#I COULDA BEEN PENNY PINCHING THIS ENTIRE TIME!!!!!

[0zzysaurus]

Still furious that no one told me Tesco Clubcards are free

[turtle-steverogers]

first kiss on bucky's 17th birthday

Bucky started it but it was an accident, and steve just kissed him back

OKAY SO this totally inspired me but i changed up the thought a bit and it ended up being bucky's 21 birthday adkjflaksdjflaksjflk

anyway here's a fic

warnings: alcohol consumption, a very brief allusion to child abuse-- nothing graphic or detailed

Lips Lined with Whiskey

The bottle feels weighted in Steve’s hands, wrapped in newspaper and secured with old twine he’d found in his ma’s closet, her things still as untouched as the day she’d left for the hospital. He’d been reluctant to meddle with the space, but two years since her passing meant it was about time Steve ought to be using some of the practical things she’d kept around, if only to not let it go to waste. Crumple in the back of her closet and turn to dust, cursed to slip through Steve’s fingers like the rest of her.

Besides, he thinks she’d approve of the way he’d artfully tied the twine around the neck of the bottle, painted dark green and lending the illusion of vines drifting down over a small picnic scene he’d painted on the newspaper. She’d always been one for artfully crafted gifts and he knows she would have wanted this for Bucky, too. Because it’s not every day your best pal turns 21, and steve had paid a pretty penny-- an entire two weeks savings-- to get Mrs. McConnell down the hall to buy this bottle of Gilbey’s.

He rounds the corner onto their street in Brooklyn Heights, feet and back aching from a full day of work and his detour afterwards to pick up the whiskey and wrap it. The straps on his back brace are finicky, but he really should start wearing it again. Maybe he’ll ask Bucky to take a look at them when it’s not his birthday.

It stunk that he couldn’t spend the whole day with Bucky on his 21st, but he hadn’t been able to get the day off. Either way, Bucky had gone out with a few of their pals from school, then to a bar with a couple of his work friends, so Steve’s sufficiently convinced he wasn’t lonely. He takes the stairs, going slow so his back doesn’t protest much further, and tries to gear himself up for a night of drinking. It’s not like they hadn’t gotten drunk together before, but there was something inherently thrilling about doing it for an occasion, and not because Bucky was able to jack some of his father’s liquor on one of their weekly dinners home.

Bucky is back from his celebrations when Steve gets through the door and he looks up at Steve, midway through pulling off his tie. The top few buttons of his shirt are undone and his belt is hanging out of the loops of his trousers. His hair sticks up in disarray where it was evidently pulled at and Steve’s gaze immediately finds the hickey on his collarbone.

Smirking, he says, “Looks like you had a happy birthday.”

Bucky laughs, full and bright, and it’s enough to make Steve’s stomach flip. He’s grown used to breathing through these moments of desire and spares a moment to thank god that he isn’t the jealous type. He’d much rather let his heart soar with Bucky’s laugh than let it sink at the sight of a hickey. Who wouldn’t want a piece of Bucky Barnes? Besides, it’s not like Steve hasn’t sucked dick in the bathrooms of the local queer bars Bucky doesn’t know he goes to, so it’s only fair he grants Bucky the same benefit.

“It was fine,” Bucky says, still grinning. He’s shed his tie completely now and is in the process of shucking off his trousers, hanging that and his shirt on the back of his desk chair. Only in his undergarments now, he slumps down on the edge of his bed and it’s then that Steve notices he’s drunk already. Of course he is. Why hadn't Steve considered that? Oh well, he can catch up, or something. “Got three shots in with the guys, then Lizzy Williams was yanking me out the back door. Gave me an epic suckjob. Think I still got lipstick on my dick.”

Steve’s eyebrows climb up. “Lizzy Williams? From high school?”

“Yup,” Bucky says, slumping back on his bed. He’s half hard in his shorts and his skin is flushed with intoxication. It’s nothing Steve hasn’t seen before, but god, he wants to touch him. He wants to take him out of his shorts and take him deeper than Lizzy Williams had, suck right past that lipstick stain. His own dick twitches and he clenches his jaw, looking away. “She was there with some of her girlfriends, I don’t really remember.”

Steve smiles and sets the bottle gently on their table, working to shed his own clothes.

“Well it sounds like you had a lot of fun,” he says, stripping down to his own shorts and socks.

Bucky hums. “Still wish you coulda come, though.”

Steve’s chest pangs. It’s moments like these where he has to reconcile the fact that Bucky still makes him feel special-- that he could have chosen any best friend out there, and he chose him.

“Me too,” he says. He picks back up the bottle and goes to sit on Bucky’s bed, wincing as his spine creaks when he sits. “But we can celebrate together now. Sit your ass up, I got you a present.”

“Oh, darling, you shouldn’t have,” Bucky teases. It feels like a punch to the gut.

Steve pinches his thigh. “Come on, you lug.”

“Alright, alright.” Bucky sits up, swaying a little until his bicep is flush with Steve’s. “Whatcha got for me?”

“Happy birthday!” Steve exclaims, handing Bucky the bottle.

Bucky takes it, eyebrows quirking up, before his expression morphs into wonder, then something distinctively softer as he takes in the painting. He runs his thumb over the scene, stopping on the two little boys in the picture-- one blond, one brunet. With them is a woman with brown curls and a younger girl with chestnut hair and a pretty pink dress.

“That was my seventh birthday,” he murmurs.

Steve nods. “First one I spent with you.”

Mrs. Barnes had taken them for a picnic in Prospect Park. It had been the first birthday celebration Steve had been invited to and felt like he actually belonged. They’d shared a whole loaf of bread and cheese and tossed grapes into each other’s mouths, making a competition over who could catch the most.

Bucky looks up at Steve, eyes swimming. He’s always been an emotional drunk.

“Stevie, this is--” he shakes his head, wiping clumsily at an eye as he reaches out to pull Steve into a one armed up. Steve goes willingly, face smashing against his shoulder. The angle hurts his lower back, but he stays put and hugs Bucky back. “God, you’re so talented and just-- such a good pal. You’re my best pal ever.”

He presses a sloppy kiss to the top of Steve’s head and Steve laughs, blushing hard and trying to ignore that. He reasons that Bucky’s just extremely affectionate.

“That ain’t even your real present,” he says, gesturing to the package.

“May as well be,” Bucky mumbles, then shoves the bottle back into Steve’s hand. “You open it. I don’t trust myself not to mess up the painting.”

“Sure,” Steve says, and carefully undoes the twine, worried about breaking that, too. He lays the bottle across his lap and eases the newspaper off, making sure to smooth it out afterwards so the painting is more visible. Bucky takes it and sets it on his bedside table.

“I’ll hang that later,” he says, probably to himself. Steve passes him the bottle.

“Happy birthday,” he says again, and Bucky groans, taking it.

“Aw, hell, this is the good stuff,” he bemoans. “Fuck, if I’d known we were gonna have this, I wouldn’t have gotten proper drunk. Shit, how much did that cost you?”

“Don’t matter,” Steve says, eyes twinkling. He’s glad Bucky likes it, even if he’s got a funny way of saying so.

Bucky glares at the bottle, then determinately pops the cap. He wafts it and pulls a face. Steve can smell it from where he’s sitting. It’s really strong stuff, apparently.

“Fuck it,” Bucky says and stands to get two glasses. “I’m having one shot, then you’re catching up and hiding the bottle. Got it?”

Steve nods, mock saluting. “Got it.”

Bucky salutes back with a glass in hand, then motions for Steve to hand him the bottle. He pours them each two fingers of whiskey. Steve takes the glass closest to him, then holds it up.

“Cheers,” he says. “To you being officially an old man.”

Bucky grins. “You’ll get there soon, kid.”

“Oh, shut up,” Steve says, because he’ll be twenty in four months and he really isn’t that much younger than Bucky.

They grin at each other, then take the shots, hissing as it burns their throats. Steve feels it settle in his chest, somewhere in his sternum, and he grins. It won’t take much for him to be where Bucky is.

“Shit, that’s good,” Bucky says, dazed eyes wide and serious.

Steve snorts and takes the bottle, pouring himself another two fingers. “And you’re not having anymore tonight,” he says, and downs the next shot.

A half hour later, they’re laying on Bucky’s bed, staring at the ceiling. It’s spinning and Steve tries to follow it with his eyes, which just makes him more dizzy. Idly, he clacks his teeth together. They’re tingling.

“I’m so drunk,” he says, needlessly.

“Mmm, me too,” Bucky hums.

Steve lolls his head to look at him, studying his profile-- his strong jaw and sweaty hair that’s too long and curling behind his ear. His hand seems to move on autopilot as he reaches out to tug at a curl. Bucky looks at him and smiles.

“Was she good?” Steve finds himself asking. At Bucky’s confused expression, he elaborates. “Lizzy Williams. Was she good at sucking you off?”

Bucky shrugs. “She was fine. Why? You want her to suck you?”

Steve shakes his head, fingers still playing with the hair behind Bucky’s ear. He chocks it up to inebriation that Bucky isn’t pushing him away.

“Nah, not my thing,” he says, before he can think about it.

Bucky frowns. “What is your thing then?”

Steve shrugs. “Rather be the one sucking than being sucked.”

Bucky’s eyes widen and it’s then that Steve realizes what he’s saying-- what he’s telling Bucky while his hands are on his skin, while they’re close to each other in nothing but their boxers. Close. In the same bed.

He freezes, eyes going wide as well.

“Shit, Buck, I-- forget I said that. Dunno why I told you that,” he says, voice slurring as he pulls away. He starts to sit up, heart slamming in his chest. Stupid. He’s stupid. Why did he tell Bucky that? “Fuck, sorry, I’ll just--”

He’s halfway off the bed when he feels a hand close around his wrist. He stops moving, his breathing loud in the quiet space. He doesn’t dare look at Bucky.

“Steve,” Bucky says, and he sounds more sober than he did two minutes ago. “Do you mean that?”

Steve grits his teeth and doesn’t say anything.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, more imploring. “Are you-- is this-- you’re queer?”

“Is that a problem?” Steve snaps, even though he knows he is. He knows it’s wrong, and that his father was right-- he really is some little fairy.

But then he’s being gently pulled back, turned around, and when Bucky tugs him to sit back on the bed, there’s no vitriol in his gaze. Steve looks at him through a wall of unshed tears and prays that there’s no catch. That he’s not about to be hit. He never wanted to be hit by a drunk man again.

Bucky shakes his head and reaches up to cup his cheek, thumb brushing away a tear that’s fallen. “Breathe,” he murmurs, and Steve realizes his chest is tight. He pulls in a desperate breath. “How long have you known?”

How long has he-- oh.

“My whole damn life,” he whispers.

Bucky nods. “Me too,” he whispers back and Steve gasps, hand flying up to cover the hand on his cheek.

“Buck?”

“Wasn’t sure, but then I laid my eyes on you and I knew. I knew.”

And Steve’s world feels like it’s screeching to a halt, ears ringing as he latches onto Bucky’s gaze.

“Me? But, Buck you-- all those girls and--”

Bucky shrugs and he looks nervous now, dropping his hand to his lap. “I like girls, too. That wasn’t a lie or-- or a cover. I just-- I like both? Fellas and girls and-- mostly you. Just… never knew how to, you know. Or if it was even safe and sometimes you’d look at me a certain way and think maybe, but… but then I always thought it was my imagination.” He huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Even now, I’m jumping to assumptions you’re queer for me. It’s dumb.”

I’m too drunk for this, Steve thinks vaguely.

“Not dumb,” Steve mumbles, reaching out for Bucky’s hand. “Had eyes for you before I even knew what it meant to notice someone.”

Bucky swallows, lifting his gaze. There’s a weight between them that feels terrifying and whole. Steve revels in it, leans into the feeling, and laces their fingers together.

“I want to kiss you,” Bucky says.

“I want that, too,” Steve breathes, then shakes his head. “But not-- we’re drunk. I don’t want to while we’re drunk.”

Bucky’s face falls for a moment, but he nods. “Can I hold you then?”

Steve answers by moving into Bucky’s lap, straddling him in a way that could be heated, but turns soft and sweet the moment Bucky cups the back of his head and carefully kisses his cheek-- unassuming. Not a sealed deal yet. And when they fall asleep, the alcohol pulling them under an indiscernible amount of time later, Steve feels warm where their chests meet.

-

When he wakes, the first thing Steve notices is that he’s hungover, cotton on his tongue and head steadily throbbing. The second thing he notices is that he’s in Bucky’s bed and there’s a weight behind him-- warm and heavy-- and oh fuck. Oh fuck.

The night before comes flooding back. The whiskey, the talk of Lizzy Williams and suck jobs, the admissions that Steve remembers clearly despite the alcohol. He scrambles to turn around, terrified for a moment that he was remembering it wrong and Bucky will be gone, or change his mind or--

Fingers catch under his chin, a thumb smoothing back to soothe his jaw. He sucks in a breath instinctively and looks up at Bucky, who is already awake, propped on an elbow and looking down at him.

“You sober?” he asks, an easy smile on his face. Steve can see the tightness of his eyes, though. The fear.

He nods, words evading him.

Bucky thumbs over his lip. “May I?”

With all the willpower he can muster, Steve manages to breathe, “Yes.”

And then they’re kissing, a quiet fanfare that turns into flickering sparks as they sink into each other. It’s nothing like Steve imagined and everything he thought heaven would be. Warm and whole and utterly safe.

He reaches up to cup Bucky’s jaw in turn and moves to lay over him, bearing down with his heart and soul as the kiss deepens. Unknowns fill the space around them, but as Bucky’s arms wind around his back, pulling him close, he knows it will be okay. They’ll be okay.

Tilting his head, Steve takes a step off the edge, knowing Bucky will take the freefall with him.

-

thanks for reading y'all!