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Steve finds Bucky in the bathroom. It’s by no means unusual, more-so that given Bucky’s attire (or lack of) prompts Steve to back-peddle, pause and appreciate the discovery. Within the privacy of the bathroom and before the large scale mirror, Bucky is shirtless, wearing only trackies that rest deliciously low, and his hair confined in a messy bun though uncooperative strands protest the confinement. He has since noticed Steve, pausing momentarily to address the reflection of the newcomer, watching as Steve leans against the door frame, crossing his arms.
“Enjoying the view?” Bucky’s eyebrow quirks.
“No complaints.” The controlled reply betraying nothing of how much Steve was, or so he thinks. Bucky is perceptive and knowing Steve like he does, studies the reflected form, searching for the truth beneath the reply and it’s so easily deceived by Steve’s posture; taunt and rigid from years of military service, the institutionalised characteristic now second nature, particularly when Steve is intentionally commanding control.
Bucky huffs, shaking his head, resigned to the fact that Steve doesn’t plan to leave. “Suit yourself.” And Steve offers no reply in return, remaining observant and his presence obscure. Bucky’s mouth twitches in amusement and he’s in no doubt Steve caught it. He decides to continue with task before the intrusion, grabbing the canister of shaving cream. He gives it a good shake, perhaps his actions too deliberate and too exaggerated, guided by means to entertain - to tease his guest. His bicep constricts and shoulders tighten, defining the muscle formation; the repetitive movement of his arm resembling a different activity.
His eyes remain fixated on the task and face neutral of expression, masking the sweet satisfaction his intentional baiting is assured to be subjected on it’s intended audience. With mastered stealth, his eyes flicker to the looming figure at the doorway and note the stressed muscle of clenched jaw and smouldering narrowed eyes. Success. He resists a smirk though difficult but he continues on, calculating that the contents of canister have been prepared more than enough. His lower face has since been prepped, having splashed hot water before the untimely interruption. The foam is deposited onto his open hand with a hiss and with a sufficient amount, the canister is returned to the bench top.
The second occupant of the bathroom remains silent and Bucky’s happy to leave it as is, counting on Steve to provide some addition to the situation other than mere spectating. He begins smothering the white foam across his jaw, covering all evidence of facial hair. While the stubble was only days old and barely dusting the area, he was prompted to maintain the growth; the act of shaving reminiscent of a different era.
Meticulously clean shaven with a white toothed, panty dropping grin.
Was it a desperate but futile effort to reclaim some semblance of that simpler time? He’s not sure, as much as he’s not quite sure who he is. He knows, however, that Bucky was gone; HYDRA saw to that. He wonders if by initiating and completing the once routine task, he sought to reclaim some figment of his former self, and thereby restore his sanity and for the closure of another. Steve. To be the man he had once known and shared a life with; before it was complicated by war and time. The significance of the thought stalls him mid-task, contemplating the elusive answer to the monumental question.
Bucky’s coming to again, finding himself lost in his own reflection, gaze faraway and unfocused, and uncertain how long he had faltered. It was becoming too regular an occurrence. For so long his identity was lost to him and never with the opportunity ponder who he was – only what was expected of him. His former identity, that Bucky, was assured to be stripped from him, each and every time; to be the one they feared, the Soldier without a name, only a title and a purpose.
He knows Steve worries and for that reason he doesn’t glance over to confirm if he had noticed. Of course he noticed. But he continues like it didn’t happen, breaking the moment with a blink and grabbing the razor. Gripping the item perhaps too firmly, it provided a center of balance and clarity, and he positions it ready.
Abrupt movement stalls Bucky and his attention is drawn behind him. He watches as Steve approaches, his stalk almost predatory and Bucky resists a shiver, feeling decades of sharpened instinct prickle at the base of his neck and down his back, screaming for immediate action in the preservation of his life. He resists, trying to calm his twitching nerves which would react instantaneously should he allow it. Steve now but a breath apart is close enough that their personal heat is exchanged, Bucky feeling is warm against his back. Bucky doesn’t speak, just gauges Steve and watches as his hand extends out to embrace his own. He can hear Steve’s steady breath so near his ear as Steve peers from his but slightly advantaged height from over his shoulder. Steve’s interest is made apparent and Bucky complies, surrendering the razor though confused. Bucky observes as it’s placed upon the bench surface, then reengages Steve’s reflection with silent question. He might’ve found the scene funny considering the shaving foam that masked his mouth and jaw if it weren’t for the bathroom light shadowing his eyes and emphasising the frown.
“Steve?” Bucky prompts and Steve is silent for a few prolonged seconds before replying.
“I was thinking…maybe you should consider leaving it,” Steve offers back, almost cautious in his approach. “Grow it some, if you want to that is.”
“You like it?” Bucky questions, eyes glinting perceptively. Although surprised by the suggestion, Bucky smiles at the endearing embarrassment that overcomes Steve for a second, colour flushing his face and the wavering command of voice, and Steve’s silent reply is Bucky’s answer. He can’t honestly say which he preferred himself, but if that’s what Steve wanted, what Steve liked…
“Alright.” Shrugging casually and with that confirmation, Bucky grabs a cloth, soaking it through with hot water and then wringing it dry. Yet before he can initiate the act of removing the applied substance, Steve intercepts the action. Again, Steve procures the item from his hand and Bucky can only watch, baffled as Steve proceeds to remove the foam from his face.
Standing offside, Steve conducts the task with gentle attention, the cloth grazing across Bucky’s coarse skin, rasping with every stroke. Bucky is somewhat bewildered by the change in circumstance; with Steve warm against his side and Steve’s undivided attention on his person, it was strangely intimate. Even now, Steve was always taking care of him and honest to God, he doesn’t mind – not in the slightest. Bucky perceives their forms in the mirror, watching Steve and he notes how Steve’s eyes flicker now and then to confirm his progress and to gauge him, he assumes. Steve rinses the cloth, swaps hands and tentatively tilts Bucky’s jaw, beckoning him to turn his head towards Steve to allow him to begin on the the other side, all the while remaining from the disadvantage position at Bucky’s side.
The task is soon complete and the cloth discarded. The shadowing of days old stubble evident on Bucky’s face again and as before, Steve regards him intently, the driving emotion behind the look a mystery to Bucky who returns the look with subtle bafflement. Steve’s attention is redirected, rearranging himself to stand behind Bucky. Steve’s hand are soon hot and wanting upon their placement on Bucky’s hips, his blunt fingertips indenting the flesh with their hold. All the while, Steve leans his mouth atop the crest of Bucky’s shoulder; it’s not quite a kiss, more-so his lips ghosting across the surface. A hand is then displaced to brush the stray locks of hair from Bucky’s neck, and Steve lips travel to the dip that unites neck and shoulder, and Bucky unconsciously tilts his head away, eyes fluttering shut.
All concept of time, the brief reemergence of his ghosts and the world around them is nonexistent; only Steve and only Bucky - the moment surreal. Eventually, he peers through his lashes, made heavy by Steve’s conduct, feeling the hot flush prickle across his body. Steve regards him, eyes swimming with intensity and Bucky holds the stare.
“Perfect.” The word breaths against Bucky’s skin and with a blink, his control shatters, revealing the unsuspected significance of it’s meaning and how much his being craved it. That even as I am, I’m good enough? And Steve reinforces his declaration, encompassing Bucky in his warm embrace and erasing all doubt.