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It's in bed that Bucky and Steve share their intimate moments. Alone and beyond prying eyes, they express their intimacy, whether subtle or passionate expression, they each have their own ways - to show the each how much they care, how much they adored the other.
As of now, Steve's head rests in Bucky's lap though not with the intention of sleep. He wants to be – to be within the space bubble that Bucky widely projects when around others. Lying there, he eyes wander the landscape of sculpted, tan muscle, noting every detail and archiving new ones he has carelessly missed. Eventually of his own curiosity, his attention focuses on that of Bucky's metal arm. He studies the peculiar interconnectivity where metal meets flesh. The streaks of silver tinted scarring reveal the history and trauma he had underwent.
Steve's own interest is mirrored by his partner, who too watches as Steve's dark lashes kiss his cheeks with every blink, and his once lazy eyes focus intently.
“'chu lookin' at?” Bucky mumbles, tired voice like gravel. He expects Steve to look to him, offer a small smile as he does, but Steve's attention remains fixed and Bucky follows his eye of sight. His once content disposition stirs uncomfortably when he realises the source of Steve's fixation.
“Just lookin',” Steve responds and though his mouth twitches slightly, it fails to calm Bucky's spiking anxiety.
He asks hesitantly but breaks before he can finish the sentence, “Doesn’t it…” But Steve hears the change, his ears acutely aware and focuses all attention on him.
“What?” Steve questions innocently and watches as Bucky's eyes flicker to his arm, and he notes as the hand clenches. So he prompts, “What about it?”
Bucky doesn't reply immediately, instead his attention flits about the room, anywhere but at Steve and the topic in question. Steve is patient, he always was; he doesn’t push but maintains his attention, watching the conflict upon Bucky’s face that he hides poorly, or perhaps he had no need to hide from Steve. He knows Bucky too well to not see the subtle characteristics that suggest his discomfort. The way his jaw clenches, the way his lips purse, the slight tilt of his face as he shields away – away from Steve.
It's enough to warrant Steve's concern so he sits up, the mattress shifting under the redistribution of weight, Bucky's form momentarily bobbing against the shift in gravity. He's poised before him inspecting Bucky's downcast eyes but he waits.
Bucky grips his arm then, flesh hand splaying over the red star that adorns his artificial bicep, his nails wedge into the grooves of metal.
“You don’t mind it?” The question quiet and Steve frowns at his meaning and Bucky continues, “I mean...it doesn’t disturb you?” And Steve can’t believe what he’s hearing.
“We’ve talked about this.” And they had. It had began when Steve finally realised Bucky's personal abhorrence for himself. Steve hadn’t noticed it at first, when he would clasp Bucky’s bionic shoulder in a friendly gesture, he hadn't noticed the subtle inclination of Bucky pulling away from the connection; he didn't notice when Bucky always sat or stood to his left and never his right; he hadn't noticed that Bucky never touched another, not even himself with that arm unless absolutely necessary. He was blinded, he hadn't noticed Bucky's resignation. But the day came when he noticed when he attempted to hold his hand, he never thought anything of, of differentiating between the two. It was Bucky's hand and he wanted to hold it, to have that connection and Bucky, as if touched by electricity, jerked free of the hold, and Steve began questioning.
Then Bucky had voiced his concern, mentioning everything HYDRA had forcefully programmed, his arm, himself; he talked of the atrocities he committed but not all, for Bucky was fearful that should Steve hear the whole truth would cause irreparable damage and Steve would be lost - wouldn’t want anything to do with him. But Steve, dearest Steve, after all this time and how themselves and the world changed, he would always surprise him - and that he did.
Steve, expression grave and serious, listened and when time came for him to speak, didn’t deny Bucky’s history, his actions as the Winter Soldier, but they were just that, he had been the Winter Soldier. Tortured, brainwashed and crafted. Even now, remnants of HYDRA still remained, but he was still Bucky, his Bucky. And while it would take time, he had promised that together they would undo what had been done to him.
“You said we would undo HYDRA’s work.”
“I did – we will,” Steve confirms but Bucky shakes his head.
“But this-” and the significance of the hold on his shoulder becomes more apparent, “-they did this to me, Steve.” And Steve is at a loss to Bucky's meaning, his furrowed brows expressing confusion. Bucky continues, “You've seen yourself...if I relapse-”
Steve cuts him off but his intended reassurance is instead hardened and desperate, “You won't.” He almost misses the deep and pained chuckle in response, so he reinforces again, “Barnes, you won't.”
“We on last name basis are we?”
“You won't see reason-”
“Neither will you.”
“You want me to believe this is about my safety? Cause I ain’t buying it.” And Bucky breaths a sigh at Steve’s response, his frustration evident. Jesus Christ the man was stubborn.
“I admit that it's never far from my mind, but it's not just that.”
“Then what?” Steve prompts but he knows, when Bucky's clenches his fist again, bouncing upon the bed in it’s release.
“I know what I've done, what I was...possibly still am. But this-” and he looks at his arm now, disdain reflected in his eyes. “It's a remainder of that, of my history and why I am the way that I am now. This cursed thing...it reinforces that. I’m a m o n s t e r.” The last part breaking as it’s voiced aloud.
Though Bucky can’t see it, Steve’s expression is pained at his words. “Buck,” he whispers. He’s caught in the moment, without direction or a solution to help his friend and the one considers most dear.
“Mood killer ain't it,” Bucky smile mirthlessly and at his casual disregard, anger white and hot swells within Steve.
“Look at me,” Steve asks but it only encourages Bucky to turn away, and he repeats with measured calm. “Look at me.”
“Steve, don't-”
“No!” And Bucky flinches at the command. He hadn't meant it like that. He hated his, that Bucky could hate himself. God damn! A sigh breaths hard and long, releasing all that had boiled before he continues. He reaches over to hold Bucky's cheek. It's warm and rough, the week old stubble prickling the underside of his hand. Once he had told Bucky he liked it like that.
“Hey,” he utters quietly. The seconds count every heartbeat as he waits and then Bucky turns to regard him, hair brushing his face which Steve, with tender fondness, folds behind his ear then to hold Bucky's cheek again. They stare at one another, each searching the eyes of the other, trying to understand.
“You’re starting down a road without end. You won't find peace there.”
“Do I deserve peace?” Bucky's voice broken and honest but he knows Steve's answer. Do I deserve you?
“You most of all.” And Bucky smiles at his answer, that half smile that pulls at his face that Steve's loves so much. Bucky can’t fathom why and how Steve can be so disregarding despite all he knew, and what he’d done. When his smile fades, they are still left with what was and Steve knows he hasn't convinced him yet.
He scooches closer and Bucky accompanies the rearrangement, their legs tangling awkwardly at first until they are position in-front of each other, legs either side. Steve studies Bucky, head tilting subtly as he examines the man before him and Bucky feel exposed under the scrutiny, eyes darting away shyly. Steve's hand caresses Buck's face, the act projecting more than mere fondness, and then it slides down his neck and to his shoulder until it rest upon the separation that marks man and machine. Bucky casts his eyes to the hand, frowning as he does and then to Steve, questioning his intentions but he finds Steve beholding him with unquestionable emotion and unwavering determination.
“It is apart of you and you of it,” Steve begins, his voice soft and drawing all attention from Bucky and he isn't sure if he wants to hear this – to be saved. “And I love all that you are, Barnes, and all that you'll ever be.”
How can he undone like this?! He can't begin to comprehend all that he's feeling, surging at Steve's words. Then he's squeezing away the image of Steve in his moment of declaration, the intensity spotting his blinded vision. He's gritting his teeth, feeling the increasing harsh pants break on his lips and his bear chest motioning with the stress. Then he feels it, startled, as something soft, small and warm replaces Steve's hand. Gods in heaven! It's his mouth, it's Steve's mouth Bucky realises. It marks his skin, traveling down the alignment of metal and skin leaving scorching brands in it’s journey. Then Steve's tongue, so hot and wet, flickers and massages between his lips. Fuuuck! His teeth graze and nip and it's so sinful Bucky's toes are curly at the sensation and warmth is building in the pit of his stomach.
“Steve...” his voice breaks and a hum answers in reply.
Steve tastes the metallic tang as he drags his tongue along the surgical line on Bucky's shoulder. It's countered by his skin, near tasteless, only a hint of salt. Then he presses more kisses, wanting each to be an eraser for every scar. He wants Bucky to see himself as he does, wants him to feel his love, to be consumed by it and realise that with or out his arm, should the world turn it's back on him again, he will always be there. Bucky leans forward to rest and hide his face against Steve's shoulder, shivers and silent sobbing coursing throughout his body.
Steve continues on, relentless in his mission. His hands map Bucky's torso and back, projecting calm into his caresses to sooth Bucky's turmoil. He can only feel as Bucky's hand, his other hand, grips his shirt, fist tight and without intention to let go. When at last he places the final kisses upon the naked skin of Bucky's shoulder, he mirrors Bucky's position, resting his head in the knock of his neck. They breathe together deep and steady, and while Steve notes Buck's quivering breaths, he knows he has since calmed. He pulls back slightly and at his movement, Bucky shifts to do the same.
He grips the area of his neck and jaw, perfectly structured to allow his hand to fit there – like it was designed for it. Bucky's hair is a dark veil obstructing his face and again, Steve secures the side nearest him, behind Bucky's ear. His eyes are closed and his breathing departing between his pink lips. Bucky feels the attention upon his skin, as Steve's eyes palpate him, so slowly he opens his and regards him.
Bucky feels so vulnerable, so exposed and he knows only one defense. “You have an uncanny way with words, Rogers,” his voice but a whisper yet Steve hears the hint of amusement that colours it. Steve knows, knows of Bucky’s vulnerability and how he hates and in addition to everything else. So he returns the quip with a warm smile, his blue eyes shining intently.
“I meant it,” he says. Seconds pass, dragging on with Steve’s word lingering in the open but small space between them - waiting to be reciprocated....
“And I love you for that.”
At Bucky’s own declaration, happiness and warmth burst within Steve’s chest, flooding him to the point of explosion. He inches closer, their noses brushing at proximity, and he waits (he would always wait) and Bucky doesn't keep him waiting long before he secures the remaining distance, locking their lips together.
He might not have succeeded tonight, he might never, but no matter the outcome, should Bucky never accept himself, he could rely on Steve to do so for him – ‘til the end of the line and beyond.