Your Hands Have Made Some Good Mistakes

What Now?

"Buck, don't— you never deserve to be spoken to like that." Steve's voice was hardened, adamant. Typical Steve, steadfast in his defense of Bucky, even when he was wrong. Even when Bucky himself accepted the punishment.

"He was right," Bucky said, speaking loudly over Steve as he continued to try to exonerate him. "Tony was right." Steve quieted, listening with narrowed eyes, and Bucky gulped. "We— we're sleeping together." He waited for a reaction from Steve, but there was none. "And we shouldn't be." That was a lie, and Bucky knew it. Nothing had ever felt more right in his life. But Tony had a point. "Her contract— lawsuits and whatever."

"Tony doesn't give a shit about lawsuits—"

"He does when they're because of me." He met Steve's eyes, and they were both silent. Steve couldn't argue that; Tony hated Bucky, and he wasn't exactly subtle about it. He had been kinder to Bucky than Bucky would ever deserve, helping Bucky through the trial, allowing him a place to live and a facility to use. But it wasn't from the goodness of his own heart; it was a favor for Steve. No, Tony hated Bucky, and he would take any petty excuse possible to hurt him.

"I won't let him do anything to you," Steve said, his voice quiet but intense. "I can't control his business decisions— I don't think I can get him to extend the contract, or, or— I don't think I can get him to let her stay, but— I'm not gonna let him kick you out."

"I'm going with her," Bucky said instantly, and Steve paused. He hadn't spoken to you about it yet, but he knew: if you couldn't stay here at the compound after the new year, then neither could he.

Steve tried and failed to hide his surprise. "Right," he said, more to himself than to Bucky. "Of course."

Nervous energy spiked through Bucky, almost forcing his feet to move despite how ill he felt, and he took off walking again. He didn't head back toward the compound; no, this conversation was far from over, and he'd rather have it out here, in the privacy of the woods. Where they were alone.

Steve hurried after him. "Is everything... okay?" he asked carefully when he caught up. "With her. Is she—?"

Bucky nodded without looking at him. "She's fine," he mumbled. "Not mad. She... thinks it was funny, actually." His lips twitched slightly when he thought of how you had teased him about it that morning. Your words were lighthearted, loving, spoken between peppered kisses against his skin. You thought it was funny, yes, but there was something else, too— Bucky heard your pulse speed up when you joked about the way he begged for you, and he felt your body temperature rise when you told him how he grabbed at you, even with everyone watching.

Even with the disastrous consequences, you enjoyed his behavior last night. You liked seeing him so desperate for you that he had to take you right there, no matter who else was around. You liked that you two had been caught, that everyone knew how badly Bucky needed you. And Bucky could tell by your lingering hands on his skin, your gentle caresses that morning, that just talking about it made you want more. If only he hadn't been so goddamn hungover.

Steve must've seen the blush that rose to Bucky's cheeks. "I take it that's not the first time you two have... you know." He cleared his throat.

Bucky shook his head. "No." A nervous chuckle escaped him. "It's been going on for a while."

"How long?" Steve's gaze suddenly burned like cigarettes against his skin, and he slowed as if to stop— but Bucky kept walking briskly, forcing Steve to keep up. This was it; the interrogation he had been dreading. Bucky gulped.

"Couple months." He glanced at Steve, then brushed his hair back from his face nervously. "Since July, I think." It felt strange for Bucky to say that— a couple months. It felt like forever and no time at all.