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Bucky worked security for Red Room, a shady as fuck temp agency that only ever seemed to hire shady as fuck people, in shady as fuck fields. Bucky’s job was mostly to stop fights breaking out amongst the guys who would show up wearing dress pants and shirts, with the sleeves rolled up to show off military style tattoos or prison inks. Sometimes he’d have to show little bald headed creeps who look liked they bad touched themselves while watching autopsy videos into little sterile looking rooms. Sometimes he had to smile when his boss asked him for favours, favours that included escorting ladies up to his office, and then away again, subtly adjusting their make-up.
He hated it. He hated it enough that despite the hellishly good pay, Natasha’s offer was starting to look more and more appealing.
Black Widow was a magazine, aimed at ‘Women who know what they want and when they want it,’ according to the blurb. It had been called a ‘Feminazi Mouthpiece’ by neck bearded basement dwellers, and Bucky read it cover to cover every month. The glossy pages were filled with in-depth articles on issues faced by women all around the world, interspersed with funny letters, interesting fashion shoots and a few advertisements for female run businesses and gendered products. Bucky learned about periods and how they affected homeless women (something he’d never thought of before) about breastfeeding in public and why he should never, ever, catcall.
It was Natasha Romanov’s pride and joy, and she had been trying to get him to work for her since before the first issue hit the shelves. The downside was that he’d have to move back to New York, and a rather substantial drop in pay.
“It’s called Carters,” Natasha was saying, sitting in the back of the town car. Bucky had taken a vacation to check out New York and see if he could afford to live there on what Natasha could pay him. “I’ve called ahead and added you to the booking, so all you need to do is go through the motions and let me know what you think.”
“I’m not one of your review people.” Bucky told her, pointedly. He used to have a way with words, before working for Red Room wore him down. Now he felt like he was made of glass and stress.
“No shit.” She said, leaning back, “But I’ll occasionally need you to stand in for things like this, if Barton is on location.” She shot him a look. “Jesus, James, it’s a spa not a shooting squad. Some people would call this a perk.”
“Yeah, okay.” He mumbled, because it had been a long time since he’d been alone with Natasha without either fucking her of fighting her. Their relationship had been defined by bad decisions and Bucky really wasn’t sure if he wanted to put himself through it all again. His vacation was supposed to be an opportunity to see if they could work together after their shared history, and so far it looked pretty dire. Her relationship with Barton wasn’t as solid as he’d been lead to believe, more like friends with benefits, and Bucky felt like he was walking a tightrope over a landmine.
He’d rather work anywhere else – anywhere else – but nowhere else would take him. Bucky’s history was… unconventional to say the least, and very few places wanted to hire someone whose resume was heavily redacted. The whole metal arm thing threw them off too.
“Look, you know what it’s like.” Natasha sighed, leaning back into the leather seats. “Lots of hats, not enough heads. I need someone who can work security and help out when needed for other things.”
“Heavy lifting.” Bucky hedged.
“Setting up board rooms, bank runs,” She counted off on her fingers. “Sitting in on meetings. Anything where someone extra is needed. I know it’s not what you’re doing right now, James.” She said, which had been the first time since she’d arrived that any mention of his current employer had been brought up. “But I need someone who I trust right now, and I can’t really afford to pay more than this.”
It also wasn’t the first time that she’d brought up needing someone she trusted, and that was setting off all kinds of warning bells in his head. If something was going on with Natasha, some kind of trouble, it would land on Bucky too. If he got involved. Which he wasn’t really sure he wanted to do. He’d already lost more than he’d like through the years, and what he had now wasn’t much, but at least it was clean and trouble free. For a certain amount of clean. No one had asked him to move a body, so he figured it was better than it could be.
The car though, was stopping, and Natasha threw him a look. “It’s a spa. Try to act like a normal person for a couple of hours and at the end of it, tell me if it sucked. It’s not hard.”
Carters was a building made up of glass and wood, looking more like a high end boutique than what Bucky had imagined a spa would be like. He’d used steam rooms before, little saunas tucked up side streets where the masseuses were hard edged women with more than one way of making a living with their hands, he didn’t think Carters was going to be quite the same. Inside the bright, airy room was a desk made of white plastic and a large potted bamboo, and a guy was sitting there was wearing a white shirt and brown trousers. His name was sewn into the shirt pocket, James Falsworth, and when they walked in he got to his feet. “Good Morning,” He said, and his accent was plummy English and Bucky wasn’t expecting it at all – it was Brooklyn for crying out loud. “Have you an appointment?”
“Romanov. Black Widow Magazine.” Natasha said, voice even and cool. “And my colleague, James Barnes.”
“Ah, of course, one moment Miss Romanov.” He picked up the phone at the desk and pressed a button, face still smiling. Bucky wondered if it got dull, sitting at a desk and pretending to enjoy it all day. “Peggy? The Romanov party has arrived.”
Natasha had just finished signing them in when the tell-tale click of heels on the floor announced another arrival. Peggy Carter was wearing a soft brown pencil skirt and a white blouse, her heels not nearly as high as Natasha’s but enough to give her an inch or two. Her lips were bright red and her eyes sharp as she smiled at them both.
“Ah, Natasha.” She said, holding out her hand, nails trimmed and unpainted. Another Brit, going on her accent. He wondered if it was a hiring point. He wondered if the accents were real, it wasn’t hard to fake it – he knew that from experience. “Such a pleasure to put a face to the name. We’re so glad you could take the time to come.”
Bucky noticed that there was a latest issue of Black Widow sitting on the low coffee table by the door and wondered if that was intentional. It seemed to him that Ms Peggy Carter left very little to chance.
“My pleasure.” Natasha said, smiling back like a shark. He wondered if having these two women in the same room might be a tactical error.
“If you would both like to follow me. We’ll be splitting you up today, in order for you to see the different treatments that we do here,” She said, two pairs of heels clicking along the floor as they made their way deeper into the brightly lit building. “Natasha, you’ll be starting off with a hot stone massage with Morita, and then a wrap of your choice with Jacques.” Bucky couldn’t see her face from where he was trailing behind them both, but he knew from her tone of voice that she was smiling. Obviously she was confident in her staff to provide Natasha with everything she required. “Mr Barnes,” She said stopping at a door and opening it with a barely audible whisper. “Steve is just finishing up with another client right now. If you’d just like to get comfortable, he’ll knock before entering.”
Bucky stepped inside. The room was clean and uncluttered, a wooden bench along one wall, and a screen to be used to change behind. In the centre of the room was a table, a hole at the top where he assumed that was for his head. The lighting was softer in the room than it had been in the hall, but it wasn’t possible to remove the connotation in his mind with an operating table. His good hand, his real hand, started to shake.
“Steve is one of our most popular masseuses.” Peggy was saying, as the door closed. “He’s been with us from the start and-” Whatever she was saying was lost in the subtle click of the door. Not quite a soundproof room, but near enough that Bucky couldn’t hear the women on the other side.
Recon of the room took a few moments, the windows were frosted but not thick enough to be unbreakable and they were on ground level. The door had a lock, but it wasn’t to stop anyone determined to get in, simply there to give the room a sense of privacy. There were a few electrical outlets and two speakers set into the wall and… well… that was it. He wondered what he should do – he removed his coat, put it on the bench, and tried not to look too much at the table in the middle of the floor.
Almost exactly three minutes later, there was a knock at the door, and after a suitable pause, it opened. His name tag was obvious, mostly because his t-shirt was stretched tight over the most impressive pecs Bucky could remember seeing. Unlike the receptionist, Steve was wearing a pair of relaxed fit brown jogging pants, probably to give him more freedom of movement – although it was unlikely that his shirt would hold up to much. Even a flex would probably rip the damn thing in half. But despite the obscene t-shirt, what held Bucky’s attention was… well… the man in the t-shirt. He’d been to Rome, and although his time there wasn’t spent looking at marble statues, it was kinda hard to miss them in the old city. It seemed every corner that he would turn he’d come face to face with some impossibly perfect man carved into stone. It seemed that the inspiration for those gods was standing in the doorway of a damn spa in the middle of Brooklyn.
“Do you need more time?” The impossible man asked, and Bucky didn’t understand how a good ol’ Brooklyn accent would make him feel, but it seemed to ease some of the tension out of his body.
“Nah, I’m good.” He said, pulling his eyes away from the man at the door. “So… how does this work?”
“Well,” Steve said, stepping in and blocking the main exit with his body, the door clicking shut almost silently. “You can get changed behind the partition, there are towels you can use, and then we’ll have a chat about the kind of thing you’re looking for.”
Bucky nodded, like getting naked wasn’t a big deal, although his mind was running away with him. Fucking Natasha. He should have realised that he was going to have to strip off at some point, but he’d been too worried about Natasha and not starting shit with her he just wasn’t prepared to deal with, that he didn’t think too far through what she’d asked him to do. He’d love to kid himself that he couldn’t remember the last time he was naked with another person, but that would have been a lie. He could still remember the excitement, heady and electric – could still remember the way it drained out of the room when he took his shirt off.
“I, uh, I got some bad scarring.” He hedged, “And a prosthetic.”
Steve nodded. “Any issues with mobility, areas you need me to avoid?” He said, seemingly unaffected by Bucky’s skyrocketing stress. “Inflammation of the site?”
“Uh, no.” He managed “Um, numbness, kinda? It’s just pretty gross to look at.”
Steve looked at him eyebrow arching. “I’ll take the numbness into consideration.” He said, and Bucky got the feeling that he was pretty much writing off the warning.
“Right.” Bucky said, not moving from where he was still sat on the bench. He swallowed.
Steve though, didn’t let Bucky’s hesitation bother him, just nodded and moved around the room. “We’ve got a few different sounds that we can play, ambient noises like ‘local market’ and ‘countryside picnic’,” He said, pulling out a small mp3 player from his back pocket. “Or jazz, classical. Whatever you like.” He smiled. “I’ll admit that the least annoying is actually called ‘beach samba’ although I don’t really know why.”
“Yeah, okay, that.” Bucky managed. His throat was tight, and he really, really didn’t want to take his damn shirt off in front of this guy.
“Great.” A few buttons pressed and some… noise… started playing through the speakers. It wasn’t tinny, which was good, but it certainly didn’t sound anything like the beach. Or a samba. Steve must have noticed Bucky’s confusion.
“Yeah, I don’t get it either, but the other ones are worse, trust me.” He paused. “I’m going to bring in my stuff to get started, so you can get changed. I’ll knock, so you’ll know it’s me. Do you have any preference for oils, we’ve got scented…” He looked at Bucky. “You know what, I’m just gonna pick what I think you’ll like, and if you hate it, we can change.”
With one more nod, he left, leaving Bucky sitting like a fucking idiot. He understood that Steve was trying to get him to feel relaxed, but it wasn’t working. The music, or… sounds… that were playing weren’t soothing as much as they were masking any other sounds from outside, which meant that Bucky couldn’t tell what was going on. Probably ideal for a relaxing massage, but not so great for Bucky.
Getting unsteadily to his feet, Bucky walked behind the frame. There were a stack of towels, white and fluffy, piled in neat squares, and Bucky stripped mechanically. There were no mirrors in the room, nothing at all that reflected, and he wondered if that was intentional to help people relax. It wasn’t really working for Bucky, but maybe for others. He folded his shirt and pants as well as he could, tucked his socks into his shoes and wiped the fluffy bits off his feet, before pulling down his underwear and wrapping one of the towels around his waist. It was big enough to cover him, but certainly not enough big enough for him to feel covered at all.
A polite knock at the door has him gripping the towel too tightly, a lifeline. Without his clothes he was completely vunerable, and hyper aware of things that could go wrong.
“It’s just Steve,” Steve said, perhaps stepping into the room. There was a rattle of a trolley, and Bucky’s mind blanked.
“And that’s how I met Peggy.” Steve was saying, “She asked me to come and work for her, and I did. One of the best decisions I ever made to be honest. She’s a proper firecracker.” He seemed to chuckle. “I mean, I’ve worked places where people expect a happy ending as part of the package, and just… I didn’t spend a year and a half training and then 600 hours in a dimly lit back room to end up giving hand- uh, helping out.”
“A year?” Bucky managed. He was sitting behind the partition, and Steve was sitting beside him. Bucky had no idea how long he’d been sitting there, but his ass was going a little numb and he was pretty sure if the room wasn’t heated he’d be numb everywhere else too.
“Oh yeah,” Steve said, nodding. “A year and half to get the qualifications.”
Bucky blinked. He was still holding on to the towel, and his hand was cramping up. “Shit,” He mumbled, looking around, trying to get his bearings. “Shit.”
“It’s okay.” Steve said, shuffling back a little. Bucky hadn’t been aware of how close he’d been sitting to the other man. “Do you think you could stand? I’m pretty sure you’re legs are gonna be hurting right about now.”
Bucky nodded, stumbling a little but managing to get on his feet. “I’m really fucking sorry.”
“Hey, it’s okay. Was it the music? I turned it off. It’s only been about 20 minutes, so you’re okay, you know? Do you want me to get Miss Romanov?”
“Fuck no.” Bucky managed, “She’s the last person I wanna see right now.”
Steve stepped around the partition, and stayed close enough to be comforting, but not close enough to feel like he was hovering, which Bucky appreciated. In the middle of the floor was the table, still white and sterile, and beside it a trolley. For a moment it was as though Bucky could see two images overlapping. On the trolley he could see towels and wipes; a stone bowl with a glossy liquid he assumed was oil. He could also see the array of scalpels and needles, some already dipped in red and some sparkling in the harsh overhead light.
“The trolley?” Steve asked, and stepped forward, moving it out of the way. “Is that better?”
“Sorry.” Bucky managed. He felt drained, exhausted, like he’d already gone through a wringer and was standing at the other side.
“Hey, it’s not a problem.” Steve said, putting his body between Bucky and the trolley, which Bucky appreciated even though he knew that the fucking thing was harmless. He’d been so good recently, it had been months since he’d had an issue – and longer than that since he’d lost time. “It happens sometimes to my best friend too; he was pararescue and saw some… pretty bad stuff.”
“Yeah?” Bucky found himself asking, feeling more and more like an idiot. Hearing about someone else’s problems might actually help.
“Yup, mostly he’s got nightmares, terrors – you know?” He asked, and Bucky nodded. Yeah, he knew all about those. “He did stab me once.” Steve carried on. “Just a little.”
“How the hell can you stab someone ‘just a little’?” Bucky asked, looking at Steve. Why the hell would he stick around with a buddy who obviously had a screw or two loose. Why would anyone?
“Uh, we were at a steak house?” Steve said, shrugging. “And they had these big metal trays. Someone dropped one, and… my friend, he just grabbed his cutlery and…” Steve made a motioning gesture. “He got me with a fork.” He said. “I’d show you the scar but I might get into trouble if Peggy finds out I’ve been showing my ass to clients.”
“Not that kind of place, huh?” Bucky managed.
It wasn’t funny, not by a long shot, but Steve laughed like Bucky was a damn comic genius. “God, definitely, not.”
He was still grinning when Bucky nodded at the table. “So, how do you wanna do this?”
“You still wanna?” Steve asked, looking surprised. “It’s totally okay if you want to leave it, if you’re not feeling up to it.”
Bucky shrugged. “I’m gonna crash, I know it – might as well crash comfortable.”
Steve seemed to hesitate before he squared his shoulders. He had a lot of shoulders to square, Bucky couldn’t help but notice. “Right, so… how do you feel about laying on your stomach? You think you could manage that without feeling trapped?” When Bucky shrugged, Steve nodded. “It means I can start work on the big muscle groups along your back and shoulders, where most of your tension’ll be kept. Any issues I need to know about with your arm?”
Bucky had forgotten about the fucking arm. Sometimes he did, when other shit was going down and it was just easier to focus on other things, like not freaking out over a harmless trolley, but most of the time he was hyper aware of it. It was hard to forget when you walked around with almost 50lbs of steel attached to your fucking body. It weighed so much that when they’d stuck it on him, they had to graft titanium to his shoulder blade and some kind of new-fangled wires through his muscles. It hurt like hell most of the time, and he had to spend most of his non-working life in the gym to make sure that he maintained enough mass to keep him from falling over sideways. But it wasn’t like a normal prosthetic, he had movement, full movement, wired up to this brain and just as dexterous as his flesh and blood hand. Strong too, bulletproof – and he could even feel a little bit of pressure, hot and cold. It was the most advanced prosthetic in the world.
Unfortunately, it wasn’t FDA approved. Fuck, it wasn’t even human rights approved, which was why they’d attached it in some fucking basement in Croatia. Which was why out of his whole team, only Bucky survived the amputation and attachment. They’d been POW’s, four of them held in a cell that wasn’t big enough for them to stand up in, their country thinking they were dead. By the time they’d been rescued, Bucky’s arm was on the floor and his ‘improved’ arm was already attached to his brain.
Yeah, it was hard to forget.
“It’s fine.” He said, knowing that his smile was too tight. Trust him to go to hell around the first seriously attractive guy that he’d seen in a long ass time.
Laying on the table was… weird. It wasn’t the same as the metal morgue plate that he’d been strapped to, and he knew that he could escape easily enough by simply rolling off to one side, which went a long way to easing his mind. The table was actually pretty comfortable.
“So I’m going to start on the right side,” Steve was saying, “And work across. If you feel any twinges, any pain, you have to let me know, cause that’s not what this is about.”
“Right.” Bucky agreed. He really didn’t like having someone he didn’t know at his back, but he could feel the adrenaline in his system starting to ebb, and pretty sure he was gonna be dead on his feet. Better to pass out in comfort – he just hoped Steve wouldn’t freak out. “I might fall asleep.”
“It’s not the first time it’s happened.” Steve said, “I’m going to move the oil a little closer, but I’ll keep the trolley where it is, okay?”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“I’m starting now.”
It had been a long time since someone had touched him, he realised. Almost as soon as Steve’s hands were on his skin, Bucky felt himself tense up. Steve, who obviously noticed, just hummed. “Looks like you’ve been carrying a lot of weight around.” He said, “Metaphorically and physically. Have you been seeing a sports therapist?”
“Nope.”
“We do aspects of it here.” Steve said, obviously planning on keeping an open line of communication. His hands felt equal parts amazing and jarring. Bucky didn’t want him to feel the scars. “If you plan on coming back, you can ask for me or Dum-Du… Uh, Timothy. Sessions last about an hour, and they’re a little more intensive that what I had planned today. I’ll show you the kind of thing it’ll entail beforehand.”
“Right.” Bucky said, not really wanting to mention that he lived in DC and it was very fucking unlikely that he’d ever walk back through the doors after he left. He wasn’t sure if Natasha had told them that Bucky was already a member of her staff in order to wrangle his appointment.
Steve’s hands were strong and steady, and after a while Bucky actually found himself drifting. Unlike a normal crash, where he would end up passed out somewhere till his body decided it was time to wake up, this time he was aware of what was going on. It felt more like he was half asleep, lulled and relaxed.
“I’m going to start working down, okay?” Steve said, hands slippery with oil but still getting just enough friction to feel fucking amazing. Bucky couldn’t manage words, so he just groaned. Steve chuckled, and…
Bucky wasn’t sure how long he lay on the table. He was dimly aware of Steve sanding at the bottom of the table, thumbs pressing hard into the soles of his feet, running up the arches and causing Bucky to make a sound in the back of his throat that he wasn’t even aware he was capable of making. Steve’s soft chuckle really not as distracting as he was expecting. He felt like he was floating, but anchored by Steve’s hands so he still felt secure – grounded. How long Steve had worked on his back and shoulders, he wasn’t able to tell, but the persistent and constant ache that just seemed like a background to his life was gone.
“How do you feel about turning around?” Steve asked, working his way up Bucky’s leg. His hands were under the towel, certainly not high enough to be inappropriate.
“Nrgh.” Bucky managed.
“You don’t have to.” Steve was saying, fingers digging in hard into firm muscle and the ache was soothing. “But you’ll feel better.”
“Feelin’ pretty good righ’ now.” Bucky slurred.
“Okay.” Steve said, and Bucky knew without even looking that Steve was grinning. “You want me to go over anything again? You feeling tight anywhere?”
“Feelin’ good.”
“Okay.” Steve said, “I’ll just carry on doing what I’m doing.”
“Yeah.” Bucky sighed.
There was a very quiet knock on the door, drawing Bucky’s attention from where Steve’s hands were running up and down the column of his spine.
“You still awake?” Steve asked.
“No.” Bucky grumbled, because he was pretty sure that his time was up.
“Uh-huh.” Steve smiled. He had a pretty expressive voice, Bucky thought. “That’s my sign to start winding down, okay?”
“Yeah.” He managed, starting to push himself up.
“No no no,” Steve said, strong hands on Bucky’s shoulders. “Wind down before the getting up, it’s important.”
Turned out Steve knew what he was taking about. Within about 5 minutes, Bucky was pretty sure that he was back to full awareness – which was great.
What wasn’t so great was that he was now hyper aware of Steve. And Steve’s hands. And how his body had reacted to Steve’s hands. Every muscle in his body was relaxed to the point of sleeping – except his dick, which was wide awake and ready to party.
“You okay?” Steve asked, “You’ve gone really tense again.”
“M fine.” Bucky managed, and felt his face turn bright red. “Just, uh, no, I’m okay.”
“I’m gonna say something, and you aren’t allowed to smack me, but it’s perfectly normal if you’re a little hard.” Steve said, voice incredibly neutral. “It’s a normal response. The more you get used to it, the less it’ll happen.”
“Yeah?” Bucky managed. Steve sounded so damn normal about the whole thing, that Bucky started to think that he might actually mean it.
“Yup. I mean, as long as you don’t expect me to do anything about it, we’re totally cool.”
“Well?” Natasha asked when the car door was shut and they were pulling away from the sidewalk. She smelt vaguely green, and didn’t look like she’d spent three hours (three fucking hours?) in a spa. Bucky, on the other hand, felt like he was about to melt out of his seat and pool into a puddle of goo and clothes.
“Yeah.” He said. “I’d go again.”
The next issue of Black Widow had a full page spread about Carters, with more information about the place and their treatments than Bucky had known about. There was a picture of the ‘team’ at the bottom of the page, and Bucky seriously wondered if it would be weird to rip it out and keep it in his wallet.
Of course it would be.
He still thought about it though.
The move to New York was easier than he expected. He’d found a two bedroom apartment that he could afford, trying not to wince about the fact he’d sold a house in DC for the same amount of money. He’d sold most of his furniture because it just wasn’t cost effective to ship it (he kept his bed and couch), and let the AA know he’d not be attending any more meetings.
They pointed him in the direction of a New York chapter, which he’d already scoped out, and wished him well.
Working for Natasha was a change of pace from Red Room, and he wasn’t sure if he liked it. Her relationships in the building weren’t the best, she was regarded by most as some kind of ice woman (which he had to admit… she was) although they did agree that she was good at her job. Bucky spent most of his day acting like personal security for any interviews or photoshoots, which was a helluva lot more glamorous than he was used to. Especially when a couple of Victoria Secret models started flirting with him.
It did, however, become apparent why Natasha had wanted him around.
“Alexander Peirce?” He asked one morning, back killing him from the cheap ass air mattress he’d been using while his bed was being shipped. He needed a custom frame to compensate for the extra weight he was carrying around it had cost a fortune. “Anything I need to know about?”
Natasha wasn’t an easy person to read, mostly because she internalised most of her emotions. That didn’t actually mean that they weren’t there, just that she kept them buried deep. It was that reason that Bucky knew her complete lack of reaction meant something.
“He’s nothing.” She replied after a beat. “He won’t be around.”
“He’s booked in for your 9am meeting.” Bucky said, looking down at the tablet he was holding. “So…?”
“Go ahead and cancel that,” She snapped, “And send in Jemma.”
Jemma was her PA slash dogsbody, and Bucky sure as hell didn’t envy her – especially an hour later when he found her sitting at her little desk with red rimmed eyes, looking at her coffee cup. Bucky wasn’t cut out for comforting people though, and just nodded at her as he walked past.
Clint Barton was more useful than Natasha. His relationship with Natasha was one of those secrets everyone knew about, and on his desk he had a picture of his wife and kids. Bucky liked him a lot despite that, and wondered if that made him a terrible person. It was Barton who explained the whole Peirce thing.
“He’s an ex.” The blond man said, leaning back in his chair. Bucky’s spine ached in jealousy. “He was a total control freak though, like, he makes Mr Grey look like the dad from the Brady Bunch. She came in one day looking like absolute hell, told me she’d broken it off.” He paused. “He didn’t take that well.”
“Do people know not to make appointments for him to come here?”
“Yeah, of course.” Barton said, stretching – Bucky’s shoulder twinged just watching him. “But somehow he keeps getting his foot in the door.”
“Understood.” Bucky said, nodding. Something in his neck popped.
“Carters.” A plummy English voice said.
“Hi, I want to make an appointment.” Bucky said, looking at the little card in his hands. Both he and Natasha had been handed them with a smile when they’d left. Bucky had kept it in his wallet.
“Are you on the current client list?”
“Uh, no? I had a joint appointment with Natasha Romanov a few months ago.” Bucky said not above a little name dropping. “Bucky Barnes?”
There was a sound of typing, and then: “Do you know who your appointment was with?”
“Steve.”
“I’m afraid Steven’s actually full booked for the next… four weeks, Mr Barnes. We have Timothy available on the 24th for an hour.”
Bucky looked down at his organiser. He liked having things written down even though his phone could do it faster. The 24th was three weeks away.
“Um, when’s Steve’s next slot? I’d like to have a little longer than an hour.”
“The 9th at 10am. It’s a two hour slot.”
“Yeah, I’ll take that.” He said, and tried not to wince when he was told the price.
He was standing in line for his morning coffee when his phone rang. “Barnes.” He said, after only slightly fumbling his wallet and phone. He’d perhaps pushed himself a little too hard at the gym and his body was protesting every movement.
“Mr Barnes? This is James calling from Carters.”
“Uh, hey.” He managed. He was nearly at the front of the line and could almost taste the glorious caffeine.
“Steve has a cancellation this afternoon, for a two hour slot, if you’re available. We’re terribly sorry for the short notice.”
“No, that’s fine, when?”
“12 noon.”
Bucky looked up at the clock hanging above the baristas head. “I’ll be there.” He said, hanging up and stepping out of the line, not even bothering to look apologetically at the barista who was now ready to take his order.
“Have you been sleeping on rocks?” Steve was asking, strong hands working into the aching muscles along Bucky’s shoulders. It had all gone so much better than last time, with Bucky knowing what to expect and Steve not bringing in the trolley. He was already laying on the table when Steve knocked at the door. That part was still a little hard, but when Steve greeted him with a happy little ‘hey’ it all seemed easier.
“Air mattress.” Bucky mumbled.
“You’re not a teenager.” Steve admonished, digging those miraculous fingers deep into Bucky’s too tight muscles. It was glorious and painful, and everything Bucky needed. “Don’t sleep on an air mattress. Or a water bed. Those are just as bad.”
“My bed’s getting delivered Tuesday.” Bucky found himself explaining. “I just moved here from DC.”
Steve’s fingers paused only for a moment before carrying on. “I thought you were a native.” He said, and damn, Bucky knew a line of questioning when it was put to him.
“I am. Kinda. Moved to Brooklyn when I was a kid, then left for the army. After that… DC seemed like a good enough place to settle down.”
“And now your back.”
“Yup, didn’t realise just how much I missed it till I got here.”
That much was true. As much as Bucky wasn’t sure about working for Natasha, he was 100% convinced that moving to New York had been the first right decision he’d made since they pinned a medal to his chest and sent him packing.
“Have you found a Vet centre yet?” Steve asked, doing something with his hands that made Bucky groan a little too loudly. “Bad?”
“Good,” He breathed. “Jesus Christ, you can’t be human.”
Steve laughed softly and squeezed again. This time Bucky was able to keep the volume to a quiet whimper, but was fully aware that Steve would have heard him. “Looks like you really needed this appointment.” He said, as Bucky squirmed.
“Man, I wanna keep you on retainer.”
“You can make another appointment when you leave.” The other man grinned – Bucky knew he was smiling; he didn’t even hand to see his damn face.
“I’m gonna.”
“You feel like turning today?” He asked, not sounding particularly concerned if Bucky said no. Bucky paused. He was hard again, and although last time Steve had told him it was okay, he wasn’t sure if he believed him any longer.
“I’m good.”
“You let me know if that changes.”
“Sure thing, boss.”
It was some indeterminate time later when Steve had reduced Bucky to goo, that he spoke again. “Did I cross a line?” He said, sounding a little worried. Bucky, who was sure that if anyone had crossed a line it was him, unable to stop his damn hips from moving as Steve worked his way up his legs. He hoped that Steve hadn’t noticed, but knew that the towel wasn’t exactly hiding anything.
“Huh?”
“About the Vet Centre?” Steve asked, hands under the towel and maybe a little higher than last time, not that Bucky was gonna complain – still well within ‘safe’ areas. “It’s just my friend, he helps out at the Harlem centre and they have a drop in thing.”
Bucky froze. “You talk to your friend about me?” He asked, and all the warm fuzzies he’d been feeling were gone.
“God, no!” Steve said, hands moving so quickly from Bucky’s thigh that he could feel where the cool air tickled the hair there. “No, that’s… that’s really unprofessional. I just… I thought maybe you might not know about the drop in meetings. I thought it might help.”
Bucky wasn’t sure if he believed Steve. He trusted very few people in his life, and certainly not someone he’d only met once before. “Yeah okay.” He said, tightly.
“I’m serious.” Steve said. “I know… I know I’m not a doctor or anything, but I take my job seriously.”
That didn’t surprise Bucky. Steve radiated good old fashioned values, and probably did think of his client list in the terms of what happens in the room stays in the room. He found himself relaxing again, not even sure when he’d started to tense up. “Yeah, okay.” He managed, sounding slightly less like he thought Steve was a lying asshole.
It felt like Steve had only just put his hands back on Bucky when the subtle knock at the door signalled the end of their session.
Bucky made another appointment when he left, aware that most of his army pension was going towards something that was technically a luxury. However, he figured that how he spent it was up to him, and if it helped him carry around the fucking monstrosity of his arm, then he deserved it. He stalled a little when he was asked if he’d like to stay with Steve, but however much his trust had been shaken at the thought of the other man talking about him; he really didn’t want to put another person seeing him with his shirt off.
“Steve’s fine.” He said, after a moment.
On Thursday Bucky got into a fight with some asshole who’d strolled into the offices and started throwing around shit about how it was magazines like Black Widow were contributing to the decline in traditional family values. By the time Bucky hauled his ass out on to the street he was ranting about how they were adding estrogen into the water supply to turn men into docile robots. He wasn’t hurt, but he didn’t like getting physical with people who weren’t trained. It felt like bullying. He felt like a bad guy.
“Stuff like that is why you have a job here.” Natasha said, when he told her what had happened.
“I know that.” Bucky snapped, both fists tightening. “I just said I don’t like it.”
“No one likes it. Suck it up.” She snapped right back. “Assholes like that make everyone on edge, okay? If you weren’t here Jemma would have been the one to try to get him to leave.”
Jemma, who Bucky liked a lot, had already thanked him. The idea that she would have been the first line of defence without him made him mad. “You need to stop being so fucking cold, Tash.” He found himself saying, walking out before he ended up getting more riled up.
He was going through his laundry that night when his door buzzer nearly gave him a heart attack. “Who is it?” He said, holding a sheet in his hand as he pushed the intercom.
“Natasha.”
“It’s open.” He said, dread creeping up his spine. They had a terrible shared history, going between fighting and fucking and never finding a solid ground to start a friendship. He didn’t want to start all that again, not when she was his boss.
However, when he opened the door, he knew suddenly that this wasn’t the Natasha he knew.
She was wearing a pair of jeans and a heather coloured sweater, a couple of sizes too big. “Hey,” She managed, before bursting into tears.
Clint was divorcing his wife. They’d been separated for a long time, but ‘for the sake of the kids’ had been living together to try to keep their family unit whole.
His wife had been seeing another guy for a few years, and apparently wanted to take the next step. Clint was happy to do so, thinking that he could also change his relationship to something more serious with Natasha.
Natasha had thought it was going too fast, despite doing whatever it was she’d been doing with Clint for about a year. She’d asked him for ‘time’ and he’d accused her of being closed off and cold.
Bucky’s off the cuff comment had been the last straw.
They ordered Thai food that she ate and Bucky picked at, trying to hide the fact that he wasn’t really able to eat much, and talked. Bucky was pretty sure it was the longest conversation they’d ever had, and they’d known each other for almost a decade.
“Stark wants to buy us out.” She told him, sitting cross-legged on his oversized couch. “I mean, he’s using Maria Hill as a go-between, but it’s obviously Stark.”
“Isn’t that good?”
“I guess. We’re struggling as an independent, but at least I don’t have to answer to anyone about what articles I use. I don’t want my magazine being just another run of the mill ‘ladies choice’ alongside all the others. I wanted to stand out. I wanted… I don’t know…”
“To be unashamedly feminist.” He said, shrugging.
She looked at him. “I wrote that.”
“Yeah.” He agreed. “I do buy your magazine, Tasha. I always do.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. You think I wouldn’t? We’ve known each other a long time.”
“We hardly know each other at all, really.” She said. “I wasn’t exactly there for you. When you needed me.”
Bucky leaned back, “Let’s get one thing very clear – when I got back, I was a fucking mess, okay? I was… I didn’t want people.”
“And now?”
“I dunno.” He shrugged. “I wanna be part of something, but…”
“It’s kinda scary.”
“Yeah.”
She touched the necklace she was wearing, a silver arrow that obviously had some meaning to her. “Yeah.”
“I went back to Carters.” Bucky said, after some infomercial about a chair that massaged you as you sat in it. “Yeah?” She asked, not looking at him. “I liked it okay, nothing too ground-breaking going on.”
Bucky nodded. He wasn’t going to mention his freak out, she might be sitting on his couch eating takeout, but she was still his boss. “Yeah, I thought it helped, you know? With my arm.”
“You did look pretty chilled.” She said, when it became obvious that he wasn’t going to fill in any more information.
“Yeah.” He agreed. She didn’t need to know about the Vet Centre. She had her own issues to deal with.
The building wasn’t too far removed from the type of place that he met up for his AA meetings. A pretty bland looking building with the occasional person walking through the doors. Most of them looked like functioning human beings, and Bucky tried to remember how he felt the first time he walked into an AA meeting. The people in DC had been nice, supportive and everyone knew what he was going through. He took a deep breath.
Inside was almost exactly what his AA meetings were like, right down to the coffee urn in the corner, where the people who didn’t like to share were often trying to stay out of everyone’s way. There was a woman with a prosthetic arm, nothing like Bucky’s, but still. Someone knew what it was like.
Sitting in the back row was an obvious sign that someone didn’t want to be included during his AA meetings, so he hoped that it was the same at the VA. His life, it seemed, was going to revolve around group meetings and bad coffee.
It was busier than he was expecting, seats filling up faster than he expected, although a lot of the people seemed to know one another, chatting away. He kept back, playing with his phone, trying not to make eye contact. That worked for a while, but after about 10 minutes, someone sat down beside him.
A light blue check shirt that just screamed ‘sensible boyfriend shirt’ and a pair of regular fit jeans pretty much summed up every ‘talk to me when you’re ready’ conversation Bucky ever had.
“Hi,” The man said, sounding cool and just on the right side of friendly. “I’m Sam.”
“Hi.” Bucky said, not offering up his name. He just wanted… he wasn’t sure what he wanted. To prove, perhaps, that he didn’t need to talk about his problems. The guy got the hint, Bucky could see it playing over his face.
“I’ll be chairing this meeting, and I’ll be available after, if you have any questions.”
“Yeah.”
He pushed himself too hard at the gym, his back protesting at the strain of his work out and the weight of his fucking stupid arm. Three days after finally giving in and getting painkillers from his doctor – a nice guy who looked a little stressed around the gills but knew what he was doing – and a few dire warnings about pushing himself further.
“The weight of the arm means that you’ll have to keep your bulk to compensate, but that also comes from eating good food and knowing when to exercise in moderation.” He said, looking at Bucky over his glasses. Zola had looked at him like that once, but Doctor Banner managed to make it harmless. “I might suggest yoga, and meditation. I know it seems like they wouldn’t help, but the issue you’re going through are mostly due to tension. Stretching will help.” He paused. “And I know that it was brought up in DC, but you really should have someone look at the arm itself.”
“No.”
The doctor nodded. “I expected as much. If you change your mind, let me know.”
“Does… massage do anything?” He asked, pulling his shirt back on. Doctor Banner wasn’t the same specialist he saw in DC but he was one of the Doctors who were there when he was first brought back to the US – he already knew what Bucky looked like. There was no reason to hide – the man saw him when the scars were still red and seeping, when the burns were cracking open and the open wound that ran along his spine was oozing white puss. Bucky had nothing more to hide.
“Only good things. I’d suggest going to a professional rather than… an enthusiastic but untrained partner.” He paused. “A ‘sensual massage’ might feel good but you may end up running into issues later.”
Bucky tried not to let his embarrassment show. “It’s at Carters, it’s a… um…”
“Oh, I know it.” Banner said, “Good choice, my wife loves their seaweed wrap. She comes home a little green once a month.” He paused. “She’s been trying to get me to go after reading something in a magazine.”
“Uh, Black Widow?”
“That’s the one.”
“I work there now.” Bucky said, aware that this was the longest conversation he’d ever had with a doctor that wasn’t about his arm. “Uh, I helped with that article.” It wasn’t really a lie – he had told Natasha what it was like, and some of his comments were in the magazine.
“Really? That’s great to hear. Last time I saw you, you were pretty sure that you’d never find work.” He paused. “I’m glad to see you’re doing better, not just with your health, but… within too.” He stopped, took off his glasses and rubbed at his forehead. “I think that’s enough introspection from me.” He laughed self depreciatingly. “You’re obviously doing better, but try not to push so hard. I’m giving you a script for calcium supplements as well, try to take them with food – it’s not worth the heartburn if you don’t.”
Bucky didn’t have a great relationship with food. When he’d been brought back to the States it felt like everything he ate made him sick, so he spent a long time eating dry toast and boiled rice, and using supplement drinks to help keep his calorific intake around where it should be. He was underweight, and Doctor Banner gave him a lecture about the quality of life he could expect if he didn’t eat better, and often. “I’ll email you a link.” He said, as Bucky left – true to his word, by the time Bucky was sitting on the train back to his apartment, there was an email.
The food was pretty simple stuff, mostly rice and pasta, but with a lot more veg and the inclusion of soy which Bucky hadn’t tried before. He grabbed everything on the list from Wholefoods (and was pretty sure that in New York they bumped the prices up) and made himself a shake while he worked out where to start.
Steve was already in the room when Bucky let himself in. He looked like he’d been in the middle of pacing when Bucky opened the door, looking a little surprised.
“I have an appointment.” Bucky pointed out, because Steve certainly didn’t look like he was expecting Bucky.
“Yeah, uh… no, I mean…” He stammered, before taking a shallow breath. “I know, I mean.”
“Okay.” He hadn’t meant it to sound like a question but it certainly sounded like a question, unsure and uneasy.
“I just… I didn’t expect you to come back after last time, I know I overstepped and… Peggy said… I mean, it’s company policy not to give out information so I couldn’t call you to apologise, and I understand if you… if you went to Dum-dum rather than me.” He took another breath. “Is what I mean.”
Bucky blinked. “Do you want me to go to someone else?”
“No!” Steve said, and then seemed to realise that he’d perhaps been a little too loud. “I just, I would understand if you thought I crossed a line and would want to go to someone else.”
“I’m fine.”
Of course he was fine. He’d been to another four meetings at the VA centre and although he hadn’t said anything, he was still there, and realising that maybe he actually needed to be there. Steve might have done him more good than a back rub. He didn’t say that though. “So… should I get ready?”
“Yes, okay. Great.” Steve said, looking around. “I’ll… do you want any music this time?”
“Got any big band stuff?”
“I do actually.” Steve nodded. “I’ll just get it.”
Once again, Bucky was reduced to goo within a few moments of Steve’s hands on his back. The smell of the oil – unscented but still with a subtle aroma that Bucky had started to associate with Steve and relaxing – and the quiet strains of swing music a pleasant background noise.
“You seem a little tenser today.” Steve said, after a while.
“Been to the Doc.” Bucky mumbled. He was already about as relaxed as he could be, “Fucked my shoulder at the gym.”
Steve’s magic hands stopped moving. “Anything I need to know about? Should I avoid…”
“Nah, Doc said it was fine. Just hurts like hell. Feels okay right now. “He added, hoping that Steve wasn’t going to stop. After a few moments, his prayers were answered.
“Okay, but you need to let me know in advance if you’re in discomfort.”
“I carry around a 50lb hunk of solid steal every day.” Bucky pointed out. “Discomfort is kinda par for the course.”
“You feel like turning today?”
Bucky was so boneless and ready to do whatever Steve told him that he was on his side before he even realised what he was doing. “Uh,” He managed, twisted half around. “Yeah?”
“Okay, I’ll just hold this up,” Steve said, lifting the towel from Bucky’s hips in such a way that there was no possible chance of him getting an eyeful of Bucky’s junk. “And you can get yourself comfortable.”
His dick, traitorous and heavy, flopped against his stomach with a slight slap that had the tops of Steve’s ears turning pink and Bucky wanting to die. A quick adjustment (consisting of Bucky pushing it down between his thighs and ignoring how uncomfortable it was) and once Steve had lain the towel back down, everything looked strictly PG.
On his back though, Bucky was able to watch Steve as he worked over the tightness over Bucky’s shoulders. The expression on his face was neutral, like he wasn’t running his hands over ridges and dents that made up Bucky’s butchered skin. He closed his eyes, and tried not to think about it.
His dick though, was starting to become a problem. The lower Steve’s hands went, the harder it was for Bucky to ignore. Sure, Steve was completely professional, nothing sexual about it – unless you counted the inherent sexiness of a really hot, buff dude rubbing his very talented hands over every inch of skin. Bucky wondered if jerking one out before his appointment might help. He’d been really good with not thinking of Steve in any way other than a guy who was good with his hands – aware that in his fucked up mind anyone showing him even a little bit of kindness was probably grounds for a teenage crush – but when Steve’s fingers pressed into the muscle between his hip and ass, Bucky sat up.
“Sorry, look, sorry, this is weird.”
Steve took a step back, hands in the air. “Did that hurt?”
“Dude, I’m hard enough to hammer nails, it’s just fucking weird, okay?”
Kudos to the guy, his eyes didn’t even flicker over the towel, which Bucky appreciated. “It’s a-”
“Natural response, yeah, you said that.” Bucky managed. “I just… sorry. I swear to god I’m not a perv, okay?”
Steve smiled. He had a nice smile, professional and unruffled. “I don’t think that.” He said. “But, if you aren’t comfortable, then I’m obviously not doing my job right. Wanna turn back and I’ll focus the rest of our time on that shoulder?”
He made another appointment when he left. As much as Steve had been cool and understanding, he’d obviously said something to the guy at the desk, who gave him a knowing look. “I’m afraid Steven’s not available for that appointment,” He said, plummy English accent getting on Bucky’s nerves. “Timothy is available?”
“Sure.” Bucky managed, knowing he’d managed to creep out Steve enough that the poor guy no longer wanted to go through that again.
Things actually started getting easier. Natasha and Clint worked out their shit, and although it didn’t change how she acted at work, it seemed to remove some of the tension that hung in the air. Bucky met Peirce, a total asshole who slid him a billfold of hundreds as an incentive to get him into Natasha’s office as a ‘nice surprise’.
Bucky took the cash and told him not to show his face again. He wasn’t sure if it was his expression or the fact that he was holding the asshole a few inches off the ground by his throat, but Peirce stopped trying to work his way into the building, and Natasha told him that it looked like he’d moved on – no more creepy phone calls or showing up at her apartment either.
He kept going to the VA and actually managed to introduce himself to a couple of people, the guy who met him his first day even suggested a therapist who was really fucking helping Bucky see that he’d not been coping as well as he thought.
He had three appointments with Timothy ‘call me Dum-Dum’ and his dick remained soft the whole time, which was a relief. Sometimes he’d pass Steve in the corridor as he left, and every time the other guy would smile at him broadly, like seeing Bucky made his fucking day.
“Maybe next time?” Steve would say, as Bucky nodded back, looking ripped and hot and welcoming.
He made his appointments with Dum-Dum and tried to remember that it was Steve’s job to smile and not make him feel like a pervert.
“Why me?” He asked Natasha when she told him that she needed a favour.
“Because you’re a good dancer and look great in tight jeans.” She told him, leaning back in her chair. “Clint’s already over the knot with his assignments this month.” She sighed. “This is another one of those situations where normal people think of it as a perk.”
“I am normal.” He said, frowning. His shrink had been more than clear about asserting himself.
“I don’t mean it like that.” She said, not quite an apology, but the closest he’d probably get. “It’s a club, James, a really exclusive club that people would kil- people would love to get in, and I’ve got you on the VIP list.”
“Tash, I don’t drink. A nightclub isn’t my thing. Too many people.” Too much temptation to walk over to the bar and forget everything.
“Ah, see, this is the thing, it’s a dry club.” She said, grinning. “Like, a few years ago, Stark was admitted into rehab, and when he got out – he opened the Tower. No booze at all. Mocktails and shots… booze free.”
“Why is he inviting you now?”
“Because his wife liked our article on up-and-coming female artists, and he’s desperately trying to get me to agree to sell, that's why. I’ll be there with you the whole time,” She said, looking down at her phone. “There are some clothes in the wardrobe department from the last shoot. I’ve told Leo to expect you.”
Leo Fitz was a pocket sized cutie, Bucky was dimly aware of. He ran the fashion sections of the magazine and caused zero trouble, so Bucky hadn’t actually interacted with him much. He knew two things – one, he was considered to be adorable by every female in the building and two, he wore a lot of sweaters. This (apparently) made him look even cuter.
“Hey,” He said, when Bucky walked in through the door. The room probably wasn’t as small as it seemed, but with the racks of clothes everywhere, it felt incredibly claustrophobic. “Natasha sent me for... clothes?”
“She called.” The smaller guy said, looking up from whatever was holding his attention when Bucky walked in. He was cute, if you liked that kind of thing. Bucky had been leaning towards ridiculously ripped blonds with magic hands for a while, but still. Aesthetically, dude was a cutie. “So, how do you feel about leather?”
“Nightmare to get into, hard to get out of, too fucking hot for a nightclub.”
The smile that flew over Leo’s face looked like it was involuntary. “Good, because you’re not wearing leather. No matter what Jemma says.”
“Why does Jemma have any say?” Bucky managed, confused.
“She has an unhealthy obsession with your thighs.” Leo said, looking at him up and down. “How do you feel about a blazer?”
“I’m not 4 years old?” Bucky hedged. He really doubted he was the kind of guy who would be able to make a blazer look good.
“Right.” Leo nodded, looking oddly pleased. “I’ve got just the thing.”
The Tower, which was a nightclub in the basement of Stark Tower, was massive. Bucky wasn’t expecting it to be quite so big – a dry bar – but the crowd was around the block when the car pulled up. People craned their necks to check out who was getting out of the car, and even too pictures, which was weird.
Natasha looked great in a black and red body con dress that highlighted her curves, and a pair of heels that must have given her an extra 6 or 7 inches – she looked pretty intimidating. Bucky was wearing a navy blue pea-coat with silver epaulets that gave it a distinctly military look. He’d been against it at first, because he had made it quite clear he wasn’t going to be wearing a fucking uniform ever again, but once he had it on, he had to admit he looked fucking good. The collar was popped, and his black jeans tucked into a pair of heavy leather boots made him look equal parts like a male model and someone you really wouldn’t want to cross. He kinda approved of that. Under the coat he wore a simple moss green shirt that was too tight for his tastes but looked pretty damn good.
The bouncer at the door didn’t even ask their names, just lifted the rope with a smile and let them through, and that was when Bucky realised that he’d underestimated the size of the place.
If he hadn’t been told they weren’t serving drinks, he would never have guessed. The bar was lit up, with a good dozen people mixing drinks, and the people waiting to be served were four deep.
“Nice.” Natasha said, looking around. “Good mix of space,” She added, pointing to the dancefloor – already full – and the seating area around it – packed. “And half decent music.” She looked over at Bucky. “Alright, mingle. I’m going to check out the VIP sections, let me know what it’s like in the pit.”
It seemed that people didn’t give two shits about being sober – the atmosphere was buzzed. People were dancing with the abandonment of the truly wasted, Bucky watched them grinding and knocking back fruit juice like it was hard liquor, from his vantage point at the back, beside the fire exit. He could see most of the floor, and the open stairs leading to the higher platforms where Natasha was standing with a drink of something red in her hand. She must have spotted him, which he silently approved of – he was tucked pretty tightly away, she had a good eye.
She made a gesture with her hand that he probably correctly interpreted as ‘mingle or else’ and pushed away from the side of the wall, trying not to frown. There were so many people, and booze or not, they were acting like they were hammered. As he tried to squeeze past though, someone mistook his movement as an invitation to dance, and he found a leggy brunette grinding up against him. A quick glance up at the VIP section showed Natasha smirking down at him, and he couldn’t do much more than flip her the bird. Lucky for him (and his nerves) the brunette moved on when the beat changed, jumping up and down excitedly with a larger group of women who obviously were her friends. He managed to get a few feet, when someone else touched him.
Bucky didn’t like people touching him much, especially when he wasn’t expecting it, and couldn’t help the flinch – panic rising in his throat. He couldn’t afford to have a fucking episode in the middle of a crowded dancefloor, especially if he got violent. However, when the hand that hand grabbed his shoulder squeezed… Bucky felt his whole body relax before his brain even registered what was going on.
“Hey, Bucky?” A voice said, from behind him, and… shit. Steve Rogers, the man with the boner inducing hands, was grinning at him over the heads of the other dancers when Bucky turned. “Hey!” He said, looking thrilled to see the guy that managed to wig him out so much that he told the guy at the desk to tell Bucky that he wasn’t available for his next appointment.
“Hi.” Bucky managed, trying to smile.
“Hey!” Steve said again, grinning hugely. “Imaging seeing you here!” He tugged a little at Bucky’s arm and Bucky wondered if he was maybe a little drunk. “Do you come here often?” Steve asked, once Bucky was closer and able to hear him a little better over the thumping bass, but before waiting for an answer he just carried on. “We’re here for a night out. Sam thinks I need a life.” He grinned. “I didn’t wanna come. I’m really glad I did now.”
“Yeah?” Bucky asked, glancing up at the VIP area. Natasha wasn’t there, and people around him were pushing and jostling, forcing him even closer to Steve. He didn’t like it, hated how it made him feel trapped, combative. But Steve’s hand on his shoulder was oddly grounding, a point of contact he could focus on.
“Are you dancing?” Steve asked, and before Bucky could say anything, Steve did some kind of body roll that made Bucky’s mouth go dry. “I love this song!”
They weren’t dancing. Bucky was fully aware that what they were doing wasn’t dancing. He used to be good at dancing, he was pretty sure he would know. What they were doing, was trying to get to 2ndbase while fully clothed and in public. Steve was grinding down on Bucky’s thigh like he was being paid; hands running through Bucky’s hair, mouth not even an inch from Bucky’s ear, making breathy little huffs whenever Bucky would flex his grip on Steve’s hips.
And Bucky… Bucky was trying really hard not to cum in his borrowed pants. Fuck other people, the ones who would knock into him – he couldn’t think about them. His whole world was narrowed on the blond who honest to god whined when Bucky rolled his hips. The blond who dropped one hand from where it was tangled into Bucky’s hair to his ass, pulling him even closer.
“Hey, come on,” Bucky managed, trying to pull back a little. He knew they were moving way to fast, knew that it wasn’t a good idea. “Slow it a little?”
“It’s so unprofessional.” Steve breathed into his ear, effectively killing any kind of urgency that Bucky was feeling. Steve didn’t seem to notice. “I just wanna fucking touch you all the time,” He carried on, breath hot against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “Do you know how good you look, laying on my table? I nearly had a heart attack the first time I saw you. I was freaking out in case you turned around and saw how hard I was.”
Someone whined. Bucky was pretty sure it was him – the hand on his ass flexed, squeezing tight muscle, making Bucky’s hips jerk and Steve suck in a breath. He was actually gonna lose it in the middle of a fucking dancefloor. “I had to jerk off in the staff toilets before my next client.” Steve whispered, like the dirtiest confessional of all time. “I wanted…” He paused. “Then you made an appointment with Dum-Dum when I was on vacation.” He pulled back a little. “And then when I came back…”
“I thought I creeped you out.” Bucky mumbled, hoping that the music would cover his words. No such luck, Steve obviously heard him. The look he was shot was disbelieving and a little amused.
“No,” Steve said, pulling him closer. “You didn’t.”
Bucky had to dry clean the pants before he brought them back to Leo.