Take You for a Ride (On my Garbage Truck) - GoodbyeBlues (2024)

Chapter 1

Chapter Text

- Garbage Truck, Sex Bob-Omb (Scott Pilgrim vs. The World)

"This was… a mistake," Bucky declared as he slogged unsteadily down the sidewalk towards his home.

Despite his enthusiasm last night for the news of Natasha's big promotion, going shot for shot with his best friend had been a bad idea, and agreeing to the strip poker that had come afterwards had been infinitely worse. If The Sliding Scale of Poor Decisions had been a game on The Price is Right, Bucky was most definitely the little yodeler dude who had just helplessly careened off the edge of the cliff.

He had lost not only his coat and sweater but also a single shoe for some inexplicable reason. His phone and wallet were also MIA, and he was still unsure of whether they had (best case scenario) joined his clothing pile, still in Natasha's venomous clutches, or if they had just fallen into a random gutter or toilet at some point in the night.

Oh alcohol, you cruel, cruel mistress.

The one thing Bucky was sure of was that his car keys were safely behind the bar and would remain there until he sobered up, but judging by the rate at which his head was already beginning to pound, he'd be lucky to go back for them by the end of the week.

He hunched a little deeper into his borrowed coat, the autumn chill of the early morning creeping in around the gaping collar of the double XL monstrosity. He had taken it out of the bar's lost and found in a fit of desperation, his thin undershirt no match for a late September drunk-walk of shame, and despite being a supposed 'windbreaker,' the only thing it was really breaking was every fashion law known to mankind.

"Forgive me, Anna!" Bucky wailed to the Vogue goddess herself, on the off chance she was in his neighbourhood at 5am on a random Thursday to judge him for his life choices (as she should). The odds were unlikely, but you could never be too careful when it came to these things.

Unfortunately for Bucky, any thoughts of ‘careful’ melted away from his vodka-soaked noodle brain as his house finally came into view and he picked up his pace down the sidewalk, his shoeless foot aching a bit from the repeated battering against the cement. He was gonna have to throw his sock out; it was almost black from the ground now, and ripped in a few places too. What a sh*t show this had turned into.

He was essentially running by the time he came up to his lawn and decided to end his nightmare of a walk a few seconds sooner by cutting across the grass to his front door. His grimy sock didn't agree with this plan, however, and betrayed him in the foulest of ways by deciding to treat him to an early morning slip and slide instead. One fast-moving, half shoeless, still slightly drunk 30-year-old man was no match for the dewy splendor of a cool fall morning, and Bucky immediately skidded and face planted into the wet grass, Anna Wintour be damned.

"This is it," Bucky murmured to no one but Mother Earth herself, blades of greenery tickling his lips as he sang his dying whale song into the ground. "This is where I perish."

Giving into his fate, he relaxed into the wet grass, deciding a simple front lawn nap was just what he needed to sober up. His peaceful half-doze was soon interrupted by the increasingly mind-rattling rumble of a large engine though, and he squinted one eye open to follow the approach of a garbage truck down the street, stopping at the curb in front of the trash bin he had dutifully set out the night before. Life had been so sweet back then, he lamented internally. He was just a man of the grass now, nothing more than a mulch muncher.

"Uh, excuse me, sir," came a deep voice from behind him. It was obviously the baby Jesus, who had grown into the now-adult Jesus, because no one but a holy being could have a voice so nice. "Can I help you? Is there someone I can call, or…?" The nice voice trailed off questioningly, and Bucky groaned into the ground, his headache cresting within his brain like a wave.

"I have nothing and no one," Bucky stated bleakly into the earth.

"Oh. Oh no," said the baby-adult Jesus voice. He sounded sad now and Bucky suddenly wanted to cry just by proximity alone. "Where do you... I mean... If you don't mind me asking, where do you normally sleep?"

"Here," Bucky answered, spreading his arms like a face down grass angel, or maybe a starfish. He heaved out a sigh, clearing himself of the momentary touch of melancholy. "This is my home." He was pretty sure he had made it to his own property line at least. Things were blurry from down here.

"Oh dear," the voice murmured, genuinely upset now. Oh dear. How endearing could this man get? Bucky giggled into the grass.

"You're adorable," Bucky decided, rolling over onto his back. The sun was still in the process of coming up, but it was already entirely too bright out. The sickening glare was blocked out a moment later though, the image of Adonis himself appearing above with a literal halo of light illuminating the gold of his hair. He looked like an Easter card and a Magic Mike poster rolled into one.

"Baby Jesus f*cking Christ," Bucky exhaled, completely overcome by the beauty suddenly radiating down on him. The Touched by an Angel theme song was going to start playing any minute now, he knew it.

"Can I help you up?" The most glorious man in the world questioned, his perfect blonde eyebrows pinching together in concern. Bucky wanted to smooth that worried line in his forehead out... with his dick. (He was still more than a little drunk perhaps). The man pulled a work glove off his hand and held his palm out in offering, and Bucky didn't hesitate to take it, getting hauled easily to his feet as if he were a daisy getting plucked from a garden on a spring day; delicately and with care.

"Just wait here a minute, please?" The man almost pleaded, and Bucky bobbed his head. He would do whatever his angel wanted for the rest of eternity.

Golden Adonis baby-adult Jesus jogged gracefully over to the garbage truck and half disappeared into the passenger side door for a moment, his fine, fine ass hanging out the side a bit. Bucky had a terrible case of the drinky dry mouth, but even his parched tastebuds couldn't resist watering at the sight of that luscious rump. The gentleman (because he truly was one) returned a moment later, carrying a large grey hoodie, a thick pair of socks, and a wrapped, generously heaped PB&J sandwich.

"I'm sorry I don't have any spare shoes to give you," he frowned down at Bucky's feet, and Bucky would have objected, he had more shoes at home after all and it wasn’t even his birthday, but he had already taken a heaping bite of the sandwich and his mouth was currently dealing with a healthy influx of sticky, crunchy peanut butter (the best kind) and delicious strawberry jam. He made a kind of moaning noise of appreciation as it was, and it seemed to do the trick as the man met his eyes and smiled like Bucky had just made his day, when in fact the opposite was true; this man had just made Bucky's life.

"Steve, let's go!" The driver of the truck stuck his head out the window and waved an arm impatiently, causing Bucky's perfect saviour, Steve, evidently, to flash him an apologetic look before turning and sprinting back over to Bucky's garbage can.

"Take care of yourself, ok?" Steve called to him as he tossed Bucky's trash effortlessly into the truck before hopping on the back ledge to ride to the next address.

Bucky just nodded and lifted the half-eaten sandwich in a mock salute, and Steve grinned before riding the truck down the rest of the street, his muscles flexing under his bright city-provided sanitation shirt as he moved.

Bucky plopped back onto the grass and ate the rest of the sandwich, watching Steve work and chewing thoughtfully. The food was absorbing some of the lingering alcohol in his system, it seemed, and he felt a little better for having eaten it.

He sat on his lawn until the truck disappeared around the corner, the seat of his pants damp from the ground once he stood to collect his now empty trash bin. He hauled it up to its usual spot beside his house and then let himself in, placing his gifted socks and hoodie on the top of his dresser for future sober contemplation.

He stripped down to nothing and crawled into bed, dreaming of flying garbage trucks and handsome peanut butter sandwich angels as he drifted off to sleep.

Chapter 2

Chapter Text

Almost a week later, his celebratory hangover but a distant, painful memory, Bucky caved and wore the mystery hoodie.

He was roughly eighteen hours into a code writing session for the next major upgrade to his app when he realized his furnace had been uncharacteristically quiet that day, the white noise that usually hummed from the vents noticeably absent as he worked his eyes to bloodshot levels in the dim of his home office.

A look at the thermostat informed him it was well below room temperature inside now, and a glance at the clock told him it was also past midnight, so he did what any rational, sleep deprived, caffeine-twitchy programmer would do: Ignore it and continue to work. He layered up instead, the hoodie, warm socks, and a pair of gloves dug out from the back of the closet (fingers cut off for optimal typing speed) completing his new fall lookbook. It was function over form in this dog eat dog world, and even then, Bucky had no shame. He lived alone, he worked alone, he had built his now highly successful app from the ground up alone, and gave no sh*ts about appearance when it came to bursts of inspiration. There was no time for trivialities like clean hair when there was work to be done.

As he finally saved his work for the final time, pulling himself from the fog of another 24+ hours with no sleep, Bucky chanced another look at the clock to find it was now 4:45am, and a Thursday. Huh. Almost garbage time.

The hoodie, socks, and sandwich had been an unsolvable mystery over the past week, and while Bucky loved a good puzzle, going this long without an explanation was beginning to wear on him, the hoodie in particular eyeing him critically from the dresser every time he walked by. The details of his conversation with the garbage man (Steve, he remembered, Steve) were hazy at best, and the garments themselves offered no clues beyond surface level details. The hoodie had a light scent to it, clean like fabric softener but with the spicy layering of man on top, suggesting it had been worn briefly after washing before being given away. The socks had been folded together and unused but not quite as straight-from-the-dryer fresh as the hoodie had been, leaving Bucky to deduce that they were likely a back up pair Steve kept in the truck. The sandwich had obviously been the man’s lunch, a fact Bucky felt more than a little guilty about, but the glaring question overshadowing it all was why?

Even an impromptu brainstorming session, Thai food and whiteboard (his proven recipe for success) included, had left him with nothing more than a pitifully incomplete flowchart and a sad looking word bubble. The reason continued to evade him.

Bucky was a thinker, a knowledge-seeker, an academic, and he needed answers. If he booked it outside right now, he might actually be able to get them.

He jumped up from his desk chair, slightly shaky fingers combing through his greasy hair as he sped towards his front door. Shoes were hard so he slid his feet quickly into the cheap plastic slide sandals he used when making the trip down the driveway to his mailbox in the summer, and was out onto the lawn without even a rumble of the garbage truck to be found. He made it to the end of the driveway in record time, a little winded and disoriented from his unexpected sprint, not wanting to miss the truck in the off chance his hearing had failed him. All he could hear right now though was his own heartbeat and blood pumping through his ears. He really needed to hit the gym more.

Upon realizing he had beaten the truck to his destination, Bucky recognized with a sudden jolt that he was, in fact, going to come off as a creepy weirdo stalker for just waiting around for his friendly neighbourhood garbage man at the end of his driveway. His level of intoxication at the time had not erased the knowledge that Steve was as hot as Mount Vesuvius, and Bucky was totally going to ruin his chances with the guy before even getting a word out. He was all for shooting his shot, but only a fool went onto the court without even bringing a basketball.

He had to be cool, ease into it a little.

Unfortunately there was nothing really around to serve as an honest reason for being out at the curb at daybreak besides his own small collection of garbage and recycling, so that would have to be enough. Perhaps he could feign having a few last minute items to place there? What a happy accident then, right?? Oh hello Steve, what a coincidence, meeting you here…

The garbage truck turned on to his street, interrupting his daydream of Steve taking him passionately beside the recyclables, and Bucky scrambled over to his blue boxes, pulling out a few cans just as the truck came to a stop in front of him.

Steve hopped off the truck, a vision in fluorescent orange, and smiled shyly at Bucky, causing Bucky to coo and cradle his empty cans to his hoodie-clad chest as if they were tiny baby kittens. Time to enact his carefully laid and extremely well thought out plan.

“Oh heeeey, Steve,” Bucky greeted smoothly and sexily as he cooly dumped his can collection back into the box he had just retrieved it from. “I was just adding some last minute recycling to this bin, what a coincidence!” Bucky closed his eyes and swayed forward. Kissing timeeeeee, here it comessssss!

Steve caught him mid-sawy with a broad hand to his shoulder, his expression kind and exhibiting concern.

“Hey, are you alright?” His voice was deep and soft and Bucky wanted it to lull him to sleep. He was suddenly so tired. Maybe he should take another lawn nap? That hadn’t been so bad last time, and outside was practically the same temperature as his house right now.

Bucky blinked heavily and met Steve’s perfect eyes, unwilling to give up his charade just yet. “I’m fine, just sorting my recycling."

“What’s your name?” Steve asked gently, and yes, that was a good question, because it would be necessary when ordering their wedding invitations.

“James Buchanan Barnes. But you can call me Bucky.”

“Bucky,” Steve repeated, and oh, didn’t that sound nice coming from those lips. “You don’t have to lie to me, I promise, I’m not judging you. Have you gotten any sleep lately? Had anything to eat?”

Steve was so thoughtful, with his big ‘ol doe eyes and genuine concern. Why did he always look concerned? Bucky screwed up his face in thought, trying to parse through the questions and formulate an answer. He could really use his whiteboard right about now; a flowchart would be invaluable considering his thoughts were darting away like minnows.

First and foremost though, honesty. He had lied to his future husband. Dear Lord, the guilt and pain!

“I'm sorry I lied, Steve,” Bucky apologized groggily, feeling being called out on his fib as an ache in his chest. “I just didn’t want you to think I was completely hopeless. And sleep and food? I don’t remember, it's been maybe a day now.” Did coffee count as food? As far as sleep went, Bucky loosely estimated he was hurtling towards an unhealthy personal record for time spent awake. What even was time though, besides a man-made social construct that attempted to track the rotation of the earth? Clocks were real, he was almost certain. Time? Nah.

Steve made a sound like a wounded dove and Bucky jerked himself away from his erratic thoughts, scrambling to come up with a silver lining, something to make Steve smile. “But look!” He pointed to himself, plucking the cushy sweater from his chest. “I’m warm thanks to you! And your socks!” He stuck out a foot as proof, teetering around on one leg for a moment. “And I have gloves!” Bucky enthused, throwing a winning smile towards the blonde, spreading his fingerless-glove clad hands as evidence. It worked, and Steve grinned, although it still looked a little dim around the edges. "I was actually just up working, you know, bills bills bills," Bucky sang at the end, basically the embodiment of Queen B herself, but maybe Steve wasn't a Destiny's Child fan (was their marriage already doomed??) because his smile slipped another degree at the mention. Maybe money was a tough subject for him. Bucky didn't know how much city sanitation workers made, so maybe Steve was in a bad situation, cash-flow wise. Bucky would have to remember that when they inevitably started dating. Nothing too expensive or showy, lest he make Steve uncomfortable.

Bucky wasn't like, scary rich, but he definitely had money. His random little idea, Productivitree, a mindfulness app that basically made a virtual tree grow bigger the more you avoided wasting time on your phone, had been nothing more than a late-night brainstorm brought to life at first. He had written the program from his college dorm and put it in the app store for 99 cents on a whim, not really expecting anyone to download it but hoping it would help buy him a few more packs of ramen if somebody did. Somebody had downloaded it. And then like, three million other somebodies had too.

There had been a lot of imitations since then, mindfulness and productivity apps popping up like weeds as people became more stressed out and more addicted to their phones, but Bucky had gotten in on the ground floor, and he had the bank account to prove it.

So Bucky had some cash these days. He wasn't about to throw that in Steve's face. Yes, he lived in a nice neighbourhood, and had a nice house with a terribly long rich-person driveway, but that was because he was a work-from-home hermit who spent roughly 23.5 hours a day inside said house, and he needed to be able to roam around in the middle of the night without bumping into stuff. Otherwise, his money hadn't changed much about him. He didn't have to look down to know he was still wearing the sweatpants he wore in college for instance, forever stained with the ramen mishaps of years gone by.

"That's great, Bucky. Listen, I, umm…" Steve scrubbed a hand across the back of his neck, hesitating.

"Good Lord, Steve, just give the man the damn sandwiches!" The driver of the garbage truck stuck his head out the window with an eye-roll, obviously exasperated with his partner's dilly-dallying. "We're burning daylight!"

Steve blushed (and Bucky wept internally at the cuteness) and turned back towards the truck to accept a small grocery bag being passed out the window from the driver, the man attempting to say something with the motion, and Steve making a "blahgahshaha!" sputtering gibberish noise in an attempt to cover up whatever his comment would have been.

Bucky lifted an eyebrow and jerked his chin towards the truck when Steve returned, amusem*nt plain on his face. "Who's your friend?"

Steve's face was tinged with embarrassment as he shot a dirty look towards the truck. The driver, upper body still leaning half out the window and blatantly watching them, grinned back with a bright, gap-toothed smile.

"That's Sam, and he needs to mind his own business!" Steve's raised voice only made Sam smile wider, but he popped back inside the truck anyway, giving them the illusion of privacy that Steve apparently preferred. "This is for you."

Bucky took the offered bag and looked inside. Two peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, one large bottle of water, three bananas, an orange, another pair of socks, and a paperback book.

It was still not Bucky's birthday.

But...

Sandwiches.

"This is very generous and also did you know you have mastered the perfect ratio of peanut butter to jelly?" Bucky asked, except he didn't, he said "omnomnomnom" instead, because somehow there was already half a sandwich in his mouth.

With this action it was as if the clouds had just parted, Steve's overall demeanour brightening considerably. If Steve had been a low battery warning before, Bucky eating a sandwich evidently plugged him into a solar panel that sat two inches away from the sun. Impossible, scientifically, but metaphorically accurate.

This was already the best relationship Bucky had ever been in. All he had to do was eat to keep his partner happy.

"I think I'm in love with you," Bucky tried to say again, but oh no, the sandwich was gone and he had too much banana shoved in his mouth now instead, and again, all his words came out as a mumble. Why was Steve's food so dang delicious? Luckily, Bucky had a very cooperative gag reflex and didn't let the banana phase him. He took that puppy down like a pro.

Perhaps Steve wasn't aware of this skill and was worried Bucky would choke, because he had gone almost completely pale, his wide blue eyes locked onto Bucky's mouth.

"Steve, we really need to stay on sched- oh damn!" Sam was leaning out the window again, his eyebrows lifted to his hairline for some reason.

This interruption seemed to snap Steve out of his daze, the lost blood returning to his face abruptly, causing his cheeks and ears to bloom with a delightful shade of pink. Steve flapped an acknowledging arm in Sam's direction before turning back to Bucky, his eyes not quite meeting Bucky's own anymore.

"Ah, well. Enjoy!" Steve smiled the smile of a man who was being internally tortured and turned and literally ran back to the truck, tossing Bucky's garbage in almost chaotically before slapping the side of the vehicle, encouraging Sam to move them along.

Sam, still hanging half out the window, had not stopped staring at Bucky. At Steve's slap he shook his head to himself and ducked back into the driver's seat, his voice carrying enough in the quiet of the early morning that Bucky heard his words as he spoke out loud to himself.

"Like, I'm not gay, but damn. I get it. I get it now." His voice was significantly raised when he shouted out the window, "I get it! I get you, Steve!"

Steve made a dying-a-slow-and-painful-death noise in response and hid his face behind the edge of the truck, the vehicle finally kicking into gear and moving on to the next house as Bucky stood, silently watching from his place on the lawn.

Just like last time, he waited for the truck to disappear around the corner before going back inside, dropping the empty banana peel into his composter along the way.

He quickly dialed the 24 hour HVAC repair line that was on the 'Need Help?' sticker on his malfunctioning furnace and made an appointment for later that day, before brushing his teeth and getting ready for bed. He only realized his stupidity when he went to remove the hoodie, the sleeve of the garment literally slapping some sense into him as he pulled it up over his head.

He had forgotten to ask about the hoodie, and he hadn't even said a f*cking thank you for the new gifts Steve had given him today. Holy sh*t. No wonder Steve had run off. Bucky was a jerk!

Bucky reached for his phone on the nightstand and set an alarm for 4:00am next Thursday, suddenly thankful for the ridiculous human idea that was measured time and the fact that it would allow him to get up early next week to apologize.

Bucky took it all back. Time was necessary, and real, and he couldn't wait to spend more of it with Steve soon.

Chapter 3

Chapter Text

On a good day, there were very few differences between Bucky Barnes and a Disney princess.

A flowing mane of luscious hair? Check.

Plush, kissable red lips? Check.

The strength of a lion with the grace of a swan? Check.

The ability to kick ass while wearing a dress and heels? …It was a long story, but check.

Indeed, there were many similarities between them, but one significant difference separating Bucky and the princesses of his childhood was the coma-like sleep sessions those girls were lucky enough to get. Sure, they had to deal with a poison apple here or a magical curse there, but then sleep, blessed sleep, would be theirs. Then their prince charming would kiss them awake and not only would they find true love, they would also be completely and entirely rested. That was the real fantasy.

If Bucky had to pick which princess he most resembled currently, he would have to say Mulan, but not the awesome, Hun-destroying Mulan. He was the Mulan who had woken up groggy and disoriented in the tent, minus the porridge that was happy to see her. Bucky didn’t even get the porridge. It was very sad.

Bucky hated his life.

Bucky hated 4 a.m.

But Bucky’s prince charming was out there, and he wanted that kiss.

Bucky got out of bed.

“Noooo, it’s terrible,” he moaned pitifully when the cool air of his bedroom hit his bare skin as he darted towards his dresser. He had gotten the furnace fixed last week but that didn’t mean the floor wasn’t cold on his bare feet, and he was too deep into the habit of sleeping nude to consider switching to warm pyjamas. It was full-blown autumn now, and his wang was definitely feeling it. The chilly times had come.

“Pants,” he murmured, sorting through the mess that was his wardrobe. Where were all his pants? Bucky cast a squinty eye towards the overflowing dirty clothes basket that was currently jammed into his closet, and decided that question would be best left rhetorical. There was an old pair of plaid flannel sleep pants in his clean pile, warmth and comfort combined, score, and he hastily pulled those on, deciding it would be a freeballing day. It was too early for formalities like underwear. What was he, on Downtown Abbey? Pshaw.

A shirt was next and he pulled out an equally comfy long-sleeve from the closet, a pair of socks also joining the mix at the end. He had washed both Steve’s sweater and socks and was prepared to return them with his thanks today, as well as hopefully get an answer regarding their transition to his ownership in the first place. He still needed to apologize for being an ungrateful jerk too.

Gah.

His to-do list was honestly relentless today.

Dressed and somewhat ready to take on the world, Bucky checked his bedside clock to see getting up and ready had only taken a total of eight minutes. It was 4:08 a.m. Jesus.

He sent a longing look towards his still-rumpled bed and then forcefully turned away from it, knowing if he crawled back in he would never resurface in time.

True love's kiss was an incredible motivator.

At the front door he slipped into his slide sandals and at the last minute grabbed his old picnic blanket from the closet, knowing a thing or two about early mornings and wet grass now. He would sit on the blanket and avoid the dew. Bucky was basically a genius Boy Scout, with this level of preparedness.

He slogged his way down the driveway, the sun barely peeking over the horizon still, his cheap sandals shuffling loudly against the pavement since lifting his feet for a proper walk was too much to ask right now. Good thing the space between his house and that of his neighbours was somewhat significant. The quiet of the morning made everything seem so loud.

He eventually reached his trash cans that he had set out giddily the night before (would Steve notice he had made the switch to the extra-durable bags and had taken the time to tie bows at the top? He hoped so) and tossed his blanket to the ground, flopping down onto it with a sigh. Now to wait.

…

Just... Waiting.

…

Waiting in nature. Yep. It was… Great. Bucky was loving it.

...

Ok, so how long had it been now? Like at least 20 minutes, right?

Bucky reached for his pocket to grab his phone out but then remembered he had chosen pocketless sleep pants and had left his phone in his bedroom.

Damn.

…

Bucky inspected the grass in front of him. It was green. That was good. That was definitely how it was supposed to be. Healthy and stuff. That grass was doing A-Ok, no intervention required.

…

Alright, so that thing he mentioned before, about the chilly times? That was real. It hadn't been so bad on his walk but now that he was stagnant on the grass, the cold was starting to seep in. His toes were getting numb and so were his hands and ears and arms. This was officially a crisis.

Bucky grabbed Steve's hoodie and hastily pulled it on, then did the same with the socks. He got the old picnic blanket out from under him and wrapped it around himself, creating a small den of coziness. That was better.

Now back to waiting.

Bucky yawned.

Steve would be here any minute.

... Just waiting for Steve.

Someone was touching his shoulder.

“Gah!” Bucky snapped up from where he was evidently now laying on the ground, fists up and ready to rumble. Or, his fists would have been up if they weren’t trapped in his unconsciously-made blanket burrito.

“Woah, easy Buck,” Steve rocked back quickly on the balls of his feet from where he was crouching over Bucky’s once-prone form, hands coming up in a show of submission. “God, I’m so sorry. Are you ok? I didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I...” Bucky took a moment to take stock of himself, “am confused but unharmed.”

Steve’s mouth tilted to the side slightly, as if he found something about this amusing. “I’m glad to hear it. I’m really sorry for waking you up, I just wanted to make sure you were ok. You were sleeping pretty close to the road today.”

“When it comes to sleeping in nature, Steve,” Bucky responded with confidence, untangling himself from his picnic blanket, “sometimes you have to take what you can get.” Bucky would know too; one time he had gone camping and despite moving his sleeping bag fifteen different times, he had still somehow managed to have a rock jammed into the small of his back all night. He hadn’t gone back outside for almost a fortnight after that experience.

Steve’s eyebrows came together in a pinch, his beautiful smile cresting downward for some reason. “Hey, listen. If you have nothing going on today, I was wondering if you wanted to come along for the rest of the route? We still have another three hours or so to go, and you can sleep in the truck cab, it’s nice and warm in there. Just don’t tell the city on me, huh?”

“Really? Holy sh*t, yes!” Bucky scrambled to his feet and dusted himself off, trying to make himself as presentable as possible for the most magical of first dates.

Steve stood as well and flashed a bright grin, jerking a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the truck. “Just let me talk to Sam for a minute and then we’ll go.”

Bucky nodded and waited in place, his waiting skills having been perfected after all that practice from earlier.

Steve hopped up on the footboard of the tall truck and was speaking to Sam through the open window, jumping back down just a few moments later and allowing Sam the space to open the door and lower himself down too.

“I only do this for people I like, so don’t make me regret this Barnes,” Sam pointed a shovel-talk type of finger at Bucky before pulling on a pair of work gloves, and it finally clicked into place what was happening; Steve was switching to the driver’s seat and Sam would be working at the back today.

Bucky was gonna get to ride alone, next to Steve.

“Holy f*ck,” Bucky breathed as Steve waved him over, and Bucky didn’t dawdle, oh no, he danced right over and couldn’t help but add in an excited bounce or two on the balls of his feet as Steve showed him where to grab to help pull himself up into the truck.

Steve’s hand briefly touched the small of his back when Bucky lifted himself in, and could this day even get any better?

Yes, it turned out, it could.

“Um, you have... “ Steve began from where he had just settled himself in behind the wheel and beside Bucky, trailing off when their eyes met, the air thick between them. “May I?” He asked instead.

Bucky nodded, literally up for anything in this new Barbie dream life pocket dimension, and Steve leaned over with the permission, his hand coming up to cup Bucky’s face gently. His palm was large and warm and just slightly calloused from work as he brushed a thumb carefully over Bucky’s cheek in a smooth glide of skin on skin.

Bucky inhaled at the touch, his eyes fluttering with the dreaminess of it all.

Then Bucky felt something wet dislodge from his face.

“You, uh, had some grass clippings.” Steve pulled his hand back and gestured awkwardly to his own face and chin region, providing a humiliating visual reenactment.

“Ah, well,” Bucky stalled, trying to flip this disappointing (and somewhat embarrassing) turn of events on its head. “I’m just really in touch with nature, I guess.”

The echo of Steve’s perfect laugh followed them down the street as he threw the truck into gear and drove them to the next house, and Bucky was then entirely certain he had never been so in love before.

Chapter 4

Chapter Text

Sam Wilson was a patient man.

He had been tested in his life, of that there was no doubt. Between growing up in Harlem, his time in the Air Force, volunteering for the VA, and now working for the city, Sam felt as though he had been around the block enough to develop the kind of internal peace needed to overcome almost any and all situations.

His friendship with Steve Rogers, however, brought this stability into question more times than he would like to admit.

Like right now for instance.

There was giggling coming from the cab of the truck.

Giggling.

He didn’t even want to begin to guess who it was coming from.

Sam sighed heavily as they finally turned onto Bucky’s street, having circled back at the end of their route, feeling the pull in his upper arms and legs from the constant cardio of the up and down that came from working at the back of the truck. There was a schedule in place where the driver and thrower would switch back and forth week to week, but Steve insisted on being the thrower more often than not, saying he liked the morning air in his lungs and the sun on his face. There was rarely a sunbeam present at 4:30 a.m when they started, but Sam wasn’t gonna bring that up when staying quiet meant getting to sit in the cushy truck seat with a coffee and the radio on. If Steve wanted to feel that ‘sunshine,’ more power to him.

His easy ride for the last few months was coming back to bite him now, but that honestly wasn’t even the worst part. Steve and Barnes had left the truck windows down, which meant he had just been subjected to literal hours of the most painfully innocent flirting session he had ever witnessed in his life, and while his sore muscles would feel better in a day or two, his ears were now permanently scarred.

Steve had pulled the truck over back where they had picked Barnes up a few hours ago, and Sam hopped down from his perch, pulling his work gloves off as the cab doors swung open and two pinked-cheeked grown men emerged, more heart-eyes present between them than in a teenage girl’s ‘most used’ emoji folder.

Lord, give him strength.

Steve was currently toeing his work boot across the ground, bashful in a way that would put one of Snow White’s dwarves to shame, and Barnes was looking up at Steve from under his big stupid Bambi lashes as he spoke, a full on Disney movie laid out for Sam’s unwilling eyes. It was far too much fluff for being this early in the day still.

Sam cast his view around for any sort of distraction, the two dummies not even having the decency to acknowledge him yet, wrapped up in each other as they were, and spotted a man walking a dog across the lawn of the house next door to their current stop. The man was in his pyjamas and a bathrobe still, his blonde hair sticking up every which way and a coffee cup clutched in one hand as his dog nosed around in the grass, but he looked friendly enough, and honestly, Sam needed any excuse to get away from the cotton candy rainbow swirl that was Steve and Barnes right now.

He also needed the answers to a few concerning questions as of late, and hopefully this guy could provide both.

“Hey man,” Sam jogged over lightly and the guy looked up with a smile, squinting a bit in the morning sun. “How’s it going?”

“Good, good,” the guy answered easily before taking a long pull from his coffee cup. He gave Sam a considering look when he finished. “You’re the garbage dude, right?”

“Yeah man,” Sam chuckled, sticking out a hand. “Sam Wilson.”

“Clint Barton.” Clint switched the leash to his other hand to meet the grip. “Is your boy friends with Bucky over there?” He asked, jutting his chin towards Barnes and Steve.

“Yeah, Steve seems pretty taken with him. Actually, I don’t want to be too forward man, but do you know Barnes at all? Like, can you vouch for him? He’s a good guy?”

“Bucky?” Clint grinned, expression lighting up. “He’s one of the best. Lived in the neighbourhood for a few years, totally sweet to everyone he meets.”

“So no one has a problem with him... hanging around all the time?’ Sam asked, letting his quiet concerns finally come to light. This was a pretty affluent area, and the fact that Barnes was calling this place home and facing no complaints was unusual, to say the least.

Clint shot him a quizzical look and crinkled his nose up a bit at the mere suggestion. “Bucky's like the little brother of this neighbourhood. I’m pretty sure Mrs. Gonzalez bakes him muffins every week. The dude is more than loved. Hell, I had to go out of town for work once and he offered to watch Lucky for me.” Clint nodded to the dog on the leash, whose head popped up at the mention of his name. “I let him stay at my place for the week and came home to the cleanest house and the happiest dog I’ve ever seen.”

Sam felt his eyebrows lift. “You weren’t worried about him staying in your house?”

Clint shook his head. “Not even a little. I even offered to pay him for doing me a solid, but he said he didn’t want my money. Just the change of scenery and the time with Lucky was enough, according to him. I’m telling you, dude has got a heart of gold. He’s a little eccentric, maybe, but,” Clint shrugged a shoulder, “that’s just Bucky. Lucky loves him too. Hey, Luck,” Clint promoted, and the dog quirked his ears up, listening. “You wanna go give Bucky some kisses?” He asked in a baby voice. Sam blinked.

Lucky pranced in place until Clint unclipped the lead from the collar and was off like a shot across the lawn the moment he was untethered.

“Yo Barnes, incoming!” Clint shouted, and Bucky turned just in time to see the dog aiming his way, throwing himself to his knees with a bright smile and his arms open wide to receive the most over-the-top puppy-love greeting on earth. They rolled around on the ground together, hugging and (Lucky, at least) kissing, and Sam felt something old and jaded inside him break. This was the most precious f*cking thing ever.

One glance at Steve indicated he was in the same frame of mind, the blonde looking about one second away from weeping at the purity of it all. This was going to be a problem.

“Gives you that whole, my crops are watered, my skin is clear feeling, doesn’t it?” Clint asked, taking in the display fondly.

Sam nodded his head. It did indeed.

“Hey, thanks for putting me at ease. I appreciate it, Clint.”

“Any time man.” Another handshake ended the interaction, Sam finally snapping himself out of his cuteness stupor to head back over to the pair, and Clint retrieving Lucky to the obvious reluctance of them all.

Barnes was dusting the dirt and grass clippings off himself still as Clint led the dog away, and Sam would have been a fool for thinking the cuteness would be done with just because the dog was gone. It would never be done as long as Steve and Barnes remained in the same orbit.

“There’s a leaf in your hair,” Steve pointed out with much more gravity and concern than the situation called for, stepping close to Barnes, something snapping invisibly into place between them. Barnes was looking up at him with those f*cking eyes again and dear Lord, Sam was on the ship now but it didn’t mean he needed a front row seat to this kind of activity.

Steve reached out with the level of care usually reserved for performing brain surgery on newborns and plucked the leaf from Barnes’ unruly hair, letting it flutter to the ground unobserved as his hand lingered in the space between them. He must have needed a moment to gather his courage, but it came a breath later as he then tucked a stray piece of hair back behind Barnes’ ear, Bucky’s eyes basically rolling back in his head at the gesture.

Again, too much, far too early.

“Steve, man, come on,” Sam finally had to interrupt, lest they stand on the curb all day making googly eyes at each other. “We need to get the truck back to the depot soon. We’re already behind on our normal schedule.”

“Coming,” Steve answered dreamily, and Sam didn’t stick around to see the actual goodbye, he didn’t need that syrupy-sweet image swimming through his mind anytime soon, so he turned and levered himself up into the driver’s seat, flicking the radio on and changing it to an old Blues station. Trouble Man was playing and Sam turned the volume up a notch and leaned back in the seat, enjoying the song and attempting to drown out whatever conversation was still taking place below.

When Sam had woken up that morning, it had been with the usual assumption that Steve was a Golden Retriever of the sweet cinnamon roll variety, too sweet for the world, too pure. When he had envisioned the day Steve would finally meet his ideal match, Sam had dreamt that he would finally have someone else capable of sharing the Steve Rogers Protection Squad duties. He now knew that things had transformed into more of a ‘gorilla with a pet kitten’ situation, and Sam was inevitability going to have to be doubly on duty as the metaphorical zookeeper in such a scenario, keeping well-meaning gorilla Steve from crushing the precious little bean sprout that was Bucky Barnes.

“Trouble, man,” Sam echoed the song title with a whisper to himself as Steve finally made his way into the passenger seat with a blissful expression.

“We have to protect Bucky Barnes,” Steve stated as they watched the man in question float up the sidewalk aimlessly, still dressed in Steve’s donated clothing.

Sam sighed. “I know, Steve. I know.”

His work was never done when it came to being best friends with Steve Rogers.

Sam put the truck in gear and drove on.

Chapter 5

Chapter Text

“Nat, I’m telling you, he’s my soulmate. Soulmate, Natasha.” Bucky stated earnestly into the phone as he cradled it between his shoulder and neck, popping a Hungry Man into the microwave with his free hands. “We’re going to get married and you will cry at my wedding… once I ask him out.”

“Didn’t you just spend thirty minutes telling me all about your ‘date?’” Natasha’s voice was wry over the line, obviously unimpressed with Bucky’s first date story. It was the story he and Steve would eventually be telling their grandkids, so it was a little rude of her to sh*t all over it. At the same time though, he kind of saw her point; It had taken place within a few feet of his entire neighbourhood’s collection of rotting garbage.

“Ok, so it was a bit of a spur of the moment thing, and he was technically at work when it happened. That’s why I’m going to ask him out properly and have it be a real, on-purpose date this time. Underwear included!”

“You weren’t wearing underwear?” There was definitely judgment, but oddly no surprise in her tone now.

“It’s hard to wear clothes when your best friend holds them all hostage, Natasha,” Bucky reminded her pointedly as he watched his food spin. The plastic film that covered the corn area was beginning to mushroom up a bit and Bucky didn’t know if that was quite right. Instructionsssss… Where had he put the instructions?

“For the millionth time, I sent your sweater to the dry cleaners and just picked it up a few days ago. If I had given it back to you at the bar that night, you would have just puked on it and then tossed it in the washer and ruined it.”

Damn, she knew him too well.

“Did you know you’re supposed to cut holes in a Hungry Man to let the steam out?” Bucky asked, glancing up from the back of the now-located box to watch his corn section expand into a Jiffy Pop-esque balloon.

“Are you eating that frozen crap for dinner again?” Natasha vocally rolled her eyes. “Meet me for lunch tomorrow. I’ll give you your stupid clothes back and get to witness you eating at least one proper meal in this lifetime.”

“Only if we’re going to the diner, and only if you’re buying,” Bucky bargained as he slowly backed away from the blast zone that was the microwave.

“You mean the one with the permanently sticky seats?”

“It’s charming!” Bucky defended. It was his favourite place!

Natasha sighed. “I’ll see you there at noon. Try not to die from malnutrition until then.”

“I love you too!” Bucky yelled before ending the call and wincing as his corn exploded in the microwave.

Maybe a meal out wouldn’t be the worst idea.

“I’m glad to see you dressed up for the occasion,” Natasha greeted as she kissed Bucky’s cheek in the parking lot of the restaurant.

“Hello, these are brand name sweats, Natasha,” Bucky sassed back, gesturing to his heather-grey clad legs. “Don't you know quality when you see it?”

The redhead quirked an eyebrow. “Adidas?”

Bucky shot her an offended look. “Kirkland, you snob. I got them and a hotdog for less than a twenty. And don’t even get me started on those free samples!”

Natasha just slow-blinked at him before shoving the bag she was carrying (his clothes, finally!) into his arms and turning and heading towards the diner’s entrance.

“You’re right Nat, I’m hungry too! Let’s eat!”

“...And then, Steve was like, ‘do you want the heat on, Bucky?’ And I was like, ‘no Steve, I’m already warm enough thanks to you.’ And his cheeks Nat, his cheeks, they went all pink, and I almost died. He’s so cute.” Bucky paused to shove another heaping handful of nachos into his mouth. “Did I tell you about his eyes yet?”

“Yes,” Natasha answered dryly.

“They’re so blue, like the sky, or the ocean. Or… other blue things. Flowers? Crystal clear, too.” Bucky continued, undiscouraged. “Clear like water. Or glass. Or... hmmm. What else is clear?”

“Oh my God,” Natasha folded her arms onto the tabletop and flopped her head down tiredly. “He’s not a missing person, and you’re horrible at similes. Stop describing him, please.”

“But Nat,” Bucky whined, “I need you to know what he looks like! He’s so beautiful!”

“Blonde hair, blue eyes, built like a brick house. I get it, James.” Natasha lifted her head finally, glancing around for their server. Her iced tea was getting low. “I’ve been listening. It’s just that blonde himbos are a dime a dozen in this city. I mean look, there’s one at the counter right now. On a scale of one to ten, how hot is your Steve compared to that guy?”

“Where?” Bucky whipped around abruptly in his seat, ignoring Natasha’s lame belated attempt to tell him to be cool. He was basically already in a monogamous relationship and wanted to see how the competition stacked up. No one could be as hot as his Steve, surely.

“Holy sh*t,” Bucky murmured as he finally caught sight of the guy Natasha had pointed out. That WAS his Steve, leaning on the counter like the definition of a cool customer in a f*cking leather jacket, with a pair of goddamn sunglasses hanging from the neck of his plain white tee. He had jeans on too, a dark-washed blue, and they were perfectly cupping what Bucky could only dream of one day having the privilege to cup. Bucky was officially the skull and crossbones emoji, that’s how dead he was.

“Steve! Steve!” Bucky stood up and waved his arms wildly, turning most of the heads in the restaurant, but not the one he wanted. “STEVE!” He flailed. (He was also like the 'dancing lady' emoji now too, he guessed.)

Finally, that beloved blonde head turned in his direction, Steve’s face breaking out in a huge grin as he took Bucky in, receiving a takeout bag from the person behind the counter before making his way over.

“Nat, it’s Steve!” Bucky exclaimed with wide eyes, shooting a joyous look towards his best friend.

“I’ve gathered,” Natasha commented, eyeballing the man in question as he approached.

“Bucky!” Steve greeted happily, and Bucky melted like an ice cream cone at the way his blue eyes lit up when he was surprised. If Steve had had a tail, Bucky would’ve bet good money that it would have been wagging right about now.

“Steve! We were just talking about you!” Bucky couldn’t contain himself from blurting.

“Oh my God,” Natasha repeated, shooting him an are you high? look. “Why would you even tell him that?” She asked, visibly pained.

Steve chuckled, a little self-consciously. “Only discussing the good things, I hope.”

“The best things,” Bucky sighed, leaning his elbows on the table to prop up his chin as he gazed properly at his soulmate. “Can you sit? We have room!”

Steve hoisted his bag as evidence of an earlier commitment, his expression genuinely regretful. “I would love to, but I'm actually just picking up lunch and meeting some friends. Raincheck?"

"I'll do you one better," Bucky began, confidence in spades. "How about instead of relying on a random meteorological event, we pick a time and a place and meet there in the future. For a date."

"I'm going to go pay at the counter," Natasha slid from the booth abruptly, her shoulders shaking with something (laughter? Why??) as she walked away.

Steve was glowing like a colourful church window as he met Bucky's eyes. "Really? You want to?"

"Absolutely," Bucky nodded, because duh. "I'll even up the ante too. Look." He grabbed the bag Natasha had left his sweater in, pulling the garment out to display proudly. "Thanks to Natasha, I once again possess proper date clothing. I’m telling you, Steve, you won’t be sorry once you see me in this sweater.”

Steve’s eyes went soft, his words and expression earnest as he spoke. “I wouldn’t be sorry even without the sweater, Bucky. The sweater’s not what I’m interested in.”

“I. You. Well,” Bucky stammered, feeling his face flush at Steve’s open sincerity. “That’s good. It’s a good sweater, but also a lousy conversationalist. It hardly says a word some days.”

The corner of Steve’s mouth ticked up, amused. “Not something you have a problem with, I’m guessing?”

“Words?” Bucky asked, an unnecessary clarification. “No, I have like, all the words. In here.” He tapped his temple with a finger. “I’ll bring them on our date, and we’ll talk. Show that sweater who’s boss.”

Steve laughed brightly and grinned, thankfully unphased by Bucky’s unusual stream of consciousness. “I’d really like that.”

“Let’s keep it simple though,” Bucky smiled back, remembering to keep things reined in until he could get a better grasp on Steve’s financial situation. “How about a walk in the park? We could get an ice cream or something? I’m not much of a steakhouse kind of guy, to be honest.”

Steve needed to stop looking at him with that soft face before Bucky melted even further and became one with the sticky booth.

“You know, Buck, I’m really not either. The park sounds great.”

They set a time to meet at the park’s entrance on Sunday before Steve’s phone chirped at him, Steve pulling it out of his pocket and grimacing at the text a moment later. “I’ve gotta run,” Steve apologized, “but I’ll see you Sunday, ok?”

“Absolutely,” Bucky couldn’t help but grin up at him, and Steve took one step closer, hesitating only for a moment before leaning down and kissing him lightly on the cheek.

Bucky was a shooting star, a supernova, a galaxy, he was so high in the sky.

“Sunday,” Steve confirmed with a murmur, pulling away slightly to tuck a fallen lock of Bucky’s hair back behind his ear, a move that was quickly becoming their thing. Bucky had no complaints about that whatsoever, absolutely not, no sir.

With one last parting smile, Steve turned and headed towards the exit, nodding politely to Natasha as he passed before pushing through the door.

Bucky flopped back in the booth like his strings had been cut, emotionally exhausted and elated.

“He kissed me.” Bucky stated when Natasha finally made her way back over, slipping gracefully back into her seat as Bucky stared at the restaurant’s ceiling. “He kissed my face.”

“I saw,” Natasha’s lips quirked up, her expression radiating satisfaction. “He seems sweet. And totally smitten,” she added. “You deserve someone who lights up like that when they see you.”

“He kissed me and we have a date. This is the best day ever!” Bucky declared. He stuck his arms up in the air and mimed a throw. "Shoop shoop!"

Natasha raised an eyebrow at him. "What was that supposed to be?"

"I shot my shot," Bucky explained. "You know, the basketball noise; shoop shoop! I scored!"

"That's swish swish, James," Natasha informed him absently, peering over the edge of the table. “Are you going to sit up anytime soon?”

“I think I’m stuck to the booth.” Bucky frowned.

Natasha shook her head and stole a nacho off his plate with a smile.

Chapter 6

Chapter Text

Bucky Barnes, voted Most Likely to Fail Gym in highschool (why had they even allowed that category? The yearbook editors obviously hadn't been paying attention during those one-woman play assemblies about bullying) had not taken his own sage advice, had not stepped up his workout game, and was now paying dearly for it.

"I'm here! I'm here!"

His pathetic cry echoed across the park and Steve lifted his head from where he had been frowning down at his phone, obviously in the middle of debating whether or not Bucky had stood him up. They hadn't exchanged phone numbers and Bucky had all sorts of regrets about that now, seeing as he was 10+ minutes late for their date and completely soaking wet thanks to the healthy dose of rain Brooklyn had received that morning.

Would Mother Nature ever cease her persistent onslaught against him? It seemed unlikely, given his current state.

"Steve! I’m sorry!" Bucky wheezed as he crested over the final small hill at the park's entrance, panting heavily as he finally came to a stop.

"Bucky! What happened?" Steve rushed forward to close the remaining gap between them as Bucky doubled over, resting his hands on his upper thighs in an attempt to catch his breath.

“I was walking… and there was a bus… and a puddle,” Bucky explained choppily, inhaling deeply between words. He took a few more gasps before standing up straight, taking in Steve’s ‘perfect 10’ of composure and date etiquette. “Holy sh*t, is this a turn off for you? I have better endurance in bed, I swear,” he reassured, suddenly mortified at his flagrant display of unathleticism. “I could obtain references if you need them.”

The blooming red in Steve’s face was reaching a level of unrestrained saturation that Bucky had never before witnessed, and he had once attempted to recreate L'Atelier Rouge in Microsoft Paint after seeing it at MoMA. (It had gone poorly.)

“Let’s just, like, jump over that topic for now, ok?” Steve was saying, and Bucky nodded, because yeah, they could save the bedroom stuff for when his dick and balls weren’t suffering from a polar plunge via unruly public transportation.

“I really am sorry I’m late though. I was almost here when the bus went by, and I spent a few minutes trying to dry off in a coffee shop's bathroom. It didn’t really work out, obviously.” Bucky frowned down at his perfect date sweater, now plastered to his chest and stomach. He had left his coat hanging open because it had contributed to his overall aesthetic of sexy boyfriend material, but that had obviously been the wrong choice. Not that it would have really helped, as his coat was soaked through too.

Bucky pulled the sweater away from himself and then released it, the fabric making a wet slap as it settled back across his tummy. “This is why I can’t have nice things.”

Steve’s frown matched his own, but he took Bucky’s hand in his and tried for a smile. “It doesn’t mean you don’t deserve them.” He tugged a little, and Bucky fell into step beside him, heading back the way he had just come.

“You don’t want to walk anymore?” Bucky asked, trying not to let his disappointment show in his tone. Steve was still holding his hand though, so that had to mean something good, right?

“I don’t want to walk anymore,” Steve confirmed, and Bucky felt his heart sink. “I want to take you back to my place, get you in some dry clothes, and make you a hot drink instead. You’re freezing, Buck.”

“Oh,” Bucky blinked. “Really?”

“Is that not ok?” Steve’s sure steps faltered a bit, and Bucky squeezed his hand lightly, pressing reassurance into his palm.

“It’s more than ok. Walking is overrated, anyway. Despite what may seem like an obvious affinity for it, nature and I don’t get along super well. I prefer a roof over my head if I have a choice.”

Steve’s hand clenched a little tighter around his, and his steps picked back up, purpose once again in his motion and reflecting sharply in the blue of his eyes. “Then let’s get you inside.”

Twenty minutes later, Bucky was questioning if that bus had actually just hit him head-on, because surely he was now in heaven.

He was in Steve’s apartment, on Steve’s couch, in Steve’s clothes (#blessed) and drinking a hot chocolate that Steve had prepared for him. It was literally his version of paradise, and he owed that bus a thank you, should he ever see it again.

Steve’s apartment was small but cozy, nicely decorated and comfortably furnished. It was the ‘just right’ porridge of living spaces, and Bucky was as giddy as Goldilocks to be there. (With an invitation of course, none that B&E bullsh*t she had pulled in the story.)

If they ever got to the bed testing portion of the tale, Bucky would be highly likely to spontaneously combust from joy.

“Did you pick a movie out?” Steve asked, sitting down next to him and startling Bucky from where he had melted against the arm of the couch, subtly sticking his nose into the collar of Steve’s shirt to nasally drink in that delicious Steve scent.

“Uhhh, no. I’ve been busy,” Bucky answered, leaning in towards the middle cushion to grab a handful of the popcorn Steve had just set down, the blonde settling into his own seat on the end a moment later.

“Busy doing what?” Steve raised an eyebrow at him, amused and soft as Bucky chewed thoughtfully on his snack.

“I am acclimating myself to your space,” Bucky explained reasonably, because he would not admit to being a creepy sniffy snifferson, no matter how understanding Steve was or how good he smelled. “And letting your apartment acclimate to me. It’s a two-way street of acceptance.”

“And does the apartment agree with you being here?” Steve grinned as he bullsh*tted right along with him.

“I will ask.” Bucky closed his eyes and waved his arms around experimentally, making sure his face looked properly focused. “Do you accept me as the person who comes inside you?!” Bucky questioned dramatically. His eyes popped back open an instant later as Steve let out a choking noise from the other side of the couch, reaching for his drink as Bucky leaned towards him in concern.

“God, Steve, are you ok?”

Steve nodded and wiped at the small tears that had formed at the corners of his eyes, blinking a couple of times before clearing his throat. “I’m good,” he reassured, still looking a little flushed in the face. “Just a kernel stuck in my throat or something, it’s fine. It’s gone now.”

“Hmmm,” Bucky narrowed his eyes critically at the evil popcorn, moving it to the coffee table and sliding closer to Steve with intent. He obviously didn’t like the idea of Steve choking, but emergency situations were known to be proven bonding opportunities. “I’d better sit closer in case this becomes a recurring event. I do know the Heimlich after all.”

Steve lifted an arm and tucked Bucky even closer into his side, making Bucky’s cheeks heat with happiness. “That’s good to know. Do you want to watch Mulan?” He asked, lifting the remote.

“It’s porridge, and it’s happy to see you!” Bucky quoted quietly to himself, the serendipity of the moment not lost on him. He was law-abiding Goldilocks, he was Mulan, he was going to have his perfect fairytale life with this kind, handsome prince beside him. There was no doubt now; they truly were soulmates. The proof was in the porridge.

“Abso-f*cking-lutely, I want to watch Mulan with you,” Bucky responded joyfully, and so that’s what they did.

“Bucky?” Steve was murmuring softly, and Bucky shifted on the couch a bit, reluctant to open his eyes and ruin the exceptional cuddle-haze they had going on. Steve had pulled a blanket over them halfway through the movie and neither had stayed awake to see the end of it, the comfortable weight of the rainy afternoon making that decision an easy one.

“‘M still sleeping,” Bucky slurred back, shifting against Steve a bit to try to reestablish his position of optimum comfort. He ended up with his head pillowed on Steve’s thigh, blinking up owlishly at the blonde in the fading afternoon light. Steve’s hand came down gently to card through his hair and Bucky tilted into the touch, feeling his eyelids flutter closed at the sensation.

“You ever gonna wake up?” Steve asked, quiet and playful as he separated tangled strands with gentle fingers.

“A true princess will only wake up with a kiss,” Bucky mumbled unthinkingly, too fixated on the feeling of Steve touching him to really consider his words.

Steve’s hand stilled for a moment, enough of a disruption for Bucky’s brain to catch up with his mouth, and Bucky’s eyes flew open, ready to swallow those words back up, because oh lord, that was way too forward, even for him.

Steve was looking down at him from above, blue eyes thoughtful and full of level contemplation. “Would you really want that? A kiss?”

Bucky swallowed, and Steve’s eyes traveled to his Adam’s apple and then his lips as Bucky licked the dryness away.

“Should you really kiss on the first date?” Bucky gazed up at Steve, buying time, urging himself towards a cliff from which, once lept from, there was no return. Towards bravery, because f*ck yes, he wanted this so badly, but also, ahhhhhhhh!!

Bucky Barnes, once destined to fail gym, was nervous.

“Is this a first date? Didn’t we kind of already have that?” Steve questioned genuinely. “I mean, I know I was technically at work and we were surrounded by garbage, but it felt-”

Steve was cut off abruptly as Bucky surged up from his place on the couch to meet his lips, clacking their teeth together gracelessly before twisting and finding a better position. He knelt on the sofa cushion with one hand on the back of Steve’s neck, the other on the sharp cut of his jaw, and let the cliff disappear into a speck as he fell away from it, a parachute of bliss and Steve’s hands clutching his waist catching him and securing his decision.

“It did feel,” Bucky pulled back to whisper, and then they were kissing again.

Chapter 7

Chapter Text

“Alright Steve, listen, I love you and your muscled self, but you need to tell me what’s up before you wear a hole in those things.”

Steve glanced down to where he was absently twisting his work gloves into a worried knot and sighed, leaning a little more heavily against the lockers as he waited for Sam to get his ass in gear and finish pulling his coveralls on. His coveralls, not his usual tee or long-sleeve. His coveralls, because it was snowing outside.

“It’s snowing,” Steve emphasized the word as the knot from his gloves seemed to transfer and settle uncomfortably into his stomach.

“It’s almost December, man. It happens,” Sam replied easily, obviously not understanding the implications of the weather yet. “It’s the first snow of the year, and it probably won’t even stick overnight. Just enjoy it, it’s pretty!”

“It’s actually a little less pretty and more like pretty damn terrible for all the people who live outside right now.”

“Oh, f*ck.” Sam finally shut his locker, expression appropriately contrite as the connection was finally made. “Have you thought about what's going to happen as it gets colder?” He asked as he led the way outside to the garbage truck.

“I can’t stop thinking about it. We’ve only been dating for about a month, but I think I’m going to ask him to move in with me. I can’t let Bucky live in this.” Steve gestured broadly to the fat flakes of snow currently swirling around them in the dark of the early morning. "I know it's early in our relationship but I feel like we're headed there eventually anyway. He's amazing, Sam. I've never met anyone like him before, and I don't see what we have together ending anytime soon. He could be it for me." He shot a glance towards his best friend, shocked to see the man looking less than surprised at his decision. “You’re not going to tell me it’s a horrible idea?”

Sam shrugged a shoulder non-committedly and gazed around the lot, soberly taking in the snow that was already beginning to dust the ground. It was coming down hard enough that it would entirely hide the asphalt in another hour or so. “I mean, I get it. If someone I cared about was sleeping in this, I’d probably do the same. Damn though, Steve, do you know how many homeless people I’ve walked by in my life in worse weather than this, maybe given a couple bucks to, and then forgotten about by the end of the block? And now thinking about Barnes being one of those people… The dude is so sweet, he'd probably melt if you left him out in the snow! I’ll host the housewarming party at this point.”

Steve smiled in spite of the bleak topic and bumped his shoulder against Sam’s in a silent show of thanks. “It’s probably not going to be as simple as that, unfortunately. Bucky’s a proud guy. We’ve mostly kept our dates low-key, but lately he’s been pushing for bigger things, like offering to buy me dinner. I keep refusing to let him pay, but he’s made me at least split the bill with him a few times now. He doesn’t seem to take very kindly to charity.”

“So you’re gonna have to start small,” Sam considered, leaning up against the truck in thought. “Maybe get him over for the weekend to start, and then build up to more. Hopefully after a while you can get him so into the habit of sleeping there that he’ll just never really leave.”

Steve hadn’t been able to come up with anything better than that himself, so it was worth a shot. “Alright, so step one, get Bucky to stay for the weekend. Step two, help cure the national crisis that is homelessness.”

Sam laughed and slapped Steve on the back before climbing into the driver’s seat. “That’s funny man, cause it sounds like you're not joking.”

“It’s extra funny,” Steve grinned back, settling into the passenger seat, “because you know that I’m really not.”

Sam sighed and turned the key to let the truck rumble to life. What had he said before, about his work never being done when it came to Steve Rogers?

He was about to double down on that sentiment, he could tell.

“It’s Friday, Friday, gotta get down on Friday...”

“James, I swear to god.”

“Everybody’s lookin’ forward to the weekend, weekend.”

“Do you want me to hang up on you?”

“If you’re going to continue to crush my spirit with your heartlessness, maybe I do,” Bucky ceased with his Grammy-worthy singing to peer into the space under his bed from on his hands and knees, Natasha’s voice coming through clearly on speakerphone.

“When is Steve picking you up?”

Bucky reached up and grabbed his phone off the mattress, checking the time and then switching on his flashlight app to get a better look at the unexplored black hole of his bedroom. Countless socks, pants, and shirts had disappeared into this particular void, and now his overnight bag was apparently the latest victim.

“In twenty minutes, and I still have to pack, so please keep your critical remarks to yourself. I move slower when I'm being judged. Confidence equals speed.”

"You have the voice of an angel and the ass of a much fitter man," Natasha stated dryly through the phone.

"I know you're being sarcastic, but I'm choosing to ignore that part and take the compliment, so thank you." Bucky pushed his crumpled Christmas onesie out of the way, squinting to see behind it. Still nothing, and the clock was ticking.

He pushed himself up from where he was now sprawled on his belly, turning the flashlight off and admitting defeat as he went into the kitchen to fetch a grocery bag. "I need all the good juju I can get. I can't even find my overnight bag!"

Natasha was silent for a moment. "You don't mean the sexy black leather one I maaaaybe borrowed two weeks ago when I went to that weekend conference, do you?"

"Nat!" Bucky pouted, rooting around in his bag of bags for something without a hole in it. "Stop stealing all my sh*t! Now I have to show up for my first weekend at my insanely perfect boyfriend's house with all my clothes stuffed in a grocery bag!"

"You don't have other suitcases?" Natasha asked judgmentally, as if she had any right to use that tone when she herself was a poopy bag stealer who had obviously also recently lacked a proper weekend tote.

"They're all like, airplane sized. I can't glide in with a giant rolling suitcase for a two-night stay. That's basically the height of high maintenance! And I am a low maintenance fellow! It would be a disservice to my image."

"When you say low maintenance, are you still talking clothing, or are we on to personality now? Because if it's personality, you-"

"Oh look, Steve is here early, byeee!" Bucky lied and hung up quickly, tossing his phone carelessly into his bed as he re-entered his bedroom. He wasn't even sure if he was going to bring the device with him this weekend, come to think of it, because he never seemed to need it when Steve was around.

Steve was a unicorn of the old-fashioned gentleman variety, always offering to pay for things and preferring to set their next date up with a specific time and place before they parted ways. He also hardly ever had his own phone out while they were together. He even had an analog watch as opposed to checking the time on his phone like a normal human, and watching him glance down at it occasionally like some sort of sexy professor was a f*cking feast for the eyes. No cell phone would rob Bucky of this gift, no sir.

Steve's disregard for technology was a drastic contrast compared to Bucky's normal 12+ hour days spent in front of his computer screen as he tackled a new project he had been brainstorming, and he was currently digging the easy way it silently reminded him to just disconnect for a while. It was actually really sweet of Steve to be so wholly focused on him when they were together, like a medieval courting ritual or something, and although Bucky would have loved to have been able to just text the guy sometimes, the lack of a phone number meant he hadn't been able to send a regrettable middle-of-the-night dick pic yet, which itself was already a win. His dick was very much not regrettable, but Steve deserved better than that, particularly since no dicks had even been introduced into their relationship thus far. Hopefully this weekend together would change that, provided Steve was also ready to take things to the next level. Bucky was beyond happy with their current arrangement of couch make-out sessions, but had been getting off alone so much at home lately that he was likely to develop carpal tunnel soon. His wrists were so beautifully delicate, they could hardly manage all that jerkin’. Gods, what a curse!

On that note, he shoved a bottle of lube and a pack of condoms into the bottom of his grocery bag, stuffed some random clothes on top, and went to go meet his boyfriend at the curb.

Chapter 8

Chapter Text

Bucky’s nose was so red.

“It’s like an abominable snowman had a love child with a pile of ice cubes and they named the baby The End of November,” Bucky groused without preamble as he slid into the passenger seat of Steve’s car, pulling his hat a little further down over his ears once he was buckled in. It was a red buffalo plaid hunting hat, earflaps and all, and it was kind of hideous, in a somewhat endearing way.

Steve turned the heat up higher as he pulled away from the curb, mouth twitching up despite his worry over the cold. “That’s a terrible name for a child, they’d never be able to find a keychain with their name on it.” He cast a playful glance at his passenger, eyeballing the loud piece of headwear. “New addition?”

Bucky’s eyes almost crossed over looking at the brim above him, as if he had somehow forgotten he was even wearing the thing. “Oh yeah, it’s new. I was over at the thrift store the other day and it stood out to me. It’s like Holden Caulfiend’s, you know? From the book you gave me?”

Steve’s heart flip-flopped in his chest at the reminder. It felt like years ago now that he had given Bucky that first hastily-assembled care package, and he viscerally recalled shoving the paperback in at the last second before leaving for work that morning. He’d barely known Bucky then, but knew getting out of your own head on a bad day was sometimes just as important as a meal or a warm pair of socks. Mental health was health, and while he’d put the bag together quickly, he’d wanted to cover all angles as best he could.

“I remember, Buck, I did read the book before I gave it to you,” he teased. “What’d you think? Are you and Holden one and the same now? Brothers in angst?”

“The only thing that annoying boy and I have in common is the fact that we were both cold in New York one day, and we both have ear-covering needs when it comes to emergency headwear. Otherwise, I think that book can pitch itself out of the Rye and off a cliff,” he stated plainly, catching himself a moment later with a small gasp. “If it’s like, your favourite though, I’m sorry…” Bucky trailed off and Steve chuckled, not offended in the least.

“Why do you think I gave it away?” Steve shrugged, slightly embarrassed to be found out, and Bucky laughed loudly at the revelation.

“You hated it too!”

Steve tilted his head. “Just a bit.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” Bucky chastised playfully, “caught in the flesh regifting a book he didn’t like. Are you even trying to get into Heaven? Goodness gracious, you’re going to be living a lawless life after this, aren’t you? Next thing you know you won’t even be smiling at dogs in the park anymore.” Bucky turned in his seat slightly, gripping the car door dramatically with one hand. “Should I tuck and roll out of here before you steal my social security number and toss me in the river?”

“I would never not smile at a dog!” Steve cried, feeling his hackles rise at the mere suggestion. He knew Bucky was joking, but… not smiling at dogs. Jesus.

“Are you sure, Steve?” Bucky’s stupid smile was too big and charming and Steve was so gone on this guy, it was unbelievable.

“I solemnly swear I will steal your identity and then dump your body in the river before I ever stop smiling at dogs,” Steve answered gravely.

Bucky relaxed back into his seat with a wistful expression, as if Steve had just bared his romantic soul to him. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”

They drove in peaceful silence for a moment, the air settling between them.

"You know,” Steve considered a few blocks later, “wearing that hat ironically is a pretty Holden thing to do. Very against-the-grain of you.”

“Shut up and drive the car, Steve,” Bucky snorted, the noise unappealing and wonderful. His grin was a mile wide despite the ribbing, and while Steve couldn’t see his own face, he felt as though his own answering smile matched.

“I never wanna leave this couch,” Bucky moaned into a throw pillow later that night, their recently consumed pizza dinner sitting warm and comfortable in his stomach as a movie flickered on in the background. His body was spread out lazily on the piece of furniture and Steve was currently acting as his footrest, the blonde massaging his feet in his lap in a way that turned Bucky’s bones to molasses.

Steve’s mouth opened and then abruptly clicked shut, whatever he had been about to say evidently no longer on the tip of his tongue. Instead he smiled and dug his fingers into his soles a little better before tapping Bucky’s calf and rising, settling Bucky’s legs gently back down onto the couch as he stood.

“I think we should call it an early night,” Steve suggested, and Bucky had to agree. Not only was he getting sleepy, he was also incredibly eager to finally get in the metaphorical kitchen drawer with Steve and spoon. And if that spooning happened to lead to some forking, well. That would be mighty fine with him, too.

“Yeah, I could get on board with that,” Bucky nodded and slowly pulled himself up, attempting to visibly remain as cool as a cucumber despite the lube at the bottom of his plastic monstrosity of a weekend bag screaming his name.

Bucky had been given a tour of Steve’s whole apartment weeks ago when he had come over, but seeing the bedroom now took on a whole new meaning, knowing he was about to be cuddled up there with the man of his dreams in the very near future.

“I was thinking of taking a shower first,” Steve was saying absently as he rifled through his dresser drawers, pulling out a pair of comfy looking PJ pants (and no accompanying shirt, hallelujah!) and Bucky pulled his gaze away from the bed to pay attention, because a potentially wet and naked Steve deserved his full attentiveness. “I cleaned out a drawer for you,” he continued, the blush that Bucky loved so much cresting over his cheeks and ears with the words, “so if you want to unpack your bag, maybe after you can meet me there.”

With that he turned and made a B-line for the washroom, not looking back to see if Bucky was following.

“Holy. f*cking. sh*t.” Bucky said out loud to no one.

A drawer. A shared shower.

“I’m coming, Steve! I’m coming!” He wailed as he sprang into action, grabbing his grocery bag (which Steve hadn’t even blinked at, what a gentleman!) and shoving the entire thing into the drawer in one go before sprinting down the hallway to catch up.

Steve was standing awkwardly and very nakedly by the running shower as the room began to steam, his slightly tense face breaking into a more confident grin as Bucky basically tripped over himself to get there.

Bucky was a man who appreciated a good brain, someone who could make him laugh and think and take his mind to places it had never been before, and Steve had more than proven his ability to do this over their past weeks together. Steve was hilarious and sweet and sassy and didn’t take anyone’s sh*t, Bucky’s included, but he did it in a way that was gracious and genuine, not a cruel or rude bone to be found in the man’s body.

That body though.

That body inspired an intensity of thirst that Bucky could only describe as reaching ‘I’m about to drink my own pee in the desert’ levels.

On a scale of one to ten, Steve was an eleven in mind, body, and soul.

“I’m here,” Bucky stated breathlessly and obviously, his eyes struggling to look everywhere at once, to soak in the moment and preserve it forever.

“Thank god,” Steve sighed in relief, as if he had been worried that Bucky would use this opportunity to skip town or say a big old nope to his entire offer, and then they were kissing, passionate and open-mouthed, and Bucky made it his tongue’s mission to wordlessly tell Steve that there was literally no place on earth he’d rather be than right there.

Chapter 9: Not a chapter - author's note

Chapter Text

Sept 23, 2020 Edit: This chapter was to inform of a delay in updating due to life circ*mstances, feel free to skip now that the work is complete. I am not deleting the chapter in order to preserve the meaningful comments that were left.

Original message:

Hi guys,

I'm very sorry for my absence and if you got excited for half a second when this notification came in only to see it's just a note. I just wanted to update you as I may not be back to finish this for a little while. Unfortunately my mother had a bit of a medical event and has been in the hospital, as they found masses in her skull and chest, with the ones in her skull putting pressure on her brain. This is obviously huge and has been taking all of my time and attention, especially since her husband has dementia and can't stay alone. So it's been two very big problems at once, her health and his care, but we are doing our best.

This story has an ending planned but writing is so far from my mind right now, there's no way I can touch this during this situation. I always say I will never abandon a fic and that is still true, but I will continue to need a break for an unknown amount of time.

Thanks for your understanding and the kind messages that I received during the break so far. I won't have time to respond to comments but please know I appreciate you guys and will absolutely be back eventually. Bye for now. ❤️

Chapter 10: It's actually a chapter!!

Chapter Text

Steve was giving him puppy dog eyes, and dear lord, Bucky was done for.

It was Sunday night and they were standing at the threshold to Steve’s apartment after a blissfully domestic and intensely sexy weekend together, Steve’s pouty face and rocking bod teaming up to block the door in a one-two punch of sad sexiness as Bucky prepared to leave.

“I’m not telling you to stay,” Steve said earnestly, his blue eyes shining passionately and words radiating sincerity, “but I am asking you to. Stay. One more night with me.”

Bucky was a weak, weak man, in both upper body strength and emotion.

“One more night,” he caved, because of course he did, but it was worth it when Steve’s face lit up like a spark, the blonde rushing forward to scoop Bucky up into his arms and physically carry him back into the main living area, peppering kisses across his face as he went.

“The torture! Free me from this hell!” Bucky cackled wildly as Steve’s weekend scruff hit a particularly sensitive part of his neck, but Steve only tossed him back onto the couch and sat down on top of him, unabashedly proud of his victory.

Steve was very heavy, and Bucky was kind of in love.

It was early. Early early, like, BC-early.

“Guhh,” Bucky groaned out as Steve levered himself out of bed at the much-too-loud sound of an alarm clock, the noise ceasing a moment later. It was almost completely black in the bedroom but he listened as Steve moved around efficiently, obviously used to getting dressed in the dark. Normally that was something Bucky would like to get in on, naked-wise, but his eyelids felt like lead weights and the bed was so warm and soft, he couldn’t help but keep his eyes closed. He shifted slightly on the bed, moving over to Steve’s now empty side, and breathed deeply into his pillow before drifting back to sleep.

He woke up groggily an undetermined amount of time later to the sensation of Steve smoothing his hair out of his face and pressing a kiss to his forehead.

“I have to go to work,” Steve murmured, his voice low and soothing in the quiet of the morning, “but I want you here as long as you want, anytime you want.” He reached under the blankets and pressed something cool and slightly sharp into Bucky’s palm, curling his fingers around it and holding tight.

Bucky’s eyes had barely been slits before but they widened significantly as his sleep-soggy brain finally registered what it was.

“Steve, a key? Are you sure?”

This earned him a smile so soft and sweet, Bucky almost felt his eyes prick with moisture at the sight. Steve was radiant when he smiled like that, the open affection on his face bringing an unexpected lump to rise in Bucky’s throat.

“I’m positive.”

Bucky swallowed and nodded, meeting blue eyes that looked navy in the semi-dark. “Thank you.”

Another smile, another kiss, another squeeze of the hand, and Steve was out the door, Bucky settling back into the bed with a grin once the front lock audibly clicked into place.

Did he even need to sleep anymore, he wondered, when his reality was somehow now better than his dreams?

He glanced at the red-numbered glow of the clock on the nightstand: 3:32am.

Ok yes, yes, he did need to sleep more, any other choice would be ridiculous.

3:32am.

Jesus Christ.

“So, I maybe skipped a few steps of the plan and gave Bucky a key this morning.” Steve’s face was sheepish yet delighted as he leaned up against Sam’s locker. The sun hadn’t even risen yet, and Steve was already jumping in hard with both feet. Dear Lord, it was gonna be a long day.

Sam sighed and led the way outside to the truck, Steve trailing behind like a duck, arms flapping like wings as he worked himself into a tizzy.

“I waited as long as I could!” He defended against Sam’s silence. “I almost did it on Friday night but I resisted! I mean, really, what more can you expect from me?”

And honestly, he had him there. It was Steve after all.

“He’s so cute when he sleeps,” Steve commented wistfully from the passenger seat as they made their way to their starting neighbourhood, and Sam turned the radio up a notch and stepped on the gas a little more firmly, his partner luckily too caught up in his own thoughts to notice. Sam was firmly on board the Bucky train now too, of that there was no doubt, the kid was undeniably cute, but that didn’t mean he wanted to hear this stuff at the crack of dawn. Or really, ever.

“Oh, I also had some ideas on the whole homeless crisis thing,” Steve stated, thankfully switching gears before he divulged any other unnecessarily sweet details.

“You mean your plan to help end homelessness?” Sam finally spoke, remembering back to their well-meaning but somewhat naive conversation. Sam was sure they could help in some way, sure, but Steve sounded as though he remained fixated on that lofty goal they had dreamed up in the parking lot one chilly morning. Neither of them should be allowed to make giant decisions before 6am, Sam decided internally.

“It’s our plan,” Steve reminded him confidently, “and yeah. It’s a start at least.”

Sam chanced a glance at Steve, and damn it, he had his soulful eyes on again, his ‘follow me into battle for the good of humanity!’ look, and Sam, despite his years of exposure, was no good at turning away from it when the situation was a worthy one.

“Lay it on me,” he sighed, turning the radio back down.

Steve did, and damn it again, damn it all to hell, it was actually a pretty good idea.

Steve was right; it was a start.

Bucky liked his house.

Really, he did. He wouldn't have bought it if he didn’t.

The only problem was that Steve didn't live there.

After getting up at the much more reasonable time of 8am, Bucky had decided to wander home and get some work done on his latest app project. After spending a few hours back at his own place after a weekend at Casa Steve though, he had realized it wasn't just Steve’s absence he was feeling; it was the lack of a Steve-curated atmosphere that was bothering him too.

Bucky had high ceilings that arched dramatically and glossy wood floors that shined brightly when he used his fancy vacuum mop combo thingy on them. He had art and furniture and natural light, and it was all very lovely and matching and fine. Very visually pleasing stuff, his house contained. But the high ceilings and hard floors now seemed to carry an echo when Bucky was alone, the clink of his drink being set on his fashionable table providing a punctuating resonance that reminded him just how empty the house actually was. The art on the walls now looked generic to his newly critical eye, no match for the hand-picked selections of one Steve Rogers, who visited thrift stores and flea markets on weekends, searching for that next special piece.

His office was a little better, the computer he had built from the ground up anchoring the room in all of its desktop-filling glory. Bucky generally didn't care much for many of the so-called finer things in life, but his computer was his livelihood, and he had spared no expense when customizing it to fit his own rigid set of expectations and needs. If Bucky was Captain Picard, his computer was the Enterprise, with his desk cactus, of course, acting as his Number One.

The thing was, as much as Bucky had always wanted to be Picard, he was now beginning to realize he had become a little lonely surrounded by all this space.

The key Steve had given him that morning felt heavy in his pocket.

“It seems like it should be too soon,” Bucky mused to his plant, “considering Steve and I have not known each other an exceptionally long time, to already be questioning how I am supposed to live without him. And yet,” Bucky gestured broadly to the almost empty room and ended with a helpless shrug, “here I am.”

Number One remained as stoic and handsome as ever, as was his way.

“I think,” Bucky continued, drumming his fingertips on the desk, “that I may go back tonight.”

Number One could not move, but if he could, Bucky was sure he would have nodded his approval.

“You’re here!” Steve cried as Bucky let himself in that evening, feeling weird for about two seconds for using his new key until the sight of Steve, happy and blonde and smiling boldly, swept it all away.

Bucky grinned and felt at home. “I’m here.”

Chapter 11

Chapter Text

“So, the holiday party at work is coming up soon, and I was wondering if you'd go with me." Steve said without preamble as he lazily grazed his fingers through Bucky's messy hair. They were laying in bed together in the pre-dawn, Steve off for the day but awake early due to habit. Bucky had no such routine established yet and was awake solely to take advantage of head scritches. It was too yummy a feeling to pass up despite how much he loved to sleep.

“What does a city worker party look like, exactly?” Bucky questioned, tilting his head into the touch. “Is there a Santa in a reflective vest? Do you sit in his lap and ask for nose plugs every year?”

The sass earned Bucky a playful pinch to a cheek beneath the sheets and a growly nip of teeth to his ear, Steve speaking low and close. “The smell builds character,” he defended offhandedly, “and for the record, there is a Santa, minus the vest, but the only lap I’m willing to sit in is yours.”

Bucky hid his dopey love expression with his pillow and squinted a blurry raccoon eye in Steve’s direction. “Is it a large gathering? Will I need a suit?”

“It is and you will,” Steve answered, his playfulness sobering just a bit. “This year it’s been extended to include all city services, not just waste management. I can set you up if you don’t have anything to wear. There’s no pressure to go all out.”

Bucky yawned and pressed more firmly against Steve’s solid chest, a physical reassurance before a verbal one. “A real who’s who of city management, huh? I’m good though. Natasha forced me to visit her tailor last year to make sure I was all decked out to her standards as her wedding season plus one, but thanks for the offer. I shall dress to impress, Steven.”

“You don’t have to dress to do that, Buck,” Steve mumbled, his nose pressing into Bucky’s nape, warm and sweet.

“Well, I’ll dress to entice you into my lap then,” Bucky corrected course.

The answering nip this time was more of a bite than anything else. Bucky grinned and prepared himself to be ravished.

The day of the party dawned cool and bright, a frosting of snow overnight providing a dreamy background of winter. There was just enough snow to look pretty without causing a city-wide fuss and Bucky felt a little spring enter his step just at the sight of it coating the trees outside Steve’s window. The city had had their decorative tree lights lit up at night for the past few weeks now, and as long as the temperature held and kept the snow present, the classic Christmas aesthetic would remain that evening too. Bucky was looking forward to slipping into his suit later and having his Hallmark Christmas movie moment, minus the boring heteronormative couple.

“Do you think I would be the small town baker who runs a financially failing but beloved-by-all gingerbread shop, or would I be the hardened Big City grinch who comes to shut down the shop only to fall in love with the baker and declare that Christmas is every day when there's love in your heart?”

Bucky hadn’t turned from the window, but he could almost feel Steve blink and pause from where he was rummaging around under his bed for a lost sock. Steve, perfect, perfect Steve, also possessed an under the bed void, and knowledge of its existence made Bucky immensely happy.

“Umm. What are you talking about?”

“I think I’d be the baker,” Bucky continued confidently, “and we could do a gay kiss and the townspeople would cheer for us as the camera panned away at the end.”

“What camera? A gay kiss?”

Bucky sighed happily, lost in the dream.

“All our kisses are gay,” Steve declared from the floor halfway under the bed, but Bucky was mentally skiing his baker self into grumpily handsome Big City Steve and oh no, clumsy him, they were falling down together on the ski hill and falling in love, ohh...

The lost sock chose that moment to make its reappearance for Steve, so at least someone had been listening, sort of.

Bucky let himself into his house that afternoon, the key feeling odd in the lock as he turned it. This was his home, but did it really fit that definition anymore? In a few short weeks he had essentially migrated over to Steve’s apartment, underwear and shampoo alike making the trek across the Pangea that was New York. Steve also lived in Brooklyn so that hadn’t changed, but there was a different feel to his own place now as he dropped in less and less frequently, arriving as a working body to his office more than as a true resident. Tectonic plates were shifting and moving rapidly under a winter mantle, and Bucky wondered if the gaps between land masses would soon be too significant to jump across. If he even wanted to keep jumping at all, that was.

Perhaps a place of their own, neither here nor there, would be better suited, he considered, tapping his chin.

He diverted course into his office, his whiteboard a crisp, blank slate of potential.

A flowchart. A compromise. A new beginning. An office and a home, with him and Steve. Yes. That could work.

Bucky retrieved his suit and headed back to Steve’s apartment to prepare.

“Ok, so I know it’s velvet, and it’s snowing, and Natasha would have my head if this thing so much as glances at a speck of water, but-”

Bucky was abruptly cut off as he emerged from Steve’s tiny apartment bathroom, the blonde pressing a passionate kiss to his lips despite Bucky being only halfway through the door.

“Holy sh*t, you look amazing,” Steve breathed, one large hand coming up to squeeze Bucky’s bicep once he broke the kiss. The midnight navy of the velvet suit shifted and preened at the attention, happy to be noticed. “Like a movie star.”

“Pshaw.” Despite his attempt to brush off the compliment, Bucky’s body made a giggle-like noise of its own volition, and oh gosh, he was definitely blushing now. Oh man. “You,” Bucky began, wiggling a finger at Steve to kill time as the flare in his cheeks slowly died down; he had started his clap back without knowing what to say. “You keep it in your pants tonight,” he decided on, “because I don’t want to be embarrassed in front of the Mayor of Sidewalk Maintenance with your wild displays of affection.”

“He couldn’t make it,” Steve sassed back, not missing a beat, “but the real Mayor will be there instead, so I’ll just save it all for him. Dinner and a show.”

Bucky made a sour lemon face. “You’re the worst.”

Steve had moved away and was slipping into his black suit jacket now, but he shot a goofy grin from across the room at his boyfriend as he adjusted his cuffs. “No I’m not.”

Bucky sighed. Steve was right, of course. Steve straightened up, his jacket in place and his body looking like the second coming of Christ in his suit. His face though, his expression, was what Bucky loved the most. Soft and open and quietly content. That was when Steve looked best.

“You’re so beautiful it hurts my eyes sometimes. My retinas can’t handle you,” Bucky admitted as they headed towards the door together. “It’s your smile.”

“The smile’s ‘cause of you, Buck,” Steve answered softly. “Ready to go?”

Bucky smiled back. “Absolutely.”

Chapter 12

Chapter Text

“Holy sh*t.”

“Ok, so,” Steve paused, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly, “it’s a pretty big party this year.”

“You said it was going to be big,” Bucky reminded him, “but I don’t think I expected this big.” Bucky stared up at the towering arched windows of the event venue, a massive old bank converted into an event space and set within the heart of Brooklyn. The inside proved to be just as impressive as they moved into the warmth of the building, the exposed brick walls contrasting giddily with the dripping crystal of the chandeliers overhead. The crowd around them was dressed to the nines and while Bucky had originally been just a touch concerned about his velvet number being a bit much, he was suddenly glad for the choice. He could’ve gotten away with a complete black-tie ensemble if he had really wanted to.

“Don’t take this the wrong way because you know I completely respect what you do, but why are things so fancy this year? I’m not saying I actually expected the Santa in the reflective vest to be real, especially after you said it wasn't, but like, kinda?” Bucky grimaced at his poor phrasing, but thankfully Steve was Steve and was able to parse through his bullsh*t sentences.

“Yeah, about that. It's really not a big deal but Sam and I approached the organizers a while back and asked if this year’s party could be more of a ‘benefit’ type thing. They really loved the idea and ended up getting some of the other districts involved. Then Water and Power joined in, and then the mayor's office got wind of it, and his staff got involved, and long story short, they decided to combine everyone's party into a silent auction to try to raise some money. All the items on the auction block were donated, and we raised the suggestion that the staff use their Christmas bonuses here to help a good cause and possibly nab a last minute gift or two. There was no pressure of course, but everyone was really receptive. It’s been really great to see.”

“Steve,” Bucky was speechless for a moment. “Are you telling me you set this up yourself?”

“I didn’t set up the venue or anything,” Steve deflected instantly, humble to a fault. “It was just an idea, and it took. Anyone else would have done the same if they had thought of it.”

“Steve, you beautiful, generous dummy,” Bucky shook his head and pulled the blonde in for a heated kiss. “It wasn’t just an idea. Normal people don't think like you do, and I mean that as a compliment. You got trash collectors and the mayor's office to combine parties, for charity!"

Steve's brows drew together as if he didn't quite get it. "They're all just people, Bucky."

Bucky wanted to simultaneously shake and protect for eternity this blindingly perfect man. "This is amazing. And it’s probably all to benefit the homeless, isn’t it?”

“What made you think that?” Steve questioned but didn’t deny it.

“Steve,” Bucky rolled his eyes. “It’s like your number one social justice cause. You get all fired up anytime you see an article about it or a person sitting out on the street. It’s obviously super important to you.”

“Well yeah, of course it is. You-”

“Steve!” A well-dressed older woman approached them and Steve cut their conversation short, turning to face her.

“Ah, sorry, Bucky, this is Katerina, she was one of the main organizers. Katerina, this is my boyfriend, Bucky.”

Katerina smiled and held out a hand. “A pleasure,” she greeted sincerely as she and Bucky shook. “Steve, the mayor is here and he’d like to speak to the people behind the fundraising initiative. I’ve already rounded up Sam, but if you have a moment I’d appreciate your time.”

Steve glanced toward Bucky, his expression openly betraying the fact that he would say no to the mayor if it meant keeping his boyfriend from feeling abandoned at a work party.

“Go, go!” Bucky shooed him away. “I have art to peruse.” He tipped his head in the direction of a long gallery-like hallway set with paintings for sale, and Steve’s shoulders relaxed and squared at the same time, assured but ready to perform.

Steve nodded seriously, pressed a quick kiss to Bucky’s cheek, and then disappeared into a sea of formal wear.

Bucky, staying true to his word, headed for the gallery wall, an idea already taking shape.

He knew the one as soon as he saw it.

A swooping impression of a green and golden meadow in creamy oils, the haze of a foggy body of water in the background, and a deep slash of black in the foreground, perhaps the shadow of a cloud from a storm not yet known to be coming or going.

This was a painting that spoke to Bucky, and this would be his Grand Gesture. It was beautiful, and it was for a good cause. A homeless cause, which was coincidentally a Very Passionate Steve cause. He increased his bid a little more, just in case, needing to be secure in his victory.

Steve joined him at their assigned table just as dinner was being served and the bidding came to a close, pressing an apologetic kiss to Bucky's cheek.

"I'm so sorry, that took forever. Some news outlet is here and they wanted to interview me for a story. Ridiculous, right?"

Bucky shot a can you believe this guy? eyebrow at Sam, who had joined Bucky at the table earlier, and Sam replied with a shake of the head at Steve's blockheaded sincerity. It looked like he mouthed something like 'gorilla with a kitten' in Bucky's direction too, but that made no sense, so Bucky turned his attention back to his boyfriend.

The meal progressed along as the winners of the auction were announced, Bucky focusing on his dinner (it wasn't a Hungry Man but still pretty good) and the company of the table until the art bids came up.

"Our last bid of the night is for a piece entitled Calm,” the host of the evening announced from the podium at the front of the room.

“Oh wow, that’s gorgeous.” Steve had been in the middle of a response to Sam but perked up when the painting was brought onto the stage, taking it in with an appreciation that made Bucky’s heart stutter in his chest. That was the reaction he had hoped for, which meant this was the moment to try. “What do you think?” Steve turned to Bucky.

Bucky felt his heart take flight. “I think… I think it would look perfect in our home together. A place with good art and your missing socks and my computer, all under the same roof. Somewhere we choose as a pair. I think we should sell our places and move in together, permanently.”

Steve’s expression was one Bucky had never quite seen before, a slurry of confusion and mild concern. It quickened Bucky’s soaring heart to a stumbling rabbit’s pace, and he suddenly felt unsure of himself but was determined to carry on nonetheless. He was, after all, all in. Two feet, no take-backs.

“I think those things, Steve, because... I love you.”

Steve’s mouth worked soundlessly for a moment, no words coming forth.

“And the winning bid goes to… James Barnes!” The announcer glanced down at the envelope as she called Bucky’s name, her eyes widening significantly at the information printed on the card. “And my goodness, please give a big round of applause for Mr. Barnes’ incredibly generous donation of fifty thousand dollars for this beautiful piece of artwork!”

Bucky cringed. The applause in the hall was thunderous, but as the noise swelled he could barely seem to hear it over the pounding of blood through his ears, Steve’s face even more unreadable now.

“sh*t, Steve, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know they were going to announce that part. I just wanted to make a difference in something you care about. I wasn’t trying to rub it in your face or anything. I just wanted to tell you... Uh, that. I mean, how I feel about you, that is, and have it be special, with the painting. You weren't supposed to know the amount.”

Steve’s throat bobbed as he swallowed. “Can we talk outside?”

“Oh my god, are you breaking up with me?” Bucky asked, beginning to panic. “It was too much, wasn’t it? Or was it not enough? I thought it was probably enough but I’m always happy to donate more if that seems stingy. And I’m not going outside if you’re breaking up with me out there. I don’t even like it outside to begin with! I swear to God, Steve, I will squat in this building until the end of time it means you’re still my boyfriend. I have very little dignity, just watch me.”

Steve’s face relaxed fractionally, his mouth twitching up the corner and Bucky breathed out a sigh of relief. There was a very good chance this was not actually the end.

“I’m not breaking up with you. I just want to talk,” Steve confirmed.

“Then let’s go,” Bucky nodded and laced their fingers together, the last bit of tension easing out of him as Steve squeezed back tightly.

“Oh, one sec.” Bucky reached into his back pocket and pulled out his wallet, tossing it to Sam who had his mouth hanging open like a stuffed fish.

“Can you take care of the payment for me when the auctioneer comes by? You can put it on any of the cards in there, it doesn't matter which.”

Sam flipped open the leather flap and stared down at the options inside with disbelief. “What in the actual f*ck, Barnes?”

Bucky shrugged, not catching his true meaning. “I like ice cream parlor reward programs, don’t judge me for it!” And let Steve lead him into the cold.

Steve let the old building support him as they stood outside in the snow and took a breath, watching his exhale turn to vapor in the cool light of the decorated trees lining the sidewalk.

“You have a house, and money.” Steve spoke into the night air, quiet but sure now.

Bucky stood close, fidgeting restlessly but nodding without hesitation, Steve’s confusion transferring hosts.

“Of course I do. What,” he chuckled a little to himself, obviously nervous but also amused at the question. “Did you think I was homeless or somethi-” He stopped, confusion turning to understanding in the blink of an eye. “Oh my god.”

Steve nodded, not sure of what to say.

“You thought I was HOMELESS!?” Bucky exploded across from him, pacing a track into the snow before coming over to grab Steve’s shirt front, hair ruffled and eyes a little wild. “Jesus f*cking Christ on a cracker Steve, we have got to put you in some sort of stranger danger program or something, holy hell! You can’t just go around throwing truck rides and roommate offers at random people off the street! That's how you wind up dead! You’re gonna get taken advantage of someday if you keep-”

Steve leaned in and kissed the words right out of his mouth, Bucky’s fight leaving him in one long exhale as he allowed himself to be pulled deeper into the kiss.

“I love you, too,” Steve confessed as soon as they pulled away, sharing heat and emotion from only a breath apart.

“Oh,” Bucky said. “That’s very good news, then. I guess outside is alright,” and leaned in to kiss him again, stopping at the last second just short of making contact. “This is where the camera would pan away,” Bucky whispered into his ear quietly, an infusion of love stretching his smile wide and making his eyes glisten.

“I don’t understand you,” Steve replied in a matched whisper, but then they were kissing again and it didn’t really matter anymore.

“So I have to ask,” Steve began a few days later as he poked an experimental finger towards Number One, sitting stoically on Bucky’s desk as he awaited his turn for relocation-related boxing.

Bucky rolled his eyes from his place on the floor, not waiting for the question. “Stop poking him, you already know he’s pokey. Help me tape this up.”

Steve thankfully withdrew his finger before any serious cactus related injuries could occur and did as was asked, holding the box flaps closed as Bucky sealed it shut with a line of packing tape. “I get that you made a bunch of money off the app you made in college, but how can you reasonably drop fifty grand on a painting that had a minimum bid of three hundred dollars on it?” Steve looked towards the painting in question as it leaned up against the wall, supervising their packing progress with a critical eye.

“Art is always a good investment, Steve,” Bucky answered seriously, before cracking a grin at Steve’s skeptical look. “But I actually just sold another app a few weeks ago, so I’m not exactly close to hurting, even after a purchase like that. ”

“Really? What was this one for?”

Bucky shrugged, feeling a little goofy with the admission. “It’s a recycling app. You put in your location details and then you can scan the plastic classification code or type in whatever it is you want to get rid of, and the app will tell you if and how you can recycle or reuse that item in your area. I’ve already had a few cities buy it to make going green easier and more accessible. It cuts down on waste in landfills by ensuring questionable things get recycled or donated properly and makes things simpler for everyone to understand. You can also set a reminder for your garbage day on it, so it helps you remember to set stuff out the night before."

Steve's expression was more than a little impressed, but the gleam in his eye meant he was up to some sh*t too.

"Garbage and recycling, huh? Where'd you ever get an idea like that? It's pretty inspired, Buck."

"You smug bastard," Bucky shot back with a laugh, his cheeks heating up despite himself. "This from the man who basically funded a whole new homeless shelter all because he mistakenly thought his boyfriend lived on the street. You have no room to talk, Steven Rogers."

Steve grinned like an idiot and pulled Bucky in towards his chest, sprawling on the floor together in front of their painting, the mess of Bucky's disassembled office strewn around them. "Me? You were the one who threw your giant bank account at it, all because you thought it was important to me!"

"It is important to you!"

"Because you're important to me!"

"But now it's more than that, isn't it?" Bucky asked softly, calming a bit. He scootched over slightly and settled into the space between Steve's arm and torso, head resting on his shoulder.

"Ok, yes, fair enough," Steve conceded. "It's a good cause, with or without my feelings towards you. One more question though."

"Anything." Bucky tucked himself a little more firmly into Steve's side.

Steve nodded his head towards Bucky's whiteboard, still standing at attention on his desk.

"Why does your whiteboard say Steve + Bucky + Grand Gesture = Princess 4 LIFE = Happily Ever After on it?"

Bucky kicked a foot out and hit the closest leg of the desk, the board clattering over with an undignified thump at the sudden motion.

"I have no idea what you're talking about."

One Year Later

Bucky did not hate his life.

Bucky hated 4 a.m.

But Bucky’s prince charming was out there, and he wanted him, forever.

Bucky got out of bed.

He let out a whine as the cool morning air touched his naked body and darted over to the dresser to grab some clothes, only to find most of his drawers empty, save for a pair of thick, bundled up socks. A glance at the overflowing clothes basket confirmed his suspicions that he was still lazy as f*ck when it came to laundry, so he grabbed the sock bundle and then shuffled over to Steve’s side instead, rummaging through clothes folded with military-like precision to pull out a long sleeved shirt, a pair of sleep pants and a beloved grey hoodie. Today was a special occasion so he pulled on underwear too, proud of himself for dressing up.

Feet were slid into old slide sandals and a threadbare picnic blanket was retrieved, Bucky cursing himself halfway down the driveway for forgetting his phone but knowing it was probably too late to go back now.

A golden September sun was just beginning to creep over the horizon as he set up shop at the curb, upwind of the trash he had set out the night before. Steve could build all the character he wanted in his free time, but Bucky was no friend to a bad smell and would prefer not to taint his romantic efforts with a stinky backdrop.

Bucky blearily inspected the grass in front of him and noticed with delight that it was thriving, Steve’s efforts over the summer to bring their new lawn back into good health having been worthwhile. In Bucky’s opinion there had been a few too many trips to places that just sold dirt, but he couldn’t argue with results. Steve and nature appeared to be besties, whereas Bucky would now describe his relationship to be more along the lines of acquaintances. It was a work in progress, and he would probably let Steve twist his arm into going camping next year for his birthday when it came down to it. There was a lot Bucky was willing to do for his boyfriend it seemed, including waking up at the ass crack of dawn to elevate that boyfriend to fiancé status.

He gave the grass a gentle pat then adjusted the sock bundle stashed in the hoodie's front pocket, the ring box hidden in the toe a barely noticeable lump beneath the fabric.

Then Bucky settled in to wait.

Just him and nature.

Steve would be here any minute.