Chapter Text
Thanks Chris ❤️ for the art
How they begin...
Strike, Spark, Stay
Their first meeting. Somewhere between quiet luck and quiet longing.
It wasn’t supposed to be anything important. Just a briefing. A joint mission between the Avengers and the Fantastic Four—some dimensional rift bubbling weird energy near the old Stark Tower, and apparently, both teams had a stake.
Bucky didn’t expect much from it. He didn’t talk much during meetings, preferring to let Sam do the smoothing, the charm, the grins. Bucky just stood in the back, arms folded.
But that’s when he walked in.
Sunlight in a leather jacket. Golden smirk. Johnny Storm.
He was talking before he even sat down—some joke about Parker stealing coffee and how no one in the Tower respected a caffeine emergency.
Bucky didn't smile. But he did watch.
Johnny caught the look, paused, and tilted his head just slightly. “Don’t worry, I brought enough for the grumpy ones too.”
Bucky blinked. “Wasn’t worried.”
Johnny grinned wider. “Good. Means we’re already getting along.”
That was the beginning.
---
They were paired up, somehow. Fire and restraint. Bravado and silence.
Johnny filled the space with easy talk, but not the kind that grated. He didn’t try to poke Bucky open like some curiosity. He just… existed nearby. Close enough to be warm, far enough not to burn.
Bucky noticed it when Johnny stopped talking, though. When they were crouched behind cover during recon and Johnny looked out at the city lights, quieter than usual.
“You okay?” Bucky asked before he could stop himself.
Johnny glanced over, surprised. “Yeah. Just… not used to silence being this comfortable.”
That caught Bucky off guard. Most people filled silence like they were drowning in it.
“You get used to it,” Bucky muttered.
“Maybe I don’t want to,” Johnny replied. “Not if it means losing this.”
Bucky looked at him—really looked. Not at the smirk or the swagger, but at the softness underneath. The part of Johnny that wasn’t made of fire but held it, carefully, like a candle between cupped hands.
Something in Bucky shifted.
-*-
Later, when the mission was done and Johnny offered him a ride home (with a wink and a “My bike’s faster than yours, I guarantee it”), Bucky surprised himself.
He said yes.
And when Johnny handed him a helmet and said, quieter this time, “You don’t have to say anything. I just like the way you look at me,” Bucky felt something he hadn’t in a long, long time.
Wanted.
-*-
This Isn’t a Date
Except… yeah. It kind of was.
Johnny picked the place—some hole-in-the-wall ramen shop tucked between a pawn shop and a record store. Warm, busy, and full of mismatched chairs. He said it had “character.” Bucky said it smelled like heaven.
They sat by the window, shoulders brushing just enough to feel it.
Johnny kept talking: “The owner’s like, ninety-eight. Yelled at me last time for taking a call at the table. I kind of respect her.”
Bucky chuckled into his water. “You would respect someone who tells you to shut up.”
“Exactly!” Johnny grinned. “You get me.”
The food came, steaming and perfect. They ate in a rhythm that felt weirdly easy—like they’d done this before. Like they knew each other already, even though they didn’t. Not really.
But then Johnny asked, softly, “Do you ever get… tired of being looked at like a headline?”
Bucky glanced up, surprised. “All the time.”
Johnny nodded. “Me too. Fire this, hothead that. No one thinks maybe I’m just a guy who wants someone to remember how I take my tea.”
“You take tea?” Bucky asked, genuinely surprised.
Johnny smirked. “Okay, maybe not. But you remembered that.”
Bucky went quiet.
And maybe that was the moment it hit him.
The way Johnny looked at him—unafraid. Not curious like Bucky was a puzzle, not reverent like he was some war story. He just looked at him like Bucky was allowed to exist exactly as he was.
Flawed. Real. Here.
It scared the hell out of him.
And it made him feel warm. Not just from the broth.
~
Afterward, they walked a few blocks in silence, shoulders bumping occasionally. Johnny didn’t push. Bucky didn’t pull away.
When they reached Bucky’s building, Johnny hesitated.
“So, uh…” he began.
“It wasn’t a date,” Bucky said quickly, unsure why his heart was racing.
Johnny raised an eyebrow. “Wasn’t it?”
They stood in the quiet for a moment.
Then Johnny stepped forward, leaned up, and pressed a kiss to Bucky’s cheek. Gentle. Just long enough.
“Fine,” Johnny murmured. “Then I’ll call it a preview.”
And with that, he turned and walked off—hands in his pockets, jacket flapping in the breeze, like he hadn’t just wrecked Bucky Barnes with one soft kiss and a smile.
Bucky stood there for a full minute before unlocking his door.
He didn’t sleep much that night.
But he did smile at the ceiling.
--*--
Stay a While
The first night Johnny stayed over. The first night Bucky didn’t wake up from a nightmare.
It started with movies. Nothing fancy—just Johnny scrolling through options while Bucky sat on the couch, feet bare, hoodie half-zipped, pretending not to notice how Johnny kept scooting closer every ten minutes.
They watched The Iron Giant. Johnny insisted. “It’s underrated, okay? Trust me.”
Bucky did trust him. That was the scary part.
-*-
By the time the credits rolled, Bucky was half asleep, head tipped back against the couch cushion, the edge of a blanket tugged over his legs.
“Bed?” Johnny asked softly, standing up.
Bucky blinked, slow. “Don’t gotta go.”
Johnny smiled, his heart suddenly in his throat. “You sure?”
Bucky nodded. “You make the quiet less loud.”
And really, what was Johnny supposed to say to that?
So he just offered a hand, helped him up, and followed Bucky to the bedroom like it wasn’t the most intimate thing in the world to be let into that space.
--*--
They didn’t kiss. They didn’t undress much. Just t-shirts and sweatpants and the soft shuffle of blankets as they settled, inches apart.
Then Bucky turned on his side and whispered, “You don’t have to touch me.”
Johnny froze. “I want to. But I’ll only do what you want.”
A long silence stretched between them. Then, a quiet: “Just… hand. Yours.”
Johnny offered it without hesitation.
Bucky’s metal fingers curled around Johnny’s warm ones, delicate and deliberate.
Johnny felt him relax by degrees, each breath softer than the last.
-*-
In the middle of the night, Johnny woke once to find Bucky pressed against his side, head tucked under his chin, arm slung loosely across Johnny’s waist.
The moonlight caught the glint of his metal arm where it lay across the sheets.
Johnny didn’t move. He just kissed the crown of Bucky’s hair and whispered, “You’re safe.”
Bucky didn’t wake.
But he smiled in his sleep.
-*-
When It Happens
The first kiss. Quiet. Soft. Undeniable.
They were on the roof of the Tower, a place Johnny claimed as “his thinking spot.” Bucky had followed him up there after one of those long mission debriefs that left him tired in a way sleep couldn’t fix.
Johnny didn’t push. He never did. He just sat beside him on the ledge, legs dangling over the edge like it wasn’t terrifying, his shoulder brushing Bucky’s.
“You okay?” he asked, his voice soft in the breeze.
“Not really,” Bucky said. “But I will be.”
Johnny turned to look at him, his gaze open and warm. “Want me to stay?”
Bucky nodded. “Please.”
-*-
They sat in silence for a long time. The sun dipped behind the skyline, casting a golden light over Bucky’s face, catching in his lashes and softening the hard lines of his jaw.
Johnny couldn’t help it. “You’re really beautiful,” he murmured.
Bucky looked away, his metal fingers curling into his palm. “You don’t have to say that.”
“I don’t say anything I don’t mean,” Johnny said. “You always let people see the soldier. The fighter. But when you’re like this…”
He reached out, slowly, gently, brushing his knuckles against Bucky’s cheek.
“You’re soft. And I love that about you.”
Bucky’s breath caught. His eyes fluttered shut, and he leaned just barely into the touch.
“Can I kiss you?” Johnny asked, not moving an inch closer without permission.
Bucky nodded, quiet, his cheeks flushed. “Yeah.”
--*--
The kiss was slow. Barely a brush at first. Johnny kissed him like he had all the time in the world to learn every hesitation Bucky carried—and no desire to rush through any of it.
Bucky let himself melt into it. He let his body go pliant, his breath shaky, his lips parting to sigh against Johnny’s mouth. His hand—the flesh one—curled gently into Johnny’s shirt, grounding himself.
It wasn’t rough. It wasn’t overwhelming.
It was safe.
Wanted.
Johnny pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against Bucky’s. “You okay?”
“I’ve never had anything like this,” Bucky whispered. “Never… let myself be this soft with someone.”
Johnny smiled. “Then let me be the one you’re soft with. I’ll never break it.”
Bucky kissed him again—this time with trembling confidence.
And when they pulled apart, Johnny wrapped an arm around his waist and tugged him close, letting Bucky curl in, quiet and small and completely safe.
---*---*-
