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“And I thought we could stay here during the day,” Tony shows him a point on the map, “so we’d have the whole night for ourselves.”
He turns his head and looks at Bucky, face hopeful, open, even if his mouth twists in what Bucky thinks is hesitance.
Such hesitance is understandable and easy to relate to, for Bucky feels it too: the tension between them, the uncertainty of every step forward, the phantom reward of braving to get closer (and closer, and closer).
They are both old enough to stop believing in fairytales, to not let themselves be led by a ghostly promise, and yet — and yet. Where’s hesitance there’s also hope.
Their story isn’t typical or simple. They still have so much to learn about each other, so much to find out.
All Bucky has of Tony, for now, is one conversation, eight decades old, hazy but magical; a secret kiss, shared under the safety of that same night; then the Turning, remembered even less, and their reacquaintance of this century, after long decades of no contact. There’s an incredible force between them — it swivels and burns in the air, almost physical — be it attraction, history, feelings (the love-on-first-sight kind), or something else, born with blood and magic and the desperation of one good day in the middle of a war; who knows. That force is hard to place, its roots are tough to find, and so is the garden in which it blossomed; the great ecosystem of cause and effect hides its secrets well.
And sometimes, things are not destined to be seen, understood, explained; they just are. Bucky accepts it. This, they, he and Tony — they are here together, existing in their magical bubble, and it’s better than any promises of heaven that Bucky’ll never know.
For now, in fear of getting something wrong, they agree to go slow. They have an eternity waiting for them, in the end; there’s no rush. Going slow means careful learning of each other, soft conversations, regular dates that end with them parting for the day, fleeting kisses, leaving both aching for more. No meeting the families yet; no, they open the doors to their lives for each other with caution and care for another’s eyes, the brightness of their pasts diluted and dimmed.
Today they are planning a new step, a new adventure: a trip to the secluded place that Tony knows and loves, away from the city lights and their pollution — to see the stars. It will be the longest they ever spend together, a new first. Thus the hesitance. Thus Tony looks like he threads on an invisible edge.
Bucky smiles, trying to put all his tenderness for Tony’s unsure look in that smile, and nods.
“Sounds like a great idea, darling,” and that’s the plan.
Traveling by one night, spending the day in the little motel, and the second night’s stargazing only.
“Then that’s the plan,” Tony repeats softly, hand reaching for Bucky and stopping inches within.
Bucky covers the distance and holds Tony’s wrist with his fingers. The first touch, as always, is exhilarating, electric, shocking.
“Look at us, getting winded up from a little hand-holding. How Victorian,” Tony whispers, still looking at their entwined hands.
Bucky brings them to his mouth and leaves a feather-light kiss on Tony’s knuckles, earning a soft gasp in reply.
The road to their destination goes well. It is a true-to-the-spirit road trip: two of them in the car, laughing at stupid jokes and bickering about the music (Bucky, as your usual vampire, likes the music of his time, while Tony, in his typical contradictory fashion, enjoys growly rattling mess of the late 20th century; there was no music back when I was human, honey, he says). It’s the first test — will they be okay after being trapped together in a small space, will they fight or be comfortable — and they pass it with flying colors.
Bucky thinks he’d welcome eternity just staring at Tony’s face, animated by his passion for the story he’s telling.
The trip isn’t endless, though, and just an hour before sunrise, they drive up to the motel: a small place but one looking clean and cozy.
“They should be waiting for us,” Tony says, the strategist of the trip, and in they go.
The girl at the reception is, indeed, ready to let them in and show them around, leaving them at the doorstep of their room.
By which time Tony opens the door and promptly stills.
“Uh.” He stands there, not letting Bucky see. “There’s a problem.”
“A problem?”
“Yeah. There’s only one coffin.”
Bucky’s eyebrows go up almost involuntarily, and he goes around Tony to see for himself. It’s the truth. In an empty and spacious room the coffin — decidedly one — is very striking, situated in the middle, deep brown and shining. Enormous.
“To be fair, it’s a double,” Tony says faintly.
“Huh. I didn’t know they made doubles.”
“Of course, how do you think couples would sleep together?” Tony chuckles, coming inside. “Although I think it’s usually used for daylight sex. Something about sleeping with one person for eternity being too boring… I wouldn’t know.”
The last sentence is said with a flair of indifference, but Bucky sees through him, notices the tiny tremble of his arm, the wistful line of his mouth.
“I don’t think it would be boring, with the right person,” Bucky says softly, and it earns him an equally soft smile.
It warms him, that easy response, even if Tony’s smile disappears soon, transformed to a nervous, pinched expression. The situation is a little awkward. They shuffle around, sending each other fleeting glances.
“I’m sorry, that’s my fault,” Tony finally says, his posture stiff. “I should have been more clear with my instructions. But, uh, I don’t think those curtains are going to cut it.”
Bucky comes to him and gives in to the urge to smooth the frown on Tony’s face.
“It’s okay. We are dating. We can manage a little bit of coffin sharing, don’t you think? Or, well, if you’re uncomfortable, I think we should ask for the blankets or something? To make a dark enough nest. I slept in worse.”
“No, no, I’m fine. We can manage, yes.”
That makes it easier. They prepare for the day, all the anxiety forgotten, both now sure in another’s comfort. Bucky teases Tony for his complicated skin routine and gets called a heathen in reply. It’s very calm, very domestic, and so right.
He can do that every morning, Bucky thinks; it won’t be a hardship at all.
The uncertainty makes a return when they lay down, but it’s mixed with another kind of tension now. While the coffin’s a double, it’s still rather small for two. It isn't cramped, but it's achieved by them touching from shoulder to thigh, a warm line of contact. Even vampire bodies get hot, especially when excited. Thus, their position isn’t so good for sleep: Bucky fights the feeling deep in his gut, arousal and excitement and apprehension all in one, and wills himself to calm, to relax, to stop imagining the way Tony will meet him if he were to reach for him, to stop thinking how small of a distance lies between his hand and Tony’s hip, how easy it would be to touch, and hold, and stroke, and leave his fingerprints on the pale skin.
Tony’s hand finds Bucky’s in the dark, and he shudders. They entwine their hands, fingers moving in a complicated dance of tender stroking.
Bucky turns his head to Tony, buries his face in Tony’s shoulder, breathing him in. In that position he spends all day.
Waking up is a process. Both haven’t had much sleep, and when Tony grumbles, under his breath, that he’d prefer to lie down and not go anywhere, Bucky quietly agrees. Still, they would regret not going later, so, with some grumbling and grunting, they get their things in order and move out.
It’s about an hour to their destination. The awkwardness of yesterday came and went, leaving no trace, and now they’re fine with each other, comfortable and at ease; more so, they keep touching, keep constant, constant contact. Bucky puts his hand on the small of Tony’s back, unthinkingly, when they go to the car, Tony swats at his hand when they choose the music, melts into him before that, in the hall of the motel. No second goes without their hands holding, grabbing, or brushing each other.
It’s intuitive at first. Unconscious. But Bucky notices; he feels, at first, a vague sense of closeness, of intimacy, and then watches Tony and himself both, identifies the pattern. He doesn’t speak of his discovery — afraid to ruin it, maybe — but seeing it, noticing it warms him, entices him. It’s physical proof of how well they work together, how the coexistence only brings them closer.
It’s proof of the future, of their potential; it’s proof that their attraction isn’t a fluke, a mirage, a story: it’s real.
Tony makes him promise not to look through the windows, stop himself from getting a peek of the sky, so the experience he'll get will be purer. Bucky complies. He watches Tony instead.
Their journey isn’t long. After arriving, Bucky closes his eyes to Tony’s over-serious demand and walks guided by Tony's hands, his firm grip comforting and certain.
“Open them now,” Tony whispers after they stop, after he pulls Bucky’s head up, to the best position, his hand still on the back of Bucky’s head, feeling easy and right in its place.
Bucky opens his eyes and gasps.
It’s a sight he hasn’t seen in decades; stars, myriads of them, bright and gorgeous, bigger than he can comprehend.
“We chose a good night for that,” Tony whispers in his ear; the stars reflect in his eyes, bright and shining, and he looks magical, effervescent, gorgeous.
“We sure did,” Bucky whispers, too, can’t make his voice loud, can’t get rid of the awed intonation. He doesn’t have to, either.
“Have you seen anything that beautiful?” Tony asks, and his face smoothes in strange, unfamiliar calmness, a quiet reverence for the eternal night.
“Well…’’ Bucky chuckles, dodging Tony’s answering swat.
“God, you’re so cheesy.”
“You love me.”
“I do.”
The words sing, echo up, to the night, to the stars, the only witnesses of their conversation, of the kiss, slow and tender, that follows.
After, they lie on the ground, hand in hand, voices still quiet, still filled with wonder.
“Thank you,” Bucky whispers. “For the date. For everything.”
When they reach for each other, when they get closer, a mirror to the way they slept last day, there are no restless, awkward feelings anymore. Only joy.
Always joy.