Steve knows from the first day of the new semester that’s he’s Fucked, capital-F Fucked, and not in the way he wants to be. Which is a god damn shame, because his new roommate and his studious lack of interest in Steve is the one who’s causing him to be Fucked, and Steve absolutely would not mind being fucked by his new roommate. He wants to, like, lick his roommate’s entire body, which is alarming because he doesn’t even know the guy’s name yet.
“What’s your name?” Steve asks, in the interest of rectifying this error.
“James Barnes. Bucky for short,” James Barnes Bucky For Short says.
“Bucky for short?” Steve asks.
“Middle name Buchanan,” Bucky explains. “And you’re Steve Rogers.”
“That’s right,” Steve says, only then remembering that he could have just gone and read the little leaflet thing that explained his roommate to him. Of course he remembered that was a thing that existed after he’d made a fool of himself. He looks mournfully at James Buchanan Barnes, who is currently bending over to get something out of his suitcase. The sight should probably be memorialised in gold, it looks that good.
Steve buries his face in his pillow and groans.
“Are you…alright?” Bucky Barnes asks hesitantly. That only makes Steve groan louder. Of course his roommate was hot and nice. The unfairness of the universe never ceased to amaze him, sometimes.
“I’m fine,” he says into what is probably some shitty cotton knockoff that’s going to end up giving him an asthma attack. “Totally, one hundred percent fine. I’m FINE.”
“…Okay,” Bucky Barnes says, sounding very uncertain, and it’s then that Steve realises his voice is probably far too muffled to understand. With no other recourse, he burrows under his duvet and attempts to merge into the mattress and become one with the springs.
Bucky Barnes proceeds to spend the rest of the week being unfailingly kind and polite to Steve. It’s the worst week that Steve has ever endured.
“He’s just so pretty, Tony,” Steve finds himself whining, about two hours into Tony’s frat party. And he does mean that apostrophe in the possessive: it might only be the beginning of their third year but somehow Tony has already taken charge of his fraternity and, especially, their parties. “And his eyes, and his shoulders, I just want to lick – stop recording me, this is embarrassing, I’m not drunk enough to embrace the camera.”
“But Bucky Barnes,” Tony says, and Steve promptly forgets all about the phone camera being held up to his face.
“He’s so pretty,” he moans. “And I moaned into my pillow and he asked whether I was okay and I think I’m in love.”
“I’m definitely projecting this onto a seven foot screen at your wedding,” Tony says, and downs two more vodka shots in celebration of this pronouncement.
“A wedding,” Steve says dreamily, even though he’s pretty sure he’s never fantasised about a wedding in his life. In his defence, he is very drunk. “Do you think he’d want a spring wedding?”
“Spring brings out your allergies,” Tony says. “Spring weddings are to be avoided at all costs, unless you want to be puffy all day.”
“Autumn wedding, then,” Steve sighs. He tries to prop his chin up on his hand but misses, three times, and then gives up and just lays his head on the tabletop. It’s sticky and gross, as tables in frat houses tend to be, but his brain is suddenly way too heavy to move. “But it’s not going to happen,” he says, feeling his voice wobble. “He’s probably straight –”
“Ew,” Tony says supportively, despite the fact that he himself is straight.
“– and my roommate –”
“– and too pretty to go out with –”
“Now that’s just dumb.”
“He’s so pretty, Tony,” Steve sighs into the tabletop. “But I moaned into my pillow and he was only concerned –”
“What?” Tony asks. His voice lists up severely at the end of the word; the vodka is starting to get to him. “Is that a new seduction technique I haven’t heard of? That’s insulting,” he frowns. “I’ve heard of all the seduction techniques. Someone should notify me when they make a new one.”
“It was an accident,” Steve says pitifully. “But he was just concerned. A gay or bi guy would’ve started thinking about sex, right?”
“Or maybe he’s just not a giant horndog like you and was legitimately concerned!” Tony exclaims. “Gay guys can be concerned about things too, Steve!”
“Concerned about my dick,” Steve mutters. “And our autumn wedding.”
“Okay,” Tony says. “Okay, okay. This is fine. This is a mission, should you choose to accept, I accept, let’s do this.”
“You’re drunk,” Steve says muzzily, though not without an element of hypocrisy because he too is very drunk. “What’re we doin?” Then his meandering thoughts go right back to Bucky, and he sighs again. “He’s just so –” he says on yet another exhale, and makes a totally incomprehensible hand movement, and feels slightly like he might cry with trying to find a word that properly describes his new roommate.
“Yes,” Tony says. “That. We’re going to calculate your chances that he wants to bone you, and then we’re going to calculate how it’s going to be done. For science!” he tries to yell, and falls off his chair.
It only makes sense for Steve to follow Tony off his chair and onto the floor, but by the time he’s made his way down there Tony has already bounced back up, which is very rude, all things considered, and is dragging Steve away from the alcohol, which is even ruder. Steve needs the alcohol to stop thinking about his roommate, and his roommate’s eyes and lips and shoulders. Oh god, his shoulders.
“Stop mumbling about licking, you sound like a lecherous old man,” Tony says as he drags the two of them into his room. His roommate Rhodey looks up from where he’s studying and the expression that flickers over his face is equally fond and annoyed.
“Hey, Steve,” he says.
“Hey Rhodey,” Steve says, at the same time that Tony indignantly starts complaining about not getting a greeting of his own.
“Hey Tony,” Rhodey says. Tony sits down on his bed and waves one arm regally at Steve.
“Get thee mine blackboard,” he says.
“Why me?” Steve asks even as he obeys. He doesn’t know how Tony had gotten a blackboard or why he kept it around, because it’s not even as though Tony works best by writing things out, he’s a tech guy through and through, but Steve’s not exactly complaining.
“Because I’m doing this to help you,” Tony says, and claps his hands.
“What are we doing?” Rhodey asks, and Steve is so touched by the show of support in the collective we that he drapes himself over Rhodey in an approximation of a hug.
“We’re finding Steve a boyfriend,” Tony says. “Via the probability of him being attracted to Steve and doing something about it and – and Steve’s balls. Or something. Steve, c’mon, get the chalk, chop chop –”
“Chalk,” Steve mutters, not moving from his position. Rhodey hands him some chalk, because Rhodey is a saint, and gently pushes Steve towards the blackboard. “Okay,” Steve says, lifting the hand with the chalk in it. “I’m ready.”
“Where to start,” Tony mutters.
“How likely is he to – to gay me up,” Steve says. “The conservative estimates are, like, 20%, right? 20% of the population is homosexual.” He scrawls 20% on the board, large and messy. The chalk screeches under his hands.
“Okay, but conservative estimates are bullshit,” Tony says. “Up it to 40.”
“30%,” Steve compromises, rubbing off the 2 and replacing it with a 3. “So I’m starting off with a 0.3 percent chance of him being gay, right?”
“But if you’re gay, that messes up the figures,” Tony says earnestly. “30% is one in three, right?”
“We’re two in three,” Steve realises, and sits down abruptly. “I’m the one. So he’s straight.”
“I didn’t say that!” Tony yells. “Because he might be the 30% as well, so you have to – you gotta - point-three times point-three,” he mutters. “Rhodey!”
“0.09,” Rhodey says, and he has the gall to sound deeply amused while Steve’s heart is breaking. Tony unceremoniously grabs the chalk from Steve’s limp hands and starts writing on the blackboard. Steve has the worst and most insensitive friends.
“There’s a zero point zero nine chance Bucky Barnes is gay,” Steve wails. “Why are we even here?”
“How are gay couples even a thing, with those kinds of numbers?” Rhodey asks. “You gotta have messed up somewhere, Tony.”
“I never mess up,” Tony says, dignified. “We’re only just beginning. Now we have to calculate – their relative attractivenesses, to each other.”
“10 out of 10,” Steve mutters from the floor. “I want to lick his face.”
“Okay, so that’s a hundred percent from Steve, ding ding ding,” Tony says. “How attracted to you do you think he is?”
“Not at all,” Steve says morosely, staring at the ceiling. “He’s straight. I have to move dorms. I can’t handle him. He distresses me.”
“Okay, bud, let’s not count you out so fast,” Tony says. “Is he, like, an ableist asshole?”
“No,” Steve mutters. “At least, I don’t think so. He knows sign language.”
“He does?” Tony asks. He sounds positively thrilled about this.
“He says he learned it by accident,” Steve says. “He meant to learn sign language for his deaf British friend but he forgot to ask what the A in ASL stood for. So now he knows ASL.” He had discovered this while Bucky had been Skyping his deaf British friend and occasionally slipping into ASL amongst all the BSL gestures. Bucky had been more than happy to explain, which was honestly unfair, because he looked so good when he was explaining things. He looked good all the time, but he especially looked good when he was explaining things. And when he was self-deprecating. Steve had wanted, slightly, to die. He was pretty sure that British friend – Monty, a charming guy who made the worst jokes, at least when they were translated by Bucky – could see it, too, which had made the whole experience approximately six hundred percent more terrible.
“Oh my god,” Tony says. “He’s just as much of a disaster as you are. You guys are, like, the match made in heaven.”
“I know,” Steve wails. “But he’s so polite and straight.”
“Okay, so,” Tony says. “He’s not an ableist asshole, so, uh, is he – does he have a type?”
“How would I know,” Steve wails. “Aside from it clearly not being me –”
“Steve, man, you need some self-esteem,” Rhodey says, not unkindly.
“Fine, fine,” Tony says. “Uhhhh…I mean, you’re a catch, Steve. You’re fun and cool and pretty…pretty all-around neat, I think.”
“Thanks,” Steve mutters.
“Rhodey, how attractive is Steve?” Tony asks. Rhodey does something that looks very much like a spit take but with no water in his mouth, for which Steve and the floor can only be, collectively, very glad.
“I…I really don’t know,” Rhodey says, a little helplessly.
“Well, know,” Tony says, grumpily.
“Like, a nine? I don’t know!” Rhodey says.
“Thanks,” Steve says.
“Nine, okay. So let’s imagine the average person’s, like, a five. And you’re a nine. So you’re…like, four points ahead of the average person. What’s nine divided by five? Or wait, shit, is it five divided by nine?”
“Nobody but you can answer that question, Tony,” Rhodey says patiently.
“It’s five divided by nine,” Tony decides. “Rhodey –?”
“It’s like 0.5, I don’t know –”
“So Steve, you’re like fifty percent more attractive than the average person,” Tony says triumphantly. “So that…we’ll just – times two –”
“Zero point zero six,” Steve says, because he might be shit at maths but he does know how to multiply things by two. “We should just pack up and go home.”
“I really think this is unnecessary,” Rhodey says. “Steve, you’re freaking yourself out. Literally just go talk to the dude.”
“But we’re roommates,” Steve wails. “If I ask him it will be awkward forever.”
“Or, alternatively, you’ll have banging sex together forever,” Tony says. “That’s a thing that could conceivably happen.”
“Yeah, at zero point zero six to one odds,” Steve says sourly. He has no idea how betting works.
“That’s not how betting works,” Rhodey says helpfully. Steve would throw something at him, if there was something convenient in his vicinity to throw and if his arms didn’t feel so hopelessly heavy.
“Okay, but seriously,” Tony says. “If he is gay and or bi your chances go up, like, astronomically, Steve. It kind of hinges on how attracted he is to the average Joe first, though. If he’s ace we’re going to have to work something else out, because zero times anything is zero.”
“Thank you for that pearl of wisdom, Sherlock,” Rhodey mutters. Tony smacks him without even shifting his gaze from the blackboard.
“Let’s say, like, twenty percent,” Tony says. “He’s twenty percent attracted to the average person.”
“That’s kind of high,” Steve mutters. “I don’t know if I’d be comfortable with my boyfriend being twenty percent attracted to a random stranger. That’s one fifth. Does that get taken out of how attractive he finds me? What if he’s surrounded by five people?”
“An orgy,” Tony says. It’s kind of surprising that the words could even come out of his mouth, given the grin that’s currently stretching it out.
Steve frowns. “I think I’m being a jackass,” he says. If something he said ended with Tony so very gleefully suggesting orgies, something had gone wrong somewhere along the way.
“You kind of are,” Rhodey says. “Even if your boyfriend is twenty percent attracted to some random, that’s not that much. And if you really think he’d act on it then maybe he shouldn’t be your boyfriend.”
“Anyway,” Tony says. “If he’s twenty percent attracted on a baseline level, and you’re twice as attractive as that, then you’re forty percent attractive.”
Steve gapes. Only forty? “Only forty?” he echoes himself. “That’s not even, like, halfway attracted!”
Tony throws his hands up in the air.
“Steve, buddy, I don’t know how to help you more than this,” Tony says. “The maths don’t lie!”
“The maths absolutely lies, especially when Tony’s drunk,” Rhodey says. “I estimate you have a sixty percent chance with your roommate, but you have your original 0.09 percent if you don’t talk to him first.”
“Those numbers sound suspiciously sketchy,” Steve mutters.
“We’ll accompany you,” Tony says earnestly.
“We’ll do no such thing,” Rhodey says firmly.
“But Steve’s just going to skip out on it if we don’t follow and support him,” Tony argues. “He’ll just go get sober and then repress his emotions and then die.”
“Of a broken heart,” Steve says, trying to draw a heart on Tony’s floor. It is harder than he’d expected, given that he has no drawing material.
“Of a broken heart, see, exactly, our Steve needs parental supervision,” Tony says. Rhodey frowns, and Tony takes it as a resounding win. “Yes! Let’s go!” he yells, bending down to haul Steve off the floor. “Go, go go, may the odds, all that.”
“You’re the worst,” Rhodey sighs, but he lets himself be dragged along by one hand and even steadies Steve with the other, so clearly he’s not terribly against the plan.
“Which building do you live in, again?” Tony asks, once he’s dragged the two of them a substantial distance away from the frat house. Steve is still drunk, but nevertheless squints determinedly against the multiple versions of reality his eyes are trying to present to him.
“There,” he says, pointing. He thinks his finger might be swaying.
“You’re going to need to describe that one a little more,” Tony says.
“It’s…a building,” Steve manages.
“That’s a great start.”
“It’s that one – on the right – next to the pointy one –”
“Anemone,” Tony says, nodding. “I remember.” Steve frowns.
“I don’t think that’s what it’s called –”
“It’s okay,” Tony says. “I know where you’re talking about. Sixth floor, right?”
“Right,” Steve says.
“Okay,” Tony says. He starts a lot of sentences with okay when he’s drunk. “We can’t actually let Steve talk to Bucky properly until the last minute, because science. It would ruin all our variables.”
“What are you proposing?” Steve asks.
“Well, one of two options,” Tony begins. “Option one: I kiss you in front of him.”
“What?” Steve asks, wrinkling his nose. “No. We tried that, remember? Not fun. Well,” he amends, “not the in front of Bucky part. Maybe he’s into that. Do you think he’s into that?” He could maybe get into that, if Bucky was into it. He’d never really thought about exhibitionism before. Or voyeurism?
“I think you’re getting way ahead of yourself,” Rhodey says. He sounds and looks like he regrets everything.
“The danger of option one is that it means he’s going to think you’re taken,” Tony says, “so even if he is, like, 100% gay for you, if he’s decent he won’t make a move.”
“No!” Steve exclaims.
“Shh,” Rhodey says, but there is no spirit in his voice.
“Option two,” Steve demands.
“I kiss Rhodey in front of him, and we see how gay he is.”
“Okay,” Steve says.
“What? No!” Rhodey snaps.
“But we’re, like, the most attractive couple ever,” Tony says. “If he likes guys, he’ll be turned on watching us. And if he’s into girls, he’ll probably still be turned on. Hm. That may be a flaw.”
“And if he doesn’t react?” Steve asks anxiously, because he can see Bucky doing that.
“Then that yields nothing and we have to try a new tactic,” Tony says.
“What about option three,” Rhodey says, “which is to shut the hell up and let Steve talk to Barnes.”
“I like talking to Bucky,” Steve says.
“That’s settled then,” Rhodey says, overly loud and glaring at Tony. “Option three it is.”
Tony starts to mutter resentfully about Rhodey being a spoilsport, but subsides.
By the time Tony has gotten them into the elevator to go to the sixth floor Steve is beginning to have doubts. He’s even kind of impressed at himself, actually, that he’s managed to hold out for this long.
“Hey,” he says, even though he knows how this is going to end, “maybe we could, like, not do this.”
“You’re a funny joker,” Tony says, patting his cheek gently.
The elevator doors open, and Steve points. This time he is more successful, and actually manages to get across which door is his door. Or he thinks so, at least, until Tony goes one door too far and needs to have his course corrected.
“Bucky Barnes? James Buchanan Bucky Barnes?” Tony asks, sticking his head in the room, because he doesn’t know what a subtle entrance is.
Bucky looks up from where he’s taking notes from his engineering textbook, and Steve wants to throw himself at the other man quite literally. From the way Rhodey’s hand tightens on his shoulder, Steve might actually have made a fair go of it.
“Steve? Are you okay?” Bucky asks, because he is a kind and caring individual that Steve wants to lick. “You must be his friends. I’m James Barnes, Bucky for short.”
“Huh,” Tony mutters. “I thought for sure Steve was having us on with the Bucky thing.”
“I never have anyone on,” Steve says. “Especially not on me. It’s a problem.” The way Bucky’s eyes go slightly wide at that is also a problem, but Steve doesn’t know whether it’s a good one or a bad one.
“Anyway,” Tony says, trying to get things back on track. Which, if Tony is the one trying to keep things on track it just makes Steve more certain that he has chosen the absolute wrong way. “We were just, you know, hypothesizing, thinking…how attracted are you to, like, a random person, on the street?”
Bucky stares. He has every right to do this. Steve buries his face in Rhodey’s shoulder.
“Not…really?” Bucky says. “At all?”
“No, no, we need a non-zero base value or it messes up our calculations,” Tony insists.
“What are you calculating,” Bucky says, not quite a question.
“…That’s confidential,” Steve says.
“No it’s not,” Rhodey says, gentle but inexorable. “That’s what we came here for.”
“I’m chickening out,” Steve announces, after approximately three seconds of thinking about it. “Goodbye.”
“You’re a spoilsport and I am pissed at you,” Tony says, but he lets himself be pushed out of the room suspiciously easily.
“I’m drunk,” Steve says at the closed door, not turning back to Bucky. “I’m not responsible for what I said. I plead the fifth.”
“You didn’t say anything,” Bucky says. “But I’d like to know what you were planning to say. Especially if it involves me.”
“Oh god,” Steve says. Oh god oh god oh god his mind repeats, a little parade of squirrel thoughts running around frantically in his skull. He’s scared that Bucky will push for an answer, but he’s just as scared that Bucky isn’t going to push. His desires are at war with each other and he can’t say he enjoys the feeling.
“It does involve me,” Bucky says suspiciously. He even narrows his eyes. Steve finds it supremely unfair that someone can look so attractive while squinting their eyes like that.
“Maybe,” he says, trying to be cagey and mostly failing.
“Good things, I hope,” Bucky says.
“The best,” Steve tries to reassure him, and then feels himself flush to the roots of his hair. “That is to say, uh, yeah, sure.”
Tony chooses that moment to reveal why he’d been pushed out of the door so easily: he banged on the other side of the wood and yelled, “KISS HIM,” so loudly that Steve was pretty sure the neighbouring buildings could hear it. Rhodey shushed him fiercely, but by then it was too late.
Steve’s face, he was pretty sure, went even redder. It may even have begun venturing into the as-yet new and unexplored territory of purple chromatics. Bucky just stared at him, mouth open.
“Uh,” Steve squeaks. “Just, just – forget about Tony. He’s drunk. He doesn’t know what he’s saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying!” Tony yells, this time at a slightly more reasonable volume. Bucky raises his eyebrows, and Steve wants to sink into the floor and become one with the wood.
“So did these calculations have anything to do with, I don’t know, hooking up with me?”
“Hooking up? Hah,” Tony says from outside.
“Shut up, Tony!” Steve yells, and throws a shoe at the door for good measure.
“More than hooking up,” Bucky guesses, and Steve is sorely tempted to take off his other shoe and throw it at Barnes.
“Okay, fine, okay, you don’t need to rub it in –”
“Yes he does!” Tony yells, but before Steve can go outside and personally eviscerate his (ex-, definitely ex-)best friend, Bucky has put warm hands on his shoulders, and Steve absolutely and positively cannot move.
“Let’s make a deal,” Bucky says, presenting Steve with a bottle of water (his bottle of water, some remaining scraps of intelligence in Steve’s brain realise, and his heart attempts to spontaneously combust out of giddiness) and pushing him towards his bed.
“I’m listening,” Steve says.
“You go to bed now,” Bucky says. “If you remember everything, and you still feel the same by tomorrow morning, then we can talk,” Bucky says firmly
“Just talk?” Steve asks. His voice definitely does not have permission to come out as crestfallen as it does.
“Well, spoiler alert,” Bucky says, voice dropping, “if you ask me – tomorrow morning – my answer’ll be yes.”
“Yes?” Steve gasps, almost dropping the water bottle as absolute elation starts to dance through his veins.
“Tomorrow,” Bucky says firmly, and tucks Steve in. Steve would complain about being treated like a child if he didn’t enjoy the sensation so much.
When Steve wakes up, it’s still dark – he blames the glass of water – but the clock on his bedside helpfully informs him that it’s 3.06 AM. And, well, Steve will maintain that he was probably still drunk at that point, but his brain immediately jumps to the fact that 3.06 AM is tomorrow, and Bucky had said yes in advance, kind of –
Which is how Steve finds himself cuddled up to Bucky Barnes the next morning. Bucky is absurdly warm and gives off absurdly safe vibes and looking at his gentle sleeping face honestly makes Steve feel almost terrifyingly tender. Like he could just lay there forever and never look his fill, but also like he would be one hundred percent willing to kill anyone who tried to disturb this. It was a potent and slightly scary mix of emotions.
Then Bucky went and opened his eyes and yawned and, wow, nope, asleep Bucky had nothing on the softness of just-awake Bucky.
“Oh,” he says. “You did come.”
“Uh,” Steve says, and blushes, because apparently he is a teenager. It helps slightly that Bucky blushes too, though.
“I mean,” Bucky stammered, “You came over here, I thought I was dreaming it, or something – that is, uh – how much do you remember from last night?”
“Enough,” Steve says. “How much do you remember?” It’s a polite out and they both know it: if Bucky wants to take back his preemptive yes, now would be the time.
Bucky does no such thing. “I wasn’t the one drunk out of my head,” he says, and he’s barely had time to get the sentence out before Steve is lunging upwards and kissing him. Bucky makes a surprised noise but then he gets with the program and puts his hand on Steve’s jaw to adjust their faces and it’s so good that Steve doesn’t even think about how awful he must taste until they’ve separated and are staring at each other and he can smell his own breath off Bucky.
“Oh, shit, sorry,” he mumbles. “Forgot to brush my teeth.”
Bucky starts laughing. “You nearly had me worried, there,” he teases, and runs a hand across Steve’s shoulder as Steve snorts.
“I had you worried,” Steve says. “Right.”
“Oh, come on! You have to know how – how inaccessible –”
“I’m inaccessible?” Steve gapes. Then he thinks about it and shuts his mouth really fast, because pretty much all the times that he’s trying not to think about Bucky he also withdraws from the Bucky beside him, which – huh. Yeah. “I was mostly thinking about you,” Steve admits. “When I, uh –”
Thankfully, he doesn’t need to finish the sentence. Bucky just grins, leans up to kiss him again.
Tony, naturally, chooses that moment to burst in the room and whoop loudly, resulting in several people yelling at him to shut up in increasingly colourful terms. Undeterred, he throws what looks like several handfuls of glitter in the air. Steve squints at him. Bucky attempts to cover up his chest, like he’s a maiden in an old film.
“Did you sleep in the building?” Steve asks, kind of horrified and kind of touched.
“He picked the lock of an empty room,” Rhodey says, with the flat voice and dead stare of a man who has been through too much. “He made us sleep here. He kept insisting that he needed to see his science through, and he made us go out this morning and bought six packets of glitter.” He pins both Steve and Bucky with a resentful look. “Please appreciate the sacrifice I’ve made.”
“We appreciate it, but more importantly, Steve’s 0.09% chance came true,” Tony says, and slaps Steve’s hand in a parody of a high five. “You done good, Steve. The odds were ever in your favour, and all that.”
“You didn’t even think you had a percent of a chance with me?” Bucky asks Steve, and his face is a mixture of horror and flattery and god-knows-what-else. Steve certainly doesn’t. “Honey, please, you don’t even know –”
“I’m pretty sure we did the maths wrong yesterday,” Steve says. Tony gapes at him and takes his revenge by picking up a handful and glitter and throwing it directly on Steve’s pillow.
“Please let’s go now,” Rhodey says, hand over the bridge of his nose.
“Are you going to clean this up?” Steve asks, poking dubiously at the glitter.
“Wrap it before you tap it,” Tony calls as Rhodey drags him from the room, totally ignoring Steve’s question. Then he tosses a box of condoms on the bed, because apparently his life’s mission is to torture Steve as much as possible. “No glove no love. You’re not a loner, cover your bo –”
He’s cut off when the door slams, and Steve has never been so relieved about the shutting of a door in his life.
“I mean…I guess you’ve met my friends, now,” Steve says, and he immediately wants to gag himself because he’s going to scare Bucky off before they even get a chance to start.
“I guess I have,” Bucky says, thoughtfully, and when he grins up at Steve, it’s as though the entire world has brightened. “Would it be bad to admit I like it better when it’s just you and me?”
“Not in this situation,” Steve says, trying his best to stay at least some degree of dignified while also simultaneously wanting to bury his head in Bucky’s chest and scream.
“Well then,” Bucky says, rolling the two of them over. “I like it better when it’s just you and me. And no glitter,” he adds, staring down at the layer of sparkles over the two of them. As glitter is wont to do, it has something managed to find its way down clothes and into crevices where there plainly should not be glitter.
“That’s fair enough,” Steve says. “But you know what we can do now?”
“Shower,” Steve announces. Bucky nods, seriously.
“And naturally we want to save the environment, you know, it only makes sense that we shower together –”
“You’re a dork,” Steve says, but that doesn’t stop his voice from sounding unreasonably fond, it doesn’t stop him from leaning forward to peck at Bucky’s nose, and it certainly doesn’t stop him from leading Bucky into the bathroom.