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Bucky Barnes was minding his own business, walking down 6th with nothing more planned for another boring day of leave than to wander down to Dominique Ansel Bakery and see what all the fuss was about cronuts.
It wasn’t that he particularly missed getting shot at. Well, maybe a little bit. But he needed to get a hobby before leave was up, other than wandering the city looking for things to eat like he was shoring up nice calories before being sent back to Army rations.
The ground trembles and he freezes, taking a moment to figure out if it’s something actually happening or inside his own head. The people around his start screaming and dropping to the floor, so he guesses it’s real.
There is a low hum, and he turns, following the sound to the big eyesore that is Stark Tower, just in time to see a shaft of blue light spear upwards and punch a hole in reality.
Bucky’s eyes water as he stares at the tear in the sky opening, the splinter of light forcing it wider.
With a brief, disappointed glance down 6th, because there was no way in hell he was getting any pastries today, he starts running towards Manhattan.

A swarm of… things pour out of the hole in the sky and spiral down to earth. People on the streets stopping and gawping upwards. Cars come screeching to a halt in the streets, people opening their doors and windows to look out at the shapes plummeting down towards them. Fucking idiots.
He looks around until he sees a police officer and jogs over. “You need to get these people off the streets,” he calls out. “Get them down into the subway, or any buildings with basements.”
The cop stares at him blankly. Bucky snaps his fingers under the guys nose. “Big scary things falling out of the sky! You’re payed to protect and serve, so protect and serve!”
The cop blinks as Bucky taps his walkie talkie. “Get the people off the streets. Into the subway, or as near as you can damn well manage. Keep them off the streets.”
One of the things lands, crashing into the street, flipping one of the cars and tearing up a chunk of sidewalk. Bucky gets a brief glimpse of a chariot shaped like woven bones or insect limbs. It collides with a taxi, crumpling it like paper. A creature climbs out, grey skinned and dressed in gold armour with a face that Bucky is going to have nightmares about. It waves a heavy, bronzed object at them, curved and shell-like and lit from within with eerie blue light. Some snipers instinct in Bucky recognises it as a weapon.
It moves towards them, speaking in a harsh, guttural tone that makes Bucky’s ears itch. It raises the weapon and Bucky rushes forward, snatching up a chunk of rubble from the ground and hefting it at the creature, cracking it across it’s exposed jaw. The concrete shatters at the impact, spraying them both with debris, the creature staggering backwards. Bucky grabs another rock and aims for the creature's head, the gold band across its brow crumpling under the force of the blow. The creature drops to the ground and Bucky aims one last time, stomach turning as it’s skull splits open with a sickeningly wet, brittle crack.
Bucky drops the rock and picks up the shell-like weapon, his hands trembling and sticky with ichor. He swallows down the bile in the back of his throat and figures out how it works, aware of more of those things coming down from the sky. His hand fits there, inside the mechanism, and he lifts the device, pointing it at one of the chariots wheeling above them. He follows its descent, breathes out slowly and squeezes. There is a blast of blue light and a kick that shudders up to his shoulder, and the chariot bursts apart, pieces spinning down to the ground.
Bucky turns back to the police officer, who is staring at him, open mouthed and shivering. “Get the people into the subway. Get them into basements. Get them anywhere but the fucking street, okay?”
The man nods, grabs his walkie talkie and starts to repeat Bucky’s instructions.

Bucky heads north, keeping low and using the abandoned vehicles as cover. Enterprising (or possibly suicidal) news helicopters soar over the city, occasionally pausing to film Bucky as he makes his way towards Central Park, moving on when it becomes apparent that he’s not a superhero or that guy with the magic hammer. He takes out as many of the H.R. Geiger looking chariots and their creepy fucking occupants as he can. He can’t figure out what powers the weapon he’s carrying, but it runs out eventually. He uses it as a club, smashing in the face of one of the creatures roaming the street (he’s still not quite ready to think of them as aliens, but really, what else could they be?) and taking its gun-thing.
He sees a flash of gold and red overhead every now and then as he moves through the streets. Iron Man. He’d been on tour when the whole Iron Man debacle had gone down, Billionaire playboy genius gets shot at with his own weapons and has a change of conscience. Change of conscience meaning he built a massive, fuck-off robot suit and blew up some terrorists.
Bucky had been on leave when Captain America had been pulled out of the ice, and had sat on his ma’s couch watching the live news report as the Cap was brought home. Bucky had grown up with stories of the Howling Commandos. Fuck, it was half the reason he joined the army, and he had breathed a quiet sigh of relief when the Cap woke up. And maybe had a bit of a chuckle when he punched his way out of the SHIELD medical facility and went for a walk around Times Square.

There is a deep, bass roar that seems to start somewhere in the pit of his stomach and ripples outwards, and Bucky looks up to the tear in the sky over Manhattan. Something pushes through the void, a narrow serpentine face followed by a bulky, heavily armoured body that barely fits through the portal. He glimpses bronze plates and exposed vertebrae. A body so vast that he struggles to comprehend it. Long, skeletal fins sculling through the air like it was water.
Bucky’s knees give way and he sits heavily in the rubble, staring upwards.
Shit. He’s going to die. Aliens are pouring into New York city. Aliens and fucking sky-whales and he’s got one weird looking gun-thing that’s about ready to give out and he’s going to die.
Ma is going to be so pissed. He survived two tours of Afghanistan and made it back to New York only he’s going to get eaten by a fucking sky-whale and he is never going to try a fucking cronut.
He hears an odd ringing sound, like a wet finger against a glass, followed by a thump, a little further north.
Bucky gets to his feet and adjusts his grip on his weapon. Fine. So he’s going to die. But they’ve gotta catch him first, and no Barnes ever went down without a fight.
He makes a right, following the odd sound down 56th towards Madison.

Bucky gets the drop on one of the grey bastards and secures himself a fresh weapon. He turns onto Park and narrowly avoids getting hit in the face with a giant frisbee.
It slices through the two grey fuckers that were tailing him, ricocheting off a wall and flying back into the outstretched arm of Captain fucking America.
“Thanks,” Bucky manages to stutter.
The Cap slots his arm through the straps on the back of the shield, securing it in place.
“Sir, you need to get off the streets and into one of the safety zones,” the Cap says in his imposing, all American way.
“Fuck that,” Bucky retorts, raising the gun-thing and blasting the alien creeping up behind Mr Red-White-And-Condescending.
The Captain looks over at the body, and up close his costume is kind of ridiculous, cherry red and navy blue. Whatever it’s made of doesn’t look particularly durable either, it’s certainly not kevlar. The man sticks out like a sore thumb amongst the dust and rubble.
“Appreciate the help, sir, but this isn’t a place for civilians,” the Cap says, turning back to face him.
Bucky grins at him. “Not a civilian. Sergeant James Barnes with the 107th.”
The Captain looks around. “They called in the army?”
Bucky shakes his head, this is way too much fun. “Nope. Just happened to be here.”
The Captain considers for a moment. “Good to meet you. Steve Rogers.”
“Kind of guessed,” Bucky lifts up his weapon and shoots another chariot out of the sky. “Call me Bucky.”
The Captain grins at him. Yeah. Way too much fun.
“Bucky? I’m headed over to Manhattan. You coming?” Steve raises his eyebrows. “Unless you need a break? Sit down? Glass of water?”
Bucky’s grin gets impossibly wider. Little shit.
“Oh, so that’s how it is, huh?” he starts running, knowing full well Steve can catch up without breaking a sweat.
“That’s how it is,” a red, white and asshole blur calls out as he speeds past.

They work their way west along 57th, pausing to watch Iron Man tear through one of the massive sky-whales and watch as it tumbles to the earth. Steve, and Bucky at some point will allow himself a moment to get a little lightheaded over being able to call Captain Tightpants Steve. When he’s not hauling his (particularly fine, he’ll admit) ass out of a corner or covering his reckless hide as he throws himself into battle.
Shit, Bucky thinks to himself, if he was impulsive, Steve was damn-near suicidal. The man just couldn’t stay out of trouble, hurling himself into whole armies of grey fuckers and spinning his shield. It was all very impressive to watch, but Bucky’s heart was in his mouth half the time as he kept his weapon up, taking aim and blasting any of the bastards who looked anywhere near getting a shot at taking Steve down.
And when the dust clears Steve just sets his shield on his arm and gives Bucky the biggest, dumbest grin like he’s having the time of his life before charging off into the fray again.
Bucky swears under his breath and tries to keep up.

They meet the Asgardian, albeit briefly. He gives Bucky a weird Norse God greeting that mostly entails gripping his forearm in his enormous hand and calling him ‘Shield-brother’ before spinning his hammer around and flinging himself at one of the sky-whales, and punching it to pieces.
Bucky watches, slack-jawed, as armour plates rain down from above.
“This is not how I thought today was going to turn out,” Bucky mutters as he tosses another useless alien weapon aside, picking up a long, pointed sceptre. It takes a little longer to figure out how to use it, but it’s pretty good at taking down the flying jerks.
“No?” Steve performs a balletic move that separates a grey bastards head from it’s body.
“Thought it would be a lot more boring. Go to Soho, get a cronut. Try not to die of excitement.” He shrugs before taking aim at another chariot and firing.
“A what?”
Bucky lets the sceptre in his hands drop a little, and gives Steve an incredulous look.
“Seriously? How long have you been out of the ice? You never heard of a cronut?” Bucky shakes his head. “You know we got all sorts of crap now. The ISS, google, television. These carriages of no-horse-drawn are called cars, by the way.”
Steve snorts and spins his shield into an approaching troupe of grey bastards. “We had cars when I was a kid.”
Bucky shoots down another chariot. There’s a grey creeping up on Steve, but he can’t get a clear shot of it without risking Steve, so he charges forward and drives the shaft of the sceptre through it’s torso. He twists the shaft as he pulls back and tips the creature onto it’s side, bracing his foot on its flank before dragging the sceptre free. It’s coated with dark, tacky blood, and useless.
Steve picks up another weapon and tosses it to Bucky. “Thanks.”
“Anytime,” Bucky responds, catching the gun-thing and fitting it to his arm. “But when this is over, I’m taking you out for deep fried pastries.”
Steve looks startled, his ears going a charming shade of pink.
“Okay,” he says quietly.
Bucky hasn’t even started to process that when the big green guy shows up.

The Hulk isn’t actually that bad, though Bucky doesn’t try and get close. The big green guy stares at Bucky for a moment before dismissing him with a snort. He responds to Steve’s instructions, though, which boil down to ‘Smash shit up’, though delivered with a little more finesse. Bucky steps back and watches as the Hulk launches himself into the air and tears a path through the buildings in pursuit of one of the sky-whales.
Bucky has barely caught his breath when Steve launches himself into back into the fight, taking out the grey bastards (Chitauri?) in twos and threes while Bucky keeps on his six.
There are more of them the closer they get to the Stark Tower, clustered in groups and lurking in the ruins, waiting for an opening.
Steve is fast, but one of them is faster, and gets a shot off a split second before Bucky takes it down. The force of the blast knocks Steve’s feet out from under him and he collapses face first in the rubble.
Bucky yells out to him, launching himself across the bonnet of the overturned car between them and crouching down at his side. Steve lets out a weak groan, and Bucky has never heard a sweeter sound. He’s not dead. Thank fuck he’s not dead.
There is movement between the crumpled cars around them and Bucky gives Steve a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Stay down,” he orders before straightening up, planting his feet either side of Steve’s hips like a human shield and aiming his weapon.
He’s sparing with his shots, taking each creature that raises it’s head out with a single, clean headshot, not letting the barrel drop even when the area seems cleared.
Steve slowly gets up on his hands and knees, and Bucky shifts around him, keeping himself between the man at his feet and any any possible attackers.
Steve slowly gets to his feet, his stupid uniform caked in concrete and dust, the cut above his brow already closing up.
“Thanks,” he sighs, his shield clasped loosely in his hand.
Bucky affords him a quick glance. “You need a minute to sit down? Glass of water?”
Steve grins at him, his expression open and unguarded. Bucky’s heart thumps painfully in his chest, because that’s not Captain America grinning at him like an idiot, that’s Steve. And it’s the most beautiful thing he has ever seen.
He manages to clamp his mouth shut before he says anything stupid.

Bucky picks up another weapon as they reach the Stark Tower.
“No offense to the guy, but that thing sure is ugly,” Bucky comments when he looks up at the tower.
Steve nods emphatically. “I know, right?”
They can’t see what’s happening up there, but Steve seems pretty confident that his friends are taking care of it. The big green guy seems to be having fun leaping around above them, snatching chariots out of the air and smashing them into one another. There’s a feller who seems to think he’s Robin Hood or something up there too.
They get jumped by a group of Chitauri, and Steve hurls himself into the crowd, knocking them down like bowling pins while Bucky covers him.
“Steve, you are seriously lacking self preservation instincts,” Bucky yells as he shoots down another grey bastard, dodging the blasts aimed in his direction.
“I don’t need any, I’ve got you,” Steve laughs.
And that. Well, that feels pretty good.
Iron Man flies past them, wrestling something that looks alarmingly like a nuke and heading up for the hole in the sky. Bucky really hopes the guy knows what he's doing.
Maybe he’s distracted by Tinhead flying past with an explosive big enough to take out New York. Maybe he’s tired from running around after a supersoldier. Maybe he’s just unlucky, surviving two tours of Afghanistan only to go down nine miles from the house he was born in.

A Chitauri gets a lucky shot, and a pulse of blue light streaks past him, close enough to singe his hair. He feels suddenly off-kilter, like his center of gravity has shifted to one side, and drops to his knees. Everything is spinning, bright dots dancing across his field of vision. He’s vaguely aware of Steve beside him, of arms wrapping around him. Steve’s gloves are really stupid, Bucky thinks absently. Brick red leather to match his boots. Bucky shivers and leans into Steve’s arms, his enhanced body throwing out heat like a furnace.
Steve’s mouth is moving, though Bucky can’t hear what he’s saying. Everything has gotten much too bright. Steve pulls him closer, and Bucky lifts his hands to brace them against Steve’s broad chest. Only one hand touches the dust streaked navy fabric, and Bucky looks down to his left.
Nothing there but air. At the shoulder a charred stump where a minute ago his left arm had been. Bucky stares at his shoulder, and it’s getting harder to focus.
Steve brushes a hand across Bucky’s cheek, tilting his head away from the damage and back to face him. Steve is a far more pleasant thing to look at, so Bucky turns willingly, blinking dumbly as Steve strokes a thumb across his cheekbone. His eyes are wide and blue, as blue as the ocean. His lips are still moving. They’re very nice lips, Bucky has to admit, full and pink and inviting. The world is fading out, too bright, like an overexposed reel of film. Bucky lifts his head and presses his mouth to those soft, sweet lips. Sees those blue eyes widen before all the colour leaves the world and soon after all the light.
And, for a moment, before the world slips away, Steve kisses him back.

He drifts for a while, the lines between waking and sleeping blurred. Starched sheets. hands on his skin. Murmured voices. The sharp scratch of a needle. Throughout it all two hands wrapped around his and a soft voice, barely audible. The press of lips against his knuckles.
He wakes slowly. There is a weight against his hip. He reaches down to touch it and feels short hair, greasy and crusted with grit. He strokes through the strands, concrete dust gathering under his fingernails as his eyes adjust to the light.
There is something painful lodged under Bucky's ribcage, thumping in time with his heartbeat, it aches, and he treasures it.
“Hey,” he murmurs, his voice hoarse.
Steve sits bolt upright, pulling away from Bucky’s caressing fingers, and he finds himself missing the touch immediately.
“Bucky?” Steve whispers, panicked. “Are you in pain? Do you need a doctor?”
He shakes his head. He can’t stop smiling.
Steve brings a plastic cup of water to his lips. “You were intubated, so you’re throats gonna be sore.”
Steve looks terrible. Beautiful too, but still wearing his ridiculous costume, the red white and blue barely visible under the dirt and dark splotches of Chitauri innards. There’s a fuzz of dark blonde stubble on his jaw, his hair sticking up from where Bucky’s had his fingers in it.
Bucky swallows the water gratefully, closing his eyes as Steve sets the cup down on a bedside table. “I gotta tell you something,” he rasps.
Steve’s eyes widen, and he wraps Bucky’s solitary hand in his own, careful of the cannula taped to the back of his hand. “It’s okay, Buck.”
“It’s important, you gotta listen.”
Steve nods, bringing Bucky’s hand up to his mouth. “I’m listening.”
“The internet is great and all,” he says softly. “But you can’t believe everything you read. And never, ever read the comments. That’s the bottom half of the internet, never go there.”
Steve stares at him for a moment, his mouth open, and Bucky can’t help the cracked little chuckle that rasps its way out of his mouth.
“Jerk,” Steve murmurs, pressing his lips to Bucky’s fingers.
“Aw, c’mon,” Bucky brushes the back of his fingers across a stubbled cheek. “Call me one of them old-timey names. Tell me I’m a pill or something.”
Steve huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “You’re the cats meow, Buck.”
“Now that’s more like it.” He brushes his thumb across Steve’s full lips. “Go home, take a shower. You smell like crap.”
Steve shakes his head. “Not going anywhere.”
That lump in Bucky’s chest swells, warmth spreading across his skin. “Go home, punk. Go eat something and get out of that halloween costume of yours.” Bucky curls a fingertip under the neckline of the suit and tugs, pulling Steve down to him. “Then come back to me, alright?” he brushes their mouths together, his lips dry and rough.
“Don’t do anything stupid,” Bucky murmurs as he starts to drift off to sleep.
“How can I?” Steve whispers, pressing a kiss to his forehead. “Leaving all the stupid right here.”

Bucky blinks, his eyes gritty and sore, and wakes. It takes a few seconds to get his bearings. Hospital. Arm shot off by an alien. Steve.
Steve isn’t here, and Bucky remembers sending him home. The chair that had been pulled up right up against his side is now down at the foot of the bed, the bored looking occupant poking at his phone.
Bucky feels numb, pain poking up from under the blanket or morphine when he focuses on it. His throat is dry and scraped raw. He swallows and coughs, and a figure sat in the chair by the bed looks up from his phone, curious.
Bucky waits for his vision to clear and takes a good look at the man. He has a neatly trimmed goatee and a tinted glasses that probably cost more than a months rent on Bucky’s apartment. The suit probably cost more than the apartment itself.
Bucky looks around and sees the little table beside him, set out with a jug of water and a plastic cup, half filled with water. He reaches for the cup, tugging the cannula taped to the back of his hand in a strange, painful way that makes his skin crawl. There is a pulse oximeter clamped to his index finger, the wire trailing down the side of the bed and up to a heart monitor.
He manages to grab hold of the cup. The guy doesn’t offer to help, but stares, fascinated, as Bucky gets his fingers wrapped around the plastic rim and brings it to his mouth, spilling a little on his hospital gown.
Bucky swallows and clears his throat. “Mr Stark,” he rasps.
Tony Stark, fucking Iron Man drops the phone onto the bed and presses a button. A little holographic image is thrown up from the screen and shimmers between them, a figure running towards a Chitauri with a chunk of rock. It’s head bursts open like an overripe melon. Bucky looks away, and takes another sip of water.
“We won, by the way. Saved the day, kicked ass, all that,” Tony adds.
“Yeah, I figured,” Bucky mutters. “Being alive an’ all.”
“No?” Tony says, eyebrows raised. “How about this one?” he presses another button, and a new recording comes up, Bucky and Steve - Captain America - fighting, Steve punching his way through hoards of grey bastards and Bucky at his heels. He feels a little twist of pride, they’d worked well together.
Tony watches the footage. He looks grudgingly impressed. “Well, no wonder the Capsicle is so sweet on you.”
Bucky frowns at the nickname, but doesn’t comment. Tony turns off the phone and flips it in the air, tossing it from hand to hand. Asshole.
“Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes of the 107th. Two tours of Afghanistan,” Tony says thoughtfully.
“Congratulations, you know how to google,” Bucky doesn’t keep the sarcasm out of his voice.
“You got a medal of honor too. For conspicuous gallantry at the risk of his life above -”
“Yeah, yeah, I remember the speech,” Bucky sighs and pours himself some more water, spilling a little as he does so. Tony doesn’t offer assistance, though in all honesty Bucky would probably refuse him if he did.
Tony waves his phone at Bucky. “I’ve got it right here, if you want to watch it? Very moving. Did you really -”
“Fuck, but you’re annoying,” Bucky mutters, bringing the plastic cup to his lips.
Tony snorts. “You are really not the type I thought he’d go for. I mean, seriously, I was way off. Wrong genitals and everything. Who would have thought it, Mr Prim and Proper likes dick.”
Bucky glares at him. “Are you fucking kidding me?”
Seriously, prim and proper is the last phrase he’d use to describe Steve. Reckless little shit, maybe. Or pain in the ass. It suddenly occurs to Bucky that it would be a good description of Captain America, though. He glances over the rim of his cup at Tony, and wonders how many people actually know Steve Rogers, rather than the caricature he dresses up as.
He shakes his head. “You don’t know Steve at all, do you?”

Tony stares at him for a moment, sucking on his teeth before coming to a decision.
“So here’s the thing. The Cap is sweet on you, and you seem pretty capable of keeping him out of trouble.” Tony pauses to reconsider. “Well, maybe not out of trouble, the guy throws himself out of planes without a parachute.”
Bucky chokes on his water. “What?!”
“Anyway,” Tony says loudly. “He could use back up now and then, and you two work well together, and we kind of have this team, the Avengers. ‘Earth's Mightiest Heroes’, that sort of thing. You’ve met some of them already, the demi-God, the big green rage monster.” Tony stops flipping his phone for a moment. “They all seem to like you, by the way. Enough to want you on board.”
Bucky snorts. “Bullshit. I’m not a god, I’ve not been blasted with gamma radiation and get big and green on command. I’m not even a supersoldier, just the regular kind.” He glances down at the space where his arm had been. “Not even that anymore.”
Tony waves away his concerns. “The arm thing? I’ll build you a new one. Vibranium, to go with the Cap’s shield. You want it red, white and blue too?”
Bucky can’t help but laugh. A low, rasping chuckle that quickly becomes a coughing fit.
“And as for superpowers? Mine is I’m very smart and very rich.”
“Good thing you’ve not let it go to your head,” Bucky mutters.
“We also have a couple of assassins, don’t think either of them are jacked up.” he thinks about it for a second. “Maybe Romanov. I don’t know, the point i’m making is that there’s a place. For you. If you want it.”
Bucky shakes his head. “You talked to Steve about this?”
“Talked to me about what?”
Bucky looks up and sees Steve in the doorway. He’s finally out of his ridiculous uniform, wearing khaki’s and a long sleeved black t-shirt. He’s holding a fancy little carton in his hand, the Dominique Ansel Bakery logo on the top.
“Nothing,” Tony says a little too quickly. He gets out of the chair, shoving his phone into his pocket. “I’ll leave you two to violate some hospital protocols in peace.”
Steve lets out an exasperated sigh. “Tony…”
Bucky holds out his hand. “Fuck Tony, c’mere. What did you bring me?”
Steve gives him a lopsided smile and opens the carton, revealing two cronuts one slathered in vivid red icing, the other in blue.
“Cherry and blueberry. Had them made special.”

Despite having every intention of eating both damn cronuts, Bucky can only manage half of one before getting queasy, and insists that Steve have the rest. He puts up a token fight before taking a first bite, chewing silently while Bucky recounts his conversation with Stark.
“Would you consider it,” he asks when Bucky has finished, sucking frosting off his thumb. Bucky resists the urge to tug Steve’s fingers out of his mouth and put them to his own lips. “Would you want me there?” he asks instead.
Steve smiles, his lips dusted with powdered sugar. “Yeah. I would,”
“You missed a spot,” Bucky murmurs, touching his thumb to the corner of Steve’s mouth.
He turns and presses the tip of his tongue to the rough pad of Bucky’s thumb, and Bucky curls his hand around the nape of Steve’s neck, pulling him down. Steve sighs against him, lips parting as Bucky flicks his tongue between his teeth. Butter and sugar and sweet summer berries.

Bucky wakes up, eyes adjusting to the gloom. The overhead lights have been switched off, the room bathed in moonlight from the solitary window, the half drawn blinds slicing the light into soft stripes across the blankets. Steve is curled up on his right side, one arm draped across Bucky’s chest. Bucky has his arm around Steve’s shoulders, careful of the tubes taped to the back of his hand. He can tell from the steady way Steve’s thumb is stroking back and forth across his hip that he’s awake. He moves his hand to Steve’s hair, brushing his fingertips along the sensitive skin behind Steve’s ear. Steve hums and kisses Bucky’s collarbone where it peeks out from under his hospital gown.
“Hey, Steve?” Bucky murmurs.
“What?” Steve mumbles, lips still fastened to his skin.
“You know the moon isn’t actually made of cheese, right? We sent people up to check and everything.”
Steve snorts, gripping him tightly around the waist and pressing teeth to his clavicle.
“Ow! Quit it, I’m a brave veteran wounded in the line of duty!”
Steve chuckles. “Go to sleep, Buck.”
“You gonna quit chewing on me, Rogers?”
Steve is silent for a moment. “No.”
Bucky grins. “Good.” He threads his fingers through short blond hair. “You gonna be here when I wake up?”
“Nowhere else I’d rather be,” Steve murmurs, lips brushing against Bucky’s skin.