fossilised | werewolves

werewolves

Pumpkin Spice.

It hits the shelves the moment the temperature dips below eighty, before the summer officially ends and the leaves give hint at changing color. It's become an American way of life. Lattes might claim it to be proof of their success and staying power but it's expanded into hand soap and e-cigarettes now. You can't find anything, really, that hasn't been pumpkin spiced these days. Pumpkin pie is too humble to try and reclaim it anyway, and has quietly retreated to Thanksgiving where it waits to mark the end of the most beloved season in New York among straight white girls.

Steve Rogers, while neither straight nor a girl, has whole heartedly embraced the trend and the moment Starbucks announced that it had come back out for a Limited Time Only, Steve had rummaged in his sock drawer for a gift card he was sure had money left on it and stood in line with the masses to claim his holy grail.

It's a comfort. It's a promise that there's going to be something else to look forward to in the coming months when holidays rear their ugly and beautiful heads to remind you that your family is dead and most of the kids you lived with in foster care and group homes have disappeared out of your life. It makes Steve's day and he's already day dreaming about boots and puffy vests the moment he takes his first, iced sip. Steve isn't really a day dreamer, but his head can get stuck in the clouds on the best days and distraction comes easily in a city where you're never and always alone at the same time.

There's charcoal under his nails and a moment of joy in his heart from the iced latte he grasps so fiercely the day he sees Bucky across the street. He'd know him anywhere, even with that long fringe of hair he hasn't seen since before he went off to basic training. The light to cross the street between them is red but Steve ignores the risks. There are two lanes each direction, and all four are packed with yellow cabs and black Uber cars. No one can go fast enough to do him any damage.

The latte gets dropped along the way and Steve doesn't care. It's been over a year and a half since he's seen Bucky. It's been six months since he last heard anything from him actually. He hadn't even gotten a birthday card this year.

"Buck!" Steve is just a skinny guy, five foot four, maybe 100 pounds if he's got art supplies and an easel on him. He has fallen arches and a heart arrhythmia, but they aren't keeping him from shimmying between cars and nearly getting run over. He's out of breath when he makes it across the street and though he's lost his drink, he needs to bend over and cup his hands on his knees to steady himself anyway so it all works out. "Hey." It's smooth and followed by a smile. Something bright and cheery and all too Steve Rogers hopped up on artificial sugar and flavorings.

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Bucky felt something seep through his skin, like a whispered voice telling him that everything would be okay. He couldn't know that this was the will of Frigga, that her gardens were always kept as a place of healing with her magic, and that's what spoke to his frightened mind and let him come back to himself.

"...Steve?"

His throat feels dry, but he sounds more human than he did.

"Do we have to follow them right now? Can we talk first? This is all kinda-- uh, nuts."

To put it very mildly.

Bucky doesn't need to ask. He glances at Bruce and cups the air around Bucky's elbow. "Can you go and find your friend for us? We'll be right there." Bruce is pretty safe here. Steve can smell it on him, that ability to take good care of himself. He's not a person to protect, but maybe to learn from. His control smells so very strong, a comfort to a guy who is always right on the verge of falling off of the wagon.

At least he doesn't feel so warm anymore. At least he doesn't feel like he's stretching anymore.

A little stroll through an alien garden (that seems more like an ancient European garden than anything planned by environmentalists these days) is probably just the thing for them. "You doing all right?" he asks, half glancing at Bucky, half keeping his eyes on the beautiful fruit trees dipping and bending overhead to shade their path. "Other then the fact that we accidentally took you with us to an alien planet or other dimension or something after I doped you up...uh.. Sorry about that."

Doing alright isn't exactly how he'd put it, but he shrugs as if he's doing as okay as anyone on a weird alien world could be doing. This has gone way beyond PTSD and soldiers returning home, and he doesn't have the right to bring his issues into it. Steve needs him, he's been changed from being goddamn human, if he's followed this correctly, and that's way bigger than anything.

"I think I missed some stuff while I was out. Steve, what the hell is going on? Are you gonna be okay? Are you gonna-- you can come back with us, can't you?"

Because otherwise he's going to have to find a way to stay here too, and he has a feeling that he might be slightly less welcome than Steve.

"Come back? Yeah, obviously. I can't leave you alone to just eat pizza with a dog the rest of your life. Who's gonna look out for you? I'm not going anywhere, Buck. I just have to learn how not to be an idiot around you first." Steve rubs the back of his neck like he's still just a scrawny little guy.

And not this big, hulking linebacker. It's a little odd to see him like this, shoulders hunching to try to make himself smaller, more familiar a person to Bucky. He knows everything else isn't right.

"I guess I kinda... I am a werewolf. Sort of. Or like...part frost giant? I don't know how that translates now. But I'm still me. With like...control issues."

"What kind of control issues?"

Bucky could never be scared of Steve Rogers, his friend was the best guy he ever met and control issues or not, he was incapable of hurting someone else unless they deserved it. Muscles or no, Bucky wasn't scared of Steve. He was scared for him.

"When you say werewolf, do you mean you're going to grow fur and bite people on the full moon? Because we can deal with those kind of control issues."

A part of him was honestly wondering if he had gone legitimately insane and this was all a fevered hallucination.

“So...” There goes that furious neck rubbing again. He’s going to rip the skin right off at this point, the way he’s going at it like he’s got fleas or more embarrassment than a kid his age can handle. “I guess no one knows because... um—. Okay. Hear me out before you start questioning. I don’t even know if I can keep it straight myself.”

He pauses in a spot of sun, feeling the delicious warmth of Asgard’s sun against his skin. He almost plops himself down on the grass, but he doesn’t really want to be looking up at Bucky. It’s one of those sticking points that bothers him a lot more than he likes. Luckily, there’s a beautifully carved bench with an apple and ivy motif not too far away from the sun and Steve stalks towards it, sitting so that his lower half is turned towards the empty space he half demands with his eyes that Bucky sit himself in.

“So my grandmother is a frost giant from Jotunheim, one of their rulers. He is a She but gender isn’t a thing for them. Non binary people would be so happy to hear it—“ But he digresses. “And somehow, they had a son who is a magic wolf and now I’ve got a little bit of magic in me too. Maybe I get hairy. Maybe I don’t. But they’re going to teach me not to be so... so overbearing. I might still freak out once a month and maybe you’ll need to cage me? Actually that might be something to talk about later.”

At least Bucky did as Steve asked and didn't interrupt him while he spoke, even though he genuinely wondered if what he was hearing was at all possible or just total nonsense. No. Not nonsense, the fact that he was stood in a garden on another world was pretty much proof of that, and he had seen both the blue genderless thing and the giant wolf, so... God, what the hell was going on?

He swallowed hard and then reached out, oh so carefully, and laid his hand on Steve's knee as he sits beside him.

"I can't pretend I understand any of this, but I know that it doesn't really matter because I'm still gonna be with you no matter what. I just don't want this to hurt you or whatever the hell was happening before when you didn't even want to come into my house."

Because neither of those things were acceptable.

"What-- what do you want to do about all of this?"

Steve’s eyes travel slowly down Bucky’s covered arm to the hand resting on his leg. Bare skin to bare skin. It’s not enough kindling to really start the fire again, but the spark is happy for a little company. Steve’s fingers lift as if to play over his knuckles but he drops his hand to his own knee instead, fingers clutching the tattered fabric.

He almost manages to control his breathing but the muscle under his skin twitches. Thankfully, in Frigga’s garden, he’s able to retain a little more control over himself.

And he’s finding it hard to keep all of his secrets to himself.

A small whine rolls in the back of his throat as his eyes turn to gaze out towards the palace wall, covered in crawling ivy. “I want to keep living,” he says. “And I want to make sure I’m not going to do anything else dumb to hurt you. I—uh... This is going to sound weird but you smell really good. Not like I want to know what after shave or deodorant you’re using.” Heat rises up his neck and into his cheeks. “Shit, Buck. Please don’t take this for anything more than it is but you smell like something I want to roll in.”

Yeah. So that came out really wrong.

Oh.

That kind of hurt, considering what dogs usually liked to roll around in, things like mud or the shit of other dogs. He was trying not to be offended, considering that Steve had prefaced that by saying that he smelled good, and even Steve as a dog surely wouldn't say that shit smelled good. So what the hell is he talking about?

"What the hell are you talking about?"

The words come right on the heels of the thought, too tired and overwhelmed to really dance around the topic any more, wanting the bluntness of truth.

"Just come out and say it, Steve."

He acts like a guy half his size, shoulders hunched down, staring into massive hands whose fingers have laced together. He makes for such a lovely profile now, masculine but with long lashes and clear, smooth skin. Greco-Roman sculptors would have vied for the chance to commit him to history in marble if they could have.

It takes a moment but eventually, a half smile comes over Steve’s lips and he turns his head just enough to look at Bucky when he speaks.

“I’ve been attracted to you since before I knew what that meant. I know you’re straight,” he follows with quickly, rolling back his shoulders as the confession gives him confidence. “So I let it go. But whatever is in me now is just making it hard for me to keep doing that. It’s nothing you did or are doing. It’s my messed up brain giving me signals I’m trying to stop.”

"Oh."

For a long time that's the only noise out of his mouth, lips seemingly frozen in that little O shape as surprise spreads across his face. But inside, things are far from frozen. Aside from the shock, there also seems to be a fireworks display going off in his stomach, swooping and blossoming in delight, though it's tinged with a small amount of annoyance.

Eventually he shakes himself out of it and reaches out to slap Steve across the back of the head, like Sarah used to do to her son and to Bucky when they were being naughty.

"What the hell? Why didn't you tell me? You're such a goddamn asshole."

He cut off his own anger by leaning in and following up that slap with a sudden and brief kiss to the lips, reckless in abandon now that he knows the truth.

"I've loved you since the moment I met you, but you never said anything when you came out so I figured you didn't like me."

Steve hasn’t moved. He’s got that romantic comedy look on his face, where everything has frozen but his eyes have popped wide. He’s had innumerable dreams about Bucky kissing him but none has involved sitting on a bench in an alien garden while he’s barely wearing anything and looking like he traded bodies with a hockey player. That’s probably a good thing, because his mind is on shut down and reboot mode now and he wouldn’t want to miss the next few moments for anything.

When he can move again, it’s just to wet his lips and straighten up. Looking down at Bucky is strange but exciting. He furrows his perfectly arched and groomed brows and drops an elbow on the back of the bench.

“It took me two months to come out to you because I needed to wait until you were in a relationship so you wouldn’t think I was coming into you—“ it’s harder now to concentrate around Bucky. It makes his nose twitch when the wind brings in his scent, driving his senses up a wall with desire. “Which uh... You figured I didn’t— Buck, everyone has a thing for you. Everyone. You’ve only ever had girlfriends. You can’t just say that you loved me— You... you can’t blame me either for..”

So this isn’t working. Not with Bucky still leaning in towards him, almost inviting, and saying words he’d always wanted to hear. Steve’s hand finds the dimpled chin of his scruffy best friend and pulls him in. A peck on the lips won’t do, not now that Steve has a taste for him.

Bucky could just about punch Steve. He had deliberately waited until Bucky had a girlfriend before he came out to him, so of course Bucky couldn't say anything then, he wasn't the sort of jerk to mess anyone about, even if he would rather have been with Steve than whatever girl it had been back then.

Idiot.

He wants to say as much, but he finds himself being kissed rather thoroughly and that stops him pretty damn effectively. He lets the kiss linger this time, tasting the unique taste of Steve Rogers, only pulling back when he needs breath and even then he bites him gently on the lower lip as he lets go.

"I've never been with any other guys, because I've never been in love with any other guys. Idiot. Jesus, Steve, I've loved you since we were little kids, before I even knew what love was."

“That doesn’t— What does that have to do with anything? I’ve been with a lot of guys—“ Well, three, “And I’ve loved you before I even met you.” Why Steve feels the sudden need to one up each other probably has to do with the fact that no matter what happens between them, or to either of them, they’re still best friends.

Maybe they need to stop referring to each other as brothers though...

The blond rubs his thumb at the back of Bucky’s neck where his spine and skull connect, but he doesn’t try to kiss him again. That might be a disaster. He’s not sure his hormone levels can take it.

At least he doesn’t feel like they’ve wasted time on this. Their time together has and will always be precious to him. They’re great as friends. They’ll be better as mates.

Steve’s certain of it.

Bucky doesn't exactly feel like their time has been wasted, but he is mad at how much time they could have had before everything went to shit. Maybe he wouldn't have wanted to go overseas to earn money if he and Steve had been serious with one another, he might have found another less risky way, and then he wouldn't be the broken mess that he is these days.

And maybe then Steve wouldn't have been bitten by some weird supernatural wolf creature and become half... whatever the hell these things really were.

"...shit timing, Steve."

Just saying.

"Usually is with me," Steve agrees, letting his hand fall from the back of Bucky's neck with entirely too much effort. He's trying not to fall right into it here and now. Bucky can't physically take the intensity that Steve is gunning for, that's the trouble here. He remembers all too well what it had been like for Bucky to literally fight him off.

There can't be more of a buzz kill like that, first of all. And he really, really doesn't want their relationship to dissolve to that level. Steve's not a monster. He might end up being one if he's not careful but for right now, he's not.

"But it's not too late. We're both still here. And I finally don't look like a piece of Dali's art."

"Shut up, Steve."

That was said with more emotion than he's let slip so far, a sharp snap that's accompanied by an expression that Steve might know well. It was the scowl that Bucky always wore when he heard anyone being an asshole about Steve's looks back in the day, usually right before he went over and gave them a piece of his mind.

"You looked amazing then, and you look good now, so don't you dare make out that you weren't."

He loved Steve for who he was, skinny or tall.

For a guy to look the way that Bucky does to love someone for being a little shit, skinny and twisted, has to be some sort of statement to the fact that all of humanity is not as terrible as most people would think.

Steve isn't surprised to hear the sentiment coming from Bucky's mouth but hearing it alone is enough to lead him to smiles.

"Guess I can't fault you for having no taste. Not everyone can pull off a color palette that consists of more than just gray scales." All Steve wants to do is lean in and kiss Bucky again, but considering how bad of an idea that will be, he stands up somewhat reluctantly and offers the other man his hand.

"Speaking of... Want to come in and steal some clothing with me? I can't meet royalty in tatters."

"Pretty sure you're gonna be some kind of royalty soon, aren't you? Your weird blue grandmother thing is marrying the prince of this place, or did I get that totally wrong?"

He'd understand it if he did get it wrong, because this was a whole lot of madness to take in, and god only knew that he had no idea what was going on for most of that conversation, still half drugged and driven only by a desire to protect Steve from whatever the hell was going on.

But he stood up all the same, and started following Steve towards the amazing golden palace stretching out in front of them.

“Something like that. I’ve got to be honest with you though, I’m not following a whole lot of it myself,” Steve says, giving the air of the palace a slight sniff as they step from the sunlight to the darkness. He can smell where everyone is, though Bucky’s scent is almost overwhelming. It’s difficult to push that to the back of his senses as he hunts out a good room to sneak into to take something that won’t cause every breeze to expose him. Winding hallways and staircases and rooms that open to incredible treasures do make it a little easier to stay on mark, though.

Steve’s Brain has been altered, his body has been altered, but you can’t just rub out an artist at heart, or a prankster by nature. Adventure, in a body that can actually sustain adventure, is almost too good to pass up.

He’ll find something suitable to wear before too long, braided leather pants and a long coat that leaves him more bare than he would like at his chest, but with a somewhat musty smell that tells him no one will mind him taking the garments. Shirt or not, he’ll live.

It just looks a little funny on him with Bucky’s too tight tennis shoes.

“I feel like I’m that baseball player that goes back in time to King Arthur, yanno?”

Bucky had never really had the artistic flair, and so he didn't appreciate the palace for the wonder of architecture and style that it was. He was only awed at the opulence on show here, more so than any royal could ever have gathered on earth, and at how much of a tactical nightmare it was for him because he didn't know the layout at all.

He fell silent as they walked along in an attempt to find something for Steve to wear, growing ever more tense until his friend finally had other clothes (though they didn't help, as they only made him look ever more alien), and tried to break the tension.

"Huh? You mean that stupid movie, Kid in King Arthur's Court? I was kind of trying to pretend that didn't exist, why'd you have to bring it up?"

Joking is fine, right? He can get through this with joking.

"Besides, King Arthur and his knights weren't all eight feet tall and covered in muscles."

“And didn’t have giant wolf kids,” Steve points out. His grin is still there, drawn on more perfectly now and with a stronger chin, but it’s still Steve. Clothing aside. Muscles aside. Incredible washboard abs aside.

Now that the rush to be clothed is over, Steve can take his time. He smells the apprehension on Bucky, though, and his hand reaches out to lightly press against the small of his back, to hold him up a second. Light flickers from unseen sources on the gilt walls and bounces off of his friend’s features. Bucky has always been incredibly handsome, no one would deny him that, but this lighting, those dark eyes, and the love confession gives Steve all the leave he feels he needs to drop his head down to kiss Bucky.

He’s conscious enough to be slow about it, though. He remembers well what happened the last time he’d ended up on top of him. The soldier in his friend (Maybe boyfriend?) needs to have the ability to escape.

Steve just hopes he doesn’t want to.

Bucky does tense up when Steve comes in at him, but he doesn't duck away, and after a second or two of the kiss then he relaxes into it with a tiny smile that Steve can probably feel against his lips.

He can't help but be a little afraid that this is just another dream that his mind has cooked up in captivity to help him from going insane. It's nuts enough, with Norse gods and other worlds, and having his best friend love him back. He really fucking hopes it's not a dream, and Steve's lips feel awfully real against his.

"Since when did you get so bold?"

It's said with a proper smile when the kiss breaks.

"Not complaining, just asking."

“Always. How do you think I used to get dates? Sheer persistence.” Steve’s always been that guy. He’s just never been that guy around Bucky because Steve’s conquests, pale and paltry that they are, have usually happened when Bucky’s not been around.

Steve’s knuckles drag against Bucky’s cheek and his fingers lightly curl in the wisps of hair around his cheekbones and over his ears.

“You have to be bold if you want someone to take notice.” Especially when you’re four foot eleven and weigh less than most ten year olds. It’s nice to have a body to go with his personality now, loud and defiant that he’s always been. “Or do you just mean with you? Well you can’t blame a guy with a decade of pent up tension whose suddenly been given an outlet.”

"Steve, anyone who needed you to be bold to take notice was a blind moron, and never deserved you anyway."

It's not that he has Steve on a pedestal, he knows full well that his friend has a lot of flaws, it's that he knows that the good things about him more than balance those flaws out. He's the sort of guy who only comes along once in a hundred years, a true hero in the heart of him, regardless of what his body might have said.

Bucky's always known it, it's why he's always followed him and why he always will.

"Now, c'mon, before I get arrested for kidnapping a new wolf royal or something."

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