I’ll writcha a little vignette. I desperately need something to focus on right now or else I’m going to throw up from stress.
Bucky trying to make Steve drunk until Steve just acts like drunk, so they can go home! ^_-
“You ready to follow Captain America into the jaws of death?”
“Hell no. That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight. I’m following him.”
Bucky was jealous of Steve in almost every way possible. Though Bucky had already seen more war than Steve, Steve was a master at it. A master tactician in addition to his - literally - perfect physical prowess. He also had a drive and sense of optimism that was hard to find in the trenches; even to the most dedicated and patriotic of soldiers.
Bucky knocked back another shot, letting his alcohol muddled mind drift to some of his darker and more secret recesses. His eyes were half-lidded, lazily gazing up and down the Captain looking especially sharp in his army browns.
Peggy was here in her perfect red dress looking like some kind of perfect….thing.
Bucky’s expression darkened as she ignored him; blatantly and obviously and her eyes focused squarely on Steve. His Steve.
He pretended he was angry that she didn’t notice him. That’s what he always did at bars anyway; pretended. He had to - having grown up in the closest thing to a gay neighborhood in Brooklyn; two young men living together. One of them small and blonde and pretty and artsy - overcompensation was a defense mechanism. Always chase the skirts, and maybe the bullies wouldn’t notice that he was always looking over his shoulder at his friend.
But the whiskey was getting to him. He didn’t usually drink this much; too much was on the line. He had to stay sharp so he could jump into a fight if someone tried to start something with Steve. He couldn’t risk losing his job at the docks, either… his meager pay paid the rent for both of them usually.
But fuck it - this was war. Bucky had gotten a letter earlier that day, detailing how some of guys he had become friends with in Basic had died. He couldn’t even seem to muster the energy to cry for them; all he could think about was how he would feel if that letter had said a different name: Steven G. Rogers.
"Have another round," Bucky called to Steve after the red dress had left. He pounded his finger down on the bar and signaled to the barkeeper. Steve should be feeling it by now, too, right? Hell, back in the old days half a beer would be enough to have Steve giggling like an idiot.
But what Bucky didn’t know was that Steve couldn’t get drunk. Steve knew this, but he accepted Bucky’s offer anyway. It was a fun juxtaposition; he wasn’t used to watching Bucky be the one losing his common sense while he stayed sober. Surprisingly, he kind of liked it.
It was many hours later before they were stumbling out of the bar. Bucky could barely stand, but Steve was there to help him out. Though, this was also several hours into Bucky’s plan to seduce Steve. Surprising his taller blonde friend, Bucky hastily pulled Steve into the alley behind the bar and pushed him up against the brick.
"Bucky?" he asked, surprised. He swallowed nervously - his very acute and sober mind having picked up several drinks ago that Bucky seemed to be trying to get him drunk; trying to get his walls to come down. Looking at him, letting his hands rest of his knees. He had seen this dance before - Bucky used it to pick up girls.
Bucky leaned against Steve and pressed his lips against Steve’s firmly - throwing all caution into the wind. He could die tomorrow - or worse - Steve could die tomorrow and Bucky wasn’t at the state of mind to deal with that reality right now.
Steve was surprised, his clear blue eyes widening for a moment before he relaxed a bit into the kiss. His eyes slipped close and his arms came up to gently cradle Bucky’s elbows. He could taste the burn of the whiskey on Bucky’s tongue as it pressed along his lips hungrily. Despite his better judgements, Steve granted it entrance into his mouth, letting his jaw fall open.
For several minutes, Steve convinced himself that maybe Erskine was wrong - maybe he was wrong and he was drunk and that’s why he wasn’t pulling away from Bucky’s drunk, wet, intoxicating kisses. That would be the only reasonable explanation why he was leaning into his body and feeling it respond; his arms coming up to cradle Bucky’s head and allowing his fingers to weave through his thick brown hair.
But when Bucky’s shaky hands began to fumble with Steve’s belt buckle, he couldn’t lie to himself any longer. He reluctantly pulled away, breaking the kiss and stilling Bucky’s hands with his own.
"Please…" Bucky’s warm and husky plea against the soft skin of Steve’s neck was almost enough for Steve to abort his plan; but of course he couldn’t. He choked back a whimper of disappointment shaking his head. He just couldn’t do it.
"Bucky, you’re drunk," he finally mustered to say.
Bucky laughed. “I know. So are you…”
Steve winced with guilt. He wasn’t, not even close. But man, he surely wished he was; wished he was drunk enough to throw his inhibitions in the wind and succumb to his desires. Drunk enough not to know that this was wrong and stupid and dangerous - especially right here in the alleyway. Drunk enough to pretend he didn’t know exactly where this was going…
"No, Buck," he said softly, pushing him away as gently as he could muster. "I’m sorry, but you’re not in any state to…" he couldn’t finish the sentence, his face flushing.
"Fuck, Steve, I’m sorry," Bucky said, trying to sober himself up by rubbing his hands over his face. "Fuck… what was I… I mean, I…” panic was started to slip in, as he seemed to realize the array of consequences he may have just opened up.
"Don’t worry about it!" Steve said, plastering on his supportive and optimistic friend-face. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder and patted him firmly on the back, trying to communicate that he wasn’t going to be weird about this.
He let Bucky lean against him and they stumbled their way back. Tomorrow morning was going to bring one hell of a hangover; and they had a train to catch. Maybe… maybe they could revisit this later. After they had talked. After they were both sober and Steve had a chance to sort through all the conflicting and exciting emotions surging through him.
Tomorrow. After the mission.
After the train.
Actually kind of proud of this one.