Archive of Our Own

When Steve first brought Bucky back to Avengers Tower, Bucky didn’t like to talk much. He preferred to hang back when the other Avengers were around, making coffee or watching movies or experimenting in the kitchen. He needed to know that Steve’s new friends were good for him. They seemed to be.

Tony’s ruthless teasing was a thin veil to mask genuine affection.

Natasha’s infrequent smiles were often Steve-related.

Bruce sometimes waited in the common area with his books with the sole intention of discussing the contents with Steve.

Thor liked to touch, to reel Steve in by the shoulders and embrace him. He called him shield-brother.

Clint ordered extra pizzas just for Steve. He brought his dog to the Tower because he knew that Steve liked playing with Lucky.

On the surface, the Avengers functioned as families often functioned. After some time, Bucky remembered his family. He remembered bickering with his sisters or being chewed out by his ma for doing something stupid. He also remembered telling his sisters stories and fixing his mom a cup of cocoa. The Avengers were like that – they argued (loudly), but at the end of the day, they came together and worked in conjunction with one another. A team.

But below the surface –

A couple weeks passed before Bucky noticed. It started in the morning, when Bucky woke to find Steve’s side of the bed cold and rolled out to find Steve knocking back coffee like it was going out of style. Shadows marked the undersides of Steve’s eyes, and his lips lay in a tight, flat line. Bucky was used to moving silently, so a few moments passed before Steve saw him – and his whole body transformed. His strained expression melted into a smile that almost erased the bags beneath his eyes, that almost tricked Bucky into believing that he was okay.

Almost.

“Morning, Buck,” Steve greeted.

“How long have you been up?” Bucky asked, padding over to the coffee pot. He watched Steve out of the corner of his eye, watched the smile drop off of his face when he thought Bucky was focused on grabbing a mug from the cabinet and filling it with coffee. Bucky used to take his coffee black, before the war, before becoming the Winter Soldier – now he dumped cream and sugar into it unrepentantly. He liked sweet things.

Steve replied, “Not long. Maybe twenty minutes. How’d you sleep?”

Bucky turned and sipped his coffee, narrowing his eyes at Steve. Steve was lying. Why was Steve lying?

Bucky considered calling Steve out on his fib, but decided against it. He needed more intel before he confronted him about whatever the hell he was hiding.

Frankly, Bucky didn’t think it was fair that Steve hide something from him. Since reuniting, Bucky had been laid bare. Steve knew everything, every last little rotten thing from Bucky’s past and every last terrible nightmare he woke from and the contents of every flashback. Bucky’s bad days slowed as time went on, but they still happened. Steve always took care of Bucky after. He spoke in soft tones and brought Bucky out of panic attacks, held Bucky close after nightmares until he stopped shaking, kissed bad memories to the back of Bucky’s mind.

There was nothing in Bucky that he hadn’t let Steve Rogers have.

Bucky didn’t like having things kept from him.

Throughout the next days, Bucky kept a close eye on Steve. Sometimes he woke with Steve beside him and other times he didn’t, but either way Steve’s body was stretched taut and tense like a bowstring. Steve’s hands shook. Bucky hadn’t noticed before, but once he watched Steve’s fingers quake over the fixings for a sandwich he couldn’t stop noticing.

Meanwhile, Steve ducked out of the Tower with the Avengers to take care of missions. Bucky wasn’t cleared to join them yet, so he always had to get updates from JARVIS or, if it was available, watch the news coverage on his and Steve’s television. The way Steve fought on screen worried him. He was reckless. He threw himself into dangerous situations without alerting his teammates and took unnecessary risks.

When Bucky asked Natasha about Steve’s behavior, she cocked a manicured brow and answered, “That’s just how Rogers fights.”

That was a lie. If Steve had the right people to watch his six they could reel him in and make sure he didn’t get himself, and everyone else, killed. But Natasha seemed to genuinely believe what she was saying, and Bucky didn’t know what to think about that.

Mid-day, once, Stark slapped Steve on the shoulder and barked, “Look alive, Capsicle. It’s time for teamwork.” Stark meant sparring. The Avengers practiced working in sync, not that Steve followed the fucking guidelines when they actually fought in the field. Steve flinched bodily away from Tony’s hand but no one as much as glanced his way.

Steve’s forced, miserable expression only flashed across his face for an instant, but when Steve blinked up and caught Bucky’s gaze, Bucky knew he’d been caught. Steve offered a tired smile, but Bucky was onto him now.

That same week, the Avengers departed to take care of some Hydra splinter cell halfway across the world, and being undercover, Bucky didn’t have any news to watch. He shuffled around his and Steve’s floor instead, reading or watching TV, but ultimately, nothing held his attention. When he remembered something he didn’t want to forget, he documented the memory in the leather-bound journals that Steve bought for him right after Bucky moved into Avengers Tower.

Thus far, he’d filled one and a half.

A fitful sleep in a bed too big for one man brought back a new set of recollections from the war. Fear taking hold like a fist around his heart while he crouched in a foxhole. Bombs falling. Being strapped to a table in that Hydra facility while scientists in white lab coats injected mystery liquids into his bloodstream.

None of these, though, were what made Bucky bolt upright at three AM in a cold sweat.

After Steve bailed Bucky and the 107th out of the Hydra factory, Bucky got nightmares. He jumped back at little things and sometimes left the real world and tumbled back into combat at the slightest provocation. Steve noticed. Steve said he didn’t have to follow him, that he could go home. A lot of the guys got the same offer, honorable discharge for POWs. To hell with that, Bucky had said, if I’m not here, who’s gonna look after you?

Missions wore Steve down during the war. He needed time to recoup after every one. He blamed himself for the people he couldn’t save, or the people he had to kill. He asked Bucky if he thought any of the Hydra folks had families. Did the folks in Hydra know what they were doing was wrong? Bucky told him that he didn’t know, and that Steve would be better off not thinking about that shit.

Steve started to go distant the way Bucky did, the way lots of guys did after being away from home for so long. Battle fatigue, shellshock – that’s what they called it then. Your CO just slapped your face and told you to pull it together, shake it off and get back to shooting. Plenty of units got switched out from the front lines to recover in safer places outside of combat zones, but Captain America couldn’t take a vacation. His job was too important.

Captain America couldn’t suffer battle fatigue or shellshock.

So Captain America’s best guy got to hold him tight while gasped awake in fear. Bucky kissed Steve when he fell outta his own head, distracted him with sex or whatever food Bucky’s ma sent over from home. He did the things that Steve did for him now –

But Bucky didn’t think that Steve’s shellshock –

–PTSD, that’s what Sam called it –

–had a chance to go away.

Steve woke up in the twenty first century and weeks later was back at the front, fighting fucking aliens in New York, in his home that wasn’t his home anymore. In Steve’s mind, Bucky died not a month before he was back in the game. The Howlies had all passed, and Peggy’s mind had started to go. Steve had exactly no one to kiss him or fuck him or distract him.

“Goddamnit,” Bucky said to himself.

The worst part about realizing that Steve was hiding his suffering was that Bucky could do fuck-all about it now. Steve wasn’t in the Tower, wasn’t even in the country, and he was hurting. Bucky didn’t like that. He didn’t like it at all. Steve – hell. Steve had done so much for him these past weeks, had spent his life doing things for Bucky. For God’s sake, the guy dropped into a warzone by himself on the off-chance that he might be able to recover Bucky – or Bucky’s body – from the Hydra facility. He should have been able to tell something was wrong right back. He should have taken care of Steve.

Then he got angry.

Bucky wasn’t here at first. Steve’s other friends were. His teammates had been with Steve for years before Bucky broke through his brainwashing and Steve brought him home. How the hell had none of them noticed that Steve was hurting? They let him run headlong into fights, let him risk everything, and no one blinked a goddamned eye.

Without any of the Avengers at the Tower, there was nothing that Bucky could do about that, either.

JARVIS announced that the Avengers had returned three days after. Bucky barreled down to the common floor to greet them. Clint lay sprawled across the couch, already asleep. Tony and Thor were engaged in a round of rock, paper, scissors over the last of the Toaster Strudel. Bruce was fumbling with a bottle of aspirin, and Natasha sat in the armchair across from Clint, playing around on her phone.

Steve was nowhere to be found.

“Where’s Steve?” Bucky asked.

“Uh,” Tony said, “Where did the good Captain go?”

Bruce popped a couple of pills and washed them down with a swallow of tap water before answering, “I think he went to take a shower? You didn’t see him on your floor?”

Bucky shook his head.

“Maybe he decided to shower down here,” Natasha suggested. She didn’t look away from her phone.

Bucky turned and stalked down the hallway to the communal bathroom, a utilitarian room in comparison to the bathrooms that graced their personal floors. Bucky knocked, but no one answered. When he tried to turn the knob, it stuck. Locked.

“Stevie,” Bucky said, “Let me in.”

“You better not have sex in that bathroom!” exclaimed Tony from the kitchen.

Bucky ignored him and pressed his ear to the bathroom door. Ragged breathing sounded from the other side and that was it. Bucky bore down on the bathroom doorknob with his metal hand and broke the thing clean off.

Steve was on the floor with his head tucked between his legs. He hadn’t even changed out of the Captain America uniform.

Bucky dropped to his knees and rubbed Steve’s shoulder. He said, “Hey. Hey, doll. You’re home. It’s 2016. You’re in Avengers Tower. You’re safe.”

Steve surged forward and swallowed Bucky in his arms. Bucky hugged back, pressing his face to Steve’s muscled chest. He petted his hands over Steve’s spine and mumbled nonsense words about how Steve was safe. He was here. He wasn’t in the Hydra facility or on a helicarrier. He was at home with Bucky.

An indeterminate amount of time slipped by while Steve shook in Bucky’s arms. Slowly, Steve started to come back to himself, his muscles relaxing, his breathing evening out. When Steve found his voice he rasped, “Shit. I’m so sorry, Buck.”

“Ain’t no sorry,” Bucky said, “Why didn’t you tell me you were fucking hurting, you punk?”

“I didn’t wanna – you already have so much on your plate,” Steve said on a thin thread of voice.

Bucky glared. He said, “If that ain’t the biggest crock of shit I ever heard – Jesus, Steve! You don’t have to do this on your own. You take care of me and I take care of you. It’s not one or the other. We help each other. C’mon, up. We’re gonna get you in bed.”

Steve nodded wordlessly. He let Bucky heft him to his feet and guide him from the bathroom. As they moved past the Avengers and to the elevator, Bucky sent out a thunderous glare at all of Steve’s teammates, because oh, those guys were in for it. He felt their eyes on Steve and him all the way out, until the elevator doors closed and brought them up to their floor.

“You wanna shower?” asked Bucky.

Steve shook his head.

“Yeah, okay,” Bucky agreed, “I’ll tuck you in. C’mon, you idiot.”

Bucky herded Steve to their bedroom. He helped Steve strip off the Captain America uniform and peeled back their comforter so that Steve could crawl onto the mattress in his underwear. Bucky pulled the blanket back up, covering Steve to his shoulders, and leaned over to press a kiss to the center of Steve’s forehead. Gentle touches like this still made him feel weird from time to time. For so long Bucky used his body to hurt people that using it to be affectionate struck a strange chord.

“Thanks, Buck,” Steve murmured. Exhaustion soaked through every syllable.

“Not a problem,” Bucky said, “but don’t think you got out of talking about this. I just don’t feel right about giving you an earful when you’re this worn down.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve said, and like that, he was out.

And Bucky had Avengers to lecture, because really, what the fuck.

Murder edged onto Bucky’s face as he shoved his way back into the elevator and took it down the common floor. The Avengers were about where he left them, and most looked up when JARVIS announced Bucky’s arrival. Tony’s brows went high on his forehead and he said, “Uh…are we looking at Captain GoodyTwoShoes’ butt buddy or the Winter Soldier?”

“You’re looking at Bucky fucking Barnes,” snapped Bucky, “What the hell is wrong with you people? Steve’s out of the ice for all of ten goddamn minutes and Fury puts him out in the field. He left behind World War fucking Two and walked straight into another disaster – and none of you thought to, I don’t know, check if he was okay? He’s a combat veteran! He got shot! And blown up! He thought everyone he loved was dead and not even one of you assclowns bothered to cut him some slack?”

Bucky inhaled and began to pace. Barton hadn’t woken from his nap, so Bucky took it upon himself to kick him awake with his bare foot. Steel-toed boots might have been more appropriate, but Bucky hadn’t thought to get dressed to tear into these motherfuckers. Instead, he was in a pair of Steve’s track pants and a well-worn Captain America t-shirt.

“He seemed fine,” Tony said.

“Don’t you start with me,” Bucky said, pointing an accusing finger, “You of all people should be able to recognize PTSD. He flinches away from you when you touch him from behind. He spaces out and goes off-planet in his head on the regular. I thought you people were supposed to be the most powerful group of people in the world, and you don’t even have basic skills of observation?”

“Barnes,” Natasha said, “I thought he would come to us when he was ready. He seemed to be dealing with it. And he was better, a little, when you came back.”

“For all of five minutes!” Bucky shouted, “He seemed better because he was so busy focusing on my bullshit that he didn’t have time to think about himself. Surprise surprise – that made it worse! All of you, literally every last one of you, have been through hell and back in some way or another. How the hell did none of you notice Steve in pain? Christ.”

Bucky threw his hands up. He said, “I’m half-crazy, and I noticed.”

“In all fairness, you do live with Steve,” Bruce said.

“Now there’s a fucking excuse,” Bucky laughed, “He gets edgy all the time when everyone is around. I started looking to see if you guys noticed but you just – how could you ignore this? He’s your friend! Fuckin’ – you – I’m going back upstairs. I’m gonna look after my best guy, and you people should think about what you did.”

With an angry whirl on his heel, Bucky stalked back to the elevator, seething.

**

When Bucky slogged back onto the floor he shared with Steve, Steve was out cold. He snored a little, the way that he did in his deeper sleeps. The temptation to slip into bed and nudge Steve awake crept in on Bucky, but he figured Steve needed the rest more than anything else right now. Bucky didn’t know how often Steve slept, but it was without a doubt less than Bucky slept – and that was just sad.

So Bucky fixed himself cocoa the way that he remembered fixing it for his ma, and curled up on the couch. He flicked through the list that Steve put together of his favorite movies of the future thus far and settled on one called The Goonies.

Around halfway through the movie (which was good, Bucky would concede to Steve on that one. This was not always the case), Steve padded out into the living room, rubbing one eye sleepily.

“Hey,” Bucky said, pausing the movie.

Steve glanced at the TV screen. “S’good one,” he said.

“Yeah,” Bucky hummed, and patted the couch cushion next to him, “Come sit with me.”

Steve obeyed and curled up against Bucky’s left side. Bucky draped his metal arm over the expanse of Steve’s shoulders and held him as close as he could. He said, “You wanna explain what business you had hiding shit from everyone?”

Steve cast Bucky a pained expression. He said, “There were more important things going on. An actual alien invasion – how is that less important than my personal problems? It’s not. I guess I just got in the habit of ignoring my issues.”

“Doll, if you don’t get your ducks all in a row, then you’re useless in the field,” Bucky said, “That’s why I’m not allowed in your little club, remember? Not stable enough. And I’m not sure you are either. Don’t think I haven’t noticed the suicidal bullshit you pull when you’re fighting. You know what Natasha said when I asked about it? She said that’s just how you fight. You and I both know that’s a load of hooey.”

At least at that Steve had the grace to look guilty. He said, “I just wanted to take care of you first.”

“A load of hooey,” Bucky repeated, but he buried his metal fingers in Steve’s bedhead and stroked his blond hair back into place absently as he admitted, “I might have yelled at your friends for not paying attention to you.”

Steve frowned and complained, “Bucky. My problems aren’t their fault.”

“Uh, yeah, they kind of are,” Bucky said, “Remember how you guys are a team? A team takes care of each other. They don’t leave guys behind in the dust because it’s convenient.”

Steve rolled his eyes this time. He nuzzled his nose into Bucky’s unshaven cheek and said, “Are you gonna take care of me, Buck?”

Bucky slid a sly look over at Steve and asked, “Is that how it is?”

“Mm,” was all that Steve had to say about that, before he leaned in, cupping Bucky’s jaw in one of his giant hands to turn his face and kiss him. The kiss was gentle, but it didn’t lack heat. Steve leaned into Bucky and kissed him like a thirsty man in the desert. When Bucky licked along the seam of Steve’s lips, he opened right up, stroking his tongue against Bucky’s, slow and thorough.

Steve looked better than he had in weeks when they parted. His lips turned up in a mellow, sleepy smile. He pecked a second, more chaste kiss to Bucky’s mouth and said, “I’d like it if you took care of me.”

“Think that might be easier in a bed,” Bucky said. Really he didn’t want to stain the couch cushions – they’d already had to turn them over, and that’s a trick that can only be pulled the one time. He climbed to his feet and pulled Steve with him, drawing him into a twirl as though dancing until Steve’s back pressed right up against Bucky’s front. He rocked them back and forth for a beat, long enough to make Steve laugh.

They used to do this a long time ago, in their tiny apartment in Brooklyn, before Pearl Harbor and Bucky enlisted. They never actually danced, only faked it, because Steve had two left feet and tripped through the steps. Bucky would guide him through the movements of a half-dance, half-kiss, goofing off until he teased a smile out of Steve. That was one of the first things he remembered how to do.

The first time he guided Steve into a dumb kind-of-dance in the twenty first century, Steve’s eyes got wet. Bucky politely pretended not to notice and fucked Steve against the kitchen counter.

Bucky rolled his hips into Steve’s ass. A whimper broke free of Steve’s throat at the sensation of Bucky’s half-hard cock grinding into him, even through the layers of fabric separating them. Bucky kissed along the column of Steve’s throat and murmured, “Like that, huh?”

“Mmhmm,” Steve managed.

“You’re so beautiful,” Bucky told him.

Steve snorted to himself and muttered, “Sap.”

“Maybe,” Bucky agreed, “but I’m your sap.”

Bucky lost the Captain America t-shirt somewhere along the way to their bedroom, and the track pants before they even hit the mattress. He pinned Steve to the bed, closed his hands around Steve’s wrists and held them up over his head. Bucky pushed his hips down against Steve’s in indulgent, long thrusts of his body. Their erections rubbed together, no longer half-hard but fit to burst.

Snagging Steve’s lower lip in his teeth, Bucky kissed his way down, starting at his mouth and working to the blade of his jaw, to his collarbones and down to his nipples. Bucky ran the flat of his tongue over each, scraping teeth and making Steve whine. Sex helped Steve scale back, because, Steve explained, he got to take a break from being in charge for a while. Bucky meanwhile enjoyed taking back control of this one element of his life while everything else was chaos.

“Stay there,” Bucky told him, and slid Steve’s underwear off. Steve’s cock curved up against his chiseled belly. Back when Steve was a little guy his cock already had been impressive, and hell, the serum revved that up.

Bucky fished in their bedside table for the lube and tossed it onto the bed next to Steve’s legs. God, he loved those legs. Don’t get him wrong – Bucky loved Steve’s skinny legs before the serum. There was something almost elegant about them. But the strong thighs that could clamp around his waist while he drilled into him, those were the best. He pushed those legs up now so that they bent at the knee, spreading Steve out like a buffet.

Before Bucky could position himself between Steve’s legs, Steve said, “Hey,” to get his attention, and then, “I love you.”

The fierce way that Steve loved still seized Bucky by surprise sometimes. Steve was the one that initiated their first kiss. He was a skinny, awkward teenager who had grabbed Bucky by his suspenders and yanked him into an embrace, putting his mouth on Bucky’s mouth without an ounce of hesitation.

Bucky before the war, a Bucky that he wasn’t anymore, felt honored and scared all at once to be the recipient of Steve’s love. He had that in common with that boy. Steve loved so hard he let Bucky shoot him, for fuck’s sake. He let Bucky beat the shit out of him, because he loved him and he refused to hurt him back. Steve loved Bucky so much that he prioritized every need of Bucky’s over his own. He let himself suffer quietly so Bucky could live with fewer worries.

Idiot. Honored and scared about covered it.

“And you call me the sap,” Bucky said. Steve huffed, and Bucky felt compelled to add, “Same here. I love you too.”

Steve extended one leg to hook his foot around Bucky’s waist and pull him closer. Bucky laughed before he captured Steve’s mouth in his. The taste of Steve was intoxicating, a taste that Bucky couldn’t name but knew belonged to Steve alone.

“Let’s do it like this,” Steve said, “I wanna keep kissing you.”

“You got it,” said Bucky.

First things first: Bucky scooted back so that he could lick along the length of Steve’s cock. Steve’s hips jerked but he stayed otherwise still. A deep moan cracked out of his throat when Bucky sucked the head into his mouth. He took as much of Steve’s erection into his mouth as he could fit, working past his gag reflex to get Steve in his throat. Choked, pleasured noises escaped in bursts as Bucky worked him over, closing his metal fist over what he couldn’t get into his mouth.

“Buck, Buck – if you don’t stop I’m gonna – I wanna come with you inside me,” Steve said.

Bucky pulled off. Already Steve looked wrecked, a sheen of sweat covering his face and chest, that full-body blush spread from his ears on down. Bucky reached for the lube and popped it open, drizzling a generous amount onto his fingers. He teased his fingertips over the cleft of Steve’s ass. Steve vibrated with want but he let Bucky do as he liked, circling his hole with barely-there touches before he sunk one finger inside him.

A little hum of pleasure rumbled in Steve’s chest. “I can take more,” he said.

“I know,” Bucky replied, “I’m giving you what I wanna give.”

Gradually, Bucky worked from one finger to two, thrusting and twisting them inside Steve. He curled them against Steve’s prostate and strummed against it. Bucky knew Steve’s body like the back of his hand. Hell, he probably knew Steve’s body better than the back of his hand. He knew every tic, every secret place that Steve loved to have kissed, every little thing that could make Steve moan. Bucky knew them all.

When Bucky pressed a third finger into Steve, Steve started to ride back on his hand. Bucky decided to let him get away with it and played along, thrusting his fingers harder and faster.

“I’m ready, Buck, please,” Steve begged, and Bucky couldn’t say no when Steve asked so nice, could he?

Bucky pulled back to slick up his cock – not as long as Steve, but thick – and heaved Steve’s legs up and open. He braced himself with one hand guiding his erection and made the slow, heavenly slide inside. Steve groaned and Bucky couldn’t help but agree; Steve’s body was like a molten vise around his cock and it was only practice that prevented Bucky from coming right there and then.

They liked having sex lots of ways: quick and dirty, goofy and stupid, lazy and sleepy. But tonight felt like a night for slow and deep and tender, so that’s what Bucky did. He kissed Steve and swallowed the sounds he punched out of him as he rocked in and out of Steve’s body in a smooth, hard rhythm. Steve gripped onto Bucky’s shoulders and held him.

It was sweet, like this.

Like with Bucky’s hand, Steve undulated his hips to meet each of Bucky’s thrusts, gasping into Bucky’s mouth. He could feel when Steve was getting close. He clamped down on Bucky’s cock and the movement of his body went sloppy, less measured. Bucky reached between them and closed his still-slick hand over Steve’s cock, jacking as he hurdled toward his own orgasm.

Steve came first with a hoarse cry, all over his abdomen and Bucky’s in a sticky, hot, supersoldier mess. Bucky grasped Steve’s hips and pistoned into him. The orgasm had been building for a while, but still managed to knock Bucky on his ass when it slammed full-force into him. He lost it, babbling at Steve in incoherent, dirty Russian before he fell forward.

They lay chest to chest and caught their breath. Steve reached up and stroked his hand through Bucky’s long hair. Bucky wasn’t sure how long they lingered in that position, his body directly on top of Steve’s, with Steve’s legs still hooked around his waist. They must have dozed for at least a couple hours, because Bucky came-to to Steve petting his head, their chests stuck together with sweat and come, and the sun gone from the sky.

“Welcome back,” Steve said.

“You get any sleep?” Bucky asked, nosing at Steve’s neck.

“A little,” Steve answered, “We’re kinda gross. Wanna grab a shower?”

“Yeah, give me a second,” Bucky said. He took a moment more to enjoy Steve’s fingers moving through his hair and the weight of Steve’s other arm wrapped around his middle before he pried his body up and got to his feet. He offered his hand to Steve, who accepted it and let Bucky help pull him.

The shower on their floor was, in Bucky’s opinion, the greatest thing that Avengers Tower had to offer after Steve. When he first arrived at the Tower he lingered under the warm, gentle spray for long stretches of time and experimented with expensive and modern bath products. He liked smelling like sandalwood, he discovered.

The shower was also big enough to fit two grown men and then some. Under a fountain of water at just the right pressue, Bucky and Steve soaped up together. Bucky liked letting Steve shampoo his hair because he massaged his scalp and made his muscles all melty. Steve enjoyed Bucky's hands soaping up about anything on his body, and hell, Bucky wasn't about to complain about that. He could touch Steve for hours and never get bored.

“I wanna finish The Goonies,” Bucky said as they toweled dry.

“Cocoa?” Steve said hopefully.

Bucky made a frustrated noise and said, “I used the last of the milk.”

“I think there’s some downstairs in the common kitchen,” Steve said, “Why don’t we just grab that?”

“But then we have to put on pants,” Bucky said.

“Sacrifices must be made,” Steve answered, with a tired smile.

Bucky surrendered and pulled a pair of sweatpants over his hips. He did not, however, put on a shirt. That was where he drew the line. Steve, on the other hand, did throw a tee over his head and though it was tight the same way all Steve’s clothes were, it was still a damn shame to cover that chest.

In the elevator, they kissed a little more. Bucky stroked his tongue against Steve's and explored his mouth. He'd never get bored of this, either. When they separated, Steve pushed his spit-damp lips against the column of Bucky's throat and made a valiant attempt at giving Bucky a hickey. Naturally, this was the exact moment that the doors parted to the view of the communal floor. The doors also opened to every last one of the Avengers, standing right there.

“What the – were you guys waiting for us?” Bucky asked. Steve pulled off of Bucky's neck with a sheepish look on his face.

“JARVIS told us you were coming,” Tony said.

Bucky sighed. He said, “Look. I’m…sorry I yelled. But I’m not sorry about what I said.”

“You were right,” Natasha told him, and shifted her attention to Steve, her eyes piercing, “and we’re sorry that we didn’t notice you were hurting, Steve.”

Steve grabbed at the back of his neck. His face flushed pink as he said, “It’s fine. Not a big deal.”

“It kinda is a big deal,” Clint replied, “I had to take time off after Loki and New York, hardcore.”

“And I’m sorting out,” – Tony waved a hand in the air – “You know. My stuff. Cap, you’re a pain in the ass, but you’re our pain in the ass. We’ll do better making your ass-pain go…you know what, this metaphor got away from me. You know what I mean.”

Thor stepped forward and added, “I promise to strive harder to protect you, as I protect all my warriors.”

“I know all about dealing with head problems, Steve,” Bruce added, “and everyone here gives me my space when I need it. The least we can do is the same for you.”

“Well,” Steve said, “Damn. Thank you. I mean that.”

“Why are you two down here anyway, and not in your sex nest?” asked Tony.

Bucky rolled his eyes. He said, “We’re borrowing some milk. You got a problem with that?”

“No,” Tony said, “Unless it’s some weird kink thing, because I’m not having my groceries defiled.”

“It’s not a kink thing, you dick,” Bucky said back, “We’re making hot cocoa and watching a fucking movie.”

“What movie?” Clint asked.

Bucky opened his mouth to tell them that it was none of their goddamn business, but Steve beat him to the punch with, “The Goonies.”

“No shit,” Tony said, “That’s a classic.”

“Good choice,” Bruce approved.

In the end, the Avengers piled into the elevator with Bucky, Steve, and a couple gallons of milk. Bucky grumbled about having to start the movie back at the beginning, but really that allowed him time to make cocoa the way his ma did and bring it out for everyone where they settled on his couch and floor. He didn’t miss the lightness in Steve’s expression, or the way he held his body like a great weight was gone from it.

That was what happened when you allowed your friends to help shoulder your burden, you dumbass, he wanted to say.

Instead, Bucky settled under a blanket, kissed Steve’s forehead, and said, “You’re a punk.”