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“No.”
“Bucky—”
“It’s not happening. I’m not helping,” Bucky says, folding his arms over his chest.
Steve sticks his bottom lip out into a subtle pout, making him look years younger than seventeen. Others might have melted under the gaze, but Bucky had long become immune to what he liked to call the Steve Rogers Effect.
“No,” Bucky repeats. “You’ve had a lot of stupid ideas, but this has to be worst one yet. Sneaking out of the palace, Steve? I’m not going to condone it, let alone help you. ”
“You’re my best friend,” Steve says, his pleading expression unwavering. “You should want me to go out and have you know, ‘normal teenage experiences’. You should want me to be happy.”
“What the hell is a ‘normal teenage experience’?” Bucky frowns. Steve immediately changes tack.
“Look,” he says, beginning to pace around the room. “I’ve got coronation soon. I’m about to be King Steve, with all these responsibilities and shit. I just want one night. One. As my best friend, you should want that for me too.”
“I may be your best friend, but I’m also legally your bodyguard,” Bucky sighs, shaking his head. “My biggest concern should be your safety.”
“I’d be perfectly safe! You’d be with me, and you’d never let anything happen,” Steve raises his eyebrows, lips pressing into a thin line. “Please, Buck.”
“You do realize that you’re seventeen and not five? Because you’re acting like a child,” Bucky says bluntly. He’s never been one to sugarcoat anything with Steve.
Seventeen years. That’s how long the two of them have known each other. Well, basically. They’d grown up together, the two of them. Bucky’s father was the King's bodyguard, a position that came with all the fancy bells and whistles, like a house on the palace grounds and a tutor instead of regular school. When Bucky and Steve were born just four months apart, it was inevitable that they would come to be friends—though no one could have guessed just how close they would become.
Throughout their childhood, Bucky had taken on the role of Steve’s protector. He would defend him whenever their cranky old tutor criticized him, had gotten into fights when the other politicians children teased him for being smaller, and helped to nurse him back to health when he fell ill with pneumonia… twice. Perhaps he had inherited the instincts from his father, or maybe it was simply in his DNA to watch out for Steve.
When Bucky was fourteen, he was offered an official position as Steve’s personal bodyguard. He would still have to train, of course—though tall and sturdy for his age, he was still a child with much to learn—but they believed in him. They believed that he could handle the pressure of protecting the Crown Prince and future king. It was a lot of pressure, but Bucky liked to think he had taken in stride.
Moments like this, however, make him question why he’d ever agreed to the job at all.
“I need this,” Steve says, rather than responding to Bucky’s previous comment directly. His pout does slip away, though, which Bucky figures is progress. “I just want to have some normalcy in my life. Is that too much to ask?”
“Where is this even coming from?” Bucky asks. Steve has never seemed all too bothered by his lifestyle, so it’s strange to suddenly hear him ranting about it.
Steve was silent for a long pause—long enough that Bucky almost expects him not to respond at all. Eventually though, he says, “with the coronation coming up, I’m supposed to be making certain decisions now.”
“Like what color you want your throne to be? Because I think purple would really compliment your skin tone,” Bucky jokes, hoping to lighten the mood some. The flash of emotion in Steve’s eyes is enough to let him know his attempt was futile.
“More like who will be sitting on the throne beside me,” Steve lets out a bitter snort. “I’m supposed to be betrothed by the end of this year. My parents are… concerned that I haven’t shown interest in anyone yet.”
Being reminded of Steve’s impending marriage is enough to make him feel uneasy. Though he was stuck being the assigned chaperone on plenty of Steve’s dates with his suitors, he’s spent two years trying to actively ignore the reality of the situation. The thought of Steve getting married soon is just… wrong.
“I thought you liked that Natasha girl?” Bucky asks, willing himself to keep a neutral tone. “You said she was gorgeous.”
“She was gorgeous,” Steve says miserably, “but doesn’t mean I want to marry her!”
An unprecedented wave of relief washes over Bucky, but he doesn’t dare let that show. Instead, he asks, “so to be clear, you’re upset because you don’t want to marry any of your gorgeous suitors?”
“No,” Steve says automatically, but he falters moments later. “Well—yes and no. I want choices.”
“It’s not like your parents put you in an arranged marriage,” Bucky points out. “They are giving you choices, even if you don’t like them.”
“Maybe I want the choice not to get married at all,” Steve says, folding his arms across his chest. “Or not to be a prince or king. Maybe I just want to choose to be normal.”
“And sneaking out of the palace is going to make you feel normal?”
“I need to get away from this shit,” Steve says. “I feel like I’m suffocating, and I need a night to breathe.”
Bucky studies him closely then, taking in the crease between his eyebrows and how the corners of his lips are dipping downward. His hands are clenched to fists by his sides, his knuckles turning white with the force, and there’s a certain hardness to his eyes that he recognizes all too well.
“You’re going to sneak out tonight whether I go with you or not,” Bucky says. He meant it as a question, but it comes out as more of a statement.
“Yes,” Steve says, not bothering to deny it. His Adam’s apple bobs nervously, which tells Bucky that Steve doesn’t want to do this alone. He might be trying to put on his tough guy act, but Bucky sees right through it. It’s a reminder of how young Steve is—how young they both are, really—to be dealing with so much pressure.
At last, Bucky lets out a resigned sigh. “Okay.”
Steve perks up, his eyes widening slightly. “Seriously?”
“Don’t make me change my mind, Rogers,” Bucky narrows his eyes. “This is a one time thing.”
“Of course,” Steve says. It seems earnest on the surface, but Bucky doubts that he means it.
“And you’ll do whatever I say, when I say it,” Bucky adds. Steve shoots him an incredulous look, but he ignores it. “I’m serious. I meant it when I said that your safety is the most important thing to me. If I say you need to duck, or run, or stop drop and fucking roll, you do it.”
“Fine,” Steve mumbles. He glances down at his feet, and then raises his gaze to meet Bucky’s again. His expression softens immediately. “Thanks, Buck.”
“I’m putting my ass on the line for you. I hope it’s worth it.”
“It will be,” Steve says, with so much confidence that Bucky almost believes him. Almost.
-
Actually sneaking out of the palace proves to be startlingly easy, if you ask Bucky.
The night guards are chatting idly with one another by the front gates, not paying much attention to their surroundings, which gives him and Steve the opportunity to slip out the side entrance unnoticed. He makes a mental note to report them to the head of security tomorrow.
He scans the area around them as they walk down the side road, which is typically only used by security coming back from their patrols. It’s fortunately empty tonight, but he doesn’t allow himself to let his guard down yet.
“Do you actually have a plan for tonight?” Bucky asks as they walk. He makes sure to linger just a step behind Steve.
“Of course I have a plan,” Steve smirks.
Bucky waits for him to elaborate, and can only sigh when he doesn’t. “Are you going to tell me what that plan is?”
“Nope,” Steve says with a shrug.
“Steve,” Bucky’s face pinches with annoyance. “I can’t protect you if—”
Steve halts, turning around so quickly that Bucky barely has a chance to register it. He places his hand over Bucky’s mouth, effectively cutting him off. “Did it ever occur to you,” he says slowly, leaning closer, “that maybe I don’t want you to protect me tonight?”
Bucky’s heart stutters.
“You’ve spent years worrying about me,” Steve continues, letting his hand fall back to his side. “I think it’s time we both had a night to let loose.”
I don’t think I’ll ever be able to stop worrying about you, Bucky thinks, but stays wisely silent.
“I’m seventeen. I’m not a child,” Steve adds, his voice hardening. “I’m not going to do anything stupid.”
“Woah. Calm down there, Ariel,” Bucky holds his hands up in a mock surrender. “I know you’re not a child, but that doesn’t mean things can’t happen.”
Steve pulls a face at the comparison. “I’m definitely not a mermaid either. Or a fucking redhead.”
“My point stands,” Bucky says, while attempting to keep the amusement out of his voice.
“Can’t you just trust me?” Steve asks, and there’s heat to his words now. Bucky can see the annoyance on his face, and knows that it’s time to let the subject drop.
“Okay,” Bucky says tiredly. He’s already stressed enough; he doesn’t need to add an argument with Steve on top of that. “I trust you.”
“Okay,” Steve echoes. He looks like he’s going to say something more, but then his eyes meet Bucky’s, and he presses his lips together instead.
Bucky clears his throat after a tense moment, nodding down the road. “We should probably keep going.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. There’s a certain look in his eyes that Bucky can’t quite place, but there’s no time to dwell on it right now.
The rest of their walks spent in silence, save for the sound of gravel crunching underneath their shoes.
-
They reach the car without any further incidents, something Bucky considers to be a small blessing.
They’re in the car for nearly an hour—apparently they’re going to the other side of the city—and Bucky spends most of that time trying to figure out what the hell they're even doing. He only hopes it’s nothing illegal, because though he’d do anything for Steve, going to prison would suck.
Steve, for his part, is jittery the entire ride. He spends his time intermittently rambling to the driver and making ominous comments to Bucky about how amazing their night is going to be.
After what feels like forever, they pull onto a crowded street. Bucky sees girls in mini skirts and boys in cropped tops waiting outside of one building in particular.
Of course it’s the building that their driver stops in front of.
The sign outside reads Anaconda in obnoxious neon lettering , and though Bucky doesn’t know what the hell it's supposed to mean, he can tell it’s not a reference to the snake.
“Anaconda?” Bucky turns to Steve, giving him an unamused look. “Seriously? What the hell is this place?”
“It’s a new club,” Steve explains. “I heard some of the younger guards talking about it last week.”
“You’re going clubbing?”
“No,” Steve grins wildly. “ We’re going clubbing. Together.”
“Steve,” Bucky groans. He can’t help but think of all that could go wrong—people snapping pictures of their “wholesome” prince in compromising positions, someone sneaking up on Steve with a weapon while Bucky is trying to fend off drunks hoping for a selfie—and he’s half-tempted to tell the driver to turn back around.
“Come on, Buck,” Steve places a hand on his knee, and Bucky feels his resolve start to waiver. “Loosen up.”
“This is a bad idea,” Bucky says, shaking his head. “It’s impulsive, reckless, and stupid.”
“It’s fun,” Steve corrects, “and I think that we could both use a little more of that in our lives. You’re always so tense these days.”
Bucky averts his gaze back out the window, toward the line of people waiting to go inside the club. He shakes his head once again, frowning at the obnoxious neon sign of the club.
“You’re thinking too hard,” Steve gives his leg a gentle squeeze, and then grabs ahold of his wrist. “We’re going to go in there and have the times of our lives.”
“I doubt that.”
“Maybe you’ll meet someone,” Steve tries. “When’s the last time you got some action?”
Bucky turns his eyes back toward his friend, pinning him with a glare. “That’s none of your business,” he mutters. Too long, he thinks. He's only had the company of his right hand for nearly a year.
“You could find someone tonight,” Steve raises his brows suggestively. “I’d even let you use my room, if you wanted to really impress them.”
“Why would I want to have sex in your bed?” Bucky asks, his lips quirking up despite himself.
“Plenty of people want to have sex in my bed,” Steve says with a look of faux offense.
“Well, I’m not one of them,” Bucky snorts, but he can feel his heart pick up speed. His words aren’t exactly a lie—he doesn’t want to have sex on Steve’s bed… with anyone but Steve.
He fights off a blush as he forces that thought away, deciding to redirect the conversation back to safer territory. “I don’t know how you plan on getting us into this place. We’re not even old enough to get into a club.”
“Half the people in line aren’t old enough to get into a club, but it’s not stopping them. And besides, I’m the prince; I could get into any place in the city I want.” Steve winks. He either hasn’t noticed that Bucky is blushing like a school girl, or he’s being kind enough to ignore it; either way, Bucky is grateful.
He’s ready to protest again, and Steve seems to realize this, because he never gives him the chance. Instead, he opens up the car door, and slips out before Bucky has the chance to stop him.
“Asshole,” Bucky grumbles under his breath, following him out.
“I heard that,” Steve says over his shoulder, shooting him an amused grin. Bucky has to admit that he looks more relaxed already; there’s an ease about his smile that he hasn’t seen in years. It warms his heart, softens him in a way that he can’t afford right now.
Bucky is completely and utterly fucked.
-
As it turns out, Steve was right: the bouncer doesn’t give them any trouble about getting inside. He takes one look at Steve, who bats his eyes and puts on his most charming smile, and then nods them both inside. Bucky makes a mental note to report him tomorrow too.
-
Inside, the music is loud—so loud that Bucky can barely hear himself think. He swears his teeth are rattling with the force of the bass. There’s hundreds of drunk people moving in ways that suggest they think there dancing, their figures illuminated by colored spotlights and strobe lights. It’s all overwhelming, but he doesn’t allow any of it to take his attention off of Steve.
“Let’s go get drinks,” Steve shouts over the music, jerking his thumb over his shoulder and in the direction of the bar. Then, once again, he starts weaving his way through the crowd without giving Bucky the opportunity to protest.
Though Bucky yearns for nothing more than to beeline for the exit, he reluctantly trails after Steve. Thankfully, due to his height and rather large stature, it’s not all too difficult to keep track of him.
Leaning against the counter at the bar, Steve murmurs something that Bucky can’t quite hear to the bartender. The bartender walks away a few moments later, returning with two glasses. She passes them to Steve with a sultry smile. He sends the woman a wink, and the sight is enough to have Bucky scowling.
Steve turns around to face Bucky, a triumphant smirk on his face and drinks in hand. He offers one of the drinks out to him, and he takes it reluctantly, with no intention of actually drinking it.
“To a night of freedom, and giving zero fucks,” Steve shouts over the music, holding his glass up. He looks at Bucky expectantly, and after a beat, Bucky holds his glass up too.
Steve knocks their glasses together, seemingly unbothered as some of his drink sloshes over the rim and onto his hand. He brings the glass to his lips while Bucky sets his own drink back onto the counter, and by the time he looks back to Steve, the other man’s drink is already gone.
It’s going to be a long night.
-
Steve has a drink in one hand, and the other resting on the waist of some random man. They’re pressed impossibly close together, grinding along to whatever shitty house music is playing, and Bucky doesn’t like it one bit.
Bucky watches from his spot just a few feet away as the man—all five foot nine of him—leans in close to say something to Steve. He must be fucking hysterical, because whatever he’s said has Steve tossing his head back and barking out a laugh.
He knows what’s coming next before it even happens, but it still feels like a punch to the gut when the man leans up and kisses Steve.
For a moment, Bucky can’t bring himself to breathe. There is nothing but raw jealousy burning through him, so intense that he can taste bile at the back of his throat.
It’s stupid, really, to be so upset about Steve kissing someone else. They’ve both hooked up with other people before, he knows that, but he’s never actually witnessed it for himself. It’s just wrong to see Steve, his Steve, with another man.
When the two finally part, Bucky can see glitter shimmering on Steve’s cheeks underneath the strobe lights. It’s clearly rubbed off from the other man, and that, paired with the dopey smile on Steve’s face, is the final straw for Bucky. He’s moving before he can really register what he’s doing. The rational part of his brain seemed to have disappeared around the time Steve caught someone else’s eye.
He grabs ahold of Steve’s hand, tugging gently. “We have to go.”
“What?” Steve blinks in confusion. “We haven’t even been here an hour.”
“I said we have to go,” Bucky repeats firmly. He doesn’t bother sparing Steve’s dance partner a glance. “Now.”
“I don’t understand,” Steve starts, but Bucky doesn’t give him the chance to argue anymore.
He moves his hand up so that he’s holding onto Steve’s wrist, and starts to weave his way through the crowd of drunks on the dance floor. He can hear Steve protesting, but he ignores him, fueled by the whirlwind of emotions this shitshow of a night had inspired. It’s only when they make it into a quiet hallway that he’s pulled from, his thoughts.
“What the hell, Buck?” Steve stumbles as Bucky practically drags him along. “I was having a good time!”
“I noticed,” Bucky grumbles. “I also noticed that the boy you were all over started getting his phone out.”
He’d usually feel bad for lying, but all he can think about is glitter and laughter and that. Fucking. Kiss.
“That’s what this is about? Seriously?” Steve asks, disbelieving.
“Yes, seriously. Do you think your parents would appreciate seeing photos of you grinding on some half-dressed stranger on the cover of every tabloid in the country?”
“I don’t give a shit about tabloids!” Steve spits.
“Well, maybe you should,” Bucky retorts, opening up the door to the exit. It’s a side one technically reserved for employees, and he’d scoped it out upon their arrival. It leads out to the back of the club, which means that they’re spared from the crowds out front.
“And maybe you should be on my side for once.”
“Don’t,” Buck says in a warning tone.
“Don’t what? Tell the truth? Call you out on your bullshit?” Steve challenges.
“Don’t act like I’m the villain here,” Bucky says through gritted teeth. “I might be your best friend, but you’re also my responsibility.”
“I don’t want to be your damn responsibility!” Steve snaps, trying to shake his arm free. It’s a futile effort—though Steve isn’t exactly small, he’s got nothing on Bucky.
Bucky tenses. “You don’t want me to work for you anymore?”
“What? No!” Steve’s eyes widen.
“Then what do you want, Steve? Make up your goddamn mind!” Bucky yells, finally releasing his grip.
A tense silence settles between them. Bucky can feel his chest heaving as he tries to calm down, but there’s pure adrenaline pumping through his veins right now.
Steve steps back roughly, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Dammit,” he growls, kicking a discarded can of beer.
Bucky can see it in Steve’s body when the fuck it moment happens, watches as he takes a few furious steps forward, but doesn’t know what it means until it happens. Because suddenly, he’s kissing Steve. Or rather, Steve is kissing him.
There’s nothing tender and chaste about it. Their lips move feverishly together, and Bucky brings a hand up to pull Steve closer by the back of his neck. For his part, Steve doesn’t hesitate to press ever closer until Bucky’s back hits the brick wall and their chests are flush.
Steve tastes like booze and the spearmint gum he’s always chewing. There’s something comforting about it—familiar despite the fact that they’re exploring foreign territory.
Bucky tugs at the hair on the nape of Steve’s neck, eliciting a soft moan from the other man. He can’t suppress a smirk, taking advantage of Steve’s parted lips to lick into his mouth.
His hair falls into his face when he tilts his head, but he can’t bring himself to pull back and fix it. Luckily, Steve decides to do the job for him; he smoothly cups Bucky’s cheek, letting his hand linger there for a long moment, before he tucks the loose hair back behind his ear.
He’s not sure how long they stay like that, but when they finally part, both of them are breathing heavily. Steve rests his forehead against Bucky’s, dropping his hand so that he can intertwine their fingers.
“You,” Steve breathes out at last, giving Bucky’s hand a squeeze.
“What?”
“You asked me what I wanted, and it’s you,” Steve says, pressing a peck to Bucky’s lips. “I want you, Bucky.”
Bucky hasn’t had a sip of alcohol tonight, but he thinks he must be drunk. I want you, Bucky. The words ring in his ears, but he still can’t quite believe that they’re real.
“You can’t,” he finally manages to say. It’s normally impossible to rattle him, but right now he can barely form a coherent thought. “Steve, you—this—”
“I do though,” Steve says, his earnest eyes meeting Bucky’s. “I want you. I don’t give a shit about anything else.”
All of this is happening so fast, it seems. Bucky’s head is nearly spinning. “I don’t understand,” he admits, blinking rapidly. “I didn’t know that you… that you felt… this.”
Steve actually lets out a small laugh at that, but Bucky can hear the hint of nerves behind it. “I’ve been in love with you since before I knew what the word meant, Buck. I thought it was obvious.”
“ What? ” Bucky blurts, his eyes widening. He’s been trained to detect subtle abnormalities—to pick out threats and take them down. There’s no way that he could have missed Steve being in love with him for years. “Bullshit.”
“I’m telling the truth,” Steve’s smile turns sad around the edges. “Why do you think I haven’t been interested in any of the people my parents have tried to set me up with?”
“I thought you said it was because you wanted more choices.”
“Yeah,” Steve gives Bucky’s hand a gentle squeeze. “I want the choice to marry who I want, and that’s you.”
Bucky’s mouth opens and closes uselessly, because really, what is he supposed to do with that? With any of this?
“That’s not a proposal,” Steve adds belatedly. “Not yet. We’d do the courting thing before that, but eventually, I know I would want that with you.”
“At the risk of sounding cliche,” Bucky says slowly, “you have to realize that this would never work.”
Any remnants of Steve’s smile slip away with that comment. He sets his jaw, pinning Bucky with a challenging gaze. “Why not?”
“Why not?” Bucky repeats incredulously. “Your parents, for one thing.”
“They know that I’m bi,” Steve says. “Although they’d prefer that I choose to marry a woman, they know that I could very well end up with a man. They already love you, so it’d be even easier for them to accept.”
“And what if they didn’t? What if they never accepted us? Would you be able to live with that?”
“How many times do I have to tell you that I’m not a child, Bucky!” Steve takes a step back, running a hand through his hair as he does. “I’ve thought about all of this, okay? I’ve thought about it, and I think it’s worth it. I’d rather be happy and risk losing some people along the way than be miserable pretending to be someone I’m not.”
“I’m sorry,” Bucky exhales. “I know. I know that you’re not a child. I know that you can take care of yourself.”
“Then why do you do this?” Steve asks, gesturing uselessly at the air between them. “Why do you always act like I can’t think for myself?”
“Because it’s my job to protect you,” Bucky says simply.
“Right, because you’re legally my bodyguard,” Steve mutters in a slightly mocking tone.
“No,” Bucky shakes his head. “It’s always been my job to protect you.”
That has Steve pausing. “What do you mean?”
“I mean that I’m kind of in love with you too, you asshole.”
-
MEET THE FIRST GAY ROYAL COUPLE!
Love really is in the air for the royal families of the world. Only six weeks after the royal wedding between Meghan Markle and Prince Harry, PEOPLE can reveal an exclusive scoop that Prince Steven of Genovia has announced his engagement to his former bodyguard, James Barnes.
Rogers and Barnes will make history as the first gay heads of state, following confirmation by the Palace that Rogers will remain in the line of succession. “He’s always been there for me,” a lovestruck Rogers confessed to People last week. “This is just the logical next step for us.”
When asked to comment on the controversy that this marriage has sparked in the international community, Rogers just shook his head. “I’m marrying [Barnes] because I love him. I’m not backing down on that.”
Barnes’ only comment was “I’m with him to the end of the line.”