Chapter 1: Memories
There was a war carved into each line of his face--he’d lost the sweet, laughing creases that formed beside his storm-blue eyes, echoing a simpler time. Steve could only watch him like this. Sleeping, legs curled protectively against his middle with a soft ferality. This Bucky was not the one Steve remembered. His Bucky was life, and mirth, and joy. This Bucky was ravaged, hollow, brutal. Steve bit back a sob. Time, he thought, imploringly, he needs time. He knew that, objectively, but he was still undeniably anxious that This Bucky would never fully remember His Bucky, or even want to.
Steve sat, defeated, in the chair opposite the couch on which Bucky soundly slept. They were in his Brooklyn apartment, having moved there one week prior from the Avengers Tower. Tony had disagreed, concerned with Bucky’s rehabilitation, but Steve has been adamant about the move. He didn’t want Bucky feeling like a test subject, and he hoped that immersing him in his hometown would somehow accelerate the healing of his memory. It was naive, Steve knew, but it was all he had. Today was the first day Steve had succeeded in getting Bucky to take a shower. Bucky didn’t like water, for reasons that caused Steve heart to falter, and so it had taken a week of gentle encouragement (and in parts, the stench), to get him clean. That was hours ago, and yet Bucky’s shoulder-length hair was still damp in places, hanging down his lax face in waves of brown, past his shoulders. He wore a pair of Steve’s grey sweats and a black t-shirt, which clung delicately to his chest and muscled arms, flesh and metal alike. Steve rested his head against the back of the chair, eyes still wandering, intimately mapping This Bucky’s body.
Everyday with Bucky brought back new memories for Steve, things he’d hidden deep in his subconscious after Bucky’s fall and Captain America’s resurrection. Now, the floodgate was open. He had some good memories connected to the shower, though. The one in their old, tiny Brooklyn apartment had been pretty finicky--sometimes hot, sometimes cold, sometimes both. They saved water by showering together.
There was one evening, in particular, when Bucky came home from the docks bragging about a dame asking him out dancing. Bucky did that from time to time, to make their relationship less obvious. Steve hated it, fiercely, but understood. The exaggerated bragging, though, Bucky did to get a rise out of Steve.
Bucky slammed the door shut against the cracked, wooden frame, muting the windy howls and pelting raindrops. His short, dark hair stuck against his wet forehead, resting haphazardly above his storm-blue eyes. His work shirt was damp as well; he flung it off onto the small dining table without finesse. After toeing off his shoes, Bucky crossed through the make-shift living room to stand behind the threadbare, worn floral couch where Steve sat, sketchbook on his lap. He rested his ice-cold hands on Steve’s warm face from behind, eliciting a high-pitched yelp from the smaller man. Steve turned, indignantly, to face his aggressor, and slapped Bucky’s calloused hands off of him.
Bucky grinned. “Aw, Stevie, you don’t like my hands? Fine,” he moved away towards the kitchen, passing the old linoleum counter, “I’ll stay over here.” He turned back after finding an apple, and took a loud, dramatic bite as he eyed Steve.
Steve met his gaze, and smiled. “Run your hands under the tap, they’re freezing.” He crossed his arms on top of his timeworn sketchbook, eyeing Bucky’s chest, which was solely covered by a tight undershirt. “Then you can touch me where ever you like.”
Bucky pouted, propping his elbows on the counter and resting his face in his hands. “No, I’m sad now. Punk.” Steve rolled his eyes. Bucky noticed, exclaiming, “I’m serious! At least the girls at the dock like me. Stevie, I swear, this one dame practically threw herself at me!” Bucky dramatically grabbed the fridge behind him in demonstration. “Couldn’t get enough. Me’n her are going out tonight.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “You’re completely full of it, Buck. If anything, you begged her to take you out.”
Bucky turned to face Steve indignantly. “I don’t need’ta beg!” He crossed from behind the counter to where Steve sat on the couch, and perched beside him. He pulled the blonde closer, brushing their legs together, whispering, “You know I’m gorgeous.”
“So humble, Bucky.” Steve snarked, as he turned and snaked his arms around the taller man’s neck, sketchpad falling to the tan carpet.
Bucky grinned down at him. “You know she’ll probably want to kiss me, right? Might even let her.”
Steve frowned and pushed him away. He stood, and stepped back a few paces, meeting Bucky eyes with annoyance.
Bucky rose and moved towards him, putting out his arms in invitation. “Aw, c’mon, Stevie. You know I’m yours. No dame’s ever gonna change that.” He closed the gap between them in a final step, cradling Steve’s had in his hands. Bucky stared into Steve’s eyes, and bit his lip prettily. “Want me to prove it?”
Steve kissed him, as forcefully as he could manage, then pushed him toward the bathroom. “You should shower before your date.”
Bucky pouted. “Not if you don’t come.”
Steve put his hands on his bony hips in defiance, but couldn’t resist the temptation of Bucky’s kissed-red frown. “Fine. You go in first and get ready.”
Bucky nodded, smugness lacing his pout, and turned to open the bathroom door. A moment later Steve heard the muffled harshness of water hitting tile, and hastened in putting away his sketchpad and charcoal. He walked over to the bathroom and turned the dull brass knob, steam escaping into the cool living room. Bucky had turned the temperature of the water up as hot as the boiler could manage, and had stripped gloriously naked. Steve watched as the water ran languidly down his tan, muscled back. Steve took off his shirt, pants, and underwear in quick succession in his rush to join Bucky under the spray.
“Hey,” Bucky said, turning in the shower as Steve stepped in next to him.
The shower wasn’t huge, but it was big enough to fit the two men comfortably.
Steve responded,“Hey, Buck,” while leaning up to kiss Bucky’s dampened mouth. The kiss was closed-mouth, warm, and heady from the steam. Bucky was the first deepen the kiss, poking his tongue tenderly along Steve’s bottom lip. Steve parted his lips with a sigh, allowing Bucky to lick greedily into his mouth. Steve moaned as their tongues danced, reaching out to run his hands down Bucky’s toned chest. Bucky moaned into Steve’s mouth as the blonde reached down towards his cock, bucking up to his touch.
“ Stevie,” Bucky breathed heavily, as Steve wrapped his nimble fingers around Bucky’s rapidly thickening length.
“Yeah, Buck?” Steve purred, slowly working his hand up and down the brunette’s impressive cock. Steve began to kiss Bucky’s neck as he rubbed his sensitive cockhead, causing Bucky to thrust into the tight warmth of Steve’s hand. Bucky moaned and threw his head back wantonly into the spray of the water. Steve let go of Bucky’s hard length as he continued to kiss down his dripping chest; Bucky whined unabashedly at the loss of friction.
“Wanna taste you,” Steve explained, stopping to lick the indentations made by Bucky’s toned abs above his navel. Bucky then reached down, grabbing Steve’s arms and pulling them upward. Steve stood and eyed Bucky inquisitively.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asked, worried he’d done something to upset the wet Adonis of a man before him.
Bucky laughed and put his arms on Steve’s delicate shoulders, maneuvering their bodies so as to switch places with Steve.
“I’m s’posed to be proving it to you , Stevie. I wanna make you feel good.” Bucky leaned in to kiss Steve wetly, then mouthed along his smooth jaw, before moving down to his sensitive collarbone. He nibbled and sucked along the the jutting line, as Steve moaned above him. Bucky marked Steve’s skin like an artist on a masterpiece, reveling in the redness of the paler man’s blood beneath his fair skin. Steve whined and pushed Bucky’s wet head lower, toward his aching cock. For a man his size, Steve’s dick was large, standing red and proud above his thighs. Bucky licked into the delicious v of Steve’s hips, ignoring the blonde’s straining shaft as he sucked a bruise above his right thigh.
“ Buck,” Steve moaned, jerking his hips towards Bucky’s mouth. Bucky nosed the tip of Steve’s cock, exacting a low growl from Steve, who grabbed Bucky’s wet hair forcefully.
“ Please,” Steve begged, pulling Bucky’s head in the direction of his cock. Bucky moaned at Steve’s assertiveness and happily obliged, licking delicately at his leaking slit before taking the it fully into his mouth. Steve’s breath above him was ragged as he sucked him down; Bucky hummed appreciatively as Steve began to pull at his wet hair. Bucky pulled off Steve’s hardness with a wet pop.
“Fuck my mouth, Stevie,” he implored, staring up at Steve through his wet lashes.
Steve moaned and nodded, carefully guiding Bucky’s parted mouth onto his hard length, before thrusting forcefully towards his throat. Bucky gagged and moaned as Steve thrusted in and out of his open mouth. The blonde reached down to trace Bucky’s slick lips with his finger as his cock moved between, relishing in the obscene stretch of his mouth. Bucky tried to swallow around Steve’s length as his thrusts became more erratic, eliciting a growl from the man above him.
“Buck, Buck, I’m gonna come,” Steve moaned, thrusting deeply into Bucky’s mouth. Bucky pulled off his cock, wrapping his hand around the base to rapidly jerk Steve off, tasting the sensitive tip in tandem.
“Come for me, babe,” Bucky groaned, kneeling submissively on the shower tile, “I’m yours.”
Bucky continued pumping Steve’s cock, while he reached his head to suck the blonde’s tightening balls into his mouth.
That was it for Steve, who tipped his head back in ecstasy as he shot hot strips of white down Bucky’s shoulders and back. Bucky kissed Steve’s quivering stomach and gently moved to lick the last of Steve’s come from his softening cock.
Steve whined, “ Uhhh,” from the overstimulation, grabbing at Bucky’s arms to pull him up into a kiss.
Bucky ran his fingers through Steve’s damp, golden hair, breaking the kiss to declare, “I’m yours, Stevie, I’ve always been yours.”
Steve kissed him, hard, in response, believing it, with all his being.
“I love you.” Steve whispered above the spray, leaning in to rest his head on Bucky’s broad shoulder.
‘I love you, too, Stevie. Such a beautiful fuckin’ punk. No dames or fellas could ever compare.”
Steve pushed him off playfully. “Shut up, jerk.”
“Steve, I’m serious.” The deep blue of Bucky’s eyes stared imploringly at the blonde’s averted gaze. “Only you.”
Steve’s eyes snapped open with a start.
“Captain.” Bucky had woken from his fitful slumber; he sat, awkwardly, looking across at Steve.
Steve sat up, torn from his reverie. He rubbed his eyes. “Morning, Buck.” It was three A.M. “Did I wake you?”
Bucky looked down. “No; couldn’t sleep.” He hugged a pillow to his chest protectively. “The Asset--um-- I-- usually go into cryo after missions. M’not used to sleeping.”
Steve’s chest burned like he was being branded. God, he just wanted to go him, hold him, but he couldn’t.
“Are you hungry?”
The man huddled across from his didn’t answer.
Bucky sat, staring ahead vacantly, as if his soul had forgotten his body. Fuck , Steve thought, not this. Bucky, too, had memories. But his were more often than not the dark, tortured recollections of his time as Hydra’s merciless pet. When he remembered, he would freeze, sitting like death until the memory passed. And there was nothing Steve could do. And it hurt like hell. Steve, the brilliant tactician, Captain A-freaking-merica, had no plan, no M.O., no backup. He felt so incredibly lost, swimming against a ceaseless, red tide. He rested his head in his hands, not wanting to stare at the hollow remains of his once-breathtaking sun. Steve felt cold. He got up, hoping to warm himself with tea, and padded into the kitchen. He got out two mugs, while unconsciously humming a song that had immediately reminded him of Bucky. Brooklyn Brooklyn take me in, Steve filled the pot and placed it on the burner, Are you aware the shape I'm in, he leaned back against the counter, closing his eyes, my hands they shake my head it spins, he pictured Bucky falling...screaming…
“Captain?” Bucky had risen from the couch. “Steve?”
Steve answered, stilted, yet, composed, “I’m over here, Buck.”
I and love and you...
Chapter 2: The Asset
Steve and Bucky take a trip to the Tower to meet with Bruce. Things don't go as planned. Lines are drawn.
Some spoilers if you haven't seen the Captain America: Civil War trailers! Nothing too bad.
This chapter also features some Bucky's POV that no one asked for... but I loved writing ;)
Note that the summary has changed. I've decided to go a bit more long-fic with this one, very slow-burny.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
“You know you killed my parents, right?” Tony greeted Steve and Bucky as they exited the elevator onto the Tower’s penthouse floor.
“Tony-” Steve began, shooting him a withering look, before Bucky answered, simply, “I don’t remember. Sounds like something I’d do.”
Tony smirked. “Lovely.” He turned to Steve, “I’m just messing with him, Cap. Your assassin-boyfriend has quite the history. That many confirmed kills; I’m becoming a fan. Except when he tried to shoot me--that was distinctly not cool.”
Steve rolled his eyes. “Are you done?”
“I’m never really done, Gramps. But, time is money.” Tony’s gaze flicked upward. “JARVIS, is Banner ready for them?”
The AI responded, smoothly, “Yes, Mr. Stark. Dr. Banner is prepared for his analysis of Sergeant Barnes in Med-Bay 13.”
“Great.” Tony turned back to the men in front of him. “You guys heard the man--head down to 13.” His eyes flicked to Steve. “Once he’s settled, Rogers, I’d like to have a word.”
The granite was cold beneath The Asset’s feet. He’d kicked off his combat boots, as instructed by the lab-coated, bookish man in front of him, who he presumed to be Dr. Banner. The room itself was cold, and windowless, and sterile. The white walls were unblemished, save for where the Captain stood, watching, at his 9 o’clock. The Asset was uncomfortable. The examination room was far too resemblant of his cryochamber in the Hydra base; he felt tense, wary. His eyes scanned the room, looking for exits. If things went awry, there was a door and two vents on the eastern wall. The only problem would be the Captain and the doctor, who, in his current form, would be a small obstacle. He shivered. His head hurt like it was being slowly cleaved in two. God . The Asset didn’t want to run. He wanted to be fixed. He wanted to sleep again, and eat, and remember. To be him. Bucky .
“...and I’m going to look at the new esophagus biopsy samples with the TEM.” The Dr. Continued, explaining his analysis.
The Captain cocked his head, questioningly.
The Asset responded, “Transmission Electron Microscope.” He was technically proficient in most scientific arenas. “It’s, um, just a very powerful microscope.”
“Right,” continued the Doctor, “and I’m hoping to identify the level of tissue degradation of the esophagus walls, to see why you’re having trouble eating. They had you on some form of intravenous nutrient solution, correct?”
“Yeah. No solid food in cryo.”
The Captain looked pained. The Doctor-- Banner- -looked down at his chart.
“Hopefully once I figure out the extent of the damage to your throat, we can work on a diet plan that’ll slowly strengthen your esophagus, so you can eat solid food again.”
The Captain nodded. “Okay, good. Are you gonna collect the sample now?”
“Yes, but it’s a two-man procedure. And since Bucky here is America’s most-wanted, I didn’t tell my assistant who we’d be operating on. So,” Banner opened a drawer and pulled out what looked like a long, skin-colored glove, “You’re going to have to wear this. And tie up your hair.”
Banner handed the glove to the Asset, who pulled in on his mechanical arm. It molded flush against the metal, barely distinguishable from his flesh arm.
Banner inspected his work. “Perfect. Here,” he handed him a black hair band, which the Asset used to sloppily tie back his hair.
“And you’re going to need to change out of those clothes.” Banner reached out to give him a blue-and-white hospital gown.
The Asset nodded and began to remove his navy wind-breaker and grey t-shirt. He moved to unbutton his jeans when the Captain coughed, sharply. The Asset stopped undressing.
The Captain’s face had turned a subtle red. “I should go. Uh, You alright here, Buck?”
The Asset nodded as he searched the Captain’s face for the source of his distress. No physical danger, the Asset thought, yet the speed of Steve’s heartbeat was palpably rapid. Odd.
“Okay, um,” The Captain looked down and moved to turn away, “I’ll be upstairs if anyone needs me.
He exited the operating room, looking back one last time at the Asset’s face. The Asset frowned, and returned to removing his pants, kicking them off to the corner of the room. He put on the hospital gown as the Doctor made his final preparations. The side-door slid open, and a woman, likely aged between thirty and thirty-five, entered. She, too, was clad in a lab-coat, and held what appeared to be a grey-handled, nine-inch long needle. The Asset was no stranger to painful procedures. He sat back on the operating table.
The woman grimaced. “He should really be put under for this, Bruce.”
The Doctor looked up from where he was setting up the ultrasound. “There’s no use, Addy. He refused. And Steve backed him up.”
And anesthesia doesn’t work on super-soldiers, the Asset mused.
“Alright,” Banner walked over to where the Asset rested in the operating table, “Addy here is going to do an ultrasound on your throat,” he gestured to the projection screen, “which will show up there. That way I can see how far the needle has to go in to get a clear sample.”
The Asset rested his head back, relaxed as a crouching lion.
“Ready?” Banner asked, gesturing his assistant forward.
The Asset gritted his teeth. “Do it.”
Steve’s head was a tempest. Thoughts crashed and thundered, erratic, as if searching for a far-off shore. His cheeks burned.
“ Turn him in?”
“Don’t look at me like that.” Tony rubbed a hand down his face, frustrated. “Steve, we’re not Gods. If we can't accept limitations, we're no better than the bad guys.”
Steve glared up from where he was sitting, blue eyes narrowed to slits. “We’ve made mistakes,” he responded, fuming, “some more than others. But the safest hands are still our own.”
Tony crossed his arms. “Even his? Rogers, he doesn’t even remember you! It it really worth it?”
Steve stood, slamming his hands down on the table. “He’s worth everything, Tony.”
Tony shook his head, grimacing in disbelief. “Sometimes I want to punch you in your perfect teeth.”
Steve walked to where Tony stood beside the door. “I’m not going to let anything happen to him. Not again .” He leaned forward, large and imposing in front of the smaller man. “I don’t care what I have to do to make that happen.” He turned away towards the door.
“Captain,” Steve turned his head, “This isn’t going to get easier. And some of them out there are a lot less friendly than me. The world’s changing.” Then, quieter, “Be careful, Steve.”
He turned and walked out.
The Asset watched as the Captain paced around the living room, biting his bottom lip to a harsh red. The blonde man hadn’t said much on the short trip back from the tower, yet the Asset could taste his fear unmistakeably.
“Captain.” The pacing did not slow. “ Steve .”
“Wha-” The blonde turned promptly to face the Asset. He eyes were cloudy, wounded; he halted his steps.
“M’sorry, Buck. God , I didn’t even ask how your surgery went.” He pinched the bridge of his nose angrily. “I’m a terrible person. Shit .”
The Captain rarely swore, the Asset noted, and his erraticness was becoming more and more concerning. As far as the mission was concerned, the mission to save himself required the Captain’s survival. That he was certain of.
“It was fine. They got the sample,” the Asset cocked his head, questioningly, “Are you... alright?”
“Yeah. Sorry,” the Captain collapsed onto the couch, closing his eyes as he uttered, “Actually no. Tony wants to turn you in.”
Gears turned in the Assets head. He calculated the probability that the Captain agreed with Mr. Stark, finding it the unfavorable odd. He tensed, prepared to fight, and, if necessary, escape.
“And…?” The Asset searched Steve’s agony for respite, unsure how to proceed.
“I don’t know, Buck.” He looked up at the assassin’s face, eyes softening. “Of course I’m not going to turn you in. But we’re not safe here. Not anymore.”
The Asset furrowed his brow, stating clearly, “I can protect you.”
The Captain shot him an odd look, which the Asset analyzed to no avail. He was getting rusty. People are books, he affirmed silently. Not him.
“I don’t need--” the Captain shook his head, “protection, Buck. I don’t know if we can stop what’s coming. We have to leave.”
The Asset had already devised getaway plans A, B, and C, but had difficulty factoring in the Captain. It wasn’t a variable he was used to. He paused. “So, where do we go?”
“I have a cabin upstate, Northville. Built it with Sam, uh, Falcon’s, help last summer. Stark doesn’t know about it.”
Steve fiddled with the hem of his soft, navy shirt, responding, “She doesn’t know. I don’t-” he scratched at his arm, “know her views on all this. It’s better if we keep her out of it.”
“Okay,” the Asset watched Steve steadily, “When do we leave?”
Steve stood. “Now.”
Thanks for reading!
Sorry for the Stony pain I honestly wish my children would get along, but alas.
Please comment! It would warm my stucky-filled heart!