nanslice | (no subject)

I wrote Steve/Bucky! Finally! Rated teen and up, post-catws, Bucky recovering memories.

Steve turned his head to the water, the shower almost unbearably hot against his face. His entire body was one big ache. He'd just gotten back from a mission, one that had him and Natasha running around South Africa for three weeks.

Bucky had protested violently to being left behind with Sam; while they both would have been useful, Steven couldn't in good conscious have Bucky out on the field. He was still too unstable, swinging between a dead-eyed ghost and an enraged specter. There were moments when he seemed...okay, with clear eyes and a crooked grin but those times were still too few. Steve had woken up more than once with Bucky crouched over him, metal had resting heavily on his throat.

The pace was slow, frustratingly so, but extensive therapy was helping. It was.

Turning off the shower, Steve pulled open the shower curtain and jumped, slipping a bit on the wet floor; Bucky stood in the bathroom, his back pressed against the closed door.

"Jeez, Buck," Steve said, pressing a hand against his chest. "You scared me." Bucky didn't reply and Steve reached for a towel. "I'll be out in a sec, okay? Want some breakfast? We should get some-"

"We were lovers."

Freezing, Steve gripped the towel for a moment before scrubbing it over himself roughly. "Let me get dressed-"

"Why didn't you tell me?" Bucky sounded closer and Steve startled backwards, slipping again; Bucky grabbed his arm, steadying him, even as a thundercloud grew on his brow. "You had to know I would start getting memories. Of us." His eyes dropped and Steve flushed. Attempting to pull his arm away, he only succeeded in pulling Bucky closer, the latter apparently unwilling to let him go.

"Bucky. Let me get dressed and we can talk-"

"No. Talk now."

"Bucky-"

"Tell me," Bucky said, voice raising. "Why haven't you...why didn't you..."

Steve took a deep breath. "I...Bucky, I didn't want to, to make your recovery any more difficult." He shook his head and dropped it. "I didn't want you to think that I had ulterior motives for helping you."

There was silence for a moment before cool metal curled around his jaw, jerking his head up. Bucky's eyes were narrowed, jaw clenched. "You sure you weren't just looking out for yourself?"

"Myse-"

"Not saddling yourself with a crazy person." Bucky said it evenly, even nonchalantly, but the muscles around his eye were tight.

Steve blinked rapidly, mouth gaping. "Wha...Bucky, no. No." He grabbed the wrist of Bucky's metal arm but didn't pull it from his face. "That's not it at all. I'm with you already, pal." He grinned a little helplessly. "I'm already saddled with you and I...I wouldn't have it any other way, okay?"

Bucky stared at him for a moment before nodding and pressing his mouth against Steve's in an awkward, unskilled kiss. Just as Steve realized what was happening, Bucky seemed to remember how to do it; he cupped Steve's head, tilted his own, and licked against the seam of Steve's lips. For a moment, Steve allowed it, opening his mouth and nipping at Bucky lips, before jerking back. "Wait, no."

"Why?" Bucky said impatiently, stepping into the shower and crowding Steve against the wall, his boots squeaking against the damp floor. "I want to. I want you. You...want me?"

"I do, Buck," Steve said, not sure if admitting that was the best idea. "But...you're-"

"-crazy."

"Dependent," Steve finished. "You're so dependent right now and that's...that's not a bad thing, you're recovering from something that...but I...I'm-"

"My most important thing. My only important thing." Bucky stared at him, face horribly, beautifully open, and Steve reflexively swallowed.

"It would feel like I was taking advantage of you. You...I'm your only link right now. I'm everything. I would feel like...like them. You're in such a vulnerable state-"

"That's bullshit," Bucky said, eyes widening, taking on a manic gleam. "I'm not...you would never-"

"But it would feel that way to me," Steve said gently. "You need to heal. We...we both need to heal before we start anything else."

Bucky stared at him. "But I want you," he said hoarsely.

Steve closed his eyes, pressing Bucky's hand against his cheek. "You already have me," he said. "You always did."

***

Sometimes Steve woke up with cold metal circling his throat. Sometimes Bucky raged, destroying everything he could get his hands on. Sometimes he sat in the corner of the room, shoulders slumped and eyes dead.

But small things changed. Bucky touched Steve more, gentle taps with his metal hand, his flesh hand occasionally gripping Steve's shoulders or wrists. He stared sometimes with a half-grin on his face; whenever Steve asked him about it Bucky just shook his head but that half-grin never faltered. He spoke with Natasha quietly in Russian and questioned Sam about pop culture and eventually started interacting more with the world around him.

It came to a head when Steve woke up to Bucky sitting at the foot of his bed. Hesitating for a moment, Steve lifted the covers and Bucky slid in. He curled around Steve, arms and legs gripping as if he never wanted to let go and Steve allowed it, pulling him closer and closing his eyes, letting Bucky's steady heartbeat and gentle breathing lull him back to sleep.

Also on AO3 and Tumblr.

Related (kinda), I have a new tumblr: nancreates. It's suppose to be fic/art only, although ngl I'm kinda tempted to make it a Captain America blog, h-hahaha obsession. ;3;