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Steve Rogers had always been scrawny and asthmatic, and while he knew he’d never be the six foot two muscle hustling Adonis he occasionally fantasized about, he decided it might be a good idea to start working out a little. For his health. Definitely not so that he would be slightly more competent in the back-alley brawls he so often ended up in. Somehow . Yes, working out definitely had nothing to do with that.
Steve made himself a schedule. Every day after work, he went to the gym that was closest to his apartment and worked out for an hour. He did twenty minutes of walking on a treadmill - he wanted to run, but he knew his lungs wouldn’t allow it, and there was no need to induce an asthma attack in public. Then he lifted weights, did some sit ups, attempted some push ups, and stretched. By then, he would usually be embarrassed enough to admit defeat, and he would go home to shower off.
Today, Steve picked up the five pound weight in his right hand and did five reps. He actively tried not to notice that every single man lifting weights around him was pointedly not looking at him. He’d heard a few bits of stifled laughter but he ignored them as best he could. He knew he was weak, but Jesus H., did everybody have to make a big deal about it? He told himself what he would tell anyone else starting out: Everybody starts somewhere.
He did bicep curls, tricep curls, and kettle-bell squats before he was quickly exhausted and needed to take some time to breathe.
Suddenly, he fell - because someone had walked into him. He looked up, angry, but his anger died instantly when he saw the person who had bumped him.
His face was chiseled - gorgeous . He had some scruffy stubble and long hair pulled back at the nape of his neck. He was in all white and pulling his earbuds out of his ears, looking apologetic.
“Sorry, wasn’t paying enough attention,” he said, his voice gruff. He seemed sincere enough, despite his tone, and he held out his hand.
His only hand. This guy only had one arm .
Steve didn’t take it. He pushed himself up and stood.
“No problem,” he said, unsure of what his voice was doing. Did he sound defiant? Angry? Awestruck? Flirtatious? He had no idea. The man had an extensive bandage over his left shoulder. Steve wondered what could have happened to him, this very attractively sculpted man, to have lost an entire arm . Maybe he was military.
Steve tried not to watch him for the rest of his workout, but his white tank top and white shorts were like a beacon, calling Steve’s eyes right to the man’s incredibly firm bottom.
Steve sat back down on the floor - to do sit ups and push ups. He watched as the man ran - ran - on the treadmill, as if he were running for his life, for the next thirty minutes without a break.
Steve ended up staying at the gym for an extra fifteen minutes, and did five more sit ups and two more push ups than he’d planned to.
//
The next day, the man was there again, this time in all-black. If white had been a beacon of light in Steve’s grey, dismal world, then black was the smoke that reminded Steve that he was going straight to hell. He tried as hard as he could not to watch as the man fell forward , threw his only hand out, and landed on it before doing fifty push ups. Fifty . In a row. Nonstop. With one arm.
Steve closed his eyes and willed himself not to pop one at the gym.
The man was there the next day, and the next, and he ran on the treadmill like an Olympian. He lifted weights that weighed more than Steve. He didn’t looked stupid at all when he did jumping jacks. And worst of all, he did one armed push ups and chin ups that made Steve wish he’d never been born.
It was agony watching him, but Steve couldn’t bear to look away. He felt simultaneously completely inadequate and indescribably turned on. He tried not to stare - tried not to follow him around his weight circuit - but he knew he was failing spectacularly, and he could only hope the guy hadn’t noticed.
After two months of this, Steve moved up from five pound weights to ten pound weights. He could do twenty sit ups and seven push ups. He jogged a little on the treadmill sometimes, but he didn’t push himself too hard with the cardio.
One day, he felt a tap on his shoulder. He turned around and the man - this time in all-red - standing behind him. He knew he was blushing. He wondered if he would have to find a new gym. He wasn’t sure how the motivation factor would work if this guy wasn’t around.
“Yeah?” Steve squeaked.
“Don’t forget to do some leg work,” said the guy. “You do squats, but it’s not enough when you’re doing all your upper body stuff, you know?”
“Uhm?”
“Ya gotta balance it,” said the man. He was from Brooklyn. Steve could hear it. He swallowed nervously.
“Balance?”
“Yeah, man. Leg day. Arm day. Cardio day. Cool?”
“Cool,” repeated Steve. “I mean, thanks. Right.”
The man nodded and walked over to his treadmill and began running.
//
The gym also had weekly classes, and Steve decided to try out the no-contact kickboxing class that was available. It was completely filled up with women, and then Steve. The teacher - Brock - was harsh and demanding, but many of the women who came regularly said that even though he was an asshole, you would get some serious muscle-gain results.
Steve began the regularly attending and found that the class was just a little too difficult for him, but he didn’t let it stop him. He was learning to punch, and that was what really mattered. He needed to be able to land some real hits if he was going keep ending up in fights.
After he’d picked up the basics - on your toes, bend your knees, hands up by your face, keep moving - he started to add a bit of boxing practice to his daily routine outside of class. There was a standing bag on the floor by the treadmills, and Steve hoped that the one armed hot guy was never looking at him while he practiced.
When Brock hit a heavy bag, it flew away from him and would swing back and forth. When Steve hit it, it didn’t even budge. He tried not to let it get to him, but after a few weeks and still not seeing much punching power improvement, he was afraid he’d have to actually talk to Brock about it, to ask for advice. He doubted that Brock would be very kind about it.
One day, just as Steve was thinking that today might be the day to bite the bullet and suffer Brock’s humiliating laughter, he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Good lord, one armed hot guy was back. He gave Steve a half-smile, as if to acknowledge that they had spoken before this.
“You’re uh, not using your body,” said the man. “You’re punching with just your arm.”
“Aren’t I supposed to?” asked Steve, confused.
“Well, your fist does the punching, sure, but you gotta like, lean your whole body into it. Here…” The man lined himself up, raised his hand up, and struck the bag. He leaned forward, stepped forward, put his entire weight into the hit, and the bag sprang back away and swung around. He looked at Steve.
“See what I mean?”
“Yeah, I think so,” said Steve, embarrassed but also a little relieved that someone would help him without humiliating him.
“Try,” said the man.
Steve raised his gloved hands to his chin and tried. He pushed from his toes and let the energy come up through him into his fist.
The bag moved! It didn’t go flying the same way, but it definitely moved, and Steve couldn’t stop the giant grin that spread across his face.
“Thanks!” he said, very enthusiastically. The man looked a little surprised at Steve’s excitement, but he also smiled. It was a little sad, but it was still a smile.
“No problem,” he said and turned to walk away.
“What’s your name?” Steve blurted out before he could stop himself. The man paused.
“Bucky,” he said.
“Steve,” said Steve and he held out his hand. Bucky took it and shook it, then nodded, and then turned and got onto a treadmill.
//
Steve’s boxing improved very quickly after that - Brock even had nice things to say about it, though he claimed it was all due to his spectacular teaching. Steve decided that there wasn’t much of a point to tell him otherwise - he really didn’t want to get into a fight with his boxing teacher.
Steve was starting to feel strong for the first time in his life. For the first time, when he went up a flight of steps, he didn’t get winded. He could carry groceries for the old lady who lived a floor below him and he didn’t feel it in his arms for three days afterwards. It was real progress , and Steve was excited .
He wanted to go out and celebrate, but he wasn’t really sure how. He could always invite his friends - Natasha, Sam, Tony - out for a drink, but he didn’t really want to tell them why. Tony would laugh, Natasha would try not to laugh, and Sam would be overly-earnest in his congratulations.
Steve was packing up his duffel bag when Bucky - Steve was making a concerted effort to stop thinking of him as “the one armed hot guy” - came out of the showers with one towel wrapped around his waist and another hanging around his neck. He was glistening . Steve closed his eyes for a split second, just to get himself under control.
Once he’d promised himself he’d go home and jerk off to this lovely sight, he opened his eyes and remained calm. He raised a hand in a casual greeting, and Bucky nodded back at him. Bucky turned to face his own locker and dropped the towel.
Steve turned away. He couldn’t look. He couldn’t bear it. He thought about how he’d watched Bucky do seventy-five pushups (he’d counted) with his one arm and then hop back up onto his feet as though it was nothing. He was going to burst with pent up sexual frustration. He was debating whether or not he’d have to will to get food if he went home and jerked off before he went to the grocery store, when he felt a tap on his shoulder.
Bucky was standing right behind him! Clothed, which Steve decided was mostly a good thing, since he doubted he’d’ve been able to say any words to Bucky otherwise.
“Sorry if this is weird,” said Bucky. He looked uncomfortable. “But if you aren’t busy, y’wanna go grab a drink?”
Steve stared at him for a moment.
“Um, okay,” he said. “I’m free.”
He had no idea what had possessed him to say that. He wasn’t free. He had to go home and jerk off in the shower right now .
But he’d said it, and damn if he’d backtrack and reject Bucky, the hot guy with one arm , so he slung his duffel over his shoulder and followed Bucky out of the locker room. Once they were on the street, Bucky walked with purpose. Steve heard him mumble something about “a good place over this direction,” and went along with it.
They walked about three blocks and they were seated almost immediately at a table in a bar. It was a nice place - very neighborhoody, which made Steve think ( hope ) that Bucky lived nearby. They ordered and their drinks came before either of them had said a word.
Bucky took a long draught from his drink and then cleared his throat.
“So,” he said. “What made you choose that shitty little gym?”
“Close to home,” said Steve. “Convenient, you know. You?”
“Same,” said Bucky. They lapsed into silence again. For some reason, Bucky looked far more uncomfortable and awkward than Steve felt, so he decided he’d make some efforts at conversation this time.
“Why’d you want to grab a drink?” asked Steve, taking a sip of his own beer. Bucky looked like he’d expected this question and hadn’t thought of an answer he deemed acceptable.
“Uh, my therapist said I need to try to make more friends,” he said quietly. “She says I’m too… alone. Lonely. I don’t uh… talk to people very much, since I got back.” He gestured to the place where his left arm was supposed to be and Steve didn’t quite follow. But he could tell Bucky didn’t particularly want to talk about it.
“Oh,” he said. “Well, thanks for choosing me then, I guess.”
Bucky looked astonished at this response.
“Thanks for… saying yes,” he said. “Now I get to tell her that I made an effort and that effort was successful.” Steve smiled. Bucky still looked surprised - his eyes were wide and blue and Steve had never noticed that before.
He reigned it in. Bucky was probably a war hero veteran who was just trying to make some friends. He didn’t need Steve to ask for more than Bucky could give! The crush had to end, here and now, and Steve was determined that it would.
//
It did not.
Steve and Bucky went out for drinks about once a week, and Steve’s unbearable crush on Bucky continued unabated. Bucky was now even more likely to give Steve workout advice, for which Steve was thankful. His punches had more power and accuracy, and even his cardio was improving. He actually ran a bit on the treadmill without coughing!
The weeks passed, and Steve and Bucky got to know each other pretty well. They talked about all kinds of things - work, exercise, hobbies, sports, books, music, where they’d gone to school, what they’d studied - but it never went much further than basic facts, their generic likes and dislikes. Steve liked Bucky, that was for sure, but the more time they spent together, the more Steve felt aware that he didn’t know Bucky.
He decided to ask a question.
He decided it was time to do so about a month and a half after their first drink together.
“Can I ask you something personal?” Steve asked first, because he wasn’t going to be rude .
Bucky stiffened.
“Yeah,” he said nervously.
“What happened to you?” He let his eyes flick to the left shoulder. Bucky smirked.
“Nothing special. A bomb went off. I was in range. It wasn’t a firefight, well, not at first. It turned into one. They got me out and sent me on a chopper to the hospital. Then they flew me back to the States and gave me an award for my ‘distinguished service.’ As if I’d done anything more than be an idiot and walk into a bomb.”
“You found it,” said Steve. “And you didn’t die, so I’d say you did something pretty helpful and important.”
Bucky shrugged. He looked unhappy.
“Was it in a field of mines?”
“...Yes,” said Bucky.
“So you found that , before it was too late!”
“Maybe.”
They lapsed into silence for a moment.
“Do you miss being in the army?” asked Steve. Bucky looked at him, surprised again.
“No one’s ever asked me that before,” he said. “Everyone assumes I don’t… Because the arm and the food and the weather and the orders… But I do . I was always going to be a soldier. I enlisted! I wanted to go and serve. But now… I can’t. I’m not fit to serve.”
“You look pretty fit to me,” said Steve before he could stop himself. Bucky’s jaw dropped and he stared at Steve for a moment as Steve’s face turned red and then purple. Bucky burst out laughing, falling forward and hitting the table with his fist as he laughed. He laughed and laughed, until tears began to fall from his eyes and he had to wipe them away.
“That…” he said, “was the most insensitive thing anybody’s ever said to me about it. Thanks, man!”
“Um,” said Steve, unsure how to proceed.
“No, really,” said Bucky, still chuckling. “I needed that. I’m all up in my own head and it’s annoying . Thanks. I know I should be looking to the future, to try to build some kind of civilian life, but I just don’t know how .”
“Well, you’ll figure it out, give yourself time to… grieve, I guess,” said Steve. He reached out and gripped Bucky’s shoulder. “You don’t have to figure it out right away.”
Bucky looked touched, and he smiled. It was the first time Steve had seen Bucky smile a real smile.
//
Bucky was fast becoming one of Steve’s good friends. He finally started talking about Bucky to his other friends, who were all fascinated to learn that it was still possible to meet people in the wild. Sam and Natasha saw right through him, however, and they always asked about Bucky in suggestive tones accompanied by waggling eyebrows. Steve blushed every time, no matter how hard he tried not to.
He was thinking about having a little get-together for Bucky to meet them all, and so he could make some more friends of his own as well. He wasn’t entirely sure how Bucky would take such an invitation, though. He was still very solitary. They only met up outside the gym once a week, at the nearby bar.
But Steve made up his mind to try . Just like he’d made up his mind to get stronger. And by god, he was stronger now.
Steve planned to hold his little get-together on the same night that their usual bar meetup happened, that way, even if Bucky was overwhelmed, he’d still have the rest of his week to decompress. And it was already on his schedule to be out of the house. Steve decided that a week’s notice was plenty, and it would give Bucky time to decide if he really wanted to go.
They sat in the bar, sipping on beers and laughing like they always did, but Steve felt a little uncomfortable this time. Perhaps it was because he was about to put himself out there a little. Perhaps it was the obvious tension in Bucky’s shoulders. Perhaps it was the rowdy drunk stranger at the bar. Either way - Steve was distinctly unsettled .
He didn’t really have a reason to be! If Bucky said no, it wasn’t necessarily because he didn’t like Steve. Maybe he really just wasn’t ready to be sociable in company yet! And for christ’s sake, the man had his arm blown off! Steve felt as though he should give Bucky a break. Maybe it was too early… But no, he could ask , and if Bucky wanted to, he could. If he said no, Steve would respect that. There was no harm in asking .
He cleared his throat and Bucky looked at him nervously.
“Hey Buck…” he began, but trailed off.
“Yeah?” Bucky managed to get out from his clenched jaw.
“Uh… I was just wondering if maybe… you thought… it would be a good idea…”
“No,” said Bucky quickly and Steve stopped.
“Oh,” he said, leaning back in his chair. He was surprised at how disappointed he was.
“I mean… you can do whatever you want, of course…” said Bucky, his mouth twisted into a frown. “But I really like… hanging out with you, so. I wouldn’t want to. Stop.” He said the last part of his sentence haltingly, and it sounded so disjointed that it took Steve a split second longer than usual to understand what he’d said.
“Buck, I wasn’t going to suggest we stop hanging out,” he said, incredulous.
“You… You weren’t?” said Bucky. His eyes widened and he began to blush. “Oh. Um. Yeah. I have to… go.”
Before Steve could stop him, Bucky was up and out of the bar, leaving his half-drunk beer behind him. As soon as Steve’s brain caught up with what was happening, he was following Bucky out the door. Vaguely, he heard the bartender yell after him, but he ignored it.
Outside, it was just beginning to rain. He turned his head and saw Bucky turning the corner to his left, so he broke into a jog, hoping that Bucky wasn’t planning to run . He reached the corner and turned around it, and immediately walked into someone much taller and larger than he was. He fell back onto the ground and looked up.
It wasn’t Bucky he was looking at. Bucky was, as a matter of fact, on his knees and holding his stomach, wheezing a few feet away from him.
“Steve,” he gasped. “ Run .”
“Aw,” said the stranger. He was large, imposing, and to Steve’s surprise, the same man who’d been loud and rowdy in the bar earlier. Steve hadn’t seen him leave. “Is this your little bitch boy?”
Steve understood what was happening in an instant.
“Shut your mouth, you fucking bigot,” he spat, scrambling up and backwards a few feet.
“Oooh, your twink thinks he can fight me ,” said the stranger. This man, Steve recalled, was more often than not kicked out for disorderly conduct and being a general asshole. The stranger cracked his knuckles. “You wanna try to fight me, bitch?”
Steve tried to remember all of his training. It was for situations just like this! This was his first real test that his workouts were doing anything worthwhile at all. He just had to keep his head. (Literally and figuratively.)
The man took a swing at him, but Steve stepped to his right and the man missed.
“Oh, he’s a quick one,” said the man, grinning. He spit. “I bet he’s quick on your dick, too, fag.”
“That doesn’t even make any sense,” said Steve, and he lunged forward. He punched the man in the ribs and darted back. The man was surprised that Steve had landed a hit, but it was clearly not particularly painful. He looked surprised for a second, but then he boomed a laugh. Steve, for all his flush of success, was already out of breath.
This wasn’t going to end very well. He just hoped he wouldn’t need the hospital again. It was so expensive.
Steve was bouncing back and forth on the balls of his feet, ready to move when necessary. His hands were up to protect his face. Unfortunately, he was something of a novice, so he forgot to keep his eyes on his opponent. He glanced over to Bucky and in that fraction of a second, the man attacked. He slammed his fist into Steve’s face and Steve went down like a ragdoll.
The man laughed and Steve was scrambling backwards, blinking blood out of his eyes.
“Some stamina you’ve got there, sugar pussy,” said the man looming over Steve and grinning down at him with an evil, toothy grin.
“Yeah, well,” spat Steve, “when you’re riding Uncle Sam’s right hand man all night, you gotta do your cardio.”
He wasn’t entirely sure what made him say it. It would only provoke the stranger and embarrass both himself and Bucky later, but Steve didn’t really care. It had been the first thing that had popped into his head and it was out of his mouth before he could consider it.
Behind the man, Bucky was staring at Steve in astonishment. There was something Steve could see in his eyes as well - something dark in them growing, until suddenly the expression on Bucky’s face made him look like a completely different person. He wasn’t the nice, funny, incredibly hot man Steve had gotten to know - Steve could see he was the soldier that he used to be, before he’d come home. Steve felt a thrill of excitement.
“Hey, asshole,” Bucky snarled. “Pick on somebody your own size.” The man turned, a taunt on his lips, but his face only momentarily met with Bucky’s right fist, and he crumpled to the ground at Bucky’s feet.
Bucky walked over and held out his hand to Steve. Steve took it and Bucky hauled him to his feet.
“Why didn’t you run?”
“He needed a distraction while you got your breath,” said Steve, shrugging. Bucky reached out his hand and wiped away some of the blood oozing from Steve’s eyebrow.
“You’re a complete idiot. That guy could’ve killed you,” said Bucky flatly. “You should’ve run. Don’t you have any kind of self-preservation instincts?”
“Yeah,” said Steve. “But it’s not like I was going to leave you alone. He’s not allowed to call you names or make...” - Steve coughed - “inappropriate implications.”
Bucky snorted, but his face didn’t look like laughing.
“Nah, you did that all on your own.” Bucky’s voice was surprisingly cold, and Steve understood.
“I’m sorry,” he said. “I didn’t mean to imply… I wasn’t trying to call you … Anyway, I’ll leave you alone.” Steve turned to walk away and he’d managed to walk about ten feet away before Bucky called after him.
“You said that weren’t trying to get rid of me,” said Bucky. Steve turned around and stared at him.
“I’d never be trying to get rid of you,” he said.
“Then how come that’s how this conversation ended anyway?” Bucky glared at him.
“I didn’t think you’d want me hanging around since you know how much I’m into you,” said Steve simply. “I didn’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
Bucky’s jaw dropped. He stared. His arm hung at his side, limp.
“Um,” said Steve, suddenly very uncomfortable. He began to blush. “Maybe you… didn’t know that.”
“No,” croaked Bucky. “I thought you were making fun of me for how much I was into you !”
“What?!” yelped Steve.
“Yeah!” yelled Bucky.
Someone stuck their head out of a window above them and called out, “Shut up, it’s almost one!”
They stared at each other in silence and the window shut with a thump above their heads.
“Do you want to come to a party at my place next week?” asked Steve. “That’s what I was going to ask you earlier.”
“You want me to meet your friends?” asked Bucky. He looked so nervous, so surprised… so hopeful . Steve’s heart hurt for him. He must’ve been so lonely for so long.
“Of course I do,” said Steve.
“You… You’re into me? Like… like into me?” asked Bucky, and Steve could hear the pleading in his voice. Bucky, who was usually so good at monotone laconic responses, was pleading with him.
“How could I not be?” laughed Steve. “Have you seen yourself? Have you seen yourself doing one-armed pushups? I’m surprised I was never thrown out of the gym! And that’s before I even got to talk to you.”
“Really?” Bucky’s blue eyes were wide and desperate and Steve couldn’t help but smile.
“Yeah,” he said.
Bucky took five purposeful steps forward and grabbed Steve by the back of his neck and kissed him. Steve threw his arms around Bucky’s middle and kissed him back, up on his tiptoes, and he didn’t even care.
It was a fucking knock-out. Steve’s whole body was on fire - not just the throbbing bruise on his eye. Every inch of him was pressed against Bucky and he felt like he might sprout wings and fly. He could feel Bucky’s knees wobble and Steve couldn’t help but laugh a little - if Bucky fell over, there was no way Steve would be able to pick him up.
He pulled away and looked up at Bucky, who looked down at him with a look of startled disappointment. His expression said, ‘ why’d you go away?’ and it made Steve blush.
“So are you gonna come to my party?” asked Steve, biting his lip.
“Tease,” said Bucky. “Yeah, I’ll come.”
“Good,” he said. “Now let’s go back to the bar, pay for those drinks, and then see where the night takes us.”
Bucky grinned - one of those real grins that were so sparse on his face. And Steve grinned back.
//
“So, this is the elusive Buckaroo,” said Tony, extending his hand for Bucky to shake. “I’m Tony. Nice to finally meet you. Nice to hear Steve’s finally getting laid.”
“Shut up,” said Steve, rolling his eyes. “This is Nat. And Sam. Guys, this is Bucky. We met at the gym.”
“And now you’re dating,” said Natasha. “Are you sure this new method of meeting people might bring down the entire internet-dating industry?”
“Y’all are cruel,” said Sam. “This poor man is just here to meet the family and you’re treating him like he’s Steve’s nasty ex. Hey man, I’m Sam Wilson.” He shook Bucky’s hand as well. “Welcome to the group.”
“Do you talk?” asked Tony, cutting in before Bucky could possibly have responded to Sam. “I know Steve talks a lot, but you’re allowed to get a few words in edgewise too.”
“I’m good,” said Bucky.
“He speaks!” said Tony, raising his hands towards the ceiling in triumph. “I’ve broken his will to be silent! Someone get me a drink as a reward!”
“Someone get him a drink so he’ll shut up,” grumbled Steve. Bucky smirked at him.
“You’ve got weird friends,” he said. “I like them.”
“Good, because you’re stuck with us if you’re gonna date Steve,” said Natasha. “Also, you break his heart, I break your face, et cetera et cetera.”
“I actually believe it coming from you,” said Bucky.
“You should,” said Sam. “You should see what she did to my last ex. That girl won’t be around here ever again.”
“And all I did was glare,” said Natasha.
Steve handed Bucky a beer and leaned into his side. Natasha and Tony bickered. Sam rolled his eyes. Later, everyone left and went to their own homes.
Except Bucky, of course.
He crawled into bed beside Steve. He kissed Steve goodnight. He fell asleep with Steve’s breath on his chest.
Bucky was home, actually.