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“How does that feel?”
“I don’t know how it’s supposed to feel.”
“Uhh… snug? Like your ankle isn’t wobbly, but it’s not cutting off the circulation.”
Steve moves his foot from side to side, testing out the tension of the ice skate tied onto his left foot, careful not to smack Bucky with it. He knows the bright blue guard over the blade means he can’t cut Bucky, but he’s still cautious.
“No baby deer ankles here,” Steve says, offering a nervous smile at his best friend before stilling his foot again.
“Alright. Once the other one is on, we’ll stand you up and make sure,” Bucky explains, patting both sides of Steve’s skate before lifting the thin leg out of his lap.
He lifts the other skate up and sets it between his legs before gesturing for Steve’s right leg. “C’mon, Stevie. One more and then we’re on the ice.”
How Steve had managed to hold out this long, keeping his feet off the ice for the past seven years he’s been best friends with one of Brooklyn’s finest youth hockey players, is beyond him. Bucky practically lives at the rink through the winter and into spring, so Steve spends his fair share of time rinkside.
Instead of lacing up his own skates, Steve has always been content to sit in the bleachers and sketch. He has dozens of half-formed pictures of Bucky: in his gear, shooting the puck down the ice, his face going dead calm when a rival team member gets in his face.
It’s not long before Bucky has the laces on the second skate tight around Steve’s ankle. He ties them off, patting the supported ankle just as he did before. “And this one? Baby deer?”
Steve wiggles his foot the same, and then shakes his head. “Sturdy. Bambi’s gone.”
Bucky’s face lights up in a bright grin as he lifts Steve’s right foot out of his lap and stands up, towering over Steve by a few more inches than normal because of his own skates. He holds out his hands out to Steve and lifts his brows. “Up you get, pal. Ain’t no time like the present.”
The flush in Steve’s cheeks brightens and he looks down at his feet while taking a steadying breath. His ears are tipped with red to match his cheeks, partly from the cold of the ice rink, but partly because he’s just a touch embarrassed.
At fifteen years old, he should already know how to skate. He should have been up on the outdoor rink with Bucky every winter, honing the skill so he had no problem keeping up. The slight bulge in the pocket of his winter jacket reminds him of why outdoor winter sports, or any sports at all, aren’t exactly his forte; the blue inhaler is his best friend aside from Bucky, helping to pry his lungs back open when he pushes too hard.
Steve takes Bucky’s gloved hands in his own, feeling just a hint of disappointment at not feeling Bucky’s warm hand encasing his own, and pulls himself to his feet. He wobbles immediately, and is intimately grateful that Bucky chose after practice to do this.
The other guys have long since filed out, and Bucky asked his coaches for a little more ice time before heading out. That meant Steve’s first time on the ice would only have an audience of one, and Bucky’s seen him look far more foolish than he does now.
Bucky’s grin explodes on his face like Steve just did something monumental, not that he managed to not fall on his ass.
“Nearly a pro already!” Bucky crows proudly, keeping a firm grip on Steve’s hands to make sure he doesn’t topple over. Standing up, and staying upright, is one of the hardest skills to master, Bucky told him, so he’s counting his lucky stars already. The last thing either of them wants is Steve’s ma giving her disappointed look when Bucky brings him home with a sprained ankle and a banged up elbow.
“Shut up,” Steve grumbles, but the small smile that quirks his lips gives away his real feelings. He does feel kind of proud for not falling, even if that’s mostly because of Bucky keeping him there.
“A’right, a’right. Let’s get this show on the road,” Bucky says, giving his eyebrows a wiggle at Steve. He bends down, encouraging Steve to hold onto him, while he slips the guards off of Steve’s skates and then returns to holding his hands. With that, he takes a step backwards, increasing the space between them, and gives Steve’s hands the lightest tug.
“One foot in front of the other, pal. I’m not gonna let you fall,” Bucky reminds him, keeping his tone light. Steve taught him early how well patronizing goes over, earned himself a solid bruise on his bicep for it and all.
Of all the people Steve knows, the only one he could actually trust not to let him fall is Bucky, so he nods his head slightly and shifts his weight, stepping forward carefully with his right foot. When he doesn’t immediately fall, the grin lengthens on his lips, and he looks up at Bucky with a new brightness in his eyes. His left foot makes the same progress, and Steve feels pride bubbling up in his chest, squeezing Bucky’s hands a little in his own.
“Look out, Crosby. Stevie Rogers is comin’ for your jersey,” Bucky teases, though his own pride is written clear across his face.
“Shut up,” Steve says again, lacking any kind of bite.
“I’m just tellin’ it like it is!” Bucky insists as he takes another slow step back, lengthening the space between them once again so Steve has to step forward to keep up with him.
“Whatever. Just— keep goin’. I didn’t get these skates on so we could loiter in the box,” he grumbles, pulling his brows inward like the grumpy old man he can be sometimes, in an attempt to stop himself from smiling like an idiot.
“Relax, Mad Max. Fury Road can wait.” Bucky gives him a firm look, and though it takes a long moment, Steve blows out a slow breath and lets some of the tension fall from his shoulders. Sometimes he wishes he wasn’t so transparent to Bucky.
Steve wobbles a little for just a moment when he goes to take another step, and tenses his arms back up where he’s holding onto Bucky.
“I’m fine— I’m fine,” he preempts, looking up at Bucky with a slight pink in his cheeks, not wanting Bucky to have half a second to fret over him.
“I know you are, pal. You’re gonna be just fine. Once you get moving, a Stevie in motion will stay in motion.” Bucky says it with this big grin, and Steve can’t help that his cheeks flood with a little more pink.
The whole reason he’s even there— laced up and about to step on the ice, that is— is the pink in his cheeks, and the quick pitter-patter his heart kicks into whenever Bucky looks at him and smiles like he’s the only guy in the world.
Sharon’s been around a lot lately though, looking at Bucky through her big lashes when he makes his way around the rink, flipping her long hair and giggling when he talks to her. He’s just being polite though, right? It’s not like Bucky actually likes Sharon.
When he thinks about it, Steve’s not sure when Bucky had his last crush— was it that exchange student from Russia last year? Natalia? Bucky hasn’t really mentioned anyone since then, which means Steve’s had time to daydream and draw their names together in a heart in the sketchbook he hides under his bed. It’s not like he’ll ever get to be Steve Barnes, but a guy can dream, can’t he?
So he’s got blades on his feet, his gloved hands tight in Bucky’s in hopes of making sure Bucky doesn’t actually like Sharon. Maybe if he picks up Bucky’s favourite winter hobby then Bucky will be busy enough to not worry about finding a girlfriend?
“Ground Control to Major Rogers — you there?” Bucky says, ducking his head down a little to meet Steve’s eyes.
It’s only a little mortifying to realize his mind had wandered off far enough to check out, leaving Bucky just a little concerned. His blue eyes look stormy when Steve meets them, and he shakes the fog out of his head before nodding.
“I’m good — I was just thinking.” His confession is genuine enough without giving himself away, but the look on Bucky’s face stays concerned.
“Don’t lie to me. Are you alright? I know this is a lot, and your heart —”
“— is fine. Dr. Banner said it’s ticking away like it’s supposed to, and the murmur’s quieter than ever. I was just thinking about the science test I got coming up. States of matter and all that. Ice, water, vapour — just got me —”
Bucky takes out hand out of Steve’s so he can wave it a little, trying to stop Steve before the science lesson goes any further.
“A’right, a’right. You’re fine. We’re fine. Just don’t get into it while we’re having fun.”
Steve rolls his eyes a little and focuses on not wobbling, though his expression shifts back to something marginally less tense when Bucky takes hold of his wrist again.
In another minute and a half, Steve’s got ice under his skates, and he looks every bit like a baby deer trying to find its legs. He locks his knees in hopes of keeping his feet under him, but the tension in his body only makes Bucky laugh.
“If you stay like that, you’re gonna fall, and it’ll jar something. Just — bend your knees a little. I promise I won’t let you fall.”
Steve gives Bucky a look, his brows furrowed in concentration, but he tries anyway. He does trust Bucky — more than he trusts anyone, except maybe his Ma — and if Bucky says he won’t fall?
He bends his knees just a little, standing stock still, and his breath catches at the slight give in his left ankle.
“You look constipated —”
“ — can you not?”
“You’re doin’ great, Stevie. C’mon. You don’t need to be scared. I’m not gonna let you wipe out. Once you — you can’t let a fool like Rumlow outdo you. Kid’s got two left feet, but you still see him out here —”
Steve’s face sets into a scowl, determination etched into the strong crease of his brow, and he swats Bucky’s hands out of his own. Like hell he is gonna let Brock Rumlow look better than him. The guy is a smug bastard at best, paid his way onto Bucky’s team, and regularly falls all over the ice while still managing to look cool in the process. If Rumlow can skate half well, then Steve has to do better.
“You’re playin’ dirty, James , and I’ve had it up to he— nonono!“ Steve’s grumbled remark turns quickly into wild squawking as the second push of his skate on the ice sets him off balance, and his lanky arms start to flail in hopes of capturing his balance.
To Bucky’s credit, it doesn’t take more than half a minute for him to turn on his heel and slip his hands under Steve’s arms, immediately stopping the flailing friend from falling on his face.
Steve’s heart is pounding in his chest as he grips both hands onto Bucky’s arms, taking comfort in the safety of Bucky’s sturdiness. He lets his head fall back against Bucky’s broad chest and closes his eyes, his breathing just a touch wheezy from the shock.
“C’mon. You’re good, Stevie. I’ve gotcha. Slow down,” Bucky says softly, ducking down a little to wrap more securely around Steve’s middle, making sure he has good contact with Bucky’s chest to sync up their breathing. They both know where his inhaler is if he needs it, but Bucky’s had good luck in the past with the method Sarah Rogers modeled for them.
When Steve can breathe again, his cheeks are pinked from both embarrassment and the pounding of his heart, the feisty smirk gone off his face.
“How ‘bout I lead? You just focus on keeping your feet under you, and then you can push off when you’re used to it?” Bucky suggests, still tucked down near Steve’s ear.
If anyone else had been around to see them, Steve would have refused the offer outright, muttering something about his dignity while he had Bucky walk him off the ice. The quiet of the rink, the pressure against his back, and the promise in Bucky’s voice has him nodding though. It’s hard to say no to Bucky on a good day, and that’s when they aren’t tucked so close together.
“Only ‘til I’ve got my ice legs,” Steve acquiesces in a soft voice, nodding his head as he finally lifts it off of Bucky’s chest.
It hits Steve during their second lap around the ice — the cool wind passing over his cheeks from the gentle speed Bucky’s keeping up, the smooth glide of his skates, the warmth of Bucky’s body somehow reaching him through all their layers — he hasn’t felt so free in a while. His lungs aren’t acting up because he’s not the one putting in the effort, his heart beat is quicker than normal but that’s only because of the mild thrill of moving around the ice so quickly, and he knows for a fact that he won’t fall.
He’s more convinced than ever that Bucky Barnes is made of magic, and that he’s head over heels in love with his best friend.
If how Bucky’s holding him is anything to go off of, or the soft smile Steve sees when he looks up, then maybe Bucky’s feeling just as warm inside as he is. After all, he’s never seen best friends skate like this. Maybe there’s more going on than what they say on the surface, but Steve doesn’t let that cloud his mind.
For now, he’s got his arms stretched out like he’s King of the World, and Bucky’s chuckling behind him, sounding every bit as fond as he feels.