Archive of Our Own

The heat in the car starts to suffocate him. Steve shuts the heat and cracks a window despite the relentless rain. Droplets sneak through the cracked glass and drip on his arm while sheets of rain coat the windshield. Steve huffs at his windshield wipers.

“Useless,” he mutters. The force of the storm has picked up considerably since he started his drive, but Steve doesn’t want to pull over because he doesn’t know where he is. The dark Nantucket road stretches ahead in dangerous curves, and signs are few and far between. If he stopped anywhere along this stretch of road, he’d surely end up being the target of a grisly collision. Steve can feel his heart beating synchronously with the drilling rainfall.

As is typical in situations of dire hopelessness, Steve starts to badger himself with hypotheticals. If he hadn't rushed out of his place so quickly, he may have thought better about attempting a drive like this so late at night. If he hadn’t left in such a hurry, Steve may have been able to check the weather and avoid getting trapped in this monsoon.

“Yeah,” he says to himself, “and if Alex hadn’t fucked his yoga teacher in our bed, I would still be at home.” Steve grips the steering wheel until his knuckles turn white. At this rate, he would never find the house.

While panicking, Steve takes several forced deep breaths. He glances at his GPS and groans when he sees No Signal .

“Well fuck.” The darkness settles deep, transforming the road into a shade of burnt eggplant that seamlessly melds with his peripherals. Steve can’t see a single thing. He clicks on his hazard lights and is about to pull over when his headlights reflect off a sign.

He squints and reads “NO TRESPASSING” written in large neon letters. Comforting, Steve thinks. He slows to a crawl and pulls off the road, deciding to call it quits. He can’t see two feet in front of his car let alone attempt to find a cottage he’s never been to before. 

Steve assumes this patch of asphalt is a speed trap or a construction site but the road seems to stretch far, so far in fact that Steve can’t even see where it ends before it blends into blackness. Oh well, he thinks. This will have to do.

With his car in park and the windows rolled up, Steve turns the car off. For the first time in over an hour, Steve is comforted by the rain rather than taunted by it. He shuts his eyes and breathes, but the reprieve is momentary. Flashes of Alex’s naked body on top of someone else’s make Steve clench his fists. He wants to put his hand right through the windshield and let the rain collect on the dashboard. Five years of his life wasted on that piece of shit. Steve holds the bridge of his nose and tries to calm down but the rain is back to taunting him. Every drop is another second Steve has to lament about this new shitshow his life has become.

“What are you even doing?” His helpless plea dies in the silence. The darkness stares back, offering nothing.

His departure to Nantucket had been quick and hasty. After catching Alex, it took Steve approximately an hour to pack his essentials, call his parents, and figure out an escape. He couldn’t spend another second looking at Alex or the apartment they shared. Every picture frame, every memento, every room made Steve sick. He didn’t pick Massachusetts on purpose either. 

While trying to calm him down, his parents naturally suggested he come stay with them in Syracuse. He squashed that idea immediately, knowing he wouldn’t feel better unless he was hundreds of miles away from Alex and New York. Eventually they suggested Nantucket because they had an old friend who owned a few cottages there. It being the off season, they were sure there’d be one open even on such short notice. They insisted he could go tonight, and it felt far enough away to ease the pounding in his head. In fact, before the rain had started, every mile Steve put between him and Alex had increased his relief. He was breathing easier and crying less.

Now, however, the quiet car mocks him. He isn’t in a bed, he isn’t at home, he isn’t in a relationship. What is he?

“Lost,” Steve whispers. Being in between jobs wasn’t an issue when he lived with Alex because Alex had a cushy job, but what was he going to do now? Alex had convinced Steve to combine their accounts when they were settled into their new place, and foolishly Steve had listened. It’s true what people say about love being blind. Apparently it’s also really fucking stupid. Alex had the money and the lease, and what did Steve have? This car and a pitiable savings account in his parents name.

Steve had blindly given Alex five years of his life and his love. He had given into Alex’s desires while sacrificing most of his own, including a stable future. Maybe that’s why, even now as he sat stranded on the side of a New England backroad feeling hopeless, Steve had to admit he felt freer. There was something mystical about this lightness he was feeling.

It was a little like coming up for air. Knowing he wouldn’t have to deal with Alex anymore made the pressure on his chest ease up. This realization makes Steve shake himself out of this pity party. He wouldn’t drown in it. He refused to.

For the first time in five years, Steve was going to be on his own. He would be in charge again, and he could do what he wanted. He smiles to himself at the thought. He fishes a thick sweatshirt out of his bag and tugs it on. The chill of midnight creeps into the car, but he falls asleep knowing he would handle whatever tomorrow brings.

**

Bucky rouses to the early morning sounds of his house. Based on the excited jingle of collars, he guesses it’s around four. Only half an hour shy of his alarm. He rubs his eyes and rolls over. Three sets of big brown eyes stare at him expectantly.

“You’re early,” he grumbles to the dogs. Their ears twitch at his voice, tails wagging. He gets up, feeds them, and staggers into the shower. The hot water loosens his muscles and washes away some of the sleep. He’s in the kitchen ten minutes later cursing himself and the ache in his shoulder. The weather has his joints protesting.

He turns out three big bowls of dough. Usually kneading dough before the weekend flea market was a respite, but today it barely relaxes him as he remembers the laundry list of things he has to do. The first of the month is always an unwelcome day for him. He gets each batch back into their bowls to rise again and cleans up.

On the bright side, he thinks, the storm from last night is going to be lingering in the air. Bucky loves a lot of things about Nantucket, but the smell after a particularly big rain storm is one of his favorites. He uses that anticipation to motivate him and packs his bag for the day.

Slinging his backpack over his shoulder, Bucky grabs his keys and a container of kibble and heads out the front door. He routinely fills the empty bowls at the end of his porch and scratches a few of the cats that wander up.

“Good morning,” he says, inhaling last night’s storm. Bucky’s habits include baking, cursing, and taking in strays. Strays were less complicated than people, and Bucky felt an obligation to protect them. He smiles at the cats one last time before getting into his truck. The old pick up groans to life. He checks his watch and huffs. He’s late.

This annoyance only intensifies when he makes it halfway down his driveway. There is a car parked in his way. He blinks shocked then narrows his eyes, furious. What’s the point of hanging the sign, he thinks bitterly.

“What the fuck.” Bucky throws his truck in park and gets out. He walks angrily up to the driver’s side and pounds on the window. The hooded figure jerks awake.

“You need to move,” Bucky says to the closed window. His frustration is growing by the second, and the sleepy trespasser seems to be moving one mile an hour. The figure finally manages to roll down the window.

“Oh. Good morn—”

“You need to move,” Bucky repeats. The stranger is rubbing his eyes, his hoodie pulled tight around his face. He wrinkles his nose. Bucky doesn’t have time for this. He’s already late and the ache in his shoulder is starting to throb.

“Can you read?” he asks louder, pointing to the “NO TRESPASSING” sign he hung two years ago. The man narrows his blue eyes.

“I was just,” the stranger tries to explain. “I was lost and,”

“And decided to trespass?”

“Okay, I don’t know what your problem is,” the man starts.

“Currently? You are.” Bucky snaps. The man ignores him.

“Can you tell me where Melview lane is? That’s where I’m headed.” The stranger stares at him expectantly, and Bucky’s frown deepens.

“It’s a mile down the road,” he says. The man sits up a little straighter and grins.

“I was close,” he whispers to himself. Bucky rolls his eyes and turns back to his truck. He can feel the man watching him. When he’s back in the truck, Bucky sits and stares impatiently at the car as it slowly rolls backwards out of his driveway.

**

“Thanks, asshole,” Steve says after he rolls his window up. He begins to back out of the driveway, and the pickup truck starts to roll forward. Steve, still heavy with sleep, can’t believe how rude that guy was. If he wasn’t shivering from the morning cold, Steve might think he was dreaming.

Sure, Steve was technically trespassing, but anyone in their right mind would understand why that was necessary last night. This guy had no interest in listening to Steve or helping him. Steve thought he saw a flash of shock on the man’s face when he mentioned Melview lane, but he couldn't be sure. He chalks it up to being barely awake.

Steve huffs and resolves that the stranger isn’t worth any more consideration. As rude as he is, Steve never has to deal with him again. The thought makes Steve relax. 

His car moves along the road easily in the morning light, and he notices for the first time the coastline to his left. The water is a calming blue. His phone is also working again, and it’s with great relief that Steve pulls into the gravel driveway of the cottage on Melview lane a mile later.

The cottage is simply adorable. The deep navy siding trimmed with crisp white shutters is accompanied by a stout brick chimney. Steve marvels at the crisp landscaping and cute flower boxes hanging at each window. The front door is a deep scarlet and Steve grabs his bags excitedly.

The inside of the cottage is even more quaint than the outside, and Steve feels himself relax the second he’s through the door. It is homey and warm inside, and Steve smiles wider. It’s perfect. Exactly what he needs. He unpacks his few belongings and falls into the oversized white couch. It molds to him immediately, and Steve lets out a contented sigh. He’s asleep in minutes.

When he wakes up again, Steve blinks into a sliver of sunlight that streams through the window. The warm, calm haze of just waking up envelops him and he grins to himself. For the briefest moment he can’t remember where he is or why he’s there. All he knows in those few seconds is that he’s safe and comfortable. To his surprise, the feeling doesn’t immediately disappear when Steve remembers where he is. The truth of what brought him here doesn’t dampen the current reality. Steve can still breathe. He’s happier.

He can’t explain it, but just being here Steve feels more at home than he has in a very long time. Alex never let him do much to their apartment. It’s minimalism , Alex would insist. Steve always secretly thought he just said that because he didn’t like Steve’s taste in decor. Steve never pushed though. Alex got what Alex wanted.

There was none of that dreaded obligation here. Steve felt nothing but the exciting anticipation of his own future. He could do whatever he wanted today.

As if on cue, his stomach growled. Steve gets up and takes a quick shower. The warm water washes away the residual chill and rigidity he acquired from sleeping in his car. It feels amazing, and he’s heading out the front door shortly.

According to his phone, there’s a cafe in town that’s voted “Best Pancakes in Massachusetts.” Steve decides that’s exactly what he wants for breakfast and heads into town. Without the rain, the winding backroad is actually a nice ride. Steve is able to drive along the coastline and marvel at the docked sailboats he didn’t notice in the dark. Their bright sails flap gently in the wind. Is there anything in this town that isn’t picturesque, Steve muses.

Moments later Steve is snuggled into one of the warm booths at Luke’s Cafe. The inside of the cafe is very nice. The booths and tables are not modern, but it's very obvious that they’ve been taken care of—refurbished. Steve thinks whoever owns this restaurant, Luke maybe, takes good care of it. 

He orders the pancakes from a very pleasant waitress and sips his coffee, a sense of calm settling around his shoulders like a blanket.

**

The dread that usually accompanies the first of every month is raging behind Bucky’s skull today. It wraps around him like a wicked Cheshire cat. He huffs as he hops out of his truck and looks down at the folder in his hands. Inventory and budgetary meetings were his least favorite responsibility. His chest tightens as soon as he looks up at the bright sign. He reluctantly pulls open the door.

The smells of the cafe assault his senses, and his nose twitches. The cloying sweetness in the air hits him with a wave of nostalgia and grief. Bucky bites the inside of his cheek and heads to the counter. An eager, young staff member bounds up to him pleasantly. He vaguely remembers him.

“Hey, boss! What can I do for you?” Peter asks happily. 

“I’m meeting with Natasha,” Bucky says.

“Okay,” Peter says.

He nods and turns to find Natasha. Bucky fights the urge to scratch himself. The air in the cafe is stifling, and he squeezes his eyes shut, trying to slow his breathing. He dreads this monthly visit, but Natasha usually makes it palatable. When he left her in charge, she stepped up tenfold. Natasha is the best manager he could imagine, and he is beyond lucky to have her.

A few minutes later Nat is rounding the corner with a plate of pancakes. She smiles when she sees Bucky and mouths one second . He watches her weave in between tables before stopping at a booth. She puts the pancakes in front of a very beautiful man. Bucky clears his throat. The man’s smile is wide and white. His hair is tousled and blonde. His eyes crinkle in time with his laugh, and Bucky’s mouth feels dry. It’s been a long time, and Bucky’s only human after all. He shakes himself out of it and turns around. He sips the coffee Peter had set before him.

“Budget first,” Natasha says in lieu of a greeting. Bucky nods and follows her to the back office, coffee forgotten.

“Everything seems to be working fine around here,” Bucky says. Natasha laughs.

“Everything is always working fine around here because you left me in charge. Remember?” She smiles and lays out some papers. 

Despite how much he likes Nat, Bucky was ready to leave the moment he stepped inside. Every room seems to get smaller the longer he’s in it. It’s suffocating. They talk shop for half an hour, running over numbers and necessities. As per usual, Natasha has everything counted and checked. She knows how much Bucky hates being here, so she does her part to make this quick.

“Thanks, Nat,” Bucky says. She nods and returns to her tables. Bucky follows her out into the sea of people. The morning rush is in full swing. Bucky’s eyes unconsciously travel to the booth where the man sat, but it’s empty. For the best, Bucky thinks.

He heads towards the front door, freedom and fresh air only moments away. Someone steps into his path. Bucky pulls up short but not quick enough because an elbow knocks him in the chest, hard.

“Oh god, I’m—” a familiar voice starts to say. The man turns to face Bucky and two things happen. Bucky’s brain short circuits, and the man narrows his eyes, his apology catching in his throat. 

“You,” the man says. Bucky is caught off guard at first by the man’s crystal blue eyes and then at his words.

“Have we met?” Bucky asks, confused. He’d remember a face like this. The man raises his eyebrows and scoffs.

“That depends. Do you count this morning’s performance on your driveway meeting?” The words register, and Bucky realizes why the guy’s voice sounded familiar. In his defense, the guy was completely bundled when they first spoke. He could barely see more than his eyes, though looking at them now he’s not sure how he could forget them.

“You shouldn’t have been parked there,” Bucky says matter-of-factly.

“Why?” He asks, challenging him.

“I think you covered that when you called it my driveway.” Bucky doesn’t like this guy. The beautiful stranger smirks, and it makes Bucky angrier. I could shove him, Bucky thinks, I kind of want to.

“Somebody never learned how to share,” the man says, crossing his arms. They bulge under his long sleeve shirt. Bucky refocuses.

“And somebody never learned how to read,” he snaps, thinking of his oversized sign. The man’s smirk slips and his face pinches again.

“You have issues, man,” the guy starts. Bucky narrows his eyes and drops his voice.

“Get out of my way.” Bucky stands firm, his annoyance tornadoing inside him.

***

Steve’s good mood was shot to hell the second he elbowed him. Once again, Steve cannot believe his bad luck. Not only is he face to face with the asshole from this morning, but he had to physically run into him. The guy doesn’t seem to be in any better of a mood.

“And if I don’t?” Steve challenges. He can’t really explain the fire in his chest. Maybe it's his newfound freedom or his desperation to make this place different from his last, but he’s not backing down. Alex walked all over him. Steve isn’t going to let that happen here.

This morning he hadn’t gotten a great look at the guy because he was half asleep and the man was tucked into a large jacket and hat. Now, however, the man stands tall and Steve has to fight the urge to drag his eyes down the man’s entire frame. He’s tall . He stands sturdy and Steve almost wants to push him to see if he’d sway.

The man’s eyes are clouded with anger. Steve’s stomach flips with a twinge of excitement.

“I will make you,” the man says slowly. His voice is so low it could scrape the floor. Steve knows he’s working this guy up. He doesn’t really want to fight in this cafe. After all, he did just have a nice breakfast, and he’s not typically a confrontational person, but there’s something about this guy. His cynicism and attitude radiate from him like a sonic boom. He seems like a bully.

“That’s hilarious,” Steve says, stepping into the guy’s space. It’s decided then. He’s going to knock this guy down a peg, pancakes be damned.

“Fellas.” The red haired waitress that helped Steve earlier is next to them. She digs her nails into their arms, sharper than Steve was expecting. “Outside, please.” Steve laughs. There’s no way this hothead is going to relent, he thinks.

To Steve’s surprise, the man holds his stare only a beat longer and then steps around Steve and storms through the door. Steve follows him, now angrier.

“Dude, what the hell is your problem?” Steve asks. The day is heating up and Steve can feel the sun on his back. The man spins quickly. For the first time, Steve gets a clear look at him. His eyes aren’t as dark as they seemed in the cafe. With the sunlight reflecting into them, they’re actually a close shade to his own, and his hair is pulled back into a tight bun. A few pieces fall into his face. His jaw is stubbled and set in a firm line.

“Once again, it seems to be you,” he spits. Steve means to push it further, but he’s too caught up looking at the guy to bite back. The man takes his silence as conceit and stomps off towards his truck. Steve curses himself for letting the guy get the last word. He stands like an idiot outside of the cafe, clenching his fists.

“What a dick,” Steve says to nobody. A laugh comes from behind him and he spins to see the waitress.

“He isn’t usually like that,” she says almost like an apology. “I’m Nat.”

“Steve.” He shakes her hand. Steve exhales, rubbing his temples. Natasha smiles and shrugs.

“Today’s hard for him. He’s really a good guy,” she says sheepishly. Then her eyebrows pinch together like she regrets saying that. Steve doesn’t know what to make of that, and she doesn’t elaborate.

“Could’ve fooled me.” Steve raises his face to the sun and relishes in the warmth. He feels his frustration starting to ebb. Natasha scuffs her foot in the gravel and shrugs again.

“Just try to stay out of his way, okay?” She finally says with a small smile, looking up at Steve. Steve is confused, but he nods.

“Trust me, I will,” he promises. He has no way of knowing how big of a lie that would turn out to be.

***

After his run in at the cafe, Bucky was less than thrilled to finish his errands. He couldn’t really understand why that stranger got under his skin so fast. He considers his already sour mood mixed with his monthly trip down memory lane. Perhaps it was a recipe for disaster from the start. Either way, Bucky was still reeling from it.

He knew he had to go check the property, but realization dawns on him and he grips the steering wheel. That guy from the cafe is the same guy who asked about Melview, which means that dickhead is his newest tenant.

“Shit,” Bucky says. When he pulls into the driveway of the Melview cottage, he exhales a relieved breath. The driveway is empty. Maybe he can finish up before the guy comes back.

Bucky walks around the back, running through his list of to do’s. Check heating and water systems, take a look at the busted gate, feed the strays. Yup, even at his rental properties Bucky managed to collect strays. It was accidental, he swears, and most tenants never seem to mind.

At the back of the cottage, Bucky unlocks the outdoor cabinet and finds spare food. He fills multiple bowls before dusting off his hands and unlocking the back door. His anger has dissipated slightly, but the argument at the cafe sits idly in the tension of his shoulders.. It’s hard enough to go back there, he thinks.

He continues through the house, checking the thermostat and fireplace. Usually, Bucky makes sure to set his tenants up with fresh firewood before they check in, but this was a last minute reservation, and it turns out the guy is a dick. He had agreed to such a last minute booking as a favor for his uncle’s friend— a favor he was regretting now.

When Bucky inherited these properties from his uncle a few years ago, he assumed he wouldn’t keep them. He already had the cafe and his weekly flea market table, but without Luke, Bucky wasn’t interested in running the cafe anymore, couldn't even stand to be inside. So he handed the reins to Nat and busied himself with this new real estate venture. He quickly found that he liked fixing up the cottages and renting them out. It was his chance to give people a little bit of the Nantucket beauty he found and treasured so much.

Bucky looks down at the fireplace and huffs. He can get his own firewood, he thinks petulantly. He turns and heads out the back door. He bends over to check the busted gate. The gate has always been more decorative than useful, but now the whole latch was hanging on by a very tired screw. 

He fishes in his bag for his tools and disassembles the locking mechanism. It’s a quick fix and he’s tightening the final screw when he hears a car pull up. He grits his teeth. Dickhead is home. He stuffs his tools back into his bag and stands up. Bucky contemplates his best escape route. He could loop around the opposite side of the cottage, but he'd have to traverse through the thick bushes without a clear path. He rolls his eyes and heads towards the front the way he came.

The man is out of his car, approaching the front walkway. He is swinging his keys and whistling to himself but stops when he sees Bucky.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” he says. Bucky watches as the guy visibly tenses. Right, Bucky thinks, he doesn’t know this is my property.

“Look who’s trespassing now,” the man says, unmoving. It looks like he’s trying to decide if Bucky is there to kick his ass. The thought makes Bucky smile to himself.

“It would be,” Bucky says now only a few feet from him. “If I didn’t own the place.”

He stops in front of the guy; a foot and a half stretches between them, and he looks him up and down. The man’s shocked face was almost as ridiculous as his show of bravado had been in the cafe. It’s mildly satisfying, and suddenly Bucky can’t help but wonder what it would be like to absolutely ruin this man. A spark of interest flickers in his groin.

“You own this cottage?” The man deadpans. His shock and curiosity softens his posture infinitesimally. 

“But you’re. . . young,” he says. The confusion must flash across Bucky’s face because the man rushes to add, “I thought this was my parents’ friend’s property.”

Bucky stares. “My uncle owned it first. Now it’s mine.” Too much information, he thinks regretfully. He doesn’t owe this guy any explanation.

“Lucky me,” the guy says sarcastically. He crosses his arms, and Bucky can’t help but look at them again. The muscles strain a little against the cotton sleeves. I wonder what they look like bare, Bucky thinks. Bucky stares for a moment longer and then heads to his truck. 

“Wait, that’s it? Why’d you even come over here?” The man demands. Bucky thinks for a second that he doesn’t even know his tennant’s name, but then he decides he doesn’t care.

“Because I’m a dutiful landlord,” Bucky throws over his shoulder. He hopes his sarcasm carries across the lawn.

“Are you always this rude?” the man shouts across the distance Bucky put between them. Bucky turns around. It’s like this guy has taken a master class in pissing him off.

“I’m sorry, did I imagine you trespassing on my driveway this morning?” Bucky asks sternly. He walks back towards him. The man throws his hands up.

“Jesus Christ, enough with the trespassing! I was lost, and it was storming. I am not going to apologize,” he says angrily. “It isn’t like I was trying to rob you!”

Bucky wants to respond, but the man takes a large breath, gearing up to continue.

“I mean, do you have any social skills? Have you ever even interacted with a normal person before? Who yells at a stranger like that? At four in the morning no less!” The man is gesticulating wildly and his words are flying out a mile a minute. It’s almost funny.

“And that show at the cafe?” The mention of the cafe makes Bucky’s blood run cold. His anger is back in a flash. “What the hell was that about? Did you have a bad breakfast?” his tone is mocking. The man pouts sarcastically, and Bucky clenches his fist.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky says angrily, but the man talks over him.

“I mean, I’ll admit the pancakes weren’t great. ‘Massachusetts’ best pancakes’ might be a stretch but—” Bucky rears back like he’s been slapped. All of the fight vanishes, leaving him empty and bitter. The stranger notices and stops talking, confused.

“Stay the hell away from me,” Bucky says shaking his head. He turns and gets in his truck without a pause.

**

Steve watches the man flinch violently. He looks over his shoulder to see if something behind him warranted that reaction before realizing it was him the guy was flinching away from.

“Stay the hell away from me,” the man warns. He leaves Steve standing there shocked.

“What the hell?” Steve says into the air, arms outstretched.

Steve’s mind is spinning. He can barely process what just happened. Steve was mostly being sarcastic, but the second he mentioned that dumb restaurant he could see the man’s eyes cloud over again. What a weird fucking response, Steve thinks. He runs through the morning’s events again.

At four in the morning he’s rudely startled from his sleep by a very sour man who yells at him to get off his property. Despite that, Steve tries to make the best of the day anyway and get breakfast only to run into an even more furious version of the same man. They almost fight in the cafe. They avoid a physical brawl only for Steve to come home and find out the man is his landlord .

Steve has never gotten such a confusing and rude first impression from someone. The man’s emotions seemed to operate on a hair trigger. One second he is being impassive and the next he’s trying to melt him with a glare. It didn’t help that Steve found him attractive. There was something mysterious about him— and that body? Steve would be lying if he said he didn’t notice the way the man’s jeans hugged his ass. Steve isn’t having much luck making sense of any of it, so he gives up.

***

Bucky is shaking when he gets in his truck. A quick glance out his windshield and he can see the man standing on the driveway, arms up in the air like he’s begging for rain. Bucky doesn’t waste any time peeling out of the driveway. His breathing is heavy and ragged.

“Fuck,” he says angrily, pounding on the steering wheel while he speeds down the road. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.”

He can feel his heart threatening to rip through his chest. Over pancakes nonetheless. He mentioned Luke’s and now I’m losing it, Bucky thinks.

Bucky can feel nausea curdling in his stomach. It was stupid and childish to freak out like that, but pain tugs at his heart. When they had opened the cafe, Luke had been so excited about the breakfast menu. He had insisted his pancakes would be the star dish. They’re pancakes, Bucky had said plainly. You’ll see , his brother had said.

It was a rough start up, like most restaurants, but they were profiting their second year, and Luke was right. His pancakes were a main attraction. He was the reason they got their first raving review. Local family run cafe in Nantucket surprises and delights with a seasonal and deliciously fun menu. Definitely the best pancakes in Massachusetts. It was such a silly compliment, but Luke loved it and insisted they put it on their menu. Bucky, never one to deny his little brother anything, had the new menus printed up the following week.

Thinking about it now, Bucky clears his throat. It's tight with the threat of tears. People say time heals all wounds, but he has no proof of that. It’s been five years since Luke died, and Bucky feels it in his gut like it just happened.

Bucky isn’t aware of where he’s going until he pulls up to Tony’s shop. He parks and goes inside. Thankfully, it’s quiet and empty.

“Are you open?” Bucky asks, aiming for sarcasm, but his tone lands flat. Tony notices but ignores it. This is not the first time Bucky has shown up after an anxiety attack. Tony has his feet up on the counter and he’s flipping through a catalog. Bucky’s heart beat only starts to slow when he sees him.

“Only for you, dear.” Tony smiles and kicks his feet off the counter. He’s been Bucky’s best friend for a little over nine years. Bucky is convinced he’s the only person on the planet who actually knows everything about him and loves him anyway.

“I’m going to kill my new tenant,” Bucky says, sitting on one of the stools behind the counter. His hands are shaking. Tony notices that too, but he only raises his eyebrows to encourage Bucky to continue.

“He’s a complete asshole,” Bucky says. Tony laughs.

“What did he do?” he asks. Bucky feels himself flush.

“It’s a long story,” he says tiredly, the toll of his anxiety beginning to drain him. Tony sighs.

“Oh okay, nevermind. I don’t have time to listen,” he says, motioning to his empty store. Bucky laughs lightly.

“Fine. It started this morning when I found the guy parked on my driveway—”

“The audacity,” Tony quips. Bucky ignores him.

“We argued and he left. Then a few hours later I literally ran into him at the cafe. He got in my face and was really douchey about it. I don’t know,” Bucky says. Tony listens and motions for him to continue.

“Then I had to swing by the cottage to check on a few things, and he came home right as I was leaving.”

“I hope you’re burying the lede here, James,” Tony says impatiently, using his real name. Tony’s the only person who still gets to call him James. He nudges Bucky with his foot.

“He was being snotty again, and then he started to say something about his pancakes and how they weren’t great, and I just. .  .” Bucky trails off muttering. The memory brings a fresh wave of anger. Tony whistles.

“Well you’ve convinced me,” Tony says. “It sounds like this monster has it coming. So what’re you thinking? A good ‘ol fashion jumping?” Bucky lifts his head, sees Tony’s smirk. Tony continues, feigning sincerity.

“I mean, first he parks on your driveway, deliberately of course. Then he has the nerve to get breakfast in a cafe you own, which he definitely knew and did on purpose. Then he has the nerve to return to the place he’s renting, of which you’re the landlord,” Tony says exasperated. “It’s sinister.”

Bucky exhales loudly.

“I get it, okay?” Bucky says stubbornly. “I may have overreacted.”

“May have?” Tony raises his eyebrows. Bucky returns his look with a blank stare.

“But you didn’t see this guy. He’s just so—” Bucky furrows his brows and flexes his fingers angrily, groaning.

“Is he hot?” Tony asks. A sly grin starts to split his face. Bucky flushes and stutters.

“W-what? Why would you even ask me that?” He says indignantly.

“Why won’t you answer?”

“Stop that.” Bucky falters again. “He’s . . . not ugly.” Tony barks out a laugh, slapping his hand on the counter.

“Maybe that’s the problem,” Tony says knowingly. Bucky shoots him a strong glare.

“It’s not a problem. His attitude is the problem.” Bucky’s mouth flattens into a thin line.

“Hey,” Tony says sincerely this time “You’re allowed to react however you want when it comes to Luke, but I would suggest you avoid hitting strangers. Lawsuits are a bitch.”

“I wouldn’t have hit him.” Bucky rolls his eyes. He knows Tony is joking, and Tony nudges him in the arm.

“You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says exhaling.

“How’s the hardware?” Tony asks, flicking his arm and changing the subject, distracting Bucky from his anger. Bucky flexes his bicep and listens to the familiar hum of machinery. He pulls off his glove and moves his fingers.

“It’s great,” Bucky says. The black metal shines back at him.

Tony always asks him about his arm. It’s a mixture of professional curiosity and best friend obligation. It was Tony, after all, who created and perfected it for him. Tony is something of a genius. Bucky used to tease him all the time for running a rinky dink electronics shop in Nantucket instead of working for Nasa, but Tony always insisted he was right where he wanted to be. Nasa couldn’t handle me, he’d say.

After his and Luke’s accident, Bucky spent years simultaneously trying to cope with the loss of his brother and his arm. Unbeknownst to him, Tony had immediately set off trying to create a prosthetic so advanced that Bucky wouldn’t miss his real arm. It was trial and error of course, but Tony’s relentless nature coupled with his fierce loyalty towards Bucky made the whole process fairly quick. It was easily the most advanced piece of technology New England had ever seen.

Since then, Tony checks in on it frequently. He’s always ready to make adjustments or upgrade it. One time he even tried to convince Bucky to let him redesign it for Christmas. We could do red and white like a candy cane! Bucky had just laughed. He never needs anything changed, but he always appreciates the offer.

After a beat Tony asks, “Are you going to apologize?”

“I’d rather lose my other arm,” Bucky says instantly. 

Tony’s laugh echoes throughout the shop.

***

His first week in Nantucket slips away quickly. Steve falls into a comfortable routine, running in the morning, grabbing breakfast from the cafe (to go), and walking along the coastline as he nibbles on a muffin or bagel. He reads outside in the garden, naps on the couch, and talks to his parents occasionally.

Nantucket’s autumn has just started and the weather is perfect. Steve is enjoying himself, but he can’t stop thinking about his surly landlord. Steve has never really had a problem with anyone, so it rubs him the wrong way knowing this guy is out there hating his guts.

He specifically thinks about him now because Steve wants to extend his stay. When his parents booked this place for him, it was a last minute escape plan. It wasn’t intended to be permanent, but Steve found himself unwilling to leave. Plus, he reasons, there isn’t anything for him to go back to.

It was like the air here was different. Steve could breathe easier. He was enjoying himself for the first time in years, and he wasn’t ready to give that up. He feared that going back to New York would mean going back to that version of himself. No, he probably wouldn’t go back to Alex, but how could he be sure he wouldn’t give up on himself when he got there? The longer he spent here the more obvious it had become that he was not living for himself before. He did what Alex wanted when Alex wanted it and never asked questions.

Alex controlled every aspect of their relationship, including the sex. Steve is embarrassed when he thinks about that. He was never good in bed, according to Alex. Everything he did was too loud or needy or just wrong. Alex never wanted to hold him after either. The stark contrast of himself in that relationship and himself standing on the edge of the water right now was nearly crippling.

Steve nods firmly. He’d just have to face the guy and ask for an extension. If he says no, Steve will figure out a plan B. He jogs across the road and heads back towards the house. Maybe he can find some contact information in the cottage and send him an email, avoid a face to face confrontation all together.

He is content with this plan as he heads up to the house, but the truck in the driveway makes his heart rate spike.

The man is sitting on the front porch steps. His work boots are caked in mud as are the bottoms of his jeans. Steve is very glad he wore sunglasses on his run because he isn’t being very subtle as his eyes rake slowly over the man’s whole body.

The guy looks uncomfortable. He stays seated as Steve approaches. Steve walks up slowly, leaving a few feet between them.

“I came to apologize,” the man says without preamble. “I’m Bucky, and I’m sorry.”

Steve stares at him. Bucky . He doesn’t know what he expected, but Bucky isn’t it. Even sitting, he can tell this guy is large. His broad chest fills out his henley nicely and his biceps follow suit. Steve notices for the first time that he’s wearing gloves. It’s a bit warm for those, he thinks. Bucky clears his throat, breaking Steve out of his trance.

“I’m Steve,” he says.

“I shouldn’t,” the man pauses, looking down, “I shouldn’t have spoken to you like that.”

“But you did,” Steve says with a raise of his eyebrows.

“You’re right,” Bucky nods curtly. He isn’t arguing, which Steve appreciates. Maybe he’s being sincere. Steve is not a grudge holder, never has been.

“Is that all you came for?” Steve asks. He doesn’t mean for it to sound so coarse, but his defenses are still up.

“I guess so,” the man says standing.

Steve watches as he walks past him towards his truck. Then Steve remembers what the waitress had said to him. Something about that day of the month being a special occasion for him. Was special the word she used? He couldn’t remember, but he’s betting it's the reason this guy has such a temper. Curiosity gets the better of him.

“Hey wait,” Steve calls out after him. The man turns slowly but doesn’t move towards him.

“What’s so special about the first of the month?” Steve asks. The second the words leave his mouth he regrets them.

“What did you just say?” Bucky’s whole body goes still.

“The waitress said something about the first of the month,” Steve says, his confidence wavering. “Is that why you freaked out on me?”

 Based on the body language, Steve guesses his assumption is correct. The two things are connected. Steve squares his shoulders and braces himself. If the guy is going to try anything, Steve’s at least going to be ready.

“That’s none of your business,” Bucky finally says calmly. Steve bets that sense of calm is hanging by a thread. His voice is quiet, and Steve can barely hear him from where he’s standing.

“You gave me a lot of shit because of it. I think I’m entitled to an explanation,” Steve says, but the man clenches his fists, takes a step forward.

“You’re not entitled to anything.” Bucky grits his teeth, voice low and angry again. He says the word entitled like it’s dirty. Well the camaraderie was nice while it lasted, Steve thinks bitterly.

“This is a great apology,” Steve says, sarcasm thick.

“I already said I was sorry,” the man responds impatiently. He clearly regrets coming to make amends, and Steve’s own frustration is growing again. What is it about this man that just pushes every button Steve has?

“Forgive me if I don’t feel the sincerity, ” Steve says. The man glares.

“Take it or leave it.” He turns to leave again. Steve remembers his other dilemma.

“How about instead of an apology, you extend my stay,” Steve says. The man stops walking.

“What?” Bucky looks at him like that’s the last thing he expected him to say. Steve nods and then smirks.

“For free. Two weeks.” They hold each other’s stare, Bucky’s eyes unforgiving. Steve has to school his face to hide his desperation, but he’s running out of money, and he can’t go back to New York.

That truth, coupled with the mystery that is this stranger, has Steve holding his breath. He hates how badly he wants to know what this guy’s deal is. They stare at each other for a whole minute. The air is crisp and tense.

“One,” Bucky says and then gets in his car and leaves.

***

“He fucking baited me,” Bucky says into the phone an hour later. His forearms are covered in flour as he angrily kneads and rolls out dough. Tony’s voice comes out of the speaker phone and echoes around the kitchen.

“That bastard,” he says.

“I was apologizing, he was barely accepting it, and then before I knew it he was pissing me off again.”

“Was your apology sincere?” Tony asks. Bucky ignores him.

“He wants me to extend his stay two weeks. For free.” Bucky scoffs. He hears Tony snicker.

“The Melview cottage is a fan favorite,” Tony says playfully. “What did you tell him?”

“I told him he could have one week,” Bucky says. He rolls and shapes the dough before scoring it. He drags his favorite knife through the dough, splitting the smooth top to create a flowering pattern.

“It’s only a week,” Tony reasons.

“He has no right,” Bucky says, feeling indignant again. “Absolutely no right to ask me about Luke. Speaking of, I need to have a serious word with Natasha.”

“Bucky,”

“This guy doesn’t know me.” Bucky is growing angrier.

“Bucky,” Tony tries to interject.

“Fucking asking me personal shit like it’s any of his business,” Bucky says breathing heavily.

“James!” Tony’s voice booms through the speaker.

“Yes, what?” he snaps.

“He didn’t ask you about Luke,” Tony says. Bucky grimaces at the phone.

“Have you been listening at all?” he huffs.

“What I mean,” Tony says patiently, “is that he didn’t know what he was asking about. How could he have known?”

Bucky processes this. It’s not not true. He frowns. He hadn’t considered this. Tony takes his silence for what it is: an admission of guilt.

“It’s okay,” Tony says softly to the silence.

“I—” Bucky isn’t sure what to say. He’s stopped working on his bread, arms resting on the counter.

“You don’t have to explain yourself,” Tony assures him.

“I don’t understand why I still feel like this,” Bucky says frustrated. “It’s been years. I’ve moved on.”

“Have you?” Tony asks. Bucky’s face pinches. Another silent admission passes between them.

When they hang up, Bucky finishes with this batch of bread and goes for a long run. He needs to clear his head and sometimes he can’t do that until his lungs are burning with the crisp air of fall.

He runs along the coastline, sneaking glances at the boats and the waves. His shins are begging for a break, as are his lungs, but he presses forward, fueled more by frustration than anything else. Pushing his body to its limits is exactly what he needed to focus his mind. Unfortunately for him, Bucky finds he can only focus on one thing, or more accurately, one person. Bucky cannot wrap his mind around this guy. Steve . Every interaction he’s had with him has been tense as hell, and Bucky accepts some of the blame for that. Between his natural defensiveness and his lack of exposure to people, Bucky’s social skills are admittedly rusty.

He also can’t shake Tony’s teasing inquiry because at the end of the day, if Bucky is being honest with himself, this guy is easy on the eyes. He’s built like a brick shithouse, one that, once upon a time, Bucky would not have minded exploring.

As he suspected, he feels better after the run, and he sits down to draw up a new contract for the Melview cottage rental. Glancing around his kitchen, Bucky gets an idea. If pretty boy wants a free week at his cottage, he’s going to have to earn it. He drops the contract on the doorstep an hour later and leaves without knocking.

***

Steve needs a job. He is spending more of his already pathetic savings than he anticipated by extending his stay in Nantucket., and he’s getting nervous.

He pulls open the door to the cafe and ducks inside. He times it perfectly and watches as the last dribbles of the lunch rush leave. Natasha throws him a nod, her arms full of plates.

“Hey, Steve. You can have a seat at the counter. I’ll be right there.” He nods and slides onto a stool. She emerges behind the counter moments later.

“Thanks for meeting with me,” Steve says quickly.

“I’ll admit I was a little surprised you called,” Natasha says. She smiles softly though.

“Yeah,” he says awkwardly. “Funds are tight.”

“I get it,” she says, grabbing an application from under the counter. “Fill this out, and I’ll be right back.”

She leaves Steve with the blank application and moves to seat another table. When she returns, he hands her the completed application. She glances at it very briefly.

“You’re in luck!” She says excitedly. “Since it’s the off season, and all of our college staff has moved back for the semester, we’re looking for help.”

“Great,” Steve says.

“I have to run this by my boss, and if he gives you the green light, I’ll put you on the schedule for next week,” she says. Steve had assumed that she was the boss with the way she commanded the room and everyone in it.

“Okay,” he says politely. “Does he need to meet me? Or interview me?”

Natasha laughs. “No interview, and actually, you’ve already met.” Steve raises his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Bucky,” she supplies.

“You’re kidding,” he says.

“He owns the place,” she shrugs.

“Is there anything he doesn’t own around here?” Steve asks. She just chuckles.

Steve leaves with mixed emotions. Natasha tried to assure him that Bucky almost never comes to the cafe, but suddenly Steve can’t tell if he’s relieved or disappointed by that.

When he gets home he stares at the folded contract that had been dropped on his front doorstep. As promised, however reluctantly, the contract outlined an extension of one week— free of charge. Steve looks at the forms and signs where applicable. He’s feeling pretty good about it until he notices there’s a section on the last page circled obnoxiously in bright yellow highlighter.

Property owner has agreed to the following fee waiver for one week (7 days) provided the tenant agrees to work a table at the local Flea Market on three consecutive (3) Saturdays (dates to be determined by owner). Failure to oblige will result in a voided contract.

“Unbelievable,” Steve says. He reluctantly scribbles his name on the last line.

***

“Since when do you ask me to approve a new hire?” Bucky says into the phone while juggling two baking sheets. He slides them into the hot oven and sets a timer.

“Since you almost took his head off in the middle of the dining room,” Natasha says. Bucky groans loudly.

“You hired that guy?” he asked.

“We need the help, and he needs a job.” Bucky doesn’t argue. He assures her that she is qualified to hire whoever she wants with his unwavering support, so long as she never calls him to ask about it again. She hangs up with a laugh.

When they’re off the phone, Bucky sighs and brings his focus back to the task at hand: prepping for the flea market tomorrow. He smirks to himself wondering what Steve’s face looked like when he read that addendum.

The entertaining thought is interrupted by the barking of his dogs. They all stand at attention at the front door, tails wagging madly.

“Oh, very scary,” Bucky coos, scratching Moe on the head. He peeks out the window. It’s Steve. Bucky should have expected this, especially considering he left no information on the contract other than his expectation that Steve work a booth at the market. He didn’t leave him his number or details about Saturday. He must have forgotten. It definitely was not because he wanted to see if Steve would show up to ask.

Steve knocks, oblivious to the fact that Bucky had just watched him walk up. Something like anticipation pools in his stomach. Bucky gets the dogs quieted and opens the door.

“I assume it’s not trespassing if I’m returning this?” Steve holds up the contract.

“Would it have stopped you even if it were?” Bucky throws back. He thinks he sees Steve fight back a smirk.

“I couldn’t help but notice you added an undiscussed stipulation to the contract,” Steve says, handing over the packet. He casually glances over Bucky’s shoulder into the house. Bucky adjusts his stance, so he’s more effectively blocking his view. Steve narrows his eyes.

“We didn’t discuss it because it isn’t up for discussion,” Bucky says pointedly. “If you want the free week, you have to work the table.” Bucky watches the crease in Steve’s forehead deepen.

“What would I be doing?” he asks.

“Working. The. Table.” Bucky pronounces each word insultingly slow. The annoyance on Steve’s face makes Bucky grin. Steve rolls his eyes.

“What are we selling?” His use of the word we definitely doesn’t make Bucky twitch.

“Just be here at seven,” Bucky instructs, and closes the door in Steve’s face.

***

The next morning, Bucky is packing his truck for the flea market when Steve pulls up. Bucky watches him get out of his car. He’s in a dark pair of fitted jeans and a loose sweatshirt. His hair is tucked into a baseball hat, and he has the workings of a stubble on his jaw. He looks unimaginably soft. Bucky clears his throat and frowns.

“It’s seven ten,” he says by way of greeting. The man whistles and takes a sip of his coffee, unbothered.

“You’re going to be fun to work with,” he says. When he gets close enough, he peers into the bed of the truck.

“Bread?” he asks. “That’s the big secret? We’re selling baked goods?”

“It wasn’t a secret,” Bucky says, leaving him at the truck and heading back inside. 

When he’s not renovating his properties, Bucky is baking. Breads, pastries, the occasional pie. It’s a simple hobby, one he’s enjoyed for as long as he can remember. It wasn’t until they moved to New England that Bucky decided to try selling the stuff he made. Most people sell second hand stuff, but there are a few stalls that sell homemade products. Bucky was surprised by how much he liked being there, and how receptive the people had been, so it only felt right that he signed up for his own table. He’s been going every Saturday since. It’s the only obligation he didn’t shirk completely in the wake of his loss.

Bucky doesn’t have time to worry about his dogs when they run out the front door to greet Steve. He feels a momentary twinge of worry that Steve might not like dogs until he hears Steve let out a high, delighted laugh. Bucky can hear the man giggling.

“Hi, hi, hi. Look at you!” He hears Steve say. So he likes dogs, Bucky thinks. That’s probably the first and last thing they have in common. He rolls his eyes and gathers the last of his stuff. He whistles, short and loud, and the dogs come trotting back inside. He tosses treats to each of them and heads back out front, locking his front door.

Steve is leaning on his truck, arms crossed, the ghost of a real smile on his lips. 

“You have dogs,” he says casually. The loose sweatshirt does nothing to make Bucky forget the look of the man’s biceps. 

“You should be a detective,” he says. This time Steve fully smirks. 

“I don’t know why I didn’t expect you to have pets, what with you being so warm and nurturing.” Steve’s tone is sarcastic but, if Bucky didn’t know better, also playful. His mouth is a little dry as he climbs into the truck.

The weather today is perfectly warm. Cloud coverage keeps them from being too hot, but the occasional ray of sunshine coats everything in a pleasant and bright glow. Bucky and Steve get the tent and table set up with minimal arguing, and Bucky relaxes.

“Breads are seven, pastries are two for five,” Bucky says, dusting off the display.

“Do I get to sample the merchandise?” Steve asks, wiggling his eyebrows.

“No.” They say at the same time— Steve’s tone is mocking, clearly expecting that exact response. Bucky shoots him an annoyed look, but Steve only smiles wide.

Bucky’s table and tent are set up towards the center of the market— a strategy he developed after the first few months of joining when he figured out how hungry guests get as they snur.

“Fifteen even,” he says to a customer, smiling lightly. This is the most relaxed he’s felt all week. When the customer walks away, he hears Steve sigh.

“You needed me for this because . . .” he draws out the last word impatiently.

“Because you need to work for that free week,” Bucky says, checking his watch. “And I need to go.”

“That defeats the purpose of it being free,” Steve responds, heavily emphasizing the last word. After a beat, his eyebrows pinch together. “Go where?”

“Don’t leave the table,” Bucky says instead of answering. He hears the man behind him sigh.

****

Steve watches Bucky disappear into the Saturday crowd. He huffs. This man was incapable of straight answers. Steve would have more luck finding a swimming pool in the desert. This is becoming a problem because he’s also starting to realize this guy is much more complex than he first thought.

In the short span of two days, Steve learned that this man was a baker and apparently, if the multitude of bowls collecting on his front porch were any indication, an avid animal rescuer. Those nuggets of information are so far removed from Bucky’s outward appearance that Steve feels like he’s being played. The mystery that is this abrasive, baking landlord continues to build, as does Steve’s interest. Today Bucky was wearing a dark flannel and jeans. The jeans were just tight enough that Steve, despite what his tone suggested, hadn’t minded waiting behind him while he helped customers. The man’s hair was pulled into a bun again too. Steve was beginning to wonder what it would look like down, framing his face.

“Stop.” Steve scolds himself. He doesn’t even know if this guy is into men, and even if he was, there’s no way he’d be into Steve. He can’t seem to look at Steve for longer than a few seconds without trying to get away, and their conversations are clearly one sided. Plus, Steve has little to no prospects, and this guy has two businesses. He’s the rugged bearded lumberjack type, who apparently has an affinity for pastries and animals and a mysterious past. Steve has an embarrassing past at best and no usable line of credit. This guy is probably very experienced in the bedroom, and Steve is just… a disappointment.

Steve gnaws on his lip. Without being able to stop himself he thinks about what Bucky would look like if he shed those layers he’s so fond of wearing. Steve bets his chest is sturdy, probably soft too. His arms are probably corded with muscle from making all that bread. Steve swallows. His mind wanders a little farther. With arms like that he’d probably be able to lift Steve without issue— wrap his hands under Steve’s thighs and lift him onto a counter or against a wall while he works him over with—

“How much for this one?” a woman’s voice yanks Steve back to reality. He blinks rapidly, swallowing a lump of desire. He says a silent prayer for the table between them.

“Oh, uh,” Steve glances at the wrapped loaf she’s holding. “Seven dollars.”

She hands him the money and thanks him. He nods pleasantly back at her, adjusting his jeans. Get a fucking grip, he thinks sternly. 

Refusing to let himself recede into the temptations of his mind, Steve busies himself helping the now building crowd at the stall. He lets himself get lost in the pleasantries of the small town market. 

The next hour goes by in a blur, and Steve wipes his hands on his jeans satisfied. He was enjoying the conversations with each customer, but now his stomach starts to growl. Steve eyes the case. It’s almost empty save for a few apple turnovers. The crowd really did a number on their inventory.

He pulls a five dollar bill from his wallet and drops it in the cash box before helping himself to a turnover. He doesn’t take change, chuckling at the idea of tipping himself. He savors the sweetness and sighs contentedly.

“You better have paid for that,” Bucky says as he walks up. His voice is very serious. Steve wonders if he’s ever going to see him smile.

“And if I didn’t?” Steve says popping the last bite into his mouth. He chews with deliberate slowness, exaggerating the work of his jaw for effect. Bucky stiffens only slightly, but Steve catches it. Interesting, he thinks.

“Then you’d be a trespasser and a thief,” Bucky says, lip twitching up slightly.

“You need new material,” Steve says, unbothered. “The whole trespasser schtick is getting old.”

“You sold a lot,” Bucky says in response.

“Impressed?” Steve wiggles his eyebrows again. The man looks utterly unimpressed.

“No,” he says. “They sell themselves.”

“Not true,” Steve argues. “The pastries are decent . It’s all in the salesmanship.”

“Decent?” Bucky’s eyebrows inch up. Steve nods, lying. It’s the best pastry he’s ever had.

Matter of fact, Steve is still thinking about the turnover days later when he starts his new job at the cafe that following Monday. Natasha introduces Steve to the staff and leaves him in the very young hands of a server named Peter. The kid reminds Steve of a younger version of himself, all energy and optimism.

“We keep extra placemats and silverware down here,” Peter says, continuing to show Steve around. Natasha informed him he’d be training for now, so today he’s Peter’s shadow. They get a lot done in the morning, and Steve finds Peter very pleasant to be around.

“How long have you worked here, Peter?” Steve asks as they wait for an order.

“Three years,” Peter says, smiling. “I’m a senior at Nantucket High, so every penny is going right into my college fund.” He beams proudly.

Steve remembers that feeling. He wonders how different he would be if he grew up in a place like this instead of Brooklyn. It was nearly impossible not to feel like a small fish in New York. Steve never wanted to leave because he always assumed it to be the end all be all. There was nothing elsewhere that the city couldn’t offer him. Now, however, he’s not so sure. There’s definitely something to be said about the simplicity and quaintness of New England. His mind wanders to Bucky, wonders how long he’s been here.

“Do you know the boss?” Steve asks, aiming for nonchalance and missing by a mile. After finding out he owns the cafe, Steve is even more desperate to understand the hidden complexities of this man. Why own a cafe that you never want to visit? Peter’s sunny demeanor shifts a little.

“Yeah,” he says. “But not very well. He doesn’t come around much. He’s a nice guy though.” Everyone says that, Steve thinks. He’s yet to see it.

“Why doesn’t he come around?” Steve feels guilty asking Peter and even guiltier because he knows, given the right amount of pressure, he could get the kid to answer. Peter shifts nervously.

“It’s not really my business,” he says quietly. Or yours Steve reads in the boy’s silence. Steve holds his hands up and smiles innocently.

“Fair enough,” he says. Peter exhales, relieved, like he too was afraid if Steve was even the slightest bit persistent he would have caved. The rest of the work day is uneventful, but he cannot stop thinking about Bucky.

***

Unlike last Saturday, Bucky doesn’t leave Steve to work the table alone today. They spent a few minutes arguing over whether or not the tent would be necessary over the table. Steve was a hard no, but Bucky knew showers were possible and didn’t want to chance it. Since it’s Bucky’s table, it was ultimately his call— something Bucky pointed out and Steve rolled his eyes at dramatically. They sell every last thing Bucky made and make it home just as the rain starts to fall.

“I’m so glad the rain didn’t start until after we took the tent down,” Steve says, smiling not only because he was right but because he must know it annoys Bucky.

“Just shut up and grab those trays,” Bucky says, but his tone isn’t as sharp as he’d hoped. He lets them into the house, and they start to unload his truck. It takes Steve longer than Bucky would prefer because he keeps kneeling down to pet the dogs. He finally drops the last of the baking trays on the kitchen island and clears his throat. Bucky looks up at the sound and notices the rain has made its way into Steve’s hair. Some droplets also form gleaming tracks on his forearms.

“Have you ever considered selling your products at Luke’s?” The man asks. The sound of his brother’s name startles him— like he forgot that other people have the ability to say it. His shoulders tense, eyes fixating on the floor.

“No,” he says, voice even.

“Really? It seems like such a lucrative opportunity. You’d be increasing sales at the cafe, and if you affiliated the two, you’d be increasing the cafe’s visibility whenever you work the flea market,” Steve says, stepping towards Bucky. His face looks inquisitive, but all Bucky can think about is how much he doesn’t want to have to think about his brother and how, if he did as Steve was suggesting, he’d have to think about him everyday.

“No,” he says again more firmly. Steve doesn’t seem phased by his growing annoyance.

“You’ve never considered it? It seems like such an obvious way to—”

“I said no.” Bucky’s voice is louder now, and Steve blinks in surprise. Then his eyebrows pinch. He takes another step towards Bucky. Bucky’s eyes involuntarily drop to the man’s lips. They’re full and pink.

“You don’t have to dismiss everything I say like that. It’s rude,” Steve says. They’re a few inches apart now, and Bucky’s insides are rattling around. Frustration and attraction are busy fighting inside his chest, and he can’t tell who’s winning. His gaze flicks from Steve’s eyes to his mouth again almost imperceptibly.

“If you stopped sticking your nose in my business, I wouldn’t have to,” Bucky retorts.

“You mean the business you dragged me into by making me work your stupid table?” Steve says poking him in the chest. He pushes his finger away before Steve can feel his heart pounding.

“My table is paying for that free week of vacation you’re taking, or have you forgotten?” Bucky snaps. He’s close enough that he can feel Steve’s warmth radiating between them.

“I’ve been trying so hard to be nice to you,” Steve says, shaking his head, and Bucky laughs bitterly.

“If this is you trying,” he trails off, grimacing.

“What is it that’s got you so angry all the time?” Steve asks, tilting his head, his voice lower now. The slight angle of his head exposes his neck just enough to make Bucky’s mouth water. Attraction might be winning. “You’re all alone in this big house, just mad at the world.”

A split second is all Bucky’s frustration needs to get the upper hand before Bucky is crowding into Steve’s space and pinning him to the island. Bucky’s hands bracket the man’s frame and he leans in breathing heavily. Steve’s body is right up against his, tense with anticipation. Bucky’s head is spinning. He doesn’t know if he wants to shove Steve or fuck him. 

“You don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky growls.

“Then tell me.” But Steve’s words come out breathlessly, and the sound shoots right to Bucky’s dick. Attraction overrides his system, licking his insides like a fresh flame. Sparing not even a split second to consider consequences, Bucky pushes forward, slotting his leg in between Steve’s and holding his forearm across Steve's chest. Steve’s response nearly makes Bucky lose it. Instead of struggling to get free, Steve grips Bucky’s shirt with both hands and grinds himself into Bucky’s thigh, his head falling slightly to one side, lips parted. It’s as if all of Steve’s concentration moves from his head to his dick, to the friction he can get from Bucky, leaving his mind completely empty.

Steve is hard, and Bucky suddenly can’t breathe. Steve is breathing heavy enough for the both of them as his hips move instinctively. Bucky can feel the man’s hand gripping his side more desperately now. Bucky presses his leg harder against Steve, giving him more, and the man groans. Bucky brings his hand up to the side of Steve’s face before lacing it through his hair and tugging back. Bucky brings his lips right to Steve’s ear, his beard scraping against Steve’s stubble.

“Why do you care?” His voice comes out slow and low, and he feels Steve shiver. Before Steve can mutter an answer, Bucky releases him and takes two steps back. He’s hard, achingly so, but his brain has finally caught up to what he is doing. He shakes his head, remembers where he is and who he’s with.

“You need to leave,” he says. He hopes the panic in his voice isn’t as obvious as it sounds to his own ears. Steve is still leaning against the counter, shock and unspent sexual frustration all over his face.

“What,” he says, still regulating, voice heavy with confusion, like he’s just come back down to Earth.

“Please,” Bucky says strained, already heading towards his bedroom. “Get out.”

******

Steve stands, mouth agape, in the kitchen and watches Bucky disappear down the hallway. The slamming of a bedroom door echoes throughout the foyer, making Steve jump. Even so, the shock of Bucky leaving him so quickly pales in comparison to what was just happening. One minute Steve is getting in Bucky’s face, ready to demand some real answers, and the next, Bucky has him pressed up against the island, thigh digging into Steve’s erection. Bucky put his hands on Steve, and he felt it like a live wire. Every hair on Steve’s body stood up, and all the man had to do was whisper in his ear.

Looking around the kitchen, Steve’s breathing is audible. His dick is still straining in his jeans. So many thoughts are running through his mind. Why did Bucky do that? Why won’t he tell him anything? Did Steve just ruin the little bit of progress he thought he was making with him? How can he make that happen again?

Thoroughly stunned, Steve leaves Bucky’s and drives home. He drops onto the couch moments later, still in shock. His brain is trying to play catch up. Admittedly, Steve got in Bucky’s face because he figured the proximity would make it easier to get a rise out of him and by extension get answers. Apply a little pressure and the egg cracks sort of thing. Though, if Steve was being entirely honest with himself, he may also admit that his desire to find closer proximity to Bucky was increasing every time they were in the same space whether or not he was fishing for answers.

It isn’t deliberate, or at least Steve doesn’t think it is. There’s just some inexplicable and undeniable pull. Bucky exudes something that intrigues Steve, and now there’s a whole other facet to that intrigue. Bucky had initiated it. Steve can still feel the phantom pressure of Bucky’s thigh on his dick. Laying on the couch, Steve palms himself. His eyes slip shut, and he imagines he’s right back in Bucky’s kitchen.

Bucky’s hand is in Steve’s hair again, but this time when he tugs his head back, he presses wet lips to his throat. Licking and sucking on the skin, Bucky tugs gently on Steve’s hair. Steve lets out a breathy moan, hand slipping into his boxers now, mind spinning.

Steve can imagine the cold counter touching his back as Bucky hikes his shirt up, giving him access to Steve’s waistband. His desperation increases, hand stroking quickly, as he imagines Bucky reaching a hand into his pants. Steve can feel the coolness of Bucky’s palm on his ass as he pulls him impossibly closer. Steve’s hips stutter, the image of him grinding harder into Bucky’s leg making his brain cloudy. He curses as he comes, the last image in his mind one of Bucky gripping him tightly.

The haze of Steve’s orgasm lingers over him as he lays boneless. He breathes laboriously in the quiet of the cottage. If the mere thought of Bucky like that can affect him so strongly . . . Steve shivers at the thought of the real thing.

*****

It takes Bucky a while to catch his breath. He slides down his bedroom door until he’s sitting on the floor. He can still hear Steve’s breathy voice ringing in his ears. His heart is beating so fast he wouldn’t be surprised if he was having a heart attack.

Bucky bangs his head against the door. He knew it was getting harder to ignore his attraction to Steve, but he had no way of knowing it was going to explode like that. He feels guilt building in his stomach at the memory of Steve’s shocked face. Bucky doesn’t regret unlocking that glimpse of Steve, but he is ashamed of kicking him out.

If things were simpler, Bucky could have taken Steve right there in the kitchen. But things are not simple. Bucky harbors so much unresolved damage. His mere presence in Steve’s life is disruptive and agitating let alone initiating a sexual relationship. It dawns on Bucky that he hasn’t touched someone like that in years. He can’t stop the mental replay of Steve’s pink lips, parted and gorgeous, inches from his face. Bucky bites his lip and groans disappointed.

He has to have better self-control. Before this, it felt like they were starting to warm up to each other. There was a whole stretch of time at the flea market this morning where he and Steve didn’t argue. Granted they were eating, but it was still nice. For his sake and Steve’s, Bucky will control himself. He doesn’t need to give into every little whim, especially when he’s not emotionally sound enough to offer anything short of disappointment. The thought makes something inside Bucky wilt like a forgotten daisy. It doesn’t matter, he resolves. Pushing himself off the ground, Bucky decides a hot shower can flush this feeling.

After the steam clears Bucky’s head, he’s disappointed to find that he can’t shake the shocked and horrified look on Steve’s face. It’s this reason that Bucky’s parking his truck in front of the Melview cottage two hours later.

He knocks on the front door and stands awkwardly. When Steve opens the door, he stares at Bucky.

“I uh,” Bucky says, taking a deep breath. “I came to apologize… for…” He trails off.

“This is becoming a regular thing,” Steve says, his teasing gentle. “What are you apologizing for this time?” he asks. Bucky, determined to remain sincere, looks directly at Steve.

“For kicking you out,” he says. Steve’s eyebrow quirks up as if to confirm: that’s the only part you’re sorry for? Bucky doesn’t know, so he leaves the silent question unanswered and waits. Steve shifts but doesn’t break eye contact.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks. The question makes Bucky nervous because he does.

“No,” he says. Steve’s face falls a little, so Bucky adds, “I mean I can’t.” Steve doesn’t look angry, but he also doesn’t look convinced. He nods anyway. Bucky rubs a hand down his face and over the roughness of his beard.

“I can’t do… this.” Bucky motions between them. Understanding percolates, and Steve nods again.

“I’m sorry,” Bucky says again.

“Don’t be,” Steve says kindly. His eyes are bluer than Bucky thought possible.

“Okay,” Bucky says. He clears his throat nervously and ducks his head. “I’m going to go then.” Steve laughs lightly.

“Hey Bucky?”

“Yeah?”

“Can we at least be friends?” Steve asks and grins. Despite himself Bucky smirks back.

“Yeah, whatever.”

******

The beginning of the week finds Steve a bit stir crazy. His shift at Luke’s isn’t until two, and he had woken up too early to sit around until then. Slipping on work out clothes, Steve heads out for a coastline run. He breathes in the morning air and enjoys watching the tumbling waves. Every inch of the coastline brings a salty crisp lungfull. Steve runs farther, enjoying the burn in his legs. Just as his legs begin to really protest, he sees the break of the driveway up ahead. A bright neon sign brackets the entrance.

Steve huffs out a short laugh and slows to a walk. He walks up to the house, catching his breath. He approaches quietly enough that Bucky doesn’t hear him at first. The man is squatting on the porch, scratching two cats who continue to weave between his arms.

“If you eat any more, you’ll get sick.” He hears Bucky say to the cats.  His voice is so gentle that it tugs on Steve’s chest. Steve clears his throat to announce his presence, and Bucky stands up startled.

“Jesus,” he says, holding his chest.

“Nope, just me.” Steve smiles, and Bucky smirks.

“What do you want,” Bucky says, but his voice has none of its usual bite.

“I thought I should check out some of the sights this place has to offer,” Steve says. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “And I thought who would know better than a Nantucket native like yourself?”

“I’m not a native,” Bucky corrects, but he seems to be thinking. He takes a look at Steve’s work out clothes, and it seems to focus his train of thought. “Did you run here?”

“Helicopter,” Steve says, pointing upwards, one hand on his hip. Bucky fights a smile and loses.

“You think you can run a little farther?” He asks.

“Probably,” Steve says. Bucky nods and disappears into his house. A man of so few words, Steve thinks. He sits on the steps and pets one of the cats. It sniffs him hesitantly before nuzzling its head into his arm.

“How many of you does he take care of?” he asks the stray, scratching behind its ear. The front door opens and Bucky steps out. His running clothes are similar to Steve’s. He has a tight, dry fit shirt, but it looks like one of his sleeves is a shiny and sleek black while the other is a cotton white. It isn’t until Steve’s eyes focus that he realizes it’s not a sleeve. It’s an arm—a metal one. Steve gapes.

“What…” he points, “is that?” Steve will smack himself later for his lack of tact.

“Try to keep up,” is all Bucky says before he takes off. Steve starts off after him, beyond confused. He catches up and tries his best to keep time with Bucky, but he’s fast. He’s running just fast enough that Steve can’t get any questions out. Plus his concentration is split between breathing, the arm, and Bucky’ ass. They pass all the docks and sailboats and start to slow at a bend in the sand. Bucky leads him along the coast until it fades into undeveloped land; the only foliage populating the beach is dense dune grass.

Bucky turns onto a path planked with wood. He eases up slightly, and Steve slows to match him. He keeps sneaking glances at Bucky’s arm. It’s definitely some kind of metal, a deep black. Prosthetic is not the word that comes to mind, Steve thinks. Bionic is more accurate. Bucky slows to a walk, his breathing sharp.

If there’s one thing Steve has learned in the two frustrating weeks he’s known this man, it’s that Bucky won’t offer up information if he doesn’t want to. Steve’s nagging curiosity makes that very difficult to deal with, but he’s learning not to push him. Like now for instance, Bucky could have easily worn a shirt with a sleeve. He must want Steve to know. He bites his tongue and waits.

They breathe in time with one another. As they follow the wooden walkway through the dunes, it leads them to a lighthouse. The lighthouse stands like a tall white bottle. The soft sound of seagulls punctuates the rippling waves.

“This is beautiful,” Steve says. Bucky nods in silent agreement.

“It’s been here for decades,” he says. “I used to come here all the time with my brother.”

Steve lets that information hang in the air. Patience is key, he reminds himself. They stand in silence, looking out at the water. Finally, Bucky starts towards the lighthouse. They walk side by side up to the base.

“Are we allowed to go in?” Steve marvels. Bucky doesn’t answer, just chuckles and steps onto the platform. He leads Steve up the spiral iron staircase. The sound of a light breeze tunnels around the lighthouse. It reminds Steve of his younger self holding a shell to his ear to hear the ocean.

When they get to the top of the staircase, Bucky steps aside so Steve can move in front. Steve follows his cue and heads up the tiny ladder that leads to the beacon. Stepping off at the top is breathtaking. Steve is encased by the glass windows of the top floor. He’s surrounded by the deep blue of the Atlantic, and it lulls quietly below him. Bucky comes to stand next to him, and for a few moments, they both absorb the beauty of the landscape in total silence.

“Are we really not going to talk about the arm?” Steve can only be so patient. He smiles gently and knocks Bucky with his elbow, though, so he knows he isn’t trying to be cruel. Thankfully, Bucky grins.

“It’s a prosthetic,” he says nonchalantly.

“That is a terminator arm,” Steve corrects with a laugh. To his delight, Bucky laughs too. It’s a sharp, quick bark, and it thrills Steve. It’s the most emotion he’s seen since they met.

“My friend designed it,” Bucky says. “He’s kind of a genius.”

“Kind of?” Steve balks. “You look like a super villain. In a good way.” Bucky laughs again. Steve could really get used to that sound.

“It’s not nearly as cool as a super villain,” he responds. Steve shakes his head in disagreement.

“Yeah sure, you say that now, and next thing I know you’re lifting cars and shooting lasers out of it,” Steve says. Bucky flexes the arm and Steve watches in amazement as individual panels of technology separate, move, and slot back together.

“That’s so amazing,” Steve says, too entranced to crack another joke. He’s very aware that Bucky is staring warily at him, but he admires the arm for a minute longer.

“You can ask.” Bucky’s words make Steve blush.

“What happened?” Steve asks, his voice small. He hurries to add, “You really don’t have to tell me.”

“Car accident,” Bucky says. He doesn’t add anything else, and Steve doesn’t ask him to. He wants to apologize, but thinks better of it. Bucky might receive an apology like that and internalize it as pity, and that is the last thing Steve wants him to think. In reality, Bucky is turning out to be one of the most intense and impressive people Steve has ever met.

Steve can feel the awkward tension in the air and doesn’t want Bucky to regret sharing this with him, so he sighs dramatically. Bucky looks at him, head cocked in confusion.

“I just remembered we have to run all the way back,” Steve says, frowning. The frown is instantly replaced by a smile when Bucky laughs.

Their run back is slower, and this time they jog side by side. The only sound interrupting the comfortable silence is their breathing. Steve is proud of the progress he seemed to have made with Bucky today, so he shuts his inquiry off and focuses on enjoying his company.

******

Showing Steve his arm was as planned as bringing him to the lighthouse, which is to say not at all— the latter even less so than the former. Bucky’s prosthetic has never been a secret, but everyone in town is either a local who already knows or a tourist who doesn’t stick around long enough to find out.

The lighthouse was more of a secret. The location and existence of it is not, though it is tucked far enough that it doesn’t get a lot of attention. Its significance, however, is very special to Bucky and thus very guarded. He and Luke found it the first week they moved to New England and began visiting it frequently. It was always a quiet, calm spot they could enjoy. They had been staring through the glass panes at the choppy water the first time Luke pitched the idea of opening a cafe, and they were back a few weeks later to celebrate the signing of their lease.

At the time of the lighthouse’s discovery, the business idea was new and undeveloped, like their residence in Nantucket, but before long it snowballed into a reality. They put down roots, and the lighthouse remained a tall, sturdy reminder of the plunge they took together. Even if the waves raged, spurred on by an angry wind, they could stand at the top and be safe from the sounds. Sometimes they’d visit it separately. Luke would drive down on a particularly bad day to calm himself with the crashing of the waves. Bucky would retreat there occasionally when he needed a place to think, and sometimes they’d just bring a picnic lunch and waste an afternoon laughing and lounging on the sandy perimeter.

When Luke died, Bucky started going more frequently. He never consciously realized it, but the lighthouse was like the opposite of the cafe. The cafe was Luke’s baby, a place in which he spent every second and into which he poured every part of himself. It was painful to be there because every corner reminded Bucky of the life his little brother didn’t get to live. Luke fished the booths out of a dump and begged Bucky to refurbish them. The art on the walls had been collected by Luke after many weekends browsing tiny galleries in Provincetown. Even the menu design was cooked up in the vacant back office while Bucky and Luke argued over what to name their new business.

Visiting the lighthouse, on the other hand, was like being with Luke. Bucky could stare out at the restless ocean and imagine Luke was next to him, enjoying the silence too. He could close his eyes, listen to the faint sound of gulls, and imagine his brother was just on the other side of the beacon, looking at his own slice of the ocean.

Bucky isn’t sure yet whether introducing Steve to the lighthouse was a mistake. It didn’t feel wrong while they stood there. In fact, it was the first time Bucky could imagine actually being friends with Steve. He could feel a genuine friendship settling gently between them, blending with the silence.

He liked the idea very much.

****

Luke’s Cafe is bustling on Thursday. Although his week of training wasn’t technically done, Natasha throws him an order pad and tells him to take a few tables while they wait for the lunch rush to end. Steve finds that he thrives off the hustle and bustle of the eager customers. He weaves expertly between tables, taking orders and smiling at locals. Luckily, Steve doesn’t mess any orders up, and Peter throws him air high fives whenever they glide past each other.

“You’re a natural,” Natasha says when they finally get a moment to breathe.

“I taught him everything he knows,” Peter says over his shoulder, continuing to a booth to deliver a couple of turkey clubs. Steve laughs and leans against the counter. He had forgotten how much he liked working— another byproduct of being trapped under Alex’s wing. When the entryway bell dings, Steve spins excitedly to welcome the next customer.

“Oh, hi,” Steve says surprised. Bucky stands like a statue just inside the entrance. The only sign of life is his occasional nervous shifting from foot to foot. Out of the corner of his eye, Steve sees Natasha do a double take. Even Peter stops his hasty walk to the kitchen.

“Hey,” Bucky says. He scratches his beard, looking at the floor. His hair is tied half up half down, some of it falling forward to frame his face. Steve stares, a bit entranced.

“Do you,” Steve hesitates, unsure. “Need a table?”

“No,” Bucky says immediately, biting his lip. “I just wanted to see if you were free tomorrow to help me prep for the flea market.” He looks so uncomfortable. Steve is tempted to reach for him and offer reassurance.

“Sure,” Steve says. Then because he can’t help himself he adds, “Though I don’t recall that being in our contract.” Bucky’s eyes flick up from the floor, but as soon as he sees Steve’s face he grins.

“Noon,” Bucky says. “Don’t be late.” He ducks out the front door as quickly as he had emerged. Natasha is next to Steve immediately.

“What the hell was that about?” She asks, mouth hanging open. Steve flashes back momentarily to his and Bucky’s first conversation in the restaurant, Natasha ready to break up a fight. He shrugs.

“Nothing. I’m just helping him with his flea market table,” Steve says casually. If Natasha’s eyebrows were raised any higher they’d disappear into her hair.

“He came here.” She stresses every word carefully like she’s speaking a foreign language for the first time. “And asked you to help him.”

“What’s the big deal?” Steve rolls his eyes, slightly embarrassed at the fuss she’s making. Natasha, still shocked, grins. It’s a knowing grin, and Steve doesn’t care for it. He frowns. “What?”

“Nothing,” she says, but she’s fully smiling now. “I spent the last five years begging him to come deal with paperwork, and still he only agreed to once a month, but sure. Must be an important flea market.”

Steve waves her off and busies himself rolling silverware. He can tell by the way she continues to sneak glances at him that she’s not convinced it’s nothing. He briefly thinks about what Peter said about Bucky not coming around much. The rest of his afternoon passes quickly, and Peter and him find themselves in a booth after their shift.

“So what are you going to study?” Steve asks, sticking a fry in ketchup. Steve loves the way Peter’s eyes light up when he gets to talk about his future plans. Steve wishes he had had someone to encourage that feeling when he was young. Instead he had found Alex— the snuffer to Steve’s flame.

“Engineering,” Peter says proudly around a mouthful of french fry. “Civil or maybe electrical.” Steve whistles.

“So the easy stuff,” he says sarcastically. Peter laughs, nodding.

“I can’t wait,” the boy says. Steve thinks of Bucky’s friend, the one who created his arm, and thinks this kid ought to meet him. Eventually Steve pushes the plate of fries towards Peter and says goodbye. 

Steve is unlocking his car when his phone rings. It’s not a number he recognizes.

“Hello?”

“Steve, thank God.” Alex’s voice makes Steve flinch.

“Whose phone is this?” Steve gets into his car.

“I knew you wouldn’t answer if it were mine,” Alex says ignoring the question.

“What do you want, Alex?” Steve asks angrily. He leans his head against the headrest.

“I want to see you,” he says. His voice is soft and pleading, a vocal trick Alex has perfected over the years. Steve knows this tone very well. It’s what kept him at Alex’s feet for five years.

“That’s too bad,” Steve responds.

“Steve, you left all of your stuff here,” Alex says, trying to reason with him. Steve huffs a very small, cynical laugh. His stuff was always Alex’s. The man made sure of that.

“You can keep it.” Steve grits his teeth. Unsurprisingly, Alex’s mask starts to slip a little when Steve doesn’t yield, as it often did. His voice comes out tighter, angrier.

“You shouldn’t have left like that, babe,” Alex says. Steve can picture the pinched, hardened look he probably has right now. He used to use that look when he was disappointed in Steve. It was a warning and a challenge rolled into one.

“You shouldn’t have cheated on me.” Steve hangs up before he loses his nerve. The silence of the car is refreshing. Steve rubs his temples before starting his car and heading home.

****

Several bags of flour, at varying degrees of use, litter the kitchen counters as Bucky gets everything set up. He’s never needed help prepping for a weekend at the flea market, but since the lighthouse, Bucky is determined to give this friendship a fighting chance. He’s beginning to enjoy Steve’s company without the nagging impulse to crowd him against the counter. It’s progress, he concludes.

The dogs react excitedly to Steve’s car pulling in. Bucky reacts inwardly, his heart rate increasing just a tick. Steve knocks politely, and when Bucky opens the door, he holds up a six pack.

“I brought the refreshments,” he says, taking in Bucky’s apron. “Though maybe I should have brought tea?” He smirks. Bucky fights a smile.

“Fuck off.” Bucky steps aside and lets him in, and Steve immediately greets the dogs. Bucky takes the beer and stashes it in the fridge while Steve laughs and pets the excited pups.

“Okay. What’re we doing?” Steve asks when he finally stands and joins Bucky in the kitchen. Bucky turns around with a large bowl, ready to answer Steve, when he realizes Steve is leaning against the same counter Bucky had him pressed against. Bucky clears his throat awkwardly, eyes flicking to the hardwood.

“We’re going to start by making the different doughs.” Bucky’s throat feels a little like sandpaper. He wills himself to get a grip. Steve nods, fingers drumming on the counter.

“One more question,” Steve starts. Bucky can tell by his tone and smirk that it’s going to be something smart. “How long do I have to help you before I get my own?” Steve points at Bucky’s apron.

“If you’re done being a wise ass, we have work to do,” Bucky says, smiling despite himself. Steve laughs loudly, putting his hands up in faux surrender.

Bucky walks Steve through the basic steps of making his most popular bread dough. He is pleasantly surprised to find that, when he’s not being a sarcastic pain in Bucky’s ass, Steve is a very concentrated and careful person. Bucky also can’t help but notice the way Steve’s tongue sticks out a little when he’s focusing extra hard.

“This doesn’t look right,” he says to Bucky, looking down at a particularly misshapen dough.

“Try to shape it into more of a ball. Roll it in circles with your hands cupped slightly,” Bucky instructs. Steve nods to himself, dusting the counter with more flour.

“How long have you been doing this?” Steve asks, maneuvering the dough.

“I’ve been working a table at the flea market for about six years,” Bucky answers. He’s surprised at how easy it is to have a conversation with Steve. He can’t remember the last time he did this with someone.

“What about baking in general?” Steve asks. He’s fixed his dough and has started a new one. Bucky watches him measure the flour, careful to get it perfectly level. Bucky smiles to himself.

“It feels like forever. I used to love doing it as a kid,” Bucky says easily. “I guess I just kept it up as a hobby. Eventually my brother convinced me to try selling the stuff I made.”

Steve just hums his acknowledgement. He stirs the mixture in his bowl, a sticky dough beginning to form.

“Did your brother bake?” Steve asks.

“God no,” Bucky says chuckling. “He was terrible at it. He could cook though.”

Luke was a very smart man in the kitchen unless measuring spoons were involved. He would insist a real recipe didn’t need exact measurements. It’s intuition, James . It’s ridiculous, Luke . It was nice to remember his brother’s presence instead of his absence. Bucky realizes it’s been a long time since he’s conjured a happy memory of them.

“One time he tried to make me a cake for my birthday,” Bucky says and laughs again. “It was like eating a hockey puck. I nearly broke a tooth.” Steve smiles at him and Bucky finds it easy to continue.

“Which is ironic because he’s the one who suggested we open the cafe,” Bucky says, his voice losing some of its confidence. Steve absorbs the information, and Bucky can see it in his twitching eyebrows. Steve is listening eagerly, though Bucky can tell he’s trying hard not to appear as such. Bucky continues. “He convinced me to do the baking and assured me he’d handle the rest.”

“You didn’t want your name on the sign?” Steve teases. Bucky shakes his head, smiling, and continues to absently knead his dough.

“No. That was actually one of my conditions,” Bucky says grinning. “I was the behind the scenes guy. Luke cooked and took care of the business aspect. He was really good at it.”

Steve is a really smart guy, so Bucky assumes he’s pieced together Bucky’s family tragedy by now, or is at least close to it, but Bucky isn’t ready to outline the details of his tragedy yet. The patience Steve has been exhibiting is not lost on him. When they first met, Steve showed little restraint and a lot of entitlement, but now Bucky is starting to think that really was just a horrible first impression— one that only snowballed thanks to Bucky’s distrust and defensive nature.

“What about you? What brought you to Nantucket?” Bucky asks, eager to turn the spotlight away from his past. Steve stiffens, his face draining of its warmth.

“I needed a change of scenery,” he says. It sounds like a half truth.

“From?”

“New York,” Steve says. Bucky whistles.

“Isn’t it usually the other way around?” Bucky asks. “Can’t stand the small town life, so they escape to the city to find themself.” Bucky punctuates the last part with air quotes. Steve’s laugh is gentle, half-hearted.

“I’ve only ever known the city,” Steve says, shrugging. He’s stopped working on the doughs now. He stands, fingers absently swirling patterns in the flour dust.

“Grass is always greener, I guess.” Bucky thinks about himself at twenty, convincing his brother to move with him to Nantucket.

“I quite like the grass here,” Steve says. He’s smiling again, almost to himself. Bucky ignores whatever’s blooming behind his ribs.

“Yeah, it’s not so bad,” Bucky agrees. 

******

After hours of kneading, proofing, forming, filling, and baking, Steve is helping Bucky wipe down the kitchen. The afternoon bled into evening before they knew it, and they polished off the six pack Steve brought hours ago. Bucky produces another one from his fridge after the kitchen is clean.

“A job well done,” Steve says lifting his bottle. Bucky taps their bottles together and takes a sip. Steve is waiting for Bucky to kick him out. They finished everything Bucky needed him for, but instead Bucky swallows another sip of his beer and asks,

“You want to get dinner?” Steve suppresses a grin and nods casually instead.

They settle for a pizza, brick oven, because Bucky insists it’s the only type worth eating.

“You’re paying, so I don’t care,” Steve says happily as he climbs onto the large sofa. Bucky’s living room winds off the kitchen. It’s a huge room, but the way it’s furnished makes it feel very cozy. The three dogs curled up around the fireplace don’t hurt either.

Bucky is bent over the fireplace, starting a fire. Steve sips his beer and pointedly avoids staring at Bucky’s ass. It’s difficult, but then Steve gets caught up in the pictures hung around the room. Most of them are landscape shots— a shot of the lighthouse Bucky took him to, a snapshot of the coastline and sailboats— but then there’s one of two young boys. They can’t be more than sixteen or eighteen, arms slung over each other’s shoulders. One of them is obviously Bucky. His face is stretched into a huge smile. The other boy is smiling too, his head cocked towards Bucky— Luke, no doubt.

“Why am I paying?” Bucky grumbles. The fire flickers to life and grows steadily.

“Because you have two businesses, and I work at one of them,” Steve says distracted, still staring at the last photo. He shifts his gaze to look at Bucky now, who planted himself across from Steve on the couch, but he followed Steve’s eyeline and is looking at the photo too.

“I never asked you to do that,” Bucky says absently, still staring at the picture.

“Plus,” Steve continues, “I need to save more money if I’m going to be able to afford the cottage.” At that, Bucky breaks his stare and looks back at Steve.

“We already worked that out,” Bucky says, confused.

“I was thinking I could extend it a little longer,” Steve says feigning casual. “A few more months maybe?” Bucky’s eyes go wide.

“Months?” He asks. Steve struggles to read his expression. He doesn’t need Bucky’s approval, but for some reason he wants it.

“Do you think,” Steve hesitates nervously. “Is that a bad idea?” Steve asks. Bucky shakes his head quickly.

“No, but don’t you have,” it’s Bucky’s turn to hesitate, “things… waiting for you in New York?”

“No,” Steve says, exhaling. He briefly laughs, scratching his beard. It’s a bitter sound.

It was a truth that, up until this very moment, he had not admitted wholeheartedly to himself. His nonexistent job, the most basic of acquaintances, his material possessions had all been derived for or controlled by Alex. Despite their proximity, his parents never saw him much either— another chain carefully constructed by his loving ex-boyfriend. Steve rests his head on the back of the couch. The fire crackles lightly.

“I didn’t come here for the change of scenery,” Steve admits, training his eyes on the ceiling. “I wasn’t looking for something as much as I was running away from someone.”

He chances a glance at Bucky. Bucky’s eyes don't betray any emotion, but his silence wills Steve to continue. Steve’s eyes narrow at the memory flashing before his eyes.

“I caught my boyfriend cheating on me,” Steve says. His voice is level, but he wants to slip through a crack in the floor and disappear. He can’t bring himself to look at Bucky. Surely, this is solidifying what the man already suspected of Steve: he was a gigantic fucking wreck who fled to this island because he couldn’t deal with his shitty life.

“How long were you together?” Bucky asks. Steve doesn’t want to answer, shame rising in his throat like bile.

“Five years,” Steve says, dropping his head in embarrassment. Bucky doesn’t move, but he sucks in a small breath.

“What a prick,” he says finally, gritting his teeth, voice deeper and angry.

“I couldn’t stand being in the same state as him, so I packed what I could and left,” Steve says. “So no, to answer your question, I have nothing to go back to.”

“That guy’s a dickhead, Steve, and an idiot,” Bucky says, his voice still firm. Steve sneaks another look at him and notices the set of his jaw. Steve nods to himself, his head dropping again. It’s hard not to let pity blanket itself around him in a moment like this. He feels small and dumb. Steve’s about to awkwardly excuse himself when Bucky speaks.

“That picture of Luke and I was taken the weekend before we moved here,” he says, nodding at the wall. Steve looks back at the picture. “I was twenty, and Luke was eighteen. I didn’t want to go to school, Luke didn’t know what he wanted at the time, so we packed our lives up and left.”

Steve watches Bucky while he talks. He stares at the picture like he’s talking to it instead of Steve. He continues quietly.

“My parents died when we were younger, and without them Luke was all I had.” Bucky clears his throat, blinking. He doesn’t look at Steve when he continues. “It wasn’t raining or stormy. It was just bad luck. A truck hit us, head on. The driver had swerved onto our side of the highway too fast, and I couldn’t steer away quick enough. I don’t remember anything except reaching out to him before we collided.”

Steve’s eyes drop to the reflective metal of Bucky’s arm. He can imagine the flesh and blood version reaching across the center of the car, desperate to protect his brother in their last seconds together.

“Bucky,” Steve starts, unsure what to say. Bucky looks at him for a split second, eyes misty. He flicks his gaze away again. He clears his throat.

“Luke’s airbag never went off. That’s what they told me,” Bucky’s voice is flat. Suddenly he huffs a bitter laugh.“I woke up with one arm and that was the best news I got that day.”

“I’m,” Steve pauses, the gravity of Bucky’s loss making it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry.” Steve keeps his voice quiet and gentle. Bucky nods, swipes a knuckle under his eye quickly. They let their confessions hang in the air for a while. Neither of them speak again or move for a while. Eventually, Steve moves only to reach out, taking Bucky’s hand in his own. 

****

The tail end of Nantucket’s autumn arrives on the backs of fallen leaves. The mild chill rolls into a frost as the last of the pine trees shed their needles. The locals prepare like they always have. In the true spirit of an approaching winter, Bucky is gathering his necessary supplies from the stocked garage behind his house.

He digs out the obvious, shovels, rock salt, and tire chains before unwrapping the MVP. His snowmobile sits solidly. It’s still too early to gas her up, but Bucky knows too well that a New England storm can always blow in as early as the beginning of December. Plus, he has stuff he needs to bring to the cottage for Steve.

The promise of seeing Steve makes Bucky happy. Their friendship was getting easier and stronger everyday. Being honest about Luke’s death made Bucky feel impossibly close to Steve. Despite the contractual obligations being fulfilled, Steve continued working the flea market with him through the last week of November. Bucky had made Steve’s extended stay in Nantucket official with a new contract tucked in a six pack, and they had toasted to Steve’s prolonged stay. One month down, who knows how many more to go, they had joked. He tries to ignore the desperation that hangs behind his happiness like a shameful shadow.

Quieting his thoughts, Bucky gathers the supplies and takes his truck to Melview lane. The cottage is winter ready. Insulation has been checked, the fireplace is stocked with fresh, dry wood, and the heat is fully functional. Steve answers the door with a smile.

“Hey,” he says. He steps aside and lets Bucky in like it’s second nature. They walk into the kitchen.

“Hey,” Bucky says back. “I brought rock salt and a shovel. You’re going to want to lay that salt down soon.” Steve smirks.

“Or you can do it for me?” He raises his eyebrows playfully. Bucky rolls his eyes but smiles. One of the stray cats jumps onto the counter of the kitchenette. Steve strokes its back absently.

“You’re bringing strays inside now?” Bucky asks, teasing. Steve looks at him expectantly.

“Well I can’t leave them out there,” he says sensibly. “It’s getting really cold.” Bucky smiles dumbly, refusing to let on that he does the same thing over at his place.

“Whatever you say,” Bucky says. He shifts his feet awkwardly before asking, “Do you work today?” Steve watches him carefully and nods.

“Yeah, lunch till close,” he answers. Bucky nods too, clearing his throat to dislodge some of his discomfort.

“Well, I’ll be around later,” Bucky says, his voice trailing off. He watches understanding tint Steve’s expression.

“It’s December first,” Steve says, knowingly. He nods. “Well then definitely yes, I’ll be there.” Steve’s tone picks up, and he smiles lightly. Bucky thinks it might be for his benefit, and he’s not sure how to feel about that.

“Okay.” Bucky hasn’t gotten any less awkward in his goodbyes, but Steve doesn’t ever seem to mind. He laughs and walks Bucky to the door. “See you later.”

“Don’t do anything stupid,” Steve shouts, teasing. Bucky smiles over his shoulder.

“How can I? I’m leaving all the stupid here with you.”

“See ya, weirdo,” Steve says smiling kindly. Bucky's blush is covered up by the cold.

****

The increasing chill of winter ceases to exist inside the cocoon that is Luke’s Cafe. Steve moves easily through the cafe, greeting customers and dropping orders off. The warmth of the restaurant is two parts heat and one part familiarity. The month Steve has spent on the small island has settled in his heart deeper than he would have thought possible. Soon the brown and olives of fall will be replaced with the dusty white of winter. 

Unlike during a vacation, Steve feels no tug of home willing him back. Bucky was nice enough to extend his cottage rental at a discount, insisting that long-term tenants always got this deal. Steve wasn’t so sure, but he wasn’t in any position to pay full price, so he relented. His parents were shocked and more than a little concerned by his decision to stay, but the longer he thought about it the more sure he felt. He was where he wanted to be.

Tonight’s dinner rush starts early. Steve and Peter float around the cafe from table to table like tendrils. Before long, Natasha is waving someone over, and Steve turns to see Bucky. Bucky sees him and offers a small wave which Steve returns easily. Bucky and Natasha disappear into the back. 

Steve finds himself worrying at his lip. He knows the beginning of every month is taxing on Bucky and thinks back to their very first meeting. After listening to Bucky open up about his brother’s death, Steve has a greater understanding of the pain this place must cause him. Steve imagines just driving by it is a reminder of his brother, and he’s forced to do it every month for paperwork. He couldn’t imagine the strength it takes to come back here. He could kick himself for ever giving Bucky a hard time about it.

About thirty minutes later Bucky reemerges from the back. Natasha is leading him out, and she shoots Steve a surprised and coy smile. Confused, he furrows his brows. Bucky joins him by the counter, looking a little uncomfortable.

“Nat said you haven’t taken your break yet,” Bucky says as a greeting.

“That’s true,” Steve says. “I usually wait until it slows down.” Bucky glances around at the calm dining room.

“Is this calm enough?” Bucky asks genuinely. Steve smiles at him tentatively. He expected him to bolt by now. That was his modus operandi— in and out in under thirty five minutes.

“Yeah probably,” Steve says. Bucky nods, a relieved smile appearing.

“Do you want to get food then?” The meaning of Bucky’s words drop into Steve’s consciousness with a thud. He fights the urge to physically shake his confusion.

“You mean here? You want to eat here?” Steve asks carefully, sure he was misunderstanding, but Bucky nods, small and quick.

“Oh. Yes, okay,” Steve says, his shock taking a moment to ebb. “Let me just tell Peter.”

“Okay,” Bucky says. “I’ll get a booth.” Steve nods, still hazy with surprise and concern. He takes his apron off and stuffs it under the counter, motioning to Peter that he was going on break. Peter throws him a thumbs up but looks quizzically at Bucky. Steve gets them water and absently grabs a menu for Bucky before he heads to the booth. He slides in opposite of him.

“Did you bring that for me?” Bucky asks, amused, nodding at the menu. “I helped make the menu, Steve. I know what’s on it.” Steve blushes and then narrows his eyes, playfully.

“What’s the special tonight?” He raises his eyebrows. Bucky levels a stare at him.

“If Jimmy is in the kitchen, chicken parm. If it’s Frank, fettuccine alfredo,” Bucky says, his tone cocky.

“Do we serve tater tots?” Steve shoots off next.

“No.”

“We should,” Steve offers before continuing. “How many sides come with the burger?”

“Two.”

“What are th-”

“Fries and a pickle.” Bucky holds his stare before breaking into a confident smile. 

“That one was too easy,” Steve says. He squints skeptically but then sighs.

“Fine, maybe you don’t need this.” He lays the menu to the side, but Bucky picks it up. Steve watches his features soften as he looks it over. Nat walks over then, pad in hand.

“Fellas,” she says smiling, “what’re we having tonight?” Steve fights the urge to blush. It feels too much like a date, which he is confident it is not. Bucky made it very clear that he needed Steve to be his friend, and Steve has been honoring that. It’s been very rewarding, and for the most part, Steve has successfully quieted the part of his brain that wants to feel Bucky inside of him.

“Can I have a BLT and fries please?” Steve asks. Nat nods, scribbling. She looks at Bucky, her features reflecting the same tentativeness that Steve feels, as if neither of them would be surprised if Bucky stormed out any second without explanation.

“Grilled cheese please,” he says. “And tomato soup.” Nat nods and hurries off. Steve looks at Bucky.

“What?” Bucky asks finally when Steve won’t stop staring and grinning.

“Nothing,” Steve says, smiling wider. “I just didn’t realize I was having dinner with a seven year old.” Bucky’s expression pinches.

“Shut up. Grilled cheese is a classic,” he says. Steve laughs, shaking his head. Bucky looks around the cafe, eyes traveling from the tables to the art on the walls. Steve feels worry flutter in his stomach.

“How long has it been since you’ve eaten here?” He asks. His stomach knots in anticipation, but relief floods him when Bucky looks at him, considering his answer. Nothing in his face suggests he hates Steve for asking.

“Almost five and a half years,” Bucky says. Steve controls his surprise, nodding. He feels shame knotting in the pit of his stomach.

“Are you sure you want to be here now?” Steve asks quietly, leaning towards him like they’re exchanging secrets. He hopes his eyes are conveying how much he would still respect Bucky even if he got up and walked out right now. Bucky’s returning smile is soft, and Steve thinks he may very well know that.

“Yes.” And to Bucky’s credit, he does look sure.

“Listen,” Steve starts, nervously. “I’m sorry that I ever gave you shit about this place.”

“You didn’t know,” Bucky responds easily.

“Still,” Steve frowns.

“Steve,” Bucky says smiling gently. “It’s okay.” Steve looks into his eyes and trusts him.

“Can I ask you something?” he grins, the tension in his neck melting.

“You just did,” Bucky says sipping his water, but he smirks. “Go ahead.”

“Why is this place called a cafe if you serve dinner?” Steve asks. Bucky snorts.

“Luke liked the sound of a cafe better than a diner,” he says fondly. “And at the time I was supplying baked goods. We argued over it for a few days, but he wouldn’t back down. In the grand scheme of things, it wasn’t important enough to fight him on.” Steve listens pleasantly.

Their food comes, and they dig in immediately. Their conversation steers back towards the easy, thoughtless stuff. Bucky explains more about the precautions Steve needs to take as the weather gets worse. There are chains for his tires if he wants to use them, which Bucky suggests he does. Several snow shovels are in the shed next to the copious bags of rock salt. Steve is no stranger to snow, but Bucky insists he’s never experienced a New England winter.

“There’s a lot of extra firewood already in the shed. You should bring it in,” Bucky says chewing thoughtfully, his bearded jaw moving slowly.

“Sir yes sir,” Steve says, mock saluting him with a straw wrapper.

“ Before it snows,” Bucky stresses.

“I know,” Steve says, rolling his eyes. This is the fourth time Bucky has told him that.

“What would I do without you hounding me every day?” His sarcasm makes Bucky smirk. He takes another bite of his sandwich and shrugs.

“Probably end up freezing to death,” Bucky answers nonchalantly.

“You’d be devastated,” Steve snarks. Bucky nods enthusiastically.

“Of course I would,” he deadpans. “The value of my cottage would go way down if you died in it.” Steve throws his head back and laughs, his hand coming up to hold his chest. The sound echoes through the cafe, adding to the warmth.

*****

Though Steve won’t admit it, Bucky knows the first storm caught him off guard. Bucky’s phone rings and he laughs before answering.

“Don’t tell me,” he says, voice laced with amusement. “You need my help.” He hears Steve curse.

“I did everything you said,” Steve says, his frustration evident. “Rock salt was laid, tires are chained, but you didn’t say we’d get this much fucking snow. Everything is buried.”

Bucky laughs, cradling the phone to his shoulder as he tugs his boots on. They had gotten close to sixty inches, which Bucky will admit is more than he was expecting. It packed itself tightly and froze quickly enough that Bucky found himself gassing up his snowmobile only two weeks into December.

“I’ll come help. Just admit that I was right.” Bucky listens to what sounds like Steve throwing things around a room. He can’t stop smiling imagining the sight.

“You New Englanders didn’t invent snow,” Steve says exasperated. “You like to think you did, but you didn’t. You’re not the only ones who get storms like this…” Steve grumbles faintly, clearly having moved away from the phone. Bucky laughs and laces up his boots.

“Think you’re so much smarter than everyone else. You’ve never experienced a Nantucket winter, Steve. Snow here is different, ” Steve mocks. His frustration only makes Bucky laugh harder.

“Steve?”

“What?” Steve snaps.

“I’m waiting.” Bucky’s laugh is on the tip of his tongue. Steve groans loudly.

“Fine! You were right! All hail James, King of the snow!” Bucky’s laugh drops off. It takes him a beat to realize why, but when he does, his heart flutters. Steve just called him James.

“I’ll be right over,” Bucky says quickly, hanging up. He takes a deep breath. He had told Steve about his brother calling him James, it was his name after all, and how he never let anyone call him that since, except Tony, and even then, Tony barely used it. It was getting easier to talk to Steve casually about Luke. He told them about their summer road trips and the first week of owning the cafe. He even mustered the courage to show Steve an old photo album. Steve always allowed Bucky to share as much as he could tolerate without pressuring him for anything more. It was a relief and, Bucky’s certain, the only reason he was able to share anything to begin with.

Bucky takes another breath, realizing he had been holding one in. He expects to be shaken by grief at the use of that name, but he finds the opposite. Hearing Steve call him James made him feel warmer. He smiles to himself and finishes bundling up.

The snowmobile treks easily over the mounds of snow still clogging the streets. Bucky braces against the intense windchill as he rides up the pathway to Steve’s cottage. Steve is standing unhappily on the front porch of the cottage, shovel in hand. He waves a short wave. Bucky parks the snowmobile around the side of the house and climbs the porch from the outside.

“You look like a soldier,” Steve greets. Bucky looks down at his all black snowsuit and black snow boots. He does look like a trooper of some sort.

“You must be my damsel in distress then,” Bucky returns. Steve laughs and flips him off.

“Thanks for coming, Winter soldier,” Steve says mockingly. Bucky rolls his eyes with a laugh.

“The roads aren’t clear yet, so we can dig your car out, but you won’t be going anywhere,” Bucky says. Steve nods and hands him a shovel.

****

Two hours and fifteen grueling minutes later, Steve and Bucky fall onto the couch. Their snow pants hang in the bathroom while their gloves, hats, and scarves tumble in the dryer. Steve cradles his hot chocolate to his cheek. Bucky relaxes into the cushions, groaning.

“I’m already sore,” he complains. Steve hums in agreement. They had dug him a path from the front door to the street and managed to unearth his car enough for now. Bucky seemed confident that the roads will be operational in the next few days. They just had to be patient.

“I’m hungry,” Steve says eventually, looking at the clock. It was only three, but Steve couldn’t remember when he last ate. Bucky yawns.

“I could eat,” he agrees, rubbing his eyes.

“But… about that,” Steve says slowly. “I don’t have any food.” Bucky stills.

“You don’t have any food,” he repeats. Steve looks at him sheepishly.

“I worked every day this week. I never made it to the store,” he says, frowning.

“You’re unbelievable,” Bucky says, grinning and shaking his head. He stands up and stretches. “Okay then, come on.”

“What?” Steve asks. Bucky looks at him, eyebrows cocked. Steve looks back at him confused. Surely he wasn’t suggesting a trip to the grocery store on that monstrosity of a snowmobile.

“You can’t stay here without food,” he says pointedly. “We’ll go to my house.”

That suggestion is why Steve is straddling the back of Bucky’s snowmobile ten minutes later, holding on for dear life.

“You’re going to break my ribs,” Bucky yells over the growl of the engine. Steve ignores him and squeezes tighter. The mixture of Bucky’s sturdiness and warmth has Steve a little dizzy. Thankfully it only takes ten minutes to get to Bucky’s house. When he cuts the engine, he’s laughing. Steve releases his grip slowly.

“I was going like five miles an hour,” Bucky says, laughing. Steve narrows his eyes.

“I don’t believe that for a second,” Steve says. Bucky laughs at him, shaking his head.

Bucky’s house is still warm and smokey from the residuals of the last fire he lit. Steve inhales the pleasant smell and starts to strip off his layers. Bucky tells him to help himself to the fridge and disappears down the hallway. Hanging his damp outerwear in the bathroom, Steve pads back to the kitchen in his long underwear. He pulls open the fridge, assessing what’s there.

“Do you need a change of clothes?” Bucky calls from down the hall. Steve smiles to himself and takes out ingredients for grilled cheese.

“No, I’m good,” Steve calls out. He’s still looking at the contents of the fridge, deciding if he wants something else with his sandwich, when he hears Bucky approach.

“Okay, if you change your mind, I have plenty of—” Bucky’s voice falls off when he enters the kitchen. Steve looks over his shoulder to see what interrupted him. He looks at Steve, his eyes seem stuck on his legs. Steve looks down at himself, the long underwear he’s wearing suddenly looking very ridiculous.

“Do I look stupid?” he asks, flushing. “You told me to get a pair, and these seemed good enough.” Bucky swallows and shakes his head, refocusing.

“No, you look fine.” He averts his eyes and busies himself in the sink. Steve looks at him suspiciously but draws his focus back to the fridge. Bucky wouldn’t hesitate to tell him he was wearing something stupid, so this must be something else.

“Would you eat grilled cheese if I made one?” Steve asks. He glances at Bucky who has his back to him at the sink. His sweats hang off him loosely. Steve looks down at his tighter, flannel pants and frowns. He looks at Bucky again. Bucky’s hair is down, brushed lightly back so it falls in slight waves, coming to rest at the nape of his neck. Steve gets the urge to run his hand through it.

The part of his lizard brain that he thought he’d quieted starts to echo again. Dig your hands in his hair and pull.

“Do you have to ask?” Bucky asks, smiling over his shoulder. He catches Steve looking at him and narrows his eyes quizzically. Steve clears his throat and grabs the ingredients noisily.

He loves Bucky’s kitchen. It’s huge and the vast counter tops make it very conducive to a messy cook, which Steve is. He figures this kitchen was a deal breaker for Bucky given all the baking he does on a weekly basis. Steve assembles the sandwiches and presses them flat against the hot pan. Bucky leaves the kitchen, probably to go start another fire. After a few minutes, Steve plates the sandwiches and carries them into the living room. They eat to the crackling sounds of the fireplace. 

Eventually Bucky flips on the television and closes his eyes. Steve is tucked into the couch, a huge blanket around him, and he keeps sneaking glances at Bucky. He’s resting, head tipped back on the couch, both arms crossed over his chest. His biceps are taut under his long sleeve, and his throat is exposed. Go lick it , his lizard brain offers. Steve’s mouth feels a little dry. He licks his lips and forces himself to look away, feeling guilty.

Steve hasn’t had a friend this close in a very long time. Shame tugs at him. The kindness and friendship Steve has found in his one month in New England, in Bucky, is something he could never have imagined. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize it, especially since Bucky has finally started to really trust Steve. Unfortunately, that same brain that respects and wants to protect his and Bucky’s friendship is focusing really hard on what it would be like to kiss every inch of him.

****

Bucky blinks awake, his eyes struggling to focus in the dim light of his living room. It’s dark out now. He must have passed out after lunch. He looks around for Steve. The living room is empty and quiet.

“Steve?” Bucky calls out. He doesn’t hear any movement, so he gets up and heads deeper into the house. The total lack of sound makes his stomach drop, immediately turning to scary hypotheticals. Suddenly Bucky hears the barking of his dogs and Steve’s laugh. Every muscle relaxes, and he heads towards the back deck. Peering out the glass set of back doors, Bucky watches Steve throw a tennis ball high in the air, the dogs leaping around to get to it first. Steve’s eyes crinkle shut, and he laughs delighted.

Bucky waits, watching. He feels that familiar flutter in his stomach, the one he’s been denying for a few weeks now. He thinks back to the day he told Steve they couldn’t be more than friends, that he couldn’t. Steve had accepted without protest or mockery, and Bucky was relieved. 

At the time, he thought he was too far gone to be with anyone ever. He could have fucked Steve, but his heart was encased in concrete and buried six feet under. There wouldn’t be anything more than lust, and Bucky liked Steve too much to do that to him. 

Then, despite Bucky’s prickly defense systems, Steve started asking questions, patiently and with a sincerity that caught Bucky off guard. He opened up to him and the concrete started to crack. 

He watches Steve now, flicking snow playfully at the dogs and laughing. Would it be so crazy to try? Had Steve locked that door because Bucky told him to? He swallows, unsure, and opens the back sliding door.

“I can’t tell which of you is having more fun,” Bucky says loudly. Steve turns, a huge smile on his face.

“Probably me,” Steve says, grinning. He gathers snow up, compacts it into a solid ball, and looks at Bucky mischievously.

“Do not,” Bucky says holding up a finger. Steve just lifts his arm slowly, starts to cock it back.

“Steven,” Bucky warns. 

“James.” Steve’s eyes are dancing. He throws the snowball, and Bucky manages to duck, the snow sailing over him and into the house. Bucky whips his head back around to shoot Steve a glare. The man has both gloved hands covering his mouth, and then he laughs loud and happy.

“That wouldn’t have happened if you just stood there and took it,” Steve says, walking up the steps of the deck now. The double entendre isn’t lost on Bucky. He glares at him still, fighting a smile. 

Steve has a few snowflakes stuck in his facial hair. Bucky appreciates what is starting to shape up into a beard. It makes Steve look more mature, definitely hotter.

Steve stops right in front of him, smiling wide. He pokes Bucky in the face with a frosty, gloved finger. Bucky leans back, instinctively catching Steve’s finger with his hand before stepping away and laughing.

“Clean that up,” he says, shaking his head. Steve laughs, shedding his boots and snow pants to follow Bucky inside. They pad to the kitchen, dogs trotting happily behind them. Steve gets the snowball cleared while Bucky feeds the dogs. He hadn’t realized how late it got. They’d have to make dinner, but Bucky has another idea first.

Bucky opens his liquor cabinet and pulls out a bottle of Jack Daniels. Steve walks into the kitchen then and raises his eyebrows.

“You up for some liquid warmth?” Bucky asks, wickedly. Steve smiles, nodding excitedly.

An hour later both of them are working on their fifth glass. They giggle and move around the kitchen cleaning up from the meal Bucky had made them.

Steve tosses silverware into the sink with a loud clang. He teeters a little, laughing when Bucky shoots him a smirk. Bucky’s chest is very warm, and he’s content as they move to the living room again.

“I’ll make the fire this time,” Steve says when Bucky drops onto the couch. Bucky watches Steve from the couch as he sets everything up, his eyes glued to Steve’s ass. When Bucky had first seen Steve in his thermal pants he thought his brain had stalled. The pants leave little to the imagination, and Bucky’s mind is happy to supply the rest. Steve crouches, fixing the logs so they’ll catch correctly. 

Bucky’s eyes travel over the plump roundness of Steve’s ass. His mouth has gone dry with want. He imagines sinking into the tight warmth, hands gripping Steve’s lower back, his eyes fluttering closed for a moment to revel. Steve lights the starter and looks over his shoulder at Bucky.

“Are you going to give me a hard time if I don’t—” Steve pauses. The whiskey slows Bucky down a bit, so he doesn’t look up quick enough. He realizes Steve caught him staring, fantasizing. Bucky blinks, looking Steve in the eye. Steve’s expression is smug, his mouth turning up into a smirk.

“Were you just looking at my ass?” Steve stands facing him now, grinning wickedly. Bucky scoffs.

“What? No,” he says, blushing. Steve’s smile only widens, his eyes holding their mischief. He shakes a finger knowingly. He walks towards Bucky, and Bucky can only stare, his heart beat picking up.

“Are you sure?” Steve’s voice is low. He’s right in front of Bucky now. The fire and space between them crackle. Bucky nods, unconvincingly. He licks his lips. He doesn’t know how to avoid this landmine— doesn’t know if he wants to. Luckily, Steve makes the decision for him.

Without warning, Steve pushes him back against the couch and straddles him. He sits in his lap, breathing heavily. Bucky exhales, his hands moving instinctively to hold Steve by the waist.

“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is low, already edging into indecent. The slight fog from the whiskey mixed with the pure desire coursing through him is making forming sentences a bit difficult. His resolve is crumbling like ash as he slides his hands down to grab Steve’s ass. Steve brings his hands up to frame Bucky’s jaw. Bucky feels himself hardening beneath him.

Steve shushes him gently, pressing his thumb to Bucky’s lips tenderly, his own slightly parted. Then he slides his thumb into Bucky’s mouth; Bucky’s lips close around it reflexively.

“I know.” Steve breathes hotly, as he slides his wet thumb out of Bucky’s mouth. “Just friends.” Steve kisses him, hot and dirty.

The connection of their lips ignites an inferno of lust. Bucky can’t pull him close enough. He licks into Steve’s mouth, one hand coming up to hold Steve’s neck, fingertips ghosting over the roughness of Steve’s jaw. Steve grabs at Bucky desperately, his hips moving against him to grin his hard dick into Bucky’s. They kiss with an unimaginable hunger, and Bucky feels like he’s on fire. It’s all consuming and disorienting. Bucky wraps an arm around Steve’s back and flips them over, laying Steve on the couch. He fits their bodies together and kisses Steve with more force.

Steve’s body reacts immediately, arching into him, his hands knotting in Bucky’s hair and scratch at the back of his neck. Bucky grinds down, his dick fully hard, pressing into Steve. Steve moans into his mouth, music to Bucky’s fucking ears. He pulls away from the kiss, grabbing Steve firmly by the jaw, tilting his head to the side to expose his neck. Bucky kisses across his jaw, down his neck, flicking his tongue. Steve pulls him in harder, eager to feel him. Bucky can feel Steve’s cock through his pants, huge and hard. His mouth waters. He sits up and coaxes Steve’s shirt off.

Before he leans back down, Steve sits up to meet him and kisses him fiercely. He hikes Bucky’s shirt up while he pulls on his bottom lip with his teeth. They break apart for a moment while Bucky tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it to the side. Their eyes meet and Steve looks hungry . His lips are parted and slick. His eyes drag excruciatingly slow down Bucky’s chest and abs like he’s choosing his first course. Not for the first time that night, Bucky is speechless. No one has ever looked at him like that. It makes him squirm with need to feel Steve.

Reading his mind, Steve crowds into Bucky’s space, pinning him to the back of the couch and climbing around him. Bucky’s whiskey laden brain is struggling to understand what he’s doing until Steve drops to his knees on the carpet, Bucky’s legs spread open before him.

“Oh fuck,” Bucky says, his voice gutteral. His eyes roll back as he leans back against the couch. Steve tugs his sweats down. The anticipation has Bucky panting, but Steve doesn’t make him wait long. Steve takes him in his mouth, and Bucky moans at the sweet, wet heat. The stimulation is nearly too much to handle. Bucky digs his nails into the couch, his metal hand puncturing the cushion in five neat places. Steve’s mouth is sinfully wet, his tongue swirling over the head of Bucky’s dick before he bobs down relentlessly. Steve takes him in completely, the head of his dick nudging Steve’s throat, making Steve gag.

The sounds are obscene and make Bucky jerk forward. His hand finds a fistful of Steve’s hair, and he tugs gently. Steve hums around him, sucking him faster. His tongue flicks around, while the white hot heat of his mouth engulfs Bucky’s cock. Bucky isn’t going to last much longer. He lets himself look at Steve— a mistake.

Steve’s lips are so red and wet that Bucky nearly comes at the sight. He bites his own lip so hard he’s sure he draws blood. He also notices that Steve is touching himself, hand moving desperately in his sweats while he gags on Bucky’s cock. 

“Holy shit,” Bucky moans. Steve drags his tongue down Bucky’s cock, moving back up agonizingly slowly, his tongue pressed flat against the hilt. His eyelashes are fanned out over his cheeks, and Bucky curses.

“I’m close,” he says, his voice strained. Steve flicks his eyes up to meet Bucky’s as he hollows his cheeks and sucks consistently. Bucky closes his eyes, head falling back as he comes with a shout. His hips stutter as his cock pulses, and Steve takes him all the way in.

*****

The next morning Steve wakes up alone. Stretched along the couch, Steve looks around, confused. The sun filters in lightly through small spaces in the blinds, and his memory of last night resurfaces when he spots his come stained sweats.

“Shit,” he says, dropping his head into the couch pillow. He cringes at the memory of his desperation. He had caught Bucky staring at him, and it was all the convincing he had needed. With liquid courage and temptation pushing him forward, Steve had crawled into Bucky’s lap and broken his promise.

The memory of the pure satisfaction of their night together is sullied by the remorse Steve feels. Half of his consciousness wants to replay the tape and feast on the memory of Bucky’s mouth around his cock, but the other half can’t help but feel as though he took advantage of Bucky. 

He gets up, nervously, and heads into the kitchen. He doesn’t know what he’s going to say to Bucky, and his apprehension grows. His worry is halted when he walks into the kitchen and finds a note.

Had to run out. Coffee’s on the counter if you want. See you later. Bucky.

The concern Steve had shifts to something else, something worse. What if Steve’s selfishness has pushed Bucky away? Steve isn’t sure he could live with that, not after experiencing what it’s like to have someone like Bucky in his life. 

He finds his stuff and heads outside. His face pinches when he remembers he didn’t drive here, and therefore is stuck. Steve weighs his options. The roads look recently plowed. He can walk the mile and a half home in the light snow and ice, or he can wait for Bucky to get home and ask for a ride. He isn’t sure which option is worse, but the gnawing in his gut takes him back inside. He resolves to stay and face Bucky. If his friendship means as much to him as he thinks it does, the least he can do is stay and try to fix this.

Fortunately, or unfortunately depending on which of Steve’s hypotheticals has center stage, Bucky pulls up in his truck an hour later. The sound of the engine cutting off immediately makes Steve nervous. For a moment he thinks about Alex. Steve used to feel this way every time Alex would come home. Steve never knew if he was going to be happy or angry with him; if Steve was going to be or get fucked. It's the briefest reminder of his old life, and Steve hates that it’s being associated with Bucky even if it’s only for a second.

Bucky comes through the front door, his scarf wrapped around him. He’s unwinding it when he sees Steve. Steve offers a small, awkward wave.

“Hey,” Steve says. Bucky’s eyes soften a little but don’t light up the way they usually do.

“Hey,” Bucky says back. “Um, sorry about that. I had to run out.” Steve nods. He hates how tense it is between them. He wants to yell, to scare the tension out of the air. They silently make their way to the kitchen. Steve can’t take the silence.

“I wasn’t sure if I should go home,” Steve says finally. “I don’t have my car, but…” Bucky looks at him, his expression unreadable.

“You don’t have to leave,” he says quietly. Steve nods unconvinced. Bucky clears his throat.

“We’re adults, Steve,” he says slowly. “Last night… doesn’t have to be a big deal, doesn’t have to change anything.” Steve looks at him but looks down quickly. Bucky didn’t use the word mistake, but Steve can read between those lines. He feels the unsaid expression. Mistakes happen. He nods again.

“Right, of course,” he says ignoring the tightening in his throat. He looks up and gives what he hopes is a convincing smile. “Okay.” Steve can’t tell if Bucky buys it, so he holds the smile reluctantly.

“Can you take me home?” he asks, his charade slipping. Bucky’s eyes narrow slightly, but he nods. 

Minutes later Steve stares out the truck window as Bucky brings him home. Steve reminds himself that he woke up this morning wishing he hadn't pushed Bucky that far last night. It wasn’t fair to their friendship. It wasn’t fair to Bucky. Why then did it hurt so much to hear Bucky dismiss it?

****

The week before Christmas finds the island of Nantucket blanketed in snow and lights. Bucky walks into the cafe, a thin gift box under his arm. The dining room is busy, so Steve doesn’t see him right away, but Natasha does.

“Okay you’re starting to scare me,” she says jokingly. “Two times in the same month?”

“I come bearing gifts,” he says holding up the box. Nat raises her eyebrow and holds her hand out. Bucky laughs and hands it to her. She opens it and looks at him confused.

“I already work here, Bucky,” Natasha says looking at the folded job application.

“Maybe we can talk in your office?” He suggests. She stares at him unsure but leads him back.

“If you fire me right before Christmas, I will kill you,” Nat says. Bucky laughs.

“Actually, it’s closer to the opposite,” he says sitting across from her. “How would you feel about being part owner of the cafe?” Natasha looks at him, unblinking.

“Are you kidding?” She asks suspiciously. Bucky shakes his head firmly.

“Nat, you already run this place. You’ve been running it for longer than I had any right to ask for,” he says. Her expression softens.

“I was happy to do it. You know that,” she says.

“And I’ll never forget it,” Bucky says seriously. “So why not make it official?”

She looks back down at the blank job application, understanding it’s symbolism. She smiles at him, and he smiles back.

“You’re sure?” she asks.

“More than.” Bucky smiles at her. She jumps up and hugs him. He laughs, hugging her back. “Merry Christmas, Nat.”

“Merry Christmas, partner.” She winks and hugs him again.

Bucky leaves her in the office to relish in her moment and heads back out to the dining room. He spots Steve and waves. 

Waking up the morning after his night with Steve had been a tornado of aching and confusion. Bucky wanted to believe they could isolate the experience, let it exist in a vacuum. But mind blowing blowjobs aren’t easily forgotten. Regardless, Bucky didn’t want to ruin the friendship they had spent time carefully cultivating, so he tried to ease the awkwardness. It took a few days, but they fell back into step almost like nothing happened. That was weeks ago. Currently, Steve waves excitedly.

“How’d she take it?” he asks, smiling.

“Like I expected,” Bucky says. “She’s in.” Steve smiles and claps him on the shoulder. He gives Bucky a slight squeeze.

“Do you want something to eat?” Steve asks. Bucky considers saying no, his instinctual response, but he nods, taking a seat at the counter.

“Grilled cheese?” Bucky suggests, raising his eyebrows and grinning. Steve rolls his eyes.

“Should have known,” he says, chuckling. Steve heads off to put the order in and make rounds to his tables. Bucky is sipping his water when Peter walks up.

“Hey boss!” Peter smiles. “Merry almost Christmas.”

“You too, Peter,” Bucky nods. He likes Peter a lot. “How’s school?”

“Good! Halfway done. Now I’m just waiting on my college acceptance letters,” he says thoughtfully. Bucky smiles.

“What’s your top choice?” Bucky asks.

“M.I.T. is the best engineering school in the country, so ideally I’d end up there,” Peter says, but his tone loses some of it’s excitement. Bucky tries to get it back.

“What are we going to do without you next year?” He jokes. Peter smiles for a second but it doesn’t reach his eyes.

“We’ll have to wait and see what school I end up at. I might be closer than you think,” he says.

“I’m sure with a brain like yours, M.I.T. would be lucky to have you,” Bucky says. He thinks about how much Steve gushes about Peter and how smart the kid is.

“That’s very kind of you to say,” Peter says, blushing. “It’s more about the money. Turns out colleges with good engineering programs aren’t cheap.” Bucky is about to reassure him, but Peter gets pulled to a table. Bucky makes a mental note to talk to Tony.

“Your grilled cheese, sir.” Steve sets the sandwich down, grinning and tipping an imaginary hat.

“Thank you,” Bucky says fondly.

“Don’t I get a tip?” Steve asks playfully. Bucky cocks his head in thought.

“Don’t rely on others for your own happiness,” Bucky offers. Steve grimaces.

“You’re a jerk,” he says, smirking. Bucky just shrugs, fighting his own smirk.

“Are we still going tonight?” Steve asks, leaning on the counter while Bucky eats.

“Are you trying to cancel on me?” Bucky jokes.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Steve says. Him and Bucky made plans to spend Christmas together. Neither of them have any family around and both enjoy each other’s company, so it only seemed natural that they spend the holidays together. When Bucky suggested they pick out a tree this week, Steve had been thrilled. Bucky smiles at the memory.

“Then yes,” Bucky says. “We’ll go when you get off work.”

Steve nods happily before he gets pulled away to greet customers. Bucky finishes up and leaves Steve a ten dollar bill and a napkin note. See you after work. I’ll pick you up.

*****

Steve clocks out and says goodbye to Peter and Nat before heading home. His spirits are considerably high tonight because he and Bucky are going to pick out their tree— something Steve has always wanted to do. He whistles happily as he drives home. As Steve pulls up to his driveway, the joy he’s feeling turns to confusion as he sees an unknown car parked on the gravel. It isn’t Bucky’s truck, and it’s not a car he recognizes. He freezes when the driver gets out.

Alex stands bundled in a very expensive coat, his eyes pinched against the slight windchill of the late December afternoon. Steve’s heart plummets into his stomach. He parks and gets out, hesitantly.

“What are you doing here?” he asks immediately. Alex smiles at him, wolf-like.

“Nice to see you too,” he says sarcastically.

“Why are you here?” Steve demands again. He maintains a few feet of space between them, his jaw set. Steve had settled so nicely into this new life that the mere sight of Alex shocks his system like falling through the ice of a frozen pond.

“You’re not going to invite me in?” he asks, eyebrows raised. Steve just stares back, unmoving. Alex rolls his eyes and continues.

“It’s been nearly two months, Steve.” Alex narrows his eyes now. “You’ve made your point. When are you coming home?” Steve flinches at his last word.

“I am home,” he says evenly. Alex looks amused, like he’s talking to a toddler.

“We both know that’s not true,” he says, tilting his head. Despite his recent growing sense of self, Steve feels himself shrink. Alex had always been able to make him feel small.

“It is,” he tries again. Alex shakes his head.

“Come on, Steve. This was fun while it lasted, and I’ve been more than patient, I think,” Alex says. His tone suggests Steve is the one being dramatic and unreasonable.

“How did you even find me?” Steve asks, the chill of Alex’s stare seeping into him more than the winter air ever could.

“Your mom, of course,” he responds. “She misses you, you know. All the way out here? Living in this nothing town? This isn’t you, Steve.” His tone has the same casual levity of someone who’s visiting a friend. Steve clenches his fists.

“You don’t know me,” he defends angrily. He wills himself to stand taller. Alex just laughs at him.

“Steve… babe,” he says, eyes clouding. “I’m the only one who knows you.”

“That’s not true—”

“I’ve seen you at your worst, remember?” Alex taunts. “And I’m the only one who will put up with someone like you.” His tone darkens. It’s colder than ice. “You are not an easy person to love, Steve. Can you blame me for needing a break?” Steve feels his words like a slap. He looks at his feet.

“But it’s been long enough, sweetheart, and I’m willing to put the past behind us,” Alex says, like he’s doing Steve a favor. He takes a step towards Steve, holding out his hand. Steve reflexively moves back, shaking his head. Alex frowns.

“No,” he says. “I don’t want to be with you.”

“Steve,” Alex says, getting more impatient.

Just then, Bucky pulls up in his truck. All of Steve’s muscles clench. He never wanted Bucky to experience Alex—  could barely tolerate watching him experience Steve’s memories of him. Bucky gets out, eyes narrowed. He walks up to them, sizing Alex up. He can no doubt sense the tension between them.

“What’s up?” Bucky asks Steve. Steve shoots him a glance, unsure what to say. Alex stretches out his hand, offering empty pleasantries. Bucky doesn’t take it. Alex cocks his head.

“We’re actually in the middle of a private conversation,” he says to Bucky, a dismissal.

“I wasn’t asking you,” Bucky says, his voice strong. He looks at Steve again. A silent what do you want me to do passes between them. Steve’s face is set in a deep frown.

“Bucky,” Steve says calmly. “This is Alex.” Bucky stills, knowingly, and Steve can hear the unmistakable sound of a metal fist flexing.

“You should leave,” Bucky says immediately to Alex. His voice is dangerously low, but Alex just laughs.

“Steve,” Alex says and looks at him incredulously, ignoring Bucky. “You’re not serious. This guy? Is this why you haven’t come home?” Bucky remains still. Steve tries not to blush.

“I already told you,” Steve says, keeping his voice level. “I’m not coming back with you. We’re done, Alex.”

“Him?” Alex says, continuing like Steve had never spoken. “Give me a fucking break. What can he offer you in this shithole town?”

“Stop,” Steve says, angrily. Bucky stands next to him, unmoving except for the grinding of his teeth and clenching of his fists. Steve knows how much restraint this is probably taking for him after all the stories Steve told him about Alex. It’s not lost on Steve the way Bucky lets him stand up for himself, as if he’s telling Steve he knows he’s capable. No steam rolling, no white knight show.

“Steve,” Alex says, eyes and voice full of pity. “Don’t you want to make something of yourself? You weren’t much to begin with in New York, but you’ll be less then nothing here. It’s quite pathetic.” At that, Steve shrinks back a step, feeling Alex’s words like a burn. That must be all Bucky can handle because he steps forward, putting himself in front of Steve, and gets right in Alex’s face.

“Your first mistake was coming here,” he snarls. “I suggest you leave before you make a second one.” Steve looks up, watches Alex’s smile twitch. The mask is slipping. Alex leans in slowly.

“He’s not worth it,” he says like he’s telling Bucky a secret. Steve feels the stinging of shame. “This big show? You’re wasting your time.” Bucky doesn’t move, his stare intense, but he speaks to Steve.

“Steve, are you ready to go?” he asks without breaking eye contact. 

“Yes,” Steve responds evenly. Alex scoffs, his agitation snowballing. Bucky turns away.

“Fine. You can have him,” Alex’s voice is tinged with a bitter laugh. “He was a useless boyfriend and an even worse fuck.” Bucky spins around fast, his arm swinging. He hits Alex so hard the man falls on his ass.

*****

“I’m sorry for doing that,” Bucky says embarrassed as Steve looks at his knuckles.

They’re sitting in the cab of Bucky’s truck, and Steve is holding his hand, examining the damage. Steve’s ex had predictably yelled more nasty things after Bucky hit him, but the worry on Steve’s face had kept Bucky from beating the guy’s face in— though he shook with his desire to finish the job. He immediately drove Steve back to his house where they now sat in the driveway, idling.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t do it,” Steve says. He drops Bucky’s hand. Bucky had insisted he was fine, but Steve insisted harder that he have a look. “At least you used your left hand. You might have killed him with the right one.” Steve offers a small laugh.

“Steve,” Bucky starts. He wants Steve to know how unfair that whole situation was. He wants to reassure Steve that not a single thing Alex said was true.

“I know,” Steve whispers. Bucky, usually the poster child for brushing things under the rug, shakes his head.

“No,” he says vehemently. Steve blinks in surprise. “He had no right to say that shit to you. I couldn’t stand listening to him talk about you like that, talk to you like that.” Bucky tenses, fury making him grip the steering wheel. Steve looks at him for a long time, and eventually Bucky meets his eyes and exhales. The sincerity of Steve’s eyes draws the fight right out of him.

“No one’s ever done something like that for me before,” Steve says gently. They sit close in the cab of the truck. Bucky shrugs.

“It isn’t a big deal,” he says dismissively, uninterested in making this about him.

“You’re wrong,” Steve says. His eyes are serious. “It is, to me. Thank you.” They look at each other for a long moment. Bucky wants to reach out, stroke his thumb across the softness of Steve’s cheek, but he just nods and Steve smiles gently.

“What if he sues you?” Steve asks suddenly, his smile falling into a grimace. “He’ll do it too… fucking dickhead.”

“Let him sue me,” Bucky says unbothered. “He was trespassing on private property. That’s at least one thing in our favor.” At that, Steve barks a laugh.

“Thank God for you and your signs.” Steve shakes his head, smiling. Bucky laughs lightly, a feeling tugging in his chest again.

“Hey, this might not be the right time, but I’ve been meaning to ask you,” Bucky says nervously. Steve’s attention is on him at once, eyes kind and patient. Bucky swallows a lump in this throat.

“Yeah?”

“Christmas eve is when I usually,” Bucky hesitates. “I usually visit Luke. Will you come with me?” Steve blinks surprised and smiles.

“Of course,” he says immediately, touching Bucky’s arm. “I’d love to.” Bucky nods, relieved.

“Do you still want to get the tree today?” he asks. He would understand if Steve said no, considering what he just endured. He’s kind of expecting it, so he’s surprised when Steve nods emphatically.

“Yes,” he says resolutely. “He’s not ruining our Christmas.” Bucky grins and pulls out of his driveway.

The tree farm is bustling with families and kids who weave in and out of the pine trees, leaving snowy boot tracks in their wake. He and Steve fall into step besides each other as they meander through the long aisles. Their elbows knock occasionally, and Bucky smiles the whole time. 

Bucky lets Steve pick the tree, happy just to be there. He picks a huge one, insisting that Bucky’s vaulted ceilings can handle it. Steve waves him off when he reasons, even with enough space, he might not have enough ornaments to decorate a tree that big. After they pay, they string it up and haul it into the bed of Bucky’s truck. Driving home with their tree makes the afternoon’s incident seem very far away.

****

Steve’s mom blubbers her apology into Steve’s voicemail several times over the course of the next week. By Friday, Steve actually answers her call, and she’s fully worked up.

“He said he needed to forward your mail,” she cries. “I had no idea he’d show up.”

“Mom,” Steve says gently. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault.” He can hear her sniffles.

“I’m still so sorry, dear.” She blows her nose. “He’s a wretched person, and it sounds like he got exactly what he deserved.” The image of Bucky clocking him pops into Steve’s head. He grins.

“He did,” he says.

“Thank God for that Bucky,” she says, trying to regulate her breathing. “He sounds like a very nice boy.” Steve smiles to himself. He hadn’t told her much about Bucky since he’s been here, a few details here and there— the unimportant things. It was like he was keeping his version of Bucky safe.

“Yeah. He’s great,” Steve says smiling. His tone definitely betrays him because his mom inhales sharply.

“Oh honey,” she says. “I’m happy for you.”

“Mom,” Steve says quickly. “It’s not like that.”

“Steven,” she says sternly. “Don’t be stubborn.”

“Mom.” Steve rolls his eyes, insistent.

“Whatever, it’s none of my business,” she says, though he can tell she’s smiling. “I love you, Steve. Take care of yourself.”

“I love you too, Mom,” Steve says, hanging up.

After they disconnect, Steve rushes to get ready. It’s Christmas eve and Bucky asked him to visit Luke’s grave today. The invitation felt very intimate. Steve can’t imagine Bucky has asked many, if any, people to do this with him. The thought plants itself in Steve’s mind while he’s showering and begins to sprout.

Steve is a stranger to healthy relationships—obviously. His only serious relationship involved a master of manipulation. His dating resume would read five years experience as someone’s puppet . Moving here taught Steve a lot about advocating for himself, but perhaps it also swung to the extreme. 

Steve had been so concerned with not letting someone like that sink their hooks into him again that maybe he was writing off a perfectly healthy potential relationship out of fear. He was determined to respect Bucky’s wishes, but was that sense of obligation also just a disguise for his own unwillingness to give it a real try? It was easier to pin the decision on Bucky and alleviate himself the pressure of being wrong. You couldn’t choose incorrectly, if you never chose.

He steps out of the shower, dripping, and continues to wrestle with his thoughts. Never in life has Steve had someone so close to him. The joy and attraction Steve has felt the last month and half are unlike anything he’s ever experienced. He fled to this island to hide and ended up finding Bucky, a man whose outward impression worked tirelessly to mask his internal depth. Bucky was kind and thoughtful and considerate. He was the strongest, most guarded person Steve had ever met.

As his thoughts continue to whirl, they kick up some undeniable truths. Steve has never really been in love before. His feelings for Alex felt like love in the beginning, but the more he reflects the more he realizes it was just lust and submission. The second truth drops into Steve’s chest hard. Steve has real feelings for Bucky. Whether he can admit it to him or not, he does. Steve stares at himself in the mirror and whispers to his reflection.

“I might love him.”

*****

Bucky takes a tray of lemon scones out of the oven and lays them on the counter to cool. He has an hour before Steve is expecting him. They’re going to the cemetery today to visit Luke, and Bucky’s stomach is in knots. When they were sitting in his car, Bucky didn’t think he’d have the nerve to ask Steve. He’s never gone to Luke’s grave with anyone barring the funeral. Even Tony’s offers were politely rejected because Bucky never wanted anyone to see him like that.

The confrontation with Alex shook loose a confession Bucky had been denying. It brought him face to face with a wound from Steve’s past, and Bucky realized in that moment that there was nothing he wouldn’t do for Steve. His feelings for Steve had been compounding every day since they met. Being in Steve’s vicinity was like being sucked into his orbit, and now there was nowhere else Bucky could be.

The risk of being too emotionally stunted for someone as compassionate and gentle as Steve still scared Bucky. It scared the hell out of him, but he figures that’s just a part of loving someone. Bucky had ripped the blinders off the first time they met, and Steve had stuck around anyway. He was patient with him. He taught him how to share parts of himself. He was selfless and genuine and the kindest person Bucky had ever met.

Now, Bucky walks past the photo of him and Luke. He pauses in front of it and smiles.

“I’m bringing Steve today,” he says to his brother. “I think you would have really liked him. He’s funny and smart, and he calls me on my shit.” Bucky chuckles, heading down the hallway to his bedroom. He takes a hot shower and gets ready. 

Right before he leaves, Bucky packs up the scones. Lemon had been Luke’s favorite, so Bucky always brings a few to him for Christmas. He never saw the appeal of flowers, bringing the dead something that’s going to die, but he didn’t like going empty handed either. The scones were a nice alternative because they were fun for Bucky to make, and they exemplified the life he and Luke had started together.

Once he’s got everything packed up, Bucky heads to the cottage to get Steve. The early afternoon temperatures sit at a comfortable fifty degrees. Snow banks are piled high from the incessant plowing, and the ocean moves slowly, uninterrupted by the boats which have been docked for the winter. His truck winds down the coastline, heightening his anticipation with every yard.

Steve is out on the porch waiting for him. He smiles big and waves when Bucky pulls up. Steve climbs into the truck eagerly.

“Hi,” he says. He’s holding an envelope. Bucky cocks an eyebrow inquisitively.

“Hi to you too,” he says before asking, “What’s that?” Steve just grins.

“Not everything is about you,” he says playfully, shaking the envelope. Bucky rolls his eyes, pulling out of the driveway.

The ride to the cemetery is quick. They park and get out together. Bucky grabs a shovel out of his truck and leads Steve down the snow covered stone path to Luke’s grave. Steve waits silently as Bucky removes the snow that had collected around the headstone. Bucky shovels enough to clear a space for them too. When he’s done, he sticks the shovel in the snow behind them and turns back to the grave. Now uncovered, his brother’s name looks up at them.

“Merry Christmas,” Bucky says to his little brother. He places the giftbox of scones at the foot of the headstone and exhales.

“Lemon scones,” Bucky says, answering Steve’s unasked question. “They were his favorite.”

“He has good taste,” Steve says gently. Bucky smirks lightly, nodding. The quiet of the graveyard envelopes them. Bucky’s heart feels heavy.

“I really miss you,” he whispers, blinking away tears. Steve stays silent but reaches for his hand. He laces their fingers together, and Bucky squeezes appreciatively. Bucky looks up at the blue swirls of sky.

Without letting go of Bucky’s hand, Steve leans forward and tips his envelope forward, shaking something out of it. A tiny ceramic ornament tumbles out. It’s a stack of pancakes. Steve positions it carefully next to the giftbox. Bucky laughs lightly, his tears spilling over. He wipes his face quickly.

“He’d love that,” he says. Steve looks at him softly and smiles.

“Best pancakes in Massachusetts, right?” Steve nudges Bucky with his elbow, their hands still laced. Bucky nods, smiling fondly.

*****

Steve sits next to Bucky on the couch later that night, his knee overlapping Bucky’s leg. The fireplace radiates heat and the lights on their tree add to the warmth of the room. Bucky was right about not having enough ornaments for the tree, so they tucked it tightly into a corner and only decorated the front half. Looking at it now, Steve smiles wide. There are a few presents under it, despite both of them swearing they didn’t want to exchange gifts.

Once again, Steve finds himself side by side with Bucky and face to face with his earlier realization. The trip to the cemetery had solidified it. Steve loved him. 

This whole time Steve had been waffling between loving Bucky romantically and loving his friendship, but the answer seemed so stupidly obvious after this afternoon. Steve is about to say something when Bucky clears his throat.

“Steve,” he says. Steve turns and looks him in the eye.

“Yeah?”

“What you did for me today…” Bucky’s voice is quiet. “Thank you.”

“You don’t have to thank me,” Steve says quietly. Bucky’s returning smile is small.

“Well I am, so get over it,” he says, but his tone is gentle. Steve smiles, looking down, thinking about what it was like to hold Bucky’s hand earlier. He looks back at him, and Bucky’s still looking at him.

“I’m serious,” he continues. “I couldn’t have done that with anyone else… wouldn’t want to. Being with you made it so much… easier. ” Steve nods, swallowing Bucky’s confession. He looks into the deep blues of Bucky’s eyes, vast like the Atlantic, and smiles because they don’t have to choose. They can have each other, fully.

Steve reaches out and brushes his fingers gently across Bucky's jaw. Bucky watches him, leaning into his touch slightly. Steve leans in slowly, and their lips touch with the force of a snowflake landing on someone’s tongue— featherlight and magical.

Bucky’s hand comes up to cover Steve’s. It’s so unlike their drunken, desperate first kiss, but the effects aren’t any less intense. They separate for a moment before deepening the kiss, still gentle. Bucky pulls back, his eyes closed.

“Just to be clear,” he says, voice low. “Is this a friend kiss?”

“No,” Steve says. Bucky looks at him then and grins.

“Good,” he says, grabbing Steve to bring their lips back together. He kisses him harder, his other hand tugging Steve forward by the shirt. Steve climbs into Bucky’s lap, both hands wrapping around Bucky’s neck, fingers tangling in his hair. Bucky kisses him with forceful intent. One of Bucky’s hands braces Steve’s neck, the other grips his waist. Steve grinds down mindlessly, completely consumed with the reality of finally kissing Bucky without reservation, without fear.

Bucky releases Steve’s neck and slips both of his hands under Steve’s shirt, metal fingers making him shiver. He pulls Steve snug to his chest, both arms flat and strong against his skin. Steve kisses him even more eagerly, his hands gripping the back of Bucky’s head. Bucky breaks the kiss to pepper kisses along Steve’s throat as Steve moans gently into the night. Steve exhales sharply, his hips moving against Bucky’s.

“Bedroom?” Bucky asks in between kisses.

“Yes,” Steve says eagerly. He starts to get off Bucky, but Bucky hooks his arms under Steve and stands up. Steve grins, wrapping his legs around him. He kisses Bucky’s neck, his beard dragging softly against Bucky’s skin. Steve’s lips travel up to just underneath his jaw, licking greedily. Bucky groans.

“You’re going to make me drop you.” He growls, shivering against Steve.

“You wouldn’t dare,” Steve taunts. Bucky smirks, walking hastily through the hallways towards the bedroom. He walks through the bedroom door, kicking it closed behind him, and walks Steve to the bed. He lays Steve down and stares at him hungrily.

Steve was so caught up in the moment that he almost forgot, but his insecurity flares up now while Bucky is looking at him. Bucky notices his shift and leans down, capturing his chin between his thumb and forefinger.

“Hey, we don’t have to,” he says gently. Steve shakes his head, nervously.

“I really want to,” he says quietly. “I’m just not…” he huffs, “I’m not good at it. I don’t want you to be disappointed.” Bucky tilts his head to the side, eyebrows furrowing. 

Steve covers his face with both hands, mortified. Alex’s words ricochet around his head. He was a useless boyfriend and an even worse fuck . Alex used to tell him that all the time, that their sex wasn’t great for Steve because he was the flawed one— too tense, too boring. Alex had no problem getting himself off, but Steve was less of a priority, just a means to an end. Bucky gently peels Steve’s hands away from his face and holds them.

“Steve,” he says, kissing his knuckles. “You cannot possibly disappoint me.”

“I can,” Steve whispers. Steve looks at him carefully, trying to find any glimmer of placation. All he sees in the crystal blues of Bucky’s eyes is sincerity.

“You’re just going to have to trust me,” Bucky answers softly. “Can you do that?”

Steve nods. Bucky lifts his shirt over his head, dropping it. Steve stares in awe at the junction of his fleshy shoulder and the prosthetic. The black chrome extends like a web into his skin, fusing intricately.

“Wow,” Steve says. He reaches out and traces a finger over the skin and fibers. “How does that work?” Bucky lifts his eyebrows amused and blinks at Steve.

“Do you really want to talk about my arm right now?” Bucky pops the button on his jeans. Steve’s eyes flick down; he licks his lips remembering the taste of Bucky’s cock the last time Steve had gotten his mouth around him.

“We can table it,” he says, now distracted by Bucky’s fingers. Bucky laughs, stepping out of his jeans. Steve rips his own shirt off, squirming out of his pants, and Bucky is on top of him immediately. He kisses Steve with the same care and desperation as before, fitting his body against Steve’s. He lays perfectly between Steve’s legs, rolling his hips so Steve can feel him, hard and heavy. Steve’s knees fall open, hooking his ankle around Bucky’s leg and pulling him in closer.

Steve’s heart is beating faster than he thought possible, and it’s like Bucky can sense it because suddenly he slows everything down. He holds Steve firmly, his hand cupping Steve’s jaw and kisses him gently. Steve has never been kissed like this before, and it’s making him dizzy. It’s like Bucky can hear Steve’s self-doubt and is desperate to quell his fears. It’s like he’s telling Steve he’s enough.

One of his hands caresses Steve’s face while the other skims a trail down his body, ending at his hip. He rubs the skin there, and Steve feels like he might combust. It’s so much care and attention. He doesn’t know how to handle it.

“Please,” he whines. “I need you to touch me.” He writhes under Bucky’s fingers, but Bucky hums in response, taking his time. His hand travels back up, slipping alongside Steve’s jaw. He draws Steve’s head away, detaching their lips so he can suck marks down Steve’s neck. Steve grips Bucky’s shoulder, his fingers pressing firmly into the soft skin. He bucks up, desperate to rut against Bucky. Bucky chuckles against his neck. 

“Patience, Steve,” he says, clearly amused. Steve isn’t sure he has much of that in him right now— not with the way Bucky’s nibbling deliberately, slowly down his stomach, drawing patterns with his tongue. Bucky kisses along Steve’s hipline, making him shiver.

“I don’t have any,” Steve pants. He wriggles under Bucky’s hold, desperate to be fucked.

“Find some,” Bucky says unfazed as he sucks on the sensitive skin of Steve’s inner thigh.

“Bucky,” Steve grits out. His dick strains uncomfortably in his boxers, so he goes to stroke himself. Bucky catches his wrist, pinning it to the bed. Steve leans up to look at him, and Bucky smiles up at him wickedly and pulls his boxers down.

When Bucky finally puts his mouth on Steve, his moan echoes through the bedroom. Bucky flicks his tongue over the tip, sucking gently. His lips drag wetly down Steve’s cock, and Steve fists the bedsheets, his toes curling. He puts his other hand in Bucky’s hair, coaxing him to take him further, suck him faster. Bucky maintains his agonizingly slow pace and swirls his tongue around the head of Steve’s cock. He pulls off suddenly, hovering for a moment. 

“Pull it,” Bucky says, his voice raw. Steve exhales sharply and clenches his fist in Bucky’s hair. He gives a firm tug, and Bucky grinds down into the bed, his own moan building in his throat, vibrating around Steve’s cock.

He swallows Steve greedily, bobbing so fast he makes himself gag. He eases up, sucking lightly at the tip before plunging back down. Steve wraps his hand tighter in Bucky’s hair, tugging again. The wet heat of Bucky’s mouth is burning Steve with a desire for more.

“If you keep this up,” Steve’s breathing is ragged, “I’m not going to last.”

“Is that such a bad thing?” Bucky asks, spit hanging from his lips. Steve curses at the sight.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says. Bucky’s smirk disappears. He nods, hungrily, slipping his boxers off and moving to capture Steve’s lips in his. His tongue slides filthily against Steve’s as he presses his cock into the fleshy junction of Steve’s hip and groin. Bucky moans as the head of his dick catches, grinding down harder. He seems to remember Steve’s request because he pulls back, encouraging Steve to flip over.

He takes his time opening Steve up, another ploy to torture him, Steve thinks. The sweet burn of his fingers makes Steve whine as he stretches him. Bucky is relentless with his movements, fingers angling perfectly to catch Steve where it counts.

“Fuck,” Steve says, hips jerking forward into the bed as Bucky brushes his prostate. Bucky lifts his hips up, encouraging him to fuck himself back on his fingers. 

“Come on, baby,” he coaxes. Steve complies, his breathing heavy, as he bounces on Bucky’s fingers. The feeling is good, but it’s not enough. Steve wants his cock. Bucky doesn’t draw it out but savors the view of Steve like this, ass up and begging.

“Are you ready?” Bucky asks, rubbing Steve gently on the hip.

“God, yes.” Steve drops to his elbows, ready to take all of Bucky the only way he knows how. Bucky pats his hip, and Steve is confused. “What?” he says over his shoulder.

“Flip over,” Bucky says simply. Steve does, but looks at Bucky wearily.

“I’ve never done it like this,” Steve says. Bucky’s eyes widen in surprise and then dim with what looks a little like sorrow. Steve squirms, uncomfortable at the vulnerability of the moment, but Bucky leans forward, capturing Steve’s lips with his. Another silent promise.

“I want to look at you,” Bucky says, kissing him again. Steve swallows a lump in his throat and nods. Bucky smiles at him, strokes his cheek, and kisses his forehead. He lines up, holding Steve’s legs up and open. Steve inhales deeply as Bucky pushes in, the fullness not yet comfortable. He throws his head back against the bed. Steve grips Bucky’s arms and arches into him. Bucky pulls out slowly, giving Steve time to adjust before sliding back in. His hips work rhythmically, gently nudging Steve open with every thrust.

“Oh fuck,” Steve pants, clenching around him. Bucky’s cock fills him perfectly, like it was made for him. He relishes in the slow burn, the heat coiling in his gut. “More.”

Bucky leans over him, hooking Steve’s legs into his elbows and stretching him. Steve’s breathing grows more frenzied as Bucky builds momentum. He increases his thrusts, hips moving expertly to fuck Steve. He angles himself above Steve, drilling him harder into the mattress.

“Yes, yes, yes,” Steve punctuates every thrust; he can barely catch his breath. “God, yes. Fuck me harder.” Steve’s never been so vocal, but the sheer breathtaking intensity of having Bucky inside of him is knocking things loose.

“Fuck. You’re driving me crazy,” Bucky says breathlessly. “So fucking good.” His hips snap forward with a newfound energy. Steve moans, cursing at the relentless pressure as Bucky fucks him deeper, his cock hard and thick. 

Bucky pushes in all the way to the base, stopping to grind into Steve, filthy. Steve’s eyes roll back in his head, his hands coming up to dig his nails into Bucky’s back.

“Oh my God,.” Steve moans, his own dick twitching at the overwhelming sensation of Bucky filling him. Bucky’s cock angles just enough to make Steve cry out.

The drag of Steve’s nails must imbue Bucky with a new sense of urgency too because he’s pulling out again, the tip of his cock catching on Steve’s rim. He slams back in with a force that has Steve seeing stars. Bucky heaves, hips bucking wildly to drive Steve forward up the bed. He anchors Steve with his hand on his hip and fucks him harder. 

“Shit, you take it so well,” Bucky says, falling apart. Steve can feel the flicker of his climax ignite inside of him, and he knows he won’t last much longer.

“Ah— fuck, Bucky,” he gasps. Bucky drops to his elbows, his forehead resting on Steve’s as he fucks into him, chasing his own release. The intimacy of this position flares up even in the throes of his orgasm. Bucky grips him tightly, kisses him deeply, and fucks him hard.

“Touch yourself,” Bucky says, kissing him again. Steve strokes himself a few times before he’s coming hard between them. Bucky licks into his mouth tenderly as his thrusts grow inconsistent. Seconds later, Bucky moans into Steve’s neck as his hips jerk and he comes, cock pulsing. His arms give out, and he rests his body weight on Steve. They both gasp for air, Steve’s hands coming up to hold Bucky as he slips out, readjusts. The emptiness is shocking. One of Steve’s hands absently cards through Bucky’s hair.

The tenderness of the moment bears down on him, and like so many other instances with Bucky in the last month, Steve is realizing he has never been treated like this—didn’t even know it was possible. Tears prick at his eyes, and he blinks quickly. Bucky lays, spent on his chest, his finger moving absently back and forth on Steve’s chest. Steve tries to swallow the building emotion, but he can’t. A sniffle escapes, and Bucky is shifting to look at him immediately.

“Hey,” his voice, concerned, carries softly. “What’s the matter?” Steve shakes his head, pressing his palms to his eyes. 

“Did I hurt you?” Bucky asks, concerned. Steve shakes his head, and Bucky waits patiently, his hand reaching out to stroke the back of one of Steve’s. Steve lets him hold it and smiles lightly.

“I’m really okay,” he says with a tiny laugh. Bucky nods, his thumb rubbing the back of Steve’s hand. “I’ve just never…” Steve inhales. He clears his throat.

“You can tell me,” Bucky says, kissing his hand. Steve exhales sharply, wiping his eyes.

“It’s never been like that before,” Steve says as he looks at Bucky. “No one has ever…” Steve’s face crumples; his hand moves to cover it. He is embarrassed, but most of all he is shocked. How could he have gone so long without knowing that this kind of feeling was attainable? Nobody had ever shown him the same kindness or intimacy, the same appreciation.

Bucky moves up slightly so they’re face to face. He strokes Steve’s cheek, wipes away a tear. Steve looks at him and smiles softly. Bucky kisses him on each eyelid, stopping to press a soft kiss to his lips.

“It’s okay,” Bucky says. Steve believes him.

“Thank you,” Steve says, his breath returning, his eyes still closed. “I didn’t know it could be that good.”

“I’ve never fucked someone into a breakdown,” Bucky jokes. It startles a laugh out of Steve. “This can’t be good for my ego.”

Steve smiles at him dumbly thinking about how incredibly fucking gone he is for this man.

******

Waking up on Christmas morning feels like a dream. Bucky blinks awake, half expecting to be alone like the last five and half years, and finds Steve asleep next to him. Steve’s face is pressed into the pillow, his hair sticking up wildly. Bucky smiles and reaches out gently to ghost a thumb across his cheek. Last night, after the fact, Steve had gotten emotional. His crying didn’t bother Bucky, but the fact that no one has ever treated Steve the way he deserves to be treated really did.

Bucky looks at Steve now and can’t imagine how anyone who’s ever met him could do anything but love him. Last night, the post orgasm clarity was deafening, and Bucky realized just that—he loved Steve. They had showered together after, laughing and knocking things off the shelves. Steve had shampooed his hair and made fun of the way Bucky hummed as he did it.

Bucky had kissed Steve under the stream of hot water. Nothing was missing; nothing was wrong. On the contrary, holding Steve as he dozed off had been the most right thing in the world.

Bucky tiptoes out of the bedroom, shooing the dogs away from the door.

“Not yet. He’s asleep,” he whispers to them. They wag their tails eagerly, not understanding but being excited nonetheless. Bucky pets them and lets them outside. He makes coffee and sits on the back deck, watching the dogs run and sniff. The morning air is chilly, and Bucky finds himself thinking about Luke. It’s something that has gotten significantly easier since he met Steve. Bucky sighs, rubbing his beard.

“I wish you were here because I am so screwed,” he says to his brother, exhaling lightly. “I think I love him too much.” Compassion and emotion always came easier to Luke. It was something they both knew. Luke loved outloud and easily. Bucky loved on mute. The only person Bucky loved without apprehension was Luke— until now it seems. 

“You’d know exactly how to tell him,” Bucky says to the sky. He couldn’t stop the spread of his feelings for Steve no matter how hard he tried, but realizing he loves him and admitting that are different. He sits outside for a while longer, sipping his coffee and listening to the docile chirps of the morning birds.

When he’s back inside, Bucky leads the dogs to his bedroom door. Their tails start up again, excitedly and Bucky swings open the door. Each dog takes off, intent on getting on the bed as fast as they can. Bucky stands, giggling, as Steve rouses. The wiggling dogs jump around the bed delighted. Steve laughs, eyes closed, reaching out blindly to pet them.

“Good morning,” he says, voice raspy with sleep. “Hello, yes, hi.” Bucky laughs, leaning in the doorway. Steve looks over at him and smiles, big and wide, his eyes still crinkled shut.

“Good morning to you too,” Steve says. Bucky walks over and sits on the edge of the bed.

“Morning. Merry Christmas,” he says. He smiles as Steve reaches out to hold his hand.

“Merry Christmas,” he says, stretching. Bucky squeezes his hand, smiling like a dope.

“How would you feel about running somewhere with me today?” Bucky asks. Steve frowns.

“Aren’t we supposed to open presents and then stay in bed all day?” he asks, pouting. Bucky laughs and shakes his head.

“No. We have to go spread some holiday joy,” Bucky says, smirking. Steve reaches out and pokes him in the chin.

“I got some holiday joy you can spread,” Steve says suggestively wiggling his eyebrows. Bucky laughs and blushes.

“We can do that when we get back. It’ll be quick. Get dressed,” he says, leaning forward to kiss him. Steve kisses him once, catching his shirt.

“One more,” he says, immediately pulling him in to kiss him again, smiling. Bucky can only smile back, kissing him again before he stands up. He heads over to the dresser, pulling his shirt over his head and tossing it in the hamper. He stands in front of the dresser’s mirror and watches Steve get out of bed. He pads over to him, slipping his arms around Bucky’s waist from behind and resting his head on his shoulder.

“It’s so cool,” Steve says, tracing his finger over the seam of Bucky’s prosthetic again. “How is it fused?” Steve asks, pressing a kiss to Bucky’s shoulder.

“You’re better off asking Tony,” Bucky says. “He’s the engineer.”

“Tony’s an engineer?” Steve perks up.

“Yeah, one of the best,” Bucky says, thumb reaching back to stroke Steve’s hip.

“We should introduce him to Peter,” Steve says. “He wants to be an engineer.” Bucky spins around, slipping his arms around Steve’s waist. He had had the same thought a week ago and was looking forward to carrying out that particular holiday gift exchange. He leans in and presses two light kisses to Steve’s lips, a new habit he doesn’t intend to ever break.

“We should,” he says, nodding. “Good thing Tony is on my list of receivers for holiday joy.” He raises his eyebrows and grins. Steve grins back, kissing him quickly on the lips again.

“Okay let go of me, or we’ll never leave,” Steve says. Bucky laughs, releasing him. They get dressed and straighten up before heading out. Bucky grabs Tony’s present from under the tree.

The ride to Tony’s house is quick and they ring his doorbell, side by side. Tony pulls open the door, a santa hat flopping over his face.

“Merry Christmas!” Tony holds his arms open. Bucky laughs, hugging him tightly. Tony doesn’t pause, turning to Steve next and giving him a hug. “And nice to meet you,” he says over Steve’s shoulder.

“You too,” Steve laughs.

“Invite them in!” A voice calls from inside. Tony’s wife appears suddenly, wrapped in a cream sweater. “Hi boys!”

“Pepper, Merry Christmas,” Bucky says, kissing her cheek. “This is Steve.”

“Steve,” she smiles widely, “Merry Christmas.” They make their way inside, the smells of cinnamon and coffee swirling in the air.

“I thought we said no presents,” Tony says as they settle into his living room, eyeing the box in Bucky’s lap. Bucky raises his eyebrows, and Tony laughs. He leans over to a side table and grabs a neatly wrapped box. “I know, I know.”

“Before I give you your present, I have a request,” Bucky says. Steve listens intently. Tony rolls his eyes. 

“Only you would come here with an ulterior motive… on Christmas,” Tony frowns.

Bucky continues. “There’s this kid working at the cafe, Peter, he’s applying to schools, and he wants to be an engineer.”

“I am not a babysitter,” Tony says immediately. Bucky rolls his eyes.

“The kid is really smart. He wants to be a mechanical engineer,” Bucky continues.

“Or electrical,” Steve chimes in. Tony tilts his head thoughtfully before narrowing his eyes. Those were Tony’s specialties.

“Why should I?” Tony asks. Bucky holds up the gift box he brought for Tony and shakes it.

“Because I brought this,” he says, smiling. Tony’s eyes widen.

“Is that…”

“You know it is,” Bucky smiles now. “The unfindable part.”

“How did you…” Tony is shocked, leaning forward unconsciously. Bucky smirks. It took him almost an entire year to track this part down for Tony, but he finally found it.

“It wasn’t easy,” Bucky admits. He shifts, repeating himself. “His name is Peter. I want you to mentor him for the summer. Show him the ropes, prep him for college. Call it an… internship, if you want.” Tony squints, considering. Bucky shakes the box again lightly. Tony sighs.

“Okay yes, fine, obviously I will help him,” he huffs. “But he better not be a dud. He better be smart.”

“He is,” Steve and Bucky say at the same time. Tony smiles at them suggestively.

They hang at Tony’s for a little while longer, but eventually bid their farewell. Next stop on the list is Natasha’s. Bucky already gave her her Christmas present, but the official paperwork making her part owner of Luke’s came in the mail the other day. He wanted to hand deliver it.

“Merry Christmas!” Natasha answers the door just as excited as Tony. She looks surprised to see Steve, but that shock wears off quickly, and she’s left smiling. “Oh, hi Steve.”

“Hi Nat,” he says, blushing.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” she asks. Bucky hands her the manilla envelope.

“It’s official,” he says. She smiles wide, jumping in to hug him.

“Thank you,” she says happily. Bucky can’t think of anyone more deserving.

****

As Bucky promised, they’re back at the house quickly. Steve sits cross legged on the couch, waiting for Bucky. When he finally walks into the living room he looks nervous. It mirrors the way Steve feels inside.

“They’re just gifts, Bucky,” Steve says. “They won’t hurt you.” He hides his own concern and pats the couch next to him. Bucky sits down with a thump.

“I told you I didn’t want one,” Bucky says.

“And I guess you listened to me when I said I didn’t want one?” Steve challenges. Bucky grins reluctantly.

Steve leans forward grabbing the smaller gift first. He holds it out to Bucky eagerly. Bucky unwraps it and his face lights up. He holds the lighthouse carefully, turning it around to see the whole thing.

“It’s a timer,” Steve says excitedly, leaning forward to show Bucky the dials. “You know, for baking.”

“I love it,” Bucky says. Steve nods, reaching for the gift bag sitting at his feet. His stomach flutters in anticipation.

“Wait, my turn,” Bucky says. He produces an envelope and hands it to Steve. Steve opens it slowly, careful not to rip the contents. When he slides the paper out of the envelope, he blinks quickly.

“Bucky, what is this?” Steve stares at the check. Bucky shifts nervously.

“It’s… um, it’s your rent,” he says. “I’m giving it back.” Steve stares at him.

“What—” he shakes his head, “why?” Bucky flushes, looking down.

“Well, I thought maybe we could go and open you your own bank account here, if you want,” Bucky says. Steve gapes.

“I don’t understand,” he says, failing to process. “Don’t you need this? This is a lot of money— money I owed you, fairly. I’ve been renting from you for 8 weeks.” Bucky exhales softly and looks at Steve. There’s something unreadable in his expression.

“I want you to have it, and I kind of…” he trails off, “don’t need it.” Steve simply cannot understand what is happening, a fact he’s pretty sure his expression is communicating clearly. Bucky clears his throat and looks at Steve seriously.

“When Luke died, I was able to sue the car company because of the airbag malfunction, ” his face pinches, “it wasn’t my idea, but I was young, and I needed to pay for his funeral, so I agreed. I ended up winning the suit and was awarded… a lot of money.” The information permeates the air. Steve shakes his head, trying to shake some sense into place.

“How much is a lot?” he asks, immediately feeling stupid. “You don’t have to answer that.” Bucky’s smile is soft.

“A lot,” he repeats. Steve nods, the truth settling. Bucky is rich? Steve didn’t expect that, and his mind flashes briefly to the old shitty truck he drives. Then he thinks about the implications of this gift, his chest tightening.

Bucky had been setting aside every dollar Steve paid him with the intent of giving it back to him so Steve could finally have his own stable bank account. The logistics are simple, but the significance is painfully hammering at Steve’s heart. He had complained a few times to Bucky about how controlling Alex was, and one of the strongest examples had been their financials.

Alex was like a vault that convinced Steve to enter and wouldn’t let him leave. Everything Steve had was paired with Alex, credit cards, savings accounts, health insurance, and yet here was Bucky, going out of his way to build Steve something of his own— a symbol of his independence despite the distance it could potentially put between them.

“I don’t know what to say,” Steve says, his voice still laden with shock. Bucky takes his hand.

“I hope you’re not mad,” he starts, clearing his throat and scratching his beard. “I realize now how presumptuous this seems. I’m not trying to force you to stay in Nantucket. I just thought…” Bucky doesn’t finish. Steve looks at him immediately.

“Bucky,” Steve says, shaking his head. “I thought it was pretty clear. I’m not going back to New York.” At that, Bucky sighs, relieved, and smiles. Steve smiles back gently, still stunned.

“That’s good,” Bucky smiles at the floor. “That’s really good.”

“Thank you for this,” Steve says. He is beginning to think he’ll never be able to thank Bucky enough for the ways he’s going to inevitably change his life for the better. He kisses him lightly. When they part, Bucky looks down at the gift bag between Steve’s feet.

“Are you going to keep me in suspense?” he asks playfully. Steve frowns, feeling silly.

“I’m not sure how I’m going to follow that,” he says, nervously. He hands Bucky the bag, and sits back anxiously. Bucky removes the tissue paper and carefully lifts out a wooden shadow box. Steve had found it one weekend at the flea market. The dark cherry wood reminded him of Bucky’s house— it felt like it would fit perfectly in his living room. He watches Bucky catalog the contents of the box. Bucky sucks in a sharp breath.

In one corner of the shadow box is a faded and folded menu from Luke’s cafe, proudly displaying their rating as “Best pancakes in Massachusetts.” Steve had picked this one because, based on the coloring, he had concluded it was one of the first menus they ran off. Next to it is a set of salt and pepper shakers, positioned carefully and glued in, with the cafe logo on them. Towards the center is a picture of Bucky and Luke from their opening day. Bucky’s smile is huge, as is Luke’s, and they’re standing, arms around each other, the cafe behind them. Luke has a ridiculously large chef’s hat on, and Bucky is giving an eager thumbs up. Nat had taken the picture for them, and she was happy to make Steve a copy.

Steve watches Bucky’s eyes travel over every item slowly. He tenses, covering his mouth when he sees what overlaps the photo, centered to be the focus of the entire box. A slightly creased, partially smudged note is pinned there.

“Where did you get this?” Bucky whispers.

“Natasha was a big help. She let me look through the office,” Steve says quietly, remembering the shock he felt when he found the note. Bucky moves his finger over the glass above the paper slowly. It’s the unmistakable handwriting of his little brother, and it reads: Barnes Brother’s Cafe? Barnes Family Cafe? Bucky and Luke’s? Luke and Bucky’s? Which do you like better? It can’t just be Luke’s. I couldn’t do this without you, jerk. Let me know. ~Luke

Steve holds his breath.

*****

Bucky remembers the day Luke left that note for him. He had left it on the desk in their new back office. They were meeting with the sign designers later in the week, and they hadn’t narrowed down a name. Bucky, being his usual stubborn self, had made a strong fuss about putting his name on the sign, but Luke kept leaving alternatives around to try and convince him.

Bucky couldn’t believe what he was looking at. The rest of the shadow box is filled with pieces of the cafe, trinkets and mementos that, to anyone else, would look like nothing but to Bucky are everything. Steve had given him some of his brother back.

“I can’t believe you did this,” he says, his voice a whisper, still gazing into the box. A tear drops onto the glass. Steve clears his throat.

“I’m sorry,” he says regretfully. “I don’t know why I thought it would be a good idea. I didn’t mean to upset you.” Bucky looks up at him quickly, wiping his cheek.

“Steve, I love it,” he says seriously. “This is the best gift I’ve ever gotten.” He touches Steve’s jaw, relishing in the intensity that flares up inside of him.

“I love…” he clears his throat, “I love it,” he says again. Steve exhales, relieved. They pick out a spot to hang it, and Bucky thinks it’s perfect. They line it up right under the photo of him and Luke.

“It looks great there,” Steve says, hooking his chin over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky nods, leaning back into him. They stay like that for a few minutes before Steve excuses himself to go wish his parents a Merry Christmas. 

Bucky stays in front of the box a little longer, finger tracing the note over the glass for the third time. He can’t believe Steve made this, curated Bucky’s memories with such care. He listened to Bucky’s reluctant story-telling, his grief-stricken memories, and made something beautiful out of them. He had taken Bucky’s heartbreak and built a box of happiness. With every passing second his gratitude and love for Steve swells. A few tears fall in remembrance of his brother, in appreciation for Steve’s generosity. It’s all very overwhelming.

Bucky’s heart rate picks up, his breathing growing faster, and suddenly he’s too aware of how far away Steve is. He can hear Steve finishing up his conversation, and he heads towards him. Bucky moves quickly, desperately through the hallway.

“Yes, tell everyone I say hi,” Steve’s voice carries lightly. “I love you too.” Bucky finds him walking aimlessly around the hallway in front of Bucky’s bedroom. Steve hangs up right as Bucky is approaching him. Steve smiles reflexively.

“My parents say hi—” Bucky grabs Steve’s face with both hands and kisses him fiercely, throwing himself at Steve with the weight of every heightened emotion he’s feeling. Steve reacts automatically, kissing him back, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s neck. 

Bucky doesn’t move them or nudge Steve anywhere. He just holds him close and kisses him deeply, all of the things he’s not ready to say yet pouring through his lips and into Steve’s. When Bucky pulls back, he keeps his eyes closed and rests his forehead against Steve’s. The only sound in the hallway is their heavy breathing. Steve reaches up to touch his own lips.

“What was that for?” he asks breathlessly. Bucky, still resting against him, sighs.

“I just felt like I needed to,” he says honestly. Steve nods against him, his hand coming up to touch Bucky’s cheek.

“Okay,” Steve says, chuckling.

They spend the rest of their afternoon entwined on the couch, the dogs at their feet. Steve lays between his legs, leaning backwards on Bucky’s chest. Bucky wraps an arm around him, drinking in the domesticity. He cards his hand through Steve’s hair while they watch holiday movies.

“Look, his heart is growing three sizes,” Steve says playfully, poking Bucky, “like you.”

“I think that makes you Cindy Lou Who,” Bucky says, smirking. Steve cranes his head to grimace at him, and Bucky laughs loudly.

“Nevermind then,” Steve says, shaking his head with a laugh. He relaxes back into Bucky. Bucky’s not sure when, but eventually they both doze off, content in each other’s arms.

*****

The post Christmas pre new-years week infuses the usually quiet town with an extra sense of wonder. Everyone moves happier and more excited for their new year, new opportunities. Steve is no exception. As far as he’s concerned, the last few days he’s spent with Bucky have all the markings of holiday magic. Steve can’t believe how good it feels to be with him, how easy.

He floats around the cafe today, doing his job while his mind is far away. Natasha keeps throwing him suggestive smirks, and Peter is his usual bubbly self.

“How was your holiday?” Natasha asks, resting her head in her hands on the counter next to Steve. He smirks at her sweet smile—she wants something. This is the look she always gives him when she’s trying to extract information from him.

“It was very nice. How was yours?” he asks politely.

“Did Bucky like the gift?” she asks, more interested in her inquiry than a reciprocal conversation. Steve chuckles. She’s not prone to subtlety.

“Yes he did. Thank you again for helping with that,” Steve says. She nods happily.

“He must have really loved it,” she says. Her emphasis is deliberate. “Do you think he loves it?” Steve knows what she’s getting at and shoots her a disapproving look.

“I think he likes it just enough,” Steve says pointedly. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“Don’t be ridiculous, Steve. I think it’s pretty obvious he loves the box ,” she says. Steve swallows his hope.

“Nothing about how Bucky feels is ever obvious,” Steve says, raising his eyebrows. She nods reluctantly, conceding. That was undoubtedly true, and she knew it, but she doesn’t relent.

“Well,” she says, smirking again, dropping her voice and the euphemism, “I think he probably loves and cares for the box a lot— enough to visit it almost every shift.” Steve turns to follow her eye line and sees Bucky stomping his boots off on the front mat. He looks up, sees them, and waves.

“Drop it,” Steve says firmly to Natahsa. She raises her hands in surrender and throws Bucky a wave before walking away.

“Hey, I didn’t know you were coming today,” Steve says. Bucky leans in quick to peck him on the lips. Steve flushes at the unexpected PDA.

“I have one last present to deliver,” he says, holding a small envelope. “Is Peter around?”

“I think he’s in the back. Do you want me to go get him?” Steve asks curiously.

“No don’t bother him,” Bucky says. “Just send him my way when he comes back out.”

Bucky pecks Steve again and walks over to a corner booth. He tucks himself in and says hi to Nat. She sets down a cup of coffee in front of him, and they chat. Steve worries at his lip, hoping she doesn’t try any of that love-inquiry on Bucky.

Peter comes through the back door carrying stacks of napkins.

“Here,” Steve says, holding his arms out. “I’ll take those. Bucky wants to see you.” Peter hands the napkins off, confused, and heads towards the booth. Steve stores the napkins and watches as Peter settles in across from Bucky.

****

Peter shifts anxiously in the booth, fidgeting. Bucky smiles at him and tries to get him to relax.

“Hi sir,” Peter says politely.

“Peter,” Bucky smiles. “You can call me Bucky.” Peter nods awkwardly.

“So what’s up?” he asks, aiming for casual.

“I brought you something,” Bucky says, clearing his throat. He feels a bit awkward too, if he’s being honest. This newfound holiday high has him more emotionally invested in the ones around him than ever before— another byproduct of spending so much time with Steve, he bets. He slides the envelope across the table for Peter to take. Peter stares at it for a moment. 

“I didn’t get you anything,” he says guiltily. 

“It’s okay, go ahead.” Bucky laughs gently before he nods encouragingly, and Peter picks up the envelope.

“What is it?” Peter says, his finger tearing the last inch of the envelope open.

“Read it,” Bucky instructs. Peter begins to read it quietly under his breath.

“On behalf of the state of Massachusetts and Luke’s Cafe scholarship fund, we hereby award Peter Parker… for excellence in academic standing… any college or university of your choice… tuition paid in full…” Peter looks up at him, astonished.

“I don’t understand,” Peter says, his voice quiet. Bucky leans forward, his hands folded.

“You won the Luke’s Cafe scholarship,” Bucky says easily. “Congratulations.” Peter’s mouth is hanging open. He shakes his head.

“That’s not a thing,” he says automatically.

“It is now,” Bucky says. “And you’re our first recipient.”

“Sir, no,” he shakes his head. “Bucky, I can’t accept this.”

“It’s not a gift, Peter,” Bucky says, leaning back. He forces a serious expression. “It’s a transaction. There’s something I need from you in return in order for you to truly qualify.”

“What’s that?” Peter asks, still stupefied.

“There just so happens to be one of the best mechanical and electrical engineers in the country living right here in Nantucket, and he needs an intern. It would be three very long, grueling months of engineering,” Bucky says, his facade slipping. He cracks a smile, and Peter’s eyes widen. Peter looks down at the letter again, his mouth twitching into a grin.

“It still sounds an awful lot like a gift,” he says quietly.

“Wrong,” Bucky says, shrugging. “It’s an arrangement. You hold up your end, I’ll hold up mine.” Peter smiles fully now, nodding his head hesitantly.

“I’ll never be able to repay you,” Peter starts, looking down. Bucky shrugs.

“M.I.T. is only a three hour drive,” he says, smiling. “Don’t forget about us.” Peter looks up quickly, smiling.

“I could never,” he says. He shakes Bucky’s hand at first and ends up hugging him when they both stand. Bucky hugs him back easily.

Peter all but skips away, right over to Steve. Bucky watches as Steve’s face lights up with the same shock as Peter shows him the letter. Bucky blushes when Steve looks at him. He walks over, shaking his head.

“You’re unbelievable,” Steve says. They walk towards the front door together.

“He deserves it,” Bucky says, shrugging. They step outside.

“That was really generous of you,” Steve says. They stand almost toe to toe, and Steve reaches out to hook a finger in Bucky’s belt loop. He tugs him forward into a kiss. Bucky’s hands move up to hold Steve’s face, fingers rubbing gently against the softness of his bearded jaw.

“The full beard is a nice look on you, by the way,” Bucky says when they break the kiss. Steve smiles and rolls his eyes.

“Can I see you later?” Steve asks, holding the zipper halves on Bucky’s jacket lightly. Bucky hems and haws dramatically, making Steve grin.

“I guess,” he finally says, smiling. Steve returns the smile, and Bucky pecks him on the lips once more. “See you later.”

Bucky watches Steve head back inside and then gets in his truck and heads home, the tingle of kissing Steve still on his lips. Bucky isn’t a betting man, but if he was, he’d bet he’ll never get over that feeling.

*****

Steve hikes his backpack up over his shoulder as he walks up to Bucky’s front door. He smiles, listening to the dogs barking from inside the house. Steve rocks back and forth on the balls of his feet, waiting. The door opens a moment later, casting Bucky in warm golden light.

Steve feels that familiar twinge in his stomach. He stares entranced. One would think Steve’s questionable track record with love would have equipped him with an emotional emergency brake, but there was nothing happening with Bucky that Steve wanted slowed down. The way he made Steve feel protected and safe, worthy and special, urged Steve forward— full speed ahead, get off the tracks. Looking at Bucky now, the softness of his smile and the crinkles by his eyes, Steve is smitten.

“Hi,” Bucky says. He raises an eyebrow at Steve’s backpack. “Is that an overnight bag?”

“If you’re lucky,” Steve teases. Bucky smirks happily.

“I’m feeling lucky,” he says. Steve chuckles and follows him inside happily.

They take their usual spots in the living room, side by side. Bucky rests his hand on Steve’s leg, finger absently drawing patterns. Steve leans against him easily, Natasha’s words echoing in his ears. Do you think he loves it? I think it’s pretty obvious that he loves the box. Steve had shot her the same displeased look after he came back from walking Bucky out. Her shit-eating grin all but screamed I told you so across the dining room.

It wasn’t that he didn’t consider the possibility. Steve had very much considered that Bucky might love him. He is affectionate and gentle with Steve, to the point where it’s almost slipped out of Steve a few times. But this is new, and Steve is all too familiar with the benefits of being patient with Bucky. He’s not going to rush him.

“I was thinking of having people over for new years,” Bucky says, easing Steve out of his head.

“That would be cool,” Steve says before adding, playfully, “but do you even have… friends to invite?” Bucky whips his head to look at Steve, mouth hanging open in amused shock.

“Wow,” he says, faux hurt. Steve laughs and tilts his head, watching him fondly.

“You were basically a hermit before you met me,” Steve continues, laughing harder when Bucky clutches his heart and falls sideways onto the couch dramatically.

“Ouch,” Bucky exhales. Steve rolls his eyes, leaning over to see his expression. Bucky grabs him by the neck of his shirt and pulls him down so Steve is laying, propped up, on his chest. They’re nose to nose.

“I think it’s a great idea,” Steve says seriously. “Who would you invite?”

“Tony and Pepper, Nat and her boyfriend,” Bucky pauses, smirking. “Is Peter old enough to drink?”

“No, but you could invite him anyway, help the body count,” Steve says grinning. Bucky exhales louder, his hands clasping over Steve’s back.

“You might be right. I really don’t have many friends,” Bucky chuckles.

“I was joking, and I don’t think that matters anyway,” Steve says, simply. He continues, speaking into the blues of Bucky’s eyes. “It’s more about how you treat the ones you do have, and you treat them very well.” Bucky’s expression softens, and Steve is hit, yet again, by how mesmerized he is by this man.

“I just do what anybody would,” Bucky says softly. Steve rolls his eyes, shifting to bracket Bucky’s head with his forearms.

“That line might work on someone else, but I’ve seen you and,” Steve says, teasingly, “I hate to break it to you, but you’re not as tough and scary as you think you are.” He whispers the last part, leaning forward, and Bucky grins.

“You better take that to your grave,” he says, challengingly. “I have a reputation to uphold.” Steve chuckles, stooping to kiss him.

“Hmm. Don’t think I will,” Steve says, kissing him again. “You’re generous,” kiss, “caring,” kiss, “kind,” kiss, “you’re sweet.”

“Those last two are the same thing,” Bucky says against his lips.

“You’re sending Peter to college,” Steve says, kissing him again, his hips pressing down slightly as his dick fattens in excitement. At that, Bucky giggles.

“Are you getting turned on by my… philanthropy?” He laughs amused.

“Shut up,” Steve says, kissing him with more zeal. His hand moves to grip the side of Bucky’s face, kissing him deeply. Bucky wraps both arms around Steve, holding him tighter. Steve’s already embarrassingly hard— just the reality of being able to do this with someone as amazing as Bucky has every one of his nerves on end. He licks into Bucky’s mouth, his hand sliding up to tangle in his hair. Bucky hums immediately, a hand dropping to Steve’s ass.

He pulls Steve forward, encouraging him. Steve obliges and rolls his hips slowly. The pressure is delicious, and Steve feels himself getting more worked up. He kisses Bucky feverishly, grinding down harder. Bucky grips his ass harder, moaning into his mouth. The electricity is palpable, and Steve is losing himself in the pleasure. It’s juvenile and fun, and Steve can’t believe how good it feels.

“Fuck, you’re incredible,” Steve says, hotly. Bucky runs his tongue over Steve’s bottom lip before sliding it into his mouth, filthily. Steve thrusts down impulsively. The feel of Bucky hard underneath him makes Steve press down with more desperation. Bucky grinds up while he holds Steve down, the friction nearly excruciating.

“If I had known,” Bucky exhales sharply as Steve ruts his cock down quickly, “that this would be your reaction, I would have sent every kid in Nantucket to college.”

“Mmm, shit,” Steve says, relishing in the drag of their bodies together. Bucky huffs a laugh, his hand sliding into Steve’s pants to palm his ass.

“Should we go…” Bucky asks breathlessly. Steve nods vigorously. They stand, grinning, and Bucky is on him again immediately. He grips Steve by the neck, walking him backwards towards the hall. They don’t make it far before Bucky presses him up against the wall, picture frames rattling. He palms Steve through his sweats, gripping him gently. Steve drops his head against the wall, kissing him in a daze. The tease of Bucky’s hand ghosting over his dick makes him squirm.

Steve threads his fingers up and pulls Bucky’s hair, tipping his head back to expose his throat. He latches on, biting gently as he spins them so Bucky’s against the wall. Bucky responds, his voice throaty, hands fumbling for Steve. Steve slips his hand into Bucky’s pants.

“Shit,” Bucky curses when Steve gets his hand on him. Steve feels like a hopeless teenager the way just touching Bucky excites him. Bucky’s hand comes up to grip Steve’s neck. The pressure of the metal fingers makes Steve groan, guttural and low. The flicker of his arousal spikes as he thinks about Bucky gripping him fully with that hand.

After a few strokes, Steve sinks to his knees. Steve looks up, grinning wolfishly, before swallowing him. He takes Bucky all the way in, salivating around his cock. Steve sucks wetly, Bucky cursing his soundtrack. The sounds of Bucky coming apart above him fuels Steve. He hollows his cheeks, dragging his lips up and down Bucky’s shaft with purpose. He flicks his tongue back and forth over the head.

“Holy fuck.” Bucky’s growl echoes in the quiet hallway. His hand rests on the back of Steve’s head, following his motions. Steve takes him further, swallowing quickly until Bucky’s cock hits his throat. He gags, throat constricting. Bucky jolts, gripping a fistful of Steve’s hair and yanking as he comes with blurred vision.

When Steve pulls off, Bucky grips him weakly by his shirt and tries to help him stand. Bucky’s breathing is ragged, and he slips his hand around the back of Steve’s neck to drag him close. Steve kisses him eagerly, his own dick still throbbing. Bucky snakes his hand into Steve’s pants. The contact immediately makes Steve moan. He kisses Bucky with more fervor, thrusting into his fist. Bucky’s hand accepts every wet thrust as he strokes him through to his climax.

“Fuck, fuck,” Steve exhales hotly into Bucky’s neck, his thrusting growing erratic. All he can feel are the flames in his groin, the wetness of Bucky’s hand, and the firm grasp Bucky has on his ass, egging him on. Steve braces himself, one palm on the wall next to Bucky as he fucks Bucky’s grip.

“Right there, so good,” Bucky says, his voice deep and throaty in Steve’s ears. It sends a hurricane of shivers through him, his hips moving quicker. “Come for me.”

And he does. Steve buckles with the force of his orgasm, grabbing Bucky for support. Bucky strokes him through it, kissing his neck lightly. Completely spent, they stand against each other, breathing heavily in the hall. After a moment, they look at each other and laugh. Bucky grins.

“Maybe I shouldn’t invite anyone for New Years, and we can just do that all night,” he suggests, wiggling his eyebrows. Their tired laughs disappear down the hall.

******

Despite his desire to hole up in his house and fuck Steve into oblivion, Bucky does invite people over to ring in the New Year. He’s flitting around the kitchen getting things in the oven and setting timers when Steve walks in. He’s wearing a tight white button down and even tighter black slacks.

“Do you think a tie is too much? What did you tell people to wear?” Steve asks, fussing with his cuffs.

“Are you kidding me with those pants?” Bucky asks incredulously. Steve looks down.

“What’s wrong with my pants?” he asks affronted. He had spent a decent amount of time in the bedroom while Bucky was out here cooking.

“I want to rip them off of you,” Bucky says evenly. “How am I going to focus on our guests?” Steve smiles, waving him off. Bucky swallows his desire and fluttering heart.

“They’re your guests,” Steve corrects. “I don’t live here.”

“You could,” Bucky says, automatically, before spinning around to open the oven. His face pinches. He didn’t mean to say that. When he turns around, hors devours in hand, Steve is staring at him.

“I could what? Live here?” he asks slowly. Bucky swallows regret.

“No— I mean, what I meant was,” he stammers, before shaking his head, “wait, why? Do you want to?”

“No,” Steve says too quickly. “I mean, we just… started this.”

“Right, yeah,” Bucky says in feeble agreement. “I didn’t mean it as an invitation. I was more joking like… because you’re here everyday already.” He smiles and shrugs. Steve drops his eyes.

“Oh,” he says slowly. Bucky doesn’t like the sound of that.

“It’s not a bad thing.” Bucky holds his hands out in desperate placation. 

It hasn’t been that long since they started reaping the benefits of an intimate physical relationship— eight days to be exact. But their care for eachother started way before that, and everyday has been better than the last. Bucky has never felt so close to someone, has never wanted to be so close to anyone, but he wasn’t trying to spring this on Steve right now. He knows how badly it ended for him the last time he went all in with someone too quickly.

“Okay,” is all Steve says in return.

*****

“You cannot be on the same team,” Tony argues loudly. “Split the couples up!”

“You’re saying you don’t want Pepper on your team?” Bucky challenges.

“Of course I do—I love you honey,” Tony winks at his wife. “But it would make the game too easy. You can’t be paired up with Rogers. End of story.” Bucky huffs, throwing his hands up. Tony flips him off which makes Peter laugh very hard. Steve sits between Bucky’s legs, watching him and Tony gesticulate wildly back and forth. Natasha and her boyfriend are seated across from Steve, sipping their drinks in amusement.

The party was off to a good start, despite his and Bucky’s uncomfortable conversation right before everyone arrived. Bucky had brought up moving in but then backpedaled immediately. Steve was not ready to move in, and Bucky’s claim that he was here all the time made more unpleasant insecurities flash to the surface. His neediness was one of the worst things about him, according to Alex, and even though Steve knows that asshole is a good for nothing, manipulative son of a bitch, it’s a wound that festers.

“Take the kid then,” Bucky says. Peter sits up straighter, his can of soda jostling.

“Happily,” Tony says smiling. “You’re with me kid. Our team name will be Better Than You.” He shoots Bucky a pointed look. Bucky rolls his eyes. Steve ends up partnered with Natasha, her boyfriend content just to watch, and Bucky takes Pepper.

“Okay, ready Pepper?” Bucky asks. He shakes out his limbs dramatically like he’s getting ready for a big game. Steve sips his drink, watching. Pepper nods, and Tony flips the timer.

“Okay, one word, three syllables, object,” Pepper says, laser focused. Bucky starts to mime something—a jackhammer, Steve guesses. Pepper looks at him confused. Then Bucky points to Tony. “Tony? Man? Beard?”

“Genius? Playboy? Philanthropist?” Tony starts guessing. Bucky flips him off.

“Former playboy,” Pepper says, throwing him a sour look. Bucky gives her a sympathetic look and points harder at Tony. “Jackass?” Bucky jumps up and down excitedly, touching his nose. Then he offers a chopping motion.

“Jack?” Pepper guesses. Bucky nods furiously, holding out a finger. He picks an invisible nail out of his pocket and pretends to hammer it. Steve watches him, a flicker of sadness coursing through him. Tony was right. If they had been partners he would have gotten it immediately.

“Jackhammer!” Pepper says excitedly.

“Yes!” Bucky yells, giving her a high five. Tony rolls his eyes dramatically.

“Good job honey,” Tony says, pecking Pepper on the cheek. Then he points to Bucky. “You can choke.”

Bucky barks a laugh as he returns to his seat behind Steve. Steve doesn’t lean back, and tenses lightly when Bucky rubs his shoulder. The laughter in the room grows with each round. Peter and Tony win embarrassingly fast, and Steve and Natasha end up really tanking. 

Overall, the night is a huge success for Bucky, Steve thinks. He can feel the swell of belonging in his chest as he looks around at all of these new parts of his life followed immediately by the grief he’d feel if he ever lost it. These people were Bucky’s, and if he was already messing this up, he was risking losing them too.

He’s never cared about New Years before because nothing ever felt new. People make resolutions and claim to be changing, but Steve was stuck in a repetitive rut for the last half of a decade. He certainly wasn’t changing, and as a result he had become a spineless pessimist. Sitting here now though, with all of these new people he cared about, Steve sees the appeal of looking forward to the possibilities of the future.

“Get ready!” Peter says excitedly. Everyone focuses their attention on the television as the newscaster starts the count. Steve moves so he’s sitting on Bucky’s lap. Bucky wraps his arms around his waist.

“Three!” Steve and Bucky lock eyes; Steve smiles almost apologetically.

“Two!” Bucky cups his jaw and looks longingly in his eyes.

“One! Happy New Year!” They kiss to the sound of their cheering friends.

******

“Thank god,” Bucky growls into Steve’s ear from behind as he crowds him up against the counter, pressing his hardening dick into Steve’s ass. “I thought they’d never leave.” Steve’s arousal immediately spikes.

“Don’t say that,” Steve exhales, his cock fattening in his slacks.

“Can you blame me? Have you seen yourself tonight?” Bucky runs his hands down Steve’s sides and around towards his crotch. “It’s sinful.”

“They’re just pants,” Steve says, trying to answer evenly, but Bucky has snaked his hand into the front. He exhales sharply, bracing both hands on the granite, as Bucky rubs him through his boxers.

“Mhm,” Bucky hums, grinding his dick harder into Steve’s ass. “Tell that to your ass.”

He rolls his hips while he teases him through the cotton of his underwear. Steve swears, grinding his ass back into Bucky, his neediness showing.

“You’re one to talk,” Steve grits out, his arousal clouding his head. Bucky was still wearing his tight navy pants and a slightly unbuttoned checkered shirt.

“No, you look so good,” Bucky mumbles into his neck. “I bet you’ll still look this good when you’re one hundred years old.” Steve rolls his eyes despite the tornado picking up speed inside his groin. He relishes in the light pressure of Bucky’s hand in his pants but mere friction isn’t going to cut it tonight. He coaxes Bucky’s hand out of his slacks and spins to face him.

They kiss slow and dirty, Steve tasting him. He’ll never get tired of the way this makes him feel, shame tugging at him. There’s a bitterness settling in him, fueled by his insecurities, that grips him tightly. He can’t stand the idea of being too much, too needy for Bucky. Tonight he’s determined to make it different, to show him he can give.

He walks Bucky backwards, hands on his hips, until they get to the bedroom door. Bucky reaches back and it swings open, hitting the wall with a crack. Steve crowds him towards the bed, still attached at the mouth. Their kissing is messy as they strip each other. Bucky pops a few buttons on Steve’s shirt, and Steve fumbles with the metal of Bucky’s belt.

“Off, take it off,” Steve demands, rucking Bucky’s shirt up as he works on his pants. Bucky rips his own shirt over his head before lifting Steve’s off. Steve’s hands are on Bucky’s body immediately, fingers skimming over his torso and edging his pants down. Bucky steps out of them before pulling Steve forward by his belt. He spins them and pushes Steve onto the bed.

Steve lands, propping himself up on his elbows while Bucky takes his pants off. Bucky enjoys the slow torture of pulling Steve’s pants and boxers off. Steve grins at him, his eyes rolling back slightly at the anticipated pleasure.

“Don’t tease me,” Steve grits out. Bucky laughs, spreading Steve’s knees and kissing a trail up his inner thigh. He licks a thick wet stripe up Steve’s shaft, making Steve hiss. Bucky’s mouth is sinfully wet and warm as he sinks down on Steve’s cock. He swallows him fully, fingers digging into Steve’s thighs. Steve moans at the sight, one of his hands moving into Bucky’s hair.

He tugs harder than usual, surprising Bucky into a moan. Bucky starts to suck him faster, but Steve pulls again, holding it. With his hold, he lifts Bucky’s head. Bucky pulls off, lips parted, eyes lidded.

“What are you doing—”

“Fuck me,” Steve says no preamble. He sits up, coming face to face with Bucky and kisses him, his hand groping him desperately. It’s sloppy, and Steve’s haste radiates off of him. If he can make this good for Bucky, it will show him that Steve’s not needy. He can be selfless. Bucky kisses back tentatively, his fingers moving to rest easily on Steve’s arms, holding him still.

“Why are you in such a rush?” Bucky asks, trying to sound playful, but Steve can hear the concern.

“I want to be good for you, you want to fuck me, right? It’ll be good, I promise,” Steve says mildly distressed. Bucky’s body language shifts. He goes tense, his fingers gripping Steve to hold him at arm's length.

“Steve, stop,” he says sternly. Steve looks at him, rejected.

“You don’t want to?” Steve asks. He can feel the disappointment he has for himself seeping into the air, but he can’t reign it in. Bucky shakes his head.

“No, not like this,” he says calmly. “What’s going on?”

“Nothing,” Steve lies. “I thought we could try it rough, maybe you’d like it.” Bucky flinches.

“That’s something we can talk about,” Bucky says evenly, his face betraying the confusion he’s feeling. “But I don’t think that’s what’s really going on.” Steve laughs bitterly, frustrated tears rising.

“What else would be going on?” he tries weakly. Bucky just looks at him.

“You tell me,” he says gently. The sincerity makes Steve sad.

“Can you let go of me?” Steve asks, his voice tight. Bucky softens at the sound but stands up and drops his hands.

“Steve,” he tries softly, but Steve walks to the bathroom, waving him off.

“I’m fine,” he lies again. He shuts the bathroom door and turns on the faucet. He braces his hands on the counter and fights back tears.

*****

Bucky gets dressed awkwardly. Steve’s demanding tone ricochets in his head like a shotgun blast. He was so frustrated and snippy— so unlike himself. Bucky sits on the edge of the bed, worrying. Steve hasn’t come out of the bathroom yet, so he walks over and knocks lightly on the door.

“Steve, are you okay?” he asks.

“Yeah I’ll be right out,”  he says, clearing his throat. Bucky waits for a few minutes, but eventually gets in bed. He leaves the lights on and lays uncomfortably, facing the bathroom door. When Steve comes out his eyes are slightly swollen and red. Bucky fights the urge to jump up and rush to him. He waits for him to climb into the bed, and then Bucky turns over.

“Steve,” he says quietly. Steve doesn’t roll over.

“What?” His tone is dull, tired.

“Are we going to talk about this?”

“Not tonight,” he says. Bucky aches to reach out for him, but he rolls over and stares at the wall instead. The silence feels dense, but he falls asleep eventually.

Bucky stirs the next morning, rolling over to an empty bed.

“Shit,” he says. The fog of sleep still clogging his head, Bucky stumbles through the house looking for Steve. His stuff isn’t laying around, and all the dogs wag their tails expectantly from their spots on the couch. Bucky rubs a hand down his face, last night replaying in his head.

Steve had tried to get a rise out of him during sex. It sours Bucky’s mood just to recall it. He can’t understand why Steve would do that. Bucky knew Steve had pulled back a little bit when he accidentally mentioned moving in, but he seemed to move past it as the night went on.

Bucky throws a hoodie on and gets in his truck. It’s colder than he expected, but he drives to the cottage without giving his truck time to warm up.

He pulls into the driveway of the cottage, the gravel scraping under his tires. Steve’s car is gone, and panic flares up in Bucky’s gut.

******

“You’re not on the schedule today,” Natasha says scrunching her face. Steve stands in the doorway of the cafe wrapped in a frumpy gray sweatsuit.

“You serve food don’t you?” He asks, raising his eyebrows. Natasha only narrows her eyes more, nodding suspiciously.

“I would think you and lover boy would be sleeping in this morning,” she says. 

“I’ll seat myself,” Steve says, ignoring her comment, and heads to a booth. He slides in, his back to the door. He drops his forehead to his hands. Natasha brings him a cup of coffee and slides into the booth with him.

“Thank you,” he says, without lifting his head.

“Steve,” she starts. Her tone is too maternal— it’s unusual.

“Don’t,” he says. He can hear her sit forward, folding her arms and probably holding him with a stare.

“Steve,” she tries again, softer. He lifts his head to meet her eye.

“I don’t know how to do this,” he says softly. She tilts her head, questioning. “I don’t know how to be with someone as good as him.”

Her eyes soften, and she thinks for a moment.

“I don’t think you’re giving yourself enough credit,” she says. Steve shakes his head.

“There are so many ways I can mess it up,” Steve says. Natasha rolls her eyes.

“That’s true for anyone,” she retorts. Steve shakes his head again.

“I’m going to ruin him,” he says sullenly. Natasha speaks softly.

“Steve, I’ve known Bucky since he moved here. I was around when they opened this place, and I was here when Luke died. I watched him change. We never saw him, nobody could get a hold of him, and he completely stopped working. He used to spend every day here, you know.”

“He did?” Steve perks up; he can’t picture it. Natasha nods, smiling at the memory.

“Behind the counter and everything, but when Luke died, he took part of Bucky too,” she says. Steve’s heart sinks at the thought. He knew as much, but it didn’t make hearing about Bucky’s suffering any easier.

“I know,” he whispers. She shakes her head.

“You don’t. However much he’s shared pales in comparison to the truth. It was dark,” she says. Steve frowns.

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I haven’t seen that side of him since he met you. I haven’t seen him this happy, this agreeable,” she chuckles softly, “in a very long time. That was you, Steve. You did that.”

“No—” he tries to argue, but she cuts him off.

“After five and a half years of icing this place out, one day he strolls in the front door like nothing happened to have dinner with you. He wouldn’t do that unless you really meant something to him.” Natasha holds an even stare. Steve swallows a lump in his throat. He’s not used to being acknowledged like this. It’s been years since anyone has looked at him or treated him the way Bucky has, but Steve hadn’t considered that it might be similar for Bucky. Could Bucky harbor a similar neediness for him? And could they call it love?

“How do I fix it?” he asks quietly. She smiles softly.

“It’s not broken,” she says matter-of-factly. “Just go talk to him.”

When Steve leaves the cafe he is determined to remain calm. He heads towards Bucky’s house, trying to ignore the jumpiness he feels. He needs to breathe and think in silence. Suddenly Steve is turning down a road that ends at the edge of sand and dune grass. He gets out and takes the familiar wooden path.

The lighthouse waits for him in the distance. Bucky always spoke so highly of its ability to relax him. Steve figures now is as good a time as any to try it out for himself. He needs to focus his thoughts before he goes bumbling in front of Bucky and making things worse.

Steve gets to the bottom of the lighthouse and ducks in. He takes the staircase up towards what he hopes will be peace of mind. The ladder brings him the final stretch before he’s face to face with the endless sea. He takes a deep breath.

“Steve?” Bucky’s voice makes him jump. Steve whips around, and there he stands, right behind the beacon. He’s tense, shoulders clad in a dark maroon hoodie.

“Hi,” Steve says awkwardly. So much for a chance to gather his thoughts. Bucky takes an unconscious step towards Steve, leaving a few feet.

“Hi,” he responds softly. The space between them feels like miles, and Steve can’t believe he thought for even a second he’d be able to give this up or tone down his desire.

“I’m… sorry,” Steve says, looking at him earnestly.

“You’re stealing my line,” Bucky jokes half-heartedly. In spite of his nerves, Steve grins.

“Thought I’d give it a try for once,” he says, glancing at his feet. Bucky takes a step

forward. Steve meets his eye.

“I shouldn’t have left like that,” Steve admits sullenly.

“Why did you?” Bucky asks, voice genuine, void of any malice or resentment. Steve scuffs his foot. This was the part he wanted to bury. This was the part he hated. 

“I…” he can’t get the words out. The silence stretches on painfully.

“If I scared you about moving in,” Bucky says, “I was being stupid. I didn’t mean—” Steve shakes his head. Bucky pauses and waits. Steve clears his throat and wills himself not to break.

“I’ve only ever been with Alex,” he says slowly. “That type of… relationship is all I know, and it’s made me believe certain things about myself for a long time— things that I haven’t been able to convince myself are untrue.” Bucky takes a steady step forward, ready to reach out. Steve closes his eyes and continues.

“I needed to be around for him all the time, but when it was my turn to need him, I was suffocating him. He always wanted my apologies to be… physical, so I thought…” Steve says, blinking quickly. Bucky tenses, his disgust and resentment for Alex barely masked.

“Steve—”

“When you said that I was around all the time,” Steve takes a deep breath. “I panicked because it felt like what you were really saying was that I was around too much .”

“That’s not—” Bucky’s tone is sad. Steve holds his hand up.

“I know,” he says hastily. “It’s probably not what you meant—”

“It’s not.”

“—but for a long time he told me that I was too much to handle, that I was too needy, so that’s what I believed. After finding this place, after finding you,” Steve’s voice breaks. “I don’t want to do that to you.” He shuts his eyes, tears falling easily onto the iron floor of the lighthouse.

Bucky is directly in front of him now. Steve can’t look at him, but he watches the toes of Bucky’s sneakers meet the toes of his own boots. Bucky holds his hand out, and Steve takes it.

“Will you look at me?” Bucky asks gently. Steve exhales, terrified, but looks up. Bucky smiles, mouth just slightly turning up. “Hi.” Steve exhales a weak laugh, wiping his eyes.

“Hi,” he says.

“Listen carefully, okay?” Bucky’s voice is gentle. Steve nods. “You didn’t do anything to deserve the way he treated you.” Steve tries to pull away, his shoulders bracing uncomfortably, but Bucky holds him tighter.

“Making you feel like it was your fault was part of the control, Steve.”

“I don’t know—”

“It was,” Bucky says firmly. The severity of his voice makes Steve look at him. “Nobody who loves you would ever tell you that you are too much for them because the reality is that they’d never be able to get enough.”

Steve lets the words sink in, and his heart starts to beat against his rib cage like a trapped bird.

“You are not too much for me.” Bucky enunciates every word.

“You say that now—”

“I’ll say it forever.”

“It’s going to take me a while to believe that,” Steve whispers, the weight of his heavy heart pulling his eyes to the floor again.

“That’s okay,” Bucky says easily, squeezing his hand. “As long as it takes.”

“That’s going to get very exhausting for you,” Steve says bitterly, but Bucky isn’t affected by his tone. He rubs his thumb across the back of Steve’s hand.

“I can handle it,” Bucky says. Steve finally looks at him, and he’s smiling kindly, the Atlantic, boundless and pure, contained in the blues of his eyes.

“I don’t know if I’m worth all this,” he says honestly.

“I do.” Bucky smiles.

Steve stares at him, his heart beating rapidly, and thinks about the last two months. He thinks about the kindness and compassion Bucky has shown him. He thinks about the trust they’ve built, carefully patching each other’s wounds like soldiers fighting side by side. Steve takes a deep breath and nods, letting himself fall heart first into loving and trusting him.

****

Bucky pulls Steve in and the kiss is weighted with their need for each other. Bucky’s hands rest habitually on Steve’s face. Steve’s hands find their place, gripping his shirt. 

Like a boat guided in by the beam of the beacon, the kiss feels like coming home. Bucky can’t believe how starved he felt from just twelve hours without it.

When they break apart, they rest gently forehead to forehead. Steve exhales, catching his breath, and Bucky smiles. He strokes Steve’s cheek.

“Do you want to go get breakfast?” he asks. Steve smiles and nods.

They leave the warmth of the lighthouse and walk the path back, hand in hand. They take their time, despite the nip of the morning air chilling them. The pale hue of the sky stretches over them brightly. Bucky can feel his love for Steve spreading from where their hands connect. It floods his entire body and overflows until it blends into the light sapphire sky.

When Steve pulls into the cafe’s parking lot, they’re still holding hands. Knowing Steve’s fear, Bucky resolves to be more overt in his own need for Steve— something he thinks will actually be embarrassingly easy.

Natasha smiles pointedly at them when they enter, and Steve blushes. Bucky squeezes his hand as they walk to a booth.

“Good morning, boys,” she says, smiling wide.

“Hi Nat,” Bucky says.

“It’s nice to see you both,” she says, winking at Steve. Steve chuckles. “I’ll give you a minute to look.” She leaves a menu behind.

“What was that about?” Bucky asks, amused. Steve just shrugs and flushes.

“I may have come here first this morning,” Steve says. Bucky raises an eyebrow.

“Oh yeah?” he asks playfully. Steve smiles, shrugging.

“She gives good advice,” he says.

Bucky laughs and nods, losing himself in the softness of Steve’s features. The sounds of the cafe swallow them as they talk and eat. Every so often, over the rim of his coffee cup, Bucky smiles at Steve. He could sit here and listen to him all day. After their meal, he holds his hand out again, and Steve takes it easily, their hands resting in the middle of the table, equidistant from each other’s hearts.

******

It’s an unusually warm day for mid February, and Steve slows to a walk. He breathes heavily, his lungs working extra hard. Lucky looks up at him with wide eyes, panting.

“You and me both,” Steve says to the dog as he catches his breath. Steve has taken to running with Bucky’s dogs in the mornings, but Lucky was the best at keeping up with him. They cross the street carefully and make their way up the driveway. He unclips the leash, Lucky trotting up to the front door excited to be reunited with his brothers.

The front door opens and Lucky disappears inside. Steve smiles, his hand covering his face to block the sun, as he sees the silhouette of Bucky in the doorway.

“Teddy and Moe want to know why they didn’t get to go,” Bucky teases, leaning against the door jamb with his arms crossed. Steve laughs, taking the porch steps two at a time.

“Because I took Teddy yesterday, and Moe almost broke my ankle last time,” Steve says right before he kisses Bucky. It’s a quick, habitual kiss, but when Steve swallows it, it flickers in his chest.

“There’s your answer, boys,” Bucky says as they walk into the house. Steve stops and bends to pet the excited dogs.

“Too bad the snow is melting. We could have rigged a sled dog team,” Steve jokes, scratching Moe’s belly when he rolls over. Bucky’s laugh carries down the hall, and Steve follows him into the kitchen. Bucky hands him water before Steve can ask for it, and he takes it gratefully.

“So what’s on the agenda today?” Steve asks curiously. He has the day off, but Bucky mentioned plans yesterday, refusing to elaborate with a mischievous grin. Steve follows Bucky into his bedroom.

“I have a meeting with Nat,” Bucky says casually. He’s standing at his dresser, fishing for a new shirt. Steve stands in the doorway watching.

After Steve had bared his heart and fears, Bucky had promised that he’d spend as long as it takes trying to make Steve see how important he was in Bucky’s life. The first symbolic gesture of that was Steve’s own set of drawers in Bucky’s dresser. It was a manifestation of his promise— Steve was welcome here anytime and all the time. Two drawers had filled pretty quickly, and Steve felt an unfamiliar urge to ask for more.

“A meeting about what?” Steve asks intrigued.

“About affiliating my baked goods with the cafe again,” Bucky answers, sneaking a glance at Steve. Steve’s smile spreads quickly.

“That idea sounds familiar,” he says. Bucky smirks, and Steve thinks about what this means— Bucky is comfortable enough to work with the cafe again. 

“Don’t get too cocky. I was doing it before I met you,” Bucky defends jokingly. He opens Steve’s drawer now. Steve clears his throat loudly, mouth twitching up.

“That’s my drawer,” he says, faking annoyance. Bucky shoots him an expectant look.

“If you didn’t keep taking my shirts, I wouldn’t have to look through it,” he says.

“I don’t take your shirts,” Steve says with an eye roll, knowing full well that he prefers to wear Bucky’s shirts whenever possible. They smell like him, and Steve won’t apologize for that. Though he did learn his lesson last week when he tried to snag one of Bucky’s running shirts and was forced to run with one bare arm in the chilly morning air.

Bucky grins, slowly pulling out the shirt he was looking for. He holds it up, displaying it dramatically like a case cracking clue.

“Ah ha!” he exclaims laughing. “You’re caught, Rogers!” Steve just laughs and walks past him towards the bathroom. He turns, eyebrows wiggling playfully, and pulls his shirt over his head. Bucky’s smile wavers, his eyes drop to Steve’s torso, and he licks his lips absently.

“So come over here and do something about it.” Steve grins wickedly. Bucky matches his grin and walks towards the bathroom. He pulls his own shirt over his head and tosses it.

“When’s your meeting?” Steve asks, turning the shower on. He slides his hands into the waistband of his shorts, teasing a reveal of the pale skin of his upper thigh. Bucky’s eyes follow the movement, and Steve’s cock twitches to life.

“Later,” is all Bucky says before he’s on Steve. He grips Steve’s neck, sliding his tongue into his mouth while his other hand grabs his ass. Steve responds reflexively, leaning into the touch, kissing him back hopelessly. His cock, now hard, seeks the feeling of Bucky, so he pulls him closer.

“Take your pants off, and get in,” Bucky orders. Steve nods, lips parted, and drops his shorts. He watches Bucky take a look and grins before stepping into the shower. The hot spray hits him, as does his anticipation, and he shivers. Bucky steps in seconds later, his body eager.

The stream breaks over their heads as they connect hungrily. Steve will never get tired of the rush he feels when they kiss like this. It’s wet and slow, and Steve feels like he’s slowly being set ablaze from the inside out. 

When they’re on the bed, Bucky will take his time with Steve. He very pointedly teases Steve to the point of unbearable frustration, but the shower was different. The wet heat and proximity pushes them forward frantically, a growing sense of want and impatience overtaking them. Bucky wastes no time, wrapping wet fingers around Steve’s cock.

Steve moans at the sensation of his touch, hips moving automatically to compliment his wrist’s movements. The slide of his dick in the warmth of Bucky’s fist is unbelievable. Steve pulls at Bucky’s lip with his teeth, his thrusts picking up speed. His own hand reaches blindly to stroke Bucky’s cock.

“Fuck,” Bucky curses into his mouth. They writhe in each other's grasp, relishing in the stimulation and pleasure, hands slipping and dragging against skin. Steve sucks and nips at Bucky’s neck, flicking his tongue along the sensitive skin. Bucky fucks his grip quicker.

Steve digs his fingernails into Bucky’s fleshy shoulder as he thrusts faster. Bucky matches his desperation as he presses metal fingers into the tissue of Steve’s ass, just hard enough to leave faint marks.

“Oh God,” Steve moans, losing himself. His orgasm hits him like a freight train— full speed, no chance of stopping. His hips jerk erratically as he comes, white heat exploding in his gut. Bucky kisses him through it, his hand caressing the back of his head. Steve slows all his movements as he twitches through the aftershock.

He strokes Bucky’s cock mindlessly, trying to catch his breath. Bucky groans at Steve’s clenching fingers as they refocus and begin to move expertly, catching on the tip of his dick. Along with their newfound shower sessions, Steve has learned how much Bucky likes being encouraged verbally. Steve grips Bucky’s cock and presses his lips to Bucky’s ear.

“Just like that, baby, so good,” Steve says breathlessly. “Always so good.”

“Fuck, so good,” Bucky repeats mindlessly. Steve sucks on his tongue, pulls at his lip.

“Can’t wait until later,” he continues his sultry teasing, “gonna need you.”

“Need me to what?” Bucky asks, voice fucked out, hips thrusting messily.

“Need you to fuck me, hard,” Steve says hotly before he kisses Bucky’s neck. Bucky grips him tighter. Steve quickens his strokes, jerking Bucky with more fervor.

“Oh God, fuck,” Bucky swears, his hips spasming uncontrollably as he comes in Steve’s hand. Steve rubs him eagerly as he hunches with the force of his climax, his teeth digging into Steve’s shoulder.

The once hot water runs lukewarm now, but they don’t notice. Bucky kisses Steve tenderly, his arms wrapped protectively around him. Steve lets himself indulge, his feelings consuming him.

“I could do this all day,” he says, content against Bucky’s lips. Bucky smiles, his thumb stroking Steve’s cheek.

“We could,” he offers. Steve shakes his head lightly.

“Meeting, remember?” he reminds him. Bucky sighs, still blissed out.

“Fine. Will you come with me?” Bucky peppers kisses to Steve’s lips.

“Of course,” Steve agrees.

When they part, they finish their shower, passing shampoo and smiling through the spray. Bucky’s smile is Steve’s favorite thing to see, and his favorite thing to kiss. They laugh when Steve gets soap in his eye, and Bucky wraps a towel around him when they get out.

*******

“Hi guys,” Peter says happily when they enter the cafe. The usual weekend lunch rush is in full swing, so he passes them quickly. Steve and Bucky head to the back office to wait for Natasha.

“This used to be where I spent all my time,” Bucky says absently running his hand over the second hand desk he had dragged in the week before their opening.

“I bet you looked good in here,” Steve says, grinning. “Very professional.” Bucky shakes his head gently and laughs.

“I looked like any other paper pusher,” he says.

“You were more than that… Do you miss it?” Steve asks, pretending to look at something on the wall. Bucky smirks at his tact. Steve’s questions don’t bother Bucky at all anymore, but he finds Steve’s caution cute.

“Yeah, I do.” Steve looks at him now. He smiles gently and nods.

“It’s still your place, you know,” he offers with a raised eyebrow.

“What’re you saying?” Bucky asks, a small smirk playing on his lips.

“I’m saying you could come back whenever you wanted,” Steve’s eyes are full of excitement and prospect. “Why stop at affiliating the cafe? Why not…”

“Why not come back completely,” Bucky finishes. The thought hangs in the air, and he lets himself consider it. Four months ago he couldn’t even look at the cafe sign without bile rising in his throat, without feeling like concrete had been dropped on his chest. Now, standing in his old office, he looks around at what used to be his, and there’s an itch to reclaim it. He could picture himself back here, running things with Nat. As if on cue, Natasha strides through the door.

“Morning boys, sorry about that. We had an appliance malfunction,” she says. “Stove is starting to go.”

“It’s no problem,” Steve offers before suddenly clearing his throat. “I actually need to ask Peter something. I’ll leave you two to work things out.” Bucky shoots him a concerned look, but Steve just offers two thumbs up in return, a sign of his encouragement, and mouths you can do it .

“So what’s up?” Natasha asks. Bucky takes a deep breath and glances to the picture of Luke and him on the wall. His smile spreads genuinely.

“I had some ideas.”

*******

“Stop distracting the kid,” Bucky says annoyed. Tony looks at him over the rim of his sunglasses.

“He’s my intern. I’ll do what I want with him,” Tony says, winking at Peter who hurries to seat new guests. Tony sits at the counter, blowing the steam off his coffee.

“He’s not your intern until the summer. We still need him,” Bucky says filling the coffee filters and setting up the new pots.

“Three months is not enough time. We started early,” Tony says smiling.

“March is too early,” Bucky says, wiping the counter with a dishrag before slinging it over his shoulder. He checks the pastry case, noting which ones need a refill, and wipes down the glass.

“Speaking of, what’re we doing for your birthday?” Tony asks suggestively. Bucky looks at him suspiciously.

“Nice try,” he says, leaning on the counter now. Tony tries to look puzzled.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” he says, breaking into a smirk and finally sipping his coffee.

“Steve has been acting very shifty,” Bucky says. “If it’s a surprise party, I demand to know. I need to leave the island.” Tony just shrugs.

“It’s nothing a moderately substantial venue can’t handle,” he says nonchalantly. Bucky narrows his eyes.

“You better be joking,” he deadpans.

“I didn’t know you even know that many people,” he says casually. “Oh and before I forget, how do you feel about Mariachi bands?” Bucky’s eyes go wide, but Tony just laughs. He glares at him and goes to check on the construction.

Last month, after his meeting with Nat, Bucky had asked for his job back. She laughed at him, obviously, because of course he could come back whenever he wanted, but they worked out the details easily. Paperwork was just a formality, and he was set to start up again as soon as he was ready. The second thing Bucky pitched was more of an undertaking, but Nat was game, and so they started executing Bucky’s second idea. 

Steve’s gentle push that he start working at the cafe again had been a good thing— a necessary thing. After spending so long afraid to be here, Steve had shown him that this painful reminder of his brother that Bucky had been so desperately avoiding could actually be a part of Luke that Bucky could have back. 

Bucky ducks under the tarps now, stepping into the bare bones of his renovation. He looks around at the wood framing, and it reminds him of when they first opened the cafe. There was nothing inside but old tables and cobwebs. Abandoned by the last owner, Luke had insisted this fixer-upper was their chance to leave their mark on Nantucket.

Bucky smiles at the evocation and walks over to the planning table. The blueprints are spread out, overlapping to show the skeleton of the cafe expansion. His soon to be brand new pastry kitchen looks up from underneath white scratches and pencil shavings.

The rustle of tarps makes Bucky look up, and Steve is ducking through with an amazed smile. He’s wearing one of Bucky’s old shirts, and there’s a large hole in the collar. Bucky grins.

“Wow, this is starting to look real,” Steve says, still looking around. He walks up, slotting himself against Bucky, Bucky’s arm coming to rest around his shoulders instinctively. Steve kisses him hello and turns his focus to the plans. Bucky points to the architect’s scribbling.

“Check this out,” he runs a finger over his favorite detail. “We thought we could expand the kitchen and make this half more traditional cafe style, pastries, breads, desserts.”

“Your specialty,” Steve says smiling, nudging him gently in the ribs.

“I’ll be able to get a bread oven, and this side will be renovated but still dedicated to the regular dining room menu,” Bucky says excitedly. Steve laughs, taking in the drawings.

“Nat is going to love the new stove,” he says. Bucky chuckles lightly, nodding.

“She deserves it.”

“It’s going to be amazing,” Steve says, his voice full of awe. “Luke would love it.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says quietly. “I think he would have.” He holds Steve tighter to his side, and Steve rubs his back softly.

“I’m proud of you,” Steve says, looking at Bucky. The depth and kindness of his eyes is enough to suspend Bucky, like he’s floating in the sea. He gets lost for a moment, just staring into the blue. The blues flicker as Steve blinks.

“What?” Bucky says, coming back. Steve’s smile is coy.

“I said I’m proud of you,” he repeats. Bucky nods, blushing.

“Thank you,” he says awkwardly, shifting his footing. Steve laughs gently as he reaches up to cup Bucky’s jaw. When he kisses him, Bucky imagines he’s back floating in that same ocean, waves holding him steady and calm.

****** 

Steve sits on the marble countertop and drums his fingers. Bucky is pacing from the bedroom to the laundry room and back. Steve rolls his eyes for the twelfth time in the last ten minutes.

“Can you relax?” he asks impatiently. Bucky huffs, and Steve watches as he roots through an unfolded basket of freshly dried laundry, his corded back muscles flexing.

“You know how I feel about my birthday,” Bucky says anxiously. His nervousness permeates the air, mixing with Steve’s amusement.

“And you know how I feel about it,” Steve counters. Bucky looks up, frustration set on his face in the crease of his brows, as he remains hunched over the basket.

“Steve,” his voice is cautionary. Steve rolls his eyes again. Thirteen.

“Bucky?” Steve asks, palms up in a mocking taunt. He smirks when Bucky grimaces.

“I’m not trying to be ungrateful,” his voice wavers, and Steve can tell he’s starting to panic. “I just want to prepare myself—” Steve hops off the counter and heads towards him. He comes to a stop right in front of him and takes Bucky’s face in his hands.

“Breathe.” Steve smiles at him. “Remember when we talked about your birthday two weeks ago?”

“Yes,” Bucky answers. Steve grins.

“And when I asked you what you wanted to do, the one thing you told me I absolutely couldn’t do was,” Steve trails off.

“Throw a surprise party,” Bucky supplies, swallowing nervously. Steve nods firmly.

“I listened,” he says honestly. “So take a breath, trust me, and for God’s sake put a shirt on, or we’ll never make it out of here.”

Bucky laughs and resigns. Steve leaves him to get dressed and double checks that he’s got everything. The picnic basket is already waiting for them, and Steve texts Peter to thank him for his help with the set up. His stomach starts to flip in anticipation.

When Steve finally gets Bucky in the car, he exhales relieved. The drive is short, and the destination is one they know well, one they share now. It’s not part of the surprise because there’s no way Steve can hide the lighthouse, and Bucky refused to put on a blind fold.

They get out of the car, and Bucky shoots him a curious look. He grins, and they lace hands. When they get to the mouth of the wooden path, Bucky stops. White and red rose petals line the path on each side. Steve squeezes his hand, and Bucky just looks at him, grinning lightly.

They head down the walkway, approaching the lighthouse. The weather of this early March day has held up considerably well, and the sun shines just enough. Steve watches Bucky follow the trail of petals as it curves around and disappears behind the front of the base. Bucky shoots him a quizzical look when they pass the entrance. Steve just smiles and squeezes his hand again.

“Come on, birthday boy,” he says, smiling. Steve knows what’s waiting for them, but he holds his breath anyway. Bucky is the best thing that’s ever happened to him, and Steve was determined to repay even a fraction of that kindness for as long as he’s allowed to try.

Just around the bend lies a spread out blanket, a picnic basket, and more petals. Steve sneaks a peek at Bucky, whose eyes widen at the sight. His smile seems unconscious, a reflex tied to the surfacing of a memory.

“Steve,” he says under his breath. They stand at the edge of the blanket, positioned to overlook the sea.

“Happy birthday,” Steve says excitedly. He stands, a tiny nervousness gnawing at him, as Bucky stares at their lunch spot. Bucky looks up, his expression sincere.

“This is perfect,” he says. Steve beams, pulling him down on the blanket.

“You haven’t even seen the best part,” he says as Bucky settles in next to him, rose petals encircling them.

“I can’t imagine it gets better than this,” Bucky says. Steve shoots him a smirk and lifts the picnic basket lid.

“The menu,” he says, slipping a freshly laminated page out of the basket first. Bucky raises his eyebrows.

“Are you the one who broke the laminator at the cafe?” he asks with a smile. Steve frowns which makes Bucky laugh loudly.

“Nobody ever used it anyway,” Steve defends, “plus I have an in with the owner.” He winks. Bucky laughs again and takes the menu. He reads it carefully, and Steve watches. 

He didn’t know he could be so cheesy, but in his defense, he’s never been in love before. Love, he’s finding out, makes you do a lot of things you never thought possible. In Steve’s case it meant giving himself over completely to the tender heart of a gruff baker and using a laminator. Bucky throws his head back with a laugh.

“First course is… the trespasser,” he says, smiling widely. Steve nods, returning his smile, and pulls out their appetizer. He sets the cheese plate down in front of them, and nods at the card.

“Keep reading,” Steve encourages. Bucky shakes his head with a smile and continues.

“Second course is the landlord,” Bucky reads with a smirk, tipping an imaginary hat. Steve takes out their sandwiches and puts them down carefully.

“And dessert?” Steve asks, hand already closing around the container. Bucky blinks, staring for a second, mouth twitching into a small smile.

“The lovers,” he says quietly. Steve pulls out the box of scones and gives everything one last once over. Bucky looks at him, and Steve holds his breath.

“Happy birthday,” he offers again. Bucky smiles gently.

“I can’t believe you,” he says. He leans in and kisses Steve softly.

“Better than a surprise party?” Steve asks sarcastically. Bucky touches his cheek and nods. Steve can feel the weight of his love pressing on his ribs, desperate to get out.

“Thank you,” Bucky says.

“I love you,” Steve says, startling both of them, his eyes going wide. “I mean… you’re welcome.” Bucky’s eyes widen too, and his surprised smile extends generously across his face. Steve blushes and looks down.

“Say that again,” Bucky says, grinning. Steve looks up and fixes his gaze on Bucky.

“I love you,” he says quieter, focusing deliberately this time. Bucky leans forward, painfully slow, stopping half an inch from meeting Steve’s lips with his own.

“One more time,” he whispers. Steve can feel the heat of his breath on his lips.

“I love you,” he whispers back.

“I love you too,” Bucky says, smiling before closing the almost imperceptible space.

Steve’s hand comes up, fingers gliding gently over Bucky’s neck. Their kiss is warmed by the sun.

*****

Bucky leans back on his hands, ankles crossed, and basks in the sunshine. Steve is lying with his head in Bucky’s lap. He chews thoughtfully on a lemon scone.

“You know,” he says suddenly, “I already knew you loved me.”

“Is that so?” Bucky asks, entertained. Steve nods, brushing crumbs off his chest.

“You’re very obvious about it,” Steve remarks, seriously. Bucky narrows his eyes, unable to read whether Steve is joking.

“Really?” he asks. Steve holds a hand above his head, shielding his eyes, and cracks a smile.

“No. You said it in your sleep last week,” he says laughing. Bucky scrunches up his face petulantly. He can’t believe his unconscious mind was such a snitch. He reaches out and pokes Steve in the side. He jerks in response, giggling.

“Why didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asks. Steve shrugs and grins happily, his hand catching Bucky’s.

“I wanted to say it first,” he says simply. Bucky tilts his head, admiring this man he’s so hopelessly fallen for.

“Always so competitive,” he says, dipping down to catch his lips. The faint taste of lemon lingers, and Bucky thinks, not for the first time, that this is what home feels like. The thought extends to his pocket, the token pressing lightly into the seam of his pant leg.

“Do you want the rest of this?” Steve asks, holding his scone up. Bucky leans forward, eating it out of his fingers. Steve laughs, sitting up. He is cleaning up their plates, and Bucky slips his hand into his pocket, fingers tracing the cool metal.

“So I know today is my birthday,” Bucky starts. “But I did bring something for you.” Steve immediately shoots him a look.

“That’s not how birthdays work, James,” Steve says, disappointed. “Today is about you.”

“This is about me,” Bucky insists. He holds up the key and watches Steve come to the realization. Bucky runs his fingers over the ridges.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks. His eyes are genuine, searching Bucky’s for any measure of hesitation. Bucky has never been more sure of anything or anyone, but he doesn’t want his own eagerness to pressure Steve.

 Bucky knows the stories Steve had shared with him little by little, like breadcrumbs of experience that led to who Steve is today. He remembers the way Steve felt trapped by Alex, suffocated, and he refuses to do that. Any choice Steve makes has to be his own.

“I am,” he says honestly. “But if you want, we can leave the cottage set up for you just in case—”

“No,” Steve says firmly. Bucky is surprised by the severity of his tone. “I don’t want a ‘just in case.’” Steve faces him now and looks at him, his mouth set in a worried line. Bucky nods immediately, reaching out to grab Steve’s hand and bring his knuckles to his lips.

“I don’t either. I’m all in, if you are,” Bucky says calmly. Steve searches his expression again, but then he exhales relieved, relaxing into Bucky’s touch.

“I am,” Steve says. “I’m all in.” Then he’s pulling Bucky in. His hand grips Bucky’s neck, and he kisses him with reckless abandon, his hands pulling him in tighter like he’s afraid Bucky will turn to dust if he doesn't hold him steady. Bucky responds the only way he knows how— giving all of himself to Steve, mind, body, and heart.

The sun is lower in the sky now, showering them in the warm golden light of an approaching sunset. It casts rays over them as they take each other’s breath. They pull apart breathing quickly, their smiles dopey and love drunk.

“We should go home,” Steve says, exhaling. He traces his thumb over Bucky’s lower lip, and Bucky takes it in his mouth, eyes closed, sucking gently. Steve bites his lip, watching. Bucky nods, reading him clearly. They pack up the birthday picnic hastily, laughing at each other as they fumble to the car.

 Steve takes the windy back road a little faster than he probably should, but Bucky’s anticipation is pooling in his gut, and he’d be doing the same. This isn’t the first time they’ve stumbled through the front door in each other’s hold, but it is the first time they’ve done it with their feelings unabashed and overflowing. 

Bucky slips his tongue into Steves’s mouth, metal fingers coming to hold him firmly by the neck. Steve responds to the pressure, moaning lightly, and running both of his hands through Bucky’s hair hungrily.

“Fuck I love you,” Steve says desperately. His fingers work on undoing Bucky’s jeans while Bucky walks him backwards towards the bedroom. The feeling of Steve’s fingers that close to his dick has Bucky’s head swimming. He kisses him eagerly, tasting the intensity of Steve’s words.

“I love you too,” Bucky says, nipping at Steve’s neck as they cross the doorway of their bedroom. Bucky pops the button on Steve’s jeans and feels for the give of his zipper. Steve exhales sharply when Bucky slides his hand into his boxers to feel him. Steve’s cock is rock hard, and Bucky sucks marks under Steve’s jaw as he strokes him.

Steve pulls him into a feverish kiss, his own hands helping Bucky step out of his pants and boxers. Steve sheds his too and encourages Bucky to sit down onto the edge of the bed. He lifts their shirts off easily, dropping them. Bucky’s heart rate spikes when Steve straddles him. Steve presses himself, fully hard, against Bucky and rolls his hips wickedly. The gasp and moan in unison.

Bucky’s eyes roll back, the sensation overtaking him. Steve spits into his palm, moving to wrap his large hand around both of them. When he takes Bucky’s cock in his hand, Bucky curses. He digs desperate fingers into the flesh of Steve’s ass while Steve works him over with a wet grip. The slide of their cocks together is agonizing.

“Fuck,” Bucky says, his voice tight. Steve rocks his hips, grinding their cocks. The feeling consumes Bucky, and frankly he’s not sure how he hasn’t exploded yet. He thrusts up, relishing in the wet heat of Steve on top of him.

“Oh fuck,” Steve says as he holds Bucky by the shoulders, grinding painfully slow, his head falling back. Bringing his head back, he kisses Bucky distractedly, his mind clouded by the friction. Bucky can barely stand it. Pressing his feet flat to the floor and wrapping his hands under Steve’s legs, he lifts him. Bucky turns them easily, laying Steve down on the bed. He’s on top of him immediately, thrusting his cock up against Steve’s.

“Oh—” Steve moans breathlessly. It’s the perfect encouragement. Bucky licks and sucks greedy marks up and across Steve’s neck. He slides lower, flicking his tongue over Steve’s nipple. Steve bends to his touch, his back lifting from the bed, hand moving automatically to Bucky’s hair.

“What do you want?” Bucky asks, already knowing. Steve whines under his touch.

“You,” Steve says weakly. His breathing is heavy, and Bucky’s cock throbs at the request.

“What do you want from me?” Bucky repeats, dragging his tongue up Steve’s neck, biting his jaw. The man shivers under him, his hand grabbing Bucky’s arm firmly.

“You know what I want,” Steve says defiantly. Bucky grins, following Steve’s lead. They finally had this conversation, and Bucky was shocked to find out how much of a role his metal arm played in Steve’s sexual fantasies. Nonetheless, Bucky had been eagerly waiting to explore this with Steve. Per his request, he was going to fucking ruin him.

“Say it,” he demands in Steve’s ear. Steve bucks up in frustration. His need is greater than Bucky’s ever seen it. The trust required from Steve to give himself over like this makes Bucky’s mouth water. “Come on baby, tell me.”

Bucky whispers it in his ear, sucking on the lobe gently. He trails a featherlight touch down the inside of Steve’s thigh, and the noise he makes is indecent.

“I want you to,” Steve chokes as Bucky ghosts a finger over his hole. “ Oh .”

“To what baby?” Bucky spits into his palm, strokes Steve now, slow and wet.

“Oh God, Bucky,” Steve’s body contorts, his legs digging into the bed to give him leverage to fuck Bucky’s fist. Bucky pins him down with one hand, stops stroking.

“No,” he growls. “Say it. What do you want me to do?” Steve’s fingers still dig into the flesh of Bucky’s arm.

“Hold me down and fuck me,” Steve gasps. The flame of Bucky’s arousal goes up, engulfing him like a forest fire. He kisses Steve fiercely, rutting their cocks together.

“Flip over,” Bucky orders. Steve obliges, rolling and spreading his legs immediately. Bucky takes a handful of his ass, his metal fingers pressing just hard enough. Steve thrusts back, eagerly. Bucky laughs, bending to kiss the flesh of his ass before biting it gently.

He sucks a finger till its dripping and teases Steve’s entrance. The man gasps. Bucky pushes in slowly, barely giving Steve any release.

“Get on with it,” Steve grits out. Mistake. Pulling out, Bucky plasters himself against Steve’s back, his metal arm wrapping around him, fingers gripping Steve by the throat. Bucky’s cock slides between Steve’s cheeks, pressing at his entrance, and he has to bite his lip to keep himself from moaning.

“Steve,” he warns, gripping his throat firmly, not cutting off air, but holding him strongly in place. He tightens his grip, and Steve shivers against him.

“Just want it, want it so bad,” Steve begs. “Please.”

Bucky bites his shoulder, the feel of Steve’s hot skin beneath him driving him mad. He leans back and refocuses. Lubing up his fingers properly now, Bucky works Steve open slowly. The sight before him has his cock throbbing, precome dripping impatiently. Steve is absolutely desperate for it, his ass up and spread, both hands fisting the bed sheets.

“ Ah, oh fuck,” he moans as Bucky hooks his fingers inside him. Bucky knows when he finds his target because Steve jolts like he’s been shocked. “Right there, fuck.”

Bucky picks up the pace, more for his benefit than for Steve’s. He isn’t going to last very long inside Steve if he listens to much more of this fucked out begging. Tempted to push Steve just a little further, Bucky curls his fingers, lowering his head.

“Did you prep for me?” he asks gently, voice still dripping with desire.

“You know I did,” Steve says, lightly fucking himself on Bucky’s fingers.

“Mmm, good boy,” Bucky praises. He continues to finger Steve, enjoying the heat and closeness, and then he leans forward, adding his tongue. Steve jerks surprised.

“Oh my God,” he cries. Bucky flicks his tongue over and around his hole while his fingers work easily. Steve is whimpering his pleas as Bucky tastes him. “Fuck, yes.” Bucky licks him eagerly, angling his head to fuck him with his tongue.

“You can’t,” Steve gasps. “You have to stop. I’m not gonna last.”

“Is that really what you want?” Bucky asks, dipping his tongue back in. Steve thrusts back unconsciously, chasing more of Bucky’s tongue.

“I want you inside me,” he says, voice breathless and fuck if Bucky doesn’t want that too. Bucky feels confident in how stretched Steve is, so he relents. Withdrawing his fingers and tongue, Bucky watches Steve exhale, regaining a sliver of his composure.

“You’re so beautiful, Steve,” Bucky says, breaking character slightly. In his defence, Steve never said he couldn’t talk sweetly while he fucked him senseless.

“If you don’t shut up and fuck me,” Steve says. Bucky grins, taking the bait. With a metal hand splayed on his back, pinning Steve down, Bucky lines up and pushes in.

“You’re mouthy, huh?” he says burying his cock in Steve’s ass.

“Finally,” Steve moans loudly. “Fuck… yes, come on.”

Bucky rocks forward, losing himself in the tight heat. He’s embarrassingly close already, but wills himself to continue. He has no trouble finding his rhythm. Steve clenches around him, and Bucky closes his eyes, thrusting faster.

“So tight,” Bucky muses to himself. Steve rocks from the consistent force of Bucky’s thrusts, panting. His arms are above his head, fingers white from gripping the bed, his shoulders bulging, muscles contracting angrily.

“ Ah, ah, fuck, yes, fuck me,” Steve’s breaths match Bucky’s rhythm, a chorus. Bucky obliges, driving into him. His brain is so electrified with the feelings and sounds of Steve that it takes him a moment to remember what Steve asked for.

Taking a handful of Steve’s hair with one hand, Bucky wraps his other hand around Steve’s throat and lifts him up so he’s upright, angled slightly forward. Bucky fucks into him harder, driving his cock as deep as he can while Steve falls apart in front of him.

“Oh God, shit, yes,” he cries desperately as Bucky pounds into him. Bucky concentrates carefully on gripping Steve by the neck with his metal fingers without hurting him. Steve’s own hand comes up to cover Bucky’s, skin over metal. To his surprise, Steve presses harder, digging Bucky’s fingers into his neck a little harder.

“Shit, Steve,” Bucky says, his hips snapping forward. He lets go of Steve’s hair, so he can snake that arm around Steve’s middle. When he’s got him in his arms tightly, Bucky fucks him quickly.

He’s never fucked anyone like this, his cock dragging sinfully in and out of Steve. Bucky continues to thrust punishingly. Steve’s broken speech spews out of him, and he cries out when Bucky nails his sweet spot.

“Oh God,” Steve cries. Bucky needs to calm himself down, not ready to be done yet, so he pushes all the way in, burying his cock deep and grinds into Steve. “ Fuck .”

“You’re so good on my cock,” Bucky says, his voice filthy in Steve’s ear. Steve nods helplessly.

“More,” he begs, swallowing under Bucky’s grip. Bucky grinds harder, impossibly close. Bucky rolls his hips, the tip of his cock continuously nudging Steve’s prostate.

Bucky eases up, letting go of Steve and slipping out. He nudges Steve to move, so he’s laying on his back. Bucky drops down, pressing his full body to Steve’s and kissing him deeply. Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist, kissing him desperately.

“I love you,” Bucky says, lifting Steve’s legs.

“I’d love you more if you were fucking me,” Steve quips, grinning. Bucky smirks and leans forward, licking into Steve’s mouth as he thrusts back in hard. “ Fuck. ”

“You were saying?” Bucky mocks, finding his pace again. He bends Steve in half, ankles by his shoulders, fucking him into the bed. He snaps his hips hard and fast, the sound of skin echoing in the room. Steve’s too busy moaning to offer a witty reply, and Bucky can barely focus looking at Steve, slack jawed and writhing under him. “Shit, you look so good.”

Steve’s eyelashes fan out over his cheeks, his mouth hanging open, a chorus of oh’s filtering into the room as Bucky fucks him towards the finish line. Bucky feels his resolve slipping and knows he is perilously close to losing it. He snaps his hips faster, harder, driving into Steve deeply. He licks his hand before wrapping it around Steve’s cock which is dripping with precome. His hand slides easily, pumping Steve as he fills him.

“Close,” Steve breathes out hotly. Bucky grips him tighter, the slick slide of his fingers filthy and wet, his cock still dragging deliciously inside Steve’s ass. Steve spasms, clenching around Bucky’s dick as he comes, shooting off between them. Steve moans, back arching, as he shudders through the intensity of his climax.

“Fuck, yes, just like that,” Bucky says, coming apart above him. The sight of Steve’s cock, pulsing and shooting across his stomach makes Bucky lose it. He’s been on the edge, and that tips him over. He buries himself deep, grinding his cock into Steve before he comes with a shout.

Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s waist weakly, the aftershocks of his orgasm still controlling him. Bucky hunches roughly as he unloads. Steve moans softly, his foot hooked around Bucky’s back, holding him in place.

“Holy shit,” he pants. Bucky collapses on top of him, trying to catch his breath. They lie like that, sweaty and breathless. Eventually Bucky slips out, coming to rest on Steve’s chest again, and he laughs.

“I can’t feel my legs,” he says, carding a hand through Bucky’s hair.

“You’re welcome,” Bucky says. Steve laughs again, tipping Bucky’s face towards him. He kisses him gently.

“That was perfect. Thank you,” Steve says. “I love you.” Bucky smiles, his hand stroking Steve’s jaw. He’s so far gone it’s insane.

********

After a few days of a pouty Steve following him around the house insisting but what will I pull , Bucky cuts his hair. He leaves a decent amount on top, tufts of chocolate brown, and keeps the sides a bit shorter. After so much time with his long hair, he quite likes the shorter look. Steve does too.

When Steve saw it he whistled. The second thing he did was stick his hand in it and grab a handful, measuring. Yeah that’ll still work , he had smirked. Bucky had chuckled, and they tested Steve’s theory later that night to confirm that his hair was indeed still long enough to be pulled.

Now, since March bled into April, the days were brighter and warmer. Tonight was no exception. Steve had the windows open, and a cool breeze drifted into the living room while the sun hung low in the sky. He fiddles with the knobs on the old record player he found last week at the flea market. Bucky sits cross legged on the couch smiling fondly at him.

The machine finally whirs to life, and the soft crooning sounds of trumpets start up as the mellow vibrations of jazz fills the space. Steve turns, smiling gently. He crosses the living room and holds a hand out to Bucky. Bucky blushes stupidly.

“Dance with me?” he asks. Bucky chuckles but nods. He takes Steve’s hand and is pulled up easily. Steve wraps an arm around his back, lacing the fingers of their other hands and holding them to his chest. They start to sway as the gentle, sultry voice of Kitty Kallen swirls around them.

You’ll never know how many dreams I dream about you , she sings. Steve holds him close, leading them with small swaying steps. Bucky looks up at him and smiles lightly, a bit stunned by the intimacy. Kiss me once, then kiss me twice, then kiss me once again. He presses a soft kiss to Steve’s lips before letting his head rest on Steve’s chest.

Steve’s hand rubs soft circles on Bucky’s back, and Bucky lets himself get lost in the music, the moment, and the love. The trumpets’ golden notes continue to sway with them, guiding them from side to side, still in each other's arms.

The words dance around them, holding them together. Haven't felt like this my dear since can’t remember when, it's been a long long time . Bucky smiles against Steve’s chest and thinks yes it has been a long time, but now he’s looking forward to the rest.