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“I bet his head exploded.”
“What?”
“His face was so red,” says Natasha. “I bet it just went - boom!”
Bucky rolls his eyes. They’re standing in front hallway, outside the apartment of the late Herr Schmidt.
“Good riddance. He was an old Nazi anyway.”
“Natashen’ka!” says Bucky. “You can’t say that. Not every old German is a- Look. It’s not politically correct.”
Natasha exhales rapidly. “I’m Russian. What kind of a damn do I give about political correctness? He was an old Nazi and now there’s a perfectly good ground floor apartment going spare.”
“Oh my god. He’s not even cold in his bed-”
.
“So, it turns out that Natasha wants me to move out.”
“I can’t imagine what you’ve done to upset her,” says Steve. He barely looks up from his sketchpad. Bucky stalks around the coffee table. “You’re always so sensitive and accommodating.”
Bucky humphs and goes to the kitchen to steal some coffee. In the two weeks since Schmidt’s death, Bucky has resisted the urge to run up the stairs to Steve’s studio and fuck him into next week. This has, however, resulted in a great deal of untapped energy and a newfound attachment to Steve’s coffee machine which, on further reflection, does no favours to Bucky or his current highly-strung state.
“She says,” Bucky continues, perfectly pleasantly, as though Steve Rogers isn’t the sassiest fucker he’s ever met, “that I should make enquiries about old man Schmidt’s place.”
Steve goes still then and it’s funny that Bucky notices, immediately, because it’s not like Steve’s particularly extravagant with his movements.
“You okay, hoss?”
Steve smiles a little and rubs his forehead, smearing charcoal there which seems to have a direct connection with Bucky’s baser instincts. Charcoal probably tastes gross but damned if Bucky doesn’t want to lick it off anyway. “Uh. Well, Natasha suggested that I make enquiries,” says Steve. “Though I don’t think I can afford it. It’s an upgrade for sure.”
Natasha often accuses Bucky of being obtuse, slow and glupy but even he gets what’s going on here. “So. She told both of us to - huh.”
Steve might be blushing but Bucky can’t dwell on that too much because - wow. Natasha is devious.
“It’s the orgies,” says Bucky.
Steve blinks. “Yours or hers?” He looks back at his sketchpad, cool as you like, and it’s all Bucky can do not to snatch the sketchpad out of Steve’s hand.
“There are dancers there all the time,” says Bucky. “It’s like sharing an apartment with a goddamned kennel of greyhounds. All they do is eat and sleep and do these goddamned contortions.”
“So, not really like greyhounds at all?”
Bucky points at Steve. “Goddamn you, Rogers. You’re supposed to be on my side.”
Steve raises his head at that, his cheeks slightly flushed. “I am?”
.
It turns out that it’s a long time before dead men can be evicted. Bucky spends most of it in Steve’s studio, when he’s not at work, where he glares daggers at paperwork. Sometimes, he thinks maybe he got it wrong. Maybe he should have taken up another overseas posting. Somewhere warm, maybe, where the cold doesn’t get into his knee.
.
Somewhere warm, where the wet autumn leaves don’t stick to the Brooklyn sidewalks, wouldn’t have Steve, though.
“I want to kiss you,” says Bucky, one evening. His feet are on Steve’s coffee table, even though Steve’s asked him to at least take off his shoes first.
Steve raises his eyebrows. He’s a little pale because it’s been a bad few days, with the damp in the air, enveloping the whole city. “First you want to move in with me and then you want to kiss me?”
Bucky pins his hands between his thighs and looks at Steve as earnestly as he is able. “I’ve wanted to kiss you for months.”
“Ah, yes,” says Steve. “That makes it better.” He tilts his head to the side. His hair’s a little long and he has to push it to the side. It’s dragging over his collar and Bucky wants to press his lips to the angle of his jaw and breathe in.
.
“I want to fuck you,” says Bucky. He’s half-asleep, pressed against Steve’s side. They’re watching some shitty, late-night horror movie that has some artistic merit, according to Steve, even though Bucky thought that the point was that they had no merit whatsoever.
Steve’s hand finds Bucky’s, his fingertips gliding over Bucky’s knuckles. “You’re all talk,” says Steve.
“Wait,” says Bucky, when his brain catches up. “Can I fuck you?”
“Oh my god,” says Steve. “Oh my god, you are terrible at this. You can’t even date me properly.”
“You don’t want me to fuck you?”
Steve sighs and presses ‘mute’ so that they don’t have to hear the tragic virgin heroine’s pitiful screams. “I didn’t say that. I just don’t want to be one of your easy fucks.” His fingertips glide over Bucky’s wrist, back and forth over the ridges of scar tissue.
“You - you wouldn’t be,” says Bucky. He’s a little shocked but he manages to grin. “I wouldn’t be sitting here on a Friday night watching Frightmares Part Thirteen if I wanted an easy fuck.”
“Oh my god. What words are you even saying right now?”
“No, I get it,” says Bucky. “You want me to woo you. I can do that. I can totally woo.”
.
“Bucky, seriously. Put your shirt back on, Romeo.”
“It’s raining outside,” says Bucky.
Steve tilts his head to the side, his characteristic gesture for please fill in the gaps.
“It’s raining, I thought I could model for you.”
Steve laughs. It’s a little harsh but very rich. “Buck, you couldn’t stay still long enough for a Polaroid. Put your shirt on.”
Bucky bows his head. “I’m really very good at sex,” he says.
“This isn’t an audition process, Buck.” Steve comes over to him and puts his hand on Bucky’s chest. He reaches up and kisses the corner of his mouth. “I already like you more than I should.”
“No such thing,” says Bucky. His arms circle around Steve and he holds him gently, like he’s something priceless. He dips his head and kisses Steve properly.
.
“Move in with me.”
“Well, I’ve always wanted to live in a ground-floor apartment.”
.
Natasha doesn’t seem very upset when Bucky tells her that he and Steve have signed a lease for old man Schmidt’s place. They get a really good price because no one wants to live in an apartment where an old Nazi died.
“We should go out for drinks,” she says, raising her head from between Yelena’s thighs. (Bucky’s not a voyeur but when there are two ballerinas fucking in the kitchen, it’s hard to remain entirely focused on his corn flakes.)
“Aw, you’re going to miss me.”
“Not really,” says Natasha. “It’s not like you’re leaving the building.”
They go for drinks, though, and it turns out that Steve has friends. Or maybe patrons? Tony Stark owns the gallery that houses most of Steve’s work and Bucky isn’t so sure what he thinks of him. He seems pretty proprietary when it comes to Steve, standing too close to him for Bucky’s comfort. There’s Rhodey and Pepper and Peggy, who looks at Steve with such affection that Bucky would be jealous except she corners him early on and informs him that if Bucky hurts Steve, ever, she’ll sucker punch him so fast, he’ll be back in Moscow before lunch time.
“That doesn’t even make any sense,” he says, his mouth dropping open. She is a fine woman.
Later, Natasha tells Bucky that if he hurts Steve, no one will ever find his body. She might be a little drunk.
“Okay, is anyone saying this to Rogers?” asks Bucky.
Steve pats his arm. “Don’t worry, honey. I’ll hurt anyone who hurts you.”
Tony’s staring and shaking his head. He points between them. “How does this work? Clearly, Barnes is -” he starts. He ignores Pepper hissing next to him, Tony, you can’t-. “I mean, clearly Rogers - I mean. There’s a size difference. Look, it would be like a kitten mounting a lion.”
“Oh. Oh, wow. Okay. Tony. Tony, no more talking.” Pepper looks mortified and, somehow, Steve looks completely unperturbed.
“Is he always like this?” asks Bucky, softly, right into Steve’s ear.
“Only when he’s hazing my prospective life partners,” Steve whispers back.
.
They have separate bedrooms and a bathroom with no lock.
Steve walks in on Bucky when he’s having a bath. His knee is locking and he’s been told by one of the staff medics that he needs to take better care of it.
“Well,” says Steve, leaning against the door. “This is interesting.”
His eyes glide over Bucky’s body and Bucky feels warm. There’s nothing like the scrutiny of an artist to make his skin tingle. Steve sits on the edge of the bathtub and leans down to kiss Bucky and then he talks.
His voice, so deep and rich and commanding, seems to reverberate through Bucky’s body. Steve mouths at his neck, kissing scarred and unscarred skin and Bucky strokes himself, though he thinks he could come from the sound of Steve’s voice alone.
.
Steve comes into his bedroom that night.
“Natasha says that you wanted to be my BFF,” he says, lightly, lifting up the covers and sliding in next to Bucky.
“Natasha’s a filthy liar.”
“Really?” Steve nestles closer and he never seems to mind Bucky’s left arm being around him. “You don’t want to be my BFF?”
“No, I didn’t say that,” says Bucky. He kisses Steve. “We’re totally BFF.”
He still thinks that Natasha is some kind of double agent, though.
.
Steve is unlike anyone Bucky has ever dated. It’s not just that he’s small or that he’s a stubborn bastard, who makes Bucky go to annual medicals, even though Bucky maintains that he’s a prime physical specimen, thanks to the US government.
(“You’re a prime physical specimen with a desk job and you are obligated to stay fit and healthy for the rest of our lives.”)
It’s not that he’s bossy, though Bucky loves that, and it’s not that he has principles and talent and style. It’s that - it’s that he’s Steve Rogers and, somehow, he loves Bucky Barnes. Bucky’s not going to examine it too closely, in case it’s been an awful mistake, here in Brooklyn, with ballet dancers and autumn leaves and bathroom doors that don’t lock.
“What are you thinking about?” asks Steve, looking at him from over the top of his book.
“Sandwiches,” says Bucky, to save face.
“You know where the kitchen is,” says Steve, turning a page (but he looks up again, a second later, and smiles).