Maple

“If you want to take your pants off you can,” you suggested slyly. Bucky’s head came up with a smile already on his face. How the hell were his teeth so… perfect?

Bucky tilted his head and shrugged, hands resting on his hips. “Is that what the Mrs. wants?”

“Not like any neighbors could complain about public nudity…” you say happily, watching Bucky’s huge back move and flex and pull and relax and work as he turned to walk up the steps to meet you. Walking up the stairs, he caught your eyes again, one eye squinted from the sheer brightness of the sun, the other wiping sweat from his forhead.

Stalking close to you, his large hands rested on the back of your hips. “Not sure I want to take the chance of you gettin’ burnt out here, doll,” he murmured, looking at you through bright eyes.

“Maybe we oughtta take in inside then,” you suggest, hooking your fingertips on Bucky’s belt. “Get you something to eat and drink.”

Bucky chuckles, touching his nose to yours in a familiarly endearing manner. “All I need is in my hands.”

If Bucky's life would still be like it had been only a few weeks ago, today wouldn't have been special.

As a matter of fact, his life used to be filled with the same routine every day, making days blend together as Bucky went through the motions without actually realizing how much time had passed again.

Time got weird like that sometimes, especially when you never had anything to look forward to when every day looked exactly the same.

If he was still living in Brooklyn, he would have to go to therapy and sit in an office he had absolutely no interest in being in before he went back home and did nothing for the rest of the day, the noise in his mind weighing him down so heavily that doing anything but staying in his apartment seemed impossible.

It hadn't exactly been a healthy habit to isolate himself, but it had been familiar.

And for a long time, that was all Bucky really had the energy to manage.

But even when he got better, when the weight of his past had finally gotten light enough for him to breathe again, Bucky still had a hard time pulling himself out of habits that were all he used to have.

But now he had Sam, too. Wether that was a blessing or a curse, he wasn't really sure yet.

And Sam decided that Bucky had been miserable for way too long now, which was why he dragged him down to Louisiana, claiming that he needed the change in scenery if he didn’t want to be miserable forever.

And instead of staying a month, like he'd initially planned, Bucky just… didn't leave again.

Sure, he decided to stay because of Sam, Sarah and the kids and how Delacroix managed to silence his thoughts in a way New York never managed to, but there was more to it than just that.

You were here, too.

Sam had first introduced you two because you were a close friend of the Wilson family, but also because you used to live in Brooklyn before your family decided to move here when the life of the city became too much.

He figured that with how hard it was for Bucky to warm up to new people, that shared connection might make it a little easier.

And he had been right.

Bucky wasn't sure when exactly it happened, but you quickly turned into much more than just the woman his best friend grew up with.

You were kind, that much Bucky had known ever since he'd first talked to you that day down at the docks, when him and Sam had still been working on the boat and you'd walked over to them with that stupidly beautiful smile and a sundress so stunning, it had made him drop a wrench on his foot.

Sam had laughed about that all week, constantly talking about nonsense like love at first sight and how horribly Bucky was hiding his little crush.

Whilst Bucky really didn't believe in stuff like love at first sight, he couln't deny that he had taken a liking to you from the very first moment.

He would rather chew on glass than admit that in front of Sam, though.

Bucky wasn't the kind of person to trust others easily. He'd experienced too much in his life for that, so strangers were always a difficult challenge.

He knew that his skepticism could sometimes make him seem rude or unfriendly, especially if people didn't realize that there was a reason for his closed off behavior.

You never seemed to mind it too much, though.

You just tried to make conversation, never letting his noncomittal answers and unhealthy amount of staring get to you. You just kind of… stuck around. And even though Bucky didn't get it, he sure as hell wasn't complaining.

Over the last few months, thanks to your unrelenting patience and stubbornness, you'd managed to sneak your way into his heart and Bucky'd only realised when it was already far too late for him to do anything about it anymore.

His first instinct had been to pull away again, to put some much needed distance between the two of you so he could get away from those things only you ever managed to make him feel.

He couldn't quite bring himself to do that, though.

Sure, Bucky still had bad days and nights where he woke up screaming, but he didn't think that all he deserved for the rest of his life was punishment for what had been done to him.

Not anymore, at least.

He liked to believe that he was mostly over that, so he did his best to suppress the self destructive behaviours that were instinct more than a conscious decision by now and thought that maybe, this thing between the two of you was something he was allowed to have.

That maybe, the way you looked at him when you thought he wasn't paying attention and sat just a few inches closer to him than necessary meant that you were feeling this, too.

And that just maybe, he would finally get his chance at having something good. 

So Bucky didn't fight it when the two of you were spending more and more time together and he was suddenly staying at your place more than he slept at Sarah's anymore.

And neither did you.

The two of you were currently in this beautifully fragile phase between being friends and actually being something, your relationship too much for what the one thing stood for but still not enough to put a name on it yet.

Bucky didn't feel the need to rush it, though.

This was the first special thing he got to have in over seven decades of his life and he was more than content with relishing in every single second of it as much as he could.

You didn't seem to mind it too much, either.

You and Bucky were dancing around each other like two teenagers in love, sure, but it didn't feel like uncertainty or lack of commitment, which were usually the reasons why situationships never actually turned into more than just that.

It just felt like you were taking your time, simple as that.

So when Bucky started to sleep at your place more often than not, both of you just claimed that the Wilson household was busy enough as it was and you had more than enough space for a second person to live in your home.

You called it convenience, though everyone who saw the two of you together knew that this had nothing to do with convenience.

This were two people trying to navigate their feelings together- one of them learning how to trust again whilst the other was more than happy to provide the space and stability for them to do exactly that.

And because trust like that needed time, the two of you started to slip into a domestic routine without even actually noticing it.

Bucky made it a habit to walk to your favorite bakery every morning to get the pastries you liked so much for breakfast whilst you were still asleep, mostly because waking up early in the morning was a habit he still couldn't shake, but also because the smile that lit up your face when you came out of the bedroom and saw freshly brewed coffee and the warm baked goods sitting on the table was worth more than sleeping in could ever be.

He liked the peacfulness of it, too. That early in the morning, the fishermen were already busy down at the docks, knowing him well enough by now to greet him by his name when he walked past.

It reminded him of his childhood in Brooklyn a little, when everyone in his neighborhood used to look out for each other, no matter what.

Even though it wasn't exactly the same and Bucky wasn't a kid anymore, the familiarity of it always made his heart a little lighter.

After breakfast, when the heat was still light enough to be managable, the two of you often sat down in the backyard together, just like you did right now.

The parasol was offering some shade, giving you a chance to comfortably read your book whilst Bucky was lying on his back, trying very desperately not to fall asleep, watching you read way more captivating than sleep could ever be.

Bucky was pulled out of his dreamy daze when you put your book away and got up, your sundress flowing beautifully in the soft breeze of the early morning.

"I think I'll quickly head to the store. We ran out of a few things, might be good to get them before it gets too warm."

The plan made sense, especially because the summer heat of Louisiana was too extreme to actually do anything during the day except stay inside, were the AC at least made it a little bearable.

Still, it took Bucky a moment to register what you were saying with how much the sleepiness was clouding his brain, but when he realized what your plans were he got up from his spot as fast as he could, scrambling to his feet so quickly you could assume that he couldn't stand the idea of staying at home whilst you left to get groceries. "I'll go with you."

He knew damn well that getting a few things usually meant that you'd come back with at least two bags full of stuff and Bucky would be damned if he let you take care of that on your own.

He knew that you could carry the bags on your own, but that wasn't the point.

He didn't want you to. With how nice and welcoming you'd been towards him for the last few months, the least he could do was make sure that he offered his help as much as he could.

You only laughed, though, letting your eyes drift over him like you were trying to prove a point. "Like that? You'd put on a show for the old ladies, that's for sure."

Bucky's cheeks heated up with embarrassment as he noticed that he was indeed just wearing a pair of shorts, his upper body very much exposed and muscles visibly standing out with the thin layer of sweat glistening on his skin.

Being shirtless, especially in front of others, was also something he would've avoided only a few weeks ago.

The prosthetic and scars were not exactly something he wanted other peolpe to see, but he didn't really mind it that much with you.

The first time you'd seen him shirtless had been when he'd gotten out of the shower one evening, wearing nothing but a towel around his hips as he made his way back to the guest room when the two of you had nearly collided in the hallway.

For a long moment, you'd just… stared at each other.

Bucky's eyes had been fixed on your face, so scared of how you might react, something that turned out to be very unjustified when he'd noticed how you were looking at him.

It was safe to say that the expression on your face had been very far away from the disgust he'd expected.

You'd opened your mouth before you closed it again, words not really coming to you as your eyes travelled over his muscular chest, down to his abs and up to his face again.

"You're staring."

"I am," you had agreed. "I wasn't really aware that I was living with a greek god. Holy shit, Barnes."

It had been a very unique way of complementing his physique, but Bucky couldn't deny that he'd been smiling more than he usually did when he'd gotten ready for bed that day.

Because a compliment from you? That might as well be the best thing that ever happened to him.

"I'll quickly grab a shirt and then we can go-"

"No, Buck. I'm going." Your tone was a little stern, though the smile on your face suggested that you only said it like that because you knew how stubborn Bucky could be. "You're staying here. You were literally on the brink of falling asleep a minute ago and I'd be damned if I was the reason that you can't catch up on some much needed sleep."

Bucky wanted to argue, he really did… but it wasn't like you were wrong.

He could still feel the tiredness weighing down his limps, so staying here was a pretty tempting idea. "Are you sure?"

"Positve." You were already walking towards the house, trying to leave as quickly as possible before he’d change his mind again. "Just try to stay in the shade, yeah? The sun is going to get a little strong over the next few hours."

He only chuckled, your concern very sweet but completely unnecessary.

He was a super soldier, after all. He could handle a little UV radiation. "Don't worry about me, sweetheart. I'll be fine."

Famous last words, but Bucky didn't know that yet.

Honestly, you'd been gone for way longer than you'd first thought you'd be. In a small town like Delacroix, you couldn't leave the house without at least three people pulling you into a conversation- especially now that a very handsome man was living with you, if you were to quote them.

Convincing the people in this town that you and Bucky weren't more than friends was even harder than you'd expected, but honestly, you couldn't even blame them for not believing you.

You didn't even believe it yourself, so why would the people that had seen you grow up and could tell when you were lying from a mile away?

They were being sweet about it though, you had to give them that. Even the knitting club of town, which was full of elderly and very judgemental ladies, had given you their approval when it came to Bucky, which was rare. Usually, it took them a lot longer to warm up to knew people, especially ones from the city.

On the other hand, Bucky had been nothing but a gentleman towards them, so you could't really blame them for taking a liking to him so quickly.

He had that affect on you too, after all. And he did have the kind of manners that were pretty rare these days, especially in the modern dating culture.

That was also the reason why you were a little surprised when you walked through the front door with three bags of groceries in your arms and Bucky didn't immediately appear in front of you, more than ready to take them from you because he never really wanted you to carry the heavy stuff when he was around- not because you were incapable, you had made it very clear that you were.

It just seemed like one of those things he'd learned growing up and couldn't really shake. You'd told him multiple times already that Bucky didnt have to do so much, that he was your guest and it wasn't his responsibility to help you out so much, but Bucky wasn't having it.

He just claimed that it was the least he could do, especially with how much he was staying at your place.

And if you were being honest to yourself, both of you knew that Bucky was way more than just a guest.

This was his home as much as it was yours, at least it felt like that lately.

Whether it was fixing the leaky sink in the kitchen or cooking with you, Bucky didn't shy away from anything.

No matter what, he always insisted on doing whatever he could, claiming that his ma would turn in her grave if he just accepted your hospitality without giving anything back.

Just how used you already were to his presence showed in this moment, because you kept expecting him to join you in the kitchen with that stupid grin and even stupider muscles, which you were seeing more of now that he was occasionally walking around shirtless.

You were happy that he was comfortabe enough to do that around you, but how much it was messing with your head was really becoming a serious problem.

You figured that he was probably still sleeping in the backyard, though that would be more than just unusual. It's been three hours since you've first left the house and Bucky wasn't really one for long naps.

As a matter of fact, he didn't really sleep a lot at all. He'd once told you that he was lucky if he got three hours of sleep at night at all, so this was more than just a little weird.

Deciding that the groceries could wait a moment longer, you abandoned them were they were lying on the kitchen counter and made your way to the backyard, just to see that Bucky was still lying in the very same spot he'd been in when you'd left.

Just that now, th sun had moved so much that the parasol wasn't actually providing any shade anymore.

Instead, Bucky was completely exposed to the sun, his skin already a very concerning shade of red.

And even though the heat had to be unbearable if you considered how long he'd been lying there already, the man who'd usually wake up from the tiniest bit of noise or disturbance was still out cold.

You immediately made your way over to him and placed your hand on Bucky's shoulder, his skin hot and clammy with sweat. "Hey, Buck." You kept your voice low as you gently squeezed his shoulder, not wanting to startle him. "C'mon, hun, wake up."

It took a moment longer until Bucky lifted his head, looking at you with such a dazed expression, it looked like the heat must've gotten to his head just as much as it did to his skin.

"Hey there." Crouching down next to the sun lounger so you'd be on eye level with him, you brushed some of the strands away that were plastered to his forehead, a touch he immediately leaned into.

"How long was I out for?" His words were slurred and thick with sleep, his accent a lot more prominent than it usually was.

"About three hours." Bucky seemed to be as surprised as you had been, though you had other concerns than his unexpectedly long nap right now.

Bucky naturally ran hot due to the serum, but he was exceptionally warm. Searing, even, which really wasn't a good sign. "You feeling alright?"

"A little dizzy, to be honest," he admitted as he moved to sit up, frowning in very obvious discomfort as he lifted one of his hands to hold his head. "Shit."

Even though that didn't really calm your worries, you were glad that he was still sweating, so it at least wasn't a heat stroke.

His symptoms did look an awful lot like heat exhaustion though, which meant that you had to get him out of the sun as soon as possible. "Let's get you inside, huh? I think that was enough sun exposure for a day."

Usually, Bucky was one of the most composed people you've ever seen. He had the most impressive body control and moved his body with a kind of ease that- especially if you considered the prosthetic-he definitely shouldn't have, and it amazed you.

Right now, he just looked… not well. His movements were sluggish, his skin heavily sunburnt and his face way too pale for your liking.

You rested your hand on his lower back as you guided him inside, just in case he stumbled, though you were pretty sure that there wasn't really anything you could do to support the man who was built like a wall and probably weighed more than 200 pounds.

Bucky didn't say a word as he sat down on the couch, letting himself sag into the cushions as his head fell back against the headrest and he closed his eyes, chest rising and falling shallowly.

"You good?" You probably sounded like a broken record, but you couldn't help yourself. With how much Bucky usually tried to hide his weaknesses, seeing him like this made you worry way more than you should.

"Yeah," he murmured, but it wasn't really convincing. "Just a little nauseous, 's all."

Dizziness, nausea, overheating and paleness.

That wasn't exactly great, so you quickly got a few things that would hopefully help him before you made your way back to the living room.

Bucky peeked one eye open as he heard you walk through the kitchen, the sound of your feet hitting the hardwood floor enough to distract him a little.

He was glad that you weren't gone too long and joined him in the living room a moment later again. He was feeling like shit, but your presence helped more than he wanted to admit.

"Small sips, alright? Take it easy." Bucky did as he was told, because how could he not when you were looking at him like that? Taking the unscrewed bottle from you, he lifted it to his lips and let the water run down his throat, the coolness of it a welcome relief.

In the meantime, you drenched the soft cloth in a bowl of water and carefully wiped it over his chest, barely even grazing his skin, but Bucky hissed anyway, making you wince in sympathy. "Sorry. Does it hurt?" It was an unnecessary question, especially if you considered his reaction, but you asked anyway.

"A little," he admitted, voice still a little too hoarse for your liking, despite the water you'd just given him. "Not as much as you hovering, though."

That made you stop in your motions for a moment. "I'm not hovering."

"You are, too." A lazy grin spread across his face, affectionate more than it was teasing. "But it's cute, so we're all good."

"Glad that I your approval, Barnes." You tried to focus on cooling him down and wiping the sweat off of his body, trying to ignore the heat creeping up your cheeks that- at least in your case- had nothing to do with a sunburn.

You tried to keep your focus on the task at hand, but it was hard to concentrate with how intensely Bucky was looking at you. "Quit staring."

A soft huff of laughter slipped past his lips. "Ain't staring, sweetheart. Just appreciatin' the view."

"Well, then quit appreciating it."

"Don't think I can do that. You're too pretty."

Even though Bucky hadn't been subtle with his flirting for the last few weeks, this was a little direct-even for his charming personality.

"I think the sun did some damage to your brain, Buck. Don't say things you're gonna regret when the heat exhaustion's over."

The lazy smirk on Bucky's face was in place again as he looked at you through hooded eyes. "Only 'cause I don't usually say this kind of stuff doesn't mean it ain't true. I'm just too much of a coward to tell you certain things sometimes, sweetheart. Don't wanna mess this up."

"You're not messing anything up, Buck, don't worry. Now stop talking and drink your water."

"Yes, ma'am." He gave you a mock salute and you couldn't help but wonder how he could still be so silly whilst feeling this shitty, but maybe that was just how he functioned.

When you were finished the cloth, you reached for the lotion instead that would hopefully manage to calm the sunburn a little bit and put some on your hand, giving Bucky a warning look. "This could be a little cold."

He did tense a little when you started to rub the lotion into his chest and stomach, the intimate touch making you blush once again.

You had to realise that you did that a lot around him lately, but this time, Bucky didn't comment on it.

As a matter of fact, he looked almost confused, like he didn't quite understand why you were doing this for him.

"You don't have to take care of me like this, you know that right?

"I know," you agreed, hands rubbing the moisturizer into his shoulders now. "I want to, though." 

Again, that seemed to catch him off guard.

Bucky often had moments like that, when he would realize that the lack of kindness and care he'd grown so used to weren't actually how things would always be.

That it would never be like that with you.

"You keep surprising me, you know that?"

Now, that made you laugh a little. "I try my best, that's for sure."

You just kept tending to his sunburn for the next few minutes, making sure that it was taken care of properly before you put the lotion away and sat down next to Bucky, searching for any possible signs of discomfort. "You okay?"

This time, Bucky took a few seconds to think about the question before he nodded. "Better now thanks to you."

"Well, I'm glad that I could help."

After you said that, the two of you just… looked at each other for a moment, Bucky's eyes so much more expressive than he ever managed to be with his words.

Obviously, the sunburn and heat exhaustion weren't something he should've had to experience, but it had led to a moment far more intimate than there had ever been between the two of you.

It felt different now, when his eyes dropped to your lips every few seconds.

He didn't act on it, not yet. 

But he seemed to understand now that you weren't only around for the predictable things, but that your care about him didn't come with a catch.

You were there for him and he didn't have to do anything to earn that care, at least not in the way he'd grown so used to.

He just got to be Bucky. The man that was comfortable enough to take naps around you, tried his best to help you around the house as much as he could and liked reading more than he would ever admit to anyone but you.

He didn't quite know how to navigate just being that yet without the weight of fighting and missions sitting heavy on his shoulders, but for you?

He was more than willing to try.

it's slow to begin with. more just the pointed awareness that you're in his bed. then that you're in his arms. then that you're both naked. and then everything from last night starts filtering back in. in awful waves of "oh." "oh, no" "oh, fuck".

he'd tense enough that's you'd stir a little - just enough to frown and shift against him. and steve would panic immediately because he still hasn't figured out what the hell he's supposed to say. "morning, sorry i went completely feral on you, think i inhaled some kind of hydra sex drug. won't happen again." doesn't really cover it. but the full truth? "i know i wasn’t fully myself, but i also haven’t ever wanted anything more than i want you." well, that feels worse.

so instead, in true steve fashion, he does what he always does when he’s scared of saying the wrong thing: he avoids the actual conversation entirely and channels every feeling into taking care of you instead.

he’s instantly fussing. asking if you’re sore, where you’re sore, if he hurt you, if you need water, if you’re dizzy, if you need food. he’s massaging your hips so gently in an attempt to soothe the ache, and asking again if you’re sure he didn’t hurt you because he needs to hear you say it once more just to be sure.

you, meanwhile, are in no state to have a serious emotional conversation either. your body still feels loose and lazy from everything he pulled out of you, your brain still pleasantly fogged over, so you mostly just lie there and let him fuss. maybe even play into it a little. maybe ask him stroke your hair a bit. maybe kiss those marks he left on you better too. you know, just casual roommate things.

when you eventually mumble something about wanting a bath, steve doesn’t even let you walk to the bathroom. he just just scoops you up like you weigh nothing and carries you there with that effortless, unfair strength that had your brain short-circuiting last night and absolutely still does now. being tucked in those big biceps is a feeling you don't think you'll ever tired of.

he’d run the bath for you and help you in, eyes trying very hard to stay gentlemanly even though he's seen you in the most filthy state possible.

mostly, they do. until he catches sight of the marks he left on you the night before. the fingerprints at your hips, the dark little bruises where his mouth had been, the evidence of just how badly he’d wanted you written all over your skin. and for a second he just stills, and his pupils blow a little wider. something hot and possessive flickers in his expression before he drags his gaze away, clears his throat, and reaches purposefully for the soap just for something to focus on.

and i think he’d be very careful about touching you in any way that could be read as asking for more. so he just kneels beside the tub and washes your hair for you, big hands so gentle as he works the shampoo in.

and somewhere in there, with the warm water and the sound of his voice and the way he keeps checking if the temperature’s okay, if your hips still ache, if you’re sure he didn’t hurt you, it would become very obvious that this is not just guilt. sure, guilt is part of it -steve has never exactly been good at not blaming himself - but this is steve loving you in every way he can without actually saying the words out loud.

which is exactly why you make him sweat for it. just a little.

partly because you're a little mean and the idea of captain america fumbling his way through a confession is simply too delicious to resist, and partly because you needs to hear it from him when he’s fully, completely himself. 

so eventually, once you’re both clean and fed and dressed, the two of you end up sitting there in the quiet, both very aware of what needs to be said and neither wanting to be the first to say it. steve would probably start three different sentences and finish none of them. just "about last night—" and then stop. "i know i wasn’t—" stop again. "you know i’d never—" and then another stop. he’s so adorably out of his depth it almost kills you.

so you’d take pity on him. sort of.

something teasing. something like, "you know, for a hundred-year-old supposed gentleman, you really skipped a lot of steps. i thought the old-fashioned type usually took a girl to dinner before fucking her stupid."

and steve would go bright red instantly, poor thing. but he;d laugh too.  because that would be your little olive branch; your way of saying, i’m not angry, and yes, i’m giving you an opening here, rogers, for the love of god take it. 

and when you add, all faux-serious, that he’s probably going to have to take you on a date now or risk ruining his golden boy reputation, he smiles properly. soft and shy and boyish. the one you fell in love with months ago, because it always melts you on sight.

and of course he takes you on a date. a real one - flowers and everything. and then another. and another. and another, just for good measure. because if steve rogers gets the chance to do this right with you, he absolutely will. he’ll court you properly, because that’s just who he is.

and then, once he’s done it properly, once he’s made sure you know exactly what you mean to him, he’d show you very clearly that the sex pollen might have burned through his restraint… but it wasn’t what made him so feral for you in the first place.