In Bloom (chapter 2)
a Stucky A/B/O Undercover AU
pairing: Steve Rogers x Bucky Barnes
word count: tbd
warnings: this fic contains designation-based degradation, (domestic) violence and minor smut in later chapters
a/n: this story was previously published on ao3. I deleted the account for private reasons but wanted to offer the finished story to anyone who’s interested. I aim to upload the following chapters twice a week. English is not my first language. Do not repost.
Click here for In Bloom‘s masterpost and any additional chapters.
synopsis:
“How familiar are you two with his party’s views on an Alpha’s and Omega’s place in society? Barnes?” Fury asks.
“I know the basics. Took a course on gender studies in college, sir,” Bucky says.
Steve can’t help but throw Bucky an incredulous look.
“What?” Bucky asks when he catches him looking.
“What about you, Rogers?” Fury asks.
“Can’t say I have much expertise in that area.”
“You might want to read up on that. These fuckers are crazy.”
OR
Steve is good at his job as an undercover agent for SHIELD. But spending an unknown amount of time pretending to be mates with Bucky Barnes might actually be the death of him.
- - -
Steve does his best to keep his usual weekend routine. He attempts at cleaning his apartment, goes out for his runs and tries to get all his laundry done.
Monday comes faster than he likes, though. He’s used to the knot in his stomach to disappear after his initial briefing. But it’s still ever-present when he hurries across SHIELD’s parking lot with his messenger bag slung over his shoulder to get to Fury’s office in time.
If anything, his nerves have gotten worse over the last few days.
Steve’s had an excessive amount of time to think about the mission ahead. He even went on two runs yesterday to get his head to calm down.
(It didn’t work.)
After knocking at his door, Fury grunts something as a signal for Steve to enter. He’s alone, the chair Bucky had almost lain in on Friday still empty.
Steve tries sneaking a glance at the clock on the wall – unsuccessfully apparently.
“He’s late,” Fury huffs. “Do you know where he is?”
“No, sir,” Steve says as he sits down.
“You better get used to knowing where he is,” Fury grumbles.
“Omegas are subservient to Alphas. This logically expands to all financial, legal and social decisions,” Steve parrots from the party’s pamphlet.
He didn’t really mean to internalize these words, but he spent the whole weekend pouring over that little book.
Fury looks at him like he’s debating whether to call him a teacher’s pet or something worse.
A knock at the door saves him from that decision.
“Come in!” Fury barks.
Bucky rushes in with a slew of apologies, looking like he spent the last 60 hours partying in some ditch. He’s got dark circles under his eyes and his short hair is even more disheveled than it usually is. Steve turns his head away when Bucky sits down in the chair next to him.
He also smells like he spent the last couple of days partying in an ashtray.
If he’ll apply a similar attitude to their mission, Steve’s gonna be in for a real treat.
Fury shuts Bucky up with one look.
“See that it doesn’t happen again,” he says.
“Yes, sir,” Bucky mumbles, crumbling in on himself.
Fury drags a file from a drawer and sets it down in front of him.
“You’ve had a few days to get acquainted with everything we have on Pierce and his party at the moment. What are your thoughts?”
Steve leans down and grabs his own file and notes from his bag.
“He’s smart and charismatic. Likes to surround himself with powerful Alphas. I was surprised he didn’t mate earlier, though,” he says.
Steve thinks back on his first impression of Pierce’s mate. The photograph of the young man had been hidden deep in the file.
Benjamin Pierce looked no older than twenty-four with dark hair, freckled skin, and wide impressionable eyes. Apparently, he’d become Pierce’s mate three years ago.
He only appeared in one video Steve managed to find during his research. A swooping shot had shown several tables at some Wall Street dinner party where Benjamin had been sitting next to Pierce. He looked small and insecure next to his Alpha.
“He had to find the right combination of naïve, obedient and trainable,” Bucky says.
He’s sifting through his own file, lifted from a battered backpack. He doesn’t look up while he’s talking.
“His mate is his biggest weakness. If he can’t control his own Omega, no one’s gonna look up to him for guidance. Chances are he had to recruit from the party’s inner circle. Find an Omega who was brought up with all their nonsense and no one was old enough until a few years ago.”
Steve winces at the thought. Bucky finally looks up once he finds the document he’s been looking for.
“It can also help to seem available to lure in any interested Omegas.”
“Why would they be interested in Pierce?” Steve scoffs.
Bucky shoots him a long look.
“Well, it’s not always black and white,” he says eventually.
Fury, having watched their little interaction with barely concealed interest, clears his throat.
“I think you might be right, Barnes,” he says. “Benjamin Pierce is definitely someone we should keep a close eye on. Maybe he’s not as loyal as he appears. Something you should look out for, Barnes.”
Bucky nods and scribbles something down.
“I want you to keep close to Pierce himself, Rogers. Find a way into his inner circle. Get a job, become his best friend, I don’t care.”
“Yes, sir.”
“I think it’s best if you stick to your own first names. You already know each other, we can’t risk you slipping up. I’ll let you come up with any pre-existing history for your characters yourself. Run it by me once you’re ready and we’ll get the IT unit to set up digital traces.”
Fury gives them both a piercing look with his one eye.
“If either of you have any concerns about this mission or want to get out, now’s your time. I really don’t want to delay this whole thing because one of you decides to quit a day beforehand.”
An eerie silence expands between them. The only sound is the ticking of the clock. Precisely twelve seconds pass before Bucky speaks up.
“I’m in.”
“So am I,” Steve says.
“Alright.”
Fury nods to himself and leans forward, his elbows propped up on the table.
“Let’s talk about any questions you might have.”
---
The meeting lasts another four hours. They stop for a short coffee break but barrel on right through lunch time.
Fury doesn’t make any move to delay for food, doesn’t even seem to notice the time moving. Steve’s usually good at staying attentive, but he feels his stomach stirring right around half past two. He’s practically starving by the time Fury shuffles his papers and dismisses them.
“I look forward to reading what you come up with. I also want to you to make appointments with Coulson from the wardrobe department. He’ll get you set up with all the appropriate stuff.”
He shoots Bucky’s leather jacket a withering look.
“That’s all,” Fury says.
Steve nods and says his goodbye. Bucky makes a move to follow him out of the door but stops when he’s called back.
“You stay here, Barnes,” Fury orders.
Steve catches Bucky practically wincing at Fury’s tone. He closes the door just as Bucky sits back down in front of their boss.
On his way to the cafeteria, he runs into Sam. He’s come fresh from the gym by the looks of it.
“Hey, you had lunch yet?” Steve asks.
“Yeah, man. Two hours ago,” Sam laughs.
Steve pulls a grimace.
“Fury kept us forever,” he complains.
“Us?” Sam asks.
“Bucky Barnes and me,” Steve admits.
“What were you doing with Fury?”
“Going on a mission, soon. That’s why Clint got me the other day.”
Sam’s eyebrows shoot up.
“You’re on a double job with Barnes? You? Got any juicy details for me?”
“You know it’s classified,” Steve says. “But how about a beer tomorrow? You still owe me.”
Sam rolls his eyes.
“I know, I know. Tomorrow sounds good. Lucky’s? At eight?”
“Ok. What have they got on the menu today?”
Steve nods in the direction of the cafeteria. Sam pulls a face.
“That horrible stew you like so much.”
Steve feels his face light up.
“Alright, let’s see if there’s still some left,” he says, clapping Sam on the shoulder.
He hurries down the hallways and blesses all the Gods he doesn’t believe in when there’s actually some stew left. The Beta serving him gives him a generous helping, obviously glad to get rid of as much of the meal as possible.
With a full tray in hand, Steve goes to find an empty table. It’s not exactly a hardship. There are rarely any tables occupied with the lunch hours gone by. Steve stops in his tracks when he spots a miserable figure hunched over a glass of water and a plate of fries. It’s Bucky.
Steve contemplates acting like he didn’t see him and get a table by himself, but he might as well try to get them on friendly terms. The mission won’t be a success if he and Bucky refuse to actually speak with each other.
Steve wanders over to Bucky who doesn’t seem to notice him.
“Can I join you?” he asks.
Bucky’s head snaps up, his gaze cloudy. It takes him long enough to give a curt nod that Steve’s about to turn away.
“Not hungry?” Steve asks with a nod to the untouched fries once he sat down.
Bucky still stares at him like he’s an illusion that might dissolve any second. Or like he might be pranked.
“No,” Bucky says eventually.
He looks even more wretched up close. His hangover must really be bad if even greasy fries can’t help him. Steve turns his attention to his own meal and digs into his stew. He can feel his stomach immediately stop grumbling. It’s heaven until he sees a faint notion of disgust cross Bucky’s face.
“What?”
“I thought no one actually ate that,” Bucky says.
Steve lowers his spoon.
“I don’t know why everyone keeps saying it’s horrible. I love it. Look forward to it for weeks.”
Bucky’s mouth twists into a tight line. Steve keeps on slurping his food, feeling weirdly self-conscious under the scrutiny. They sit in silence for a few minutes, only interrupted when Bucky starts drumming his fingers on the tabletop in rapid succession.
“You alright?” Steve asks, desperate for some form of conversation.
“Quit smoking last night. Or this morning. Whatever way you want to look at it,” Bucky says.
He holds Steve’s gaze for a few seconds, then looks away.
“Like a good Omega?” Steve says, enjoying having the upper hand for once.
It’s probably a testament to how out of it Bucky is that there’s no smart reply from him. He just rolls his eyes and goes back to drumming his fingers.
“We should probably set up a time to get into the personas and stuff,” Steve offers.
He scraps the last of his stew from the bottom of the bowl.
“And I’d appreciate it if I could rely on you to show up on time,” he adds carefully.
The words are barely out of his mouth, but Bucky’s already glaring at him.
“I apologized, didn’t I?” he says with irritation in his voice.
“Yes, and I just want to make sure it doesn’t happen again.”
“Is this some Alpha shit? I understand Fury reprimanding me, but we’re equals here.”
Bucky waves his hand between them.
“No, it’s not some Alpha shit,” Steve spits now, equally irritated. He’s never, ever been accused of playing up his designation in front of an Omega. “It’s not my fault you went out clubbing all weekend and are too hungover to get anywhere on time. I just think it’s disrespectful towards your teammate.”
“I guess you know it all, don’t you?” Bucky hisses. “You don’t know shit, Roger.”
He grabs his tray and marches off. Steve sees him dropping it into the holding carts with more force than necessary and leaving the cafeteria with big, angry strides.
Steve lets out a long breath.
Fucking fantastic.
---
Steve enters Lucky’s shortly before eight o’clock the next evening. The bar’s Sam’s and his usual hangout when they feel like having a drink. It’s got a few pool tables, a tiny dance floor and only a semi-sticky wooden floor. It’s also much nicer than the only other bar in town where two government employees are not always welcome.
Sam’s already sitting in their usual booth down the back with a drink in front of him. Steve makes a beeline for the bar, gets himself a beer and slides in opposite his friend.
Sam, bless him, keeps his curiosity to himself until they’ve clinked their glasses and Steve had his first sip.
“So, you and Barnes on a mission?”
“Don’t mention it,” Steve says.
“You really can’t give me any details?”
“Well, it’s got no fixed end-date.”
Sam bursts out laughing at that.
“This is amazing. What have you done in your past lives to have karma smack you around like that?”
Steve grumbles his reply into his beer.
“What happened between the two of you, anyway?” Sam asks. “You’ve had this random antipathy for Barnes for years now.”
“It’s not random,” Steve says. “Barnes is a cocky, arrogant flirt. It’s annoying.”
He’s thankful again that he’s never told anybody about their night together.
(About how Bucky’s hand had felt on his naked skin. About the feeling of Bucky’s stubble on
the inside of his thigh. About the small moans and gasps filling up the dark bedroom.)
Steve’s not interested in anybody knowing the way Bucky managed to not only humiliate him with a few choice words, but also put a serious dent into his heart.
It’s embarrassing.
Steve’s quite alright with Sam thinking he can’t stand Bucky because of the way he saw him conducting himself in locker rooms or on the rare occasion they were in the same bar.
“I don’t know about that. Riley trained him for a mission a year ago and only said good things,” Sam ponders.
“Yeah, well, I only had bad encounters with him,” Steve snaps.
It’s not a complete lie.
“Okay, okay,” Sam says and holds his hands up. “Have you thought how this mission’s supposed to work out then?”
“We’ll just have to make it work. But as it turns out, he hates me too. So at least the feeling’s mutual.”
Steve tells Sam about the encounter in the cafeteria.
“Are you sure he was hungover?”
“He reeked like an ashtray and looked like he didn’t get a wink of sleep. After a weekend. And he’s friends with Clint. Who basically lives over at Midgard when he’s not on a job.”
“There are other reasons someone looks like shit. And Clint’s calmed down a lot since he got together with Nat.”
“It doesn’t matter, does it? He acted like I was some Alpha bastard trying to relegate him down a few levels. He basically hissed at me, Sam.”
“Does Fury know about this … situation?”
“No,” Steve says and drains his beer. “I tried switching the assignments, but he won’t budge. Plus, it’s an important mission. I want to do it. I just have to figure out a way to do it with Bucky.”
Sam looks like he wants to say something else on the matter, but Steve doesn’t want to dwell on the situation any longer.
“You want another one of those?” he asks and points to Sam’s glass. “How about I’ll get you another drink and then you can tell me how it’s going with Riley?”
Sam sees right through his poor diversion tactic but nods anyway.
---
Steve spends the next days building a routine for himself. He works out at SHIELD’s gym, reads the mission’s file until he feels like he can recite all of it by heart, and starts thinking about his persona.
This is usually one of the parts he’s most excited about. It’s tactical work combined with a creative exercise. It’s also the foundation for the whole mission. A poorly constructed character can let a job crumble like a house of cards. It can also cost you your life if the wrong people sniff you out.
Steve keeps on trying, but he knows he won’t really get anywhere without Bucky. Their personas need to be in sync, tuned in with each other. One cannot exist without the other in this case.
Steve’s just resigned himself to ask someone for Bucky’s number when his phone buzzes with a new text from an unknown number.
This is Bucky. Got your number from Hill. We need to meet up for the mission. Are you free on Thursday? We can meet at my place.
Steve’s tempted to leave Bucky on read for a couple of hours but contrary to popular belief, SHIELD’s not actually a kindergarten.
Sounds good, he writes back. Text me your address. How about 3pm?
---
Bucky lives in the next town over. It’s basically a carbon copy of Steve’s town. A few bars, a couple of supermarkets, quiet streets with few passersby out. The drive is shorter than expected, so Steve spends a few idle minutes sitting behind his steering wheel, staring off into space.
He can do this. It’s nothing. He’s been over to Sam’s at least a hundred times. It’s just a meeting with a coworker. It makes sense to do this at Bucky’s place. It’s more private, more secure.
There’s also the tiny, not quite unimportant part where Steve better gets used to spending alone time with Bucky behind closed doors. He’ll just have to do his best for things not to escalate again.
He takes a final deep breath, grabs his messenger bag, and gets out of his car.
Bucky immediately buzzes him up after Steve finds the doorbell that has Barnes scribbled next to it in messy dark letters. He doesn’t bother waiting in the entrance to his apartment, though. Instead, Steve simply finds an open door on the second floor and wanders in cautiously.
He’s about to open his mouth to indicate his arrival when the scent hits him like a four-wheeler truck.
The apartment smells like cake fresh out of the oven, cinnamon, and something darker. Steel, maybe. Or fire.
It’s fucking dizzying.
Something becomes alive in his gut, his chest, his throat. Steve breathes in another lungful and momentarily has trouble thinking clearly. He wishes he could live in that smell.
Steve squeezes his eyes shut for a moment to clear his head. He doesn’t know what he expected. Of course Bucky’s apartment would have a smell to it. Scent blockers only work for a limited amount of time, and no one bothers using them when they’re not out and about.
But he never, ever expected Bucky’s scent to be like this. So warm and enticing. So, so good.
(Steve’s mind very, very nearly slips to Bucky infiltrating the air in his apartment during his heat. If his hallway smells like this, what must it be like to stand inside his bedroom? To inhale the scent of his bedsheets?)
“Do you want anything to drink?” Bucky calls from a different room, pulling Steve out of his stupor.
He can hear Bucky rummaging around, the clinking of glass mixed with the sound of drawers being shut.
Steve does his best to will the heat back down he feels travelling up his face. Thank God Bucky didn’t see his reaction to his natural scent.
“Are you sure it’s a good idea to leave your door wide open?” Steve blurts out.
He hears a faint scoff.
“Anybody who wanders in here with bad intentions is going to wish he didn’t.”
Steve takes a moment to look around the hallway where he’s still hovering uncomfortably by a full coat rack.
“Beer, coffee or water?” Bucky asks now with a slight edge to it.
“Water’s fine,” Steve says.
He takes a few careful steps forward and catches a glimpse of the living room and the kitchen where Bucky’s filling up two glasses. He’s wearing a white t-shirt with rolled up sleeves and tight black jeans. Steve forces his attention away from the curve of Bucky’s back and towards his surroundings.
The apartment seems smaller than his own, but it looks tidy and lived in. There are rugs covering the wooden floor. A vase with fresh flowers is placed on the kitchen table. Photographs are covering the hallway walls.
Bucky looks happy in them. He’s surrounded by people Steve doesn’t know, but he seems relaxed and glowing. Steve quickly looks away again, feeling like he overstepped some invisible line.
“You can leave your jacket there,” Bucky says with a nod to the coat rack when he emerges from the kitchen and walks over to the living room.
Steve sheepishly shrugs out of his jacket and follows Bucky. The scent in the living room is even stronger than it was in the hallway. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s ever come across a scent quite like this.
Steve hopes Bucky doesn’t notice any changes in his breathing pattern. He forces himself to keep drawing normal, regular breaths when all he really wants to do is bury his nose right in the couch cushions.
Stop being a fucking creep, Rogers, he tells himself.
There is really no other place to sit other than next to Bucky on the sofa, so Steve reluctantly sinks deep into the cushions.
They’re worn with use and indicate long days and nights spent lounging around on the couch. A small pile of books with various bookmarks is stacked next to the sofa. A glass door leads onto a balcony stacked with overflowing flowerpots.
Something clenches around Steve’s heart. This place is a home. It’s warm and loved and taken care of. It’s a stark contrast to his own apartment that he never really managed to transform into something resembling a territory or safe space.
His walls are blank where Bucky’s are decorated with pictures of friends and family. His floors are bare where Bucky’s feet sink into plush carpet every day. His pre-installed bookshelves are empty whereas Bucky’s are filled to the brim with thick paperbacks.
Steve stops looking around when he catches Bucky eyeing and assessing him. Silence stretches out between them. There’s not even a clock ticking somewhere.
Bucky takes a sip from his water and leans back into his couch. More silence. The air between them is still heavy with the lingering disagreement from the cafeteria and Steve’s presence in a room this private.
It’s awkward.
Steve grows increasingly uncomfortable, head swimming with Bucky’s scent and feeling self- conscious because of the tension.
“So, where should we start?” Bucky asks eventually.
Steve almost flinches at the sudden sound.
“Huh?” he asks.
“Our personas. Where should we start?”
“Oh.”
Steve leans forward and grabs the file from his messenger back, glad to have something to do. It takes him a while to find the paper with his notes.
“I think it’s best if we, um, differentiate the characters a bit,” he says. “I imagine I found out about the Traditional Designation Party online. No ties to actual people Pierce could track down.”
“But you found out about the them after we mated,” Bucky continues now. “If I stay the right amount of suspicious about everything, I can gain the trust of the more unruly Omegas. Find out what they know. If there even are any that haven’t fallen for the party’s crap.”
“That’s a walk on a tightrope, though,” Steve feels like it’s his duty to add.
The look in Bucky’s eyes is hard, confident.
“I know. I can do it.”
Steve nods. He grabs a pen from his bag and starts jotting down the details. Bucky does the same with a notepad from underneath his coffee table.
“But if I’m not all that convinced about the party, I wouldn’t have become your mate if you showed any interest in it beforehand. So, after the mating,” Bucky repeats.
“But your family is real conservative. Divorce is not an option. In a way, you’ve been raised to follow the lead of the Alpha.”
“There’s really no option but to follow you to Pierce’s homebase. Plus, I am actually in love with you. I want this bond to work out.”
Bucky says it casually, not even looking up from his notepad, but Steve’s heart stops for a second. It rattles back to life like a rusty motor.
“How about we met in a supermarket?” Steve suggests and hopes Bucky doesn’t catch the waver in his voice.
---
The tension between them starts to unravel bit by bit the longer they talk. Steve got a first
glance at Bucky’s skills during their meeting with Fury, but he can see it more clearly now.
Bucky’s great at this.
Steve has to admit, they’re a good team in this. They both offer ideas, only rarely correcting or shooting down the other’s proposal. Bucky sees the gaps in Steve’s plans and vice versa.
For the first time since their assignment, Steve’s cautiously optimistic about the mission. It might actually work if they both manage to stay in character and Pierce lets himself be deceived.
After they’ve worked for a couple of hours, Bucky suggests getting takeaway. Half an hour later, they’re both stuffing their mouths with Chinese food.
The more Bucky relaxes, the more the flirty, casual Bucky Steve knows emerges. He’s got his knees drawn up on the couch, socked feet tucked under a pillow and even snorts at a story
Steve tells about his last mission.
A small flutter settles in Steve’s stomach at the sound.
(He tries pushing the thoughts far away that wonder if this is what it would be like to be on a
proper date with Bucky. Takeaway and ridiculous stories and socked feet on a worn sofa.
But this is not a date, Steve reminds himself. This is work and important and not something to fuck up. They had their chance.
And Bucky made his decision.)
“On how many missions have you been since you left the academy?” Steve asks as he fishes another piece of chicken from his box.
“Three. Two drug busts, one for money laundering. Last one half a year ago. Never been on a double mission, though,” Bucky admits.
“Me neither,” Steve says.
“But I hope Pierce and his entire posse land behind bars for as long as possible.”
“I mean, we first need to prove that he actually committed enough crimes to be found guilty.”
“You don’t think Pierce’s guilty?” Bucky asks.
He stops his chopsticks halfway to his mouth.
“I think he’s dangerous and we don’t want to find out what happens if we don’t manage to stop him. But I don’t know what we’re going to find yet. If we’re going to find anything incriminating enough,” Steve says.
“Fury wouldn’t send us on this mission if he wasn’t sure we’d find something. You know how he’s always going on about resources and money.”
“Still doesn’t mean Pierce’s going to end up behind bars just because we think he’s evil. We just need to do a good job. And keep our heads clear, rational and objective.”
Bucky looks at him for a moment, silently. The atmosphere around them turns chilly again.
“That’s easy for you to say,” Bucky says, all warmth gone from his voice. “This,” he taps on the file on the coffee table, “is personal. It’s personal for any Omega that goes on a mission like this. Fury knows that. A good job is not going to cut it. It’s me that would end up without any rights, at will and at the literal feet of whatever Alpha claims me. It’s my sisters and my dad. And millions of Omegas nationwide that are far less equipped to deal with this.”
“I understand what’s at stake here-“
“Do you?” Bucky asks, interrupting him, ridiculing him. “You never had to worry about your rights being taken away or being seen as lesser just because of your designation.”
What?
“How would you know that?” Steve asks, voice wavering for entirely different reasons now.
Bucky laughs a humorless laugh.
“Oh, please. You’re a 6,3 ft tall, white Alpha who’s build like a brickhouse. The world is made for you.”
Steve notices the first telltale signs of impending anger rattling through his veins.
“Yeah, the world really is your oyster when you’re a sick, asthmatic underdeveloped teenager that gets thrown into trashcans by his fellow Alphas for being a disgrace to an entire designation.”
It’s not the first time people have only seen him as a picture perfect Alpha. But it’s the first time he’s been repeatedly painted as the bad guy when he knows perfectly well what it’s like to be made to feel inferior by Alphas. Rejection and humiliation and bullying leave scars and he’s got the marks to prove it.
Steve will not be thrown into the same category as the young men and women who got off on tearing him down when he was too small or weak or sick to defend himself. Who did the same to the Omegas they went to school with. Hell, he made a living out of stopping bad people.
Steve yams his empty noodle container onto the coffee table, gets up, and stares Bucky down. He’s talking himself into a rage, he can feel it. He was also never good at controlling his emotions outside of a mission.
“You’re so caught up with detecting oppression everywhere that you fail to see that not everyone is out to get you,” he snarls. “I want this mission to be a success. And yes, I’m an Alpha, I can’t fucking help it. But I’m not one of Pierce’s disciples. I’m on your side. Get that into your thick skull.”
Steve’s out of the living room in a few long strides. He grabs his jacket, hurls his bag over his shoulder and hurries down the stairs. Bucky’s door falls shut behind him with a loud clang.
---
Steve spends the rest of his day pacing in his apartment and, after that, a few hours tossing and turning in his bed. The altercation sits fat and heavy in the pits of his stomach.
He doesn’t know what it is about Bucky that manages to get under his skin like this.
Everything about him leaves a mark on Steve. Whether it’s a look with those grey eyes, a smirk with that sinful mouth or an accusation laced with venom – Steve reacts to it like he’s still 14 and easily riled up.
What’s almost worse is that Steve doesn’t know how to categorize Bucky. He’s flirty and cocky one minute and angry and snappy the next. Steve spent a frankly unhealthy amount of time sneaking glances at him whenever they were in the cafeteria or the gym at the same time by chance. Strained to hear what he said to other agents and his friends.
He put together a picture of Bucky that resulted in a crush he couldn’t (still can’t) shake. It came alive during the night they spent together. But now it seems like it’s been faulty all along. There are layers upon layers to Bucky and Steve suddenly feels incredibly stupid for thinking he knew all there was to Bucky Barnes.
Turns out, he’s not just a flirt and hot and smells unlike anything Steve’s ever put his nose to, but also irritable and looking for fights. It won’t make their mission any easier. Not when the last few characteristics collide so strongly with Steve’s own temper.
He also shouldn’t feel this disappointed Bucky hasn’t acknowledged their one night stand at all. It shouldn’t come as a surprise, seeing as he denied their encounter at the first chance he got, but it still stings.
The whole situation stings.
Steve spent years and years trying to do the right thing. And being accused of being just like any other oppressive Alpha fucking hurts. Especially from the one person he wants to know better, needs to know better.
Because one thing still stands, even after all their disastrous interactions this week. Bucky Barnes may get under his skin and rile him up like an itch that doesn’t go away. But made to decide between never spending any more time with him ever again and literally spending ever single waking second together, Steve knows what he’d choose.
He never really knew what was good for him.
---
The icy silence between them stretches across several days. By some supernatural blessing, Steve doesn’t run into Bucky whenever he’s at HQ to train or get some paperwork done.
They’ll have to end this feud sooner rather than later, Steve knows that.
He’s not quite ready to swallow his pride, though.
Steve’s in his local supermarket, trying (and failing) to decide between two almost identical types of cream cheese when he feels his phone buzzing. He fishes it out of his pocket and finds Bucky’s name flashing across the screen.
A weird mixture of dread and relief tumbles around in his stomach. For a moment, Steve’s tempted to stuff it right back into his jeans pocket. He really is. He can’t, though.
“Hello?” Steve says.
“I’ve got the keys,” Bucky says, not bothering with a greeting.
“What keys?”
“To the apartment.”
“What apartment?”
“Our apartment,” Bucky says.
He sounds like he’s losing the last of his patience. Steve can practically see him rolling his eyes.
“What the hell are you talking about?”
“Fury didn’t tell you?”
“No,” Steve says, equally annoyed now.
“That fucker. He sprung it on me, too.”
Steve can hear Bucky letting out a laborious sigh.
“He wants us to live together before the mission starts. Get acclimated to each other or something. We’re supposed to move in next week.”
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