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Steve had always been a small fry, and his six older brothers would playfully tease him about his one fin that didn’t grow-in quite right, but it didn’t bother him. Not anymore, at least, since he’d met Bucky from the surface.
Johnny had dared him, was the thing, so technically it was his fault. Their mom, Sarah, always warned them about swimming too close to shore, too close to being seen by the land dwellers, and for the vast majority of Steve’s young life, he heeded those words with his whole heart. Steve was the baby, often getting picked on, and Johnny had challenged him with fetching an item from above water, anything at all, expecting Steve to bow out until he didn’t.
That was how Steve first met Bucky when they were young. He broke the surface of the water near a rocky beach, aiming to find a washed-up, shiny dinglehopper to bring back to Johnny, but ending up catching the attention of a lanky, brown-haired human boy who’d become his best friend.
Bucky was kind and had eyes as blue as stormy waters. He’d been as fascinated with Steve as Steve was with him, and despite the warnings, Steve felt… safe. Bucky was safe.
Suffice it to say, Steve was really proud when he returned to show Johnny the golden see-farther glass that Bucky had given him. Er—telescope, he was told. The look on his brother’s face was priceless.
It was easy for Steve to disappear from their undersea village every once in a while, to come see Bucky and learn more about the surface. After all, with seven boys, Sarah had a lot to keep track of: His oldest brother, Jack, was mated with little fry of his own. Nicholas helped the gatherer mers find food for their village. Ian trained with the undersea guard to protect the reef. Matty and Doug took after their mom the most, learning to care for and heal injuries, while Johnny milled around looking for some trouble. And Steve…
Steve was an artist who started falling in love with a human.
Steve would etch Bucky’s likeness into flat rocks, the sharpness of his steady gaze and the curve of his lips when he smiled. Bucky’s hair grew, too, dark locks reaching his shoulders, and Steve constantly wondered if it felt as soft as it looked. One day, he found out that it did.
Bucky’s lips were soft, too.
For a long time, Bucky was his secret. All his. Only his. He was possessive of him in ways he never was with anything else, because Bucky was the one thing that he didn’t have to fight his brothers over.
That was until Johnny decided to go to Steve and Bucky’s usual meeting place and pretended to be him. Despite not being twins, Steve and Johnny looked near identical save for the different hues of their eyes and tail. When Steve recognized the colors of his brother as he neared the surface, he started thinking the worst: This is it. Bucky will prefer him over me. Just like everyone else.
He caught the tail-end of Johnny’s words as he breached the waves. “—a long time. I’m glad you finally—”
“Johnny, leave him alone!” Steve hissed at his brother, swimming closer. He stole a glance at Bucky, who was sitting on a rock with his feet in the water. “Buck, he’s not—”
“You,” Bucky finished for him, grinning. He huffed a laugh. “I know.”
Steve gawked, speechless for a moment. “You… you knew he wasn’t me?”
Bucky rolled his eyes, explaining, “Your brother here tried playing it off, but I could tell he’s not my Stevie. Your eyes are brighter, and” —then he raised one foot out of the shallow water, wiggling it in the air— “no bum fin.”
Johnny smirked, raising his brows up at Steve. “I like your boy.” As he passed Steve, he placed a light hand on his arm, nodding once. “Ma will, too.” And then, he dove back into the ocean, leaving Steve and Bucky all alone.
The water lapped up above Steve’s shoulders when Bucky slid into the water. Steve automatically reached for him, pulling Bucky close as they floated together. “Hi,” Steve said in astonishment.
“Hey yourself,” Bucky replied, pressing his mouth to Steve’s. He smiled into the kiss, wrapping his arms around Steve’s neck.
When they pulled away, Steve rubbed his nose against Bucky’s, feeling bashful as he brought up, “So. Your Stevie, huh?”
“Mine,” he reiterated, leaning his forehead against Steve’s. “I found you first. Like hell am I letting you go.”