Work Text:
“Ask you a question?” Steve asked.
Bucky was lying flush against his back with one arm draped across his chest, running his thumb back and forth along Steve’s collarbone. Steve felt his nod, nuzzled against his spine.
Steve flipped over so he could see Bucky’s face. “How’d I not know?” he asked.
Bucky stared blankly at him.
“That you were asexual. You know, back in Brooklyn?” Steve clarified hastily. It was late and they were both sleepy. “You’re my best friend. I should have noticed.”
Bucky frowned and then grimaced and Steve immediately regretted the question. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”
Bucky turned his head down so his hair fell across his face. When Steve went to push it back, Bucky caught his hand and pushed it back down onto the mattress. “Give me a minute,” he whispered. He pressed his hand, the metal one, against his temple. “I think that was the idea. It was a secret. I think. I don’t really know.” He shook his head again.
“And I’m not uncomfortable,” he added. He reached over, grabbed a handful of the front of Steve’s shirt to pull them together and pressed a kiss onto his mouth, then his jaw. He trailed his mouth down Steve’s neck to the notch between his collarbones.
Steve worked his other hand free used it to pull Bucky’s face back up so he could kiss him again. They spent a few minutes like that. Pressed together, Steve’s hand tangled in Bucky’s hair.
“I’m still sorry,” said Steve, between kisses, “I love you.”
They couldn’t get any closer together but Bucky let go of Steve’s other hand and put his arm around Steve’s shoulders so they were both holding onto each other. “Shhh,” Bucky whispered, “no more apologizing.” Then he kissed him to make sure there wasn’t any.
The truth was that outside a few vague emotional impressions Bucky just didn’t remember enough to answer Steve’s question. Thinking about Brooklyn and the War was physically difficult. The memories didn’t come or they showed up in uncontrollable disconnected bursts, the mental equivalent of your ears popping.
But Bucky tried later, alone in his room. For his trouble he got the image of a girl whose name he didn’t know calling for him (‘Hey Bucky!’), the name Juliana Wentz with no face or other context to go with it, a man (not Steve) who’s nameless face made Bucky blush even though he didn’t know why, and Peggy Carter. And then the beginnings of a throbbing headache behind his eyes, so he had to stop or risk a migraine.
Bucky turned the collection of memories over in his head. It was like reading someone else’s emotions in a book. The various boys and girls in Brooklyn had made him feel flustered. That had been a good thing? He hated feeling flustered.
He’d liked Peggy too, even though she’d loved Steve and he’d loved her back – no – because she’d loved Steve – that didn’t make any sense, he loved Steve – but Peggy had too – “Ow,” he muttered, as his temples started throbbing again.
He turned the idea over in his head; Peggy and Steve and himself. So long as he didn’t try too hard to visualize the details it was painless, but it didn’t get him anywhere.
The thought rattled around in his head for a few more days, fading in and out a little the way his memories tended to. It had almost completely faded away until he was sitting at the kitchen table with Steve and Natasha while Sam made pancakes.
“How is it that I always end up making breakfast?” Sam quipped.
“Because you offered,” said Natasha.
“Once,” said Sam, “I offered you breakfast once, because you showed up at my door all sad and covered in soot. And now, whenever I am here, you stare at me until I feed you.”
Steve’s head flopped down onto his chest and he grinned shyly at Sam through his eyelashes.
Bucky burst out laughing. He was already giggling by the time he placed the expression. Steve had looked like Peggy like that and he still looked at Bucky like that and Sam looked so oblivious. He’d more or less got used to reacting to things before he remembered them, but it added a few seconds before he could get his act together enough to wave off Steve’s concerned step forward, catch his breath and realize that he couldn’t make the pictures in his head into words.
“Your… face,” he gasped at Steve, plastered a grin on his face and hoped to God he could pass it off as a joke until he finished figuring out what his feelings were doing this time.
Steve smiled. Natasha raised her eyebrows at him over Steve’s shoulder. Sam rolled his eyes and handed him a stack of pancakes and he shoved one in his mouth to ward off any more questions.
“So what was that back there?” Steve asked him later, when they were up and dressed. “I mean, I’m not that funny looking.”
Bucky grimaced; he’d been hoping for a bit more time. “No,” he said “no you were doing that thing. You know, that you do when people flirt with you. You know?” Steve stared blankly at him until he resorted to trying to imitate the gesture, widening his eyes and letting his head flop forward onto his chest.
“I’m sorry Buck, I got nothing,” said Steve.
“You do it to me and you did it with Peggy, and you did it to Sam this morning,” Bucky explained.
Steve turned crimson not in a good way. “I’m sorry,” he squeaked, after a moment.
And that was all wrong. Bucky reached over and wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders. He’d tensed up. This was the opposite of what was supposed to happen. “Shh,” he said, reaching up and petting Steve’s hair a little. “Shhh,” he stayed like that until Steve relaxed, alternating small kisses and murmuring “don’t be sad”, “it was cute”, “I like it when you do that”.
“You’re not upset though?” Steve asked.
“Nah,” said Bucky, “you’re adorable. And I like Sam.”
Bucky really did like Sam, and as far as he was concerned Steve could keep him. But he still wanted Steve all to himself, just for a little longer, he told himself, until being a person wasn’t quite so much effort. So he didn’t push the issue.
Encouragingly for Bucky’s nascent maybe-idea, Sam seemed just as prone to fits of clumsiness and random embarrassment around Steve as Steve did around him. It was absolutely adorable, actually. Put the two of them in a room together and watch them develop sudden speech impediments and trip over furniture. So, of course, Bucky did it at every possible opportunity. Mostly because it was hilarious. A little bit because he wasn’t quite sure what else to do. Setting Steve up on dates fell into that odd little gap in his memories where he knew he’d done it without being told, but couldn’t actually remember doing it. Not that remembering would necessarily have helped. He was reasonably sure that none of the previous attempts at getting Steve a date had involved simultaneously getting Steve to keep dating him.
Natasha caught him at it before he could puzzle out the solution by himself.
“So, are you trying to break Roger’s brain for a specific reason, or just for your own personal gratification?” She asked him rather lazily, just quiet enough to keep it private, as they both watched Steve narrowly avoid crashing into a table while attempting to walk and look at Sam at the same time.
It wasn’t an especially good day for words. Bucky spent a moment wishing that Natasha had chosen a different day to be perceptive and another few collecting his thoughts in the hope that some of them might make it out of his mouth. “Both of those,” he mumbled.
“Well they’re going to need a bit more help than you’re giving them,” said Natasha, “have you considered talking to them?” She paused for beat and grimaced. “I need to spend less time with Wilson.”
“Didn’t work,” said Bucky.
Natasha reached up and ran her fingers through his hair and laughed at him. Bucky growled at her in frustration, and tipped over sideways, dropping his head rather heavily into her lap. She laughed harder.
Steve turned around to look at them. “You alright there Buck? You need anything?”
Bucky looked up, shook his head and dropped it back into Natasha’s lap so she could keep petting his hair.
Steve frowned a little and started towards them with a plaintive little, “you sure?”
Sam caught Steve by the back of the shirt and hauled him back, “give the man some space, he said he was fine. Come on, lets go find you… I dunno, a real hobby or something,” grumbled.
Bucky grinned at him as he left and hoped it got the point across.
“Oh my God, they’re disgusting,” said Natasha, “I see what you mean. You should talk to Wilson, he’s less of a total and complete dope than Rogers.”
Sam was the easiest person in the building to talk to, easier even than Steve, who occasionally made time run and twist in disorienting ways when Bucky looked at him. Maybe it was just that particular day, but saying all of that, even to Sam seemed exhausting beyond all feasibility. Bucky flopped over onto his back and stared pleadingly up at Natasha.
“Why are you giving me that -. No. No I will not go talk to Sam for you. How old are you all? Thirteen?” she grumbled, and shoved him off her lap. She gave him a quick, sideways hug as she stood up to show she wasn’t actually upset, and then left.
It was very unfair really. Steve and Sam were both being useless and so he had to do all their work for them and it was goddamn hard. Bucky rolled over and buried his face in the couch cushions out of sheer frustration.
“May I be of assistance, Sergeant?” Asked JARVIS, from his speaker over the fridge.
He might have been, but Bucky really had run out of words and could only look up at the ceiling and sigh pointedly. Fortunately, JARVIS was an excellent guesser. It was one of the reasons that JARVIS was the best. He also didn’t get himself into ridiculous romantic situations he then expected Bucky to sort out. That was another reason.
“I believe it is unlikely that Captain Rogers and Sergeant Wilson would respond well to romantic suggestions coming from me,” JARVIS said, “but I can try if you would like.”
Bucky shook his head pointedly, he really didn’t think that JARVIS would have much luck either.
“Just so,” JARVIS continued, “however, if you would like me to summon Sergeant Wilson and Captain Rogers or arrange for them to do some activity, I would be happy to do so. Whenever you are ready, of course.”
It took Bucky a few more tries to get Steve and Sam alone in a room together at a time when he could handle giving them both a talking to about being unremittingly sappy and gross because really it was coming to that point. He had a whole list of things to say planned out. He’d rehearsed some of them in his head even.
And then he ended up stuck in between Steve and Sam while they made God-awful sappy eyes at each other and he just slid out from between them, turned to Sam and said “oh for fuck’s sake please just ask him out, I can’t take it anymore, you two are gross.”
“Man, we haven’t even done anything yet,” Sam said.
“You stare and your stupid stare-y faces are gross,” retorted Bucky. “Go sort yourselves out.”
Steve made a strange sort of face that Bucky couldn’t read, and Steve didn’t have many of those. Sam scrunched his nose up and laughed. “Well geez man,” he said, “you could give me a little lead time if you want me to ask Captain America out on a date. I mean, I haven’t prepared or anything.”
Steve groaned. That wasn’t so inexplicable, he loathed being referred to as Captain America.
“No need, Sergeant Wilson,” said JARVIS, “I have already made arrangements which I believe you will enjoy.”
“Bucky?” asked Steve, “did you seriously conspire with JARVIS to set me up on a date? Seriously? Really?”
But Sam, as Natasha had mentioned, was far more sensible, so he just grabbed Steve’s hand, smirked at the ceiling, and called back, “thanks,” as he led Steve off.
Bucky was curled up attempting to read a novel when Steve got in from his date. “It go okay?” he asked, but Steve still looked all soft and happy around the eyes, so he already knew that it had.
“Yeah,” said Steve, “yeah, we had a nice time. How about you?"
"I don't think this book is actually written in English," said Bucky.
Steve picked up the novel, and turned it over in his hand, "Neuromancer? I think I have this on a list somewhere."
"Stark said it was a classic, but I think he's trying to screw with me."
Steve leafed through a few pages. "Yeah, I'm seeing that. Yeesh."
They exchanged a quick laugh, and then Steve dropped down to sit by Bucky's feet and looked up at him seriously. "We're still okay, right Buck?" He asked.
"Yeah," said Bucky. "Why wouldn't we be?"
"I mean, you're okay with this - with me and Sam?" Steve asked.
"Which part of me setting you up on a date suggests that I think this is a bad idea?” Asked Bucky.
“No, of course its just – you know I’m okay with us right? I like Sam a whole lot, but we’re perfect how we are.” Steve kept on.
“Yeah Stevie,” said Bucky, “we are.” He reached out with his metal hand and yanked Steve up just a touch too hard, so their noses bumped together when they kissed. He could feel Steve smile and bite back a laugh against his mouth.
They fell asleep kissing on the couch. Sam found them tangled up in a heap when he came to say goodnight, draped a blanket over them and walked out shaking his head.