Work Text:
It was impulsive. Bucky doesn’t regret it, though. Never going to regret it. But the guilt is gnawing at his bones when he thinks about Steve seeing it for the first time.
He shifts on the couch, bandage pulling at skin and he can’t suppress the slight wince.
“Everything okay, Buck?”
It’s asked casually. No suspicion at all, but Bucky knows his time of secret-keeping is up. Sooner than he’d thought or like, but them’s the breaks. He had been working up the courage to tell Steve all evening now. Not…courage exactly, though thinking about Steve’s reaction does send a twinge of anxiety rushing through him, making his hand clammy. It’s just, he knows he made a mistake in not telling Steve beforehand. Not discussing it with him. But when he sat in the chair, going over the details with the artist one last time, the need to do this had pulled at him so strongly he’d thought he would choke if he didn’t do it.
His heart is beating double-time, jaw feeling hot and achy, fingertips tingling. It was rash and impulsive and he had only thought about himself at that moment. And--
“Bucky? What’s wrong?”
The gentle inquiry throws Bucky out of his thoughts and he looks up from his lap. Concern is written all over Steve’s face. He turns to Bucky on the couch, reaching out a hand to touch Bucky’s knee, and Bucky flinches back. Hurt flashes through blue eyes and Steve slowly takes his hand back.
Bucky wishes his body wouldn’t react like this, feels his heart constricting.
“I went to the studio today.”
His voice is toneless. Automatic. And no, no. He can’t fall back on that now.
Before Steve can say anything he tries again.
“I went to the studio today and got the tattoo.”
Still emotionless and damn it all to hell. This is not going like he imagined at all.
Steve opens and closes his mouth, confused and concerned, and Bucky stands up gracelessly, sharp motions pulling at the bandage like the punishment it is.
“Did…did they mess it up?”
Steve’s voice is carefully neutral. And Bucky feels ashamed. He only uses that tone when he doesn’t want to anger Bucky. When he had to learn from rejection after rejection of loving comfort that Bucky’s mind interpreted everything Steve did as overwhelming coddling or hurt, pain, trap. But it got better. They got better.
“I…I had something added…”
Steve’s brows furrow, hands twitching by his sides like he wants to look himself right this instant.
“Can I see?”
Bucky hates it so much that Steve had to learn to speak to him like that. He steels himself, roughly opening his jeans, pulling down the right side to uncover the clear bandage, just getting it done.
The script is beautiful, flowing down his hip like a stream in summer, unhurried and natural. Like it’s been a part of him all his life, just now being made visible, blooming on his skin. Content lightens the grip on his heart when he looks at it.
“Wha--?”
Property of S.G.R.
Steve sags into the cushions, speechless.
"What…Bucky, what…?“
The ink is still a stark black on his skin. With his accelerated healing he can take off the bandage in a couple of hours.
“I like it.“
Bucky juts his chin out. It’s his. And he’s proud of it, goddamnit. It’s not a mark or brand, it’s everything.
Steve sits forward, lets his head hang between his shoulders. He runs his hands through his hair, sighing. The soft damn under his breath pierces Bucky’s heart.
"But…Buck, it says property of…”
Steve stands up abruptly, forcing Bucky to step back a little. His body seems ready to start pacing but he visibly stops himself. He crosses his arms, loosens them, crossing them again.
“Ho--? Why?”
“Because I need that reminder. So I know I’m safe.”
Steve is struck speechless again for a moment, mouth hanging open a tiny bit, shoulders dropping down.
“Bucky, this is…I mean, we agreed about you getting my name tattooed and I’m...I’m so honored that you wanted that, but this is… Is it because I haven’t given you a collar?”
The helpless confusion cracks something in Bucky.
“Because we talked about that. We talked--”
And that is not exactly true. Bucky had tried to explain, had written down all the reasons why he wanted a collar from Steve. But the words had failed him then. Doubt had reared its head, made him unsure again. He wasn’t worthy of a collar from Steve, was he? What did he think? And Buck, I’m not sure that’s a good idea-- he had quietly, away from Steve’s eyes, thrown away the list. Had clung to the idea of a tattoo like a lifeline, thinking it would be the only thing he’d get.
That was then but now is now and anger and determination to settle this once and for all rave through Bucky like a storm.
He hurriedly zips up his jeans again, making himself feel less vulnerable.
“No, Steve, you talked about the collar and how you’re against it!”
Steve raises his eyebrows. He taps his fingers against his arm.
“I’m not against it. We just don’t know how you’d react to one! What kind of trigger--”
“Then let’s work up to it! You’re right, we don’t know how I will react. But you won’t just slap a collar on me and be done with it. We’ll make it as safe for me as possible. But I needed something until you’d get your head out of your ass!”
Steve huffs air through his nose like a stubborn mule. His temper is rising, Bucky can see it like storm clouds rolling over them both.
“Bucky, this is permanent. It’s on a whole fucking different level than a collar.”
“No one but you gets to see it.”
“You mean, no one but me and medical.“
Bucky rolls his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose.
"Please don’t try to be funny now.”
Steve lets out a short, agitated laugh. He runs a hand through his hair again, tugging at it.
“I’m sorry. Just…this just feels like your agency, that you worked so hard for, means nothing to me if--”
“Steve. You know better than that. We both know that this has nothing to do with my agency or your acknowledgement of it.”
Steve sighs, looking at the ceiling for a second before gesturing at Bucky’s hip.
“But property? That word? It’s, god, Bucky, it sounds so-- How can you...? After everything they did to you--”
“No! This isn’t about Hydra, Steve. This is about us.”
“I just don’t understand! This is the collar all over again! How can you want to be owned ag--”
Steve throws his hands up as his voice gets louder, tone getting sharper and Bucky has to put a stop to that thought right the fuck now.
“And this is what you don’t get, Steve! I wasn’t owned by them. It doesn’t matter what they try to tell you, what the files and the...the videos want you to believe! I wasn’t their property.”
Both of their chests are heaving. Bucky needs him to understand that he never associated owned with Hydra. The temptation was there, Bucky can’t deny that. To put that word, a word, on his situation that would sum up his past. But therapy and, later, the change in his and Steve’s relationship, the new elements added to it, had shot that temptation down for good. When they had read up on BDSM, on Dominant/submissive interplay, when he saw that word again and what it meant… Pure want had flooded him, a wish so strong he couldn’t breathe for a moment.
“You were their weapon!”
Something fast and hot riles up in him. His own voice gets louder and he didn’t want them ending up screaming at each other, but--
“Fuck you, Steve! I was their prisoner. For seventy years I was their prisoner. And I fought them. As hard as I could I’ve fought them because I wasn’t mindless even if I was trapped in my own goddamn head.”
Steve deflates at that, hand moving up in apology, but the move is aborted before it’s more than a turn of a wrist.
“Buck--”
“Just fucking get the difference already, Steve! They may have treated me like I was theirs but I wasn’t.”
Temper and righteousness and sadness and horror and-- There are too many emotions in Steve’s eyes and they all boil over. He starts pacing, gesturing wildly at Bucky and that word even if he can’t see it anymore.
“They had your body shipped from place to place like a piece of fucking equipment, Bucky! Like property. Tell me how that is not them owning you!”
“I never wanted to and you can’t own a person if they don’t want it, not fully. You can’t own their true self, their true mind, hell, their fucking soul. But I want that with you. I want to belong to you. I want to be yours. With everything I have.”
“But why? Why would you possibly want that?”
“Because I know my mind is safe with you.”
And that stops Steve in his tracks.
“Because you trusted me and trusted yourself with me even when I couldn’t trust myself. I love you. You’re my home. I feel safe when I’m with you. Do you know how much that truly means to me? You protect my mind and my heart. You have them in your hands and you...you cradle them like they’re the most important--”
His voice cracks and, Christ, he needs this idiot more than air in his lungs.
His eyes are burning and his body feels too small for the amount of love that threatens to break him sometimes. But always, always, holds him together, mends his wounds, soothes the carved out places in his mind that he fears he will never get back.
Steve is rooted to the spot, swallowing like it hurts, lips mouthing Bucky’s name. His eyes are glistening with tears of his own and Steve’s words gentle, soothing like his love.
“They are. Bucky, they are the most important things I have--”
And Bucky nods and grins in desperation, because on some level Steve does understand, is beginning to understand consciously, just needs the right words, the right definition.
"See? They are yours. Let me have something that stands for that. Please.“
Tears spill over Bucky’s eyelashes and Bucky presses the heel of his palm against them, roughly, hastily wiping them away.
It’s not like a light bulb. But a glimmer of understanding, finally, finally, and Steve hesitates, looking for the right word on his own.
"The word…is a symbol for you...?”
And the happiness is so near, brushing Bucky’s fingertips like a butterfly’s wings. Just a little bit more and Steve will understand and forgive him. Steve will forgive him. The hope is crushing his chest and it’s the most welcome pain. Bucky will make it right.
“Yes! A symbol. I-I’m sorry I dumped the tattoo on you like that. We should have talked about it first but, Steve, it’s… You can’t imagine how good it feels. Like...like something finally slotted into place and made it right again. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you, I really am. But I don’t regret doing it. Please, just…please, don’t be upset with me.”
Steve glances at his hip, breathing deliberately, and Bucky can see the butterfly drifting away.
“Let…let me think about…it all…”
“Steve?”
His legs feel wooden, clumsy, as he moves towards Steve, reaches out a hand, wanting to touch, wanting to feel warm, soft cotton under his fingers, wanting to feel home. Everything will be alright. It has to.
This wasn’t a mistake. It wasn’t. It wasn’t.
Steve takes a step back.
“I-I’m here. I love you. But...but I need to think.”
Bucky watches, body going numb, his racing heart just a distant reminder of the world around him, as Steve turns around and leaves.