the truth is that i've never seen a mouth that i would kill to kiss (until now)

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/23774050.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warning: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Category: M/M
Fandoms: Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The
Avengers (Marvel Movies), Captain America (Movies)
Relationships: James "Bucky" Barnes/Peter Parker, Peter Parker & Tony Stark, James
"Bucky" Barnes & Steve Rogers
Characters: Peter Parker, James "Bucky" Barnes, Steve Rogers, Natasha Romanov
(Marvel), Tony Stark, Morgan Stark (Marvel Cinematic Universe),
Pepper Potts, Clint Barton, James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Sam Wilson
(Marvel), Bruce Banner, Thor (Marvel), Wanda Maximoff, May Parker
(Spider-Man), Happy Hogan
Additional Tags: Boys Kissing, Boys In Love, Boys Being Boys, Kissing Prompts, Adult
Peter Parker, Bucky Barnes Feels, Peter Parker Feels, i just love these
two together, Tumblr Prompts, Post-Avengers: Endgame (Movie), Post-
Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Post-Captain America: Civil War
(Movie), Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), Post-Spider-Man:
Homecoming, doesn't follow a timeline, scenes will take place in
different movies, Kissing, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Plot What Plot/Porn
Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Porn With Plot, winterspider, Alternate
Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, The Falcon and the Winter
Soldier - Freeform, no beta we die like men
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2020-04-21 Updated: 2021-04-04 Words: 32,733 Chapters:
5/50
 the truth is that i've never seen a mouth that i would kill to kiss
(until now)
by StoriesofmyLife

Summary

Where Bucky and Peter kiss, a lot (and in a lot of different ways)

or-

50 types of kisses that Peter and Bucky share over the years, in no particular order.

Notes

Hello! This is my first time writing for this ship and I'm super excited to delve into the world
of Winterspider. I absolutely adore this ship and I love them both as individuals and I love
them even more together, so I decided to try my hand at writing a fic for them.

This will be a collection of one-shots, in no particular order and in varying different genres--
ranging from pure fluff to pure smut, so be warned! It's based off a tumblr prompt that I
actually was tagged in for a different fandom and I really enjoy writing them and I hope you
enjoy reading them :)

Updates will be sporadic, but since all the COVID-19 quarantine, I've got a lot of time on my
hands so I'm sure I'll be updating semi-regularly for the time being.

Please let me know what you think :)

title taken partially from "Finally // beautiful stranger" by Halsey

this work is also unbeta'd, so any mistakes are mine and I do edit my own stories, but I
occasionally miss some things so please excuse any mistakes that I might've missed

See the end of the work for more notes

 4.

4). An accidental brush of lips followed by a pause and going back for another, on purpose

Thud!

Peter falls backwards on the mat with a groan, rubbing at his chest where Bucky’s foot tried
to impale itself in his sternum, glaring up at the ceiling of the training room and wondering
who’s idea it was for him to train with the ex-HYDRA assassin and why they thought it
sounded like a good one.

“C’mon, kid, I know you can do better than that,” Bucky goads from across the mat and Peter
can just picture the smug grin dancing on his stupidly handsome face.

Normally, that would be enough to get him to push back up from the floor and have another
go at trying to wipe the arrogant smirk off his face—that’s how he’s found himself in this
exact position over a hundred times in the just the last hour alone—but his body aches, his
head hurts and he really just wants to take a nap.

However, Peter can’t leave the taunting completely unanswered, so he musters enough
energy to lift his hand up and give Bucky the bird, holding it long enough for the asshole to
see it before he lets his arm drop back to the mat like a limp noodle and grimaces because
even that hurts.

Peter hears Bucky chuckle, a low, throaty sound that sends shivers down his spine that he
blames on the sweat cooling on his skin and the frigid temperature of the training room and
not on the…something else that’s been floating around underneath his skin since he officially
moved in to the Avengers compound and got to know the mysterious super solider.

Originally, he’d been intimidated by the ex-assassin who had a tendency to brood and keep
people at arms length with well timed sarcastic comments and glares that could melt paint.
His very aura screamed ‘go away’ and Peter was more than happy to give him a wide berth
until he began to notice that Bucky was never present for Avenger related things unless he
had to be, which, okay, fine, but he also noticed that no one really seemed to take note or care
about his lack of presence at game nights or movie nights or team breakfasts or dinners.

Not even Steve, who, when Peter asked about it, gave him a small smile that made Peter
think he just asked him a rather loaded question and patted him on the shoulder in a way that
was only this side of condescending and went on about his day.

So Peter took it upon himself to try and make Bucky feel more included—inviting him to
movie nights, asking him for his help with building legos, teaching him to play chess (which,
in hindsight, was a terrible idea to teach an ex-HYDRA assassin who’s very survival relied
on strategy and needless to say, Bucky took to it like a duck to water and beat Peter at every
game they played together. Sometimes, he’d let Peter think he was winning, only to
completely come back from behind with a move Peter never saw coming and declare check
mate with that smug grin of his and leaving Peter wondering just where the hell he went
wrong, the sadistic bastard)—and eventually, over time, Bucky started to slowly open up to
the rest of team and become a part of the family.

(Well, except for Tony, those two were never going to get along, no matter how much Peter
tried and he was about ready to just wash his hands of the whole thing and declare that
mission failed).

And during the midst of it all, Peter found himself falling for the enigmatic super soldier.
Underneath the hard exterior, Bucky was sweet and gentle and kind and he listened to Peter
ramble about his upcoming foray into the college life and how he nervous but also excited
about the fresh start. How he missed his friends already, but he didn’t miss high school. How
he loved May, but how he was relieved about moving out and being able to have his own
space. How their relationship changed after the snap.

Bucky listened to him and didn’t always offer advice, but when he did, it was usually
thoughtful and well-spoken, like he weighed and measured his words carefully before he
spoke them, because he knew they mattered to Peter and he didn’t want to let him down.

And they did matter to Peter, more than he liked to admit, even to himself.

Bucky had become his best friend, but also more and Peter honestly didn’t know what he was
going to do when he was over four hours away at MIT, in a new apartment, in a new city,
with new people and new places and experiencing it all without Bucky—who won’t be there
to call him a punk in that exasperated but fond way of his when Peter was working himself
up over something that was usually nothing or to play chess with him after a long day or to
cuddle on the couch with him when the nightmares kept him awake and Bucky would let him
rest his head on his chest and he’d run his fingers through Peter’s hair and tell him stories
about places he’s been or pre-serum Steve stories until Peter fell asleep to the soft vibrations
of Bucky’s voice and in the warmth of his arms and—

A foot nudges him in the ribs and with a grunt of exasperation, Peter slits his eyes open to see
Bucky standing over him, an amused grin dancing on his stupidly plush pink lips.

“Can I help you?” Peter asks, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his voice, which only
serves to make Bucky’s grin widen.

“Just checking to see if you’re still alive,” Bucky informs him cheerfully.

“Barely,” Peter mutters, throwing an arm over his eyes and ignoring the way his skin breaks
out in goose bumps when that same chuckle from earlier slips past Bucky’s lips.

“Well, try not to die,” Bucky advises, the bastard. “It’s been a while since I’ve had to dispose
of a body and I don’t think Stark would buy your death being an accident, so that option is
out,” a pause and then, “well, I guess that angle could work—you could run out of your webs
mid air, your suit could malfunction, Stark does tend to work on no sleep, so I’m sure it
wouldn’t be hard to convince him that he screwed something up—“
Peter lifts his arm from his eyes and squints up at Bucky incredulously. “Are you actually
planning out my death right now? Like, you’ve actively put thought into this?”

Bucky shrugs his deliciously muscular shoulders. “Only when you’re being particularly
annoying.” He says, offhand, but when he looks down, Peter can see the twinkle in his blue
eyes that are actually grey up close and it doesn’t make Peter’s heart flip flop in his chest, it
doesn’t.

“Ha ha,” Peter says sarcastically, which only makes Bucky laugh, a quick, sharp sound that
Peter tries not to feel too accomplished about.

Instead of focusing on that, Peter, tired of being laughed and mocked, uses Bucky’s
momentary distraction to his advantage. Swinging a leg out and wrapping it around Bucky’s
right leg, yanking sharp and sudden, sending Bucky tumbling to the mat with only a sharp
inhale of breath giving away his surprise.

Peter has all of one second to enjoy wiping the cocky look from Bucky’s face before
momentary panic sets in—because what he didn’t account for with his little sneak attack was
the fact that Bucky was literally standing right in front of him when he did it and since Peter
essentially dead legged him, Bucky’s leg collapsed, trapping Peter’s foot between the back of
his thigh and his calf, so instead of landing next to Peter, he lands on top of Peter, all two-
hundred and fifty pounds of him crushing Peter between the mat and his very sweaty and
very muscular body.

He has just enough sense to move his head so their noses don’t collide in a very painful way
and Bucky seems to have the same idea and somehow, when Peter goes left and Bucky goes
right, their lips brush together and despite the pain, it sends a shock of heat through Peter’s
body and he can’t help the gasp that leaves his mouth that has nothing to do with the wind
getting knocked out of him.

Grey eyes meet his and they stare, wide eyed, at each other for a brief moment and there’s an
apology on the tip of Peter’s tongue, but it dies before he can even really decide what part
he’s apologizing for—dead legging him or accidentally kissing him—when the shock fades
from Bucky’s eyes and it gets replaced by something deeper, darker, almost primal in its
intensity when they flicker down to Peter’s lips and okay, that’s hot.

Peter swallows heavily, Adam’s apple bobbing and he licks his suddenly dry lips, heat
pooling like liquid fire low in his belly when Bucky’s eyes track the movement with a laser
focus Peter’s only seen when they’re on missions. He’d be lying if he said he never thought
about what it would be like, to be under that stare—feel the weight of it on his skin like the
world’s sexiest choke hold, dizzying, oxygen depriving with just enough danger to get Peter’s
blood pumping—and now that he is, he finds himself almost unable to handle it, his senses
tingling, bordering on too much, overwhelmed but in such a good way that he swears his toes
are curling and they haven’t even done anything yet.

He can feel the hard lines of Bucky’s body pressed to every square inch of his—every square
inch. He can feel the way Bucky’s chest expands with every breath, the heavy flutter of his
heart beat that matches the staccato rhythm of Peter’s own, the warmth of his skin even
through their clothes and Peter wants to feel it against his own flushed skin without the
barriers. He wants to trace every scar, every bruise, every bad memory left behind on his skin
with his lips until the only thing that’s left is just Peter. He can smell the salt from his sweat,
the pine of his soap and Peter wants to drown in it all.

“Peter,” Bucky says, voice low and gravelly and it sounds strained, almost like a warning and
Peter has to bite back a fond laugh because this is Bucky and Bucky would never do anything
to intentionally hurt Peter. He could place his hands on Bucky’s chest now in a silent plea for
him to get the hell off of him and Bucky would do it without a complaint, because he would
never force Peter into something if he didn’t want it.

Too bad Peter wants this more than he can ever remember wanting anything in his life and he
lets Bucky know that by tangling his fingers in his dark hair and closing the last few
centimeters between them, brushing his lips gently, reverently against Bucky’s, giving him
the choice to pull away if he wants to. Because just like Bucky, Peter would never do
something to Bucky without giving him a chance to say no.

And there’s a brief, panic inducing moment, when Bucky’s hand lands on his cheek that Peter
thinks that the answer to his unspoken question will end with a resounding no in the form of
Bucky calling him a punk and shoving his face away. But it doesn’t come.

Instead, Bucky cups Peter’s cheek in the warm palm of his flesh hand and kisses him back
with a rumble that’s almost a growl that vibrates his chest and Peter feels it all the way to his
toes. Fireworks explode behind Peter’s eyelids as Bucky’s lips—chapped and warm and
rough and perfect—move with his like he’s oxygen and Bucky needs Peter to breathe,
devouring his mouth like it’s his last meal and Peter arches into it, kissing him back just as
desperately.

Bucky taste like winter—minty, sharp and fresh. But kissing him is like touching an open
flame—hot, burning with the hint of danger of getting consumed by the fire and it’s
everything Peter imagined it would feel like and more. So much more. He’s overwhelmed by
it, all of it—his world has narrowed down to the feel of Bucky on top of him, the taste of him
on his lips, the sounds he makes when Peter tugs at his hair. His brain is just a chorus of
BuckyBuckyBucky and moremoremore.

And judging by the way Bucky is kissing him and holding him, Peter knows it’s the same for
him, too. And isn’t that a heady and wild thought. That Peter could be his world just as much
as Bucky is his and the intensity of that thought is almost too much to think about, especially
when he’s being kissed like it’s his last day on Earth.

Peter’s brain short-circuits when Bucky bites his lower lip, tugging it between his teeth and
Peter keens, parting his lips on a gasp that Bucky takes advantage of, slipping his tongue past
Peter’s lips and tangling it with Peter’s, stroking the flames of Peter’s desire and it’s obscene,
the things Bucky can do with his tongue—teasing it over the roof of Peter’s mouth in a way
that tickles but not in a way that makes him want to laugh, au contrare, it makes him want to
rip Bucky’s clothes off and make a mess of the smirking asshole. And when Bucky traps
Peter’s tongue with his and sucks, slow, dirty and meaning every second of it, Peter swears he
could die right on the spot and be happy about it.
He squirms underneath him and they both moan when Peter wiggles the right way, their
straining erections brush together through the thin material of their gym shorts and Peter
chases the friction, canting his hips upwards and he’s rewarded with a sound that’s definitely
a growl that make his cock twitch and Bucky’s metal hand grip his thigh and push it
outwards, so his leg is pressed to the mat and this time, when Bucky thrusts his hips, Peter
feels it e v e r y w h e r e.

Their kissing becomes sloppy, more pants and moans and breathing the same air as they rut
against each other, rough and dirty, right in the middle of the training room where anyone
could walk in and see them. The thought makes Peter’s cock twitch, pre-cum pooling in the
material of his boxer brief’s and it only adds to the sensation as the wet material rubs against
the sensitive head and he can feel his stomach clenching, the need to come burning bright in
his veins.

“Bucky,” Peter whimpers and it’s a plea, a demand even though Peter’s not even sure what
he’s pleading for.

“I’ve got you, doll,” Bucky murmurs, voice like smooth velvet over Peter’s lips. “‘M not
goin’ anywhere, ‘m stayin’ right here, with you, okay?”

Peter nods, breath hitching when the angle of Bucky’s hips change and his erection brushes
against Peter’s ass and just the suggestion of it—Bucky, inside of him, spreading him open
and filling him in ways that Peter’s only let himself think about when he’s alone in his room
—and seeing the way heat flashes hot like lightening across the a stormy sky in Bucky’s eyes
has Peter’s head spinning and he comes with a sharp cry that Bucky swallows with his lips,
never taking his eyes off of Peter as he falls head first into his own release with a low groan,
cock twitching against the now damp material of his gym shorts.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” Bucky whispers against the sweat slicked skin of Peter’s neck and
despite laying in a heap on the floor in his own sweat and come drying unpleasantly against
his skin, Peter flushes bright red at the compliment.

He suddenly feels shy and so overwhelmed with everything and Bucky must sense his shift in
mood, because he pulls away from where he was sucking a bruise into Peter’s skin and looks
down at Peter with such a warmth and devotion that it makes Peter’s heart sing and his
stomach fill with butterflies.

“Don’t tell me you’re gettin’ all shy on me now,” Bucky teases with an amused smile tugging
at the the corners of his kiss-swollen lips.

Peter bites his lip, looking away but a hand, cool, even through the leather of the glove, lands
on his cheek, preventing him from even thinking about turning his head away.

“Hey,” Bucky murmurs, voice gentle, coaxing, thumb brushing over the curve of Peter’s
cheekbone. “What’s the matter, sweetheart?”

Peter swallows and meets Bucky’s concerned gaze shyly. “I’ve uh, I’ve never done that
before.” He admits bashfully, cheeks flushing in embarrassment.
“Oh, doll,” Bucky says softly. “I’m sorry—I didn’t know. I just assumed—and I shouldn't
have and I’m sorry—“

The guilt in Bucky’s voice and the apologetic look in his eyes makes Peter’s chest ache. He
pulls him down into a kiss, just a press of lips, nothing more. He wasn’t trying to start
anything, he just wanted to reassure Bucky that this was okay, that he was okay, they were
okay.

“S’okay,” Peter murmurs, brushing a hand through Bucky’s hair, marveling at it’s softness
and texture and reveling in the contented hum that rumbles from Bucky’s throat. “I wanted
this, believe me. You have no idea how badly I wanted this.” Peter assures him, pressing a
quick, but firm kiss against his lips.

A smirk spreads across those same lips and Peter feels his flush spread from his cheeks down
to his toes at the mischievous gleam in his grey eyes.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” He hums, nipping at Peter’s kiss bruised lips. “I know how badly you
wanted it,” he promises, voice a low murmur and it sends a shiver racing down Peter’s spine.
“Can I tell you a secret?” he whispers, breath tickling Peter’s neck.

And Peter nods dumbly, because words have left his brain at the moment and he finds himself
already half-hard again, cock twitching back to life in his ruined shorts and he wonders if
that’s the perks of being a young kid in his sexual prime, Bucky’s weight on top of him or a
yet to be discovered side effect of the bite. Probably a combination of all three.

“I wanted it just as badly,” Bucky confesses softly in his ear and Peter gasps when Bucky
presses against him and he can feel him, hard and throbbing against his ass. “And I still do.”

“Bucky,” Peter breathes, grinding down against him and he feels a rush of euphoria when
Bucky groans against his neck, the rough drag of his beard brushing over the sensitive skin of
his neck making him whine and he wonders, idly, if it’s possible to be addicted to a person
after just one time.

“Whaddya say, doll?” Bucky murmurs, pressing a gentle kiss to the skin behind Peter’s ear
before he pulls away and looks down at Peter with a raised eyebrow. His eyes are molten
silver as they gaze down at Peter and even though arousal is the clearest emotion, Peter can
see the underlying tenderness, the desire for just Peter and Peter alone obvious and it makes
his heart flutter in his chest.

Cupping Bucky’s face in his hands, Peter leans up and Bucky meets him half way, their lips
tangling together in a sweet, gentle kiss that melts Peter’s insides and the butterflies in his
belly flutter their spread wings.

“Wanna be yours,” Peter breathes the admission when they part for air. “Make me yours,
Bucky, please. Want you,” Peter murmurs, kissing him roughly. “All of it, all of you.” He
says and he means it, down to his very bones.

Bucky’s eyes are dark, but his smile is gentle when gazes down at Peter, tangling his fingers
in the curls at the nape of Peter’s neck in a way that has his eyes fluttering closed.
“You ain’t gotta ask me twice, doll,” Bucky murmurs, kissing Peter soundly and his heart
soars.

That familiar fire starts to build in Peter’s belly, coursing through his veins at break neck
speed and he loses himself in Bucky’s lips, his tongue, his arms around his waist, the way his
hands grip his hips—

“Oh for the love of God!” Clint complains loudly from across the room, “I spar on those
mats, goddammit! Go fuck in your room like normal people, no one wants to see that!”

Bucky just flips him off over his shoulder and after a moment, the door shuts and they hear
his grumbling fade with his footsteps as flees as far away as possible.

Peter’s face is flushed fifty different shades of red in embarrassment and it only worsens
when Bucky smirks down at him, grey eyes almost black with arousal and cocks a
questioning eyebrow.

“Whaddya say, doll?” He asks again in that slow Brooklyn drawl that makes Peter shiver and
his cock twitch, grey eyes twinkling. “Wanna see what we can accomplish in a bed?”

He’s going to be the death of me, Peter thinks when Bucky drags him up off the floor, not
before kissing him thoroughly and soundly, to the point where Peter feels dizzy and
breathless and a little sad that they’re making the trek back to Bucky’s room, it seems so far
away at the moment.

But when Bucky looks over his shoulder at Peter, grin crooked and boyish, giving Peter a
glimpse of the charming solider from 1940’s that could’ve probably gotten away with murder
with a smile like that, Peter can help thinking, But God, what a way to go.
 33.
Chapter Summary

He’d been having a good day. It was the first day of summer, he got to sleep in, Steve
had made him pancakes to celebrate his survival of his last year of high school, he’d
caught a glimpse of a shirtless Bucky on his way out of the Tower to meet MJ and Ned
for lunch at their favorite pizza place, him and Ned found a sweet vintage Star Wars lego
set and he’d been on his way to Mr. Delmar’s to pick a sandwich up for the walk back to
the Tower when he’d heard the screams and smelled the smoke.

Chapter Notes

Hello! I got the idea for this chapter after watching a scene in Spider-Man 2 and I'm
really happy with how it turned out.

Thank you to everyone who's read and reviewed, it means a lot to me that there's people
out there that like this story and love this pairing as much as I do :)

Hope you like it :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

33.

An unexpected kiss that shocks the other one receiving it.

“Peter, the building’s currently stability is dropping rapidly, I would advise you get out now
—“

“Not now, Karen—“ Peter huffs, lifting a beam and he can feel the heat of it all the way
through the the IronSpider suit, burning his hands. He ignores it though, tossing it into a
corner of the burning apartment building where it will (hopefully) be out of the way and tries
to find his way through the thickening black smoke. “I’m kinda busy at the moment.”

The IronSpider suit is an improvement from his last suit—Tony really thought of everything
—but despite the filtration system, Peter can still smell the acrid smell of the smoke and it
settles in his lungs, making him cough and his throat feel dry, like he hasn't drank water in
weeks. He can feel the sweat rolling down his back and his temples, dampening his hair and
making it stick to his forehead. Some of it lands in his eyes and he has to blink his eyes
several times to get it to go away so can see.

He pushes through it though, because he needs to make sure everyone is out of the building
before he leaves.

“Karen, scan the area for any heat signatures, please.” Peter asks her and instantly, the
schematics of the build pop up, including the dropping rate of stability of the support beams
and yeah, okay, they’re a little lower than what he would like to see, but in a perfect world,
the building wouldn’t have caught on fire in the first place, but, as it would seem life is not a
wish granting factory.

He’d been having a good day. It was the first day of summer, he got to sleep in, Steve had
made him pancakes to celebrate his survival of his last year of high school, he’d caught a
glimpse of a shirtless Bucky on his way out of the Tower to meet MJ and Ned for lunch at
their favorite pizza place, him and Ned found a sweet vintage Star Wars lego set and he’d
been on his way to Mr. Delmar’s to pick a sandwich up for the walk back to the Tower when
he’d heard the screams and smelled the smoke.

With a sigh that was only this side of reluctant, Peter had kissed away his dreams of a #4 with
extra pickles and squished down really flat, ducked into an alley way and tapped his watch,
encasing himself in his suit and webbed off towards the commotion.

One of the older apartment buildings that littered Queens had caught fire and by the time
Peter got there, most of the people had evacuated but he’d run in anyways to make sure that
no one got left behind.

He ignores his AI’s pointed gesture and focuses on scanning the building, looking for heat
signatures and with a sigh of relief, he doesn't see any.

Karen confirms this. “My scanners aren’t registering anymore heat signatures. However, the
building’s stability rate has dropped to 30% and declining as we speak—“

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter says, carefully walking down the hallway, ignoring the way the floor
beneath his feet creaks ominously. “I’m going, I’m going. Don’t have a cow—"

A whimper makes him pause.

Cocking his head to the side, he expands his senses, filtering out the sirens from below, the
crackling of the flames, the creaks and groans of the building that’s probably going to
collapse any minute—

Another whimper, followed by a weak cough and it’s coming from behind him.

“Hello?” Peter shouts, carefully making his way back down the hallway. “Is anyone there?”

All he gets is another soft whimper in response and Peter’s heart constricts in his throat
because it sounds so small and scared and he knows that it’s a child.
“I’m detecting a heat signature approximately twenty feet down the hallway,” Karen informs
him. “He looks to be underneath some debris in the far back bedroom.”

The building shakes, rattling the floor beneath his feet and he hears a crash behind him, but
he ignores it, ducking under burning pieces of ceiling that are beginning to fall from above
him.

The whimpering gets louder, turning into loud cries.

“Peter, the building is going to collapse in approximately ten minutes, evacuation is

advised.” Karen warns him and it does nothing to soothe the pounding of his heart.

“I’ve got it Karen, thanks.” Peter mutters, trying to concentrate on not falling through the
places where the floor has already collapsed through or think about the fact that he can see
the flames shooting up from the floors beneath him.

“Should I call Tony Stark for back up?” Karen asks.

“No, Karen, don’t call Tony—“ Peter shouts, narrowly missing a piece of dry wall that comes
from out of nowhere.

The smoke is getting thicker and the flames are crackling louder and Peter’s trying really
hard to panic because it feels like the walls are closing in on him and he needs to focus—

“Your core temperature is rising and your oxygen levels are dropping—“ Karen notifies him
and Peter wonders if Tony purposely programmed the AI to sound worried when danger
arises.

“I’m fine, just—shit—“ Peter curses, dodging a piece of flaming something that falls from
the ceiling. It falls right in front of him, blocking his path and he feels his stomach twist when
he hears a helpless scream and he has to figure out a way, he can do this—

Biting the bullet, he paces back a few steps and then he runs, leaping over the flaming pile of
rubble and he prays to Thor, Jesus, Joseph and Mary that the floor on the other side is still
intact.

“Building stability is now at 20%, calling Tony Stark—“ Karen announces as he’s mid-air.

“No, Karen, don’t—“ Peter protests just as Tony’s face appears on the screen.

“Hey, kid, what’s shaking?” Tony asks over the sound of heavy metal playing in the
background of the lab, tinkering with what looks like the roadsters engine and he doesn’t
bother to look up, which Peter is thankful for.

The floor groans when he lands and he breathes a sigh of relief, but it’s only brief because the
building shakes again and the kid trapped in the room screams again and it catches Tony’s
attention.

“Kid, what are you—ARE YOU IN A BURNING BUILDING?!” He demands, whatever tool
he was using dropping to the floor with a loud clang.
“Sorry, can’t talk right now—“ Peter grunts, kicking the door open with bang and he damn
near chokes as the thick black smoke assaults his senses, overwhelming the filter in his mask.
“—I’m a little busy right now.”

“Hang on kid, I’m coming, JARVIS route me to Peter’s location and give me a live feed—“
Tony demands and Peter can hear the nano tech take shape around him.

“Tony, I’ve got this, I’m—“ A loud crash sounds from behind him and it makes the building
quake and more pieces of the ceiling fall, slamming into the weak floor and the flames
immediately being licking at the fresh debris, feeding the growing pyre around him. “—fine.”
Peter finishes with a squeak that he’ll deny to his dying day.

Which might be today, he thinks with a nervous laugh.

“Yeah, that doesn't sound fine, hang tight kid, I’ll be there in five—“

“What’s going on?” A voice worried voice asks in the background.

Steve.

“My kid is just trapped in a burning building, just your typical Tuesday—“

“Is Peter okay? Is he hurt?” Another voice demands.

Despite being trapped in burning building, his heart flutters because it’s Bucky that asked and
he sounds concerned, about him, Peter Parker—

A weak cough pulls him from his thoughts and his eyes snap to a young boy, who can’t be
older than five, trapped under a beam, little face covered in a mixture of soot and ash and
tears and looking absolutely terrified.

Right, Peter, He thinks with a shake of his head, focus.

“Hey, little guy,” Peter says, stepping over debris and burnt toys. “We’re gonna get you out of
here, okay?”

“‘m scared,” the boy whimpers and it’s followed by a cough that rattles his little body and
sends Peter’s panic through the roof.

“We’re on our way kid, hang tight.” Tony tells him and Peter just nods absently.

“It’s gonna be okay,” Peter reassures him as he gently lifts the beam up off his body, “We’re
gonna get you out of here, okay?” he repeats the promise and he prays down to his very
bones that he can keep it.

He scans the room and finds a blanket over in the corner that looks relatively unharmed. He
grabs it with his webs, unraveling it and placing it gently over the little boy, wrapping him in
it like a little burrito before he scoops him up, tucking the blanket around his face to keep
him as protected from the smoke as he can.
“Okay, I need you to keep your face in the blanket, can you do that for me?” Peter asks the
little boy, who nods, burying his face in Peter’s chest, clinging to him as tightly as his little
body will allow.

The relief he feels at finding the kid is short lived when he looks up from adjusting the
blanket and sees the entire room is engulfed in flames and the smoke so thick even he can
barely breathe.

“Karen, help me out here, what are my options?” Peter demands, rocking the crying boy in
his arms and trying his best to stay calm.

“Scanning for possibilities—“ Karens replies and Peter tries not the panic when the map of
the building is most engulfed in red, he doesn't need Karen to explain that this is bad, really
bad, bordering on not good.

He knows going back the way he came isn't an option—he could make it through relatively
unscathed, but the blanket the boy is wrapped in won’t and he didn’t come all this way just
fail. He can do this, he can, he just needs to think—

The window shatters behind him and Peter grips the boy tighter to his chest, shielding him
from the glass that showers over them like rain. The boy’s crying grows louder at the sound
and Peter looks over to the now fragmented window and the relief he feels at the familiar
gold and red suit floating outside radiates all the way down to his knees.

“Hey, kid, brought the calvary,” Tony greets, pointing down, to what Peter assumes, is the
rest of the team. “Is there anyone else in the building?”

Peter shakes his head. “Just this little guy here,” He says, nodding down to the trembling boy
in his arms.

“Okay, hand him over to me and let’s get you both out of here,” Tony says, holding his arms
out, wiggling his fingers in a gimme gesture that Peter is all too happy to comply with.

“Alright buddy, you get to fly with IronMan,” Peter says enthusiastically down the little boy,
who’s peaking at him from underneath the blanket. “How cool is that? He’s gonna take you
now and get you back to your parents—“

But as soon as he takes a step, the floor gives out beneath him and then he’s falling,
weightless into the flames below.

The little boy screams in terror and he hears Tony shout his name in horror and the sound of
the thrusters blast and for a brief moment, Peter genuinely wonders if he’s going to die—he
can feel the overwhelming heat from the flames licking at his body, even through the iron of
the suit—but he manages to shoot a web to a relatively safe looking spot on what’s left of the
ceiling and while it cracks under his weight, it holds and he’s able to wriggle the boy, who
had slipped down around his hips during the fall back up to his chest. The blanket, however,
falls into the flames and is engulfed immediately and the smoke is unbearable, stinging his
eyes and his throat and he coughs harshly, rattling his chest and he’s so grateful that the bite
eliminated his severe asthma because all this ash and smoke and soot would’ve definitely
sent him into an asthma attack that not even his inhaler could bring him back from.

Keeping one arm wrapped tightly around the little boy, he tries to pull them back up, but it
only serves to make the ceiling groan in a very not good way.

“Tony?” Peter shouts, not bothering to hide his distress.

“Peter?!” Tony’s worried voice demands and he looks up to see Tony hovering over the hole
in the floor.

“I’m okay,” He shouts up at him through a cough, looking down at the little boy, he adds,
“We’re both okay.”

“Okay, just hang on, we’ll figure out how to get you both out of there—“

Peter shakes his head vehemently. “There’s no time, take him, I can wait—“

“—I’m not leaving you here to dangle over an inferno kid, next suggestion—“

“Tony!” Peter snaps, letting his mask fall open and ignoring the sting of smoke in his eyes,
he stares up at Tony with as much defiance and bravado as he can muster while he dangles
from a collapsing ceiling above fifty foot flames. “There’s no time, take him from me and get
him out of here, I’ll be fine.”

Tony hesitates for a brief moment, but another loud crash from another room sends him into
action.

“I swear to God, kid—“ Tony mutters, letting the unfinished threat dangle in the air between
them as he swoops down and takes the kid out of Peter’s grip.

“I think I can get both—“ Tony starts, hesitating once again, but Peter shakes his head as
another blast from another room over sounds and this time, the whole building shudders.

“Peter, the building is going to collapse in approximately four minutes and twenty-seven
seconds—“ Karen’s worried voice tells him in his ear and he groans.

“Go!”

With a muttered curse, Tony disappears out the window with the kid in tow and Peter feels
some of his stress lift, but it’s short lived when the building groans and shifts downwards and
the ceiling he’s currently webbed to creaks loudly, groaning under his weight and he looks up
to see the wood splinter, dropping him into the flames below with a sharp jerk that does
nothing to help his situation and he watches, helpless, as the rest of the ceiling gives way and
he can’t even bring himself to scream as he free falls into the fire below. He tries desperately
to shoot another web, but there’s nothing to grab onto and he can feel the flames engulf his
legs and all he can think is imgonnadieimgonnadieimgonnadie—

A hand grabs his wrist tightly, jerking his fall to a stop and with a gasp of surprise, Peter
opens his eyes and through the heavy smoke and ash, he can see the way the metal hand
glints in the light of the flame and he only has a moment to admire it before, with a sharp tug,
he’s yanked out of the inferno and then he’s gathered in a pair of strong arms and jumping out
of a window just as the building collapses with a loud boom that ricochets in his ears.

They land with a harsh thud on the ground that makes Peter groan, which turns into a sharp
cough and his lungs are burning, aching from all the smoke and ash and he closes his eyes,
taking in the fresh air, sweet, sweet, fresh air that he’ll never take for granted again—

“Peter?” A voice asks from above him and Peter must’ve died and gone to heaven because
that voice sounds distinctly like—

“Peter, can you hear me?” The panicked voice demands again and there’s no way that’s who
he thinks it is—

“Bucky?” Peter murmurs confusedly, blinking his stinging eyes open and his vision swims in
front of him for a moment before they focus on a pair of worried grey eyes hovering above
him anxiously.

“Peter? Are you okay? Can you breathe okay? Does anything hurt? Can you see okay? We
need to get you to a doctor—“ Bucky starts to scoop him up, but Peter places a hand on his
chest, stopping him.

“Bucky, I’m okay,” Peter assures him and then he coughs and ruins the whole thing.

“Yeah, you sound real fine, doll,” Bucky drawls, rolling his eyes as he tightens his grip on
Peter and picks him up like he weighs nothing. Which shouldn't be as hot as it is and if Peter
could swoon right now, he totally would.

“Bucky, seriously, this is unnecessary, seriously, I feel a lot better—“ Peter protests and
despite the harsh cough that he feels deep into his bones, being out in the fresh air is helping.
He can feel his chest expanding, his lungs aren’t burning and the sting in his eyes is going
away.

“—I literally just pulled you out from a burning build, you’re getting looked over by a doctor
—“

“—seriously, Bucky, that’s not necessary—“

“Peter,” Bucky says, voice sharp and it pulls Peter up short, blinking up at the exasperated
super soldier from underneath his lashes.

Bucky looks like he’s aged a decade in the last five minutes, like pulling Peter from a literal
pit of flames shaved a few years off his life and added a few grey hairs for good measure. He
looks exhausted and there’s a wild look in his eyes that makes Peter’s stomach twist
uncomfortably, guilt swelling in his gut and threatening to choke him like the smoke in his
lungs he’s still coughing up.

“Please,” Bucky continues, voice softening and he sounds so tired, weary, like the way he
sounds when Peter shakes him awake from a nightmare. Like he was forced to re-live every
terrible memory of the life he’s lead thus far and it makes Peter’s guilt worsen. “Just—please,
for my sanity, let them look you over.”

His grey eyes are serious as they sweep over Peter’s form, a furrow between his brow that
Peter wants to soothe with the tips of his fingers, but he feels like that would be weird and he
doesn't want to do anything that might make Buck regret not leaving him to roast like a
spider-kabob in the flames. So, instead, he settles deeper into Bucky’s hold, letting out a sigh
that turns into a hacking cough and it sounds pathetic, even to Peter’s own ears.

“Fine,” Peter says, voice resigned and he feels Bucky relax, the tension draining out of his
shoulders. “But not here, I’ll let Bruce look me over when we get home.”

Some of Bucky’s earlier tension returns and he opens his mouth to protests, but Peter cuts
him off with a hand on his cheek.

“Bucky, I can make it back to the Tower,” Peter tells him, voice gentle. He looks over at the
chaos that’s surrounding the few ambulances that were dispatched to the scene and the long
line of people waiting to get checked over. He sees Tony on the phone, probably trying to get
surrounding hospitals to dispatch more to help and he catches his eye and gives him a wave.
Tony waves back, relief evident in his eyes when he sees for himself that Peter’s okay, but
Peter knows he’s going to be in for it later.

Looking back up at Bucky, who’s watching him with a look on his face that Peter can’t
decipher, but it makes his heart race and his palms sweat and his lungs constrict for a very
different reason.

“These people need it more than me,” Peter continues, waving his hand over to where they’re
trying to shuffle as many people as they can through the paramedics to get looked over. “I’m
not taking away what resources they might need and besides,” Peter says with a shrug, “I’ll
probably be fine by the time we get back to the Tower, but,” he adds when the look shifts into
a glower, “I’ll still have Bruce look me over.”

Bucky pauses in his stride, unsure, eyes flickering over to the EMT’s, the swamped
paramedics and then back to Peter.

“I’ll even have him throw in a few breathing treatments, if that’ll make you feel better,” Peter
bargains when Bucky still looks unswayed. “C’mon, Buckaroo, whadday say?” Peter asks in
a poor mockery of Bucky’s Brooklyn drawl and an over-exaggerated wiggle of his eyebrows,
just to make Bucky laugh.

It doesn't make him laugh, but Peter can see his lips twitching into a small smile and he takes
it as a small win. With a heavy sigh that sounds like Bucky’s questioning every life choice
he’s ever made that could’ve lead him to this very moment, he heads towards the Quinjet
that’s parked a street over.

“Punk,” Bucky mutters, but there’s no heat behind it, on the contrary, it sounds almost
affectionate and it makes Peter smile as he tucks his head right underneath Bucky’s chin,
settling into his warm embrace and let’s Bucky carry him on to the Quinjet.
*

Bucky doesn't let go of him until they make it to the med bay and Bruce has to all but pry
him from Bucky’s hands so he can look Peter over and run some tests.

Instead of leaving, like Peter thought he would, Bucky leans against the wall on the other side
of the room, his eyes tracking Bruce’s every movement as he flutters around Peter to grab the
necessary equipment to give him a thorough check up that Bucky had insisted on.

Bucky tenses when Bruce asks him to take his suit off so he can look him over and make sure
Peter isn't sporting any burns that need tending to and the shiver that goes down Peter’s spine
has nothing to do with cool temperature of the room or the shock of the cold stethoscope
being pressed into his skin.

“Your lungs sound a little wheezy,” Bruce mutters, pressing the stethoscope harder against
Peter’s back. “Take another deep breath for me, Peter.”

Peter complies, breathing deep through his nose, wincing when his throat burns, his lungs
ache in protest and the sharp cough that rattles his lungs makes him wince. He ignores the
smug smirk Bucky sends his way when Bruce isn’t looking.

Bruce takes his temperature, his blood pressure and looks over the superficial cuts and
scrapes, cleaning them with an antiseptic wipes that sting and the sharp smell of the
chemicals makes his stomach churn.

“Alright, Peter, I’m going to give you a few breathing treatments to help hurry your lungs
along, but otherwise, I’m giving you a clean bill of health and you’re free to go after you’re
done with the treatments,” Bruce says, scribbling something down in Peter’s medical chart—
because Tony makes him document everything that has to do with everyone’s health, like a
real hospital—and sets him up with the nebulizer and even though its been years, Peter
remembers the routine like it’s second nature.

Bruce takes notice. “Not your first time with this, huh?”

Peter shakes his head and takes the first inhale. “No, before the bite I had really bad asthma,
had to have one of these at home and do it twice a day,” At the taste to the steroids, Peter
winces. “I don’t miss it.”

Bruce chuckles, adjusting the levels. “I’m not going to give you much, your healing has
already taken care of the worst of it, I just want to make sure you get everything out of your
system.”

He pats Peter on the shoulder and tells him to take a few more inhales, leaving when one of
the interns pokes her head in and tells him he’s needed in Dr. Cho’s office.

Bucky glowers when the intern lingers, staring at Peter and when he looks down, he flushes
all the way to his toes when he realizes he’s in nothing but his boxers.
“I’m sure Tony Stark would love to know that the interns he pays to do medical research like
to stand around and ogle the patients,” Bucky says with a shark like grin and with bright flush
and muttered apology, the intern scurries off.

Peter raises an eyebrow, but Bucky ignores him, eyes looking over the medical equipment
with look of pure wonder on his face that makes Peter smile. He forgets, sometimes, that he
and Steve grew up in a time where things as simple as nebulizer machine, were a far off
dream of a future they’d never thought they’d get to see. It’s humbling, in a way and a
reminder of how often people take things like this for granted, Peter included.

“When Steve was a kid, he was so tiny and thin and he’d get these—attacks that would just
rattle his whole body,” Bucky murmurs over the buzz of the machine. “His ma wasn’t always
able to afford the medicated cigarettes they used back then so I’d sneak into the pharmacy
and steal ‘em for him,” Tapping gently at the mask in Peter’s hand, he gives him a boyish
grin, “This sure would’ve saved me a lot of grief. I can’t tell you how many times I got
chased outta there with a broom.”

Peter snorts a laugh that turns into a cough and he has to pull the nebulizer mask away from
his face so he doesn’t choke on the medicine.

“Shit, doll, I didn’t mean to—“ Bucky starts, resting a hand on his back and rubbing small,
soothing circles, “—fuck, should I get Bruce?”

He sounds panicked and Peter shakes his head, pressing his hand to Bucky’s chest to keep
him place.

“N—no, I’m—,” cough, “I’m fine—it’s the—“ cough, “—breathing treatments.” Peter says
shakily, pressing a hand to his chest and rubbing it in gentle circles like May used to do,
when he was a kid and he had a bad nightmare that sent him into an asthma attack.

“Just breathe, Peter,” she’d whisper, “Just breathe.”

“Easy,” Bucky murmurs, brushing his warm hand down Peter’s bare back, “Take it easy, doll,
just breathe for me, I’ve got you.”

His voice is a low rumble and it sends a sliver of heat through Peter’s veins, goosebumps
breaking out on his sink and he suddenly aware of just how close they are—he can feel every
trail Bucky’s fingers trace over the bare skin of his back, he hear the flutter of his heart and
smell the smoke and sweat that still clings to his skin—and it makes him lose his breath for a
completely different reason.

Their eyes meet and Peter’s breath catches in his throat when he sees that same look from
earlier—the one that makes Peter’s heart all fluttery and his stomach swoop and his hands
shake and just as he’s about to blame it on the amount of steroids Bruce just pumped into his
body, he sees Bucky’s eyes glance down at his lips and—oh, he thinks, as Bucky’s lips brush
against his, eyes fluttering shut.

It’s gentle and sweet and barely a brush of lips, but Peter feels it all the way down to his toes.
“Don’t ever scare me like that again, darlin’, do you hear me?” Bucky rasps, voice gravelly
and so deep that it makes Peter shiver.

He can only nod dumbly, stunned into silence because Bucky just kissed him, Bucky kissed
him, Peter Parker, Bucky just kissed—

“Hey, Peter you should be good to—oh, sorry,” Bruce says, eyes widening when he takes in
the intimate way Bucky’s holding Peter—who’s still basically naked—and how close their
faces are and Peter kind of wants to die.

“No, Bruce, it’s fine,” Bucky says, taking a step back and Peter swears he’s seeing things
because there’s no way Bucky is blushing—

“I was just leaving,” Bucky continues and Peter has to hold back a laugh when he stumbles
over a misplaced stool. “I’m sure there’s a debrief that I’ve got to, yeah—“ he mutters,
making his way out of the room and Peter’s sure he’s blushing now, holy shit—

“Hey, Bucky?”

Bucky pauses in the doorway, looking at Peter over his shoulder and despite his flushed
cheeks, his grey eyes are back to that same mask of indifference as he waits for whatever
Peter has to say.

When Peter doesn't say anything, he raises an impatient eyebrow. “What, kid? I ain’t got all
day.”

“Thank you, for you know—,” Peter shrugs, blushing, “—saving me and all.” he finishes
with a shy smile.

Bucky’s gaze softens and a small smile twitches at the corners of his lips—a smile that he
only reserves for Peter.

“Any time, doll.” He says gently and before he disappears down the hallway, he gives Peter
one last look, eyes twinkling. “Just don’t make a habit of it.”

He leaves him with that and Peter watches him go, sighing and blushing and it’s only until
Bruce clears his throat that Peter even remembers he was there in the first place.

Bruce gives him a raised eyebrow and Peter just gives him a look.

“You saw nothing,” Peter tells him, cheeks flushing pink.

“You’re right, I didn’t see anything,” Bruce says as he shuts the machines off and checks
Peter’s breathing. His eyes twinkle when he hands Peter some of clothes. “However, I think I
found the cause of your breathing problems.”

Peter groans and Bruce just laughs.

When he releases him from medical, Peter feels like’s floating on a cloud as he makes his
way up to his room to shower. He swears he can still feel Bucky’s lips ghosting over his,
 warm and chapped and tasting like the herbal tea he favors over coffee and it was just way
better than anything he could’ve imagined.

It follows him though the communal living room where he stops off to get some water and it
even carries him through the thirty minute lecture Tony gives him—screaming and shouting
about Peter giving him a heart attack—and eventually, Tony realizes he isn’t listening and
sends him off to his room.

Despite the fire and almost dying, Peter thinks to himself as he strips out of his soot stained
clothes, today was a pretty great day.

Chapter End Notes

Thank you for reading :) Let me know what you think down below :) And if you have
any suggestions on any scenes you may want to see in the future of this, let me know :)
 12
Chapter Summary

Bucky hates parties.

More specifically, he hates Tony Stark’s parties that the billionaire is prone to throw. For
no fucking reason.

But Bucky is wiling to do anything to make Peter happy and it’s a weakness he wears
like a badge of honor, because Peter means everything to him and he wants to be
everything Peter wants and deserves.

And that’s why, when Tony told them after a mission briefing, he was throwing a party
to celebrate the one year anniversary of defeating Thanos and expected them all to be
there—which Bucky didn’t take as a shot at his expense, he didn’t—and Peter turned to
him and batted those eyelashes and asked him, voice quiet and shy, if he’d be his date.
Well. Bucky was helpless to say no.

Chapter Notes

A self indulgent chapter that explores my appreciation for the suit Tom Holland wore for
the Far From Home premiere and Sebastian Stan's leather tie he wore for the I, Tonya
premiere.

There's a slight dom/sub undertone but nothing too crazy or heavy, I just wanted to warn
just in case

Thank you for the love and support :)

Please excuse any mistakes

Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

12.

Sneaking away to a corner to share a secretive kiss

Bucky hates parties.

More specifically, he hates Tony Stark’s parties that the billionaire is prone to throw. For no
fucking reason.

He hates the forced socialization with people he’s never met. He hates the stares and the
murmurs people think he can’t hear. He hates the crowded atmosphere that makes him feel
claustrophobic and twitchy and yearn for the peace and solitude of his room with Peter curled
up next to him as they read or watch whatever movie Peter swears he just has to see, oh my
god, your mind is going to blown, Bucky, do you hear me? Absolutely blown.

Usually, his mind is actually blown, Peter has good taste in movies and Bucky appreciates
that he tries to stray from ones that have excessive explosions or fight scenes that end with
someone dying or getting seriously hurt. However, every once in a while, after a particularly
terrible movie that Peter swore was amazing, Bucky would be left staring at the screen and
wondering how he was going to get the last two hours of his life back. But then Peter would
look up at him with those big brown eyes full of excitement and ask Bucky what he thought
of it, biting his bottom lip anxiously as he awaited Bucky’s response. And Bucky, unwilling
to even see a glimmer of disappointment in those beautiful eyes, especially at his own hand,
would lie through his teeth and tell Peter that he loved it, just so he could see those eyes light
up and those sinful pink lips spread into that shy, pleased smile that did funny things to
Bucky’s heart.

He’d do anything to keep that smile on Peter’s face, even if meant suffering through shitty
movies that Peter loves or taking him on dates to that Thai place he loves in Queens even
though Bucky hates being in public. Or letting Peter and Morgan decorate his Vibranium arm
with the magnetic poetry set Morgan got for Christmas, the two of them giggling and
whispering to each other to see who could come up with the most inappropriate poem (which
he doesn't hate as much as he says he does, because aside from Peter himself, there’s nothing
Bucky loves more than watching Peter interact with Morgan, who adores Peter and looks up
to. And Bucky knows Peter adores her right back—it lights up his whole face whenever
they’re together, pure and utter devotion in his eyes when he gazes down at the little girl—
even when she makes him dress up and sing Disney songs or play princess tea party with
makeup and feather boas and tiaras or asks him to swing her around the compound’s
property. It doesn't matter how tired Peter can be, he’d do anything for that little girl and it
warms Bucky’s heart and makes him yearn for things he long ago accepted he’d had to give
up. But with Peter, the possibility doesn't seem that far out reach).
The bottom line is, Bucky is wiling to do anything to make Peter happy and it’s a weakness
he wears like a badge of honor, because Peter means everything to him and he wants to be
everything Peter wants and deserves.

And that’s why, when Tony told them after a mission briefing, he was throwing a party to
celebrate the one year anniversary of defeating Thanos and expected them all to be there—
which Bucky didn’t take as a shot at his expense, he didn’t—and Peter turned to him and
batted those eyelashes and asked him, voice quiet and shy, if he’d be his date. Well. Bucky
was helpless to say no.

And it was something Steve took great glee in teasing him about when he swung by Bucky’s
room and dropped off a garment bag with a new suit tailored specifically for him, curtsey of
Tony Stark himself.

He also took his chance to remind Bucky, now a full blown, S.H.I.E.L.D. certified Avenger,
he’s expected to at least make an appearance at these due to the amount of S.H.I.E.L.D agents
and diplomats in attendance so they look more like a “united front”.

After rolling his eyes and shoving Steve out of his room, Bucky had stared at the garment bag
for damn near twenty minutes, half afraid to open it and see whatever hideous pattern or color
Stark took great glee in picking out for him. He’d been prepared for just about anything—
glitter, rhinestones, I <3 IronMan embroidered on the back in rhinestones and glitter—but
when he finally worked up the nerve to unzip the bag, a simple black suit stared back at him
and he found himself relieved.

The lapels of the suit were made of a soft black silk that matched the undershirt made of the
same material and unsurprisingly, it fit him perfectly. The tie was made from a textured
leather so thin and supple it felt like water through Bucky’s fingers. Stark was even
thoughtful enough to include a new black leather glove made from the same leather as the tie
to go over his Vibranium hand.

Bucky also tried really hard not to think about how much a suit like this cost. Even the label
was made from silk, but Bucky had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that whoever this Tom
Ford guy was, he made a damn good suit and he found himself grateful—again, grudgingly
—towards the billionaire because Bucky had nothing like this in his minimal selection of
clothes, so he wouldn't of had anything to wear to whatever shindig Stark was throwing. He
never had an excuse to dress up like this and he found himself nervous, wondering what Peter
would think of him—if he’d like it, if he’d thought he looked good all cleaned up like this, if
he liked too much and expect Bucky to do it all the time or decide he preferred him better like
this and be disappointed when Bucky was back in his usual jeans and t-shirts.

And those thoughts persisted for the first hour of the party, as Bucky stands on the outskirts,
sipping a whiskey neat and wishing, not for the first time, that the serum let him actually feel
the alcohol’s effect.

Peter had texted him and told him he was running late, but would be there soon, followed by
at least ten apologies and no less than twenty different emoji’s to further explain his sadness
over the situation. Despite the anxiety that was clawing at the pit of his stomach, he couldn't
help the fond smile that graced his face when he read the text over.

But now it was closing in on more like an hour and fifteen minutes and Bucky is starting to
get worried.

He sees Tony making his rounds with Pepper on his arm, looking, as always, as the striking
power couple they are. He must sense his stare, because Tony excuses himself from his
conversation with some politician Bucky vaguely recalls meeting at some awards ceremony
or another and makes his way over to Bucky, who is down right fidgeting in his worry.

“What’s with the doom and gloom, Johnny Cash?” Tony asks when he approaches him,
wincing when Pepper elbows him discreetly in the ribs for the quip.

“Don’t be rude,” Pepper chides Tony. To Bucky, she smiles warmly and says, “You look very
handsome tonight, Sargent Barnes.”

Truth be told, Pepper Potts-Stark intimidated the hell out of him and part of that was thinking
she hated him for the same reasons that Tony despised him. But she was one of the few
people that had treated him with genuine kindness when he moved into the compound.

Despite himself, Bucky can feel the flush on his cheeks and he gives her a tentative smile
back and says, “Thank you, Mrs. Stark. You look beautiful, as always. Green suits you.” He
returns, nodding to the elegant emerald green dress she’s wearing.
Pepper smiles, pleased. “Thank you, Tony picked it out for me.”

“And by that, she means she picked it out, but it was my card that paid for it,” Tony says and
this time he neatly doges the second elbow to the ribs, rolling his body out of the way and
Bucky has to give it to the man, he doesn't even spill a drop his drink.

And as amusing as it is to see Tony doge assault attempts from his wife, Bucky’s anxiety is
about to reach unhealthy levels if he doesn't hear something about Peter in the next five
seconds.

It must show on his face, because Tony eyes him over the rim of his drink. “So, Grim Reaper,
you never answered me: what’s with all the brooding? Underoos stand you up or something?”
He asks and with a considering frown, he adds, “Where is Peter, by the way? I thought he
was coming with you.”

A worried crease forms between Tony’s eyebrows and his grip on his drink tightens. Eyes
narrowing, Tony takes a threatening step forward and Bucky clenches his fist in the pocket of
his suit.

“Where is he, Barnes?” Tony demands, voice low and eyes flashing. “I swear to God, if
something happened to him on your watch—“

Pepper, horrified, yanks Tony back to her side and Bucky clenches his jaw so tight he can
feel his teeth grinding together. The only thing that keeps him from lashing out at Tony is the
fact that it would upset Peter, who was as close to Tony as any son was to their father, if
Bucky did anything stupid. He could care less about making a scene in the room full of
people who are beginning to stare and whisper amongst themselves as the tension between
the two heroes—who they were supposed to be here celebrating, as irony would have it—is
beginning to mount.

Before Bucky could even think about responding, Steve appears next to them, a smile
plastered on his face for the onlookers, but Bucky could see the way his eyes strain
underneath the worry he’s doing a shitty job at hiding.
“Problem, gentlemen?” Steve asks casually, sipping his beer and nodding to the people that
pass by their little circle at the back of the room.

His presence relaxes Bucky somewhat, but there’s still the underlying worry that while they
stand here and fight over who loves Peter more, the boy in question could be seriously hurt or
worse.

“Peter texted me and told me he was going to be late,” Bucky says, turning to Steve and in
the face of his best friend, he finds it’s easy to give in to the panic that’s been clawing at him
all night. “But that was almost an hour and a half ago and I haven’t heard from him since and
I’m just—really starting to worry because if he would’ve been this late, I feel like he
would’ve told me—“

Steve rests a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Hey,” he says, voice calm, soothing, the same
tone he uses to comfort terrified civilians during an alien invasion. “I’m sure Peter is fine. He
might’ve just got stuck in class or caught up in the lab—you know he can be as bad as Tony
sometimes—“

“Hey!” Tony snaps indignantly from where he’s typing away at his phone, maybe trying to
call Peter or get a read on the suit’s activity, Bucky isn't sure, but he feels a rush of
gratefulness towards Tony’s tendency towards helicopter parenting, because if anyone can
find him, it’s Tony and his paranoia.

“—and I’m sure he’s on his way,” Steve continues, ignoring Tony. “If he doesn't show up
soon, we’ll go out looking for him.”

Pepper places a hand on his other shoulder, her gaze gentle and motherly when she meets
Bucky’s panicked gaze. “I’m sure he’s okay, Bucky. Like Steve said, he’s just like Tony when
it comes to projects—“

“—I’m standing right here—“ Tony mutters, tone annoyed but Bucky can hear some of his
own panic reflected in the billionaire’s voice and it does nothing to quell the nerves in his
stomach.
“—and I’m sure you’ll hear from him soon, okay?” Pepper continues, ignoring her husband
completely and it’s a true testament to Bucky’s current mental state that he can’t enjoy that to
it’s fullest extent.

“Huh,” Tony says, tapping at his phone screen. “That’s weird—“

“What?” Bucky demands, not bothering to hide the shaking in his voice as he takes a step
towards Tony and all but snatches the phone from his hands and scans the screen, heart and
stomach twisting as he tries to make sense of what he’s seeing.

“If you don’t give me back my phone right now, so help me Barnes, I’ll rip that Vibranium
arm off and beat you with it.” Tony threatens, grabbing over Bucky’s shoulder in a vain
attempt to reach his phone.

Bucky bats him away easily, not even bothering to look up from the screen and he finds
himself snorting in amusement despite nerves clawing their way up his throat. “I’d love to
see you try it, Stark.”

The map on the screen blips with a dot in the shape of a spider and while Bucky finds it a bit
disturbing that Tony seems to have a tracker in Peter’s phone, he’s thankful for it now as he
watches it move…through the compound?

“That doesn't make any sense.” Bucky mutters to himself, tapping at the screen.

“What doesn't make sense?” Steve asks, looking over his shoulder and Bucky angles it so
they can both see it better.

“Huh, then that must mean—“ Steve starts, reaching a finger out to trace the path the little
spider on the screen is heading in, following it to an even bigger cluster of dots—
“Hey guys! What are we looking at?” Peter asks from behind them and Bucky startles so
badly, he drops the phone in his hands and it’s only saved from shattering into a million
pieces by Steve grabbing it right before it hits the floor.

“Jesus, kid, don’t scare me like that, my heart ain’t wait it used to be,” Tony scolds with a
hand to his chest, but Bucky can hear the relief in his voice and it mirrors his own.

“Peter!” Pepper greets, frown melting into a genuine smile as she wraps him into a hug.
“Where were you, sweetie? We were beginning to worry about you.”

Understatement of the century, Bucky thinks to himself as he watches Peter’s eyebrows

furrow over Pepper’s shoulder as he accepts her hug.

“Didn’t Bucky tell you I was going to be a little late?” He asks, meeting Bucky’s eyes in
confusion.

“Kid, twenty minutes is a little late,” Tony drawls, sarcasm thick as his eyes sweep over
Peter’s body—assessing for injuries, Bucky thinks grimly to himself—before he pulls Peter
into his arms for a hug. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m all for showing up to a party fashionably
late, it’s only the cool thing to do after all, but two hours late just makes you look rude.”

Peter’s eyes widen behind the glasses he’s wearing, looking down at his watch in horror.
“Two hours? I thought the party started at eight-thirty.”

Tony opens his mouth to respond, but Steve just claps Peter on the back. “It’s alright, Peter,
we’re just happy you’re alright.”

Steve meets Bucky’s eyes—stay calm, he’s okay, the unspoken message says and Bucky
nods.

The thing is, he’s not even angry with Peter, it was an honest mistake and with everything the
kid had to keep track of—homework for his classes and his internship and avenging and
spending time with Bucky himself—he was sure it just slipped Peter’s mind.

He’s more angry at himself—for letting his worry show, for getting worked up in the first
place, for not trusting Peter to call him if he needed him—and the relief he feels at seeing that
Peter is okay—that he’s in one piece, safe from any lurking danger and no visible injuries—
makes his hands shake and his knees quake from the force of it, threatening to bowl him over.

He’s vaguely aware of his little group dispersing, disappearing back into the crowd and
leaving him alone with Peter, who looks so guilty and shamefaced that it makes Bucky’s
stomach twist.

“Bucky, I’m so sorry,” Peter starts, voice shaky. “I honestly thought the party started later and
I was putting the finishing touches on my essay—“

Bucky can hear the words Peter’s saying, can see his lips moving as they form around them,
but they don’t register in brain. Not when Peter is standing in front of him, whole and safe
and so heartbreakingly beautiful Bucky swears his heart has shattered into a million, happy
little pieces at the mere sight of him.

The maroon suit he’s wearing compliments his chocolate curls and brings out the the gold
flecks in his big, doe eyes that only look bigger when they’re framed by the tortoiseshell
glasses he’s taken to wearing— glasses that, Bucky knows for a fact, are equipped with
E.D.I.T.H., the program Tony created just for Peter in the instance that the final showdown
with Thanos went differently. The suit fits Peter like a glove, emphasizing his trim waist and
even though Bucky can’t see it, he’s willing to be that his ass is a sight to behold in the
matching maroon pants that end right at his delicate ankles.

But what really sets Bucky off is the black leather bow tie that rests at the base of Peter’s
throat—made from the same material as the one that’s around Bucky’s neck.

It a subtle detail, not likely something other people would likely pick up on, especially if they
weren’t standing together, but Bucky notices and that’s all that matters.

Because they match

And it hits Bucky then, that their suits weren’t picked out by Tony.

Peter picked out this suit for him.

Peter took the time to design a suit specifically for him, so he could wear it, tonight.

Because Peter knows Bucky would’ve felt out of place and underdressed in anything he
owned, which would’ve made him feel even more awkward and uncomfortable than he
already was.

And Peter knows him—his style, what he’s comfortable in—and he picked out something
that Bucky would’ve picked out for himself.

He even took the time to design matching ties for them to wear—a clever and discreet way of
declaring their relationship to the outside world and even though Bucky is sure only a few
people in the crowd might understand the significance of it, it meant the world to Bucky that
Peter wanted to tie himself to Bucky in some way, no matter how small, for other people to
see.

Suddenly, the room feels too hot and too crowded, too many eyes on them and Peter is
standing in front of him, fidgeting and looking nervous and it takes Bucky a moment to
realizes that Peter isn't talking anymore—hasn’t been for a while now if the anxious look on
his face is anything to go by—and Bucky’s just been standing there, gaping at him like an
idiot.

“Bucky?” Peter says, voice tentative and it’s enough to snap Bucky into action.

Setting his glass down on whatever available surface that happens to be within arms reach
(he’ll found out later that it was on top of a first edition Brontë novel that cost Tony what
most people would pay for a decent house and that doesn't give Bucky some twisted sense of
satisfaction, it doesn't) and grabs Peter gently by the arm, dragging the poor stuttering kid
behind him as they make their way down a dark hallway, the sounds of the party fading to a
tolerable level the further they get into the compound.

“—I’ve just been so busy with everything going on and it honestly just slipped my mind—“

Bucky’s searching ends when his eyes land on the small sunroom that’s tucked behind a
bookshelf near their bedrooms. Scanning behind him to make sure no one sees them, even
though they’re a decent ways away from the rest of the party, he doesn’t want anyone to see
them. Once he deems it safe, he guides Peter into the dark room that’s only illuminated by the
bright shine of the full moon. He presses Peter to the glass wall, admiring the way the
moonlight dances over the the angles of Peter’s handsome face, giving him an almost ethereal
glow and not for the first time, Bucky wonders if this beautiful boy is even real.

“—seriously, I’ll understand if you’re mad at me, I made you worry and everyone else worry
and I swear I didn’t mean to ruin tonight—“

He steals the rest of his words from Peter’s lips, tangling his fingers in those soft curls and
reveling in the soft gasp that leaves Peter’s mouth, parting his lips and Bucky takes advantage
of the opportunity that’s been gifted to him, tangling his tongue with Peter’s, tasting, teasing,
wanting more than anything to devour this gorgeous boy that gets the pleasure of calling his.
All his.

Desire burns white hot in his veins and Bucky wishes, more than anything, that they could
skip out on the rest of this party so he could strip Peter out of this suit and lose himself in
Peter’s body—kiss and bite at his soft, supple skin, mark him up and make him his, over and
over until they’re both wrung out and spent.

And judging by the way that Peter’s moaning into his mouth, breathless little whimpers that
go straight to Bucky’s aching erection, Peter wants that, too. His delicate hands are gripping
at Bucky’s shoulders hard enough to bruise and he’s kissing Bucky back like his very
survival depends on it and it makes Bucky dizzy with want to know that Peter wants him just
as much.

“Fuck, darlin’,” Bucky murmurs between kisses, cupping Peter’s cheek in his hand, stroking
his thumb over rose-stained skin, smirking when it makes Peter shiver. “We gotta—“ kiss “—
get back—“ kiss “—to the party.”
“Don’t wanna,” Peter breathes, fingers teasing at the buttons on Bucky’s suit and Bucky
groans into Peter’s mouth when his fingers thumb over his nipple, teasing it through the silk
of his shirt, the soft drag of the material over the sensitive skin making him shiver. “Wanna
be right here, with you.” He admits in a breathless pant, blinking up at Bucky through thick
lashes, big doe eyes shining with arousal and sincerity.

His heart stutters to a stop in his chest and his lower belly heats, desire pooling hot and heavy
in his veins. Sliding his thigh between Peter’s legs, Bucky smirks when it pulls a moan from
Peter’s kiss swollen lips and he ruts against it, chasing the friction that Bucky is only too
happy to give him.

“As you wish, doll,” Bucky whispers against his lips before he recaptures them, swallowing
down Peter’s whimper when Bucky grinds against him. He wants Peter to know how much
he’s wanted, how much Bucky’s body desires his.

And god, is that ever true, Bucky thinks with a groan as their erections brush together
through the fabric of their pants.

His body is so hyper aware of Peter’s—the warmth, the dips and curves and ridges of his
muscles as they move and flex through the material of his clothes. He knows every scar,
every freckle, every blemish on this beautiful boy’s skin. He knows the way it flushes when
he’s embarrassed or shy, how it floods his cheeks with color, how it goes all the way down to
his belly when he’s aroused and under Bucky’s attention. He knows how soft and smooth it
is, how no matter how much Peter tries, it stays that pale, creamy white color that reminds
Bucky of fresh fallen snow—so pure and perfect and begging to be touched.

Bucky’s lip trail over the hinge of Peter’s jaw, down his smooth neck, sucking at his pulse
point and he loves the way he can feel the flutter of his heart beat, strong and reassuring,
against his lips.

He’s okay, he’s safe, Bucky reminds himself as he moves down to that spot behind Peter’s ear
that never fails to make Peter melt like a popsicle on the Fourth of July.
“Want you,” Peter whimpers, bucking his hips against the hard ridge of Bucky’s thigh, lithe
fingers going to Bucky’s belt, fumbling with the buckle.

Bucky tuts, catching Peter’s hands gently, but firmly, in his left hand, smirking when Peter
whines in response.

“What do you want, doll? Hmm?” Bucky taunts against the warm skin of Peter’s neck. “Want
me to get on my knees and suck you off right here? Or,” he says, teasing Peter’s earlobe with
his teeth, chuckling lowly when it makes Peter shiver, “do you want me fuck you right
against this wall? Where anyone can walk in and see us? That what you want? The whole
world to know how much you love it when I fuck you?”

Peter goes pliant in his arms, letting his head tip back against the cool glass window.
“Please,” he begs, canting his hips up and looking up at Bucky with such a desperation that it
makes his heart twinge and his cock twitch.

“Oh, baby,” Bucky coos, trailing a finger down Peter’s chest, flicking a nipple with his nail,
grinning when it makes Peter hiss. “Do you really think you deserve my cock after what you
did to me?

Peter meets his eyes and Bucky’s heart constricts at the overwhelming amount of remorse
floating in his honey-brown irises. He looks down right contrite, like he committed an
unspeakable crime against humanity and if they were in a different situation, Bucky would
find it amusing.

“You had me so worried,” Bucky continues, letting his fingers tease at the edge of Peter’s
waistband, dipping underneath the fabric so he can feel the warm skin of his belly. “I thought
something happened to you because you were so late. I even went to Tony for help and you
know how much I hate asking for his help,” He adds, teasing his fingers over Peter’s
straining erection. “But I did it for you, doll.”

“‘M sorry, Bucky,” Peter whimpers and underneath the arousal, Bucky can see the genuine
sincerity in his eyes and it soothes the part of him that had let his insecurities get the best of
him, as they often do when he’s with Peter. No matter how much good he does, how many
people he saves, it will never feel like enough to be worthy of someone as wonderful and
inherently good as Peter.
“I know you are, sweetheart,” Bucky says, brushing a gentle kiss over Peter’s lips. “But
sometimes words aren’t enough, I need you to show me how sorry you are. Can you do that
for me?”

Peter nods eagerly and Bucky hums against his lips, kissing him gently before releasing
Peter’s hands and pulling away.

He takes a moment to enjoy the sight of Peter—hair ruffled, lips swollen, jacket and shirt
askew, cocking straining temptingly against the zipper of his pants and eyes almost black as
they watch Bucky walk backwards towards the couch, undoing the tie around his neck as he
goes.

He beckons Peter closer, who follows the silent demand without complaint, stopping in front
of Bucky and blinking up at him with a small smile dancing on his lips as he waits for further
instructions.

Bucky dangles the leather tie—the tie that Peter picked out for him—in the space between
them and Peter’s cheeks flush a beautiful rosy hue in response.

Interesting

“Why leather, sweetheart?” Bucky asks softly and even though he’s pretty sure he knows the
answer, he wants Peter to confirm it for him.

Peter swallows so hard his Adam’s apple bobs and Bucky finds himself wanting to follow the
movement with his lips. “I—I thought you would like it,” Peter whispers.

Bucky hums, letting the material brush against the soft skin of Peter’s flushed cheek. “And
you were right, I do love it. I love it even more because we match.”

Peter’s smile is pleased—he’s downright beaming up at Bucky and it makes his heart flip flop
in his chest at how proud Peter is at giving Bucky something he loves.
“But that’s not the only reason you picked it out for me, is it?” Bucky asks, raising an
eyebrow when Peter’s blush turns almost purple. “Is it?” he prompts when Peter doesn't say
anything.

Peter shakes his head, biting his lip as he peaks up at Bucky shyly. “N-no, it’s not.” He
admits, voice timid and taking in Bucky’s encouraging look, he adds in a voice so soft that
Bucky is thankful that he has sensitive hearing, “I wanted to know what it would feel like…
against my skin.”

Bucky groans. “Fuck.”

Peter seems to take this as a good sign, because he presses closer and Bucky can feel every
line of his body against his and it makes his cock throb harshly. He’s so hard he swears he’s
about to bust through the material of his pants, cock straining against the zipper to the point
of almost pain.

“Want me to tie you up, doll?” Bucky murmurs and he needs Peter to confirm it, consent to it
because as much as Bucky wants to, he needs to know that Peter wants it, too.

“Please,” Peter whispers and that’s all Bucky needs to hear.

“Turn around for me,” Bucky commands roughly and he has to fight back the urge to groan
as Peter complies easily, twisting his body so his back is facing Bucky and he’s staring
straight a head.

He lets himself finally admire the way Peter’s ass looks in his pants—he was right, it is a
work of art, an absolute national treasure, if Bucky had anything to say about it—before he
takes Peter’s wrists in his grip.

“I’m gonna tie your wrists together,” Bucky tells him, brushing a thumb over his fluttering
pulse before he lets the tie slip over the delicate skin. “And when I’m done, you’re going to
turn around and get on your knees for me,” he continues as he wraps the supple leather
around a few times and guides it into a knot. “And you’re going to make me come with just
your mouth,” he tightens the knot so it’s secure, but he making sure it’s not too tight. “Is that
okay with you, sweetheart?”

Peter nods, moaning when Bucky tugs on the tie. “Use your words, doll. I need to hear you.”

“Yes, Bucky,” Peter whimpers, looking at him over his shoulder, “I wanna suck you off.”

“Good boy,” Bucky murmurs, kissing the back of his neck. “Turn around for me.”

He sits down on the couch as Peter obeys, smirking when Peter’s eyes track his hands going
to his belt, sliding it through the buckle and he pauses at the button, giving Peter one last
once over.

“You sure you’re okay with this?” Bucky asks, unsure. “I know you said you were, but I just
want to make sure—“

“I’m sure,” Peter confirms quickly, meeting Bucky’s eyes. “I want you,” he adds, voice more
gentle, sincere and Bucky smiles.

“‘m all yours, doll,” He says, popping the button, sliding his zipper down and not bothering
to even pull his pants down all the way, he just reaches into his boxer briefs and pulls his
cock out, giving himself a few strokes to take the edge off, biting his lip to suppress a moan
at the sensation.

Peter’s gaze can only be described as hungry as he stands there and watches Bucky lazily
stroke himself, licking his lips when Bucky thumb swipes over the head, smearing the
beading pre-cum over the sensitive skin.

Peter sinks to his knees and looks up at Bucky through his eyelashes. “Is this how you want
me?”
Bucky moans. “Perfect baby,” he assures, tangling his fingers in Peter’s curls and guiding
him towards his cock. “Tell me if it’s too much and we’ll stop, okay?”

Peter nods, eyes focused on Bucky’s hand as it moves at a leisurely pace over his erection,
and Bucky tugs his hair to get his attention. “Answer me.” He chides gently.

Peter moans, eyelashes fluttering. “I promise if it’s too much I’ll tell you, now can I please
—“

Bucky cuts him off by sliding the tip of his cock over his bottom lip and Peter needs no
further encouragement. Licking his lips, he swallows Bucky down, hollowing his cheeks and
sucks.

“Fuck,” Bucky gasps, tangling his fingers in Peter’s wild curls and Peter hums, the vibrations
around his aching cock make his toes curl and his back arch.

Peter’s mouth is warm and wet and perfect, cradling his cock in its velvet heat and driving
Bucky absolutely wild. It takes him a moment to get a rhythm, movements awkward and
disjointed due to his inability to use his hands, but when gets the hang of it, Bucky has to grip
the back of the couch to stop himself from fucking into Peter’s mouth.

He sets a quick rhythm, bobbing his head, stroking the underside vein on the upstroke and
Bucky bites back a moan when Peter’s tongue swirls over the sensitive head like it’s a
lollipop, kitten licking the head and tonguing the slit, eyelashes fluttering at the taste, casting
shadows over his flushed cheeks and Bucky’s heart constricts in his chest because he swears
he’s never seen something more beautiful.

“God, doll,” Bucky moans when Peter takes him all the way down, throat fluttering in the
best way and Bucky knows he isn’t gonna last much longer. “You’re so gorgeous like this, on
your knees for me, sucking my cock so well, fuck—“
Peter moans, blinking up at Bucky with blown pupils and swollen red lips and Bucky tightens
his hands in Peter’s hair, pulling at the soft strands gently.

“Is this what you pictured, baby?” Bucky asks breathlessly, rubbing his thumb over the hinge
of Peter’s jaw, cock twitching when he can feel himself in Peter’s mouth. “Being at my mercy
while I fuck this pretty mouth of yours? Or did you think about me tying you to the
headboard, spreading you out all nice and pretty while I finger you open nice and slow,
maybe use my tongue, get you ready for my cock—“

“Bucky,” Peter whimpers, pulling off of Bucky’s cock with a lewd sounding pop, voice
hoarse and sounding so wrecked that it makes Bucky’s head feel fuzzy at the edges.

He looks completely fucked out—lips swollen, rosy flush on his cheeks, eyelashes wet with
tears and Bucky has to reach down and grip himself in his hand when he sees a smear of pre-
cum on his flushed lower lip.

“What’s the matter, sweetheart?” Bucky asks, cupping Peter’s warm cheek in his palm. “Do
you want to stop—“

Peter shakes his head vehemently. “No, I just—“ he groans, his hips canting upwards,
seeking friction and Bucky smirks. “—I need to—fuck—“

“You need to what?” Bucky teases gently, tracing his thumb over the curve of Peter’s
cheekbone. “Do you need to take a break?”

Peter shakes his head again, resting his forehead on Bucky’s knee. “No, I just really need to
—I want—“

“Want what, baby?” Bucky demands gently, tugging at Peter’s hair and when Peter meets his
eyes, he can see the desperation and the frustration swimming underneath the desire and it
makes him smirk. “Frustrating, ain’t it? Not being able to have what you want, when you
want it?”
Peter nods and it only makes Bucky’s smirk widen. “Tell you what, darlin’,” Bucky murmurs,
stroking Peter’s cheek. “If you’re a good boy and make me come, I’ll take you back to our
room and spread you out on the bed and make love to you all night, any way you want it.”

Peter moans a low, broken sound that makes Bucky grin, sharp and predatory. “That sound
like a plan, sweetheart?”

Peter’s nodding before he can even finish the question, taking Bucky back into his mouth and
sucking in earnest, determination shinning brightly in his chocolate eyes.

“That’s it, baby,” Bucky murmurs, caressing Peter’s cheek with his thumb. “So good, doll, so
good for me, doing such a good job—“

Peter preens at the praise, flicking his tongue over the head and laving it with the flat of his
tongue and Bucky curses, gripping Peter’s hair tightly, hips twitching involuntary and Peter
moans, bobbing his head back down and letting Bucky fuck into his mouth.

“Fuck, doll, ’m gonna come—“ Bucky moans, tugging at Peter’s hair in a warning but Peter
stays where he is, matching Bucky’s rhythm with his own and Bucky curses under his breath,
chasing his release as his belly tightens, his heart stuttering, body singing with pleasure and
wrapped in a haze of PeterPeterPeterPeter.

Peter grazes the length of his cock with barest hint of teeth on the last upstroke and every
nerve in Bucky’s body lights up like a Christmas tree, sending him over the edge, spiraling
head first into his orgasm and Peer takes it beautifully—swallowing everything he gives,
caressing him gently with his tongue until Bucky’s twitching from over simulation,
collapsing back against the couch, chest heaving, head spinning and feeling much more
loose limbed and relaxed than he’d been twenty minutes ago.

He feels himself slip from Peter’s mouth and shivers when the cool air meets the sensitive
skin of his spent cock, humming when he feels soft lips brush over the inside of his thighs.
He blinks his eyes open, meeting Peter’s self-satisfied gaze with a grin and a shake of his
head.
“You’re a menace,” Bucky murmurs fondly, running his fingers through Peter’s disheveled
curls.

Peter grins back, nuzzling into juncture of his thigh, the warmth of his laughter brushing over
Bucky’s cock that’s already twitching with interest. “You love me.”

Something warm and languid unfurls in Bucky’s chest, spreading through his body like a
gentle wave and he cups Peter’s cheek in his hand, brushing his thumb over his plump bottom
lip. “You have no idea how much, baby.”

Peter flushes, eyes gleaming, smile shy and sweet and Bucky feels so full in that moment he
swears he’s going to burst.

He nudges Peter gently, who takes the hint and scoots back so Bucky can tuck himself back
into his pants and fix his untucked shirt and redo his belt. He slides off the couch and lifts
Peter gently from the floor, undoing the tie from his wrists and slipping it into his breast
pocket, not bothering to redo it but still wanting people to see it, if they even bother to look.

Bucky guides Peter’s wrists to his lips, where the pattern from the leather is pressed into the
delicate skin. It’s superficial and already healing, but that doesn't stop Bucky from pressing
gentle kisses to the abused skin—a silent apology that Peter accepts with a soft, pleased
smile.

“Okay, doll?” Bucky whispers between kisses, unable to help the concern lacing his voice.

“‘M fine, Bucky,” Peter replies, voice equally as soft and Bucky hums, placing a gentle kiss
on his lips.

The urgency from earlier has disappeared, but Bucky can feel the familiar flicker of heat
that’s always there when he’s this close to Peter, kissing him, touching him. Hell, just being
around him makes Bucky feel like he’s floating and falling at the same time and he never
wants the feeling to fade and he doesn't think it ever will, no matter how much time passes.
“I’m sorry I worried you,” Peter says when they pull apart and some of the earlier tension
returns in his eyes when they meet Bucky’s, dimming their usual sparkle.

“It’s okay, sweetheart,” Bucky soothes, brushing a kiss against his lips. “‘sides,” he adds with
a teasing grin, “I like to think you more than made it up to me.”

Peter flushes bright red, biting his lip and eyeing the tie tucked away in Bucky’s breast
pocket. Despite the slight embarrassment, Bucky can see the pleased grin threatening at the
edges of his still swollen lips. “Yeah?” he asks, voice hopeful and bashful all at once.

“Oh, doll,” Bucky murmurs, voice low and dangerous. “I’ll never be able to look at this tie
the same way, not after that.”

Peter hums, pressing up against Bucky so tightly Bucky can feel every dip and curve of
Peter’s body and he grins when he can still feel Peter’s cock straining against the seam of his
pants.

“Wanna take me back to our room and make good on that promise?” Peter whispers, voice
dripping with suggestion and Bucky grins.

“Now, doll,” Bucky drawls, smirking down at Peter. “We’ve got a party to get back to. After
all,” he adds at Peter’s indignant sputter, “we wouldn’t want to be rude now, would we?”

“But—you said—I—Bucky,” Peter whines as Bucky pulls away. “You promised.”

Bucky chuckles, kissing Peter’s cheek to take the sting out of his teasing. “That I did, but if
you recall, I never said when I was going to make good on that promise.”

Peter’s eyes narrow, an unimpressed frown on his lips and Bucky simply grins at him over his
shoulder as he saunters back into the hallway, heading back in the direction of the hallway.

“You coming?” He asks with a raised eyebrow when Peter fails to follow.
 “I wish,” Peter mutters petulantly, sparing a mournful look at the couch as he takes Bucky’s
offered hand and lets Bucky guide him back out into the party.

Chapter End Notes

Hope you liked it :) let me know what you think in the comments below :)
 46
Chapter Summary

“I’m going after HYDRA.”

Peter pauses in the doorway, dread turning the anger in his veins to ice and he barely
registers the door knob snapping underneath his grip. His sharp inhale gets caught in his
throat, threatening to choke him and he feels like the rug has been pulled out from
underneath his feet.

“What?” Peter breathes and his heart stops when he turns to face Bucky, who swallows
heavily, gaze nervous, but underneath it, Peter can see the determination in his gaze.

Chapter Notes

Hello all! Sorry for the slow update, I went back and forth on this chapter for a while
and I also started working on another Bucky/Peter fic that I would like to post soon, if
possible.

This chapter was inspired by the Falcon and the Winter Soldier, which I super stoked to
watch. So if I had to put it in a timeline, it would be right before Bucky leaves to hunt
down Zemo and all the predictions of what the show will entail are entirely my own.

This chapter is a lil angstier than I usually write, but I love the way it turned out and I
hope you guys do, too :)

Please forgive any mistakes, I'm posting this as roughly two in the morning and I did
glance over it, but I might've missed a few things that I might go back and fix if this
turns out to be filled to the brim with oopsies.

I think the follow up chapter will be a companion piece to this, I already have an idea for
it that's in the beginning draft stages so it will (hopefully) be posted soon :)

Enjoy :)

See the end of the chapter for more notes

46.
A lingering kiss before a long trip a part

The call comes late at night, the soft vibrations against the wood of the nightstand, rousing
Peter from the edge of sleep he’s been teetering on for the last twenty minutes. The hand that
had been running through his hair pauses and he feels the warm chest he’s been using as a
pillow, move from underneath his cheek.

Peter whines indignantly, blindly reaching out to stop Bucky from moving because he was
warm and comfortable dammit, but the asshole only chuckles, brushing a kiss to his forehead
before he grabs his phone from the night stand, checking the screen to see who’s calling.

“Shit,” Bucky mutters, slipping out of bed. “I need to take this.”

The tension in his voice has Peter snapping to, worry bubbling up in his gut that only worsens
when Bucky answers the phone and starts speaking in flawless, rapid fire Russian, rather than
the low, languid Brooklyn drawl that had been murmuring in his ear not even moments
before—when Bucky had been half asleep and relaxed, on the edge of sleep, just like Peter
had been.

Bucky only resorts back to Russian for three reasons:

1). When he’s angry and Morgan—who is at that age where she thinks it’s cute to repeat
everything she hears— is around. He doesn't want to be responsible for teaching a five year
old her first curse word.

“Stark hates me enough as it is, I don’t need to add fuel to the fire by corrupting his kid.”

2). When he and Natasha are conversing (read: gossiping or making fun of another member
of the team—Peter may not understand Russian, but he understands context and it’s not hard
to figure out that the only time they seem to slip into their mother tongue is when someone on
the team, usually him, does something stupid or particularly embarrassing).
3). When they’re having alone time—as in, tangled together, naked and sweaty in Bucky’s
bed, that low voice murmuring curses and praises in Russian in Peter’s ear that never fails to
set Peter’s blood on fire.

But since, a). a certain five year old is tucked away in her bed upstate and nowhere near them
to hear Bucky curse up a storm, b). Natasha took Sam and Stave away on some super to
secret mission and isn’t here to catch Peter doing something stupid to talk shit about him in
Russian and c). as much as Peter wishes, he is neither 1). naked, 2). sweaty or 3). has an
equally as naked and sweaty super solider on top of him, pounding him into the mattress.
Well. He can’t help but think something is up.

Unease swells, slippery and unbidden, in the pit of his stomach because as far as Peter
knows, Bucky has never kept Peter in the dark about something before. Especially not
something as serious as whatever this is, seems to be.

And watching Bucky pace silently along the carpeted floor at the foot of the bed, posture
rigid, metal arm clenching and unclenching with a soft whir of the vibranium nanites as his
eyes stare down at floor as if it personally offended him while he listens to whatever the other
person on the phone was telling him, Peter knows, with a sinking heart, that it’s something
serious and he isn’t going to like it.

He also has a feeling that he was missing something. Like it was staring him right in the face
and he just wasn’t seeing it and it was driving him nuts.

So while he knows he won’t understand the conversation, he focuses on the other voice—it’s
quick, sharp and just like Bucky, speaking in flawless Russian. But there’s a softness to the
harsh roll of vowels and his grip on the sheets tightens when he hears a familiar phrase that
only one other person in the world uses and it’s always in reference to him, Peter.

And Peter’s theory is only confirmed when Bucky’s eyes flit to his briefly—so quick, that in
the darkness of the bedroom, it would’ve been impossible to pick up on had it not been for
Peter’s enhanced vision.

They’re talking about him.

And if by the way Bucky pauses in his pacing to shift from foot to foot—a nervous gesture
that Peter doesn't need to be an expert in body language to interpret—he’s anxious about
something. Namely, something that has to do with Peter and telling him something or the
absence of Peter knowing something, if the unimpressed nature of the other person’s voice is
anything to go by.

And if Peter wasn’t sure that it was Natasha before, he is now. Because she's the only person
that Peter knows that can convey that much unspoken disappointment, even in another
language that Peter can’t even begin to grasp.

(Peter would know, he’s heard her use it towards him on more than one occasion. Usually,
when she knew Peter was puling his punches when they were sparring together or when he
kept up a running commentary during a time she deemed inappropriate).

A mixture of amusement and annoyance momentarily eclipses the dread that’s taken up a
permanent residence in his stomach, because it’s nice to have her ire directed at someone else
for a change, but it’s also worrisome that Natasha was lecturing someone on being dishonest,
which was a lot considering she was an ex-spy and spent most of her life honing in on her
own particular lying skills.

And it’s not like Bucky’s life was much different, once upon a time, Peter thinks to himself and
immediately, guilt chews at his heart for even thinking it.

Bucky wouldn't lie to me, he thinks, albeit anxiously, chewing absently on his lip, not unless
he thought he had a good reason to.

Peter’s pulled from his anxious thoughts when he hears Bucky huff in annoyance, muttering a
quick goodbye before he chucks his phone on the end of the bed, running his fingers through
his disheveled hair.

Underneath the obvious tension, Peter can see an age old weariness settle around the lines of
his eyes, a quiet fatigue that draws his shoulders in tightly, hunching in on himself to make
himself smaller. It’s a familiar look, because it’s the same way he looks after Peter wakes him
up from a nightmare and it tugs at Peter’s heart and makes the anxiety swimming in his
stomach grow.
“What did Nat want?” Peter asks, keeping voice soft so he doesn’t startle Bucky, who’s
staring intently down at the carpet as if it holds all the answers to the world, seeming to be
lost in his thoughts.

Bucky startles, blinking his eyes up to Peter in surprise, like he forgot Peter was even there in
the first place and it does nothing to quell the nerves slithering like snakes in his stomach.

“How’d you—“ Bucky starts, confused, but Peter just taps his ear in answer.

When Bucky’s lips thin into a frown, Peter adds, “She’s also the only one who refers to me as
‘little spider’. If it hadn’t been for that, I probably wouldn’t of picked up on the fact that it
was her,” He shrugs his shoulders, looking down at the black silk sheets that rest across his
lap and begins fiddling with a lose thread to give his fingers something to do. “I promise I
didn’t go behind your back and learn Russian so I can eavesdrop on your conversations, so
whatever secret you’re keeping from me is safe.” He assures, aiming for a joke, but it comes
out too bitter to be passed off as one.

Peter chances a look up at Bucky and his heart drops into his knees when he sees Bucky’s
shoulders relax, tension draining from his shoulders and the look on his face can only be
described as relieved. It feels like a punch to the gut, having it confirmed, even without
words, that Bucky is keeping something from him.

Peter recoils as if Bucky had slapped him, unprepared for how much that hurts—like
someone just reached through his ribs and is squeezing his heart to the point of physical pain
—and it leaves him unable to breathe through it.

Bucky must see it written on his face, because he opens his mouth to say something but Peter
just shakes his head with a sad smile.

“Peter—“ Bucky says softly, and Peter can hear the apology in his voice but he ignores it,
slipping out bed that he no longer feels welcome in and tries to find his shirt in the mess of
blankets on the floor.
“I—it’s fine, just—“ he cuts himself off when he finds it, tucked underneath the bedspread
they always toss to the floor at night because they’re enhanced bodies run hotter than normal
and even if Peter get’s cold, Bucky was always there to warm him up. He shrugs his shirt on,
focusing too much on straightening it out when he’s just going to tug it right back off when
he gets to his own room, but he’s just looking for an excuse to hide the tears that are welling
in his eyes so Bucky can’t see just how hurt he is.

Not meeting Bucky’s eyes, Peter gestures vaguely to the bedroom door, “I’m just gonna—“

Peter makes to get past Bucky, who’s positioned himself between the door and the foot of the
bed, the only viable way to get out of the room without leaping over the bed and that seems a
little bit childish, even though he wants to be anywhere but here at the moment.

So Peter squares his shoulders and tries to brush past Bucky, who, unsurprisingly, blocks his
path and places a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Please,” Bucky whispers, flesh hand cupping Peter’s jaw, forcing Peter to look at him.
“Don’t go. Stay.”

Hope flares in Peter’s heart, momentarily loosening the chokehold of hurt around his lungs
and he meets Bucky’s eyes expectantly.

“Are you going to tell me what you’re hiding from me?” Peter demands softly and he hates
how vulnerable he sounds, how desperate he is to hear Bucky reassure him that he’s being
paranoid.

It doesn’t come, however.

Peter watches, throat constricting painfully, as Bucky’s face shutters, morphing into that cool
mask of indifference that, despite Shuri wiping his mind clean of Hydra’s programming, still
remains as a distant echo of his past. And while he may be able to pull the curtain over his
face, his eyes give him a way every time and Peter can see the resounding no flashing like a
neon sign before Bucky even opens his mouth to respond.
Giving Bucky a weak smile, Peter pulls out of his grasp and heads for the door.

“Peter, please—“ Bucky murmurs and guilt swirls in Peter’s stomach at his pleading, hand
hovering over the door handle and Bucky must see, because he presses on, voice rushed, “—
just give me a second to—“

“To what?” Peter demands, whirling around to face him, suddenly so angry and done with
this whole situation, he doesn't care if anyone can over hear them. “Explain? You’ve already
told me you wouldn’t, so that means you’re either going to lie to me some more or give me
half truths and that’s just—really shitty, because I always thought that you, of all people,
would understand how important it is to be honest.”

“It’s not that I don't want to tell you,” Bucky says, voice low, careful, like he’s measuring his
words and it does nothing to soothe the anger burning hot in Peter’s veins. “I just…can’t.”

Peter can’t help the eye roll or the scoff that follows if he tries, which he doesn’t, at least not
very hard. “Right, because that makes me feel so much better—“

“I just want to keep you safe,” Bucky snaps, eyes flashing, clenching his fists at his sides and
Peter is so angry he can’t even admire the way the muscles in his biceps ripple with the
movement.

“Safe from what?” Peter demands, throwing his hands up in frustration.

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but all that leaves his lips is a strangled groan of irritation
and Peter huffs a bitter laugh.

“Right, you want to protect me, but you can’t even tell me what I need to be protected from,”
Peter spits with a sardonic smile. “Because at the end of the day, no matter what happens
between us, I’m always going to be that stupid kid from Queens that no one will ever take
seriously,” Peter scoffs, grabbing the door handle, “Good luck with whatever it is you’re
doing, send me a postcard when you get to wherever it is you’re going, now if you’ll excuse
me, I’m going to my room to get some sleep, so—“

“I’m going after HYDRA.”

Peter pauses in the doorway, dread turning the anger in his veins to ice and he barely registers
the door knob snapping underneath his grip. His sharp inhale gets caught in his throat,
threatening to choke him and he feels like the rug has been pulled out from underneath his
feet.

“What?” Peter breathes and his heart stops when he turns to face Bucky, who swallows
heavily, gaze nervous, but underneath it, Peter can see the determination in his gaze.

“The man who framed me in Vienna—Zemo—he’s escaped custody and he’s been seen
around known HYDRA bases,” Bucky continues, watching Peter for a reaction, some of the
tension leaving his shoulders when Peter stays quiet and doesn't move. “He’s up to
something, I know he is and he knows things—things about the Winter Soldier project and
with HYDRA still out there I just—I’ll never be able to fully feel safe if I know they’re still
out there, making more people like—well, like me.” He finishes, voice tinged with bitterness.

Bucky sinks down on to the edge of the bed and rests his head in his hands, tugging at his
hair in frustration. The weariness is back in full force, but when he meets Peter’s eyes, there’s
an ago old pain, a haunted-ness that casts a dark shadow over the usually calm blue, like a
storm cloud over the ocean, right before it rains.

It’s a look Peter has only seen once before, a few months ago, when they first started…this.
They’d fallen asleep while they were watching a movie and Bucky had woken up screaming,
scaring the absolute shit out of Peter, who had flung himself onto the ceiling in his fear, head
whipping around to find the danger. When he realized that there was no imminent threat, he
retracted himself from where he’d been clinging and woke Bucky up from the nightmare that
had him firmly in it’s grasp.

To his dying day, Peter will never forget the shiver of fear that went down his spine when
Bucky finally woke up and met Peter’s eyes. He’d had never seen someone look at him with
that much terror before—bone chilling, animalistic almost in its viscerally—and it shook
Peter to his very core. In that moment, Peter could see every scar, every wound, every
horrible and twisted memory that HYDRA had inflicted upon Bucky and it tore at Peter’s
insides and shattered his heart into a million pieces because no one, not even the worst
human being on the planet, deserved to suffer through that much…torture. It was agonizing
and heartbreaking and Peter vowed that night, as he held Bucky’s body through the worst of
the tremors, that no one would ever hurt this sweet, kind and generous man ever again. Not
on his watch, not when he was strong enough to protect Bucky from any harm that could
befall him—Thanos, HYDRA—no one would ever get their hands on him again. He’d die
before he let that happen.

All of his previous anger at Bucky, dissipates, as if Thanos himself had snapped his fingers
and willed it from existence. Peter doesn’t hesitate, crossing the room in three strides,
kneeling down on the floor in front of Bucky, grabbing his hands where they dangle limply
between his thighs and squeezing them tightly between his own.

“Bucky,” Peter whispers, trying to push back the sudden lump in his throat. “Why didn’t you
just tell me?”

Bucky shrugs, unable to meet Peter’s eyes and that only makes Peter more anxious and
confused.

“I could’ve helped you—do research or—or track him or build—something,” Peter falters,
eyebrows furrowing, “I don’t exactly know what this particular mission would involve, I’ve
only ever tracked someone once and he was in the same state as me at the time—well, kind
of, I planted the tracker and then Ned and I kind of had a tracking party while we waited for
the guy to move—but—“ Peter shakes his head, coming back to himself, “—my point is, I
could’ve helped you or you could’ve just…talked to me about it, we could’ve come up with
something together—“

“No, there’s no—“ Bucky starts with a dismissive shake of his head, cutting Peter off. A huff
of laughter that’s anything but amused leaves his lips before he continues, “—there’s no
together in this. This is something that I need to do on my own, this is my own mission to
complete, not yours. No, not happening.” He says, voice firm and leaving no room for
argument.

Too bad Peter never knows when to back down.

“But yet you can ask Natasha to help you? What about Steve? Does he know—“ Bucky’s
eyes flash with something at the mention of Steve and Peter catches it.

Snorting a bitter laugh—because of fucking course, he should’ve known— Peter stands,

yanking his hands out of Bucky’s grasp and it twists the knife deeper when Bucky just lets
him go, not even bothering to put up a fight.

“Let me guess,” Peer starts, voice shaking with something he refuses to call anything else
besides rage, “the mission—” he spits the word like a curse and something in side of him
purrs in satisfaction when it makes Bucky flinch, “—Sam, Natasha and Steve went on had
nothing to do with—what was it?—oh yes, recruiting,” Peter scoffs, shaking his head.
“They’ve been looking into it for you, haven’t they? Because you can ask them for help,
without question, but not me, right?”

Bucky opens his mouth to respond, but Peter doesn’t want an answer to a rhetorical question,
not when one more pressing is at the tip of his tongue, so he cuts him off before he can even
begin.

“If I hadn’t had been here tonight,” Peter starts, voice quivering, “were you ever going to tell
me?”

“Peter—“ Bucky starts, voice tired and worn, but Peter doesn't care because he needs to
know.

“Were you ever going to tell me?” Peter repeats, voice sharp, eyes burning with unshed tears.

He waits, a heart beat, then two, and then three and then—

“No.”

Bucky says it so softly, that even with his enhanced hearing, Peter barely hears it over the
sound of his own heart shattering. The dam inside of him breaks, hot tears spilling over his
lashes and onto his flushed cheeks, but he ignores it.

Clenching his shaking hands at his sides, Peter crosses them over his chest, just as much a
defensive gesture as it is to hold himself together. He feels open and raw and wrung dry—
used, like a towel being discarded into the corner of the laundry room after it’s mopped up a
mess on the floor.

“Right,” Peter whispers and he hates himself for how much his voice shakes, “Then I guess I
better leave so you can get ready to go, after all,” he adds with a bitter smile as he turns to
head to his room, “you don’t need my help with that, do you?”

He can’t even bring himself to feel satisfied with how those parting words seem to crush
Bucky, who scrambles up off the bed and reaches out to grab Peter and Peter flinches so hard,
recoiling from his touch that it makes Bucky stumble back in shock.

Hurt flashes in his eyes and it only succeeds in making what remains of Peter’s heart, ache
and the tears come faster and he knows if he doesn’t get out of here soon, it’s not going to be
pretty and he can’t—he won’t let Bucky see him like that.

“Peter,” Bucky whispers brokenly, eyes shining, “I—I would never—“

Hurt you

He doesn’t say, but Peter hears it anyways.

“You just did,” Peter whispers with a sad smile before he turns on his heel and makes his way
down the dark hallway to his own room.

He barely has the door shut before he collapses against it, sliding down until he feels the cool
carpet hit the back of his thighs. A sob rips it’s way past his lips, unbridled and more follow
until he curls himself into a worn out ball on the floor and succumbs to the sleep pulling at
the edges of his worn out mind
*

Peter wakes with a crick in his neck, an ache in his lower back and his limbs tingling from
lack of blood flow. Judging by the grey light trickling in from his windows and the feeling of
too early pulling at his eyes, he hasn't been asleep longer than a few hours. Now that he’s
awake and his mind is semi-alert, the reason for why he’s curled up in the corner of his room
like an actual spider, hits him like a ton of bricks and the ache of hurt and betrayal returns to
his heart— sharp and unyielding and making it hard for him to breathe.

Peter eyes his king size bed in the center of the room, still made and untouched from—well,
whenever the last time he’d actually slept in it was. He can’t even remember the last time
he’d actually used his room—other than to grab an old text book or a change of clothes—
since he and Bucky became, well, PeterandBucky.

Bucky had slept in here a couple of times, but Peter knew it was hard for him to wake up not
in his own space—something he could easily recognize, especially if he woke up from a
restless sleep or a nightmare—so they began sleeping more in Bucky’s room. And as a result,
Peter started spending less and less time in his own space and now, sitting on the floor, alone,
he felt like he didn’t belong here.

Crawling into bed and falling asleep alone sounds too depressing, so he drags himself off the
floor and into the bathroom, leaving his clothes in an uncaring trail behind him as he steps
into the shower and tries to wash the last few nightmares hours off of him.

Peter ignores the way the scent of his own soap smells wrong on his skin or how the feeling
of his own fingers scratching at his scalp don’t feel as good as Bucky’s as he lathers the
shampoo into his hair. And he’s almost got himself convinced that the stinging sensation in
his eyes is because he somehow got soap in them and that it has nothing to do with the fact
that all of this—waking up alone, showering alone, brushing his teeth alone, getting dressed
alone and in his own clothes— just feels wrong without Bucky in the background, filling the
space with his humming or his teasing touches as he brushes past Peter in the bathroom or his
closet as they get ready for the day.

Peter ignores all of it as he pulls on an old pair of sweats and a t-shirt before he heads down
to the lab to lose himself in…something, even if he has to make up a totally new project as an
excuse to not think for a while, he’s going to do it.
He hesitates, however, just as he’s about to open his door.

“JARVIS?” Peter asks, fiddling with the door knob.

“Good morning young master Parker,” JARVIS responds dutifully, “What can I assist you
with?”

“Can you—“ Peter hesitates, shame welling in his gut at what he’s about to ask, it’s the
cowards way out and a small (read: huge) part of him feels guilty for it, but he can’t see
Bucky right now, he just…can’t.

JARVIS waits for him to finish his request and with a sigh, Peter closes his eyes and asks,
“Can you tell me where Bucky is?”

JARVIS takes a moment to respond and when he does, it’s like the A.I. knows what he’s
doing and He Doesn’t Approve.

“Sargent Barnes is currently in his room,” JARVIS says and Peter hates himself for the
amount of relief he feels at the response. “Shall I ask him to come to your room, sir?”
JARVIS asks and it sends Peter into an immediate panic.

“No!” Peter says, a lot louder than he planned and if an A.I.’s silence could compete for
Most Disapproving, JARVIS would win gold.

“No,” Peter continues, quieter this time, “No, I—I just wanted to know where he was. Thank
you, JARVIS.”

A pause and then a swift, sarcastic sounding, “You’re most welcome, sir.” before JARVIS
goes silent.
Huffing in annoyance at the judge-y A.I., Peter hesitates for only a second, telling himself it’s
childish to web out the window and slip through the outside vent of the lab, before he opens
the door and walks out of his room. He fights the urge to sleuth down the hallway like he’s in
some sort of spy movie, but he does take extra care to make his footsteps silent as he walks
past Bucky’s room and into the open common area.

The sky is still grey as Peter makes his way into the kitchen to grab a few snacks before he
heads down to the lab, fighting the urge to run the entire way. He’s relieved when he makes it
there without incident and the guilt makes the granola bars in his hand seem unappealing, so
he tosses them onto the counter and goes for coffee instead.

It’s already waiting for him—JARVIS may be judge-y, but he’s not a sadist—and after
dousing it with enough cream and sugar, that, if not for the spider bit, would definitely give
him cavities, he heads over to the StarkPad waiting for him on the lab table.

Peter flips through his saved projects as he sips his coffee, trying to decide what he wants to
lose himself in and just as he’s deciding to start a new project all together, he stumbles across
the file Shuri has sent him on the Vibranium arm she had designed for Bucky after his last
one got destroyed in Siberia.

While the design wasn’t basic by any means—something designed by the Wakandan Princess
could never be considered basic—there was definitely room for improvement, especially with
the news that Bucky had brought to light not even a few hours ago.

Biting his lip, Peter scans over the file, reading through Shuri’s notes and the ones Peter had
added after initially receiving it—ideas for upgrades, things to add, things to take away—and
even though his heart physically feels like it’s been put through a blender and turned into a
cardiovascular smoothie, a cold sweat breaks out over his body at the thought of Bucky not
having a back up option when he’s…wherever he was going.

With that thought in mind, Peter sets his coffee down and ignoring the lump in his throat, he
taps the file open and gets to work.

*
“JARVIS, run configuration, please,” Peter asks over the sound of Lizzo blaring from the
speakers above him.

“Why men great until they gotta be great—“

Peter hums along as he tightens a bolt in the wrist of the arm, huffing in frustration when it
refuses to go in. He’s had to reconfigure this piece four times before he finally got the
structure right and he’d be damned if one tiny bolt was going to fold it all like a stack of
cards.

“—yeah I got boy problems, that’s the human in me—“

“Configuration has failed, Master Parker,” JARVIS in forms after a beat and Peter throws the
screw driver down in frustration, running his fingers through his hair.

Admittedly, building an arm was a lot harder than he thought it was going to be. At least one
with a nano housing unit in it, which Shuri’s design was not wanting to accept, even with a
few tweaks here and there and it was slowly becoming a thorn in Peter’s side the longer he
worked on it.

“Alright, JARVIS, run diagnostics for me, let’s see—“ he muttered, tapping at the hologram
of the arm.

“—help you with your career, just a little—“

Peter snorts to himself as he shifts the housing unit from the wrist to the shoulder, only to
have the screen flare red, denying the change and it Peter is this close to throwing the whole
thing at the wall and saying to hell with it because it’s not like Bucky even wanted his help to
begin with.

“—you supposed to hold me down, but you’re holding me back and that’s the sound of me not
call you back—“
Sighing to himself, he goes to pick up the screwdriver he’d thrown down in his aggravation,
but it’s been moved over and replaced with a plate of food. Confused, Peter stares down at
the plate piled high with sandwiches that he knows, just by the way his stomach rumbles with
hunger and his mouth floods with drool, are from Delmar’s. Even if JARVIS had ordered
them for him, which Peter doesn't recall asking him to, someone had to go all the way to
Queens to pick them up and bring them back—

Peter tenses, his hand tightening on the screw driver he somehow managed to pick up without
looking and it snaps in his grip, the thick plastic of the handle slicing his palm. It’s not too
painful, but its enough to drag his attention from the plate of sandwiches and inspect the
damage on his hand.

“Shit,” Peter mutters when he sees the blood oozing from the wound. It’s not deep enough to
where he’d need to bother with stitches, but it’s bad enough to require a band aid if he doesn't
want to bleed all over the place.

A metal hand offers him a napkin and Peter takes it without thought, pressing it to the wound,
wincing at the stinging sensation. A first aid kit slides in next to the plate of food and Peter
hesitates, but the blood doesn't seem to be stopping anytime soon so he resigns himself to dig
through it, looking for the box of band aids he knows are kept in there somewhere.

He takes his time fishing the box of bands aids out of the depths of the kit and despite his
mood, he can’t help but laugh at the cast of Frozen characters that stare up at him when he
finally finds it. He takes out two—one that’s got multiple tiny dancing Olafs on it and the
other features Ana, Elsa and a bunch of glittery snowflakes—and spends way too much time
fiddling with them to be passed off as anything but avoidance, but he can’t bring himself to
care, not when the thought of last night makes tears spring to his eyes and makes the hole in
his stomach throb to the point of pain and make it impossible to even think about eating even
one of those sandwiches that Bucky went all the way to Queens for, because he knows
they’re Peter’s favorite and now they’re just going to go to waste because Peter can’t even
look at him without wanting to throw up from nerves.

But Bucky is a persistent sonofabitch and he pushes the plate closer to Peter, silently asking
him to eat and Peter caves, because it’s Delmar’s and he can smell the extra pickles and
they’re smooshed down flat, just how he likes them and he’s only a man, okay?
Peter ignores Bucky’s small hum of satisfaction as he eats the first sandwich in three bites
and the second one goes down just as quickly, he savors the third and by the time he reaches
the fourth, he can just picture Bucky’s self-satisfied smirk and it makes the sandwich harder
to swallow. He manages it, because it’s Delmar’s, but only just.

Not taking his eyes off the half eaten sandwich in his hand, Peter tries (and fails) to feign
casualty when he asks, “What are you doing here?”

“Heard you get up this morning,” Bucky answers after a beat of silence and Peter glances up
at him, surprised, because he’d been literally so silent and Bucky still heard him, “Figured
you skipped breakfast to avoid running into me in the kitchen—“

Peter feels himself flush and Bucky just gives him a mall, knowing smile, but his eyes are
sad.

“—and when you didn’t come up for lunch, I just wanted to make sure you got something in
you other than coffee,” Bucky shrugs, looking around the lab at all the empty coffee cups and
the empty granola bar wrappers Peter remembers eating about two hours into his science
binge. “You’ve been spending too much time around Tony,” he adds, flicking one of the
empty wrappers that’s littered around the lab table for emphasis.

Peter ignores the jibe. He’d given up about a month into their relationship of Tony and Bucky
ever getting along.

“Thank you,” Peter says genuinely, but he feels compelled to add, “You didn’t have to go all
the way to Queens to get me a sandwich.”

Bucky shrugs again, but he won’t meet Peter’s eyes, resting them, instead, on a crude
drawing of an early design Peter had sketched out before he started building the arm.

“I don’t mind, figured it was the least I could do,” He says quietly, eyes tracing over the specs
Peter had listed out and crossed out and replaced countless of times before settling on a
modified version of his list after many failed attempts to implement them all into one arm.
His eyebrows are furrowed, lips pulled into a frown as he studies the paper in front of him
and Peter has to fight the urge to reach across the table and snatch it away.

“What’s this?” Bucky asks softly, nodding down to the paper that’s now clasped in his hand.

He glances up when Peter doesn't answer right away and now it’s Peter’s turn to avert his
gaze, letting it fall to the half eaten sandwich still grasped in his hand.

“I had Shuri send me her designs of your arm a few months ago,” Peter admits to the
sandwich in his hands. “There’s nothing wrong with the one she made, quite the opposite
actually,” Peter mutters, shooting a glare at the schematics of the one he was trying and
failing to make. “I had some ideas and I don’t know—I just wanted to play around with them,
in case you ever wanted something new.”

Nodding to the paper in Bucky’s hand, Peter adds, “I’m working on this one right now, I got
the idea for it a when we were in Germany, see look—“

Setting his sandwich down, he pulls the hologram over so it’s situated between them. He
starts tapping the screen, pulling up what he wants the final product to look like.

“I wanted it to look like a normal arm—flesh toned and even have a fluidity in the muscles so
it appears real. You’ve always had a metal one and that sticks out like a sore thumb, but this
way, you might fly under the radar a little bit more, which will help you blend, but it might
also make someone think you’re vulnerable—“

“But it would still work like the one I have now,” Bucky murmurs, eyes trained on the
spinning arm floating in front of him.

“Exactly. It’s a decoy and it could lure someone into a false sense of security, while also help
hiding your identity, which might come in handy, especially for—well,” Peter falters as
memories of last night flit through his mind and the sandwiches he ate a few minutes ago
suddenly feel like lead in his stomach.
He’s aware that he went behind Bucky’s back and did the exact opposite of what he’d asked
of Peter. The memory makes him wince and his fingers pause over the screen and Bucky
takes notice.

“Peter—“ he starts, voice soft, but Peter clears his throat, cutting him off.

“I can’t get the nano housing unit to implement into the design, but basically, the idea is that
you’ll be able to turn it off and on when you want, kind of like my suit or Tony’s—“

“Peter—“

“—I still have a few ideas as to why it’s not working, but I haven’t gotten to testing them yet
—“

“Peter—“

“—and obviously if you don’t like it, you don’t have to wear it, I just—it’s an option, just in
case you ever want it or need it—“

“Peter—“

“—I know you said you didn’t want my help, but I just needed to know that I did something
to help, even if you didn’t want it—“

“Peter.” Bucky says, voice sharp and sudden and it’s such a change from his earlier tone that
it makes Peter pause, stomach rolling and meet Bucky’s gaze warily.

Peter’s shoulders relax, albeit only slightly, when, instead of the anger and irritation he’d
been expecting, he sees only a soft admiration lurking in the depths of Bucky’s slate-grey
eyes. There’s something else hiding underneath the awe, a complexities of emotions that
Peter can’t even begin to identify, they’re so twisted and tangled.
Like a spider-web, Peter thinks to himself with a mental snort.

Bucky seems to be at a loss for what to say, mouth opening and closing as his gaze flickers
helplessly between Peter and the holographic image of the arm still floating between them.
He seems…overwhelmed, like he’s incapable of figuring out the answer to a rather difficult
problem and despite the anxiety clawing at his throat, Peter waits patiently for him to gather
his bearings.

“Doll, I—“ Bucky starts, swallowing heavily, “I don’t—I—just—why?” He finally asks and
he looks so confused and sad that it makes Peter’s heart twist.

It’s not why, as in, why are you doing this after I asked you not to?

It’s more of a why, as in, why are you doing this after the way I treated you?

And even though the question isn't the same, the answer is and it’s one Peter doesn’t even
have to think about.

“The long answer? Because, even though I can’t be by your side, I want to keep you safe,”
Peter begins, voice soft, gentle and Bucky swallows heavily, his eyes never leaving Peter’s as
Peter slowly walks around the desk, “Because even though you didn’t ask for my help, I want
to give it you. Because even though you drive me absolutely insane, I want you to know that
I’ll always be here for you. Even when you push me away,” Peter stops a few inches from
where Bucky is perched on a lab stool and takes his hand, running his fingers reverently over
the scarred knuckles, marveling, not for the first time, at just how well they fit together.

Swallowing against the sudden lump in his throat, Peter meets Bucky’s gaze with
suspiciously wet eyes.

“The short answer?” Peter continues, voice soft, “because I’ve never loved someone as much
as I love you,” he admits, voice barely above a whisper.
And that’s the simple truth of it all, really. No matter how much Bucky hurt Peter by keeping
everything from him, by not trusting him to help or to just be there for him through all of this,
it does nothing to quell the all consuming love Peter has for this man sitting before him.

“God, James, you have no idea—“ Peter shakes his head with a laugh that comes out as more
of a sob, tears slipping down his cheeks without his permission, “—no idea,” Peter repeats,
voice shaking, “how much you mean to me. If anything happened to you—“ he cuts himself
off with a noise that’s between a choked gasp and a sob and he closes his eyes against the
ache in his chest at the thought of anything happening to Bucky while he’s off fighting
against unknown monsters.

Peter’s mind flashes back to that night he woke Bucky up from his nightmare—shaking and
screaming and utterly terrified—and it makes the ache in his chest grown until it feels like he
can’t breathe.

Bucky seems to understand, because he squeezes Peter’s hand tightly before he lets go in
favor of cupping Peter’s face in his hands—one warm, one cool—and brushes the tears from
his cheeks with a gentle swipe of his thumbs.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Bucky murmurs, voice soft and soothing, “it’s gonna be okay, doll, c’mon,
don’t cry—“

Peter’s cheek flush in embarrassment at the admonishment and he tries to look away, but a
gentle grip on his chin deters him.

“Hey,” Bucky says gently, voice chiding, “look at me, doll,” when Peter doesn’t comply,
Bucky adds, “please.”

Peter swallows heavily, but gives in, meeting Bucky’s gaze warily.

Bucky gives him a gentle smile, “There’s my beautiful boy,” he murmurs, brushing his thumb
over the curve of Peter’s cheek. Peter, leans into the tender touch helplessly, feeling some of
his earlier panic ebb away the longer Bucky’s calloused thumb caresses the soft skin of his
cheek.

“”m not beautiful,” Peter mutters self-deprecatingly.

“Oh, darlin’, there ain’t enough words in my vocabulary to describe just how gorgeous I
think you are,” Bucky drawls, his thumb catching on the corner of Peter’s lip and despite the
situation, Peter feels his heart flutter and his lower belly heat at the touch. It must show on his
face, because Bucky smirks, dark and daring, but it’s gone as quick as it came, fading into a
look so serious that Peter has to fight back a shiver of fear.

“I promise you, nothing is gonna happen to me, Peter,” Bucky says, voice strong and
confident and Peter desperately wants to believe him.

But

“You can’t promise that,” Peter whispers, and he hates himself for it, especially when he sees
the flash of hurt in Bucky’s eyes, but it’s the truth. Peter’s mind goes, unwillingly, to his
parents, uncle Ben and it makes his throat tighten, “you can’t guarantee that nothing is going
to happen to you, as much as you may want to, it’s not possible, it’s not—“

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, hard and searing, desperate, Peter’s fuzzy thoughts supply
dizzily. His lips are warm and chapped, his beard dragging deliciously over the soft skin of
Peter’s cheeks and Peter wants more, chases the taste of Bucky lips with his tongue as if it’s
the last time he’ll ever get to have this. But before it could truly begin, it was over, Bucky
pulling away with a sharp exhale that brushes over Peter’s lips in a teasing caress.

Bucky rests his forehead against Peter’s and the heat in his gaze made Peter push closer to
Bucky’s strong body, humming contentedly when he feels the steady beat of Bucky’s heart
against his own.

“Doll,” Bucky starts, voice a low rumble that makes Peter shiver, “I promise you, with
everything that I have in me, that nothing, not even HYDRA, will keep me from coming back
to you,” Bucky vows, silver-blue eyes gleaming with sincerity and Peter can’t help but
believe him, “You mean so much to me, Pete, God you have no idea—“ Bucky shakes his
head, closing his eyes and when he opens them, Peter is overwhelmed by the amount of utter
devotion shining in Bucky’s eyes as he gazes down at Peter like he’s Bucky’s entire world—
like he’s the sun and the moon and all of the stars wrapped up into one and Peter knows how
that feels. Because it’s the same way he feels about Bucky.

“I ain’t ever been in love before, doll,” Bucky admits in a whisper, “but if that’s what
explains the way my heart races when I look at you or the way I can’t stop smiling when I
think of you or the way I can’t seem to go five minutes without thinking ‘bout you or your
lips,” Bucky brushes a thumb over Peter’s flushed bottom lip for emphasis, “or the way your
cheeks turn the prettiest shade of red when you’re nervous or excited about something,” that
same thumb curves over the flushed skin of Peter’s cheek, “or how beautiful your eyes look
and how they’re the first thing I want to see when I wake up,” a gentle caress under the
sensitive skin underneath his lashes, “or how holding you in my arm chases all the bad
thoughts away and makes me feel more human than I’ve felt in years,” Bucky tugs him, if
possible, even closer so they’re sharing the same breath, “or how I think you have the kindest
heart of anyone I know. How much I love how sweet and thoughtful you are to every person
you meet. How much you care about people you don’t even know. How you use your
intelligence for nothing but good, when the smartest people I knew used it for nothing but
evil.”

Bucky pauses, shaking his head, taking a deep, shuddering breath that exhales on a laugh, “If
that’s what loving someone means, then doll, I’ve loved you from the moment you grabbed
my metal arm and told me it was the coolest thing you’ve ever seen.”

Peter chokes on a laugh, stomach filled to the brim with fluttering butterflies and he wants to
live in this moment forever, but Bucky’s not done.

“And if you think for one second that I’m gonna let someone try and take that from me, take
this away from,” Bucky continues with a squeeze of Peter’s hands, voice raw and wrecked,
“then you’re absolutely crazy, doll. No one, no one, is gonna stop me from coming back to
you in one piece, understand me, sweetheart?”

Bucky’s eyes are molten silver, shining with a promise that Peter knows, down to his very
bones, that Bucky is going to do his damnedest to keep.
All Peter can do is nod, but this satisfies Bucky, who manages to mutter a rumbled good
before they’re lips are meeting in a frenzied kiss that’s all teeth and tongue and want so sharp
it makes Peter breathless.

They manage to stumble out of the lab and into the elevator, crashing through the communal
floor and into Bucky’s room before they lose themselves to heat of it, the burning desire of
want that’s been humming through the air the minute Peter said I love you.

The first time feels like an apology, soft whispers of regret and forgiveness absorbed by the
warmth of their skin. The second time feels like a promise, a solidification of their whispered
words to each other as their bodies twine together underneath the silk sheets. The third time
feels like a goodbye, unhurried, as they memorize the dips and grooves of each other’s bodies
like it’s the last time they’ll every have this.

But Peter knows, as he drifts off in Bucky’s arms, that even if it is goodbye, it’s only
temporary; Bucky’s promise carved into his heart like the name engraved in the metal of the
dog tags Bucky places around Peter’s neck before he leaves.

“A promise,” Bucky murmurs in Peter’s ear as he hugs him tightly, “that I’ll come back for
them and you.”

He seals it with a kiss, slow and gentle and deep and Peter clings to Bucky with both hands,
wanting him to stay, here, in Peter’s arms, in their bed, where he’s safe from the people that
want him dead.

“I love you,” Peter reminds him softly, pressing closer to Bucky’s body and Bucky lets him,
holding him close, running his fingers through Peter’s messy hair.

“Not as much as I love you, doll.” Bucky murmurs back, pressing a gentle kiss to Peter’s
forehead.

They linger in each other’s space—breathing the same air, sharing each other’s breaths and
Peter holds the moment, much like the dog-tags, close to his heart, for safe keeping—before
Bucky slips away and into the night, silently, like he was never there in the first place.
 Peter curls around Bucky’s pillow, inhales his scent that lingers behind on the fabric and
thinks, soon.

Chapter End Notes

Please let me know what you think, comments keep me going :)

 22
Chapter Summary

Peter wakes up disoriented, tangled in his sheets and sweating. It takes him a moment to
remember why he was awake at—he squints at his Iron Man alarm clock—2:03 in the
morning when moments before, he was sound asleep.

It’s not until his heartbeat slows and his breathing calms that he hears it.

Screaming

Chapter Notes

Hi guys! Long time no see. It's been almost a year since I've last updated this series, but
I've had other projects I've been working on and I've been very busy with other things.
You have the Falcon and Winter Soldier to thank for reigniting my love for the MCU
verse and I plan on adding a few stories to this ship because of it.

I found this unfinished in my docs and I got the inspiration to finally finish it. I love this
chapter and I hope you guys do too :)

Let me know what you guys think!

P.S. this story is unbeta'd and all mistakes are my own, so please forgive me if you spot
a few!

See the end of the chapter for more notes

22.

A kiss that’s leading to more but is interrupted by a third party

Peter wakes up disoriented, tangled in his sheets and sweating. It takes him a moment to
remember why he was awake at—he squints at his Iron Man alarm clock—2:03 in the
morning when moments before, he was sound asleep.
It’s not until his heartbeat slows and his breathing calms that he hears it.

Screaming

The hairs on the back of his neck stand up, his heart takes off in his chest and his palms begin
to sweat. Scrambling out of his bed, he taps the watch on his wrist and ignoring the pounding
in his head—his spidey senses really don’t like whatever this is—he rushes out of his room
towards the screaming.

The tower is dark, but JARVIS has the hallways lit in a soft glow, bright enough for Peter to
make out the cool tile floors, but not too bright that it jars his eyesight. The screaming has
stopped and the tower has gone eerily silent, to the point that all Peter can hear is the sound
of his pulse thudding in his ears. He pauses at the first corner of the hallway and expands his
senses—he can hear the whir of the AC, the soft buzz of the security cameras, the sound of
an infomercial from the lobby of the tower sixty floors down, where the third shift security
guard is stationed at the front desk. He can smell the lingering scent of pizza from dinner and
underneath it, the clean scent of pine that always lingers days after the cleaning staff has
come through. He can smell oil paints and worn paper from Steve’s room, the smell of clove
and ginger from Wanda’s herbal tea, the lingering scent of motor oil that clings to Tony like
cologne and the fragrant incense that Natasha is fond of burning.

The newest scent assaults his nose and it reminds Peter of fall right before the seasons
changes into the bitter cold of winter. It’s worn leather and earthy, like a warm jacket and the
falling leaves. Fresh and woodsy, like new fallen snow and pine sap from a freshly chopped
Christmas tree—the kind Ben always forced them to get from a tree farm upstate.

It smells like home and it eases some of the tension in Peter’s shoulders.

Glancing down the hallway into the living room, he sees that it’s just the way he and Bucky
left it before they went to bed a few hours ago—blankets haphazardly folded, pillows on the
floor and a few empty chip bags and crushed soda cans littering the coffee table.

Peter makes a mental note to clean that up in the morning, because even though Tony is
upstate dealing with the new Avengers facility, he’s been known decide to come home early.
(And, judging from the phone call Peter received earlier from Tony, it’s a distinct possibility.
After asking Peter how the weekend with Bucky was going, he complained about Fury and
Agent Hill and the mess that was the Accords and Senator Ross hounding him still about the
rogue Avengers coming back for a full twenty minutes.

“—as if I had anything to do about that, gawd.” Tony muttered through the phone.

“Uh, Tony, you did have something to do with that, remember? We went to Wakanda on my
spring break because I found the flip phone Cap left you—“

“—what’s that Pep, you need me to sign something?”

“Tony, Pepper is still in Manhattan—“

“Gee kid, love to stay and chat but this sounds really important so, gotta go, make good
choices, don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, be good, love you lots bye.”)

Tony had been weary about leaving Peter alone with Bucky all weekend—that particular
bridge of trust is still a steaming mess of broken pieces and parts—and it took a conference
call with Fury, Shuri and T’Challa, several conversations with Steve, and Bucky literally
swearing on the Bible, to get Tony to relent and let Peter stay behind with the former Winter
Soldier.

But because he’s Tony, there were stipulations for Peter to follow. He had to wear his watch
at all times—a watch that, upon Peter tapping it, would encase him in his IronSpider suit,
should he need it. It also had a direct link to JARVIS, who sent updates to Tony’s phone and
would alert him if Peter is under any sort of duress.

Peter also had to call after every meal and right before bed and if he failed to do so, he knew
Tony wouldn't hesitate to fly back to the Tower with the entirety of SHEILD force for back
up.
Peter’s only been living with Tony for six months, but he’s taking his new role as Peter’s
guardian very seriously, to the point where he’s seriously thinking about moving back in with
May. He wonders if she had something to do with this, too.

Seriously, Peter is eighteen, a soon to be freshmen in college, he’s a functioning adult who
pays for—well, nothing, at least, not right now. May and Tony both agreed that he shouldn’t
work while he’s still in school, that his internship with Tony, Avenging and keeping up with
his classes were enough. But in four years to six years—when he graduates from MIT with
his masters and moves out of the apartment off campus that overlooks the Charles River and
has all the amenities any college kid could dream of that his “intership” with Tony is paying
for—Peter will be a 9 to 5 working, tax paying citizen, okay?

And he has super powers. Powers, that everyone seems to forget, stopped Bucky’s HYDRA
technologically powered arm from sending him sailing through a German airport almost three
years ago. And that was when he literally just got his powers. He’s even better now, he’s had
training. From a former Russian spy at that.

(And if—a big if, mind you—a former HYDRA assassin sat in on those training sessions and
even assisted in a few, well, Tony didn’t need to know everything. Peter was an adult, okay?)

He can handle one weekend alone with Bucky—who wasn’t even that bad. When he wasn’t
in the training room, the former Winter Solider spends most of his time in his room, reading
or writing in his journal with his old Victrola record player crooning in the background.
Sometimes, he’ll sit with Peter in the sunroom and they’ll play chess together (Peter always
lost, no surprise there) or piece together one of Peter’s 3D puzzles Steve got him for his
birthday. Sometimes, on a day where Bucky is feeling particularly generous, he’ll sit with
Peter and help him build one of his Star Wars lego sets and listen to Peter ramble on about the
franchise and the characters and how he and Ned would usually put these together with each
other, but Ned got early admission to CalTech and left the week after graduation, which is
fine, really, it is, it’s Ned’s dream school and he’s really smart and they have modern
technology so keeping in touch is easier and—

— “Kid,” Bucky would say, voice amused. “Do you ever breathe between sentences?”
Peter’s cheeks would blush cherry red and he’d look down at his Legos with a lot more
interest than before and mutter out an embarrassed, “Sorry.”

A warm chuckle and a calloused hand reaching across the mess of lego pieces to rest on his
knee would always pull his gaze upwards, towards kind grey-blue eyes and quirked pink lips.

“Hey, no need to apologize,” Bucky would murmur, voice gentle and warm. “Just don’t want
to Stark to blame me if you pass out from lack of oxygen. I don’t want him to think I strangled
you or something.”

That would get a laugh out of Peter, which would make the quirk of Bucky’s lips stretch into a
genuine smile that didn’t make Peter’s heart flutter.

It didn’t—

Sometimes, when he wakes up to the taste of ash in his mouth and the memories of feeling
his body break down, atom by atom, into nothingness, Peter will stumble his way out to the
kitchen and pour himself a cup of tea that Bruce recommended and make his way out the
balcony that overlooked lower Manhattan. Bucky is usually already there and they’ll watch
the sun paint the buildings gold with it’s early rays, sipping their respective drinks and
listening to the beginnings of the city greet a new day. They never talked, but Peter always
feels calmer in Bucky’s presence. Protected, safe, grounded. He knows he doesn’t have to
explain his presence out on the balcony—he knows Bucky understands without him having
to use words and that doesn’t make Peter feel even more attached to the quiet solider, it
doesn’t.

A whimper pulls Peter from his musings and he blinks, cursing himself for getting distracted
so easily.

Tilting his head, he waits to see if it will repeat itself and when it does, a few beats later, it’s
louder, more pronounced and it sounds painful—like someone is trying to withhold the sound
but can’t, because it’s literally being ripped from them and—
A gut wrenching sob pierces the air and Peter’s head snaps in it’s direction, his stomach
twisting when he realizes just where that particular direction is.

Bucky

Heart pounding, he races down the hallway to Bucky’s room, skidding to a halt outside his
door and not bothering to knock, he bursts through it, flicking the lights on with his heart in
his throat and—

The smell is the first thing he registers—it’s a mixture of sweat and fear and it’s so pungent
that Peter can taste the acrid flavor on his tongue and it makes him gag, stumbling back a few
steps into the wall.

Once his eyes adjust to the harsh assault of light on his eyes, he can see Bucky tangled up in
the torn and shredded sheets of his bed, thrashing like he’s trying to physically fight someone
off of him. His dark hair has long since fallen out of it’s bun and it’s matted to the skin of his
forehead and neck with sweat. His entire body is covered in it, his bare chest glistening in the
bright lights of his room and it’s a testament to just how freaked the fuck out Peter is that he
doesn't even pause to admire that particular revelation.

The look on Bucky’s face is one of pure agony as he tosses and turns in his tattered sheets,
eyes shifting restlessly underneath his eyelids, dark lashes fluttering against flushed cheeks
and his bit swollen lips parted in a silent scream. His right arm is patting at the sheets like
he’s searching for something and it takes Peter a moment to realize that his prosthetic arm is
missing and with a sharp pang, he knows immediately that’s what Bucky is searching for.
Because without it, he’s vulnerable.

Because Bucky’s arm is what the suit is to Peter or what the shield is for Steve. It’s a comfort,
a barrier between the danger and the body they still see as vulnerable, despite the serum or
the bite. Because even though they can lift buildings and stop moving cars with their bare
hands, they’re still human and humans are programmed to defend themselves with anything
that makes them feel safe.

And right now, Bucky doesn't feel safe. He’s scared, terrified of whatever it is that’s hurting
him and that thought alone is enough to spring Peter into action.
“JARVIS, lower the lights to forty percent and open the curtains, please.” Peter whispers to
the A.I. Almost immediately, the lights above him dim to a level that’s not as harsh or as
bright and the curtains pull back to reveal the soft glow of the full moon.

“What’s the temperature of the room?” Peter asks, keeping his voice at a whisper as he moves
closer to the bed.

“The current temperature of the room is 65 degrees,” JARVIS responds and Peter notes that
the A.I. has lowered the volume of his voice. Not for the first time, Peter feels a rush of
appreciation to the wonder that is JARVIS.

“Can you bump it up to around 72 degrees, please?” Peter requests.

“Of course, Master Parker.” JARVIS replies dutifully and instantly, Peter can feel the warmer
air blast through the vents, heating the room and chasing the chill away.

That seems to help.

Peter can see some of the tension ease from Bucky’s shoulders, the furrow in his eyebrows
smoothing into more of a frown than a look of utter torment he was wearing a few moments
ago.

Swallowing against the lump in throat, Peter sits down carefully on the bed and reaches a
hesitant hand out to Bucky’s, letting his fingers weave through the rough and calloused ones.
He takes a moment to marvel at how much bigger Bucky’s hand is than his own, how it
seems to dwarf his and swallow it up in it’s grasp. The contrast of their skin—Peter’s own a
smooth pale and Bucky’s a scarred and roughed tan. Despite the situation, it makes Peter’s
heart flutter and his stomach swoop like the first time he jumped from a building, only to
catch himself with his webs a second later. It’s that moment of free fall where the line
between danger and adrenalin flirts with thrill and heart wrenching fear.

It’s heady and addicting and it’s a feeling Peter knows too well.
Shaking himself once again at getting distracted, Peter runs his thumb over the back of
Bucky’s warm hand.

“Bucky,” Peter murmurs, smoothing his thumb over the scarred knuckles. “Bucky, wake up,
you’re okay, it’s just a dream, you’re okay—“

Bucky’s eyes snap open, unfocused and his hand tenses in Peter’s and Peter has a second to
think oh shit followed by a large flare of pain as his spider senses reach catastrophic levels as
they register dangerdangerdangerabortmissionabormission and then he’s flat on his back
against the mattress with a hand around his throat and a body pressing every inch of theirs
into every inch of his.

Bucky’s eyes are so dark, they glint black in the moonlight and Peter finds himself
momentarily pinned to the mattress at the look of pure animalistic intensity swirling in eyes
that usually look at Peter with such a kindness.

But this isn’t Bucky.

This is the Winter Soldier.

The hand on his throat squeezes tighter and rather than panic or give in to the urge to fight
back, Peter forces himself to go pliant under the weight of Bucky’s body, submitting to his
hold and allowing himself to appear non-threatening.

Fighting against the fog of dizziness and the lack of oxygen circulating to his brain, he rests a
gentle hand on Bucky’s wrist, running his fingers over the delicate skin of his pulse point.

“Bucky,” Peter chokes out, wincing when his hand presses down harder, right against his
windpipe.
That’s gonna leave a mark, Peter thinks through the thickening fog.

Blinking through the black spots, he tries to keep his gaze focused on the startled soldier in
front of him and tries again, “B-Bucky it’s—uh—P-Peter—“

“Master Parker, your oxygen levels are dropping and heart rate is rising—“

If Peter could roll his eyes right now, he so would because no fucking shit, he’s only getting
the life choked out of him for crying out loud!

The voice seems to startle Bucky and the hand on his throat loosens, not by much, but it’s
enough that Peter can feel the dizziness abate and the threat of passing out ebbs to more of a
possibility than the definite it was a second ago.

Seeing his window, Peter meets the now confused eyes staring down at him and squeezes his
fingers gently against Bucky’s wrist.

“Bucky, it’s okay,” He gasps out, patting soothingly at Bucky’s hand. “You’re okay, you were
—ugh—having a n—nightmare—“

“Oxygen levels are still dropping, alerting Tony Stark—“

Peter, who had been valiantly fighting off the panic this entire time, feels his entire body
seize up at the thought of Tony finding out about this and he takes advantage of Bucky’s
momentary distraction and knocks his hold loose.

He can’t even enjoy the sudden rush of sweet sweet oxygen into his lungs because he no
sooner gets out a, “No, JARVIS, don’t call Tony—“ before a snarl rips through Bucky’s chest
and this time, the hand means business when it re-wraps itself around Peter’s throat and
shoves him back into the bed below.
This time, Peter does panic, because the black spots in his vision are back and they’re quickly
taking away his vision and the fog is thickening in his brain and his lungs are burning and
nononononono—

“Bucky it’s me, it’s Peter, you have to let go,” Peter chokes out and he can’t help the fear in
his voice if he tried, because he can feel his brain shutting down and he can’t fucking breathe
and god this fucking hurts—

Grey eyes meet his and through the tears threatening his vision Peter can see the exact
moment Bucky comes to and he watches as the predatory gleam melts into confusion, giving
way to recognition and then, with a dawning horror, the hand leaves his throat as if it
suddenly caught fire and the body crushing him to the mattress disappears.

Peter falls back on the bed with a choked off gasp, his lungs aching from the lack of air,
vision swirling and the room spinning and molted with sudden bursts of color as he takes in
as much air as he possibly can to make up for the last two minutes without it.

Oxygen, how I’ve missed you.

He can hear Bucky pacing along the foot of the bed and muttering in a language Peter can’t
even begin to try and understand, but it reminds him of why, exactly, he’s in this predicament
in the first place.

He sits up with a groan, deciding to rest against the head board until the room stops spinning.
He brings a hand to his throat, a hiss of pain leaving his lips when his fingers brush against
the tender skin and he knows that it’s probably already bruised. He tries to swallow and while
it’s not terrible, it’s not exactly pleasant, either, and he resigns himself to at least a day of
being miserable because while he’s no doctor, he’s pretty sure Bucky did a number on his
trachea.

Shit, he thinks, Bucky.

The pacing has picked up, joined by hitching breaths and a stuttered heart rate and Peter can
recognize the beginnings of a panic attack from a mile away.

“Bucky,” he says, wincing when his voice comes out as more a rasp. “Bucky,” he tries again.
“It’s okay—“

Peter doesn't have to know the language to know that the word that leaves Bucky’s mouth is a
curse and judging by the infliction, Peter’s going to guess it’s either fuck or maybe motherfuc
—

The oxygen leaves his body for an entirely different reason when Bucky’s suddenly back on
top of Peter, gripping his shoulder, mouth a tight line, eyes a stormy grey as they bore into
Peter’s.

“It’s not okay,” Bucky seethes, shoulders taut with tension. “Jesus Christ, Peter, I hurt you.
Nothing makes that okay, God nothing—” he chokes when his eyes land on Peter’s bruised
throat. “—excuses this.”

The agonized look that crosses his features when he brushes his fingers against Peter’s throat
is familiar and just as gut wrenching as the first time Peter saw it when he burst through the
door.

But it’s nothing compared to the self-loathing Peter sees in Bucky’s eyes when they meet
Peter’s and the ache in his chest only worsens when he sees the glimmer of tears on Bucky’s
lashes.

“Peter—“ he whispers brokenly. “God, doll, I’m so fucking sorry, I’m so sorry, I promised
them I’d never hurt you and fuck, look at what I’ve done—“

“Bucky,” Peter whispers, but Bucky doesn’t hear him.

“Fuck, Peter, I swear I never—I was dreaming and then—God, I hurt you and you were only
trying to help me, fuck I’m so sorry—“

He cuts himself off and Peter can feel his hand trembling against the bruises on his throat and
it makes guilt swell like a lead balloon in Peter’s gut because he knows better. He knows what
it’s like to be startled awake from a nightmare, where dreams and reality are intertwined and
it’s difficult to separate what’s in your mind and what’s really in front of you.

“Bucky, it’s okay, I’m okay—“ Peter murmurs, grabbing at Bucky’s shaking hand, but Bucky
won’t have it.

Yanking out of Peter’s grip, Bucky scrambles away to the side of the bed, shaking his head
fiercely.

“You’re not okay! Jesus Christ, your neck it’s—fuck—I tried to choke you to death,” Bucky
says shakily, running his quivering hand through his messy hair. He positions his back to
Peter, like he’s unable to even look at him, like it pains him to even see Peter right now.
“How can you say you’re okay when I—you were afraid of me—I could see it in your eyes.”
A weak, tortured laugh leaves Bucky’s lips and it makes Peter’s stomach twist, but it’s
nothing compare to the way his heart shatters at Bucky’s next words:

“I’m a monster.”

His voice sounds so broken and sad and it makes Peter physically ache inside to think that
this—this is what Bucky truly thinks of himself.

Tears fill Peter’s eyes and throws himself at Bucky’s back, wrapping his arms around him
tightly, like maybe if he holds on tight enough, it will hold all of the broken pieces inside
Bucky together.

“You’re not a monster,” Peter whispers fiercely between the smooth skin of Bucky’s shoulder
blades. “You were having a nightmare, you didn’t know it was me—“
“Jesus, Peter—“ Bucky mutters angrily, breaking out Peter’s embrace to stand up and Peter,
unsure what to do with his hands, drops them into the torn sheets below and tries not to flinch
when Bucky’s tortured gaze meets his. “Don’t you get it? This is why Tony was afraid to
leave you here with me, this right here,” he says, waving his hand around the room for
emphasis. “I’m unstable and unpredictable, I could—hurt someone and not even—fuck—“
He cuts himself off with a harsh breath, looking away to stare at the wall.

Bucky clenches and unclenches his fist and Peter wonders if he’s using square breathing—a
trick Bruce uses to try and calm himself down whenever he’s angry or stressed. It’s the same
one he taught Peter to use whenever he feels himself spiraling towards a panic attack.

Inhale one, two, three, Bruce would say in that oddly soothing tone, hold one, two, three.
Exhale one, two, three. Hold, one, two, three.

And he’d repeat the process until Peter could feel the panic ebb and his lungs fill with air
without it seeming forced and he couldn’t feel the weight of everything pressing down on his
chest.

So, Peter waits and watches as Bucky’s chest rises and falls as he breathes, the way his
nostrils flare on every inhale, the way the muscles twitching in his jaw gradually relax as he
becomes—not relaxed, but more… in control, centered.

“I’m dangerous, Peter,” Bucky says, voice low and gravelly and it sends a shiver of…not
fear, racing down Peter’s spine. “I could’ve—I could’ve killed you, if I had wanted to and I
can’t—“

He meets Peter’s eyes and there’s an age old torment swimming in the depths of his grey eyes
—every memory, every scar, every person who died at his hands, every order he was forced
to carry out against his will and it’s…heavy.

“I would never be able to live with myself if I—did something to you that I couldn’t—“

The words seem choked, like he can’t even bring himself to say it, but he doesn’t have to,
Peter understands—the memory of Bucky’s hand around his throat won’t be disappearing
from his mind any time soon, not when he can feel it every time he swallows.

Bucky closes his eyes and when he blinks them open, Peter can’t see anything—there’s no
glimmer of humor, no gleam of kindness or a twinkle of mischievousness.

It’s not Bucky or the Winter Solider.

It’s just a man who’s seen and done too many horrible things and he’s resolved himself to a
lifetime of regret and loneliness.

“I think you should go.” Bucky says quietly, voice neutral, controlled.

And when Peter doesn't move, some of that control snaps.

Fist clenching at his side, Bucky repeats himself. “Peter, I said—“

“I heard you,” Peter says, squaring his shoulders. “And I’m not leaving.”

The muscle in Bucky’s jaw is twitching again and the careful veneer of calm is slipping,
Peter can see it in the way his eyes turn dark, like storm clouds right before it rains.

“Well, that’s too damn bad because I told you to leave and I’m not gonna tell you again—“

“—good, then we agree, I’m not leaving—“

“—God damn it, Peter, I want you to leave—“

“—well that’s too bad, because I’m staying—“

“Peter,” Bucky snaps, true anger bleeding into his voice and it makes Peter pause. There’s a
wild look of desperation in his gaze and it makes Peter swallow down the stubborn retort on
the tip of his tongue. “Please, for the last time, leave.”

Peter considers for a moment that Bucky may actually want to be alone. And he gets that.
Really, he does. Sometimes, when he wakes up from a nightmare, he wants to just slip back
underneath the covers and be left to his own thoughts. Sometimes, he’ll sneak down to the
lab and work on his web formula until his eyes are swimming with numbers and he can
barely stand up straight, let alone make it back up to his room. Sometimes, he’ll turn the TV
on and watch mind-numbing television until he can’t remember falling asleep.

But sometimes, when he wakes up, the silence is too loud and his thoughts are too much and
he just…needs someone. To hold him, to ground him, to anchor him and remind him that he’s
here, he’s not alone, that he’s alive and he’s got people that care about him and love him and
want him around. So, he’ll slip out of bed, go to the kitchen to make his tea and find himself
out on the balcony with Bucky. His presence always has a way of bringing Peter back to
himself and the reality that he’s here, whole and alive.

And something tells Peter that he does the same thing for Bucky during those early mornings
where they both can’t sleep and they nightmares are still fresh behind their eyes. Because if
he didn’t, Bucky would’ve found somewhere else to find peace after the first time Peter
invaded his safe space.

Resolve settles in Peter’s mind and he meets Bucky’s eyes, but Bucky’s stubbornly staring
down at the cream colored carpet, his flesh arm crossed over his chest, hand gripping at the
tapered edge of his bad shoulder. Peter recognizes gesture for what it is—Bucky’s scared, but
not of whatever it was that was causing him to scream in his dreams.

He’s scared that Peter will actually leave him alone to face whatever it was in his dreams that
was hurting him and that just—doesn’t sit right with Peter and only strengthens his resolve.

“I’ll leave,” Peter starts, heart hammering in his chest when Bucky’s head snaps up to meet
his. “But only if you can look me in the eye and tell me honestly—” he adds when Bucky
opens his mouth to reply. “—that you really want me to go.”
Bucky’s grip on his shoulder tightens, his mouth snapping closed into a grim line and he
glowers at Peter, who simply juts his chin out defiantly and raises a questioning eyebrow,
daring Bucky silently to argue with him.

A heart beat goes by, then two, then three and Peter’s beginning to question himself,
wondering if maybe his data is off and he’s actually wrong about this. But then he remembers
the whimpers and moans of pain and it makes him square his shoulders and plant himself like
a damn tree in the middle of Bucky’s bed, ignoring the voice in his head that’s telling him
that he might be coming on a little too strong.

Another heart beat. Then another. Another. And then a sigh. And then—then—

“God, you’re a punk,” Bucky mutters, arm dropping from his shoulder and Peter tries, really
tries, to not look too smug as Bucky runs his fingers through his messy hair in what seems
like defeat. “Seriously, you remind me of Steve, both of you never know when to give up.”

Peter grins, shrugging. “If that was supposed to be an insult, it’s not. You just compared me
to Captain America and that’s about as high of a compliment you can give me, so.”

Bucky snorts, but Peter can see the tension in his shoulders ease and the look in his eyes
doesn't seem to be as wild as it was before. He isn’t better, Peter can still the tremors in his
hand and the way he shifts restlessly from foot to foot like he doesn’t quite know what to do
with himself. But he doesn’t seem as tightly wound like…well, when was when he was
choking the life out of Peter.

Shaking off the memory, Peter stands up cautiously from the bed, keeping his movements
slow and deliberate as he approaches Bucky, who’s watching him wearily from his position in
the middle of the room.

“You’re not going to hug me or something, are you?” Bucky asks warily when Peter stops a
few inches from him. They’re close enough that Peter can feel the heat of Bucky’s bare skin
through the thin material of his t-shirt and it sends a sliver of…something racing down his
spine and it pools low in his belly, making him shiver.
Peter huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head. “No, I just—“ he swallows heavily, which, in
hindsight, wasn’t such a good idea because it makes his throat ache like a bitch. “I just
wanted to say that I’m sorry.”

At Bucky’s confused look, Peter elaborates, “I shouldn't of tried to wake you up. I know
better, I just—“ He breaks off, shaking head to try and rid the sounds of Bucky’s screams out
of his mind, the sounds of his pain and terror. Something breaks inside of Peter and when he
meets Bucky’s eyes, he’s embarrassed to feel the tears on his lashes. “You just sounded so…
scared,” he continues, voice soft. “It was like…someone was actually hurting you and I
couldn’t just stand there and not do something.”

Tears slip down his cheeks and Peter blinks them away, turning his gaze down to the floor in
the hopes that Bucky won’t seem them.

“I just wanted to help you,” Peter finishes with a sniff, wiping—in what he hopes is a discreet
way—at the tears that have escaped his eyes without his permission.

He feels stupid. Bucky is the one that had the nightmare. Bucky is the one that needs his
support and comfort. Not the other way around. Maybe he should've left, he thinks to
himself. Maybe Bucky was right and he should’ve just gone when he told him to, but no. He
just had to be pushy and shove his nose where it doesn't belong. Bucky is right, he really
doesn't know when to back down from things, maybe he should get better about that, maybe
—

A gentle hand cups him under the chin, encouraging him to look up and when he does, his
breath catches in his throat—in a good way, this time—when he sees that familiar fondness
gleaming in Bucky’s soft grey eyes. But there’s something else, something deeper, unknown,
lurking in the depths of his eyes that Peter can’t name and it makes his heart race and his
palms sweat and he hasn't felt this way since he asked Liz to Homecoming sophomore year,
but that event pales in comparison to whatever…this is.

All the breath leaves Peter’s lungs when Bucky brushes his calloused thumb along the curve
of Peter’s cheekbone, tracing the delicate skin underneath his eye and god help him, he’s
going to melt into a giant puddle of goo on the floor.
“Oh, doll,” Bucky murmurs, eyes softening into a heart-wrenching sadness when he sees the
tear tracks on Peter’s cheeks. “You shouldn’t waste your tears on me, sweetheart, I ain’t
worth it.”

Peter swallows heavily, licking his dry lips and he swears his heart actually stops beating
when Bucky tracks the movement with his eyes.

“You’re worth a lot more than you give yourself credit for.” Peter whispers, looking up at
Bucky from underneath his lashes.

And when Bucky meets his eyes, Peter swears something crackles in the air between them.
Suddenly, he’s hyper aware of every stroke of Bucky’s thumb on his cheek and the fact that
Bucky is very much not wearing a shirt and that Peter can feel every breath he takes, can hear
the thrum of his heart as it beats a staccato rhythm against his very well defined chest. Peter
reaches out a gentle hand and places it right between his pecs, right over the steady beat and
his stomach swoops when he hears it pick up at his touch.

He traces over the thin white scars that litter the otherwise smooth tan skin, tries not to think
about where they came from or how he got them, stomach twisting at the thought of someone
hurting him. He trails his fingertips down his sternum, over his ribs that expand as Bucky
breathes, smiles when those breaths get heavier when he lets his thumb brush over a nipple, a
low rumble leaving Bucky’s lips that brings Peter’s gaze back up to his.

There’s a hunger lurking in his eyes, the grey of his irises a thin line around blown pupils and
it heats Peter’s insides, turning them into liquid fire that pools, low, in his belly, lips parting
in want.

“Peter,” Bucky says lowly, voice husky and to Peter it sounds like a warning, to back away,
to run, to get out now, while he can.

Too bad Peter’s never been good at listening.

Sliding his fingers into the soft hair at the base of Bucky’s neck, he tugs and with a low
growl, Bucky follows him down, their lips meeting and it’s…everything.
Bucky’s lips are warm and chapped and they move with Peter’s roughly, with a finesse that
has his brain short circuiting and his heart hammering in his chest. He’s demanding and
almost forceful in the way he parts Peter’s lips, like a starving man who’s been denied
sustenance for a very long time and Peter’s more than happy to be on the receiving end of it.

His teeth nip at the sensitive skin of Peter’s bottom lip, following it up with a soothing stroke
of his tongue and Peter parts his lips on a gasp, surprised and aroused. Bucky takes advantage
of it, slipping past his lips and stroking his tongue over Peter’s and a shiver races down his
spine when he feels the growl that leaves Bucky’s chest reverberate in his own.

Peter’s mind is spinning, everything from the ends of his hair to the tips of his toes are
tingling and he wants to feel Bucky everywhere. He starts to walk backwards towards the
bed, but the one thing that never left Peter is his clumsiness and he stumbles over his own
feet, pulling them down towards the floor, but Bucky catches him by sliding his arm
underneath his ass, picking Peter up with one arm and yeah, Peter thinks as he wraps his legs
around Bucky’s waist, that’s hot.

A chuckle leaves Bucky’s lips when he feels Peter shiver against him, laying him down on
the bed and when he pulls away, there’s a knowing gleam in his eyes, twinkling like a silver
star against a black sky and it makes Peter flush, all over, the longer Bucky stares down at
him with that look. It’s heat and desire and a want so strong it makes Peter physically ache in
the best way.

Peter swallows, wincing when his throat protests the movement and Bucky catches it,
expression darkening and not in the way Peter wants.

Bucky’s eyes trace the bruises on Peter’s throat, taking in the purple, finger shaped marks that
match the shape of the fingers gripping desperately at Peter’s curls. A tortured expression
clouds over Bucky’s handsome features, the grey-blue of his eyes filled with a swirling pool
of guilt and pain as they scan over the mixture of blues and purples and greens that litter the
pale skin of Peter’s throat.

Peter opens his mouth to reassure Bucky once again that he’s okay, he’s fine, that the bruises
will heal and most likely be gone by morning, but the feeling of soft, warm lips brushing over
the tender skin have whatever words he was about to say, dying in his throat.
“Мне жаль,” Bucky murmurs against the sensitive skin, “Пожалуйста, простите меня.”

He whispers the phrase over and over, repeating it like a priest would a prayer as he presses
gentle kisses to each finger-shaped bruise that mar the skin of Peter’s neck. The gesture is so
tender, so sweet and so achingly, incredibly intimate. It’s an apology, a benediction and it fills
Peter to the brim to the point of bursting, tears springing to his eyes, unbidden, slipping
silently down his cheeks and Bucky catches them with his lips, kissing those away, too.

“I’m so sorry, doll,” Bucky whispers, the warmth of his breath brushing against the tear
tracks on Peter’s cheeks, “I’m so sorry.” He whispers again and Peter tastes the apology on
his lips.

This time, their lips are gentle, coaxing, almost languid as they move together, the earlier heat
and desire cooling into something softer, more tender than the earlier frenzy of teeth and
tongue and lips. Bucky flesh hand cradles the side of Peter’s face like he’s holding delicate
china—something precious to be handled with upmost care and love—thumb stroking lazy
patterns into the hinge of his jaw and Peter arches into the gentle touch, craving the affection
like a drug, wanting more, always wanting more.

A frisson of heat slides up Peter’s spine when Bucky parts the seam of his lips, their tongues
tangling together, stroking and sucking in a sensual dance that melts Peter’s insides like goo
and make it harder to breathe.

Slow and languid turns into hot and messy the longer they stay intertwined. Peter’s hands
wander and tease at the sensitive skin of Bucky’s lower back, filtering dangerously close to
the waistband of his low slung sweats and it makes Bucky’s hips twitch downwards, pressing
their bodies flush together, their lips parting on a moan when their erections brush against
each other through the thin fabric and despite the barrier, Peter can feel the heat of Bucky’s
arousal; every throb, every twitch, every warm spurt of pre-cum, as their hips meet, over and
over, and Peter wants to feel it on his skin, wants to taste it on his lips and the desire only
worsens the closer he gets—belly tightening, cheeks flushing, breath stuttering, heart racing
and he’s almost there and he knows Bucky is too, can hear it in the way his breath hitches,
the way his hips flex and it’s so good, almost too good and too much and it’s everything,
coalescing into a sweeping symphony of moans and whimpers and whispers of praise as they
work towards the precipice of desire—
“Master Parker, I have an incoming call from Mr. Stark, shall I put him through?”

The sound of JARVIS is like a proverbial needle scratching on a record, startling Peter and
Bucky so badly they nearly collide heads with how fast they spring apart from each other,
both flushed, panting and with twin looks of dawning horror as Tony overrides the protocol
and suddenly his voice is floating through Bucky’s room like a warped version of God.

“Hey kid, are you alright? JARVIS said your heart rate was elevated and when I checked the
reading on your watch, I see where your oxygen levels dropped a few minutes ago—

Peter gaze drops down to his wrist, where the StarkWatch rests, glinting up at him almost
mockingly and Peter seriously wants to die of embarrassment.

“—you’re not out patrolling are you? It’s late and you should be in bed—“

“N-no, I’m not—I’m home, I mean, at the tower, in uh, my room,” Peter stammers and he’s
unable to help the nervous laugh that escapes his lips at the lie, because Peter a lying liar who
lies. And he’s terrible at it.

Tony pauses and when he speaks again, it’s tinged with something hesitant, “Were you ah—
you weren’t, um,” his voice falters and now Peter is confused, because Tony never really
minces his words so—“doing anything, like…private, were you?”

Peter wants to die.

“Ohmygod,” Peter whispers to himself, the words muffled by his hands over his face,
“ohmygod, ohmygod—“

“Because if you were!” Tony rushes to explain, totally misreading Peter’s embarrassment.
“—that’s, uh, totally normal. It’s totally cool, everyone does it—well, maybe not everyone—
but it’s healthy for a growing boy to you know, explore ah, self love, because that’s the best
kind of love—“
“Tony,” Peter groans. “Please, just stop—“

“—it’s completely normal, no need to be embarrassed, like I said, we all do it, even me from
time to time—“

“Tony!” Peter shrieks, absolutely mortified. “I was having a nightmare, I wasn’t—“ Peter’s
hand flails, “—doing that.”

Another poignant pause and then,

“Well, this is awkward.” Tony mutters and Peter can just picture his stumped expression right
now, but it does nothing to make him feel better.

“You have no idea.” Peter mutters, pointedly not looking at Bucky.

“Okay, well, uh, I’m gonna just—I need to um—yeah, bye kid!”

“Oh my god,” Peter whispers to himself. “Oh my god, why me? What did I do to deserve this
kind of torture—“

His pity party is interrupted by the bed shaking, followed by a low wheezing sound that
reminds Peter he isn't alone. Whipping his head up to search for the source of the noise, he
finds Bucky, shoulders shaking, chest heaving and for a wild moment, Peter thinks he’s
having a panic attack, but upon further investigation, Peter realizes, with a dawning horror,
that it isn't a panic attack. Not in the slightest.

The fucker is laughing.

Laughing
As in shoulders shaking, chest heaving, can’t breathe, stomach hurts, tear streaking laughter.

For a moment, Peter is struck dumb by how beautiful he looks—nose scrunched, lips
stretched wide, eyes shining with mirth as low, rumbling laughter spills from his chest in the
form of heaving gasps as his whole body quivers with the force of his amusement.

And as much as Peter wants to curl up in a ball and let the ground swallow him, he can’t help
the smile that stretches across his face at the sight of Bucky being so open and carefree as he
loses himself to his mirth, even if it’s at Peter’s expense.

“Oh man,” Bucky chuckles, wiping tears off his cheeks, laughter still bubbling on the surface
of his words. “You should’ve seen your face—“

He breaks off into another round of laughter that’s more like giggling, blue eyes crinkling at
the edges and he looks so young and carefree, Peter can’t even bring himself to mind.

“Yeah, yeah,” Peter mutters, his own smile twitching at his lips, despite the flush burning
across his cheeks. “It couldn’t have been any worse than yours when you heard Tony’s
voice.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, still grinning. “Oh trust me, doll, I’m sure it had nothing on you. You
—“ he pauses to chuckle, wiping at his eyes. “You looked like you’d seen a ghost, holy shit
—“

Peter shoves at his chest, face absolutely flaming. “Shut up,” Peter grumbles, rolling his eyes
good-naturedly. “I did not.”

Bucky hums, eyes gleaming. “Whatever you say, doll.”

Peter huffs, going to give Bucky’s chest another shove, but it’s a half hearted effort and
Bucky catches his hand before it can make contact, intertwining their fingers instead.

Peter’s breath hitches, heart fluttering when Bucky gives their tangled hands a gentle squeeze
and suddenly, Peter is all too aware of their predicament—Bucky, a solid, warm weight, on
top of him, pressing Peter into the warm sheets—and the gravity of what they’ve done, what
they would’ve done, had Tony not called and poured the proverbial bucket of ice water over
them, extinguishing the flames of their arousal and effectively killing the mood.

And as embarrassing as it was, Peter finds himself grateful for the interruption, because while
he’d be lying if he said he hasn’t fantasized about being in this exact position, the sudden
shift is a lot, all at once. Especially considering, just hours ago, Peter was under the
impression that Bucky was not only straight, but that he also only saw him as just a friend,
with absolutely no attraction towards him whatsoever.

And now, Peter knows what it’s like to feel Bucky on top of him, kissing him, his hands in
his hair, on his bare skin, the sound of his voice, rough with want and desire, as his body
pressing him down, grinding into him, like he couldn’t get enough of Peter.

It’s overwhelming and a little confusing and Peter has no idea what any of this means.

He can feel himself start to spiral head first into a dark pit of self-doubt and despair, but
before the panic can truly sink in and grab a hold of him, Peter feels a warm hand cup his
flushed cheek, pulling his attention to a pair of calm blue eyes.

“Peter,” Bucky murmurs, tone gentle, coaxing. “Come back to me, doll. It’s okay, you’re
okay.”

But it’s not. None of this is okay. Bucky’s the one that had the nightmare, Peter should be the
one reassuring him, not the other way around. Peter’s the one that jumped Bucky, that took
advantage of him when he was scared and vulnerable and oh, god—

“Bucky, I—“ Peter swallows and he’s so lost in his guilt that he doesn’t even notice that it
doesn’t hurt anymore. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t—“
“Whoa, hey,” Bucky soothes, brushing a few errant curls away from Peter’s face and Peter
can’t help but lean into the touch, can’t help the shiver that races down his spine at the feeling
of Bucky’s fingers in his hair. “Peter, it’s okay. There’s no need to be sorry.”

“But there is,” Peter wails, sitting up. Bucky shifts off of him to give him room and Peter
immediately misses his weight, his warmth. “I came in here because I heard you having a
nightmare and I ended up jumping you instead.” He buries his head in his hands and says,
voice muffled, “God, Bucky, I’m so sorry—“

“I’m not.”

It’s said so softly, Peter almost misses it over the sound of his own wallowing, but does hear
it and when it registers, he can’t help but whip his head up and stare at Bucky’s calm face
incredulously.

“What?!”

Bucky cheek’s darken, but there’s a shy, hopeful smile on his face when he repeats, “I’m
not.” And at Peter’s continued confusion, he elaborates, “Sorry, that is. That we kissed.”
Bucky chews his bottom lip and he looks downright bashful when he says, voice soft, “I’ve
wanted to kiss you for a while now.”

Peter blinks, dumbfounded. “Wait, wait, wait,” he says, tone colored with his disbelief.
“Lemme get this straight—you—“ he points to Bucky with a shaky finger, “wanted to kiss—
me?” he demands, pointing to himself.

Now Bucky just looks amused, if a little confused, but he indulges Peter in his inquiry and
nods dutifully.

“Why?” Peter can’t help but ask, totally lost.

Bucky really looks confused now, eyebrows pulled tightly together over his eyes, making his
forehead wrinkle in a way that Peter wants to smooth with his thumb, lips pulled into a
frown. “What do you mean?”

Peter licks his lips, a frisson of heat warming his belly when Bucky’s eyes track the
movement before they land back on his face, searching, like maybe he’ll find the answers
he’s looking for.

“I’m just—well, me,” Peter explains, glancing away, down at dark grey sheets. “It just…
doesn’t make sense, I guess.”

“What doesn’t make sense?” Bucky prompts softly.

Peter chances a glance up at him and offers him a small, bitter smile. “Why you would want
me.”

“Oh, doll,” Bucky breathes, lips curling into a disbelieving smile. “You have no idea, do
you?”

Peter cocks his head to the side, confused and Bucky huffs a soft laugh, shaking his head.
“C’mere, baby.”

Obediently, but still no less confused, Peter follows the request and situates himself in
Bucky’s lap, settling right into the cradle of his hips. Bucky wraps his arm around his hips
and tugs him closer, so Peter has no choice but to wrap his arms around Bucky’s neck
stabilize himself, lest he topple over and face plant right into Bucky’s toned chest. Which, in
the grand scheme of things, wouldn’t be that terrible.

“You have no idea,” Bucky murmurs, kissing him, soft and chaste. “How wonderful you are.
How smart you are, how kind,” He nuzzles into Peter’s neck, lips teasing over his racing
pulse point. “You care, so much, about everyone, people you don’t even know,” his lips brush
over his jaw, the curve of his cheek. “You brighten every room you walk into, you make
everyone around you smile and you’re so beautiful, doll—God. “ Bucky whispers, kissing his
nose, lips featherlight. “You make me want to be a better person, a better man, someone
worthy of having some as sweet and gorgeous as you.”

“You are, Bucky—James, you are,” Peter whispers, kissing Bucky’s lips gently.

A rueful smile plays at Bucky’s lips. “I want to be.”

“You are,” Peter repeats, adamant. “You’re kind and sweet and you make me laugh and you
make me feel safe.” He kisses him once, twice, three times, before he pulls away and meets
Bucky’s eyes. “You’re a good man, James. Everything you’ve been through, the things
you’ve seen and done, that wasn’t you,” He strokes Bucky’s cheek, biting his lip. “You’d
never hurt me. Not intentionally, at least,” He adds, when Bucky opens his mouth to protest.
“I’m safe with you.”

Bucky swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing and Peter wants to follow it with his lips, his teeth.
“You’d never hurt me, either.”

“You’re safe with me,” Peter agrees, giving him a smile.

Bucky smiles back, bright and beautiful and Peter can’t help but kiss him, wanting to taste
that smile for himself.

“What does this mean?” He wonders when they part, resting his head against Bucky’s
forehead.

“It means,” Bucky says, kissing him again, slow and sensual. “That you’re mine,” he
whispers in the space between them when they part. “And I’m yours. If you’ll have me.”

Peter smiles, soft and sweet. “Sounds good to me.”

 Bucky’s answering smile is just as bright and happy and then they’re kissing again, gentle
and sweet and Peter can’t ever remember feeling this light, this happy, this sense of rightness.

But then a thought occurs, sharp and sudden and Peter pulls away, giving Bucky a slow,
mischievous grin.

“What?” Bucky wonders, leaning into Peter to try for another kiss, but Peter dodges it, smirk
widening.

“You get to be the one to tell Tony.”

The answering look Bucky gives him, Peter is sure, rivals his earlier look of horror in terms
of comedy and his cackles turn into sharp peals of laughter when Bucky tackles him to the
bed and tickles him, all thoughts of nightmares and what’s sure to be a much dreaded
conversation, disappearing for the time being, with the sound of their shared laughter and
kisses.

Chapter End Notes

Well, what do we think?

The Russian in this was taken from google translate, so apologies if it isn't right.

Let me know what you think in the comments below and also what you think of The
Falcon and Winter Soldier so far!

You can find me on:

tumblr: @victimofthemusic
twitter: @storiesofmylif9
discord: storiesofmylife#7620

Until next time :)

End Notes

Hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to let me know what you think :)

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