Do I Have to Do It For You?

"So, is she the one?" Bucky asks. They're lying together on Steve's cot; it's not strictly big enough for two people—perhaps not strictly big enough for Steve alone now that Steve's gone and gotten himself all huge—but Bucky's mostly on top of Steve, so it doesn't really matter. "And when are you going to properly introduce me?"

"What?" Steve says, and it's possible he's being honest: it's possible he has no idea what Bucky's talking about. He probably is being honest, actually; he never was any good at lying.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "Agent Carter, Peggy, the gorgeous dame you were making eyes at and who was making eyes back just as hard if not harder." Steve's a lucky bastard. A lucky, totally deserving bastard.

Steve blushes, looks guilty. His arms tighten about Bucky's shoulders as if he needs to keep Bucky there. As if Bucky would ever leave. "I didn't—you don't have any reason to be jealous, Buck."

"Jealous?" Bucky lets out a disbelieving huff as he pushes himself up—Steve lets him, but his hands remain on Bucky's biceps—to get a better look at Steve's face. He shakes his head, scraping his teeth over his lower lip. "No, I don't suppose I have any reason to be jealous, Stevie, since that stuff they pumped into you didn't bother to fix your brain when it fixed the rest of you." He shifts up a bit farther so he's looking Steve directly in the eye. "You haven't even talked to her."

"We've...talked," Steve counters, and Bucky remembers once more why he loves this stupid punk. Well, one of the reasons: he's just so gloriously inarticulate when he's flustered.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You obviously haven't talked about anything good." He slides his tongue out between his lips to moisten them. Also because he loves the look in Steve's eyes as they catch the motion. "Like the fact that you're still looking for your second soulmate—the one who's probably very female based on the size of her fingerprint—and, 'Oh, Agent Carter, have you happened to meet your soulmate yet? Because it could be me, so why not let's try touching each other's marks and find out?'"

Steve gives him a longsuffering look with at least a bit of a smile mixed in. His hands tighten a bit on Bucky's biceps. "That the sort of line you'd use, Buck?"

Bucky smiles lazily. "Probably."

Steve huffs. "Well it's a good thing you've already found your soulmate then."

Bucky leans in and presses an open-mouthed kiss to Steve's overly-muscled neck, humming and running his tongue over Steve's slightly salty skin just to hear that sharp little intake of breath—Steve always seems so surprised, even after all this time. Steve smells different now, still like Steve, but warmer, stronger, more vibrant. Bucky pulls back just enough to murmur against Steve's skin. "I certainly think it's a good thing."

Steve's laugh is a little breathless but in the healthiest way—thank heavens for mad scientists and their highly experimental miracle drugs. But there is a frown in Steve's voice when he speaks again: "What did you mean when you said they 'fixed' me? You think I was...broken?"

Rolling off of Steve, Bucky sits up—perches on the very edge of the narrow cot—shoving a hand through his hair, sighing. "You had nearly every chronic condition known to man, so yes." He turns his head to look down at Steve, one corner of his mouth quirking upward. "But you were a stubborn, stupid little punk, and you still are." He runs one hand over Steve's impossible abs. "Just not so much with the 'little' anymore."

Pushing Bucky's hand away, Steve sits up as well, swinging his legs over the edge of the cot and hunching over with his forearms resting on his thighs. He glances sideways at Bucky, eyes guarded. "You like me better this way."

And it's the stupidest thing, because Bucky has liked Steve, Bucky has loved Steve since they were freaking kids. He rolls his eyes, hunches his own shoulders. "You know me: totally shallow."

Steve shoots him a frown that says he doesn't quite follow. But then, Bucky's always been the one to follow.

Clenching his jaw, Bucky takes a few breaths through his nose then fixes Steve with a harsh glare. "I'd never want to kiss anyone who wasn't gorgeous as hell, Steve, so I've always been real thankful that my soulmate happened to be the most devastatingly attractive guy on the whole damn planet." He looks away, mutters under his breath, "You didn't have to be big, but of course I'm glad you're healthy."

"Bucky," Steve says, hurt and guilt leaking into his voice. "I—I didn't mean—" He reaches for Bucky, so Bucky takes his hand, giving it a rough squeeze and holding on.

Bucky rolls his eyes. "You don't have to apologize for being a stupid punk, or you'd be apologizing all damn day and it would get boring pretty fast." He smiles, lopsided, nudges his shoulder against Steve's. "So are you gonna talk to your girl, or do I have to do it for you?"

"She's not my girl." The mumbled words are somehow defiant. Steve really has a lot of fascinating talents like that one right there.

"I will bet you money that she is," Bucky counters, laughing. "The whole of my next paycheck: yours, if she isn't."

"Okay fine." It's not the bet, of course, but maybe it's a convenient excuse. "But I want you to be there when I talk to her." Steve's grip on Bucky's hand is warm, his eyes earnest as they meet Bucky's. "You're a part of this."

So Bucky nods, because of course he's a part of 'this'—he's a part of Steve, swallowed up long before Steve got all big on the outside.

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This is probably the end for this fic, but I am considering the possibility of writing a sequel about Steve and Bucky, sort of post-TWS in this continuity.

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