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cowt settimana 5 m2: luci (steve/bucky)

  • Mar. 4th, 2017 at 11:23 PM
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I.


Long after it happens, Steve won’t be able to say for sure if he did it consciously or if he slipped because of desperation.


What he knows is that he and Sam have spent three months running across the States trying to follow Bucky’s trail, that Bucky is currently standing in the middle of Steve’s hotel room looking like he’s ready to flee, and the moment Steve moves and calls his name, Bucky runs towards the open window and glares at him in a way that makes his blood run cold. It’s not like the bridge, when he didn’t recognize him. It’s plenty obvious that he does now, so why does he shout at Steve to just stop following him already?


“I can’t,” Steve replies honestly.


“You should. You <i>have</i> to.” His tone sounds forcefully clipped, somehow, and he looks ready to just jump out of the window and leave, and - what if now he becomes more careful and they can’t follow his traces anymore, not that he’s barely leaving a trail for them to follow as it is? “I’m not him,” Bucky spits a moment later, and -


“Tá go maith, go bhfuil tú air”


The moment it leaves his mouth, the both of them stop dead in their tracks. Steve just for a moment - he hadn’t even realized he slipped and spoke Irish. How long has it been since he even used it? It probably was with Bucky during the war.


Bucky, on the other side, is standing completely still. His eyes are wider now than they were on the Helicarrier, and it only makes the dark bags under them look even more prominent. Steve doesn’t dare move and prays that Sam doesn’t barge in right now - he probably heard it, he’s two doors down, but someone else coming into the picture would ruin the moment.


For what seems like an eternity, neither of them says a word.


Then Steve decides to chance it. After all, it doesn’t seem like Bucky hasn’t understood him, and Steve wants to hope that knowing <i>Irish Gaelic</i> isn’t something that Hydra would have thought useful enough to - well, to keep instead of wiping it away.


And if they had, in fact, tried to wipe it away along with everything else…


“Agus chaill mé tú,” he tries again, and -


The knife Bucky was holding in his right hand falls to the ground.


--


<i>That’s not supposed to happen.


That’s not supposed to happen, the asset doesn’t know that language, the asset knows what it is, in theory, but it never was useful for missions. The asset is fluent in Russian, French, Italian, German, Spanish, Chinese and Polish, and has been fluent in other languages that weren’t deemed important enough to keep, but this one?


He doesn’t know it.


But then how does he know that the mission - that Captain America - that Steve Rogers just said</i>, yes, you are him, <i>and </i>I missed you?<i>


He just knows, and it’s impossible, it should be gibberish, he should leave, he should -


Then it happens.


The memory claws its way out with a force that hurts, that makes him recoil and drop the weapon in his right hand, and he tries to ignore it because it’s better like this but it just won’t let him and -</i>


“Steve, it would be wasted effort.”


The moment he speaks that sentence, Bucky wishes he could take it back - being on the receiving end of Steve’s patently disappointed-in-you glare is something he thought <i>he</i>’d never experience, and now that he is, it feels so wrong that he wishes he at least phrased it differently.


“Wasted effort how? If you’re about to mention your grades or to say you ain’t good enough to learn it, just save it.”


Bucky’s mouth opens to answer, then he promptly shuts it. That was exactly what he had been about to say.


“I heard you and your mom speaking it,” he finally blurts after he can’t take Steve’s glaring anymore. “Come on, d’you really think I wouldn’t butcher it, best of cases?”


At that Steve stops glaring and the look in his eyes turns soft, almost fond, before he shakes his head and moves close enough that their shoulders are touching.


“Good for you that I’d be the only person who’d listen to you speaking it then,” Steve finally says. “C’mon, don’t be a jerk about this. I wouldn’t care. And - why not? It could be our thing. No one else’s. And it ain’t like I can speak it with anyone other than mom.”


Bucky figures he owes Steve to really think about it. And - thing is, not counting that he’s sure he’ll never learn, it wouldn’t be so bad. It feels a bit like having a secret language, which would be swell, and the fact that Steve is willingly offering to share with him something that he only shares with his mother makes his stomach clench, but not in the bad way. Also, what harm can it do? At worst, Steve will just give up if he’s as terrible at it as he’s sure he’ll be.


“Fine, <I>fine</i>, I’m gonna try, but don’t expect anything great,” Bucky finally relents, and - if he doesn’t ever want to be at the receiving end of Steve’s disappointment, he thinks that he really wants to be at the receiving end of Steve’s approval, because the way he’s grinning at Bucky right now? It’s knocking the breath out of his lungs, for once.


“Good. Good, we can start now then.”


“Wait, ain’t that a bit too soon? I mean -”


“No time like the present. And since when you ever took notes in class, anyway?”


Bucky has to concede that point.


Steve spends the next two hours teaching the extreme basics. By the time the sun has set, Bucky can say hello (<i>dia duit</i>), he knows that you answer that with <i>dia's Muire duit</i>, and can introduce himself - <i>Bucky atá orm</i> - with what Steve swears is a perfectly passable pronunciation. Bucky would assume that it was a lie from any other person, but not from Steve Rogers, and he never tells Steve that it felt entirely more gratifying than any decent mark he ever got in his entire time at school.


<i>That can’t be a false memory, it can’t, because why why why would Hydra ever implant something like that in him, not when machines certainly don’t feel proud because they learned how to say their name - no, his name, the one the mission, no, Steve, says is his - in a language that was almost dead and is probably even closer to death now, and everything is confusing just like it was at the museum and</i> Steve is saying that he missed him <i>and he knows he’s saying just that, he knows it like he knew him on the bridge before they took that away, too, and -</i>


--


Steve doesn’t dare move.


Then the gun Bucky was holding in his left drops to the ground, too, along with the rest of him. He falls on his knees, looking downwards, and when Steve takes a chance and kneels down in front of him, nothing happens.


And then.


Then Bucky looks back up at him, and - he’s crying?


“Steve?” He asks, his voice so thin it’s barely audible. “Tà mé tinn.” He says it weird, almost as if it’s a question rather than a statement, and at the same time he sounds like he’s surprised that’s he even speaking the language, but - it’s the same way he used to speak back then. Meaning, with a pretty distinguishable Brooklyn accent that Steve never bothered to correct because he thought it sounded - well, quite adorable, and who was going to hear it but him?


Then Steve actually realizes what Bucky said in the first place.


He wishes he could afford to cry, but he’s going to save it for later.


If only he had an answer, but he can’t think of anything that can suffice, in any language, and so he reaches out and puts his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, not too strongly, but then Bucky seems to sag under them, his head falling forwards until their foreheads are touching.


Then.


“A fhios agat dom,” Bucky blurts out again as his shoulders shake harder.


Steve throws caution to the wind and tugs forward, hauling him in, and holding on as strongly as he can, and he’s sure he hadn’t known what relief was until the moment Bucky’s hands grab fistfuls of his shirt hard enough to tear it.


“Beidh a fhios agam i gcónaí leat,” he says when he’s sure his voice won’t get caught up in his throat. “A mhuirnín,” he adds a moment later, one of his hands carding through Bucky’s tangled and filthy hair, and he knows Bucky heard that when he starts shaking his head while his shoulders keep on trembling.


Steve just grabs at him tighter.


He doesn’t even realize that Sam had been there for a while, bless him - he hadn’t even tried to intervene.


“Not to pry,” he asks Steve an hour later, while Bucky is passed away in Steve’s bed, the two of them keeping an eye on him - not that he’s going to wake up anytime soon, he’s exhausted -, “but what were you telling him before?”


Steve shrugs. “He said he was sick first. Then he said that I knew him. I answered that I always would.” He doesn’t add that he actually called Bucky my darling at the end of it.


Sam nods thoughtfully. “That was - did you teach him?”


“How did you guess?” Steve asks, genuinely surprised.


Sam gives him a look that screams <i>are you kidding me</i>. “You are the one with Irish parents. Who else would he have learned that from, Zola? That said, well, I have to take one thing back.”


“What?”


“I told you that there could be no going back from - from that kinda thing. Back before the helicarriers. But hell, man, if he remembers fucking Gaelic because you taught him that during the Great Depression, then I guess there is going back from that kinda thing.”


Well, that’s an entirely good point, isn’t it?


II.


He wakes up with a raw throat and soaking wet sheets clinging to his chest.


He tears them away in a moment - they feel constricting, they feel too sticky and it’s making him want to throw up - and then for a single, terrible moment he just - he has no clue. His hands should be covered in blood and they aren’t, and he’s sure he has screamed himself out but he can’t remember what it was about, and why is he even sleeping on a bed, he doesn’t get to, he’s not -


“Bucky?”


His head jerks to his left, where the door has just opened, and his mission’s standing right there.


No. Not his mission.


Not -


<i>Ní do misean. Do chara is fearr.</i>


Another memory suddenly hits him out of nowhere like a flash of blinding lights, and for everyone else maybe it’d have hurt but he’s gone through enough pain that blinding lights are absolutely fucking nothing in comparison and -


<i>It’s always a sunny summer day, and Steve is still there pressing against his side with a small notebook in his hands since he decided it was time to teach him to actually write, too, and clearly he got that completely wrong, all the letters inverted, and he wants to punch himself in the face.


How hard can it even be to write you’re my best friend, seriously? He did tell Steve that he was wasting his time.


“I’m never going to get it,” he says, looking down in contempt at the notebook.


“Are you serious? You never tried before, do you think everyone gets it right at the first try? Come on. Try again. Tá tú mo chara is fearr. Go slow. No one’s in a hurry.”


He takes his time now, thinks about it, glances at the letters Steve wrote on the other side of the notebook when he explained the pronunciation, and it takes him ten minutes and he gets two accents wrong, but the rest is correct, or so Steve says.


“See?” Steve says, looking delighted. “Told you it wasn’t that hard.”


“Oh, go hifreann leat,” Bucky shoots back, and Steve’s eyes go wide. Sure, he hadn’t gone as far as teaching Bucky how to swear, but Bucky might have gone and asked this old Irish guy who mans the convenience store down the road, and then Steve grins so hard it has to hurt.


“Of course you’d find someone to teach you the insults first,” Steve says, sounding quite fond at that.


“He’d only teach me that one, though,” Bucky says.


“Well, don’t you think I don’t know some better ones?”</i>


He clings to that memory like a drowning man as Steve takes a couple steps forward.


“Tá brón orm,” he blurts, the words escaping freely, and it feels so achingly familiar that he could cry. Maybe he is. His eyes are burning.


“Cad chuige?” Steve whispers as he sits next to him on the bed. The sheets are still soaked with sweat.


He shakes his head - he’s not sure he can put it into words in any language.


“Cad is gá duit?” Steve presses, and he wishes the gentleness in his tone didn’t feel like a punch in the gut.


What he needs. What he needs is something he never had the guts to ask Steve until now even if it’s been a month, the words always getting stuck before they could come out, because he didn’t feel like he had any right to ask that of him, but now that he feels like he has completely forgotten how to ask for it in English, maybe -


“An féidir leat fanacht?”


“Ar ndóigh,” Steve says without even thinking about it, and Bucky breathes out in relief.


Then Steve moves away and motions for him to stand up. He tears out the sheets from the bed and throws them in the corner - maybe he’ll wash them later? - and then he puts an arm around him and they head out of the room.


He asks Bucky if he want to take a shower and Bucky tells him yes, and when he’s done Steve hands him a clean set of pajamas - that definitely belongs to him - and tells him that the other side of the bed is his when he wants it.


Bucky puts them on and climbs in, and when Steve turns out the light he can’t help a small shudder.


But then Steve puts an arm around his waist and he’s pressing up against his back, and he’s so warm he could start crying all over again - even with the shower, he hadn’t known he was feeling this cold still, not until now.


He also feels a lot more grounded now. Maybe it’s because it’s something Hydra could never take from the man who was James Buchanan Barnes - he likes to think he could get back there again.


He swallows down and closes his eyes.


“Steve? Did you ever - did you ever get around to teach me how to swear?”


He can feel Steve smiling against his shoulder. “Do you remember that?”


“Up until the point you said you knew better swears than <i>to hell with you</i>,” he replies truthfully.


“I did get around to that. Actually, you could write at least five of them before that day was over.”


“Too bad I don’t remember it,” Bucky sighs, figuring that it was asking too much of himself.


“Maybe you don’t remember learning them,” Steve muses. “Your favorite was the one with the cats, though.”


Cats?”


“May the cat eat you, and may the devil eat the cat,” Steve answers, and that was an entirely too fond tone for that kind of thing, but -


Well. Yeah. He thinks he can see why he would like <i>that</I>. He doesn’t know why or where the thought came from, but -


“Wait.” It’s not even painful right now. It comes as easy as breathing. “Go n-ithe an cat thù, is go n-ithe an diabhal an cat?”


Steve full-on laughs at that, and that’s enough to make Bucky relax fully against him, and he’s glad he’s not looking at Steve in the face because he’s not sure it wouldn’t blind him right now. “That one, yes,” Steve finally says, his arm holding him a little tighter.


He falls asleep again not long later and for once he doesn’t dream at all.


III


They’ve been sharing the bed for two weeks when Steve sort of slips again.


Sort of, in the sense that he hadn’t called Bucky <I>mhuirnín</I> since the day he came back, and since Bucky never mentioned it, he had figured that he had forgotten it - he’s sure Bucky heard it, but in between all the emotional turmoil it would have just been understandable if he doesn’t recall it now.


He finds out he was right when he’s grasping at Bucky’s sides hard enough to hurt at four in the morning and Bucky’s blurting against his shoulder that Steve is wasting his time with him, and at that point Steve doesn’t even think about what he’s saying while he tries to tell Bucky it’s an entirely ridiculous notion.


He hadn’t planned to call him like that again, but he does, and he knows Bucky understood it because he stops talking at once and looks straight at Steve with the eyes of someone who can’t believe what they just heard.


Which makes Steve wish he could kill with his bare hands every Hydra scientist who ended up messing with him, because it’s not just the second time he does that.


Bucky probably doesn’t remember, or he wouldn’t be so surprised, but Steve hasn’t forgotten the night after they finally got back to camp after he rescued Bucky from Zola that first time, when he had kissed that word into every inch of Bucky’s skin he could reach before they shed their clothes in his tent. It hadn’t been just darling, but that had been the one that had fallen from his lips the most. And he hadn’t been the only one. Sure, Bucky never used <I> that </I> word - <I> come on, Steve, that’s entirely too corny</I> , he used to joke, but it’s not like his own choice was any less corny. Just less common.


“How - how did you just call me?” Bucky whispers, sounding like someone whose throat has been scraped raw one too many times. “I heard wrong. Didn’t I?”


“No, you heard just right,” Steve answers.


Bucky looks like someone who’s about to argue.


Then his eyes go wide in the way they always do when he’s remembering something, and -


“You - you called me like that. Other times,” he finally says, sounding almost awed. “Why - why didn’t you tell me -”


“It didn’t seem the kind of thing I should tell you about before you remembered on your own,” Steve replies earnestly. It had been hard to keep it to himself, but he wasn’t going to spring on Bucky that they were lovers if he didn’t recall that by himself.


For a moment neither of them speaks, and then Bucky visibly swallows as the trembling fingers on his right hand reach out and touch the side of Steve’s face.


“You called me like that,” he says again, still sounding completely awed. “And I - I called you -” He stops, swallows, then stares back at him. “A chroì,” he finally says, sounding strangled, as if it pained him to even get that word out, and Steve has to breathe in twice before speaking. He feels like those times when he knew an asthma attack was coming, the air being knocked out of him, but he can’t let himself go now. He reaches out himself, putting his hand on the side of Bucky’s face.


“Tà,” he answers when he’s sure he’s not going to break down in tears himself.


“Bhí tú mo chroí,” Bucky says then, and it seems like he’s talking more to himself than to Steve, and his hand is trembling even more, and - maybe Steve should just say it.


“D'fhéadfadh a bheith arís.” The moment it’s out of his mouth, he feels relieved that he finally said it, caution be damned.


Now <i>Bucky</i> looks like the one who can hardly breathe.


Well, in for a penny, in for a pound, Steve figures.“Tá tú fós mo mhuirnín más mian leat a.”


He doesn’t know what he’s expecting after that, to be entirely truthful.


It definitely isn’t a pained noise escaping from Bucky’s mouth before he lurches forward and kisses him without a warning, strongly enough that it would be painful for someone who’s not serum-enhanced, but that’s not what’s going to make Steve recoil, not when this goes beyond his wildest dreams, and so he kisses back as forcefully, moaning into it without trying to stop himself.


He breathes in hard when they break it off, Bucky’s frame still shaking against his, and he doesn’t even care that he’s wiping away tear tracks from Bucky’s cheek with his fingertips as he moves closer again, starts pressing his lips everywhere he can reach, and whispers <i>a mhuirnìn</i> against every inch of skin he kisses, same as he did seventy years ago in that tent in Italy.


So maybe he can’t help the sob that escapes the moment Bucky says a chroì against his lips with a trembling, awed voice before kissing him properly again.


He still can’t remember the last time he felt this happy.


IV.


It’s been twenty minutes and Bucky can’t believe that Stark and Barton are still arguing about what movie they should watch - Steve had warned him that the<i> Avengers movie night</i> he’s been roped into joining could resemble a battlefield at times, but now that everyone has pretty much relented and said they’d be okay with whatever as long as they watch something, you’d think one of them would have relented.


Instead they’re still discussing it. Bucky has no clue of what are the merits of <i>Terminator</i> versus <i>A Fish Named Wanda</i> and he doesn’t really care. He just wishes they would all get a move on. But he also doesn’t want to go and say it - he knows he can, he knows no one would care for some rudeness, he knows everyone’s thinking it so he’d probably get back-up, but - he still can’t. As much as he’s been doing a lot better than he ever thought he would six months ago, he still can’t possibly do that, not when they’re in Stark’s house and when he doesn’t feel like he has any business having a say in this.


So he turns towards Steve, who’s rolling his eyes openly at his side.


“Beidh chinneann siad roimh an mhí seo chugainn?” He asks, figuring that no one else will get it.


He’s right.


Steve snorts openly and the other five people in the room all turn to stare at the both of them.


“Níl mé cinnte,” Steve replies with all the calm in the world, and Stark’s eyes go so wide that Bucky can’t help laughing just a bit.


Excuse me,” Stark says, breaking the silence that follows, “what was <i>that</i>?”


That sounded like Irish Gaelic,” Banner supplies before either of them can answer.


“That’s not - Cap, since <i>when </i>you even -”


“Since I was born,” Steve replies, looking entirely too entertained. “My parents were Irish, you know. And no, I’m not going to tell you what we were just saying.”


“Yeah, wait, fine, so how is it that <i>he</i> sounds pretty fluent, as well?”


“Regardless of that terrible American accent,” Natasha adds, sounding like she’s impressed nonetheless, and -


“Wait a moment, you never told me I had an accent.” Bucky can’t help glaring at Steve the moment their eyes meet - the bastard never corrected him.


“Well, as long as I understood you who was going to care?” Steve still looks like he could break in giggle fits every moment. “Besides. Tá sé gleoite.”


“Oh, póg mo thóin,” Bucky shoots back as Steve laughs again, and he knows that he hasn’t won this one. If only because he can feel heat creeping up towards his cheeks.


“Now I want to know why he has just gone red in the face,” Barton says a moment later, and damn it, why did Steve had to go and tell him he thought it was<i> cute</i>? Meanwhile, Sam isn’t even trying to stop himself from laughing out loud. Traitor.


“Sorry,” Steve replies smoothly, “anyone who wants to know can learn. It only took him a year and a half, so I’m pretty sure you all can manage it.”


“Hey, Thor,” Stark says, turning suddenly towards the demi-god, who hasn’t said a word until now, “I know you can understand them. What did they just say?”


Thor visibly snorts and reaches for a pop tart. “I am sorry, but I would not betray my shield brothers. Not when they obviously did not want you to know what they were saying.”


“Traitor,” Stark says. “Wilson, come on, didn’t he teach you the basics? You’ve been laughing for ten minutes, surely -”


“Man, I just was already aware that he knew Gaelic, surely I can’t speak a word of it. You’re on your own.”


“Seriously, guys,” Steve interrupts, “I’m not going to tell you and neither is Bucky. Now, can we just pick a damned movie before the next mad scientist tries to destroy Central Park?”


They flip a coin and finally they pick <i>A Fish Named Wanda</i>, much to Tony’s disappointment.


It’s not bad at all. Spending the entire time commenting in Irish, though, is what makes it even more hilarious, since half of the room just glares at them as if they really want to know what they’re saying and the second half seems entertained by the first’s plight.


He thinks he could be roped into another movie night again, especially now that Steve has roped him into joining the group permanently in the first place.


V.


When Steve opens his eyes, he registers two things.


First: he’s hurting <i>everywhere.</i>


Second: Bucky’s standing next to his hospital bed and he looks furious. Steve isn’t sure he’s ever seen him this furious in his entire life.


“You - what the hell were you thinking?” Bucky shouts the moment he realizes he’s awake, and Steve -


Right.


What was he thinking - now he remembers what it was.


“Saving your life?” Steve groans. Damn, his arm is definitely broken. And he has tight bandaging around his ribs. Nothing that won’t heal up in five days at most, but it hurts.


“Yeah, well, do you think that it required <i>fucking jumping off a window</i>?”


What - oh. Right. Nothing to argue about that, but it’s not like he had any other options. They had miscalculated things and the Hydra base that was supposed to be almost empty had instead been full to the brink, and while they did have backup coming, they also were outnumbered, too much, and the guy in charge had made it clear that they had the necessary equipment to turn their asset back into what he was supposed to be. Also, someone had shot Bucky in the right shoulder before.


Now, among the skills you need to have if you want to be a good leader, there’s also <i>knowing when to retreat</i>, and so fine, maybe grabbing Bucky around the waist and jumping out of the window when they were at the fifteenth floor wasn’t the best option, but it’s not like he had another. And he had made it so that he’d cushion the fall, which is why Bucky only has a bandage around his arm now while Steve’s the one in the bed, but it’s not like he regrets it.


“In this case? It did. There wasn’t another way.”


Both of Bucky’s hands are clenched into fists, and now Steve realizes that the rest of the team has walked inside the room, and it’s obvious that Bucky noticed it.


He looks back down at him, still furious. And -


“Téigh trasna ort féin, Steve!”


For a moment Steve doesn’t even know why Bucky felt the need to switch when he’s telling him to go fuck himself, but he obviously doesn’t want the others to follow, so - fine.


“Bhí mé díreach ag lorg amach ar do shon!”


“Iní féidir liom a thabhairt ar an diabhal, d'fhéadfaí tú a fuair bás!”


“Níos fearr ná tú dom.”


Bucky goes completely still at that, and Steve can hear Stark muttering something like <i>what has he even said now</i> in the background, and then Bucky shakes his head and sits down on the bed, next to his side.


“Nach bhfuil sé,” Bucky says, and now he doesn’t sound angry. He sounds - tired. And like he was scared out of his mind until a few moments ago, which is probably true, and - right. Steve can see how it is, he really can, and he should probably feel guilty for scaring him like that, except that he can’t. He’s never going to feel guilty for avoiding at any costs that anyone from Hydra even comes close to Bucky again.


“Mhair mé níos measa, a mhuirnín,” he finally settles on, and he can see Bucky smiling in spite of himself, his left hand cautiously covering Steve’s, metal fingers threading with his own.


Bucky glances at the others behind him - they’re all standing against the wall opposite the bed, and everyone looks equally baffled except for Thor, who’s sort of smiling to himself, but then again, right, he understands every language on the face of the planet. Bucky finally shrugs and turns back to Steve - he looks like he’s decided that even if Thor understands he’s not going to spill, so he’s going to say whatever he was about to say.


Is breá liom tú,” he finally blurts out, his voice sounding shakier than ever, and Steve - Steve feels himself freezing on the spot, too, because - because even if they said it in every other possible way, they never actually put it like <i>that</i>, and -


“Ná dhéanamh riamh go dom arís.”


Steve wishes he could swear that yes, he’s never going to do that to him again, except that he knows that he would do it again if he had to, and from the way Bucky’s looking down at him he knows that as well.


“Is féidir liom iarracht,” he settles on after a moment.


“Seriously,” Tony says from somewhere near the wall, “what the hell? I need to learn that. Bruce, do you think a week is enough? I mean, I might have learned thermonuclear astrophysics overnight, but that looks fucking harder.”


“Make that a month,” Bruce replies, sounding moderately amused, and Steve can’t help smiling a bit wider at that. Then he decides that his right arm might be broken but the left isn’t, and so he raises his hand up with uttermost effort - damn, they must have given him some really good morphine though since it feels heavy but doesn’t hurt - and everyone goes dead silent when Bucky leans into the touch the moment Steve’s palm meets the side of his face.


Is breá liom tú, freisin,” he says, and damn but he’s been wanting to say it for seventy years by now and it feels good to have it out, and -


He can hear at least Tony gasping out loud the moment Bucky leans down and kisses him soundly, and - right, the only two people who know are Sam and Natasha, and just because when they asked Steve didn’t deny it. He hadn’t wanted to put it in the open until Bucky actually told him out loud that he was fine with it, and he hasn’t until now, but obviously he decided that it doesn’t matter, and so Steve kisses back with as much enthusiasm as he can muster when he can barely move without feeling sore all over.


“Was that some kind of ridiculously cheesy love declaration or did I miss something?” Tony mutters, and maybe Bucky laughs into the kiss and Steve follows suit.


Then Bucky moves and stares straight in Tony’s direction. “Bí i do thost,” he shouts before turning back towards Steve and kissing him again.


Steve can faintly hear Tony giving up and asking Jarvis, and then <i>Barnes, have you just told me to shut up</i>, but he can hardly bring himself to care, especially since Bucky has decided that making out in front of everyone is perfectly acceptable.


As far as he’s concerned, there’s nothing wrong with that plan.



End.

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