Chapter Text
As the Chitauri—led by their leader, Loki—flood through the city's streets, attacking citizens and causing distress, the Avengers are suiting up to fight. Unlike Loki’s first attack in 2012, the Chitauri have gotten stronger. “The plan is simple; kill the Chitauri and beat the shit out of Loki.” Tony dismisses as his suit latches onto him. The rest of the Avengers nod and suit up, almost like they were robots being programmed by Stark. The only person not suiting up as fast as he could was Bucky. Yes. That Bucky.
Not the Bucky from the war, the almost-innocent soldier who hadn’t seen anything outside his state, no, this was Bucky. A war veteran who lost 70 years of his life to Hydra as a trained, brainwashed, dehumanized soldier that was frozen until he was needed like a breathing weapon. That Bucky. He stood there, frozen, frozen, like how he remained at Hydra. Frozen, when it feels almost like your feet have been cemented to the ground, your body begins sweating, and your hands start shaking. Frozen, like—
Bucky quietly exits the room and finds the nearest bathroom. With all these turns, corners, hallways, and dead-ends, He would consider this place a maze, and he played the role of the unknowing runner. He hated this feeling. The feeling that time had already passed and there's no going back to change it. The feeling when his stomach churned and he could tell his breakfast would be rising in his throat, resting in his mouth, and later be in a sink, in the toilet, or on the floor. In other words—he felt like he was going to puke.
He got on his knees, lifted his head high enough to align with the toilet, and waited. The feeling was predictable as this isn’t the first time Bucky has vomited or had a panic attack after a word that triggered him had been mentioned. While his breakfast drifted quickly up his stomach and the sour taste of stomach acid ran across his taste buds, the Avengers were already leaving. All besides one.
Modest, brave, handsome, honest…these are only a few words people would use to describe Steve Rogers. War veteran, American soldier, the almost decade-old hero the world loved since the 1940s… While Bucky was in the bathroom vomiting as an aftermath of a panic attack, Steve stood calmly outside the bathroom holding his red-white-and-blue-shield by his side.
Bucky looked at Steve for a second before attempting to leave the bathroom. Steve stepped in his way, stopping him.
“Are you okay?” Steve questioned. Those three words. Just those three. It was like giving a dehydrated guy water. Bucky hadn't heard those words since…well..let's just say it's been a while.
“Just peachy.” Bucky sarcastically responded, which was actually lingo for “No, I'm actually doing terrible and really need someone named Steve to talk to”. He just didn't want to say it aloud.
“Did you wash your hands or.. well.. hand?” Steve interrogated. Bucky stood still, so many smartass responses boiling in his brain behind his deep blue eyes that he decided not to say. Instead, he walked past Steve
……….
Bucky decided to sit this one out. He safely watched from a distance, bringing citizens to safer locations and clearing the area. Steve was fighting two Chitauris at once. News reporters gathered around to present the scene and get pictures for the next news story. While the reporter is in the middle of narrating the situation, Steve was punched across the face with such an intense amount of force, he was knocked back at least 10 feet. Because of the force, impact, and place of the strike, it was obvious this was a critical hit. Steve lay unconsciously in his torn Captain America suit, bleeding on the pavement and staining the yellow lines in the street a dark, tinted orange. Tony, in the Iron Man suit, drags Steve off to Bucky. He speaks loudly and quickly, but Bucky can make out the words “Take”, “Steve”, and “Home”. So he does.
Happy drives by to a safe location and picks up Bucky and Steve. Bucky is quiet the whole ride as his best friend’s unconscious, bloody, and bruised body lies across Bucky's lap. Steve’s blonde hair had red stains throughout it. Bucky ran his hands through the blood-stained blonde hair of his lifelong partner. Eventually after a long, silent ride, Happy drops off Bucky and Steve at the infirmary.
……….
It’s been an hour since Steve woke up. Again, again, and again Bucky thought that this time, this one battle was Steve's last. All the fights he’s fought, the bullies he handled as a kid, the beatings he took from villains…maybe this was God’s own punishment for Bucky. This was God’s sick joke to play on Bucky to entertain the Devil because killing Steve would be the funniest joke of them all. Bucky returned his thoughts to what was in front of him: Steve. Steve was awake for almost an hour. Bucky just stared at Steve. Not talking or making symbols. Bucky stared at Steve like Steve was the Mona Lisa or something else Renaissance.
Bucky can admit that Steve is incredibly attractive in all the right places. Steve didn't talk either. He stared back at Bucky, taking in all his flaws and imperfections. “You saved me,” Steve admitted almost like he was embarrassed. “I know.” Bucky bluntly responded. Bucky took a few more steps closer to Steve’s hospital bed. Some sheets were stained red from the blood, but it was already dry and fading. The blood in Steve’s hair faded as well, but was still there. "I had planned to visit Peggy at the hospital today," Steve said softly, reflecting on the situation.
Bucky loathed Peggy. He couldn't stand her, not one bit. While he couldn't pinpoint the exact reason for his hatred, he was certain it revolved around her relationship with Steve.
……….
It has been three days since Steve's injury. While he is still a bit fuzzy and needs some assistance, it is significantly less than what was necessary at the beginning. He was now standing at the foot of Peggy Carter’s hospital bed as her eyes fluttered every so often.
“Bucky saved me during Loki’s second attack, Peggy. I’m proud of him—” “Steve,” Peggy interrupted.“Are you sure you're proud of him?” Peggy doubted in a way that she knew Steve was lying.
“What?? Yes, I'm sure I'm proud of Bucky. After everything with Hydra, he’s come a long way.” Steve defensively said. Peggy sat up and stared into his eyes. The contrast between his youthful, unblemished visage and her weathered, aged profile was striking, highlighting the passage of time in a truly dramatic way. “Do you love Bucky?” Peggy gently wondered, her voice cracking a bit.
“Yes, he is my best and oldest friend.” “Not like that..” Peggy corrected. Steve paused, his muscles taut with anticipation, the weight of the moment pressing down on him. The stillness in the room was palpable, as if the air itself held its breath, charged with unspoken possibilities. Dust motes danced lazily in the faint light filtering through the window, and the ticking of the clock on the wall seemed to echo louder in the quiet, each tick a reminder of the impending decision that loomed before him.
“I’m not a—”
“Steve, can you just respond to the question? Do you have feelings for him?”
“…No, I don’t. I'm not a queer or anything. I love you, Peggy.”
It’s been about a week. Peggy is doing alright, Steve is doing better, and Bucky wants to kill himself.
Bucky wakes up to the bright light outside from the sun shining into his room, blaring in his eyes, and the Avengers eating breakfast loudly in the other room. He gets up like every other day. He is wearing just his boxers and a plain t-shirt that he usually doesn’t bother changing. He goes to the washroom, puts his hair in a low ponytail, brushes his teeth, and contemplates overdosing on the Tylenol on the counter. He considers himself a pussy every time he bitches out.
Steve gets up like every other day. He is wearing sweatpants and a tank top–though this is typical sleep attire for Rogers. He goes to the washroom and sees Bucky staring deeply at the Tylenol.
“Bucky?”
That snapped Bucky out of whatever trance his ideas were putting him under. He swiftly turned his head toward Steve, his eyes narrowing with intensity as though searching for an unspoken message hidden in the air between them. “What are you doing?” Steve questioned. Bucky was a bit embarrassed by being walked in on, but he still needed to provide an answer. “…Teeth—brushing my teeth.” Bucky stuttered out. God, that was embarrassing.
Steve began brushing his teeth. He grabbed his blue toothbrush, squirted the white minty toothpaste onto the bristles, wet it, then started moving the brush in circles on his teeth. Bucky couldn’t tear his eyes away. Even if the wrapper has wrinkles, the candy might still be sweet…though this metaphor doesn’t really apply to Steve since they both still look like they are twenty-five.
Bucky reached for his toothbrush, the familiar grip reassuring in his hand. With a practiced motion, he squeezed a line of minty toothpaste onto the bristles and mirrored the same meticulous pattern he always used, moving the brush in gentle circles against his teeth, feeling the freshness of the toothpaste. Meanwhile, Steve finished his own routine, leaning over the sink to spit out the excess toothpaste. As the white paste dripped down from his lips, trickling down his chin, Bucky grimaced at the drips that fell into the basin. The sight of the creamy residue clinging to Steve, slowly pooling in the sink, felt overwhelmingly messy, an unbearable reminder of the tension in the room. Bucky couldn’t hide the redness growing on his face because by the time he noticed, his ears were red and he was starting to sweat. Steve looked over at Bucky once again, taking mental note of Bucky’s red and faded pink hue.
“Bucky, are you sure you’re oka—“
“I said I'm okay…it’s just hot in here,” Bucky declared defensively. Bucky grasped the plastic toothbrush so tightly with his metal arm, it cracked in half. He frustratedly threw it into the trash can along with the other items he accidentally broke like pencils, pens, toothbrushes, and combs.
Steve nodded concerningly and dried his face off, the toothpaste smearing into the towel as Steve tossed it into the trash along with the broken toothbrush. Though Bucky did successfully hide his painfully obvious erection, he failed to hide his blushing face. At least Steve saw that and not…yeah. Bucky learned his lesson, went to the other room, and changed into sweatpants.
Bucky got out of the bedroom and made his way to the kitchen where everyone was eating. Nat, Clint, and Thor were discussing family issues and stories. Tony was talking with Bruce about upcoming projects. Steve was silently making his own breakfast which consisted of crisp bacon, eggs, and fruit. Bucky decided not to eat. He’s a Super soldier…it’s (probably) okay if he skipped a few meals.
“Buck, do you want some?” Steve asked from the other side of the kitchen at the stove. Bucky paused at the offer. He didn’t want to be a bother, but he was sorta hungry. “Whatever you don't eat, I will,” Bucky suggested. Steve hesitantly nodded.
Steve purposely made extra bacon specifically for Bucky to eat. Steve may have his ditsy moments, but he knows and has known for a while about Bucky’s eating problem. Ten minutes later, Steve handed Bucky a plate of freshly cooked crispy bacon, a side of assorted fruits, and perfectly cooked eggs that were still steaming. Steve sat next to Bucky and began eating. Bucky felt that he would look ungrateful if he didn't eat now, so he did.
Bucky grabbed his fork and took small bites that then progressed to larger, hungrier ones. Steve was…in the best way to phrase this, a bit turned on. When they finished eating, they took their dishes to the sink and left them there for the person on dish-duty to clean. Steve paused, then had an idea. “Buck, would you want to watch a movie or something later?” Steve suggested. Bucky was taken aback but soon realized that Steve probably wasn’t inviting him with any ulterior motives; he simply wanted to spend time watching a movie.
Bucky silently agreed by nodding. Bucky did secretly hope they would fuck that night. Maybe just once. He didn't care if it would be a one-time thing or if Steve didn't care for it. He didn't care if he would be on the top or the bottom. He didn't care if Steve had some sort of weird kink or anything. Bucky wanted it to be sloppy and messy. He wanted it to be sweaty and desperate. He wanted to hear all the sounds Steve could make or would let himself make. All he wanted was for while all the Avengers were asleep, he and Steve could get it on. Bucky got hard just thinking about all of this so he quickly dismissed himself, thanking Steve for the invitation, and stumbled to his bedroom to relieve himself.
Bucky pulled down his sweatpants just enough to pull out his erect, twitching cock. He took a deep breath before slowly stroking himself. A muffled moan came out. He didn’t know he could make that noise. His hands sped up, imagining that Steve was there. “Faster,” he could imagine Steve saying. “Don’t stop, you’ve got it..” Bucky imagined Steve’s praise. A few more moans come out. Bucky feels himself getting close. He shamefully looks around his room making sure nobody would walk in or see him. “S-Steve…I—I’m close…” He softly whispered to himself. In seconds, with a final upstroke, he released onto his bed. While Bucky cleaned his mess, he felt shame, guilt, and embarrassment after jerking off to his best friend. He felt disgusting, wanting to peel his skin off, put it in a blender, and drink it. He hated himself more than he’d ever hated anything else in his life.
Steve can’t wait to watch a movie tonight with his best friend.