#bbbdaybash2023

—

When you get to the gym, Walker’s the only other person there, so you put in your headphones and studiously ignore him until he leaves. You complete your workout without anyone else appearing, then grab a quick shower and head to the shared kitchen on the residential floor. There are rooms for the whole team, but none of you live in the Tower full-time, so it’s not unusual for it to be pretty quiet.

As you’re making the most of the free supplies for your lunch, Yelena bounds into the kitchen, with an exaggerated grimace, “Kill me now,” she exclaims, wrapping her arms around you in greeting while you slice tomatoes, “It would be a kindness to put me out of my misery.”

“Meeting went well?” you ask as she releases you.

“It was sooo booooring,” Yelena rolls her eyes, “It’s not fair that I have to listen to these stupid briefings just because I’m so good at fighting. But this looks nice,” she grabs half of your freshly made sandwich and sniffs it before biting off a corner.

“Hey, I just made that!”

“And it was very kind of you,” she replies sincerely, getting out plates for you both and taking hers to the table with a bottle of hot sauce.

Bucky enters the kitchen next, doing a slightly better job of hiding his boredom. Val follows just behind, and narrows her eyes at you.

“You know, I’m pretty sure your contract explains that sustenance is only provided for freelance team members when they’re on mission.”

After chewing thoughtfully on your food, you explain that surely keeping in shape for missions was part of your job, and nutrition was an important part of that. “Plus, I’m basically just catering at this point,” you finish, gesturing to where Yelena was devouring half of your lunch.

“Fine,” Val concedes, as though she couldn’t think of anything she cared less about anyway, “Yelena, now that you’ve eaten, you can come back and finish being briefed for your next mission.”

It was probably a good thing that Yelena’s response - which you were pretty sure was just a string of Russian profanities - was basically unintelligible through her mouthful of food, but she got up anyway and reluctantly followed Val out of the room, leaving you alone with Bucky.

“You want some too?” You ask, pointing at the sandwich ingredients.

“Sure,” he replies, joining you at the counter to make his own.

You watch him silently as you finish eating, then ask casually, “So, it’s your birthday this weekend, right? Doing anything for it?”

He glances at you in surprise, presumably not expecting you to have noticed, or known, the date.

“Yeah,” he responds, “Sam’s coming in for a visit on Saturday, he has…plans.” He sounded apprehensive at the prospect of Sam’s surprise evening, which made you smile.

“But isn’t your birthday the Friday?”

“Yeah, but he’s busy in DC then.”

“So what are you doing on the actual day?”

Bucky frowns slightly, “Nothing. The day after’s fine.”

“Well sure,” you lean a hip on the counter to tilt towards him, “But you have to do something on the actual day. Doesn’t have to be a big thing, or even with anyone else. Just, I don’t know, eat your favourite meal, watch your favourite movie…”

You trail off expectantly, but Bucky just shrugs.

“Okay, so what do you do when you want to treat yourself? Something you enjoy but don’t get to do that often.”

Bucky stares at you blankly. You boggle incredulously back at him.

“Oh come on! Even Steve would indulge in the occasional Twinkies binge. There must be something?”

Bucky’s brow was furrowed in thought, “I guess I like training. Makes me feel useful.”

“Bucky, no!” you groan, “For one thing, you do that every day, for another, ‘exercising’ and ‘being useful’ are not treats. You need something that’s selfish, just for you.”

Bucky just shrugs in response, “I don’t know what to tell you.”

You sigh, “Well, this needs to be dealt with,” you cross your arms and chew on your lip thoughtfully, remembering the stories Steve shared with you about their lives in the ‘40s.

“We could go to Coney Island? Or out dancing? From what I heard you were always trying to drag Steve to stuff like that.”

“We?”

“Yeah, can just be you and me or we could invite some of the others. Not Walker though.” You add darkly. “Or I guess maybe you’re doing stuff like that with Sam. We could do something quieter - a night in, take-out and movies?”

Bucky’s looking at you strangely.

“Or if you just want to be alone, you can still do that. I can recommend you some stuff you might like,” you grin at him, “I’ll even generously share my streaming password with you.”

Bucky still looks confused, blinking a few times before he manages to reply.

“A movie night sounds…okay. Not with the others. But you don’t have to come over, you probably have a better way to spend your Friday night.” He flashes you a quick smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and you shake your head.

“I’d like to spend the night with you,” you reply simply, and truthfully, “So, any favourite foods?”

You chat for a little longer, coming up with ideas for the evening and noting down his home address. You leave looking forward to the evening - it’ll be nice to spend some time with Bucky outside of missions and training.

—

Soon enough, Friday rolls around. After working a shift at your day job, you sweet-talk a co-worker into letting you skip out early, and make your way to Brooklyn. Bucky lives in the same neighbourhood Steve used to, so you know it fairly well, and on your way you pick up beers, birthday cake and a pizza, rushing to get to his apartment before it gets cold. Someone leaving the building lets you in, and you head up the stairs to Bucky’s front door.

Trying to keep both the pizza and cake boxes flat, you awkwardly wedge the cake against your hip, balance the pizza between your other hand and shoulder, grip the pack of beer under your elbow, and gently kick the door in lieu of knocking. It’s opened quickly by Bucky, dressed casually in dark jeans and a black t-shirt, his bright eyes amused at the number of things you’re carrying.

“Let me get that,” he offers immediately. You let him take the pizza and beer, and follow him into the apartment. It’s clean, but a little too tidy, looking more like an empty hotel room than a lived-in home.

“You didn’t need to bring all this,” he says, looking curiously at the bakery box, “I have drinks already.”

“Better to have too much than too little,” you answer cheerily, setting the cake down on his kitchen counter, “Now, this is for later,” you place your hand on the closed box, “But the pizza is for now. Unfortunately, you live in Brooklyn, so the actual best pizza in the city would be cold by the time I got it over here, but I’ve heard some people say Grimaldi’s is the best. Obviously, they’re wrong, but you’re a weird Brooklyn guy too, so let’s see what you think.”

Bucky chuckles, “Not weird in a way that means I can’t properly judge a pizza.”

You give him a look that says you’re highly sceptical of that, before pulling a birthday card out of your bag and presenting it to him with a smile.

“Happy Birthday, Bucky.”

He takes the card from you with a soft thanks, opens it and laughs, “What…?”

You grin back at him, “For some reason I couldn’t find a card for a 106 year old, so I modified this one. It suits you, don’t you think?”

The card is for a 10th birthday, and you’ve drawn a big 6 on it, so it now reads “106 years old today!” above a cartoon dinosaur wearing a top hat.

“A dinosaur?” Bucky questions, failing to suppress his smile.

“Because you like science…and dinosaurs are really old, like you.” You beam at him as though this should be obvious, “but, as you can see, this one’s fancy too. He’s a gentleman dinosaur.”

“You are so strange,” Bucky mutters, shaking his head.

You shrug, “Well, that makes two of us. You got a bottle opener?”

You grab a beer for each of you, noticing Bucky’s shy smile as he reads the message you’ve written inside the card.

Happy Birthday to my favourite centenarian! There’s no one I’d rather be spending time spying on and punching people with. I’m glad we’re on the same team.

You chat over movie choices while you eat the pizza, which you reluctantly admit is pretty good. You’re aware of Bucky’s love for The Lord of the Rings, and Steve had mentioned he was interested in science and futurism, so you suggest some fantasy and sci-fi choices. In the end Bucky decides on Alien - double billed with Aliens, at your insistence - with Crouching Tiger, Hidden Dragon for the end of the night.

“If there’s time,” he qualifies, “You don’t have to stay for all three if you don’t want to. It’ll be pretty late by then.”

You smile, knowing you won’t want to leave no matter how late it is.

“I think you underestimate me, Buck. I’m a night owl, there’s no such thing as too late for me.”

Once you’re done eating, you settle comfortably onto his couch to start watching. After the first film ends, you take advantage of Bucky’s trip to the bathroom to take the cake out of its box and stick in a few candles. You’ve just got the last one lit and turned off the lights when he comes back.

“Happy Birthday Bucky,” you say with a smile, presenting him with the cake.

His eyes, shimmering in the candlelight, swim with gratitude, and you feel a rush of protective affection for him at how overwhelmed he is by the smallest things.

“Make a wish,” you add softly, holding the cake out towards him.

Bucky holds your gaze for a long moment, moving in close to you and covering your hands with his, as though to help hold the cake steady. Maintaining eye contact until the last possible moment, he leans forward and blows. You’re surprised at the sudden, hot pulse of lust that rips through you as he does, your lips parting involuntarily as the feeling pools between your legs.

You’d been attracted to him since you met, but something about his tender, deliberate movements was making your knees weak. As Bucky straightens up you see him note the bob of your throat as you swallow, and a cocky smile pulls at the corner of his lips. You take a deep breath and drag your eyes from his smooth, enticing mouth.

“Ready for something sweet?” you ask.

“Definitely.”

A couple slices of cake and a few hours later, you’ve fallen asleep on Bucky’s couch, tucked up comfortably under his arm, a blanket spread across you both. The third movie ended more than half an hour ago, but Bucky hasn’t wanted to wake you, instead enjoying the sensation of your warm body pressed against him, turning his face slightly to breathe in the scent from your hair where your head leans against his shoulder. Just the fact that you’re comfortable enough to fall asleep on him like this makes his heart swell.

But the clock creeps further into the wee hours, so making a decision, Bucky carefully wraps you in the blanket and lifts you up, taking you to his bedroom. You stir slightly, and as he sets you down on the cold bed, you open your eyes.

“Bucky,” you mumble, your voice full of sleep.

He hushes you gently, “It’s okay, stay asleep,” he whispers, before moving away.

You hum softly, and grab the front of his shirt, stopping him leaving.

“This is your bed,” you say sleepily.

“It is,” he agrees with a smile, “go back to sleep.”

“No,” you murmur, struggling to keep your eyes open, but not releasing your hold on him, “I’m not kicking you out of your own bed.”

Bucky smiles and leans back down, brushing the hair out of your eyes, “It’s really not a problem,” he assures you.

“Nope,” you say, less groggy and more insistent, “I can sleep on the couch if you want, but the only way I’m sleeping in your bed is if you’re in here with me."

Bucky hesitates. A part of him would love nothing more than to join you, to hold you close all night and wake up with you in his arms. But he doesn’t trust himself. And he doesn’t believe he deserves something so perfect and normal.

“It’s really okay,” he begins, but, more awake now, you cut him off.

“I promise to keep my hands to myself if that’s what you’re worried about,” you say with a sly, sleepy smile.

Bucky huffs out a quiet laugh and pauses, unsure how much to tell you.

“I get nightmares,” he admits quietly, “it - I might hurt you.”

Your eyes are fully open now, and you stare deep into his worried ones.

“Flashbacks?” you ask softly.

“Yes,” he seems surprised you know.

You nod slowly, “Been there. Having someone with you can help.”

Bucky frowns, frozen in indecision.

You roll your eyes and grab his flesh arm, tugging him down onto the bed beside you.

“Stop being an idiot and just sleep with me,” you tell him, moving closer to tuck the blanket over you both and gently rest your head on his chest, “Is this okay?” you check, registering his surprise, and when he nods you nestle into him with a contented sigh. After a moment you feel him relax beneath you. His right arm presses along your back, holding you to him, while he brings his vibranium arm up and across his body to wrap around your hip.

“Good night,” you mutter, smiling into his chest but not opening your eyes, “and happy birthday, again.”

He presses his lips to the top of your head and whispers back to you, “Good night. And thank you, again.”

—

Bucky wakes up early the next day, as usual. What’s not usual is your warm, sleeping form next to him - or the complete absence of nightmares. He feels more rested than he has in months, if not longer, even though it can’t be more than a few hours since he fell asleep.

Looking down at your face in the easy morning light, he watches you carefully, your face soft and unguarded as you sleep.

He realises that he hasn’t really seen you completely relaxed until now. You always have a sardonic smile and quick quip, are rolling your eyes in exasperation at your teammates, or are just closed off and blankly unreadable. Remembering what you said last night about having experience with flashback nightmares, he wonders if your attitude is a defence to keep people at a distance. And if so, is it intentional, or is it instinct? What have you been through to make you - in this way - similar to him?

The knowledge that you had let your defences down with him last night feels like an honour. He wonders if spending the night with him helped you as well, and hopes it did - he’s proud that he may have kept you safe and comfortable. Wrapping his arms around you tighter and letting himself drift back to sleep, he hopes that he gets the chance to learn all these things about you - and more.

A few hours later, you stir in his arms, rousing him from his doze. He pulls back slightly, and looks into your sleepily opening eyes.

“Morning,” you greet him groggily.

“Morning,” he smiles back, glad that you’re happy to stay close as you gradually return to consciousness.

Mirroring his smile, you glance down at the both of you and chuckle, “You know it was a good birthday when you wake up in yesterday’s clothes.”

“Yeah, I should probably shower,” Bucky realises, “And you can shower here too, if you want. I can lend you something to wear.”

You sleepily raise an eyebrow, “Is that a pointed comment?”

Bucky’s eyes widen, “No, no, I just-”

“I’m joking,” you swat him lightly on his chest and sit up, “It’s probably more considerate to everyone else on the subway to shower here. But - coffee?”

Bucky smiles. You might have fallen asleep before him last night, but you’re clearly not a morning person.

“How about I make coffee while you take a shower. And breakfast, I think I have some eggs.”

“That sounds like a great plan. But, uh,” you hesitate, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but I understand men from the ‘40s weren’t really taught to cook, and the one time I ate something Steve made…” you tail off, a look of disgust on your face at the memory.

Bucky laughs, “You can’t blame the ‘40s for that, Steve’s just a terrible cook. But trust me. How much could I mess up an egg?”

You narrow your eyes at him, your voice dripping with suspicion, “What Steve made me was supposed to be an omelette.”

Bucky snorts, “And let me guess, it looked and tasted like something he’d found on the sidewalk?”

“It looked and tasted like a hate crime! Against me personally, or all chickenkind, I’m not sure.”

“Okay,” Bucky assures you through his laughter, “I promise not to hurt you like that. My eggs will taste, at worst, like a recreational misdemeanour,” his smile fades suddenly, “Wait, Steve made you breakfast?”

Now it’s your turn to smile. Is Bucky jealous?

“No,” you respond with a smirk, “It was lunch. That would have been a terrible way to start the day.”

—

When you emerge from the shower, the smell of Bucky’s cooking reassures you that this will be a better experience than Steve’s ‘omelette’. You dress in the sweats Bucky’s laid out for you - failing to resist smelling his Henley as you pull it over your head - then move to the kitchen. Both of you drink coffee and eat the perfectly edible eggs, chatting companionably about what you’d watched the night before. You promise Bucky another movie night soon, ostensibly to help with his “cultural education”. He refuses to let you do the dishes, so the two of you wash and dry them side by side before he goes for his shower.

You’re enjoying another cup of coffee before you have to say goodbye and make your way back to Manhattan, when there’s a knock at the front door. You can still hear the water going from Bucky’s shower, and it sounded like he wasn’t expecting anyone at the moment. Confused, you pad over and look through the peephole, seeing a face that’s immediately recognisable.

You pull the door open with a wide smile, “Captain Wilson,” you greet Sam. He’s clearly shocked to see you opening Bucky’s door, but you gesture for him to come in, “So great to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you.”

“Oh, you have?” Sam asks, struggling to conceal his delighted grin, “And please, call me Sam.”

You introduce yourself and shake hands.

“Bucky’s in the shower,” you explain, “But he’ll be out any minute.”

As if he heard you, Bucky bursts out of the bathroom, dripping wet and wearing only a towel loosely wrapped around his waist. You’d swear you could feel your pupils dilating with lust as you took him in - not to mention what the sight of him was doing to the rest of you.

Beads of water roll over his strong shoulders, one webbed with scars, the other lightly dusted with freckles, before sliding down the swell of his chest. His dog tags rest just above the hard ridges of his abs, and your eyes drift down, following the trail of dark hair where it led from his stomach beneath the towel, centred between a defined v-line you ache to trace with your tongue.

Bucky’s flustered voice just about brought you out of your libidinous reverie, “Sam! Didn’t you say you’d be getting in in the afternoon?”

Sam’s clearly enjoying the situation, “Oh yeah, ‘thanks man for coming to see me on my birthday’,” he mocks, “I got an earlier flight, thought we could start the celebrations early. But it looks like you already did.”

You return the delighted grin he gives you while Bucky grumpily thanks Sam for coming to visit and moves to greet him.

“Woah, you gotta put some clothes on before you get any closer,” Sam warns him light-heartedly.

“I think that’s my cue to leave,” you say, winking at Bucky as you drain the last of your coffee, “Nice to meet you Sam, I hope I’ll see you again some time.”

“I’m sure you will,” Sam still looks like the cat that got the cream.

Shrugging on your jacket and grabbing your bag, you approach Bucky confidently, “Have fun tonight, birthday boy,” you lightly place a hand on his bare waist and lean in to kiss him on the cheek, “but not too much fun.”

“Sure,” Bucky grumbles, but there’s a smile he can’t quite hide hovering on his lips, and he walks you to the door - always a gentleman even in just a towel.

You turn with a smile as you leave, “And give me a call if you make it across the river tonight.”

“I will,” Bucky nods, then reaches out to pull you close and adds, softly enough that Sam can’t hear, “And thank you for last night. And this morning. I had a great birthday.”

After a fraction of a second’s hesitation, he presses a soft kiss to your cheek, warming you head to toe.

You beam back at him, “I’m glad. I had fun too,” you step back reluctantly and call a goodbye to both him and Sam.

As you start down the corridor, you hear Sam’s voice even through the door.

“Dude, you had a girl here? Overnight!? Are you kidding me?”