fossilised | It's AU time

Bucky hadn't been expecting the phone to ring. In fact, he had been in the middle of unpacking his first box when it did ring, and he nearly fell over the damn thing in darting across to the counter to pick it up. Only to be hit with a rush of embarrassment. Good, perfect, nothing like admitting to a near stranger that you were messed up enough to have spent your rent money on booze.

He rubbed at his nose, glad that Steve couldn't see him right now. What other embarrassing things had he admitted last night? God only knew, he could barely remember anything except Steve being nice to him, the tone of his voice rather than what had actually been said.

"Uh-- Yeah, sure. You mean you want to draw me?"

He was kind of nervous about that, but it wouldn't be a big deal. Unless:

"This isn't some nude stuff, is it?"

"What? Yesterday you wanted to check out my underwear and today you're all nervous about 'nude stuff?'" Oh God. Oh please, please let that play off as funny! Why hadn't he texted? He could have sent little smilie faces along to prove he was laughing and just joking! Instead, he was left with this sinking feeling that he had messed up. "But uh, no. Portraits are just neck up usually. I was actually thinking about this sort of different angle-- I mean, you can watch TV. Or the game or... Do you like baseball? The Mets are playing. Don't let me hear that you're a Yankees fan."

Oh good. Good God. What a rambling cover up!

Steve put his hand over his face and groaned into his palm so that Bucky wouldn't hear how stupid, so so stupid, that he actually was. Shit. Piss.

"If you're not cool with it, don't worry. About the portrait. Not the Yankees. We can't be friends if you're into the Yanks. I don't care how blue my eyes are or how many friendship breads you ate."

Edited 2017-03-15 22:29 (UTC)

Wow. Okay... one, Steve was the most adorable fucking thing he had ever come across; and two, he had asked to look at his underwear? Oh God, he was never drinking again for the rest of his life, apparently he made terrible decisions while drunk. And yet he couldn't stop himself from flirting back just a bit.

"Oh well, if you really wanted to get me undressed, you didn't have to make up some portrait. But sure, if you want to draw me watching the Yankees slaughter the Mets then-- no, I can't even finish that sentence for the joke, it hurts too much. Yankees suck, man, I wouldn't be friends with a fan of theirs either."

It was good, why was it good to joke with Steve? Felt like they had been friends a long time, even if they hadn't.

"What time will you be home?"

"Baby steps," Steve shot back, rubbing his fingertips against his eyes because damn it. Why was he doing this to himself? He sank back against the block walls and pressed his knuckles against his forehead. Man. These last few days. How much crazy could he get himself into?

At least the quip about the Yankees had him relaxing and he laughed happily to find out that they were both New York Baseball fans who happened to like the underdogs. That made him feel so much better and he glanced at the clock to tick away the moments in his head.

"Around 6. Can you wait that long for me?" He did not follow up with a remark about Bucky dying of boredom or otherwise. A little restraint was about all he could muster before he quickly followed up the question without waiting for an answer with some bogus excuse that their model was coming back.

He groaned at his phone and one of the guys he hung out with in class came over and gave him the eyes. Steve shooed him off. He was not in the mood for teasing now. His face was red enough!

Bucky had a really full day once Steve hung up the phone. He spent a good hour drinking water and groaning into his pillow some more about a hangover, then another hour unpacking half a box very slowly. Then two hours psyching himself up to go to the corner shop and spend the last ten bucks he had since he wasn't going to make rent anyway and he was determined to cook Steve something to say thank you. Then another two hours recovering from going out by crying in the bathtub.

So it was half past six by the time he made it down to Steve's apartment, feeling both accomplished for having managed to go out and pathetic that it had taken him all day to literally go ten minutes down the street and grab half a bag of ingredients. He had on some fresh jeans and a fresh shirt, the prosthetic once more strapped on with the hand tucked into his pocket again. Hair washed and up. He almost looked presentable.

"Steve?"

He knocked on the door a bit hesitantly.

"I know you said you make a mean cup noodle, but I had some stuff that needed using up so I'm gonna make you meatballs."

Steve had only been home for half an hour before the knock on the door came and he ended up yelling through the shower curtain at Bucky for about two minutes before he realized that they likely couldn't hear each other as well as his next door neighbor could hear him. So, in a big, blue fluffy robe and suds in his hair, Steve dashed to the front door, unlocked it, yanked the damned thing open and ran back to the bathroom. "Go ahead-use whatever you need-lock up!" he called as the door slammed shut with some titilating bit of ankle shown in his wake.

He didn't take too much longer, rinsing out his hair had been easy and he didn't have a lot of skin to wash. He would return to find Bucky in the kitchen wearing black pajama pants and a navy t-shirt with the Mets logo on it. He might also have been wearing fuzzy socks. Natalia had given them to him for his birthday because he was also getting a chill. Evidently ballerinas put them over their toe shoes to protect them between dances. Steve hadn't wanted more information than that. He was just feeling a little under the weather. He popped some vitamin c on the way out and pulled up a stool.

"It's been years since anyone's cooked for me," he said, hair still damp but somehow fluffy. "Have you actually ever made meatballs?"

Bucky had been completely taken aback by the sight of Steve all lathered up, and he wasn't any less taken aback by the sight of him in pyjama pants and fuzzy socks. He looked adorable, and the more he saw him, the more he kind of wanted to kiss him. But that would be a genuinely terrible idea. They knew next to nothing about one another, and he was a giant fuck up right now.

"Yeah, not for a few years, but my Ma taught my how. Grew up in an Italian family, you really think my Ma wouldn't make sure that both of her kids knew how to cook pasta properly?"

He missed her. Rebecca too. He had written them one letter telling them that he had returned from Afghanistan and been discharged, but not that he had been a POW or that he was hurt, and that he had been offered a job across country. He said he'd write again when he was settled, and then he never had. Then he had fled to bury himself away from the world.

It was taking longer than he wanted to prepare the meatballs. Chopping onions was awkward, trying to pin them down with the weight of his prosthetic while he chopped with the other hand, but he was slowly getting there.

"I figured I owe you. You put up my furniture, and you left me aspirin, and I'm pretty sure I probably said some dumb stuff last night."

He tilted deep blue eyes to more spectacular blue eyes, a hint of questioning fear in there. He wanted to be reassured that he hadn't revealed how fucked up he was, but he also needed to hear the truth. How bad was the damage?

"Oh you said a lot of dumb stuff." But not about his family. So Barnes had an Itslian mother? Steve wondered what her maiden name had been. And he wondered what his sister's name was too.

Steve was already doodling on a pad he kept at the kitchen counter and not paying attention to the difficulty Bucky may or may not be having. There were a lot of things from Amazon that he could probably order to help him with cutting veggies or rolling meatballs but Steve wasn't going to say anything. He was mostly just outlining his new character being buried under bananas by Deputy Space Monkey. He probably should have given his own representation a little more bad assery but it felt good to poke fun at himself. It made him tougher when other people did.

"You were about ten seconds away from proposing marriage I think. I can't blame you. I have beautiful eyes, right?" He was just teasing. Sort of. But those beautiful eyes had indeed darted up towards Bucky for a moment before they dropped back to his comic. "I learned how easy it was to seduce you."

"Oh yeah?"

Bucky felt himself start to relax just a bit. Obviously he hadn't mentioned anything about serving overseas or what that had done to him, or Steve wouldn't be so fixated on the flirting. That was good. A little embarrassing, considering he had to live above the dude and hoped they could stay friends, but not world ending.

"It's true, you do have beautiful eyes and I'm a sucker for nice eyes. Seriously, though, pal, sorry if I made you uncomfortable. I get kinda flirty sometimes, especially with cute guys."

He said that as if it should be obvious that Steve was a cute guy, not like it was just another compliment.

Finally he got the veg chopped a bit unevenly and added them to his bubbling sauce mix. The entire thing took about an hour longer than it should, meaning the pasta was a bit rubbery by the time they came to eat, but the sauce and meatballs came out okay. For his first attempt at cooking with one arm, it wasn't as bad as it could be.

"...not sure if it says something that both our shared meals have been ball shaped."

Everything Bucky said made Steve feel amazing. He wasn't used to anyone just outright praising him so much and so often and honestly meaning it. Bucky wasn't just buttering him up, it's not like Steve had a whole lot to offer. He just really seemed grateful.

There was a matter of question, however, about how serious the flirting was. Drunk Bucky had been intensely sincere about his attractions, both to Steve and to rather beefy actors that played super heroes in movies. Sober Bucky was also sincere about telling Steve he thought he was cute, but cute? Cute wasn't a term that Steve took to mean would get him very far. Little brothers were cute. And besides, Bucky was apologizing.

Steve decided not to read into it. He finished his sketch just as Bucky was browning the meatballs and set the little table in the corner when he was draining the pasta. The whole kitchen smelled really wonderful and he said as much as they sat down together with a little beer and some soda to go with the homemade Italian.

He almost choked on part of a meatball when Bucky pointed out their track record for spherical foods so far. "Yanno, I think we should take it as a sign. I'll make Irish potatoes next time," he chirped, legs splayed and knees out so that one accidentally brushed against Bucky's thigh. He reigned that back in immediately, though his fuzzy socks had a bit of slip against the tile floor and it was likely destined to happen again. "Do tater tots count as balls? I know that's what five year olds eat but that's my go to comfort food."

If Bucky hadn't thought that Steve was likely straight, and if he hadn't been so fucked up that asking anyone out would be cruel to them, Bucky would already have been trying to get a kiss or two. But he wasn't going to be that much of an asshole. Steve was a nice guy, he deserved someone who could treat him right. Bucky would just take what friendship he could get and be happy with that.

"Of course it is, and do you also enjoy a glass of warm milk on an evening?"

The tease was gentle, but he half expected Steve to say that he did like milk and what was wrong with that because milk helped bones grow strong! He could just slot Steve into any fifties sitcom where life was simple and rosy.

"I don't know. I'm sure my Ma used to make tater tots, but it's been a long time, so I don't really remember if I like them. How about you cook next time and that's what we'll have?"

He turned slightly hopeful blue eyes up to Steve as if asking if there could be a next time for serious.

"Not warm, but yeah, who doesn't like milk?" Steve asked. "And don't say lactose intolerants. Obviously. But there's coconut milk and soy milk and almond milk and they've all been fortified to give your bones what they need to grow," Steve said, almost exactly how Bucky had imagined. "I take my milk with cookies, if you must know."

He praised the meal as he went, using his fork to cut the meat so there would be no more choking. He didn't want to know what sort of teasing would come from gagging on Bucky's meatballs. Honestly, it was so childish that even the thought made him smile. And that smile didn't leave his face when Bucky mentioned being willing to have tator tots with him.

"Easy night for me. I have a package or six in the freezer," Steve grinned. "No taking that back! Heating up counts as cooking. I'm using the oven," he said, taking a swig of beer. "I'll make hot dogs too and cut them up into little wheels," he continued, teasing all the way, even at his own expense. "And then when it's time for bed you can read me a story."

There was a pause and Steve leaned in.

"Oh. I don't mean to assume that you know how to read," he joked, voice very serious.

"You little punk," he chuckled, reaching out with his good hand to thwap Steve lightly on the back of the head. "I know how to read, but I'm not reading you a bedtime story. Are you kidding? That's the sort of thing I'd do for my kid sister, not some hot neighbour."

He definitely didn't think of Steve like a little brother. And he sure as hell wouldn't be reading him a story if he ever did end up in bed with him. Not that he would, that was all just fantasy in his head. Fun to imagine, though. It was nice to have something in his head that was lighter, even that made him smile.

Bucky finished up his own plate of pasta and leaned back in his chair, exhaling a contented sort of noise.

"Shit, I've missed food like that."

He needed to watch his own mouth. What was it about Steve that encouraged this sort of openness?

"You're the one the cooked it." Steve had yet to respond to any of the flattery in a verbal tonight, though his cheeks kept growing a little pink and he would look down and chuckle to himself or maybe shake his head as if Bucky was just insane. The more he heard it though, the more he was taking it to heart. It just felt really good to be the hot neighbor, strangely. Natalia was the hot neighbor. Bucky was the hot neighbor. But Steve Rogers in unit 2A? No. He was just the under aged looking art student who had to catch his breath between flights of stairs and who could only maintain a brisk walk for a few blocks before needing to slow down.

He wasn't touching Bucky now but he could feel the heat coming off of him and though Nat sometimes cuddled up with him when he was sick, she had no fat on her at all and no bulk. She was about as cold as he was!

"I get how it is though. Sometimes I really have to push myself to make a meal, especially when it's just for myself. I cooked a lot more before Nat got into that troupe. She would always be coming home in massive combat boots stomping all the way down the hall from the stairs and I would hear her stomach growling through the door." He palmed the side of his head and watched Bucky, face as he spoke. "When it's just me, I just pop something into the microwave. Or sometimes I forget to eat if I'm really getting into a piece."

Steve toyed with his fork before he finally decided that he'd eaten enough and laid it next to the plate.

"I don't know what your schedule is like," he said kindly, though he knew that Bucky rarely if ever left his apartment, "but I have the afternoon at the parlor with some clients and then a night class--" To make up for the one he skipped tonight. "What about Wednesday? Tater tots were made for Wednesday night."

He hadn't expected to actually be offered a tater tot date, but he couldn't help the smile that grew when he nodded his head to accept. The people who had come to see him from the VA while he was still in hospital had tried to convince him to come to a bunch of groups, or let them call his family, because personal connections could really help in giving bright spots to life again. He had refused because every person he met felt like fingernails being pulled.

Except Steve.

What was it about this unassuming, dorky, kind of sweet guy that Bucky found so easy to be around? God only knew, but he was determined not to let it slip through his fingers or he might end up drunk and suicidal again like last night. Shit. Last night. What was he going to do about rent? He'd have to figure that out pretty quick.

"How far is the parlour? You think maybe I could come and see?"

He'd like to know where Steve worked. And maybe it would be easier to leave the apartment when he was with someone else. It had worked on ramen ball night, even if he hadn't actually managed to go into the restaurant at the end of it.

"But, I mean-- yeah, Wednesday sounds great. I'll have to cancel my hot date with Miss Universe, but she'll reschedule."

"It's in Manhattan on the Lower East Side. I usually take the E train in," Steve said with such care so he didn't offend Bucky. He sort of had a feeling that being on the subway might be a really big step right now. "But you can always visit me. Even if you don't have an appointment. Mickey might try to get you into the chair though. You're her type."

Anyone with clean skin was her type. The only reason she didn't go after Steve all be time to get under her gun was because he had appeal to the young and the scared older teens and early twenty somethings that came into the shop giggling and huddled together. Steve was more than just the part time art consultant. He was the friendly, straight edge looking guy that offered them coffee and to come and take a look at the books.

"I mean, if Miss Universe has a problem with you visiting me, bring her along too. We can give you guys a romantic two for one deal. If you're already canceling on her Wednesday she might get jealous of your hot neighbor luring you to his place of employment so I want to keep things on the up and up, you know?"

God. He wanted Bucky to visit. He wanted Bucky to whisper those little phrases of praise about the things he did. It made him feel so amazing.

Steve wasn't wrong. The subway wasn't something that he could do right now, even just the idea of it making his remaining palm clammy. That many people all trapped in a tight space, being unable to get out, underground, that's just a terrible idea. So there was no way he could visit the tattoo parlour, not unless he got up at dawn to start walking, or unless he took a cab which would cost more than he had right now. Or ever.

Still, he nodded casually as if taking the E train would be no big deal. "Yeah, maybe I'll come down sometime. I'm kind of busy during the day at the moment, so I don't know when I'll get chance, but maybe sometime."

At least Steve didn't dwell on it. He had a sneaking suspicion that the guy had figured out he was ex-military and possibly some of his problems, and yet he was dealing with them in a way that nobody else had. He was still giving Bucky his dignity, respecting his choices, not treating him like he was some broken thing in need of pity.

"Okay, so-- I need a good portrait to give Miss Universe so she has something to keep her company when I'm not around. Didn't you say you were gonna draw me?"

"I was going to draw the back of your head," Steve said, looking comically skeptical. "You do have great hair though. Is that what keeps Miss Universe around? Or does she really just like guys with dimples?" He stood up and collected their plates. Bucky cooked so he would clean up. "Probably the first. I mean the back of your head is really your best feature."

Thst was so completely untrue. Bucky was incredibly handsome in a way people were on television with makeup and good lightning. He didn't even need that good lighting, he would probably be gorgeous under medical florescence. And that usually made everyone look bad. Photography classes taught him that the hard way. There was nothing less attractive than seeing every single pore on your model's face.

Water running, he gestured with his head towards the living room. "Just make yourself comfortable. Life drawing takes awhile. You can put on whatever you want to numb your mind from realizing that I'm going to be scrutinizing the back of your neck."

The Bucky of old probably would have put on a horror or action moving, maybe even deliberately stripped his shirt off to display a body that he knew was well toned and attractive. But this Bucky just flicked through the channels until he found some old re-runs of Friends, something mindless and light hearted, and he sure as hell wasn't going to be stripping anything off.

"You need me to be sitting a certain way? I've never had anyone draw me before."

He was kind of self conscious about it, it seemed weirdly intimate for someone to study him quite so much and in such detail, then to put it all down on paper. And he had seen how amazing Steve's pieces of art were, he kind of felt unworthy to become one. The comic character didn't count, that was just based roughly on him.

"Is this where I lie down and say 'draw me like one of your French girls'?"

A comic character didn’t quite have his face. No one could hold up a comic beside him and say it was definitely him. But a portrait? Every little expression needed to be captured. Maybe that was why Steve didn’t want to do something full on. It wasn’t that he wasn’t sure he could capture the expression of someone’s eyes properly, it was just that Bucky had so much emotion that Steve was almost afraid to tackle that.

Why had he asked to draw him? He could have taken a photograph of his mother and drawn her. Or copied an image from a magazine. Working with an actual model was…surreal. It was strange in class and even stranger having someone pose for him and just for him.

“Yanno, if I had a dollar for every time I heard that line-- I’d have a whole dollar.” Okay, so that didn’t really come up in life, but still. “And what would Miss Universe say to that anyway? I don’t have any jewels to drape you in either so we’ll just have to work with what we’ve got.”

Steve brought one of his larger pads over with some pencils first. He’d fill in with charcoals later. Right now he just wanted to capture essense and shape…which was why he settled on the back of the couch, looking down on Bucky over his shoulder to get a slice of his face while he was watching a sitcom. His hair was a little…wrong though. Steve cleared his throat.

“Hey, as much as I like the man bun-- Can I change it?”

Bucky hadn't been expecting Steve to perch up behind him on the back of the couch and Steve might be able to tell from the tension in his shoulders that he really didn't like the position. People behind him set off his survival instincts like nothing else now, it was just a really vulnerable position to be in and he didn't like it. Not even with Steve, who seemed to be mostly harmless.

"Huh?"

His voice was a bit rougher, a bit lower, but he was determined not to make a big deal out of this. He knew that Steve was only drawing him, so he could get over it.

"Oh-- yeah, do what you want with it. I just tied it up to keep it out of my way while I was cooking."

He had got pretty good at the one handed hair tie trick. He really should get it cut. He had always had short hair as a kid, and then he had been stuck with regulation army length. It had just grown out in captivity and then in hospital, and he kept it that way because it felt like giving the middle finger to the idiot past him who had thought signing up was a good plan.

"Okay, cool." Steve had never had hair any longer than it was right now. Sometimes it got too shaggy and he had to do the trimming himself, and sometimes he went to the barber for an actual shape up, but the slight dip to his ears or cheekbones was as long as he could stand to let it go. He was always clean cut. He parted his hair on the side when he combed it. Steve was just that sort of man.

He leaned forward, putting his pencil between his lips, and pulled the elastic out of Bucky's hair. It was softer than he'd thought it would be. Guy hair was usually rough with product made to make it look perfectly messy. There was no texture here. Bucky's hair was fine and glossy and he almost let it slip through his fingers before he decided that would be too much.

He gathered dark strands in his hands and raked his fingers across his scalp over the crown of his head and beneath the ponytail to smooth it out before wrapping the band around it. The high pony was dishelved and imperfect. He liked that. Baby hairs drifted down the nape of his strong neck. And he liked that too.

Steve shifted his position after that to the arm of the sofa. It was a waning profile that way and he could still see the skin beneath the crew neck shirt and the shape of the ear-- he could see the chisel of a jaw--

He had liked the other angle better but this way Bucky might be less tense since he could see Steve out of the corner of his eye now.

Bucky stayed extremely still while Steve worked on his hair, almost as if he had almost forgotten how to breathe. It wasn't unpleasant, but it was weird and he wasn't sure if he liked it, a bizarre mix of his internal paranoia and the pleasure from fingernails across his scalp. Still, he managed it, and he relaxed a bit when Steve moved position to the opposite arm.

Once studied in detail, Steve would probably notice the way that Bucky's skin was peppered by the collar of his shirt in slightly whitened lines, like a spiderweb of scars that obviously stretched a long way below the surface. His muscles were well defined, his adam's apple prominent but not overly so, and his eyes a very deep blue.

He tried to focus on the episode of Friends, but really most of his attention was taken up by the soft scritching sound of pencil across paper. He kept silent, though, waiting... he didn't want to interrupt before Steve was done.

What Steve noticed the most was the way that Bucky's has kept moving, or how he swallowed. "You can talk to me," Steve said kindly, his eyes focused on the shape of Bucky's throat where the stubble was just about visible. He'd add that detail in later, probably after he got himself uncomfortably close to his subject.

Fuzzy socked feet stretched forward before Steve leaned back to grab a stick of charcoal. It would be a softer sound on the paper now. And he may or may not end up sticking his tongue out as he blended and shaded.

"How much of yesterday do you remember? You decided that you wanted to get to know me but I have a feeling that most of what we talked about was taken out with the recycling. So maybe we should play twenty questions again?" He still knew almost nothing about Bucky but he had a feeling that Bucky wanted to keep it that way. "Do you remember me talking about my parents?"

Steve was such a good guy. Bucky kept thinking it, because it kept being hammered in repeatedly, and every time was like an extra reminder that there were still nice people in the world. He picked up the remote and turned down the episode, though he didn't turn it off because it was good to have something to look at, but twenty questions sounded better.

Parents. Shit.

He tried to wrack his brains for what had been told to him, he didn't want to put his foot in it if Steve had confessed to him that he had been from an abusive home or some shit like that. Finally a fuzzy memory surfaced, something about his Ma having died not that long ago and his Dad-- oh shit. The military. Now he remembered that conversation, which meant Steve definitely knew he was at least a little fucked.

"Yeah. Sorry again. And about the shit I spouted last night, it's kind of coming back in pieces. But-- sure, twenty questions. I ask one, you ask one?"

It was an olive branch way of offering at least some more information about himself, he figured Steve had earned it for being so good about everything he'd learned so far.

"Okay, uh-- how old were you when you had your first kiss and who was it with? Tell me about it."

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