Work Text:
Sam wins them tickets at a company event.
Steve tries to think of a valid excuse to say no to VIP tickets and backstage passes to meet Winter Soldier Program (“I have to—” “Steve, you basically do freelance. Work is not an excuse.” “Well, but—“
VIP, Steve. For free.”) and he can’t.
He hangs his head, says yes.
Sam shouts in victory, and Steve sighs.
___
Here’s the thing: Steve knows everything about Winter Soldier Program. He’s basically memorized the entire Wikipedia page on the band. He can recite Bucky Barnes’s entire life story in his sleep, and has a secret stash containing every magazine and interview Natasha Romanoff has appeared in. He can tell you the story of how Brock got the nickname ‘Crossbones’ in middle school. He can name every single song they’ve ever written, and some that were just demos. Steve knows his stuff.
Here’s the other thing: he’s got a bit of a secret.
(and it involves twinkling eyes and the curl of a lip. It involves calloused fingers and notes furtively passed back and forth during class.
It involves a boy that went and became famous when Steve wasn’t looking. A boy that writes beautiful words for the world to hear. A boy who once sung poems into Steve’s ear in the middle of the night and whom Steve offered the world, once.)
Here’s one last thing: you’d think a secret like that changes anything about how Steve feels. It doesn’t. Not at all.
___
Interviewer: So, Bucky. What is your favorite song to perform live?
Natasha : [raises her hand] Kid from Brooklyn!
Bucky: [laughs]: How do you know that?!
Crossbones: Seriously, you’re always trying to work it into sets even though it’s so hard to perform live!
Bucky: it’s got a lot of percussion, and we can’t always play it. Still, it means quite a lot to me.
I: Many people have wondered, what’s the meaning behind the song? Is it based on a real person or…?
B: Yes, actually. It’s about my neighbor. He was really small for his age and had all these chronic illnesses. Asthma and scoliosis and I don’t know what else. Instead of staying home and, like, picking up knitting or something, he would go outside and just start fighting all the bullies in a five-block radius. We’d always see him with like a bloody nose and a black eye, clutching his inhaler even as he tried to sass you, and he’d tell you not to worry about him, that he’s okay, even though he could barely walk. I thought he was an idiot—I mean we all did, secretly, but we never said it to his face [laughs]. But that image of this frail kid standing up over and over again way after he should’ve been knocked out unconscious, well. It stayed with me. It was one of the first songs I wrote.
—From “Winter Soldier Program Dazzles With their Third Album”, Billboard Magazine, 2015
___
Steve has to admit, the seats are great. He’s just close enough to the stage that he can see everything clearly, but he has space to breathe and a nice waitress who keeps bringing him soda. Next to him, Sam is already tipsy, keeps talking about Natasha every time she so much as looks up from her instrument, and bumps shoulders with Steve and forces him to get up every time Steve wants to sit.
“You don’t sit during a Winter Soldier Program concert, Steve,” Sam says, eyes wide, as if Steve had just committed a crime. “Brother, you just don’t sit down during a Winter Soldier Program concert!”
Bucky has just finished performing Miss Carter’s Agents, and is now taking a small break to drink water. He sets his water bottle down and picks up his acoustic guitar. Behind him, Natasha is setting down the base guitar so she can grab the most beautiful electric violin Steve has possibly seen, and Crossbones walks over to the piano. Some backup musicians walk into the stage and set up their own instruments.
“So. I begged and begged the guys here to let me play Kid from Brooklyn, and now everyone who set up this tour hates me.” The crowd screams even louder, vehemently denying that statement. Bucky smiles ruefully before continuing. “But. This city is where it all started for us, and it will always hold a special place for me. And you people, right now, help me remember why New York is so amazing in the first place” a pause while the audience cheers. “So. Um. If you know this song please sing along. If not just, make up your own lyrics, I don’t care. Just. Enjoy.”
And Steve sings along to every word, and his eyes never leave Bucky as he plays his guitar and seems to get lost in his own mind. Bucky’s hair falls into his face and his mouth is red and slick from so much singing and the eyeliner he had put on earlier is smearing a little. His shirt is sticking to his body. His nails are short and bitten.
Steve had never seen anyone as attractive as him, in that moment.
___
BuzzFeed @buzzfeed
19 reasons Bucky Barnes is your dream boyfriend http://bzfd.it/2bfYMgL
___
They’re backstage.
It’s just a small room where they’ve set up a few couches, some chairs, and a large table full of food. Steve and Sam settle for standing toward the corner, out of everyone else’s way. One of the workers had come in and is now giving them a small summary of what to expect, what’s allowed and what’s not.
Steve wants to be anywhere but here.
“Selfies and things like that are allowed,” the girl is saying, has probably said the same speech dozens of time by now, “but please just have common sense and—well, here they are. Hi guys! How was the concert?”
The small group collectively holds their breath as first Crossbones walks into the room, followed by Natasha. There’s only eight fans, counting Steve and Sam, but they seem to multiply magically before Steve’s eyes as they immediate gather around the band members, their praise blending into something unintelligible as they try to speak over each other. Natasha levels a glare at them and the group quickly stands back, giving her space to walk to the table where she proceeds to devour the fruit laid out. Crossbones makes it to one of the couches and starts talking with four of the fans. He looks exhausted, but his smiles seem genuine.
“Just talk to her, Sam,” Steve says. Sam has been standing very still staring at Natasha so hard he’s surprised she hasn’t burst into flames yet. “She’s a human being.”
“But she’s the hottest human being,” Sam replies, voice chocked and strange, but he moves his shoulders back and marches toward the table like a soldier going to war. Steve contents himself with watching Sam make an idiot out of himself.
The door opens again and Bucky walks in, laughing at something someone said behind him. Steve stares. He’s changed his shirt into a red pullover and his hair is tied into the messiest bun Steve has seen. He walks over to the other side of the table, says something to Natasha that has her rolling her eyes, and then he’s introducing himself to Sam, who looks like he’s staring at an unicorn but quickly composes himself as he says something to Bucky. Soon the three of them are staring at Steve.
Um.
Bucky Barnes smirks—actually smirks!—as he says one last thing to Natasha and makes his way over to him. His walk is easy, slow; relaxed, yet there’s something Steve has seen time and again on the staged photographs of the band, a darker, predatory thing just barely lurking underneath.
“Hi there,” Bucky says when he’s standing in front of him. His lips are slick and shiny and very red and there’s the slightest hint of stubble on his face and Steve’s mouth is suddenly very dry.
He can’t say anything. Bucky seamlessly fills the silence.
“You shouldn’t be here standing by yourself. You don’t like the food?”
Steve’s brain has clearly left him to fend to himself, because the only thing he can come up with is, “my best friend is flirting with Natasha. It seems rude to interrupt.”
Bucky snorts anyway. He looks over his shoulder. “He seems to be remarkably good, too. Most people would’ve been in tears by now, just by standing next her.”
“You seem to manage just fine.” Wow, Steve. Smooth.
Bucky’s smile is mischievous. “That’s because I’ve had years to grow immune to her.”
Silence.
“You were good, during the concert.”
“Thanks! Sorry, I missed your name?”
“Steve Grant Rogers. From Brooklyn.”
___
Fan: Hi guys, my name’s Lexi.
Bucky: Hi Lexi!
Fan #1: So I’ve been a fan of Winter Soldier Program from the beginning, and I noticed that First Avenger has a more raw sound than your other albums, almost like it was written in a rush—but in a good way! [the audience laughs as the fan blushes at her poor choice of words]. And I have to say, it’s probably my favorite album of an already great discography. Was that you guys experimenting with a new sound, or is there something more personal than that?
Crossbones: Well, that one’s for Barnes to answer.
Bucky: [smiles shyly] Yeah, I think this album was more mine than for Winter Soldier Program, per se, kinda like you can say Red Room was Natasha’s. In my case it was mostly songs that I had written back in middle and high school—you know, when you’re a hormonal teenager and you’re going through all of these changes and just, being a teen is hard. I got into a car accident that took long months of physio to recover from and I thought I’d never be able to play again, and that was a really scary thing. So I wrote songs about all that, then just sort of put them away until I randomly found the notebook and decided to revisit them.
Crossbones: More like wanted to set the whole notebook on fire. [Audience laughs] Alexander and I had to convince you there was actually potential in them
Bucky: I thought they were all teenage angst, when I read them again. Just, terrible writing—but I think going back to them and working on them again after all these years, when you have sort of grown as a person hopefully, helped me put all the experiences in context. Your first love, all that. It’s all very sacred, looking back on it, and it’s really what the album is about: your past, and what could have been, when you know what you know now, and moving on from that so you can face your future. I think the stripped down sound sort of reflects that, that urgency of putting it all down before you forget.
Fan #1: thank you
Fan #2: Hi, this is a question for Bucky. So, this titular first avenger. You speak incredibly fondly about them. Is it a real person?
[Someone in the audience wolf whistles and the audience starts cheering. Bucky hides his face in his hands]
Bucky: Yes
[Audience goes wild. Bucky moves on to the next question]
--Spotify Sessions, 2014
___
Bucky’s eyes open wide and he’s speechless for a long time. He opens and closes his lips, unable to shape words.
“Stevie? Steve Rogers?!”
Steve’s smile is a shy thing. “Yep.”
“How—my goodness! You—shit man, you’ve changed!” Bucky reaches forward, goes as far as touching Steve’s shoulders before drawing his hands back and placing them under his armpits. “Weren’t you like five foot nothing next time I saw you?”
“I had a rod screwed into my spine, so that added six inches. Then there was a growth spurt in college.”
“And you’re hitting the gym, I see. Damn. You could probably work as my bodyguard now. I remember when I used to be the one protecting you.”
Steve’s face must show something, because Bucky immediate averts his eyes. He seems to draw into himself. He licks his lips, makes a sort of waving motion with his hand, as if that could erase the words he’s just said.
“I know we—. Well. Um. There’s an after party, we’re actually staying the weekend here in New York. So. You think you’d want to. Um. Catch up for a while?” Bucky runs his hair through his bangs and looks at Steve under his eyelashes—and it’s such a Bucky thing to do, to make sure he still looks good even when he’s nervous, that Steve just shakes his head and smiles.
He’s never been able to say no to Bucky.
“Okay.”
Bucky’s smile could probably power New York City. Steve’s heart aches something beautiful for this man.
“Yeah. Wait. Give me your phone, I’ll text it to you.”
Steve’s lip curls up even as he takes his phone out of his pocket. “Why, Barnes, is that your smooth way of getting my number?”
And it’s probably the cheesiest line Steve’s ever used, and yet Bucky snorts, an undignified thing that makes his lips purse and the skin around his eyes wrinkle. Steve’s missed it. “It worked didn’t it?” Steve raises an eyebrow, and Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shut up, or I’m telling security to kick you out.”
“I didn’t say anything!”
“Unbelievable. Still a total ass after all these years.”
“Look who’s talking. I will let you know sir, I am a paying customer.”
“Punk!” Bucky’s smile turns warm, intimate. Steve’s heart skips a beat.
“Jerk,” and he sounds breathless and unsure and eager, all at once.
___
So I just downloaded Winter Soldier Program’s hidden track A Last Dance for Her and OH MY GOD YOU GUYS!!!! If you thought Ballerina Ballerina and 1945 were masterpieces then LET ME TELL YOU!! It’s different than WSP’s usual sound, but in a good way—reminds me of Kid from Brooklyn actually, but with a lot more synth goodness. Bucky’s voice sounds extremely haunting, like, it drops lower than I’ve heard it, and has the same raw quality to it that was present all throughout First Avenger. I swear to god, that man’s voice can make the floor rattle.
(and my panties spontaneously combust, but that’s neither here nor there)
But I think lyrically it’s where it shines. We all know Bucky is extremely talented when it comes to songwriting and storytelling. Like, really good. He can give Sia a run for her money (and y’all know how much I fucking love Sia’s songwriting so that’s HUGE) but this song. Maaan this song! Completely blows everything I’ve heard from WSP out of the water. It feels a lot more… personal than a lot of the things I’ve heard from WSP, except maybe some of the more emotional songs in Red Room. Like Bucky has given us access to his secret diary—and given the story behind First Avenger, he probably has.
Under the cut, really rambly, word vomit-y meta in which I break down the song line by line, try to place it into the narrative if the rest of the album, cry a lot, and put forth my theories on just who this mysterious person whom Bucky calls First Avenger is. (Warning: this is not a very happy thing. Bring tissues.)
-------READ MORE-------
___
“Wow, man—oh. Wow.”
Steve has to explain to Sam why he’s got Bucky Barnes’s number and a promise to stop by the hotel before midnight, and that hadn’t been pretty at all. Though the passage of years had managed to dull the heartache, relieving those old memories still hurt more than Steve would’ve thought. He wonders how Bucky can do that in his songs, open himself bare for all to see. He also understands now why he writes.
Telling someone—anyone—this story validates Steve’s past somehow, makes it all real.
“You know you can say no, right?” Sam takes a sip of his soda. They’re at some McDonald’s tucked into a corner five minutes away from the stadium, surrounded by large groups of what clearly looks like fellow concertgoers. Steve pokes at his French fries but doesn’t do much else. He’s got a wrinkle between his eyebrows that just won’t go away.
“I—I didn’t want to say no,” Steve confesses. “Bucky was in front of me, and we were talking—and suddenly I was that skinny sixteen year old kid that fell head over heels for him.”
I would do anything he asked of me, is what Steve doesn’t say.
Sam looks at Steve, then sets his cup down. “Is that why you were so reluctant to come to the concert in the first place?”
“Yes. I… in his songs, I recognized bits of pieces of—of us. I didn’t want to come, but more than anything I didn’t want to miss the chance to see him again.”
“Your life, man. What is your life,” Sam puts it succinctly.
Steve looks down at his hands, fingers playing with his receipt. He thinks idly of cold hospital beds and old guitars bought at forgotten pawn shops. He thinks of all the things they could’ve been, him and Bucky.
Then he thinks that thinking will get him nowhere, and crumples up the receipt.
___
Steve calls the number Bucky gave him when he’s outside the hotel.
“Hey,” Bucky sounds breathless when he answers the phone on the second ring. “Are you here yet?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, hold on. I got you on the guest list under a fake name” Bucky tells him the pseudonym they used. Steve splutters.
“Bucky, I’m not saying that!”
Bucky takes a whole minute to stop laughing. “See ya in a bit, Stevie!” he says, and hangs up.
Steve could kill him for this!
Ten minutes and one unimpressed clerk later, Steve is knocking on Bucky’s suite. Natasha Romanoff opens the door. The oversized jacket she wears engulfs her hands completely and her toes are poking out from her artlessly ripped jeans. Steve thinks of the word ‘cuddly’, which he would have never associated with her. Her mischievous smirk, though, is one he has seen plastered all over WSP’s promotional media, and one that secretly makes his stomach flutter a bit.
“Nice to meet you, Dick Zucker.”
Steve groans. Natasha laughs. “His ears blush! Look Bucky., his ears blush!”
Bucky’s face appears behind her. He pushes her aside and lets Steve in. “I apologize for her behavior. She was raised by feral wolves in the Russian wilderness and never quite learned to socialize with people.”
“Aw. Rude,” she says. “Wait, where’s your cute friend? You didn’t bring him along?”
“Sorry,” Steve shrugs. Well, then, now Sam’s the one who’s got some explaining to do.
“Seems like I have to do the dirty job myself. Goodnight, gentlemen,” she waves at Steve, grabs her converse shoes that had been thrown haphazardly by the door, and leaves the suite.
“She can do that?” Steve asks. “Won’t she be recognized?”
Bucky lifts a shoulder. “Out of the three of us, she’s the least likely to be recognized when out in public. Even when you’re looking at her, she does this thing where she just… disappears. It’d be freaky, if I wasn’t damn jealous of her.”
Steve nods. They stay silent. It’s awkward in the extreme.
“Did you… like the concert?” Bucky asks. He seems shy, dreading the answer but unable to keep himself from asking.
Steve nods. “Yeah.” A pause. “You never play Kid from Brooklyn.”
Bucky’s lip curls a little. “When I said the roadies hate me? Yeah. I meant it. Setting up the sound systems and the instruments for that song is a bitch, and then you have to take it all off right after.”
“Then why play it at all?”
Bucky smiles and huffs out a breath, as if Steve were being deliberately obtuse. He looks at Steve in the eye. “You have to know by now that song is about you, right?”
Steve doesn’t respond. The silence wraps around them like black silk.
“You didn’t want to see me at the hospital.” It comes out in a low murmur, an accusation.
Bucky’s eyes widen. “That’s a—that’s a lie, who told you that?!”
“I got a call—your mom, she said—”
“Stevie, and you actually believed her” Bucky runs his fingers through his hair, blows out a breath. “She wanted you out of my life. She lied to you.”
That hurts more than Steve wants to admit. “Oh,” is all he can say to that.
A gentle hand touches his shoulder. “You never came to the hospital. I thought you didn’t want to be seen with a cripple.” A bitter laugh. “I hated you for the longest time. Now I know I should have been blaming my mom this entire time.”
“Bucky—“
“I had been in the hospital for almost a month by then. I was going crazy. I wrote Train Goes through the Alps during that time. I actually wrote quite a few songs during that time, but Natasha scrapped them. She said they were too dark and personal, even for us.”
Bucky looks as if he’s going to say something else, but then he closes his mouth and grows quiet. Steve’s heart is hammering against his chest, but his head is clear, clearer than it’s been in a long, long time. Before him, he sees the Bucky he’s so familiar with: the one with perpetually gelled hair flopping over his eyes and an easy smile; the one who would stay home after school just to talk to their music teacher about his latest song, his latest guitar riff; and afterwards buy Steve cinnamon pretzels as an apology.
Steve loves Bucky, even now. Has loved Bucky all along, and it seems stupid to have pretended otherwise.
(Bucky Barnes is not the kind of man you just forget.)
“Bucky.”
“Hmmm?”
“If it’s fine with you, I am going to kiss you right now. Okay?”
Bucky’s eyes widen and his lips part. Steve can see his throat move as he swallows. His nod is tiny; Steve would’ve missed it if he hadn’t been looking for it.
“Okay.”
___
[….] As we are walking to the small apartment Bucky called home, we cross a small side street. It’s an nondescript road amongst many other roads, and one can be forgiven for walking past it without giving it a second thought. Bucky, however, stops on his tracks and turns to me.
“Here’s where the accident happened,” he tells me. “The other driver wasn’t even supposed to be here. Drunk driving.”
We all know the famous story. Bucky Barnes was in a car accident that severely injured his arm and left him trapped in a hospital for almost a month. Us WSP fans know this story as well as we know our own: Bucky’s pain has become our pain, and we all bear it, together. But as I look at him as he stares off into the distance, buried in his own thoughts, I start to think that maybe I have been too presumptuous; that maybe we will never understand Bucky’s pain, no matter how hard we try to pretend otherwise. We were not there during the physical therapy sessions. We were not there as he struggled to play the guitar that had become an extension of his body.
We were not there.
“He T-boned me. The door crushed my arm. I hit my head pretty hard. I remember looking down when I couldn’t move my arm and seeing my bone sticking out. It was surreal. The pain didn’t even register until later. All I could think was, ‘shit, how am I gonna play now?’”
But here he is, two albums later. We know how the story turned out.
“My brain started bleeding pretty badly, internally,” he continues. “I went into a coma. I was in that coma for a while, and when I woke up I didn’t remember my own name. I couldn’t remember anything until three days later. It felt years, to me. I was a whole new person.”
I have nothing to say. I am ashamed of myself, of believing myself a kindred spirit to this gorgeous man with the soulful blue eyes. I slowly reach out and touch his shoulder. “What happened afterwards?” I ask.
Bucky smiles. “Everything,” he replies. It makes no sense, and I know better now than to claim otherwise. […]
--From “Bucky Barnes: The Man behind the Words, Billboard Magazine, 2013.
___
They don’t have sex.
They don’t have sex even though they both very much want to, even though Steve’s dick is straining against his pants and Bucky keeps pressing his lips to his neck and nibbling at every patch of skin he can find. They don’t have sex even though Steve is rubbing his hips hard against Bucky’s thigh, and Bucky is sucking on his lower lip, because Bucky takes off his shirt and Steve stops and just stares at the scar on Bucky’s shoulder, raised and puckered; strange and familiar to him.
Steve has seen it in pictures, everyone has. It doesn’t make this any less sacred to him.
“Steve—” Bucky starts. Steve reaches out to touch it.
“I should’ve been there.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long time. Then: “It’s in the past, Stevie.”
“I should’ve been there,” it’s a whisper, an apology. He clears his throat. “The tattoo is amazing, though.”
And it is. The entirety of Bucky’s arm is covered on black ink, turning marred flesh into gleaming metal. It runs from the back of his shoulder and down, down to his wrist, the lines in the tattoo fading into the tendons of his hand.
“You think it’ll make my mom mad?” Bucky grins.
Steve can’t help but grin back. He leans forward and kisses that maddening mouth. “She’ll be furious.”
“Good. Serves her right for keeping you away from me.”
And Steve wants to be angry like Bucky is, but. Well. He’s a momma’s boy through and through.
“She thought she was doing the right thing, Buck. Can hardly blame her for that.”
Bucky looks at him.
“I was in a coma for ten days,” he starts calmly. As if he had rehearsed every word in his mind. Steve thinks he just might’ve. “I don’t remember anything for three days after that. When I finally remember I ask her where you are. She tells me you came over and told her you didn’t want anything to do with me.” Bucky swallows. Steve can see he’s trying to keep his emotions in check. “I am a wreck, Steve. I am sure I’m going to lose my arm and—she knew that I needed you. That I loved you. And she looks me in the eyes the entire time and says that. And you say she was doing the right thing. Fuck that, Steve. Fuck her. Fuck her for keeping you away from me when I needed you the most.”
Steve reaches forward and pulls Bucky to himself. Bucky wraps his arms around his shoulders and clings to him, breathing quick and erratic like a child who’s trying really hard not to cry. He kisses Bucky’s hair, peppers one kiss after the other.
He couldn’t be there, years ago. But he’s here now, and he’s not going anywhere.
They stay like this until Bucky pulls back, smiles, and drops a kiss as gentle as a butterfly’s wing on Steve’s lips. His eyes glisten with unshed tears. Steve takes his own shirt off and they lay down and talk about everything and nothing.
They kiss, and they touch, but they don’t have sex.
It’s better this way.
___
“So, do you still draw?” Bucky asks. He’s tracing patterns on Steve’s stomach.
“Yep. I work for a videogame company. Character design. It’s not as glamorous as a rockstar, but it pays the bills.”
Bucky snorts. “Is that you trying to guilt trip me?”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Please, become my sugar daddy. I’ll be a good girl.”
Bucky’s smile starts slow, then it builds and builds until he’s laughing so hard he curls into himself, face burying on Steve’s arm. He keeps laughing until he can’t breathe anymore, at which point he contents himself with giggling and nipping at Steve’s shoulder.
“You’re ridiculous, you know that?” Steve says, but it comes off as fond and he knows it.
Bucky had a retort ready on his lips, but he starts giggling again. Steve can’t help it, he starts laughing too.
He laughs until there are tears prickling at his eyes, and he’s not sure if he’s crying or not, or even why; and right now it doesn’t even matter, really.
“You should draw me,” Bucky says when he’s sobered up.
“Do you drop that line on every groupie that gets into bed with you, Barnes?”
And Bucky snorts and rolls his eyes, but doesn’t deny it. Steve can’t be bothered to feel anything more than mildly annoyed. “Oh, I see,” he says anyway, for the sake of argument and because getting Bucky riled up is hilarious.
“Just shut up and kiss me, will you?”
Steve smirks. “Are you always this bossy with your groupies too?”
Bucky growls and pounces on Steve. They kiss. Steve flips them over so he’s on top and pins Bucky’s hands above his head. Bucky winces as the movement pulls at his scars and Steve lets up with an apologetic look. Bucky just pulls him down to him with a smile.
They make out for hours, lazy and slow and sensual, like they had been wanting to for years.
___
Bucky Barnes @barnesbucky
ask us anything! We’ll he answering questions for the rest of the day. proof: pic.twitter.com/1afs8WEx5p #askWSP
Disco is not dead @discocisco
@barnesbucky I love your music!!! would you date a fan??? #askWSPBucky Barnes @barnesbucky
@discocisco never say never #askWSP
Yates @ohyates
@barnesbucky what is your favorite thing to write about?Bucky Barnes @barnesbucky
@ohyates love and loss, among others #askWSP
___
In the morning, Steve has to leave. He puts on his shirt and tries to arrange his hair into some semblance of order while Bucky watches from the bed. Bucky’s hair is a wild thing, and his lips are kiss-bitten. He has a hickey over his collarbone. He positively looks fucked out and Steve shouldn’t be as proud of that as he feels.
He clears his throat. “Am I. Am I gonna see you again?”
Bucky doesn’t look surprised by this question. “Do you want to?”
Steve bites back a sarcastic retort. “Yes. I want to—see you. But I’m not sure how this dating-a-famous-singer thing would even work.”
Bucky looks at Steve for a long moment. “We’ll figure it out.”
And that answers absolutely nothing. Steve sighs. “Buck. I need more than that.”
“I know I just—Steve, I don’t know what to tell you. Not yet.” Bucky chews on the skin of his thumb; a leftover habit from when they were teenagers and Bucky would stay up all night searching for that perfect phrase to complete his latest poem. Steve finds it oddly endearing.
He sits on the bed next to Bucky and takes his hand. Bucky’s smile is a small, but genuine, thing.
“Stay. I don’t leave until Tuesday.”
“I have to go to work, Buck.”
“I can be your sugar daddy. I’ll make it worth your time.” He wiggles his eyebrows.
Steve kisses him. “I’d make a terrible sugar baby.”
Bucky sighs, mock despair twisting his features. “Yes, I know.”
“Jerk.”
Bucky rubs his rose against Steve’s. “Punk.” He leans forward a little so their foreheads are together. “I’ll figure this out, I promise. We’ll do skype and texting and all that. Stevie—this can work.”
Steve nods and closes his eyes. “Okay.”
“I promise you. We’ll make it work.”
“Okay.”
They stay like that for a while. Then Steve gets up, and goes home to take a shower and get changed.
___
Steve goes to Bucky’s hotel room after work. Bucky kicks everyone out. They can’t keep their eyes off each other, and once everyone is gone they take off each other’s clothes, throw them wherever they may land.
Bucky sucks Steve off just outside the kitchenette. Afterwards, they find out Crossbones had been in the middle of cooking cupcakes, of all things.
For some reason they find the whole thing incredibly hilarious, and they laugh about it until well after dark.
___
(The cupcakes burn. Crossbones is furious at Bucky for the next three concerts until Bucky apologizes in Austin after a lovely, impromptu rendition of Baby Come Back. #crossbonescupcakes trends worldwide, after that. Crossbones gains a new legion of fans. Steve giggles like a little girl and can’t bring himself to explain to Sam why it’s so funny. Sam doesn’t really want to know, anyway.)
___
Bucky posts a picture on Instagram. The caption reads:
“’cause I’ll be with you, my Brooklyn Boy, until the end of the line.”
It is known, within the WSP fandom, as the event that caused the tumblr servers to go down in January of 2017.