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Getting Bucky back is nothing short of a miracle. Steve recognizes how fortunate he is to even be able to look at Bucky again, let alone curl himself around the prostrate figure of his best friend as if it were the most natural thing in the world. And it is natural – to them. This is how Steve’s body grew up, constantly molding itself to fit next to Bucky. Even when Bucky left for the war and it seemed impossible for Steve to join him, he stretched and broke and grew until science said he could. Or maybe it was God or the universe or circumstance. It doesn’t matter.
What matters is this: waking up pressed close and warm, breathing Bucky’s air like he’s been doing since he could hardly breathe at all.
“Do they know?” Bucky asks the next morning and Steve responds with raised eyebrows, not because he doesn’t know what Bucky is asking, but because he doesn’t know the answer himself. Bucky elaborates: “The rest of the team. Do they know about us?”
It’s only been a day. Yesterday, Bucky kissed Steve against the door and yesterday they took each other apart and yesterday Steve lied to Sam (not for the first time, but perhaps the first time well) and told him he and Bucky were spending the day together locked in Steve’s room going through his notebook. Sam gave them the apartment for the day, an effective Do Not Disturb sign over their collaboration.
They did not leave the apartment. They made food in the kitchen there, ate on Steve’s rumpled bedsheets sometimes talking about everything at once, sometimes saying nothing at all.
It’s like a rhythm that’s been beating in Steve for years and he’s finally picked up the step again.
“Unless Jarvis has been broadcasting our time together, no one knows,” Steve replies.
He watches Bucky for a reaction: guilt, worry, relief, confusion? But there’s nothing. He pushes his hair back – it’s so long and Steve wonders if he should convince him to cut it for the hearing in a few weeks.
(The discussion went as well as it could have. Bucky was reticent, but clearly overwhelmed. Steve promised to walk him through every step, every nuance. The next part is convincing him to accept legal help. Another bridge, another crossing, another day.)
“Tony knows we used to be together,” Steve adds. He prods at the scrambled eggs on the frying pan in front of him. Bucky raises his eyebrows from his seat at the bar just in front of Steve.
“He saw those photobooth pictures,” Steve explains.
“Ah,” Bucky says and rubs his eyes, probably picturing what Tony would do should he find out they’re together now. It’s not pretty.
“We can do this however you want,” Steve continues. “Tell no one. Tell everyone. Throw a party…”
Bucky smiles a little and shakes his head. “I don’t know. It’s so new, I just…”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees.
It’s new and old and strange and so familiar. They should acclimate first.
Steve had loved this body well, once upon a time, and even now, 70 years later, the changes are subtle. The scars stand out. The puckered mass on Bucky’s shoulder that Steve found himself months ago wanting to press his lips to as apology is sometimes too much to look at. Steve forces himself to because he needs it to be commonplace, needs it to become part of who he is, who he loves.
Steve kisses each new scar gently, ghosting his lips and breathing hot air over the waxy, hypersensitive skin until Bucky is squirming under him, hips canting upward because he likes this. And who wouldn’t like being shown their imperfections are the best part of them?
Steve learns every noise Bucky makes in variable touches from his mouth, hands, hips. And maybe Bucky remembers or maybe he’s adaptive, but he can make Steve forget his name with the slightest of particular pressures.
After breakfast, Steve coaxes Bucky back into bed, which is less coaxing and more mutual agreement so that Steve can wake in the familiar mold of his body pressed flush against Bucky’s and acclimate. Normal, common, ordinary, familiar and so, so very extraordinary. Sam should have left or be leaving for his VA meeting by now. Steve listens for movement and hears none and knows it must be the former.
So he acclimates. He watches Bucky breathe sleep-deep, mouth in a tight line and brow miraculously uncreased and smooth. When Bucky wakes, it’s a slow and groggy start as he drags himself through the thick mud of dreams to reach the surface. The side of his lip quirks slightly at the sight of Steve.
“Bucky,” Steve says lightly and Bucky smiles a little more until they’re both smiling at one another, Bucky’s eyes shut tight against the waves of bliss.
Steve feels Bucky’s hands before he sees them, searching out Steve’s body like there’s someplace he’s forgotten to touch. He leans forward and presses his mouth to Steve’s. His touch becomes urgent, Steve slows his hands, and Bucky pauses to stare at Steve. He gets the message. No rush.
Bucky breathes out and maneuvers over Steve to straddle him. He pulls his shirt over his head and wiggles Steve out of his own. The comforter and sheets have long since found their way to the bedroom floor, their shared body heat enough to keep them warm in the temperate room.
Steve places a hand on Bucky’s chest and presses his thumb on the white scar between his ribs. He moves his hand down slowly to the hem of Bucky’s sweatpants and slips his fingers under them and the hem of his underwear. He tugs lightly and Bucky leans forward to oblige him, kissing Steve on the mouth before burying his face in the crook of his neck as he grinds down.
Steve lets out a low groan and feels the huff of laughter on his neck. Steve slips his hand further into Bucky’s underwear until his fingers brush the base of his cock. Bucky rocks forward into the touch. Steve retreats and Bucky groans, his mild frustration forcing a similar huff of laughter from Steve. He slides his hand to the back of Bucky’s pants and palms his ass, pulling Bucky closer as Bucky grinds down again. His breath is hot and wet on Steve’s shoulder and he leaves intermittent kisses there between breaths. Bucky starts a rhythm until they can feel each other through the fabric of their pants, hot and hard.
There’s a short, soft knock at the door before it opens and Sam steps in, saying, “Hey, man, have you seen-?” Steve yelps, Bucky jumps, misaims his landing, and ends up tumbling off the bed and into the nightstand on the floor.
Sam immediately turns away and Steve covers his face, mortified as Sam lets loose a slew of apologies: “I was lookin’ for Bucky and I thought you were – well, I guess I thought wrong oh my God I am so sorry I am never going to come into your room again I swear Steve holy shit oh my God oh my God okay I’m just gonna leave? I should leave yeah I’m gonna leave okay bye.”
Five seconds later, Steve hears the front door open and close.
“Well,” Bucky says weakly as he crawls back onto the bed to sit cross-legged across from Steve, “I guess Sam knows now.”
“Natasha knows.”
“What?” Steve asks, turning the seat of the breakfast bar stool toward Bucky who’s coming through the front door.
“Natasha knows about us,” he says mildly.
“How?”
Bucky shrugs. “How does she know anything? Probably tortured it out of Sam.”
“No, I mean. How do you know she knows?”
Bucky throws his jacket over the back of the couch in the living room before joining Steve at the breakfast bar. Bucky isn’t self-conscious about the arm – at least, not as much as he used to be – but he still hides it in public. Neither of them think the public is ready for the reappearance of Bucky Barnes, especially given his previous employment as the assassin who nearly killed their precious Captain America.
“Because she looked at me and she smiled,” Bucky answers.
If it were any other person, the reason would seem unsubstantial. “Maybe she’s happy about something else,” Steve ventures.
Bucky snorts a laugh but doesn’t reply.
Sam has effectively moved out by the day after the incident to a floor above them somewhere. Sam hadn’t really said anything to preempt his move other than to accept Steve’s help moving some of his things.
Steve blushed the whole time while Bucky smiled mischievously at the two boys running back and forth with armfuls of clothes and workout equipment.
Later, Steve pins Bucky to the bed with a frown. “You could have at least looked a little guilty about traumatizing our friend.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That’s no fun.”
Steve gets a lot of fanmail, routed through Stark’s lower-level employees because biowarfare is taken very seriously there. Steve tries to look through all of it, even taking time to pen responses when he gets the time. There’s a whole storage unit in Queens where Steve sends some of the less useful fan pieces – art, memorabilia, a lot of knitted scarves and hats for some reason.
Steve is sifting through this week’s mail when he comes across a package. It’s small, no bigger than a baseball, and unmarked. It doesn’t even have the Tower’s address. He must’ve made a noise because Bucky glances up from his seat in the armchair. Cosmos is playing softly in the background while Bucky intermittently jots things down in his notebook and Steve spreads his mail on the coffee table.
“Problem?” Bucky asks.
Steve frowns at the package, turning it in his hands. “Don’t know,” he says quietly, more to himself than Bucky. Still, Bucky gets up and lands next to Steve heavily on the couch, takes the package from his hand and brings it to his ear. Then, he sniffs it, shakes it, and even goes to lick it, which Steve decides is too much and snatches it away.
Bucky grins. “There was probably a letter attached and it came off,” Bucky says easily. “Open it. I’m curious.”
“I don’t know. Jarvis, was this package checked?”
“It was, sir. If you’d like, I could scan it and tell you its contents-.”
“Where’s the fun in that?” Bucky cuts in. “It’s safe! Open it.”
Steve looks at Bucky, that childlike gleam in his eye achingly familiar. Steve finds himself smiling and pulling at the tape on the box.
The object inside tumbles out onto Steve’s lap, indecipherable in the bubblewrap cocoon it’s wrapped in. Bucky grabs it and starts pulling at the tape while Steve unfolds the letter inside. It’s an entire sheet of computer paper with a hastily-scrawled note. It reads: “have fun!” with a smiley face that’s oddly threatening. In the bottom left corner is a sad attempt of a drawing of a spider – really a circle with eight legs and a face.
“Natasha?” Steve guesses aloud. Then, he looks over at Bucky who’s finished unwrapping the object.
The internet has been immensely good at helping Steve discover who he is, his likes and dislikes, and has – on more than one occasion – been an asset to his and Bucky’s relationship.
Which is how he knows the black, plastic object Bucky holds up between them is a butt plug. Bucky is looking very seriously at the toy and then he looks at Steve. “I told you she knew.”
Steve never thought he’d enjoy not living with Sam. But he’d also never known the sheer pleasure that comes from having Bucky on every surface of every room in the apartment. Tony would cry if he knew, probably, which only makes it all the more thrilling.
The effort to put clothes on at this point is too much, considering how likely it is they will be removed once again, so much of their time is spent lounging around naked – or half-naked in boxer briefs.
On one of the few occasions that Steve gets dressed, (he’s not given up his workout routine entirely and Sam convinces him to leave his den three times a week to run) Clint knocks on the door.
“Wanted to see if Sam wanted to do some range practice,” he says. Steve, who’s only just returned from an ungodly long run, wipes a towel across the back of his neck.
“Oh, he-.”
“Are we showering or what, Rogers? This cock ain’t gonna suck itself!” Bucky’s voice carries across the apartment, instantly coloring Steve’s face bright red.
At first, Steve wonders if Clint even heard. His face is expressionless and he’s been known to forgo his hearing aids for good, old fashioned lip-reading.
But then he turns on his heel and walks right back into the elevator without another word.
“He’s three floors up!” Steve calls after him weakly just before the elevator doors shut.
Steve closes the apartment door and whimpers.
“Hey, what’s the hold up?” Bucky asks, coming out of the bedroom stark naked. “Oh, was someone at the door?”
Steve nods mutely.
“Who?”
“Clint.”
“Oh.”
“Yeah.”
“Oh.”
Bucky laughs so hard, Steve is forced to take a shower by himself.
“And how about your dreams?” Betty asks.
Her body language is open, her face politely quizzical. Bucky’s started wondering about her ethnic background. He’s landed on Native American but hasn’t quite got up the courage to ask. (Is it polite to ask? Are they friends so it wouldn’t be weird? He’s been out of the social sphere for so long it’s hard to gauge what appropriate interaction is anymore.)
“Better,” Bucky answers and finds himself trying to sink further into the plush cushion of the armchair.
They’re currently sitting in one of the small, multi-purpose offices of Stark Tower (or is it Avengers Tower? Bucky’s still unclear on that.) where most of the furniture is too squishy to be comfortable for long.
From a tactical standpoint, it’s also difficult to jump up from to get into fighting stance. For the first month of Bucky’s therapy sessions here, he’d sat on the very edge, forever conscious of the windows, the exits, the door.
Now he’s closer to falling asleep than planning an escape.
“No nightmares?” Betty asks as she jots something down in her notebook.
Bucky likes that she uses pen and paper. Too many people use those damn Stark Tablets, impossible to use with his metal hand. (He refuses to let Stark add sensors to the pads of his fingers because stubbornness is a newfound trait and Steve likes it when he sticks to his guns, even if it does make beating him at Fruit Ninja impossible.)
“Not as often,” Bucky says. He sighs and looks at his bare feet. “Steve helps now that he’s…” He trails off. He doesn’t think Steve would mind Betty knowing, but he never explicitly said so.
Betty is astute, though, and she raises one dark eyebrow a fraction of an inch. It effectively breaks Bucky’s resolve.
“We sleep together, so when I have a bad night, it’s… easier,” Bucky explains and in spite of himself, blushes.
Betty smiles kindly. “Having someone close – physically close – is a luxury, so long as you’re comfortable?”
It’s phrased as a question and Bucky knows why. He doesn’t like to be touched. Or he didn’t like to be touched and now he’s done a complete 180 and feels touch-starved half the time.
Well, only for Steve.
Still, he’s not repulsed by the idea of a handshake anymore. He doesn’t believe everyone has a knife hidden up their sleeve and is only waiting to get Bucky close to slice him open.
“I’m… comfortable. With him,” Bucky clarifies.
“Good. That’s really good, James,” Betty says and her smile reaches her almond-shaped eyes. “His friendship is invaluable to your recovery. You’re both very lucky to have one another.”
She closes her notebook and stares at Bucky with those watchful eyes. It’s a sort of challenge, he thinks, and he almost always loses, looking away at one of the paintings on the wall.
“You’re doing really well,” she says. “So I hope you’ll allow me to think about the future for a moment.”
“Uh. Sure,” Bucky replies, hesitant.
“Now, this can be as far away or as close as tomorrow, but have you thought about intimacy?”
Bucky opens his mouth to reply, but comes up short.
She soldiers on: “Even if you’re not interested in sex now or the idea is simply unappealing, could you picture the possibility in the future?”
“The possibility… of sex?” Bucky asks.
Betty nods.
“Sorry,” Bucky says, shaking his head.
She immediately puts up a hand to stop him. “You don’t have to give me an answer now. Just think about it and we can-.”
“No,” Bucky cuts in and Betty’s eternally muted expression falters for a moment. “Sorry,” Bucky says quickly. “I just. I mean, I am. Having sex. With Steve.”
Betty’s eyes grow wide and Bucky wants to shrink into the couch. He’s not ashamed, but this is also not something he really wants to discuss with his acting therapist. Because she’s also his friend and it’s just become even more complicated than before.
“Oh,” Betty says evenly.
“Sorry, I thought I… Well, I should’ve been clearer.”
“Yes. When you said you and Steve were sleeping together, I assumed…”
“Yeah,” Bucky says.
“Well,” Betty says with a laugh. “Never mind then.”
Right on time, Bucky’s phone buzzes from the arm of the chair. He glances at Betty for permission to answer and she waves her hand and opens her notebook again to write something down.
Bucky swipes the screen of the phone. “Hi Steve.”
“Starving. Can we leave the Tower today for food?”
“I’m doing well, how are you?” Bucky asks sarcastically, rolling his eyes.
“I just said. Starving,” Steve replies and Bucky can hear his shit-eating grin.
“Asshole.”
“I’ll meet you in the lobby in five.”
“Fine.”
There’s a pause. “Love ya, jerk.”
“Love you, too.”
“I knew it!” Steve shouts.
Bucky pulls the phone back from his ear with a frown. “Knew what?” He glances at Betty who gives him a curious look.
“You told Betty about us, didn’t you?” Steve asks.
“Is that… okay?”
“Course it is. I just had a bet going with Nat, that’s all.”
There’s a muffled noise on the line, then Natalia’s voice rings out: “You just lost me thirty bucks, Barnes!”
“Jesus,” Bucky mutters.
Bucky never thought he’d be the one to have to convince Steve to leave the apartment, but he was and now Steve is trudging through their shared room looking for a clean pair of pants while Bucky waits patiently on the foot of their bed.
“I go out,” Steve whines as he pulls on a pair of jeans that probably haven’t been washed in the past week. Fortunately, they haven’t had much wear time, so they’re probably clean. “I run with Sam,” Steve points out.
“We’ve ordered in for the past week,” Bucky points out. “It’s a wonder the rest of the team hasn’t come banging down our door wondering if we’re dead.”
Steve shrugs. “Sam and Nat have been diverting attention, making up excuses.”
“Well, we can’t hole up here forever. It’s not good for my health,” Bucky says seriously.
Steve looks worried for a moment, then he frowns. “Don’t use your mental health to guilt me,” he says petulantly.
Bucky grins and leads the way to the elevator.
It’s five o’clock on a Tuesday, which usually means whoever happens to be off-duty and at the Tower is collected on the shared floor, but when the doors open to the vast living room with the small kitchen to one side, all Bucky hears are two raised voices.
One of them, surprisingly enough, is Bruce and it immediately puts Bucky on high alert. An upset Bruce Banner is the last thing he needs after doing so well for so long.
Steve touches Bucky’s arm lightly. “Maybe we should leave ‘em be,” he says quietly.
Not quietly enough, however, as Betty whips around. “Don’t leave,” she says and Bucky and Steve both freeze from their sad attempt at an escape.
“No, this is perfect,” she says with no lack of vitriol. Bruce frowns deeply, making him look older.
“Sorry, we didn’t mean to interrupt,” Steve says sheepishly.
“Not at all, not at all,” Betty says. Bucky can taste the bitter.
Bruce sighs and rubs his eyes, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “They’ve got nothing to do with this, Betty,” he says evenly.
“They’ve got everything to do with this!” she snaps and it’s terrifying. More terrifying, perhaps, than an angry Bruce Banner. Right now it’s neck-and-neck.
“Betty,” Bruce says tiredly.
“Don’t Betty me, asshole! Didn’t you yourself say you felt like Bucky? That you two had something in common? The rage and the PTSD and all that shit?”
“That’s not-,” Bruce starts, but Betty cuts in again: “And he’s done bad shit, y’know! He’s hurt people and he knows it wasn’t him, not really, so why can’t you? You fucking useless piece of shit!”
“Harsh,” Steve mutters by Bucky’s side.
“Is she drunk?” Bucky wonders aloud.
“If she is, she’s an eloquent drunk,” Steve replies. He sounds relaxed, but Bucky can feel his body is tense next to his.
“And guess what, Bruce?” Betty says and she saunters over to him a little sloppily because yes, she’s definitely drunk. “They’re together and they haven’t gotten hurt and you’re an asshole.” She jabs at Bruce’s chest with a finger.
Surprise colors Bruce’s face and he looks up at the two men hovering by the elevator awkwardly. Bucky’s eyes are wide and Steve shrugs. “She’s not wrong,” he supplies.
“Yeah, Bruce,” Betty says angrily. “I’m not wrong. I’m never wrong.” She takes another step toward Bruce and his attention is once again on her.
“Betty,” he says again, but the warning is weak and she wraps her arms around him. Some of the tension leaks out of Bruce visibly. She mumbles something against his chest and he says something back, inaudible but soothing as he allows his own arms to wrap around her.
Bucky receives an apology text, voicemail, video message, and letter by the next day from Betty, including the option to fire Betty for breaking doctor-patient confidentiality laws. Instead, he calls and asks her how she is.
“Guilty,” she replies. “And Bruce has agreed to a single date with me.”
In the background, Bucky can just barely hear Bruce’s “it’s not a date!”
“It’s a date,” Betty says firmly. Whether it’s to Bucky or Bruce is anybody’s guess.
Bucky laughs. “Well,” he says, “good luck.”
After the Betty/Bruce incident, Steve is hesitant to go back down again, but Bucky convinces him it was a fluke and sure enough, their second attempt at human interaction is a success. Tony hires a professional chef and forces all those present (Steve, Bucky, Natasha, Pepper, Betty, Bruce, Sam, and Clint) to be his taste-testers for an upcoming charity event he’s hosting.
Steve isn’t surprised that almost everyone is discreet when it comes to his and Bucky’s relationship, seeing as Tony and Pepper are the only ones who don’t know. Almost everyone because Clint practically trips over himself coming into the room and spotting the pair seated at the round table awaiting the first round of appetizers. Natasha is quick to glare at him and he regains his composure, even if his greeting is red-faced and clumsy.
The dinner is amazing and after four rounds of appetizers, six different entrees, and 16 dessert choices, only Steve and Bucky are left standing. One by one, the rest saunter off, half-drunk on wine and food. Bucky has fallen asleep on the couch. Finally, Steve’s left alone with Clint who is decidedly more comfortable around him now with half a bottle of merlot and a three-person meal in him.
“I’m sorry if I blew your cover,” Clint manages.
Steve shakes his head at him. “It’s fine,” he says. “We don’t care who knows. Not here, anyway.”
“It’s just,” Clint continues, “I grew up wanting to be you, right?” He leans toward Steve across the empty chair that separates them. “You’re Captain America,” he whispers conspiratorially.
Steve smiles indulgently. “I’m aware.”
“Captain America is gay,” Clint adds.
“I think it’s bi?” Steve corrects.
Clint nods seriously. “I just… that’s really cool, man. I hope you guys are, like, super happy together.” He claps Steve hard on the shoulder. “Now I’m gonna go vomit in Nat’s room.” He gets up and wobbles his way over to the elevator.
Steve laughs and makes his way over to Bucky. He looks so peaceful splayed out on the couch like this, mouth half-open and eyebrows pinched together. Steve crawls over him so he’s straddling his hips.
Bucky groans and whips the pillow out from under his head to catch Steve on the shoulder. Steve takes the pillow and drops it on the floor with a chuckle.
“C’mon,” he says. “We should head upstairs.”
“’m comfy,” Bucky mumbles.
Steve rolls his eyes and leans forward to press his lips softly against Bucky’s. They open tiredly against the pressure and Steve licks into his mouth. They both taste like wine and it’s a pleasant change. Bucky must agree because he reacts immediately, surging up to capture Steve’s bottom lip between his teeth. Steve hums his approval and Bucky grinds his hips up in response.
Steve kisses him hard, pressing and sucking and biting until both their lips are red and swollen and more than inappropriately turned on for still being on the communal floor.
“Did I leave my purse up here? I swear I can be so- Oh.”
At least neither of them leap off the couch like kids caught with their hands in the cookie jar. But the appearance of Pepper Potts does leave Steve with a deep sense of guilt and wrongness.
“I am so sorry,” Pepper says just as Bucky covers his face with his hands and Steve feels himself grow hot with embarrassment.
“I’m shielding my eyes!” Pepper announces and Steve sees her as she puts a hand up to block them from view. This causes a flurry of giggles from Bucky, and Steve can’t help but smile, too. “I’m grabbing my purse,” Pepper continues loudly. “And now I’m heading back to the elevator.”
“Pepper, you don’t have to-,” Steve starts, but she waves her hand frantically.
“Nope!” she replies. “No, don’t apologize.” She finally drops her hand when she reaches the elevator and levels Steve with a serious look. “But when you do decide to go public, Steve, please tell me first? It’s going to be a PR nightmare. In the best way possible, of course.”
“Yeah, of course,” Steve says and Pepper steps into the elevator.
Bucky at least waits until the doors are closed to burst into loud, ringing laughter.
Steve struggles into a t-shirt and belatedly wonders what Asgardians deem appropriate sparring attire, then figures he can ask Thor for clothes if he gets there and he’s not dressed properly.
“I don’t understand why you have to go all the way to Asgard just to punch each other. You can do that just as well in the gym here,” Bucky says from his spot in the middle of their bed. He’s flipping through a magazine Clint gave him about cars – an old passion he had when Steve was still too small to take a hit – in nothing more than a pair of (Steve’s) boxer briefs.
“Because he wants to show me this new, uh, healing device? Wants to see how it reacts to super soldier blood.”
“So he’ll be experimenting on you?”
“Jane will be experimenting on me, yeah,” Steve says and doesn’t miss the angry scowl Bucky shoots him briefly. “It’ll be fine,” Steve assures him. “I’ll be home tonight. You’ll be so busy, you won’t even know I’m gone.”
Steve and Bucky had planned for this day in advance and Bucky’s got a full day of range practice with Clint, lunch with Sam, a session with Betty, and deep breathing exercises with Bruce. Tony and Pepper even invited him to dinner if he’s not too overstimulated for the day.
Everything will be fine.
It’s difficult for Steve to wrap his head around the existence of a universe beyond the one he knows well, but somehow his brain does it. The distinct difference in celestial bodies in the sky notwithstanding, Asgard is a lot like Earth.
Thor introduces Steve to the finest warriors around the fighting ring briefly before excusing himself to get dressed (he’s sporting his armor and cape). Jane and Darcy are sitting on the sidelines – a raised pew of sorts in gold – and Steve walks over to them.
“You’re staying for dinner, right?” Darcy asks excitedly. “You should see the shit they eat here. It’s so fucking good.”
“Language, Darcy, please?” Jane chides mildly.
“Please. Have you met Sif? I know those words aren’t English, but they are definitely foul,” Darcy retorts.
“Uh, we’ll see,” Steve replies. “Thor might wipe the floor with me here and then we gotta pray that healing thing can mend broken bones.”
Jane’s eyes light up. “The quantum field generator! Yes. It’s extraordinary, really. You have to-.”
“Bore him to death with science?” Darcy cuts in.
Jane looks put out for a moment, but Steve smiles. “I can’t wait,” he says. Jane smiles back.
Steve had been under the impression that he’d be fighting Thor. He was wrong. Apparently, Steve was to be part of a tournament of sorts with trainees and seasoned warriors alike. Each competitor was allowed one weapon or shield. Steve, who figured he’d be miserable at whatever Asgardian weaponry they had on hand, took up his own shield, which had come with him out of habit more than need.
There are three fighting arenas in the heart of Asgard and each is to be used during the tournament.
Steve’s first opponent steps into the arena to a loud round of applause from the fifty or so Asgardians in the audience. She’s a woman with skin as dark as night and icy, blue eyes. She holds what looks like a slim spear with an iron tip, but Steve knows better.
They are well matched, both wary of the other at first. Ten minutes in, though, and they battle fast and furious, finding a rhythm and trying to upset it to gain the upperhand. Half an hour later, Steve sends the shield flying, knocking her back and into the stands and she falls to the ground. She struggles to get up and when she fails, knocks her fist against the turf three times; she concedes. The audience erupts into applause and shouts as Steve jogs over to offer her a hand up.
“Good fight,” Steve says as she takes his hand.
She looks at him and smiles almost sheepishly. It’s a strange look coming from the woman who’s left Steve with a good laceration on his upper arm. She nods once before hobbling away out of the arena. Steve watches her go, confused. She’d seemed so sure of herself before. He doesn’t think long about it, though, because Thor comes up and slaps him hard on the back, giving his congratulations.
“You have made it into the next round, Captain!” he says congenially. “And Jane, I believe, is expecting you in the Healing Chambers. Come, I will show you the way.”
The Healing Chambers (or, if it’s Jane talking, the quantum field generators) are held in a massive room. Steve spies his former competitor there, but she is asleep or unconscious on a different table.
The process of healing is uncomfortable. Steve can feel the pull and ebb of his skin as it heals. Jane seems ecstatic about the speed of the process, though, so Steve is happy to lay there as she takes frantic notes and chatters on about things he can’t possibly understand.
“Only ten more rounds, Cap,” Darcy informs him from her perch on a stool next to him. She’s flipping through her phone and Steve wonders how Asgard could possibly get service.
As it turns out, the first woman – Gertha, Thor informs him – was a trainee. Which makes the next ten rounds a grueling, tiring series of battles with some of the best warriors in all the universes (Steve assumes).
He nearly loses in the eighth round to a grunt of a kid who reminds Steve of himself at 18, minus the ailments. He’s thin and faster than the devil. Steve falls to his knees after a lash to his Achilles tendon, and the kid is too busy puffing his chest out in triumph to block Steve’s last attempt to chuck his shield.
The last round, inevitably, is against Thor. And Steve isn’t ashamed to admit Thor kicked his ass within ten minutes.
Steve agrees to the dinner banquet if only because the idea of standing long enough to travel back to Earth is exhausting. He’s glad he did, though, because the food is incredible. He can’t pronounce most of it, although Thor’s friends are quick to explain what sort of meat he’s putting into his mouth before he does so. Darcy forces him to try a too-sweet dessert that tastes like a cherry pie with five times as much sugar. It’s loud in the banquet hall with every competitor there and their families, as well as a few dignitaries – denoted by their exceptional way of dressing. Thor tells Steve about a few of the families, but he’s far too tired to retain much.
Finally, once almost all the plates are empty and goblets are drained (Asgardian wine is a little more potent and Steve might actually feel a little fuzzy), Thor stands and the hall grows quiet. “My friends!” he shouts over the din. “It has been a day of great revelry. We have a new champion in our midst!” A great rumbling of applause and shouts break out. Thor grabs Steve and forces him to stand next to him. “Many fought valiantly today and many failed.” This receives generous laughter and light ribbing around the tables. “And now it is time for our great captain to choose a félagi!”
The announcement is met with great applause. Steve leans toward Thor slightly and asks, “Sorry? What’s a fel…?”
“Félagi!” Thor repeats. “Did Jane not tell you?” They both glance over to the table where Jane is leaning heavily into Darcy as she talks animatedly about something. “I see she has partaken in Asgardian wine again,” Thor notes absently. He turns back to Steve. “My apologies, Steven. I thought you were made aware. It is a tradition on Asgard that those of a certain age who have not yet found a life partner to be matched via tournament! Battle is, after all, the only way to truly discover if you are perfectly made for one another.”
Steve feels his face heat up as the realization hits him: he’d just been Asgardian speed-dating and he had no idea. “Oh,” Steve says weakly.
“Now,” Thor says, voice raised once again so the rest of the room can hear, “Steve will choose who to uppvakta tonight.”
There’s raucous laughter and Steve knows he’s beet-red because he can feel his face burning hotter with every passing second.
“So tell us, Steven!” Thor shouts over the noise. “Which of your many fine opponents caught your eye?”
All at once, the room erupts into chaos. People stand and shout and it takes Steve a moment to realize what’s happening. He’s finally able to pinpoint someone’s call of, “My son is clearly the best choice and our family would give you glory to last millennia…” The son in question is the small guy who nearly bested Steve and he straightens up noticeably when Steve’s eyes find him among his shouting relatives. All around, families are shouting the benefits of dating their sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, friends. Mostly they offer glory, which seems to be the ultimate gambit in Asgard.
“All right, all right!” Thor shouts over the crowd until finally they settle down. “He cannot very well choose without being about to speak over you. Now, Steven, have you made your choice?”
“I, uh,” Steve hesitates, “sorry, it’s just.” He turns to the crowd with his hands slightly raised. “Sorry. I’m already, um, spoken for.”
There’s silence, then a loud, almost harmonic groan of defeat among the group.
“Captain, I did not know,” Thor says, eyebrows pinched in confusion. The crowd is quickly becoming more upset, so Thor holds his hands out to placate them. “My apologies, all. I was not aware of the captain’s situation. As it is, I believe Bjorn is next in line?” The small warrior whom Steve had nearly lost to stands triumphantly and again, chaos erupts as bids for their relatives are thrown at Bjorn.
Thor and Steve both sit. Jane, who had stopped waxing poetic about Asgardian astrology to Darcy after the first outburst from the crowd, watches Steve closely. Darcy is throwing Steve the biggest shit-eating grin he’s ever seen, Bucky notwithstanding.
“It’s totally Barnes, isn’t it?” she asks.
“How’d you-?” Steve starts, but is cut off by her loud “Woop!” and fist-punch to the air.
“I knew it!” she yells. “Y’know, I wrote a whole essay in my American Lit class on the homoerotic tension between you and Barnes in Lendrix’s The Soldier’s Friend? God, I’m totally going back and demanding an A. Stupid dick of a teacher gave me a C for ‘unrealistic interpretations’.”
“My deepest apologies,” Thor says from Steve’s other side and he’s grateful for the reprieve from Darcy. “Had I known…”
Steve shakes his head. “It’s fine. It wasn’t public knowledge.”
“If you would like to keep this quiet, you should know Asgardians are not known for their discretion. However, I will try my best if need be.”
“It’s not the Asgardians I’m worried about,” Steve admits.
“Midgardians would be upset if they knew about your relationship with the good sergeant? How could that be? You are both well matched in the field. One might venture to say perfectly matched.” Thor smiles lightly and Steve can’t help but smile back.
“Uh, well, it’s not so simple in Midgard. There’s a sort of, um, stigma around same-gender, same-sex people being… together.”
“Yeah, but the only people who care are total fucking asshats,” Jane adds helpfully.
“Now who has to watch their language?” Darcy asks politely.
Jane sticks up her middle finger eloquently.
The journey from Asgard never gets easy and Steve lands heavily on his feet, feeling a million times heavier than usual for a good thirty seconds. Thor walks him inside the Tower. It’s nearing three in the morning and Steve’s tempted to crash right there on the lobby couch, but figures he can make it up to his room with the promise of a warm body to curl up next to.
“Stark wanted to talk about the Healing Chamber, so I will leave you here,” Thor reports at the front of the elevator. “Today was a good day, though.”
“Yeah. I had a lot of, um, fun.”
Thor laughs. “Asgardian warriors are not known to take it easy on anyone, but perhaps next time we will make an exception.”
Steve smiles appreciatively. The elevator doors open, but Steve pauses.
“You said that you can tell if a couple is a good match based on their combativeness in battle? Sorry, I don’t mean to assume, but… Jane?”
Thor smiles wide. “Jane Foster hit me with a car. Twice.”
Steve guffaws. That sounds like something Darcy would be more likely to do, but imagining it is hilarious nonetheless.
“But there is also the belief that ‘matched in battle’ could mean something more general. Life, love… Even for Asgardians, the battle ends sometime,” Thor says stoically.
“Right,” Steve replies. He thinks he understands, but he’s also sure the ability to understand philosophic ideologies was stopped six hours ago.
“Good night, Captain,” Thor says. “Give my fondest greetings to the sergeant.”
Steve lands heavily on the bed next to Bucky. It’s dark in the room, but Steve could tell Bucky hadn’t been asleep as he got changed into pajama pants.
“How was the ass-whooping?” Bucky asks tiredly.
Steve wraps his arms around him and pulls him close to his chest, breathing in the smell of shampoo and laundry detergent in Bucky’s hair and clothes. “Thor says hi,” Steve replies.
Bucky snorts a laugh. “That bad, huh?”
“He kicked my ass from Asgard to whatever is below Midgard.”
“I wanna say I’m shocked, but- Ow!” Bucky yelps as Steve digs a finger into Bucky’s side.
“Also, Thor tried to set me up.”
Bucky tenses in Steve’s grip and then turns in the bed so he’s facing him. In the dark, it’s hard to make out his expression, but a press of Steve’s thumb on Bucky’s forehead proves he’s confused.
“How was that?” Bucky asks.
“Well,” Steve says with a sigh, “my new boyfriend is a real looker and quite the warrior. Looks real good all suited up in Asgardian armor.”
“You’re an asshole,” Bucky says as Steve starts to shake with laughter.
“No, I just had to inform Thor I was taken by someone else. Someone a lot better looking and probably a better warrior than all of them combined.”
“You did not.”
“I didn’t. Pretty sure I stuttered out something about being ‘spoken for’.”
“Yeah, that sounds more like you.” Bucky pauses. “So Thor knows?”
“All of Asgard knows,” Steve replies.
“Subtle, Rogers.”
People Magazine @people
“It’s not a statement, it’s my life” #CaptainAmerica is (finally) out of the closet
CNN @cnn
Captain America comes out as bisexual, advocates for LGBT rights
Us Weekly @usweekly
Cap’s mystery boyfriend revealed, spotted at gay #pride parade! #gaycap #godblessamerica
Washington Post @washingtonpost
Steve Rogers talks about coming out, living honestly at Pride Day festival
Huffington Post @HuffingtonPost
The Star-Spangled Man’s plan for equal rights
Fox News @FoxNews
The death of the American way? Captain America claims, “I am bisexual”
Steve arrives at the Tower late, on the heels of one of the biggest PR conferences of his life, and all he can think about is his bed. Unfortunately, Jarvis informs him upon entry into the elevator, that nearly everyone is gathered on the communal floor and request his presence.
Stepping out of the elevator, he’s accosted by shouts of congratulations and clapping from a quite drunk group of heroes.
Pepper, who rode the elevator up with him and who must be twice as tired as Steve having arranged everything so it would work as smoothly as it did, touches the middle of Steve’s back and heads straight for the half-empty bottle of expensive wine on the kitchen counter.
“Congrats, Cap!” Clint shouts, stepping forward. “Saw the whole thing on the news! We had Jarvis record it and then we watched it again, like, six times.”
“I have some tips for the next time you decide to make a big announcement without telling any of your friends,” Natasha says waspishly, but she’s smiling so she can’t be too mad.
“Sorry,” Steve says. “Didn’t want it to be a big deal.”
“You came out of the closet in front of the entire world,” Sam deadpans. “Not a big deal at all, man.” He hands Steve a glass of champagne. “We were celebrating,” he adds.
“Uh, thanks, I think?”
“It’s just a reason for these assholes to get drunk,” Natasha adds as Sam and Clint head over to the TV where there’s coverage of the parade.
Steve hesitates because he really doesn’t want to watch himself on screen. He glances over and Bruce catches his eye and raises a glass to him. Betty, who is practically in his lap smiles wide.
“You’re a celebrity,” Bucky says and Steve starts at his sudden appearance to his right. He must have been sitting at the dining table and Steve had missed him.
“Yeah, well, I’m used to it.”
“I noticed you left out an important little detail in your report,” Bucky adds. He motions toward the TV where Steve is fending off reporters’ questions about current relationships.
“Figured we would deal with that bit of information at a later date.”
Bucky nods in understanding. “Probably a good idea.”
Bucky is enticingly close; Steve can smell champagne and something minty this close and it makes his mouth water.
“Just kiss him, Rogers!” Natasha shouts crudely from the TV area.
Steve flushes red and Bucky smirks before leaning in and pressing their mouths together. The kiss garners an uproarious round of shouts and applause, only drowned out by Tony’s entrance from the elevator, shouting, “Why the hell am I always the last person to know?!”
Steve breaks the kiss abruptly and can’t help but laugh at the pained look on Tony’s face.
“Did literally everyone but me know about this?” Tony asks accusatorially, brandishing his tablet and pointing at Steve and Bucky.
There’s a general assent from the group and Tony scoffs. “Unbelievable,” he says. “Just let the record show, however, that I was, in fact, the first to know about this sordid love affair,” he announces, flicking a finger between Steve and Bucky.
“Sorry, Stark. I already won that title,” Natasha calls, raising her hand.
“Try again, Romanoff. I’ve known for over a month.”
Natasha frowns and looks to Steve for confirmation. “Technically, he’s right,” Steve concedes.
“Ha!” Tony shouts. “Suck on that, Romanoff! Now who’s the master spy?”
“To be fair,” Steve adds with a grin, “Darcy had you both beat by a few years.”
“All things considered, I think it went over pretty well,” Bucky says, scrolling down the last article in the long, exhaustive list Tony had sent him early that morning.
Steve fell back on his pillow on their bed and rolled over to read over Bucky’s shoulder. “Which article is that?”
“Fox. You should read the comments. They’re hilarious. They think you’re going to date Neil Patrick Harris.”
“He’s the only other gay guy they know,” Steve says.
Bucky sighs and tosses the tablet at the foot of the bed so he can lay down, nose-to-nose with Steve. “It’s kind of sad,” Bucky says. “It’s been 70 years and some people are still so angry about shit that doesn’t affect them.”
Steve smiles sadly. “Don’t think that’s gonna change anytime soon.”
“Still. You did a good thing yesterday. Helped a lot of people. God knows I wouldn’t have been half so neurotic as a kid if I knew there was someone else out there like me.”
“You had me,” Steve points out and kisses him.
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees, “I had you.”