
Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/11487948.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      No_Archive_Warnings_Apply, Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Captain_America_(Movies), Marvel_Cinematic_Universe
  Relationship:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes/Steve_Rogers, James_"Bucky"_Barnes/OMCs, Minor_or
      Background_Relationship(s)
  Character:
      James_"Bucky"_Barnes, Steve_Rogers, Sam_Wilson, Natasha_Romanova, Sarah
      Rogers
  Additional Tags:
      Risky_Sexual_Behavior, Gay_Bucky_Barnes, Period-Typical_Homophobia,
      Period-Typical_Racism, Period-Typical_Sexism, Female_Impersonation/Drag,
      Explicit_Sexual_Content, Bottom_Bucky_Barnes, Post-Captain_America:_The
      Winter_Soldier, Pre-Captain_America:_The_First_Avenger, Other_Additional
      Tags_to_Be_Added, Alternate_Universe_-_Canon_Divergence
  Series:
      Part 2 of Babe,_You_Always_Knew_I_Was_Dangerous
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-07-13 Chapters: 1/? Words: 6668
****** Pansy Craze ******
by magma
Summary
     The long and short of it was, Bucky knew he was hopeless. Hopelessly
     queer, hopelessly entrenched in a family that had no love for people
     like him, and hopelessly hung up on his best friend. It was
     dangerous. It was sad. But it was inevitable. And Bucky was prepared
     to live with that.
      
     Bucky has always known he was queer.
     Steve has always been very confused about Bucky’s queerness.
     Bucky engages in risky sexual behavior.
     Steve engages in angst, for any number of reasons, including but not
     at all limited to Bucky’s risky sexual behavior.
Notes
     Not a fan of author’s notes, so I’m going to get all this out now and
     after that you’ll rarely hear from me outside of the odd End Note
     here and there.
     The title of this story should really be “RISKY SEXUAL BEHAVIOR”
     because yes, Bucky gets around. Graphically and unapologetically. He
     does it for good reasons and bad reasons, but without shame
     (#slutwalk).
     But in all honesty, the working title for this fic has been “Qucky”,
     because while yes, Stucky is the end game, the real pairing here is
     Bucky/Bucky’s Sexuality. A lot of time will be spent exploring
     Bucky’s journey as a gay man in the 1940’s, WWII, and then the new
     millenium. If you can’t stomach our heroes getting busy on screen
     with other people or stretches of plot that do not revolve around
     Steve and Bucky’s relationship specifically, this is your warning.
     And while Bucky does not exclusively bottom in this story, that is
     the role he assumes more often than not. But if switching/top Bucky
     is more your jam, never fear- toppy, dominant Bucky will make more
     than one appearence, with Steve and other characters. Because I know
     I enjoy fics more with visual references, any predominant OMCs will
     be cast accordingly for your mind-viewing pleasure (especially when
     there’s smut involved).
      
     Trigger Warning for off-screen child abuse.
See the end of the work for more notes
 
2016
The music starts up- a pop-y number that Sam knows he’s heard before, but be
real- they all sound pretty much the same. It’s a familiar synthy, bass heavy
beat that he can’t place, like so much white girl pop music these days-
probably Katy Perry or Kesha or one of those other Britney Spears types.
“And now,” The off-stage MC starts with a bit of ceremony and a lot of
anticipatory intensity, “The final act of our evening, the woman you’ve all
been waiting for,” The stage lights dim to nothing and colorful, mostly pink
and orange, little spotlights begin to swirl over the dark void. The
substantial crowd of guests begins to buzz and thrum in eagerness, “She’s come
all the way from Russia for your entertainment. She’s glamorous, she’s fierce,”
Sam rolls his eyes, because hasn’t anyone gotten a bit sick of that cliché by
now, “She’s treacherous. She’ll stab you in the back and lick the blood from
her fingers without smearing her lipstick. Hold onto your wigs, ladies and
ladyboys. Gentlemen, hold on to your egos and your family jewels, because she’s
tougher than you and prettier than your girlfriend- not that you need to take
our word for it. Without further ado, the Astoria presents, the erotic, the
irredeemable, the dangerous… Nadezhda Alianova!”
Natasha’s twitch next to him is noticeable even to Steve, and they both look
over at her in alarm. She catches their glances and just shakes her head
subtly, narrowing her eyes and returning her undivided attention to the stage-
this was the act she’d drug them here for, after all. Even though apparently,
she’d never caught the performer’s full name, judging by how unsettled it had
her. She’d just been ‘Nadezhda the Russian Danger’ on the posters.
Suddenly the pink and orange disappear, replaced by a warm gold spotlight aimed
center stage, and there she is, though Sam had not caught her slinking on stage
amidst the lights and sound.
But damn.
Just… damn.
She launches straight into the set with hardly a pause to let the gathered
audience take her in, letting her act speak for itself.
And there is a lot to say.
She’s tall. But she’s a man under all that, so not too shocking. But she’s also
built. The announcer hadn’t lied when he’d said she was probably tougher than
any man in this room, aside from the obvious supersoldier- hell, she could
probably give Sam himself a run for his money in the ring. Even with all the
muscle definition- hell with all the muscles, because damn, girl was stacked-
her affect and style managed to soften the hardness of her body, making her
look more like a Rhonda Rousey than a John Cena. Her hair was big, of course,
and blonde, but looking more tousled than teased to achieve that kind of
volume, cascading around her strong shoulders, bared by her top, and
contrasting dramatically with her makeup.
She was strutting down the length of the stage to start, doing that lip-sync
thing they do. And yep, Sam called it, this was 100% Britney. ‘Strutting’
hardly did her stomp-y, powerful stride justice though. He’d seen Beyoncé on
videos try something similar, but even Queen Bey’s strut hadn’t had the
sinister, predatory edge of Nadezhda Alianova. Girl wasn’t walking that stage,
she was prowling. The way her hard eyes took in the crowd gave you the distinct
feeling she’d memorized every face on the first pass, and was planning each of
their grisly demises on the second.
She didn’t seem to have done anything too fancy with her eye makeup, but they
were still obviously the focal point of her look, above the neck- they actually
looked more like they were smeared with greasepaint than anything else. Dark,
basically black, covering her lids, browbones, and upper cheekbones and out to
almost her imperceptible wig line. Sam wasn’t all that versed in makeup, so all
else he could appreciate was the defined, opaque lipstick accentuating her
plush lips. They were covered in a thick, shiny layer of dark, brick red. Less
like a fire engine and more like dried blood, which seemed fitting. The rest of
it, obviously designed to make her features as feminine as possible- contouring
or some shit- were beyond Sam’s ability to discern. It was a ferocious face
though, that’s for sure.
A good match for that ferocious attitude.
The lights dimmed during the musical bridge before the start of the first
chorus, dousing the stage in darkness once again, and Sam lost sight of her.
With the return of the vocals, the so did the spotlight, illuminating the end
of the catwalk out in the center of the crowd, and Alianova along with it.
Fuck, how does a woman- man- that size cover that distance without him noticing
it? It wasn’t like the room was pitch black by any means.
She was snarling the chorus out at her cheering admirers, or miming snarling at
them. It was easy to forget with the way she stared out at everyone like they
were the dirt on the heel of her frankly alarmingly pointy, red patent-leather
boots, never missing a beat or lyric. It wasn’t a stretch to picture this
Amazon angrily growling that they’d better get to work, bitch.
The boot reached midway up her thick, muscular thigh, leaving only a few inches
of smooth skin visible before the rest was concealed by more patent-leather,
this time a black, form-fitting, high-waisted mini-skirt that looked like it
probably had to be vacuum sealed. Those hips- as thick and curvy as promised by
those thighs- twitched with the steady beat of the song, encased legs sliding
smoothly through her tight but minimalist choreography. Past the waist of the
skirt, extending well above her navel, another slim band of skin danced in an
out of view under the looser fabric of her crop top. The edges were ripped and
frayed, contrasting with the sharp lines of leather, and the graphic on the
front was the name and logo of a scary looking probably-metal band, written in
Cyrillic. The top was tight around her chest and breasts but roomy and almost
flowing around the taper of her waist.
As scary and brawny as this chick was, it was a figure like that that made it a
chore to remember those breasts were faker than fake, and lady was hiding (some
probably impressive) man parts under that bodycon.
--
Out in the crowd, Alianova predictably drifted closer and closer to their
table- the club wouldn’t let its main act ignore a guest of the Captain America
caliber. Tips were being shoved in every inch of her bra, waistline, and boots
on her way- rest she accepted by hand, managing not to gouge any eyes with one
of her short but dangerously sharp, red nails. When she ran out of fingers
she’d stuff the bills in the cups of her bra with a dangerous smirk.
Up close, she was even bigger- not that Sam would ever say that to a lady. But
it couldn’t be denied- between all that muscle, hair, and attitude, Alianova
took up serious space. Still, even at her size and in those boots, she moved
almost silently, even as she drew up to their table. They all had bills ready,
of impressive denominations- they were the Avengers, after all; they couldn’t
afford to be stingy in public- to fork over as custom. Natasha stood
immediately, drawing close to the performer with her own predatory grin.
Alianova grinned right back, flashing dangerously gleaming white teeth, turning
to face her head on. Natasha dared to get right up in the lady’s space,
trailing two bold fingers down the other woman’s left bicep, dragging her gaze
down Alianova’s body with an uncharacteristic lack of subtlety. Dark eyes rose
swiftly again to meet Alianova’s completely unconcerned stare.
Natasha let their staring contest drop off, but didn’t back down. Instead, the
bitch reached down and caressed the woman’s inner thigh, just below the top
edge of her boot, and began to slide her way up. She peeked her gaze up
briefly, as if to check in with the performer, but Alianova just met the look
with a sardonically raised brow, a clearly thrown gauntlet, I dare you.
She did dare. The crowd was vocally and alarmingly enthusiastic about the whole
debacle. Since the Black Widow had stood up, the noise had increased in pitch
to absolutely deafening.
Up those fingers went, their bill cinched between them, straight up into the
shadows of Alianova’s skirt without pause. When Natasha’s hand had gone as far
as it could go- and good god women- her other hand reached down to join the
party. A moment later, both dainty hands had returned to Natasha’s personal
space, sans bill.
Natasha had just stuffed her tip up Nadezhda Alianova’s goddamn panties.
The full volume of the crowd’s shrieks and screams suddenly returned to Sam. He
hadn’t realized the tunnel vision had sunk in until it was receding, along with
a cheeky-as-fuck Black Widow. Seriously, Natasha? Why you gotta play like that?
Woman’s going to give someone- probably Sam- a coronary.
Steve was grinning and laughing uproariously next to them, at least until
Alianova turned her steely sights on him.
That grin twisted and slowly died on Steve’s face as he aborted his movement to
hand her his tip. Without missing a beat, Alianova reached out for the
unresponsive captain’s hand, bringing it up until is rested just between her
startlingly realistic tits, before slowly dragging the hand down the length of
her torso until it reached the waist of her skirt. She tucked the bill in for
the dumbfounded supersoldier, whose frankly confounded gaze hadn’t left her
face since she’d zeroed in on him moments ago. She let his hand go, and it hung
suspended for a moment before Steve dragged it carefully back to himself,
folding it and his other hand into his chest with what almost looked like…
reverence? Blue eyes darted down to his bill, sticking cheekily out of her
waistline, then back up to her face.
The smile she aimed at him was unlike anything else she’d unleashed that
evening.
For the first time, her face was warm and only softly smug, making the
blatantly saucy but sincere smile she leveled at Steve all the more foreign for
her man-eater character. Steve tried to speak, but it looked like his mouth had
gone dry, and no words came out.
Alianova didn’t seem put off by the Avenger’s shellshock. She kept their gazes
locked for another moment before concluding their interaction with an
impertinent wink, returning her attention to the rest of the crowd.
But not before snatching Sam’s tip out of his grip with nary a by-your-leave.
The nerve!
Sam was just about to turn to start in on the supersoldier ribbing when Steve
was gripping his arm so tightly, there were almost certainly going to be
impressive bruises tomorrow. He amended his plan to giving Steve a surly what
for, when Steve’s other hand snapped up to pull Sam toward him by the shoulder.
“Sam…” Steve breathed, close to his ear, and if Sam strained his vision, he
could see Steve still watching Alianova saunter away. He had a quip about love
at first sight all lined up when Steve cut him off, “Oh my god, Sam…
“That was Bucky.”
--
“You can’t be serious, Steve. Now? Here?” Sam deadpanned, completely
unimpressed with what looked like another bad case of Bucky-on-the-brain Steven
Rogers.
“I am. That… that was Bucky, Sam,” Steve frowned, finally tearing his eye away
from Alianova to meet Sam’s incredulous stare.
Sam sighed, prepared to set the boy right and possibly suggest they head home,
when Natasha cut in, “He’s right, you know.”
He met her face so fast, he was sure to have whiplash, “What?”
“That was without a doubt the Winter Soldier, formerly known as James Buchannan
Barnes,” There wasn’t a hint of uncertainty or humor in her tone, which Sam
found terrifying.
“You’re both trying to tell me that the sonuvabitch we’ve spent the last eight
months trying to track down picked up a pair of ladies’ underthings and has
been living it up in Harlem this whole time?”
“That’s insensitive, Sam,” Natasha said primly, taking a pointed sip of her
drink, “And he was wearing Spanks, not panties.”
Steve was frowning at Natasha now, as well, “How’d you make him?”
“I was suspicious as soon as they announced her name. After that, if you know
what you’re looking for, it’s not hard to look past the foundation and
padding.”
“Padding,” Steve repeated dumbly, casting another soulful glance toward where
Alianova- Barnes- was climbing back on stage.
Sam cleared his throat, trying to get the man to focus here, “Well, we did
expect the man might not come back all squared away upstairs, if he came back
at all.”
Aaand Steve was frowning again, “What?”
“I mean,” Sam responded slowly, making sure to keep his words small, “Trauma
does strange things to people. Everyone tries to process or reframe themselves
differently afterward- and sometimes, things can get mixed up. Wires crossed.”
“You’ve got it all wrong,” Steve cut in, as Natasha watched on avidly,
obviously looking forward to how Steve would attempt to explain this one, Steve
gestured back at the stage, “This, this is good.”
“Well, he’s functional enough to be out among people, let alone under a
spotlight. I’m not saying he hasn’t made some pretty astounding progress to get
to this point, Steve.”
“No,” Steve insisted, obviously frustrated, “I mean… this. Is. Bucky. This was
a thing he did. He remembers.”
“Do you mean dressing as a woman, or…”
Steve leveled him with a truly impressive unimpressed glower, “It’s called
drag, Sam,” Oh god, the sass on this one, “And I mean,” Steve says for the
hundredth time, “Bucky used to perform, like this, all the time back before the
war. This isn’t a coincidence and this isn’t just progress. This is a miracle.”
And ok, the idea of James Barnes circa 1935 getting dolled up and letting it
all out on the stage was going to take some serious time to process later, but
that was for another time. There were more pressing issues to focus on.
At least that fully explained Steve’s categorically star struck look a minute
ago.
Also, the muscles on Alianova, because still. Damn. Apparently, Barnes cleaned
up real nice.
Also, also, what the hell were they supposed to do now?
“Wait,” Sam said aloud, having just had a rather rattling thought, “What
happened to that arm?”
 
1926
It was on one of Sarah Roger’s first Saturdays off from the ward when it
happened.
Encouraged by one of the first bright warm days of New York spring, she’d
insisted on treating her boys to a day out on the boardwalks and byways of
Coney Island and Rockaway Beach. It didn’t matter that she’d be skimming from
her stockpile of funds reserved for Steve’s annual winter maladies- it was a
chance to give her son and his best friend one of those carefree days of
childhood that growing up poor in Brooklyn so often robbed them of- she wasn’t
taking no for an answer. And by nine she’d managed to herd her small brood onto
the B train and onto their adventures.
The two of them were buzzing with excitement. Little Steve had finally come
around to letting her splurge on them, only when she made it clear she needed
this as much as they did- which wasn’t strictly a lie. Bucky had been much
quicker to acquiesce, his own family never having had the means to pack off
four children to the amusement park- he could barely contain himself, and that
boy’s enthusiasm had always been like a drug for Steve. Bucky was turned around
in his seat, watching the outer neighborhoods of Brooklyn fly by, chattering at
Steve faster than Sarah had the energy to follow. Steven was only slightly more
subdued. He sat right in his seat at least, halfheartedly listening to Bucky’s
monologuing, but making sure to keep Sarah’s hand locked in his own, not for a
moment letting her forget how much he appreciated the excursion she was
offering them. The poor boy needed to learn how to lighten up a bit.
Fortunately, Bucky Barnes was more than up for the job.
The train reached their stop and she mildly coaxed the two excitable
adolescents out of the car.
“Holy cow, Steve! It’s the ocean!”
“Yeah, Buck, it’s the same one we see in Red Hook.”
“No, Steve, this is Coney Island ocean, alright? They’re nothing the same, and
you know it.”
Luckily, there were clear signs posted between the platform and the park for
her to follow as she shepherded them along, passing the kitschy storefronts and
nautical inspired restaurants that had thus far managed to survive the worst of
the Prohibition thanks to the tried and true flood of tourism to the
waterfront.
“Hey, ma, what’s that going on over there?” Steve tugged softly on her sleeve,
pointing shamelessly toward a large group of men haunting the sidewalk out
front of the Coney Island Lodge and Hall.
“Oh, honey,” Sarah murmured, gently pulling his hand back, “Those men are just
getting ready for a party, is all.”
Steve seemed placated by her answer, and was summarily distracted by a few…
fascinatingly… garbed women heading for the lodge. Bucky, however, had followed
Steve’s gesture as well and was still staring brazenly at the gaggle of men and
now women in open captivation.
“But why are they dressed like that?” He asked as she attempted to steer them
toward the boardwalk and arcade preluding the park, “Some of ‘em are dolled up
like dames, aren’t they?”
“Bucky,” Sarah sighed, having hoped to avoid just such a conversation. The good
Lord knew what George and Winnie had already told Bucky about those types,
“Those men are… a different kind of man. Some of them dress as women do, yes.
It’s not polite to stare.”
“There’s different kinds of men?” Bucky shot back, not taking a hint, “Like how
some folks are Irish and some are colored?”
“Not quite like that, dear,” Sarah answered dryly. Maybe if she dropped it
there…
“Are there different kinds of women, too?” It was Steve who asked this time. So
insatiably curious once he’d gotten a mind. It was there Sarah resigned
herself. She hadn’t made plans to discuss homosexuals with Steve, but had
suspected it would come up eventually.
“Yes, just the same. Those types of men- and women, I suppose - are different
because they don’t… love like normal folks do,” That was one word for it. Good
Lord above.
“Huh?” Steve looked more confused than Bucky, though Bucky was still
preoccupied craning his neck to continue eyeing the congregation of fairies and
bulldaggers like some sort of peep show.
“Like how men go with women out on dates and kissing. Those men want to go with
men and those women with women. Bucky, you must stop staring, young man.”
“But why do they want to do it like that?” Steve persisted. Bucky at least
stopped goggling.
“That’s just how they were born. Those men have female desires and can’t help
the way they’re put together.”
“Do they gotta dress like that, then?” Bucky asked, looking thoughtful,
“Because they want men like women do?” It was a little too close to the truth
for Sarah’s comfort, even though Bucky was nine and likely more than aware of
the ways in which men and women desired each other, thanks to the dodgier parts
of Brooklyn they’d grown up in.
“I suppose it’s not necessary no. They do it because they like it, and you’d do
best to just leave those types alone, Mr. Barnes. They don’t need any more
hassle than they already get, you understand?”
Both Bucky and Steve nodded, but then the pier came in sight and it seemed the
pansy show was forgotten.
--
It had been a year since Mrs. Rogers had told them about the fairies out on
parade and Bucky knew it was time to talk to Steve.
“You remember Coney Island?” He started, not really sure how else to bring it
up.
He was lounging on his stomach in Steve’s bed reading comics while Steve sat on
the floor, sketching the view out over the fire escape again; it was such a
normal afternoon, it had to be the best time for something like this, right?
Steve just grinned, “Yeah! You made me ride the stupid Cyclone like four times,
even after I threw up, and I won that hat at the arcade,” That hat had been
stolen by some dirty bullies a few months later, but it’s okay because Bucky’d
gotten those rotten mickheads back in no time.
“Yeah, but I mean before. All those folks outside the park.”
After appearing to think it over, Steve nodded, “That buncha fairies, right?”
“Yeah, them,” Bucky agreed, but trailed off, unsure of how to continue, even
having gotten this far.
After a few beats of silence, Steve glanced up, “What about ‘em?”
Bucky chewed his lip and pretended to be really super invested in whatever was
happening on the page, even though he couldn’t even remember what he was
reading.
He chanced a quick glance at Steve, but averted his eyes right away when he
found Steve looking back, “You ever think about them?”
Steve shrugged, returning to his drawing, “Sure, sometimes. When I see folks
like that down by the yard. They don’t seem so bad,” Bucky almost cried in
relief, “One of ‘em bought me a soda once after Charlie McCarren shoved me
around a little.”
Bucky’s gaze snapped up, “When the hell was this? I thought he wasn’t givin’
you trouble no more?”
“Well, not after that fairy gave him a taste of his own medicine, he ain’t.
Wouldn’t want the rest of the class to know a guy wearing stockings gave him a
shiner, would he?”
“I s’ppose,” Bucky agreed, only slightly mollified, but they’d gotten off
topic, “So you don’t think they’re so bad then?”
“I don’t really get why a fella would want to make time with another fella, but
that’s their business, I guess. Besides, I hear a lot of those digs in Times
Square have ‘em up front as hosts and stuff, so they must be kinda nice,
right?”
“Yeah, I heard about that, too,” Bucky admitted. Yeah, he’d heard. He couldn’t
stop thinking about it.
“What’s all this about, anyway? You get an eyeful of something over by
Frank’s?”
“No,” Bucky sputtered, “Why, have you?”
“Once,” Steve shrugged again, like it was no big deal. Christ. Bucky waited for
Steve continue, but it seemed his friend had no more to say on the matter, so
Bucky soldiered on.
“And? What happened?”
“Some fella was browning a fairy in the north alley and I walked by. I didn’t
stay to chat or anything, geez. They didn’t even see me.”
“You didn’t think that was weird or gross or anything?”
“I dunno, Buck. It didn’t seem all that different from catching a sailor with a
working girl, if you know what I mean. Yeah, they coulda been more discrete but
they’re not hurtin’ anybody.”
They continued their business in silence for a while before it seemed Steve’s
short fuse was up and he ran out of his limited patience. He tossed his papers
down with drama and glared at Bucky like he’d kicked a kitten or somethin’.
“What’s all that about anyway, Bucky? You got a problem with queers allova
sudden?” His anger was always an explosive little ball of self-righteousness
and fury barely contained by his small body. But that was Steve Rogers in a
nutshell. Always ready to jump in for the little guy when there was a battle to
be fought.
“Christ!” Bucky startled, dropping his book, not expecting the sudden outburst,
“Geez, no, Steve.”
“Then what’s going on, Bucky? Why would you bring all that up?”
Bucky didn’t have any words he thought would calm Steve’s ire, so he just sat
up, leaving the comic where it’d fallen, choosing to look out the window at the
drying wash than meet Steve’s eye.
“Buck,” Steve sighed before climbing up on the bed next to him, “You’re doing
the lip thing again,” Bucky had a bad habit of worrying his lip when he was
nervous or upset that Winifred Barnes had enlisted Steve’s help in stomping
out.
“That day at Coney. It just made it all different, okay?”
“What’s that suppose t’mean?”
“I’m sayin’... it’s not like we didn’t know those types weren’t around, and
all. But seein’ them all there just being… you know. It’s different.”
“Yeah, I know,” Steve prompted, with unusual gentleness.
“And then that stuff your ma was sayin’. I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about it,
after. It’s not like I haven’t heard my dad talking about the inverts and the
queers before. But that was different. Everything just seemed different after
that.”
“You keep sayin’ different. Different how?”
It took Bucky a long time to respond, but Steve managed to find himself some
patience for the first time in his short life. It could have been minutes or
hours before Bucky answered.
“I’m… I’m one of those types. I’m different, Steve.”
Just saying the words out loud had Bucky feeling like all the blood had frozen
in his veins. Why? Why had he felt like he needed to share this with Steve?
Sure, they talk about everything- there weren’t any secrets between them, ever.
But this didn’t have to be like that. Bucky could have kept it to himself. Kept
this part of himself he’d known was there far away from his best friend,
because this was it. This could, and probably would, change everything. Bucky
could lose Steve over something like this. He didn’t know what he’d do with
himself after that, but he’d deal with it.
It would be easier than pretending this part of him wasn’t there. It would be
better than lying to Steve, even by omission.
The two of them were quiet for a long time.
It had gone on long enough that Bucky was about to just pack up and head back
to his parents’ place rather than deal with the quiet for any longer because he
just couldn’t- couldn’t be the first one to speak after unloading something
like that. He just couldn’t keep waiting.
“Are… are you sure?”
It felt like the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding was punched from his
lungs, “Christ, you think I’d bother telling you something like that if I
weren’t sure?”
“No. No, I guess that’s right,” Steve sighed, swiping a hand through his floppy
bangs, “Geez, Buck.”
Bucky just laughed, and maybe it was a little hysterical, but Jesus H. Christ,
Bucky was a little hysterical right now, “Yeah, tell me about it.”
“But, how d’you know? It’s not like you ain’t ever kissed a girl. Maybe… You
haven’t kissed a fella, have you?”

“No. I ain’t kissed nobody and you know it, you jerk. I don’t need to know
somethin’ like that.”
“You’re only ten, right? How can you really know?”
Bucky groaned, “I wanted to hold Arnie Roth’s hand during temple when I was
five. It didn’t get it then, but I get it now. I don’t think about ever getting
hitched to a dame the way I’m supposed to think about. I actually kinda hate
thinkin’ about that, a lot. It hasn’t gone away and I know what that means.
It’s just something I know. That I’ve always kinda known.”
Steve sighed, “Okay, I get it.”
Bucky waited a few moments, just to see if this was the part where Steve asked
him to leave, but nothing happened. Until something did.
Steve wrapped his wiry little arm around Bucky’s shoulders, as close of an
approximation to the way Bucky did it as he could manage.
“It’s okay, Buck. It’s alright, okay?” He just held Bucky there for a second,
“Doesn’t change nothin’. You’re still a huge jerk and I hate the way you steal
my pencils and keep beating me at sprints, but you’re still my best friend,
okay? That’s what you’re scared of, right?”
His breath hitched like he wanted to cry, but he held it back, “Really?” He
coughed, trying to make his voice sound less small, “I mean, yeah, I was ‘fraid
it’d be something like that.”
“Well, you’re a big mook, so I’m not surprised. You should know me better, but
you’re such a dope.”
Bucky knew Steve was trying to rile him, to bring them back to center, but,
“Yeah, I shoulda known better.”
He felt Steve’s fist clench against his shoulder like the little shit knew
Bucky was still strung out and reeling. Bucky slouched down a bit and let his
head fall against Steve’s shoulder. He’d allow Steve to keep being the strong
one for now, because he was just too worn out to do otherwise. He actually just
really wanted to cry right now, but knew it wasn’t an option. Maybe just sleep
would be good.
He was just starting to drift off when he heard Steve whisper into his hair.
“I’m with you, Bucky. I’m always gonna be with you.”
 
1931
Steve answered the door close to midnight, knowing that at that time of night,
in the middle of a storm like that, there’s only one person it could be.
“Bucky,” He sighed, but opened the door wider, allowing his drenched friend
into the room.
“Hey, Steve,” Bucky answered, trying to sound nonchalant, but between the hour
and the waver in his friend’s voice, Steve knew Bucky’s composure was hanging
on by a thread. Steve knew Bucky better than he knew himself.
He let Bucky hang up his useless jacket and collapse onto their threadbare
couch as Steve set the water on to boil before launching in.
“So, I assume you got me up in the middle of the night for a reason. What’s he
done this time?”

Bucky’s dad was a stand up guy, most of the time. He was funny, smart, and
generous with both his family and Steve’s- at least as much as he could be with
the Crash still weighing heavily on them and their whole community. George
Barnes loved his family more than anything in the world, yes. But that didn’t
mean he was perfect. Sure, he was more tolerant than the next man, due in part
to being the son of Irish immigrants and married to a Jewish woman, but he
still held little esteem for colored folks or, god forbid, the Italians.
He also vocally agreed with those who thought the pansy epidemic was a direct
attack on the moral core of American values.
Bucky let out a long, pained sigh, but there was a stutter in his breath that
had Steve digging their paltry first aid supplies out of the cabinet, “Becca
told ‘im she’d seen me talkin’ to a couple of fairies down by the docks.
Again.”
“What the hell, Bucky?” Steve growled, dragging their well-used kit over to the
couch, “What’d you get caught doin’ that for? Ain’t no good comes of hanging
around those-” Types. He caught himself before he could really stick his foot
in it, “Fellas. You know that.”
“You know I know that, Steve. I didn’t plan on her seein’ me. She shoulda been
home by then. Ma had her out picking up flour.”
“Why’d you even risk it like that, then?”
Bucky just glared at him, “Who the hell else am I supposed to talk to about
this stuff, Steve?”
“You talk to me about it enough,” Steve grumbled as he rucked up Bucky’s shirt
to get a look at the expected bruises.
And it was true. Steve was thankful to this day that Bucky had trusted him
enough to tell Steve his deepest secret almost three years ago, but since then,
for lack of another audience, Bucky had come to Steve with anything and
everything queer related in his life. He confided wistfully in Steve about his
lingering affections for Arnie, whose family the Barnes still had dinner with
once a week after temple. He confessed to Steve when he’d swiped the latest
issue of the most popular bodybuilding journals (yuck, thanks, Bucky) or
Broadway gossip rags from the newsstands. He talked about the dime store novels
he’d heard about and was desperate to read, written about doomed men who loved
other men by queers riding the relative tolerance of the pansy craze like a
wave. And Steve had never turned him away, no matter how unsettled Bucky’s
revelations had him.
“Is it so weird I’d want to talk to someone who gets it once and a while? I’m
‘round normals all day- can’t I try to meet people who understand where I’m at
once and a while?” Bucky snapped, wincing as Steve applied a slather of Epsom
salts to the bruising.
Steve didn’t respond, a little hurt by the way Bucky had just lumped him in
with the normals he’d grown so inwardly resentful of. He’d always done his best
make sure Bucky knew he could tell him anything, to give him a place where he
didn’t have to hide anything. Not from Steve, and the brush off of his efforts
stung.
Bucky seemed to notice, if his sudden deflation was anything to go by. He
wasn’t surprised Bucky’d noticed, either. Bucky knew Steve better than he knew
himself, after all, “I’m sorry, I don’t mean- I know I can come to you with all
that stuff Steve, I do. Why do you think I’m here? It’s just not the same
sometimes.”
“But goin’ to them puts you in danger, Buck. I hate that.”
“You think I do this to hurt you, or somethin’? It ain’t like that. I don’t do
it for dear ol’ da and his love of queers, either. It’s for me, okay? I need to
do it for me.”
“But why? Why do you need to do it at all?”
“This is who I am, Steve. I ain’t ever gonna be normal like you or dad. And
someday I might even like to find a fella who likes me the way he likes ma, and
I can’t do that if I just rot away in here with you and my mags. I don’t want
that kinda life.”
Steve understood that. He did. They were at the age where, unless you were
Bucky, you started noticing girls in a way you hadn’t before. The boys in their
classes were starting to enter puberty, Bucky included, and Steve was feeling
his runty-ness more than ever, wondering if any girl would ever see him through
the veritable sea of boys in the world. Boys like Bucky.
Because while Bucky may not be looking at girls like that- not with any
intention outside of keeping up appearances, anyway- girls were looking at
Bucky. Bucky had put on a few inches over Steve in the last few years, and his
skin had thus far managed to avoid becoming the pimply mess that Steve and
other boys couldn’t hide. On top of that, Bucky was handsome, in a soft way,
with sharp cheekbones starting to emerge from the baby fat and large, clear
eyes Steve had definitely heard gals in school tittering about. They thought
his dimpled chin added a rugged edge to his pretty features, and they all
wanted to hold his hand. None of them wanted to hold Steve’s.
So yeah, Steve got it. They were both swimming in a sea of romantic despair.
He wasn’t even mad at Bucky for attracting that kind of attention without a
lick of reciprocal interest, either. Not when those same looks had George
Barnes more subconsciously concerned about Bucky and his fairy friends than
ever. It was written in every black eye and bruised rib Steve and Sarah had
patched up after George went on a drunken, insecure bender, agonizing over his
son’s stubbornly slight build and delicate features, rugged dimples or no.
Truth be told, Steve wanted Bucky to find that connection he was looking for,
too. He didn’t want Bucky to be alone any more than he wanted himself to be.
But he hated hated hated to watch the bruises fade even more than he did
Bucky’s loneliness. He felt helpless in the face of Bucky’s stubborn grasping
for a community that only seemed to leave him broken under his father’s
prejudice.
“I just want you to be safe,” He admitted, finishing up his nursing and
returning the supplies to the kitchen. The water was boiling anyway.
“I know, Steve,” Bucky sighed, turning himself gingerly to lounge on the couch.
Steve would fetch him a blanket after they’d finished their tea, knowing Bucky
wouldn’t be headed home until tomorrow, when Mr. Barnes was back to his genial
self, “It won’t be like this forever, I promise. I just gotta find my place,
that’s all.”
“Isn’t there anythin’ else you can do, for now?”
Bucky shuffled around a bit trying to get comfortable on the ratty couch, “Was
thinkin’ of taking my uncle up on his boxing lessons. Least then I could hit
back once and a while.”
“Or at least learn how to dodge ‘em,” Steve teased with a small grin, handing
Bucky a cup.
--
The long and short of it was, Bucky knew he was hopeless. Hopelessly queer,
hopelessly entrenched in a family that had no love for people like him, and
hopelessly hung up on his best friend.
He knew he was lucky to have Steve. He was so lucky Steve put up with the likes
of him (as much as he put up with Steve and his love of getting punched). He
was lucky Steve saw every bit of him and his ugly otherness and had never even
considered turning him away. He was lucky he had Steve’s couch cushions to
crash on when da got a little too far down into his cups. He was so so lucky
Steve loved him, and he loved Steve and they’d continue to do anything for one
another.
He was just unlucky that it couldn’t always be that simple; at least not for
him.
He’d had crushes before. On Arnie, back in the day and even now- with his dark
curly hair and his smiling eyes. On one or two of the older boys taking lessons
at the boxing gym where his uncle had started to coach him on weekends. On one
gal in one of the upper classes who didn’t take any shit from the testosterone
addled boys who gave her a hard time, and held no compunction about knocking
their lights out when they gave her a hard time for her mannish figure and
choppy haircut- he was secure enough in himself to admit it.
He knew he had a crush on Steve. It had probably been there for a while, just
waiting for him to notice. Steve was nothing like Arnie, who was taller than
Bucky and a bit pudgy where Steve was small and bony. Dark and curly where
Steve was blond and floppy. Sugar and spice and lingering looks over the dinner
table under the oblivious eyes of their families where Steve was spit and
vinegar and barely controlled rage at the world.
Bucky knew he could probably kiss Arnie some day and get away with it. Arnie
would probably even kiss him back.
Bucky knew he could love Steve forever and never get away with anything. Steve
would accept his love with a sad smile but never bring himself to return it.
It was dangerous. It was sad. But it was inevitable. And Bucky was prepared to
live with that.
 
End Notes
     The song Nadezhda is lip syncing to is Work Bitch by Britney Spears,
     in case you didn't catch it.
     [Obama impersonation] Let me be clear, [/] I love Ke$ha, and I do
     enjoy me some Britney and would never mistake one for the other-
     that's like catching 99 Problems on the radio and telling your friend
     that you're happy for them and you'll let them finish but... Get it
     together, Sam. Also, ‘fierce’ will never be cliché, Sam, you should
     be ashamed of yourself.
     So, there is it- no smut in sight and the beginnings of something
     like a plot. If you are interested in following the story of this
     queer Bucky Barnes don’t be too surprised if it’s awhile before this
     is continued. I have always preferred to finish a story before
     sharing it and this one is still in progress. I just wanted to get
     this prologue out there for anyone who enjoyed the porn teaser I
     posted previously but were curious about the main story.
     Thanks for checking it out!
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