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Steve buys a house in Brooklyn post Ultron, feeling homesick and missing simpler times; times without evil, sentient machines, and regular attempts at world domination by the sinister and criminally insane. Times when his biggest worries had been making the rent on time, and keeping Bucky from stealing the covers.
It’s not that Steve doesn’t like the future, he’s not bitter anymore, and the almost unbearable hurt caused by thinking about the past has dulled into a more distant ache over the years. He’s settled and gotten used to how everything’s brighter and louder and so much more expensive, but it’s not home. Not yet, not without the other half of his soul, of his self, still in the wind.
So Steve moves back to their old neighbourhood, gets a good deal on a homey little two-story brownstone, the renovations and remodelling it needs keeping him busy and distracted between missions and whipping the New Avengers into shape.
He decorates with Bucky in mind because he knows, deep down inside and without a doubt, that Bucky will come back to him when he’s ready. Can still feel the brief press of dry, chapped lips against his own, a promise made the first and only time Bucky had allowed Steve and Sam to catch up with him.
An I remember and I miss you and I’m so sorry and I love you all mixed into a single second of contact, over much too quickly but more than enough to tell Steve everything he’d needed to know.
The waiting, now, is the hard part, hasn’t gotten any easier during the weeks, then months passing without any sign of life from Bucky, apart from the occasional HYDRA base going up in flames or a high-ranking official or other turning up at various police stations all across the country, ready for Coulson to pick up and contain.
Steve trusts Bucky, believes in him, he always has, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t worried, isn’t scared for Bucky, out there by himself with whatever’s left of Hydra surely wanting to get their hands back on their greatest asset. Steve’s terrified of seeing Bucky once more only to have him wear that blank expression again, no recognition in his eyes and asking, flat and numb, “Who the hell is Bucky?”
He can’t push, though, Steve knows that, no matter how difficult it is for him not to take action and go after Bucky. He has to give Bucky the time he needs to find himself again, can’t go and take over where Hydra had left off, making decisions for and about Bucky and Bucky’s life. That is solely up to Bucky now, even if the uncertainty is threatening to tear Steve apart, and the thought of Bucky hurt, or worse, is making him physically ill if he allows it to take root in his mind.
The house helps, getting it cleaned up and furnished for Bucky’s arrival sometimes being the only thing keeping Steve from falling apart. Bucky is coming back eventually, and Steve is going to have the house ready for him, ready to be made a true home.
By the two of them. Together.
* * *
“Do you think,” Sam asks hesitantly the day they’re painting the bedroom, a pastel yellow for three walls and a rich, dark cornflower blue for the one the bed will stand against, “that this is a good idea?”
Steve frowns, tilting his head as he looks over his progress. “It’s Bucky’s favourite colour. He’ll like it.”
“No, I-“ Sam starts, cutting himself off with a sigh. “After what Barnes has been through, he’s bound to have changed, Steve. He won’t be the man you remember.”
“I know that,” Steve says, rolling his eyes as he picks the roller back up again, testing the dryness of his section before he starts applying a second coat. “Neither am I. Some things change, some things don’t. I know what I’m doing, Sam.”
Sam still seems sceptical, but he also knows when to back off. “If you’re sure.”
“I’m sure,” Steve says, firm and decisive, because this is Bucky they’re talking about, and Steve knows Bucky, knows that if there’s just the tiniest part of his old friend left somewhere in this new person, which Steve is sure of, then Bucky will fall back on getting the comfort he needs the only way he wants it; by grabbing Steve, literally, and not letting go until he’s had his fill. For Sam’s benefit, Steve does add, “Besides, we’re doing the guest room next. I can always stay in there if that’s what Bucky wants.”
After the furniture is picked out and assembled with Natasha’s help, after Clint’s kids have stress-tested the pullout couch and Steve’s resolve not to call their parents on their romantic weekend getaway, Tony shows up in a flurry of manic energy, bouncing through the door before Steve can so much as say hello.
“Move in present,” he says absently, shoving a basket at Steve and flouncing off towards the living room, the TV somehow already opened up and partly disassembled by the time Steve catches up with him.
Knowing when to pick his battles, Steve leaves Tony to whatever it is he’s doing, and moves to the kitchen to put away the teas and mead, from Bruce and Thor respectively, smiling to himself as he sticks Pepper’s note -- apologising for Tony’s unannounced visit and promising to replace anything Tony’s going to “modify” beyond repair -- to the fridge with one of the magnets shaped like his shield.
Then he orders pizza, grabs a couple of sodas and a book, and makes himself comfortable on the couch, curling up to read and wait for Tony to finish upgrading everything from the alarm system, which Steve admits might be a good idea, right down to the light fixtures, which Steve doesn’t even know what to say about.
“Wasn’t sure you approved,” Steve says, hours later, munching on a cold and slightly soggy piece of crust. He flushes when Tony glances up from his tablet, eyebrows raised in questions, and gives an apologetic little shrug. “Of Bucky. Coming back here, to live with me. Eventually.”
Tony sighs, runs a hand through his already messy hair, making it stand up in even more impossible directions. “’Cause of the whole him killing my parents thing?” he asks, right to the point as always. Steve winces but nods, and this time it’s Tony who shrugs. “Wasn’t his choice. Or his fault, for that matter. People rarely blame the weapon, they’d rather be angry at the people behind it,” he says ruefully, knowingly. “Trust me on this one, Cap.”
And yes, if there’s anyone who’d know something about that, it’s Tony. Leaning across the couch, Steve gets an arm around Tony’s neck and pulls him in, ignoring the startled squeak in favour of hugging him close, murmuring a quiet but no less sincere, “Thanks, Tony,” into his shoulder.
“You’re welcome,” Tony says, squirming and awkwardly patting Steve’s back. “Are we done here? Can this be over now?”
“Not just yet,” Steve says, laughing at Tony’s exaggeratedly annoyed huff and grumbled, “This is weird. You’re making this weird, Steve.”
* * *
“Yeah, all right,” Steve calls when the knocking starts up again, drying his hands on his pants as he hurries across the living room and through the foyer to get the door. “I’m coming, hold your horses, what’s the-“
Steve freezes, the rest of the sentence dying in his throat at the sight of Bucky, whole and healthy and here, standing on the other side of the threshold with his hand thrust into his pocket and a familiar, lopsided smile on his face.
“Hi, Stevie,” Bucky says, shyly biting his bottom lip and shifting his weight from one foot to the other, obviously nervous and uncertain.
Which is enough to prompt Steve back into motion. He reaches out for Bucky, who meets him halfway, the two of them crashing together and clutching at each other, fingers digging into arms hard enough to leave bruises, to make sure the other is really here, is real.
“Buck,” is all Steve manages to choke out before Bucky’s mouth is on his, searching for reassurance and confirmation Steve is only too eager to give.
Steve deepens the kiss after the first moment of overwhelmed hesitation, hands squeezing at Bucky’s hips, and Bucky’s fingers slide into Steve’s hair as he hums appreciatively and licks into Steve’s mouth, warm and tasting just like Steve remembers. Distracting enough that Steve nearly misses the figure at the bottom of the stoop, huddled between the trash cans and watching them from under a hood pulled low into their face.
“Steve, no, it’s okay.” Bucky leans into Steve, pressing a lingering kiss to Steve’s jaw, and Steve directs a questioning look back down at him but drops the hand that had been creeping towards the shield standing just inside the door. “He’s with me, he’s, uh, he’s Jamie.”
“Jamie?” Steve asks, confused, glad that he has Bucky to take some of his weight when Jamie starts climbing up the stairs, wide, curious eyes peering at Steve out Bucky’s face. “I-“ Steve glances from Jamie to Bucky and back. “What? Bucky?”
That’s Bucky, all right. Another Bucky. Bucky’s lips, Bucky’s nose, Bucky’s dimples, Bucky’s tiny, heart-shaped birthmark on Bucky’s chin. Bucky. A second Bucky. Two Buckys.
They look exactly the same, from the piercing grey of their eyes down to the slightly crooked left eyebrows, and Steve doubts anyone but him, who knows Bucky better than he knows himself, would see the differences, they’re so subtle. Jamie doesn’t hold himself with the natural confidence Bucky’s always had, and Bucky lacks the almost naïve sense of wonder surrounding Jamie, but other than that even Steve has trouble keeping them apart.
Shaking off the momentary bout of vertigo caused by the sudden appearance of Bucky’s doppelganger, Steve waves a greeting at Jamie, still fighting against his speechlessness but recalling that he actually does have some manners.
“I know.” Bucky breathes out heavily, turning to look over his shoulder at Jamie, beckoning him closer. “Fuckin’ Hydra.”
Steve growls protectively, tightly winding one arm around Bucky’s waist and, before he fully realises what he’s doing, offering the other one to Jamie who, after looking at Bucky for permission, slots himself against Steve’s other side and curls a tentative hand into Steve’s shirt.
“Nice to meet you, Jamie,” Steve says warmly, not surprised to find that he really means it, pleased when Jamie smiles at him and whispers a quiet, “Hello, Steve.”
They stand like that, both Bucky and Jamie tucked safely against Steve’s chest, until Bucky and Jamie’s stomachs begin to grumble in unison. Which is eerie, but enough to kick-start the mother hen instincts Tony loves to poke fun at Steve for.
“Inside, c’mon,” Steve orders, gently nudging Bucky and Jamie to move into the house.
After a short tour to show them around, Steve hands out towels and two changes of clothes, leaving them to their showers while he goes to see to dinner. And yes, maybe he does go a little overboard with the two dozen sandwiches, huge bowl of tomato soup, and three steaming cups of hot chocolate, including marshmallows and sprinkles, but the identical expressions of fond amusement on Jamie and Bucky’s faces when they walk into the kitchen are completely worth the teasing and jokes that follow.
The cheerful mood doesn’t last long, however, turning heavy and tense as Bucky talks, explaining and catching Steve up between bites, with the occasional addition or correction from Jamie.
It’s hard to hear, but Steve forces himself to listen. Fingers linked with Bucky’s and free hand rubbing soothing circles over Jamie’s back, Steve listens to everything; how all Bucky had known after the Helicarrier was that Hydra was the enemy, how he’d made it his mission to make sure they’d never hurt anyone else again, how he’d found Jamie and realised Jamie was supposed to replace the increasingly erratic Winter Solder.
“But somethin’ went wrong when they cloned me,” Bucky spits out through gritted teeth, turning away from them, his jaw clenched, and Jamie quickly takes over for him.
“They wanted him without the memories that kept resurfacing, the body and the skills without all the hassle.” He laughs bitterly, gripping his spoon hard enough to turn his knuckles white. “I do remember. Not everything, but some. From when I- when he was a kid, Brooklyn, you.” He smiles at Steve, lost, so lost. “When Bucky woke me up from stasis I thought I- I thought I was still fallin’ from that damned train, only it was never me, I wasn’t there in the first place, it- it’s all wrong, nothin’ of it is mine, I- I-“
Without having to think about it, Steve pulls Jamie into a tight embrace. “Ssh, you’re okay,” he shushes, kissing Jamie’s hair, the only part of Jamie he can reach with Jamie’s face buried in his neck. “You’re here, you’re okay. Both of you. Whatever happened or didn’t happen to each of you, you’re both here now, I’ve got you. I’ve got you both.”
Jamie’s breath hitches tellingly, and then Bucky’s there as well, more in Steve’s lap than on his own chair, hiccupping wetly against Steve’s shoulder and running his trembling hand through Jamie’s hair. Steve holds them both, not ashamed of the tears he can feel trickling down his own cheeks.
They’re all exhausted and cried out when they separate again, and Steve finds he’s reluctant to say goodnight to Jamie at the guest bedroom door. But he gets to share a bed with Bucky once more, have Bucky by his side again, which is motivation enough to leave Jamie after one last hug.
He’s barely inside his -- his and Bucky’s, now -- bedroom when Bucky charges. It’s only thanks to Steve’s enhanced speed and strength that they land sprawled out on the bed instead of the floor, Bucky immediately scrambling up onto his knees to straddle Steve and rub their crotches together, artless but needy.
“Bu- Buck,” Steve gasps, hips twitching helplessly, returning Bucky’s kisses for a moment before rolling them over, ignoring Bucky’s impatient whimper when he grabs and stills Bucky’s wandering hand. “Buck. Hey, slow down. There’s no rush, we don’t have to do anything tonight.”
Bucky huffs, clearly unimpressed. “Been waiting seventy years, not gonna wait another second. Steven Grant Rogers, get your dick in me now,” he demands, arching up to kiss the laughter right off Steve’s lips. His eyes are dark and blown wide when he lets himself fall back against the pillows, but his expression turns from playful to serious, somewhat anxious, even. “Steve, I- I want to, I want you. I need to- to- I need you, Stevie, please, I need you.”
“You have me,” Steve promises with a brush of lips against Bucky’s forehead, kissing his way down Bucky’s face and throat, nipping at the tendons of his neck. “Gonna take care of you, gonna take such good care of you, baby.”
“Know you will,” Bucky breathes, obediently lifting his upper body away from the bed so Steve can pull his shirt over his head, face to face with the scarred remains of Bucky’s left arm for the first time. Bucky squirms, going to cover the stump with his hand and making a distressed little sound when Steve intercepts him. “It’s not pretty, I know, I-“
Steve kisses the thickest of the scars. “Don’t care.”
“Had to get rid of the arm,” Bucky continues, watching Steve like a hawk but slowly relaxing into Steve’s touch, his exploration. “There were trackers in it. Among other things.”
“What about Jamie?”
Bucky grimaces. “Only ever had the one. Maybe they were planning on givin’ him mine. Saving resources.”
“You’re more than that,” Steve says firmly. He scrapes his teeth over Bucky’s nipple, revelling in the hiss that gets out of Bucky, before licking his way across Bucky’s chest and stomach. He dips his tongue into Bucky’s bellybutton, thrilled when it still makes Bucky bark out a laugh and complain about tickling being cheating, then noses along the edge of Bucky’s sweatpants, hands stroking up and down Bucky’s sides.
“Fuckin’ tease,” Bucky grumbles good-naturedly, aiming a lazy kick at Steve’s butt. “Get to it, mister.”
“Bossy,” Steve shoots back but does as he’s told for once, sliding the sweats down Bucky’s legs and carelessly dropping them down the side of the bed.
And then Bucky’s naked, laid out for Steve in all his glory, an offering and all Steve’s for the taking. He spreads his legs with a smug smile up at Steve, eyes fluttering shut with a relieved sigh as he pressed the heel of his hand against his rapidly hardening cock, palming himself unashamedly.
He’s a sight to behold, but Steve’s never been patient, and Bucky’s always been too much of a temptation to resist. Batting Bucky’s hand away, Steve swallows him down to the root without warning or preamble, humming his satisfaction when Bucky lets out a loud and completely shameless moan, fingers tangling into Steve’s hair and tugging none too gently.
It’s like coming home, being able to predict all of Bucky’s reactions, knowing just where to apply pressure and when to suck harder to rile Bucky up, and Steve loses himself in the familiarity of it until Bucky’s yanking turns more insistent, a warning that Steve happily ignores.
Bucky curses and groans Steve's name when he comes, his whole body tensing up for a moment before going boneless and pliant under Steve’s hands.
Steve keeps suckling at the head of Bucky’s cock, nursing him through the aftershocks, only moving away when Bucky whimpers with oversensitivity. He looks up to check, but Bucky’s panting open-mouthed, his lips bitten red, and gives the smallest of nods, so Steve quickly strips off his own clothes and fetches the lube out of the bedside table drawer.
“Turn over,” he says, nudging Bucky’s hip and kissing Bucky’s tailbone the moment it’s within reach. He squirts some of the lube onto his fingers, smacking Bucky’s ass when Bucky barks out a laugh at the sound. “Behave.”
“Make me,” Bucky mumbles defiantly, but doesn’t actually offer any protests when Steve rubs a slick finger over his hole, presses back and gasps when the tip slips inside.
Steve laughs, bending down to nuzzle between Bucky’s shoulders as he slides the finger in deeper, peppering kisses over Bucky’s neck and shoulders. “Forgot how demanding you are. How greedy.”
As if to prove Steve’s point, Bucky starts wriggling, a silent plea for more. Steve hadn’t been lying, he’s in no hurry, but Bucky clearly has other plans. Steve’s barely got two fingers inside him when Bucky declares, “That’s enough, ‘m ready. Fuck me, c’mon, doll, fuck me.”
Steve doesn’t need to be told twice. He pulls his fingers out, using the leftover lube to coat his cock, then presses the head against Bucky’s hole, using both hands to hold Bucky’s cheeks apart, wanting to see.
“Steve,” Bucky whines, the sound turning into a contented rumble when Steve finally pushes inside. “Yeah, that’s it, Stevie, c’mon. ‘S good, c’mon.”
Giving an experimental thrust, Steve moans when Bucky clenches around him, lowering himself so his chest is pressed against Bucky’s back, blanketing Bucky. It’s nothing new, Bucky’s appreciation for this position, makes him feel safe, cherished, had long before Steve became big, and the glimpse into their shared past makes Steve’s hips jerk and Bucky grunt out his approval.
Most of his weight balanced on his elbows, Steve rocks in and out of Bucky slowly, leisurely, rediscovering and reacquainting himself with the feel of Bucky’s body around him, cradling him so perfectly. He scrubs his nose through Bucky’s hair, breathing in the scent of musk and sex and something that’s unmistakably Bucky, bites bruises into Bucky’s skin and soothes the sting with tender little licks, sucks at the lobe of Bucky’s ear, and returns the desperate, sloppy kisses Bucky offers in kind.
It’s Bucky’s sobbed, “I love you, I love you so much, missed you so much, Stevie,” that sends Steve tumbling over the edge, spilling himself into Bucky with Bucky’s hand clasped in his and Bucky’s breath on his lips.
Steve has enough brainpower left to not collapse on top of Bucky, pulling out and flopping down on the bed next to him instead but immediately drawing Bucky in, curling around Bucky and tugging the blankets over them.
“Love you, too,” he pants, kissing the dampness away from Bucky’s cheeks. “More than anything, Buck. Love you, always and forever.”
Bucky snorts at that. “Sap,” he accuses mildly, but throws a leg over Steve’s hip and snuggles even closer.
* * *
Steve’s exhausted, yawning and stretching as he trudges up the stairs, duffel dragging along every other step. He’d been hesitant to leave Bucky and Jamie, even for just a day, but Nat and Sam have been picking up his slack at the academy ever since Bucky’s return and Jamie’s unexpected arrival, so the least Steve can do is start attending the weekly team training sessions again.
It had been fun, too, getting out and among people again, seeing his friends and talking about the events of the last three weeks.
Things with Bucky and Jamie have taken a turn to the worse after that first evening, both of them plagued by frequent nightmares and often vanishing inside their own heads for hours after before Steve manages to coax them back out with gentle touches and kind words. Bucky’s angry a lot, justifiably so, but that doesn’t make taking the brunt of his aggression and hurtful accusations any easier for Steve. Jamie, on the other hand, is withdrawn and quiet, flinching at sudden movements and loud noises, and still barely talks to Steve without Bucky prompting him.
Nothing of what’s happening is unexpected, all things considered, and Steve does his best to be there for them without pressuring or babying them, but it’s difficult, a constant, tiring balancing act.
Today had been a good day, though, going by the stream of texts and pictures, and Steve’s glad to be home, early thanks to a lift from Tony, and ready to fall asleep where he’s standing.
Bucky and Jamie are on the couch when Steve comes into the living room, tangled together like they often are, but something’s different, making Steve pause in the doorway, watching them with a mixture of genuine joy -- they feel secure here, otherwise they would never let their guard down enough to miss Steve entering the room -- and a trace of apprehension.
He can’t hear what they’re saying, their foreheads pressed together as Bucky talks at Jamie, but he definitely sees it when Bucky bumps his nose against Jamie’s, then tilts his head and brings their lips together.
He isn’t aware of making any sound, but Bucky and Jamie spring apart as if burned and glance over at Steve, faces morphing into identical expressions of panic and guilt. After a tense moment during which no one moves or, in Steve’s case, so much as breathes, Jamie jumps up and flees to his room, the click of the lock unreasonably loud in the otherwise quiet house.
Steve waits, for the anger or betrayal, but there’s nothing. Which is strange, because Steve’s always been petty and jealous when it comes to Bucky. Deeply unsettled, Steve just shakes his head when Bucky opens his mouth, a dismissive jerk, and hurries into the bathroom, numbly shucking his clothes and stepping into the shower, letting the hot water pelt his shoulders and back.
He wants to be furious with Bucky, but he can’t bring himself to muster up the necessary emotions, can’t find it in himself to begrudge Bucky the friendship and connection he has with Jamie, not even now. The hurt, Steve realises, stems from the fact that Bucky’d kept something from him, not the act of Bucky kissing someone else.
There’d been a couple of disastrous attempts at dating on Steve’s part as well, which Bucky’d laughed at him for and teased him about mercilessly. It’s not the same as pursuing someone else now that they’re back together, but Steve suspects that whatever there is between Bucky and Jamie is not new, for one, and not as simple as lust or attraction.
Sighing, Steve shuts off the water and towels himself dry, pulling on a pair of pyjama bottoms before going to look for Bucky. He finds him sitting on the edge of their bed, sniffling and rubbing his knuckles into his eyes in that way he does whenever he’s about to cry and desperately trying not to.
“How’s Jamie?” is what Steve starts with, surprising them both, although he really is concerned and does want to know.
“Upset. Scared.” Bucky shrugs, unable to meet Steve’s gaze. He swallows hard, Adam’s apple bobbing. “I- shit, I’m sorry, Stevie, I’m so sorry,” he whispers brokenly, lashes sticking together with unshed tears. “I didn’t mean to- we didn’t mean to- to do that, not anymore, not here. We haven’t, honest, that was the first time. He’s- it’s difficult for him, which is not an excuse, I’m sorry. Steve, I love you, I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I-“
“Hey, I believe you,” Steve interrupts gently, crouching before Bucky and grabbing his hand, pressing a kiss to the back of it. “And I’m not mad. Not happy, I guess, but not mad.”
Bucky looks so damned hopeful, Steve can’t help but smile a little. “But I need you to talk to me, okay?”
“Not sure I can explain it,” Bucky admits, chuckling weakly when Steve tells him to try anyway. “For a while, he was the only thing that seemed real, you know? He kept triggering memories, just by talkin’ or askin’ questions, kept bringing me, the old me, back, bit by bit. We were everything to each other, all we had and- and he loves you, Steve, he remembers us, you and me, and he loves you just as much as I do. He knows it’s not real, for him, what he remembers, but he loves you anyway, we share that. Shared that. It- it was a comfort, when we had nothin’ else. Just kissin’, though, nothin’ else. And we thought maybe it’d stop, him loving you, once we came back, we decided we wouldn’t- wouldn’t seek comfort in each other anymore, be separate, be individual people, but it’s not workin’, Stevie, it’s not. And I’m so sorry, I love you, I didn’t mean for any of this to happen, we love you and I- I love him, he’s important, I’m sorry. I don’t know what to do.”
Bucky’s sobbing openly now, and it tears at Steve’s heart to see him like that, cracked open and vulnerable and with no idea where to go from here. “Hey, no, come on,” Steve says, crawling up into Bucky’s lap and toppling them over, back onto the bed, the back of Bucky’s head cradled in one hand while the other is stroking up and down Bucky’s back. “Please, Buck, don’t cry, sweetheart, I’m not mad. I love you, okay? I’m not mad, I- I understand, I think. At least some. We’ll be fine, baby, we’ll figure it out. We’ll figure it out together, okay?”
“Yeah,” Bucky croaks, melting into the kiss Steve drops on his lips. “Yeah, I want that. I love you, Stevie. I really do. Don’t wanna lose you, never want that.”
Steve kisses his nose, then his closed eyes. “You’re not going to lose me, I won’t let that happen, I swear. Not again, never again.”
Bucky shivers, burrowing closer. “I’m sorry.”
“I know,” Steve says, because he does.
* * *
Bucky’s in the gym in the cellar when Steve walks into the kitchen to find Jamie standing in front of the window, watching the snow come down in thick, fluffy flakes, the smallest of smiles tugging at one corner of his mouth.
Jamie’s been avoiding Steve ever since Steve caught him and Bucky kissing, and while Steve would’ve preferred to talk it out not only with Bucky but also Jamie, he’s been respecting Jamie’s wish for space. Bucky’s been distant as well, stewing in his guilt, and Steve misses them fiercely, both of them.
After the initial shock, Steve had been quick to calm down, spending the last couple of days thinking things over, coming at them from all sides and putting all his tactical knowledge and experience into analysing what he wants out of this situation, coming to the same conclusion over and over again; he wants Bucky and Jamie.
Bucky is the unchallenged love of Steve’s life, and Jamie falling into their lives should, by all means, have screwed up their dynamic, their them, but Steve can’t see it that way. Jamie is his own person, but he’s also a part of Bucky, has feelings and emotions that might have started out as an echo of someone else’s, but Jamie has chosen to accept and embrace them, and it’s not Steve or anyone else’s place to tell him the identity he’s created for himself -- including the love for both Bucky and Steve -- isn’t valid.
Taking Jamie being out of his room while Steve’s awake and around as a positive sign, Steve moves to stand behind him and wind his arms around him, chin coming to rest on Jamie’s shoulder and mumbling a soft, “Hey.”
He holds his breath when Jamie goes rigid, but doesn’t move away when Jamie doesn’t ask him to. “I’m not Bucky,” Jamie says after a long moment of silence, his voice simultaneously full of hurt but also longing.
“I know,” Steve repeats the words he’d said to Bucky, waiting for Jamie’s, “Oh,” of realisation before brushing the lightest of kisses over the sensitive skin behind his ear.
Jamie’s hand comes up to lie over Steve’s on his stomach. “Are you sure? I have no right to either of you, I don’t even have a right to the person I think of as myself. You owe me nothing, and I don’t want your pity.”
“Bucky loves you, and you love us,” Steve says simply, nosing Jamie’s shirt collar out of the way to be able to mouth at his skin. “And I don’t know how I couldn’t fall in love with you if I allowed myself. Which is what I’d like to do, if you let me.”
“This is so fucked up,” Jamie groans and tilts his head back, tucking his face into Steve’s neck. “I feel like I’m stealing part of Bucky away from you. Or the other way ‘round, I’m not even sure.”
“It’s not stealing if we give it willingly,” Steve points out, earning himself an adorable nose-wrinkle and small laugh.
And then an arm slides through Steve’s, a third hand wriggling between his and Jamie’s. “What the jerk here said,” Bucky says, kissing the back of Steve’s neck. Then, completely ruining the moment, he adds, “Does it count as masturbation if I fool around with Jamie?”
Steve smothers a laugh against the side of Jamie’s head, while Jamie declares, very seriously, “I did not inherit his sense of humour. I want that on official record.”
Bucky clucks disbelievingly. “What, you tellin’ me you haven’t been thinkin’ about it?”
Jamie, unlike Bucky, does blush. “Oh, shut up.”