Whatever it takes

Independent Steve Rogers of the MCU

[camerica]

Steve's staying home this fourth of July to watch a nice funny movie with some popcorn and strawberry licorice. He'll thank whatever guardian angel told the powers that be that he's not very fond of the firework show.

[sicariav]

camerica asked: "We're friends. Friends tell friends things."

"Yeah? Well I still haven't forgiven you for making me watch Heroes. How's that for somethin'?" Idle hands are the devil's playthings so idle hands play with the hem of his sleeve.

"I mean, it's kinda charming in an 'early two-thousands' kind of way." Good for an eyeroll if those muscles are lacking.

[camerica]

Does he look personally offended? Because he is. How dare you Bucky, how absolutely dare you!

"Hate to break your illusion Buck, but it is an early 'two-thousands' show." Alright so it has its quirks he'll give Bucky that at least, but to be fair to the early 2000's era it was pretty good back then. Or so he was told.

[camerica]

[rejectory]

Did Steve just evict him from his bathroom.

And why is this about his sensibilities again.

And why is Steve all ‘uh.’ Bucky doesn’t remember anything about a neat freak. Or pedantic about personal space. The mess ain’t that bad. That come in clutch with the serum-up?

Steve’s pretty face is doing a thing. --They haven’t done that together before, or?

There’s a thousand-mile nothing far as the ear can hear. He knows all the ways to be unsettling without words. Somehow, he doesn’t want to put Steve through that. Like this.

“ Sure. Sounds good. ”

Fun, even.

Like Star Spangle over here’s supposed to plug into the telepathic memo as to which one, radio silence’s back on. Bucky’ll give him a hint.

He shoves the hand he can’t feel into Steve’s closet. Rearranges its guts and fishes. He catches one. Too small, but intentionally. He’s starting to get the pattern. He grabs another.

They’re going out. Well, one’a them is.

“ Can you... ”

Not watch the part where he’s gotta cozy his balls into underwear that are yours, my guy? Jesus.

[camerica]

Huh? Oh, yeah, right! Okay. Steve hops to his feet like the bed's just come alive and bit him and luckily there's no comforter sticking to his ass so into the bathroom he scurries. There's a ringlet of soap still around the tub where the bath water rose to and he swallows harder than he intends, thinks he might've pulled something in his neck there.

He turns on the water and watches the spray wash it away like there's meaning behind it and Steve tries to grasp what but that knot in his gut is loosening by a smidge so it's good...right? Gotta be.

He doesn't take forever washing away the sticky but he does find new places it somehow reached like under his armpit, at the top of the crack in his ass, it's thicker in his hair and his nose is all wrinkled throughout the process. Gross. Syrup's shelved with the things he doesn't like for a while. Does that ruin pancakes too? Damn, he liked Deb's pancakes.

Bucky's got the only towel he had left wrapped around his waist and

Oh shit.

"Hey, Buck?" His head peeps out from the bathroom door, cracked open only far enough he can stick his face through, the rest of him's cocked sideways out of sight.

"I don't have a towel in here, mind uh..." Next on his list of laundry are the towels. They'll have to double up since Bucky's room isn't ready yet. The basics are there, Tony's just waiting on 'his guy' to deliver the furniture. He assumes. Tony's got 'a guy' for everything. Right down to his overly expensive day wear.

[superrman]

{xx}

[taylor-titmouse]

the secret to writing good smut that doesn't feel like you're just repeating the same words for junk and fucking over and over is to spend your effort writing about everything happening around the sex and everything happening inside the heads of the people having sex and before you know it you have four paragraphs of introspection and two paragraphs describing the space and it's okay to use the word cock again

[rejectory]

Weird question to ask the guy in your bathroom.

“ Yeah? ”

Or what?

Bucky almost shows some tooth, fucking around like this. What’d this new age do to Steve Rogers? Make a God-fearing Catholic boy outta him?

Out there, back then, you woulda hauled ass-out across the barracks if ya had to. He’s so hell-bent Steve would have that he doesn’t care if he did. Or if that errs on any side of truth.

Truth is turtles all the way down with the tendency to pancake.

Out there, back then. He gets into a loop here. He half thinks he’s conflating two different theres and thens. And then Steve’s in.

He swipes a towel over his junk at the last kosher second, badly. He kind of fixes it, keeping eye contact like this is perfectly normal.

[camerica]

Steve closes the door behind him and slips further in. No Bucky out here so he's probably having a shave in the-

Bathroom...

He hasn't seen Bucky half nude like this since high-school gym class. Since he filled out those muscles and... His eyes travel and even if there was a way to disguise it he didn't have the mind to. It's somewhere sailing between those pecs and the V line disappearing into the towel. Only realizes he's been staring so hard when his throat closes up. Uh right. Right, breathings a thing he needs to do.

He hasn't felt this nervous since that assistant laid one on him back in 44. He scratches the back of his neck and breaks the spell, looks elsewhere while he finds a reason to uh...give him privacy.

"Just uh...came to take a shower of my own. Clothes are in the washer for good measure. You pick out anything you like yet?" Gonna...go do that now so he turns to. Wait no- should probably shower first. Back to- Bucky. Mhm.

"I uh- if you need more time...I can wait." The comforter can be washed if he gets it sticky. It'll give him time to knock some sense back into his head. It's just Bucky. They've shared the same space before they can do it again. Never mind that things feel different. Distant yet so close he can reach out and brush fingertips with the old him.

Bucky's trying so damn hard, so he can too. It's the least he can do. Sitting on the end of the bed he clears his throat and fixates on the fold of his hands into one another.

"So, I was thinkin', since I fucked breakfast up so bad why don't we go out to eat? Or if you're feelin' lazy, could order in. Whichever sounds better to you."

[bubbarnes]

“... category is: dopamine dressing an der cotê d'azur und sebastian stan liefert.”

[rejectory]

“ W—- ”

He gets a Stark feeling from Steve now. Motormouthy, ADHD. You take on other people like matryoshka coats when you’ve been drinking from the same cups, laughing at the same things. Do they? Laugh at the same stuff?

That’s fine. It’s professional person of Steve to have his own people.

Eyes bright, Bucky picks Steve’s dropped factual ammo up like dirty laundry for later. Which, all things considered.

Straight-faced, “ Not Thor’s. ”

Don’t ask him how he knows. And not Steve’s, either. Again, classified.

He’s forgotten the boxers and socks more than left them on. By Steve’s jumpy-biceped side, the guns of it all, he transports to a time of Maytags and lye soap.

Clamping at Steve’s earlobe, he pulls a syrupy smack off of it.

“ Be good. ”

And not a sore loser. He licks the bellies of his fingers on the fourth stair up.

*

He draws a bath so ugly hot it gives the sampling back of his hand baby skin.

Sometimes he thinks they’d hammered guilt out of him, that he can’t feel it anymore. ‘Cause he sure doesn’t now. Hey. Steve should be cleanin’ up. He’s the one who escalated shit into ground combat, fair is fair.

Bucky shifts. The water purls, gobbles over him. Of course he knew the map to Steve’s room. Place smells of him as far as the hallway, of which there’s lots more than you think. His tub’s bigger than it needs to be.

He goes at the fine-plated in-betweens of his metal fingers with a toothbrush he’d (also) swiped from someone else’s bathroom.

[camerica]

First instinct is to swipe at the hand that reaches, too used to Barton poking and prodding as he passes just to get a rise out of him like a little brother he never dreamed he'd get. His hand's frozen mid-air, his ear left tingling and his eyes travel with Bucky. All six some feet of him, four feet wide at the shoulders, boxers hanging on by a miracle.

The tingle's traveled to the back of his skull where it hums and builds until its all he can hear. A minute later, he's still staring even though the hallway's just another empty space.

Brain pleasantly empty for once, his shoulders sag and his fingers touch the base of his lobe feather light. The buzzing lessens. His fingers find purchase where Bucky's used to be. Brain switch: on. All he can focus on is the feeling of his own touch. It's not the same but that sensation creeps down his spine forcing an involuntary shudder through old fractures. Right down into the.. Bucky didn't mean it. The Winter Soldier did. Steve's nose wrinkles at the leftover residue gluing fingers to earlobe.

"Ugh..." Nat would tell him he's turning into a caveman how expressive his words are. He just might, having Bucky around. Okay, quick rinse, head under the sink, clear it too, move Bucky's clothes to the wa- wait. Shit.

One strip down and clothes scrub later both their outfits can go in the washroom. All he knows is toss in a scoop of that, two dissolvables, and the clothes come out good as new. His washer didn't have the fancy new buttons just a dial. Start and-

They've still gotta eat. Good thing he has Deb's Diner on speed dial but would Bucky want to go out in public or stay here? Should he ask? Not asking and having delivery is like saying 'you're a prisoner here as much as you were there'. Going out in public invites looks, scrutiny, potentially a mobbing of 'sign this sign that, selfie?'. He can't just throw on some readers and expect to get by.

Steve sinks down against the metal siding of the washer as it kicks up and he stares at his phone screen praying there'll be some answer from an unasked source. Bucky's been playing the part of 'okay' so well it's hard to know if it's the truth or not. Can't just ask him, he knows the answer he'll get.

Is he going to hide in the washroom while Bucky gets decent?

Be good.

Heat creeps into that ear and he reaches to tug it. Stop being weird... Just go ask him. Used to have to line up under nozzles in the war, no privacy back then unless you made it. Got the cold water too if you weren't fast enough. No- clean the kitchen. Wait. Be good.

Two and a half containers of bleach wipes later and the place is sparkling, Tony'll be pleased. Won't be if he sees a super soldier in his bloomers standing around doing nothing so he slinks upstairs.

"Hey Buck, you decent?" Just a head poked in through the crack in the door to make sure.

[rejectory]

Say squeeze! Patriotically.

“Always so humble.”

How do you do it, Steven? Does it come, a) unnaturally

b) with the urologic help of S.H.I.E.L.D.’s grabby hand up your ass

or b)oth?

It’s like hearing Vought’s cue cards. You’d think Steve’d be the first rageful G.I. in line making sure the art of ventriloquism was going extinct.

But it’s so nice to get some spinal support for once, right?

The next flash turns his teeth silver. His left hand has made it to Steve’s shoulder. They look happy.

Homelander lets go.

“Can’t get drunk, either, huh? Have you tried?”

[camerica]

"Haven't had the time." Now he does. And if the champagne fountain doesn't stop flowing, he'll drink it dry today. He can sense the buildup like a tsunami reaching its crest before it decides to hit shore and he's standing there in the middle of town square watching it instead of running. Smart or stupid, he'll find out eventually. Can't outrun Homelander, what'd he clock at again? He's inevitable.

"You?" Maybe it's not the question that makes him uncomfortable but the way it's asked. Maybe both. Maybe just because it's Homelander. Can it be all three? Steve's betting it is. Okay stuff it down, play nice, give whatever this is a shot. Most importantly take a breath. He needs it. His nose has been in his drink every opportunity he gets. Don't make it too obvious.

"This was really sweet of you, really, thanks." Is it a good time to take a step away and get a little less Homelander flavored air? Yeah, the hair on the back of his neck has been at attention ever since he entered the room.

[rejectory]

No, he does not ‘wanna spray down.’ He’d routinely been punched down with a hose of hovering-zero water for clean-up, minutes on end, and left clutching air over the drain in a shrimp curl. Coughing. Teeth loose in his mouth. That was after the begging—somehow, that took ages to stick. That it didn’t matter. He could smell true cold.

boots boots boots

Keep going.

Keep going. It’s nothing. He musters up sounding like a rudely pointing finger. Which one’s Steve’s pick entirely.

“ Have you done this before? ”

With him or somebody else. Steve’s too knowing about it. As methodical as Bucky is about losing the, Jesus H. Christ, new (swiped) T-shirt, thinking about other things than a strip-down command. That one’s easy. It’s blank. A sheet smoothness of doing.

(– is it? Steve’s guy? Bucky can’t tell.)

He pops the button on his pants. Great to know who to hold over Steve’s head and which rib to tickle in case of emergency.

[camerica]

"What, made breakfast? Once or twice. Team came back from a hard mission exhausted, spirits took a hit." He'd tried to make it up to them, make the tough calls. He burnt the pancakes. Who knew chocolate chips melted so damn fast? Second stickiest mistake but at least that didn't get on him.

"Toss those here. Thanks." Steve stares a little longer than he means to at the bare skin not just because it's out of place in a kitchen. Something feels...off. Even in the middle of an army encampment, mud as far as the eye can see, changing was something you did in private. Bucky stripped down like it didn't matter.

It settles heavier in his gut than he expects and his focus turns back on the soaking clothes in the sink the moment those hands go for the pants, giving them a good toss and turn to feel for the worst of the sticky mess. He works it loose and the furrow of his brow is automatic. It's starting to sink in.

"Tony uh...he's- particular. He's the kinda guy who'd yell at you for putting food down the garbage disposal so... None of this ever happened. I'll clean up, you can go get a shower, get changed. You know which one's my room right? Clothes might be a little tight, but we can go shopping. Get you some new ones." He knows he's rambling and it's not distracting him from the feeling at all. There's a question in there somewhere he just can't put his finger on it. Or maybe he just doesn't want to know.

"What size are you now?" Twice the size since the train, that's for sure. What'd they feed him, steroids? Jesus Buck.

[camerica]

[camerica]

It's not the full force he knows Bucky's capable of (the bruising's healed fine but the mental is on a hair trigger) but its enough to loosen his grip, give him a good shot at-

"O-w my nip-" You know the sound of a balloon when it eeks out the last of its air? Yeah, that's his lungs right now. Square over the pectorals it winds him long enough he loses his grip entirely and wilts to the side to gasp in another lungful before they fully collapse. He's grinning hard, reminded of Thor's advice when he took one too many from a literal god.

Bucky's no god, but he's got the closest punch to one and he's keen on watching that body shimmy its way out from his reach. Oh no you don't. A well placed heel in the divot between countertops and he's launching for him again. Bucky's gonna eat that syrup if it's the last thing he does.

He lands face first into a chest, wriggles and writhes up to plant his ass right on his best friend's stomach where he can't buck him off without a real proper struggle. Sticky hands go for the wrists, wrangle them in despite their flailing and though it takes a hefty few minutes to manage, he's got them pinned above Bucky's head.

Sure took a lot out of him though, he's panting hard and grimacing at the way his sweat intermingles with the goop slathered through his hair.

"Go on...give in Bucky. Say the words." Just like those times they were in the ring, before Bucky left for the war.

You're gonna need to learn how to fight Rogers. I'm not gonna be here to save your scrawny ass.

You sure weren't, Buck.

[rejectory]

What on God’s green earth does Rogers think Bucky is, an exotic dancer? Hell is up with that choice of pose?

He’d shake off the weird, but it’s welded onto him beltwise by about a hundred years or so of mulish ‘cause I said so. His armpits are already sweaty. He lets Steve keep both the hands if he wants them so bad. Sure.

His jaw puts up a fight. Bug wriggling won’t do him any good. Neither will growling like a stomach, but he still does it.

He hates the clammies and intimacies of the human body. It’s got a surplus of reconciling left to do in his head.

Fine. He’ll say the words.

He’ll do it.

“ Kiss. ”

“ My. ”

“ Ass. ”

Being made to do stuff, just like old times. Ain’t that homely.

[camerica]

Steve's smile is slow to bloom but the retort tickles his funny bone somewhere deep and it latches on so he bursts out into a toothy grin, laughing as he eases up on those arms.

"That's my guy." Alright fine you can have your arms back Bucky, and as he shifts to get his weight onto his knees he pats the man's thigh and presses down on that chest to hoist himself back to his feet, nose wrinkling at the way the syrup squishes in between his fingers.

"Ugh..." He's done with syrup for the next decade he swears. When he's finally up and mobile the damage is assessed and- gonna have to throw even his shoes into the wash and hope nothing got inside.

"You know, if Tony asks I'm blaming you." Don't call his bluff cause he doesn't think Tony likes the idea of having an ex-assassin hanging around just yet. Speaking of, pretty sure there are some bleach wipes somewhere in the cabinets. Under the sink maybe? BINGO! Oh he's saved. Wait, can they even leave the kitchen without trailing spider web thin trails of goop?

"Sink's got one of those nozzle shower things, wanna spray down? Might have to strip down here just to be safe." They're lucky Tony's at a conference right now or they'd be dead meat.

[camerica]

[steverumlow]

[5ummit]

Actual Angel Sam Wilson

[camerica]

I think I look pretty good, all things considered.

What things, Rumlow. What things have you considered?