Who Am I? » [Stucky]

82. What's Yours Is Not Mine

I HAVE JUST HIT 100K READS ON THIS STORY! Thank you all so much for your devotion and commitment to reading, thank you so much for all of the support and thank you so much for your comments and votes! I am staggered by this and I want to thank you by giving you a bonus update today! Thanks again!

“Where the hell is my jacket?!” Bucky yelled into the depths of the flat, throwing his head back dramatically and growling, his arms sagging at his side as he paced back and forth impatiently.

“Where you put it, probably!” Steve shouted back, equally stressed, tearing apart the bedroom searching for the keys for his bike.

He ripped the waterfall of thick white covers off the bed, turned and threw every thick feather pillow and cushion. He flung the doors of the wardrobe open and flipped through every last hanging garment, fanning through the exquisite fabrics. He hauled every drawer open and searched through every item of junk stuffing the loaded storage units.

“I didn’t put it anywhere! It was you who tidied everything away!” Bucky complained, whining like a five year old who hadn’t been fed for a week.

“Just because I like the flat tidy! What’s the big deal?” Steve grumbled bitterly as he chucked objects out of his way without a care, showering the cramped trashed room with clutter that had been tightly packed into condensed places. The floor quickly became unnavigable from the carpet of junk covering the linoleum flooring, like a tidal wave of meaningless random stuff had swathed across the floor and left it in ruin. The room was an upturned wreckage, like a bomb site.

Steve dropped down to the floor and then a group of shining keys met his eyes, glittering beneath the bed. He swept away the rubbish that was coating the floor and flattened his chest to the ground and then waved his arm in the general direction of the fob until his fingers caught the group of rogue keys and hooked them with his curled fingers and reeled them back in with his arm. He clutched them to his chest with satisfaction, feeling fantastically victorious.  

He leapt back to his feet and skipped over the pointed items on the floor and bounded back into the open plan living space, triumphantly grinning and holding up the group of keys, jangling and tinkling about in his hand.

“See! It’s you who’s putting everything in the wrong place! Where on earth were those god damn things?” Bucky gestured to the keys he now possessed, a look of disdain on his face, and envy in his eyes that Steve had managed to reclaim his possession, whilst his still remained astray. He now unquestioningly blamed Steve for the unknown whereabouts of his jacket.

“Stop complaining! We’ll find it later? Can’t you just grab my leather jacket? It’s only slightly loose on you.”

“That’s not my point! My point is, you keep putting shit where it’s not supposed to go!” Bucky put his head in his hands and huffed, his breathing exaggerated as he pushed the breath through the grate of his fingers.

“Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Jeez, just calm down and stop blaming me. Things go missing all the time. So what? C’mon. Stop being a pest and wear something else.” Steve patted him on the shoulder patronisingly and made his way towards the door, giving him a frowny teacher-like face of sanctimonious moral high-ground.

“Pest… Charming, that’s lovely,” Bucky bit back ferociously like an antagonised hound, Steve’s holier-than-thou attitude winding him up like clockwork.

“Oh, Buck… Don’t be like this… Not now… Do we really have to have another one of your meaningless disputes as we’re going out the door?” Steve spoke down to him and that got under Bucky’s skin.

“It takes two to fight, Rogers…” Bucky told him with frustration, striding out the door and thumping Steve in the chest hard enough to knock some of the air out of his lungs with his solid metal fist as he handed over his brown leather jacket over. “Take some responsibility for your actions.”