Who Am I? » [Stucky]

62. Sketchy Memories

Bucky frowned at himself in the mirror. He looked utterly exhausted. Those bags beneath his eyes were more like sacks than bags. They bulged profusely and were slack, dyed a horrendous violent maroon that made him look as if he'd been punched in the eye that contrasted wildly with his pasty translucent skin. He was paler than a spectre.

"What's wrong?" Steve whispered, wandering up behind him and cuddling into him, placing the sharp pinnacle of his chin upon Bucky's broad muscular shoulder; looking at the pair of them in the mirror.

"Nothing..." Bucky lied, raising one eyebrow and looking down and left to the floor.

"Something's wrong," Steve stated. He could sense the unsettled sadness like the way a dog can sense the buzzing energy of an oncoming storm; it was that same instinct that enabled Steve to pick up Bucky's emotions like he could taste it on the air.

"Well, take a look at me, for one..." Bucky loosed a shallow bitter laugh and rubbed at his eyes.

"I don't see anything but a strapping young soldier..." Steve promised and pressed a kiss to the side of his neck, his was plush lips grazing over the skin sensuously.

"Don't try lying Steve, I know I look a state..." Bucky replied, clumsily jerking his head to the side to grant Steve more access to his skin.

"I don't lie... You look gorgeous. Now come and have breakfast, it's almost ready..." Steve hummed soothingly, breaking the big bear hug and trudging away.

"You've got yourself a right sentimental fool, Barnes..." He spoke to the mirror. "And you might just be the luckiest dope alive..." Bucky shook his head, and with a small pleasant loving smile of gratitude strolled into the living area and got to see his boyfriend dishing out the remainder of the undivided food onto two separate pocelain plates and plonk them cack-handedly on the table: trying to perform a balancing act where he ferried their glasses of juice over too. Bucky just chuckled as he watched Steve struggle.

Bucky flopped unceremoniously in his chair, all limbs hanging free and swinging about in his limp doll-like tiredness.

Steve finished his breakfast first, wolfing down the meal like he hadn't eaten for days, then slumping back and patting his firm abs, mimicking the slapping of a beer belly, huffing out a laboured breath through 'o' shaped lips as if he's participated in an immense workout.

"There's nothing but muscle there..." Bucky complained, one side of his mouth still full with food, munching away idly.

"Damn right, there is," Steve agreed, snapping him a wink.

After breakfast, Bucky lay back in his chair with his plate thrust out before him, the empty surface offensive to his eyes. He threw his head back to bask in the rays of sun streaming through the windows and striking his face, giving it a healthy resplendent shine. His hands where thrown in his lap and his face was gleaming with a contented jaded expression.

His eyes only reopened as he heard the shuffling sound of a pencil nib grinding down into a leaf of paper, the cursive sound of scribbling and shading was all too familiar to his attuned ears.

"Are you-"

"Don't move!" Steve interjected rudely, cutting off Bucky's speech with a magisterial wave of his free hand. "Can you shut your eyes again," he asked authoritatively.

"I don't really have a choice do I?" Bucky argued, moving back to his original position, or as close to it as he could possibly get and froze up like a statue.

"Nope," Steve chirped merrily, getting back to the definition of Bucky's jaw at that spectacular angle.

"It had to be today didn't it? When I look like a fucking drug addict, my eyes are so dark..." He disagreed, shaking his head.