"Maybe not," Bucky agrees. He's hesitant, because as far removed from the 1940s as they are, something about the era in which he grew up remains in him, telling him confessing things so freely could get him into a world of hurt. How it could get him killed, arrested, institutionalized for the rest of his life. Even if he explained he found women attractive too.
Especially if he admitted that. "I think I woulda been jealous," Bucky admits, trying to be all flirty smiles, but meaning it. "Not that I could've admitted that to myself," but it's true, because he always found himself coming back to Steve at the end of the day. It didn't matter how gorgeous the dame was, because there was something about returning to the apartment with Steve in it every night, in the rickety old shared bed they used, that felt so right.
He doesn't hesitate when Steve asks to join him, sliding into the bed against Steve, spooning him happily. "I've got a little garden," he says after a while. "I have to keep it fenced in, otherwise the goats'll get in and eat all the vegetables. Sometimes they do anyway, brats." He sighs contentedly. "It's nice, the village outside of the city. Everyone helps each other out. Once a month, there's always a big potluck. I usually bring goat's milk and yams."
Hell, a doctor could walk in right now and yell at Bucky to get off of Steve's bed, and he's not sure his legs would listen to him. He's probably going to doze off right along with Steve.
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Especially if he admitted that. "I think I woulda been jealous," Bucky admits, trying to be all flirty smiles, but meaning it. "Not that I could've admitted that to myself," but it's true, because he always found himself coming back to Steve at the end of the day. It didn't matter how gorgeous the dame was, because there was something about returning to the apartment with Steve in it every night, in the rickety old shared bed they used, that felt so right.
He doesn't hesitate when Steve asks to join him, sliding into the bed against Steve, spooning him happily. "I've got a little garden," he says after a while. "I have to keep it fenced in, otherwise the goats'll get in and eat all the vegetables. Sometimes they do anyway, brats." He sighs contentedly. "It's nice, the village outside of the city. Everyone helps each other out. Once a month, there's always a big potluck. I usually bring goat's milk and yams."
Hell, a doctor could walk in right now and yell at Bucky to get off of Steve's bed, and he's not sure his legs would listen to him. He's probably going to doze off right along with Steve.