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BROOKLYN’S KINGS THEATRE
Poster for Cary Grant’s Retrospective. Printed paper 2025. A poster for the upcoming month-long celebration of the movies of Cary Grant to be held in Brooklyn.
Bucky is not expecting a vivid memory of the past to jump at him from a piece of online location-targeted promotion that pops on his phone as he and Steve are wandering around the neighborhood on a random Friday, but the 21st century works in mysterious ways, and Google is kindly inviting him to check “Cary Grant: A Celebration”, a month-long chronological retrospective of all his movies.
It’s taking place at a nearby now hipster cinema starting… in half an hour.
He beams as a long stream of memories of the two of them from different afternoons and movies plays in his head: the excitement, the anticipation, how they counted the cents for the admission price, and how he learned to sneak into the movie every time their money didn’t add up to two full tickets.
“Buck, you’ve been smiling at your phone in silence for a whole minute.” Steve interrupts his daydreaming. “Should I be jealous? Worried?”
“Sorry,” he answers, still smiling about the memories. “Don’t panic, but I think I’m leaving you for Google, that algorithm can see inside my one hundred years old soul.”
Steve elbows him, he doesn’t look too worried about it.
“I’ll give you another chance to keep my soul, if you don’t mind a change of plans for the afternoon.”
“Anything for your soul, please lead the way.” Steve chuckles, more than used to Bucky’s ways. “Do you think you give me some heads up?”
He takes Steve’s hand to direct them towards the movie theater, as he thinks about how much information he wants to share with him beforehand.
“We’re going to the movies. But the real ones, not that shit on Netflix you keep choosing,” he says, settling for half-disclosure.
“Damn, mister life in black and white strikes again. Embrace the 21st century, Barnes, I think you’ll like it.”
It’s true that he’s the one who still relies on the comfort of 30s and 40s movies, but Steve has always loved Cary Grant and Bucky thinks he’s going to appreciate this choice because this particular movie has a history (a little sad, maybe) for them.
“Hey, I embrace it more than you do.” He protests after a moment, making Steve chuckle. “At least I look the part of a mid-thirties man from this millennium, and not a fifty-year-old hiding in fucking khakis.” Steve elbows him again. “But you’re a very hot one, I’ll give you that.”
They laugh together. It’s not the first time these remarks fly between them, and having routines, running jokes, and running pet peeves is soothing after everything they have gone through.
The cinema appears in the distance at the turn of a corner, and Bucky spots the Billboard announcing the retrospective, and the small queue forming upfront. He takes a side look at Steve to see if he has noticed, and he can tell that his curiosity has peaked.
“Surprise.” Bucky exclaims. “Call this plan a win-win, it may be up my alley, but you used to love Cary Grant movies.”
He smiles as they reach their place in the queue, taking a glance at the program for the afternoon.
‘This is the Night (1932)’, the poster says, ‘Cary Grant’s feature film debut on the big screen.’
Bucky is suddenly deep in nostalgia, remembering a summer day of ‘32 when they were waiting in line for this very same film, and trying not to get stuck in how the evening turned out.
When he turns his head to the side, looking for Steve’s reaction, his expression is not what he expected at all.
“Hey, are you ok?” He asks, worried at seeing him frozen in place.
Steve nods, and it doesn’t appear that he’s lying. His whole face is deep red, but he looks more ashamed than sick, and Bucky’s own mood shifts from worried to curious.
“Jesus, this movie,…” Steve chuckles, recovering his voice.
“You remember, then.” Bucky smiles. “I thought you might.”
It’s not an entirely happy memory, but as far as Bucky remembers, nothing to be ashamed of. Steve felt really ill halfway through the movie, looking as white as a sheet of paper and about to die on Bucky. They had to leave the theater before the end and run home, as per Steve’s request.
“Why are you acting weird?” Bucky asks, still not understanding the reaction. “Oh my god, Steven, are you allergic to this movie?”
The silence before Steve answers is a little too long, and the queue moves forward.
“Shit, there’s no easy way to say this, and I’m deeply sorry in advance.”
“Duly noted, but could you try to explain? I’m lost, and I didn’t expect a full-on confession of something to be sorry about when I decided to follow Google’s intelligent advice to an unfinished movie,” he babbles, trying not to freak out. “I just thought it was a good excuse for a change of plans, and for some kind of harmless closure.”
Steve nods, takes a breath and starts talking.
“I wasn’t honest with you, Buck. Back when we…” He stops, obviously searching for the right words as he nervously muses on his beard. “Damn, I can’t believe this hasn’t come up at some point, but there it goes.”
Steve stares at him, and there’s something in his eyes that tells Bucky that he’s amused.
“I absolutely lied to you that day during the movie. I wasn’t sick or half dying, and I am very, very guilty of using my poor health as an excuse to run away from that place and that movie, but it was the only thing I could come up with.”
Bucky is at a loss for words, still deciding if he’s annoyed, curious, or somewhere in between.
“But… you looked feverish and white as a ghost.” He pauses. “You said you had palpitations!”
The bastard bursts into laughter at his answer, and it’s so loud that they get a curious look from the people behind them. Bucky doesn’t have time to react because Steve takes advantage of the queue moving again to get really, really close to him.
He’s so close that Bucky honestly thinks he’s going to try to kiss himself out of this situation, since it’s a regrettably bulletproof strategy for both of them.
Steve doesn’t kiss him, though, he brings his lips close to his right ear.
“I had a boner like you wouldn’t believe,” he whispers, and Bucky loudly gasps, totally taken aback by the confession.
Steve steps away, and looks him in the eye, more amused and hungry than ashamed, but still blushing. That part hasn’t changed in a century.
“You’ve got to admit I wasn’t completely lying, Buck, I was somehow sick, and absolutely pale since my blood was… otherwise occupied. I was barely fourteen.”
Bucky laughs at the dork, his dork, but the information is still making its way into his brain.
“Oh my god,” he exclaims as the confession starts to settle. “You piece of shit, you pulled the poor sick child card when you were just plain horny.” He lightly punches him on the chest. “I was worried to my bones as we run all the way to your apartment. Shame on you, Rogers.”
“Shame on me? It was your fucking fault. Yours and Cary Grant’s and your stupid grins and stupid chins, those hypnotizing clefts.”
He’s screaming in whispers to avoid Steve Rogers’ teenage boner making it to the news, but he’s talking as if he was pronouncing an important speech to the UN.
“What was a 14-year-old in the fucking 30s popping one upon seeing an actor who kind of looked like a very tall version of his very male best friend to do, uh?”
Bucky is about to say something, but Steve literally covers his mouth with one hand, giving him no other option but to stick his tongue and lick the palm.
“Gross, Buck,” Steve says, drying his hand on his shirt as payback before he goes on. “I’m not done accusing you, because as I was still processing all that forbidden attraction, you kept brushing your goddamned hand with mine when you went for popcorn.” Bucky remembers that, and he can’t help but smile.
“I see that rings a bell, too,” Ste says. “You did it over and over and over. It was torture. I have palpitations now just thinking about it.”
Bucky full-on laughs. One of those real spurts of laughter that come more and more lately and that he honestly thought he’d never get to experience again.
They’ve reached the box office, so he doesn’t push it further. For now.
“Two tickets for ‘This is the Night’, please,” Bucky says, smiling at the box-office guy. “He’s paying, though. I invited him last time we tried to see this one, and he didn’t have the decency to stay until the end.”
He feels like an actual teen when Steve takes his hand to walk inside the theater, when he very intentionally buys popcorn to share, and when they start full-on making out on their seats during the commercials once the lights are out.
“Wanna know another secret, Buck?” Steve whispers a few minutes later. He’s got his eyes on the starting movie, but he’s brushing his hand with intention over the popcorn bucket.
“Always,” Bucky says, not paying attention to the opening credits, and looking at Steve’s flustered face, and recently kissed lips bathed by dancing lights and shadows coming from the screen.
“It’s a good thing we were already together in ‘38 when ‘Bringing up baby’ came out because I was able to plan ahead and lure you into that memorable window fuck at our old apartment before the show, or we would have totally missed one of our favorite movies, too.”
Bucky hates Steve with the force of the entire universe. Or maybe not, but he’s not playing clean.
“Rain-check on the movie?” He manages to whisper back as he drives Steve’s hand to his already noticeable hard-on. Two can play this game.
“Oh, poor Buck, do you have palpitations, too?” Steve chuckles, lips wet on Bucky’s ear and gripping harder on his bulge instead of letting go. “Is this about the memory of the window fuck? Maybe about all the making out? Please, tell me, so I don’t do it again.”
“You’re a punk, Rogers,” Bucky answers before standing up to leave, closely followed by a smiling, smug Steve.
