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The first time, they were young - six or seven - and Bucky had come home after school with Steve, who wasn’t feeling well (less well than usual, even.) Bucky ushered him into bed, climbing on after him to tuck the blankets in around him and fluff the pillow behind his head. Then, copying something he’d seen Steve’s Ma do a hundred times, he leaned forward and pressed his lips to Steve’s forehead – not quite a kiss, more to check his temperature. He wasn’t sure what it meant that Steve was so warm, but he knew it wasn’t good.
“Scoot over, Stevie. You’re real warm, and I’m gonna stay with you til your Ma gets home. Where’s your book? I’ll read to you.”
And he did, until they both fell asleep, and Mrs. Rogers found them curled up together, the book forgotten on Bucky’s hip. The first thing she did, seeing Steve’s flushed cheeks and damp skin, was to press her lips to his forehead, and Bucky stirred just enough to see that he’d done the right thing. When she noticed he was awake, she pulled him gently out of bed and sent him home. That was the first time.
It became habit, second nature – he barely noticed it, after a certain point. When Steve was flushed or sweaty, when he began to whine, when he didn’t get out of bed in the morning, Bucky bent down and pressed his lips swiftly to Steve’s forehead, checking. Most of the time, he was right – Steve’s skin would be warm and damp and Bucky would herd him back into bed, tucking him in and fluffing the pillow and, if he had time, slipping in next to him and reading aloud until Steve fell asleep. Consciously or not, it happened less in public, but it was still a pretty regular occurrence, damn what their classmates (and later their neighbours) thought.
So, truly, it shouldn’t have surprised either of them. Not really. Bucky had come home early, worried about Steve – he’d left him bundled up in blankets that morning, but it’d been hours and God only knew what Steve had gotten up to since then – and as he leaned over, one knee on the edge of the bed, Steve tilted his head up at the last moment. Later, he wouldn’t honestly be able to say whether it was on purpose or not, but Bucky’s lips pressed gently to Steve’s and, after a moment’s pause (he pulled back the tiniest bit and squinted down at Steve,) pressed back less gently. Then even more less gently, because Steve made this damn little noise in the back of his throat and worked one hand down Bucky’s collar and yeah, they both should’ve seen this coming. Steve’s lips were warm and dry (like his forehead, because he for once wasn’t actually sick,) and Bucky’s were cool and dry (it was fucking cold outside,) and it wasn’t quite sweet and gentle, but it wasn’t quite hard and demanding. It was somewhere in between everything either of them had ever known, and because of that (or not, it’s hard to tell,) it was perfect.