking Steve's hand warmly, then turning to do the same for Carol, who is now at Steve's side, folding her aviators into her v-neck t-shirt. "Bucky Barnes," he says to her. "Great to meet you both at last. Big fan."

"Yep, that's why we picked ya!" Carol says, flashing a bright grin and a wink, all bold charm that Steve can't manage off the field. She holds up her left wrist, which has a red, curly plastic band with a key attached. "Let's go see what we've got to work with, huh?"

Bucky nods, his eyes darting between them both. "Yeah, sure. I brought my laptop so we could even do a little testing to give me practice balancing you two. Will keep us from having to stay later when you're recording the first time."

The office has about a half-dozen studios, each separated with walls of glass. One studio has a pair of women speaking animatedly into microphones, conveniently showing off the soundproofing. Their studio is at the end of the hall, with one other studio sharing a wall. Carol unlocks the door and flips on the light, further revealing the small space. A window is set into the one brick wall opposite the door, and an L-shaped desk stretches along the wall, then juts out into the middle of the room. Two microphones hang on a swinging arm, while three rolling desk chairs are spread around the desk. Bucky follows Carol in and nods, pulling his bag off his body and laying it on the desk along the wall.

"This is good. Simple, and there's room for guests." He looks back at Steve and Carol, and he cocks his head to the side slightly, one hand reaching up to rub at his shoulder, over the tattoo that Steve still hasn't gotten a good look at yet. "You plan to have guests, right? I think that's what they told me?"

Carol nods, hopping up on the edge of the desk in the middle of the room, reaching over to push at one of the mics. "Yeah, definitely. Probably teammates mostly, maybe the coaches, too?" She shrugs, looking back and forth between the two men. "We'll see! It can be kinda spontaneous."

Steve is fine with that, really, but he can see from Bucky's brief wince that he is a little less of a fan. He can also see that Bucky is still a little intimidated by them, not likely to speak up in the face of Carol's enthusiasm, so he gestures over and smiles. "Okay, so I'm still extremely new to this whole podcasting thing, and I'm not quite sure what a podcast producer really handles. What should we expect from you?" He gives a small smile. "And what do you expect from us?"

Bucky licks his lips, and whatever he starts to say is lost as Steve's brain shorts out a little. He blinks, pulling his eyes from Bucky's mouth and making his ears focus there instead.

"—pretty much anything else to help you stay on task through a recording. I can of course edit the recording to take out pieces you don't want to publish, but a clean recording that doesn't need cuts and splicing is easier to make ready for uploading."

"Soooo, spontaneous isn't gonna work so well for you, huh?" Carol says. "Okay, well, we'll figure that out."

Bucky smiles, casting a glance over at Steve and giving him an almost imperceptible nod of thanks. "It's not like I'm suggesting you script it out. Tangents are good and can make for a better show. But maybe we plan general topics and guests at least a month out?"

Carol pushes herself off the desk, standing again. "Sounds like we've got some work to do, Rogers," she says, clapping her hands together.

— 🎙 —

It's a blessedly cool night for late August in Philadelphia. The club has a light practice tomorrow before they jump on the plane to DC. Steve is relaxing tonight over at Sam's, and there's been enough alcohol imbibed to make the hot tub look enticing.

"I got extra trunks if you need 'em," Sam offers as he turns on the jets and checks the settings.

Steve shrugs. "You gonna get some?"

"Man, you know how many times I've been out here, just me and my junk? That's how we roll."

"I'll take that as a no, then," Steve says with a smirk. A few minutes later when the water's up to temperature, they both shuck their undies and climb into the dark water. They take corners next to each other—close enough to hear each other over the jets, far enough to maintain a safe Naked Bits Protection Zone. That old Vine jumps into Steve's head—two bros, chillin' in a hot tub. He hides a snicker behind a swig of beer, because no, neither of them are gay, but...well. He doesn't quite fit the spirit of the video, does he?

Sam lets out a groan. "Fuck, this feels good. Fury was up my ass this week."

"You're telling me." Steve leans towards Sam a bit more. "I'm so glad this is our last game against them this season. If I hear him yell at me about how Rooney's gonna cut and juke and ugh. I fucking know Rooney, okay Nick? Jesus. Only been playing against him with both teams for years." He rolls his eyes, shakes his head, while Sam laughs at him.

"But you're The Shield, Rogers! Our last line of defense! Except for Dum-Dum, but whatever, no one cares about keepers. Only you can stop Rooney goals." The last is said in a fair imitation of their coach, one eye squinted shut and all, which makes Steve laugh. He's really glad he came over tonight.

He eggs Sam on, goading him into doing other impressions of coaches and teammates. Sam's Rhodey is intensely on point, and his T'Challa is getting better. He can also absolutely nail Thor in the perfect exaggerated manner, which Sam does complete with standing and commenting on the sweet feel of a breeze on his "hammer", which is a phrase they have heard Thor say a frankly upsetting number of times in his first season with the team.

"Do you think," Steve asks, struck with the blinding brilliance of the slightly sloshed, "that Thor signed with us because. Y'know. Hammer. Forge? Like. Did he think it was some kind of destiny?" Sam laughs and gets way too close to an embarrassing injury as he slips and falls back into the water, so Steve never gets an answer to his question. That's probably for the best.

Sam finally settles back into his corner. "I need to get laid, Steve."

"Oh, so we're that level of drunk," Steve mutters, though loud enough for Sam to hear and laugh. "You tensing up, then, Wilson? Need a bit of relaxation, more than some beers in the hot tub with your best friend can give you?"

"Like, no offense man, but that's pretty much all I want from you, yeah?"

"Not offended, my friend."

"Nah, there's this girl I've been texting. I feel like we'll get it on soon enough, but our schedules aren't lining up."

And isn't that the hard truth of being a professional athlete while single? It's hard to meet people, unless you're only after something physical and don't mind if the other person isn't sitting around waiting for you while you're on road trips, when you're discouraged from "outside distractions" by the coaching staff. Unless you meet the right person who understands.

Peggy had understood, she'd understood all too well, which is why she'd broken things off when he'd signed with the club after college and it was clear they weren't going to waste time playing him on lower level teams. Since Peggy, he's dated a few women for some brief stints, but none lasted more than a season.

And men? Well they aren't for dating. Men are quick hookups in the off-season, in art circles where he isn't likely to be recognized as a pro athlete, while very appreciated for the physique his job's given him.

So Steve understands how Sam can feel a little hard up, even when he's got options.

"At least we're on the back end of the season now. Maybe we can get that first round bye, which can give you some time to at least meet up and talk face to face."

Sam smiles at Steve and holds up his bottle; Steve finishes the toast and they take deep pulls. Steve chugs the rest of his down and drops the empty over the side, wincing a little when he remembers there are some rocks as landscaping around the tub. All he hears is a soft thunk, so he assumes he hit grass or dirt safely.

"Hey, maybe I've got something that could distract you, at least?"

Sam raises his eyebrows at Steve. "Hit me, Cap."

"You should be a guest on this podcast I'm doing with Danvers." He beams at Sam and waits for Sam to lose his mind over what a good, smart idea Steve has.

Instead, Sam stares ahead, into the vortex of the swirling bubbles. "Huh."

"Oh, come on!" Steve shifts so he's closer to Sam, forgetting about the nudity. "Carol's pretty cool, and it'll be good for us to do stuff with the women's team. That's why I did it, right?" He reaches out and lightly punches Sam's shoulder. "She's already lining up some of her teammates, and, like the whole thing's her idea, so that's totally cool, but you guys should come around, too. And you should be first!"

Sam lets out a breath of a laugh and shakes his head. "Steve. What the hell would I even—?"

Steve shrugs. "I dunno. How you started playing the game. Your favorite game day meals. What's something you're still working on getting better at? We'll all come up with stuff together. Carol will have questions, and we've got this producer now, he knows his shit about running podcasts." He takes a deep breath, and feels, suddenly, like getting Sam to agree is far more important than he'd realized. "Please, Sam. I think this could be a fun thing for me. You've been with me for so much of what's been fun in my career. I want you with me in this, too. Just once, just a guest on the show."

It's surprising that Sam hasn't immediately agreed to the offer. Sam is outgoing, continually one of the funniest guys on the team, always one of the first people that rookies and new contract players connect with when they join the team. Sam's quick to start off a karaoke night despite a deeply mediocre singing voice, entertains with his impressions and stories, and overall likes to talk to people. Surely, then, joining Steve for an hour or so to talk about things they both love with people who also love those things wouldn't be a terrible idea?

"Yeah," Sam finally says, "I'll do it."

Steve sits back a bit, looking Sam in the eyes. "You sure? You didn't give me the reaction I was expecting, so I want to make sure you aren't saying yes just to shut me up."

Sam smiles, and while it's not the bright smile he usually wears, Steve can see that it's genuine. "I honestly love that you're doing this thing, Steve. It feels a little outside your comfort zone."

"It definitely is," Steve agrees.

"Ha, see. I thought so. And I don't want to take that away from you. Y'know? I don't want to enjoy it so much that I want to keep coming back. Which, hell, that's pretty arrogant, assuming that y'all would even want me back."

Steve smiles at Sam, feeling a bit more relaxed now that he understands the hesitance. "Sam, it's called 'Captains America'. You aren't a captain." He smirks and Sam laughs. "So don't worry. Just a guest. Carol's got Lewis coming on first, which I think is going to be extremely interesting."

Sam whistles. "Oh dude. You won't need to speak for the whole ep!" They both laugh, and then start to plan what stories would be safe to share with listeners. It's much too late before they finally turn off the jets and scamper out of the tub and through the cool night air, still naked and laughing, perfectly relaxed before a big game.

— 🎙 —

CAPTAINS AMERICA, EPISODE 4 "ABOUT THOSE 1-STAR REVIEWS"

Timestamp: 00:06:27

CAROL DANVERS: So before we kick off into the plan for the day, Steve tells me he's got something he wants to talk about?

STEVE ROGERS: [clears throat] I do, Carol, yeah. I'm, ah, I'm a little bit ticked off, actually.

CD: Oh? Well gosh, Rogers, if you're lookin' for a new co-host, you could've told me alone.

SR: It's not that at all, Danvers, but it does have to do a little with you. [clears throat] So, we've been asking our listeners to rate and review our podcast on the iTunes Store, Spotify, Stitcher, Google, you know, everywhere you can find great podcasts. And hey, you all've been doing great with it, we're so thankful that you appreciate what we're putting out here for you, and it makes us more eager to make sure we have the time to do it even more.

CD: Yeah, yeah!

SR: But while our overall rating is solid and keeps us near the top of the charts, I did what I was very specifically advised against doing by our fantastic producer—

BUCKY BARNES: [soft, away from mic] Oh no...

SR: —and I went to look at some of the lower rated reviews that came through. [soft chuckle] I'm very carefully not looking at Bucky right now.

CD: Smart, smart. Steve—

SR: Well there's, ha, your big lesson, not to tell me what not to do? Well, so I looked, right? And look, folks. [pause, then a deep breath] If you don't like the podcast, that's fine. There were some one- or two-star reviews that simply came down to not being a fan of what we're offering here. And that happens, I know we all expected it.

BB: [on mic now] That's why I told you not to go looking, Steve.

SR: Lessons learned! For you, I mean, because aside from those simple "just didn't like it" reviews, there are some one-star reviews that are far more concerning to me because of what they represent in the wider soccer community.

CD: Steve—

SR: I'm going to read a couple of the tamer ones here. The worse ones we actually have had removed because they violated the iTunes TOS. [clears throat] "Rogers is smart and knows his soccer, but I wish he'd dump that lez and keep her politics out of it." Another one: "Danvers is a shrill, arrogant, hog and the sooner we can stick to the real sport here and stop giving time to these deviant women the better."

CD: Steve—

SR: And another: "First this BS "soccer for all" crap they shove down our throats at games, and now I can't even listen to my team captain talk without him getting spoken over by this butch—"

BB: Yeah, I think they all get it, Steve.

SR: [a pause, then quietly] I, I'm sorry, Carol. [bleep] I wasn't thinking. Maybe we can cut this, I can start over? I do have something I need to say about it, but without the quotes, maybe?

CD: No, it's okay. Leave it in. You can keep going.

SR: [a pause] Okay. Well, um. Yeah, let me, uh, get to my point here. [clears throat] I'm not standing for this from soccer fans. I am a big proponent of the Soccer For All initiative, and I'm not going to be a hypocrite about it. I'm assuming that these reviewers aren't listening anymore, but in case they are—or in case there are other listeners who agree but haven't felt the need put it in a review—I need you all to hear this: This is a podcast authorized by US Soccer, and that means that we support absolutely everyone who wants to play the game. I don' t care what your sexuality is, what your race is, I don't care if you come from a poor family or, or anything like that. We're going to support you and we want to represent you. So if you play soccer and you're a marginalized voice, send us an email to [email protected] so we can get in touch and help you speak for yourself.

CD: Wow, Steve. Thank you.

SR: I'm sorry again, Carol. Not just that I was a jerk and read those without warning you—

CD: [soft laugh]

SR: —but also that those exist at all for anyone to read. It's BS. This is the BS part, not that you and other players like you are at the top of your game and...open about it.

CD: It's good to hear that from allies like you, Captain Rogers.

SR: See, you say that and it sounds like you're laughing at me. [laughter]

CD: I didn't know you had such passion in you, Rogers! Maybe show it more often?

SR: You calling me passionless?

CD: Just on the podcast, baby, don't you worry about that. [laughter]

SR: Okay, last chance to mark that to cut before we move forward?

CD: Bucky you better leave it alone!

BB: [off mic] Yes, ma'am!

CD: Great. So, I was gonna talk about some of the weird things that come up when you get back to club play after a long international call-up...

[Posted in the episode notes on USSoccer.com. Transcribed by JB Barnes, September 2019]

Steve sits back in his chair as Carol and Bucky start to pack up. They're quiet, unlike their usual post-recording chattiness. The rest of the episode had been fine, but lacked the usual energy they had. Steve watches Carol carefully, and finally she catches his eye and gives him a wide smile.

"It's all good," she says, reaching across the desk to ruffle his hair. He squirms away like he's a kid being teased by a girl with cooties. "You're a big softie, and I didn't realize that, but I think it's pretty cool."

"I should have run it by you first," he says, then looks over to Bucky, "or even you."

Bucky lifts his head from where he's been fussing with his messenger bag. "M-me? Why me?"

Steve gives him a look of mild confusion. "Because you're our producer? I'm pretty sure you would have smacked some sense into me."

"Oh, well. I'm glad you think so highly of my smacking instincts." He smiles back at Steve, but there seems to be a little something missing than what Steve usually gets from him.

"I'll have to give Val a heads up," Carol says, chewing on her top lip, a tic Steve has noticed before whenever Carol isn't entirely certain about something. Suffice to say, it's not something he sees on her very often.

"Aw, fuck," he mutters, dropping his head to the desktop with a groan. "I didn't even think. About any of it."

"No, but I kinda like that," she says coming around the edge of the desk to lean down and hug his back. "Thanks for looking out for me," she whispers, then drops a kiss on his cheek. "I gotta scoot, anyway. Val's actually in town tonight, so we're going out with some of the gals."

Steve looks up at her, a little sad. "Not the two of you alone?"

Carol twists her lips wryly. "You'd think for as much shit as I get for being gay, going out with my girlfriend wouldn't be an issue, huh?" She shakes her head. "Nah, we're still kinda playing it down. Like it's cool to be gay, but not to be kissing a teammate."

Steve is about to apologize again, certain that this rant of his isn't going to help his friend, but Carol narrows her eyes at him first. "That wasn't going to suddenly change tonight if you didn't say anything, Rogers. I'm hoping ultimately that what you said can help, though."

He nods at her, she nods back, and then she thanks Bucky for his help before scurrying out the door.

The two men are quiet for a long moment, until Steve figures he should get on with his day. He turns in his chair to see what Bucky's still doing here.

"You gonna be able to live with yourself?" Bucky asks, his eyes kind and lips gently curved into the slightest teasing smile.

"Maybe not, but I've got sponsorship contracts I have to fulfill, so I guess I'll give it my best shot."

"Yeah, you gotta keep those sweet, sweet mattress bucks coming in." Bucky picks up his phone suddenly. "Oh, shit, I meant to tell you both, we got another ad pitch."

"Oh no, I gotta act excited about something else now?"

Bucky's grin is too bright for Steve to handle alone in this small room. "It's for a bra company."

"I think maybe I should pass on lending my voice to that one," Steve says, slow and deliberate, hoping he doesn't sound like he's too afraid of selling ladies' undergarments.

"Yeah, let's let Carol run with that one," Bucky agrees, and they both laugh and stand up. "But you still owe me a couple reviews of those packaged meals so we can update that ad and put a bit more personal opinion in them."

Steve opens the door and holds it for Bucky, making sure it is locked behind them. "Yeah, but they're the ones that are done for at least two, right?"

Bucky, who hadn't moved too far ahead down the hall, lifts an eyebrow. "I'm pretty sure a buff athlete like you can put away at least two portions of a healthy meal."

He's got a point, but Steve finds himself resisting that a bit, and realizes he was subconsciously suggesting Bucky join him. So he shrugs and starts walking to the front of the office building, not making eye contact. "Guess you're right about that. I'll email you next week, then. Promise."

"I'll hold you to it. You should try the seared salmon with the sweet chili glaze. Let me know what you think of it?"

They're at the front door now and head outside, both squinting and raising their hands to their eyes against the bright, late August sun. "Yeah, okay. I'll try that one first. You're not setting me up for a bad dinner, right?"

Bucky laughs, holding up his car's keyfob to unlock it with a beep. "Have a good evening, Steve."

"Bucky..." Steve says, warning in his voice, but the other man walks away, pulling his hair up away from his neck, twisting it into a messy bun. Steve is stuck in his spot for a long moment, watching Bucky walk away—then the sound of Bucky opening his car's door snaps him out of it, and he hurries to his own car, hoping that Bucky didn't notice Steve's stupid staring.

He cranks the air conditioner onto its highest setting, but some of the heat he's feeling in his face doesn't come from the weather.

— 💲 —

Steve: Say Carol.

Carol: What up, Steve?

Steve: You know I spend a lot of time on the road during the season—

Carol : Yup.

Steve: —and when I get home, I put in long hours at the practice facility, too. So it can be hard to get out to the grocery stores, and even harder to have the energy to cook any good dinners.

Carol: Your smoothies reputation precedes you.

Steve: I'll have to make you one sometime! But I'm trying to get better meals in me, not just for health but also, you know, variety? So I looked into Fresh Farms home delivery meal kits.

Carol: How are they? I've been eyeing the pork tenderloin with wild rice.

Steve: I tried out the salmon and artichoke and it was so good, and so easy! It's a meal for two, officially, but I downed that whole thing on my own, and I feel no guilt over that.

Carol: Next time invite me over!

Steve: It's a date!

Chapter Text

Captains America Podcast @capsamericapod
NEW EP! @cdanversscore & @stevegrogers have an important chat about equality and tolerance, and about returning to club play after a national team tournament. Listen on iTunes, Stitcher, Google, or right from our site!

Felicia Cameron @felicia_cam
So great to hear @stevegrogers defend @cdanversscore and other LGBTQ+ players and fans. This is the leadership we need on the national team!

Queering the Crossbar @crossbarqueer
@felicia_cam talk is cheap, though. what's rogers doing to take real action to help, where's his money going? how is he dealing with his teammates who definitely are the type to leave those nasty reviews?

Felicia Cameron @felicia_cam
@crossbarqueer You're absolutely right. Hopefully now that he's talking on the topic, he'll do more to use his voice and resources.

— ⚽ —

Posted on SB Nation partner website, Stars on Our Shirts:

For fans of the podcast "Captains America" with Carol Danvers and Steve Rogers, we've been able to see the emerging personality of the Men's National Team Captain. He's always been a bit of a blank slate—nothing objectionable about him, to be sure, but also nothing that particularly drew fans in, either. Danvers has a personality which seems hell-bent on making others around her rise to the occasion, and she's working her magic on Rogers, too.

However, while we've heard him laugh more time in three roughly-hour-long episodes than many fans could attest to hearing in his seven-year career on the USMNT, Friday's episode brought out an intense passion that, frankly, has only been seen a few times even on the pitch. What sparked this surprising passion was in itself a surprise: Rogers took serious issue with the podcast's one-star reviews that were distinctly homophobic in nature and directed at Danvers, who has been openly gay for many years.

We've heard Danvers and others from the women's side of the sport speak up against homophobia and transphobia on multiple occasions, but while there have been some men's teams who have put together lukewarm Soccer For All videos, no one player has used his own platform to really speak on the subject. Rogers, then, has immediately stepped into a top ally position for LGBTQ+ players and fans.

Within the rant at those leaving the reviews, he read some particularly nasty ones—though apparently not the nastiest, which is certainly upsetting—but it was clear that Rogers hadn't covered this idea with Danvers at all. Some point out that he was rather insensitive to do this. He acknowledges the misjudgement within the recording directly, as part of the conversation, and apologizes to Danvers, who assures him they will be keeping everything in the recording. The episode notes do include a warning for discussions of homophobia.

Rogers hasn't said anything on his social media other than posting the episode promo, and we don't know what this singular rant means for his allyship going forward. In a sport that suffers greatly from an appearance of not caring for marginalized persons, having someone so visible to start speaking up is a great step forward.

Steve comes out of a water therapy session to a flurry of messages in the Slack Bucky created for the three of them to plan out episodes and set up their schedule.

DANVERS! 💥11:34 AM
Oh shit @Steve Rogers!!! I could kiss u!!

DANVERS! 💥11:36 AM
The gays love u lmaoooo holy shit

I mean obvs I did but now they ALL DO

Bucky Barnes 🎙 11:36 AM
Wait what's up?

I'm assuming it's response to the ep of course but do you have a link?

Bucky Barnes 🎙 11:40 AM
Never mind I found it. WOW. Steve, SOOS wrote up a glowing piece on you, and the main SBN Twitter RTd it so it's going soccer twitter viral.

DANVERS! 💥11:43 AM
I think it's just sports viral overall. I saw some of the hockey gals sharing it!!

Omg does tumblr have it yet?

DANVERS! 💥11:46 AM
TUMBLR DEFINITELY HAS IT. HASHTAG CAPTAIN OF LESBIANS ALSDKFJALKFJ STEVE THIS IS THE BEST THING EVER ILU

They continue on, sharing a few links that Steve is too afraid to follow while at the practice facility with teammates around. He doesn't know if any of them listen to the podcast, and today isn't the day he wants to find out.

Maybe that isn't fair. He knows some of the guys on his team—on both teams, honestly—feel the same way he does about supporting gay, lesbian, and bisexual soccer players. There are a few who he specifically knows to avoid speaking to on the topic—it's those players, like Rumlow and Sitwell, who keep him disinclined to come out.

He manages to actually get through the training day, recover, and get to dinner with some Forge teammates before anyone brings it up. They've reserved the back room of a local steakhouse for comfort and privacy.

"Captain of Lesbians!" bellows Thor, his team's newest striker, an international from Norway. Sam catches Steve's eye from across the room, and Steve can tell Sam's going to add that to his impressions repertoire.

To Thor, Steve says, "Oh no," dropping his head and groaning, mostly just for show. This group gathered tonight should be cool about everything. "I didn't realize you were a listener, Thor."

"Ah, that would be me," Rhodey pipes up from where he's seated in the back corner, safely surrounded by a few other teammates. "And by that I mean I listen for Danvers only, because she's interesting."

Steve lifts a hand to grant the point. "Absolutely, I'd recommend that to everyone. I don't usually even say very much."

"Until today." Rhodey nods at Steve. "You were a pretty big hit with some folks, Rogers. Maybe you should say shit more often."

Steve drops into a free chair, putting his phone carefully screen-down on the table after making sure it's locked. "Heh, we'll see. I kinda stepped my foot in it, too, y'know? It's not always enough to know what to say. Gotta know when and how to say it."

Carol had reassured Steve again this morning that she wasn't mad about how his rant came out of nowhere, but saying it to the team helps Steve ease his guilt further.

Over the main course of thick, juicy steaks—which Steve knows are probably going to sit in his gut too long tonight—Thor leans over to Steve, his arm going around the back of Steve's chair. "I do admire what you said on your podcast, Rogers. I understand it is not a common thing for professional athletes to say in this country, which I find honestly strange."

Steve shrugs, leaning back and putting down his fork. "Yeah, well. We've still got some work to do over here." He glances around, not wanting to be overheard and get a whole political discussion started. "Thanks, though. For saying that."

Thor beams at him. "My brother, you know. He's not really the conforming type. I'm quite jealous, though, for your new nickname, Captain." There's a wicked grin on Thor's face.

Steve rolls his eyes and groans. "That isn't what I was aiming for, you know. Why can't Danvers be their captain, eh?"

Thor raises an eyebrow. "Is she not seeing someone already?"

"Yes, but...that's not what it means, you know. I don't think the lesbians want to date me," he points out. "That's kinda their whole deal, right?"

"I suppose you're right. But it's good to have an ally, from what I hear."

Steve laughs a bit, wry to his own ears but he's not sure it comes across to his teammate. "Yeah, an ally is always good to have." He supposes that maybe Thor could be that as well. "But hey, you are welcome to try and steal the title from me," he offers, needing to deflect the conversation back a little.

"You best be careful with that kind of challenge, Rogers. I am mightily fond of winning them."

Steve leans forward enough to grab his mostly-empty glass of beer and hold it up to Thor, who almost merrily clinks his own glass in return, accepting the challenge and immediately standing to announce it to the rest of their teammates.

The rest of the evening is filled with everyone deciding which odd ship they could captain. Steve's happy to sit back and let the conversation flow over him.

— ⚽ —

Assistant Coach Pym gestures for Steve to join him at the end of practice on Monday. Steve jogs over, slightly out of breath from a solid workout.

"Rogers, you have a problem with Schmidt today?"

Steve lets out a heavy breath, rolling his shoulders before starting to stretch his arms since he's missing the cool-down right now. "I didn't think I did, Coach," he answers honestly. "But I saw what you were seeing, I think." And what they saw was Schmidt being irritable, refusing to respond to Steve's instructions while they practiced set pieces to transitions up-field. It was routine, something they practice a few times a week, maybe more if they know they had a match against a highly-penalized offense coming up. But today, Schmidt was in his own world.

Pym crosses his arms, looks Steve in the eyes. "I know you two aren't best of friends," he says, and boy, that's an understatement. "But you're usually fine on the field. This going to be a problem going forward?

Steve shakes his head, looking over his shoulder to find Schmidt in the crowd still on the field. "No, Coach. I don't think it will be. I'm...not quite sure what the reason is, but if it seems to be anything big, I'll take care of it."

Pym nods, tells him to get back to leading the cool-down, and Steve jogs back over, slotting into place between Sousa and Morita as everyone gets to the ground to start stretching their legs.

"Everything okay, Cap?"

Steve nods, giving Morita a quick smile. "All good, Jim."

They turn towards each other for a hamstring stretch, and Morita casts his eyes across the circle. "Pym notice Schmitty was bein' weird today?"

"Yeah. I said it shouldn't be a big deal. I'll handle it if it is." Steve smiles at Morita. "It'll be fine."

"You think he heard about the podcast stuff?"

They switch legs and look in opposite directions, giving Steve a way out of answering the question. He isn't sure, of course, but he suspects that Schmidt doesn't approve of Steve saying what he did. Even though he's not on the Team USA, being a German international, the league has its own issues with actively working to reduce the incidence of homophobia within it, instead taking a "stick to sports" sort of mentality. Steve's been guilty of this perspective before, but he's working on making up for that now.

There's no time after the cool-down ends for Morita to bring it back up; Steve's glad to drop it. He's still a little unsure of how much the club is paying attention to the podcast, but it's certainly not "none"—after all, while he's there officially as a representative of the US team, he does talk about his experience on the Forge, too. If the team can keep from letting it distract them during training hours, that might mean the club brass worries less about it.

He gets his treatments done and hops in the shower quickly. He gets back to his locker to dress when he finds his phone alerting him about six missed calls. There are two voicemails as well; everything has "Potts (US PR)" as the contact name. Steve swallows and pulls on his street clothes before he listens to the messages. They both ask him to call her back as soon as possible.

The locker room isn't the place for it. He'd like to get out of the club's facility entirely, in fact. As he heads out to the parking lot, he taps out a message to Natasha: US PR calling me, any idea what's up?

Agent Romanoff: Probably your big mouth, Captain of Lesbians.

And, well, she's not wrong.

He gets in the car and gets it started, immediately cranking up the air conditioner. With a fortifying breath he connects the bluetooth and dials Potts's number. Might as well handle this now. Maybe if she can tell he's driving, she won't hit him too hard.

"Potts here," she answers, sharp and efficient.

"Ms. Potts, it's Steve Rogers. I've been in practice. I'm sorry I missed your calls." He's not sorry, but he thinks he sounded it.

"That's fine, I understand. We were hoping to have a meeting with you, but Mr. Pierce has been called up to Manhattan, so we have to postpone it. We can also do a phone conference, if that can work better with everyone's schedule."

Steve takes a deep breath. "Is this something you and I can talk about without Mr. Pierce? My schedule is fairly tight right now. We're coming into the end of the season and trying to secure our playoff spot."

Potts doesn't say anything for a moment, instead typing on a keyboard. "Mr. Pierce has sent me his notes, so let me look over them for a moment." Steve starts driving while he waits, figuring there's no point sitting in the lot with the engine running.

He navigates out of the facility, waving at the guard who watches the entrance, then heads for the highway. He passes a few exits before Potts speaks again.

"Well, I'm sure you expected that this is regarding Friday's podcast episode."

Steve swallows back a groan, flipping on his blinker harder than strictly necessary as his exit approaches. "It was one of the reasons that jumped to mind, yes."

Kindly, Potts doesn't ask him what any other possible reason might be. "Mr. Pierce wanted to first talk about how upset we all are that those reviews existed in the first place. We have our team working with Apple and the other podcast providers to get those reviews taken down. That is the top concern right now."

Well, that's good. Steve says as much. "For my part, I'm sorry I didn't point them out to your team first. I could have still said something about it without handling the way that I did." Does he still feel guilty about blindsiding Carol? It's less of that than it is asking if he'll ever not feel guilty about that. But that's not for this conversation.

"Yes," Potts says, "that is a concern. We appreciate your candor and clear appreciation for Carol's feelings, and we know that she appreciates it as well. But we do need to be careful with how we approach these sorts of issues in the future."

Steve grits out a smile, hoping Potts can hear it on her end. "Well, if I listen to Bucky's good advice more often, that should help. He told me not to go looking at reviews."

"Quite so." Potts doesn't sound amused. "Obviously we can't tell you not to look at what people are saying about you, no more than we'd tell you not to read articles about your performance, or the team's."

"I'm pretty good at knowing where to not go look," Steve interjects. "I guess, y'know, it's new with the podcast thing. Most of the reviews are on Apple and they're all in one place, so if I want to see good reviews, all the bad ones are there, too."

Potts clears her throat. "We want you to agree that if you find cause again to talk about any trend in reviews that you see, that you'll bring it up through us and let our team handle things."

Steve's about to agree, but that last part trips him up. "I'll certainly give you a heads up, but sometimes the best way to handle it might be on the podcast directly. Especially if we get more really bigoted stuff in reviews."

Potts makes a noise that Steve can't quite interpret, but he doesn't think it means great idea, Steve, we'll let you run with it. "We got a lot of good responses to the episode," he adds, feeling like he's trying to convince his mother to let him go to a party in high school. "If fans are open to hearing those messages, it could be very beneficial to continue to use that platform."

"Perhaps," says Potts, "but we did also receive some complaints."

"Sure, from the people we were telling off," Steve mutters.

"And while we respect that you are an individual who has ideals and opinions, you must also understand that we as a federation must prepare to stand for all individuals who want to be involved with soccer in this country. And they don't all agree with you, Steve." That is said more softly, with maybe even a touch of regret. It's nice to know that Potts might side with Steve on a personal level, she's still speaking for US Soccer.

"So, the message you're pushing is 'stick to sports', right?" He can feel his jaw set even as he says the phrase—he's seen it too often around issues of human rights in relation to playing sports, and it incenses him every time.

"Steve, come talk to us, all right?" she says, some exasperation leaking into her normally unshakable facade. "If we can stand by it, we can get the right supports in place. Otherwise, we can find another way to address the issue you want to address in a way that works with US Soccer's stated goals and interests."

Which means, of course, that he won't be able to say it, and maybe they'll put out a bland statement that doesn't bring any passion or heart to the topic. Or they'll sweep it under the rug.

"Are we agreed, Rogers?" The use of his last name now doesn't go unnoticed.

"I can promise to keep you in the loop if I feel like shooting my mouth off," Steve says, and his tone isn't quite professional; he doesn't quite care. "Is there anything else, ma'am?"

There isn't. They end the call with strained, but polite, goodbyes. Steve has a few minutes left in his drive home, and he spends the whole time gripping the wheel tightly.

In his apartment, he immediately drops off some of his equipment in the laundry nook—most of it is handled at the practice facility, but he's superstitious about his socks and jock. Most of his teammates have their own superstitions, many of which are weirder than laundry.

Collapsing on the couch once the laundry's in, he hears his phone give off a ping. He takes a deep breath, hoping it's not Potts texting him that Pierce still wants a meeting together.

He smiles when he sees that it's Carol in Slack.

DANVERS! 💥5:10 PM
team podcast dinner to plan for ploffs?

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:10 PM
My schedule is clear Weds&thurs.

DANVERS! 💥 5:11 PM
ok cool cool barnes u good for either of those?

DANVERS! 💥 5:13 PM
buuuuuuckyyyyyyy

DANVERS! 💥 5:17 PM
buck!!!

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:18 PM
He's got a day job, Danvers.

DANVERS! 💥 5:18 PM
yeah but he loves us more

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:19 PM
Not if you don't stop annoying him.

Bucky Barnes 🎙 5:21 PM
I actually hate ya both, I always hate the talent on my shows. No love for their producers.

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:22 PM
What??

Bucky Barnes 🎙 5:22 PM
lol just fuckin with ya. Im free Wednesday?

DANVERS! 💥 5:24 PM
its a date!

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:28 PM
I just got done telling Thor I'm not your type last week.

DANVERS! 💥 5:30 PM
steve-o I think ur every1s type 😘

Bucky Barnes 🎙 5:30 PM
Can I report this convo as sexual harassment?

DANVERS! 💥 5:31 PM
I keep saying u luuuuv us bucks

Bucky Barnes 🎙 5:31 PM
I know you do, Carebear.

Steve Rogers ⚽ 5:31 PM
Oh no, I have to get out of this chat before Danvers goes nuclear.

DANVERS! 💥 5:32 PM
YOU'RE DEAD BARNES

— 🎙 —

Carol doesn't kill Bucky, and they meet up for a dinner meeting on Wednesday as planned. Steve is the last to arrive at the little hole in the wall bar Bucky had suggested. He finds the other two tucked in a corner booth. Their heads are close together, Carol's short blonde—freshly streaked with royal blue, no more pink—and Bucky's longer brunet. Steve almost doesn't want to bother them.

Even before he stepped a little over the line in the most recent episode, Steve felt like he didn't quite belong on this podcast team. He isn't as gregarious as Carol and far less useful than Bucky. He won't apologize again—Carol will smack him if he does—but he needs to find a better way to participate. It's been tough enough trying to improve his leadership skills in the locker room and on the field.

Any other self-doubt is stalled when Bucky's head lifts and their eyes meet. Bucky grins, waves him over. Steve smiles and heads to them, sliding into the booth next to Carol.

"So your playoffs start soon, right?" Carol asks, not wasting a second while Steve picks up the beer menu.

"Yeah. No home field, though, so it'll be tough." The waitress swings by and looks at him expectantly while he orders his drink, then swoops away. "Why?" he asks back to Carol.

Bucky answers. "I'm pretty sure your coach would like you to focus on the playoffs, not making a podcast," he says, a small sardonic smile on his face.

"Oh. Yeah." He shakes his head, trying to engage his brain. "So, what, we go on a hiatus?" Steve's insecurity prods at him again, and he wonders if this is how they're going to gently let him off the hook, out of the podcast. "Think it's smart, since we don't have that many episodes out?"

Bucky scratches his chin and licks his lips. It's momentarily distracting, but Steve manages not to stare too long at those plump lips. "It's an option," he says, looking between Steve and Carol. "But Steve's got a point. It might not be the best idea, especially depending on what you plan to do over the off-season."

Carol nods, propping her chin on her fist. "So what's the other option?"

"We could record more than one episode at a time," Bucky says with a shrug. "Half the sessions, but we can keep posting regularly."

Steve looks over at Carol. "I could see that working."

She nods again, taking a sip of her drink even as the waitress drops off Steve's beer. "Yeah. And we should talk about the off-season, because I, ah, may not be around." She sips again, avoiding their eyes.

Bucky doesn't say anything, making a note on the pad Steve realizes he's been scribbling on while they talk. Steve knocks his shoulder into Carol's. "Got plans with Val?" he asks, warm and happy for his friend.

Carol's soft chuckle is tight and lacking its normal warmth; it's strange, seeing her less than confident, but maybe it's good for him to see. She trusts him, and he doesn't have to strive to be perfect in his confidence goals. "Yeah, um. We're going back to her hometown for a while. I've only met her folks a couple times after games, but they don't really..."

"Ah." Steve glances over at Bucky, who raises his eyebrows back at him. "I'm sure that'll be a good time, Carol. If a hiatus will help you handle the family stuff better, then that's fine. Off-season's boring anyway."

"With the holidays, it'll probably be simpler for all of us not to have to schedule recording sessions," Bucky points out. "So if we don't need to do a hiatus now, it'll make more sense to do one later. Easy."

They talk through it more, deciding that if they're going to record two episodes at a time, they should aim for a guest-heavy one to save their voices. Bucky also suggests that they do a Q&A episode, considering they already have a lot of mail with questions. Steve's open to that, but he suggests that they get the list of questions ahead of time so they can prepare their answers. Some names are suggested for guests—the idea of having their coaches, Tony Stark and Wendy Lawson, on for an episode is their number one choice, if both will agree to it—and a couple episodes to drop between playoffs and their official hiatus are planned out as well. Steve makes sure that it's understood how much time he'll have if his club does get past the first round, and Carol figures worst case she can handle an episode solo.

It's not quite late when she calls the waitress back to pay her part of the bill. Steve and Bucky protest mildy, but Carol says she has an early-ish meeting with her agent and some sponsorship stuff, so they let her off the hook. Steve slides out of the booth to let her out, she kisses Bucky's cheek, then Steve's as she passes him, and they call out their goodbyes as she walks away with a wave.

When he slides back in to take his seat again, Bucky has moved over to take some of Carol's space. Steve picks up his phone to check the time.

"I'm good for another round?" It's a question, an offer, since neither of them seemed eager to end the night, and he smiles broadly when Bucky nods. "Cool. Same for you again?" He catches their waitress's eye, gives her an apologetic grin considering they could have ordered another round when she was here to settle Carol's bill.

They sit in silence waiting for their new drinks. Bucky is busy on his phone, tapping out messages on some app, Steve can't see which. He's grinning as he types, which makes Steve think it must be a conversation with someone special.

That shouldn't bum him out as much as it does.

He clears his throat and nudges his elbow against Bucky's. "Sure I'm not keepin' ya?" He hopes his tone is as light and teasing as he meant it.

Bucky sort of startles, then looks away from his phone, grinning. "Ha, nah. I'm just very awkward in social situations that aren't talking about a podcast I'm doing." His smile softens and he puts the phone away.

Steve can't help but chuckle softly. "I actually get that, only about soccer, not podcasts."

"You're pretty good about podcasts, too."

"Hmm, I don't know about that, but this is a podcast about soccer, so I can fake it."

Bucky stares at him for a moment, blinking, then shakes his head. "You think you're bad at this, don't you?"

Steve doesn't think he should agree, but a denial isn't quick to come to his lips. He can feel heat rising to his cheeks, so he shrugs. "I...don't think I'm bad, exactly. But I'm hardly a natural, not like Carol."

"You're not like Carol," Bucky says, "and that's not a bad thing at all." He leans his elbow on the table, fist propping up against his ear as he keeps looking at Steve. Steve tries not to blush under the attention. "You're a good foil to her enthusiasm. Keeps the show from feeling like too much, you know?"

Steve smiles bashfully. Well. That's good to hear. "Thanks. I do try, and I really like being on the show. Honestly, I like it more than I thought I would."

Bucky nods, but doesn't say more, which Steve actually finds a relief. He's never been the type to need his ego stroked.

They fall into silence again. After a moment that keeps growing more uncomfortable, Bucky is the one to break and pull his phone out again. While Bucky goes back to whatever app was making him grin before, Steve pulls up his camera. He quietly snaps a picture of Bucky tapping away, then switches to Twitter and adds the photo to a new tweet. After typing out a message, he holds it out to Bucky.

"Here. Approve before I post?" The message reads, Big plans being made for @capsamericapod by @jbbarnesprod. Too bad @cdanversscore left us already...

Bucky leans in closer to read it. "You sneakin' pictures of me, Rogers?"

"Just the one, I promise." He licks his lips. "You mind if I send it? I'd honestly love to make Carol worry about what she left the two of us up to here."

"Yeah, go for it." He holds up his phone. "Had to make sure no one could see I was texting my mom, at least."

Steve laughs—and at the same time he tries to ignore the fact that his shoulders get less tense, don't bunch around his ears so much—at the news that Bucky's special someone is actually his mother. "I think you look safe in this. Just up to no good."

"That's my default state of being," Bucky says, approvingly. "Share away."

Steve hits the tweet button, refreshes his feed to make sure it went through, when something in the picture catches his eye: the tattoo on Bucky's shoulder, peeking out from the bottom of his short sleeve cap. He turns to look at the arm in real life, only to find Bucky looking at him. "Oh, um." He gestures to Bucky's arm. "I saw your..."

"My...? Oh!" Bucky pulls up his left sleeve all the way, showing off the red star. "College team all got them."

Steve blinks. "College team? You played?" Why did he never consider this?

"Yeah, for sure. It was a D-III school, so nothing special." He lets go of his sleeve, but it doesn't fall completely to cover it right away.

"Still, I didn't know you played at all. What position?" Steve sits back a little, his body language open and happy to listen.

"I was a striker," Bucky says with a small curve of his lips. "Not too bad, really, but I also didn't set any records or anything." He brings his hand to scratch at the back of his head. "Kinda hard to talk up my little time kitted up with, well." He gestures to Steve with his left hand.

Steve rolls his eyes at that. "Oh, come on. First of all, you probably have a lot more goals and assists than I do—"

"You're a defender," Bucky says, his voice full of dry amusement.

"—but even if I played a more offensive role, so what? I got here, to this level, but every day I remind myself how goddamn lucky I am to not only have the skill and talent bullshit, but also I never got seriously hurt, and I got lucky that I was born when I was born, you know? A year or two order or younger? Someone else slots in with their skill and takes this spot." He feels his cheeks flush, sensing he's getting to homophobia-level ranting, though at least this is with less swearing. "Sorry, I." He shrugs.

"No, you're right," Bucky says. "I gave everything I could to soccer and I got rewarded for it. And for me, everything I could give meant making sure I had time for other things, too." He motions between them, presumably referring to his podcast-producing interest and talents. "I'm not unhappy with it, not at all. Sometimes I get a bit of an inferiority complex talking to players who could and chose to take it further."

Steve's relieved to see Bucky take that attitude. He's heard enough fans of the game who harbored a seed of bitterness that they never reached this elite level.

"Okay, your turn," Bucky says, drumming his fingers on the table. "But not about soccer. Like, what's some hobby you have?"

It's so rare that he's asked about the non-soccer aspects of his life that for a moment he cannot think of literally anything he can do other than kick a ball over a pitch. "Um. I dunno, I guess I...watch movies?" He winces—that's such a terrible answer—but then he sits up straight and grins. "No!"

"You don't watch movies?"

"I mean, I don't want to talk about that. Everyone watches movies." He's aiming to impress now. "I like to draw, though. Always have, since I was a kid. Aced art class all through college."

And, all right, the way Bucky's eyes light up makes him happier than he has any right to be.

"You draw? What? How? I mean, you don't mean like paints or watercolors, right?"

"Pencils, these days. It's easier to keep a small sketchbook and a couple of pencils on me whenever I'm traveling or stuck in a treatment." He snorts. "Or waiting for a photoshoot or something, ugh."

"That's awesome," Bucky says, and if Steve's not mistaken he's really sincere about it. "I'd love to see something, sometime? If you share?"

Steve says that he does share, sometimes. He talks about when he was a kid and drawing pictures of his teammates, and then Bucky talks about his attempts to try graphic design and how that led him to learning podcasting software in a roundabout way. They're laughing as they finish another round of beers, when Steve catches the time on his phone—neither had looked at their phones for at least forty-five minutes—and calls it a night.

It's another fifteen minutes of goodbyes and vague plans for the next recording session, then Steve hops in an Uber while Bucky's waiting for a Lyft, and he waves as his driver takes off.

He's walking into his apartment when his phone vibrates with a text.

Bucky: thanks for a good night, always nice to hang with a friend :)

He doesn't feel like he doesn't belong on this podcast team anymore.

— 🎙 —

CAPTAINS AMERICA, EPISODE 5 "VERY SUPERSTITIOUS (GUEST: DARCY LEWIS)"

Timestamp: 00:38:58

CAROL DANVERS: Speaking of superstitions—

STEVE ROGERS: We've been doing that for twenty minutes, Danvers.

CD: Right, so speaking of, as weird as we all are, I need you both to hear about the wildest one I've ever witnessed.

DARCY LEWIS: Oh, wait, I know which one you're talking about!

CD: Yes, I'm sure you do.

DL: She's gonna take you out with her studs next time we play.

CD: Nah it's cool, I actually even asked her about sharing it.

DL: Did she say yes?

CD: She...[significant pause] She did not say no. She did not say the words "no, Carol, please don't share this story."

SR: Bucky, just go ahead and mark this to cut—

CD: [laughing] NO! It's fine, I promise!

DL: Can I tell it? I'm gonna tell it.

CD: Absolutely, Darce. It's yours.

DL: Okay, so! I'll start by saying that she's not on the national team with us, and she's not a Marvel. Doesn't play with me in Brooklyn, either. However, we've all been on an All-Star team together, which is when we saw this happen.

CD: You realize you've sent a horde of internet sleuths off on a new quest.

DL: Yes! O Mighty Sleuths, heed my words and discover she who has the most mysterious of pre-game superstitions, and ye might yet win fair maiden's affections!

SR: Which fair maiden?

DL: Oh, me. Absolutely. [all laugh] So, yeah. It's an All-Star game, which makes this even more bonkers, frankly. There's nothing serious at stake, right? It's good fun, bragging rights, but that's it. The playoffs are all at neutral sites—

CD: Except two years ago.

DL: Which wasn't on purpose, it just happened to work out that Portland, for the third year in a row, ended up in the semifinals. Totally couldn't have called that.

CD: Not a bit.

SR: Hey Bucky do you have any tea? I wanna fit in with these two and share some.

DL: My story!

CD: Uh—

DL: It's mine now! [cracking up, continuing over Carol's protests] So we're finished warm-ups, back in the locker room, and one of her regular teammates comes up to me and says, "Hey, brace yourself." And I'm like what the [BLEEP]? Oh, oops, sorry! Family friendly here, forgot.

CD: That's why we have a Bucky. Please continue.

DL: So I'm like, all confused? Like what the heck is going to happen? And that's when she starts. [dramatic pause]

SR: [after significant silence] Starts what?

DL: Singing.

SR: What?

DL: You heard! She starts singing, and not like something you might expect like "We Will Rock You" or whatever. Nah, man. I didn't recognize it at first, but turns out, it's a whole aaas-ctual, uh, ha, shoot, what's it called?

CD: Darce, I'm gonna steal your thunder if you don't—

DL An aria! From an opera! I don't know which one, honestly, I'm not an opera gal, but man. She crushed it!

SR: I feel like that would get annoying after a while, though.

CD: Yeah, that is for sure a feeling some have. I think she goes to do it off on her own so she doesn't bother folks, but there's not always an obvious place to do that at other teams' fields.

DL: It's a shame she doesn't sing something more people would know, they'd join in and stuff then!

SR: So what would you sing?

DL: "Party in the U.S.A." by Miley, hands down. I put a little Anna Kendrick spin on that, and phew. We are ready to play.

CD: You had that answer way too ready, and now I need to check the pump-up playlist before our next friendly.

DL: I'm gonna make you practice dance moves with me.

CD: What about you, Steve?

SR: I will not be practicing dance moves with you, sorry ladies.

CD: No, dork, I meant what song would you sing pre-game?

SR: Hmmm. Well, I think my reputation means I am supposed to answer "God Bless America" or something.

DL: Boooooo!

SR: But honestly? I could make some Pitbull and Ke$ha work. What? Bucky is laughing at me, I want everyone to know! Look, "Timber" is a great song. I would do the Ke$ha parts, leave Pitbull to some of the other guys. I can't rap to save my life.

CD: Gabe Jones?

SR: Yeah, or Sam Wilson, he's got some good stuff on his playlists. A lot of Marvin Gaye.

CD: I'm definitely inviting him to the next mixer.

[Posted in the episode notes on USSoccer.com. Transcribed by JB Barnes, September 2019]

—🎙—

Group Text, Friday morning

Bucky: I will be about 15mins late today, sorry!

Carol: oooh late night?

Bucky: don't start with me today danvers

Carol: wouldnt dream of it
Carol: u have the power to make me record a bra ad 15 times after all

Bucky: Damn right

Group Text, Friday afternoon

Carol: Rogers how did you get out of all this ad shit today?

Steve: I had a previous engagement.

Carol: booooooo
Carol: we missed u bby

Steve: That's really nice Carol. Missed you too.

Bucky: it's my life goal now to get you to not use totally proper typing in a text.

Steve: Good luck. I'm an old man.

— ⚽ —

Friday evening finds Steve stuffed to the gills with his mom's chicken parm and warm brownies with vanilla ice cream, stretched out in his childhood bed and staring up at the shelves of trophies and medals that he's accumulated over the years. Even after he moved out, his awards have come home to this wall, and he intends to keep that going through the rest of his career. He'd have nothing if he didn't have his mom.

There's still a TV in the room, but it isn't hooked up to the cable, doesn't have a Roku, and the old DVD player is useless without any DVDs, which Steve can't see in the room. He left his iPad at home for the weekend, like an idiot. He looks at his phone, scrolling up and down through his contacts, wondering who he should bother. His thumb stops on Bucky's name. He cocks his head, considering for a moment, before he nods and opens up a message: I'm bored. But still typing correctly.

He puts the phone down and closes his eyes, not expecting an immediate response and okay with that, but it buzzes against his leg after only a few seconds. He picks it up and grins at the notification.

Bucky: If you got drunk, would you stop? Could help both issues.

Steve: You seem to be typing correctly too right now.

Bucky: Maybe I'm drunk.

Steve: You know what? I'd buy that.

Bucky: lol well I'm not right now
Bucky: maybe later
Bucky: I can't remember, what were you doing this weekend?

He's about to answer when there's a knock on his open door, and Sarah Rogers pokes her head in. "Hey, baby, everything good in here? You need towels?"

Steve raises his eyebrows and sits up. "Ma, I know where the towels are." The phone drops to his side as he focuses on his mother. "Did you forget that I'm not some AirBnB guest?"

Sarah tuts and reaches out to gently smack the back of her son's head. "If you were, I wouldn't be setting you to stay in this room, would I?" She smiles and sits down next to him on the bed. "I've missed mom-ing you, I guess."

"Missed you, too, Ma." He puts an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in to kiss her cheek, when the phone dings again. He glances down at his phone, but hey, his ma's with him, a text can wait.

"Ooh. Who's that? A teammate?"

Or.

"No, it's the guy who does the producing on that podcast I do with Carol. Bucky?" Has he mentioned Bucky to her? He doesn't think she listens to podcasts, since she's busy and isn't much for listening to the radio, either. But she acknowledged the text, so he might as well peek at what Bucky said.

Bucky: sorry if that was too nosey

He grins, a spontaneous reaction to that bit of insecurity. His mom bumps his shoulder with hers. "Bucky? Hmm?"

Steve rolls his eyes and puts the phone back down. "I know that tone. Just work with him on this podcast, that's all."

"Yes," says his mother, her dry tone clearly not accepting that answer, "and I often am texting my co-workers late on Friday nights when they're out of town."

"It's not exactly a traditional employment situation, Ma," Steve points out, then he foolishly adds, "and anyway I texted him first."

Sarah's eyes light up and she bumps his shoulder again. "Is that so?" She stands and kisses the top of his head. "I won't take offense if you're texting cute boys while you visit your old mother, I suppose." He rolls his eyes, but before he can try to argue that it isn't like that, she's adding, "Just be careful, baby."

Steve's heart warms, knowing his mom's worried about his heart as well as his career. She's always accepted him without fail. even accepts that there's parts he's not ready to show the whole world yet.

"Don't worry, there isn't anything there. It's a nice change to talk to someone who isn't always talking about the game."

"Ah. Well don't be too careful, either," she says, nodding to the phone. "And you shouldn't leave a friend hanging."

Steve chuckles and accepts the permission to respond.

Steve: I never said, actually. But I'm visiting my Ma for the weekend.

Bucky responds back almost immediately, and Steve resolutely ignores his Ma stifling a chuckle.

Bucky : Oh! Ha, well have fun, don't wanna bother ya

"A good friend, I see." She kisses Steve's cheek and heads for the door. "I'll leave you to your friend, get the dishes done before bed." Steve grins at her and blows a kiss as she leaves, then settles back against the pillows.

Steve : I texted you, though. Definitely not a bother.

Bucky: ha, duh. still swear I'm not drink
Bucky: drunk
Bucky: there's no way you're believing me now

Steve laughs again in the empty room, his face flushing a little as he recognizes his flirting laugh. He drops his chin to his chest and groans. "Shut it down, Rogers," he mutters.

Steve: I do, actually. Anyway, sorry if I'm the one being a bother.

Bucky: not at all man, happy to chat.
Bucky: your mom in bed? Idk where you are actually, still east coast?

Steve: Nah, she's puttering around. She's still living in Brooklyn.
Steve: But she doesn't have to entertain me. I'm a big kid now!

Bucky: hah yeah you sure are. Anything good on tv?
Bucky: Somehow I don't see you as the "naughty movie at mom's" type.

Steve doesn't choke, exactly. He does fall to his side and bury his face in the pillows. This is simply proof he's gone too long between dates, that's all it is. Maybe after the playoffs he can find...something. Someone. If not to date then at least for a night.

Steve: Nah, my poor ma knows too much about me already.
Steve: Can't have her knowing my weird kinks.

Bucky: ohhh now I'm curious, Rogers.

Steve: Crap, I oversold my weird kinks.

Bucky: lmao

Steve: So what are YOU up to tonight?

There's a longer time between texts now. Steve starts casting about for reasons why: he went to take a shit; the oven was on fire; his girlfriend showed up and is giving him—okay, perhaps he should stop thinking so much.

Watching some TV is a good idea, though. He stands up and pokes his head out the door, hears that Ma's got Property Brothers on and he considers joining her to decide, once and for all, which twin is more attractive.

But then his phone pings again.

Bucky: editing this punk's podcast

Steve: Oh, man, that sounds like a pain in the ass

Bucky: yeah, he's just the worst, really

Steve: Hey shut up, jerk! I try my hardest!

Bucky: lol I know
Bucky: you're great, honestly. My favorite podcast to edit.

Steve: Because of Danvers.

Bucky: and NOT because of Danvers

The last two texts go through at practically the same time. Steve can't help but grin and shake his head.

— 🎙 —

"How many more questions do we have here?" Steve stretches his arms out in front of him across the desk, rolls his neck, and groans. It's been a long day even before he arrived.

Carol reaches over to pat Steve's hand. "Getting tired?"

He is tired. Playoff training is at another level, and Steve didn't quite understand how much taping two podcast episodes, even with two guests in one of them, would drain him further. "Yes," is all he says, though.

Bucky looks over from his station and smiles sympathetically. "I have a lot more questions, but it's up to you guys how many more you want to do. I figured we'd do a lot and I could edit together the best ones, but if you're tapped out, we do have enough for an episode." He picks up his Wawa coffee cup, frowns when the cold coffee hits his tongue and reaches for his water bottle instead, then goes back to making notes in his notebook.

Steve glances at his phone to see the time. "Okay. Let's give it another half-hour, tops?"

"Got a hot date?" Carol asks, more sincere in the question than Steve expects.

Steve waves off the idea. "Not seeing anyone right now. It's a rough time to start dating someone new.."

"Playoffs?" Bucky looks up from making notes.

Steve shrugs. "Honestly, any time during the season is really hard, you know? Gone so much, and even when I'm home my hours are rough. It's been ages since I dated anyone. I usually have hook-ups during the off season." Steve's eyes widen, and he points at the mic. "That recorded?"

Bucky grins at Steve. "Yes. Yes it was. How much do you want to pay me to cut it and delete the evidence that good ol' American values Steve Rogers has hook-ups in the off season?" His eyes crinkle as he grins wickedly. Steve has to catch a few stray butterflies from getting loose in his belly.

Carol tuts. "That's some cold-blooded blackmail material, Barnes, Steve, you better behave."

"Oh, hush. Just because your love life's easy."

She smiles wryly and shakes her head. "I wouldn't say that."

Steve grants the point. "Yeah. That's fair."

Bucky looks between the two of them, picking at his water bottle's label. "You two are bumming me out."

Carol leans back in her chair, pulling a leg up to her chest, the foot resting on the seat. When Steve teased her about this position, her response was that she was a proper gay who has never sat in a seat correctly in her life. "Sorry, Buckster! Why don't you regale us with happier stories of the dating world?"

Bucky ducks his head. "Oh. I don't really have any. Been a while since I dated someone." He glances up at Steve, then quickly over to Carol, taking another drink of water. "I don't need tutting about how I'm so nice and bound to meet someone when the time's right, that's why I've got a mom."

Steve chuckles. "Yeah, I get that." He stretches his arms up over his head, and it feels better than he expected, so he closes his eyes, shifting his weight a bit so he can feel the pull in his back and sides.

Bucky coughs suddenly, putting his bottle down on the desk hard and smacking his chest. Carol sits forward, concerned. "Wrong pipe?"

Bucky nods, coughing a few more times, then takes a deep breath and lets it out. "Yeah. Uh. Sorry. I'm fine." He wipes at his eyes, takes another careful breath, and Steve relaxes now that it sounds smooth.

"I've definitely forgotten how to do the Heimlich," he says, "so it's good you weren't dying there."

"I got certified in CPR for a few years as a teenager," Carol adds casually. "I absolutely did it to make out with a cute girl under the pretense of practicing."

Steve and Bucky laugh, which eggs Carol on to share more about her teenage scampiness. Before Steve knows it, the last half-hour has blown by twice over.

— 🎙 —

It's getting to be a problem, working with Bucky Barnes.

Not, like, a problem-problem. He has no plan to tell Carol they need to get a new producer. But Steve's finding it harder to ignore that he finds Bucky so devastating to be around, what with his smile and his eyes and his laugh and the way he calls Steve "Rogers" in that voice that sounds so fed up, but in the nicest way.

He doesn't think Carol realizes that this is a problem, which is certainly down to Steve shutting down his attraction to men for almost half his life. If anyone has ever clocked him, they let him keep thinking he was keeping secrets well. Carol's probably someone like that, understanding where Steve's coming from.

But he's worried about Bucky figuring it out, so he tries to keep it all shut in close, even as he tries to actually shut it down, because this isn't someone to feel some kind of way about.

It's not going well, that plan.

He calls his mother during the week and laments to her about his deepening crush, letting her laugh at him. But she also listens to him, a safe place for Steve to unload his thoughts and woes. She tells him to be careful with his heart again and again.

They record a session late one afternoon, later than usual. As they're packing up Bucky asks, "Hey, I could use some dinner, you guys wanna grab something?"

Steve looks to Carol, biting the inside of his cheek not to answer too quickly. He doesn't really even know what his answer would be, which is why he's so afraid of his mouth responding before his brain does.

Carol shakes her head. "Thanks Buck, but I have a call scheduled tonight, so I gotta get home. But you and Steve should totally go." There's mischief in her eyes. "Maybe you can pull some good stories out of him, stuff we can use when he gets all amnesiac on us."

Steve rolls his eyes and groans. "My memory is just...slow."

Bucky snickers. "That's why I'll get some beer in you and poke you until it speeds up. Come on, I promise I won't torture you."

Steve may feel that being tortured by Bucky may not be the worst thing in the world, but he pushes down his inconvenient thirst and agrees to go get dinner alone with the star of his recent dreams. They take their separate cars to a small little bar Bucky recommends that has a good selection of craft beers and excellent wings. There's only music playing in the bar, no TVs with sports that might show Steve's face; he feels a soft gratefulness towards Bucky for making this choice, because that's probably not a coincidence.

The menu is fairly basic—beer and wings and a few other bar appetizer foods—so it's quick work to place their order and settle in at their booth, which sits in the back of the dining area.

"I don't really want to interrogate you," Bucky says, with a bit of a sheepish grin on his face.

Steve chuckles. "No? It seemed like you were kinda into that plan."

"I won't complain if you do end up sharing some stories that I can help prompt you for in future episodes," Bucky admits, "but honestly I wanted to hang out. All three of us, ideally, right?" He shrugs. "I thought it'd be nice to do something that wasn't about the podcast for a change. Just. I dunno. Friends?"

Steve can't stop the smile from spreading across his face; he forces out a laugh to try and hide the deeper emotion behind it. "We are friends, Bucky. And this is a good idea. It's a shame Carol couldn't make it."

"Yeah, sure is," Bucky says. Their drinks arrive, and he starts taking a sip before he pauses and holds up the glass. "Uh, hey, a toast? To podcasting?"

Steve nods, clinking their glasses together. "To podcasting." They both sip at their beers. It's only a little awkward, sort of like how it was a few weeks ago at the other bar after Carol left. Remembering that outing sparks a memory in Steve, and he brightens while reaching for his phone.

"I totally forgot to tell you," he explains, swiping through his camera pics, "but I was working on this over the last couple weeks. Thought maybe you'd want to see it?" He hands the phone over, feeling a little nervous while Bucky looks at a small picture of a drawing Steve's been messing with.

It's not a quick glance and a polite compliment that Steve gets in response. Bucky peers carefully at the picture on the phone, pinches and zooms so he can see a detail clearer. "Jesus, Steve. You said sketching, and I thought, I dunno, quick little doodles?" He looks up at Steve, his eyes wide, eyebrows high, and he's so clearly impressed that Steve feels his cheeks heating up. "This ain't doodles, pal."

Steve ducks his head and huffs out a light laugh. "Sometimes it's doodles, but I started on this one and I thought it could be a good real sketch." It's Carol, in profile, like he sees her at the podcasting desk when she's looking over at Bucky, laughing at something. He likes to think he got a lot of her fondness for their producer in her face, but he's not sure how much Bucky can see in it.

"This is really good. You've really got her expression down here." Bucky looks up at Steve and grins. "Is she laughing at me?"

"Ha, yeah. You musta said something dumb, I guess," Steve teases, a bit of panic starting to build even as his whole chest warms and feels like it's opening up.

"I'm pretty sure we were both laughing at you," Bucky says. His smirk is too much for Steve to handle, those upturned lips too full of mischief to not immediately envision them doing something else, something less innocent than laughing at Steve. Steve has to look away, focus on pictures on the walls, hope that Bucky thinks Steve is bashful about the compliments.

"You should show this to her," Bucky says, more serious now as he slides the phone back to Steve. "She'll love it. And then she'll probably want one of Val for Christmas or something."

Steve looks back, raising his eyebrows in surprise. "Ha, I don't know about that, but I'll think about showing her." He closes the gallery app and puts his phone away in his pocket. "I've never shown anyone anything I've drawn before."

The smile that builds on Bucky's face is upsettingly beautiful. "I'm the first? Ever? Really?"

Steve shrugs. "You're the first one who asked."

"How many people have known there was something to ask about, Rogers?"

"That's fair." Steve rubs a hand over the back of his head. "But..." He doesn't have a safe direction to go in from there, he can't tell Bucky how safe he feels in revealing these Steve Rogers deep cuts to him, to only him.

He's saved by the server coming back with the wings, depositing the platter and two smaller plates in front of them with an entire roll of paper towels, and a fresh round of beers to top them off. The subject of Steve's drawing gets lost in the messy business of eating extra-saucy chicken wings. If the sight of Bucky licking his fingers clean does anything to Steve, well, the spicy sauce can account for the lifted heat in Steve's cheeks.

— 💲 —

Carol: When you travel for a living, one thing you don't want to have to worry about is the security of your home. Secure Yo Self is a low-cost security system that lets you monitor everything through right on your phone.

Steve: Whether you need to run out for a few errands, or you're away in France for the World Cup for a month— what's that like, Carol?

Carol: [laughs delightedly]

Steve: [snickers] No matter how long you're gone, or how far away, you can be sure to feel safe and secure as you monitor your home—yourself. Secure Yo Self's sensitive motion-activated sensors will send notifications when there are concerns, and you can choose when to involve the authorities.

Carol: If you're going to be unavailable, say if you have to play a gold-medal match, you can opt in for their monitoring service, billed by the hour. This means you can choose exactly how hands-on you want to be, and save some money if you don't need the extra help!

Steve: For a free thirty-day trial, including six hours of their monitoring service to give a whirl, visit secureyoself.com and enter CapsPod when checking out!

Carol: That's secureyoself.com, y-o-self, and enter CapsPod at checkout for thirty days of service and six hours of monitoring free!

Chapter Text

Captains America Podcast @capsamericapod
With @stevegrogers heading into the playoffs, we're taking a brief hiatus! @cdanversscore will fill her time off by watching some women's hockey, and @jbbarnesprod will probably sleep until their voices are out of his head. See you in the new year!

Sherry @bo_berry_28
@capsamericapod No new eps until the new year! 😭😭

Captains America Podcast @capsamericapod
@bo_berry_28 Sorry, that was confusing! We have new eps still for a bit longer, but they're all pre-recorded. Never fear!

— ⚽ —

When New York City goes two goals up after sixty-seven minutes, Steve feels his heart sink. Johnson is putting on a clinic in the opposing net, and if the Philly forwards haven't found a weak spot yet, they're not likely to, as NYC's defense starts to turtle.

T'Challa scores one in the final ten minutes, a nice header off a corner from Rhodey, but it's not enough. The Forge's season is over.

Steve goes to shake his opponents' hands and wish them luck in their next round. Foggy Nelson takes a moment to say he likes the podcast, which Steve appreciates. Sam comes over and puts an arm around Steve's shoulders, cupping Steve's cheek with his other hand and pressing his forehead into Steve's cheek, murmuring something about how they're right on the edge, they'll bring it back all the way next year. Steve appreciates it, deep down in his heart where he puts feelings he isn't ready to deal with in the moments after the loss.

He has to pull those feelings out quickly, though, because there's no stopping the press from talking to the losing team. A few individual reporters pull Steve aside first, then he goes in and faces the scrum, a sea of faces shouting questions but hardly waiting for answers. He repeats the same platitudes: he's proud of the boys, they thought they could take it all this year but NYC showed up when they needed to, they're all going to come back ready to fight harder next year.

At least no one expects him to put a smile on his face.

Finally, it's over. He goes back to the locker room and the doors are closed to all except the players and coaching staff. The coaches give the players space, too.

"You guys don't need a speech right now," Steve says, sitting at his locker, elbows on his knees, though his head is up to look at everyone. "But you know that's what I do best, so deal with it." He catches Rhodey's eyes, who gives him a little nod.

"It's not what we wanted, this end. We wanted the Cup, and we aren't happy tonight. I'm not going to act like we should be, either. We all feel like there are things we could have done better. They weren't that much better than us, hell we beat them twice this year. But that doesn't mean we shouldn't be proud of this season. You know we had a lot to deal with, from some injuries and a few hits to our depth charts. All teams deal with shit, so it's not an excuse, but not every team pulls together to make it to the playoffs at all.

"You gotta remember this feeling, right? Let it burn in you over the winter, let it fuel your training and your work in the off-season, and come back here next year ready to show the league that the Forge is a force."

He doesn't get hyped up applause like he usually does for pre-game speeches, but he's okay with that. As he starts to get his street clothes on—back into his dress shirt and suit pants, but fuck the tie now, damn—his phone falls from his jacket pocket. He unlocks it, looking to see the text from his mom he knows will be there for him. It is there, a simple Love you, baby boy and a couple hearts; there are others from other friends, one from Carol (fuckin new york shitty sorry brother), and then there's a couple from Bucky.

Bucky: watched the game tonight, that was a rough go. shit-ass call on Maximoff, i'm gonna send porn spam to that ref's email, was that Murdoch? you looked good though, that second goal was NOT your fault shut up I know youre already blaming yourself.
Bucky: text me tomorrow, or even the day after, but take care tonight ok man? 🤜

Steve's pretty sure he shouldn't be smiling in the locker room right now, but he can't quite stop anyway.

— ⚽ —

"Awww, baby." Carol pulls Steve into a tight hug, which surprises him, but not enough to stop from hugging her back. It's nice to receive sympathy from someone who has been there—who isn't going through it at the same time.

"Thanks Care." He kisses her cheek and she pulls back and smiles, tugging him into her home. Like most of the athletes he knows, at least the ones who don't have big families, she's got an upscale apartment outside the city. Her home looks more lived-in than Steve's place, but she came here a year later than he did. Steve never quite gets into the right mood to sit down and think about how he would want to decorate. Carol has taken the time and effort to make her place homey, with artwork and photos, a few potted plants.

"You need a beer?" she asks, already in the fridge and pulling one out for him. He smirks and takes the bottle from her. She laughs softly. "You need a beer."

"I've had a lot of beer over the last couple days," Steve admits, but he still pops the cap and takes a big pull. He leans against the island countertop and lets out a long, deep sigh that he didn't realize he'd been holding. "Shit."

Carol sips her own beer, letting him have his quiet moment. It's not until the beer is more than half gone that he speaks again.

"You know what sucks the most? I don't know what we could have done better in that game. Like. You hate to think that you left anything off the field, but at least then you can fool yourself to say maybe you would have won, maybe off-pitch distractions could have been managed better, maybe, maybe." He shakes his head. "But when you really believe that everyone bought in, everyone put every ounce of themselves into that game, then all it means is that you simply aren't good enough."

Carol doesn't respond right away, then makes a thoughtful humming noise as she puts down her bottle and crosses her arms. "But that's bullshit, Rogers." He raises his eyebrows, and she matches the look. "There's always more you can do. You aren't kids playing against pros, you're all pros together. Any team can make it happen. The magic is that only one team does on any particular night, only one team wins the last game of the season. You're wrong that you couldn't have done more. Every player on that field could have done something more last night. Don't talk shit about your team like that."

Steve's quiet for a few minutes after that, considering things. It's not like he hasn't lost before; hell, last year they got one round further than this year, but this one hurts more. Memories come to mind of his sloppy plays, moves he should have anticipated, decisions that were made quickly by necessity but not as intelligently as he would have liked. He could have done better, yes. And he's certainly not the only one.

Carol's right, it feels better to know that. To own that as hard as he did try, as they all tried, there was room for improvement.

"Thanks," Steve says, raising his bottle to her again. "I needed that kick in the ass."

Carol beams at him. "That's why you came to me." She steps over to him, ruffles his hair and tweaks his nose, then she kisses his cheek fondly. "Okay. Enough lingering on that shit. Let's watch something stupid and talk about girls."

They end up sprawled on her couch, watching some old episode of ER.

"If you want a good time," Steve says, as George Clooney George-Clooneys around the nurse's desk, "watch this or pretty much any medical drama with my Ma. She was a nurse, worked in hospitals mostly. She hates these shows."

Carol laughs. "Oh yeah, I bet! Did she do any ER work?"

Steve nods. "Yeah, before I was born though. Hard to do ER hours while being a single mom." He chuckles. "She became the de facto team doctor when I was playing youth league and travel soccer. The leagues always had trainers on hand who could help, but Ma's first aid kit was stocked like a pro and she always had the best bandages and braces."

"God, we would have killed for someone with actual medical knowledge in my youth leagues," Carol says, eyes closed as she muses. "I think the best we ever had at some point was a mom who used to be a cub scout den mother and kept a lot of band-aids in her minivan. Thankfully we never had big injuries."

"Was this for the local youth league?"

She shakes her head. "No, this was a short-range travel team. The girls' league wasn't very well funded." She looks at him out of the corner of her eye. "Now we weren't the richest area, and soccer wasn't super popular, but it was the second most popular sport for girls. Don't get me started on how well the boys' football leagues were funded."

Steve lets out a hesitant huff of laughter—it isn't funny, even if she's trying to play it off for a chuckle. "I will not get you started today," he agrees, "but maybe that's a topic for the podcast. I think youth leagues and travel soccer should be discussed more anyway." He cocks his head. "Where did you grow up?"

"Austin. So, yeah. Football was the main thing in Texas. If you were a girl, then the expectation was that you'd be a cheerleader." She smirks. "I even tried it. Got kicked off my middle school team for screaming at the players to play better." They both laugh at that; Steve can't image Carol in a little skirt, shaking pom-poms. She'd be a better fit in shoulder pads and a helmet on the field. He says so, and she laughs again. "I asked! But my mom refused. But I'd go kick footballs with my brothers to help them practice catching returns, and that helped with soccer."

"When was the last time you kicked a football?"

"Ha, it's probably been fifteen years. I don't imagine I'll try out for the Eagles anytime soon."

They're quiet for a moment, then Carol asks, "What about you? Any near-misses on non-soccer careers?"

He starts to say no—he never played other sports, unless you count pick-up baseball games, sandlot-style—but the last dinner with Bucky comes back to mind. He'd promise to try and share a bit more about his secret hobbies.

"Well. I don't know that it would have ever been a career? But I've always enjoyed drawing."

Like Bucky, Carol is surprised and intrigued by this revelation. She asks him questions, making him feel like a guest on the podcast. She clearly knows a little something about art; she asks about what medium he works in and who his influences are.

When she asks who his favorite artist is, Steve has to pause, consider his answer carefully. His favorite artist is a man he met back home in Brooklyn two off-seasons ago. He went home with him for a night, and Steve stared at the two large paintings hung on opposite sides of the small loft. He'd only gotten the man's first name, maybe not even a real first name, and he never found him again. He's not ready to go into all of that right now. (Or perhaps ever, even if he comes out to Carol.) In the end, he names some more famous artists he enjoys and doesn't make it too deep.

"Do you still draw?" she asks. She's sitting up on the arm of the couch now, leaning over with her arms on her knees.

Steve swallows and nods, knowing what the next question will be, knowing he has to decide if he wants to share his art.

"That's great. I'm glad you have that hobby." And that's all she says about it. She slips down on the couch to sit somewhat more correctly, but she doesn't ask to see anything he's drawn, doesn't ask if he'd draw something for her.

Which makes it easy for him.

"Hey, you wanna see one of mine?" he asks, getting his phone out and flipping to the picture of his drawing.

"Yeah?" She leans over, clearly eager to see what he's offering. Steve's glad to share, and glad she's polite enough to not make a demand of his private life. He imagines she wishes people would give her the same courtesy a lot more often.

"Yeah. Here." He hands over his phone, watching her face as she takes it and peers at the screen, her widening in recognition. "Oh! Oh!" She looks back up at him. "Steve!" He grins at her, blushing slightly, but he's pleased by the reaction. "You drew me?"

Steve shrugs. "I mean, I stare at you for a few hours each time we do an ep. You kinda get burned in my brain in that position. Made it easy to draw from memory at home and on planes." He reaches over and gives her knees a nudge; she knocks them back against him.

"Clearly Barnes said something either hilarious or stupid and hilarious here," she says. Steve tries to hold back the flush that wants to show itself on his face, that terrible tragedy of being seen, even if she doesn't know what she's seen yet.

"Would you like to have it? The actual drawing, I mean." Is he trying to deflect away from the true story of his drawing? Maybe, but it's an honest offer anyway.

Carol looks up at him, smiles brightly. "Yeah? How much?"

Steve waves his hand. "You already paid in modeling, you didn't even know it. But otherwise it'll waste away unseen in my sketchbook."

"I'd like it, yeah. I can give it to Val, maybe."

Steve snickers. "Bucky thought you might want to commission a sketch of Val."

"Oh my god, you've shown this to Bucky?" Steve freezes for a moment, wondering what he's given away, but then he realizes she's the one blushing now. "Oh god, he's gonna wonder what I'm laughing at him about."

With a bit of relief, Steve tells her, "Oh, he thinks both of you were laughing at me."

"That makes sense," Carol agrees, then hands the phone back to Steve. "Thank you for sharing that, man. And if you are willing to part with it, I'd love to have it. I—look nice. Thank you for that."

Steve smiles and tucks his phone back in his pocket, but he leans over and slings and arm around her shoulders, pulling her in for a hug against his side. "I'll take that as a compliment to my realism, then."

She reaches over and pats his chest. They're quiet for a moment, and then she says, "Actually, I think I would like a drawing of Val." Laughing, they plan out Steve's first official commissioned art piece.

— ⚽ —

The postseason hangover (mostly figurative) passes within a week, to Steve's relief. He hates to feel so down about his career, the sport he loves, and he wants to move past it, figure out how to get ready to try again next year.

But it isn't next year quite yet, because the off-season has its own tricks up its sleeve. There's the break-up day when they clean out their lockers, there's the exit interviews with Fury and Pym, and there's saying goodbye to the guys who are heading home for the winter. None of it's really fun or anything he enjoys, but it has to be done, and he has to keep a decent mood for the team around him.

By the time Natasha summons him, he's tired and cranky. Luckily, he trusts her to see that side of him.

"I quit," he grumbles, but it's easy to understand that he's talking complete shit.

"You're two seasons from signing a new contract," Natasha points out, her eyes still on her monitor. "You're not going anywhere."

Steve heaves a sigh heavy enough to rustle some papers on her desk, and she looks at him with a weary glance. Steve stares back.

"Okay, stop being sad, you weirdo. Literally, you've never ended a season without losing—"

"No, four years ago—"

"—when you had a terrible season and didn't even make the playoffs. Yes, you won your last game then, I'm sure it felt great."

Steve blinks and his mouth tightens into a little frown. Damn. "Jesus, Nat."

Natasha turns her monitor so he can see it, too. "There's a PA meeting one week after the championship final. Do you need me to send you the information, or do you already have it?"

With another performative sigh, Steve gets his phone out to check his calendar. Natasha runs through a number of standard kind of appointments that he'll need to attend throughout the off-season. Aside from the Players' Association meeting, there are meetings with the club ownership to talk about why Steve didn't deliver a championship (and associated money) to them, with scouts to talk about young players to watch, with journalists who want to start getting their interviews ready for the Olympics, and with a fair number of potential sponsors who want his face and name on their products. It'd be flattering if it all wasn't so exhausting.

"Men's Health wants to do a cover story on you, with a photo spread, so don't stop working out, babe."

Steve groans, even though he knows there's no way he'd stop working out. He never does, but he's even less likely to lighten up on taking care of his body this year. For some reason. It doesn't matter what that reason is, or if that reason has toned upper arms with a tattoo and Steve can't get it out of his head when he tries to handle some of his baser urges—

"—so I think it'll do a lot to protect you."

Natasha is looking at him, clearly expecting a response. The one she gets is, "Huh?" and from the way she rolls her eyes, Steve thinks that it's not what she wanted to hear.

"Stop daydreaming, Rogers. This is a good PR partnership opportunity."

Steve sits up straighter and nods. "Sure. I didn't hear anything about it, sorry. Tell me again?" He smiles in his aw shucks way that he knows doesn't actually work on Natasha, but also sometimes she lets him pretend it did.

Today, she is somewhat merciful. "I heard from Allied Forces. They want you."

Steve waits for more information, but nothing is forthcoming. So, he'll have to beg. "And who is Allied Forces? Is that a new World War Two podcast?" Since Captains America went live, he's had a few other podcasts reach out to him, including some history ones after they heard about his casual, semi-nerdy interest.

Natasha doesn't actually count to ten out loud, but Steve thinks he can see her lips mouthing the words. "Allied Forces is an advocacy group. More specifically, it's a group of people who identify as allies of the LGBTQ community. I've actually had their request for a while, but I thought it would be best for you to wait for the season to end before we tackled this. They'd like you to join and take a position on their board."

That surprises Steve enough to make him sit back in his chair, staring at Natasha. "They want me to—what?"

Natasha sighs, clearly getting a little frustrated with him. "Steve! You went on a big rant against homophobes and stood up for your openly gay co-host. An allies group that advocates for gay people want you to be part of them."

Steve shakes his head, something about this whole thing not clicking with him, not fitting in his head. "I've never been on, on an advocacy board?"

"No," Natasha agrees, "but it's more of an honorary appointment. Your face and voice is what they want, I'm sure they'll be fine supplying the words."

He wipes a hand over his face, thinking hard. (Don't hurt yourself, Rogers, he imagines Bucky's teasing voice murmuring through headphones.) "It's all allies? Not people within the community?"

Natasha pulls up a website. "Their site says they're all allies, and they work directly with people within the community. They try to do a lot of amplification, speaking to people who won't listen to the minorities, et cetera." She raises an eyebrow. "I think it's a pretty good group. And I also think it's something that might protect you a little bit. You can speak through that group more, rather than directly, if it's something that might be a little too spicy for the USSF."

Steve nods, seeing where she's coming with that. "More to give a 'these views do not represent any organization outside Allied Forces' spin and they can decide if they want to join in with being decent people."

"Right, exactly." Natasha sits back in her chair, looking fairly proud of herself. "Are you good with that, then?"

There's still one problem—Steve hates that it's a problem. There's a twisting in his gut that's hot and made of guilt that's soft as putty, but heavy as iron.

"They seem like a very good group, Nat. From what you tell me, they've got a good goal and I'd be glad to help promote them." He looks down at his hands, clasped tightly in his lap, and licks his lips.

"But I can't be on their board. It wouldn't be right."

To her credit, she doesn't frown or look disappointed. "Why not, Steve?" She asks the question gently. Steve wonders if, somehow, she already knows the answer and expected this the whole time.

Steve rolls his neck, takes a deep breath. "Because I'm not an ally. Because I'm part of the community this group wants to help, and they're positioning themselves from the outside. Which, you know, that's great, there needs to be allies who can help. But I—I'm not ready to be public, you know? And in the meantime, while I know my speaking out has led some to call me an ally, I have never said it of myself, and—and that's why." He leans forward, dropping his head to look at the ground between his feet. "One day I'll come out. I always planned to do that, someday. And when I do, I don't want to be asked why I specifically identified as an ally and implied I was, uh, straight."

He stops speaking then, waiting for her to respond, but after a minute or so the silence gets to him, and he looks up. Natasha is sitting forward as well, her arms resting on her desk as she leans over it, getting closer to him, as though they're going to be sharing secrets across the keyboard and cup of pens between them.

She's smiling at him, soft, a little amused, and zero percent surprised. "I'll let them know you're not looking to start an official social justice career yet, but that we'll say nice things about them, same as we do for other groups that support causes that are important to you." She nods. "And that's it."

Steve swallows hard. "That's it?" He's still waiting for her to ask for more information—he said he was part of the community, but he didn't say which part.

Natasha nods and sits back. "That's it. And that was the last of the things I needed us to tackle today, so if you don't have any other issues, we're done!" She goes back to the computer, typing a few more notes. Steve sits there, a little gobsmacked.

"You, uh. You don't wanna—?"

"Nnnope."

He narrows his eyes. "It's not a pro—"

"Steve Rogers, if you ask me if I have a problem with you identifying with a marginalized community, I'm dropping you as a client." She actually sounds offended, which settles nicely in Steve's chest.

"Right. Right!" He stands up and nods. "Okay then. I suppose we're done here, then?"

"That's what I said," she says, and now she's amused in her subtle way that Steve only knows because she's been his agent his entire career. "We're fifteen minutes early. Go get some of your day back. Do you have some podcasting recording to do tonight?" Her eyes flick to him briefly. "Maybe you can go meet up early."

Steve grins. "Bucky has been riding me to get this fucking underwear ad recorded."

Natasha's eyes flick up to him again, and this time there's a definite curve of her lips, which means she must be terribly amused by him. "That so?"

He nods. "Carol handled a bra ad for Pantymonium, so I get the boxer briefs that come in the mail every month. I know there's a bet on how many takes I need. Buck's got faith in me, though. I think." Bucky and Carol think he's oblivious and don't know that they make these bets. Bucky's the one who knows how Steve's been getting better at reading the copy, so Steve's giving him the advantage. He's mostly afraid he'll be flustered in Bucky's presence as he talks about underwear. But he's determined to get it done in no more than three takes.

"I'll have to make sure to listen for that one, then."

"You listen to the podcast?" Steve didn't think she did. Frankly he didn't think she had the time for it.

Natasha tilts her head at him, curious. "Are you surprised when I watch your games?"

Steve shrugs. "Not really? You gotta know if I get hurt or something, or if I curse out a ref." He grins at her, since it's been a couple years since he last time his temper flared at Head Referee Matt Murdoch in response to some really shitty calls. He's better at talking calmly now; he tends to let his teammates fly off the handle, take the yellow, and then Steve can slide in and smooth it all out. The first time he did that, he got a call from his mother asking who he was and what he'd done with her son.

But, yeah, he's surprised that Natasha finds time to listen to this silly podcast.

"I pay attention to my clients. I may not be able to listen every Friday it drops, but I usually get to it over the weekend." She smiles at him. "You're all quite entertaining. And I'm proud of you for opening up more." There's a weight to her words, and Steve knows she means more than in the podcast.

"I'm glad you look out for me, Nat." He picks up his backpack and grins. "I actually don't have a recording session tonight, but I can at least go home and practice reading about supportive crotches." That actually startles a laugh out of her, and Steve counts it as a win. Lord knows he doesn't get them often enough with her. "Have a good day, Agent Romanoff," he says with a wink and a wave.

"Goodbye, Captain Rogers," she calls after him.

As he leaves her office, he's smiling. Now the real off-season can begin—he's over the mourning, and ready to enjoy himself for a couple months.

— ⚽ —

That enjoyment starts by accepting his losses completely and watching the next round of playoff games. If they were still in the hunt, the team would gather together to watch their potential next opponents play. Instead, Steve's watching at home, alone, thinking lazily about his options for dinner before the pre-game show starts.

His phone chimes with a text. Steve hesitates before reaching over to check it, a little wary of a teammate wanting to whine about being out of the playoffs, but when he does pick up his phone he grins widely.

Bucky: in a big pizza mood, but I always feel like a dork eating in alone. You watching the games tonight? Want company? And 🍕?

Steve replies back with a yummy face and thumb's up, then gives Bucky his address, just in case he doesn't already have it.

It takes about a half-hour, which is faster than Steve expected, before Bucky is knocking on his door, and Steve lets him and two big pizza boxes into the apartment.

"I'm glad you said yes," Bucky says with a sheepish grin. "I'd already ordered the pizzas when I texted you."

The admission warms him. "You're a lifesaver," Steve says, closing the door and locking it, all while still looking at Bucky. He's caught by the look on Bucky's face. His smile is bright, but his eyes betray some uncertainty. Steve's good at reading faces, reading eyes. It makes him the skilled defender he is, being able to read small glances, little bits of body language, anything that can tell him when a streaking forward is about to pass to the winger who Steve hadn't even seen closing in.

"Everything okay?" he asks.

Bucky blinks, his eyes clearer now. "Everything's great. Thanks for letting me invite myself over."

"I'm really glad you texted," Steve says, coming over to take the pizza from Bucky. "Let's get some plates. The game's just starting."

Bucky nods in agreement, and they spend a few minutes working around each other in the kitchen, getting pizza on plates and beers out of the fridge and opened. It's nice, having someone over when it isn't a bunch of teammates. He doesn't tend to host often, because his place can't easily hold more than a starting line and Steve isn't the type to tell the subs they're not invited. He knows some of the other guys hang out in smaller groups, three or four tops, but ever since he made captain on both squads, he's never felt right picking favorites. And friends outside the team have always been hard to find.

He and Bucky settle on the couch with a pile of napkins between them, and Steve flips the TV over to the early game, which is already about ten minutes in, but keeps it on mute.

"I hate watching with commentary," he explains. "I get enough of that watching video with the team as regular training. It's nice to just sit back and watch a game without thinking like I have to learn anything from it."

"Guess that's the bright side of being out of the playoffs?" Bucky's smile is small and less sympathetic than Steve expects; he likes that.

"That I don't have to learn anything? Ha, yeah." Steve gestures to the television. "So which team do you follow, if you follow any of them? I, uh, realize now I never asked you that."

Bucky smirks a little. "I grew up in Indiana, so I sorta follow Chicago. But I've been here ever since I finished college, soooooo...."

Steve grins, honestly pleased. "My team?"

"Shuddup, you have nothing to do with it." His cheeks are a little pink, though.

"Do you come to many games?" Steve is nearly gleeful at the idea. "Are you a supporter?"

Bucky snorts. "You know how much you guys pay me, don't you? I can't afford supporters club membership. But I try to get to a couple games every season with some friends."

Steve reaches over and gives Bucky's shoulder a little shove. "You should have said! I get comp tickets that I always have a hard time giving away."

Bucky doesn't answer right away, taking a sip of his beer, and that pink in his cheeks is still there. "I'm pretty sure," he finally says, "that accepting those tickets would be a bit of a conflict of interest."

"What, because you do the podcast? Honestly, I don't think anyone would give a shit, Buck." He sits up to grab another slice of pizza. "Next season, let me know if you want any tickets, okay?"

Bucky nods, with a little smile. "I mean. There are rumors that they're gonna trade ya, but sure."

Steve laughs. "Is that a real rumor? Or are you just trying to fluster me, Barnes?" On the television, one of the teams scores, but Steve barely takes notice, his attention focused on Bucky, who is clearly trying to suppress a bigger grin. "You're just trying to fuck with me. That's fair."

"I did hear that rumor on a board online," Bucky admits, "but it was clearly someone looking for attention."

"I'm honored?" Steve makes a face. "Anyway I'm not going anywhere, so sorry-not-sorry to that guy."

"Definitely a vote for 'not sorry' from me." Bucky takes an odd sharp breath. "And, y'know. Not only because you leaving the city would make for a really tough podcast schedule."

"No?" Steve looks back to the TV, hoping the pleasure that admission brings him isn't too obvious. "I'm pretty glad I'm sticking around, too. Not just because of the team, or the podcast." Or new friends. Cute friends. Ugh, stop it, Rogers. As a kid from Brooklyn, Steve never expected to enjoy living in Philadelphia as much as he does. He'll never admit that to his ma, of course.

Bucky rubs at his chin for a moment, and Steve can hear the soft scrape of stubble against Bucky's fingers. Something still seems off with him tonight, and Steve can't quite pinpoint what the problem might be.

They lapse into silence, watching the game, and maybe it should be weird without sound if they aren't talking, but it isn't. It feels nice, actually—Steve starts to wonder if maybe Bucky is into hockey so they can watch that together over the winter. It would be as good an excuse as any to have him around more.

Half-time arrives sooner than Steve expects it, and he pushes up off the couch with a grunt. "Gonna hit the head, get another beer. You want one?"

"Mmm?" Bucky looks up at him, confused for a moment, then nods. "Oh, yeah, sure." And it's there again, that something slightly off-kilter. If Steve didn't have to pee really badly right now, he might even ask about it. Instead he heads to the bathroom, throwing a thumbs-up over his head like he would to a teammate on the field.

When he comes back to the couch, two beers in hand, Bucky has tidied up, moved the pile of napkins to the coffee table and shifted away from the middle of the couch. Bucky thanks him as he takes the beer, and Steve's about to let all the strangeness go, when he watches Bucky chug almost half the bottle, and, right, he can't ignore that.

"Everything okay, buddy?" he asks, hoping he's coming off open and safe to share with. "You've seemed a bit—" He can't think of the words, so he makes a face that he hopes communicates a general sense of cock-eyed weirdness, in a friendly sort of way.

Bucky puts the drink down and coughs a little, wiping his hand across his lips. Steve can see a wet spot on his chin that he missed. "Yeah," he says. His voice comes out huskier than normal, which Steve doesn't hate, but then Bucky clears his throat. "Yeah, I'm, uh. I'm fine. There's just." He stops and closes his eyes briefly; Steve waits, giving Bucky the chance to figure out what he clearly needs to say.

"I need to tell you something." Bucky looks at his hands in his lap, his right thumb digging into the heel of his left palm. "Honestly, I've thought maybe it was okay if I never did, but if we're going to do another season on the podcast, then you—you deserve to have the information."

Bucky looks up at Steve, as though waiting for permission to continue, so Steve nods. "Okay. What do you want to tell me?" He can't imagine what it might be that could cause this distress.

"Okay. Um." Bucky closes his eyes, takes a deep breath. Now when he looks at Steve again, there's a resolved calmness to him. "I'm gay, Steve. I'm gay and I've had a mild crush on you for years, and now that I've gotten to know you, I'm so stuck on you, and—" He throws his hands up, like that should say it all.

Steve stares at him, remembering to blink once or twice. "Oh. Oh!" That's all that can slip past his lips right now, the only coherent thought in the sudden electric storm that struck his brain at Bucky's admission.

"Y-yeah." Bucky bites his lip and looks away again. "I didn't think it would be fair for you not to know if we were gonna keep working together. And if you'd rather I not, that's honestly fine. It's a good time for you and Carol to find a new producer—"

Steve throws a hand up between them. "Whoa! Wait, what?" He shakes his head. "Why wouldn't I want you to stay on with us?"

Bucky lets out a little snort and shakes his own head. "I know you're a good ally and all that, but I'd understand it if a straight guy wouldn't be comfortable having a close male co-worker being into him like that."

Steve closes his eyes and drops his head a little, and then he lifts his index finger, starting a list. "First, I'd say it's no different than when I worked the register at the pizza place in high school and I knew Dina Dilella had a massive crush on me." He lifts a second finger as Bucky starts to argue, and he raises his head, opens his eyes, and continues with, "Second. I have never said I was a straight guy."

The eyes he's looking into go wider than he's ever seen, including when Carol let Bucky hold her Olympic and World Cup gold medals. "W-what?"

He's not sure where he dredges up this extra serving of patience, but there's enough of it there to clarify. "I have never, since I was fifteen years old, told anyone that I was straight." Bucky's still looking shell-shocked, so Steve figures he might as well drop the other grenade. "And I've wanted to kiss you since the first day you walked into the podcasting space."

"Oh. Oh!" Bucky might be having his own electrical brainstorm right now, so Steve carefully rations out the very last few bits of his restraint to let it pass. "So...."

Steve nods. "So, I'm going to kiss you now, if that's okay."

"Fuck, Steve, yes, that's—" The next word is swallowed as Steve moves across the couch like he's intercepting a striker, only instead of sliding in to tackle with his feet, he cups Bucky's face and kisses him firmly. Bucky's open mouth leaves Steve free to capture Bucky's top lip between his own; they're stuck there for a moment, both still a little shocked, until Steve lets out a whimper. Bucky reacts by tilting his head and they slot together better, lips parted and tongues meeting.

Bucky's hands slide over Steve's shoulders and clutch at his back, and Steve lets one of his hands slip into Bucky's hair, tangling in the pieces that have fallen from the loose band holding them back. This isn't a sweet, uncertain, figuring-it-out first kiss—no, this is a kiss that has been wanted too long, drawn back on an elastic, sending their desires rocketing forward and crashing into each other. Teeth click together too many times, it's probably too wet, but this part has to get worked out of their systems if they're going to find a better rhythm.

Bucky pulls back finally, breathing hard against Steve's mouth, their foreheads pressed together. "So," he says as his panting starts to slow, "you're not straight."

"Bi," Steve confirms. "Bi, and very into you. Utterly failing at getting over my crush."

Bucky nods. "Okay, good. And this is not a new revelation to you?"

"Nope. Have enjoyed relations with multiple genders." Steve chuckles. "Though separately, not at once."

"Good to know. Don't see that changing at the moment. Curiosity sated, back to kissing you, please."

"Please."

The next kiss is a bit more measured, though no less intoxicating. The hand that Steve doesn't keep in Bucky's hair starts to roam a bit, feeling over Bucky's shoulder, down his arm, and while he was sort of aiming to have his hand curl around Bucky's waist, he finds his fingers tangling with Bucky's instead.

He can feel Bucky's lips curve against his into a smile as he squeezes Steve's hand, and then he licks deeper into Steve's mouth.

While they kiss, an extremely rude part of Steve's brain reminds him that he doesn't hook up with men who know him for a reason. That it wasn't a surprise that Bucky didn't know he was bi. That Steve is not out and has no plans to be out while he's still playing. He whines a little, in his head, at this rude part of his brain; Bucky makes a soft noise and Steve realizes his whine wasn't in his head. The exchange is effective, though, and Steve stops worrying about his image and instead starts to shift on the couch and lean back, tugging Bucky along with him. He groans as the weight of the other man settles over him, pleased as anything to see Bucky's not being shy.

He doesn't want to be shy, either, so he moves his hands over Bucky's sides, over his back—which is far more firmly muscled than he'd have guessed—and then sneaks his fingers down low, teasing at the waist of Bucky's jeans.

"Steve," Bucky breathes, pulling his mouth away and murmuring instead against Steve's pulse. "Getting friendly?"

Steve tilts his chin to give Bucky better access to his neck. "Been friendly for months. Want more."

"Jesus." Bucky pulls away again, pushing up onto straightened arms which anchor on the couch, one on either side of Steve's head. "I didn't. I mean, I wasn't planning all—" He lets his gaze drag from Steve's head down his body. "—this."

Steve licks his lips. "You thought I'd confirm I wasn't into guys. Not into you."

"I really just hoped I wasn't gonna be fired."

Steve shakes his head. "Wouldn't happen." His hands slide to bracket Bucky's hips. "But hey, good news? Not only do you get to keep your job, you get to hook up with your crush." He smiles, maybe a little come hither in it, and he squeezes his fingers. "If you wanna?"

Bucky's lips curve into a smile that more than matches Steve's, sending a thrill down Steve's spine, into his legs, making his toes curl in his socks. "The game's not over yet," he murmurs, not pulling his eyes from their locked gaze to look towards the TV.

"Your team isn't playing, so who cares?"

"Haven't even had a first date yet." Bucky dips his head to quickly tease at Steve's lips, and Steve chases Bucky with a soft whine.

"Know you better than most of the guys I've slept with." Steve's voice is getting breathier as his arousal inches higher, jeans feeling tighter.

"Too bad for them. Lucky for me." Bucky hesitates a moment, and then he rolls off Steve and the couch, standing and holding his hand out to Steve to help him. "You wanna get lucky, too?"

Steve laughs, an utterly delighted chortle that makes him cover his mouth, then slings an arm around Bucky's neck and pulls him in again to kiss, deep and hot, nipping at his bottom lip. "I'm so mad that your stupid line worked on me." He starts walking backwards, pulling Bucky along and dropping more kisses as they go. "Gonna get you back for that."

"Promise?"

He avoids backing his ass into the corner of the hallway, and now it's an easy path to the bedroom. He thinks he even left his door open, since he didn't expect company tonight of any kind. "Definitely promise."

Outside the bedroom door, he turn s and pushes Bucky against the wall, one hand pushing his shoulder to keep him in place while his other reaches between them and cup Bucky's fly, pressing and squeezing the hard line of his dick. He's rewarded with a sucking breath and a push into his hand. He smirks and grips Bucky's shirt tightly, dragging him off the wall and into the bedroom.

Bucky laughs and pulls out of his grip, not that Steve was trying too hard to hold him. "Do they let you fuck during the season at all? Or does sex distract you from the game?"

Steve's about to provide a real answer to the question when Bucky pulls his shirt off, and god, yeah, he's definitely more ripped than Steve had ever imagined—and he'd imagined a lot more than he'd ever admit. Maybe he can admit it to Bucky now, though.

Well, not now. Right now Bucky's tugging off Steve's shirt, and Steve is happy to go with it.

"Bucky, Buck, shit," he groans as hands get all over his bare chest. Bucky's not coy, tracing the contours of Steve's pecs and abs with a look on his face like it's Christmas.

"Shhh," Bucky says, leaning in to lick a stripe across Steve's clavicle. "Do you know how long I have thought about doing exactly this?" He chuckles softly, standing up straight again and looking into Steve's eyes. "There are way too many pictures of you without a shirt on, and I'm going to have to clean them off the internet now."

Steve laughs, knowing his cheeks are turning pink but not caring if Bucky's going to tease him for that. "Possessive already? Moving fast there, aren't we?"

"I thought we had established that you know me better than most."

"Yes, but that's—"

"Shut up and let me enjoy this, Steve. We'll talk after about separating out the fantasies from reality."

Steve's smirk is deliberate and absolutely full of bravado. "Fantasies? Really?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Shut up." He pushes Steve hard in the shoulder and Steve, not expecting that, falls back and lands on the bed with a little bounce. Before he can really react, Bucky's stripping off his own jeans, so Steve does the same, feeling it's only polite to keep on equal footing here.

Within moments their clothes are covering Steve's floor and their bodies are rolling around on the bed, over the covers that were only made in a perfunctory way this morning. Their kisses shift between lazy and desperate, while their hands waste no time getting all over as much skin as they can touch. Bucky seems to be trying to memorize how Steve feels, and Steve is torn between reassuring him this isn't going to be a one-off and saying nothing so he can enjoy how it feels to be so intensely desired.

It's not like he doesn't have his own desire for Bucky in return. Even though he's known that Bucky used to play and still keeps in shape, he's seriously impressed by Bucky's form. He's hard muscle, but leaner than Steve. Still built like an athlete, even if Bucky hasn't played in years. Maybe Steve can schedule them some 1-v-1 in the indoor practice field.

A light pinch on his nipple brings him back to the present, and in retaliation, he bites lightly at Bucky's earlobe. They look at each other, panting a bit, then grin and laugh. Steve rolls them so he's got Bucky under him, and he reaches between them to tease his fingers down the soft trail of hair on Bucky's stomach. There's a flinch of muscles, either from arousal or from being tickled, and either way, Steve kisses Bucky again with a specific purpose and plan, a kiss that says he's ready to get down to it.

Bucky gets the message. When they finally part, he whispers, "Condoms?"

Steve nods. "Drawer to the right. Your left." He licks his lips. "Any preference?"

"None. I'm easy," Bucky says with a smirk, which grows with Steve's look of "clearly" that he gets in reply. "What do you have to do tomorrow? And how long has it been since you took it?"

There's something to be said about Bucky's forthright attitude when it comes to talking about this sex they are about to enjoy, and that something is that it's kind of a turn on.

"Been a bit," Steve admits. "Probably since last winter? Tomorrow I have training and a few meetings with my agent."

Bucky nods, bites his lip and thinks for a moment, then wraps his arms around Steve's back and pulls him down enough to kiss him in an exquisitely dirty manner, tongue licking deeply into Steve's mouth, curling and dragging against Steve's tongue. It's over far too soon, and Steve would complain except Bucky's mouth is then at Steve's ear and he whispers against it:

"Fuck me, Captain Rogers."

And, well. That's a really good reason to break a kiss.

"Christ, you have depths, Buck."

"Yes, and I want you to find them with your cock."

It's not exactly sexy, the splutter Steve lets out at that, but that's all right. "Fuck. Okay, yes, yes. That will be happening, guaranteed." He licks his lips. "Do you need anything before we get to that?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I'm pretty wired up over here. It won't take much to get me off." He wiggles a little, either from anticipation or searching for friction, and Steve wants more than anything else in the world to still this squirmy body by overwhelming it with pleasure.

"Right. Good. Okay." He rolls off Bucky and yanks the drawer open, pulling out a couple condoms, a bottle of lube that is not as full as he thought it was, and the washcloth he keeps, because he tries to live green. He's pretty sure he washed this thing somewhat recently.

While he does this, Bucky shifts around and turns on his knees to face the headboard. Steve's dick twitches when the other man actually goes and shakes the headboard, like he's checking its sturdiness. It's a sturdy bed, and Bucky nods.

"That how you like it?" His hand twitches with the instinct to stroke himself.

Bucky looks back over his shoulder and gives Steve a sharp grin. "Just checking all our options. I usually need to change position."

Seriously, the clear communication is a fucking dream Steve never realized he had. "Good to know. I, uh, I like to kiss. Especially when I'm close."

"So maybe get me on my back at the end. Start with you draped all over me and panting in my ear?"

"If you keep that mouth motorin' like that, I don't know if I will last long enough, fuck."

"Well, stop dickin' around with your little Boy Scout 'Be Prepared Kit' over there and wrap it up and fuck me like I told you to!" Bucky shakes his head at him, like he's disappointed that he has to keep cajoling Steve into this.

"Of fucking course I'm prepared, I'm a captain." Steve lifts his chin, affecting a haughty attitude just to get under Bucky's skin. "That's also probably why I'm not very good at following orders. More used to giving them." He does grab the lube and starts getting his fingers ready, though. Because that's what he wants, not because he was told.

"I swear to god, Cap, if you don't get something with lube on it up my ass in the next five seconds, I'm revoking your armbaahhh! Fuck." Steve, with two fingers of his left hand and a lot of lube right where Bucky had so nicely demanded them, laughs at how Bucky reacted and bites his earlobe again.

"How about there's no captain in the bedroom, hmm?" he asks, voice low and deep as his hand starts moving slowly to open Bucky for him. As he does, his right hand fumbles for one of the condoms and hands it to Bucky, whose forehead has dropped against the wall. "I've got one hand busy here, gonna need some help. Please," he adds with an amused drawl.

"Please, he says." But Bucky takes the packet and carefully opens it. "Can you get it on one-handed?"

"That I can do." Within moments he's got it rolled over his dick and he grabs for the bottle of lube again. He pulls his fingers out—Bucky whines and it's a wonderful sound—adds more lube and then goes back with three fingers, before applying a very generous amount directly to his dick. Any smugness he'd felt at Bucky's noises is canceled by the sound of Steve's groan as he finally strokes himself to spread the slick.

Bucky cranes his neck, trying to see what Steve's gotten up to. He sighs prettily and licks his lips. "Jesus Christ. I need to be on all fours. I need you deep, fast."

"No complaints about that." Steve shimmies back a little so Bucky can get into the position he wants. He can't help but stare at the arch of Bucky's back, the subsequent swell of his ass. He already knew Bucky had a good ass, Bucky wore enough clingy shorts this summer to make that clear, but seeing it bare and presented to him like this is enough to short his brain out for a moment. He pulls his fingers out of Bucky and smooths his palm over one cheek. "You think you're ready?"

Bucky settles on his elbows and hums softly. "Yeah. Maybe go a little slow since I know we rushed this a bit?" He chuckles, and Steve knows that Bucky's perfectly fine with the rush tonight. Steve is, too, because he's very certain there'll be other nights for taking it slow.

He spreads Bucky open, carefully lines up, and pushes in slow but steady. He waits for Bucky to tell him to stop, but there's no sound from either of them until Steve gets as deep as he can go, body pressed up against Bucky. There's a moment of utter stillness between them as they fill and are filled with each other, and then Bucky lets out a long breath he must have been holding, which almost sounds like a sob.

"That's. Y'feel so good, Stevie," he says as he catches his breath back again. "You all right?"

Steve barks a laugh, because "all right" is a hilarious understatement. "I'm pretty fuckin' all right, Buck. You're tight, shit. Almost forgot how it feels with a guy." His hands grip Bucky's hips, and he laughs a bit again. "I'll try not to blow before I can finish pulling back."

Bucky laughs, too, says, "I'm sure you've got this," and then Steve finds that he does, as he starts a nice rhythm of stroking in and out of Bucky.

The initial feeling of being too close recedes and settles into a nice, slow spread of arousal from his gut through his limbs and into his dick. Bucky's body is smooth under his hands, his waist a perfect handhold as Bucky's head tips forward, hair covering his face. His fingers flex in the sheets, grabbing and pulling in time to Steve's thrusts.

As Steve's speed increases, hips snapping into Bucky, sweat beading on his brow, Bucky moves with him, mirroring his movements like they're running drills on the field, his breathing getting louder, harsher, and egging Steve on. At first Steve thinks Bucky's close to coming, and he's really impressed with himself since he hasn't even touched Bucky's dick, but then Bucky's reaching back to grab Steve's arm. "Stop, shitfuckhell, please. I need—need to flip."

Steve makes a really unattractive choking sound at the idea of stopping, but he musters his resolve to stop and carefully pull out.

Bucky doesn't quite laugh at him as he turns over, lithe build wriggling on Steve's bed. As Bucky resettles, Steve drops to rest on his elbows and forearms, remembering why he also wanted this particular repositioning.

"I won't complain about getting to look at your face." Bucky's hair is a messy halo, flush staining his lips and cheeks. "Or getting to kiss you." He captures Bucky's mouth with his own, his whole body singing with arousal. Considering how intense their fucking had just been, this kiss is more gentle, almost a little sweet. This. He's gotta remember this and do it more later.

"Okay, Steve, please." Bucky's legs cross around Steve's hamstrings, pulling him close. "Get back in me now."

Steve chuckles, but it's not really funny. "Bossy, sheesh. Lemme get some more—" He starts to reach for the lube, but it's rolled off the bed. "Shit."

Bucky shakes his head. "It's fine, really. I'm good to go, c'mon. Stevie, please."

That's impossible to refuse, isn't it? "Okay, yeah." He has to shift, guide himself back to Bucky, and this time there's no held breath, no moment adjusting, he's just picking up where he left off. This time, though, he sees how Bucky fails to keep his eyes open, how his mouth goes slack with pleasure. He leans forward more, angle shifting. He puts a hand behind Bucky's head and pulls him up so he can kiss him again, finding the happy medium between the lazy sweetness and the desperate aggression of previous kisses.

They pant into each other's mouths as they both start to lose control. Bucky reaches for himself, and Steve takes a peek to watch as Bucky strokes his dick. He tries to sync his thrusts with Bucky's hand, but he can't keep that pace for long.

"Shit, Buck, I'm—I'm close."

Bucky nods. "Yeah, me too. You should come, Steve. Come and then get me off."

He'd like to kiss Bucky through the end of this, but it's easier to brace himself on either side of Bucky's head and let his hips take temporary control of his entire body. He babbles some nonsense as he fucks, eyes closing for a moment, then opening again when he feels Bucky's hand curl around the back of his neck.

Their gazes meet, and Bucky's eyes are wide and blue, his cheeks flushed. He's beautiful, looking fucked and happy, and licks his lips before he whispers Steve's name again, and it's enough for Steve to crest and come with a moan and a "Buck!" as his hips stutter and he thrusts deep before collapsing on Bucky with a heavy, exhausted sigh.

For a moment he forgets where he is, who he's with, and then Bucky's hand cards through his hair. "You good, buddy?"

Steve laughs a little. "Hmm. Yeah. Pretty good." He kisses Bucky's cheek, then a proper kiss on the mouth, lips loose and uncoordinated from his orgasm. "Let me help you now. You want me to stay put, or—?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Don't move yet. Well, just. Lift a bit?" He wiggles his hand trapped between them.

Steve obeys, pushing up on one elbow and reaching between them, his hand joining Bucky's around his dick. After a few strokes while they kiss more, Bucky gasps into Steve's mouth and whines, and Steve feels his hand and belly get covered with warm stickiness. He falls to the side on his back, breathing hard now that they're both sorted.

He thinks he's probably wearing a grin the size of a soccer ball.

"Well fuck," Bucky mutters. "That was definitely better than, like, seventy-five percent of my fantasies."

"Only seventy-five?" Steve says, a slight squawk in his voice.

Bucky laughs and takes Steve's hand in his own, lifting it to kiss the back. "It's been like a half-hour, Steve. That's a pretty good start, I'd say."

Steve laughs, too. "Guess when you say it like that. And when you imply this is not a one-off."

Bucky's head turns toward him, his grin almost as big as Steve's. "Steve, I'm not even sure if I'm done with you tonight. Definitely not a one-off." Bucky rolls over on top of him and kisses him again before they can share any further thoughts on tonight or the future, and that says all that needs to be said, anyway.

— 💲 —

Steve: I move a lot for a living, and that means everything I wear—both on the field and off—needs to fit just right. And yes, I mean everything! There's nothing worse than undies that shift and bunch while I'm in the middle of a game. And that's why I choose Under the Belt, the underwear that's guaranteed not to slip, gather, or pull as you move. I'm frequently surprised, at the end of games, to find out I was even wearing any underwear the entire time.

[laughing heard off-mic]

They're soft and stretchy, but still cling well with elastic that doesn't pinch too hard or leave marks. They're sustainably made from the pulp of trees, and for every pair you buy, a new tree gets planted in the Amazon rainforests. For a great experience and underwear you can trust, get something Under the Belt! You can buy them when you want, or sign up for a subscription plan, so you can keep refreshing your collection regularly. For ten percent off a one-time purchase, or fifteen percent off a subscription, visit their site at underthebelt.com and enter USCaps as a promo code. That's underthebelt.com, enter USCaps. Be confident in what's under your belt!

[more laughing off-mic]

Chapter Text

buckythepodprod Got a quiet day in the alone studio to do some last-minute editing on our last ep before the holiday break. Definitely not missing @rogerstheshield or @cdanversscore. Okay. Maybe I'm missing Carol a bit. 😏
#captainsamericapod #prodlife

Comments:
rogerstheshield Um?? Rude.
buckythepodprod 😏😏😏 😉

— 🎙 —

It's two entire days before they see each other again. Steve's dying.

Bucky left that same night, though late and after another round of kissing and handjobs.

"It'll be good for us. For me," Bucky said as he pulled on his clothes. Steve watched, still naked in bed with an unhappy look on his face. "This night was really great, but also not at all how I expected." He smiled and leaned over to kiss Steve sweetly. "I need a little bit of space to process."

Steve was glad for it the next morning, the chance to wake up alone with his thoughts and happy smile. An hour after waking, he received a text from Bucky that included peach, eggplant, and droplet emojis, which made him laugh. He replied back with a clock and a question mark—how soon can we do this again?

Saturday is the first day they both have free time, so they're meeting at a small coffee shop they've been to before. Bucky greets him with a bright grin and an offer of a hug, but Steve hesitates before accepting it, and it's not as close or tight as he'd prefer. He feels eyes on them, even though a hug doesn't indicate anything about their relationship.

They find a table for two along the big windows that look out onto the busy street. Bucky looks out at the people passing by, while Steve's looks at the table, his fingers tapping along with the soft music floating through the speakers. They're still in their coats, not planning to sit here long.

"We don't have to get into it here," Bucky says over his pumpkin spice something, still looking outside, "but I'm sure we gotta talk about how, uh, public we'll be."

Steve feels his shoulders drop a little as he swallows his sip of coffee. "Yeah. Sorry about that. Guess we didn't think that part through the other night."

Kindly, Bucky doesn't agree, even if he also doesn't deny it.

"Y'heard from Carol recently?" Steve asks, which is maybe his way of finding out if there's any reason Carol might know about what happened between them.

Bucky shakes his head. "Not for a few days. Maybe last Tuesday?" He turns back to Steve with a small smile. "She's in the dark, Rogers."

Steve rolls his eyes and knocks back the rest of his coffee. "Why do I feel like I'm going to be torn trying to get you to call me 'Rogers' while also thinking you're a twerp every time you do it where other people might hear it?"

"Because it's how I'm going to flirt with you in public," Bucky sasses back.

They finish up their drinks and head to the river walk. It's chilly out; Steve wants to take Bucky's hand and keep it warm in his pocket, but they keep their hands to themselves as they search for a bench.

Once they're settled, Steve clocks the others walking nearby. Once he determines that most people aren't coming all the way down to their bench, he shifts closer to Bucky and finally takes his hand, lacing their fingers together. He smiles when Bucky looks at him, though the hint of surprise in Bucky's eyes makes his chest ache.

"So I guess we'll talk about it now?" Bucky asks, rolling his neck slightly. His head ends up closer to Steve's, and Steve fights the urge to rest their temples together.

Steve nods. "If you want." He squeezes Bucky's hand. "I want to figure out how this works out between us." He licks his lips. "I've never actually dated a guy. Only had hook-ups."

That makes Bucky drop his chin to his chest. "Steve—"

"I never let myself want to. I could date women, hook up with guys, and never had to worry about being out." He leans into Bucky's side, smiling at him softly. "I'm ready to worry about it for you, though."

He doesn't know how he expects Bucky to react, but a deep, tired sigh isn't it.

Bucky squeezes Steve's hand back. "I've been out pretty much since I figured out I was gay, back in in college. Never had a reason not to, it was safe enough for me. Was pretty loud about it for a few years, though now I'm more casual. It's part of my identity, but not the only part."

"I'm not asking you—"

"I know. I know there's a difference between being closeted and not flaunting a relationship." He covers their linked hands with his free hand. "And obviously we have an existing friendly relationship that will explain away a lot of why we might be seen together in public." He looks up at Steve now with a small smile. "Just...please promise me, if it starts feeling like this could go somewhere serious, we'll talk about being out?"

Steve nods, smiling back. "I can promise you that," he agrees, leaning over to kiss Bucky's cheek. Bucky turns a bit and returns the chaste kiss. When Steve pulls back, Bucky chases him for a moment, then laughs softly and runs his free hand through his hair, which he's wearing loose today. The cool breeze has been shifting it around his head, the ends lifting off and floating at times.

"I'm still pinching myself," he says, looking out at the river, which flows swiftly but smoothly downstream, the occasional blip of interference from a hidden rock beneath the surface. "It's almost embarrassing. My friends know I've had a fan-crush on you for years. They all teased me when I got the producer job."

Steve's not really sure what to say to that. Is he supposed to apologize for being attractive and well-known in his field, of being someone worthy of crushing on? Is he supposed to gloat that Bucky's felt some kinda way about him longer that Steve knew Bucky existed?

"The job is only how we met," Steve says, slowly. "We could have met lots of ways. I'm pretty sure I would've been into you no matter what." He chuckles wryly. "Maybe if we'd met another way, we would have had one night and I would have begged you not to out me, then we'd never see each other again."

"Whereas now you beg me not to out you while you keep getting to kiss me, fuck me?" There's less venom in the tone than the words, but all the same, Steve winces.

"I'm not begging. And I said, if this starts looking serious—"

"Yeah, yeah." Bucky swallows hard. "You're still the one with the power here."

Steve wants to argue, wants to say Bucky could decide he'd rather force Steve out and watch the fallout from far away. But while he can argue that for a hypothetical stranger, he knows Bucky too well now to disrespect him with the idea.

"Okay. So tell me, at what point does something feel serious to you?" He leans back, taking an arm and laying it on the back of the bench behind Bucky. Bucky doesn't lean in to take space alongside Steve's body, but he relaxes slightly at the open posture.

"I don't know. It's been different, the couple times it's been serious." He smiles, wry and crooked. "Once was after two dates. Lasted eighteen months. The other, it was when he asked me to spend the night, after a dozen or so times we fucked." Bucky shrugs. "That one lasted three years. We'd moved in for the last year of it."

Steve nods, taking that in. "I think I only had one serious one. Peggy Carter, I'm sure you know her?"

Bucky snorts. "What kind of soccer fan do you take me for? I adore her."

"Yeah, that's how I felt, too. We were together for four years in college, until I signed with my club and she was staying at Stanford to coach, and it just...stopped working." He shrugs a shoulder. "Dated some other women since, but none of them were serious at all. And the men were all one night, max. Can't remember their names, even." He runs his fingers along the back of Bucky's neck, smiling when Bucky leans into the touch. "I'm no one to talk about being serious. Not someone to trust to know when I'm there. So not only do I promise to not force us to stay quiet once we are to that point, I promise to trust you to let me know that we're there. You say the word, and we start to figure out the next steps."

Bucky doesn't respond right away, clearly thinking it over. "And you're trusting me," he finally says, "not to tell you right now that I am more serious about you than anyone I've ever been with?"

Now it's Steve's turn to hesitate, because he hears something in Bucky's voice that isn't joking, not really. But.

"I'm trusting that you'll be honest with me," he agrees, "because you understand that I'll take you at your word and turn my whole life inside out for you."

Bucky turns and looks at him; Steve looks back, doesn't flinch from those blue eyes that have captured his attention for months now. "It is nice knowing that I'm not going to have to deal with your teenage fangirls who want to marry you coming after my head yet."

Steve feels something in him relax, which is probably a good sign that they're not to the Serious Place yet, anyway. "You could take 'em," he says, letting the arm behind Bucky curl around Bucky's shoulder, pulling the other man against his side. "Probably."

He deserves the pinch to his side.

— 🎙 —

CAPTAINS AMERICA, EPISODE 8 "THAT'S MY WINGMAN (GUEST: SAM WILSON)"

Timestamp: 00:17:36

STEVE ROGERS: It's my turn to have a guest, Carol. Stop hogging all the good guests slots for your people!

CAROL DANVERS: I'm sorry! But I know way cooler people than you do.

BUCKY BARNES: [off-mic laughter]

SR: Hey, don't take her side!

BB: [now in the mic] Just introduce your guest, Rogers.

SR: This is what I have to put up with. You see?"

SAM WILSON: I see that, yeah. It's about time you brought me on.

SR: I've been trying, man, I've been trying. Oh! Ha, people can't see you. It's a podcast, you know. [all laughing] So I've begged and pleaded, and he's finally come on. Big welcome to my teammate, both on the national team and on the Forge, my favorite winger: Sam Wilson.

SW: Rhodey is gonna kick your butt for that.

SR: Yeah, well, he didn't come on the podcast. That's how I decided.

CD: You heard it here first, everyone. Steve picks his favorite teammates based on who comes on the podcast.

SW: Funny he wasn't callin' me his favorite when I told him it should be me hosting this thing with you in the first place.

CD: Sam, I want you to know—

SR: Oh, no. Carol, don't tell him—

CD: If Steve hadn't agreed—

SR: Why do you hate me, Carol?

CD: Then I would have asked you next. The only reason I went with Steve first was because he's the captain.

SW: Thank you Carol, that's very kind of you to say. I'll be using a clip of this in my video resume next season in which I petition to take over as captain.

SR: You're the worst, Danvers.

CD: Rogers, you're not helping your case here. And you're not good at interviewing your guest. Why am I talking to him more than you are?

SR: [splutters, very professional]

SW: It's okay, we don't need him, Carol. Now what do you wanna talk about today?

CD: Are you trying to flirt with me? You know there are several reasons that won't work, right?

SR: Actually that's just Sam. He kinda flirts with everyone.

SW: Not with you, Steven. But hey there, Mr. Producer.

SR: Hey now—

BB: [you can't hear it but he's crying laughing]

CD: There are far too many men around me right now. Never letting Rogers invite a guest again.

[Posted in the episode notes on USSoccer.com. Transcribed by JB Barnes, November 2019]

It's been a while since they recorded that episode, and Steve forgot how much fun it had been. Or how defensive he'd gotten at the idea of Sam flirting with Bucky. There's more to the episode after Sam's bit, but the rest of it is mostly drowned out by the guys taking the ever-loving shit out of Sam and Steve.

But then again, he's pleased as hell at the improved team camaraderie. This wasn't a goal of doing the podcast, but having spent so much time with Carol, hearing about how things were on the women's side, Steve's made it a goal to cultivate something similar on his team.

Most of the national team is over at his place tonight, everyone in town for some meetings. It's a tight fit, but the hang is going well. The close space helps to avoid people splitting so easily into the cliques that have developed, but he can still see that it's possible to draw a line between the two main social groups in the team.

In the living room, closer to the door, sit Sitwell, Rollins, Rumlow, and a few others who aren't as loud about their opinions, but give off the same vibes. Steve thinks they would be some of the 1-star reviewers if they bothered to try and listen to the podcast on their own. They're the teammates he isn't ready to face when coming out: not exactly likely to kick up a fuss, but Rumlow has always pushed to have more of a leadership position Who knows what homophobic shit he'd spout to the brass to try and push Steve out.

Near the TV, spilling into the kitchen, is the rest of the team. There are some he feels will verbally support him—like Sam and Rhodey—and others he thinks really won't care—probably Lang and Quill. Thankfully, this group outnumbers the other one, and Steve's also pretty certain that Coach Stark won't give a single shit as long as Steve performs on the field.

He sees a few of the rookies clumped together and walks over to them, leaning against the wall, trying to be hip and casual.

"How's it going, boys?" he asks, smiling. He remembers being young; his captain the first couple of years wasn't terribly respectful of the youngsters.

"Cap," Parker says, smiling back and tilting his head like he's cracking his neck. "Thanks for having us over."

"My pleasure. I know this is a pretty small place, I'm glad everyone could fit."

Morales chuckles. "The space is fine, man. Hey, you got a Playstation or something? Parker thinks he can destroy me in FIFA."

Steve ducks his head and chuckles sheepishly. "No, I don't. Never been a video game player, never even owned a console." Morales clutches his chest and gasps; it's mocking, sure, but Steve knows it's not meant as disrespect. "Next time I'll stay that upfront so someone can bring a console along, all right?"

Peter shakes his head. "Just get a Switch, it's pretty cheap and you can play some good group games on it."

"Thanks for the advice, kid." He winks and gives Parker's shoulder a friendly slug. "You guys need anything?" They shake their heads, so Steve moves along, ready to finish his rounds and maybe settle in the kitchen for a little.

Sam is camped out with Clint next to the spread of little wraps that someone brought (Cage? Maybe Rumlow?), and they both salute Steve with their White Claws. Steve grins and opens the fridge to get a water bottle. "No beer tonight?"

"We are sophisticated adults, Steven," Clint says, promptly crushing the can in his hand and tossing it in a perfect arc—it lands just shy of the bin. "Aw, recycling."

"It moved on ya," Steve says, stepping over and picking up the can and chucking it away properly. "I never doubt your aim on the field, anyway."

Clint salutes and the three of them giggle, at ease after a few years on the team together. Sam goes for a wrap, probably turkey or ham, Clint cracks open another Claw, and Steve takes a moment to take off his captain's band, metaphorically. He closes his eyes and breathes out deeply.

Because he misses Bucky. This team hang is not quite spontaneous, but it hasn't been on the calendar for long. He set it up a couple days before the night Buck first came by, when Steve was still feeling lonely and smarting from the end of his club season. But after that night, well. Steve hasn't felt very lonely.

They text each other all day, have met up for little café dates—and maybe one sneaky fondle in a café's bathroom—and have of course spent more than a few nights together. When they can't meet up, they FaceTime at night, in various states of dress. They even chatted while Steve prepped for this evening. But while he's happy to have (most of) these guys here tonight, he guiltily wants his boyfriend around more, too. He just can't get enough of Bucky.

The worst part is, he can't whine to any of his friends here about it. Because they don't know he's dating Bucky. Or that he has a boyfriend at all.

Or that he's the kind of guy who would have a boyfriend.

"That's a mighty big sigh there, Cap," Sam says, causing Steve to open his eyes. He hadn't realized he had sighed aloud. Sam settles against the counter to Steve's right, then he leans in slightly further and lowers his voice to ask, "This crowd a bit much for you tonight?"

Even if Steve has never talked about his boyfriend, at least Sam knows him well enough to know that this kind of event can exhaust Steve at the best of times. "Nah, they're fine," Steve says, which is ultimately true. "Haven't slept well lately. Not getting my beauty sleep." Which, ha, is also true, but for a very fun and sexy reason.

The kitchen is mostly open to the rest of the living space, but there is one short wall perpendicular to the outer wall of his apartment that gives a home to some cabinets. That's where he hears a voice approach, a teasing tone with a dangerous amount of laughter, considering its owner.

"Rogers, is your girlfriend leaving her shit around here?" Rumlow appears from around the wall, smirking at Steve and holding up a white hoodie, which bears the logos of US Soccer and a Women's World Cup from about eight years ago.

Most annoyingly, Rumlow is essentially right: it's Bucky's hoodie.

Steve reaches for the sweatshirt deliberately; he doesn't quickly try to snatch it away, because that looks defensive. Brock starts to hand it to him, then pulls it back to, ugh, smell it, inhaling with an obnoxious audible sniff. "Don't smell like a broad," he says. "You been wearing Danvers's clothes? Aww, Roge. Congrats on showing that lez what a real—"

Now Steve grabs at the hoodie, if only so he doesn't punch his teammate, but Rumlow doesn't release his grip. "Don't you dare finish that sentence, Rumlow." Sam and Clint have moved to Steve's sides, even as Sitwell and Rollins come around to flank Rumlow. Conversation around the rest of the apartment fades out as the guys realize that something is happening.

"You don't want me to finish calling you a real man?" Rumlow taunts.

"I don't tolerate homophobic shit," Steve says, his voice even but low, serious. "Not in my house. Not on my podcast. Not on my field. Which makes it pretty fucking impossible to tolerate it from a teammate."

Rumlow rolls his eyes dramatically, with his entire head, but taking the effort to do that loosens his grip, so Steve pulls the hoodie full into his own hands. He holds it close to his body, protecting it—protecting Bucky, and Carol, too.

"You gotta lighten up, Cap," Rumlow says, the nickname dripping with condescension, which makes Sam stiffen at Steve's side. "It's not personal. It's just locker room talk."

"Oh that's bullshit," Clint says. He sounds bored, looks it, too, as he takes another drink from his can. "Brock, you're being an ass. Don't talk shit about Danvers, or anyone else. Except opponents, but we ain't got one of those right now."

"And it feels pretty personal," Steve adds, "seeing as you're speculating about my private life."

Sitwell finds the courage to nervously pipe up with, "Why do you even have a life private from us, Steve?"

Over the three idiots' shoulders, Steve can see Parker and Morales watching this play out, their faces drawn and uncertain. Steve straightens his back and puffs his chest, pulling out all the Captainly authority he can muster.

"Everyone's got private stuff," he says, feeling the same righteous intensity flood through him that he felt when he went off in the podcast. Gee, seems like homophobia is one of his triggers, who'da thunk? "We're all allowed to have it. I can't make you change what you think about people who are different from you, because that's your private stuff. But what I can do is tell you that you leave that private shit in your own private space.

"And this?" he continues, indicating the hoodie and gesturing around to the apartment in general with his free hand. "This is my private space. Which means I get to have my secrets here. Being invited here doesn't mean you are invited to know my secrets." He points to Rumlow, then the door. "You can show yourself out, man."

Rumlow stares at him, eyes narrowing and jaw clenched, but he looks at Sam and Clint, then at the hoodie Steve's still got clutched close. He finally rolls his eyes again and turns away, starting to head for the pile of jackets near the door. "Whatever, big guy. It's a fuckin' hoodie. I don't care which of those girls you're plowing, but it seems like you could get a little more from her."

Steve's one step into running over to throw a punch, when there's a thunk of someone getting there first. Scott's shaking his hand out and wincing, but it doesn't look like he regrets it.

"I'm not bringin' a juice box and string cheese for you next video day," Scott declares, which sounds absolutely ridiculous in the moment. Scott puts a lot of thought and effort into plying the team with snacks and refreshments, though, and he'd have to be pretty upset to deny someone the goodies.

Rumlow seems to know it, too. He shakes his head in response, finds his coat, and walks out the door without another word. After a moment, Rollins and Sitwell follow, which leaves a sunken feeling in Steve's gut—he doesn't want a third of his starting line-up to value sexism and homophobia over getting along with their teammates.

"You got some ice, Cap?" Scott finally asks, breaking the silence in the room., Someone makes a dumb joke about the ice caps melting, and almost too quickly, the good humor is back.

Steve looks at Bucky's hoodie, the ache moving from his gut towards his heart, hurting at the cost of keeping him a secret. He finally turns away from the front door and heads towards his bedroom, carefully placing the sweatshirt on his bed before stepping out again, closing the door behind him.

— 🎙 —

DANVERS! 💥 5:39 PM
Boys boys boys @Steve Rogers @Bucky Barnes I'm back for a few days before turkey day, do we wanna meet and plot for next year?

Steve Rogers ⚽ 6:13 PM
We could. What days will you be here?

Bucky Barnes 🎙 6:20 PM
I am heading back to my folks for the holiday and leaving the Tues before.

Steve Rogers ⚽ 6:22 PM
Oh, you are? :(

DANVERS! 💥 6:28 PM
I'll be around from the Wednesday a week ahead through that weekend, so no worries Bucko.

Maybe over the weekend, we can go out?

Bucky Barnes 🎙 6:32 PM
Yeah, sorry I hadn't mentioned yet. That weekend is good for me, schedule is wide open, basically.

Steve Rogers ⚽ 6:41 PM
How about Sat night at my place?

DANVERS! 💥 6:48 PM
Works for me!

Bucky Barnes 🎙 6:48 PM
I think I can stand that option. 😏

Steve Rogers ⚽ 6:55 PM
:P Cool. Let me know if anyone needs my address.

"I beat Carol here, right?" Bucky asks, as Steve immediately pulls him into the apartment and into his arms. A deep kiss answers in the affirmative. After a few long moments, Bucky pulls away and strokes Steve's cheek. "You haven't shaved in a couple days?"

"No, haven't felt like it. That good or bad for you?"

Bucky shrugs, a glint of interest in his eyes. "Could be good. Do you go into beards over the off-season?"

Steve can't help it. "I promise, no beards when I'm with you."

Bucky rolls his eyes and boops a finger on Steve's nose. "Damn right. Okay, did you pick up the stuff for the wings like I said?" He moves to the kitchen, easily making himself at home, which warms Steve's heart.

They're still working together when Carol arrives—she barges in like it's not her first time here. Steve startles, his attention focused on watching Bucky toss a salad.

"Oh hello, boys!" Carol calls out, then stops when she sees what they're up to. "What the shit is this? It's the off-season, Barnes! Don't make me eat a goddamn salad."

"I like salad," Steve says. It's true, but he's only saying it to defend Bucky. The smirk Bucky sends him tells him that Bucky's well aware of that, too.

"Don't worry, Carol," Bucky says, waving his hand towards the oven. "There's wings, too. Secret Barnes family sauce and everything." He gives the salad a last toss, then pushes the bowl away, satisfied. "Did you know Steve can't cook?"

Carol eyes Steve carefully as she leans against the counter. "I didn't know it, but what does it say about him that I am completely unsurprised?"

"Oh screw you both, I can cook!" If you count reheating leftovers cooking, anyway. Also spaghetti. And he can make sandwiches. It's not his fault he gets catered meals so much throughout the season. "I'm a busy man. I don't have much time. Even in the off-season." He sticks his tongue out at Bucky, who rolls his eyes with a fond smile. (Somewhere deep in Steve's brain, a little referee holds up a yellow card, trying to remind him that Carol doesn't know he and Bucky are on far friendlier terms than at the last podcast recording almost two months ago.)

Carol sprawls out on the couch, grabbing a pillow and wrapping herself around it. "Well if you didn't handle the food tonight, Rogers, did you at least pick up a sweet movie from Blockbuster?"

Steve and Bucky share a look as Steve goes over to join her. "What the hell, did you show up from 1995?" Carol flips him off, and he crashes down on the couch next to her. "I have Netflix, Danvers. And a million movies on Apple TV. We have many options to watch movies."

"Such a modern man," she teases. "Shall I just pick anything, then?"

He digs the remote out of the couch—probably lost in the cushions when he and Bucky were last making out—and hands it to her with a dramatic, two-handed presentation. "The control is yours, Captain of the Marvels."

"Such high-falutin' talk. Have you been trying to catch up on years of Game of Thrones?" Bucky asks as he comes to join them. He crosses his forearms, bracing himself on the back of the couch. He's split the distance between Carol and Steve, and Steve wonders if that's a casual position, or if Bucky's taking care not to tip Carol off. He takes a deep breath, because he's going to drive himself nuts worrying all night.

"I don't think I'm going to be catching up, like. Ever." Steve sighs in defeat and slouches back into the couch. "I can't keep track of everyone's storylines, even when I was watching a few eps at a time a few off-seasons ago."

They chat about shows for a bit. Steve's surprised to discover what a sci-fi fan Carol is, while also acting surprised that both he and Bucky are fans of Michael Schur comedies. (They spent last Thursday night—the night of the lost remote, in fact—cuddling and cooing over Jake and Amy.) Carol launches into an animated pitch of The Expanse until Bucky gets up and swears he'll try it, but for now he's hungry and the wings are probably done.

"I'll help," Steve says. He jumps up and follows Bucky closely, now hating this apartment's stupid "open concept" layout., No way to steal a kiss while fully out of Carol's sight.

"Easy," Bucky whispers, grinning at him. "Get some plates, hm?"

"You got it, Buckster."

Bucky raises an eyebrow, and Carol snickers. "When'd you two get so chummy, Steverino?"

Steve clears his throat. "That's what happens when you leave us, Carol. We have to find new ways to entertain ourselves without you!"

"We get coffee sometimes," Bucky offers, not looking at Steve.

Carol lets out a sarcastic "awww", then goes back to looking for something to watch. Soon enough they're gathered again in front of the TV to watch some sort of home reno show—it's not Property Brothers, alas, but Steve will survive. He doesn't need Bucky to get jealous, anyway.

Dinner is easy, and while the pretense for getting together was to discuss the podcast, the conversation never really leads there. Carol talks about Val, mentions their plans for the upcoming holiday. Bucky talks more about his trip to Indiana to spend it with his family; Steve thinks he does well at hiding his continued disappointment at that.

When Bucky runs to the bathroom, though, Carol raises an eyebrow at Steve. "What are you looking so down about?"

Steve raises his eyebrows in return. "Hmm?"

"You're all sour talking about Thanksgiving," she says more pointedly. "You're not going home?"

"My ma doesn't really do Thanksgiving anymore, not since I went off to school across the country." He shrugs. "Maybe I'll head up? But I usually find some friends to hang out and have a meal. Friendsgiving and all that."

Carol tilts her head. "Were you gonna have Bucky over?"

Steve shrugs. He hadn't honestly gotten around to thinking about it yet, if only because he never put too much thought into this holiday. "Maybe? But usually some of the guys from the club get together, so I wasn't too worried about finding a plan."

"I'd invite you to ours," Carol says with a small smile, "but—"

"You're at Val's family's, right?" Steve grins and waves her off. "Don't you dare spend any thought on me, Danvers. I promise, I won't be alone."

"Where won't you be alone?" Bucky asks, coming back and raising his eyebrows at Steve.

Steve wants to brush it off as nothing, because it's no big deal! It's especially no big deal to discuss with his boyfriend of only a few weeks. Carol, though, is apparently eager to meddle. "Steve's got no plans for turkey day. He's sad you're going away for it."

"I'm not—"

Bucky gives Steve a soft, sweet, and sympathetic smile. "Aww. I'm sorry, I just always go home for it. It's been planned for months."

Steve waves his hand, dismissing the apology. "No, no. It's really fine, Buck, I don't do much to celebrate it, never have." He smiles, probably too fondly for the moment. "You can bring me back some leftovers or something."

"Deal." Bucky's still grinning at him, and out of the corner of his eye, Steve can see Carol looking back and forth between them. Steve clears his throat and claps his hands.

"So, we were supposed to talk about the podcast, remember?"

They move away from the TV to avoid distraction and put their heads together over some podcasting plans. Steve's dining table seats six; Carol takes the head of the table while Steve and Bucky crowd together around the corner, Bucky in the middle. Steve's not touching Bucky—the closest he gets is putting his hand on the back of Bucky's chair—but he's close enough to smell his boyfriend and it's...distracting.

He doesn't realize how distracting, though, until Carol clears her throat and Steve looks up. She's got one eyebrow raised as she stares at him, and that's when he realizes his nose might as well be fully buried in Bucky's neck for how close he's gotten. Bucky's cheeks are pink. Steve wonders if sitting back will only serve to make it more obvious, if maybe he can play this off as deep interest in the notes Bucky's been taking.

"You two, uh, want some tips from Val and me on how to not be super obvious when you're trying to keep a relationship secret?"

"Carol..."

She sits back and holds her hands up. "Or, you know. Tips on not making it seem like you're dating when you aren't. All sorts of tips and tricks, I've got."

Steve closes his eyes, lets out a resigned sigh, and drops his head to rest his forehead against Bucky's shoulder. Then he gives in and lets his arm fall in to wrap around Bucky's back.

"We couldn't even get through one night around someone else," Bucky murmurs, chuckling before he leans his head against Steve's.

"Ha!" Carol sounds delighted, but Steve is still afraid to meet her eyes yet, so he doesn't move. "So what the fuck, you're not telling me about this? Rogers, I thought you were straight. I need wine and the whole damn story, you idiots."

Steve keeps a bottle or two on hand, so he uncorks one and pours three glasses while they relocate back to the couch.

Bucky makes a contented noise as he settles right in next to Steve. "There's not much story to tell. I figured my crush would never die so I 'fessed up."

"And I kissed him and anyway we're together now. Quietly."

Carol blinks and looks at her wine, which she hasn't even sipped yet. "That was a quick story, yep."

Steve shrugs and grins. "We're not complicated guys."

Bucky nods, but adds, "Except for the part where you're in the closet and I'd been harboring a crush on you long before I met you, and we still have to work together."

"Pfft." Steve waves his hand. "That's nothing."

"Yeah," Carol says with a smirk. "You could be teammates and out individually but not as a couple and it's starting to get a little bit nuts that you aren't able to simply go out on dates."

Steve winces. "Sorry, Care." He shifts on the couch, pressing a little bit more into Bucky. "We should go out sometime. The four of us."

Carol smiles, nods. "That'd be nice. It'll probably have to be after the holidays, if that's good?"

"Assuming we don't break it off before then?" Bucky says, chuckling a bit. He takes Steve's hand.

"Assuming that," Steve agrees. He lifts their hands to kiss Bucky's knuckles. They smile at each other, and if Carol has some smart reaction to their affection, Steve doesn't hear it.

— 🎙 —

Steve: This is the world's most boring meeting.

Bucky: aww, poor baby
Bucky: need me to entertain u?

Steve: You gonna tell me jokes?
Steve: Because your sense of humor when it comes to jokes is so bad, B.

Bucky: no YOUR sense of humor is so bad, Stephen.
Bucky: or Steven?
Bucky: shit idk how they list you on the roster

Steve: The V is for Victory ✌

Bucky: omg you're such a nerd steefan

Steve: I feel like you're getting further from it. And that you're being a little shit.

Bucky: you know me so well! 💖

Steve: I have to pay attention now.

Bucky: what's this meeting abt?
Bucky: planning a sexy 2020 calendar?

Steve: No, we did that back in September.

Bucky: wait excuse me what hold the fuckn phone back up
Bucky: oh you're just yankin my chain

Steve: Not really?
Steve: We did a shoot for a calendar! I may have been wearing a shirt?
Steve: Or.

Bucky: .............or.

Steve: Or maybe I wasn't.
Steve: Guess you'll find out when it goes on sale and you can buy one.

Bucky: i gotta BUY one???? What's the point of dating you if I don't get this sexy shit for free??

Steve: Maybe Santa will bring it.

Bucky: steven please tell me more about thid u owe me

Steve: For what??

Bucky: idk I'll think of something shit steeeeeve

Steve: Hold up meeting's ending.

Bucky: FINE see u tonight babe 😘

— 🎙 —

Even though it's the weekend before Thanksgiving, it's colder than Steve had anticipated after leaving the city He wishes he'd brought more than a hoodie with him. Bucky is better prepared, even has some fingerless gloves. Steve's been tempted to catch Bucky's hand in his, steal some warmth, but the trail is a bit unkempt in the off-season, and neither of them are avid hikers. Coach Stark will kill him if he twists an ankle out here today. Best to keep both hands available for balance.

It's a beautiful day, despite the chill. Steve's not entirely sure where they're going, but they stopped at a Wawa for hoagies on the way, and Bucky's got a blanket in his backpack.

"Have you gone hiking a lot around here?" he asks.

Bucky, a few steps ahead of him, shakes his head. "Not really. Last time I really spent time in the woods was on summer vacations with my family. Stopped going on them after college." He looks over at Steve, smiles. "Thought this would be nice, though. Keep us away from people, but still out of our apartments."

The comment brings the constant thrum of guilt over keeping them a secret to the surface. He hates that Bucky has to so carefully plan a date around the likelihood of being seen and what those who see them might think. He hates that they can't be spontaneous, or decide on an activity simply because it sounds like fun. Steve likes Bucky a whole lot, and Bucky deserves better than hiding.

He must take too long to respond, because Bucky stops and turns around in front of him, placing one hand on Steve's chest, another on Steve's chin. "Hey. Steve." He shakes his head. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have said it like that." Bucky leans in and kisses Steve's lips lightly.

"You're not wrong," Steve says "We are pretty much the only two dopes around here today." When Bucky laughs, Steve kisses him again, and it's nice out here in the chilly late autumn air, kissing without worrying about who might see, who might take a picture. Not worrying about anything more than finding ways to keep warm.

"Come on. I think it's still a couple miles to that river view the park website was talkin' about." Bucky tugs on his hand; just like that, they're off again, walking through the woods. Bucky starts singing some silly old camp song—"To scare off the bears!"—and Steve laughs more, forgetting he was ever upset about the reason for this date.

They can hear the rushing water about forty-five minutes later. The trees give way to the blue sky again, dotted with a few puffballs clouds. Steve looks up and down the riverbank for a moment, then finds a nice, big boulder jutting into the current that they'll be able to rest on. Bucky gets out the hoagies, setting one next to Steve and digging into the other, but Steve forgoes eating right away, pulling out his sketchbook instead.

It's been weeks since he's drawn. Usually it's a hobby to pass time on the plane, in hotel rooms at night during the season. In the off-season he doesn't draw very much, catching up on TV shows and movies instead, but today it felt right to bring a book and a couple of pencils. His fingers are colder than he'd anticipated, and the wind that whips along the water blows the edges of his papers up, but it doesn't take too long to have a good start of Bucky's face with the suggestion of trees and water behind him.

"Whose ugly mug's that?" comes Bucky's soft voice in Steve's ear as Bucky's chin drops onto his shoulder.

"Oh, no one." Steve shades a bit more of Bucky's hair. "Just this guy I work with."

Bucky chuckles and kisses under Steve's ear. "I'm cold," he murmurs. "We stopped walking, and I got cold."

The blanket hasn't been pulled out yet, but Bucky doesn't need to be reminded about that. "And you want me to do something about that?" He closes the book, winds the binding elastic around it, then tucks it and the pencils back in his pack, all the while trying not to jostle Bucky off his precarious perch.

"If you can think of anything to do, sure. That'd be nice."

Steve laughs softly and turns enough so he can get his arms around Bucky and pull him around so he's in Steve's lap, and immediately Bucky curls into Steve's chest. Steve hugs him close, then cups his cheek and kisses him. It's slow, not too deep to start, but there's clear intent in this—it's a warming kiss, to bring their heat up from the inside out.

There have been more than a few excellent make-out sessions since that first night. They've had sex, too, sometimes as desperate as their first night together, but other nights have been slower and sweeter. They're not going to have sex here, but the lazy kissing makes Steve feel like it would be one of those slow and sweet times if they did. He likes those times best.

"Mm, babe, this has to be uncomfortable for you," Bucky says, though he doesn't make to move off Steve. Steve grins at the endearment, something Bucky's only let slip out when they're soft and warm against each other.

"Could be, if your ass was bonier. But your ass is perfect and I like you here." The boulder is a bit uncomfortable, but Steve doesn't care.

"I like you everywhere." Bucky runs his hand up into Steve's hair, covering his ear. "Your ear's cold."

"You gonna make out with my ear, Buck?"

Bucky snorts. "Not really my kink, Rogers." They kiss again, almost chaste save for how long they hold it, how they part briefly, chasing each other to come together again and again. Steve forgets that he should be getting hungry, that he should probably eat. Bucky's all he needs.

It's too soon to be serious, and Steve's still not ready to come out. In the few weeks since this has started, though, he's come to better understand that he will be ready, sooner than he ever would have been without Bucky in his life.

Soon the sun starts to drop behind the trees, and body heat alone isn't enough to fight back the shivering. They pack up quickly and start the hike back, more than ready to enjoy the night together while warm and cozy in bed.

— ⚽ —

The drive from Philly to Brooklyn isn't the world's most exciting drive, most of it spent on the stunning dullness of the New Jersey Turnpike, but it's usually not awful overall. It's simple, and at least most days, the traffic keeps moving.

Not the day before Thanksgiving. Today, everything is the worst.

The only thing saving Steve's sanity right now is the fact that he's chilling in the passenger seat. Sam's heading home to his parents' place in Harlem, and he's kindly dropping Steve off on the way. Steve originally wasn't going to make the trip, but since Bucky left on Monday and won't be back until Tuesday, well. He might as well get a hug from Ma.

The drive has been quiet, for the most part. Sam's got music on and Steve has been staring out the window and trying not to check his phone for texts too often. He knows Bucky's not available until tonight, too busy helping distract his sister's kids—his niblings, Bucky calls them collectively, which is so cute—while his sister and mom start preparing dinner for tomorrow. They'll talk tonight, catch up, and that will be good.

Since the hike over the weekend, he's thought a lot about what his future could look like. He's thought about Natasha's offer to have him join Allied Forces' board, how that sounded great to him until he'd have to accept the label of an ally, not his true identity. He's done some research and found other LGBTQ+ advocacy organizations that he'd like to lend his voice to, but to really do that, he has to be out. And for the first time in his career, he thinks he could start preparing to come out. But first, he needs more people on his side.

Sam sings along to Marvin Gaye and taps his thumbs on the steering wheel, trying to stay upbeat and not get too mad at the other drivers on the road. Steve figures now's as good a time as any to broach the subject.

"Hey, man, can I talk to you about something?"

Sam spares a glance away from the road to nod at Steve. "Yeah, of course." He reaches over to turn down the speakers, not that the music was very loud in the first place. "You're not asking the brass for a trade or something, are you?"

Steve chuckles and shakes his head. "Nope, I'm sticking with you lumps. Nah, it's not about the game, it's more personal." He's looking forward as he says that, but he can practically hear the raised eyebrows in Sam's response.

"Personal, huh? From Steve Rogers. Wow. I almost wanna pull off to the side of the road for this."

"If you do, then I can safely smack you."

"Spill it, Cap. I'm curious now."

Steve's stalling, he knows it, but he didn't think this far ahead, didn't think about how he'd actually tell someone who he wasn't trying to stick his dick in (or whose dick he was trying to get in him, he's flexible). He'd barely told his ma; she'd known about him probably before he did, but she never took away his right to declare himself to her on his own terms. They'd gone to Pride more than a few times while he was growing up, enough so that Steve knew she supported everyone who marched. So when Steve finally got up the courage to tell Sarah Rogers that she had a queer kid, he only wrangled nerves about saying the words out loud for the first time.

He's rarely said them in all the years since, so it's still scary.

His ma has always been able to take bandages off without it hurting, pushing the skin carefully away from the adhesive rather than ripping it away forcefully. She said that things that seemed scary could always be less painful if you took time and care as you approached them.

This time, though, he thinks the bandage should get ripped off, one quick movement.

"So. Thing is." Quick. One shot. Go. "I'm bi. Bisexual." And then it stings, that quick rip always stings, and you can either scream or bite your tongue. Since they're in a car, Steve bites his tongue.

"Oh yeah?" Sam looks over and smiles, then back to the road. "That something you've recently figured out?"

It's not the response Steve expects. It's so far from what Steve expects that he laughs, and the pain is flooded away by the endorphins. "Nope, not at all. But I've kept it quiet, right? I'm not saying that I'm, like, totally coming out now? I'm not even planning to really come out to the whole team." He swallows, thinking about how he feels about Bucky, and those feelings start to take over all of Steve's other feelings. Which is, really, the whole reason for this conversation right now. Soon they could be so overwhelming that—

"But I might sooner rather than later. I dunno. For years I always figured I'd wait until I retired. But lately." He shrugs as Sam catches his eye. "Had some ally group reach out to me, want me to join their board. I can't do that. I can't call myself an ally when I'm...I'm one? I'm the B, I'm right in the acronym there. But no one knows it."

"It's hard to turn down being an ally, though," Sam says, nodding along, and Steve's glad that Sam's picking up on all this nuance. "Look, I don't know too much about the gay community stuff, but I'm pretty sure an ally wouldn't assume you were straight only because you've never said different publicly?"

Steve throws his hands up in the air. "Thank you!" he says with a laugh. "Like, I'm glad that someone straight-passing doesn't get assumed to be gay because they defend gay rights, but defending gay rights when you're straight-passing—especially when you're a man in sports—shouldn't default you to straight, either."

"I'm straight," Sam says, grinning brightly at Steve. "And, uh, my pronouns? Right? That's a thing? He and him?"

While Sam is smiling and there's a laugh in his voice, Steve can tell it's not a laugh at the idea, or at Steve, or anything like that. Sam's just happy, he's just Sam, trying to make his teammate feel comfortable. Which is, of course, why he picked Sam to tell this to first. Probably why Sam's always been his best friend on the team.

"Yeah. He/him. Me too, my gender's pretty boring." He taps two fingers to his chin. "But I should remember that for the start of the season. Get all the guys on the club to share that. Make it feel normal so that if we ever get someone who's different, they might feel safe with being honest with us." Steve shrugs. "I'll talk to HR and stuff. Find out what options we have, if we can get a speaker in or something."

"That sounds like a plan. Anything you want me to do to help?"

Steve hesitates, then says, "I've seen how the league and fans have treated you. You've got enough to deal with, you shouldn't have to do the work for me, too."

"You're a good captain, Steve." Steve looks over at Sam and preens, pleased by that praise. "And I offered my help! When you're ready to come out, whether you wanna make it a whole big deal or you just wanna tell the guys and leave it at that, I got your back. Hundred percent."

Steve nods, swallowing back a bit of a lump in his throat. "Thank you. I appreciate that more than you know." There's a small part of his heart that's begging to tell Sam about Bucky, to admit that he's got a deeper reason to be thinking about coming out.

But instead he turns up the radio again, the R&B coming back as their mini-road trip soundtrack, and he decides that no, that's not for right now. He wants to keep Bucky to himself just a little longer.

— 🎙 —

"Oh! I almost forgot!"

Steve blinks, surprised as Bucky jumps up from the table. They're finishing dinner—a nice pumpkin soup Bucky brought home from visiting his parents—after catching an early movie. (Dark places, good for dating in secret.) "You forgot?"

"My mom gave me something to bring home," Bucky calls from across the room, digging into a piece of luggage that's still somewhat packed from his trip. "I guess she and dad have been going through some of the shit I left in my room? She, ha, it's cute that she sent it. Ah ha!"

The mischief on Bucky's face is tinted with a slight bit of bashfulness, but Steve is still very afraid of what his boyfriend is about to show him.

He's right to be afraid.

"Oh my god," he moans, picking up the magazine Bucky's slid over to him. A 2012 issue of US Soccer Magazine, featuring a college-age Steve beaming from the cover.

How had he forgotten about this?

More importantly: "Wait, your mom found this in your room? Recently?"

Bucky's cheeks tint pink, but he shrugged it off. "I didn't ask where she found it. Could be that she went deep into my closet?"

Steve bursts out laughing. "Right where I would expect to find myself!" He stares at his younger self for a moment, then flips the magazine open to the article about him. More pictures stare up at him, both posed and specifically for this article.

"Surprised the pages aren't stuck together," Bucky mutters, sending Steve into another fit of giggles. He tugs Bucky closer, slinging an arm over his shoulder once Bucky's pressed into Steve's side.

"Did you have a subscription, or did you just get this because of that goofy face?"

Bucky pulls the magazine closer, trying to read the article. "I think someone told me you were shirtless in one of the pictures."

"I'm so sorry to have disappointed you," Steve drawls.

Bucky gives him a look. "Don't fish for compliments, stud." He kisses Steve's cheek, then gets up. "I should go put the rest of the soup back in the fridge. I think there's enough for one more serving each?"

Steve leaves the magazine on the dining table as he brings the dishes into the kitchen to clean up. He looks around the space, struck suddenly by how nice it is. It's tidy, but lived-in: menus, a flier for an upcoming community town hall, a few pictures from his niblings. It's right in line with the rest of the apartment, making Steve feel so at home here, even if they spend more time at Steve's. "I really do love your place. It's so homey. You look settled."

Bucky snorts. "Been here six years, I better be settled." He gathers some leftovers, putting them in the fridge. "How recently did you move into your place?"

"Ha. Um. When I signed here?" Bucky stares at him, rightfully so. It's been five years since he came to Philly. "Leave me alone," Steve says, laughing.

"If you aren't just a minimalist at heart," Bucky asks, "why don't you just decorate more? You could afford to hire someone, even."

"Could get traded at any time," Steve says with a shrug. "Easier to pack up if there's not that much there."

"Always a good thing to hear about your boyfriend," Bucky jokes, loading the dishwasher after taking the rinsed dishes from Steve.

Steve snorts. "You joked about me being traded on our first date, Buck."

"Oh, that wasn't our first date."

"No?" He raises an eyebrow. "Your fantasies while rubbing one out to my ESPN Body Issue shoot doesn't count as a date, you know." Steve twitches away from pinchy fingers aiming for his hip. "What do you consider our first date, then?"

Bucky shrugs. "After that night," he says, his tone softer now, almost bashful. "We met on purpose, knowing what we wanted."

"You knew what you wanted the night you came to my place."

"Yeah, but I sure didn't expect you to want it, too. It was my resignation letter, remember?" The last dish is loaded and Bucky closes the dishwasher, cocking his hip out to lean against it, one arm resting on the counter, the other akimbo. "So as fucking fantastic as that night was, it wasn't our first date."

Steve frowns slightly. "It could have been. I wanted you."

Bucky shakes his head. "You only did one-offs with guys at that point. You didn't want a date, you wanted a fuck. Which we both got, and it was great! But we made it a relationship the next time."

It doesn't entirely sit right with Steve—if they'd talked about it before, even known that the other was a potential partner, that night could have had a whole lot more purpose to it. If Bucky didn't know Steve tended towards one-nighters with guys, would that change his perception of that first night together? At the same time, does it really matter? They're together, putting in as much time as they can during the winter so the chaos of the season—in an Olympic year, no less—won't mess with them more than it has to.

Steve steps forward and drops a kiss on the tip of Bucky's nose, then his softly curling lips. "Tonight's a date at least, right?"

"Hell yeah it is." Bucky curls a couple fingers into the waistband of Steve's jeans. "And we should figure out what to do now that we've had our food and a little chat."

"Scrapbooking?"

Bucky laughs and kisses Steve; Steve kisses him back, draping his arms over Bucky's shoulders, letting their hips press together as Bucky leans into the counter for support. It's loose and languid, the pleasing pace of a pair who knows what each other wants, knows they can give it to each other. It's been amazing falling into this relationship, learning to be with Bucky, discovering how it isn't as hard as he always thought it would be. His relationships haven't always been hard, but they also didn't feel quite so good—or quite so necessary.

Bucky's hands come up and cup Steve's face as he finally breaks the kiss with a soft smile. "I have a few ideas. What are your plans for tomorrow?"

"Ah, well." Steve lifts a hand to play in Bucky's hair. "I have to be on a plane at seven in the morning, which sucks a lot, because it means I can't stay up all night with you." He kisses Bucky softly. "And I didn't, uh, bring any—"

"You didn't bring a bag." Bucky shakes his head and sighs with toothless exasperation. "You should've said, Steve. You don't have to wait for an invitation to spend the night."

Steve tilts his head. "I don't?" They haven't spent more than a couple full nights together yet, each time planned in advance. The idea of spontaneously deciding to stay hadn't crossed his mind.

Bucky shakes his head, affectionately amused. "No, you don't. Keep that in mind going forward." He runs his hands down Steve's shoulders. "Well. If you have to leave tonight, then we'll have to plan accordingly."

Steve takes Bucky's hands. "What kind of plans are you thinking?"

His boyfriend's eyes run over him, like Bucky's looking at a vast buffet, trying to decide where he wants to start, what he has time for tonight. Bucky pulls their hands together between them, lifting them to kiss Steve's knuckles softly.

"I think," he murmurs, looking at Steve through lowered eyelashes, "that I'd like to get you naked on my couch." Steve raises his eyebrows. "And then, perhaps, I'd like to make you come in my mouth." The corners of Steve's lips lift (and so does another part of his body as well). "All while I'm still in my clothes."

Steve nods, probably a little too eager, but then again Bucky said it to get Steve riled up. He steps back and pulls at Bucky's hands. "You have good ideas, Barnesy. You should definitely do all of that. But I got a question."

Bucky gives a quizzical look as he walks with Steve towards the couch of blow jobs. "What's that, Rogers?"

"I mean. It sounds great for me. But what about you?"

"Oh, you'll get me back, for sure. Still in my clothes. Maybe against a wall or door? Or on the couch is fine."

"Mm. That does sound good. But I notice that you're staying clothed, while I'm not. And you're the one who lives here."

Bucky nods slowly. "Yeah. That is pretty weird. Oh well." Bucky backs Steve's legs against the arm of the couch, then gives his chest a shove. It's not really enough to make Steve tumble, but he does anyway, happy to play the game.

Bucky's quick to undo Steve's button fly and strip off his jeans with a couple quick tugs. Bucky doesn't move to strip off Steve's socks. Steve might normally be more turned on by that, but he's getting a lot of personal satisfaction from the look on Bucky's face as he realizes that Steve has not worn underwear tonight. "Jesus," Bucky moans. "I was thinking I'd get your shirt off and tease you a while before the briefs went."

"Flaw in your plan, Barnes? Gonna have to think on your feet here, I guess."

Bucky sighs hard, and he truly looks pained at having to change his plans, but Steve has faith in his boyfriend to be resourceful. And soon enough, he has a breakthrough. He growls softly, deep in his throat, and he pushes Steve's shirt up as far as he can, the bottom of it over Steve's face, and orders him, "Stay." Steve is inclined to obey, but the mere idea of doing anything otherwise leaves his mind completely when Bucky's mouth envelops Steve's dick.

He spreads his legs and Bucky's palms press against the inside of his thighs as he leans in further to take Steve deeply. Steve groans and one hand grips the cushion while the other goes to Bucky's hair, fingers tangling and tugging not quite gently, hard enough to make Bucky moan around him. The vibration and pull of Bucky's lips send electricity up Steve's spine. He shifts his hips enough that Bucky presses into him, holding him down a little more, exactly as Steve hoped. He bites his lip, loving how Bucky knows how to get him worked up.

While he doesn't break any personal speed records, it doesn't take long until he's pushing Bucky away and Bucky's hand takes over to finish Steve off, thin ropes of come painting Bucky's fingers. Bucky grins and wipes his mouth with the back of his other hand while he finishes pumping Steve's cock. "That feel good, honey?"

Steve's breath is coming back to him slowly. He knows he's looking pretty gooey-eyed at the man kneeling before him. "I mean—"

"If you even joke—"

"Felt fucking great, Buck. Get up here and snuggle for a second before I get you back." He tugs on Bucky's forearm, and the other man shows no resistance, quickly climbing up on the couch and tucking into Steve's side. Steve nuzzles Bucky's neck, while Bucky's fingers lightly trace Steve's soft dick. He likes to touch it even if it isn't going to be getting hard again anytime soon, which makes Steve feel even softer in his heart.

"Where are you going tomorrow?" Bucky asks quietly.

"You don't know?"

Bucky shakes his head. "I stopped following the little details of the off-season as closely as I used to. I don't want to, I dunno. Act like a superfan? We're dating, you can tell me what you're up to." He kisses Steve lightly. "So, again I ask, where are you going?"

Steve smiles, that soft warmth in his chest growing. He doesn't prod that feeling too hard—he likes how Bucky talks about their relationship. "I'm off to Houston, we have a camp there. Gotta start getting organized for qualifiers next year."

"Mmm." Bucky's hand moves to trace patterns on Steve's stomach, running along the indented outlines of his abs. Steve tries not to twitch, but it does tickle a bit. "When are you back, then?"

"Wednesday, but camp's done Monday. Nat booked me into some PR thing on Tuesday. I forget what it is, actually. Probably something with kids."

"Ooh, maybe a school assembly?" Bucky's grinning, a bit of a smirk to it as well. "Bet they'd love that, right before Christmas break?"

Steve nods. "Yeah, that could be it." He leaves a soft kiss under Bucky's ear, a little open-mouthed with a touch of tongue. "Speaking of Christmas. Are you going back to Indiana again?" He'd missed Bucky at Thanksgiving, but at least this time he anticipates that they'll be away from each other this year. It's their first holidays together, not even two months into this thing, so as addicted as Steve feels to having this man in his arms, he can handle being apart a bit more before the new year starts.

Bucky hums into the kiss. "I am. Are you going to spend it with your mom?"

"I am," Steve echoes. "She's looking forward to hearing me moon over you for a week."

It's true—Sarah's thrilled knowing Steve finally together with his podcast cohort (her words), and every time Steve talks to her she asks how things are going. He knows she'll be delighted to hear him complain about missing Bucky throughout his visit.

Bucky is quiet for a moment, tracing his finger around Steve's navel. "I haven't told my family I'm seeing you yet. Or seeing anyone."

Steve's eyes widen. "No? I thought they knew."

"I promised not to out you, didn't I?" His voice is small, a little unsure, and Steve feels a press of guilt in his gut.

"You can tell your family, Buck. They're not going to go selling that gossip to ESPN or Sports Illustrated or anything, right?"

Bucky looks up with him—the surprise in his eyes makes Steve feel like the worst boyfriend in the world. "Really?"

God, he wishes he was wearing pants right now. Or nothing, and that Bucky was also in nothing. It's hard to be serious with a shirt half rucked up and no jeans. "I don't think we're at...that kind of serious level yet, but if I'm telling my mom, you can tell your folks and sister. Really, I never meant to make you keep us that tight of a secret. I'm sorry."

Bucky shakes his head, that fond exasperation back. "You goof. If it was hurting me a lot, I would have asked. It's okay, yeah?" He kisses Steve's cheek and smiles. "I've got your back."

"Okay. But you can tell them. Or let it come up if it happens to get there naturally."

"Got it," Bucky agrees, and Steve strokes his hair softly.

"It's really awkward here with my pants around my ankles," Steve murmurs.

"Mmm. It's awkward that my dick got soft."

Steve smiles and bites his lip. "Well, babe, I think I can see to that for you."

— 💲 —

Carol: Every day I work hard to play hard, Steve, and you know that means I have to sleep hard.

Steve: We sure do. Both of us, not just you.

Carol: Sure! Both of us! [laughing] We spend enough nights in hotel rooms, so when I'm home, I can't crash on any old mattress. I need one that will support me, help keep my aching muscles on the mend and prevent new pains from forming.

Steve: Well gee, Carol, I think I've got a good suggestion for you.

Carol: Oh yeah?

Steve: Heatherdown is just the mattress you need. A hybrid of cooling memory foam and gentle coils, Heatherdown gives you that support and comfort you need for a solid night's sleep so you can be refreshed and ready to face your next opponent— whether that's another soccer team or that guy from accounting who always nitpicks your expense reports.

Carol: Sounds great! But what if I get it and it doesn't work out for some reason?

Steve: In that unlikely event, there is a 120-day return period where they'll come and pick it up for you at no extra cost! That's three months! They're that confident that you'll be satisfied.

Carol: You've convinced me. Pass me the site and code, Rogers!

Steve: [chuckles] You can visit heatherdownsleep.com and enter NightCaps in the promo field at the top of the page. That'll get you free shipping and fifteen percent off your mattress. That's heatherdownsleep.com, and the code is NightCaps.

Carol: All this talk about sleep's got me itchin' for a nap.

Steve: Well, we still have a podcast to get through.

Carol: Bucky can edit out the yawns. [laughing off-mic]

Chapter Text

Carol Danvers @cdanversscore
Guess who's coming back in town?! The offseason means missing a lot of my teammates, especially the ones who are on both teams. Gonna tear this town apart, @valkeeper! ✌

JB Barnes @jbbarnesprod
@cdanversscore @valkeeper I bet she could tell some good stories. Maybe you should stop by the studio, Val!

Val Hilde @valkeeper
@jbbarnesprod @cdanversscore I would absolutely LOVE to. Just tell me when!

— 🎙 —

"Have you met Val yet?"

Bucky shakes his head while Steve sips at his drink, leaning his elbows on the bar. "I haven't, not officially, anyway. I think we waved at each other once?" Bucky takes his own drink as the bartender leaves it and swirls the glass, looking at the alcohol. It's cute. "Have you?"

"Yeah, a couple times with team stuff." He thinks back to those meetings. "I didn't know they were dating, though that was probably the goal. They wouldn't have seen me as someone to confide in, I'm sure."

The restaurant is crowded for a Tuesday night, but it's dimly lit and quiet enough to feel relatively private. Emboldened, Steve steps closer to Bucky and rests his hand on Bucky's wrist on the bar. Bucky lifts his chin to look up the slight difference in their heights and smiles, a soft smile that's only for Steve.

"Well, clearly they're confiding in us now," Bucky murmurs. "Honestly, we're really the ones confiding in them."

Steve sips again, licks a drop off his lips. "Either way, it'll be nice to catch up with them." He sees that Bucky's eyes are following his tongue, and he grins wider. "You, Mr. Barnes, are—"

A pair of hands fling themselves over Steve's eyes and there's a shout of "Heyyyy!" in his ear.

"Danvers, you're a menace!" Steve pulls free from her grip and turns to give her a hug, then shifts to look over her shoulder at the light-skinned black woman smirking a few steps back. "Why do you let her out in public, huh?"

"I can't control her," Val Hilde says, her voice a combination of American and Aussie accents. She spent a number of her childhood years living in Brisbane, but her family moved back to the States in her teens, just in time to be noticed by the US Soccer Fed and enter the youth programs. "No one can, but I'm pretty sure you know that well." She brushes at her hair, which is in soft loose waves today instead of the tight braids she wears on the field, pushing it off her shoulder.

Steve grins and moves to give her a warm hug. Behind him, Carol and Bucky exchange hello hugs as well.

They chat for a few minutes before the host calls their party. They're swept to their table, not quite in the back corner Steve had originally requested, but in a side room with only one other party of three. One of those diners is a local politician, so it's a space intended for privacy. Their table is small enough to allow for each couple to hold hands if they want. Carol and Val do exactly that as soon as they're settled, and Steve shifts his leg slightly so his knee can bump Bucky's.

The conversation moves fairly easily among the quartet. Val fits in well with them, quick to share stories at Carol's expense, sending them all into fits of giggles. Once their food is brought out, and cackling is more dangerous as they eat, Bucky shifts the conversation to the idea that Val join them on the show as soon as they feel comfortable.

"That'll probably be soon," Carol says, glancing at her girlfriend. "We were actually going to talk about planning something tonight. Sorry for mixing business with pleasure."

"Right," Steve jokes, "because our business is so unpleasurable."

"Should I get out my notebook?" Bucky asks, and they all laugh—then they laugh harder when Bucky does pull a small notebook from his pocket, complete with a small pen held on by elastic. "Don't mock the producer, jocks."

"I like him," Steve stage-whispers to the women.

"He's all yours," Val replies, smirking at Carol. Her cheeks bunch as she does, accentuating the vitiligo that makes it look like she's permanently wiped white paint under her eyes, always ready for game time.

Steve chuckles as the women giggle, then looks at Bucky, intensely charmed by the serious, eager look on Bucky's face as he waits for them to calm down so he can plan things for the podcast. It's almost enough to make Steve lean over and kiss his boyfriend's cheek, but he's still not quite ready to be that obvious in a public place, semi-private room aside.

Carol seems to get that Bucky's really ready to get down to it now, so she nods at him. "Well then, Mr. Barnes. We're going public."

Steve and Bucky both beam at the declaration. Val says, "I was offering to hire a skywriter, but Danvers here thinks that's not the best use of our World Cup bonus."

"A bonus which should have been higher," Steve says, and all four of them raises their glasses to that. "Sorry, Care. Continue."

"I'm not looking to put out a press release. There's something to be said for subtlety."

Everyone stares at Carol Danvers, who is currently most famous for her multicolored mohawk cut over the summer and her impromptu speech on the steps of Congress demanding equal pay for women, and has never done a subtle thing in her life.

"Okay," Carols says, holding up her hands. "I know. I hear it, too. But I'm serious. I've been out for ages. Val's not as loud as me, but people who pay attention know she's not straight. That's something to be loud and noticed for, but being together? That's a quieter, more personal thing."

Val takes Carol's hand, which just barely missed knocking over her water glass. "What she's badly explaining is that we're going to start just being together in public. Some people will make a bigger deal of it, that's fine."

"Right, but eventually, there will be questions, you know? So we'll need to address them." Carol's grin is wide and toothy, almost a little dangerous. "I'm thinking a live podcast. Sometime around Valentine's Day? Make it corny?"

Steve nods, delighted; he's pleased to see Bucky scribbling away in his notebook. "I love it! Can I interview you? You know, as the Captain of Lesbians?" He hears Bucky snicker and pointedly ignores him.

"I'm not a lesbian, though," Val says casually, sipping her wine.

Steve bows his head in apology. "Sorry, my fault for assuming. Though I didn't give myself the nickname."

"You give this interview, you'll be Captain of Lesbians and Pans," Val winks at him.

"Do I not get to have captaincy over my own orientation?"

"You can be my Cap, Stevie."

"Barnes, don't bring your bedroom kinks to this dinner table."

Val leans closer to Steve. "Where do you fall on the rainbow then?"

"Bi," he says—saying that gets easier each time. "We'll have to hang out one night and talk about how sexy all human beings are."

"Hell yeah." She taps his shoulder with her fist and smirks. "You two swing?"

Steve, his sip of beer not quite fully down his throat, splutters and tries not to choke.

— ⚽ —

Steve gets to the stadium early, because he loves charity events and, like, he's team captain. It's important to show up early for these events, make sure he understands the lay of the land before everyone else arrives so he can help to wrangle the team.

Today's event is a video game tournament, and Steve is really terrible at games. Just completely awful. So he plans to hang more around the edges, until he's eventually coaxed into making a fool of himself for a round, then going back to play with kids who have gotten bored or don't like video games either.

Oh, and through it all, he'll be talking to his podcast producer and helping to interview teammates to be aired on a future episode. His podcast producer who he's dating, but no one on the team knows. His podcast producer who he has a hard time not kissing.

Steve's in for a rough day.

Other teammates start showing up. Steve acts like a Wal-Mart greeter, hamming it up when Jones teases him about being an old man. T'Challa calls him over, looking like he's ready to cause some trouble. He's tall and carries himself with a regal bearing off the field—Steve found it intimidating when he first joined the team. The Wakandan international is deadly on the field, quick and powerful with his strikes from behind the front offensive line.

"Rogers, I've been told we are equals today," the quiet midfielder says with a clever smile and bright eyes.

Steve tilts his head. "Wait, are we usually not equals?" He narrows his eyes. "What makes us equals today?"

"I haven't played much of this game before. And I am generally fairly terrible at video games."

"Oh!" Steve laughs. "Yeah, we're definitely going to be equal there. Is it these sports games you're bad at, or all video games?" He presses a hand to his chest. "For me, it's all of them."

T'Challa shrugs. "I'm not so bad at action games, so perhaps I'm not so much your equal, then." His eyes sparkle as he tries to keep a straight face. "So things are quite normal."

Steve gasps, putting a hand to his chest and taking an exaggerated step backwards. "So you're saying you're always superior to me! Sir, I am your captain."

"And you just called me 'sir', Captain."

Well, there's no arguing with that, is there? "You've won this round. I guess I'll have to beat you on the pixel field."

Now T'Challa laughs, deep and warm, and Steve is only the slightest bit insulted. "We'll see, Rogers. We shall see...." He walks away on this line and Steve is left shaking his head fondly.

He can see little groups of players forming, which isn't a surprise. Every team Steve has ever been on has had cliques, though most aren't as dramatic as his current national team situation. On the Forge, it's more that they tend to keep separate by line and position, which is fairly natural for even the closest teams. Steve makes his way around to everyone, encouraging others to mix and mingle. He performs his role as a captain differently here on the club than on the national team—something he's not exactly proud of—but at the same time, that team isn't as close knit as this one. He looks at the women's side and is jealous of how close they all are. That's something that has come from a shared adversity that the men simply don't have, on account of being men.

He doesn't stop to question why that thought has Carol's voice in his head.

With about ten or so minutes before all the adorable children arrive, Bucky Barnes arrives, loaded up with some equipment and dressed up more than Steve's ever seen him. They record in jeans at their most formal, but shorts were common during the summer, turning into joggers and sweats as the weather cooled. A t-shirt was almost worthy of being listed as the expected dress code, if they were to have an employment handbook.

Today, Bucky is wearing a pair of dark, skinny slacks, and a short-sleeve button-down shirt, black with what looks like some kind of flower pattern—daisies? His coat is draped over one arm, plus his regular crossbody satchel that holds his Macbook, notebooks, and probably some basic portable mics for recording. His hair is loose today, curling at the ends and a little crimped in the middle. Steve figures Bucky's had his hair in a bun at least a little today—an elastic on Bucky's wrist confirms that theory.

Bucky is gorgeous. It's really hard for Steve to hold back his huge, besotted grin that he knows is burning up in his chest.

Somehow, he manages to put a more generic "I'm a sociable guy and this is my team" smile as he walks over to Bucky, but holds up as he sees Coach Fury striding over as well. Bucky's been working with Fury to set this up for the podcast and some other social media aspects of the day, so it'll make sense for those two to greet each other first. Still, Steve doesn't linger too far behind, because while the full nature of their relationship might be a secret, he's obviously Bucky's friend.

"—to be here, thanks for letting me crash the party," Bucky's saying as Steve approaches.

Fury nods, glancing over at Steve. "Well, I know Rogers has been really enjoying the podcast, and I'll take any free marketing of my team, especially when it's sponsored by USSF."

"Oh, not that free," Bucky says with a cocked grin that makes butterflies buzzed on three double espressos explode in Steve's belly. "I'm getting paid for this."

"Yes, yes, of course. But you catch my drift." Coach looks at Steve again and nods. "I think the kids will be here soon. You should find Maria and coordinate all that."

Steve, very maturely, does not stomp and foot and whine that he wants to talk to his boyfriend. "Right, yeah." He flashes a quick grin at Bucky. "I'll see you around today, huh? Glad you're here!" Bucky grins back at him. Steve claps a hand to Bucky's shoulder, very manly and appropriate in context, as he hurries off to find their PR director.

As he expected, an hour in and the kids have him exhausted. They're getting a kick playing games against the team, and even bigger kicks from how often they win. Steve knows the guys aren't letting them win, either. But there are still some who are more interested in hanging out with professional soccer players than playing the games, and they've been Steve's focus for the afternoon.

It's not as physically strenuous as the USSF event last summer, where Carol essentially told Steve they were going to do the podcast, but he finds that sitting and talking to these kids takes it out of him mentally. Some of the kids have really deep and thoughtful questions, and trying to articulate his answers in a way that pre-teens will understand is a hefty mental exercise.

"Steve," he can remember Bucky saying last night at dinner in a teasing tone, "you're the same mental age as these kids. This shouldn't be hard!"

Alas, the Bucky of today is waaaaay across the room, camped out at the gaming set-up. Part of Steve wants to whine that Bucky is his podcast producer, but Bucky is being paid by this team for work that's beyond what the podcast will air, so he shouldn't complain.

He will complain, of course, but not until tonight, at home, when Bucky's over and getting in all the kisses they can't share this afternoon.

Ultimately, Steve's gotta bite the bullet and at least try to play this game better than T'Challa, so he claps his hands when there's finally a lull in the kids' chatter.

"Hey, gang! It's my turn to play some FIFA. Did ya know that I'm really bad at video games? You should come watch."

He has never seen children move that fast. Even on the field. Nice to know how he rates.

The guys see him coming. Rhodey starts hooting, Dum-Dum makes a crack that Steve's all shoulders and that doesn't help on the controller, and Bucky, the little shit, gets up from where he's been a bit off to the side and plops down right next to Steve on the big couch. Granted, it's not as close as they would be on one of their own couches, but it's close enough to feel Bucky's warmth on his side.

"Hello, Buck," Steve says, as fond as he dares, surrounded by his teammates. "Can I help you?"

Bucky grins at him. "At the request of one Carol Danvers, I'm playing against you."

Steve stares back, voice on the edge of whining when he says, "But you're good—" Then he shuts up quickly. He only knows because he has sprawled out on Bucky's couch, naked, while watching Bucky play FIFA, NHL, and lots of shooty-shooty games. (They all look the same to Steve, so what?) Bucky has a solid mastery of the controller and he understands video games in a way Steve never has. And Bucky's sexy when he does it, which is often when Bucky's barely dressed either, per Steve's request.

Why does he think that Carol fully grasped all of that information when asking this of Bucky?

(Because Carol is the worst. He adores her.)

He takes a deep breath, because obviously he can't turn down this challenge, but he also knows if he's not careful, he'll be humiliated.

He shrugs, and says, "I mean. You can play the game at the same time, but I highly doubt you'll be playing against me." Bucky looks at him quizzically, and Steve adds, "More like around me. Like an obstacle."

Bucky laughs—as does everyone else, Steve assumes, though it feels like it's only the two of them in the room—and he sways forward the slightest bit like he's going to kiss Steve. But then he stops, remembering where they are, and nods instead.

"All right then, traffic cone. Let's go."

It goes about as well as can be expected. It takes about half the match for Steve to figure out how the controls work and the next half is wasted trying to remember which trigger or stick does what. Sam nearly laughs hard enough to cough up a lung, the kids are cheering and jeering Steve with equal fervor, and even Fury comes over to see what's happening.

When it finally ends in Steve's inevitable loss, he drops the controller and throws his hands up in the air, then slumps back into the couch. "There! Are you all happy? I told you I was terrible!"

Bucky ignores his wail of defeat and stands, lifting his arms over his head in triumph. The rest of the crew cheers him. Bucky milks it for all it's worth, egging them on as he turns in a slow circle, until he's facing Steve. Steve's still reclined back in the deep couch; Bucky's tall and looming, grinning. His hair is a little mussed, a few fly-aways around his face. Steve is utterly entranced, and more than a little turned on.

He feels something stir and quickly sits up to make sure no one—none of the children, Christ—sees anything inappropriate.

"Okay, okay! I'm sure my humiliation was fully documented for the ages—" At least six people hold up their phones to confirm that, great. "But I also have to give an interview about how cool you kids are and why we love helping as a team!" He winks at a kid missing two front teeth who's been particularly excited to be here and talking to everyone all day, telling his favorite players that he wants to be just like them one day. The kid grins back at him and it's endearing and cute, and also it helps him calm down the semi in his pants.

"No rematch, Rogers?" Bucky lifts an eyebrow at him. It holds a little challenge that pairs well with what everyone else can see, but there's a glint in his eye that Steve knows and likes. He likes it a lot.

"Maybe some other time." He gestures towards the hall. "Come on, we'll get cleaner audio out here."

Some of the kids look like they might ask to tag along, but Steve is saved by the arrival of Maria Hill and pizza, which also grabs a lot of the players' attention. Steve heads for the hall, stooping to pick up Bucky's equipment bag as he goes, and doesn't look back, trusting that Bucky will be right on his heels.

"Could you have found a place a little more on-the-nose, or wh—" Steve swallows Bucky's words as the door shuts behind him. They're in the dark, and yes they're in a closet-y sort of utility room, but the important part is that Steve has Bucky's tongue in his mouth and Bucky's hands gripping his ass. Steve's got one hand tangling in Bucky's hair and the other arm around his slim waist.

That's what's important here.

Bucky's head thunks against the door as he finally pulls away, hands cupping Steve's face after messing up his hair a little. "Honey, we've got a situation here."

Steve laughs and drops his head onto Bucky's solid shoulder. "This? This has been torture." He speaks with the conviction of someone who had actually experienced torture, even though the most he's felt actually tortured before now is when he's gotta run suicide sprints. Which is to say: he's never really been tortured, but he's definitely dramatic.

Bucky is used to the dramatics, so he kisses Steve again, softer now, less desperate. "If I'd realized how hot you are hanging out with your teammates, I would not have agreed to do this until we could be out."

"Sorry." Steve's not really sorry. "I'm really glad you're here, though. I'm glad these guys could get to know you."

"Mm. They know me as the guy who whooped your ass at FIFA. Frankly, almost any of them could be known for that." Steve bites Bucky's lip for that. Bucky grumbles, fussy and cute, and Steve wishes they could do more. "I have to interview you, Stevie," Bucky whispers, bringing everything back down to Earth.

Steve lets out a resigned sigh and brushes a thumb over Bucky's lips. "Technically, you have to interview me before you cut the episode. We could do that any time. At the studio. Or in bed." He licks his lips. "That's the beauty of audio versus video."

Bucky laughs at his boyfriend as he kisses Steve's thumb. "Technically, you're right. But logically, I know that if you and I don't do this now, if we wait until we're in private, we'll keep doing the things we usually do in private, and no one will ever get interviewed."

That's solid logic. Steve grumbles wordlessly about it.

"Come on. It won't be long. Five or ten minutes at most. Then we get out of this damn closet, finish up with this job, and then we can go home."

That doesn't stop the grumbling. "We go home separately." Bucky pets him as if Steve's a purring cat. Grumpy Cat, probably.

"We leave in separate cars," Bucky continues, endlessly patient. "But we go back to mine. And we have a nice dinner, then you let me work your shoulders, because I can tell how tense you'll be when this is all done." Steve smiles and starts to relax. "And then we make out, fool around, and fall asleep in the same bed."

"That sounds nice," Steve whispers, almost docile now, hypnotized by the sweet picture Bucky has painted for them. He takes a deep breath and nods. "Okay. Interview me. Then all the rest of that, please."

"All right. Where's the light in here, anyway?" They both snicker, and start feeling around for the switch, carefully avoiding feeling up each other.

— 🎙 —

The live podcast ends up being scheduled at a local soccer hotspot. The owner, dressed in a four-star USWNT kit with Darcy's number, greeted both Steve and Carol eagerly. The restaurant has a small loft space that's marked for Employees Only Tonight, it's their staging ground for the sound crew. Steve stands at the half wall above the main restaurant space, his back to the growing crowd, paying them no mind. His attention's instead focused (shockingly) on Bucky.

Tonight his boyfriend isn't alone in all this work, having hired a couple of extra audio techs to help set up and make sure the whole event is well mic'd with reduced echo. And...mixing. Something with a soundboard? Steve's not entirely sure, but that's why he and Carol have Bucky: Bucky knows it all.

"Hey, Rogers. Here."

Steve stands up straight and steps closer to Bucky as he approaches. "Yeah?"

Bucky holds up a black box and some wires. "Gotta get you mic'd up," he murmurs, handing the box to Steve. "Tuck this in your waistband. It's probably going to be most comfortable in the back."

"Maybe you should help me." Steve smirks. Bucky chuckles. "What? I don't know what I'm doing!"

"Save it, stud." Bucky grins back at him., He attaches the little microphone to Steve's shirt. "I checked to make sure this wasn't already on, but treat it like a hot mic, okay?"

Steve nods. He fiddles with the box at the small of his back, clipping it securely and making sure it's comfortable. "You've really pulled out all the stops tonight, Buck." It may be taking Bucky a little longer than necessary to clip the mic on, but Steve doesn't mind.

"Only the best for my captains," he teases, then winks at Steve. "I don't want to risk a poorly-heard question from the audience, and I figure trying to keep any of you seated in one spot or making you hold a mic would be more trouble than it was worth." He makes a spinny gesture with one finger in the air. Steve obeys, eyes closing when Bucky lightly touches his hip with one hand as he fiddles with the box with his other. "Okay, box is on, but tap here—" he moves Steve's hand to touch a slightly indented button on it "—and you're muted." He lifts his headphones to his ear. "Say something so we can test your levels?"

"What would you like me to say?"

Bucky shakes his head. "Anything, just speak in a normal voice, and MJ over there will confirm if you're set." He points across to a woman with long dreads, who gives a hand signal. "Go ahead, she's listening."

So, right, no sweet nothings to Bucky the rest of the night. "I'm really nervous," he says, which surprises both of them judging by the way Bucky's eyes widen. "Never done a live podcast before."

"You'll be fine. Carol's really leading things, and she and Val will probably get tons of questions. You're the muscle in case any jerks show up."

"I think Val would hit you if she heard you say that. She's her own muscle." Steve grins. "Carol, too, for that matter. We know I'm very superfluous here."

"Ooh, big words tonight, that'll get good play." Bucky looks back over to MJ, who gives him a thumbs up. "Okay, go ahead and mute yourself?"

Steve reaches back and finds the spot that Bucky showed him and presses it, feeling a firm click. "How's that, did it work?" MJ signals with two fingers over her lips, which Steve guesses means he's successfully muted.

"Looks like. Great. I can go set up the ladies now." Bucky flashes him a quick grin. "Don't stress it too much, Rogers. You'll be great tonight." There's a soft look in Bucky's eyes, which Steve reads as Bucky wishing he could do a little more to ease Steve's nerves. A kiss, a soft hand on his cheek, a quick hug—it would all be nice and probably work wonders. He winks at Bucky, trying to show that he'll be okay with it. Bucky nods and jogs across the loft to find Carol and Val, who are standing close with clasped hands.

Steve's hit with a wave of envy—of envy's bad-boy cousin jealousy, even—as he watches the two women touch each other so freely. It's irrational; while Carol and Val have done their years of waiting patiently to feel safe being public, it's no one's fault but Steve's that he and Bucky are staying quiet still. He could do it, he could decide to come out and he could kiss Bucky chastely at charity events and at restaurants and never feel this way again....

But he's not quite ready, either, and he knows it. Plus, tonight is for Carol and Val. They deserve the chance to be authentic.

He takes a deep breath and heads over to see about helping with the mics, now that he's a total pro.

"—So without further ado, I give you Carol Danvers and Steve Rogers!" The restaurant's owner—Arthur, Steve knows now after he introduced himself to the audience—applauds with everyone packed into the space, his thick arms and meaty hands setting a steady beat with some music MJ's cued up for their entrance.

Carol grins at Steve, winks at Val, then heads out to meet the crowd. Steve follows after her, and he's hit with a wall of light and applause. He puts on a bright, smiling expression even as he screams internally. He's not sure why this event is causing the nerves to skyrocket, but right now he doesn't really have time for self-reflection.

He takes a seat in his chair and gives everyone a wave as he settles. There are a large number of Team USA and Marvels jerseys and shirts out there, and he grins because he suspects that those US ones are far more for Carol, rather than Steve. Some of his teammates on the national team are envious of the success of the women's team, but Steve has been a long-standing supporter of the women's side, all the way back to his youth rec league days.

Carol is running the show tonight, her natural charisma perfect for the spotlight. It'll make it easier to bring Val into the show later, too. Carol leans forward in her chair, like she wants to get as close to these fans as possible.

"Hi, everyone! God, I love seeing you all here! Thanks so much for coming out tonight to our first-ever live podcast episode!" She pauses for woos and cheers, beaming as she gets them. "For listeners who still can't tell us apart, I'm Steve Rogers."

"And I'm Carol Danvers," Steve says on cue. The laugh he gets relaxes him, since it's something he doesn't get during regular podcast recording.

"And we're the Captains of the women's and men's US National Soccer Teams!" More loud support from the crowd makes Steve's heart swell. Carol continues their introduction. "We're here to talk about soccer, demystify what it's like being on high-level soccer teams, and maybe tell you a little about ourselves, too."

Steve's eyes cut over to where he knows Val is waiting for her call up to the stage. She's smiling fondly, eyes only for Carol.

They planned out some usual podcast content to start the evening, not wanting to alienate listeners who don't care for an entire episode of audience Q&A. Carol updates everyone on the state of the lawsuit against the USSF for equal pay—Steve is still shocked that she can get away with talking about it on a USSF-supported podcast, but then again, what do they gain from stopping her?—and then Steve talks about the men's upcoming Olympic qualifying tournament.

He knows it's going to be a tough battle. Four years ago they didn't manage to qualify. There's a lot of pride on the line this year, and he wants to get to Tokyo.

"I'm not one to make guarantees," he says, "but that doesn't mean I don't have the confidence in my team to do what needs to be done to not only qualify, but to qualify as the top seed in our conference. If we keep working as a team, supporting each other as much as our sisters support each other—" he gestures to Carol, who smiles at him and winks to the crowd "—then we've got the skill and talent to do what needs to be done." He's been sitting up straighter as he's spoken, chest puffed out and chin held high. The audience responds to this with enthusiasm, cheering and whistling, and someone even starts a U-S-A! chant, which spreads like ripples.

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches a glimpse of Bucky, who is giving a military salute. It's all Steve can do not to fall into a fit of giggles and ruin the moment.

Once everyone has calmed down, they take a short break to drink water and get a third chair set up, which sets off some murmurs and curiosity in the audience. Steve reaches back to click the mute on his mic. "Crowd seems good," he whispers to Carol. "You ready to go for it?"

She mutes her own mic. "Yeah. This is the right kind of group." They hadn't had a way to screen for the fans who bought tickets to be here tonight, so there had been a concern that it would be seen as a way for less supportive and intolerant fans to try and crash the party to make their feelings known. "I've seen at least three people wearing our Pride kits, and not only with my name."

Steve nods, squeezing her shoulder. "All right then, boss. It's on." He sits back, but before he turns his mic back on, a woman walks up to the edge of the stage and gestures to him. It's a fan in a Stanford jersey, Peggy's number, which delights him. He gets up and kneels at the edge of the stage. "Hi there! Excellent kit choice."

The woman grins as she looks down at her shirt. "I was a year below her at Stanford. I didn't play, but she was my goddamn idol."

"Smart of you," Steve says, holding out his hand. "Steve," he offers. Fans always get a kick when he introduces himself first, like they didn't know who he was. It helps to ease their nerves.

"Angie," she offers back, shaking his hand. "I was, um, honestly just curious if you and Peggy were still...in touch."

Steve is still smiling, but he hears the air quotes around "in touch" and knows she's really asking if he and Pegs are still together at all. It's not an uncommon rumor, though he hasn't heard it in a couple years. He knows that they made an attractive pair. They were still dating when Steve got his first international caps, subbing in on friendlies and making a name for himself to a wider audience. As such, some people had committed to the idea of Steve and Peggy as soccer royalty, and those fans had taken it hard when they broke up.

"We're still friendly," Steve offers. "If I'm out her way for a game or training, we try to meet up for dinner. You know how it can be with old friends." His smile is a little frozen in place. If she's someone really out to start the rumors again, there's not much he can say that will stop her. A flat denial will turn into "he doth protest too much", and even the truth of long-distance friends who have mostly moved on from each other can be used to say, "see, they're still hooking up!"

Golly, Steve, sure would be helpful if you had a real relationship he could point to instead, wouldn't it?

"She led the team to a great season," he continues. " I'm glad she still has some fans floating around." That was the other weird repercussion of their break-up—people who thought Peggy dumped him because she couldn't trust him with all these new young female fans. It wasn't Steve's favorite part of being a semi-public figure.

"All right, let's settle in for the back end of this thing!" Carol calls out. Steve owes her a drink for the easy out of this conversation. He grins and gives Angie a wave, then steps away and turns his mic back on as he sits.

"I'm settled, but, uh. Carol? There's another chair here now."

"There sure is, Steve. I was thinking: we should have a guest today." The crowd cheers at the idea; Steve has a moment of imagining them all listening on their phones or in their cars and spontaneously applauding when they bring guests on regular episodes.

He plays along with her faux improv. "Did you have someone in mind, or...?"

She taps her chin, milking the growing eagerness from the audience, then appears to have an idea. "Hey, I know! Let's bring in a real good friend of mine who just so happens to be here tonight..." She gestures to the section off-stage that's hidden behind a curtain. "Yeah, Val Hilde! My Marvels and US teammate, and she's one hell of a keeper!" The audience ramps up their cheering, while Steve laughs at the subtle pun Carol made.

Val comes up on the stage from behind the curtain, waving and blowing kisses to the crowd, hamming it up as she tends to do any time she's in public, though in a different way than Carol does. She stops to give Steve a quick hug. He winks at her, and then she goes over to Carol.

She starts by giving Carol the same kind of hug that she gave Steve, but they look at each other for a momen. Carol gives the smallest of nods. A beat later, Val kisses Carol smack on the lips, chaste but lingering enough that it's unmistakable in its meaning.

Steve looks out at the fans in the crowd who are, to put it bluntly, losing their fucking minds. Out of nowhere a rainbow pride flag is being held over heads as people scream and cheer. Steve can't see a single sour face in the masses, so he relaxes and sits down as Carol and Val do. They're laughing and holding hands, and Steve's heart might burst out of his chest for them.

"So," Steve says, hoping to move things along, "for those listening at home, Val's greeted her girlfriend with a sweet little smooch, and apparently the crowd here approves of that sort of thing." There's another wave of cheers from said crowd, which Steve allows for a moment. "I guess, ah, do we want to start with some Q&A?" he asks, getting a laugh as everyone finally starts to settle down.

"I knew it!" someone shouts, and that sets off the laughter again. Steve can see that Val is blushing, but she also looks more at ease than he's ever seen her.

As they all predicted, when the Q&A starts, the tone of the podcast shifts for the rest of the night. It's good. Steve's happy.

— 🎙 —

It takes almost an hour after the show is done to break down all the equipment and staging and get the restaurant back to its normal appearance. Steve shoos Carol and Val out as soon as the last of the fans get their autograph and a picture—they had a big day and earned some rest. He sticks around, assisting Bucky and the crew to help Bucky leave faster. They definitely don't say no to his muscles helping to move the big speakers back to the rented van out back.

It's tiring work. When they finally finish, Bucky goes out back to take a moment to rest and drink from his water bottle, leaning against the brick of the facade by the back entrance. Steve saunters over to him and leans his shoulder into the brick as well.

"Thank you, Buck," Steve says, smiling warmly at his boyfriend. "This was a great night."

Bucky shakes his head, swallowing back a gulp of water. "You guys made it great. I just made sure it was recorded."

"It's a shame it wasn't a video." It's still cold now in late February, and Steve shivers in his hoodie. He pulls the hood up over his head to spare his ears the worst of the breeze through this alley.

"Oh, I'm pretty sure that moment got captured on video," Bucky says with a chuckle. "Some people recorded the whole thing on their phones. By the time we're home, it'll be all over social media."

"Exactly as they planned." Steve sighs a deep, tired sigh and shifts, putting his back to the wall and his shoulder against Bucky's. "You think it's going to be an easy edit?"

"Probably? May have to boost some levels, make sure the crowd doesn't overwhelm your mics." Bucky looks at Steve questioningly. "It won't take too much time, if that's what you were really asking."

Steve shrugs. "Just asking. You usually don't do the editing around me, so I wasn't sure if this would be easier or harder."

"It's a little different. Normally I'd have to listen carefully to pull out weird pauses or stuff like that. Or things we agree to cut out, you know. Stuff like that. This is more to make sure it's easy to listen to." Bucky finishes off his bottle of water and crushes it in one hand. Then he turns more to Steve and looks him up and down. "You are really hot, Steve Rogers."

Steve blushes, liking the subject change. "That so? I don't usually get fans telling me that straight off. I appreciate the honesty."

"Yeah, I figured I shouldn't beat around the bush." Bucky's getting bedroom eyes. Steve loves it. "Do you fool around with fans, Captain Rogers?"

No captains in bed is still a rule, but that doesn't mean there's no captains in the flirting before bed. "I try not to, but sometimes I can be persuaded to make an exception."

"You should make an exception for me. I'm a huge fan of yours." Bucky steps closer and rolls his hips against Steve to show that he's already getting hard.

"Jesus," Steve mutters, and he pulls Bucky in by the back of his neck and kisses him hard. He licks into Bucky's mouth, more when he hears a soft moan. Bucky's hands get into his hair, pushing the hood back, but Steve doesn't mind the cold now.

They make out there, against the wall, tongues tangling, hands roaming over each other's clothes. Steve gets the upper hand and flips them around, pressing Bucky into the brick, a knee between his legs. Bucky finally pulls away, breathless and with wild eyes.

"Take me home, Cap."

Steve groans and closes his eyes for a moment, trying to get his dick under control enough to drive his car. "Right. Yeah. Let's go home, sweetheart."

— 🎙 —

They sleep in the next day, lazing around in bed until nearly noon, before Bucky gets up and makes pancakes for them both. Steve waits for the food in bed, propped up with his arms bent behind his head, the duvet draped low across his hips. Maybe he artfully arranges the covers to show off a bit of hair at the join of his legs, who can say?

His bedroom door is open, and while he can't see to the kitchen, he can hear Bucky in there, humming along as he makes their breakfast. It makes him feel soft and warm inside. Steve's never had someone feel really comfortable in his place, including Steve. But Bucky's at ease here, happy to roam around on his own. Steve can imagine Bucky here on his own, when Steve has to be away more for the season. For the Olympics, hopefully.

"You coming out or what?" Bucky's voice grows closer before appearing in the doorway, spatula in hand. He's in boxer briefs, a stunning vision with a messy, unbrushed bun and a little bit of pancake mix on his fingers.

"What, no breakfast in bed?" Steve folds his hands primly on his stomach.

"If it's breakfast in bed, then none of this stuff will get cleaned up. We'll never get out of bed all day."

"So?"

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Let me at least clean a little before I bring it all in, then," he says. He grumbles as he turns around and heads back to the kitchen, but Steve can hear the affection, too. He doesn't bother calling after to change his mind.

Plus it's time to clean these sheets, anyway. It's fine if they get syrup on them.

When the food is done and Bucky's cleaned enough to stop thinking about the remaining mess, he brings in a tray full of pancakes, coffee, and a decided lack of napkins. They feed each other bites and lick syrup from the corners of mouths, off thumbs, all sorts of quiet, gentle touches that are so intimate that Steve feels like he might burst into flame.

When the tray is put aside, they slide down into bed, against each other, and simply exist together. Sharing space, sharing air. Steve feels safe here, holding Bucky in his arms, fingers tracing the outline of his star tattoo on his shoulder, playing in his tousled hair. Bucky outlines Steve's muscles, trailing over his pecs but not making it an overture to sex. This is a different kind of intimacy; Steve loves it.

Oh.

Steve loves him.

Some terrible, cranky part of his brain tries to tell him that it hasn't been that long, that he can't know yet, not really. But Steve's felt this way about a partner before, even though it's never felt quite like this. He doesn't want to compare, because Bucky can't compare to anyone else. It's enough that he knows—and now that he knows he can't believe he didn't know earlier.

He pulls back a little bit, not letting Bucky slip from his arms, so he can look at him better.

There's a smart mouth with lips that tip upward. It speaks in a soft, warm voice that murmured to Steve first through headphones and now directly against his ear. A long, straight nose that nuzzles into Steve's neck so sweetly. Bright, clever eyes that are right now crinkled and slightly squinting at him, probably trying to figure out what Steve's staring at.

"Hey," Steve says, leaning forward and brushing a kiss over Bucky's soft lips.

Those lips smile and whisper, "Hey," back to him, then kiss Steve back.

Steve smiles, his cheeks almost aching with the force of his grin. Bucky's eyes widen; Steve figures he might look a little bit like a maniac, so he laughs a bit and ducks his head into Bucky's neck, still grinning like a fool, but maybe getting away with it better.

"What's gotten into you, goofball?"

Steve shakes his head and wiggles closer to Bucky, sliding a leg between his boyfriend's, tangling them more, not wanting to miss a single inch of skin on this man he loves.

Bucky narrows his eyes, smile still in place. "Something is clearly up with you, Rogers. Do I have to tickle it outta ya?"

Bucky's fingers don't immediately go for Steve's sides, but Steve can feel them hovering there, close enough for their atoms to make each other vibrate at the smallest level. It causes an intense physical awareness that Steve has with Bucky, the first time he's felt it.

"Atoms!" Steve cries out, immediately blushing for his randomness.

It has the desired effect, though. Bucky's hand drops flat to Steve's back, no longer a tickle threat. "Atoms?"

"Mmhmm. We, uh. We have them."

"That's kinda how the universe works, if elementary school science class didn't lie to me."

"But." He's in deep now. Even if it doesn't make sense, he thinks Bucky will understand it. "My atoms and your atoms? It's like they, they know each other."

There is—not undeservedly—a rather drawn out pause before Bucky finally finds the words to respond to that incredible piece of poetry.

"Honey, I love you, but what the fuck?"

Steve blusters a moment, trying to figure out how to really explain it—"Like there's something deep—wait"—and then he pushes up so he's on straight arms that straddle Bucky. "The hell did you just say?"

"What the fuck?"

Steve narrows his eyes. "No, the other bit."

Bucky bats his eyelashes, disgustingly innocent. "Honey?" Steve might growl a bit, he doesn't know, but Bucky throws his arms around Steve's neck and pulls him in for a kiss. "I love you, Stevie," he says when they part. "Is that really a surprise?"

And, well. "No. It's not. I'm just mad you said it first." He kisses Bucky again, practically chaste, except for all the love and feelings in it.

Then Bucky breaks off suddenly. "Wait. Is that what you were tap-dancing around with that atoms nonsense?"

"It was going to be romantic." Steve nips at Bucky's bottom lip. "How we fit so deeply together. Down to our fucking atoms!" He tries not to take offense when Bucky bursts out laughing at him. It gets easier when Bucky rolls them so he's the one hovering over Steve.

"You got something to tell me?" Bucky grins, but it's softer, less teasing. "Maybe skip the chemistry lesson this time?"

"Shaddup." Steve cups Bucky's face with both hands. "You're a brat. But I love you, too."

Bucky melts into him, pillowing his head on Steve's chest. "Say it again, baby?"

Steve strokes his hair, holding this moment, trying to commit it to memory. He wants to be able to think of this in the weeks and months to come, when he's back out on the road in a lonely hotel in some city with a team, when his bed is empty and he can't even tell anyone how sad he is to miss this beautiful man.

He knows what he'll end up doing on those nights: he'll pick up his phone, curl up in bed, and call Bucky. And as soon as he picks up, Steve will say—

"I love you, Bucky."

Bucky, the here and now Bucky, hums and kisses Steve's pec. "I love you, too. I am so head over heels in love with you." He turns his head and props his chin up so he can look at Steve. "It was tough not to tell you last night at the event. Like, many times. I'm a hero, holding it back until now."

Steve chuckles. He traces a knuckle down the side of Bucky's nose. "I'm an idiot, did you know that?" He asks it cheerfully, knowing fully that Bucky will grab that and run with it.

"Yes, I did. I also have known you loved me for, oh, about three weeks."

"Three weeks?" Steve blinks a couple times. "Wait, you must have been holding it in longer than last night, then?"

"Yes, three weeks."

Steve counts back in his head. "Soooo...the charity event? Ish?"

"I fell for you over a hilariously bad match of FIFA, yes, it's true." Bucky sighs in resignation. "I'm hopeless."

"I haven't pinpointed when the scales really tipped yet," Steve admits, but Bucky looks smitten and goofy over it. "But you say you could tell then?"

Bucky shrugs. "I don't know. Maybe I saw what I wanted to see, what I needed to see? Does it matter?"

Steve's inclination is to banter, but for now he'd rather be soft and squishy with this guy he loves. "No, sweetheart. It doesn't matter." He kisses Bucky, wrapping his arms and legs around his boyfriend like half an octopus, and Bucky wraps himself all around Steve in return.

Slowly their writhing shifts from making out to making love. Stroking each other, mouths sucking and licking, pulling pleasure from one another lazily—they have all the time in the world here in bed, in love. Steve scrabbles in the drawer for the condoms and lube, they work on prepping him, and Bucky strokes into him with eager sounds, calling Steve his love. Steve answers him back in kind, until their love spills over them and into each other. They collapse together in messy sheets that are half off the bed now.

They clean up only as much as necessary, which isn't very much really, and even though it's mid-afternoon, they fall asleep with their cheeks smooshed together.

It's dark when they finally, as butterflies from a cocoon, emerge from bed. They stumble into sweatpants and hoodies, and venture into the rest of the apartment.

"Alexa, turn on the lights." There's a disembodied Okay! and the lights come up. Steve wrinkles his nose. "Shit. We left a mess yesterday."

The living room is cluttered with yesterday's lunch, papers with possible questions to help Steve prepare, and at least one pair of boxer briefs that was used to wipe something (come) off someone's (Bucky's) chest (and neck). It probably isn't really as messy as it feels, but Steve's still not used to really living in this place, with someone else to create mess alongside him more often than not. Even for team gatherings, the guys are good about cleaning up before they go home.

Bucky's in the kitchen. "And today. I basically threw everything in the sink."

Steve turns and goes to join Bucky, snaking his arms around Bucky's belly and propping his chin on Bucky's shoulder. "But it was worth it, right?" he murmurs, playing dirty pool and letting his tongue flick Bucky's ear.

"Bastard. You're on sink duty. I'll dry and put it away."

Steve wrinkles his nose. "Now? Can't I order dinner for us first? Baby, I'll treat you to the finest Grubhub a bub can, um, rub?"

"I'll rub your bub later, if you do the dishes." Bucky turns in Steve's arms and kisses his nose, which de-wrinkles in response. "Go order. Then you can race the delivery to get everything done before they get here."

"You know, it's my kitchen," Steve points out as he steps away, off to hunt down his phone. "If I want a messy kitchen, that is my right, as granted by my name on the lease." He wanders back to the bedroom, figuring he probably still had it in his jeans pocket when Bucky stripped them off him last night.

He digs into a pair of jeans and finds nothing, then realizes they're Bucky's hipster skinny jeans that wouldn't let a phone fit anyway. Bucky's ass is hot in them, so he tries not to tease him too much for his fashion. He finds his own jeans, and as suspected, his phone is in the front right pocket.

He unlocks it to the disturbing realization that there are almost 100 notifications waiting for him.

"What the—?" Most of the notifications are in his texts, so he goes there first. There are a lot from unidentified phone numbers, which is always unsettling. Of the ones from his contacts, the one that jumps out first to him is the one from his mother. It throws him for a loop, but at the same time, it's immediately a relief.

Until he taps on it to read it.

Ma 🦉: Baby it'll be fine
Ma 🦉: take some deep breaths
Ma 🦉: I love you remember that

Sweet, but a bit terrifying without context. He sits down on the bed and goes back to the list to see which one he might want to open next. His eyes widen and he taps on one.

Coach Stark: Rogers! Call me !

Another:

Coach Fury: We've got this, Rogers. We'll talk tomorrow at practice.

More:

Agent Romanoff: Left 3 vms, pick up your goddamn phone, Rogers.

Then:

Care 🐻: I guess it's my turn to rant for your honor! Let me know how you're playing this, no wrong answers, luv u xo

And that's where he has to stop because the breath has left his chest. If Carol's saying something like that, combined with all the other messages—

"Buck!" Steve calls, hating the thin, desperate tone in his voice, matched by the wild, anxious look in his eyes that Bucky meets when he comes over to the doorway.

"What is it?" Steve reaches out for Bucky's hand, who takes it and comes to sit next to Steve on the bed, looking more concerned now. "Stevie?"

Steve takes a deep breath, turning the phone to Bucky. "I think it got serious, sweetheart."

— 📸 —

Chapter Text

us footie fans @footieusa
omg guys u all need to stop! give cap his privacy ok we don't know who that is in the pic and he doesn't owe us any info ok like chillllll

⚽⭐⭐⭐⭐ MOM CAP & DAD CAP @cptzdansandrogs
@footieusa ok but if it definitely was a woman it wldnt even get shared he's def with a guy??

Tina 🇺🇸 @TeenyDeAngelo
@cptzdansandrogs @footieusa You idiots he's only ever dated women why the fuck would you think he's a gay??

us footie fans @footieusa
@TeenyDeAngelo yeah just gonna block you for that bigotry bye

— ⚽ —

The thing is, it's a shitty picture.

First off, it's dark as hell—it's at eleven at night in a back alley, not much light there.

Secondly, it's fuzzy, like whoever took the picture coughed or bumped their phone too hard to hit the shutter and the phone moved.

Third of all, from a strictly gossip rag perspective, it's not exactly damning evidence of anything.

(Three B: even if the evidence was PR quality, it wouldn't be of anything worth calling damning anyway.)

The obvious pieces to it are that a tall man, who is wearing an ill-chosen hoodie for the weather, has what appears to be a second person against a wall, and they are standing extremely close together. Most reasonable people would take from this that there are two people kissing in the photo.

And since Steve is able to recognize the hoodie, the alley, and, most importantly, himself, he knows that is precisely what is happening in that picture. He's also gifted with the certainty of who the second person is.

But it's not evident to almost anyone else. If the picture had gone out on social media with a caption of "Steve Rogers with a new flame?" or something mild like that, his phone wouldn't be blowing up nearly so much.

But that's not what the caption said.

Rogers spotted "shielding" someone outside live event?? Saw the other guy wearing that SAME hoodie in the bar!!!

And beneath it were three other comments from people confirming that the hoodie was seen on someone else earlier in the evening.

For now, no one has recognized Bucky specifically. He wore the hoodie inside, but not for too long, so the photographer had to be someone who arrived early and clearly stayed late to try and catch Steve or Carol for an autograph or something—something they didn't want to do inside where they had a full line for autographs. Bucky's not exactly invisible on the podcast itself, but they never include him in promo pictures posted with the episode links. On the night of the live event he didn't do any speaking, nothing to associate his voice with his face.

It's also not a particularly unique hoodie. It's Bucky's white US Soccer hoodie from two Women's World Cups ago—the same one Rumlow had found and assumed was Carol's—and it's not unreasonable to assume that at least a couple of the attendees have the same one at home. But if Bucky was seen in it, he wasn't folded in with the fans. It would have clearly been someone with access, which would make sense if Steve was wearing their hoodie and canoodling with them after the event.

There's smoke with this caption, when you get down to it. Steve could wax poetic about the fire he feels for Bucky Barnes, but that's not why he's here today at the US Soccer Federation's headquarters, waiting to speak with the president of US Soccer, along with Coach Stark and his agent.

"Are you still having the Outlaws on the podcast soon?" Natasha asks, not looking up as she scrolls through her phone.

"Huh?" It's such a non sequitur, that it takes Steve a moment to figure who she means: the American Outlaws, the official US Soccer supporters club. "Oh, um. Yeah. I think we've got them scheduled for a couple weeks from now." Assuming there's still a podcast a couple weeks from now. Assuming that Steve is still on said podcast.

Natasha nods and keeps on scrolling. Stark hasn't said a word since greeting Steve. The small enclave outside Alexander Pierce's office is nicely decorated, with chairs designed for comfort, but Steve's not comfortable. Stark and Natasha don't seem to be, either. Steve checks his watch again and sees that he's got a notification. He taps at the little screen to bring it up.

B ❤⭐: ❤🤍💙

Steve smiles, but he doesn't pull his phone out to respond. He gets the feeling that talking to Bucky is the last thing he should do right at this exact moment.

It's a good gut instinct, because the sound of heels approaches from around the corner, and Steve's glad he's looking up to see Stark come to full attention as Potts, the PR director, strides in confidently in a sharply tailored suit and her ginger hair in a neat ponytail.

"Mr. Rogers." She greets Steve with a tight smile that manages to not lack warmth. "Mr. Stark, Ms Romanov. Mr. Pierce has informed me he's running a tiny bit late, but not to wait on him." She strides to Pierce's door and opens it, gesturing for them to enter.

Steve feels a little bit like he's here to see the principal with his parents. Rather than being shown to sit in front of Pierce's desk, Potts directs them to a small, rectangular table for six.

"Thank you all for coming today," she says once they're all seated. Natasha's on Steve's right, Stark is to his left, and Potts is across from them. Maybe this is the principal's office after all. "Mr. Rogers—"

"Please, do we need to be so formal?" Steve asks. "You all know me well enough to call me Steve, and I hope this is just a conversation."

"Of course, Steve. I'm sure we understand what today's conversation is about." She looks at each of the others, clearly taking their silence as agreement. "This isn't a scolding, that's the first thing we all need to understand." Potts looks at Steve, and her expression seems sincere. "You've done nothing wrong, Steve, so there's nothing to be in trouble over."

Steve nods, biting his tongue to not snap back that of course he's done nothing wrong. There's no reason to take this to aggression now if they haven't provoked him.

"What Mr. Pierce would like to do is confirm what the truth of the situation is, and then determine the best way to move forward."

Steve stiffens, but Natasha's the one to speak. "I'm not sure I understand why the way forward isn't just business as usual. Why does this even need a meeting?"

Potts jots down a quick note, nodding at the same time. "We want to support Steve, obviously. We need to understand how much support he needs, and how that support might look. There are many ways forward. Steve," she looks back to him, "what would you like to share with us about the situation?"

For a blinding moment, Steve thinks about denying that he's in the picture at all.

When Steve was a teenager, a kid a couple years younger than him was being bullied. Steve always hated it, and one day it became too much—he lashed out at the bullies. He got a one-week suspension and three soccer games missed, but Steve felt better. The bullies left that kid alone, though they probably started picking on someone else out of Steve's sight.

His mother hadn't punished him. Not out of a sense of him being punished enough already, but rather because she was the one who'd taught him that everyone should be who they are without fear, and that was something worth fighting for. She reminded him of that the first night as she tended to his cuts and bruises, and he felt a little sick inside, because he was still a little afraid of being who he was, still coming to accept how different he might be from his friends and teammates.

It's almost fifteen years later. He's not afraid anymore. And he's ready to be himself without fear.

"It's from after our live podcast. Everyone else involved had left, I stayed to help finish taking down the equipment with the sound crew, including Bucky Barnes, our podcast producer. That's him, in the picture with me. I'm dating him."

Potts had asked what he wanted to share, and that's it. He doesn't want to share with her how much he loves Bucky Barnes. Not like this, anyway. He doesn't want to tell her how happy Bucky makes him, how handsome, beautiful, sexy, perfect he finds his lover's form, how much they laugh together, or how Steve has been hurting in the days since this quiet, secret part of them got shared so callously with the world.

Natasha took the news well when Steve had called her that first night. Too well; she'd finally admitted that the way Steve had spoken about Bucky to her in recent conversations had made her think that there was something there, possibly unrequited. Right now she's tapping at her phone, as though this whole proceeding is dull and unworthy of her time. Steve thinks he might love her.

Stark, when Steve called him the morning after they heard about the leak, told Steve that he personally didn't give a shit, but he'd be glad to silently have Steve's back in the meeting. But now he looks like he's very invested in what Potts will say, that he hopes she'll say the right thing. Steve doesn't always get along with his coach—many of the players have that issue, which is pointedly why Stark chose Steve for the captaincy, to give the players someone they could talk to who could do best in working out things with the coaching staff on their behalf—but he does truly appreciate him right now.

Potts finishes writing down what Steve has said, possibly verbatim given how meticulous she is, then nods and taps her pen to the pad of paper. She opens her mouth, but then shuts it quickly and stands, looking past Steve.

Everyone turns around to see Alexander Pierce striding into his office, a broad smile on his face that doesn't reach his eyes.

"Rogers! Morning Stark, Miss Romanoff." He doesn't shake hands with anyone, and gestures for Potts to sit before sitting next to her. "I'm so sorry I'm late, I had a meeting run long."

"I appreciate you finding time in your schedule so quickly, sir," Steve says, turning on the polite charm that he uses on referees.

"Mm, yes." Pierce folds his hands and looks right at Steve. "Let's get this figured out, shall we? Get everyone back to normal?" Everyone at the table makes noises of agreement. "Excellent. Steve, I'm hoping that you'll work with us to help tamp these rumors down, settle things and all."

Steve opens his mouth to respond to that, to call out that he'll be happy to continue on with his normal life, but Pierce keeps talking.

"I think the best option would be for you to release a statement. Something pretty casual, something we can tweet on the team account. You'll handle that part, Pepper. Something along the lines of, oh." He gestures vaguely in the air, as if he's coming up with this on the spot. "'My girlfriend and I are glad you're happy for us, but we're still keeping private for now, and we know you'll respect that privacy.'" He waves his hand, as if shooing off a mosquito. "We'll make sure the wording is clean, but that's the message."

Pierce looks at them all expectantly, clearly waiting for an agreement. Steve feels Natasha and Stark look at him, though Potts seems intently engrossed in her phone.

Steve clears his throat. "Overall, I think that's fine, but," he smiles, one he hopes suggests a good-natured misunderstanding, "I would be saying that my boyfriend and I would be looking for that privacy."

There's a few too many beats of silence for Steve's comfort. His body starts to tighten, his fight response activating. (It's never a flight response. Even when it should be.)

Pierce leans forward, speaking directly to Steve. "I did grasp that detail, Mr. Rogers. However, I did also speak accurately for the statement you will be putting out."

"Mr. Pierce, I don't believe it is for you to dictate my client's—"

"But it is for me to do, Miss Romanoff." Pierce has not looked away from Steve, but his tone is clipped and firm to Natasha.

"There's video all over the web now of Carol and Val from that night, are you going to act like Val is her boyfriend?" Steve asks, his voice calm for the moment, but there's an edge to it.

"Miss Danvers has been public about her identity for many years. That, along with her team's recent successes, allows for some latitude. And we have been appreciative of your support for her, Mr. Rogers. Your role as an ally has proved to be a benefit to the entire organization, and put a better light on the men's side."

Steve narrows his eyes and leans forward. "But I'm not an ally, Mr. Pierce. I'm a bisexual man who is currently dating another man. We weren't ready to go public yet, but that doesn't mean we aren't ready to handle this."

Pierce smiles; Steve's skin crawls. "There, you see. You identify as bisexual, therefore dating a woman poses no conflict to this identity. We would never ask you to be public before you were ready! This way you don't have to face any public backlash, and when the time comes that you are ready, you can honestly state that as you are bisexual, you have dated women in the past."

He wonders if Pierce can see how hard Steve is currently biting the inside of his cheek.

"Sir, if you accept that there will be a day when I will come out publicly and that I will have a male partner at that time, then why are you against that being today?"

"Because this is the Olympic year, Mr. Rogers. And you are the captain." Pierce's body language screams that he will not argue this point. Steve feels hot all over as he realizes what Pierce means.

That they want to win. That they are men and men must act like men if they are going to succeed.

That queer men are not manly enough to lead a goddamn soccer team to victory.

Steve's body is on fire, that fight response all suited up for twenty rounds or more, if need be. But Steve isn't the fifteen year old on the bus anymore. He's less reactive, more tactical in his thinking. Years of playing defense have honed his skills to translate that defense to—to turn a cliche on its head—the best offense.

He sits back, lets his body relax. "I understand, Mr. Pierce," he says, carefully modulating his voice to lose the anger that is most likely building an aneurysm right now. "When will this statement be put out? You'll give it to Natasha to handle posting? It would probably be best coming from my agent, since this also affects my club team."

"Later this afternoon," Pierce says, but his voice is cautious, like he doesn't really believe that Steve is giving in. He didn't get to this level without being smart. "I'll be happy to give her the details."

Steve, somehow, manages a smile. "Thank you. Is there anything else? I'd hate to keep you from the rest of your busy schedule today."

There isn't anything else. Steve stands and nods to Potts and Stark and Natasha, keeping his expression schooled, and he walks out of that office with a straight spine and his head held high, and he doesn't reach for his phone until he's entirely out of the building that houses the US Soccer Federation.

"Hey Carol. Get Val, anyone else you think has a good social media presence who'd back me up. I'll get some of my guys. Meet at my apartment. We've got work to do."

— ⚽ —

When Steve gets home, Carol and Val are already there. Bucky's in the kitchen making grilled cheese sandwiches.

"Fuck, Steve." Carol throws herself at him in a tight hug. "What the hell?"

Steve hugs her back and kisses her cheek. "It'll be fine. We'll get this handled."

Bucky pulls a sandwich off the pan and plates it, handing it to Carol as he walks over to Steve for a hug of his own. Steve sinks into his loving arms, grateful for the physical support. They don't say anything for a few moments that keep dragging out, until Steve finally straightens up and clears his throat.

"So, Pierce is an asshole—"

"Hardly news," Val mutters, nibbling at the last bits of her sandwich.

"—and basically he's planning to make it look like I'm confirming I have a girlfriend. Then when it's more convenient for me to be queer, only then will he so kindly allow me to."

"What a jackass," Bucky says, shaking his head.

Steve nods, walking over to the fridge to get a drink out. He grabs a coconut water, then wrinkles his nose and puts it back to grab for a beer instead. Wisely, no one calls him out on this less-than-healthy coping mechanism. Bucky gets back to the range, starting another sandwich, this time with tomato, so it's for Steve.

"We've shaken the phone tree," Carol says, perched up on the back of the couch. "Got a few gals coming by soon."

"Good, that's good. Thanks." Steve takes a deep breath and lets it out. "I've texted a few of my guys, too, they're on their way. Pierce said he's planning to have the thing ready to go this afternoon, but it's going to Natasha, my agent, to post."

He can see the light in Carol's eyes grow. "Well. That was stupid of him."

Steve laughs a little. "It was, but I think he's realized that. I wouldn't be surprised to see something else come through other channels as well. So we still need to find our own way to actively fight it." He pulls out his phone, considering it. "Thing is, if I posted, right now, to say 'oh that's my boyfriend Bucky aren't we cute?' Then Pierce responds by putting out something about me being hacked or some shit like that. Whatever it is, it has to be something he can't walk back and cover by revoking my access to my own accounts somehow." Steve doesn't really think that's possible, but he's not sure enough not to plan for the option.

Carol nods slowly. "So that's where we all come in."

"Yes. Exactly."

There's a knock at Steve's door; Val's closest so she goes to open it. Three women stand in the entryway, and Steve beams as he recognizes them.

"Ladies, god, it's good to see you."

Hope van Dyne steps in first and gives Steve's arm a squeeze. "Danvers said you needed help. You stood up for her, so we're ready to stand up for you."

"Oh my god, Hope." Darcy gives Hope a good-natured shove and punches Steve's chest playfully. "It's like the end of It's a Wonderful Life here." She winks at him and then scurries further in to say hi to Carol.

The third woman is Jane Foster, who shakes her head at Darcy and gives a softer smile and pat to Steve's back. "We do appreciate you," she says, her voice warm. "You've been good to us all."

Within another twenty minutes, people from both national teams have shown up and are settling in. The apartment is loud and starting to feel cramped, but in the best way, with everyone chatting in small groups that include players from both teams. They should have more of these cross-team get-togethers. Bucky's arm slides around his waist.

"Finished feeding everyone?" Steve asks.

Bucky leans against Steve's side. "Sharon took over." Steve looks over, and yes, Sharon Carter is manning the stove now. He only met her once, at the clinic where Carol ambushed Steve with the idea for the podcast, and that meeting had an awkward misunderstanding about Steve's dating intentions towards her. So it's nice to see that she came today. Maybe they can start over.

Sam's chatting with her, and then Lang comes over to get something to drink—Rhodey had brought a bunch of seltzers, Steve has to remember to thank him for that. He watches Lang go back to offer the drink to Hope with a bright, goofy smile; and out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Parker and Barton watching that exchange as well, and they all hide knowing grins.

"I think I know what I want us to do," Steve says, his voice soft, only for Bucky. "And I want you to know that I'm really okay with it. This isn't...it's not just because I feel backed into a corner." He looks at Bucky, who lifts an eyebrow at him. "Okay. I probably would have waited for a while, if we could stand it."

And that's the part that fucking kills him most of all. If there hadn't been a photo, or if Pierce had been fine to go on without anyone addressing it at all and letting the rumors swirl that Steve Rogers was dating a man, then Steve would have fully been inclined to wait until after the Olympics to say anything specific. Recent daydreams had him remembering the pictures of Abby Wambach reaching up into the stands to kiss her partner in celebration. Replicating that would have been a fun way to handle it.

But there's a difference between choosing waiting for his own sake—until after some of the stress and tension from the event is over—and being forced to wait until after because someone, who isn't even playing, thinks having a bisexual captain with a boyfriend is going to make your men's team less competitive.

He loves Bucky. He knows that this is serious and that they're in it for the long haul. He doesn't know what that haul looks like quite yet, but it's not something that will break under this kind of stress.

Bucky's still looking at him, so he leans in to kiss his boyfriend softly. Bucky's hand cups his cheek and that encourages a bit of a deeper kiss. Someone must notice, because there's a wolf whistle and Carol hooting in delight, and then everyone laughs at her. Steve grins, breaking the kiss, and looks at Bucky expectantly.

For a long moment Bucky looks back with soft, kind eyes, searching for something in Steve's face. He must find it, because he smiles and nods. "Yeah. Do it, Stevie. We've got you."

Steve smiles back, then lets go of Bucky to stand more in the center of the living room. He puts two fingers in his mouth to let loose his captain's whistle. All his teammates come to attention immediately, and Carol looks impressed.

"You gotta teach me that one, Rogers," she says. He's not totally sure she's joking (and neither are her teammates, who exchange fretful glances).

"You bet, Danvers. And thanks, first off, for helping to get everyone assembled here today." He looks around at everyone, trying to meet each pair of eyes specifically. "I truly appreciate you all coming out to help."

"Think you're the one coming out, Cap," Barton says, which makes everyone groan.

"Ha-ha," Steve says, but he's smiling. "Look. In case the whisper down the lane process got this twisted up, here's what's going on." He quickly lays out what happened the other night, the picture, Pierce's response to it, and what Pierce expects Steve to go along with. No one looks happy with that response, seeming eager to find out what they can do to help.

Steve holds up his phone, taking a deep breath. "We're gonna blow all the covers off the secrecy of this thing. I'm posting to Instagram and Twitter, it'll be clear and obvious. What I'd like from all of you is to draw attention to it. Call us cute, talk shit, thank us for being brave, I dunno, whatever feels right. But make sure that no one who pays attention to US soccer can miss it."

Barton and Rhodey give teasing salutes, while everyone else nods in agreement.

"Dibs on calling them cute!" Darcy calls out, raising her hand. Steve laughs and ducks his head, feeling his cheeks getting a little pink.

"Fuck that," Bucky says from behind the group, causing everyone's heads to turn. "You all better say we're cute, because we are cute as hell."

"Uh." Carol raises her hand. "Excuse me? Me and Val are right here, being the cutest." She drops her arm around Val's shoulders, who cheeses up a grin and cuddles into Carol's side.

"You're kind of old news now, Danvers," Rhodey chimes in.

That starts off a round of good-natured squabbling, and in the fray Bucky makes his way back over to Steve, kissing his nose. "I love you," he whispers. "And I promise I won't blame you if they fire me over this."

Steve lets out a sharp breath, a laugh without humor. "Buck, if they fire you, then I quit the podcast. That simple. I'm pretty sure Carol would, too."

Bucky smiles at him, his eyes soft, loving, and a little bit amused. "My hero," he murmurs before kissing Steve again, this time on the mouth. And this time, when the catcalls start, they only kiss each other harder.

Everyone hangs around, which is the part that Steve didn't expect. He likes it, this group of people relaxing together, talking about all sorts of things they have in common, their differences. It makes him happy, which, in turn, helps him feel less nervous about his next task.

He doesn't want to take the picture with people around, and he doesn't want to do it in his bedroom. There's sharing the fact that he's dating a man, and then there's oversharing by displaying where they spend a significant amount of private time together. So that leaves the guest room, which is barely furnished, not even decorated.

Bucky sums it up neatly: "It looks like you broke into some empty apartment." He laughs at Steve's discouraged face and boops Steve's nose. "Come on. Let's do a little temporary moving. We have enough strength out there to move the loveseat and some plants and that one nice piece you have above the fireplace. That'll be enough to make it look like you actually live here."

"If only the Property Brothers were here to help," Steve mutters.

Bucky smacks his arm. "I'm hotter than both of them, I'm actually gay, and I'll agree to fuck you if you don't mention them again all day."

"All right!" Steve laughs, holding his hands up in surrender. Too many Scott brothers references is a quick way to test Bucky’s patience (even though Bucky is the one who sets the DVR for new episodes, and that is something they Just Don’t Talk About.)

They head back to the living room to get some volunteers to help, and sure enough, within a very short time, at least one wall of the guest bedroom looks like it's a cozy little space for cuddling up with cute boys. Parker, who Steve didn't reach out to but showed up anyway, wishes them good luck as he leaves, closing the door behind him.

And so. Now it's time. To come out.

Just destroy that closet door, Steve. Easy as pie.

Bucky snuggles into his side, legs laying over Steve's, one hand in Steve's hair. "It'll be okay, honey," Bucky whispers. "Everyone's ready to get your back."

"Our back," Steve agrees, and he takes a big breath and smiles at Bucky. "I love you so much. If I didn't, I might say screw it and break up so I could ignore all this."

"Oh, Stevie." Bucky knocks his forehead against Steve's temple. "You'll be glad you didn't do that. Not because of me, either. Some people will be assholes, but you can be you. And you'll be so glad for that part. It's a relief, one you owe to yourself."

There are a million things running through Steve's mind. Consequences that might ripple up—what if people look back on Steve's defense of Carol and now only see a self-interested man using a woman for his own ends, what if people who are jealous target Bucky, what if—

Bucky kisses him softly, briefly. "Hey. Come back to me, baby."

"Right. Yeah, sorry. Overthinking." Bucky nods like that's old news, and Steve laughs. "What, are you saying that's one of my traits?"

Bucky snorts. "Hardly, but in this situation, I get it." He picks Steve's phone up from the arm rest and hands it to him. "Let's start with taking a few cute pictures. Give us some choices?"

Steve nods and sets up the camera so he can hold it out and get a good angle for a selfie. Bucky's cheek-to-cheek with him, grinning and cheesing it up, but Steve can't quite get the right mood, so Bucky puts a hand on Steve's arm so he'll lower it.

"I'm calling Carol in." And before Steve can protest, Bucky's poking his head out the door. She must have been waiting for them to summon her, because she appears immediately.

"'Sup boys?" She also has her phone. Steve suspects he's been set up.

Bucky settles back in at Steve's side. "Start snappin', Danvers. Give us some good choices."

Steve can't even protest at the idea of having her in here before Bucky's kissing him again. They aren't deep kisses, nothing inappropriate, but they're loving and soft, and they relax Steve, make him forget what's happening around them. He's vaguely aware of Carol shifting around a bit to find different angles, but his eyes are only for Bucky.

"I'm going to take care of you," Bucky whispers in Steve's ear, and Steve's heart fills up with twice as much love as it already held. "It'll be okay, and I'll make sure you're never alone if you don't want to be alone." Steve can feel his cheeks aching with how big he's smiling.

"Over here," Carol says, quietly but firmly, getting their attention.

They look at her, still smiling, their arms around each other; she coos at them, tells them they're cute. Steve laughs and kisses Bucky's cheek, Bucky laughs, and a few minutes later, when they're looking at all the shots Carol got, it's that moment that all three of them point to at once.

— ⚽ —

INSTAGRAM

rogerstheshield We're cuter when you catch us kissing in the light. 😘☀🌈 Guess it was time to give up this secret at last. Love this guy, and I've never been happier. Maybe next @uscapspodcast I can finally interview him!
(Tagged in photo: buckythepodprod)
Liked by cdanversscore and thousands of others

Comments:
cdanversscore Y'ALL!!!!!! Couldn't let me n Val have a moment huh??? xoxo you both are the best, luv you to bits!! ❤💙🏳️🌈
darcylewey way to GO 2nd best Cap! You picked a good one, happy for youuuuuuuu
likeahawk_aye hope u told cupid to come hit me next, I could use some good smoochin'! 💘
strikingthornder MY CAPTAIN! I drink to the happiness of you and your beloved! 🍻
sharon_carts13 Congrats, you both deserve the best!
scoremachinerox Just so you know, if you two get married, he can be Buck Rogers. Does anyone get that reference? No? You're kidding me. Damn Millennials.

TWITTER

Steve Rogers @stevegrogers
No more back alleys! Ask if you want a pic next time! @jbbarnes17 & I might even say yes 😉

Hope van Dyne @hvdthestinger
@stevegrogers @jbbarnes17 Me, me! I want one! Can I come crash @capsamericapod next?

T H E F A L C O N @wilsonwing58
@stevegrogers I knew you were in too good a mood lately. Hey @jbbarnes17, keep him happy so he's nicer to us on the pitch!

Val Hilde @valkeeper
@stevegrogers @jbbarnes17 Barnes let's get drinks soon to talk about how annoying it is to date a captain

Peter Parker @parkerpeter96__
@stevegrogers @jbbarnes17 Thanks for leading the way, Cap! I mean ok @cdanversscore did it first but it's still pretty impressive. Here we come, #Tokyo2020!!! 🏳️🌈

B. Barnes @jbbarnes17
@stevegrogers Love you, too, honey. 💕

— ⚽ —

Posted on SB Nation partner website, Stars on Our Shirts:

For fans of the beautiful game who are also fans of a beautiful love story, this week has given us two great ones to fawn over before the seasons pick up.

First, four days ago at a live recording for the popular "Captains America" podcast, hosted by US Soccer captains Carol Danvers and Steve Rogers, Danvers revealed that she and teammate Val Hilde (GK) are an item, and have been dating for quite a few years. Some fans claim to have known there was something between the women, but it has all been speculation until now.

Danvers has been openly gay almost her entire career, and Hilde has been more subtle but never shied away when being associated with the LGBTQ+ community. On Tuesday night, she officially identified as pansexual and nonbinary, and approved the use of pronouns she/her and they/them.

We'd have been happy enough to leave it at that for a while, even the whole upcoming season, but it wasn't over. After the event, a very suggestive picture of Rogers was posted on Twitter, with the captain of the men's side said to be caught with another man. While the USSF tried to make a statement that Rogers and his girlfriend were requesting their privacy, Rogers almost simultaneously posted to his Instagram and Twitter accounts a much clearer picture of himself and his handsome podcast producer, Bucky Barnes, cuddled up and clearly happy in a romantic relationship together.

In a quick phone interview I had with Rogers, he said, "We would probably have been going public soon, anyway. I appreciate [USSF President Alexander] Pierce's concern for my privacy as we start to prepare to qualify for the Olympics, but being able to represent my country as the most honest version of myself—a bisexual man who plays the best game in the world for a living—is a dream come true, and I'm glad I've got Bucky at my side to help me through it."

Adorable. We wish all the best to Carol & Val and Steve & Bucky as they start to ramp up for Tokyo, and we can't wait to cheer both teams on, along with the rest of Team USA, later this summer!

— 🎙 —

CAPTAINS AMERICA, MINISODE #1 "THE LOVEBIRDS"

Timestamp: 00:02:13

CAROL DANVERS: Hello, soccer fans! This is the first ever Captains America podcast minisode. Why is it mini? Well, I'm Carol Danvers, and today I am hosting alone! So half the hosts makes it mini, right? Anyway, don't worry, the three of you who listen for Rogers, because he's still here!

STEVE ROGERS: There are definitely at least five people who listen for me, Danvers.

CD: Hush, the guests aren't allowed to speak yet, this is host time. So Steve's still here, because today he's one of my guests! Welcome to the podcast, Steve Rogers.

SR: Such a pleasure to be here, Carol. Thanks so much for having me.

CD: We should have made this a video so they could see your face right now. [chuckling] But like I said, you are one of my guests today. The other should be familiar to regular listeners, because I've formally handed a microphone today to our producer, Bucky Barnes. How does it feel to be on the other side of the desk?

BUCKY BARNES: Like I'm finally important.

SR: Oh, please—

CD: [laughing] Barnes you're a sh—stinker. Fishing for compliments. [tsks]

SR: He doesn't need to fish, even!

BB: Not from you, maybe, but...

CD: So annnnyway! We made the terrible decision to have Steve and Bucky on our show here so we could sit them down and talk about, oh, I dunno. What do you guys wanna talk about?

BB: Favorite Ethiopian restaurants in Philly.

SR: Pointillism as one of the superior forms of art.

BB: The benefits, or lack thereof, of honey as skin care.

SR: Where you lost your—

CD: I truly hate the both of you. Please know and understand that deep in your souls. [all laughing] Right, but seriously. I'm imagining most people who listen to the podcast regularly are also pretty plugged in to social media and news sites about soccer, but for those who use this podcast as their one indulgence past watching games, well, you missed some news lately. Steve, I'll give you the honors?

SR: Yeah, thanks. [clears throat] Well, a week ago? Was it only that long? Wow. A week ago I came out by means of sharing that Bucky and I are dating. [soft laugh] That still feels very strange to just, uh, come out and say?

CD: From experience, I'm guessing there's also a good bit of relief in there, too?

SR: I'm not sure if the relief has fully hit yet, but I think I can tell that it will come soon? There's been so much still going on in the aftermath of the whole situation, it doesn't feel like we've settled back into normal life yet.

CD: Do you feel the same, Bucky?

BB: I was in a very different place than Steve, so it's hard to really compare our situations.

CD: Because you're not such a high profile person?

BB: That, and I've been out for many years. For me the impact is more about suddenly being a known name, rather than known to be gay.

CD: Let's back up a second, because we're friends and I feel like we're skipping a few parts here that the three of us have hashed out plenty already, but our fabulous listeners are probably calling out of work to listen to specifically.

SR: Oh they'll be so disappointed.

CD: No! Okay, look, I'm gonna do this interview right. [papers being straightened on desk] So, for background, last week a fan took a photo of Steve kissing someone, posted it online, and that sent off a lot of speculation, particularly that his kissing friend was also possibly male-identified. A couple days later, Steve posted a picture of himself with Bucky to Instagram and Twitter, making it clear that he was the mysterious kissing partner. A few other things happened, but for today's purposes, let's pretend that was happily received by all, and everyone's happy for you two.

SR: [snorts] Yeah, I'm okay with doing that today.

CD: So! You guys. Spill all the juicy gossip details you have refused to give to other media because, obviously, you were saving it for here.

BB: [laughing] What do you want to know, Carol? I'm still editing this thing, though, so don't bother trying to get too scandalous.

CD: I feel like you've both had quite enough of the scandal side of things, warranted or not. Let's start with easy stuff: How did you meet? How long have you been together?

SR: Sure, the easy stuff. [laughs] Well, we met with the podcast, when Bucky got hired on.

BB: Though of course I knew who Steve was. And you, Carol. But no, we hadn't met before that ever.

SR: We've been together for a few months now.

BB: Yeah, since—

SR: Well. We decided we didn't want to really be too specific about when, right?

BB: Right, yeah. It's been long enough that we didn't really panic about what it meant for us when the picture was posted.

CD: Which means, like. You weren't on the verge of ending a quick fling and now you've gotta act like it's super serious?

SR: Nah, it was already super serious.

BB: [softly] Steve.

SR: What? I said it in the Instagram post.

CD: Yes. [clears throat] Let me read that again for anyone who missed it: "We're cuter when you catch us kissing in the light. Guess it was time to give up this secret at last. Love this guy, and I've never been happier. Maybe next podcast I can finally interview him!" Oops, sorry, I stole that opportunity from you, Rogers.

SR: It's fine. But see? I don't go around telling people I love them on Instagram every day.

BB: Oh my god.

CD: Once again, I wish this podcast had a video component to it. Then again, maybe I'm saving you all. It's disgusting, the eyes Rogers is making at his boyfriend here. I'm going to put them at opposite ends of this desk if they aren't careful.

SR: Okay but Bucky replied to my tweet just as sweetly. Don't let him act like he's not a big softy, too.

BB: Mmhmm. I regret everything.

CD: I've seen people wanting to know about how you got together? Like, who made the first move and stuff? Is that anything you'd like to share?

BB: Ahh. Hm. We don't need to get into too much detail, we still want some privacy? But I admitted I had a crush on him, expecting to be fired from producing the podcast. I was not fired.

SR: Because I'd had a crush on him, too. That sounds like such a kid thing, a crush. Like, like it wasn't a big deal.

BB: Well, I, you know, I did have an actual crush on you from before we met. In that way that you kinda dream about being with someone entirely unattainable?

CD: So you admitted your interest without knowing that Steve felt the same way?

BB: Yeah. [soft laugh] I really hoped he'd understand and not be, I dunno, freaked out that a guy had a thing for him. I thought he was straight!

CD: And that's why you never assume, dear listeners.

SR: That's not his fault, entirely. I made the choice to not be out when I was playing. Almost no one knew. I was careful. And when we did start going out, it was one of the first things we talked about, that I wasn't ready to be out. That wasn't easy for Bucky, since he'd been out already for years. But we agreed that if we were going to end up serious, I would look at changing that.

BB: I think that's, uh. The funniest? Is that the right word? Most ironic? Part of the whole scandal thing, the timing. If Steve didn't get outed, I think we would start to plan how to handle it ourselves really soon.

CD: Which is interesting to know, because—okay, I know we want to stay on the happy stuff here, but on that topic, I don't think you can—

SR: No, you're right. I think we need to discuss it.

CD: Go ahead, tell us what happened to throw this into the fire.

SR: Essentially, US Soccer pulled me into a meeting to discuss what we'd do about the picture the fan posted. I suggested ignoring it, but they wanted to have me post about keeping my privacy. Unfortunately, they also wanted me only to refer to my partner as my girlfriend.

CD: [clucks her tongue]

SR: And I wasn't going to do that. So I did it first, so they couldn't deny it.

BB: They tried. They ended up deleting the tweet that said he had a girlfriend, but the screencaps have been thoroughly shared.

CD: And here you are, talking frankly on the podcast.

SR: Yes, we are.

CD: Bucky, I know it's probably a bit soon to really know the answer here, but I'd like your thoughts if you have any on this. Before Val, the last woman I dated at all seriously was before I really made a name for myself outside the sport like Steve and I are now.

SR: I'd definitely argue that you're far better known out of the sport than I am.

CD: Because you're a smart man and that's why I love you. But where I'm going is, is that I never had someone dating me who wasn't—I don't want to say "equal", that's really not what I mean?

BB: I'm dating someone in a spotlight, and that's a life I've never experienced.

CD: Exactly.

BB: It's something I definitely thought about before I even said anything to Steve. Don't look at me like that, Rogers! I thought about if I wanted to date a famous person who wasn't out.

SR: Buck, you thought I was straight!

BB: Yeah, but that—it's something I've sort of idly thought of for years. I think a lot of people with a crush on a famous person tosses the idea around about how they'd handle actually dating them. And even though I was really sure Steve was gonna very kindly let me down, I did give myself a little "what if" scenario and think it out. Because why bring it up if I couldn't possibly see myself living a life with a public figure, right?

CD: Makes sense.

SR: I'm not that much of a public figure.

BB: You might be now, ha. You're welcome.

SR: [snickers] Yeah, thanks.

BB: So, to answer Carol's question, which I think was basically, what's it like?

CD: Mmhmm, that's where I was headed with it.

BB: I think it is a little early to tell, only because for all the time until now, no one has known we were dating. And I've dated while closeted and all. But I'm looking forward to how this goes! I'm going to try to stay out of the spotlight myself. I think if I can weather this first media frenzy, people will forget about me, for the most part.

CD: But not our loyal listeners, I'm sure!

BB: No, I'll definitely make sure they can't. [laughter]

CD: Let's take a quick commercial break, and then when we get back, I'm going to make them play the newlywed game!

SR: [groans]

[Posted in the episode notes on USSoccer.com. Transcribed by JB Barnes, March 2020]

— ⚽ —

The third week of the season is the Forge's emotional revenge game against New York City, up on City's turf, and it's hugely satisfying for Steve to return the favor of the loss they took in October. It isn't quite as impactful, so early in the season, but the core of his team feels good about the solid 3-0 win beyond the improvement to an undefeated 2-0-1 start to their season.

Bucky, who came up on the train to see the match, meets Steve outside the players' entrance, grinning brightly when Steve pulls him in to say hi with a quick kiss.

"Nice one, Rogers," Bucky says, kissing Steve's cheek in return and taking Steve's free hand, lacing their fingers together.

"Yeah, you like that move at the end of the first half?"

"I did, you just about broke Moralez's ankles."

Steve hums, swinging their hands as they stroll along the street. "We made up after, he's a good guy." He shifts the weight of the bag on his shoulder and checks his phone. "Got a super classy Uber so we don't have to deal with the subway or cabs." He looks to the left and nods, raising his hand to a black SUV with tinted windows. "Think that's us."

As they drive from the Bronx to Brooklyn, they continue going over the game with praise and gentle but honest critique. There's nerves hidden under Bucky's thorough analysis of the match: they're spending the evening and next day with Sarah Rogers.

As they get to Steve's neighborhood, conversation shifts to Steve pointing out old haunts, the church where he went to Cub Scout meetings, the bodega where he found out just how allergic to cats he is (but would risk it for a bacon, egg, and cheese), his elementary school where his gym teacher told him to try and play club soccer, because she saw talent in him. Sarah had hauled him out to Westchester as he got older to play in better club teams, until he got into Brooklyn Visions, which let him travel on their soccer team to play other posh prep schools, all while supporting his interest in art. She supported him so much as a kid and teenager, and he's grateful he can pay her back now.

The car slides to a stop in front of a brownstone, and they hop out. Bucky looks at the building, trying to hide his wringing hands, so Steve pretends he doesn't see them as he fumbles getting his overnight bag out of the car. Once the driver has gone, Steve turns back to Bucky.

"You ready, sweetheart?" he asks, putting an arm around Bucky's shoulders and kissing the side of his head.

Bucky looks at him, his chin tilted up slightly from their small height difference, and he smiles, a soft extra curve to his sweet lips that Steve can read so well. "Yeah, I'm ready." Bucky leans up and kisses Steve gently, then steps forward, taking Steve's hand as it slides off his shoulder.

They walk up the steps to the front door, and while Steve has a key, he knocks on the door. It takes longer than Steve expects before he can hear footsteps on the other side, and then it opens to Sarah, looking amused.

"Since when do you knock?" she asks, reaching out to pull Steve in for a hug, which he returns one-armed, still holding Bucky's hand.

"Felt like bein' polite today. I've got a reputation to protect." He can hear Bucky snort, and pulls back from his mom and beams. "Ma, this is Bucky. Buck, this is my mom, Sarah."

Sarah has never stopped caring about her son's existence so fast. "Oh Bucky, I'm so glad to finally meet you!" She throws her arms up around Bucky like he's a long-lost son, and doesn't that make Steve's heart grow a few sizes?

Soon enough they're shuttled inside, their bags set by the stairs. Sarah has them sit in the living room as she brings them some snacks, some coffee, and then sits with them herself. She looks at Bucky with bright, warm eyes, watching how they interact, how they touch, the jokes they make to tease each other. From the smile on her face, Steve's sure she approves of it all.

"Steve says he can't remember," Bucky says, putting his empty coffee cup down and carefully avoiding Steve's eyes. Oh no. "But I feel like you probably will. What was his first goal like?"

Sarah laughs, and Steve groans and runs a hand over his face. "I'm breaking up with you," he mutters, a toothless threat.

"I do remember his first goal," Sarah says, clearly delighted Bucky has stumbled on his mother's favorite story to tell. Steve's surprised she didn't bring it up first. "He was four, and very clearly the standout star on his tykes team."

"Ma," Steve whispers, with feeling.

She waves her hand at him. "Hush, this is only good because you're the goddamn captain of your national team, Steven."

"Oh no." Bucky laughs as he looks between them. Definitely breaking up.

"He was clearly one of the best ones on that team, which you could really mostly tell because he'd sometimes leave the clump of kids that followed the ball like a swarm of bees, and he'd try to get someone to pass to him. And this time, someone did!" Sarah laughs. "Or maybe the ball just popped out of the bees, but it ended up in his feet, and he ran his little heart out, didn't he?"

Steve leans forward, elbows on his knees, face in his hands. It's mostly for show, this reaction of hating the story, because she's shared it often enough that he's mostly become immune to it. Still, it's Bucky now, and Bucky is someone that can repeat the story to him. Frequently. Ugh.

Sarah gestures with her hands as she keeps going through the story. "So he's heading for the goal, and we're all screaming on the sidelines. He sees the goal, stops and very carefully lines up his shot, and he shoots it in short-side past the goalie." She smiles at Steve, as she always does if he's around when she's telling this story. "And he throws his arms up, but no one else is cheering."

Steve peeks out the corner of his eye to see Bucky's reaction, and yes, he can see where it clicks for Bucky. "Oh no."

"Oh yes." Sarah nods, trying to act solemn even as she presses back a smile. "Scored on his own goal."

Steve groans, and Bucky laughs, reaching over to hug Steve into his side. "Aww, honey! Now I know why you became a defender!"

Steve leans into Bucky, hiding his smile as Bucky's hand rubs over his back and side. "My goalie never talked to me again," he says, putting some extra pout in his tone.

Sarah tuts. "The goalie's family moved to Florida."

Bucky laughs, and Steve can't keep pushing this act, so he laughs too and snuggles into Bucky's side. "Don't make fun, that own-goal directly led to your sweet suite tickets."

"I'll always respect the own-goal," Bucky promises. "Just that one. Don't do it again, okay?"

"I can't wait until we can get out to Indiana and I can get all the most embarrassing stories about you from your sister." He wishes that trip would be sooner, but at this point he's thinking it might not be until the All-Star break, unless he gets more time after the Olympics—assuming they qualify. That tournament is coming up very soon, and Steve tries not to think too hard about the pressure on him to lead this team to Tokyo.

Bucky starts telling Sarah some of his own peewee soccer tales, so Steve mentally forgives Bucky for any teasing and sits back on the couch, his hand moving gently over Bucky's back. He's grateful they are able to have this night, have tomorrow, a little spot of relationship normalcy during the season. The last few weeks have been very public. Steve's felt like an exposed nerve with so many people feeling at ease with sharing their thoughts on his identity, his relationship, his choice to come out. Bucky's been a rockstar through it all, but Bucky needs this return to something more normal, too.

It's been a long day—and Steve played a whole soccer game to boot—so it's not too long before he's yawning widely and pressing his face into Bucky's neck like a cat. They say goodnight to Sarah and head upstairs to Steve's room, getting ready for bed.

"All my trophies and medals," Steve confirms as he sees Bucky looking at the shelves full of the accolades. "Hoping I'll have another one to add this summer."

Bucky looks back at Steve, smiling warmly. "You'd keep an Olympic medal here? Not at home?"

Steve nods. "Yeah. I mean, maybe not right away? But ultimately, they all come back here."

They crawl into bed and turn out the lights. In the dark, with thoughts of maybe fooling around getting louder in his brain, Steve's struck by a memory. "I was texting you here."

Bucky looks like he's thinking, trying to remember, then grins. "Like here, here? In your room?"

Steve nods. "In this very bed." He laughs, suddenly remembering one of the things they'd texted about. "I think I implied I had weird kinks."

"Oh, yes! I remember that." He giggles and situates them so Steve's head is pillowed on Bucky's chest. "I was asking myself I was actually talking to Steve Rogers about kink. And blushing a lot."

"And last week you casually told me over breakfast that you ordered a new dildo online."

Bucky snorts. "Look, I can't be following you on every road trip, can I? I have needs, honey."

"I fully support you taking care of your needs, sweetheart." Steve tips his chin up so he can drop a kiss on Bucky's throat. "Ma likes you," he says, wiggling deeper into the covers, wrapping around Bucky.

"I like her, too." Bucky's voice is filling with sleep, and Steve knows he'll be dropping off soon. "She has more good stories on you, doesn't she?"

"I regret everything," Steve says, deadpan, and they laugh together, before sleep takes them over.

— ⚽ —

With two months until the Olympics, Stark decides to throw a party at his damn mansion way out in California. The place is huge, with a massive backyard and pool, a big patio with the most intense grill Steve's ever seen, and a well-furnished pool house with an outdoor kitchen and entertainment area.

Everyone from both sides involved in even the smallest way has been invited—players, coaching staff, training, office staff like marketing and PR, all the way up through the USSF brass. (Pierce couldn't make it, damn.) He's also invited all spouses and partners, kids of all ages. It's an absolute madhouse. Steve is having a blast.

He's hanging out in the pool for now, his arms hooked up on the wall at his armpits, his legs occasionally kicking out. Bucky sits on the edge of the pool next to him, legs dangling in the water and kicking Steve's side. They've held court here for nearly an hour now, other guests flitting in and out to talk to them, but now Steve's feeling the sun get to his back and he groans, shifting his hands flat on the smooth stone that surrounds the pool to push up and out of the water. He scrambles to his feet, and Bucky looks up at him, a question on his face.

Steve gestures towards the tent that's been set up for the party, where they've left their belongings. "Need more sunscreen. Or maybe a shirt for a bit."

Bucky pouts. "Aw, babe."

Steve snickers. "Easy, darlin'. Come lather me up, m'kay?" He holds out a hand to Bucky, who grabs it eagerly at the proposition.

There's a huge pile of sunscreen bottles on a table—the trainers from both teams have been loud and obnoxious about it all afternoon—and Steve grabs for the first one he can reach, tossing it over to Bucky, who catches it easily and pulls out a chair for Steve. "Sit," he orders.

"Mm, yes, sir," Steve murmurs, which makes Bucky chuckle, which in turn makes Steve feel happy and in love for only the six hundredth time today. He sits and closes his eyes as Bucky's hands slide over his shoulders and back. These hands know Steve so well by now, he actively has to remember that they're in public as his swim trunks start feeling tight.

Clearly he's not the only one concerned about these things. "Boys," comes an amused voice from behind them, "are you going to need to get a room?"

"Yes," Bucky responds, his voice full of amusement, "but Steve doesn't want to get nasty on his coach's furniture. We'll behave, Wilson."

Steve snickers at Sam's face. "We could go back to the hotel room."He looks up at Bucky, who sticks his tongue out at Steve.

"Don't you dare get my hopes up, Rogers! You know how I go from zero to—"

"Okay," Sam says, putting his hands up over his ears. "Y'all nasty, but y'all happy, so I'll be happy for ya." He ruffles Steve's hair and beams at him, his gap-toothed smile charming and infectious, and Steve can think of little that could make him happier now.

Bucky pats Steve's shoulders. "You're all set, Rogers. Suppose we should swap?"

Steve pushes out of the chair and gestures for Bucky to take his place. As he rubs a generous helping of sunscreen on Bucky's shoulders and back, they chat with Sam and others who come around to say hello. There are some, notably, who have avoided Steve and Bucky all day. Steve went over to Rumlow, Rollins, and Sitwell, greeting them because he's the captain and he's goddamn polite. While they joked with him, they didn't ask about Bucky, or how Steve's personal life in general has been going, anything like what others have asked. Even Quill, who Steve's had some concerns about given some "jokes" he'd made, at least stopped over to ask about Bucky's tattoo.

He doesn't take it personally—Hope dryly mentioned that they hadn't said anything to her or any of the other women's team members either—but it's frustrating in that he's got to try and lead this team to gold when 3 of the top players on the team don't fully buy in to the environment Steve's been working hard to build from the start of qualifyings.

It's been successful enough so far, but they came in second in CONCACAF, which will lead to a slightly less beneficial draw for the Olympic tournament, and Steve knows that getting out of the group stage will be its own challenge. He's spent months talking to the women, trying to find the secrets of what brought them together so well, and as far as he can gauge, the only thing really in their way now is an ultimate sense of respect between the men who've had Steve's back, and those who have allowed a coolness to fall between them.

Steve looks down at Bucky's head and leans over to drop a kiss into his sweaty hair. "All set, Buck." Bucky tilts his head back so he can look at Steve, smiling.

This would all be so much harder, he knows, without Bucky beside him. If he'd been outed and was all alone, if he went home to an empty apartment every night instead of occasional nights, if he didn't have someone to hold him when the questions got too personal and too slanted—

Without Bucky, he wouldn't want to do this. But he has Bucky. So.

"I love you," he mouths, which makes Bucky smile wider and wink at him. "All right," he says aloud, standing up straight and looking around the large pool and yard, squinting through the sunlight. He wrote a speech on the flight out, and it feels like it's time to give it. "Let's go get everyone assembled."

— 🎙 —

buckythepodprod OMW TO THE OLYMPICS GONNA WATCH ❤ MY BOYFRIEND 💙 WIN SOME GOLD MEDALS 🇺🇸🥇⚽

Comments:
io_aenaria usa! usa! usa! 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸
irishsaints 😍❤
theemdash Good luck to Steve, and to Carol, too! ❤🤍💙
sopdetly lol bucky baby we love you & steve but have you ever seen the usmnt?? lol don't get settled in tokyo too long sorry!!