Work Text:
podfic by ohhellofox
Listen:
(or click here if your browser doesn't support HTML 5)
Length: 36 minutes
Downloads: mp3 (5MB)
(right click to save-as)
fic by insane_falcon
Alright, Tony agreed. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees. If your movie gets Best Picture and you get Best Actor, I will establish an entertainment company and hand you full executive control on a silver platter.
Deal, Steve accepted and immediately his mind started racing with plans and goals and a future he got to shape with his own two hands. This deal changed everything. With Steve’s acting and the Maximoffs’ directing, it was going to be an easy win.
He didn’t notice the way Tony leaned back into the couch and smirked. He might have been a little more wary.
NOMAD: No matter how far you run, I will find you.
WOLF: And kill me?
[Nomad doesn’t answer.]
“Let’s get to the real reason we’re here today,” Loki, host of Good Morning Midgard, drawls as he reclines back in his chair, twirling a pen idly through his fingers. “What can you tell us about your upcoming film, End of the Line?”
Steve grins easily, instead of narrowing his eyes like he wants to. Talking to Loki is like balancing on a wire on a truck that’s driving over a gravel road, while fish try to nibble on your toes. His brother, Thor, is a lot easier to get along with. But right now he’s not Steve Rogers, he’s Steve Rogers, the number 1 top grossing actor in the world.
“It’s a dramatic story of two rival spies working for the same agency… until one is ordered to hunt the other down for betraying the agency,” Steve answers and his grin is a little more genuine when Loki huffs.
“That’s it?” Loki demands. “Everyone already knows that! Can’t you give us just a little more information?”
“Well…” Steve draws out uncertainly. He waits until Loki leans forward in obvious anticipation, before finishing cheerfully, “Nope!” In fact there are many more things he could reveal about the movie and all of them would violate his NDA. No thanks.
Loki gasps in delight. “That was evil! I’m so proud.” He dabs at an invisible tear with a pretend handkerchief. “But don’t worry, everyone, I have a little surprise for you!” His smile turns wicked. “And for you, Steve.”
Steve suppresses a sigh. Here we go.
“There has been a lot of speculation about who Steve’s co-lead will be,” Loki declares, facing the studio’s crowd instead of Steve. “Priyanka Chopra Jonas, Emily Blunt, Sue Storm—” Each name is met with cheers and whistles. “—and I will put that speculation to rest.”
It’s too shocking for Steve to fully control his expression as it slips into a frown. The Maximoffs were supposed to call him when they settled on his co-lead—he trusted their ability, their vision… but this was someone he’d have to let into his personal space. When you’re an actor, you already have very little of that.
Most of all, he can’t believe Coulson was letting this happen.
“Who is it?” Steve asking, forcing his lips back into a neutral smile when all he wanted to do was scream. “I’m curious how you got this information.” Before me.
Loki waves a flippant hand. “Darling, I’ve got friends in… high places.”
His emphasis on high is a lightning bolt of a terrifying premonition. It couldn’t be. Not him.
“Ladies, Gentlemen, and Mewling Quims, allow me to welcome to the stage… James Barnes!”
The world drops away from under Steve’s feet. It’s like he’s trapped in a nightmare. Their enmity is legendary in the industry—and somehow he’s Steve’s co-lead?
Steve is acutely aware of Loki’s eyes boring into him as James walks onto the stage, all wide grin and cheery waves to the sound of screaming fans. His nails dig into his palms in an effort to ground himself. Calm. He has to stay calm.
His heartbeat thunders in his ears.
James glances his way, and his lips quirk in the tiniest of smirks. Steve reaches his boiling point. Fuck the show, fuck the movie, fuck the bet—
The bet.
By the time James joins him on the couch, Steve has reorganized himself into a semblance of peace. For the bet.
“Well, Steve. Are you shocked?” Loki probes indelicately.
Acclaimed actor Steve Rogers smiles. “Of course! I wasn’t aware the Maximoffs had arrived at a decision.”
Loki’s lip curves in disappointment. “That’s it?”
“What else is there?” Steve asks innocently. “I’m looking forward to working alongside James and creating a great film together.” The lie only stings at his conscience a little bit. It’s for the greater good. The heat of James’ blatant stare makes the corner of Steve’s mouth twitch, but he stares forward at Loki resolutely.
“But, just the other week, didn’t your managers have drag you out of a restaurant before you started a fight when you accidentally ran into each other?” Loki’s eyes flit between the two of them as he presses into the issue.
“That was—” James starts and the sound of his voice is like nails on a chalkboard down Steve’s spine.
“A misunderstanding,” Steve interrupts. “And not my finest moment.” He lets himself wince. “But we talked it out like adults and it’s water under the bridge. We’re friends now.” God, he hopes that sounded more sincere to everyone than it sounded to him.
Loki stares at him.
“Steve, there’s no need to lie,” James says and finally Steve turns to look at him. His arm is on the couch behind Steve, drawing him uncomfortably close to Steve now that he’s paying attention. But he can’t slide away. That would undo all his hard work—if James didn’t ruin it first.
“What do you mean?” Steve asks through gritted teeth.
“You don’t need to dance around the truth,” James says with such wide, guileless eyes with pure evil lurking in their depths. “We’re not friends…” The audience gasps and a hot flash of panic washes over Steve.
“James—” he starts.
“We’re boyfriends,” James finishes.
His brain screeches to a halt. Boy… friends? Like… boyfriends? As in dating!? If he reached out and wrapped his hands around James’ throat, nobody could stop him. It would be so easy.
No. Murder is wrong.
Probably.
The impulse drains from Steve’s body. Fine. He has no idea what James is thinking. But if this is how he wants to play, then let’s fucking go.
“Aww, Ja—Bucky—you’ve let the cat out of the bag,” Steve declares and enjoys the way the blood drains out of James’—Bucky’s face. But this was only the first blood for both of them… and there were still another twenty minutes left of Good Morning Midgard.
[The camera starts rolling. A clapper marks run four.]
Steve: I will find you. [Impersonating Liam Neeson in Taken.]
James: [laughing] You’re such a punk.
Steve does not slam the door to his dressing room shut behind him—but it comes pretty close. He sinks down against it, burying his face in his hands. It’s barely past noon as Steve is ready to call it quits on the whole week. Go home and sleep. Pretend this had just been a nightmare.
He pinches the bridge of his nose and takes a deep breath. Once you start running, it gets harder and harder to stop.
It still takes him twenty minutes to drag himself through changing his outfit and into convincing himself to leave the room.
James—Bucky—James(?) is leaning against the wall across from him, in a tight white shirt and a one-sleeved black leather jacket. The sight makes Steve’s mouth run dry. Fuck. It really is unfair that such an asshole could also be so hot—and he hates himself even more for noticing.
Though he wants to storm up to Bucky—James, the studio’s crew is watching. He forces himself to breathe normally and approach James calmly.
“I’ll buy you lunch,” James speaks first. “I know a good Italian place.” Steve stares. Did James just… invite him out to lunch?
“So we can talk in private,” James adds with a pointed direction of his eyes towards the crew members that were not-so-subtly creeping closer.
Oh. Right. “Lead the way,” Steve says, which is a mistake because when James walks away from him, he catches his eyes drifting down to his ass.
Steve is such an idiot. There’s no way this was going to end well.
WOLF: I’m not a traitor.
[They continue fighting.]
NOMAD: I know.
Steve stares at the ceiling of his bedroom, back in his apartment. That… had gone well? He thinks. Both of them were still breathing and fully intact. Now they just had to get along, pretend to date for the next year while filming and promoting End of the Line.
If you’d asked him even just yesterday, he’d have never believed they’d be able to do it. But lunch had been… nice. Maybe it was possible.
The bet no longer seemed like a lost cause.
[Both agents lying on the ground, panting.]
WOLF: “You know?” You’re an asshole, Nomad.
NOMAD: Come closer. I want to punch you again.
“It’s alright,” Steve says through a mouthful of lasagna. “Not as good as Mama’s.”
“I would seriously consider committing murder just for a taste of her marinara,” James—Bucky groans through a bite of his seafood Alfredo.
It takes them a second to process each other’s words.
“You know Mama’s?” Steve exclaims.
“Hell, yeah! What kind of Brooklyner doesn’t?” Bucky scoffs. “Losing her was like losing a national treasure.”
Steve unexpectedly finds himself reminiscing about growing up in Brooklyn, but the easy conversation peters off as they run out of food to eat.
“I wanted to apologize,” Bucky says once the waiter leaves with their dessert order. “For our first meeting. I thought you… I just wasn’t expecting you—or anyone, really, not you specifically—to approach me genuinely.”
Steve nods. He knows what Bucky means. Some people see the fame first and the person second.
“I’m sorry too,” Steve offers up. “I shouldn’t have… overreacted.” He smiles tentatively. Is it really that easy to put it behind them?
“I guess I should be relieved that you didn’t head-butt me at least,” Bucky jokes.
Heat surges to Steve’s cheeks, even as he says resolutely, “And I’d do that again. Fuck Nazis.”
“Fuck Nazis,” Bucky agrees and smiles. It’s a gorgeous smile.
Fuck, Steve is so screwed.
WOLF: “You know?” [change in intonation - exiting character.] You’re an asshole, Steve.
Steve: At least I’m not a jerk like you, Bucky.
[James throws a chair leg at Steve.]
“Wait, you’ve never watched any of my movies?” Bucky gasps.
“You were my nemesis,” Steve protests and wants to bang his head on the table. He can’t; they’re in public.
Bucky, the jerk, laughs. “I’ve seen all of yours.” When Steve snorts doubtfully, Bucky adds, “Yep, even…”
“Wait, no.”
“Even My Little Soldier Boy!” Bucky crows triumphantly, loud enough that a few heads turned in their direction. Steve gives into the urge, and his forehead thumps hard against the table. Their silverware and plates rattle. He’s grateful that Phillips took a chance on him and the kick-start the movie had given his career, but it had also locked him into the macho soldier, war glorification role for six years until Peggy.
He doesn’t want to think about Peggy.
“Excuse me,” a young voice says. “Are you James Barnes?”
“Yes, I am,” Bucky replies cheerfully. “But keep it on the DL, alright? I’m on a date right now.”
Steve tilts his head, cracking open an eye, and finds a younger child staring directly at him with the widest eyes.
“Does that mean I can’t have an autograph for my mom?” The child frowns, a little bit disgusted. “She says you’re dreamy in A Winter Tale.”
“Well, since she thinks I’m dreamy…” Bucky says. He pulls out a sharpie and a note-card from his pocket and starts writing on it. Steve watches the way Bucky converses with the kid and it only hits him once the kid has run off with a smile, that he’s also smiling.
“Sorry about that,” Bucky replies. “Where were we?”
“All good,” Steve brushes off, swallowing down his heart which had made its way up to his throat for some reason. “We were just about to talk about which of your movies is your least favorite.”
NOMAD: You made my life worth living.
WOLF: Stop saying shit like that. You are not dying on me.
[Wolf presses his hands into Nomad’s stomach. Blood seeps through a bandage.]
“Steve!” Bucky says sharply and Steve’s head snaps up. “Are you alright?”
“Yes,” Steve replies, but it’s an automatic response. He’s so tired. He hadn’t gotten a lot of sleep.
Bucky frowns. “Alright.” It’s clear he doesn’t believe Steve, but he doesn’t push it. “Wanda’s calling for us. Pietro’s finished setting up.”
It’s the scene that establishes the agents’ history together… by showing them in bed together. Luckily for Steve, filming sex scenes is possibly one of the least sexiest things in reality. He stands, shedding his jacket. Coulson takes it from him with a murmur of encouragement. Each step over to the set is a shift in his frame in mind, no longer Steve but Nomad.
He only returns to Steve when Pietro yells “Cut!” but he can’t stop staring at Bucky. His mind replays the last few minutes, trying to absorb every detail. It’s finally hitting him, how incredible of an actor Bucky is. He’d known—he’d spent the whole night watching all of Bucky’s stuff, even the minor roles—but it’s different now, experiencing it.
Steve’s different.
“Seriously, punk, you coming down with something?” Bucky demands.
Steve swipes his hand away before it can reach his forehead. “I’m fine. Promise. Let’s go see what Wanda wants to film next.” He walks away quickly.
He’s not fine. His heartbeat throbs in his chest. Before he’d just been worried because Bucky was hot, but now?
Now Bucky is a threat to his heart.
NOMAD: You shouldn’t have gone after Wolf.
SENATOR STERN: Don’t get all righteous on me now, Nomad. It was unfortunate but necessary! He was in the way! He was—
[Nomad shoots Stern in the forehead. Then he tosses the gun aside, turns around and kneels, hands behind his head as security bursts into the room. Wolf is laying on the floor, staring at Nomad.]
“Welcome, Steve, James,” Erik Lehnsherr, co-host of The Tonight Show, greets them as they walk on-stage. He shakes each of their hands firmly.
“Welcome,” Charles Xavier, the other host, echoes. He rolls to a stop next to Erik and his handshake is just as firm.
“Thanks for having us,” Bucky replies. Steve nods; Fury had… advised… Steve to let Bucky do most of the talking tonight. They move over to the couches and after Charles hoists himself up and settles in, Erik moves his wheelchair off to the side before sitting down next to him. Steve sits on the opposite couch first and Bucky follows after him. Despite the size of the couch, Bucky’s close enough that his heat radiates onto Steve. He wants to shift closer. Or shift away. He’s not sure and he’s stuck staying still.
“Alright, let’s not waste time,” Erik starts. “This is the last night before End of the Line premieres. There’s been a lot of hype and excitement over it. What was your favorite part about filming?”
“Working with Bucky,” Steve immediately says. “He’s a phenomenal actor. A natural at falling into character and riffing off of whoever’s in the scene with him. It was fun to watch him add depth to Wolf and also to try and trip him up with little moments of impromptu acting.”
“I knew you weren’t just forgetting your lines, you little shit,” Bucky laughs. “Well, since you stole my answer, my second favorite part was working with Sam Wilson. He developed the fight choreography and the physicality of a role is always one of my favorite parts of acting, period. The way he had us move felt natural, fast-paced, and fun. I’d never worked with him before and it was probably the best experience of my life. Sorry, Natasha.”
“Should I be jealous?” Steve jokes wryly.
“Are you?” Bucky counters. He fixes Steve with an intense look that sends warning signals crawling over his skin.
“Not at all,” Steve lies. He’s not, really. Sam is happily engaged. And Bucky isn’t his. Not really.
Bucky frowns.
“And which was your favorite part to film?” Charles cuts in smoothly. Steve breaks eye contact first, turning to Charles with a tight smile.
“My favorite part was when Wolf burst through a window on a jetski, dragging a great white shark behind him,” he says earnestly.
“No, no,” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s obviously when you ripped off Weaving’s face and there was just another face but red underneath.”
“With no nose,” Steve adds solemnly. They remain serious for another half a second before they burst into laughter.
“I don’t think your trick worked, Charles,” Erik drawls.
“I think not,” Charles agrees. “Worth a shot though. One final question before we switch gears. What has it been like dating your costar?”
Steve freezes until Bucky’s hand on his knee thaws him.
“It was an adjustment,” Bucky replies calmly. “We’d never worked with each other before and we were—are—still pretty new at being together. There was a lot of uncertainty and figuring out boundaries. But it was also a lot of fun.” He angles a grin at Steve and Steve is helpless in the face of it.
Steve hopes his cheeks aren’t as red as they feel. “A lot of fun,” he echoes. “You know, I say every movie I make it my favorite, but I think I actually mean it this time. The Maximoffs are at the top of their game and working alongside Bucky—alongside such a phenomenal, gifted actor—I probably gave the greatest performance of my life.”
Erik raises an eyebrow. “End of the Line has received several nominations… Do you see an Oscars in your future?”
“I shouldn’t say it—bad luck and all—but…” Steve hesitates. Best picture. Best actor. It had been all he wanted. But he can’t help but feel that Bucky’s performance far outshone his. His feelings are a tangled knot in his stomach. Jealousy? Fear? It’s too much; Steve shoves them down. “But I hope so,” he finishes.
The show continues but the pit doesn’t leave his stomach for a long time.
NOMAD: You shouldn’t have gone after Wolf.
SENATOR STERN: Don’t get all righteous—[The gun goes off. Steve looks surprised. Silence.]
James: You know… misfiring isn’t uncommon in men your age—
[Steve turns and shoots at James. There’s scattered laughter in the background.]
Steve adjusts the cheese on the plate again. It still seems a little lopsided. His lips press into a frown as he shifts the prosciutto and grapes and re-adjusts the cheese.
No, it’s not the cheese.
It’s him.
This is a terrible way to avoid being alone with Bucky… given that he was literally in his living room, waiting for Steve.
“Hurry up! They’re walking onto the field!” Bucky calls out.
Now or never; he can’t miss the opening pitch.
Steve braces himself, grabs the charcuterie board, bowl of chips, and six-pack, and exits the safety of the kitchen. Bucky takes the chips and beer from him and helps arrange everything on the coffee table. Just as Steve sits down, wishing he’d bought a bigger couch, Ohtani throws the first pitch: a straight fastball strike.
“Nice,” Steve says.
Ok. He can do this.
This will be easy—oh god, their hands brushed while going for the chips. Steve hopes the ground will swallow him up, but at least Bucky seems focused on the game and doesn’t notice Steve’s crisis. A bubble of discontent burns in Steve’s chest. Does he want Bucky to notice? That’s ridiculous.
Absolutely ridiculous.
Steve doesn’t know what happens next. One moment, he’s yelling at the screen, as players slide to home base for the win on a grand-fucking-slam… and the next, his finger are tangled in Bucky’s hair and he’s being kissed within an inch of his life. His lungs scream with the desire for oxygen. It doesn’t matter.
Bucky’s metal thumb digs into his hip, his other digging into Steve’s cheek, until he gasps. Bucky swallows down the noise, as his tongue pushes past Steve’s lips.
When Steve’s back crashes against the couch, he manages to pull himself together. A little bit. “Wait,” he says.
Abruptly, Bucky’s warmth vanishes. Bucky vanishes.
Steve stares up at the ceiling, heart pounding in desire and mind riddled in confusion. The door to his apartment slams shut.
[The two agents are under the covers, illuminated in the soft hues of twilight.]
NOMAD: [Resting his forehead against Wolf’s back.] Sometimes… I wish we’d met as ordinary men.
WOLF: All we have is now, Nomad.
NOMAD: Call me ——
It’s dark, dreary, and on top of it all, not even raining. His phone is conspicuously free of notifications, all texts and calls from Bucky non-existent. Despite him checking every other minute.
Every other three seconds.
The most miserable night of his life deserves some rain.
How had he gone from despising the man to needing him to breathe?
He’d texted once. Everything ok? And Steve burns to ask again, to call, but the ball in is Bucky’s court. If Bucky cares about—him? Their pretend relationship?
God, why had the kiss freaked him out? Did Steve do something wrong? He should have noticed or stopped sooner. Or just gone with the flow and not said anything.
Steve buries his face in the pillow. He’s ruined everything.
His phone buzzes with an unknown caller ID. He doesn’t normally answer unknowns, but he picks it up anyway tonight.
“Hello?” he says.
There’s no answer. Just as he’s about to hit end call, Bucky’s voice comes trembling down the line. “I know I have no right to ask this… but could you come pick me up?” Something’s wrong. He sounds almost… in pain.
“Of course.” Steve doesn’t hesitate. He grabs his wallet and keys and heads for the door. “I’m on my way.”
WOLF: Why’d you do it, Nomad?
[Nomad doesn’t answer, just stares down at the interrogation table. He looks a little haggard.]
James: Tell me why. [Sung like I want it that way by the Backstreet Boys.]
The Oscars have finally arrived. Steve by all rights should be anxious about the bet. Instead, his eyes track Bucky as he gives interviews and poses for pictures. Despite himself, his hands clench into fists.
He knows the bruise on Bucky’s wrist had been from someone grabbing him. The one on his cheek, neatly disguised with makeup, from someone hitting him.
Bucky refused to tell him who had done it.
Maybe because he knew that Steve would probably kill whoever had touched him. Steve hopes Bucky knew that. Even if they weren’t really dating, they were still friends.
Weren’t they?
“Trouble in paradise?” a low voice asks. Steve starts, turning to see Rumlow, a B-list action movie villain, had sidled up next to him. The innocent question prickles along Steve’s skin.
“No,” Steve replies, somewhat shortly. He doesn’t know Rumlow, just that he’s under the same label as Bucky. Steve automatically smiles when cameras angle in his direction.
“If you need any tips for handling him, feel free to reach out,” Rumlow says. He waves to the crowd. “He needs a strong hand.” A buzzing noise fills Steve’s ears. It turns into a rushing roar. Just as he’s about to punch Rumlow, he sees Bucky storming their way. His lips are smiling; his eyes are not.
“Rumlow, a displeasure as always. Steve, let’s go.” Without waiting for an answer, his fingers tangle with Steve’s and pull him away.
Every single thought flies out of Steve’s head. It would almost be embarrassing if it weren’t for the way his heart soared.
Still, the uncomfortable pit in his stomach persists. He’s missing something. Steve can’t ask what it is while the Oscars are underway, but afterward, he’s going to press Bucky for answers.
The whole cast gathers on stage to accept the Best Picture Award. Steve musters up a genuine smile—he’s successfully made it through the first part of his bet with Tony.
It all comes down the Best Actor.
Shang-Chi and Katy, the comedic stars of Diaspora Days, the announcers of this year’s awards, start up their routine for the announcement of Best Actor. Steve’s hand tightens around Bucky’s. He’s half-surprised the metal doesn’t dent with the force. He wants this so bad; he wants to have his own label.
In the end, Katy declares the winner.
James Barnes.
The world falls away from Steve’s feet. But he’s pulling Bucky to his feet and pushing him out of the row to go accept his award.
His well-deserved award.
It’s a little disappointing. But more than that, Steve is proud and genuinely happy for Bucky. He doesn’t have to fake his smile, cheers, and claps.
“Thank you,” Bucky says into the mic, holding up his award. “Seriously, just… this is one of the best moments of my life. It wouldn’t have been possible without the Maximoffs’ direction, the tireless efforts of the crew, and of course, Steve. If I’m honest, I think he deserves this award more than me. And no, I’m not just saying that because we’re dating.” The crowd laughs. “And of course, where would I be without Hydra? My wonderful label. Who gave me so many opportunities and support.” Pictures flash across the screen behind Bucky and the whole room goes deathly silent.
Steve can feel the contents of his stomach threaten to rise.
In the midst of his horror, Bucky continues to speak, to describe indescribable things. Things that had happened to him and the countless other actors signed under Hydra.
It all makes sense now. All the little quips that hadn’t quite made sense. Worst of all, why Bucky had accused him of approaching him with ulterior motives.
Rumlow’s words make sense.
Someone brushes against Steve’s shoulder, jostling him. He goes to apologize automatically, when he recognizes the person. Rumlow.
He doesn’t think. He draws back his fist and slugs Rumlow right across the nose.
WOLF: Why’d you do it, Nomad?
[Nomad doesn’t answer, just stares down at the interrogation table. He looks a little haggard.]
WOLF: Why did you do it… Ronan?
Steve drags himself out of bed and runs some laps around the Reflecting Pool. His feet pound against the pavement like they could pound the thoughts right out of his head. It doesn’t work.
The only way he’s been able to see Bucky this past week is on the tv. His exposé and the resulting arrests were all anyone could talk about.
It left Steve in an uncomfortable spot between lonely and guilty.
His plans for an afternoon of wallowing are tossed out the window when he returns to his apartment and Bucky is leaning against the door in a familiar jacket. He looks considerably less of an asshole now.
“Steve,” he says, head snapping up at his approach. He looks tired.
“Bucky,” Steve says breathlessly. He can always blame it on his run.
“I wasn’t sure if you’d want to see me—”
Steve can’t stop himself. He throws his arms around Bucky, pulling him into a hug. “You’re such a jerk,” he mutters. He tries not to think too hard about how right it feels to have Bucky in his arms.
“Missed you too, punk,” Bucky admits with half a laugh. “I just wasn’t sure… I knew I had to expose Hydra and I thought I could use you, your popularity as a shield—”
“You don’t have to explain anything,” Steve interrupts. He finally drops the hug, even though he doesn’t really want to. “My motives weren’t exactly pure—Tony and I made a bet about the movie’s Oscars performance.”
“No, I want to explain. I want you to know.” Bucky pauses. “Bet?”
“Just—a silly little thing.” The back of Steve’s neck heats up. “If I won, he was going to fund an entertainment division in his company and give me control of it.”
“Yeah?” Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That would suit you.”
Steve waves a hand. “It doesn’t matter. I lost.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says. He starts to reach out, like he wants to take Steve’s hand, but stops short. Steve doesn’t know if he’s allowed to cross that gap himself. What Bucky went through…
“You know… I had a crush on you for the longest time,” Bucky admits. He stares directly at Steve, even as his cheeks turn red. “That’s why I spun that fake story about dating. So I could get a chance to be close with you. Ever since I fucked up our first meeting.”
“On me?” Steve asks. His mind is screaming Bucky’s words back to him on repeat. He’s still not sure they mean what he thinks they mean. Had the definition of crush changed in the past two seconds?
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Yes, on you, punk. I just never thought it’d get this far, that you would… end up meaning so much to me.”
“You mean a lot to me, too, Buck,” Steve says earnestly. He swallows a lump in his throat. “I’ve been lost these past few days without you. Since we, uh… kissed.”
“I didn’t mean to run out on you—”
“It’s fine—”
They both fall silent. Where do they go from here?
“What if it wasn’t fake? What if we make it real?” Steve asks, hoping against all hope. “You said used to…”
“It’s too late for a little crush,” Bucky says. “I’m pretty sure I’m already in love.”
Steve’s heart, which had fallen at Bucky’s first sentence, starts to thrum so fast. “Jerk,” he gasps out. “That was just mean.”
Bucky laughs. For the rest of his days, Steve wants to make Bucky laugh like that.
“I’m in love with you too,” the confession falls freely from his lips. It’s freeing, wonderful to say it aloud.
At the same time, they lean in.
RONAN: Because I thought I was making a difference.
WOLF: And now?
RONAN: It doesn’t mean anything without you, Caleb.
A phone call interrupts before their lips touch. It’s Tony.
Probably to gloat. Steve sighs, pulling back with a scowl. If he doesn’t answer, Tony will show up at his door, and right now, Steve just wants to be alone with Bucky.
“Tony, I’m in the middle of—“
“Now, now, you don’t need to lord it over me,” Tony interrupts. “I lost. You’re now in charge of SR Entertainment. Congrats.”
The dial tone echoes in Steve’s ear.
Bucky looks alarmed. “What happened?”
“I did it,” Steve says. “I don’t know what Tony’s thinking, but—he’s giving me my own entertainment label.” Even the words don’t sound real out of his mouth.
Bucky’s arms on his ground him to reality. “That’s amazing! That’s what you wanted!”
“I do want it,” Steve says. “And you.”
“You’ve already got me.” Bucky grins. It’s a shit-eating grin. “Til the end of the line.”
Steve groans, but he likes the sound of it. “Til the end of the line.”
There’s nothing stopping them now. Their lips fall together naturally.
The future is theirs.
CALEB: I agree.
[Ronan looks up as an explosion rocks the building.]
[Both men smile.]