"Yeah." He can't deny that simple truth. He had been good at it. He's still good at it. It doesn't mean he ever wanted it then and he doesn't want it now. He'll step up if he has to, when he has to, because that's what you do when you're needed. But he hopes he's long gone before that next time ever arrives. He's also just as certain he won't be that fortunate.
"Yeah, I was." Bucky sighs, reaching down and slipping his sandals off, tucking them under the bed so he wouldn't trip over them later. He does the same with the beer bottle. He nudges Steve over just a little and sprawls out beside him, as close to the edge as he can get without actually falling off, so there's enough room for them both.
"Doesn't matter, Stevie. Never woulda got it anyway. No sense livin' in the past and playin' the what if game." He closes his eyes. He's not going to sleep but he'll lie there until Steve sleeps.
Steve smiles a little as Bucky gets into the bed with him. It's enough that he's able to forget the plot of what they're talking about and allow Bucky to dismiss the topic.
"Speaking of past..."
He can't help it. Steve is still on his side and pleasantly tipsy from everything in his system. He moves a little closer but finds that it hurts his arm too much to do more than that. He flops a little forward, losing contact with the ice pack in order to lay more on his stomach. He doesn't know if this feels better or worse at the moment but, at the very least it feels familiar.
"I remember this." He smiles wide. "You next to me. Sharing a bed. Least I fit with you on one, again." It is enough to make him laugh which probably underlines his inebriation.
He opens his eyes again, turning his head to peer at Steve as he flops around and lands on his stomach, making Bucky wince because -- frankly that had to have hurt. He shifts, too, reaching out and picking up the ice pack once more, resting it on Steve's injured shoulder and hesitating a moment before just letting his hand rest there, too.
"Yeah," he murmurs, soft smile touching his mouth at the slew of memories that flood into his mind at Steve's words. It's been a long, long time since the two of them had fit in the same bed together. It makes his heart ache for times that had been infinitely simpler.
"It's 95 degrees, Stevie. Don't need any sheets. Do me a favor though? If you gotta puke, turn the other way."
He had been. Bad heart means bad circulation. The doctors have fixed his heart now, though, so Steve is lying. But really, with the ice pack, he's cooler than he otherwise might be. Steve is grinning at Bucky as his eyes go a bit lidded. It could be tiredness but it could also read as something warmer, given the open affection Steve was giving off right now.
His eyes roam over Bucky's face, drinking it in like he's back in time all over again. His smile fades a little but into something fond and comfortable instead of a frown.
"You used to help with that. Me being cold. Stayed close." Steve remembers it so well. Alcohol loosens his lips and he asks, thoughtlessly, "Do I feel the same? Then and now?"
Bucky pauses at that, then nods, reaching down to the end of the bed and pulling up the one blanket that he keeps there. He tugs it up and over Steve's smaller body, tucking him in and eyeing the look on Steve's face. The one that says he's feeling pretty good even though he's hurt pretty bad. It's the look that's always made his heart skip a couple of beats and apparently still does. Goddammit.
He lets himself lie back down, this time on his side so he's facing Steve even if it's dangerous territory. It doesn't have to be. It won't be because he'll never allow it to be. He reaches over, resting his right arm across the blanket and Steve's torso, the way he used to damned near every night after they'd moved in together.
"Yeah. I remember," he murmurs. It would be so easy to lose himself here, to pretend that this is another time and place. The question gives him pause though. "Yes and no, I guess. Body's the same. The rest is different. For both of us." He rubs his hand lightly over the blanket without really thinking about it.
It's a little too warm but not enough to make Steve want to move. He feels cozy. Like someone was giving him a big hug and not letting go. It's been a long time since he felt that way. Steve's grin returns as he settles into the cocoon of blanket and Bucky arm. He could fall asleep easy like this but stubbornness will stop him from dozing off. At least for now.
"You smell the same," he provides. "Bed always smelled of you. Just like this one." Steve, sober, wouldn't have said that. It was something he kept to himself, how much he had noticed that familiar smell on the sheets during previous visits. Just like he'd kept to himself how desperately he'd wanted to burrow into them. Now, finally, he could.
"You feel similar too." His eyes close then for a minute. Dreamily he shifts as Bucky strokes over his back. "At least when you do that.
Bucky holds his breath for a second at that admission, not quite sure what to make of it. He shakes his head a little. "You're hammered, Pal," he informs him with a soft, strained chuckle. People tended to get loose-lipped when they drank and it had been a long while since Steve had been able to get drunk. He can't say he wouldn't be doing the same thing if he suddenly found himself able to get drunk from booze. It had a nice way of drowning out some of the bad shit.
And there's a lot of things he'd like to drown out.
This isn't one of them. He watches Steve's eyes drift shut and he smiles faintly, continuing the soothing motion with his hand, remembering how often he'd done this back in the day when he'd been trying to help the other man get to sleep and he'd been sick or just too awake. It had always worked like a charm. Falling back into old patterns is too easy and there are warning sirens going off in his mind. Danger.
It's fine. He's always known it's dangerous, being this close to Steve.
He settles closer into the mattress, humming a little at the soothing touch. At how nice it was for him to be touched after all this time. Slowly, his eyes blink back open and focus on the guy beside him. His smile is wistful, then. Almost sad despite the warmth still coming off.
"Part of me missed this, too." He laughs a little but humorlessly. "Being like this.
"If I didn't know what I've lost...I'd maybe be happy in my real body. At any rate, it's easier. Simpler." He yawns loudly. "But I'll still pass on the asthma."
Bucky doesn't protest as Steve moves closer to him, practically snuggles up against him like Bucky's his own personal teddy bear. His breathing hitches momentarily and God. He'd missed this so much. He'll miss it again, once Shuri figures out the serum once more. Because once Steve is back to his normal self, he's not going to need Bucky anymore. Not to help stitch him up or take care of him while he's drunk or keep him warm at night.
He exhales at the admission, reaching up and resting his hand on the back of Steve's head, fingers curling in his hair for a moment.
And so he does. Steve settles up against Bucky and relaxes into the touches. With drugs and alcohol plus warm comfort, he can't fight long. " 'm not tired..." he grumbles for a second before all but passing out. It's a deep, soothing sleep that someone can only get when completely exhausted and Steve is out for hours.
Until the meds start wearing off.
It's the early morning when Steve lets out what is probably a nearly inaudible whimper. He's still asleep but no longer so deeply that he can ignore the aches of his body. The kick to his side, the punch to the face, the wrenching of his arm from the socket. All of them are awake before him, poking and prodding Steve out of his dreamless slumber. It fucking hurts, now. All of it fucking hurts like he's not been used to in decades. Steve's eyes blink open and he lets out another soft whine, still too drowsy to be putting on a brave face.
He shifts suddenly, forgetting about the injury to his shoulder, and cries out as the swollen, tender joint is shifted wrong. It's enough to have Steve up and properly awake but he's still confused. Uncertain why his body is so hurt. Uncertain why his lungs feel clogged up. He looks down and sees his smaller body and it's enough to have his sleepy, half-hungover mind racing in fear. He's had nightmares like this. But it feels real. It feels all too real.
He inhales for a breath that isn't there and that wheezing gasp is enough to trigger a whole mess of them, one after the other.
(Note to self, once he's more aware: no more drinking on meds when hurt.)
He doesn't mean to fall asleep. He's tired, but he doesn't need sleep the way a normal human being does, and his sleep usually turns to nightmares so he's taken to avoiding it as long as he can get by with it, choosing to spend most nights reading instead. Having Steve curled up passed out at his side, so many heavy reminders of a past he still misses right there at his fingertips. He gently cards his fingers through Steve's blonde hair and then his hand grows still and before he knows it, he's out like a light.
He hears the soft whimpering in his sleep, and his eyebrows furrow, fighting through the mind fog of unconsciousness just in time to hear a pained cry.
"Steve?" His eyes fly open in time to hear the wheezing. Shit. Fucking asthma attacks. "Stay still," he tells him, leaning down and plucking the inhaler off the top of the First Aid kit and pressing it to his mouth, releasing the chemicals quickly and then reaching out to rub his back. "Slow breaths, Stevie. Like this." He draws in a slow breath and exhales just as slowly.
Bucky's voice makes it through the panic. Steve obeys thoughtlessly because, if anyone can help him, it would be Bucky. He stays still, wheezing and feeling like he is drowning all over again. Before he can feel the dizziness of suffocation, though, there is something pressed into his mouth. Medicine. Amazing, incredible medicine that eases his lungs and has him inhaling hard and fast. He's desperate for it and on the verge of hyperventilating. Before he can, though, Bucky is stroking his back and guiding his breaths.
Steve stares at him. Copies him. And before too long, he's back to the world of the waking. Sore, but otherwise fine.
He knows that he's broken through the haze of panic that's always accompanied one of Steve's asthma attacks when Steve just follows his direction, inhaling the medicine and copying his breathing pattern. Despite how long it's been since he's had to do this -- damn near eighty years ago -- it's like riding a bicycle. Muscle memory. Helping Steve remember how to breathe, forcing himself to stay calm until the other man is breathing better, and rubbing his back in an attempt to soothe Steve's nerves.
Bucky shakes his head at the thanks. He doesn't need to be thanked for helping his best friend through a health issue now anymore than he'd needed it back when they were younger.
"Stay still," he tells him, stretching and slowly rising to his feet, moving across the floor to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water, returning to his friend's side. "Drink some of this." He reaches down and picks up the first aid kit, digging out the bottle of aspirin and shaking two out of it before holding them out, too. "And take these, too."
"You're bossy when I can't fight back." Steve means it to be teasing but there's still the smallest edge of bitterness to it. Not against Bucky, of course, but against his own, broken body. Still, he does as he's told and takes the aspirin as well as the water. It will take a little bit for the meds to work but he's awake enough now to at least mask how sore he is. Carefully, he sits up and glances at Bucky, embarrassed.
"Been a little bit since I had an attack. Didn't even have one in the fight." As though trying to justify the one he just had with it being overdue. He purses his lips and exhales in a soft sigh.
"Thanks, though. Guess you don't forget how to deal with it..."
"Yep." He hears that bitterness, and he's not interested in starting up another fight, which is what it'll undoubtedly descend into if he says any of the things he's actually thinking. He doesn't have the desire or the energy to fight with Steve again at the moment. He watches as his friend sits up and takes the pills down with the water.
Bucky's quiet, watching him intently. "No. Not so much. Muscle memory, I guess." He'd bandaged Steve up after plenty of fights back in the day. Then he'd gone off to war and used that to help the guys on the field when they'd been injured.
He rests his arms on his legs, keeping his eyes locked on Steve. "How ya feeling?" He'll be surprised if he gets an honest answer.
Steve scoffs. "Peachy." He's still annoyed and on a hair-trigger, but slowly he is coming down. It's not Bucky's fault and it's not right to take out his self-frustration on him. But, still.
But, still.
Steve exhales slow again and swings himself around so he's facing Bucky straight on. Even like this their difference in height is apparent. Steve's head tilts up to look at his friend and, oddly enough, that is what breaks the storm clouds up around his face.
"Muscle memory," he agrees, jerking his chin a little so the other man will know what he's referring to. Finally, Steve smiles.
"I'm alright," he finally answers honestly. "Sore. My arm still hurts a little but the pills will take care of it. That and my headache.
"Not sure if that's from the punches or the beer. Did I usually get hungover on half a beer?"
Most of Bucky's anger from the night before faded away as the dawn descended. He's never had the ability to stay angry with Steve for very long anyway. He's never been the type to hold a grudge against someone he loves in general. And he does love Steve. He's always loved him.
A tiny smile touches his own mouth at the implication and he inclines his head in agreement, something softening in his expression entirely of its own volition. It probably comes a little too close to revealing things he's spent most of his life hiding.
"Yeah. We'll ice it some more. Alternate with heat. Hit the swelling and help increase circulation in the joints and muscles around the bone. Should help, too." Speaking of ice, Steve's eye has turned a nice shade of dark purple, and he rises to his feet, smirking at the question.
"Nope. It's probably a combination of the punches, the pain killers and the beer," he says casually. "You feel like hurling?"
Steve shakes his head. "Nah. Actually, I'm hungry." He doesn't remember if he ate dinner the night before but either way it wouldn't matter. Serum or no serum, Steve had a hollow leg when it came to eating. Before, it had deprived Bucky of his own food as he sacrificed for him. Now at least they have enough for them both. But that didn't mean he stopped sacrificing. Just now it was different things.
Like sleep.
Steve feels a bit better now. Whether from the meds or from just getting used to the pain, he's not sure, but it's full enough for him to go back to sleep. "I can wait for breakfast though. C'mon. I woke you up."
He doesn't even hesitate getting back into the position he'd been in before and holding open the blanket. Steve smiles at Bucky and pats against the mattress.
"We're not in the army anymore; no waking up at ass crack of dawn."
He grabs some ice from the freezer, wrapping it the same way he had the night before, in a rag. "You sure? I can fix something." It's going to be far, far too easy to slip back into this pattern of domesticity with Steve the longer that it takes Shuri to recreate the serum. And as nostalgic as that would be, ultimately he knows how it'll end: with Steve leaving for parts unknown, off to save the world. Because he doesn't know how to not get involved, and as much as Bucky loves him for it and he'd never ask him to give it up and walk away, it exhausts Bucky.
It exhausts Steve, too. Therein lies the problem: Steve doesn't know when to stop and so he never will, until there's no other choice. And it means that Bucky will lose him, a piece at a time, until there's simply nothing left and it fucking terrifies him.
Bucky remains in the kitchen a moment longer, knowing he should tell Steve he's fine, that a couple hours of sleep is more than he usually manages and he's basically back at full charge already. But he knows his time with Steve here is limited, and he's weak. He knows it. He goes quietly, crawling back onto the mattress beside him and stretching out, holding the ice pack up so the other can see it.
"Should probably ice your shoulder some more. Or your eye. Looks pretty bad this morning."
"Yeah. Makes me look tough." He takes the ice pack all the same and holds it against his shoulder. His eye hurts but not nearly as bad as the repairing joint. He groans a little in relief as the ice numbs it and then settles back against Bucky the way he always used to in the winter. The ice is making him shiver, after all. Steve looks over at him seriously, trying to read into his friend's face what might be on his mind. It's probably close to what's on his own mind.
"Do you remember the first time we shared a bed?"
They'd been young and Steve's mother had been working late. Mrs. Barnes let him spend the night and Steve had tried to sleep on the floor like a respectful guest. That hadn't lasted long until he was almost dragged up and onto Bucky's tiny mattress. Thank God there was no Instagram back then because he woke up nearly on top of Bucky. But it must not have been that bad since they did it again and again and again.
"Brooklyn to Africa and the one constant in our lives is neither of us have guest rooms. Or pullouts."
Bucky hesitates a second, and then reaches out, moving Steve's hand away from the pack and settling his own there instead to keep the ice in place. He feels the other man shiver against him and he shifts a bit closer, curling up against him even as Steve settles back into his warmth.
A soft chuckle escapes him, his breath stirring the soft hair on Steve's head. "Yeah. I remember I had to yank you off the floor and then apparently I used you as an electric blanket." His voice is light, teasing. It hadn't been bad. Back then it had been completely, entirely innocent, two boys clinging to each other for comfort and warmth in the harsh winters.
"Never really needed them, did we? Never minded sharing," he murmurs.
It's such a small thing for Bucky to push Steve's hand away and replace it with his own. Steve watches as he does it and can't help but feel warmed from head to toe. It's small but it's also not. It's the expression of their entire friendship, right there: Bucky supporting and piecing Steve back together without a word. It's just what they do. And Steve knows bone-deep he'd do the same thing if the roles were reversed. It's just who they are. Who both of them are when they're together.
"Good training for the army." And it had been. But that wasn't why they'd done it. "A lot of our past was training for now."
Steve smiles at Bucky almost apologetically, then. His voice lowers and for the first time since he showed up at the front door bleeding, he seems to be calmed down. Or at least more at peace.
"I'm sorry, you know. For going out looking for trouble." Because they both know he needed almost no excuse to fight in the mood he was in. He would have found someone if it took all night. "But even with the pain, I'm kinda glad I did. It is almost worth it to relive these memories."
"Yeah, guess it was," he agrees, letting his eyes drift shut even though he's not sleepy. He's warm and he's comfortable, which is more than he usually is, and it's a feeling that's pretty exclusively tied to Steve in general. He's not sure he's ever been as comfortable as he is when they're like this. It's an incredible reprieve from reality.
He notices the difference when Steve speaks this time and he squints at him, exhaling. "I know," he admits. He knows Steve means the apology. For as much trouble as he's always gotten into, he knows Steve never means to upset him.
Bucky snorts. "Pal, you don't have to get yourself hurt if you wanna crawl into my bed and pretend like we're kids. You don't gotta have an excuse at all." He doesn't think about the words before he says them. They just come out and he holds his breath, letting his eyes close once more and willing Steve not to examine the implications of that too closely.
Steve's heart skips a beat there as he looks at Bucky and replays the words. It wasn't meant the way it came out, of course. It couldn't have been. But still, Steve can't help but smirk at it and move closer to give Bucky a hard time.
"Oh, no? This scrawny body does it for ya, huh?"
Teasing is the best way to push back the feelings Bucky's words brought up. To push away any other thoughts Steve's delirious mind might entertain. He shifts closer and carefully drapes what he can over Bucky. Lanky limbs and all.
"Be honest: the black eye makes me look better, though. Right? Can't even hold yourself back, now."
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
branchandroot
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 02:31 am (UTC)"Yeah, I was." Bucky sighs, reaching down and slipping his sandals off, tucking them under the bed so he wouldn't trip over them later. He does the same with the beer bottle. He nudges Steve over just a little and sprawls out beside him, as close to the edge as he can get without actually falling off, so there's enough room for them both.
"Doesn't matter, Stevie. Never woulda got it anyway. No sense livin' in the past and playin' the what if game." He closes his eyes. He's not going to sleep but he'll lie there until Steve sleeps.
icon for everything
Date: 2019-08-18 02:59 am (UTC)"Speaking of past..."
He can't help it. Steve is still on his side and pleasantly tipsy from everything in his system. He moves a little closer but finds that it hurts his arm too much to do more than that. He flops a little forward, losing contact with the ice pack in order to lay more on his stomach. He doesn't know if this feels better or worse at the moment but, at the very least it feels familiar.
"I remember this." He smiles wide. "You next to me. Sharing a bed. Least I fit with you on one, again." It is enough to make him laugh which probably underlines his inebriation.
"Gonna hog the sheets?"
Lol
Date: 2019-08-18 03:16 am (UTC)"Yeah," he murmurs, soft smile touching his mouth at the slew of memories that flood into his mind at Steve's words. It's been a long, long time since the two of them had fit in the same bed together. It makes his heart ache for times that had been infinitely simpler.
"It's 95 degrees, Stevie. Don't need any sheets. Do me a favor though? If you gotta puke, turn the other way."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 03:41 am (UTC)He had been. Bad heart means bad circulation. The doctors have fixed his heart now, though, so Steve is lying. But really, with the ice pack, he's cooler than he otherwise might be. Steve is grinning at Bucky as his eyes go a bit lidded. It could be tiredness but it could also read as something warmer, given the open affection Steve was giving off right now.
His eyes roam over Bucky's face, drinking it in like he's back in time all over again. His smile fades a little but into something fond and comfortable instead of a frown.
"You used to help with that. Me being cold. Stayed close." Steve remembers it so well. Alcohol loosens his lips and he asks, thoughtlessly, "Do I feel the same? Then and now?"
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 03:53 am (UTC)He lets himself lie back down, this time on his side so he's facing Steve even if it's dangerous territory. It doesn't have to be. It won't be because he'll never allow it to be. He reaches over, resting his right arm across the blanket and Steve's torso, the way he used to damned near every night after they'd moved in together.
"Yeah. I remember," he murmurs. It would be so easy to lose himself here, to pretend that this is another time and place. The question gives him pause though. "Yes and no, I guess. Body's the same. The rest is different. For both of us." He rubs his hand lightly over the blanket without really thinking about it.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 04:06 am (UTC)"You smell the same," he provides. "Bed always smelled of you. Just like this one." Steve, sober, wouldn't have said that. It was something he kept to himself, how much he had noticed that familiar smell on the sheets during previous visits. Just like he'd kept to himself how desperately he'd wanted to burrow into them. Now, finally, he could.
"You feel similar too." His eyes close then for a minute. Dreamily he shifts as Bucky strokes over his back. "At least when you do that.
"I missed it."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 04:16 am (UTC)And there's a lot of things he'd like to drown out.
This isn't one of them. He watches Steve's eyes drift shut and he smiles faintly, continuing the soothing motion with his hand, remembering how often he'd done this back in the day when he'd been trying to help the other man get to sleep and he'd been sick or just too awake. It had always worked like a charm. Falling back into old patterns is too easy and there are warning sirens going off in his mind. Danger.
It's fine. He's always known it's dangerous, being this close to Steve.
"Me too."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-18 08:20 pm (UTC)He settles closer into the mattress, humming a little at the soothing touch. At how nice it was for him to be touched after all this time. Slowly, his eyes blink back open and focus on the guy beside him. His smile is wistful, then. Almost sad despite the warmth still coming off.
"Part of me missed this, too." He laughs a little but humorlessly. "Being like this.
"If I didn't know what I've lost...I'd maybe be happy in my real body. At any rate, it's easier. Simpler." He yawns loudly. "But I'll still pass on the asthma."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 02:10 am (UTC)Bucky doesn't protest as Steve moves closer to him, practically snuggles up against him like Bucky's his own personal teddy bear. His breathing hitches momentarily and God. He'd missed this so much. He'll miss it again, once Shuri figures out the serum once more. Because once Steve is back to his normal self, he's not going to need Bucky anymore. Not to help stitch him up or take care of him while he's drunk or keep him warm at night.
He exhales at the admission, reaching up and resting his hand on the back of Steve's head, fingers curling in his hair for a moment.
"No you wouldn't. Not for long," he murmurs.
"Rest, Pal."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 02:49 am (UTC)Until the meds start wearing off.
It's the early morning when Steve lets out what is probably a nearly inaudible whimper. He's still asleep but no longer so deeply that he can ignore the aches of his body. The kick to his side, the punch to the face, the wrenching of his arm from the socket. All of them are awake before him, poking and prodding Steve out of his dreamless slumber. It fucking hurts, now. All of it fucking hurts like he's not been used to in decades. Steve's eyes blink open and he lets out another soft whine, still too drowsy to be putting on a brave face.
He shifts suddenly, forgetting about the injury to his shoulder, and cries out as the swollen, tender joint is shifted wrong. It's enough to have Steve up and properly awake but he's still confused. Uncertain why his body is so hurt. Uncertain why his lungs feel clogged up. He looks down and sees his smaller body and it's enough to have his sleepy, half-hungover mind racing in fear. He's had nightmares like this. But it feels real. It feels all too real.
He inhales for a breath that isn't there and that wheezing gasp is enough to trigger a whole mess of them, one after the other.
(Note to self, once he's more aware: no more drinking on meds when hurt.)
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 03:23 am (UTC)He hears the soft whimpering in his sleep, and his eyebrows furrow, fighting through the mind fog of unconsciousness just in time to hear a pained cry.
"Steve?" His eyes fly open in time to hear the wheezing. Shit. Fucking asthma attacks. "Stay still," he tells him, leaning down and plucking the inhaler off the top of the First Aid kit and pressing it to his mouth, releasing the chemicals quickly and then reaching out to rub his back. "Slow breaths, Stevie. Like this." He draws in a slow breath and exhales just as slowly.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 10:06 am (UTC)Steve stares at him. Copies him. And before too long, he's back to the world of the waking. Sore, but otherwise fine.
"Buck," he exhales. "Thank you."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 05:07 pm (UTC)Bucky shakes his head at the thanks. He doesn't need to be thanked for helping his best friend through a health issue now anymore than he'd needed it back when they were younger.
"Stay still," he tells him, stretching and slowly rising to his feet, moving across the floor to the kitchen and grabbing a glass of water, returning to his friend's side. "Drink some of this." He reaches down and picks up the first aid kit, digging out the bottle of aspirin and shaking two out of it before holding them out, too. "And take these, too."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-19 10:26 pm (UTC)"Been a little bit since I had an attack. Didn't even have one in the fight." As though trying to justify the one he just had with it being overdue. He purses his lips and exhales in a soft sigh.
"Thanks, though. Guess you don't forget how to deal with it..."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-20 12:17 am (UTC)Bucky's quiet, watching him intently. "No. Not so much. Muscle memory, I guess." He'd bandaged Steve up after plenty of fights back in the day. Then he'd gone off to war and used that to help the guys on the field when they'd been injured.
He rests his arms on his legs, keeping his eyes locked on Steve. "How ya feeling?" He'll be surprised if he gets an honest answer.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-20 02:55 am (UTC)But, still.
Steve exhales slow again and swings himself around so he's facing Bucky straight on. Even like this their difference in height is apparent. Steve's head tilts up to look at his friend and, oddly enough, that is what breaks the storm clouds up around his face.
"Muscle memory," he agrees, jerking his chin a little so the other man will know what he's referring to. Finally, Steve smiles.
"I'm alright," he finally answers honestly. "Sore. My arm still hurts a little but the pills will take care of it. That and my headache.
"Not sure if that's from the punches or the beer. Did I usually get hungover on half a beer?"
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-20 03:31 am (UTC)A tiny smile touches his own mouth at the implication and he inclines his head in agreement, something softening in his expression entirely of its own volition. It probably comes a little too close to revealing things he's spent most of his life hiding.
"Yeah. We'll ice it some more. Alternate with heat. Hit the swelling and help increase circulation in the joints and muscles around the bone. Should help, too." Speaking of ice, Steve's eye has turned a nice shade of dark purple, and he rises to his feet, smirking at the question.
"Nope. It's probably a combination of the punches, the pain killers and the beer," he says casually. "You feel like hurling?"
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 02:57 am (UTC)Like sleep.
Steve feels a bit better now. Whether from the meds or from just getting used to the pain, he's not sure, but it's full enough for him to go back to sleep. "I can wait for breakfast though. C'mon. I woke you up."
He doesn't even hesitate getting back into the position he'd been in before and holding open the blanket. Steve smiles at Bucky and pats against the mattress.
"We're not in the army anymore; no waking up at ass crack of dawn."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 03:23 am (UTC)It exhausts Steve, too. Therein lies the problem: Steve doesn't know when to stop and so he never will, until there's no other choice. And it means that Bucky will lose him, a piece at a time, until there's simply nothing left and it fucking terrifies him.
Bucky remains in the kitchen a moment longer, knowing he should tell Steve he's fine, that a couple hours of sleep is more than he usually manages and he's basically back at full charge already. But he knows his time with Steve here is limited, and he's weak. He knows it. He goes quietly, crawling back onto the mattress beside him and stretching out, holding the ice pack up so the other can see it.
"Should probably ice your shoulder some more. Or your eye. Looks pretty bad this morning."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 02:28 pm (UTC)"Do you remember the first time we shared a bed?"
They'd been young and Steve's mother had been working late. Mrs. Barnes let him spend the night and Steve had tried to sleep on the floor like a respectful guest. That hadn't lasted long until he was almost dragged up and onto Bucky's tiny mattress. Thank God there was no Instagram back then because he woke up nearly on top of Bucky. But it must not have been that bad since they did it again and again and again.
"Brooklyn to Africa and the one constant in our lives is neither of us have guest rooms. Or pullouts."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 03:03 pm (UTC)A soft chuckle escapes him, his breath stirring the soft hair on Steve's head. "Yeah. I remember I had to yank you off the floor and then apparently I used you as an electric blanket." His voice is light, teasing. It hadn't been bad. Back then it had been completely, entirely innocent, two boys clinging to each other for comfort and warmth in the harsh winters.
"Never really needed them, did we? Never minded sharing," he murmurs.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 06:05 pm (UTC)"Good training for the army." And it had been. But that wasn't why they'd done it. "A lot of our past was training for now."
Steve smiles at Bucky almost apologetically, then. His voice lowers and for the first time since he showed up at the front door bleeding, he seems to be calmed down. Or at least more at peace.
"I'm sorry, you know. For going out looking for trouble." Because they both know he needed almost no excuse to fight in the mood he was in. He would have found someone if it took all night. "But even with the pain, I'm kinda glad I did. It is almost worth it to relive these memories."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-21 07:25 pm (UTC)He notices the difference when Steve speaks this time and he squints at him, exhaling. "I know," he admits. He knows Steve means the apology. For as much trouble as he's always gotten into, he knows Steve never means to upset him.
Bucky snorts. "Pal, you don't have to get yourself hurt if you wanna crawl into my bed and pretend like we're kids. You don't gotta have an excuse at all." He doesn't think about the words before he says them. They just come out and he holds his breath, letting his eyes close once more and willing Steve not to examine the implications of that too closely.
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-22 02:51 am (UTC)"Oh, no? This scrawny body does it for ya, huh?"
Teasing is the best way to push back the feelings Bucky's words brought up. To push away any other thoughts Steve's delirious mind might entertain. He shifts closer and carefully drapes what he can over Bucky. Lanky limbs and all.
"Be honest: the black eye makes me look better, though. Right? Can't even hold yourself back, now."
(no subject)
Date: 2019-08-22 05:52 pm (UTC)Bucky scowls. If the blonde presses much closer, he's going to realize real fast just how much that scrawny body does do it for him. Fuck.
"Yeah. You look like a punk rockstar." He huffs out a breath. "Thought we were going back to sleep."
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