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It was the little things. Life’s small pleasures. Well, it was the big things, too – like fighting off a Chitauri army and an Asgardian god – those were also good things, great things, but they only happened once in a while. One had to be able to find pleasure in the small things, too, and this one had fallen right into Tony’s lap.
Tony cackled under his breath, making his way downstairs. He walked into the communal lounge with a spring in his step and a smug glint in his eyes. Clint, sprawled on the right side of the couch, one leg hanging off it, looked bored.
“Oh good, you’re here,” Tony said cheerily, rubbing his hands together. “Popcorn ready?”
Clint gestured at the coffee table; it was barely visible under the assortment of bowls filled to the brim with popcorn, chips, Doritos, Cheetos, and a plate filled with cookies.
“Excellent,” Tony said.
He turned on the large television and perched on the back of the armchair, feet on the seat, fiddling with the remote control.
“You don’t look excited. Look more excited,” Tony tutted, searching for the right channel. “It’s phenomenal. I mean, I haven’t watched it, I was waiting to watch it with you, more fun that way, but I skimmed to check the quality, and it’s phenomenal.”
“Why don’t you let me be the judge of that,” Clint said, lazily tracing patterns on his knee.
Tony found what he was looking for. On the screen, sepia-tone soldiers marched in front of a tank with the main cast prominently displayed. He turned to Clint.
“Everyone’s out or busy, so we’re safe from prying, judgy eyes.”
Clint made a thumbs-up gesture.
“Okay, listen, details,” Tony said, nearly bursting with excitement. “So, it’s like this: these guys, I call them geniuses, heroes, lords and saviors, they made a movie for what we’ve all been thinking – Cap and his assassin buddy doing the do.”
Clint snorted.
“Obviously they couldn’t out and out do it, there’re copyrights and lawyers and whatnot, so they called it a parody,” Tony said.
“A porn parody,” Clint stressed.
“An adult erotic film parody,” Tony corrected. “They changed the names and the blatantly obvious similarities, but kept the core of it. The war buddies, the super strength. No serum though, just regular ol’ super strength.”
“What’re the names?” Clint said, his eyes flicking to the screen.
“Stephen and Jim.”
Clint laughed. “Real subtle.”
“Best part?” Tony said gleefully. “From certain angles, when the light hits just right – and it usually does – they actually look a lot like dear ol’ American Freedom and Father Russia.”
“Okay,” Clint said, straightening up a little. “I’m interested.”
“But keep it on the down low,” Tony cautioned. “Especially from Barnes. Cap I can handle, but Barnes is an unknown element. I know we haven’t had any unhappy little accidents for four months, but he barely looks me in the eye unless it’s during training, and he’s usually kicking my ass then. It’s very unsettling.”
“To be fair, when you address him, it’s usually just to insult him,” Clint said. “Cut the guy some slack.”
Clint liked Bucky. They had a sort of mutual understanding going on; or maybe it was just Clint seeing a kindred spirit in someone else who’d been brain-blendered recently. Either way: Clint liked him.
“Yeah, well, I’m pretty sure if I went up to him and said, ‘Hey, James, you know your best buddy Steve? We’re all very much certain you’re in love with him, and vice versa; we’ve been dropping hints at Steve – we’ve even got a betting pool going on. Care to comment?’ – what d’you think, how many hospital days would that earn me?”
“You misjudge him,” Clint said with a grin. “He’s actually pretty okay.”
“When did you become a Barnes expert?” Tony asked, pouting.
“Ever since I started talking to the guy,” Clint said.
Tony huffed dismissively.
“You’re avoiding him,” Clint pointed out.
“Yeah, well, he’s broody and sour and he killed my parents,” Tony said with a hint of irritation. “And I backed down and showed generosity and magnanimity and I agreed to Steve bringing him here and us helping him out – I did all that, out of the goodness of my warm heart of gold. I don’t have to like him too. So cut me some slack, why don’t you, Katniss.”
Clint grinned. “Okay, all right. Let’s watch the movie.”
“That’s the attitude I like,” Tony said.
He turned to the screen, his finger hovering over the ‘play’ button, and he would have pressed it, but before he could, a voice that sounded suspiciously like that of his conscience said, “For all that is good and holy–”
Tony sprang up at once, mouth agape in guilt. He was just about to start spouting excuses, but his brain caught up with the moment and stopped him from speaking.
Clint stared at the new arrivals, his eyes wide in alarm.
“Oh, look who’s here!” Steve exclaimed, never getting to elaborate on the particularities of all that was good and holy.
Bucky, trailing behind him, hands in pockets and a disgruntled look on his face, merely grumbled.
“Steve! Tasmanian Devil! Weren’t – weren’t you out, you guys? Shopping or…” Tony trailed off inquiringly, mustering all the cool nonchalance he could evoke.
“Yeah, I needed to get Sam a present,” Steve said, indicating the blue paper bag in his hand. “It didn’t take as long I thought. I found the perfect sweater.”
“It’s terrible,” Bucky said drily.
“It’s perfect,” Steve amended firmly.
“Why does Sam get a present?” Clint piped. “Do we all get presents?”
“It’s his birthday,” Steve said, setting the bag with the perfect/terrible sweater on the floor.
Bucky, meanwhile, was making a straight line for the coffee table. He grabbed a couple of Cheetos, devoured them in one bite, and flopped on the couch, avoiding physical contact with Clint.
Clint lowered his head, hiding a sympathetic grimace. While Bucky was mostly okay these days, in many ways he was still recovering. He tried to keep up appearances, but occasionally he would still relapse to a state of generalized paranoia. Point in case: while he was actively training himself to be more open to casual physical contact, he still had to ease into the touches; he preferred to see them coming, in the interest of avoiding any knee-jerk defensive reactions.
Unless it was Steve, of course. Clint suppressed a snigger. With Steve, it was a whole other thing; with Steve, Bucky was beyond at ease. It was like he could smell the guy – even when Steve would come at him from behind, Bucky could still tell it was him and accepted the contact with no tensing muscles, no jumpiness, no monkey business. Of course.
Clint respected all that, but Clint was Clint, and as Steve was explaining to Tony that Sam’s birthday was, in fact, the next day, Clint’s knee shifted and bumped into Bucky’s. Bucky flinched, trying to keep still. Clint pressed his knee against Bucky’s, a firm, steady weight to show him that he wasn’t a threat. It took a few seconds, but it worked: Bucky let out a breath, his shoulders sagging in relief.
“Okay?” Clint asked quietly.
“Okay,” Bucky breathed.
“Bro bump.” Clint extended his hand, fingers curled into a fist.
“Bro bump,” Bucky muttered automatically, lightly tapping his knuckles against Clint’s.
Clint nodded, satisfied. Bucky was the only one who obliged Clint’s fist bumps; Clint suspected it was because he didn’t know any better.
Steve and Tony, oblivious to the miniature victory unfolding on the couch, were still discussing Sam’s birthday.
“Well, of course you should have told me earlier, now there just isn’t enough time to put together a party extravaganza!”
“I don’t think Sam’d want-”
“But there’s still time for a party, even if it isn’t as spectacular as one would like,” Tony said, ignoring Steve. “Avengers party! Yay! Too bad Thor’s not here. Who else should we invite? Does Sam know anyone else in New York?”
“Sam knows plenty-”
But Steve was once again ignored.
“Me?” Bucky drawled.
“What, you need a special invite?” Tony asked, crossing his arms.
“I’m not an Avenger,” Bucky pointed out.
“Yeah, keep telling yourself that, buddy,” Clint said, patting his shoulder. The gesture came off as awkward rather than comforting due to their close proximity
Bucky huffed, sending strands of hair fluttering. He grabbed a handful of Cheetos and glowered at the floor.
“What should I get him, what does he need?” Tony asked, all guilt about the movie still waiting for them forgotten at the prospect of a party.
He turned to Bucky, who was slowly munching on his Cheetos.
“What did you get him?” he demanded.
Bucky slowly fixed his eyes on Tony. He chewed, taking all the time in the world.
“I got Sam a bird feeder,” he deadpanned. “You know. For when he’s hungry? ‘Cause he’s…” – he paused for dramatic effect – “the Falcon?”
Tony blinked. “What did Metallica just say?”
“I also got Romanoff a Spider Away spray,” Bucky added for good measure. “Repels spiders. Non-toxic. I’ll be spraying her next time we spar… I should’ve probably thought better of that one; she might gouge my eyes out.”
Tony stared at him, mouth hanging open, oblivious to Steve’s smirk and Clint’s look of admiration.
Finally, he said, irritated, “See, you can’t go around saying things like these, 'cause then, next thing you know I'll start liking you, and wouldn't that be a tragedy.” He paused, hands on his waist, assessing. He raised his chin. “What about Hawkeye?”
Bucky raised his eyebrows.
“He’s also a bird,” Tony said. “Bird-ish. Bird-related.”
“Nah, man. Me, he respects,” Clint said, stealing the last of Bucky’s Cheetos from Bucky’s hand and instantly losing any respect Bucky might have had for him.
Bucky glared. “A slingshot,” he growled. “Peter Pan’s. Well – the Lost Boys’, technically.”
Tony snorted.
“I’m saving it for his birthday.” Bucky turned to Clint. “When is your birthday?”
“Cap?” Tony asked, amused.
Bucky deliberated, tilting his head contemplatively. “Just check his underwear drawer,” he said eventually. “Star-spangly. ‘S cute.”
Steve shifted with a disgruntled groan. Clint laughed.
“And Tony?”
“No, no, no, don’t” – Tony waved his hands – “I want it to be a surprise.”
Bucky shrugged. Tony shook his head, lips twitching towards a smile that he refused to allow.
“Seriously? That’s what Barnes’s like under the Winter Soldier? That’s unacceptable.”
Steve glanced at the screen; his features relaxed. “You’re watching a movie?”
Tony and Clint sobered up considerably.
“Oh, World War II?” Steve asked brightly.
He carelessly flopped on to the couch next to Bucky, bumping him in every way possible. Predictably, Bucky didn’t even wince.
“You wouldn’t – you wouldn’t like it,” Tony tried.
“But it’s the War!” Steve said, grabbing some popcorn.
“’In the midst of WWII,’” he read from the screen, “’childhood friends Stephen and Jim turn into brothers in arms in a race against time and their own mortality. Back-alley boys turned into battalion leaders, they struggle for survival and end up finding salvation.’ Okay, yeah, that sounds pretty standard.”
“Nah,” Tony said stiffly, waving his hand. “You wouldn’t like it.”
“It’s probably, like, really unrealistic,” Clint tried to help.
“And it’s probably got violence. Yeah. Lots of violence,” Tony babbled awkwardly. “It’s – it’s bad for the kid” – he nodded towards Bucky.
Bucky gave him his patented death glare.
“Seriously?” Steve said.
“It’s rated, um, NC-17,” Clint tried.
“But that’s good, it probably means it’s more realistic,” Steve said, grabbing some more popcorn. “I like watching modern movies of those days – it’s amazing how much they get wrong.”
“I mean, we could watch something else,” Tony tried.
“Come on, Tony,” Steve said with a smile. “We can take it.”
Tony and Clint exchanged glances. Tony’s expression shifted to one that read, clearly, ‘challenge accepted’. Meanwhile, Clint blinked in surprised and began frantically shaking his head.
“Okay,” Tony said. Continuing to ignore Clint, he made himself comfortable in the armchair. “Don’t say we didn’t warn you. But then again, maybe you can steal some ideas.”
“You mean their tactics? Strategy?” Steve asked.
“Yeah, that’s exactly what he means,” Clint said quickly. “Tactics.”
“Shush now,” Tony said and pressed ‘play.’
“Steve,” Bucky said slowly after a few minutes, “this Stephen guy, he looks… a lot like you – the hair and build and all. And didn’t you have a coat like that…?”
“Yeah,” Steve affirmed reassuringly.
Bucky tended to be cautious with memories from his pre-Hydra days. He remembered most things, but he also dreamed a lot of dreams and read a lot of stories. Eventually, he’d become wary of what he thought were memories, unsure whether they were things he actually remembered, parts from his sleep, or stories that he’d pictured but didn’t really remember. Steve acted as his personal memoirs narrator, clearing up the fuzzy parts, linking them to a larger whole.
Clint exchanged lofty looks with Tony, reveling at Bucky’s naïve commentary.
“I was just thinking the same for Jim,” Steve admitted. “Look at that haircut and the blue coat, just like the one you used to have!”
“Well, you know,” Tony said conversationally, “many of the young movie-makers probably get tips from that Smithsonian exhibit on what the world looked like back then.”
“Right,” Steve said, placated.
“Right. Shush,” Tony said.
“He would always have my back,” onscreen Stephen was saying to his comrades as he watched Jim, a lone figure some yards away, sharpening his knife in concentration. “All the fights and scuffles I got into, he’d always be there. I was useless – too much spirit, not enough muscles.”
“Reminds me of someone I know,” Bucky mumbled under his breath.
Steve clucked his tongue disapprovingly.
“But he was there,” Stephen was saying, “and he made everything alright, like it was his job. And then one day, it all went to hell. They were too many. They came at me, he tried to protect me, and he went down. Jimmy. Hit his head pretty hard. Thought he was dead, thought I’d lost him” – he looked at Jimmy again – “And I said, that’s enough. I can’t keep putting him in danger. I thought, time for me to protect him for once.”
Clint felt Bucky squirming awkwardly beside him.
“So I trained and trained and trained. And look at me.” Stephen flexed his muscles. They were massive. “So, boys, hard work can get you anything you want. Or – nearly anything,” he amended sadly, gazing longingly at Jim.
Jim caught his eye and smiled a tight, lopsided smile.
Stephen sighed. “Jimmy!” he called. “Get your ass over here, we’re talking strategy!”
“Screw strategy, what’s for lunch, that’s what I wanna know,” said one of the soldiers.
“Pea soup,” Jim said, joining them.
Tony and Clint jumped at the synchronized exclamation of “Pea soup!” from their resident veterans.
“Remember when we used to-”
“Yes!” Bucky cried.
“And-”
“Disgusting! And when Morita-”
“God, don’t even!”
“Are they finishing each other sentences now?” Tony griped.
“I think they’re reading each other’s minds,” Clint said.
“We still have pea soup!” Tony pointed out, a little louder than necessary.
“Yeah, but I bet it tastes like actual food now,” Bucky said at the same time that Steve mumbled, “I haven’t had pea soup since the war.”
“Wait!” Steve said, his focus back on the movie. “They’re going to go to –”
“We went there too, yeah?” Bucky said.
“Yes, yes, we did,” Steve assured.
“Wasn’t that the time Dum Dum got pneumonia?” Bucky asked.
“He didn’t, Bucky,” Steve said gently. “You thought it was pneumonia, but it was just a bad cold.”
“Right,” Bucky nodded. “And we stayed with him during the night?”
“I – well.” Steve cleared his throat, aware of Tony’s and Clint’s eyes on him.
The soldiers in the movie were discussing strategy and gearing up for the battle.
“You insisted that someone did, ‘cause you thought he had pneumonia and you were scared because of – of…” He took a deep breath, his tone almost as monotone as if reciting facts – “of that one time you went down with pneumonia yourself and almost died.” He swallowed, his throat dry.
“When they captured us,” Bucky said.
“Yeah,” Steve said, his voice low. “You insisted, so I stayed with him because I wouldn’t get sick. He coughed all night long and I couldn’t get any sleep, and then at some point you came to check on us, because you’re a pain in the ass” – Bucky smiled at that, his eyes glued to the floor, his face soft at Steve’s reminiscences – “and you decided to keep me company, since I wasn’t getting any sleep.”
Bucky nodded. “Right,” he said quietly.
A brief silence followed, accompanied by the cries of battle coming from the screen.
“And then?” Tony asked suddenly.
Steve turned to him. “What?”
“Then what?” Tony asked, taken by the story.
“He – got okay,” Steve said awkwardly. “It was just a bad cold.” He turned to the screen. “That looks more like a brawl than a battle.”
“It’s low budget,” Tony snapped.
On the screen, the butt of a gun knocked Jim on the head. Jim fell down, unconscious. Stephen lunged at the enemies nearby; they retreated, trampling over Jim and other wounded comrades.
“Ouch,” Clint muttered.
There were screams and smoke and confusion, and when the dust settled, it was just Stephen and his five men that were still standing.
“What happened?!” Stephen yelled, hands on knees, panting heavily.
“They got them,” someone replied. “All of our wounded.”
Stephen snapped up his head. “Jimmy?”
The soldier nodded, pursing his lips solemnly.
“We’re getting them back,” Stephen said, steel in his eyes. “Now.”
Bucky tensed; both Steve and Clint felt so. Tony, who was gauging his reaction, also noticed.
It wasn’t a well-shot scene, as far as scenes went; it wasn’t even good dialogue, or good acting; it just happened to be highly relatable.
“Told you there was violence,” Tony said, not unkindly.
“Lots of people captured back then,” Bucky said stoically. “It was war.”
“I found you,” onscreen Stephen breathed as he saved a semi-conscious Jim.
“Oh goody,” Tony said.
Presumably, the other wounded soldiers were rescued as well. The movie-makers didn’t appear to care either way. The next scene followed Stephen as he entered Jim’s tent, a plate of food in his hands. Jim had either been waiting for him, or the director wasn’t very good at setting scenes.
“Brought you food,” Stephen said. “Goulash.”
“Goulash!” Steve and Bucky said in unison.
“With potatoes, too,” Stephen added.
“Potatoes!” Steve and Bucky breathed with admiration.
“Jesus!” Tony protested.
“They get excited about food, let them be,” Clint said, amused.
“I was so worried I’d lost you,” Stephen said to Jim.
They were clearly having a moment. Clint looked pointedly at Tony. This was probably when the ‘adult’ part of the movie would kick in.
“Look at that bed,” Steve said. “Just like the ones we had.”
“When we had any,” Bucky remarked.
“It’s so cold, ain’t it?” onscreen Jim said, and Stephen agreed.
Steve agreed as well. “It was cold, that’s true. All the time.”
“Here. Let me lie down with you. Less cold that way,” Stephen offered.
Another riveting moment for movie-watchers Steve and Bucky, as they both sat up with exclaims of “Yes! Exactly!” and “We used to do that too!”
“When he was small,” Bucky shared, leaning back on the couch.
“Yeah, when I was small,” Steve said. “I was always cold or running a fever, and Buck would come sleep with me to keep the cold away – he was hot.”
Tony’s head snapped up so fast that he pulled a muscle.
Steve noticed and faltered. “I mean – as a furnace. Hot as a furnace. Body heat.”
“Well, I mean,” Bucky said nonchalantly. “In general, too. I was a man’s man, ladies’ man, man about town. Apparently.”
“Man’s man?” Tony said keenly.
“As the saying goes,” Bucky said, oblivious to Tony’s meaning.
Steve, on the other hand, who’d heard one too many times the ‘Where’s your boyfriend?’ question, usually followed by tag questions of the ‘killing kittens, perchance?’ or ‘stomping on daisies?’ variety, did catch the hint. He glared and turned to the screen.
Which was a rather unfortunate move, as things had just started heating up there too.
“I thought I’d lost you forever,” Stephen was saying, his mouth close to Jim’s ear. “I thought of all of the things I never said or did and decided, it’s not worth it. Not worth not saying them; not worth not doing them.”
“That’s true, you do get to think these things a lot during the war,” Steve said.
Jim turned to look at Stephen. With no further preamble, Stephen engulfed him in a sloppy, saliva-filled kiss.
Bucky’s eyes opened ten times wider; Steve seemed to choke on air. Tony grinned. Clint tilted his head, his interest peaked.
“I always hoped you’d do that,” Jim breathed onscreen, and proceeded to pull Stephen into a lip-biting, tongue-battling make-out session.
The only sound in the room was the slurps of their saliva exchange.
Bucky made a strained sound. His face was suspiciously pale.
Steve’s face was suspiciously red.
Clint felt the meanest kind of revelry. He reached over, grabbed a bowl of Doritos and started obnoxiously gobbling them down. He offered some to Tony, too – that was how chipper he was.
Then the clothes started coming off. Stephen was frantic in his movements, while Jim mostly giggled in flirtatious delight.
“Pants off, pants off, pants off,” Clint chanted under his breath. “Aaand they’re off.”
“Wow,” Tony remarked gleefully. “That Stephen sure is a formidable fellow.”
Jim moaned in pleasure. Stephen bit his ear, making him gasp.
“Aw, that’s cute,” Clint said.
For the next several minutes, the only sounds in the room were of licking, panting, grunting and moaning.
Stephen, sweaty and exhausted and red, collapsed onto Jim’s chest.
“Well, that was something,” he said.
“Better than I ever dreamed,” Jim said, caressing Stephen’s hair.
“You dreamed of this?” Stephen asked in awe.
Bucky made a weird sound; it appeared to be involuntary and suspiciously similar to a choking cat.
Steve cast him a worried glance.
“And all it took was a bunch of asshats taking me hostage,” Jim was saying with a smirk.
“We are dramatic, aren’t we,” Stephen said, pecking Jim’s chest.
“We should go to sleep,” Jim said softly. “We’re storming that infantry tomorrow. So you said.”
“So I said,” Stephen said, reluctant to leave Jim’s side.
“Stay,” Jim whispered.
Tony whistled.
“They are a match made in heaven,” he said, clapping his hands together. “Steve, Stephen’s face looks an awful lot like yours, the way he’s nuzzling on Jimmy buddy’s shoulder.”
Blissfully, the scene changed to next morning’s planning meeting; most importantly, everyone had their clothes on.
Jim laughed at a joke Stephen made.
“You know, I could swear,” Clint said, gesturing with a Dorito in his hand, “that I’ve seen Bucky scrunch his nose like that while laughing, once. He looked like a kitten, that’s why I noticed. It was endearing.”
“I don’t look like a kitten,” Bucky muttered darkly, his eyes not leaving the screen.
“Well, it was just this once,” Clint said, amused.
“It’s cute when Jimmy does it – I’d say you follow his example,” Tony offered. “It would certainly lower the threat levels you’re giving off.”
Steve chewed on his thumbnail, ready to change the subject. “Look at these rifles,” he said feebly. “Just like the ones we had.”
“Dorito?” Clint offered.
“Right. Be ready in one hour,” Stephen instructed his men; then he gave Jim a look.
“Oooh, I know that look,” Tony said eagerly.
“You’ve watched way too many movies like this, man,” Clint said.
“Why deny myself the small pleasures?” Tony replied, shrugging.
Stephen met Jim at his tent. He smiled a cheeky smile and with a flourish, he produced a small chocolate bar.
“Oh,” Steve said. “We were, um, we were excited as well when – when we had chocolate. Remember that?”
Bucky made a muffled sound, bristling.
“Buck?”
“Nuh uh.”
Stephen fed the chocolate to Jimmy, who held the bar between his teeth, inviting Stephen to take a bite.
“Did you do that too?” Tony asked casually.
“This battle gear looks exceptionally functional,” Steve said hurriedly, which was an unfortunate thing to say because that battle gear had just started coming off.
“For luck,” Jim said, biting Stephen’s bottom lip while unbuttoning his shirt.
“My gosh, they’re going at it like rabbits,” Tony said admiringly a few minutes later. “You’ve got a war to fight, people!” He turned to Steve. “Did you do this too? That’s how you won WWII for us? With luck?”
“But that’s – that’s probably smart, that – they – on the floor, because the beds were, uh…” Steve swallowed awkwardly. “Buck, remember how the beds would creak?” he asked in an attempt to distract Bucky, who was glued to the screen, wide-eyed and frozen still.
“Nuh uh!” Bucky said in panic.
“When we slept, when we’d change sides, they’d creak. When, uh. When we’d sleep on – on our own. On individual beds. Individually.”
“I thought you said you cozied up for warmth?” Tony reminded innocently.
On screen, Jim was shouting Stephen’s name; Stephen was covering his mouth, laughing, lest the other soldiers should hear them.
“Nuh uh,” Bucky muttered, frantic.
“You don’t remember that? You told us so ten minutes ago,” Tony said. “You about to forget you fought in WWII in the first place?”
Clint shot Tony a cheery look. This was mean, what they were doing; it was mean for Steve, who was stoic and composed in the first place, and it was doubly mean for Bucky, who was somewhat frayed at the edges.
But it was so, so damn amusing.
And maybe it’d help them see what everyone else had already noticed. So in that sense, they were doing a good thing, a noble thing.
“Well, my, Sergeant Jim,” Tony said to the screen. “That was an exceptionally successful move there. See how Stephen practically writhed? Wait – he is a sergeant, right?”
Bucky looked faint.
“What – what kind of movie are we watching, exactly?” Steve asked, voice thick, face flushed.
“I don’t know!” Tony said emphatically, throwing his hands in the air as if he, too, was surprised things had taken such a turn. “I just read the plots, buddy.”
The after-cuddling scene was particularly tender.
“Look at them polishing their guns,” Clint said. “And wow, wouldn’t that have been a euphemism three minutes ago. You did that, too? Polishing? Guns?” He nudged Bucky’s knee. “You remember?”
“Nuh uh,” Bucky said weakly.
“Nuh uh you didn’t, or nuh uh you don’t remember?”
“No, but look at this!” Tony exclaimed. “That angle – it looks exactly like Cap! How did they do that, how did they manage to find an actor–”
“It really does,” Clint said.
Steve refused to acknowledge that they were right.
Jim threw himself at Stephen, engaging him into a messy make-out session complete with fondling in all the right places.
“Remember –” Steve started, resting his hand on Bucky’s thigh.
He didn’t get to finish the sentence. Bucky jumped ten feet high at Steve’s touch. He swallowed, looking uncomfortable.
“Um. ’Scuse me,” he muttered with uncharacteristic politeness.
He got up from the couch and made a run for it.
“Buck!” Steve called, alarmed.
Sam, newly returned from errands, strolled in.
“What’s up?” he asked, taking his ear buds off. “I just saw a frantic ex-assassin fleeing-”
He took in the scene unfolding on the screen.
“Okay,” he said calmly.
He put his ear buds back in, made a turn, and walked out.
“Wait- Sam! Sam, it’s not me! Sam!” Steve called ineffectually.
“So you do see that Stephen resembles you,” Tony said. “Do you see the resemblance between Jimmy and your boyfriend too?”
“T– shut up,” Steve said, annoyed. He brushed a hand through his hair. “What the hell happened?”
“Well,” Tony said calmly, “Barnes obviously didn’t like the movie – maybe he disagreed with the nitty gritty of the way soldiering life was portrayed – what’s your take on that, Captain? You were a soldier as much as he was –”
“Maybe he didn’t like the romance,” Clint said, testing the waters to see if he could bait Steve into that kind of conversation.
Surprisingly, Steve was baited.“No – what? Why?” he asked awkwardly.
“Because it’s two men? Circa 1940s?” Tony said drily.
“No, Bucky wasn’t like that,” Steve said, running a hand through his hair. “I mean, yes, it was dangerous for men to be together back then, obviously, but Bucky didn’t – Bucky’s the live and let live type. And we’ve told him – we’ve had the talk.”
Tony’s eyebrows shot into his hair.
“The sex talk?” Clint asked, his grin too wide for comfort.
“No – come on, stop,” Steve said, movie forgotten. “Sam and I were discussing and it just came up.”
“The sex talk,” Clint affirmed.
“How did that go?” Tony asked.
Steve shook his head, shrugging. “He was fine with it – what are you asking, I don’t…”
“Did he find it particularly appealing, maybe?” Tony asked.
Steve clucked his tongue, annoyed. “Oh come on, Tony, not that again.”
“I’m just saying, it’s high time your boyfriend realized he’s your boyfriend–”
“He asked Sam if he’d ever been with a guy, then he asked if I’d ever been with a guy-”
“To which you replied…?” Tony prompted.
“That there hasn’t been a guy that’s made me feel that way, so far,” Steve said slowly.
“Okay, so, there hasn’t been another guy that’s made you feel that way, that’s great,” Tony said. “My, you’re awfully monogamous. Anyway, and the Terminator replied that…?”
Steve thought back to that conversation. “Nothing, I don’t think,” he said. “He just looked like he was considering it – look, I don’t know what he’s into these days, he doesn’t talk to me about these things. I just know that back in the day, he dated a lot of dames.”
“Goes both ways, then,” Tony said.
Steve huffed impatiently.
“Look, I’m just saying,” Tony said earnestly, leaning forward, “that if you’re up for it, he’s definitely up for it.”
“Tony, he’s – it’s not like that-”
“He liked what he saw,” Tony retorted. “He basically saw himself and you, onscreen, doing the mystery dance, and he liked it.”
“He didn’t look like he liked it,” Steve replied, spirits dampened.
“It clearly had an effect on him,” Tony remarked.
“I think you have a really skewed way to interpret people’s discomfort.”
“I’m telling you, bud,” Tony said, “that guy’s going to be bringing goulash to your bed sooner than you think.”
~
Steve nervously walked into the apartment he now shared with Bucky. It was quiet. He walked further inside, listening for sounds of his roommate.
The bathroom door slammed open and out came Bucky, freshly showered, face flustered, long hair wet, his t-shirt damp in patches. He took a look at Steve. His face closed off and he walked past him, ignoring him.
“Buck,” Steve said, grabbing his metal arm. “Holy shit, you’re freezing.” He pulled back, startled.
The metal plates on Bucky’s left arm repositioned themselves with a slight buzz.
“That must’ve been one hell of a cold shower,” Steve remarked, bemused.
“Yeah, whatever,” Bucky mumbled.
He hurried to his room and banged the door shut, leaving behind a very confused Steve.
~
Tony was tinkering in his lab when Jarvis’ deep voice filled the room.
“Sir, you asked that I inform you every time Sergeant Barnes, and I quote, ‘does anything dangerous, violent, or out of character,’ even though we don’t actually know anything about his character.”
“Yep, J, what’s up?” Tony inquired.
“He kindly asked the cooks if they could make goulash with potatoes.”
Tony threw his head back and cackled.
“Please, tell Clint.”
~
Bucky hesitantly poked his head into Steve’s room.
“Steve?” he called quietly.
Steve looked up at him, balancing his sketchbook on his knees.
“Uh, there’s goulash in the kitchen, if you want,” Bucky said awkwardly.
Steve blinked slowly, unnerved.
Bucky deliberated for a second, then made his way to Steve’s bed. Steve pushed his sketchbook aside and focused on Bucky.
“Steve,” Bucky said, looking unsure. “Did we ever… Did… We didn’t…” He puffed his cheeks and scratched his chin awkwardly. “The movie.”
“No, Buck, no, we never, we” – Steve cleared his throat – “We never did that.”
Bucky nodded. “I figured. Because sometimes – I get confused.”
“Yeah, I know, can’t tell between memories and drea-” Steve stopped short. “You had a sex dream? With us?”
“There’s goulash in the kitchen,” Bucky repeated weakly.
Steve suspected he should be treating this as a code phrase.
“Did I – did I want to?” Bucky asked.
“I…” Steve sighed. “I don’t know, Buck, you never said.”
“Right.”
Bucky was breathing in quiet slow breaths and Steve found himself mimicking his rhythm.
But Bucky’s stare on Steve was intense and unwavering and oddly unsettling. Steve’s heart was racing; his skin felt flustered. He found himself unable to move.
Bucky opened his mouth, closed it; opened it again, fumbling for words he couldn’t find. Eventually he took a sudden, short breath, leaned forward in one fluid movement and gently brushed his lips over Steve’s.
Steve remained still. Bucky cast his eyes up at him, assessing, his face young and open and vulnerable.
And Steve lunged forward.
He tugged his hands in Bucky’s knotted hair, locked his lips on Bucky’s, and led them into a kiss that felt urgent, late, lingering there for as long as his breath would allow.
When he pulled away, Bucky looked decidedly dazed, his pupils dilated, his mouth still half open the way Steve had left it.
“Interesting,” Steve breathed, his hands still in Bucky’s hair.
“Good interesting or bad interesting?” Bucky asked in a low voice.
“Something missing just fell into place interesting,” Steve said. “Puzzle pieces sticking together interesting. The finishing touch that makes a drawing perfect interesting.”
“Okay, that’s good. Dramatic, but accurate,” Bucky said, nodding. “I was – I didn’t know if I should, but then I thought” – he took in a shaky breath – “what the hell, a misplaced attempt at romance surely won’t break what we have, if seventy years of brainwashing didn’t do the trick.”
“Not misplaced,” Steve corrected.
Bucky bit his lip, his eyes bright. “Should we be trying it, then, maybe? From now on?”
“Definitely. Yes.”
Bucky smiled a lopsided smile. He yanked his arms around Steve’s neck and pulled him in, his warm, soft lips gliding over Steve’s, his scruff scratching Steve’s chin. He grazed Steve’s bottom lip lightly, and Steve let out a surprised chuckle.
“Well, hell,” Bucky said, grinning onto Steve’s lips.
“Or,” Steve breathed, elated, “right the opposite.”