Fic: Everyone Can See It (except you and me)
Fandom: Captain America (MCU)
Word count: 918
Pairing: Steve/Bucky
Summary: They're both idiots, the Howling Commandos agree.
Steve watched Bucky across the fire. It was third watch, and Bucky was out for the night, trying to sleep off a nasty gash he had gotten in their latest clash with HYDRA forces.
“You know,” Gabriel mused, shoulder bumping against Steve’s, “it works better when you tell the person you’re in love with. Staring isn’t going to do anything.”
Instinctive protests bubbled in Steve’s throat, pulse hammering in a way that made him light-headed, but before he could get words out of his traitorous throat, Gabriel murmured, “You know none of us would look at you differently because of it.”
And see, Steve’s not a stranger to different and strange. He lived in Brooklyn’s premiere gay district, where a moll was more like than not to be a guy, just gussied up some, and where at any given moment walking home at night you could see two fellas in an alley and no one paid anyone no mind. So he knew about acceptance, knew about taking people as they were as people, not what they did in their spare time.
Still, it made him mighty nervous.
“He stares back just as much,” Gabriel offered. “Only none of you lunkheads ever look at each other at the same time.”
That… put a different spin on things.
***Steve began noticing a lot more, then - noticed how Bucky put his sleeping roll nearest Steve’s, how he offered Steve food first, and what Steve had first thought had been nothing more than holdover traits from Bucky taking care of will-o-the-wisp Steve were actually… something more. Bucky did the same things, yeah, but now that Steve was bigger, had sharper eyes and sharper ears, was used to looking at tells in people when they spoke, he saw the emotions layering underneath the protective urge. It made him move closer to Bucky when they were standing around shooting the shit; it made him curl closer to Bucky in the freezing hell of French nights in the mountains; it made him hold Bucky’s hand a little too long when he was being stitched up by their medic.
“That was a fool thing to do,” Steve hissed.
Bucky let out a weak smile. “My turn to be the fool, huh? We got Captain America being all responsible now.”
“Dammit, Buck,” Steve growled, fingers clenching around Bucky’s thin, fine-boned fingers, trying not to crush them but unwilling (and unable) to let go. “I can’t lose you. What have I got without you?”
“Hey, hey,” Bucky said, rubbing a thumb across Steve’s knuckles. “’Til the end of the line. I promised. We’re gonna be just fine.”
“Hell you are, Buck, you got a hole going into your gut,” Steve whispered.
Bucky’s mouth quirked up at one end. “Goes with the hole in your common sense, I guess. He was aiming at you, an’ last I know, you ain’t any more bulletproof than any of us.”
“I heal faster and you know it,” Steve spat back.
“Someone’s got to keep you put together.”
Steve seethed. “That someone don’t have to be you anymore!”
Bucky stopped, even as the medic snipped off the thread and tied it. “You don’t - hell, Steve, if it’s bothering you-”
That was not what Steve intended and immediately he began to backtrack, whispering harshly, “No, shit, Bucky, that’s not what I mean and you know it. It’s my turn to look after you. I finally can do it and you keep taking it away from me!”
“You’re taking away from me the only job I ever did well!” Bucky growled back.
“You guys know your whispers ain’t as private as you think?” Morita drawled.
Steve flushed and Bucky glanced over where the Howling Commandos stood around, not even pretending to give them privacy. Bucky scowled.
“Hell, I had to watch you two proceed to shuffle food around on your plates to give the other the bigger portion so many times I wanted to eat it myself,” Dugan grumbled.
Falsworth jerked his head, limbs askew from where he sprawled on top of their weapons and equipment. “You blokes aren’t half as discreet as you think you are.”
Steve looked down at Bucky, just as Bucky looked up at him, and that - there - that was what Gabriel had been talking about. What Steve felt boiling inside of him was mirrored in Bucky’s expressive, pain-filled eyes, and Steve swallowed.
“Fuck, Steve, we’ve been idiots,” Bucky breathed, even as Steve leaned down to press a soft kiss against the corner of those perfect lips.
“Hell yes you have been,” Gabriel muttered.
***“I want you to have something of mine,” Steve whispered late that night as they shared a watch with one another.
“And I want that too, Stevie, but where the hell am I gonna find me a place to get it on my body? It’s not like there’s a parlor around the corner,” Bucky grumbled, but his thumb moved reverently over the scripted ‘SR’.
“When we get back to the States,” Steve murmured. “And I want your initials. I want - I want it to be on me. I’m yours, like you’re mine, and no one can take that from us.”
“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky chuckled quietly into the frozen night, before handing Steve his favorite pistol. “Until then, you wanna maybe stick it on my gun?”
That night, Steve carved into the wooden grip of Bucky’s gun his initials, and carefully scratched into the metal of his own gun’s barrel Bucky’s.
Word count: 918
Pairing: Steve/Bucky
Summary: They're both idiots, the Howling Commandos agree.
Steve watched Bucky across the fire. It was third watch, and Bucky was out for the night, trying to sleep off a nasty gash he had gotten in their latest clash with HYDRA forces.
“You know,” Gabriel mused, shoulder bumping against Steve’s, “it works better when you tell the person you’re in love with. Staring isn’t going to do anything.”
Instinctive protests bubbled in Steve’s throat, pulse hammering in a way that made him light-headed, but before he could get words out of his traitorous throat, Gabriel murmured, “You know none of us would look at you differently because of it.”
And see, Steve’s not a stranger to different and strange. He lived in Brooklyn’s premiere gay district, where a moll was more like than not to be a guy, just gussied up some, and where at any given moment walking home at night you could see two fellas in an alley and no one paid anyone no mind. So he knew about acceptance, knew about taking people as they were as people, not what they did in their spare time.
Still, it made him mighty nervous.
“He stares back just as much,” Gabriel offered. “Only none of you lunkheads ever look at each other at the same time.”
That… put a different spin on things.
***Steve began noticing a lot more, then - noticed how Bucky put his sleeping roll nearest Steve’s, how he offered Steve food first, and what Steve had first thought had been nothing more than holdover traits from Bucky taking care of will-o-the-wisp Steve were actually… something more. Bucky did the same things, yeah, but now that Steve was bigger, had sharper eyes and sharper ears, was used to looking at tells in people when they spoke, he saw the emotions layering underneath the protective urge. It made him move closer to Bucky when they were standing around shooting the shit; it made him curl closer to Bucky in the freezing hell of French nights in the mountains; it made him hold Bucky’s hand a little too long when he was being stitched up by their medic.
“That was a fool thing to do,” Steve hissed.
Bucky let out a weak smile. “My turn to be the fool, huh? We got Captain America being all responsible now.”
“Dammit, Buck,” Steve growled, fingers clenching around Bucky’s thin, fine-boned fingers, trying not to crush them but unwilling (and unable) to let go. “I can’t lose you. What have I got without you?”
“Hey, hey,” Bucky said, rubbing a thumb across Steve’s knuckles. “’Til the end of the line. I promised. We’re gonna be just fine.”
“Hell you are, Buck, you got a hole going into your gut,” Steve whispered.
Bucky’s mouth quirked up at one end. “Goes with the hole in your common sense, I guess. He was aiming at you, an’ last I know, you ain’t any more bulletproof than any of us.”
“I heal faster and you know it,” Steve spat back.
“Someone’s got to keep you put together.”
Steve seethed. “That someone don’t have to be you anymore!”
Bucky stopped, even as the medic snipped off the thread and tied it. “You don’t - hell, Steve, if it’s bothering you-”
That was not what Steve intended and immediately he began to backtrack, whispering harshly, “No, shit, Bucky, that’s not what I mean and you know it. It’s my turn to look after you. I finally can do it and you keep taking it away from me!”
“You’re taking away from me the only job I ever did well!” Bucky growled back.
“You guys know your whispers ain’t as private as you think?” Morita drawled.
Steve flushed and Bucky glanced over where the Howling Commandos stood around, not even pretending to give them privacy. Bucky scowled.
“Hell, I had to watch you two proceed to shuffle food around on your plates to give the other the bigger portion so many times I wanted to eat it myself,” Dugan grumbled.
Falsworth jerked his head, limbs askew from where he sprawled on top of their weapons and equipment. “You blokes aren’t half as discreet as you think you are.”
Steve looked down at Bucky, just as Bucky looked up at him, and that - there - that was what Gabriel had been talking about. What Steve felt boiling inside of him was mirrored in Bucky’s expressive, pain-filled eyes, and Steve swallowed.
“Fuck, Steve, we’ve been idiots,” Bucky breathed, even as Steve leaned down to press a soft kiss against the corner of those perfect lips.
“Hell yes you have been,” Gabriel muttered.
***“I want you to have something of mine,” Steve whispered late that night as they shared a watch with one another.
“And I want that too, Stevie, but where the hell am I gonna find me a place to get it on my body? It’s not like there’s a parlor around the corner,” Bucky grumbled, but his thumb moved reverently over the scripted ‘SR’.
“When we get back to the States,” Steve murmured. “And I want your initials. I want - I want it to be on me. I’m yours, like you’re mine, and no one can take that from us.”
“’Til the end of the line,” Bucky chuckled quietly into the frozen night, before handing Steve his favorite pistol. “Until then, you wanna maybe stick it on my gun?”
That night, Steve carved into the wooden grip of Bucky’s gun his initials, and carefully scratched into the metal of his own gun’s barrel Bucky’s.