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Steve plays against Bucky before he meets him. It’s beach doubles, Chicago, and it’s the quarter finals. Steve’s been swinging hard all day and Sam’s been setting like a dream and honestly, Steve isn’t too worried. Steve and Sam had shaken hands under the net and introduced themselves to Bucky and- Toro? Bucky and Toro. Bucky's name niggles at Steve but he just puts it out of mind and concentrates on his jump serve. It’s been a little off today.
Toro’s good although Bucky’s obviously the stronger player. He’s got a good block but Steve just floats a couple of balls over and Bucky’s natural confidence gets shaken. Then Steve starts cutting angle and Toro and Bucky start serving Sam but Sam can do a lot more than have clean hands so he’s putting away balls just fine.
Sam has more trouble with Bucky’s powerhouse of a serve though so the first game ends up being a little closer than Steve likes. Doesn’t matter. Second set Steve serves Toro and Sam’s throwing a roof over him no problem. It’s not an easy win but Steve was also never worried that they were going to lose.
Steve and Sam put the rest of the tournament away and are feeling pretty good about themselves. For Steve it’s mostly about being in Chicago again. He hasn’t been back in a while, at least not for more than a couple of tournament days. Some of his old buddies from Loyola are in the crowd. He can see Sharon sidling up to Sam with a sway in her hips and high on her own victory.
Steve kind of forgets about Bucky until he shows up at the bonfire that Jim’s throwing. He’s carrying a six-pack and grinning. The firelight hits his cheekbones just right and Steve finally lets himself look like he hadn’t during play. He swallows; his throat clicks.
Sam notices and laughs, the asshole. “Yeah, man. I was wondering when you’d get a good look at him,” Sam says and hooks his arm around Sharon.
Steve’s about to say something back but he just caught Bucky’s eye across the fire and suddenly Steve can’t be bothered. He claps Sam’s shoulder and, not even looking at him says, “Yeah, hey, I’ll catch you later,” and walks to where Bucky’s standing just a little apart from everybody else.
“Good match out there,” Steve says and revels a bit in the way that Bucky’s looking at him.
Bucky laughs: “Sure, if you count getting your ass handed to you as a good match.”
Steve grins, a little pleased at making this guy laugh: “Didn’t want to hurt your ego.”
“Nah, you did that enough on the court.”
Steve shrugs because it’s true and then says, “You guys still gave us a run,” because that’s true too. Then, because he’s coming off of a win and this guy’s grin, says, “How about I buy you a drink to make up for it?”
For a moment it looks like Bucky’s about to say no, which would be horrible, but then it looks like he squares his shoulders and puts on a grin that’s more bluster than anything and tells Steve, “Sure, so long as you’re paying. Only one of us got prize money here.”
“You only want me for my money,” Steve says, happy and grinning.
Bucky’s smile is lascivious: “Trust me, it ain’t the money.”
**
He doesn’t see Bucky much on the circuit because he plays a lot of indoor while Steve mostly sticks to grass and sand tournaments, doubles if he can get it, triples if he can’t. He’s done the sixes tournaments route, even played in the last pan-am games and did a season on the USAV national team.
But Steve likes the quick back and forth of the smaller teams. He knows each of his partners, knows how to plan the plays and how to keep them running smooth in a way he can’t quite do with sixes. And indoor- he’d got enough of that playing four years for Loyola and before that, playing high school ball and even before that, that underprivileged youth program that his mom signed him up for. He likes being outside, likes the way it feels being under the big blue sky.
And anyway, it wasn’t like he wasn’t playing the national circuit. He’s still playing the NVL and the AVP. He might not be qualifying for the Olympics like Luke and Danny but he’s still getting in enough wins that he’s making money. More than that though (and Sam will never stop making fun of him for it) Steve really does do it for the love of the game.
With Bucky though, it’s hard to tell why he does it. After that night in Chicago, Steve had looked Bucky up and he had a hell of a rap sheet. Rookie of the Year and then MVP his senior year at Long Beach. Could have gone Olympic, didn’t. Chose to play the European Confederate, putting in two seasons with Russia before coming back State-side and being picked up by the USAV, got the Bryan Ivie his first season. And before all of that, he’d carried Long Beach University to their first championship in five years and kept them there for all of his four years. He’s being scouted for pan-am this year but it’s anybody’s guess whether he’ll go.
Truth is, he should be better than Steve. Probably would be if Steve went up against him in an indoors match. But it’s pretty obvious that as good as he is, Bucky can’t quite get the hang of playing sand doubles so Steve’s got him there.
They’re playing the NVL at Hermosa Beach and while Steve and Sam are playing steady, Bucky and another guy that Steve doesn’t know look like they might not make it out of pool play. Bucky’s not taking it well either; he’s missed his last two serves and his partner’s having problems staying out of the net. Steve can hear him getting angry, mostly at himself but also at his partner.
They lose in 2 and Bucky storms off before Steve can saying anything. He thinks about maybe going after him but he and Sam are on in 20 and anyway, a few night’s aside, Steve and Bucky aren’t actually all that close.
Not that Steve doesn’t want to be. He does. But Bucky isn’t out and he doesn’t want to be, especially if he wants to go back to playing for Russia. Steve’s not really out either, more an “open closet” kind of thing, and as much as he likes Bucky, and Christ does he like Bucky, Steve’s not about to pressure him about it.
But even with the bad day and even with a flaky partner, Bucky is there in the crowd watching Steve line up his first serve. He’s covered in sand, smiling and looking beautiful.
Christ, Steve likes him.
**
“It’s your hands, Buck,” Steve says when he can finally think again, splayed on top of Bucky’s chest.
“Mm. What about them?” Bucky runs his fingers through the tips of Steve’s sweaty hair.
“You gotta get more control. Sand’s slowing you down and you can’t get to the ball so easy so you're waffling. Gotta work on your hands.”
Steve can feel Bucky’s scowl so to make up for it, Steve picks up his free hand and kisses his knuckles.
Bucky huffs because chances are he already knew that without Steve saying so. “Fuck off,” he murmurs all low and sweet. “You love my hands.”
Steve does. He likes the size of them; all big like every other volleyball player but with scarred up knuckles like maybe he used to get into a lot of fights. Steve likes the raised veins on the back of Bucky’s hands, the pale lines on his palms. Steve places a kiss there, right in the center of Bucky’s big, beautiful hand.
Bucky, gently, gently, tilts Steve’s chin up before kissing him. They’re in a Best Western, both having flown out to L.A. for the tournament. Moments like these, Steve wonders what it would be like to have Bucky in his own bed, or maybe be in Bucky’s. He wonders what Bucky’s apartment looks like, if he’ll ever get to see it. Steve wonders if Bucky can cook, if he does the dishes regularly, if he throws his laundry on the floor.
Steve wonders if he’ll ever get the chance to find out. Like this, with Bucky’s hand on the back of his neck and his arms tight around him, Steve finds himself hoping though, hoping that he will. Christ, he hopes so.
Mostly, he just tries not to think about it.
**
Steve’s back home in Brooklyn after two weeks of traveling. He’s just playing some casual pick-up at Pier 6, not playing hard, just playing for the hell of it. He’s getting a little lazy and lands a serve right in the middle of the net. A voice calls out, “You’re a disgrace to the sport, Rogers!”
Steve can’t even help the grin that breaks across his face: “Fuck you, Barnes! You come here just to talk shit?”
“Nah, came here to see you,” Bucky says and Steve already knows he’s stupid for the guy and he also knows his grin shows it.
“Hey, we playing or what?” some asshole on the other team calls out.
Bucky rolls his eyes so Steve won’t have to, both of them thinking that it’s just a pick-up game not the goddamn nationals. Steve digs the guy’s serve and if he spikes it a little harder than necessary and the guy shanks it, well, that’s nobody’s business but his.
Bucky snickers.
“I got next,” Bucky calls out after the point’s over and then he settles in and basically ignores the pretty girl making eyes at him and just watches Steve.
Steve maybe plays a little less lazy after that, maybe shows off a little.
When they play together next match, it’s the best time Steve’s had in months. It feels good to just fuck around on a court, pull some shots they wouldn’t do on the circuit in a million years: skyballs with top spin, crazy dives, flippers. It’s not about winning, it’s not even about showing off for each other. It’s just- it’s about having fun, remembering that this can be fun.
They even lose the match and neither of them can bother to give a damn, they’re so caught up in each other. They let some other people on the court and then just kind of talk for a while. Bucky'd brought a cooler with some beer so they hang around until the sun starts going down over the Brooklyn Bridge.
They’re bickering and talking trash when suddenly Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s neck and reels him in close. He leans in, mouth by Steve’s ear, and says, “Go to dinner with me. I want to take you to dinner.”
Steve swallows, “Okay, yeah. Okay.”
Bucky takes him to a taqueria on Atlantic Ave that Steve somehow missed, despite his quest to find the best tacos in Brooklyn. It’s casual, which maybe shouldn’t work since (Steve hopes) this is a proper date but it does mean that they can go straight from the courts.
Steve’s got his legs stretched out, leaning back against the wall and nursing a Corona, just kind of lounging and basking in Bucky’s attention so he doesn’t notice right away when Bucky puts his hand on Steve’s. He risks a glance at Bucky who looks skittish and like he might want to bolt but also like he really wants to keep holding Steve’s hand. It’s the first time Bucky’s done something intimate like this in public, something that can be interpreted as more than just bros being bros. After a moment, when Bucky’s apparently decided that the world didn’t end, he finally relaxes and picks up his own beer, keeping his hand right where it is. Steve likes it a lot more than he’s willing to admit.
“I’ve been thinking,” Buck starts, pausing to swallow. “We should play a tournament together. Wouldn’t have to be anything fancy, just something to see how we’d work. If you want."
Steve gets that stupid grin on his face again, pleased as hell with the way today has gone: “Yeah, that’d be great. I’d like that a lot.”
Bucky’s smile is warring between joy and relief, as if he’d been worried that Steve would say no. Their fingers twine together and Steve starts to hope just a little bit more.
**
Bucky stays with Steve. And he, Bucky, he- Steve’s bed feels empty once he’s gone. He tries not to notice.
**
They play their first tournament together in Boston and it doesn’t go like Steve expects. He and Buck have played pick-up matches, peppered, and he’s seen Bucky play before. Steve knows Bucky’s got a temper on the court, he knows that, but he somehow hadn’t expected that Bucky would turn it on him.
So when Barton gets around Steve’s block again and Bucky whips around and grits, “Get it together, Rogers. Fuckin’ watch your line,” Steve really shouldn’t have been so surprised.
But he is. And then he’s furious. But he keeps a lid on it and watches his goddamn line and they pull it around and put the match away. That doesn’t mean that’s the end of it. That doesn't mean that Steve isn't going to have a goddamn word with Buck once the day’s up but he’s played long enough to know that saying anything while Bucky’s still stewing won’t do shit but make things worse.
By the time they get back to their hotel that night, it seems like Bucky’s forgotten about it. Despite the bump in the morning, they'd done well that day. Didn't win, but second wasn't bad and the prize money meant they'd earned more than they'd spent.
Steve couldn't give a damn. He's been sitting on it all day, waiting for a chance to lay down the line. He feels a little bad that it’s coming off of a win but it’s a conversation that needs to happen.
Steve drops the pretense when they get to the room and Buck doesn't notice at first when Steve goes quiet. He's chattering on about the last time he was in the city, telling some story about him and Toro- then he stops. Looks at Steve. “What?” he asks, honestly confused. “I got something on my face?”
“Out on the court today-” Steve starts before getting cut off.
“Yeah, look, I'm sorry about that. I get all in my head sometimes, take it out on other people,” he scowls for a moment and then rubs the back of his neck.
Steve nods, let's Bucky know he heard him, then says, “You can't talk to me like that. I like playing with you but you do that again, we don't play together anymore. Simple as that.”
For a moment there it seems like he and Bucky are really going to get into it. Steve’s about to square his jaw and have it out because as much as he likes the guy, he's never been anybody’s punching bag. He'd had enough of that in high school where Schmidt and Lukin had made him their target for every play gone wrong. But then Bucky deflates and sits hard on the bed.
He scrubs his hand through his hair, still a little stiff from the sand, and let's out a big breath.
“I wasn't really mad at you,” he says.
“I know.”
A long moment.
Finally, Bucky looks at Steve: “I’ll work on it. Promise. I want to keep playing with you. We- we make a good team.” That last part isn't really about volleyball and they both know it.
“We do,” Steve agrees and he's talking about the same thing.
**
They play a couple more tournaments together, sometimes winning, sometimes not. Bucky gets better at sand and then they start winning a little more, start making a name for themselves on the smaller circuits.
He and Buck play a grass doubles in Milwaukee and then Steve decides to stick around the city because Sam is playing triples the next day with Sharon and Nick. It's good seeing Sam play again and suddenly there's an ache in his stomach when he realizes just how long it's been since they played a tournament together. They go to Pier 6 together a lot but it's not the same. He knows Sam, knows how he plays and it's like bread and butter the way they work together.
He catches Sam’s arm at the bar that night when Sharon wanders off to talk to Natasha. “Look, Sam-” Steve starts.
“You ditching me for your boy?” Sam asks and to his credit manages to hide his hurt pretty well. Steve feels gutted because this was exactly what he was worried about.
“No, just apologizing for being an asshole and making you think I was,” Steve says, and meets Sam’s eyes. “You're still stuck with me, Wilson.”
“Good,” Sam says and it's heartfelt and strong and Steve feels like a real jerk for making Sam doubt their partnership.
They're quiet for a while, just drinking their beers, when suddenly Sam speaks up, taking a quick glance at Sharon: “I get it though, you know? Wanting to play with the person you love.”
Steve starts and by the grace of God manages to not choke on his beer. It wasn't- he and Bucky weren't- “It ain't like that,” Steve says but it sounds like a lie even to him.
Sam just raises his eyebrows.
Steve looks down at the bar.
“It’s not,” he says again quietly. “Not for him at least.”
“Steve-”
“Whatever you're gonna say just...don't. Please don't,” Steve asks or maybe pleads.
For a moment it looks like Sam is going to say it anyway but then his shoulders drop and he huffs and says, “I can't wait to say I told you so.”
“Me too,” Steve kind of laughs, kind of groans and starts to feel a little better. He's here with friends, things are good with Sam and he knows that when he goes to Miami in two weeks Bucky will be there with his indoor team and maybe-
“Hey, you, me and Buck should do triples,” Steve says and the idea sounds even better out loud.
“Let's do fours and make it a double date,” Sharon counters as she comes up behind Sam and smacks a drunk kiss against his cheek.
“Sure,” Steve grins and pulls out his phone to text Bucky.
**
Sam was right. It's something special to play with the person you love.
**
“I'm not going back to Russia,” Bucky says one day, afternoon light spilling into Steve’s apartment.
Steve had already gathered that because the European Confederate started a week ago and Bucky is here in Steve’s kitchen and eating an apple.
“Yeah?” Steve asks because it's obvious that Bucky wants to say more.
“Yeah, I just, you know, I thought I might stick around. Here. Stick around here,” Bucky stutters a bit and Steve drops the sponge in the sink and turns to look at him. Bucky is blushing. Steve blinks. Bucky is blushing.
“And I was thinking that since you were saying that your rent was so shitty that maybe you’d-”
“Yes,” Steve says and feels breathless, feels like he just won a tournament undefeated, feels like he just got recruited by Loyola all over again, like the first time he was tall enough to get over the net, like the first time he saw Bucky in the firelight.
“Yeah?” Bucky asks, sounding like he's feeling the same thing, like maybe he's just as thrilled and terrified as Steve.
“Yeah, I'd love it if you moved in,” Steve tells him and maybe, maybe Sam was right about that other thing too.
**
Steve and Bucky are playing against Rumlow and Batroc and crushing them. They're playing smooth and steady. Bucky’s serving up nothing but butter and Steve's bouncing balls, kill after kill after kill. It's not a shut-out but it might as well be.
Brock’s an asshole. The whole circuit knows it. Batroc is the only one who’ll play with him because he's just as dirty so Steve doesn’t really feel bad about the hole he’s digging on the other side of the court with all his kills. He sends a spike right through Batroc’s block and hits a dome shot off of Brock.
Bucky shouts, “Yahtzee!” and Steve pumps his fist in the air and they hug it out.
Bucky goes back and lets that jump serve rip. Brock barely digs the thing but Batroc waffles the set and they get the point. “Oh, chowder!” Bucky calls out because he’s not above trash talking. “You gotta wash those hands, pal! They’re looking dirty!”
“Hey, fuck you, Barnes!” Batroc yells and looks like he wants to charge the net.
“Nah, you’re too easy,” Bucky calls back, all grin, and lines up the next serve.
After that the match is all thunder, all Top Gun and then it’s the same thing later that night, just in their bed this time.
**
Buck’s getting better with being out. He's still skittish and won't do anything during tournaments or at the bars afterwards but he holds Steve’s hand on the street and kisses his cheek in the grocery store and at home-
At home-
It's easier than it should be to make a home with Bucky. It feels like there was a gaping hole in the wall and he'd only just noticed it when Bucky moved in. It makes Steve realize just how little he'd actually been in his apartment, just how much time he'd spent jumping from tournament to tournament. Then Bucky brought all of his boxes from San Diego and suddenly there were mismatched glasses in the cupboard and another toothbrush in the bathroom. Suddenly there were frames on their walls and enough pictures in his phone that he needed to clear up space.
Steve finds himself not just missing Bucky when he's away but also missing their apartment. He's never missed a place before, just the people in it. It's a strange sort of longing, a new one.
He likes it, the living together. He likes it a lot.
**
Sam comes over to their place pretty often, taking the train over from Harlem. Sharon is usually with him but she's been gone these past couple weeks as she keeps the U.S. Nationals team in check. She's captain this year and making her country proud.
She's been gone about 10 days now so Steve isn't really surprised when Sam shows up at his door with a case of IPA. Something is off though. Sam's all jittery in a way he never is, knees bouncing and fingers drumming.
“You gonna stew on it all night or spit it out?” Bucky calls from his spot on the couch where he's watching his alma mater get their asses handed to them by Oregon.
Sam jumps a little like maybe he thought he was hiding it. Then he blurts out, “I need your help.”
“Sure,” Steve says because that's his answer no matter what Sam needs.
“I need your help getting a ring,” Sam says and his voice is that strange combination of fearful and fearless that only happens when something is truly important.
Bucky hits mute. Steve grins: “Of course, man. Of course.”
**
That's how Steve and Bucky end up playing the AVP together in Chicago. He’s been doing the whole tournament with Sam, Bucky tagging along from city to city but Sam had bowed out for the weekend to take Sharon to Baja to hopefully find a sunset worthy of a proposal.
Steve and Bucky play better than they ever have. The crowd loves them, eats them up, but Steve doesn't even bother with them. He and Bucky are seamless. They're covered in sand and sweat and the salt of the earth.
They make it out of pool play, and out of the semi-finals and suddenly they're in the big arena with a full crowd, the flare of the stadium night lights shining down on them.
They're going to win. They're going to win here on the beach where they met, playing the sport that brought them together and god Steve is happy.
He can tell that Bucky is feeling that same glorious high. He's feeling that exultation, that combination of victory and power and adrenaline that Steve has coursing through him. That's why after match point, he charges Steve and wraps him up in his solid, heavy arms and picks him up. That's why Bucky kisses him.
**
“What the fuck?” Bucky says, the sheets on the hotel bed pooled at his hips and the laptop in his lap.
“Talking to the laptop again, babe? You know it ain't gonna talk back,” Steve murmurs, not looking up from his book.
“First openly gay beach volleyball duo?” Bucky reads. “That's a terrible headline. They couldn't do any better?”
“You upset?" Steve does look up this time. They haven't really talked about it, the kiss getting swallowed up in their victory.
“About the headline? Course I am. It's awful. They could have at least used some alliteration. Beach ball duo. Beach babe duo.”
“Not the headline, Buck. I was talking about-”
“I know what you were talking about,” Bucky says all soft and pushes the laptop away. “You wanna know if I regret it? I don't. Not even for a moment.” He runs his hand up Steve neck, cups his big, beautiful hand around Steve's cheek. “Not for a moment. I don't regret a single thing about you.”
Steve's heart aches, it wants to break with how tender Buck is being: “Me too, you know.”
Bucky kisses him and then ends up laughing against Steve's mouth: “I planned it, actually. Promised myself at the beginning of the day that if we won I was gonna kiss you right there in front of the whole world.”
“Pretty sure it wasn't the whole world, Buck,” Steve chuckles into the side of Bucky’s neck.
“Shut up. I'm trying to be romantic.”
“You should stop before you break something,” Steve says, his grin stupid and happy.
“Why? We got a match tomorrow that I don't know about?” Bucky’s grin matches his, just as dumb and just as content.
Steve lets himself get caught up in the moment, lets himself feel the cheap sheets against his skin and where Bucky is pushed up against him. He thinks about winning and kissing and about tomorrow.
“Nah,” he says and brings Bucky in for a kiss. “We're just going home.”