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Bucky was going to throttle Steve.
He stomped through the muddy campgrounds, barely aware of the soldiers milling about, their chatter a low hum in his ears. His mind was too full of
Steve
—of the reckless, self-sacrificing idiot who’d gone and had his entire body rewritten without so much as a bloody discussion about it.
The last time Bucky had seen him, Steve had been small. Sickly. The same fragile thing he’d spent his whole life patching up, pulling out of fights, protecting. And now—
now
—
Bucky clenched his jaw and shoved open the door to an old wooden shed near the edge of camp. He barely had time to step inside before the door swung shut behind him, leaving them in the dim light filtering through the gaps in the wood.
And there he was.
Steve stood in the middle of the shed, a sheepish expression on his face. But Bucky barely noticed the expression—he was too busy taking in everything
else
.
Because Steve wasn’t
Steve
anymore.
He was
tall
. Tall enough that Bucky had to
look up
at him. When the hell had that ever happened? The difference was so stark, so ridiculous, that it made Bucky’s stomach churn.
And then there were the muscles.
Bucky swallowed thickly, unable to stop his eyes from dragging over Steve’s arms, the way his uniform barely contained the new bulk of him. The taut stretch of fabric over his shoulders. His chest. The powerful curve of his thighs. His ass.
It was unreal. It was—
Not what we’re here for, Barnes
.
Bucky dragged his gaze back up, locking eyes with Steve, who immediately winced.
“Bucky, I—”
“What the
hell
were you thinking?” Bucky hissed, voice low but seething. “You let them pump you full of some—some mystery juice, and now you’re—”
His hands flailed as he gestured at Steve, at
all
of him.
“Bucky, I didn’t—I didn’t mean to make you angry—”
“Angry?” Bucky let out a sharp laugh, running a hand through his hair. “Steve, I—I don’t even know what I
am
right now.”
Steve shifted, shoulders hunching, and something in Bucky’s chest twisted. He was watching him like a kicked puppy, all guilt-ridden and desperate, like he’d just run over Bucky’s favourite dog.
“I didn’t do it to—to change anything between us,” Steve said earnestly. “I just—I wanted to help. To do more. I thought if I could fight—”
Bucky knew that. He’d
always
known that. And it didn’t make him any less furious.
Because Steve had already been brave. Had already been everything Bucky could ever want.
Now, though—
Steve ran a hand through his now slightly longer, golden hair, looking so apologetic that Bucky’s anger wavered.
“Bucky, please, I— I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to upset you. I should’ve— I should’ve talked to you about it, I know that, I just—”
And he wasn’t
stopping
.
Bucky tried to focus, tried to stay mad, but Steve’s voice was soft, pleading, and Bucky’s heart—already fragile where Steve was concerned—was crumbling at the edges.
And then, of course, there was the little matter of
his muscles
.
Bucky swallowed again, his throat dry.
God, it’s not fair
.
He was meant to be lecturing Steve, meant to be
telling him off
, but instead, all he could think about was how broad he looked. How different.
How attractive.
Bucky groaned under his breath and dragged his hands down his face, shaking his head. “You’re killin’ me here, Stevie.”
Steve’s face fell even further, and he took a step closer, his new height forcing Bucky to crane his neck.
“I— I didn’t mean to—”
Bucky’s hands moved before his brain did.
He grabbed Steve by the collar, yanked him down, and kissed him.
Steve
froze
.
Bucky almost laughed against his lips. As if this was new. As if they hadn’t been doing this—hadn’t been
them
—for years.
It was only a few seconds later that Steve melted, lips parting slightly in a surprised exhale against Bucky’s mouth as he held him there, letting the anger in his chest unravel into something else entirely.
By the time Bucky pulled back, Steve was staring at him, mouth parted, speechless.
Bucky grinned breathlessly.
“Finally,” he murmured. “A way to shut you up.”
Steve blinked, then—slowly—his expression softened.
Bucky huffed, shaking his head. “You still look ridiculous,” he muttered, but there was no heat behind it.
Steve smiled. Just slightly. And Bucky—well, Bucky was officially ruined.
So, of course, he kissed him again.
~ Steve had faced down bullies bigger than him, taken punches that left him winded, and been laughed at more times than he could count.
But nothing had
ever
left him as stunned as Bucky kissing him breathless in the middle of a rickety old shed.
His lips were still tingling, his brain struggling to catch up. He and Bucky had kissed before—of course they had. For
years
, in hidden corners and shadowed alleys, behind closed doors where no one could see. But this was
different
. This wasn’t a stolen moment in Brooklyn, wasn’t a whispered confession in the dark.
This was Bucky looking up at him—looking
up
, for the first time in their lives—with something like awe, frustration, and fondness all tangled up in his eyes.
And then he was kissing him
again
.
Steve barely had time to react before Bucky’s right hand curled into his shirt, dragging him back down and the other settled in his tousled hair, his fingers twisted in it. He felt
strong
now, but Bucky kissed him like
he
was the one in control, like Steve was still that tiny, breakable thing that needed handling with care.
And Steve let him.
Bucky tasted like the mint given to him and the bad coffee from the mess tent, but underneath it was something warm and familiar—something
his
.
Steve’s hands twitched at his sides before finally settling on Bucky’s waist, fingers hesitating as if
he
was the one afraid of breaking
Bucky
.
“Stevie,” Bucky murmured against his lips, almost laughing. “You can touch me, y’know. I ain’t made of glass.”
Steve swallowed, dazed, and let his hands tighten their grip.
Bucky made a sound—
not fair, not fair
—before deepening the kiss.
And, God help him, Steve
melted
.
For a moment, it was just them. Just their shared breath, the soft sounds between them, the slight creak of the shed as they shifted. Steve wasn’t thinking about war, about HYDRA, about the super-soldier serum pumping through his veins.
It was just
Bucky
. Just his boyfriend. Just the man he loved. Just
them
.
But of course, the world never let them have anything for long.
The distant crunch of boots on dirt made them both freeze.
Bucky pulled back first, eyes flickering toward the door as the sound of voices grew closer.
Steve’s heart was still hammering, his lips wet, his hands still gripping Bucky’s waist like he’d float away if he let go.
Bucky pressed his forehead to Steve’s chest and exhaled sharply before looking back up at him, mouth twitching.
“Guess we can’t hide in here all night,” he murmured, voice softer now. Teasing.
Steve exhaled something close to a laugh, nodding. “Guess not.”
Still, neither of them moved right away.
For the first time since the procedure, since waking up in this unfamiliar body, Steve felt
settled
. Because Bucky wasn’t looking at him like he was something new. Something foreign.
He was looking at him like he was
Steve
.
And that—well, that was everything.
Bucky’s gaze dropped to his lips for the briefest second before he surged up, stealing one last, quick kiss, like he couldn’t help himself.
Steve blinked, stunned all over again, and Bucky smirked.
“C’mon, big guy,” he murmured, squeezing Steve’s arm before stepping away. “We got a patrol to be on.”
Steve nodded, straightening as Bucky reached for the door. Just before opening it, he hesitated, glancing back.
“…Still mad at me?” Steve asked, hesitant.
Bucky rolled his eyes, but there was no real annoyance behind it. “A little,” he admitted.
Steve swallowed. “I really am sorry.”
Bucky let out a slow breath, then shook his head with a small, rueful smile.
“Yeah,” he said, softer now. “I know.”
And then, without another word, they slipped out into the night.