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Bucky showered, feeling an ache in his muscles he hadn't felt before. Building fences was a different kind of work than he was used to. He rinsed and climbed out, and as he dried off, he eyed the big Jacuzzi tub under the window. It wasn't large enough for both of them. It was nice, but it wouldn't do. He wandered into the bedroom, drying his hair, thoughts milling about in his brain like guests at a party looking for the people they came to see. He dressed near one of the windows in the bedroom's sitting area--where he'd installed the monitoring system for the house's security network--and stared through slatted blinds down at the backyard. The patio attached to the house, he thought, was just big enough. He suspected this sort of thing was usually planned in advance, but when had he ever planned anything? Besides, he had money. And money, he'd learned... it talked the way his guns used to.
Dressed in jeans and a t-shirt, he grabbed clean socks from the basket by the door and the netbook from the top of the dresser, and he followed the smell of breakfast down the stairs and into the kitchen.
Steve stood at the stove, still in just his sweatpants, and he looked so good that Bucky had to hold up in the doorway just to stare at him. He looked like maybe he was going to be okay. Bucky grinned to himself and moved into the kitchen. He set socks and netbook on the island and was halfway around, the long way, when Steve turned. They shared a kiss, light and sweet, and Bucky wasn't sure he'd ever get used to kissing Steve whenever he wanted. He reached up to scratch his fingers through Steve's hair just to watch him close his eyes and half-smile.
"How do you feel about a hot tub?"
Steve blinked at him. "How do I feel about a hot tub?"
"That's what I asked, big guy." Bucky shuffled toward the coffee pot and poured his coffee. He eyed the sugar and the cream Steve had set out and decided to skip it. He went around the island, cup held close to his face so he could breathe in the scent of it--real coffee, something called Green Mountain that was maybe the best he'd ever had at home--and settled heavily on one of the stools. He booted up the little computer and sipped his coffee, all to aware of Steve's eyes on him. He took pity on Steve. "I thought I'd have one delivered today," he explained. "We can use it tonight when we're done with the fence."
Steve frowned at him. "Just... order a hot tub on a whim."
Bucky thought of flying cars, of the fact that the two of them had fought science-fiction Nazis through Europe during a war most of the people currently alive on the planet had only read about in books, of twelve years Steve spent trapped between planes of reality, of how many times they'd died. He grinned at Steve. Of course the thought of having a hot tub delivered "on a whim" would make Steve frown like that. "Yeah." He set about tugging on his socks.
Steve stared at him.
He knew it was a little out there. A hot tub was probably one of those things Steve Rogers filed under "frivolous." Bucky figured they could probably use some frivolity.
"When we're done with the fence, we should go get the rest of the stuff to turn the basement into a gym, too," Bucky said. He hooked his ankles around the legs of the stool. He sipped his coffee and eyed the screen as he brought up the web browser. "What do you think? One of those models with two lounges and two seats?"
Steve was still just looking at him.
"Don't burn the pancakes," Bucky said mildly.
With a deepened frown, Steve went back to fixing breakfast. He flipped the pancakes and poked at the bacon frying in the skillet. "Bucky..." he started.
"I don't want to hear it. You didn't complain when we were filling this place up, you don't get to complain now." He glanced up at Steve.
Steve glared at the griddle as though it had personally offended him. "Do we even own bathing suits?"
"I bathe in the altogether, pal. Seem to recall you do, too."
"Bucky."
He grinned at Steve's back. "Who says we need bathing suits, anyway? It's our yard. Once we get the fence up, we can do whatever we want."
Steve laughed and shook his head, and Bucky guessed that was as close to agreement as he was going to get. He'd take it. He brought up a local spa sales website as Steve plated pancakes and bacon. Steve moved around the kitchen and Bucky zoned out on him, focused on searching for what he wanted.
When Steve set breakfast on the counter at his elbow, Bucky looked up. Steve smiled and Bucky felt that tightness in his chest, that reckless I would do anything for you.
Over pancakes.
He was so far gone.
"Thanks."
"You earned it." Steve drifted past him, brushing a hand across his shoulders and stopping long enough to drop a kiss on the back of his neck. "I'm going to get dressed."
"You got any opinions on hot tubs?"
"Nope." Steve rounded the corner and Bucky listened to him climb the stairs.
Bucky chuckled. He settled in, shoveling breakfast down--and Steve had gotten good at pancakes, Bucky wondered when that happened--and scrolling through the list of in-stock spas. He even checked the clearance section, mostly with the intent of telling Steve. When he found the one he wanted, he reached for the phone.
By the time Steve came down, dressed, like Bucky, for a day of mindless manual labor, he'd finished the last of breakfast was rinsing the dishes. The cordless phone and his credit card were still on the counter next to the darkened netbook.
"It'll be here at two," Bucky said, wiping his wet hands down the thighs of his jeans. He grinned at Steve. "Let's see how much of the fence we can get up before they get here."
*
It turned out: not as much as Bucky would have liked. It was entirely Steve's fault. The day warmed up fast and Steve went from just pushing his sleeves up to unbuttoning the front to stripping the whole thing and his undershirt off. The big scar on his back had faded some overnight. Bucky took that as a good thing. It wasn't nearly as good as the way Steve's jeans slipped low on his hips and molded to the curve of his ass. He couldn't stop looking. Wiry muscle was giving way slowly to Steve's more familiar shape, but there were so many scars, so many more than Bucky had ever seen on Steve. He wondered if Dimension Z had affected the serum somehow.
But the best thing, better than Steve shirtless and sweaty and flashing the cut of his hip, was that Steve moved as though a weight had been lifted from him.
Bucky guessed it had. He felt a lot lighter himself.
Everything--leaving SHIELD, coming out to the country, buying the house, filling it, even the fence--was for Steve. It was a half-assed plan because they always were, but Bucky filled in the details privately, without consulting Steve, just by watching him. He had planned to give Steve as long as he needed and whatever he needed, and when it was clear to Bucky that he was ready, they'd get him a family. A nice Army widow with a couple of kids and the willingness to have a few more if it came to it. Bucky wasn't sure where he'd find the nice widow, but he didn't need details yet. He had enough of a plan. Steve had wanted a family for as long as Bucky had known him. Even during their war. Bucky liked Sharon fine on her own, but he knew she'd never give Steve a family. He also knew that Steve had never given up his dream of two kids, a dog, and a white picket fence, no matter how bad things got. At his worst, Bucky thought Steve was an idealistic idiot for holding on to that dream. At his best, Bucky loved it most. He just didn't understand it.
Why would he want a family when it could be stolen so easily?
Then he'd lost Nat and he understood. He'd taken Steve and Nat for granted and he shouldn't have. They were his family without him realizing it, and without the lifeline Natalia offered, he felt himself drifting. He got it.
Steve, he suspected, knew he could lose everything. He wanted it anyway.
Bucky wanted him to have it. Bucky wanted to be the one who gave it to him, who protected it for him, and he should have been surprised by the fervent want that accompanied those thoughts, but he'd long since stopped being surprised about any feelings he had for Steve. He would have been content to help Steve find it and then to retreat and to protect Steve's life and loves from a distance. Maybe with SHIELD, maybe on his own; it didn't matter. He would murder in cold blood and without remorse anyone or anything that tried to take from Steve what he deserved.
But maybe he could play a more hands-on role.
For the first time, Bucky thought he felt a twist of hope. It had been a long time since he and Steve had been he and Steve, and whenever they had in the past it had always been a halfway thing. Together in the middle of a war, or between Nat and Sharon, or between deaths. For the first time, they could just be together. Bucky thought that if anyone could be what Steve needed, he could do it.
He wanted to do it.
Steve stood from his crouch where he'd been inspecting the bottom edge of the boards they'd just put up. Bucky was there to wrap him in his arms and kiss him hard, kiss him with everything he felt. Steve froze a heartbeat before he melted. Feeling Steve surrender to the kiss made Bucky's heart climb into his throat.
"Wanna try out the hot tub?"
Steve laughed at him. "Sure. But I'm wearing shorts."
Bucky pushed him away gently, playfully, and sighed loudly. "You never have any fun, Steve. Anyone ever tell you that?" Bucky took off for the house, stripping his shirt off. It was maybe a quarter of a mile up to the patio, where he knew the new hot tub was full and waiting for them, but he would do everything he could to get Steve interested.
"I seem to recall hearing that once or twice from my annoying kid sidekick..."
Bucky gaped over his shoulder. "Annoying kid sidekick!" He wasn't a kid, dammit.
Steve grinned. He picked up the pace. "Beat me there and I'll skip the shorts, Buck."
Bucky was off like a shot. "You're on!"
But Steve was beside him, then in front of him, and Bucky had forgotten about the whole super soldier thing there for a minute. Steve half-turned and put his arm out, across Bucky's chest. Bucky's legs kept going but the rest of him didn't, and in the next moment, he was flat on his back on the grass, staring up at the darkening sky, listening to Steve's laugh.
"You're a dirty cheat, Rogers!"
When he finally made it to the patio, Steve wasn't there. Inside, Bucky guessed, changing into shorts. He shook his head and stripped out of his work clothes, leaving them on the patio next to the tub. His hands were on the edge of the tub and he was getting ready to haul himself into the water when Steve reappeared, black running shorts covering all the parts Bucky really wanted to see and two rolled-up towels tucked under his arm. He set the towels on the edge of the spa and moved closer.
Bucky glared. Steve curved a hand around the back of his neck and pulled him into a kiss.
"Losing your edge already, Buck?"
Bucky scowled and pushed at Steve, playful because he never wanted Steve to stop touching him. "You're a dirty cheat," he said again. Just in case Steve hadn't heard him the first time.
Steve brushed a hand over Bucky's stomach, leaving a smear of half-dried mud. "Looks like you're the dirty one."
Bucky rolled his eyes. "Literal. Anyone ever tell you that you're too literal?"
"Probably my annoying kid sidekick. He talked a lot, I didn't always listen."
Bucky scoffed.
Steve grinned. "Hop in. I'm going to start the grill. Are steaks okay?"
"When are they not?" Bucky pulled himself over the edge and slid into the water.
It was hot and swirly and he stretched out on one of the lounges, feeling the angled jets work their magic on his muscles. He laid his head back and closed his eyes. It didn't take long at all for the rest of the world to retreat as far into the background as he could let it.
He'd made a lot of impulsive decisions in his life. Buying a hot tub? Probably one of his best.
The music came as a surprise. He lifted his head to find Steve lowering himself onto one of the seats across the tub. He sighed and settled deeper, slouching to get his shoulders just under the water. He tipped his head back and shut his eyes and the long line of his neck made Bucky lick his lips.
Instead of what he wanted to do, Bucky said, "Jimmy Dorsey? Really?"
"Shut up. No one else lets me listen to this anymore."
"There's a reason for that, Steve," Bucky said patiently.
Steve raised his head. "You know, I don't seem to recall you complaining about the music back in '44 when you got Gretchen out on the dance floor..."
Bucky knew that this sort of wallowing in the past would bring nightmares--for him, maybe; for Steve, definitely--because they couldn't think about Jimmy Dorsey or Glenn Miller without thinking of the boys who never came home. He knew Steve would hold him tight when they went to bed, expected the haunted look in his eyes in the morning, but in that moment, he didn't care. Steve could listen to whatever the hell he wanted to listen to. He could talk about the girls they'd lost.
"I wouldn't have had anyone out on the dance floor if you'd let me have you in our tent."
Steve scoffed. "I'm sure those blue balls were painful."
"I didn't have blue balls." Bucky grinned.
Steve shook his head. "No, you weren't quiet about that."
Bucky tipped his chin up and sniffed. "How the hell else was I supposed to get you into my cot? You were a damned paragon of moral heterosexuality."
And he held off as long as he could, but then they were both laughing, and it felt so good to laugh with Steve, to see the smile lines on his face instead of the worry wrinkles or the stern disapproval, that Bucky slid off the lounge. He moved across the tub and settled on Steve's lap.
Big hands anchored him. Steve met Bucky's eyes and Bucky saw it the moment before Steve's lips parted; he didn't need to hear Steve's gratitude, he never did know how to respond when Steve thanked him for things like this. All he was doing was loving him. So Bucky covered his mouth with his own and kissed away everything Steve wanted to say.
Steve kissed back.
Nothing else mattered right then. Bucky pushed his fingers through Steve's hair, damp from sweat and steam, and he ran his hands over Steve's shoulders and pressed closer. The kiss deepened, they parted, they met again. He kissed him and kept kissing him, just kissing, settling heavily against him, and Steve didn't push. Steve didn't pull away. The music stopped, the grill burned out, and still, they held each other and they kissed.
They'd never had the chance for this. Not during their war, not during the frantic time after he came back to himself. Now they did.
Bucky intended to take advantage of it.
Steve stroked his back. He held Bucky's hips, rested his forehead against his, and he sighed. "We should go in. It's getting late."
"I really don't want to get off of you."
Steve snorted. "Don't hold back, Buck. Tell me how you really feel."
Bucky smiled.
Steve smiled back. He reached up to cup the back of Bucky's head. "We could move this to the couch," he suggested.
Bucky leaned back, eyeing Steve with a touch of doubt. "No shirts?"
"You can even leave your pants off if you want."
Bucky was already scrambling out of the spa when he said, "Race you. Loser has to be on top."
He won.
There were dry towels in the dryer. He grabbed one and wrapped it around his waist, wondering if he could nag Steve into folding them in the morning. Even if Steve didn't want to fool around, Bucky wasn't interested in getting dressed for real. It was nearly time to go to bed. He grabbed beers from the refrigerator and went to the darkened living room, not even a little bit surprised when Steve ducked into the laundry room behind him and reached for a pair of sweatpants in the basket of clean clothes sitting on top of the washer.
Predictable old man.
Bucky turned on the TV and found the old movie channel. He twisted open the beers with his metal hand and sprawled on the couch to wait for Steve, frowning at the TV. He started to reach for the remote. He knew this movie. It was one they saw together, pressed close at the back of a USO tent in Italy. It felt like a lifetime ago and the music was bad enough, he didn't want more reasons for memories to surface.
Steve appeared silently at the end of the couch. "I can see your dick."
Bucky looked up and waggled his eyebrows. "Interested?"
"Always." Steve dropped to the couch like a stone through water, pushed Bucky's beer out of the way, and kissed him.
"You were serious," Bucky gasped when Steve broke the kiss.
"I missed you." Steve nuzzled his neck, wet lips and soft kisses on heated skin. He kissed the curve where neck met shoulder and kept going, until skin turned the metal. He pressed his cheek to his artificial shoulder and sighed. "No one ever..." Steve trailed off, words caught in his throat.
Bucky put his hand in Steve's hair and held him close. He knew people--even people Steve considered friends--almost never thought about Steve himself. Sam was the exception; Bucky thought he'd always be grateful that Sam was there when he wasn't, and that Sam was there for him when Steve wasn't. Maybe it was unhealthy. Maybe it was co-dependent. He knew Steve like no one else did, thought of him like no one else did. It was a point of pride for Bucky. He turned his face and Steve's lips were there, warm and damp and just a little bit chapped. Bucky kissed him silent because he didn't need Steve to say it. He knew.
There was plenty of hero worship in the beginning. Plenty of it always, if Bucky was honest with himself. There had never been a better man than Steve, and there was no convincing Bucky otherwise. But this was more than just hero worship. Bucky knew what Steve needed even if Steve never said the words, even if he was too broken to say the words, and Bucky would do anything to give it to him.
So when Steve took his beer away and set it on the coffee table without even a coaster, when he stretched Bucky out on his back on the couch and draped himself over him like a heavy, too-hot blanket, Bucky wasn't going to protest. When Steve kissed him until he couldn't breathe and the room was spinning, the only thing Bucky wanted to do with his tongue was use it on Steve. They didn't have to talk. So they didn't.
They'd never done this. Bucky ran his hands through Steve's hair and down his back, hot smooth skin littered with gnarled scars. They'd missed this part. Maybe Steve had done it with someone else--and Bucky thought he should be jealous, but he wasn't, he was hopeful, he wanted Steve to have had this before, have someone to wanted to just hold him and kiss him--but Bucky never had. He was glad. For all that he'd loved Gretchen, that he still loved Natalia, he'd never loved either of them the way he loved Steve. He couldn't imagine this being better with anyone else.
Steve's kisses turned lazy and Bucky was happy to let them, to touch Steve and breathe his air and memorize the beat of his heart. They were both hard, dicks lined right up, together through soft cotton, but that was somehow less important than the way Steve pressed his face to Bucky's neck and sighed.
Bucky tangled their legs together and tightened his arms around Steve. If they never moved again, he'd die a happy man.
"Bucky," Steve said, and his voice was so serious, pitched low and ragged. He didn't lift his head.
Bucky's heart seized. What had Steve afraid to look him in the eye?
"Don't... Don't stay longer than you want." There was a pleading tone in Steve Rogers' voice that Bucky had never heard before.
He tightened his hold on Steve and ignored the cracks in his heart. He didn't say anything.