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-- [ 1937 ]
Crouched down and with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, Bucky flipped through the records in the box by the record player. There weren’t many, twelve at most and more than a couple of them scratched or close to broken, but he couldn’t afford more records and neither could Steve. Not that they really needed more, considering what they had was good and something they both liked listening to.
Finding the one he had been looking for, Bucky grinned, grabbed it, and stood back up, groaning quietly as his knee popped from having been crouched down for too long. He spun the record in his hands as he took a step to the left to stand in front of the record player and put the record on.
A moment later, smooth music filled the small apartment in Brooklyn that housed Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers.
Bucky smiled and turned up the volume a little, his hips already swaying along with it and his feet shuffling slightly against the floor. He still had his shoes on from when he had come home from work almost an hour ago, had been too lazy to take them off and hadn’t seen the need for it either way.
He spun around to face the couch where Steve was sitting, feet tugged under his own thighs, paper laid out on top of a book for a surface in his lap, a pen in his hand, and eyes firmly on what he was busy drawing.
Buildings was all Bucky had seen when he had gotten a quick glance at it on his way over to the record player. He wasn’t going to ask, since he knew Steve would show him when the drawing was done anyway.
Maybe not without a bit of begging first, sure, but he’d see the finished work. He always did.
“Stevie,” Bucky said as he continued to sway in place. “Come dance with me.”
Steve huffed a laugh, but he didn’t look up from his paper and his hand didn’t stop moving the pen across it. “Couldn’t find a dame to dance with you, Buck?”
“No dames around.” Bucky walked over to the couch. “And I’d rather dance with my best guy than any dame.”
He didn’t miss the sudden pinkness spreading across Steve’s cheeks, nor did he miss the smile on his lips, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile widely himself.
“Now c’mon, you punk,” he said and reached over to grab the book and paper from Steve’s lap. “Dance with me.”
Shaking his head lightly, his blond bangs swiping across his forehead, Steve sighed and put the pen down as well, before he finally looked up and at Bucky with those bright, blue eyes. “Fine, jerk,” he said, stretched his legs, and got up. “But if I step on your toes, that’s on you.”
“Of course, I take full responsibility for your two left feet,” Bucky said and reached out to grab Steve’s hand, guiding him from the couch to the open floor in the small living room and ignoring Steve’s offended look.
Now on the open floor, Bucky spun Steve once and then pulled him close to himself, never letting go of his hand. His other hand moved to Steve’s thin hip just as Steve’s landed on his shoulder. He smiled, noting the flush spreading on Steve’s sharp cheekbones but not commenting on it, and he started swaying along to the music still filling the otherwise silent apartment.
Steve moved with him. Or tried to. His eyes were locked down at their feet, and Bucky knew he was concentrating more on following Bucky’s movements than having fun. And Bucky wanted him to have fun, that was the point of this.
“Hey,” he said, making Steve glance up at him. “Just have fun, Stevie. You don’t gotta dance perfectly or nothing. It’s just me, pal.”
Steve looked at him for a moment, his feet having stopped moving but Bucky was still swaying. He looked at him, then smiled and nodded. “Good thing you’re wearing shoes then.”
Steve only stepped on Bucky’s feet three times. Bucky didn’t mind.
-- [ 2016 ]
The apartment was quiet, as was their lives for once. The quiet gave them a chance to catch up on everything they had missed over the past seventy-something years.
Steve’s list had gotten longer (now several pages in the notebook he kept nearby at all times) and Bucky had made one of his own.
The apartment was quiet, and Steve stood in front of the shelves holding his and Bucky’s record collection. They had tried having a modern day stereo, but it just wasn’t the same. They had also tried buying several vintage record players, but none of them really worked.
The record player on the table next to where Steve was standing had been a gift from Natasha and Sam. Steve suspected Tony had had a hand in it as well, because the record player looked too expensive for the other two alone, but he hadn’t said anything.
His eyes landed on one record and a soft smile slowly spread on his lips. Grabbing it, he put it on the player and turned the volume up as the song started playing.
A familiar song. A song that reminded him of an afternoon back in ‘37, when Bucky and him had danced around their small living room in Brooklyn.
“Bucky!” he called out, already swaying slightly in place.
A couple seconds passed, before there was a distracted “What?” coming from the kitchen area, and Steve didn’t hesitate to follow the sound, the soft smile firmly on his lips.
He found Bucky slumped over the kitchen island, feet tugged under the chair, metal hand holding the book he was reading (one of the Harry Potter ones, it had been Clint’s suggestion) open, flesh and blood hand absently touching a half empty glass of water.
“Bucky,” Steve repeated, catching Bucky’s eyes when he decided to glance over the book at him. “Dance with me, Buck.”
Slowly, Bucky lowered the book from in front of his face to the island. He was silent for a long moment, probably listening to the music playing from the living room, and then there was a soft smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “Like back in the day,” he murmured.
“Except I won’t step on your toes now,” Steve said, not commenting on the fact that Bucky remembered. If he did, Bucky could shut off again. He was still recovering after all, as was Steve. Recovering from all of it.
Bucky huffed, cocking a brow and giving him a look of disbelief. “The serum made you bigger, Stevie,” Steve’s smile widened at the nickname, “but it didn’t fix your two left feet.”
“Is that a yes to the dancing?” Steve held out a hand, the smile not faltering but only going softer.
And Bucky didn’t hesitate to reach out and slip his own hand into Steve’s. “It’s a yes to the dancing.”