Archive of Our Own

***

(Excerpt)

From the dazzling defensive plays he seems to make every night at shortstop, and the equally dazzling displays of hitting prowess he puts on just about every at-bat, it would be natural to assume that Steve Rogers would show that same overtly – and uniquely New York – brand of brashness and fire off the field. I expected that same swagger and arrogance he shows leading the National League's best team to be front and center, out on display, during our interview. Instead, what I get is the sort of gentleman a girl could introduce to her mother at Sunday dinner. In person, and away from the baseball field, Steve is earnest to the point of diffidence, chooses each word with the utmost care, and treats everyone he meets with unfailing politeness and a sort of old-school charm. Every bit of aggression and confidence we see during the season stays on the diamond and, according to Steve himself, that's the only place it belongs.

"God, can you imagine if I was running around in real life acting like that?" Steve asks, laughing, when I ask him about it. "The rest of the team would run me out of town if I tried, and if they didn't, Buck would sure as hell beat it out of me. That's not who I am in my everyday life, I can promise you that."

So, the bravado and moxie, that's all just for show?

"Kinda, but not really. I mean, look, I have to have that mentality when I put on the uniform," he says. "I have to think I'm the best shortstop to ever play the game, that I'm the best hitter to ever grab a bat, because that's what my teammates and the fans expect out of me. They're coming out every game expecting me to do my best, and to play my best, and I'm not going let them down. That's not in my DNA."

Everyone I talked to on the team agrees with Steve's self-assessment. They toss around words like fierce, clutch, a warrior, the face of the franchise, and it's clear they mean every word. "He comes by the Captain America moniker honestly," Tony Stark, the veteran third baseman, tells me. "Guy just exudes that sort of charisma and leadership. We'd all follow him off a cliff and trust him to have a plan to get us to ground safely, you know?"

But what about the person behind the player? What makes one of the biggest superstars of Major League Baseball tick? Well, right-fielder Thor Odinson tells me, if you want to know who Steve Rogers is, you need to talk to Bucky Barnes. Which makes sense – the two men famously grew up together in the same Brooklyn neighborhood, and have been best friends all their lives. When Steve was traded from the Red Sox to the Avengers two years ago, it was a day of celebration in the city of New York. Finally, their favorite sons were back where they belonged, playing on the same team.

From what I observed during my time with Steve, the closeness between him and Bucky isn't just hyperbole. Where Steve was, Bucky was inevitably close by, and vice versa, the two constantly joking and needling each other in the way of old friends. Every conversation seemed to consist of that shorthand particular to someone you've spent your entire life with, who knows all of your history and hopes and fears, and all the things in between. Only, with them, that closeness is cranked to eleven. They finish each other's sentences, have no concept of personal space where the other is concerned, and even room together on road trips.

When I ask Bucky about Steve and what makes their friendship stick, even after all this time and familiarity and the unrelenting glare of the sports media spotlight, he fixes me with this intense stare that is a stark reminder of why he's one of the most feared pitchers in the game. "What you've got to understand about Steve is, he's the most honest person you're ever going to meet. There's not a duplicitous bone in his body," he states, his voice low and fervent. "If he thinks of you as a friend, he will literally take a bullet for you, because that's just the type of person he is. And he's always been like that, as far back as I can remember."

But surely, I ask, there's more to Steve than being a baseball prodigy and a good friend?

"Sure," Barnes shrugs, "that's true of everyone, though. But you asked what makes us stick with each other, why what we've got has endured all these years. And it's because Steve doesn't know how to quit on anything – not a ballgame, not an at-bat, not a friendship, nothing. And when you've had that unflinching loyalty all your life... I mean..."

Here, he spreads his hands open and smiles like a man who knows he hit the jackpot in ways far beyond having a rocket for a left arm. "When you've got that, you don't let that go unless you're an idiot. Not to say we haven't had our fights or times when we haven't been able to stand the sight of each other. We're both stubborn as hell, so that comes with the territory. But I always knew – always – that if I needed him, he'd be there for me."

That sort of loyalty must be nice, I say.

"There's nothing like it." Then Barnes fixes me with another one of those piercing stares. Pay attention, the look says. This is important. "I love him, and I don't care if the whole world knows it. When you've got someone like Steve in your corner, what the world thinks doesn't even matter. And that's what kind of man he is."

***

***

***

(August 6 2016 – Miami Marlins vs. New York Avengers, in Brooklyn, before the game)

"Good afternoon, and welcome to another beautiful day at Citi Field. Chris and Stephen here, happy to be with you as your World Series Champion Avengers –"

"You never get tired of saying that, do you, Chris?"

"No, I do not, Stephen. It's got a great ring to it."

"That it does. The team is back home to take on the Marlins after a great road trip swing through Atlanta and Tampa that saw them go 5-and-1. They've been on fire since the All-Star Break, winning 15 of their last 19, and extending their lead over the Nationals in the division to 10 games."

"They've been fun to watch, that's for sure. And we'll talk more about our starting lineups and what to expect from the pitching matchup between Bucky Barnes and Tom Koehler, but first, we wanted to address the rumors that have been blowing up social media and dominating the New York Press ever since the GQ interview with Steve Rogers came out."

"Look, of course we've heard rumblings, but we haven't talked about any of it on the air because, frankly, it's none of our business what's going on between Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes off the field. We're here to discuss baseball and nothing else."

"Well said, Stephen. But, we have been told that the both of them are going to sit down with the media after tonight's game and, from what we understand, they will be addressing the rumors. So, you'll know the scoop when we do."

"You can catch the press conference live here on the Avengers Radio Network, but, until then, let's keep our attention on the game tonight and how new acquisitions Scott Lang and Luis Gonzalez have fit into the Avengers bullpen."

"They've both been outstanding in their first week with the club, which has me really excited for the games down the stretch."

"The team is lucky to have both players. They may just be the pieces the team needs to get back to the World Series. Especially if Thor and Steve keep raking the way they have been."

"Steve's been on a tear since the All-Star break, batting over .600 and hitting nine dingers in his past twelve games."

"He's gunning for his 3rd MVP, that's for sure –"

***

"Jesus fucking Christ, Steve, if you don't –" Bucky grabs Steve's ass, and tries to get him to get a goddamn move on. His entire body feels like one big electric current, energy humming under his skin.

Steve, the ever-loving cocksucker, simply shifts so his dick slides that much deeper into Bucky's ass and starts rotating his hips, each thrust just this side of not enough. And even with Steve doing his level best to kill him, there's still no way Bucky's going to last much longer. Not when the way Steve's moving – steady and slow, like they've got all day and all night – feels so goddamn good, in spite of the lack of friction where Bucky needs it most.

"Swear, I could fuck you all day, Buck," Steve murmurs, nuzzling Bucky's jaw, the heat of his body incinerating Bucky from the outside in.

Bucky rocks into the next thrust, groaning, as Steve's teeth raze over his throat. "So fuck me," he growls, impatience bleeding through the haze of pleasure lighting him up with every push of Steve's hips. His own cock is trapped between them, the sweat of their bodies providing the perfect amount of lubrication as Steve finally finally starts moving in earnest.

He lifts his head, hungry and seeking, and Steve captures his lips. The kiss is carnal and slick, both of them fighting for dominance with every slide of their tongues and every nip of teeth. The sheets are a bunched tangle under Bucky's back, sticking to his skin, as Steve starts fucking him good and deep, powerful thighs flexing with every hard thrust.

"That's it," he urges, breathless, between each biting kiss. "Cmon, Steve, more –"

Steve makes a low, indistinct noise in reply, and starts moving faster, each push shifting Bucky across the bed. He digs his heels into the small of Steve's back, clutches tight to Steve's shoulders with his hands, and the only sounds in the room are mingled moans and the heavy, rhythmic slaps of flesh against flesh.

It's hot and messy and Jesus Christ, it's perfect.

They come within seconds of one another, and afterwards, Steve slumps heavily on top of him. Bucky finally relaxes his grip, his touches soothing now, fingertips idling dancing along Steve's sweat-slick spine. The A/C has finally kicked on, blasting cool air into the bedroom, nice and refreshing along overheated skin. Steve nudges against Bucky's lips for an open-mouthed, lazy kiss, and they come down just like that, nice and easy, sharing breaths and more kisses.

Bucky's not entirely sure how much time passes before he blinks the world back into focus. Steve's still above him, smoothing Bucky's hair from his face with a small, pleased smile. "Hey there," he murmurs, bright blue eyes filled with so much devotion, it stutters Bucky's heart.

He snags one of Steve's hands and presses a kiss to his palm. Savors the calluses and the warmth. "Hey back."

Steve rubs his thumb along the laugh lines of Bucky's mouth. "We're doing the right thing, right?"

"You getting cold feet on me?" Bucky can't say he wouldn't be disappointed if Steve is, but he gets it. This is a big step.

"No, I'm ready." Steve bends his head for another soft kiss. "As long as you're with me, I don't care about the rest, you know that."

Bucky strokes light fingers along Steve's nape, trailing over the fine hairs. "At your side until the day I die, and then for whatever comes next. You're never getting rid of me, Steve." He's fought way too hard and gone through way too much to ever take Steve's love for granted.

"Good," Steve says, fierce and low, and they spend another few minutes repeating the same promises with more kisses, until the need for a shower forces them out of the bed and into the bathroom.

"You know, Romanoff could still decide it's not worth the headache and trade one of us," Steve remarks, once they're under the spray and taking turns scrubbing each other clean.

"If she tries, I'll just retire," Bucky says, with a shrug. Personally, he thinks Steve's worrying for nothing, but it's not like he hasn't been surprised before. "I'm not interested in playing for another team, and I've made enough money already. I can go coach college ball or something."

"You'd be a great coach, Buck."

Steve's bedrock faith in him would never, ever get old. "So would you," Bucky replies, ducking his head under the water to rinse the shampoo out of his hair. And maybe to hide his blush.

"Possibly. But I'm not sure I'm ready to stop playing yet," Steve says, giving Bucky a small, apologetic shrug.

"Hey, no one's making you." Bucky tugs at his hand until Steve joins him under the showerhead for a water-slick kiss. "Retiring would be my choice if things go south. I'm not gonna be pissed if you don't want to."

Steve's hands are steady and warm on his waist, but his gaze is searching and serious. "You sure?"

"I'm sure," Bucky assures him. "But I don't think it'll come to that. Romanoff's already promised she'd stick by us."

Steve reaches around him to shut off the water. "You know her better than I do."

"Yeah, I do," Bucky says, grabbing their towels off the rack and giving one to Steve. "She's a straight shooter, and she's not going to let a little scrutiny keep her from doing what's best for the team. And she gave up way too much to get you from Boston to back down now."

Romanoff has put a lot on the line to craft a team built to win multiple World Series championships, from restocking the farm system to hiring the best scouts money can buy, to fearlessly going after big trades to bring the right players to the clubhouse. She's not going to waste that, not so satisfy a few homophobic sponsors or bigoted fans.

"Yeah, I guess you're right," Steve says, after a moment.

"Plus, c'mon, letting your two best players walk when you're trying to build a dynasty seems like a stupid move," Bucky says, "and she's way too smart for that."

Steve starts drying himself off with quick, economical movements. "Okay," he says, with a smile, and that seems to settle the matter as far as he's concerned.

Easy as that, Bucky thinks, his throat closing, gratitude and love all but choking him. He's the luckiest asshole in baseball, maybe in all of sports. Shit, maybe the world.

Steve brushes a kiss to his shoulder as he passes Bucky to head back into the bedroom. "If you wanted to talk to the team before we do Clint's thing, we should probably get a move on."

"Yeah, you're right." Bucky finishes drying off, then follows Steve, who's already getting dressed. "And I want to go over the lineup again with Sam before warm-ups and BP."

Steve pauses in the middle of buttoning his jeans. "Because we don't see the Marlins enough during the year?"

"No, smartass," Bucky says, sitting on the edge of the bed to pull on his underwear and his jeans. "Because Giancarlo Stanton is a pain in my fucking dick and I'm striking him out every time he's up at bat tonight if I have to blow out my elbow to do it."

"Yeah, that's not funny."

Bucky rolls his eyes, but obligingly raps his knuckles on the oak bedside table. "There, happy?"

"Screw you," Steve says, with a frown. "You know better than to fuck with the baseball gods, man."

"Yeah, I know," Bucky concedes, and yanks his t-shirt over his head. Gran would cuff him upside the head if she'd heard him say anything like that in her presence, and he'd've let her.

"Anyway, I tell you what," Steve says, drawing out each word, and Bucky knows that tone deep in his bones. It's a tone that means he's getting ready to dare Bucky into doing something reckless and stupid, a tone that's gotten Bucky into more trouble than he can even remember (and fuck, but he loves it so much it's a physical ache). "If you do manage to strike him out every time he's up at the plate, I'll let you fuck me with the anal beads our next off day."

It takes Bucky a few seconds to find his voice. "You serious right now?"

"As a heart attack," Steve replies, with a challenging smirk.

Jesus fucking Christ, Steve is going to kill him. Bucky wouldn't have him any other way.

"You're on," he says, before Steve can change his mind. "You are so fucking on."

For incentive like that, Bucky would promise to strike out all 27 batters.

***

***

There's the usual chaos when they make their way into the clubhouse – Sam (and it has to be Sam, because he's been on a Kendrick Lamar kick lately) is blasting "King Kunta" over the speakers, but under it, Steve can hear the strumming of Jim's guitar, and Tony and Bruce animatedly arguing about, well, something. Maybe how to shorten their strokes to drive the ball down the opposite side of the field or they could be discussing the new life-sustaining planet NASA'd discovered or maybe they're trying to figure out what to do about reversing global warming. Could be anything. Shit, they could be discussing last night's Hell's Kitchen episode, although Jim and Frenchy and Dum Dum would be involved if that's the case.

The Commandos take their HK obsession very seriously.

Sam looks up from tying his cross-trainers and gives Bucky and Steve a wide grin. "Well, well, if it isn't our fearless leader finally gracing us with his presence."

"You talkin' to me or him?" Bucky asks.

Rhodey huffs out a laugh from where he's sprawled in one of the massive armchairs, playing with his phone. "Yeah, like we'd let your crazy ass lead us anywhere. You're a real fucking comedian, Buck-buck."

"Your mom seems to like my jokes just fine."

"Oh, are we doing this?" Rhodey straightens, his look ready and challenging.

"No, you're not," Steve tells both of them, because someone has to be the adult in the locker room, and looks like, once again, it'll have to be him. "Is Clint here yet?"

Thor shakes his head and finishes tying his hair back off his face. "Gabe's promised to text when he gets to the park."

"Good thinking." Steve turns to Jim and Dugan. "You guys got everything, right?"

"Of course we did," Jim huffs. "I'm offended you'd ask."

Steve grins, wide and wicked, and spreads his arms out wide. "Well, I'm offended by your offense."

"I'm offended this conversation's even happening," Bucky says, voice muffled as he takes off his t-shirt to change into his workout gear.

"I'm offended by your lack of humor," Dugan adds, because if anyone's going to keep the loop going, it's Dum Dum.

"I'm offended by everyone here," Thor states, and puts his fist over his heart. "In a deeply personal way."

"I got something deep you can get personal with," Tony says, walking in from the weight room and pointing down at his crotch with a lascivious smirk.

Rhodey sighs. "For the last time, Tony, no one wants anything to do with your dick."

"Your mom would beg to differ."

"My mom wouldn't be caught dead with anything as puny as what's dangling between your legs."

"Y'all two just need to work this out the old-fashioned way," Sam says, rolling his neck as he stands to start doing a few stretches.

Tony brightens. "Pistols at dawn?"

"I was thinking hate sex, but yeah, that works."

Rhodey harrumphs and stretches back across the armchair again. "Not if he was the last person on earth. Unlike Stark, my dick has standards."

"I have standards!" Tony protests.

"What, breathing?" Steve asks, grabbing his gear from his locker. He may as well get changed himself.

"Breathing's pretty important. Unless you prefer your partners to not be breathing, of course. I don't judge."

"Can we not bring up necrophilia while I'm eating?" Dugan asks, around a mouthful of soba noodles.

"I vote we get the subject off Tony's dick entirely," Bruce says.

"Seconded," Bucky says. "All in favor?"

A chorus of "ayes" go up around the room. Tony just huffs, but thankfully changes the subject.

"Anyway, as I was saying before Rhodey made everything weird –"

"Excuse you?"

"– Don't worry about Hawkeye." Tony claps Steve on the back. "We've got the birthday boy covered, everything's all in place. I'd much rather talk about this press conference you and Barnes have decided to throw. You need us for anything? We can hang out behind you like bodyguards and glare at people who ask stupid questions or give you cover or provide a distraction, we're up for whatever."

Thor nods, solemn as church. "Say the word, Cap. Whatever you two need, we've got your backs."

"And if you need us to kick a few homophobic asses, you just point us in the right direction, and we'll get it sorted," Rhodey adds.

Homophobic... Steve glances over at Bucky, who gives him a bemused shrug.

"Why would you think we'd need that?" Steve carefully asks.

"Hells bells, y'all two must think we haven't got two brain cells to rub together," Sam says, heaving a big, disappointed-in-you-and-your-choices sigh. "You don't have to say anything, okay, just know that we all got you. Both of you. We got you. You feeling me right now, Rogers?"

Jesus, but Steve loves these guys so much it's ridiculous. He looks around the room and, to a man, every single one of their teammates is looking back at him, ready to suit up and back his and Bucky's play.

"Yeah, we feel." Steve wants to ask how long they've all known, but it's not important. "And thanks," he says, infusing the words with all the gratitude in his heart. "It...it means a lot knowing you're with us."

"Of course we are," Sam says, like Steve's slow for even thinking anything different. "We're your teammates, man, no matter what. We're family."

"Of course you are, but, uh, can we go back for a second about the two brain cells to rub together thing? Because I'm calling bullshit," Bucky says, with his patented cocky smirk.

"You're right, Clint does bring the IQ of the team down," Tony says, with a very serious nod.

"Hey now, no slagging the man on his birthday," Jim says.

"Especially when he's not even here to defend himself," Bruce adds. "Bad form, Stark."

Tony taps his palm to his chest in a classic mea culpa motion. "Sorry, my party foul."

"Anyway, let's just focus on winning the game tonight," Steve says, before they all get off-track again. "Getting a W will help smooth over what we need to say."

"You got it, brother," Thor says, like it's just that easy.

"And speaking of the game, come on, Sam, I wanna go over the charts again before BP," Bucky says.

"Sounds good," Sam says, and he and Bucky head into the video room.

Tony turns to Steve and makes a shooing motion. "Get a move on, Cap. You've got agility drills to lead."

Which, Tony's enthusiasm has to be a first. He's not the biggest fan of the workouts and drills Steve's implemented over the last two years he's been on the team, so it means a lot that he's willing to do them today. Steve appreciates it for the show of solidarity that it is.

"Yeah," he says, straightening up. "Let's do this."

Their lives may not be the same outside the clubhouse after tonight, but he knows he and Buck have safe sanctuary inside these walls.

***

***

"You ready to rock & roll?" Sam asks, as the bullpen doors open and the PA system starts blaring Bucky's walk-up music.

Bucky bumps Sam's fist with his own, and grins. "You bet your ass I am. Locked and loaded and ready to rumble."

Sam returns the grin with his own. "Alright, then, we got our game plan. Let's do this."

They trot out onto the field together, and Bucky soaks in the cheers and shouts from the fans. It looks like another good crowd tonight – maybe even another sell-out. And if there’s even a tiny possibility that this really is his last start as a major league pitcher, he's going to make damn sure to put on the best show he can. The fans deserve nothing less.

Sure, he knows the odds are no one will even give a fuck after the initial freakout and news cycle, but Bucky's not stupid. He knows what he and Steve are getting ready to tell the world is a Big Deal, both for them personally and for the sport at large, and he knows it might cost the team some fans and maybe some sponsors. And maybe Romanoff might not want to deal with the heat, or maybe the Commish will try to change the bylaws so he and Steve can't be on the same team anymore, and if that happens, Bucky will absolutely walk, no regrets. He let the game separate him from Steve once, and he is never letting it happen again.

He climbs the hill to the pitcher's mound, catches the ball when Gabe tosses it his way, and takes a moment, the way he always does, to look out over the diamond. Up until he'd gotten Steve back – like, for real, gotten Steve back – the game had been home in a way that no other place could compete with. Baseball is in his blood, encoded in his DNA, as much a part of him as the breath in his lungs and the organs in his body. Baseball, this gloriously crazy sport, is the never-ending set of stitches that bind his life together, and he is so lucky and grateful that he's been able to go out and compete at a high level at every stage of his career.

But he's even more grateful that the game had given Steve back to him, had brought Steve home to Brooklyn, and to Bucky's side, where he belongs.

He throws his warm-up tosses, slings the rosin bag around to dry out his hands a little bit, then waits for the coaches to exchange lineup cards, and the umps to get settled. He can hear the guys behind him in the infield joking and talking smack – Tony and Rhodey are trading insults as always, and Gabe's egging them both on – the cadence of it as familiar as the feel of the ball in his hand. But it's the bright, unexpected sound of Steve's laughter that makes Bucky's heart fill to bursting.

It's going to be a good game. He's ready.

***

***

(Middle of the 1st inning)

"Damn, Buck," Steve whistles, impressed, when he and Bucky and the rest of the team jog off the field towards the dugout. "Save a little something for the later innings, okay? You were flirting with triple digits on a couple of pitches."

"Not tonight." Bucky pauses at the top step and turns, ignoring the clamoring of the fans for autographs and all of the smartphones pointed their way. They're well used to the spotlight. "I'm leaving every fucking thing I got on the field. Just in case."

Just in case, Steve repeats to himself, the words resonating deep inside him.

Bucky's right. This could be it for them. The last game they'll ever play on a professional level. And if it is, then they both may as well go out knowing they played the game the right way and gave it all they had.

"Okay," Steve quietly replies. He wants – so badly – to lean in and kiss the serious look off of Bucky's face, but he settles for a quick smile and a small nod to let Bucky know he gets it. "No sleep 'til Brooklyn?"

Bucky just grins and claps him on the back. And if the touch lingers a split second too long, well, that's no one's business but theirs. "No fucking sleep 'til Brooklyn."

***

(Bottom of the 1st inning)

***

(Middle of the 3rd)

***

(Bottom 4th inning)

"Welcome back to 680 The Fan and the Avengers Radio Network. We're in the bottom of the 4th in a scoreless game, but the story so far tonight has been the utter dominance of Bucky Barnes on the mound. He's been putting on an absolute pitching clinic tonight, folks – no runs, no walks, no hits, no base runners at all, in fact, and seven strikeouts to his name."

"This is the best I've ever seen him pitch, Chris. He's only had a two-ball count on one batter so far. His curveball is like a yo-yo, his slider is filthy, and his fastball is darting in on the corners like a laser. He's struck Martin Prado – one of the league's smartest hitters – out with it twice tonight, both times looking, and that's not an easy thing to do."

"He's been a treat to watch, that's for sure. Steve Rogers, who's batting cleanup tonight instead of his usual spot in the 3-hole, steps up to the plate and man, has he been on fire lately."

"Here's the pitch by Koehler, and Rogers laces a frozen rope down the right field chalk, and is on 2nd base with a stand-up double before the fans have settled back into their seats. Wow, he scorched that ball. Holy moley."

"Looked like a slider that got too much of the plate and Steve made him pay for it. Let's see if Tony Stark can bring him in or at least get him to 3rd. Stark is 0-for-1 tonight, but he's got a pretty good record against the righty, batting .320 with 8 hits in 25 at bats.

"The pitch is low and in, and Tony smacks it up the middle and past a diving Hechavarria for a base hit. Steve's being waved home and the throw to the plate is cut off. Your Avengers are on the board, 1-to-nothing."

"Alright, Barnes, there's your lead. Now go get 'em."

"The way he's pitching tonight, one run might be all he needs."

***

Steve accepts the high fives and hugs from the rest of the guys when he gets to the dugout. "Good eye on that fastball," Thor says, clapping him on the back.

"Thanks," Steve says with a smile, and takes his seat on the bench next to Bucky. "Got you a run."

Bucky snorts out a laugh. "Technically, it was Tony who got me the run, but I appreciate the part you played in it."

"There's just no pleasing some people..." Steve sighs, shaking his head.

Bucky nudges him, and leans in, his lips barely touching Steve's ear. "Hey, c'mon. You please me plenty. Still got your spunk all inside me..."

Steve swallows, huffs out a short breath. Thinks about the 1968 Avengers lineup stats in an effort to keep his libido in check. He hopes to God there isn't a camera on them right now, because he knows he has to look like a man trying (and failing) to hide the fact that he's sporting the world's biggest boner.

"Buck..." he warns, barely above a whisper.

Beside him, Bucky just shrugs. "Sorry."

"No, you're not."

"No. I’m not." Bucky leans back in with another smile, this one softer. "But I've got part of you out there on the hill with me, and that's all I care about."

"Jesus." Steve flushes hot all over. For the first time in his life, he starts to pray for rain, just so he can drag Bucky home and fill him up all over again.

"Later," Bucky promises, seeming to read Steve's thoughts. "We got a game to finish."

"You're such a goddamn dick." Steve jabs Bucky's side with his elbow. "You know you're totally paying for this, right."

"I really fucking hope so," Bucky replies, with a ludicrous, yet totally hot, leer.

Steve loves him so goddamn much he's drunk with it. Every time he so much as looks at Bucky these days, it feels like winning game seven of the World Series all over again – that same sense of euphoria and relief and joy all mixing together. A feeling he knows he'll savor every single day for the rest of his life.

"Y'all two planning on taking the field anytime this year, or should we just all wait around until you feel like playing?" Fury calls, bestowing them with his best glare.

Steve starts, then looks at the field – somehow the Marlins had gotten the third out without him even noticing. Jesus. Way to keep his head in the game.

"Yeah yeah, cool your jets," Bucky says, rolling his eyes good-naturedly at Fury as he hops from the bench and turns to Steve. "You coming?"

"Wouldn't miss it," Steve says, and follows Bucky's lead, just like he's always done.

***

(Top 5th inning)

Steve tosses the ball to Rhodey and pounds his fist into his glove before he settles into his crouch. Giancarlo Stanton is up to bat first, then Marcell Ozuna and JT Realmuto and, if any of them reach, Chris Johnson. Stanton's all power and loves anything middle-away, so Steve is shading himself towards third and has directed Tony to play behind the bag. If Bucky throws anything Stanton can hit, Steve doesn't want it leaving the infield.

Not that he thinks Bucky's going to. Not if the first four innings have been any indication.

Every time Bucky pitches, Steve spends half the night marveling at the way he can get the ball to move the way it does. Even though Steve has been around since the very beginning – from tee ball to Little League, from pitching clinics and showcases, and all through high school – it still feels like magic. And he's seen the evolution of Bucky's command, and all of the hard work and discipline Bucky's put into his craft.

But tonight, it's like Bucky's on a totally different level. Like he's Cy Young or Sandy Koufax or Nolan Ryan out there, the best of the best, fighting for his place among the Mount Rushmore of pitchers.

Steve watches, alert and ready, as Bucky strikes Stanton out with three of the nastiest sliders Steve's seen since his days facing Chris Sale on the regular. Stanton's one helluva hitter, but he never even had a chance. Steve would feel sorry for him, except, well, division rival and all.

"Damn," Rhodey comments, as Stanton goes back to the dugout and Ozuna comes up to bat. "Glad I'm not batting against Bucky tonight."

"No shit," Steve agrees, then motions Tony and Rhodey back on the grass and to the right. Ozuna's a pull hitter, lives off anything thrown that's down and in, and even though Steve knows Bucky is going to feed him nothing except a steady diet of breaking balls to get him to chase, he still wants the guys ready, just in case.

Sure enough, on the second pitch, Ozuna taps it weakly towards second, right where Rhodey is crouched, and he scoops the ball up to throw to Gabe for an easy out.

Bucky takes a walk around the mound while JT steps up to bat, and gives Steve a quick two-fingered salute when their eyes meet. Steve makes a shooing motion to get Bucky back on the rubber, but internally, he's sort of awed at how relaxed Bucky has been all night. Sure, it's still way too early to start thinking about it, but Bucky's got no-hitter stuff working right now. And he's acting like they're back in the Barnes' backyard, just hanging out and playing catch.

"Yo, Cap!" Hank, the first base coach, calls. Then, he starts gesturing, going through all the signs for how Fury wants the infield set up for Realmuto. Steve nods and motions to Gabe to play in off the bag, then settles into his position.

JT can hit anything in the strike zone, and isn't above stroking a bad ball pitch over the outfield fence. Bucky'd gotten him to pop out in the 2nd with a cutter that broke just enough so JT couldn't get good wood on it, but JT's great at adjusting from at-bat to at-bat, so Bucky's going to need to change his approach. But that's not Steve's problem – his job is to cover as much ground as possible and make sure everyone else on the infield is where they should be.

JT settles into his stance, and Sam gives Bucky his sign. Bucky rares back, and throws an absolute missile down the heart of the plate, like he's daring JT to swing. It blows right by him, and when Steve sneaks a glance to the matrix board, he gives a low whistle. 98 miles an hour, and Bucky had thrown it as easy as a lollipop curve.

JT sends the next pitch foul and into the seats, and Bucky catches him looking at strike three over the outside corner. Eight pitches, three outs, and so far, only one ball's even made it to the outfield.

It's like watching a master painter or composer at work. This is fucking art, and Steve will fight anyone that dares to suggest different.

"You two kids got plans later tonight or something?" Tony asks, as they head off the field.

"Not that I know of," Steve replies. "Why?"

"Because I'm pretty sure your boy out there is trying to pitch a Maddux."

Steve laughs. A Maddux, classic. Bucky'll love the comparison. "He's got the pitch count working for him, that's for sure. What was Mad Dog's lowest count?"

"76 pitches, 63 for strikes," Thor answers, jogging past them, because of course Thor would know a random stat like that.

"Well, not sure Buck can break that record, but it'll be fun to watch him try," Steve says, and tosses his glove into his cubbyhole.

Time to work on getting Bucky some more runs.

***

(Bottom 6th inning)

Sam gives Bucky a doubletake when he joins him at the railing. "What're you doing, man? You can't be here – you know better than to mess with the mojo by hanging somewhere else."

Players and their damn superstitions, Bucky thinks. Not that he's all that different most of the time. But today is different.

"I wanna watch Steve hit," he says, and drapes his arms over the rail like he's not pitching one of the best games of his career. He can see the TV cameras swivel his way, but he ignores them the way he always does. Let the announcers speculate to their hearts' content. He'll have his say after the game's done.

"If you're willing to fuck with what you've got going tonight to see your man hit, that either makes you crazy or ballsy as fuck."

"Why can't I be both?" Bucky asks, and nudges Sam's shoulder. Sam just harrumphs and waves him off.

Steve strides to the plate and settles into his stance. Which, Bucky's always loved watching Steve hit, but these days, it's a real treat. The way Steve's pants stretch just right across his ass and the backs of his thighs, the way the muscles in his arms tense as he holds the bat in place, that fierce look of concentration he gets when he's locked in and looking for his pitch? It's enough to give Bucky a semi on a good day, let alone on a night like tonight, when all of his emotions are so close to the surface.

Steve stares down a two-seamer that starts in at his hip and tails away and off the plate for ball one. Bucky has no idea how Steve was able to lay off it, but Steve has always had the best plate discipline of any hitter Bucky's ever known. Even back in their days playing Little League, he'd been able to read a pitcher and the strike zone like a well-loved book.

The next pitch is low and away again and, again, Steve doesn't take the bait. He's looking for a specific pitch, Bucky thinks, probably the cutter. Something over the inner half that he can get the barrel of the bat on and drive into the gap between left and center.

Cashner comes set, and the second the ball leaves his hand, Bucky knows this is the pitch. The spin on it is almost lazy, a cutter that stays in at the hands, and Steve jumps all over it. Hits it dead red, a bullet that zooms past a diving Dee Gordon right into no man's land between Ozuna and Stanton in the outfield, and Steve goes zooming around first base without even pausing.

"He's going for three," Bucky comments, raising his voice to be heard over the roar of the crowd, and as Steve rounds second, he seems to find another gear entirely. Stanton fires a bullet to Prado, but Steve times his slide perfectly, and beats the throw by a foot.

"Hot damn," Sam exclaims, pointing to Steve, who's on his feet and pumping his fist at their dugout. When he sees Bucky, he offers a thumbs up and the world's biggest grin.

Bucky has never, not once, been able to resist it, and he doesn't even try now. Just returns the smile and the thumbs up, and claps Sam on the back. "See, totally worth it."

"Yeah, yeah," Sam says. "Now go sit down and think about pitching."

"Yessir," Bucky replies, with a mock salute, still smiling as he takes the bench. Hopefully someone will drive Steve in and get him another run to pad the lead. Not that he's going to need it. He's not planning on letting anyone in a Marlins jersey get on base.

***

***

"Hey there, welcome back to MLB Tonight. Greg Amsinger and Harold Reynolds with you, and man oh man, something special is brewing in Brooklyn tonight at the Tower. Not only has pitching ace Bucky Barnes taken a no-hitter through six innings, he hasn't allowed a base runner of any kind –"

"– Don't jinx it, Greg."

"I'm not, I'm just telling everyone why they want to stay tuned in. Because, not only is Bucky trying to make history tonight, but his teammate and good friend, Steve Rogers, is also trying to make history. Listen to this, Harold – Rogers extended his hitting streak to 14 games and is 3-for-3 tonight, but it's the way he's gotten his hits that we need to discuss. He hit a single in the first, smacked a double in the fourth, and just legged out a triple in the bottom of the sixth."

"Well, he still needs the homer for the cycle."

"Okay, but think about this. The last time anyone hit for a natural cycle – meaning they hit for the cycle in order – was back in 2006, when Gary Matthews Jr did it. And the last Avengers player to do it was all the way back in 1963. That's some pretty exclusive company."

"I'm not saying it's not, Greg, we all know Captain America is a special player. But I think we all know the real story here tonight is Barnes and what he's doing on the mound."

"I'm not sure I agree. Which one is more rare – throwing a perfect game or hitting for the natural cycle?"

"In the modern era or...?"

"In the live ball era. There have been 23 perfect games, but only fourteen – count 'em – fourteen natural cycles. And we could be witnessing both of these in the same game. By teammates who just happen to be best friends. Think about how crazy that would be. You can't script this stuff."

"Well, they both have to do it first. Should be a fun night."

"That it will. But right now, we're going to a live look-in at the Red Sox/Reds game..."

***

After Bruce's sac-fly, Steve trots to home plate and hugs Bruce before they both accept high fives in the dugout. Everyone is still giving Bucky a wide berth, because everyone knows not to fuck with a pitcher throwing a no-no, but Steve crowds in next to him the same way he always does. Because he also knows not to fuck with fate by changing up the routine.

"Okay," he says, knocking his knee against Bucky's, "you've got two runs now, you greedy bastard, so if that's not enough for you, man, I don't even know."

Bucky huffs out a laugh. "Yeah, you and the other guys are fucking generous tonight. Two whole runs. I'm honored."

"Hey, two years ago we didn't get you any, so maybe we're trying to make it up to you," Steve says, with a small smile.

Bucky drops his hand next to Steve's and brushes their pinkies together. The touch is as light as a breeze on a cloudless day, but Steve still feels the shock of it clear down to his cleats. "Maybe Gran's watching out for both of us tonight," Bucky says, softly. "Don't think I don't know what you're also working on at the plate."

"Still gotta hit the homer," Steve replies with a small shrug. Although he won't lie, he's pretty thrilled Bucky's noticed. And pretty pumped at the possibility of creating a little of his own magic tonight. Sure, it's the competitive part of him talking, but he and Bucky have always worked best when they're each pushing the other one. "I haven't done anything noteworthy yet."

"Neither of us have. Yet."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, unable to look away from the summer-blue of Bucky's eyes. "But I'm just taking a page from your book and leaving it all out on the field."

"Nine outs to go," Bucky says, as Rhodey pops out in foul territory to end the inning. "You ready?"

"You kidding me?" Steve asks, with a short laugh. "Buck, with you on the mound, we could do just about anything."

In answer, Bucky just grins. His private, go-for-broke, fuck-the-world grin that Steve has seen, in one variation or another, pretty much since birth. One he knows intimately, viscerally, one he would recognize even if he was blind.

Then Bucky nods out at the field. "Alright. Then let's win this goddamn game and make some fucking history."

They bump fists and grab their gloves. Time to get back to work.

***

(Top 8th inning)

"Prado hits a weak grounder to Gabe for the first out, and Bucky Barnes is in a rocking chair tonight, folks. No runs, no walks, no hits, no baserunners of any kind, and he's only thrown 78 pitches so far."

"59 of them have been strikes, too, Chris. And when he has been missing, it's been up at the letters and not at the belt."

"Christian Yelich steps up to the plate – he's 0-for-2 tonight and 1-for-32 overall against Barnes. Here's the pitch, and he hits a line drive up the left field side. Tony Stark takes a knee and makes a strong throw to Gabe at first to get the out."

"Wow, Tony made that play look easy."

"There's been some amazing defense tonight – but the team's smart, they can read the scoreboard as well as the rest of us. They know what's at stake, and you know none of them wants to be the one that lets Barnes down."

"Marcell Ozuna comes up to bat, and Bucky gets right back to work. He throws, and Ozuna gets frozen by a knee-buckling breaking ball that just catches the outside corner. Wilson did a masterful job of framing that pitch."

"It helps that Clint Fagan has been consistently calling the knee high strike tonight."

"That he has, and it's good for a pitcher like Barnes to have that sort of consistency. Although, with the way he's pitching tonight, he almost doesn't need the help."

"Barnes throws the 0-and-1 pitch and Ozuna skies it a mile high behind the plate, but playable. Wilson loses the mask and tracks it down, and just like that, the Marlins are, once again, retired in order."

"That pitch was a regular sharpei – so ugly, it was beautiful. But it got the job done and we go to the bottom of the 8th, with the Avengers up 2 to nothing. We hope you stay with us, as Barnes and Rogers each chase their own bit of baseball history."

***

(Bottom 8th inning)

Steve pulls on his batting gloves and steps into the on-deck circle with his bat. The Marlins have brought Nefi Ogando, a hard-throwing righty with a wicked four-seamer, in to pitch, and Steve is doing his best to pay attention to Thor's at-bat – because the last thing he needs is a foul ball to the face – while also trying to remember how he'd fared the last time he'd faced Nefi. He's pretty sure he'd struck out looking, which doesn't exactly inspire him with all the confidence ever to get a hit, let alone the dinger he needs for the cycle.

Thor skies one to center field, and Steve watches as Dee Gordon races back on the grass for the basket catch. Pretty solid play – as an infielder, Steve has to appreciate the skill, even though he hates the result. Thor stomps out of the batter's box, clearly pissed at himself for getting under a hittable pitch, and pauses by Steve on his way to the dugout.

"He's leaving his breaking ball up," he says, and claps Steve on the shoulder. "Good luck."

Steve nods his thanks, and walks up to the plate. Nerves skitter along his spine for the briefest of moments, but he tamps it all down. Locks it tight somewhere deep inside him where it can't fuck with his approach. He can't think about history or that he's one tater from the cycle or the fact that only three measly outs are standing in the way between Bucky and baseball immortality. The only thing that matters right now is finding a pitch to hit to keep the inning going.

He squares his bat up, relaxes his shoulders, hands, and hips, and waits. The first pitch is a cutter away and Steve lays off of it, not taking the bait. If Nefi wants to expand the strike zone, good for him, but it's not going to be on Steve's watch.

The next pitch is straight heat, but curling up chest-high, and Steve doesn't even bother to take the bat off his shoulder. Ball two. Okay, he thinks, no way Ogando wants to go down 3-and-0 in the count, so he'll have to throw something over the plate.

He settles into his stance, settles his breathing. Softens his hands on the bat, and waits for something off-speed. Ogando comes set, throws, and it's another cutter, spinning down, but it's staying in the zone –

Steve swings, connects with a booming crack of the bat, and before he's even left the batter's box, he knows he's gotten all of it.

Home-fucking-run.

He drops the bat and immediately goes into his trot, because he's never been the kind of player who pimps his homers and he's not about to show up Nefi by flipping his bat or taking his time around the base paths. He knows some players thrive on that sort of flash, but he's never been one of them.

The crowd is going wild, and the usual burst of celebratory home run fireworks are shooting from the Avengers shield out in center, "Song 2" by Blur is blaring from the speakers and, at the railing, the rest of the guys are all yelling and jumping up and down, just as happy for him as if they'd hit the homer themselves. He catches Bucky's eye as he gets to first base and winks, but doesn't slow down to see Bucky's reaction. He still has to round the rest of the bases.

A natural fucking cycle. Jesus. He'd done it. He'd actually fucking done it.

He touches home plate in a daze, and heads towards the dugout, tipping his hat to the crowd as he goes down the steps. Gabe immediately jumps on him, all enthusiasm, and Clint's thumping his back, and Thor picks him clean off his feet in a massive bear hug; it's total pandemonium, with Fury giving him a hug (Fury!) after Thor, and everyone lining up to offer him high-fives, until he gets to the very end of the line, where Bucky's waiting for him.

They look at each other for a second, neither moving, until Steve offers a small smile. "You just gonna stand there or...?"

"Dude, I fucking told you," Bucky says, then pulls him in for a hug that's way too tight and lasts way too long, but Steve can't find it in himself to care. He just buries his face in Bucky's neck, breathing in Bucky's scent – leather and bubblegum and sweat – and holds on for dear life. In some small part of his brain, he knows there are cameras trained on the dugout, no doubt filming the hell out of this, but he doesn't give a flying fuck about that either, not now.

"Love you," Bucky whispers, stubble rasping against Steve's cheek as he finally pulls back and gives Steve a big, shit-eating grin.

"I love you too," Steve replies, low, fervent. "It's your turn, man."

"Three outs." Bucky shrugs, unconcerned, and claps Steve on the shoulder. "I can do this."

"Damn right you can," Steve replies, then nudges Bucky forward. "Go on, make sure you and Sam are on the same page. You know who's coming up to bat, right?"

"CJ, Adeiny, then whoever's gonna be pinch hitting for Nefi," Bucky says. "Probably Dietrich, since he's a lefty and you know Mattingly's old school about his matchups like that."

"Yeah, I do," Steve says, and glances out at the field to see what's going on. Tony's at first and Banner's still up at bat - working on a 1-and-2 count, with only one out in the inning. "But you and Sam should still make sure you don't get crossed up."

He's seen too many no-hitters and would be perfect games go to shit in the last three outs to take anything for granted.

"You know you're not really a captain, right," Bucky replies, shaking his head fondly. But he obediently walks over to sit beside Sam so they can go over pitch selections for the top of the ninth.

Steve goes over to the railing to where Clint is hanging out and watching Bruce's at-bat. "You guys all know what to do if someone skies one to the outfield, right?"

Clint snorts and shoves at Steve's side. "Dude, if you think for a second that I'm letting anyone on the Marlins get a hit off Bucky on my fucking birthday, you better think again. Don't worry about the outfield. Just keep your guys in line."

"The infield's tighter than Dum Dum's wallet on pub night. We're solid." Hell will freeze over before Steve lets Bucky down. Not ever, but especially not tonight.

"Alright then. As long as your boy doesn't walk anyone, we've got this," Clint says, then groans as Bruce hits into a 4-6-3 double play to end the inning.

"Three outs," Fury calls, as everyone scrambles for their hats and gloves so they can get out on the field. "Let's get the W, gentlemen!"

Steve waits for Bucky at the bottom of the steps and they jog out to the field together. Just before Bucky takes the hill, he turns and looks at Steve. "Hey, it's not weird that I'm not nervous, right?"

"Nope," Steve says, glancing around the diamond, then back at Bucky. "You own that mound and you know it. Why the fuck should you be nervous?"

Bucky just laughs and shakes his head, then turns towards home plate and motions for Sam to throw him the ball.

***

(Top 9th inning)

No reason to be nervous, Barnes, you heard the man. Still, once he's done with his warm-up tosses, he takes a second to just breathe. His arm feels good, his head is clear, and he and Sam have been simpatico all night. His fastball's been snapping, his curve is the best he's ever thrown it, and his slider's been darting on the corners like a homing missile. He can't even remember the last time everything has clicked so well, mechanics-wise. Game one of the '15 World Series, maybe, or his last no-hitter back in '14 – not that he likes thinking about that night too much. Over two years later, and he still misses Gran more than he can say. His biggest regret is that she'd died before he and Steve had gotten back together. She'd always said that he'd been a fool for letting Steve get away.

But he knows – he knows in the deepest part of his soul – that she's still watching over him and Steve both. That she's proud of him and Steve and everything they've done, and what they're about to do as soon as the game is over.

"Three outs, Gran," he murmurs, as Chris 'CJ' Johnson strides up to the plate. "I just need you to help me get three more outs."

Sam crouches behind CJ and throws down the sign for a slider inside corner, and Bucky nods, gets his grip, then throws. CJ takes a massive swing, but comes up with nothing but air, and Sam tosses the ball back to Bucky with a nod. The crowd is deafeningly loud, but Bucky tunes it out, mutes all the outside noise, and the noise in his brain, to a dull roar. Concentrates on what he can control – which is the next pitch.

Sam give the sign for a fastball, and CJ manages to get a piece of it to foul it out of play and into the stands. Bucky accepts a new ball from Fagan, and settles right back into his stance. Throws a change-up inside, and CJ strikes out swinging.

Two outs to go.

Bucky takes a quick walk around the mound, glances at Steve, who's shaded slightly to the left, and directing Tony to play in on the grass. The master tactician, Bucky thinks fondly. Always thinking about how to get outs on the field, always working on ways to improve his footwork and eye-hand coordination, and different ways to make their defense the best in baseball. If things go south and this is it for them, Bucky's just grateful as hell that they've had the last two years together playing on the same team.

Adeiny Hechavarria walks up to the plate, and Bucky gets right back to work. Sam's setting him up low and outside, which means fastball away. Adeiny gets under it, and pops it up into straight-away center. Clint barely even has to move before raising his glove and catching the ball. Bucky tips his cap Clint's way and gets a quick salute in response.

One out left.

Everyone in the stands is pretty much all on their feet, and the noise is insane, rattling the stadium until it feels like even the very foundation is shaking. As expected, Don Mattingly, the Marlins manager, sends Derek Dietrich up to pinch hit, and Sam wordlessly asks if he needs to go out to the mound to confer with Bucky on what to throw. Bucky just shakes his head – he's good.

If he gives himself time to think, he'll start stressing about what to throw and that won't end well. He's gone eight and two-thirds innings by not over-thinking, and he's not fucking that up.

Derek stands in, crowding the plate a little bit, but if he thinks that means Bucky's just going to throw outside, Bucky will be happy to school him otherwise. Sam puts down the sign for the slider, and Bucky sets, rears back, and throws. He knows the instant the ball leaves his hand that he's left it up in the zone, and sure enough, Derek gets the barrel on it and sends it screaming towards left field –

– and as Bucky twists around, heart in his throat, Steve leaps up and plucks the ball clean out of the air, robbing Derek of a sure base hit.

Out number three.

Bucky's scrambling off the mound before his brain can even catch up to his legs, and he meets Steve halfway, the two of them crashing into each other in a bone-crushing hug that knocks both their hats to the grass.

"You did it!!!!! Buck, holy fuck, you did it!!!!" Steve shouts, trying to make himself heard over the absolutely euphoric crowd, and the yelling of their teammates, who are racing towards Bucky and Steve right where they are in the infield.

Sam tackles Bucky from behind, laughter bright in his ear, and Tony gets there a second later, then Gabe and Rhodey are joining in the group hug. A few seconds after that, Thor and Clint and Bruce are jumping in, and Bucky can barely breathe, but he doesn't even care. Steve's still holding on to him, his arms a solid line around Bucky's waist, his breath hot on Bucky's neck, and Bucky's pretty sure he could die right at this moment and be happy.

"You did it, Buck," Steve repeats, and presses his lips to Bucky's jaw, the kiss hidden by the wall that is the team surrounding them. Not that Bucky would have cared if every camera in the stadium or every fan in the stands had seen it.

Nothing could burst the joy bubbling inside him. He's done it. Baseball immortality. The 24th perfect game.

"I did it...holy shit, Steve, I did it." Bucky starts laughing, clutching even tighter to Steve's back as they all start jumping around, relief and joy and amazement and pride all on display. He can't imagine a more perfect moment. He hopes his parents and sister are either watching the game or had DVR'd it or something.

Thanks, Gran, he mouths, and shoots a look up to the sky. He can't see any stars over the glare of the stadium lights, but he knows she's up there, watching and cheering him on.

After a few seconds, everyone starts to break apart, giving Bucky and Steve a little bit of space, and Bucky finally pulls back, the adrenaline rush starting to wear off. Steve's eyes are bright and brilliantly blue, his lips curved up in a fond, proud smile, and all Bucky wants to do is go home with him to properly celebrate their respective feats.

"Told you it was your night," Steve says, and drops the ball from his glove into Bucky's glove.

"Our night," Bucky says, and holds up a finger to the waiting reporter standing at first base. "Thank you."

Steve gives him a quizzical smile. "For what?"

"Well, the ridiculous catch, first off, you fucking dork," Bucky laughs, holding up the ball. "But mostly for being here. Being with me."

"Always, you know that," Steve tells him, his eyes soft. So much love shining out of them that Bucky's knees go weak. "You ready to do press?"

"Yeah, but I've got a feeling no one's even going to remember that we called a conference in the first place."

Steve glances around – the team's still giving them a little bit of privacy, such as it is, and the crowd is still on their feet cheering and chanting Bucky's name – then cocks an eyebrow. "I don't care about having it anymore if you don't."

"And if I was to pull you in for a kiss instead?" Bucky asks, testing the waters, because as much as Steve has never cared about coming out or going public or any of that, he also knows calling the press conference had been a huge deal for both of them. Be a shame not to at least let the world know why.

Steve's gaze drops to Bucky's lips and he steps in, unmistakably closer. "I'd say that's one way to get everyone to talk about something that's not your perfecto."

"Or your cycle," Bucky says, then closes the distance between them.

The kiss lasts for barely a second – just long enough for Bucky to register the familiar softness of Steve's lips – but when they part, the silence around them is so profound that Bucky can hear his own heart beating against his ribcage.

"I love you, Steve," he murmurs, barely stirring the air between them.

"Love you too, Buck," Steve replies, and the next moment, the crowd starts roaring again, even louder than before.

"Guess they approve," Bucky comments, with a wry grin.

"Guess so," Steve says, and cocks his head towards Heidi Watney from MLBN, who's still waiting patiently for her interview. "You ready?"

In answer, Bucky takes Steve's free hand and laces their fingers together. Steve looks down, then up at him, and shakes his head before giving Bucky a fond smile.

"Alright, then. Let's do it," he says, and starts walking with Bucky off the field.

***

(excerpt)

Bucky Barnes and Steve Rogers. By now, even if you don't follow baseball, you know their story. It's a quintessentially American story – two childhood friends who grew up playing ball together, won a Little League World Series together and a State Championship in high school together, and have anchored the best team in Major League baseball for the last two-plus seasons. They've already won back-to-back World Series titles together and, as of this publication, are the heavy Vegas favorites for their third. Both are in the prime of their Hall of Fame careers, with multiple awards and accolades between them: Steve has two MVPs, three Silver Sluggers, seven Gold Gloves (including two Platinum Gloves), and a couple of batting titles, and Bucky has three Cy Youngs, six Gold Gloves, a World Series MVP, and a Roberto Clemente Award for his charity work. They already have enough hardware for a couple of trophy rooms, and they're just getting started. Because, make no mistake – these two men are out to build a dynasty with the New York Avengers.

The fact that they happen to be romantically involved off the field is, to them, incidental. But, for Major League Baseball – and, indeed, the sports world in general – their relationship is ground-breaking. A game-changer that is still sending shockwaves throughout the country and sparking both long-overdue conversations and no small amount of controversy. Out athletes at the professional level are still a rarity, let alone two of the biggest, and most popular, stars in one of the biggest sports markets in the world...

(Cont.)

The interview takes place at the Lower West Side Manhattan brownstone Bucky has owned since his first major league contract (Steve still has a place in Brooklyn Heights, but he's been living with Bucky since the end of the 2014 season). Steve answers the door himself, casually dressed in frayed jeans and a plain white tee, and leads me up to the private rooftop garden, where he and Bucky have been enjoying a rare day off from the grind of a 162-game season.

It's the morning after the Avengers have clinched their third straight National League East pennant, but neither Steve nor Bucky seems any worse for wear after a night of celebrating with their teammates. Instead, they both seem relaxed and loose, sitting side by side at the table, and constantly joking and giving each other a hard time. Comfortable, in the way that old friends or long-time couples often are.

(The following are excerpts from a joint interview. A request for separate interviews was denied.)

RS: Let's get the big question out of the way first. Why did you choose to come out as a couple in the middle of the season? And why drop one of the biggest bombshells in sports history in such a spectacularly public fashion? Was there some significance to the date or something else at play?

Bucky and Steve look at each other. There's an entire conversation going on across the table, even though neither of them say a word. Then Bucky lays his hand over Steve's, and that seems to be Steve's cue to speak.

SR: Honestly, we were just tired of waiting. We'd talked about making an announcement in the off-season, but it seemed like the coward's way out to us to do it that way. You say something when the focus is on the NFL or NBA or NHL, then maybe the announcement, for lack of a better word, gets buried.

BB: But during the season, right in the middle of a pennant race, that's a different story. No one could sweep it under the rug or spin it like we were just trying to keep ourselves relevant –

SR: – Or trade us. That was the other big thing. We wanted to wait until after the Trade Deadline, just in case.

BB: Although we were both pretty confident we weren't going anywhere. Not with us being first in the division. You don't trade your best players when you're trying to get back to the post-season, y'know?

SR: And we made sure to sit down with Ms. Romanoff and our agents to give them the heads up that we were doing this.

BB: And Ms. Romanoff was totally cool about the whole thing, which was a relief.

RS: So, you set a date for a press conference, during their first home series after the trade deadline. Only, you manage to overshadow your own announcement by each making the rarest kind of baseball history.

BB (laughing): That was a total accident.

Steve, it should be noted, is sporting a very sheepish smile.

SR: Look, you gotta understand, we were almost sure we'd be okay, but we didn't know. So we played that night like it was the last time we'd ever be on the field.

That night will go down as one of the most memorable in baseball history. Steve Rogers managed to hit only the fifteenth natural cycle in all of baseball history in the same game that Bucky Barnes pitched only the twenty-fourth perfect game in all of baseball history. It's the stuff of legends, a first in a sport that's been around for over 150 years and has witnessed just about everything under the sun.

RS: But why choose to come out with something as simple – and earth-shattering – as a kiss on the field? That seems like you were trying to make a statement.

SR (pointing at Bucky): The kiss was his idea. But I thought it was the right call.

BB: And it wasn't a statement so much as we didn't want anyone to forget that we'd called the press conference after the game for a reason. If we hadn't done something dramatic, no one would have remembered that we had something we'd wanted to talk about that wasn't the cycle or the no-no.

RS: And afterwards, in the clubhouse? Was there any awkwardness? Did the team already know about the two of you?

BB: We tried telling them, but it turns out, we didn't need to. They'd all figured it out, anyway. Clubhouses are...it's hard to keep a secret like that, no matter how careful you are. And we did try, because we never wanted our relationship to be a distraction to what we were trying to accomplish on the field. But the team...they've been amazing. I can't say enough about how every single one of the guys has had our backs.

SR: They rib on us a little more these days now that we're out, but that's the extent of it. But we're a pretty tight-knit bunch, so I was never worried about how they'd react. Plus, it's not like we act any different around the other guys. We're not, like, making out in the locker room or in the showers or anything like that. That's just not how we're built.

BB: We're teammates on the field, and that comes first, and that's how we've always been. Which means we keep everything strictly professional the second we get to the stadium. And that's our rule, not anything anyone in the Avengers' front office or the Commissioner's office has told us about how we have to conduct ourselves.

The reason for that is probably because their situation is so unique there aren't any rules in place for it. Everyone's always assumed, at some point, that an active player would come out in Major League Baseball – but what no one expected was having two players come out at the same time. And, not only for them to be on the same team, but also be in a relationship with each other.

But if Steve and Bucky are concerned about the future, or any changes to the collective bargaining agreement between the players' union and the Commissioner's office, they don't show it.

RS: It doesn't worry you that this could all go south and one of you could wind up on another team come Spring Training next year? Rob Manfred could force Ms. Romanoff to trade one of you.

BB: I've told Steve this privately, and I'm stating it for the record right now. I've made enough money and I've done everything I've set out to do in this game. No-hitter, perfect game, All-Star, Gold Glove, Cy Young, World Series winner – I've ticked off all those boxes. So if the Avengers decide they don't have a place for me on the team, that's the day I retire. I'm not interested in playing for anyone else. Not ever.

It's a bold statement, one that is undoubtedly giving Bucky's agent fits, but Bucky doesn't seem too concerned about that either.

As for Steve, he's a little more sanguine about the idea. But then, he's already been traded once – from his first home, with the Boston Red Sox, to the Avengers.

SR: I just want to play every day and help my team win ball games. I'm not interested in DHing or playing another position, so when the day comes I can't play shortstop anymore, then I'll hang up my cleats and call it a day. And if the Avengers decide they're done with me, and I still feel like I've got something to contribute, then hopefully I can find another team that wants me. But if I can't, at least I've had a career I can be proud of.

RS: And the relationship? Is that solid enough to handle whatever changes happen on the field?

SR: I've been in love with Buck since I was sixteen years old. And nothing anyone says – not the Commish or the team or the media or the fans – is going to change that. It doesn't matter whether anyone else approves or gives their blessing. At the end of the day, the only thing that matters is knowing me and him are as solid as it gets.

BB: Yeah, I mean, look. I love this game, but what Steve and I have is bigger than the sport. And anyone who expects me to choose baseball over him, and what he and I have, is going to be very disappointed, because I am never making that mistake again. I love him, always have, always will. Simple as that.

RS: You said you were never making that mistake again. Which sounds like, at one point, you did choose the game over him. Did you want to elaborate?

They have another silent conversation; Bucky squeezes Steve's fingers, and Steve responds with a smile and a nod. Then Bucky's shoulders lift in a shrug.

BB: Yeah, sure, why not. But to tell it, we've got to go all the way back to when we were both in high school...

***