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[bottledblond]

Not every universe in the far and wide cosmos is as lucky (however unlucky itself that seems) to encounter Thanos during a time where people live who can do something about it. Steve Rogers, a particular version of Steve Rogers who had only just suffered through his first night of basic training in New Jersey as part of the Army’s Project Rebirth and thus had not yet become Captain America, bent to untie his shoes and saw his hands begin to disintegrate. He doesn’t panic, panicking is for people who do not live like every breath is their last. Instead, he blinks in surprise as the barracks fill with shouting. He has time to contemplate two things. One, he wishes he’d done more with his life. And two, he hopes Bucky will do all right.

He’s still thinking about that last issue when he exhales his last in a universe where Captain America never existed and finishes it bent over in the ruins of the barracks, roof half open to the sky and walls a burnt and ashy gray.

It takes him an hour to get to the road and by then, his asthma is already getting the best of him. He blacks out for the second time ‘that day’ and wakes up staring at the ceiling of what is obviously a hospital.

It just doesn’t sound or smell like a hospital. Sure. People are running around and yelling, but it smells painfully clean, artificially so, and there are machines he’s never seen before connected by wires to his body. He does the thing people should never do and yanks them loose. The machines squawk strangely and frantically and Steve is almost out of bed when two large men in green pajamas force him back.

Nothing makes sense to him for days. People come to talk to him, to find out who he is and who his family is. Evidently Steve Rogers is a popular name, because they bring in more people to talk to him, to ask him questions about his life, but no one has any answers.

He explodes, as he’s wont to do when frustrated, demands answers, but nothing they say makes sense.

By then, the war is over. Not World War II, which has evidently been over for over half a century, but this new war. And Bucky Barnes had been told of his presence. Steve is in bed, arms crossed, looking dour and getting an infusion of something that honestly is helping him breathe better when Bucky bursts into his now private room. It’s been two months

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[bottledblond]

Though it’s the exact opposite of what he wants, Steve gently and playfully pushes Bucky’s shoulder away from him. “How is this less distracting?!” he asks in a falsely higher pitched voice, as if he’s fully outraged. “This is just making it worse!”

Of course, he doesn’t want Bucky to go anywhere and if he even tries, Steve plans to grab at his shoulder.

It’s so much harder to know that he can feel this way about Bucky and no one will really judge him. It makes wanting him utterly impossible.

[woundedwinter]

The mock outrage only pulls a laugh from him as he leans in to kiss him soundly and silence any further protest. If Steve really wanted him to stop he'd say so, or even put him through the wall with one good push. So he lets himself enjoy the moment of laying with his best guy and kissing him. In the privacy of the bedroom he can deepen the kiss, taste his lips and not worry about anyone interrupting.

"Making it worse huh?"

[bottledblond]

Steve thinks kissing is the best thing ever. Hopefully Bucky can hear him think that. Hopefully he can understand just how remarkable this is for him. Two months away from his time has opened up his entire self to things he had never thought possible.

He kisses Bucky back with the abandon shown in films, and when the older man corrects him gently with little shifts of his hands or his lips, Steve feels the heat settle into him in areas he didn’t know it could.

Steve’s not a great kisser, but he’s learning. He wraps thin arms around Bucky’s shoulders and really leans into it. There’s a half whine to his voice as his fingers trail down Bucky’s arms and back. He hadn’t known he could be so attracted to someone like this.

[woundedwinter]

They move and shift a little into a more comfortable position with Bucky on his back and Steve curled in close and over him. He wants to give him every opportunity to touch and explore his way through the kisses. Steve is all warmth and enthusiasm and he makes quiet and pleased sounds as they move together.

Bucky hitches his leg close to Steve to give him something to press against, to find a little friction to add to the heat of what they're doing. His hand moves up to sift through his soft hair, groaning quietly into another kiss as heat sears up his spine.

[bottledblond]

In some great moment of desire, Steve somehow manages to shimmy out of his shirt once Bucky is beneath him. The skin to skin contact is almost unreal.

Though Tony had mentioned that physiologically, Steve wouldn’t change too much, his hair has grown thicker and stronger. His arms are still thin, but they don’t feel like they might snap. His chest isn’t concave either, though how the serum alone could change so much without changing much at all is a question for the ages.

It does make holding Steve so much better, though. There’s no chance that Bucky could hurt him accidentally this way. He gives a rough little pant when Bucky shifts and when he realizes just what that knee is for. If it had been possible for his face to grow hotter, it certainly would have.

[woundedwinter]

Everything is better when Steve gets his shirt off. Bucky's hands can map out bare skin and lean limbs, callouses rough on his skin. He breaks the kiss at the sound Steve makes, wanting to sear that sound into his memory forever. "'s okay Steve," he promises him. "I wanna feel you."

And Bucky is swiftly growing hard himself, body shifting restlessly as they trade ever increasingly urgent kisses, his hands wandering along his arms and chest, metal hand solid on his hip to keep Steve close.

[bottledblond]

Bucky’s choppy cut slides between his fingers as the distinctly heavy and solid weight of Bucky’s vibranium fingers touch him. The contrast of his hands is interesting and sensual, leading Steve’s hips to more firmly press against the body beneath him.

He appreciates the other’s gentle coaxing, the promises he makes, but they aren’t necessary. “No one I trust more,” Steve promises, Bucky’s excitement obvious against his upper thighs. “No one I’ve ever wanted more neither.”

Even the Bucky that had left him on Coney Island couldn’t command the attention this one did. It has nothing to do with the metal arm, the sad eyes, or the strength, though. Bucky is Bucky, way deep down where it counts.

This Bucky, out of every other potential iteration, loves him and only him. Wants him and only him.

And that makes all the difference.