Chapter Text
This was absolutely not what Bucky Barnes wanted his Sunday morning to look like.
It had started out well enough. He’d woken up in someone else’s bed with that someone still there, naked and warm and more than willing to goad Bucky into another round.
Whether it was the third or fourth was really a matter of semantics at that point.
And, ok, the sun was out, so that was nice. But his partner from last night had definitely torn the neck of Bucky’s shirt, didn't have a brush to lend him, and left an obvious trail of hickeys down his throat that made it extremely obvious what he had been doing last night.
And this morning.
Which all would have been fine, if he hadn’t run across Rumlow hassling some kid in some dingy alley not even a block from Tony’s apartment.
Normally he might have looked the other way. Was he particularly proud of that? Not really but there it was anyways. Problem was, Bucky happened to catch the exact moment Brock’s fist connected with the guy’s jaw with an audible crack. He caught the moment that he hissed ‘fag’ between clenched teeth, in spite of the fact that he had no issue with gay people so long as they were spreading their legs from him.
He was pretty sure he saw blood, but Bucky couldn’t say with any certainty given how quickly the blond crumpled to the ground, practically wheezing for a few terrifying seconds.
Now, Bucky liked to think that he knew when to mind his own business. This just wasn’t one of those times. And judging by the slow, predatory steps forward Brock was taking, he was going to have to jump in quick.
He ducked into the alley, physically yanking Brock back before he could do anything else. “Brock, can’t you take a day off from being the world’s biggest ass with the world’s smallest dick?” Bucky asked, making sure to employ that ‘unsurprised, but vaguely disappointed’ tone his mother liked to adopt when he or one of his sisters did something exceptionally stupid. Trying not to give away the fact that his heart was in his throat and his right hand would definitely be shaking if it wasn’t locked around Brock’s arm.
Neither Brock, nor the kid--who upon second look probably wasn’t really a kid, but he was short--looked overly pleased to see him. The blond actually glared at him a little, though it faltered once he gave Bucky an obvious once-over.
Bucky was almost embarrassed, but grateful the kid was at least conscious, if bleeding from the lip and definitely a little bruised up.
“Well it looks like you still aren’t taking a day off from being a slut,” Brock responded cheerfully, forcing Bucky off of him with a solid shove. “Maybe you should mind your own business, Jaime.”
If Bucky had miraculously forgotten why he’d ended it with Rumlow before, he remembered very well now. “Just because you haven’t managed to get any in the last couple months doesn’t mean I have to refrain. Why don’t you get out of here before I have to make a scene? Because you and I both know I’m better at that than you are.” He clenched his left fist, intentionally ratcheting it up so that the metal plates audibly recalibrated.
He couldn’t miss the way Brock’s eyes flicked to it nervously. The same kind of disgust in his eyes that he’d usually looked at it with, and that just made him feel even more sick to his stomach.
It looked like there was going to be a standoff, the blond kid almost seeming to hold his breath as he slowly got upright on wobbly legs.
(Bucky should probably stop referring to him as a kid. He was almost positive that he’d seen the guy on campus at least in passing.)
Thankfully, Brock backed down first, shooting a disdainful look at the guy before knocking into Bucky as he passed, heading back out into the open street and muttering the entire time about how he had better things to do.
What a prat.
“You all right?” Bucky asked after a few stilted seconds. Only to immediately wish he’d just shut up and maybe skulked off himself.
“I didn't need your help, you know.”
Bucky had to blink a few times. He hadn’t expected a voice like that to come out of someone this guy’s size. Deep, resonant, definitely lower than Bucky’s. Authoritative, even.
“Maybe I just wanted to take the opportunity to hassle an ex,” he fired back after a few seconds pause. “Might not’ve had anything to do with you.”
At the very least it got a scoff out of the blond, his eyes rolling. There was a weirdly angelic look to the guy, which was only ruined by the bruise blooming on his cheek and the blood at the corner of his mouth. It might have been the pretty eyes he had. Big, bright blue with a frankly ridiculous fan of darker lashes around them.
Not as ridiculous as his company from last night, but no one did doe eyes like Tony Stark.
“Yeah, all right. I’m fine; you did your good deed for the day.” He waved Bucky off a little dismissively, the silver rings on his fingers catching the light.
It was before noon on a Sunday and Bucky’s thighs were still sore from last night. He should not be admiring the broad palms and delicate wrists of a gorgeous little twink already.
“Pretty sure for it to be a good deed, it has to not benefit me,” Bucky retorted, a little belatedly. Christ. He was usually better at the snarky banter. Or, at least he was usually quicker on the draw.
“Well, and it has to benefit me , so you failed on both counts.” In spite of the cutting words, there was a growing smirk on his lips and something definitely amused in his eyes. It wasn’t quite ruined by the flinch when his mouth spread too wide. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“How about I see about patching you up at my dorm? Would that make it better?”
The kid--seriously, Bucky really needed to get his name--looked about as surprised as Bucky felt. The anger and sarcasm faded away for a split second, and it almost made Bucky ache in a weird sort of way.
The bravado snapped back in place almost immediately, brow raised a little cockily. “I don’t know if I can reasonably be seen with a guy named ‘Jaime’,” he teased.
God, right, that. Bucky winced a little bit, mouth pressed in a firm line. “It’s James. Bucky. Rumlow’s the only one who ever called me Jaime.”
“Bucky.”
“It’s a nickname, shut up.”
The sharp edges of the blonde’s smile softened, eyes crinkling a bit at the corners. “I feel like Bucky’s an even less acceptable name, but it’s kinda cute on you.”
It was official. Bucky was a bit of a goner for this guy.
He had a not-so-secret soft spot for bossy, pushy guys who could be a little bit mean. See: him spending the night with Tony Stark who was the second most demanding person Bucky had bedded in his life. See also: his asshole of an ex-boyfriend who tended to push ‘mean’ a little too far for even Bucky’s taste.
“Do I get your name at any point, or do I just have to pick one for you?”
“I’m not getting renamed by a guy who thinks Bucky is passable.” Still, to soften the blow, he beckoned Bucky to follow as he turned neatly on his heel. “It’s Steve. You going to show me where your dorm is, or should I just risk running into my own roommate like this and have him patch me up instead?”
There was a split second where Bucky found himself just… just watching him move, almost like a creep, before remembering to keep up. The fact that he was easily half a foot taller than Steve proved helpful there. “Yeah, sorry. I kind of expected you to turn me down.” Again, Bucky found himself cringing a bit. A lot of this whole ‘constant foot in mouth’ thing could be excused by the fact that Bucky had spent a good three hours over the last 12 getting fucked within an inch of his life. That was the only thing saving his ego at this point.
That fact was something that Steve could probably tell at a glance, but he was still all right with following him to his dorm. So at least both of them were a little bit of a disaster, which was comforting.
“Yeah, well. That makes two of us,” Steve said lowly, practically muttering to himself. “So. You dated that?”
Bucky pulled a face as he fell in step with Steve. They were still a couple blocks from campus, so there was a little ways before Bucky had to do any actual guiding. “I was eighteen and it was a mistake. My roommate still hasn’t spoken his name since the fallout, and he wasn’t even around for the dating part.”
Steve snorted, looking weirdly pleased. “Solidarity. I can respect that in a roommate.”
The rest of the walk was a lot of idle chatter, though the few students who were actually out of their dorms at this hour kept pinning Steve with odd looks. When Bucky wasn’t looking at him head on, it was almost easy to forget that he was developing a hell of a bruise. He sure as hell wasn’t acting like he had been five seconds away from getting the shit kicked out of him.
At least the cut on his lip hadn’t bled much, regardless of the fact that he kept fucking smirking. Entirely too invested on getting Bucky to squirm to stop because of a little thing like pain, apparently.
“He’s probably still asleep,” Bucky said as he unlocked the door, “and he sleeps like the dead so you don’t actually have to worry about waking him up. But, y’know. Maybe we can keep it quiet, a bit.”
Which was true. Clint had the talent of sleeping through just about anything, from being slowly dragged onto the floor to the covers being ripped off of him. The fact that he was almost entirely deaf meant that they didn't actually have to keep it down, but it was something that Bucky was still in the habit of anyways.
And, honestly, that wasn’t something he wanted to tell Steve, a near stranger, considering that Clint could get a bit defensive over it. Not that Bucky blamed him for that. He’d seen how people would start treating him differently once they knew.
Steve took it in stride, however, a small smile playing on his lips as he mimed zipping them shut.
Which was frankly adorable.
It didn't occur to him until later that he should maybe warn Steve that the dorm was a mess. As soon as the door opened and they were faced with a week’s worth of clothes strewn about the place, textbooks lying open on most of the flat surfaces, Bucky almost felt a little chagrined.
Then again, maybe Steve was just as bad. Or maybe his roommate was. Either way, there wasn’t anything he could do about it now.
“First aid kit’s through here,” Bucky said softly, easily picking his way through the mess. It was familiar to him. And he knew which parts of the piles were actually important, and which ones were just mess.
The only good thing about Clint being an accident prone disaster was that Bucky learned early on to keep an overstocked first aid kit in the bathroom. Not minding too much that it took up all the space under the sink.
Without any prompting, Steve hoisted himself up onto the vanity, heavy boots thunking against the fake wood. “That looks like something my ma would have,” he commented watching Bucky sort through the various bandages. “Granted, she’s also a nurse, so I think she’s got an excuse for it.”
Bucky looked up specifically so Steve could watch him roll his eyes. “Look. I’ve lived with this guy for over a year now. It’s definitely necessary.”
Steve hummed lowly, and Bucky went back to his task. Belatedly realizing that he should have probably grabbed an ice pack from their mini-fridge before holing up in here.
He made a mental note to get one later.
It didn't take long until he found the antiseptic, not even thinking before moving to dab it on the corner of Steve’s lip until he was already halfway to touching him.
And Bucky really shouldn’t be staring at the guy, at the fullness of his mouth compared to the sharpness of his cheekbones. A balance that was so close to being off, but somehow looked beautiful on him.
Steve tipped his head to the side just a bit, assessing. But Bucky wasn’t blind enough to miss the darkening of those bright blue eyes.
There was just the barest hint of green in them, he thought.
Bucky had to swallow thickly, tearing his eyes away just to get ahold of himself. What was wrong with him? He pulled this guy out of a fight not even an hour after his last partner, and now he’s practically eye-fucking him in the bathroom.
Christ. He was a hot mess, maybe even on par with Clint.
“Sorry,” he murmured, focusing back on his task and dabbing the ointment at the corner of his mouth.
Said mouth quirked up just a bit, thankfully not disrupting his work. “Adrenaline’s a hell of a thing, huh? It’s fine; I get it.”
While it probably wasn’t something as simple as a hit of adrenaline, Bucky was thankful for the excuse. “This happens a lot, then?”
Suddenly, Steve looked almost sheepish. Shoulders lifting just enough that Bucky could notice it. “I may or may not find myself in a lot of fights.”
Somehow Bucky didn't find that surprising. A quick glance at Steve’s hands showed a couple old scars across the knuckles along with fresh scrapes along the heels of his palms. They were barely shaking, making it obvious that he wasn’t quite as unperturbed as he was acting.
He took to spreading the ointment on them as well before rifling for gauze pads. Whether or not it would prove effective was questionable, but it seemed better than doing nothing. “I’m guessing that your roommate is pretty used to this kind of thing, then,” he said drily.
“Yeah, but you might be cuter, so maybe I’ll let you play nurse for me instead.”
Bucky scoffed, pressing the pads to Steve’s hands. “Might be? You’re going to have to try harder than that if you’re trying to charm your way into my pants.”
It was a glib remark, maybe half teasing. So when Steve flipped their hands, tugging it forward to press them against his hips, Bucky would admit to feeling almost at a complete loss. “Cute. But it takes more than a quick patch job to get into mine.”
Heat rushed to his cheeks, embarrassed and more than a little fascinated. A probably dangerous combination. To say that he liked the chase would be an understatement, and it looked like Steve wanted to play as well.
It took him longer than it should to take his hands off of Steve’s bony hips and return to wrapping gauze around his palms. He had to clear his throat before trying to respond. “Well. I guess we’ll see which one of us cracks first.”
Thankfully, aside from the scrapes and bruising, Steve wasn’t really in bad shape. He’d patched up worse injuries on Clint after a drunken night in.
“I can get you something for your cheek,” Bucky offered once he secured the wrappings down. The white bandages contrasted with fair skin and the heavy rings probably shouldn’t have been as eye catching as it was.
Then again, there was a solid week he’d spent admiring Tony’s bronzed hands wrapped up in bandages from various cuts and burns because he refused to wear gloves while in the lab unless he deemed it necessary.
Which wasn’t often.
And it was probably a weird kink to entertain, but it wasn’t like Bucky wanted to hurt anyone. Or even see the injuries to begin with.
It was probably just a weird aesthetic thing and nothing more.
When he finally looked up to meet Steve’s eyes, there was something almost soft there. He hadn’t quite noticed how much of a guard up he had up until Bucky could almost see behind it for a split second.
“It’s just a bruise,” Steve said quietly. Gingerly sliding off the vanity and leaving mere inches between himself and Bucky. “Thanks, though. I should probably go before Sam starts to actually get worried.”
Right. His roommate, probably. Bucky was assuming, giving the at least somewhat overt flirting, that Steve wasn’t attached. And Bucky was pretty sure even thinking about being in a relationship gave him hives, so that wasn’t an issue.
Probably he should ask before doing anything else.
“Want me to walk you out?” he asked, already opening the bathroom door. Only to flinch when he heard a crash from the kitchenette and Clint’s wordless complaining.
If anything, Steve seemed to find that amusing given the grin spreading across his lips. Definitely a little more lopsided now than earlier. “I think you should maybe go back to playing nurse. Seems like you get a lot of practice, huh?”
In spite of Bucky’s assurances that it was fine, the door was right there , Steve just shrugged him off, laughing lowly as he closed the door behind him.
Leaving Bucky standing there, cursing to himself for failing to get Steve’s number, or even his last name before he left.
“Didn't you say you were staying with Tony last night?” Clint asked, a towel wrapped around his hand. “Because I’m pretty sure that wasn’t Tony.”
Bucky rolled his eyes, taking a deep breath as he scraped his hair back. “He’s just some guy I ran into; it’s nothing.”
Clint hummed, very obviously looking Bucky over. “Uh-huh. Sure, Buck.”
“Fuck you,” Bucky muttered, flipping him off.
It wasn’t the biggest campus, at least. Odds were at least somewhat decent that he’d run into Steve again, right?
Apparently the odds were not good for Bucky running into Steve again.
All right, ostensibly it had only been three weeks. But still. That was nearly a month without seeing even a glimpse of the guy.
Bucky was maybe starting to get a little worried. But not worried enough to warrant Clint calling in his ‘not girlfriend’, and Bucky’s best friend from middle school, however.
“I haven’t seen you mope this much since you realized that you had been invited to be someone’s threesome unicorn last semester,” Natasha commented, nudging the second coffee cup across the table.
The memory made him shudder. Johnny had been cute. Sparkling brown eyes, fair as anything with pretty little diamond studs in his ears…
But Bucky had absolutely no interest in fucking Johnny’s girlfriend while Johnny fucked him.
“I’m not moping ,” Bucky muttered, wincing as the chair scraped against the tile as he pulled it out. “I’m just… vaguely disappointed is all.”
She raised a perfectly plucked brow, somehow managing to look elegant in spite of the oversized hoodie that he was pretty sure belonged to Clint. “He also mentioned you had non-sex related company. Did you try dating again and already manage to find another dud?”
“Because dating worked out so well for me last time.”
Why had he agreed to this meeting? He knew Nat was going to try and grill him and then aggressively try to fix whatever she perceived the problem to be.
He loved Natasha dearly. She was like another sister to him. But he was already grumpy from the 9 AM block class he’d just left, and his wasn’t helping his mood all that much.
Natasha appraised him over her own coffee, ankles crossed primly. “I also hear that you haven’t gone out with anyone since. Which we both know is unlike you.”
Was there something weird about his sex life that multiple people commented on it in the last few weeks? Sure, Brock was a tool that probably was just saying it out of spite, but still. It wasn’t like he was in and out of people’s beds every weekend.
“You calling me a slut, Natalia?” he asked, brow raised challengingly.
“If I call you a floozy, does that make it sound any better?”
He couldn’t help but snort, sinking into his chair. Well. As much as one could sink into the short-backed monstrosities this café had. “Ok, fine, I’ve been staying home the last few weeks. It’s not a big deal.”
Natasha’s appraisal softened as she shoved the sleeves up to her elbows. “My study group is meeting at that diner off campus on Friday for dinner. You should join us, expand your horizons.”
While it was framed as a request, Bucky had no doubts that he didn't really have much of another option here. He could say no, and then listen to her needle him about it up until Friday night.
So he sighed, pushed his hair out of his face, and asked, “What time?”
He could tell from the way she lit up that he was probably going to regret this.