If you were going to play cards, strip poker was the only acceptable game in Billy's opinion. He'd done respectably, stripped down to nothing but his jeans. Though he'd mostly healed from the Mind Flayer's attack, the scars on his abdomen were still pink and shiny and new. Among the many downfalls of being possessed by a monster, he didn't appreciate the hit to his ego either, but if he was self-conscious of them, he'd be damned before he let it show. The house was empty and quiet around them, the windows open to let in a breeze, unexpectedly warm for autumn.

He flipped his cards with a trademark smirk, revealing another winning hand. "You know the rules, Harrington. Take it off." He didn't know if Steve was bad at this game or just terribly unlucky. Either way, he wasn't about to let him off the hook. The semi-darkness and privacy of their own space felt like a safe place to flirt openly with him, and he hadn't been holding back. It was playing with fire, maybe, but almost dying put a lot of things into perspective for Billy. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life burying every part of himself.

@mxrvelouscreations

Bucky let out a groan as Steve's movements sent knives stabbing through his gut, blood soaking through his dark blue jacket. That bullet had torn clear through his middle and out the back, and still, he'd kept shooting until every single one of his intended targets were dead and the Howlies could advance. He wasn't positive anyone even knew he was hit, and he had no way to tell them. Trying to stumble down from his sniper's perch had left him gasping and dizzy, sinking down beside a tree for cover, drops of bright red dotting the snow.

But of course Steve had found him, and of course he wasn't going to leave him behind. His vision blurred and darkened at the edges, but a hot sort of numbness was taking over his midsection, chasing away the pain like morphine, except he hadn't had any. "It's fine, Steve. It-- it barely hurts now." Dimly, Bucky knew that was a bad sign, but he couldn't bring himself to care much about it. Without whatever Zola had done to him in that hellish lab, he thought he might have been dead already, but he hadn't dared speak about that to anyone yet-- how he could see farther, hear better, march longer, hit targets better, or yes even heal faster, than he had before.

@abcdefghijklmnopqrstucky

Frank had been laying low since the explosion at the docks. Once again, the world thought he was dead, and it was safer for him to keep it that way. It gave him the freedom to continue his mission if he wasn't being hunted, and the corruption surrounding his families' deaths went deeper than he’d ever imagined. Being on-mission and supposedly dead was the only reason he’d bothered with a cheap motel room for the night. He was tired of sleeping in the truck and on empty warehouse floors.

He’d thrown on a pair of sweats and a black a-shirt after a shower, and he’d only just started thinking about food when he heard a key in the door. Without even thinking, his gun was in his hand, a teacup grip trained on the door. It was possible they just had the wrong room, but with his luck… not very likely. The gun was trained on him as the door came open, but of all the people he was expecting to see on the other side of it… Captain America was near the very bottom of the list.

Of course Frank recognized him. Shit, he’d grown up with that story, idolized him, it was one of the reasons he’d joined the military. His kids'd had fuckin' Captain America action figures. He couldn’t say whether Steve recognized him in return, if they were actually sending Avengers to bring in the Punisher now or if this was some cosmic accident, but regardless he didn't kill heroes. He sucked in a breath, pointing the gun at the floor. "The fuck is this?"

Bucky had been slightly stupefied at the sight of a giant portal opening above their head, showing a galaxy spread out before Schmidt had been sucked up into it. Throwing a look at Steve, he raced to the controls with him, looking over the whole panel. The damage to the space around them only added to what showed on the panels in front of them. He swallowed hard at what he knew it meant. 

“Steve, get on the comms to the team,” he murmured, shifting to let him sit in the pilot’s chair. He had no intention of being more than an inch away from him. They had known from the beginning what they were risking, and it was largely why he’d insisted on staying at Steve’s side where he belonged. Til the end of the line was nothing he had ever taken lightly. The first crackle of the radio and Peggy’s voice coming through the other hand had him reaching over to curl his hand around Steve’s shoulder. 

The request for their coordinates made his throat go tight and he leaned into Steve for what comfort he could give as he listened to his husband put it all to words. “Keep ‘em safe, Carter,” he instructed before flipping off the communication switch. At the end of the line, he wanted it to be them, just them. 

Reaching over, he helped move the controls before breaking it to lock it in place. He settled himself onto Steve’s lap, wrapping his arms around his neck and pressing his forehead to his softly. “Til the end of the line, doll,” he murmured softly, trying not to let his sadness show. “I just wish it had been longer,” he admitted. A hundred years at his side never would have been enough, and he knew it. “I love you, Steve.” 

@walkitoffrogers

He didn’t mind them, the odd pair of super soldiers that looked younger than him but were apparently so much older. He hadn’t gotten much chance to get to know either of them but he wanted to work on that. For reasons he couldn’t tell Finn, but they remained nonetheless. Going to Steve was easy, figuring he was a good bet for a decent sparring partner. “Care to come keep me company and throw a few punches?”

@onyourleftrogers​

This morning, he’d set Steve off on his dumbass, cold-as-hell, too-early-in-the-morning run with a kiss and his cup of coffee in hand as he leaned against the counter, emphatically refusing to go near the open front door or the cold outside at all. It gave him time to cook a blatantly ridiculous breakfast and set up his plan to keep them in the house the rest of the day. 

Disney movies, entirely too much food for anyone that wasn’t them, and the biggest, fluffiest blanket he had ever seen waited for them. It had been a close thing, letting Steve leave the bed. He’d managed to not make grabby hands and sad eyes, only because he knew it would give him time to set everything up. Before making breakfast, he turned the whole living room into a blanket fort, setting up everything they could need to stay in it and be happy. 

@onyourleftrogers​

What are you doing here?

Billy was perched on the edge of the pool, feet skimming the water, cigarette forgotten between his fingers as the night hummed quiet around them. Steve surfaced a few feet away, pushing his hair back with a wet hand before gripping the edge and hauling himself up just enough to lean in. Water streamed down his shoulders and arms, cool against Billy’s sun-warm skin as Steve closed the distance and kissed him — slow, confident, like it was the most natural thing in the world. He lingered there, lips still brushing Billy’s, breath close and steady, the pool lapping softly behind him while the rest of the night seemed to hold its breath.

Billy liked nights like this more than he was willing to admit, just the two of them unwinding by the pool. He liked hearing stupid details about Steve's day and watching the way his body cut through the water, smooth and purposeful. He raised an eyebrow when he surfaced near him, a hint of a challenge in it. He didn't even care that Steve was dripping on him, dark water spots forming on his shorts. He'd half-expected him to pull him into the pool anyway, but this was better, Steve's lips cool and sure against his. He was content to linger in the kiss, a hand coming up to rest along the side of his face.