I was tagged by setphaserstostucky

1. Rough Justice - Rolling Stones

2. No Rain - Blind Melon

3. Simple Twist of Fate - Bob Dylan

4. The Guns of Brixton - The Clash

5. Pet Sematary - The Ramones

6. Volcanoes - Islands

7. Bike - Pink Floyd

8. Now I'm Here - Queen

9. I Shall Be Released - Chrissy Hynde

Everyone always assumes that it was Bucky that got them in trouble back in the day. And they’re not wrong. Cause Bucky definitely got them in their fair share of trouble. They’ve all heard the Cyclone story. All know that Bucky knows how to push Steve’s buttons in just the right way. 

Thing is, behind that cherubic face and those pretty blue eyes of good ol’ Captain America, is the guy that so few really know. In fact, Bucky’s pretty sure only he knows how much of a real pisser Steve Rogers really is. Somehow, that guy always has, always can, probably always will, be able to get Bucky into some of the most ridiculous shit ever.

So really, when Steve’s insisting that he needs Bucky’s help with some electrical problems in the maintenance control unit on the second floor, he has some serious doubts. But Steve gives him that pleading, ‘aw-c’mon- Buck-m’serious-look of his. Baby blues all big and endearing and damn it all if Bucky can fucking resist that one. Up the damn ladder of the rafters he follows, even though Stark’s the one who usually handles the maintenance around the Tower.

But hell, Steve really does pop open the panel, digs out the charts or prints or instructions or something so he can follow along, and starts rattling off tools he needs to Bucky. 

“Okay, hold the red wire in place, would ya?” He asks after about twenty minutes of work.

Bucky does as he says and Steve connects that one with another. Steve screws something into place and flicks a switch and sure enough, the panel powers on, buzzing to life and lighting up. Proud smile turns up on his lips.

“Alright,” He chuckles. “Not bad for a couple of super soldier-grandpas, huh?”Bucky tsks at him. “Who you calling grandpa, grandpa?”“Mmm. Not you, right? Am I keepin’ you young, Buck?”

Bucky rolls his eyes, can’t really hold back the chuckle though. He’s about to start back down the ladder when Steve takes hold of his shoulder.

“Why’re you rushing?”“What?” Bucky rattles his head. Thinks maybe he’s imagining that familiar twinkle in Steve’s eyes. “What’d you mean? We’re done.”“Yeah but…” Steve presses teeth into his bottom lip. All innocent and whatnot when it’s anything but. “Do I keep you young, Buck? Ya never answered.”

Steve’s hand is tugging on the bottom of Bucky’s shirt. Pulling him closer. All Bucky can do, when he’s not staring back at Steve, is glance over the side of the rafter. If anyone comes in, all it would take it one look up and they’ll be caught.

“What’d you think, Bucky?”“I think… I think it doesn’t matter what I think.” He sighs. “You’re gonna get what you want outta me anyway, aren’t you?”

Steve chuckles, presses his body up against Bucky’s. Get’s a muffled, broken sort of moan. Bucky can feel how hard Steve is already. Feel him pressed up against his own already hard dick. Steve runs his hands up Bucky’s shirt, starts trailing kisses across his collar bone. His weak spot. The spot that makes his fucking knees shake. Pulls tiny whimpers from his throat. 

“Course not,” Steve answers after a few moments of that. “We can stop if you wanna.”

Of course, that’s the moment Steve decides to rub his palm right up against Bucky’s crotch. Bucky’s mouth falls open in a groan. Eyelids droop, and he pulls Steve in by the back of the neck. Kisses him long and hard. Steve moans into it. Tongues swirl, seeking to be friends. Fevers of their own as hands begin groping all over.

Steve is still palming the front of Bucky’s crotch while Bucky’s taken to squeezing Steve’s ass in both his hands. There’s a noise though. A quick, simple change. Something that’s not Bucky’s heavy breathing or jagged whimpers. Not Steve’s moans or grunts. A door closing. Footsteps and absentminded chitchat. 

They tear away from their kissing at the exact same moment, keep very still in the same position. Down below is Tony, Bruce, Nat and they’re with Nick Fury and Phil Coulson. Not just walking through either. Tony is pointing out some new changes to the Tower, explaining some new energy saving processes that SHIELD should be investing in. 

After a few moments of absolute stillness, stillness that’s borderline madness for Bucky, Steve’s hand starts to move again. Bucky’s eye go wide. He stares back at Steve who gives him that shit eating grin of his, puckers his lips and shushes. Reminds him to be quiet. A breath catches in his throat as Steve wraps his hand around him as best he can through his jeans, starts pumping his fist up and down as best he can without making a sound. 

Bucky’s head drops to Steve’s shoulder. Mouth so close to the skin on that sweet, tender neck, he starts sucking away—sucking rough and hard and making a quick gasp and a shudder run through Steve. 

There’s really no telling how long their non-the-wiser company is there with them but by the time they’re finally alone again, Steve’s neck is covered in bite marks and hickeys and Bucky’s aching so hard he damn near screams the instant the door latches behind them. 

Steve chuckles, “You wanna go to our bedroom?”

Bucky eyes him, lip tucked under teeth. Hunger growing in belly, heat coiling around all his bones. S’not like he’s never gotten them in any trouble before.

“Fuck no,” He growls.

His mother sighs as she rises from the seat at the vanity set hugging the wall furthest from him and comes over. Winifred Barnes is dressed in her finest for the occasion. Long, silky dress--colored champagne, the very drink Bucky would be drowning in tonight if things go according to his family’s wishes--a long slit up the left end, revealing her long, smooth leg. She must have taken great care in tightening her corset today, since her waist looks a tad bit smaller.

“You must, James,” She tells him, for what seems to Bucky the millionth time since arriving at the chapel. “Do you want to see your family homeless? Me working as a seamstress? Your sister thrown out of school?” “You know I don’t...that’s not…” Bucky can’t find the words. “It’s not fair.” “Your father left us a good name and a pile of debt.” She explains as though this fact hadn’t been drilled into his head since just days after his father passed--just a few months ago. “If you don’t marry this boy, then all of us suffer.”

A pain presses into his chest. She’s right. To alleviate his family’s suffering, it’s Bucky who needs to step up and do the sacrificing. Winifred cannot. She’s in mourning--the fact that she’s not in black is nothing more than her rebelling in her own way--and cannot accept any suitor until at least a year. It wouldn’t be proper, words would be said, rumors of scandal and an affair. The Barnes’ name would be dragged through the mud.

Though she’s been persistent and unrelenting when it came to finding Bucky a spouse, right now, a flicker of sympathy passes through her eyes. She places her hands at the sides of his neck and kisses his cheek.

“You’re right,” She admits. “It isn’t fair. But the world we live in is not always kind to those in it.”

His mother grazes her fingers over his left arm. It’s covered at the moment, the sleeve of his black shirt reaching his wrist, but his hand is still showing. Arm and hand made of metal.

“I know.” Bucky whispers, pulling his arm behind his back. “And as far as suitors go, this doesn’t seem like a bad match.”

She’s right about that, too. The Rogers have a good name, they have a wallet to back it up, and, according to their public lives, they genuinely seem nice. The Lord and Lady Rogers both have a seat in Parliament as well--two very well known voices in the government.

After spending nearly a fucking year being treated like a fragile glass vase—yeah, yeah, he knows it was necessary—it’s a god damn relief for Bucky to have Steve Rogers in stitches like he remembered. Honest to god, the fucking punk used to laugh so hard he’d trigger a damn asthma attack.

But the first time it happened—okay, yes, it was when Bucky reached across Steve when his flipping alarm clock was going off at the butt crack of dawn, and to Bucky’s credit he really was half asleep when the damn thing cracked and shattered under the weight of his left hand—he couldn’t understand what the hell was going on. The stupid clock was in pieces on the nightstand, Bucky had been internally cursing the thing for not being stronger, and he heard a strange wheezing sound coming from under him.

His first thought was asthma. Steve was having an asthma attack. But…that couldn’t be right cause Steve didn’t get them anymore. Bucky looks at Steve looking at him, his face strained and cheeks getting redder by the second until it hits Bucky.

"Are you fucking laughing at me, punk?"

Steve’s lips fold in and he tries to shake his head, but it doesn’t work. He cracks and bursts into an all out fit of laughter. Tears leak out of the corners of his eyes, and Steve needs to hold his sides like if he doesn’t his entire body will fall apart. 

That laugh is infectious though, at least for Bucky, and he can’t hold back either. It happens just like it did when they were a couple of kids in Brooklyn. Bucky laughs because Steve is laughing and Steve is laughing at Bucky for no real reason. After a good ten minutes, they’re in a heap on the bed, muscles aching and lungs hurting, and Steve needs to focus on actually not laughing otherwise he’ll just start in all over again. 

It happens pretty frequently after that, too, whenever Bucky does something that is just damn annoying to him, but apparently hilarious to Steve. Bucky drops a pen? Steve cracks up. Bucky can’t find a specific shirt? Steve cracks up. Bucky spits out a mouthful of banana (“fucking Christ, Stevie, what the hell is that? This isn’t a fucking banana!”) Steve cracks up. 

Thing is, Bucky usually—okay, so far, always—follows in suit. So when Bucky puts too much spicy mustard on his chicken fried rice, and has to dart to the fridge to chug milk straight from the carton—and it takes the whole damn carton to quell the burn, though most of it spills out of the corners of his mouth—it ends up with both Steve and Bucky—two grown men, the two super soldiers of the Avengers, Captain America and the Winter Soldier—curled up on the kitchen floor in fucking giggles, gasping so hard they can barely breathe. 

It’s a bad day. Bucky won’t admit it–it’s been a least two and a half weeks since a day has been declared bad–but Steve can tell. There’s a haunted look in Bucky’s steel blue eyes, like he’s not quite here, and instead in another place and time, unwittingly remembering things he’d just as soon forget. He’s pale, too; pale yet sweaty.  He hasn’t said much of anything that could really be considered conversational. 

Steve has brought this sort of thing to Bucky’s attention before, but it’s not right for today. He knows what it’s like to go a while feeling pretty damn good and then be hit with the bad out of nowhere. It can feel like every good thing has been sucked out of you. So, Steve opts for a different approach.

Bucky is sitting in the living room. The television is on, though it’s clear he’s looking past the screen, at things Steve can’t, and will never, see. Steve sits down next to him.

“Hey, Buck?" 

It gets Bucky’s attention, Steve can tell by the slight change in his posture, but he doesn’t look at him. 

Steve tries again. "I have something for you.”

This time Bucky’s eyes slide over to him, gliding down to the bowl of soup in Steve’s hand. Steve scoops some onto the spoon, softly blows a breath across it to cool it a bit, and brings it to Bucky’s lips. 

“I can feed myself.” He grumbles. “I know it.” Steve agrees. “But…can I?”

Bucky sighs, but indulges Steve’s request and opens his mouth. Steve tries to smile, not quite sure if the expression comes across or not, and feeds Bucky. He gets through a little more than half the food when Bucky shakes his head. 

“I don’t want anymore.”

Steve nods and puts the bowl aside. There’s a bit more color in Bucky’s cheeks now, and his eyes finally find Steve’s. They’re swimming with so many different emotions, Steve can’t possibly comprehend how one person can process so much. Which, truth be told, is probably causing Bucky even more pain today. 

“Come here?” Steve requests, holding his arm out. “If you want?”

Bucky suddenly looks more drained than Steve has seen him, well, probably months, and he leans into Steve’s side. The moment he’s in his arms, Steve pets his hair, running his hand gently over his head, softly down his neck and then back up again. Between every few strokes, he adds a light kiss to the top of his head. 

After a few minutes, Steve can feel Bucky start to tremble, and notices he’s been holding his breath. It makes his face strained and crinkle up, and Steve understands what’s happening. 

“It’s okay, Bucky,” He whispers. “You can let it out. It’s okay.”

With the permission granted–the promise of no judgement, of comforting arms and a safe place–Bucky lets himself cry, latching fingers into Steve’s shirt and burying his face between his neck and shoulder. 

Steve holds him for an immeasurable amount of time, pulling him closer when his quiet trembling turns to rough sobs, kissing sweet kisses on his head, wiping the endless tears from his cheeks. He’s still cradling Bucky in his arms when panicked blubbering slowly shifts to some semblance of composure.

At first, Steve is super confused as to where all these little bracelet things are coming from. He keeps finding them all over the place, and they seem to be strategically left for him to find–under his pillow, in his folded towels, in his locker, on his doorknob…

They start off simple, just something sewn together than might fit around his wrist (at first they don’t, they’re too small, then they’re too big, then they seem just right). After some time, they get a lot more intricate. Several colors in one, different designs, and even words. One of them even says BFF on it. Another says WWSRD (he asks Tony what it means and Tony’s only explanation? ‘What Would Steve Rogers Do").

It’s not until he catches Bucky leaving one in his gym bag that he realizes he’s the one making them. 

“Are you the one making these?” Steve asks, with a smile big enough that it crinkles around his eyes.Bucky shrugs. “I guess. Yeah.”

Steve wants to ask questions about it. How did he start? What gives him the ideas? How did he get so good? But Bucky looks embarrassed so he just says, “I love them.”

Bucky doesn’t believe him. He keeps making them though, because he likes to do it, and it’s soothing and comforting, and it’s nice to learn how to create something with his hands rather than destroy it. 

A few days later, he’s sneaking into Steve’s bedroom to leave another when he knocks over a tin can on the dresser. The lip pops off and all the contents spill out. The bracelets, every single one of them are in there. 

Bucky smiles, cleans it all up, puts the can back on the dresser and carefully places the new bracelet on top.