DISCLAIMER: Captain America (Steve Rogers) and Winter Soldier (Bucky Barnes) are fictional characters originally created by Joe Simon, Jack Kirby, Ed Brubaker and Steve Epting. This is a work of fan fiction. No copyright infringement was intended.

The man on the bridge. Who was he?

He wanted to remember.

He wanted to forget.

He let them shove him back into the chair, took the mouthguard with no resistance at all.

Maybe it was better this way.

No pressing obligations, no pointless craving - just uninhibited, unadulterated violence.

And yet, no matter how hard he tried, he could no longer ignore that face, that expression, that voice calling out what had once been his name.

Something in his subconscious was already spilling over.

I knew him.

He was still in his white, loose pajama pants and tank top, sitting on a padded wooden bench on their private open terrace in early morning light when the glass door behind him was slid open, and Steve stepped outside, looking slightly concerned, as usual.

"You okay? I didn't hear you get up."

"It aches."

"Hm?"

"The arm. It aches. It wasn't mine to begin with, but now that it's gone, it hurts like hell."

"It's called phantom pain."

"I know. I just wish I could pop a pill to make it go away." Bucky rolled the star-etched remains of his metal limb and cast a glance at his friend whose expression melted from concerned into compassionate as he crossed the tiled floor and took a seat right next to him, leaning back to listen to the calming white noise from the nearby waterfall rushing through the lush, green blanket of Wakandan rainforest, his hands idly in his lap, his fingers crossed.

"So, how's your memory today? Any fresh recollections?" Steve inquired after a while, turning his gaze back to Bucky who scoffed.

"Enough to feel like crap for the rest of my life."

"Do you want to talk about it?"

"You really don't need to interrogate me every frigging morning. I can deal with this on my own." Bucky's eyes narrowed, but his friend clearly had no intention to give in to his protests quite yet.

"Your latest flashbacks... Have they been about Hydra - or about us?"

"Both, I guess." Bucky clenched his jaw, avoiding the captain's questioning stare. From the corner of his eye, he could tell Steve was bemused by his reply, but to his relief, his friend decided not to push it any further; instead, he rubbed his equally pajama clad thighs and flexed his muscles before clearing his throat.

"I need to go get the others from the Raft, so I won't be around for a day or two."

"Will they be joining us here?"

"Nope, I've decided to drop them off at another secure location. It's better that we'll keep your whereabouts between us and the king, at least for now. I'll never make the mistake of putting your life at risk again."

Bucky raised his eyebrows. "I hope you're aware of how cocky that sounds."

"Just do me a favor and try not to piss off T'Challa while I'm gone."

Bucky could hear the tease in Steve's voice and granted him a half-hearted smile. "I'll do my best."

"Good. And if you don't mind, I'll say hello to Sam for you." Steve reached out his hand and gave his friend's shoulder a short, reassuring squeeze before standing up and walking back into the massive building that was resting on the side of a foggy mountain and overshadowed by a giant black panther statue, part of which could be seen from the terraces behind the building as well.

It had been a whole week since they had landed there, in the very heart of Africa. Ever since their arrival, Bucky had been under the care of the newly appointed king's private army of specialists, therapists and doctors, and all that time, Steve had remained steadfast by his side, solid as a rock, making sure he was treated well and with respect and sharing a room with him in order to help him keep a grip on his sanity even when he woke up several times a night, drenched in sweat, delirious and ready to kill anyone in sight.

For the first 48 hours, Bucky's emotions had been in overdrive, and he had literally begged to be put under ice again in one way or another; however, in the course of the following few days, he had learned to find comfort in Steve's constant presence as part of his daily routines, even though it hadn't taken him too long to realize that while his new self had appreciated the captain's sometimes overbearing gestures of affection, his old self had done its best to blend into the shadows of his current personality.

His memory had been dotted with several blank patches that had all seemed to be connected with Steve and his role in his life before and during the Second World War, and after a couple of thorough sessions with his personal therapist, he had come to the conclusion that those patches were most likely a series of events he had chosen to forget of his own will - which was rather alarming, considering that he had little or no trouble whatsoever remembering every single atrocity he had committed during his years as an assassin.

And then, after six nights of reoccurring, indistinct nightmares in a row, he had finally been able to enjoy a good night's sleep - that had very nearly ended with an involuntary ejaculation.

He had barely made it to the bathroom in time, and after a few hasty jerks, he had come all over his hand and the toilet seat, first overwhelmed by relief, then by shock and shame, and he had been gripped by nausea as soon as the waves of pleasure had started to subside.

Curled up on the cool tiles of the bathroom floor, he had struggled to keep his voice down when images and sensations had flooded his head as a constant, excruciating stream, and for the first time in seventy years, he had actually prayed that someone would come and drag him up, secure him to a chair and wipe his brain clean again, clean of all those vile memories that seemed to gush forth from the sewer that was his subconscious mind. It had taken him a full hour before he had managed to stagger out of the bathroom - silently enough not to wake Steve up - and on to the terrace where he had calmed down further while trying to sort out the mishmash of emotions the sudden breakdown had left behind.

Steve's departure for the Raft that very morning had been an unexpected but welcomed stroke of luck, and for the rest of the day, Bucky had spent long but mostly relaxing hours in a laboratory where he had been examined by a team of engineers who had been politely fascinated by the mechanics of what was left of his metal arm - while his own mind had been firmly occupied elsewhere.

"You should at least try and get some sleep tonight."

Bucky stared at the message on his phone, the silence in their bedroom broken only by the soft murmur of the air conditioning system, the sheets of his bed cool under his naked skin. It was strange to think that the captain was currently no more than a - heavily encrypted - phone call or message away; looking back at his rescue in Austria, it was a miracle how Steve had been able to locate him so quickly, tied up in one of Red Skull's endless maze of examination rooms. Maybe it had been fate, maybe it had been something else entirely, but now, even after he had finally got most of his haunting memories back, there was certain comfort to the thought that no matter what happened, no matter how advanced the technology, he and his friend always seemed to be more or less inseparable in the end.

His friend.

Bucky rolled onto his back and ran his fingers through his hair with a groan.

When he had found Steve in his apartment in Bucharest, the anxiety he had felt had been almost childlike fear mixed with an unbearable but also inexplicable need to touch the man before him, and without the interference of the CIA and Zemo, his flashbacks might have intensified notably sooner than they eventually did because it had been obvious from the start that the one who had coaxed them to the surface had been no other than Steve. Every day, every hour, every minute he had spent together with the captain after leaving Berlin had caused the thick layer of ice covering his memories crack until an enormous chunk the size of Brooklyn had finally broken free, and he knew he would soon have make up his mind about how to proceed with his newly discovered feelings towards the man who still insisted on calling him his closest friend.

There was a flash of lightning in the distance, and the first heavy drops of rain hit the terrace door as Bucky sat up with a grunt, lay his phone down on the bedside table and wiped his chest and abdomen absentmindedly with a T-shirt already stained with several wet spots of his semen before walking over to the bathroom and dropping the shirt in the laundry bag where he had originally picked it up, too.

It was not very likely that Steve would notice that his already dirty piece of clothing had mysteriously got even dirtier, but just in case, Bucky decided to turn over the contents of the bag a few times to make sure the shirt wouldn't stand out in any way, should the captain return earlier than expected.

The eyes that stared back at him from the bathroom mirror were impassive and unapologetic, and he rubbed at his beard, briefly considering whether or not he should shave it off soon. Sometimes he missed the mask he had worn during some of his missions, and he wondered if the facial hair now acted as one instead. After all, anonymity had become such a substantial part of his identity that wearing a disguise - albeit a hairy one - felt like an everyday normal to him as well.

After a quick shower, Bucky took another glance at his phone, then tapped in a message before turning the screen off and burying his head in his pillow, his lips curved up in a small, mischievous smile.

"Don't worry. Without your snoring, I'll sleep like a baby until you get back."

And so he did.

Steve returned to Wakanda two days later, visibly refreshed by the success of his mission and curious about the progress T'Challa's team of experts had made with his friend's arm.

Bucky was still able to move the undamaged filaments left on the stump, which meant that the neural paths connected to the electronics controlling the fine machinery within his chest and shoulder were functional and most likely completely intact. However, it was clear that constructing a new extension to what remained of the previous limb was likely to require several months, if not even years, of extensive study and experimentation, and even though T'Challa had assured his guests that Wakanda was the safest place for them both to stay for the time being, the dead-end spirit of the situation seemed to make the captain somewhat uneasy.

In the meantime, for Bucky, the verdict came as a partial relief. After living the life of a fugitive for two long years, the peace and quiet offered by T'Challa's ultra modern technological institute was now starting to do wonders for his nerves, and for the first time since before the war, he felt moderately calm and, first and foremost, safe. After all, deep down he had always been an easy-going lad: not drawn to conflict and resorting to fighting only when no other option had remained; never zealous and never even nearly as vindictive by nature as Steve.

And yet, the feeling of once again being at the mercy of others did not rub him too well either, and walking back to their room, he was suddenly overcome by intense longing, something that could only be described as a bizarre sense of homesickness.

"I think I miss my hideout in Bucharest," Bucky noted as he was struggling to pull off his shirt for a quick shower before the lunch.

Steve's eyebrows shot up. "Really? Why's that?"

"Life... was simple there. Systematic. I was my own man - I had just enough lei to come by, I had my daily routines, and the sole purpose of my life was to learn how to be me again."

Steve put down the magazine he had been browsing and pushed himself up from his bed, stepping over to his friend to help him with the knotted up drawstring of his sweatpants.

"The money - where did it come from?"

"There was a dirty old Hydra cash reserve nearby. Every country has at least one - you just have to know where to look."

"And the room?"

"Rented it from this nice lady I met at a shelter. She was working there as a volunteer, and she had a son who reminded me of you before the war. He had some serious health issues, but he was very helpful, too, and - shit." Bucky grabbed his forehead with a groan. "I feel so bad about trashing their apartment."

"We could ask T'Challa to make sure they'll get a fair compensation of the damage done during the attack," Steve said and moved his hand up to touch a large, partially healed bruise on Bucky's side, making him wince. "Does this hurt?"

"Not really," Bucky replied, painfully aware of how close Steve was standing to him, and then the captain leaned in even closer, his face mere inches away from Bucky's and the touch of his hand warm and gentle as he examined another dark bruise, this time on his friend's chest.

"Did you have these checked when we arrived?"

"Yeah." Bucky's breath quickened, but after a short inner struggle, he took two steps back and turned away. "The shower."

"Right." Steve nodded and glanced at his watch. "Take your time, we're not in a hurry."

Entering the bathroom, Bucky pushed down his pants and boxer shorts and kicked them away, freeing his aching erection and hoping the captain would not hear him if he jerked off quickly under the spray. With the feel of Steve's fingertips still lingering on his skin, he turned on the water and let it beat down on his face until he had to gasp for air as he closed his fingers around his arousal.

His eyes drifted close, and he bit on his lip and leaned his back firmly against the tiled wall, his wet hair glued to his cheeks and neck and his hand moving fast as his mind became occupied with an array of erotic imagery of the man waiting for him less than ten feet away.

And then, all of a sudden, he was overwhelmed by a pure, lucid memory of the two of them, standing waist deep in the ocean: the water had been clouded with sand, and unrelenting, cool waves had rocked them back and forth, giving young Steve goose bumps that had spread across his skinny arms and frail body. Bucky had pressed his swim trunk covered hips against his friend's small but firm buttocks, half hard from the friction while Steve had been too occupied by his fear of deep waters to pay attention, and he had buried his nose in Steve's hair, smelling the sand and the salt and just a hint of tobacco -

Bucky cracked his eyelids open only to find that Steve had come to a halt in front of the glass enclosed shower stall, staring at him with that flawless mouth slightly open and looking thoroughly puzzled until his eyes widened in acute understanding.

"You didn't lock the door, so I thought I'd shave while you were - I'm so sorry, I'll just - " The captain pointed at the exit before turning around and fleeing from the bathroom, leaving his panting friend in the shower with his still hard and pulsing penis in his hand.

"Fuck," Bucky whispered, and the vision before his eyes faded quickly together with his abruptly neglected erection.

After a couple of minutes of actively trying to calm down, he finally managed to wash himself while mulling over the captain's unexpected reaction. Steve's expression had not been shocked; instead, he had looked almost astounded, if not entranced, and his eyes had never left Bucky's arousal - not once - before he had rushed out of the door.

Even as a kid, Steve had been a bit of a prude, and Bucky had seen him fully naked only once or twice on a beach. In Bucky's family, running around nude, especially as a child, had never been that much of a deal, but Steve had always had his shirt buttoned up to his chin, and he had been shaken to his core every time he had come to visit Bucky and found him in his room without his pants on.

So, very little had changed, it seemed. Except that this time, Steve had not turned his gaze away or blushed to his roots like he usually had as a kid and a teen.

After leaving the shower, Bucky combed back his hair, took the thin elastic band he had discovered in the bathroom drawer and stepped out into the bedroom, planning to break the tension by asking Steve to tie his hair in a quick bun, but the captain was nowhere to be seen.

Left to get dressed hastily by himself, Bucky was late for the lunch and arrived at the sunlight filled dining room with his shirt inside out and the top button of his jeans open. Taking a seat next to Steve who looked apologetic but didn't say a word, he could feel frustration and disappointment start welling up within him, and by the time he was halfway through his meal, he was already seething and barely able to conceal the disconcertingly overpowering waves of indignation that rolled through him every time Steve opened his mouth to talk to T'Challa or his three male assistants who had joined them that afternoon.

What was going on?

There was no apparent reason for such an exaggerated emotional response from him, and leaving the room, he had felt perfectly fine -

- one of the men dug a pen and a small notebook out of his pocket and scribbled down something before laying them both on the table.

The pen was red.

Deep red.

With tiny, golden stars on it.

Zhelaniye.

Bucky stiffened, and his fork slipped from his fingers, hitting the plate with a loud clink that startled everyone at the table.

"I'm not supposed to remember," he mumbled, and for a few seconds that felt like eternity, everything around him turned black and silver and blue, and he let out a sharp breath, feeling the blood drain from his face as the Russian word echoed in his head.

A hand landed on his shoulder, and he could hear Steve's voice next to his ear as the room gradually regained its shape around him.

"Bucky? Are you alright, pal?"

A part of him wanted to swat Steve away, but as his pulse began to slow down, he managed to compose himself and responded to the captain with a faint smile.

"Just another flashback. I'm fine."

Steve nodded and pulled back but did not look entirely convinced by the explanation, and Bucky could feel T'Challa's eyes on him when he picked up his fork again to finish his pre-diced steak and vegetables.

He needed to calm the hell down, needed more time to think, to get his priorities in order. While staying with Steve made his everyday life easier, he could no longer ignore his steadily growing uneasiness whenever the captain was close by - and especially when Steve was forced to touch him whenever he required help with his basic daily tasks.

So maybe - just maybe - he was ready to learn how to get by on his own, at least for a while.

Steve came to a halt in front of T'Challa's office as soon as Bucky's back had disappeared around the corner of the corridor a few yards away.

His friend had approached the king after the lunch, and they had left the dining room together, engaged in a subdued conversation, and Steve had decided to follow them later, concerned by the grave look on Bucky's face. He was already feeling guilty for walking in on his friend in the bathroom, and stalking him through the corridors of the institute hadn't exactly made him feel any better, but something about the situation rubbed him the wrong way.

It was not in his habit to intrude, but if there was a problem, he wanted to help Bucky to solve it.

The door to the office was ajar, and Steve knocked on it once before leaning in.

"Captain?" T'Challa looked up from his laptop screen, and Steve took a step inside, clearing his throat.

"Excuse me, but I saw Bucky leave your office a moment ago, and I was wondering if everything's alright."

"He asked for his own room, that is all. He said he needed more privacy." T'Challa gave his guest a long, inquiring stare before standing up from his chair with a sigh. "I told him I could have one arranged by tomorrow. Did you guys get in a fight? He appeared somewhat agitated."

Steve crossed his arms and chewed on his lip. "There was an incident... But nothing serious. I better have a chat with him tonight. To be honest, I'd like him to stay with me, so I can keep an eye on his condition."

"I understand." T'Challa nodded and sat on his desk. "He is still somewhat unstable, but I have been amazed to see how well he has been able to keep his act together. However, I could tell something was bothering him today, and I have a hunch it might have to do with you."

Steve nodded. "Yeah, I think so, too. Thanks for letting me know."

A couple of minutes later, Steve was standing with his hands in his pockets in the corridor outside of their room, and after eyeing the door nervously for a good while, he managed to pluck up enough courage to flip his key card and push it open to step inside. He was not the kind of man who would get all jittery over trivial matters, but there was nothing trivial about Bucky - or the fact that Steve had already invaded his privacy in more ways than one.

He found his friend, sitting laid-back on the bed and reading the news on his tablet, and Steve wondered if he had been overreacting as he crossed the room and slid the terrace door open to savor the humid heat and the echoing sounds of the rainforest that surrounded the institute.

"I heard you had asked for your own room," he blurted at last, and Bucky turned off the device in his lap and put it away with a groan.

"Well, that didn't stay a secret for long. Who gave it away? T'Challa?"

"I saw you leave his office and asked him about it."

"I see."

"I... Uhm." Steve's hands clenched in a fist. "I don't think it'd wise for you to leave. We both know you need help with your daily routines and someone to monitor your sleep."

"I'll manage." Bucky stood up and walked over to stand next to the captain who scratched his forehead.

"But why so sudden? Am I making you uncomfortable? I mean, I shouldn't have entered the bathroom while you were still in the shower, but I promise it won't happen again."

Bucky scoffed. "For a man who's been chasing me all these years, you really have no clue."

"What do you mean?"

"I think you need to sit down for what I've got to say."

Steve tilted his head, questioning, but after a stern scowl from his friend, he finally moved over to take a seat on the foot of Bucky's bed, leaning his elbows on his knees with a frown.

"I'm listening."

The air conditioner hummed, and Bucky moistened his lips with his tongue, not at all sure of how to begin.

"First of all, I need you to understand that what I'm about to tell you... I didn't recall any of this until after we came to Wakanda. These past two years I spent on the run... The memories that resurfaced during that time... Most of them were innocent and about the good times we had together, like neatly compiled photographs in an album - pretty and glossy but staged and empty inside. But something happened three nights ago, something that struck me like a blow in the gut, and everything I thought I'd known, everything I thought I'd written down in perfect order simply - collapsed."

Bucky saw Steve open his mouth looking like he was about say something, and he gestured him to keep quiet. To his surprise, the captain obeyed, and after a small pause, Bucky decided it was probably best for them both if he cut the long story short and took a dive into the deep end right away.

"I remember one late summer night on a beach on Long Island where we were watching stars together - we were both in our early teens, and you fell asleep and curled up tight against me on the blanket. That was the very night I fully understood that you were way more than just a friend and brother to me. I kissed your cheek and you sighed in your sleep and snuggled in even closer, and I was so turned on by having you there in my arms that I nearly came in my pants there and then, which was something new, something I'd never experienced before." Bucky leaned his shoulder against the terrace door frame, scanning the view outside as if unconsciously prepared for something unpleasant to crawl out of the jungle.

"After that, I knew my life had changed forever, and I knew my feelings were not normal. There were a number of queers living in our neighborhood, men people who talked about in hushed voices, and I knew it was something sick and dirty, although most of those guys seemed pretty ordinary to me whenever I ran into them in the streets. It got even more confusing over time when I realized I rather enjoyed it when girls started to pay attention to me, but that was mainly because it was fun to be popular. Sometimes I wondered if there was a part of me that saw you as a girl, but you never actually looked like one except for your height. You were a scrawny kid with a nice face, but your features have never been feminine." Bucky glanced at Steve who had remained uncharacteristically silent the whole time, his eyes now serious and his posture tense.

"Anyway, as I figured there was definitely something wrong with me, I also suspected there might be something out of ordinary with you as well - mainly because of the effect you had on me. But it didn't take me long to find out that you were as straight as a ramrod; you just had little interest in women because you had other, more important matters in mind. To me, women were just another way to pass time, whereas you were more or less immune to their attraction, or at least you used to be until the Carters came along." Bucky snorted and turned away from the open doorway, leaning his back against the wall, his hair hanging limp around his face.

"To tell you an honest truth, I was never that eager to join the army, but for your sake, I put on a brave face and even had lousy sex with that brunette the night before I left for Europe, happy to know that you'd stay behind, tucked away from harm. Months later, I heard men in my regiment talk about a forthcoming show by someone called Captain America, but I personally never came across a picture of you, so I'd no idea what had happened to you. Not until you came to my rescue in Austria."

"On our way back to the Allied camp, I realized I still found you attractive, and perhaps even more so now that you'd become more… masculine, and I noticed that your attitude towards me had changed as well. You'd never been so devoted to my well-being before, and for a month or two, I kept telling myself that our relationship could finally take the kind of turn I'd always secretly been fantasizing about. But as soon as I thought I'd already secured my place at the center of your attention, you started to get more and more obsessed with Peggy, and it gradually dawned on me that I'd been playing a losing game all along. And now, seventy years later, there's yet another agent Carter waiting for you out there, a fresh start, and I... I'm no match to her, no matter how hard I'd try. There's no way I can win this, ever."

Bucky closed his eyes briefly before turning his gaze to the jutting remains of his severed arm, his lips pulled in a tight line. "I can't remember every single detail of it, but when I was blown off that train... I'm sure I risked my life on purpose. On purpose of giving you up for good."

Steve's eyes widened, and he gasped. "Bucky - !"

"I'm not saying this to offend you or to provoke your feelings. I'm telling you this because I'm tired of secrets, sick of playing a role. On that day, I was ready and even willing to die, and when I failed, I wanted to forget - only to fail again. I know this sounds like a fucking cliché, but just like this star on my shoulder, you have been permanently etched into my mind and soul, Steve."

There was a long, oppressive silence until the captain rubbed his face with his hands and stood up, visibly shaken, and after taking a couple of deep breaths, he crossed the floor and came to a halt right in front of his friend who avoided his eyes, once again staring out into the woods.

"You're right, Buck. I'd no idea what was going on. You never - I mean - sure, we were exceptionally close, but we've always been like brothers, and - shit." Steve covered his mouth with his hand for few seconds before reaching out to touch Bucky's shoulder. To his obvious relief, Bucky didn't reject him but didn't seem particularly moved by the gesture either. "I - I need some time to think this over. But I'm glad you had enough faith in me to - "

"This has nothing to do with faith," Bucky cut in, his words throaty with emotion, "this is all about frustration. As Winter Soldier, I could vent my repressed rage and jealousy by slaughtering and torturing innocent people until my mind got wiped and I was put back to sleep again. But now, until T'Challa and his team can figure out what to do about me, I'm stuck. Stuck in this golden cage with no other than you - the man I have lusted for most of my life."

"Wait - are you telling me that you were in fact aware of your actions when you were doing missions for Hydra?" Steve gritted his teeth and his grip tightened, his fingers now digging into Bucky's flesh with almost bruising force.

"No, I wasn't aware of myself or my past at the time, but looking back, I can clearly see my subconscious at work during those missions. All that venom, all that filth consisting of nothing but those twisted, pent-up feelings came gushing back to me just hours before you left for your team on the Raft, and today, even though I'm still unable to recall everything, I know who and what I truly am. I'm not a good man, Steve. I don't think I ever was. I have killed dozens of people, I made a mess of Tony Stark's life fifteen years ago, and now I'm here to make a mess of yours. I've said this before, and I'll say it again: I really don't think I was worth saving, Steve."

"And yet, you wanted to remember, and you wanted to be saved." Steve's voice turned raw and harsh. "You wanted to live, and I picked you up, knowing what you had become. No matter what you say, I will never regret doing that."

Bucky closed his eyes again, and the captain let go of his shoulder, striding out of the room, not looking back.

For the first time since their arrival, Bucky was glad his metal arm was gone. If he had had it, he would've most likely rammed it through the nearest wall.

Well, in any case, he had finally got the whole thing off his chest. Selfish or not, he didn't care.

He was playing a losing game, after all.

Steve plopped down on the gym floor, dripping sweat after his hour-long session of beating up an innocent sand bag that - miraculously - was still in one piece and gently swaying back and forth before him.

As satisfying as the intense physical exercise had been, the fundamental questions remained, making him more and more uncomfortable by the minute.

What the hell was he supposed to do and say?

If he pushed Bucky away now, he might lose him forever.

The focal point of his life so far had been Peggy Carter - or at least that was what he had kept telling himself since the initial rescue mission to Austria. What he felt towards Bucky was something entirely different but not by any means less intense.

He could clearly remember certain times of intimacy he had shared with Bucky as a boy, especially that one lazy summer day in Brooklyn when they had been lying next to each other on Bucky's bed in his room. They had both been exhausted from the heat, Bucky already asleep, shirtless, his lips parted, his breathing calm and steady, and Steve had felt a strong urge to caress his friend's freckled skin and to pull him even closer. He had been too shy to act on his need, of course, and he had been unable to explain his urge to himself later, but after Bucky's confession, those pure, fleeting moments had suddenly gained more meaning.

Bucky... had been his everything.

Bucky had been his heroic and cheerful buddy, always there for him.

Bucky's hands had been warm, his body firm but supple, his voice soothing -

- Steve's breath hitched, and he stared at his knuckle wraps, blinking.

Friendship.

When exactly had his endeavor to find his friend turned into a full-scale obsession?

The serum had intensified his devotion towards Bucky; Steve had already paid attention to it during the war but failed to recognize the significance of his feelings, which basically meant that Bucky was right - that he had led him on by showering him with his affection while shamelessly wooing Peggy at the same time.

His greatest regret was that not only had he taken his friend's presence for granted but, worst of all, he had also ignored the fact that back then, Bucky had been just a man and not yet a super soldier, even though the experiments Zola had made on him in Austria had undoubtedly played an essential part in Bucky's survival from the fall. Zola had probably enhanced his powers even further before or during the installation of the bionic arm, thus turning him into what he was now, and Steve wondered whether the process had made Bucky's emotional attachment towards him grow stronger as well - or whether the situation had remained unchanged since that star-lit summer night on Long Island.

He had no reason whatsoever to blame Bucky for his feelings, but he was frightened by the murky undercurrents of his own.

He pulled his phone from the pocket of his hoodie and browsed through his contacts until he found the number he had been looking for and lifted the device up to his ear, not at all sure of what he was going to say.

"Natasha? Hi, it's Steve. Do you have a minute?"

"I always have a minute for you. Are you and Bucky okay? Tony's been giving me some hard time over this mess, but he's started to act more civilized now that he's had some time to think it through. Your little stunt at the Raft seemed to improve his mood quite a bit, too."

Steve gave a short laugh. "We're doing great. We're both in good hands here."

"I assumed you had the rest of your team with you."

"Not right now. Listen, I need to talk to you about something personal."

"Go on." Natasha sounded mildly curious.

"I need your advice."

"Wow, there's a first for everything. So, what can I do for you, Cap? Is there already trouble in paradise?"

Steve rubbed at this eye with a groan.

"Nat, Bucky thinks he has some kind of... romantic feelings towards me."

There was a short but total silence on the other end of the line until Steve could make out a barely concealed snort.

"Well, after all these years, you can hardly blame him for that."

"This is not a joke, Nat. He says he's felt that way ever since we were kids."

"Does it really matter? I mean, you do care about him deeply anyway, don't you?"

"Yes, but - "

"And you've laid your life on the line several times because of him?"

"Yeah, but - "

"Do you feel comfortable when you're physically close to him?"

"Well - "

"I've seen Tony's recordings of that part where the two of you were fighting him together. The way your bodies moved in unison - it was something special, something I've never seen before. The two of you are connected, Cap. In more ways than one."

"But this is something quite different." Steve frowned and heard Natasha snort again.

"In my opinion, it's a blurred line, especially when the only thing missing is the actual physical gratification - "

"Stop. Just - stop."

"The harder you try to deny it, the more you'll end up hurting yourself."

"He's my friend, my brother. Yes, I do enjoy his presence, but there's never been anything even remotely sexual about it. Never. Call me blind, call me naive, but I never saw this coming." Steve bit on his tongue when he realized he had just told Natasha a white lie, and she groaned.

"Okay, Steve, listen. If he has already confessed to you, it's up for you to decide where to take your relationship from here. If your intention is to keep him close in the future as well, the first step you must take is to accept his feelings. You do not have to respond to them, but you do have to come in terms with them. I have to admit I'm glad I'm not in your shoes right now because this is the kind of tight spot you can't just punch your way out of."

Steve rubbed his forehead in distress. "Nat, be honest. What would you do in a situation like this?"

"My personal experiences of unrequited love have usually ended in tragedies, so I'm not exactly the one you should come for advice. But if I were you... The way you've dedicated your life to him... I'd definitely give it a shot. However, if there's no physical attraction, you must be sincere with yourself - and with him. Otherwise, the one responsible for the outcome will be you, and you alone."

Steve had just slipped his phone back into his pocket when the door of the gym slid open and Bucky entered the room, failing to notice the captain at first but stopping on his tracks when Steve stood up and walked to the middle of the floor while peeling off his wraps.

For a few passing seconds, the two of them just peered at each other, Bucky unsure of whether to stay, Steve unsure of what to say, but finally, Bucky made up his mind and was about to reverse out into the corridor when Steve took a step towards him and reached out his hand.

"Please don't go. Let's spar together. It's been a while since I've had a partner at a gym."

Bucky looked suspicious but nodded at last, closing the door behind him and walking casually over to Steve whose eyes never left his friend while he made his way across the room.

"How do you want me to kick your ass?" The dry sarcasm in Bucky's voice brought a broad smile on the captain's face.

"Just pick your style, and I'll do my best to keep up."

"I would've kept those wraps if I were you."

Steve shrugged. "I'll survive."

They circled each other for a few moments, assessing one another, looking for an opening. Steve knew better than to attack his friend recklessly, even though Bucky's best defense was gone, and something about Bucky's demeanor, the way he moved, the way he inched closer and closer to him, reminded him of a battle-seasoned alley cat, sneaking up on an intruder. However, unlike before, Bucky was now getting ready to fight of his own will, not as a Winter Soldier, and Steve could clearly see the difference in his eyes: the uncontrolled rage, the brainwash-induced determination to complete a mission were no longer present in his gaze.

"Come on," the captain urged at last, gesturing Bucky to make the first move - only to end up with a sharp kick to his stomach that made him reel backwards with a grunt. He had forgotten how fast his friend could be, and without his usual heavy gear to restrict his movements, Bucky was even faster, and his speed, together with dead-on accuracy, was an irrefutable proof that with or without his metal arm, he was truly a proficient fighter.

However, even while busy defending himself, Steve noted that the absence of the metal limb had an evident negative impact on Bucky's sense of balance. At times, he actually seemed to forget that the arm was no longer there and tried to respond to Steve's strikes with the stump, but after having received a few painful blows, Bucky collected himself and corrected his style, forcing Steve to up his game in return.

"Have you been studying my combat style?" Steve ground out after Bucky's fist had once again delved into his side before he had managed to block it properly, and Bucky snorted.

"No. But I can tell you're pulling your punches."

"So are you," Steve pointed out breathlessly, his next kick hurling Bucky against the white concrete wall. "But we're still just sparring, right?

He watched his friend straighten his back, panting.

"You don't have to act so goddamn lenient with me, Steve. If you were smart, you'd despise me and reject me. Just think about it. If I was a good man, would I have been able to do what I did as a Winter Soldier? Hydra saw me for what I really was, and Zola used that dark side of my personality to turn me into a ruthless assassin." Lunging forward, Bucky swung his fist, and this time his knuckles grazed Steve's chin with unrestrained force.

"I could never reject you," Steve grit out and swept Bucky off his feet, and when his friend fell heavily on his back, he dived after him and landed on top of him, keeping him firmly pinned to the floor. "Stay down, pal. Let's catch our breath for a bit."

"Let go of me," Bucky growled, trying to wrench himself free. "What the hell are you trying to prove? That we're still brothers? That nothing has changed?"

"We all change in time, but deep down, you'll always be just Bucky - the one who promised to be with me till the end of the line."

"Stop bringing that up. Throwing that sentence in my face over and over again is starting to feel like you're trying to use it as a trigger to keep me in check."

Steve's features hardened. "I'm not your enemy, Buck. Don't you ever forget that."

Bucky's eyes widened, but after a few minutes of huffing and panting, his anger gradually subsided, and as he relaxed in Steve's hold, the corners of his mouth eventually turned up in a weary smile.

"For a man who says he needs to think it over, you sure seem to enjoy grinding your crotch against mine."

"I'm not as insecure as you seem to think I am."

"Is that so?"

A millisecond too late, Steve realized that Bucky had wriggled his leg free, wrapping it over his thighs, and before he was able to counter the impending attack, his friend used his body weight to roll them over, pressing the captain down by his throat while leaning on the stump of his metal arm for additional support.

"Maybe we should find out how broad-minded you really are."

Steve froze when he felt Bucky's breath on his face again, his lips almost brushing at Steve's but not quite, and it took the captain a heartbeat or two to understand that Bucky was holding back and perhaps even scared to initiate an actual kiss.

"Bucky," Steve rasped quietly, somewhat flustered by the proximity but not ready to yield quite yet, and Bucky rested his forehead against the captain's after moving his arm off his windpipe.

"I'm so sorry, Steve. For everything."

"There's no reason to apologize."

"Oh yes there is," Bucky whispered, and then his lips came down against Steve's, tasting him slowly.

Taken aback by the swift escalation of the situation, the captain failed to respond at first, but when Bucky was already pulling away, Steve - purely out of an impulse - lifted his head just enough to meet his friend's mouth again, and this time, their lips finally melted together for real.

It was a warm, pleasant, tender kiss, filled with unspoken emotion. To his own surprise, Steve could even feel a sudden flare of arousal when Bucky's tongue met his own briefly, and his hand crept up to his friend's tank top covered chest, his thumb accidentally grazing over his nipple, which made Bucky moan softly in his mouth and rock his hips instinctively against Steve's.

Just seconds later, the sound of a door sliding open made Bucky yank his head back abruptly, and Steve turned his face only to see T'Challa, frozen still in the doorway.

"My apologies - I just wanted to let you know that the dinner will be served in half an hour."

"Thanks. We'll be there in time." Steve waved his hand, and the king nodded before turning around on his heels and closing the door behind him.

"Shit," Bucky grunted and scooted up, backing away to lean against the wall. "Sorry about that, too."

"It's okay."

"Really?"

"Yeah."

From the corner of his eye, Steve could see Bucky bite on his lip, his cheeks and ears still red and his pulse visibly elevated.

"I... I need to take a shower before the meal," Steve stuttered at last, clambering up to his feet, and Bucky nodded, glancing up from the floor.

"I think I'll stay here a little while longer for some one-arm push-ups, so you go first, and I'll join you later."

"Fine. Just don't forget to change out of your sweaty clothes like you did last week."

Bucky grinned. "Very funny. Now get along, unless you actually want us to cram into that tiny stall together."

The dinner was awkward at its best as Bucky chose to remain completely silent and Steve couldn't think of anything to say except for giving T'Challa absent-minded replies whenever the king asked him a direct question. Although T'Challa's manners had not changed, it was easy to tell that what he had seen at the gym had not only taken him aback but was also bothering him at least to a degree as his gaze rarely left his guests even when he was talking to one of his experts at the table.

Bucky excused himself and left the dining room as soon as he was finished with his meal, but Steve decided to stay behind and face the consequences of his wanton behavior, feeling like a kid who was waiting to be reprimanded by his parents. He knew his fears were irrational - if T'Challa had really been upset by their behavior, he probably would've let them know by then - but Steve's own anxiety played tricks with his mind, making matters seem worse than they actually were.

Therefore, he wasn't exactly surprised when the king approached him after the meal, his hands behind his back, his black eyes thoughtful.

"Rogers, I would like a word with you in private, if that is alright."

"Sure."

He followed T'Challa to his office, and the king closed the door behind them before gesturing him to take a seat in front of his desk.

"Now - would you like to explain what is going on?" T'Challa's expression remained serious as he studied his guest with reserved care. However, to Steve's relief, there was no sign of hostility, so he leaned back in his chair, took a deep breath and crossed his fingers in his lap, tapping his thumbs together.

"I'm afraid things have taken an unexpected turn."

"Yes, I could see that. Do not worry, though - Wakanda is a modern nation and it is none of my business what consenting adults do in their bedrooms, but I can tell the situation is troubling both you and him. I wanted you to know that we have finally made a significant breakthrough with a new cryogenic technology that would enable us to put your friend safely back to sleep, should he still deem it necessary, but if you like, we can delay the process, especially if the state of his health permits it for time being."

Steve rubbed the ridge of his nose. "Yes, that could be wise. I do appreciate your help in this matter, but we must resolve our current personal issues before making any drastic decisions concerning Bucky's future."

T'Challa crossed his arms and nodded. "I understand. Take as long as you need. Perhaps it is better that we cut back the number of physical tests for the moment as well."

On his way back to his and Bucky's room, Steve thought about Peggy.

He thought about her full, luscious mouth and the peculiar taste of her lipstick; that deep, waxy shade of red that had lingered on his own lips long after the kiss had been over.

He thought about the primal, if not even feral, feeling of accomplishment whenever he had kissed - or been kissed by - a woman.

Lorraine.

Sharon.

Even Natasha.

He thought about the compulsive, barely restrained hunger women tended to ignite in him whenever he touched them, and the almost violent undertones of his dreams about having sex with them.

He had rarely had dreams of that kind before his transformation, and he was aware that they were most likely a side effect of the permanently elevated levels of testosterone circulating the blood stream of his modified body that now seemed to wage a silent but jarring war against his pacifist mind.

However, with Bucky, everything was different.

With Bucky, he felt stable.

With Bucky, he felt free.

Free to express his masculinity, free to express his emotions to someone so very nearly equal to him in strength and even in intelligence.

Free to feel weak and insecure and inexperienced - because with Bucky, he no longer had anything to prove.

They had both come a long way, and here they were at last, standing face to face, welded together by their shared past, shared memories, shared desire.

Steve could already hear the music; the dance was about to begin.

And this time around, he knew exactly where to look for a right partner.

He found Bucky dozing off on his bed, and as he closed the door behind him, his friend startled awake, lifting his arm that had covered his eyes.

"He's not threatening to throw us both in jail, is he?"

Steve snorted. "No, he's not."

He walked over to the terrace door and leaned his shoulder against its frame, carefully observing his friend who sat up and combed his hair back with his fingers.

"What happened at the gym today - " Bucky started, but Steve held up his hand to silence him.

"No. Listen. Just - listen. It wasn't unpleasant. At all. In fact, it was - " Steve frowned, " - better than I'd imagined. To kiss... A guy."

The look in Bucky's eyes was wary. "You're not just saying that, are you?"

Steve shook his head and crossed his arms across his chest, but his expression remained somewhat uncertain, too.

"I'm not - gay, as they call it today. But sometimes - when I'm with you - gender becomes irrelevant, and - " The captain took a deep breath and exhaled slowly. "Back in Brooklyn - you weren't the only one who felt more than friendship or camaraderie when we were together. For quite some time, I doubted my memories, but - what happened between us when we were kids was one of the reasons why I was so desperate to join you in the army. I valued your life higher than my own. I would've willingly sacrificed myself for you in battle. And when I finally got to Europe and learned that you had gone missing, I was ready to break through the enemy lines on my own to save you, if necessary."

Bucky swung his feet to the floor and stood up, fixing the black sock that covered the remains of his metal arm. "You never mentioned any of that before. I thought you were there simply because of your sense of duty and your need to serve your country the best way you knew how."

"Well, my sense of duty certainly played a part. But eventually, that particular mission - and most of the missions after that - turned out more personal than I'd care to admit."

Bucky started walking towards the captain before coming to a halt halfway, his forehead furrowed with deep wrinkles. "And what about Peggy? You carried her picture everywhere with you."

"I did it because it was the right thing to do. After all, we were expected to get married and have kids someday, and I did care about her. She was a gorgeous, unique woman, and she became even more important to me after I thought I'd lost you." Steve shifted nervously. "But when I was in that Hydra plane, knowing I might not survive the crash, and even after having set a date with Peggy over the radio... The last person I saw before my eyes was - you."

"Steve..."

Bucky was still rooted to his spot, looking incredulous, and Steve swallowed hard before taking the few steps required to close the distance between them until he was standing mere inches from his friend.

"I don't know what's going to happen after this, but I'll never forgive myself if I don't do this tonight," he whispered and reached out to brush back the stray strands of dark hair on Bucky's face, and then he leaned in, his lips first pecking, then tasting Bucky's mouth slowly, his tongue already searching for contact, curious and eager to play. The kiss grew more intense quickly as their bodies pressed flush against each other, and every touch of their tongues sent shivers across Steve's skin.

"Are you absolutely sure about this?" Bucky asked quietly after their lips finally parted and Steve stepped back for a moment to pull off his T-shirt, and the captain nodded, helping his friend shed his tank top as well.

"As sure as I can be right now."

"I'll go easy on you, then." Bucky smirked, but his eyes were earnest, his metal shoulder glinting in the dim led spotlights of the room, and Steve ran his forefinger along the jagged seam between skin and metal, making his friend gasp.

"It's... very sensitive."

"In a good or a bad way?"

"Both. It feels - tingly. Electrifying."

Bucky made a small sound in the back of his throat when Steve's exploring hands moved down to his hips to peel off his sweatpants, and as soon as the piece of clothing had been discarded to the floor, they stumbled backwards to the bed, Bucky yanking at the belt of Steve's jeans open along the way.

Steve could tell Bucky's hand was shaking when he unbuttoned his fly and pulled his pants down until they pooled around his ankles, and taking a seat on the bed, Bucky's eyes were glued to the front of Steve's boxer briefs, the expression on his face like nothing Steve had ever seen before.

"Is there something wrong? Do you want to stop?" Bucky looked up, his voice gruff and suddenly laced with concern, and Steve let out a breath he had no idea he had been holding.

"I'm sorry - this is all just so new to me."

"I know. You were most definitely a virgin back when I left for the army, and I doubt you've gained much experience after that." Bucky's lips stretched in a smile, and Steve shook his head.

"I've been busy. But I'm not quite as innocent as you think I am."

Bucky gave a small, skeptical laugh but didn't reply; instead, he lay down, and Steve followed the suit, feeling hopelessly clumsy as he was trying to find a comfortable position next to his friend who settled on his back, looking both calm and thoroughly turned on at the same time.

"Go ahead and touch me," Bucky said at last and took a hold of his hand, bringing it up to his chest.

It was disconcerting to see Bucky so open and vulnerable beneath him, to watch his eyes close and his lips part as his breathing grew heavier by every tentative brush of Steve's fingertips on his bare skin.

This was the person Steve had been searching for years, his closest friend, his soulmate.

Bucky was beautiful for sure, with the soft, almost sensual curves of his mouth and those long, dark lashes and luminous blue-gray eyes, but the strong jawline, the beard and the muscular frame still reminded Steve that he was about to embrace a man, not a woman.

And yet, the feeling of intimacy alone was enough to keep him hard as well. He wasn't repulsed, just slightly thrown off by the unfamiliarity of the situation, and the moment he realized that, he knew he would be able to satisfy his friend, if that was what he wanted.

"To be perfectly honest, I've never been with a man before either." Bucky's voice was languid, and the captain quirked an eyebrow.

"Really?"

"I remember this Russian officer who tried to use me for his own pleasure once."

"What happened?"

"As soon as he started to undress me, I killed him."

Steve flinched and glanced up at Bucky whose expression remained unchanged.

Was he being sarcastic? Steve couldn't tell, and frankly, at this point, it hardly even mattered. So instead, he kissed Bucky again, coaxing his lips to part with his tongue and taking in the texture and shape of his mouth.

"Sorry about the beard," Bucky said when their lips parted after a while, smiling apologetically, "but my baby face days are over, at least for now."

"I don't mind. You weren't always clean shaven in the past either."

"Except that you never felt like kissing me back then, shaven or not."

Steve hummed, ignoring the retort and letting his hand travel leisurely over his friend's hardened, reddish-brown nipples and down to the toned, well-defined muscles of his midriff. Bucky was more heavily built and thus notably less agile than he, but Steve had often been genuinely impressed by the crude force generated by those muscles and the way they could literally shove him through a wall. Together with the metal arm, Bucky had truly been a formidable opponent - and, eventually, a powerful ally, too.

"If we had teamed up earlier, we would've made an excellent pair," he mused, breathing in Bucky's scent and feeling him tense beneath him when his hand wandered even further down until it reached the waistband of his boxer shorts.

"... Yeah."

Bucky's erection was straining the fabric, and after appraising the bulge for a heartbeat or two, Steve covered it with his hand and heard his friend hiss softly at the touch.

The feel of another man's penis against his palm was both alien and familiar at the same time, and for some inexplicable reason, Steve was surprised to find that Bucky was roughly the same size as he, if not slightly thicker. He wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but he couldn't help wondering if the serum had affected Bucky's genitals - just like it had affected his own.

"Is there something bothering you?" Bucky's hand came to rest on the small of his back, and as Steve began to knead his arousal gently, a wet spot of pre-come started to form on the fabric under his prying fingers.

"I was shocked when I saw myself naked for the first time after the transformation. I know you sneaked a peek at me once or twice when I was a kid, so you probably remember that I was exceptionally small in the nether regions as well, and it didn't get much better with puberty. But after the serum... "

Bucky chuckled. "I get what you mean. I just never paid attention to it until - ah - !"

Steve had slid his fingers under the waistband of his friend's briefs, and pulling them halfway down, he exposed a tuft of dark pubic hair and freed the erection from its confines.

He was enthralled by the sight, almost afraid to touch the organ at first. He had never seen another man's arousal in such detail before, not even in films or magazines - he was a decent man, after all - and as soon as he had learned how to make use of the internet, he had made sure to avoid sites and searches that contained or resulted in questionable material. His own penis was pale in color, smooth and straight, and he had assumed that most men of his height and build looked more or less the same, but clearly, this was not the case. Bucky was flesh and blood; Bucky was crisscrossing veins and angry red and deep purple, and it was only when Steve closed his hand around the organ that he noticed it was slightly curved as well.

After a couple of tentative strokes, he found that Bucky was rather sensitive, mewling quietly into his pillow as his thighs were tensing and relaxing in rhythm with his caresses, and when Steve caught a drop of pre-come with his thumb, spreading it meticulously on and around the glans, his friend arched his back, shuddering in pleasure.

Just watching Bucky react was strangely satisfying, and Steve changed the angle of his hold a couple of times, teasing him with the techniques he used on himself on those rare occations he felt the need to masturbate. However, he soon ran out of ideas, and it didn't feel right to bring Bucky to his completion with his hand alone, so he let go of his friend and lay back down next to him before pulling him to a hungry kiss.

"I'm afraid I haven't got the slightest idea of how to proceed from here," he conceded after their lips separated, and Bucky gave him an understanding smile.

"But you don't feel like backing out, do you?"

"Nope."

"In that case, these need to come off, too." Bucky snapped the waistband of his Kleins, and Steve's eyes widened, but he lifted his hips obediently and helped his friend tug his underwear out of the way.

The moment Bucky took over the situation and, in turn, closed his fingers around his arousal while laving his nipple with his tongue, Steve knew it was likely he wouldn't last very long. It felt perfectly natural to have Bucky dominate him; as children, one of their usual games had been wrestling on sand or on a bed, his friend laughing and manhandling him by pressing him down hard and rolling them over but always letting him win in the end, careful not to hurt him but also clever enough not to let it show that he had actually been holding back the whole time.

It had felt so good - chest against chest, cheek against cheek, thigh against thigh, Bucky's weight between his legs and his taunting and encouraging whispers in his ear -

- Steve was quivering and panting now, his fingers clutching the sheets so hard that he nearly caused the fabric to tear, and he was just about ready to come when Bucky narrowed his eyes and let go of his throbbing penis, the corners of his mouth curved up in a knowing smirk.

"What are you - ?" Steve breathed, confused when his friend moved down, pressing wet kisses on his heated skin on the way. Bucky's uncovered, metallic shoulder sliding against his side felt unexpectedly warm as the material conducted heat both from Bucky's body and his own, and Steve reached out, fondling the blood red star with his thumb before running his fingers through his friend's silky hair that tickled his inner thighs and groin.

"I'm going to make you feel even better," Bucky murmured against Steve's lower abdomen before guiding his arousal to his lips, giving the glans a slow, deliberate lick - and taking it fully in his mouth.

"Buck - !"

Steve's senses were instantly kicked back into overdrive as the wet, hot heat engulfed his erection, and then, without any prior warning, he was already coming, his hips thrusting up involuntarily, his voice thick as he kept repeating Bucky's name in fragmented syllables over and over and over again.

He was only vaguely aware that Bucky didn't lift his head, didn't let go of his erection until the monumental, paralyzing waves of his release finally started to subside, but his eyes fluttered open when he felt Bucky pull himself back up, and he watched him lick the corners of his mouth as he was hovering on top of him on his knees, his delicate, glistening lips parted, his expression desperate and needy.

"Steve - your hand - " Bucky panted, grabbing his wrist and guiding his fingers to his own arousal, and Steve wrapped them around it, still bewildered by his own climax. Keeping his hand in place with his own, Bucky thrust once, twice, and then he was coming, too, his orgasm equally violent, his semen hitting Steve's chest before dripping down his sides and on to the sheets, and he fell forward, seeking support from the mattress with the remains of his metal arm and breathing heavily into the pillow right next to Steve's ear.

Steve stroked Bucky's hair and neck and turned his head to kiss his sweaty temple, fully relaxed under his friend's solid weight, not bothered by the stickiness between them, and for a few fleeting moments, everything was right in the world.

"You might want to take a shower right away."

The tone of Bucky's hoarse voice was unreadable, and Steve grunted when his friend lifted himself up to roll over to his back right next to him, leaving him exposed to the cool night air.

"Yeah."

Steve lingered in the bathroom for a good fifteen minutes, letting the water to wash away the sweat, the semen and the remnants of the conflicting emotions that had been swirling in his head earlier that evening, and when he returned to the bedroom, he found Bucky, still naked and sound asleep, his hair spread on the pillow like a black halo.

He sat down on his own bed and studied his friend for a long while, fighting the urge to touch him and pleasantly overwhelmed by the unwavering strength of the affection and trust he felt towards the peacefully sleeping man before him.

So it had been confirmed: he had indeed come out of the ice as a changed person.

It was a shame that it had taken him so long to understand, to discover who he really was, and he wanted to indulge himself, wanted to act selfish for once, wanted to live this dream and never wake up.

But there was no time for self-interest, no time for indecision.

His main priorities had been Bucky's health and safety from the start, and keeping that in mind, he had already stayed in Wakanda too long, putting his friend at risk of getting exposed.

So he grabbed his phone and sent a short message to T'Challa, asking the king to meet them first thing in the morning in order to go through their options together.

Steve had a quick look at the cryo chamber before walking over to Bucky who appeared calm at the sight of the machine that was waiting for him to step in and fall into a controlled state of oblivion again.

"Are you sure about this?"

"I can't trust my own mind. So until they figure out how to get this stuff out of my head, I think going back under is the best thing - for everybody." Bucky's eyes shifted from the captain to the chamber and back. "But in the meantime, I want you to sort out your feelings. I can tell you're still somewhat apprehensive about this whole thing, and I'd rather chop off my right arm than coerce you into something you're not fully comfortable with. Though I do have to admit I'm grateful for what you've done for me in these past ten days - and nights." Bucky's voice was pensive but warm, and Steve reached out his hand, giving his shoulder an affirmative squeeze before caressing his chin and cheek briefly.

"I didn't do it just for you. I did it for myself as well. I may appear uncomfortable, but to tell you the truth, I'm more confused than anything, and it's not because of you, it's because of me. So the next time you wake up, I promise I will be here to join you. What will happen after that, remains to be seen, but I will be the first thing you'll see when you open your eyes."

Bucky chuckled. "If I didn't know you better, I'd call you an overly optimistic idiot."

"Well, you wouldn't be the first."

There was a long pause, and Steve shuffled his feet nervously, casting a few hesitant glances at the young female technician sitting by the console only a few feet away. However, eventually, he overcame his usual reserve, leaned down and tasted Bucky's lips, savoring them for a good while, and after they separated, he flashed his lover a reassuring smile.

"There's a chance we'll meet each other again in no time at all."

"I hope you're right, Steve. I really do."

As the lid of the cryo chamber slid close, Steve felt an unexpected rush of relief that, almost instantly, turned into acute, gut-twisting longing, and he reached out his hands and pressed his palms against the glass with a pained groan.

At least he now had plenty of time to reflect what had happened between him and Bucky during his stay in Wakanda. He was tempted to find out more about his own preferences, as well as about his lover's past, and he knew Natasha was yet to spill all the beans about her earlier relationship to Bucky. Pretty or not, Steve wanted to hear every story she had to tell, wanted to understand Bucky better, wanted to feel what he had felt during those long years when Steve had not been part of his life.

And, most importantly, he wanted to live up his promise and be there for Bucky when it was time for him to wake up again. Until then, Steve could only pray T'Challa would be able to keep his lover safe as he was already aware that there was a fresh storm brewing outside, ready to engulf the whole world in war and misery, even though it was yet too early to tell what his own role in that future clash might be.

All Steve could say for sure was that in one way or another, he would always come back.

Back for his pal, his buddy.

His Bucky.