Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Chapter 1

‘And please sign once more here, on the last page, Miss Montrose.’

Smiling widely, Eleanor signed her name on the last page of the rental agreement. 235 Ashford Street, Apartment 4A was now hers. Two bedrooms, a living room, a balcony, a kitchen and bathroom, and no one she needed to share it with. She put her copy of the contract and her new house keys into her leather briefcase, a present from her parents when she graduated from St Andrews.
Thanking the agent, she got up and walked out into the bustling streets of Brooklyn. It was a lovely spring morning and she decided to stroll through the neighbourhood. She was pleased to see a grocery store, florist, pharmacist, and a butcher’s within five minutes of her new apartment.
The real estate agent had assisted her in finding a moving company to bring all her earthly belongings right into the new apartment, so Eleanor needed to go back to her old room and pack her things. Meeting the new neighbours was her only goal left today, though. She let herself into the lobby of the building and knocked on the door of 1A. A few moments later, an elderly lady opened the door and looked at her curiously.

‘May I help you, dear?’
‘Good afternoon. I will be moving into 4A on Friday and I would like to introduce myself. My name is Eleanor Montrose.’
‘How lovely, dear. I am Mrs Kennedy. So nice to see a fresh new face in the building. Do you have any children who will move in with you?’

Eleanor fought to keep the smile on her face.

‘I do not, Mrs Kennedy. Just me.’
‘Oh, such a shame. I have four boys, you know. Ah, they’re all grown up now, with children of their own to look after, but they visit me all the time. You should meet them! Perhaps they have eligible bachelor friends, hmmm?’

Mrs Kennedy looked at Eleanor with a hopeful look on her face.

‘I would be delighted to meet your sons, Mrs Kennedy. I shall make sure to pass by again soon. Do have a nice day.’
‘You too, darling.’

Smiling again, Eleanor knocked at 1B. A man with white hair, glasses, and a wild moustache opened the door.

‘Yes, can I help you?’
‘Good afternoon, sir. I’ll be moving into the apartment on the third floor on Friday.’
‘Third floor? Who’s leaving? O’Sullivan or Starmer?’
‘Oh, I do apologise for the confusion. It’s apartment 4A. Where I come from, we call the first floor the ground floor.’
‘Where are you from then, eh?’
‘Kent, sir. In the United Kingdom.’

A grey-haired woman now appeared next to the man.

‘Well, who’s this?’
‘Eleanor Montrose, ma’am. Pleased to meet you. I’m moving into the apartment in 4A.’
‘Are you now? How wonderful. I’m Patricia Osborne and this is Jonathan. Where is your husband?’

Eleanor clenched her jaw.

‘No husband. It’s just me moving in.’
‘Well, we’re happy to have you anyway. Do come over for a spot of tea anytime. You have a good day now.’

On the first floor, Eleanor met the Taft family:

‘And will your fiancé be moving in too?’

…and Mr and Mrs Suarez:

‘You’re not married yet? Not to worry, darling, you’ll find plenty of good men here.’

On the second floor:

Mr O’Sullivan: ‘How can a well-built girl like you not be taken up yet?’

…and Mrs Starmer, who half-shouted,
‘My youngest daughter is also single. It’s a hard life, isn’t it?’

The shouting was due to her deafness at least, not her incredulity that Eleanor was single.
On the fourth floor, the Johnson family:

‘No children? They’re the ones who make it all worth it, you know!’

…and Mr and Mrs Parker:
‘We only got married six months ago, so there’s hope for you yet!’

By the time she made her way back down, it was almost evening and Eleanor was both tired and hungry.
She knocked on the door of 4B.

Please by all that is good, let these people be out for the day.
The door swung open.
Of course.

A man not much older than her stood there, his dark hair longer than she’d seen on anyone not writing tragic poems in bygone eras. One of his hands was gloved.
He looked at her.

‘Hello, who might you be?’
‘I’m Eleanor Montrose. I’ll be moving in next door on Friday.’
‘I’m James Barnes, but everyone says Bucky. I heard you talking to the other neighbours. You must be hungry by now, why don’t you have some dinner with us?’
‘Oh, I couldn’t possibly intrude on you and your family, please don’t worry about me.’
‘It’s no worry, and it’s just Steve and me here. Hey, Steve!’

A blonde man, taller than Bucky, walked up and shook her hand.

‘Hi, I’m Steve Rogers. You’re moving in?’
‘Yes, on Friday. Fair warning, there might be some noise during the move.’
‘Thanks, but I’m sure we’ll barely notice. So, I hear you’re having dinner with us?’
‘I really mustn’t impose.’

Bucky grinned.

‘Indeed you mustn’t, which is why we’ve invited you. Steve’s cooking pasta and he always makes enough to feed half of Italy. Truly, you’d be doing us a favour.’

Eleanor grinned back.

‘You’re the smooth talker in the building, I suppose?’
‘We gotta be careful, Steve, she’s quick. Must be a British thing.’
‘I didn’t tell you where I was from.’
‘Sweetheart, the last time I heard someone speak like you, she was wearing a crown and waving from a carriage.’

Eleanor laughed, then washed her hands in the tidy kitchen and helped Bucky set the table. She noticed he didn't take off his glove.

‘Are the two of you cousins? Forgive me, you don’t resemble each other much.’
‘No, sweetheart, childhood friends, then served together, now we’re just sharing the place to save on rent. Steve is a starving artist and I’m a mechanic at a motor pool, so I work odd hours. You might catch me at home in the morning and then see me coming in all smudged at six in the morning. How about you?’
‘I work at the NYU library in Washington Square Park. I mostly just help undergraduates find what they need for their papers and such, but every now and again I get to handle old books, one of a kind.’

Bucky watched her closely.
‘And this thrills you.’

It wasn’t a question.
‘Yes. I know books are not for everyone, but they’re definitely for me. The old and the new.’

He walked out of the dining area. Nonplussed, Eleanor waited for him to come back.
‘Come on, I think you’ll like this!’
She followed his voice into the far end of the L-shaped living room and her mouth fell open. Seven large bookcases filled the walls behind him. She saw science fiction, literary classics, children’s novels, an encyclopedia, books in French, Italian, German, and what looked like Russian.
‘You’ve got a true treasure here, Mr Barnes.’
Steve came in at that time. His eyes flickered to Bucky as he heard her words.
‘Dinner’s ready.’
The three of them sat down to dinner. The first bite proved Steve knew his pasta, and Eleanor enjoyed the food as much as she enjoyed the conversation. An hour and a half later, she said goodbye to the guys and felt pleased at having made friends even before moving in.

Chapter Text

Chapter 2

The thud echoed down the stairwell as Eleanor dropped the second of four heavy trunks onto the landing, narrowly missing her toes. She paused, one hand on her hip, the other pushing a stray strand of hair back under her scarf, and looked up the next flight like it had insulted her.

‘Right. You’re next.’

The moving company had taken one look at the narrow staircase and declared it "above their pay grade." Something about liability. Something about backs. They'd offered to leave everything at the bottom of the stairs, like that was any sort of help.

She hadn’t survived the Blitz just to be defeated by six flights of stairs and her own pride. Anyway, she'd been doing fine so far. Her sofa was in the living room, half the boxes, so honestly she felt rather pleased with herself, despite her dress sticking to her back, her chest, and her underarms.

Tugging at the heavy trunk, she managed to get it up the final steps and decided to leave it on the landing. Downstairs, she looked at the remaining furniture and figured the heavy bookcase was next. Sure, it was heavier than anything else she'd dragged up, but she could certainly power through one more trip before giving herself a well-earned break.

She shouldn't have pushed. Halfway up the final staircase, the bottom of the bookcase snagged on a crack in the wood, jolting the full weight onto her. Eleanor's ankle rolled without warning, a sharp pain shooting up her leg as her foot twisted at an unnatural angle.

She let out a yelp as the wardrobe tipped and pinned her onto the stairs. ‘Bloody, oh lord, that's unpleasant, ouch.’ Her shoulder and hip hit the steps hard and as she tried to push herself free, the case just leaned heavier on top of her. Breathing deeply, she fought the feeling of panic crawling up from her stomach to her throat.

Brilliant, just brilliant. Librarian, 27, found dead on staircase crushed by bookcase. The obituary writes itself.

She always relied on her sardonic wit to get her through patchy situations. Panting, she gave the bookcase one more shove but she felt its weight pushing down and grunted in pain.

Then, she heard a door slam.

‘Hey, hey, hang on!’ She recognised the voice as belonging to one of her new neighbours, Bucky, she thought, though the pain clouded her mind. Heavy footsteps made their way down the stairs as she caught sight of him; yes, it was the dark-haired one. 

‘Hold still, I got ya.’

‘I’m, uh, yeah, I think I’m OK,’ she breathed, even though her vision was blurring around the edges.

‘It just fell, I twisted, I mean, and...’

‘It doesn’t look OK to me,’ Bucky muttered, crouching beside her. His hands were steady as he wedged himself under the wardrobe.

‘Now, darling, deep breath.’

He stretched his torso and sighed as he pushed the wardrobe off her.

Something about the situation didn’t seem right, but Eleanor was too focused on trying to get up, to thank him, and to steady her blurry eyesight to puzzle it out. Even these three things felt like too much.

The moment she put any weight on her right foot, fire lanced through her ankle and her balance gave out again. She tipped backward off the stair into nothingness.

Eleanor hit the floor with a surprisingly hard THUMP, even though she had fallen only three steps down.

Vaguely, she heard someone curse, then hurried footsteps. The next moment she was cradled against a broad, solid chest.

‘You really don’t make things easy on yourself, do you?’

His voice was soft, amused and concerned at the same time.

‘That wasn’t a smart move, was it now?’

Eleanor opened her mouth to respond but found she didn’t have the words. All she could do was try not to pass out.

She concentrated on his smell, soapy but a hint of something strangely metallic. She closed her eyes, but that caused a wave of dizziness, so she opened them again.

Her neighbour carried her up the stairs and was right in front of her apartment door when his friend appeared in the doorway.

‘What on earth happened?’

‘She fell. Twisted her ankle badly, then fell again, just for kicks. She may have hit her head.’

‘I may have. The world may also be naturally fuzzy, though,’ Eleanor murmured.

Bucky chuckled softly. ‘Don’t worry. We’re here.’

The blonde man—Steve?—picked up the bookcase, and again, something about it felt off, but the fuzzy world and clear reasoning wouldn’t connect, so Eleanor dismissed the thought.

Bucky set her gently on the sofa, so gently it almost irked Eleanor. OK, she had fallen, but she wasn’t made of glass!

He took a look at her face, grabbed a pillow, propped up her ankle, and disappeared into the kitchen. Eleanor heard the freezer door slam.

He returned immediately. ‘Nothing in there yet, but you need ice. Stay put, please.’

He left just as Steve returned with four more boxes stacked precariously on each other.

‘She alright?’

‘She’ll live, but she’s lucky she didn’t break her damn neck.’

‘Language, Buck.’

Bucky put the boxes down. Eleanor waited until she couldn’t hear his footsteps anymore and hoisted herself onto her feet. She felt thirsty and was positive she could stand for thirty seconds to get a drink. This was not the day Eleanor made great decisions.

She hopped on her left foot for a bit but overbalanced and landed squarely on her right foot. Her vision went white at the edges. She staggered back but there was nothing to hold onto, and she slumped to the floor.

Her last thought before everything faded to black was No, it wasn’t a smart move at all.

Eleanor came to in a different set of arms. She could smell lavender and something sharper—maybe paint? But then she was moved, and her stomach did not agree.

“Oh no, sink, please!”

She clamped her hand over her mouth as Steve rushed her to the kitchen, where she threw up into the sink. She felt so horrible she barely noticed the arms holding her up.

When the nausea passed, she ran the tap and reached for a glass, only to find the cabinet empty. Of course. She hadn’t unpacked those boxes yet.
“You stay with her, Steve. I’ll get a glass. Do NOT let go of her, Lord knows what she could get up to this time.”

Eleanor listened to Bucky walking away.
“I do apologise for this inconvenience. I’m sure you have something better to do than hold me while I stand here.”

Steve arched an eyebrow.
“Are you apologising for falling the first, second, or third time? Or for giving the both of us such a fright when we found you. On. The. Floor.”

OK, I totally deserve that one, but where does he get the nerve?

“I was briefly floor-adjacent!” Eleanor shot back.

Steve stared at her, his face incredulous.
“Should I have left you there?”

Bucky returned then, saving her the trouble of answering. He was holding a glass, a towel, and a plastic bag full of ice.
“Let’s put her back on that damn sofa.”

Steve carried her again, setting her down with care. Bucky handed her the glass, wrapped the towel around the ice, and pressed it gently to her ankle.

She hissed through her teeth.

“Oh, that is highly unpleasant.”

“Not as unpleasant as your ankle swelling like a grapefruit,” Bucky said. “We’re taking you to the hospital.”

Steve looked at her face and quickly said,

“We’ll drive you. No big deal. You’ll be in and out. If we stay here, Bucky’s going to start guessing how many bones you cracked.”

“I didn’t crack...”

“It’s a ten-minute drive,” Bucky cut in, “and I’d like to not argue with you every step of the way.”

Eleanor avoided both their faces.

“Sorry.” Her voice was small.

She waited with Steve until Bucky had asked Mr and Mrs Osborne to keep an eye on her things, and came back up the stairs.

Bucky grabbed her bag from a kitchen chair, and Steve bent down to pick her up again, until she warded him off.

“I’d prefer to just lean on you, if I could. Still feeling quite nauseated. Also, I don’t want you to herniate a disc carrying me.”

Steve gave Bucky a look she couldn’t quite read, but he crouched and held out his arm anyway.

Chapter Text

Chapter 3

Eleanor was sitting on the examination table, her shoes off, her dress tucked under her, trying very hard not to flinch every time the ice-filled towel shifted on her ankle. The door swung open, and a man who looked like he believed the room, the day, and all their dimensions belonged to him entered.

“Miss…?” He didn’t even look at her. His gaze landed on Bucky and Steve. “One of you the fiancé?”

“I’m the patient,” Eleanor said flatly.

The doctor glanced at her as though he saw her for the first time.

“Ah, yes. Well, the good news is it’s not a serious break, just a minor fracture of the lateral malleolus. Nothing displaced. The sensitivity to light, loud noises, and her nausea indicate a concussion, though, so she’ll need to be monitored throughout the night. Can you do this, or should her parents be notified?”

“I am right here, doctor.”

The doctor threw her an irritated look. “We’ll manage, doc. How long till she’s walking again?”

The doctor looked at Bucky. “If she stays off the foot, ten days to two weeks. But women are terrible patients, too stubborn to sit still and just listen.”

Eleanor’s smile was deadly. “Funny. I hear the same about men and directions.”

The doctor blinked, then continued as though she hadn’t spoken.

“I’ll have the nurse bring a stabiliser. You’ll need to keep it elevated, no weight-bearing, and no strenuous activity for at least a week. Longer, ideally, but,” his glance at her was cursory at best, “I doubt you’ll listen.”

“She’s very capable of following instructions,” Steve said, voice calm but edged in steel.

“I’m sure,” the doctor said, clearly not.

He scribbled something onto a chart with unnecessary force.

“Someone will be in shortly to discharge you. In the meantime, try not to fall over again. It’s a waste of all our time.”

He turned and left without another word.

The silence in the room lingered for a second too long. Eleanor stared after him, her mouth pressed into a line. “Well. That was deeply invigorating. I feel healed already.”

Bucky snorted. “I’ll go find the nurse and drag the stabiliser out of her—just in case he decides to forget that part too.”

Steve stepped closer and crouched in front of her, eyes searching her face. “You okay?”

Eleanor looked down at him. “Physically? Questionable. Existentially? I think I just had a conversation in the year 1857. Someone call Professor Einstein; the time-space continuum has been ruptured.”

“Maybe just don’t pick a fight with physics right after a concussion.”

“It picked a fight with me, thank you.”

They helped her up the stairs, since walking up the stairs with crutches seemed a bad idea, even on this day of not-so-great decisions. Bucky opened the door, set the bag with painkillers on the kitchen counter, filled a glass with water, and placed it on the coffee table.
“Hope you feel better soon. I gotta go to work.”

Steve lowered her gently onto the couch, then sat down on a chair, elbows resting on his knees. Silence stretched between them before Eleanor finally spoke.
“He didn’t even look at me until I corrected him.”

Steve nodded. “I saw.”

“He assumed I was someone’s fiancée. Someone’s property. Someone’s problem.”

He looked at her sharply. “He was a jackass.”

Eleanor let out a dry laugh. “You’re more direct than you look.”

“Well, I’ve known Bucky since I was eight. Plenty of practice.”

That made her laugh, though laughing sent a pang through her head. Another pause settled over them.

“Bucky didn’t correct him. Nor did you. About the fiancé thing.”

“Didn’t seem important. I wanted to avoid awkward questions.”

“You didn’t think I might be offended?”

“I met you three days ago, but it’s quite clear you can speak your mind.”

Steve met her gaze. “That’s a good quality to have.”

Eleanor nodded. “Thank you. For the ride. And the help. I wasn’t very gracious. Will you tell Bucky I said thanks, too?”

He smiled. “Bucky’ll be here when I leave. You heard what the doctor said, you need monitoring.”

With that, he pulled a notebook from one pocket and a pencil from another, leaned back in the chair, and started drawing. The comforting sounds of his breathing and pencil scratching on paper lulled Eleanor to sleep within minutes.

Something warm pressed against her arm. Then a low, patient voice.
“Eleanor?”

She shifted, but the motion sent her stomach lurching and her head throbbing behind closed eyes. She scrunched her face and tried to turn away.

“Hey... Eleanor.” A hand, light on her shoulder, no shaking, just resting.

“It’s Bucky. You’re home. Can you wake up for a second, sweetheart?”

She flinched at the nickname, familiar but strange, not quite fitting right in her ears. Why was he here?

Her mouth moved before her mind caught up. “I don’t—, I was... where?”

“You’re in bed. In your apartment,” he said gently.

“Bookcase,” she mumbled, the word catching in her throat. “It, I didn’t mean to... I was going to get water.”

“I know,” he said. “But you fainted. Concussion, remember? We’re just making sure you wake every couple of hours.”

“I was on the sofa.”

“Steve thought you might be more comfortable here.”

She opened one eye.

Oh, bad idea. Why is the room spinning? I’m sure it doesn’t usually do that.

Eleanor groaned.

“Can you tell me what day it is?”

She tried to push herself up, but her limbs rebelled. He didn’t stop her, but didn’t help either, just stayed still, hand light on her upper arm. “Easy,” he said. “So, can you?”

“Can I what?”

“Tell me what day it is?” Concern crept into his voice.

Her mouth twisted. “Of course. It’s...” Her voice trailed off as she realized she did not, in fact, know what day it was. The shock made her shoot upright in bed and open her eyes wide.

“I don’t know what day it is!” She grabbed Bucky’s hand without thinking. “Why don’t I know what day it is! I should know!”

Panic, nausea, dizziness, and a fierce headache fought for priority in her mind. She saw Bucky’s anxious face before she pushed him away.

“Oh no, I think, oh.”

Just in time, he held up a basin in front of her. She clawed at it, then closed her eyes as her body convulsed and she threw up, the motion adding to the pain in her back and ankle.

When it felt like there was nothing left inside her, she fell back onto her pillow. Falling was not a good move. Eleanor groaned again.

“I’m going to get Steve. Try not to sit up or fall asleep.”

Bucky left the room, returning within seconds. “She’s... well, she doesn’t know what day it is, Steve. She also vomited again.”

“Is she coherent?”

A pause. “More or less.”

“I’ll speak. You just sit.”

Steve knelt beside the bed while Bucky moved to the other side. Eleanor eyed them warily.

“Hello.”

Steve smiled. “I’m going to ask you a few questions, but please don’t be alarmed if you find you don’t know the answers. Some confusion is entirely normal.”

She looked at Steve, then at Bucky, her fingers restlessly clutching the sheets, then fidgeting with her pillowcase. Bucky held out his hand.

“It’s alright, sweetheart.”

“Easy for you to say. I bet you know what day it is.”

She took his hand anyway, holding it tightly in both of hers.

“Could you tell me your full name?”

“Eleanor Tessa Kathleen Montrose. But I never told you this, so I could be inventing this on the spot.”

Steve smiled again. “What year is it?”

“1957.”

“Who’s our current president?”

“Mr. Eisenhower, but he’s not my president.”

“What day is it?”

“It’s...” Her eyes slid to Bucky, then back to Steve. Crestfallen, she said, “I still don’t know. I know I moved in yesterday, but I don’t know what day that was either.”

Her grasp on Bucky’s hand tightened.

“Don’t worry. You know you moved in. You know who you are and where you are. We’ll try again in the morning.”

“Thank you. Both of you. I truly appreciate this.”

“Bucky, wake her again in two hours, then come get me so you can get some sleep, too.”

Bucky murmured something, but Eleanor dozed off again.

She woke to sunlight in her face and Steve asleep in a kitchen chair near the door. She looked at him for a while, then took the glass of water on her nightstand and drank gingerly through the straw. Sitting up would have to wait.

As she laid her head back on the pillow, Steve spoke.

“How are you feeling?”

“A bit dizzy and my head hurts, but I’m not nauseated.”

“That’s good.”

They both heard the apartment door and waited for Bucky to come in.

“Hello again, neighbour.”

“At least you remember who we are.”

“Mr. Steve Rogers. Sergeant Bucky Barnes.”

She felt Bucky shift next to her.

“You been snooping, Miss Montrose?”

“No. Your name was on a letter left in my postbox yesterday. I looked before I put it in yours. It said Sergeant Barnes.”

“You’re definitely more coherent today.”

“Today is Saturday.” The last bit came out rather smugly.

Bucky’s eyes lit up and he grinned.

“Good job, sweetheart.”

“I’m well again, so the pet names can stop.”

“I’m sure they can.”

“Can you leave? You’re making my head hurt.”

Bucky grinned again, squeezed her fingers softly, and left.

Eleanor looked at Steve.

“I’m not expecting you to stay. I’m clearly alright, due in part to your care.”

“Thank you, but Bucky and I did very little. I’m also fine right here.”

“I need to... I want to... I would like to change my attire and freshen up.”

Steve got up.

“I’ll help you get there, but I’d like to wait outside and get you comfortable when you’re done. Just in case.”

“That’s... I think. Alright. Thank you. I am sorry for being such a burden when you barely know me.”

“I thought Canadians were apologetic, not the Brits.”

“They’re basically our children, it makes sense.”

Steve gently moved his arm under her head, helping her sit up.

Eleanor was still in the clothes she had worn yesterday. She pointed to a small bag at the foot of the bed.

“Would you mind getting that? It has my toiletries and a change of clothes.”

“You first, then the bag.”

She sighed, then pushed herself up from the bed. She was pleased to find her legs steady, although her head was still fuzzy.

Very slowly, she and Steve made their way to the bathroom. He turned on the light, placed one of her hands on the sink, and walked out, returning moments later with her bag.

“I’ll be right outside. Call my name if you need anything. Don’t hesitate.”

“I shall not, Mr. Rogers.”

He inclined his head and left.

Eleanor contemplated locking the door, but if she fell again, he’d have to remove it from the hinges to get in. She trusted him not to walk in, but it felt unusual to be removing her clothes and getting in the shower with her new neighbour listening out for her well-being. 

Come on, Montrose. Time to keep calm and carry on. Just like that one week in the Blitz.

Heeding her own advice, she gingerly undressed, stepped into the tub and let the shower wash off her thoughts.

Chapter Text

The little bell above the grocery store door jingled as Eleanor stepped inside, her crutches clicking softly against the floor. She’d spent the past two days alone in her apartment, kept company only by a persistent headache, a fractured ankle, and a steadily worsening mood.

The shop wasn’t crowded that Monday afternoon. Moving with care, Eleanor scanned the shelves for simple sustenance: bread, cheese, butter, fruit, vegetables. She was quietly grateful for the convenience of having a grocery store less than 450 yards from her apartment.

She reached for a few green apples.

“Need a hand?” came a familiar voice from behind her.

She froze mid-reach, then turned. Her eyes met Bucky’s.

“I rather think you’ve already given me both of yours, and then some,” she said. “Besides, you don’t look like you could carry more at the moment.”

Bucky’s grin was easy and warm as he shifted the towering pile of groceries in his arms, enough, by the looks of it, to feed even a large Brooklyn family for a week.

“I can always manage more, sweetheart.”

Eleanor blinked. “Are you… is that… my goodness, I don’t know how to talk to you!”

“Do you want my help or not?”

She hesitated. In truth, she’d planned to ask one of the shop staff to deliver the groceries to her door. But help was help.

“Yes, please. If you can keep your mouth shut while doing it.”

“Impossible,” Bucky said cheerfully. “Just ask Steve.”

He flashed another grin and headed toward the till. “Tell me what you need, I’ll get it. You shouldn’t be moving around too much. I heard the doctor.”

Later that afternoon, Eleanor hobbled slowly down the street. A small florist’s shop had caught her eye, its front window brimming with colour, cheerful daisies, delicate tulips, elegant roses, and other blooms she couldn’t name. The scent wafted through the open door and onto the pavement, drawing her in.

Inside, the florist looked up from behind the counter and smiled warmly. “How can I help you today, miss?”

“Good afternoon,” Eleanor said. “I’d like a bouquet, please. Something simple, no more than two or three kinds of flowers. Perhaps some of these?” She pointed toward the snapdragons in their array of vivid colours.

The florist nodded and began selecting stems, combining snapdragons with two other blooms in a soft, harmonious palette. He arranged them delicately, with the confidence of someone who knew beauty by instinct.

“Shall I have them delivered to your address?” he asked, nodding toward her crutches.

“That would be lovely, thank you. 235 Ashford Street, apartment 4B.”

The florist smiled as he wrapped the bouquet in crisp paper. “Coming right up, miss. A lovely way to treat yourself.”

“Yes,” Eleanor said softly. “A lovely way to treat myself indeed.”

A day later, Eleanor was unpacking boxes in the kitchen when a knock came at the door. Even before she opened it, she could hear Steve and Bucky bickering in the hallway.

“…just don’t think I’m a good enough baker, Steve. I think something from the bakery would’ve been better.”

She opened the door to the warm smell of banana bread. Bucky stood there holding a loaf in gloved hands.

“Good evening. How may I help you?”

“I baked this,” Bucky said, holding out the loaf.

“Well done!”

“We, ah, we just wanted to thank you for the flowers.”

“What flowers?”

“The ones you sent us yesterday. They’re lovely.”

“What day was yesterday?”

Bucky squinted at her, then laughed.

“Definitely gotta keep our eyes on this one, Steve! Even concussed and four-legged she outwits me.”

Eleanor stepped back.

“Would you like to come in? I have glasses now, and freshly made lemonade.”

“I’ll get the lemonade,” Steve said quickly. “You should keep that leg elevated. I know where the kitchen is. Please, just sit.”

She watched his back disappear into the kitchen, then used her crutches to make her way to the living room. Bucky smirked at her from the sofa.

“He’s going to make a woman very happy one day. Until then, let’s reap the benefits of Mother Hen Steve.”

“I’ll drink to that.”

Steve returned with three tall glasses of lemonade and a knife.

“I couldn’t find any dessert plates for the banana bread. Are they still boxed up?”

“In a shop somewhere? Undoubtedly. In my apartment? I’m afraid not. I make do with regular old plates while I’m slumming it here with the Yanks. We can use those, or I’m sure I have napkins somewhere, though I couldn’t tell you in what box.”

“Regular old plates, then.”

They settled into a companionable silence, eating banana bread and sipping cold lemonade.

“You sent us flowers,” Steve said at last.

Eleanor looked over. “Yes. I always enjoy receiving them, and I haven’t met anyone who doesn’t. Plus, I thought you might like these native species.”

“That’s an unusual thought. Men give flowers, women receive them. Why would you think either Bucky or I like them?”

“There were two books about garden design and native American plants in your reading nook,” she said. “Also, one of your living room walls is a subtle lavender. That led me to believe at least one of you likes colour. I’m sorry if I misread. You can throw them out if they make you uncomfortable.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged a look.

“You saw those books in all of the twenty seconds you were in our reading nook?”

“I have a good memory for books. A useful trait for a librarian, wouldn’t you say?”

No one spoke for a moment. Eleanor felt a ripple of doubt. Had she truly overstepped?

What are you so worried about, Montrose? They’re just neighbours.

“What are you thinking so hard about, sweetheart?”

“Well, to be honest, I thought we were getting along rather swell, and now I worry I insulted you. I’m also wishing I’d bought you whisky instead. Part of me thinks I’ve rather alarmed you by looking at your books too closely.”

“Bucky’s extremely skilled at letting people know when they’ve given offence.”

“And how about you?”

Bucky guffawed. “Mother Hen Steve just clenches his jaw and avoids whoever’s offended him.”

“Brilliant. So I haven’t offended you. Why the questions? Not that I mind, but you can imagine they unsettled me somewhat.”

“Sounds like you do mind.”

“Only because I try not to offend the people who live next to me, especially the ones who went out of their way to help me when I was helpless.”

“We liked the flowers,” Steve said. “It was an unexpected and unnecessary gift, but very welcome. Thank you.”

Eleanor let out a long breath. “You’re welcome. I liked choosing them for you.”

Bucky stood. “More lemonade?”

Eleanor was still nursing her first glass, but Steve nodded.

“Did you have to take time off work for your foot?” Steve asked.

“No, I’d already been given leave for the move, so that all worked out.”

“You have a generous employer.”

“It’s unpaid, of course. They’ve made it clear that employing me at all is considered a gracious gesture.”

Her expression was tight, her voice layered with frustration and resignation.

“Luckily, my parents have always been supportive, so I shan’t need to survive off this rather excellent banana bread.”

“I don’t think it would sustain you for long, even though you’re not that big,” Bucky said, sporting what Eleanor was already coming to call his usual grin.

“I’m five foot seven, you realise? I often tower over other women, and even a few men.”

“You sure those curls of yours don’t add an inch or five?”

“You really are an imp of impertinence, Sergeant.”

“Interesting coming from Miss ‘Let’s buy flowers and throw all social convention to the wind’.”

Eleanor grimaced.

“Just joking, sweetheart. Truly, the flowers were wonderful.”

Steve studied her face. “Is your head hurting?”

“Not very much.”

“So yes. Come on, Bucky, we’re tiring her out. Don’t get up. We’ll see ourselves out.”

“Take it easy. Let us know if you need anything, alright?” Bucky said.

“Yes, Father.”

They waved and left, closing the door behind them.

Eleanor sat quietly. Had it been too forward of her after all? The look they’d exchanged over her noticing their books still played in her mind.

All this analysing made her head worse. She considered going to bed, but the sofa was comfortable enough. Lying down gently, she closed her eyes and let sleep take her.

Chapter Text

The telephone rang with a shrill insistence, disturbing the quiet hush of Eleanor’s apartment. She frowned, looked up from the book she’d been reading, then set aside her tea and the melting ice pack. She reached for the receiver.

“Hello, this is Eleanor Montrose.”

“Thank heavens, finally,” said the familiar voice on the other end. “I was beginning to worry I’d have to ring the embassy. Are you alive?”

“Hello to you too, George. Yes, I’m alive. There was a small mishap involving a bookcase and some stairs.”

“Are you telling me you tried moving furniture by yourself? And managed to injure yourself in the process?” His voice dropped like a judge’s gavel. “Honestly, how often must you prove you can do everything on your own, flaunting your modern ways until you learn to accept help?”

“I had help, thank you very much. Two of my neighbours assisted me. One even drove me to the hospital.”

There was a long pause.

“You had to go to hospital? And these two, presumably male, neighbours, whom you don’t know from Adam, put you in a car? You could’ve been murdered and thrown into the harbour!”

“I’m not in Boston. And it’s been a while since the Americans tossed our tea into the water, in any case. Truly, George, there’s no pleasing you. You berate me for doing it all myself, then again when I accept help.”

“How did they put you in a car?”

“I leaned on Steve, that’s his name, and he bore most of my weight as I hopped down the stairs.”

“Strapping young man, then, to be able to manage that.”

“He is. Gallant, too. Carried me when I fainted. What would you have done, left me on the ground?”

Her tone was clipped.

George will never miss an opportunity to criticise my height, my weight, my profession, my entire being. Stop letting it get to you, Montrose.

“Gallant, too. Good Lord. You sound like Mother. Careful, you might start calling him ‘chap’ and invite him over for tea.”

“I accepted his flatmate Bucky’s banana bread and we had lemonade together. The corruption was swift and complete.”

Her brother huffed.

“I don’t understand why you couldn’t have stayed at Elmcroft with Mother and Father while you figure things out. Or the place in Belgravia, it sits unused most of the time.”

“I couldn’t breathe in Chilham. And the house in Belgravia is used by you and Charlotte at least every fortnight. Also, I’m not here to figure things out. I’m building a life here. I’m working for New York University, doing something I enjoy, and living in a place that is entirely my own. My future is here.”

George made a dismissive sound.

“A future fetching dusty tomes for uninterested students, hobbling around a walk-up in a city that barely knows your name?”

“Yes. A future that does not match your version of safe or right. Forgive me, wasn’t your version the one where I wouldn’t be welcome in certain rooms of my own house because there’d be gentlemen smoking in them? The one that made room for a man named Percival who thought suffrage was a mistake?”

George was silent for three full heartbeats. Then:

“Still as sharp as ever.”

Eleanor exhaled. “How are Charlotte and Rupert?”

“Oh, you know. Charlotte still wears pearls to the kitchen and insists the tea towels be ironed. It drives poor Mabel up the wall. Rupert is doing splendidly. He can’t wait for his little brother or sister to arrive. In his words, he thinks they’ll be even more fun than the dogs.”

“Is Charlotte holding up? It was very difficult, last time.”

“She’s managing. She doesn’t mention it as much now.”

“Did you ask her to stop? She’s allowed to have her feelings, George.”

“In this case, I listened, to you, and to her. Endlessly. I think she can enjoy the final months now.”

Eleanor hissed in a breath—she’d accidentally put too much weight on her ankle.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Yes, it’s fine.”

“What did the doctor say? What exactly happened?”

“Promise me you won’t immediately tell Mother and Father. I’ll write to them myself.”

“Are we children again, hiding the broken Ming?”

“Fine. I was carrying a bookcase up the stairs, lost control of it, broke my ankle, fell a few steps, and possibly gave myself a minor concussion.”

“You have a brain injury? But you live alone! Can’t you get a nurse? I could fly over and stay for a few weeks, and then maybe Frederick could...”

“Thank you. I appreciate your concern. Steve has some medical knowledge. He and Bucky gave me all the help I needed. I’m managing fine now. I have crutches and I take naps every afternoon.”

“Good Lord, Eleanor. What did their wives think?”

“They’re unmarried. They served together and now share the apartment opposite mine. It’s slightly larger, and they have the most wondrous book collection I’ve seen in a private residence on this side of the Pond.”

“Oh no. Books. No wonder you like them. They cheated.”

She laughed. “You do know me.”

“Ah, Charlotte needs me in the nursery. Probably taking down the curtains to be washed for the third time this year. It’s March, I tell you.”

“I fear for your sanity.”

“I fear for your ankles.”

“Goodbye, George. Give my love to Charlotte and Rupert—and keep a good chunk for yourself.”

“Goodbye, Eleanor. Try not to scandalise the neighbourhood.”

She hung up the receiver and stretched her neck, glancing at the ceiling. Her ankle throbbed and her tea had gone cold—but she felt better than she had all day.

Chapter Text

The next few days passed uneventfully. The Taft twins came by with a drawing of Eleanor on her crutches and a homemade casserole. Mr. Parker handed her a large bag of apples. Little Evelyn Johnson knocked timidly, showed her the fresh fish, and then stayed for two hours to discuss her History assignment on the Roman Empire. Eleanor felt deeply content. She had worried that moving from the boarding house to a full apartment might leave her feeling lonely, but those fears proved entirely unfounded.

On Saturday evening, Bucky joined her for dinner. The Tafts’ casserole was sizzling away in the oven. She had invited Steve as well, but he was leading an art workshop until the summer. Eleanor briefly recalled her brother’s warning not to scandalise the neighbourhood. Bucky was single, and she lived alone; would people gossip? But he had accepted her invitation knowing Steve wouldn’t be able to join them, so she decided to follow his lead.

“How many of these boxes contain books?” he asked, eyeing the stacks.

“Hmm? Oh, maybe fifteen or twenty. I have more back at Elmcroft.”

“And where’s that? London?”

“Elmcroft is the family home in Chilham, in Kent. We also have a place in London, but it’s mostly used when one of us needs to be there for social or business reasons.”

“How many houses does your family have, Lady Montrose?”

“Just the two. That’s quite enough to keep track of.”

“You’re posh!”

“Am I? It’s not that interesting, is it?”

Bucky’s eyes lingered on her face in a way that made her slightly uncomfortable, as if trying to peer inside her head.

What is he looking for? Does he have X-ray vision?

“Not that interesting, I suppose.”

He cleared his throat. “These books are more interesting, for sure. This box contains nothing but volumes about military alliances in nineteenth-century Europe, for instance.”

“I have a degree in history. Nineteenth-century Europe wasis, my specialty. At some point, it became too cumbersome to go to the library and borrow the books, so I just obtained them for myself.”

“Spoken like a true posh girl.”

She gave him a wry smile.

“Posh isn’t a bad thing. That’s where you come from.”

He placed the box on the sofa beside her.

“The casserole should be at the perfect temperature now. I’ll take it out of the oven. Can you manage to the dining table?”

Eleanor said nothing as he brought the casserole to the table. He served her first, then himself. After a few bites, he put down his fork.

“Something troubling you, sweetheart?”

“How did you know the casserole was done? It was supposed to take forty-five minutes, and it’d barely been half an hour. But I’m eating it now, and you were right, the temperature is perfect. How did you know?”

Bucky made a show of wiping his spotless mouth on a napkin.

“It’s the Taft casserole, you told me that. I know it takes half an hour. I’ve had it before. Maybe you didn’t hear right, or the twins told you the wrong time.”

He picked up his fork again and continued eating.

“Good theory. But Mrs. Taft told me the time and temperature this morning.”

He paused.

“I guess I just have a very good nose for when casseroles are best.”

“I guess you do. You also have a very good back for lifting heavy bookcases—and women.”

“Are you calling yourself heavy?”

“I’m ten and a half stone, and you’re trying to change the subject.”

“Stone? Who knows what a stone weighs?”

“Dear heavens, Bucky! It’s about 145 pounds, I do believe. I have no issues with it; I’m simply saying you lifted me—very easily.”

“You were barely conscious when I lifted you, doll. Anyway, I was in the military. Now I have a physical job. Plenty of muscle to go around, you see.”

He made a ridiculous show of flexing his biceps.

“I’m not trying to get you in trouble. If you can’t tell me you have super-smell because you were secretly born and raised on Krypton, that’s alright.”

“How cute. You think I’m Superman.”

“As long as you’re not Lex Luthor.”

“And she knows her comics. Is there no end to your talents?”

“I have some difficulty walking at the moment. Carrying bookcases up several flights of stairs is definitely not on my list of skills.”

She grinned at Bucky, then reached out her hand to him but changed her mind halfway and picked up her fork instead.

“You really don’t need to tell me your secrets. I’d prefer you didn’t lie, though.”

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

After dinner, they played two games of Scrabble. Bucky won the first with sweetheart, which he swore was entirely coincidental. The second round went to Eleanor, mostly thanks to triple points for quixotic. This earned her a grumbled, “You’re too clever by half, Montrose.”

At eight o’clock, he glanced at the clock.

“My nose smells it’s time for me to go. Have a good night and sleep well.”

Eleanor had to fight not to roll her eyes.

“I wish you and your nose a pleasant rest.”

On Tuesday, she met Steve at the post boxes in the lobby, clutching a letter to her parents.

“How’s the leg? Your head okay?”

“Just fine, thank you. No dizziness, no nausea, just some sensitivity to loud noises. So it’s a good thing my job doesn’t allow those.”

“When are you back to work?”

“In a week. I’m going to the hospital on Friday for my ankle check-up.”

“Will you accept a ride?”

Eleanor wanted to run. She did.

“I will graciously accept. My appointment is at ten. Does that work for you?”

“Friday’s my drawing day. I can work around you.”

That Friday, at half past nine, Steve helped her down the stairs, then into the car, and into the waiting room. She leaned toward him.

“I can take a taxi back. It wouldn’t be too difficult.”

“Have you always been this reluctant to accept help?”

“I was trying to be considerate, but fine. I hope my appointment runs late.”

“Miss Montrose?”

Of course, she was called in early.

Not five minutes later, she was out of the examination room, grinning widely.

“All good! I can leave the crutches here, and my head was fine, too.”

Steve smiled his warm smile.

“We should celebrate, then. Will you come to our place for dinner tonight? No doubt Bucky will want to check your head is fine for himself.”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow.

“Is that medical concern or plain nosiness?”

Steve’s mouth twitched.

“Let’s call it neighbourly investment.”

She gave a theatrical sigh.

“Very well. Dinner it is.”

They stepped out into the spring sunlight, the air brisk but pleasant. Steve opened the car door for her.

“What time should I come by?”

“Half past six? I’ll tell Bucky to put the kettle on.”

“Oh, how very British of you.”

Steve laughed.

“I’ll take that as a compliment.”

She settled into the passenger seat as Steve started the engine.

“It’s very kind of you both,” she said quietly as they pulled into traffic.

“You’ve had a rough few weeks. We’re just glad you’re on the mend.”

Eleanor nodded, looking out the window with a smile.

“Yes. So am I.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor eyed herself critically in the mirror. She was wearing a periwinkle blue dress with a white sash, and she thought she might be overdoing it for a casual Friday dinner, but after weeks of simple green and grey dresses, she felt like making a bit more of an effort.

Bucky is sure to comment on this. Wait, is that why I chose it?

She frowned at her reflection, then shrugged and applied some lipstick in a pink shade. She pinned her curls up the usual way so at least they wouldn’t get in her face. Feeling somewhat silly, she waved at herself and walked out the door.

Before she had even raised her hand to knock, the door swung open. Steve froze in the doorway. His eyes took her in, from her face to her shoes. He stood there so long, Eleanor briefly worried something was wrong.

"Steve?" she prompted. "Still breathing?"

Just as she was about to say more, Bucky reached the door.

"Hey Steve, what are you...whoa!"

He let out a low whistle, then waved his hand in Steve’s face.

"I can see she’s pretty tonight, bud, but are you going to invite her in?"

Steve scowled.

"Forgive my manners, please. And his. Honestly Bucky, what would your mother say?"

"She’d say flowers are only nice to look at if you take the time, so I guess you managed that."

They both stepped back, allowing Eleanor to come in.

"Can I help out at all?"

"Sweetheart, looking like that, your only job is to be our guest. Make yourself at home."

Steve smiled his best smile and disappeared into the kitchen. Bucky followed him.

Eleanor walked into the living room. The dinner table had been set and she didn’t want to sit down just yet, so she looked around. Last time she’d been here, she hadn’t paid much attention to the walls. Now she noticed they were mostly covered in drawings and paintings. There were faces, landscapes, city views. She took her time appreciating the sure lines and vivid colours. Her favourite was probably the field of poppies, a hint of sea in the background.

Then she spotted a small drawing mostly hidden behind a large plant. She brushed the leaves aside to get a better look. It was Bucky, asleep, his face peaceful and happy. Blankets were bunched around his waist, and Steve had taken great care with the detail of his chest and legs. His right arm was underneath him, but the left was stretched across his chest. Eleanor squinted.

Was that metal?

She frowned, leaning closer. A prosthetic? No, it looked too sleek, too sculpted, like something out of science fiction.

Heart suddenly hammering in her chest, she stepped back. She had the unpleasant feeling the drawing wasn’t meant for her eyes. Quickly, she turned to the bookshelf instead. A few H.G. Wells novels stood in a row. She hadn’t read When the Sleeper Wakes and reached for its spine.

"Dinner first, books later."

"Yes, Father."

"That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day."

"That’s what my actual father used to say to me."

"He sounds like a wise man."

Steve pulled her chair back for her, while Bucky carried a large, steaming pot to the table.

"Just stew and bread, but it’s been chilly and this always warms me."

Eleanor sniffed deeply.

"I feel warmer already."

Conversation turned to Bucky’s recent issues at the motor pool. He was annoyed by the expectation that he’d turn up the moment they called.

"You could always just freelance, like I do."

"Absolutely. I’ll do that the minute I can earn enough money for rent and food by working when I feel like it. People aren’t willing to just throw it at me. What a shame, eh?"

"If you always cook as well as this, why not consider a culinary job? This is truly delicious."

"Why thank you, doll. It’s one of my favourite recipes."

"Oh, can I have it? I’d love to try it myself one time."

"I could give it to you, but then I’d have to kill you," he said with a smirk, and then his face crumpled, as if the words had clawed something loose inside him. The look on his face was one of utter agony.

His hands knotted themselves in his hair. Before she could speak, Steve was out of his chair, holding Bucky, whispering in his ear.

"I’m so sorry, can I do anything? Should I get some water, or is he on medication?"

Steve didn’t respond. He was rubbing Bucky’s back slowly but firmly, whispering so softly that Eleanor was surprised even Bucky could hear him.

Hesitantly, she stood up. She wondered if she should clear the table, but decided it might be best to just leave them be. Steve seemed to know what he was doing.

One minute later, she was back in her apartment. The anguished look on Bucky’s face was all she could see. It reminded her of people’s faces during the War. Her feet carried her back almost automatically.

Steve and Bucky were still in the same position. Eleanor knelt in front of Bucky, leaning mostly on her left leg, careful not to touch him, and started singing the first song that came to her head.

"When I was just a little girl, I asked my mother, what will I be…"

She could feel Steve watching her, but she kept her eyes on Bucky.

"Will I be pretty, will I be rich, here’s what she said to me: que sera sera, whatever will be, will be…"

She pushed herself through the next verses, remembering the people outside in 1940, rendered speechless but with haunted faces.

"I asked my sweetheart, what lies ahead: will we have rainbows, day after day, here’s what my sweetheart said…"

Bucky was now making soft noises, high and pitiful. Eleanor didn’t want to think of a dog, whining, but the picture came to her anyway: him, on his knees, seeing things no one should see and just falling to pieces.

"Children of my own, they ask their mother: what will I be? Will I be handsome, will I be rich…"

He was crying now, shaking so hard that even Steve moved with him. But at least his hands had left his hair; now they gripped Steve’s shirt like it was a lifeline.

"What will be, will be."

With the end of the song, Eleanor chanced a look at Bucky’s face. It was no longer contorted in pain. He was looking at her in quiet disbelief. She got up a little awkwardly and walked to the kitchen. She came back with two glasses of water and placed them gently on the table.

Steve, holding Bucky with one arm, handed her a napkin with the other.

"Ah, thank you. What for?"

"Your face."

She touched her cheeks and was surprised to find them wet. Had she been crying, too?

Eleanor wiped her face on the napkin.

"Shall I empty the table or perhaps make some tea?"

No answer. She touched Steve lightly on the shoulder. He flinched.

"Would you prefer I leave?"

He looked at Bucky, still staring at Eleanor with that look of disbelief, then shook his head.

"If you don’t mind, maybe sing another song?"

She thought of her favourite Andrews Sisters song, but decided against it. Too military. Then the right tune came to her.

"Des yeux qui font baisser les miens, un rire qui se perd sur sa bouche…"

Steve rose slowly and gestured for Eleanor to sit in the chair next to Bucky.

"…il me prend dans ses bras, qu’il me parle tout bas…"

Steve grabbed the glass of water and downed it in one gulp. He held the other glass in front of Bucky’s face, gently lifting it.

"…et ça m’fait quelque chose…"

Bucky opened his mouth and took a few sips, then gently pushed the glass away.

"…dont je connais la cause…"

"Steve."

"Yes, Buck?"

"Is she here?"

"Eleanor? Yes, she’s right there. She’s singing. If you stretch your right hand, you’ll feel her next to you."

"…mon coeur qui bat…"

Bucky touched her shoulder. Slowly, so he could see every move, she put her hand on his.

"…je vois la vie en rose…"

Steve raised the glass again, but Bucky took it himself with his left hand and drank the rest. Then he wiped his face with his gloved hand.

"…tu me l’as dit, ma’s juré pour la vie…"

"…la la la la la."

Eleanor stopped singing. Bucky leaned into Steve, but his right hand remained on her shoulder.

"I feel so tired, Stevie."

Steve took Bucky’s arm, leading him to what appeared to be the bathroom. Eleanor gathered the half-empty plates and brought them to the kitchen. Would they want the food later, or should it be discarded like a bad memory? She heaped everything onto one plate, then washed the others. She was drying the glasses when Steve returned.

He looked at her for a long time, his face unreadable.

"Will Bucky be OK?"

"Yeah."

"This wasn’t the first time."

"No. It won’t be the last."

"Are you OK?"

He gave her a half-smile.

"I will get there, too."

She clumsily patted him on the back.

"I’ll go home now. Don’t forget to take care of yourself."

"Yes, Mom."

"That mouth is going to get you in trouble one day."

Another half-smile.

Eleanor was almost at the door when she felt his hand on her shoulder. She turned.

"Wait. Thank you. I don’t think you realise what this means. For him. For me."

"I was just trying to help. Trying to be someone trustworthy. Like Bucky and you have been for me."

"A neighbourly investment?"

"A friend."

Steve put his arms around her shoulders, hugging her tightly. She hugged him back.

Later, in the quiet solitude of her bathroom, Eleanor let her emotions go freely. She cried for Bucky, for Steve, for her own memories. She cried until she had no more tears, but when she took the towel from the hook, she felt lighter. Sleep came to her easily, and her dreams were free.

Chapter Text

On Saturday morning, Eleanor woke late. The sun was already high, spilling golden light through the gap in the curtains. For a moment, she didn’t move. Her eyes traced the ceiling, following its familiar lines as her breath evened out. She was in a contemplative mood.

The towel from last night was still draped over the bathroom hook. Her fingers brushed it absently as she passed, and the ghost of Steve’s arms seemed to settle around her shoulders and back.

She brewed tea. Let it steep too long. She drank it anyway.

The flat was still, soft-edged, and slightly too bright. She thought about reading but didn't. She thought about writing to her mother but couldn't find the words. Instead, she opened the windows, let in the street sounds of Brooklyn, and sat in the sunlight with her feet up.

When she went out for fresh fruit and bread, she found a single daisy in a long-stemmed vase in front of her door. Her hands trembled as she placed the vase on her vanity.

Later, she wrote a single line in her journal: He cried and didn’t run. I sang and didn’t break.

She tore the page out, folded it, and tucked it into the back of her drawer. Not for forgetting, just for later.

The last thing she looked at before she fell asleep was the daisy.

The library smelled the same: old paper, warm wood polish, and chalk dust. Eleanor wasn’t sure why this surprised her.

She paused just inside the staff room, letting the weight of familiarity settle onto her shoulders like a cardigan. Mr Rizzoli waved at her holding his steaming mug of coffee.

‘You’re back!’ said Mrs Kaufman, emerging from behind the kettle.
‘While you were off gallivanting and breaking bones, Professor Jenkins tried to do your job. I hope you enjoy re-shelving The Strange Career of Jim Crow under Military Operations.’

Eleanor groaned.
‘And you didn’t think to stop him?’

‘I had my hands full with the new arrivals.’
She gestured at three piles of books on the Marshall Plan. Eleanor leafed through them and started a conversation about the best place to shelve them. A few minutes later, she was joined by Mr Tippance, the archivist.

Not long before the end of the day, a young man carrying a leather-bound notebook approached her.

‘Excuse me. Are you Eleanor Montrose?’

‘Yes, that’s me. May I help you?’

‘Professor Still recommended I come to see you. I’m working on a paper about Napoleon, mostly before he was exiled to Elba. I’m trying to find some primary sources beyond the standard biographies, but I’m not sure where to start.’

Eleanor smiled.
‘For true primary sources, you’ll want the Rare Collections. You’ll need to make an appointment, and you may only enter the room under supervision. However, if you simply want to explore his rise to power, with some focus on his military campaigns…’

She walked to the French history section, pulling a few books from the shelf and setting them carefully on the table.

‘…and his political manoeuvres, then it’s important to remember he was more than a man of battle. His campaigns, while fascinating, don’t show this side of him enough. His political strategies were equally crucial—perhaps even more so. Napoleon was enormously skilled at consolidating power and making the right alliances. This one is good for his rise to power in the early 1800s, but this one here contains correspondence with generals and officials. It’s more scholarly, and his personal letters provide real insight into his thinking. This last one is all about his legacy, what happened after the battles.’

‘I didn’t realise there’d be so much about his politics. Most people focus on his military power.’

‘True, but you can’t separate the military from the reforms. The battles show how he gained power. The reforms show what he did with it. Oh—this is invaluable, too. A translation of his speeches. He had such a knack for rhetoric. We’ve seen more recently how much damage, or power, can be wielded by a convincing voice.’

‘I never thought about that. I’ll check out these four. Thank you, Eleanor. This will really help me get a better angle.’

‘You’re very welcome. Let me know if you need more help. I’m here every day we’re open except Friday.’

The student picked up his stack of books and walked to the check-out counter. Eleanor returned to her desk, quietly pleased.

At home, she sorted the post. One envelope bore her name but no stamp. Inside was a pink sheet of paper: a thank-you note from Evelyn Johnson, grateful for help with her Roman Empire assignment.

On the stairs, Mr Osborne called out an invitation: dessert with him and his wife at eight.
Her evening was spent politely declining second, third, and fourth helpings of an overly sweet Victorian sponge. She listened to their stories about their eldest daughter in Vermont and their youngest son, apparently a reformed wild child.

Eleanor was in bed by ten, exhausted. She glanced at the daisy on her vanity.

‘Good night, guys.’

Chapter Text

On Wednesday morning, Eleanor was walking to the subway when a car honked right next to her. Startled, she looked up, only to find Steve waving at her from the driver’s seat. He rolled down the window.

"Are you on your way to work? Want a ride?"

She nodded and quickly sat down next to him. The sunlight hit his face, making his blue eyes shimmer. Eleanor felt the sudden, wildly inappropriate urge to touch his cheek.

Lord Almighty. Keep it together, Montrose.

"How long have you been working at the library?"

"I started in September ’54 as a shelving assistant. That was a month after I moved here from Kent."

"What brought you here? You’re a long way from home."

"No, I’m not. This is home now. Anyway, I’d met someone while doing my degree, and he got a good offer with Macmillan. We were serious enough that I moved with him."

"Macmillan, the publisher?"

"That’s right. Arthur studied English Literature, and I’d just finished my degree. I wanted to get away from Chilham, and New York seemed like a good idea."

"When did it stop being a good idea?"

"New York? It hasn’t. Arthur and I stopped being a good idea two years ago."

Steve looked at the road, his fingers lightly drumming on the steering wheel.

"What were you doing out so early?"

"Running errands."

Eleanor bit her lip. She glanced sideways at Steve.

"How’s Bucky?"

His expression softened.

"He’s fine. Somewhat in awe of this new neighbour of ours, who, I have to say, has the most unexpected sweet singing voice."

"My brother George always says that’s the only sweet thing about me."

"He must not know you very well."

"Perhaps you don’t, either."

He took his eyes off the road for a moment, glancing down at her.

"Would you like me to?"

"I’m not sure you’d like it very much."

"Eleanor, can you just answer the question?"

"Yes, Sir."
She did a mock salute.

He waited.

"I believe I’ve given every indication that I would, yes."

Steve pursed his lips, shaking his head slightly.

"I let you drive me to the hospital, and now I’m here again. Isn’t that a sign two people are getting to know each other?"

"You let me…?"

"I know you were doing me a favour, Steve! It’s not easy for me to accept those. Please."

"Now I know you a little better."

"I’m sure you regret this immediately," Eleanor muttered under her breath.

Of course, he heard it anyway.

"You said you wanted to be my friend. I want to know my friend. To understand her."

"Couldn’t you have started with an easy question? Like my favourite colour?"

"You don’t have one."

She stared at him.

"Your dresses, the flowers, the art in your apartment; none of it’s one specific colour. Your favourite colour is whatever you decide it is in that moment."

"Perceptive."

"What’s your favourite animal?"

She chuckled.

"A manatee."

"Those slow dolphin things?"

"They’re curious, friendly, easily approachable but vulnerable. They live a slow life, but I don’t think they’re slow. They form lasting bonds, even with non-family members."

"Why do you know so much about them?"

Eleanor told him about the school project, how the other kids had teased her for picking an animal that was fat and ugly.

"I got my revenge, though. My assignment got the highest mark."

The rest of the ride passed in silence. Steve pulled into a parking spot.

"Will we see you again Friday evening? Maybe a little less intense this time."

"If you’re willing to risk it, so am I."

He got out and opened her door. As she climbed out, her hand brushed his.

An unexpected surge of feeling raced from her fingertips to settle low in her abdomen. Eleanor looked at Steve with wide eyes, a blush rising in her cheeks. His eyes sparkled. He took her hand. It could have been a friendly thing. It should have been.
It wasn’t.

"Have a good day at work."

Eleanor wrenched herself away without speaking. She felt his eyes on her back, burning. The rest of the day, she was warm.

On Friday morning, she paced her apartment until her feet carried her out the door. By the time she returned, it still wasn’t noon. Mrs Kennedy was in her doorway.

"Hello, dear, how are you? Settling in okay? Is your ankle feeling better? Do come in for some tea."

Mrs Kennedy busied herself with the kettle, chattering about her sons, daughters-in-law, and grandchildren. The youngest grandson had just turned two and was climbing everything in sight, including people. Eleanor let her speak, offering only the occasional "Is that right?" or "Good."

"I do believe you’re making friends with 4B, dear? How lovely for them. They had a hard life in the war, you see, but they’re ever so polite. Always offering to help when my hot water won’t work, or I need a ride, or bringing fresh bread from the good baker, not that awful one down the street. I’m sure you’ve noticed Bucky always keeps his glove on. I believe he’s ashamed of his prosthetic arm, probably made of metal, I heard it clang once, but it must be tough. Metal’s such a heavy material to be dragging around all day."

Eleanor nodded silently, but her thoughts were racing. She could clearly remember Bucky’s hands in her hair, knotting it. Both hands. Before that, he’d lifted her from the stairs. What kind of prosthetic functioned like that? What prosthetic had movable fingers?

"…Those people upstairs can be a little rowdy. I don’t mind them, but I do wonder if this is the best place for them. Perhaps they’d be better off with more of their kind?"

"The Taft family?"

"No, the Johnsons. You know, we already had Mr and Mrs Suarez, but then Mr Quincy passed and they moved in."

"I think they’re very nice. Little Evelyn brought me fresh fish when I was still confined to the house, and we talked about her history assignment. I haven’t noticed any rowdiness."

"Well, yes, but… they are different, aren’t they?"

Eleanor got up.

"Thank you very much for the tea, Mrs Kennedy. I have to get going."

"Come back anytime, dear."

Furious with Mrs Kennedy, and the world in general, Eleanor buried herself in a book about the Interbellum. She was so engrossed, she forgot to have lunch. Her rumbling tummy finally forced her to glance at the clock. Nearly six.

She rushed to fix her hair. The dress she’d put on that morning was less fancy than last week’s, but that might be for the best. Nothing to remind her, or them, of that moment. She freshened up and took the vase the daisy had been in. She’d had to throw it out that morning.

Bucky let her in with his usual grin, announcing he’d made lasagna. A small basket of bread sat waiting on the dining table, and Eleanor, hungry enough not to wait, took a piece.

"Hey now, we’re not having dinner yet. Patience is a virtue."

Looking him straight in the eye, Eleanor picked up another piece and nibbled it.

"Now who’s the imp of impertinence?"

"I forgot to have lunch."

"How does one forget to have lunch?"

"I was reading a book about the Interbellum, the time between the wars. It was so good I just forgot everything else."

The conversation turned to her favourite books — Frankenstein and The Lord of the Rings — then to her least favourite: Clarissa. Dinner was delicious again, and afterward, they moved to the sofa. Steve put on some music. Eleanor smiled, recognising the dulcet tones of Nat King Cole.

"Where did you learn about the singing?"

She didn’t have to ask what he meant.

"I was in London. During the Blitz. I’d been staying with my aunt in Westminster. It didn’t see the worst of the bombs, but it was bad. Very bad."

She paused. Both men looked at her.

"I was scared, even though we had the relative safety of a bunker, so I sang to myself while the bombs fell. It made me feel better. Not much, but enough. Then, when it was safe, we went outside. I saw a little girl. I remember thinking how small she was, I was only ten myself. She wasn’t crying. She just sat in the doorway. The rest of her house was gone. She was clutching a doll. I could see her mother behind her. I’d never seen a dead person before. I was so afraid, I started singing again, and the little girl held my hand. I didn’t know it would help, that’s not why I did it then, but I saw your face, Bucky, and suddenly I saw her. I needed to sing. It was a selfish act, really."

"Why do you think it was selfish? It helped me."

"I’m glad it did. But I did it for myself. It was hard to see you like that. You’re my friend. I had to change it."

Bucky looked at Steve.

"Help me out here, bud. She’s being ridiculous, right?"

Steve sat a little too straight.

"Speaking as someone who’s also your friend… yeah, it was hard. But I don’t think singing out of fear — or to help someone — is ever selfish."

Eleanor got up and walked to the window, gazing out at the street below.

"You both fought in the war. Mrs Kennedy told me. I don’t think my fear can come close to what you’ve experienced."

"It’s not a competition, sweetheart."

She shrugged.

"We were grown men. We enlisted. You were a child. Fear is fear."

"How old are you?"

She glanced back at them over her shoulder.

"You seem barely older than me, but if you enlisted, surely you were at least eighteen?"

"Steve was born in 1918. I’m from 1917. We just age well."

"Indeed."

"Mind going all Miss Marple again?"

"I was partial to Nancy Drew as a child."

Bucky laughed. The sound was so welcome that Eleanor laughed with him.
When she left their apartment later, Friday dinner was no longer a question. It was a promise.

Chapter Text

Eleanor marked each Friday on her calendar with a tiny dot of light blue ink. Not for dramatic flair, but because she liked the way it stood out, one small promise tucked in among grocery lists and telephone calls with her family.

April filled itself in, quietly and quickly. There were walks in lighter coats, then the first sheen of sweat as she decided to walk home from work one night. She regretted it the next morning, when her calves and feet voiced their protest.

One pleasant Sunday afternoon, she had a friend come over. Eleanor had met Janet while they both lived at the boarding house. Vivacious and naturally cheerful, Janet had stolen everyone’s heart. She brought a lovely tart lemon cake, and Eleanor brewed some sweet tea to complement the flavour.

“How are you settling in here? I can’t believe you live alone! It’s just wild!”

“I lived alone at The Bedford House.”

“You know what I mean, though! You have this entire place to yourself. With a kitchen.”

Janet threw the kitchen a longing look. She used the kitchen from top to bottom whenever Mrs Hinge, the landlady, let her. Maybe once a month.

“It is nice to have the house to myself, yes. For instance, I can have a shower at any time of day. True freedom.”

“Aren’t you a little lonely? You come home to an empty living room every day. Or have you finally snatched up a man somewhere?”

“Not really. I talk to the neighbours a lot. Sometimes more than I’d like. I have dinner at 4B every Friday.”

“Is she a good cook?”

“Both men are good cooks, actually, but Bucky has the more adventurous palate, I’d say.”

“Two bachelors? Are they a good age? From a respectable background?”

“Good lord, Janet, you sound like my brother! Bucky is 40, Steve is 38, or maybe 39? I’m not sure. I don’t know about their backgrounds. They fought in the war and now Steve draws and Bucky is a mechanic. They’re amazing neighbours, very helpful.”

“You mean you let them be helpful to you? How did I not read about this in the New York Times?”

“Oh hush, trouble. I’m saying it’s good to have them there. They make the place feel like home.”

“Then why not see if one of them would fit in your actual home with you? If they’re good men, what’s stopping you?”

Because I don’t want one of them with me. I want… don’t you dare finish that sentence, Montrose.

Eleanor shook herself mentally.

“It’s not that easy. They’re complicated. Some shell shock. Also, it’s not like I can just take one and put him here. They’re not decorations.”

As if on cue, there was a knock at the door. Steve stood there with a letter in his hand. Eleanor saw her mother’s familiar writing on the envelope.

“This was delivered to ours by mistake. I was home before I noticed and figured I might as well drop it off personally.”

“Thank you, Steve. It’s from Mother. This is Janet Montgomery, by the way. We lived together at The Bedford House, my previous lodgings.”

Steve inclined his head. “Nice to meet you, Janet.”

“Pleasure’s all mine, Steve.”

Eleanor closed the door.

“Not decorations? That man is quite the dish! He’s got the kind of smile that makes you weak in the knees.”

There was a cough outside in the hallway. Eleanor tensed, but the walls and doors were thick. He couldn’t have heard them.

“Heavens almighty, Janet. I need to live here after you leave. I’m not trying to marry him. Or anyone else, for that matter. So, let’s talk about you. How have things been?”

Janet spoke at length about the new tenant who took far too long in the bathroom every morning, her parents trying to set her up with only the most boring men in New York City, and her teaching job. Eleanor’s cheeks hurt from laughing by the time she saw her friend out.

That evening, she curled up in her armchair with her mother’s letter. Her mother had a way of writing that meant whatever didn’t get mentioned was most likely taking up most of her attention at the time. Her parents were planning to travel to the Continent for the summer while Elmcroft underwent some renovations. Eleanor gleaned her father’s biggest concern was leaving Frederick alone for a month, while her mother fretted about the dogs and horses and whether the staff would look after them properly. Shaking her head fondly, she read the last paragraph. Her mother asked how she was doing and how her leg was healing, if she needed anything, and implored her to write back soon.

Eleanor moved the letter to the folder of correspondence in the desk she kept in her spare room. She would write back soon, but not that day.

On the last Friday of the month, Eleanor decided to try to recreate Janet’s delectable lemon cake. She made a lemon glaze to be poured over just before serving.

Bucky eyed the cake all through dinner and dipped one finger in the glaze as Eleanor fetched dessert plates... because Steve and Bucky had dessert plates.

“If you’re interested in keeping that finger, Barnes, you’d better keep it out of my glazing.”

He choked on his water.

She waved a serrated knife at him threateningly.

“Not a word. Not a single word.”

She poured the glaze over the cake, then cut off three neat slices. Bucky devoured his almost instantly.

“Mind if I have another?” Without waiting for her answer, he cut off another, considerably bigger slice.

Steve laughed, leaning closer to Eleanor.

“You know, if you keep bringing treats like this, I might start looking forward to Fridays more than I should.”

Eleanor’s cheeks warmed as she met Steve’s gaze, then glanced away, feeling the flutter in her chest.

“I had ulterior motives, I must confess.”

“Oh, Miss Montrose, you’re breaking my heart.”

“I was hoping one of you could help me affix a bookcase to the wall soon.”

“Sure, I’ll be by tomorrow evening. Steve will be running that workshop anyway.”

Bucky showed up the next evening with a heavy toolbox in hand. He flashed her his usual grin.

“Ready to have your walls made safe by a professional?”

“I’m counting on you! If this thing falls, my whole life’s in danger. Again.”

“We wouldn’t want that. Again. I’ll start with these brackets.”

“I really appreciate this, Bucky. I know it’s not exactly what you do.”

“Fix things? Of course I do.”

They worked side by side. He asked her to hand him a tool now and then. Her hand would brush his more than was strictly necessary. When he was done, he nodded at a few boxes she had yet to unpack.

“Shall we shelve those?”

“I can manage fine on my own, but I wouldn’t say no either.”

He held a well-worn copy of Brave New World.

“I liked this one. Not my favourite, but still.”

He leafed through it, and a bookmark fell out.

Eleanor picked it up, but when she straightened, his face was right there.

“You got very close.”

“Yeah. Feels about right.”

Her breath hitched and her heart sped up.

“Careful, Sergeant Barnes. That’s a dangerous game you’re playing.”

He chuckled in a low voice. The sound went straight to her belly.

“Danger’s kind of my thing.”

Back off, Montrose.

“And what about me? Am I dangerous?”

Truly, you’re impossible.

“Definitely.”

He raised his hand. His gloved hand. Slowly, he brushed a stray curl behind her ear. He lingered at her cheek.

She swallowed hard. Somehow, she made herself step back.

“Thanks for the bookcase.”

“Anytime, sweetheart. Whatever you need.”

She didn’t think he was talking about the bookcase.

After he left, she had a shower. She stood under the stream until the water ran cold, not because she needed to be clean, but because sometimes, in the quiet, she could imagine things she wasn’t allowed to want. When she got out, she wasn’t sure she felt any cleaner at all.

Chapter Text

It was an unseasonably hot day in May. Eleanor had splurged on an ice cream maker a few days earlier and had gone out for cream, strawberries, and vanilla. She still had a nearly full bottle of milk in the icebox and enough sugar to last her through a cold winter.

She was sweating heavily while cranking the machine every half hour, but somehow the mixture wouldn’t reach the texture she wanted. After four attempts, she gave up. Bucky and Steve would have to go without dessert tonight. The poached fish and scalloped potatoes with green beans were ready, at least.

She changed into a dusty pink sleeveless dress that reminded her of roses. Without checking the mirror, she headed out.

Bucky opened the door and stared at her.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, nothing at all!” But he sounded like he was suppressing laughter.

“Steve is drawing on the balcony.”

Eleanor left the dinner on the table and stepped outside. Steve was in a simple white T-shirt, a sketchbook on his lap, the street below coming to life under his pencil. She looked at the drawing, but found herself distracted by the way his muscular arms tensed with precision, by the focus on his face. After a moment, Steve looked up at her.

“What happened?”

“What do you mean?”

He stood and took her hand. Her tummy flipped like she was on the Coney Island Cyclone. He let go once they reached the bathroom mirror. She gasped.

A line of cream and sugar streaked from her nose to her jaw.

“Excuse me, I need to kill Bucky.”

She stormed back to the dining table.

“How could you let me walk in like this?!”

Bucky grinned. “Come on, sweetheart. Can’t take a joke?”

“This is entirely undignified!”

“Can’t argue with you there, doll.”

She growled at him and stalked back to the bathroom. Steve ran a washcloth under tepid water and handed it to her. She scrubbed her face until it was spotless and slightly pink.

Eleanor sat down at the table, resolutely refusing to look at Bucky. She served Steve, then herself, making a point of saying, “Enjoy your meal.”

Bucky chuckled and filled his plate. Even two months into their weekly dinners, she was still surprised by how much they ate. She knew they went running together most mornings, but their appetite was unlike anything she’d seen in Arthur, her brothers, or any of her classmates. She’d filed it away under Steve and Bucky are odd.

Halfway through the meal, Bucky said, “You didn’t make dessert. Or was your face dessert?”

“Very funny, Barnes. I tried to make strawberry ice cream and ended up with strawberry cream slush. I think I didn’t add enough salt to the canister. So, no dessert.”

“Do you still have the slush?”

“In the icebox. But honestly, I wouldn’t bother.”

Bucky got up the second his plate was clean and returned with the tub and three spoons. He took a bite and slurped the semi-liquid contents.

“Tastes great. It’s not ice cream, but maybe we’ve invented something new.”

Eleanor eyed him, then tried some herself. It wasn’t the worst thing she’d ever made. Feeling suddenly mischievous, she dipped her spoon again and asked, while looking at Bucky’s chest:

“Hey, what’s that on your shirt?”

Bucky glanced down. Eleanor wiped her spoon across his nose.

Steve burst out laughing as Bucky gaped. She gave him a wicked smile.

“Turnabout’s only fair, Barnes.”

“Oh, you’re going to regret that, sweetheart.”

In a flash, he smeared cream slush along her wrist and up her forearm. Eleanor grabbed a fork and left her chair. Seconds later, she had Bucky cornered on the balcony.

“You will clean this, or meet Mr Fork. He’s had a very bad day.”

“Not Mr Fork. Anything but that.”

She pointed imperiously toward the bathroom, then waited outside while he fetched the cloth. Bucky took her hand and gently cleaned her arm. His steely grey eyes met hers. The moment should not have lit her nerves on fire. But it did.

Eleanor cleared her throat. “Steve?”

Bucky didn’t move.

“Are the two of you done?”

“Ask him!”

“I was asking you.”

“I was done before it started.”

Sighing, Steve walked over. “What is it?”

“Can you put on some music?”

He chose something jazzy she didn’t recognise.

“Where’d you get this record player?”

“Bucky’s mom bought it for us. For him, I mean. For this apartment.”

“I have a bunch of records. I should get a player.”

“Want me to help? We could look at some tomorrow.”

“Sure. Tomorrow morning?”

Bucky flopped onto the sofa. “What about me?”

“Bad men who smear cream slush on unsuspecting ladies are not invited.”

Steve and Eleanor walked into Gimbels the next morning. Console models lined the shelves, but Eleanor dismissed them immediately. A hopeful salesperson approached.

“Looking for anything in particular today?”

“I’d like a record player. One of the suitcase styles.”

“Absolutely, ma’am.”

He launched into a pitch about RPMs, amplifiers, and speakers. Eleanor nodded politely, but Steve looked genuinely engaged. When the man finally paused for breath, Steve asked:

“Can we hear this Zenith?”

“Certainly, sir.”

Doris Day’s voice filled the store. When I was just a little girl…

Eleanor and Steve smiled softly at each other.

“I’ll take it.”

Steve carried the player up to her apartment and set it on the dining table.

“Want me to install it?”

“I’m sure I can manage.”

“I don’t doubt it.”

“Steve.”

“Eleanor.”

She ran a hand through her hair in frustration.

“Let me have the dignity of doing something myself.”

Steve sighed deeply and turned to go. She reached out and touched his shoulder.

“Thank you. For coming with.”

He turned so quickly she nearly missed it, then brushed her brow with his lips, so lightly she could almost convince herself it hadn’t happened. He was gone before she could say a word.

The heat in May seemed to stretch on endlessly. A few weeks later, Eleanor woke with her sheets clinging to her skin. She showered, put on the lightest dress she could find, and stared at her icebox for ten solid minutes.

Unnatural, this heat. Outside will be better. At least there’s wind.

Half a minute later, she knocked on 4B.

“Good morning.”

“My apartment’s too sticky. Want to go for a walk?”

The three of them strolled into the bright streets below. After ninety minutes, Eleanor paused, peering into a café she hadn’t seen before.

“Can I offer you a drink? Maybe a snack?”

They found a corner booth, the kind that tilted if you leaned too far. Eleanor sat across from them, waiting thirstily for her lemonade. Bucky’s gaze flicked between the kitchen, the front door, and the staff exit. Steve was scanning the room. Eleanor wondered if it was a habit left over from the war.

Their drinks arrived with apricot donuts. Bucky took a sip of her lemonade and grimaced.

“Too sweet. Yours is better.”

“Serves you right for stealing it. I like this place, though. We should come again. Guys?”

They both wore the same tight expression. Eleanor looked around, but saw nothing unusual. Near the front, two men were laughing loudly.

“We should go,” Steve said.

“Why?”

“Just a little too loud. I’ve got a headache.”

Bewildered, Eleanor downed her lemonade. It was too sweet.

They were halfway down the block when she stepped between them.

“All right. Spill it.”

“Spill what?” Bucky asked.

“You know exactly what. Whatever made you two leave. ‘Too loud,’ my foot.”

Bucky sighed. “I knew she’d figure it out. I knew she’d ask. You’re trouble, darling.”

“It’s not important,” Steve said.

“Important enough to drag us out into this heat. Come on now. I’m a big girl.”

Bucky grinned at her.

“No. Hush.”

Steve’s mouth twitched. Eleanor looked at him, waiting.

“The men by the window.”

“What about them?”

“They were talking about you. Not kindly.”

Eleanor’s smile faded, but she held her chin high.

“Just because you like my freckles doesn’t mean everyone has to, Steve.

She forced a laugh that came out thin.

Steve looked at Bucky.

“They were crass,” he said. “Said you ‘had the walk of a girl who likes being watched.’”

Eleanor raised a brow.

“We were going to ignore it,” Steve continued. “But then your lemonade came. And one of them said what you should do instead. With your mouth.”

Silence. She clenched her hands, then relaxed as she exhaled.

“Not very nice, no,” she said finally. “But you know what men can be like. You are men. Men say things. I’ve heard worse. Truly.”

“There’s a right way to talk,” Steve said, angry now. “They’ve got mothers, sisters. Daughters. They wouldn’t want other men saying that about them.”

“I don’t disagree, of course. If I’d overheard, I’d have punched them.”

“Remind me not to get on her bad side,” Bucky muttered.

Eleanor laughed and skipped ahead. Over her shoulder, in a very quiet voice she was sure they could hear without problem:

“Of course, if we’re being honest, they weren’t entirely wrong, were they?”

“Not entirely wrong?”

She slowed. Her smile curved, sly and knowing.

“Being watched. It can be, sometimes, quite good. It’s not the worst thing a woman can want.”

Bucky made a quiet noise in his throat.

“That what you want, doll?”

“Are you asking for yourself, Barnes?”

He went very still.

“Of course I don’t want to be watched by strangers. But being seen, being watched… it’s not always unwelcome.”

“Christ.”

She didn’t miss the look they exchanged. The walk back felt very different.

“See you Friday?”

“You always do.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor woke to a loud ringing noise. Disoriented, she stumbled toward the sound, blinking in the dark.

“This…”
She cleared her throat.
“This is Eleanor Montrose.”

“Good evening, Miss Montrose. This is Dr Connors from Canterbury City Hospital. I’m calling in regards to your brother, Frederick.”

Fully awake now, Eleanor switched on the light. Fear clamped down on her chest.

“Yes?”

“I’m afraid Frederick has had a fall. He’s currently in hospital. If at all possible, I would urge you to come see him.”

“Have… have our parents been contacted?”

“Not yet, Miss. A nurse is trying to locate them now. Your brother George is on his way.”

“I’m currently residing in the United States. It will take at least half a day for me to get there. Doctor, do you...”

She couldn’t finish the sentence.

“Although his injuries are grave, I believe you’ll be able to speak with your brother when you arrive. We are primarily concerned about damage to his spine.”

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make arrangements immediately.”

“I’m sorry to give you such unpleasant news, especially over the telephone.”

“It’s all right. Goodnight, Doctor.”

Eleanor hung up the phone.

Would he have got on that ladder if I’d been at Elmcroft?

Shoving guilt aside, Eleanor ran through her apartment in a blur. Suitcase. Clothes. Identification. Purse. Toiletries.

There was a gentle knock on the door.

“Eleanor? Are you all right?”

She wiped her face on her arm before opening it. Bucky and Steve were standing there, clothed but barefoot. Eleanor was suddenly aware she was wearing only her nightdress, flimsier and shorter than anything they’d seen her in.

“My brother… he fell.”

That was all she managed before her face crumpled. Tears spilled freely and she made no attempt to stop them.

“Honey, what do you need?” Steve asked gently.

“I need to fly to England. First available flight.”

“Right. You go get dressed. Bucky, help her pack. I’ll see what calls I can make.”

He turned to go.

“Wait.”

She stepped forward and fell into his arms. If Steve was surprised, he didn’t show it. A moment later, Bucky’s arms wrapped around her too. She sobbed harder.

“That’s right, sweetheart. We’re here. You go ahead and cry now.”

For a few minutes, the only sounds were Eleanor’s muffled sobs and the soft hum of the icebox. Then she snorted and managed a watery smile.

“Thank you. That’s all the time I had for falling apart. I’m going to pack now.”

“Don’t you dare.”

“You can’t expect me to just sit here while you and Steve arrange everything for me.”

“I expect you to finally trust us to help.”

“You know I trust you! You’re in the middle of my apartment in the middle of the night, and I just slobbered all over Steve’s shirt. I trust you.”

“I’m not listening to this,” Steve said curtly, walking out, his back ramrod straight.

“Please, no, it’s not like that! Steve, come back!”

“Don’t bother, doll,” Bucky murmured. “He’s probably calling every person he knows to get you on a plane.”

Eleanor sighed heavily.
Why do you do that, Montrose?

“Bucky.”

“Yes?”

“I’m sorry.”

“I’m sure you are.”

“Can I still accept your help?”

“Always.”

“My suitcase is under the bed. I’ll get dressed and find my identification. Can you pack everything else?”

Bucky squeezed her fingers, then walked to the bedroom with her. She grabbed the nearest dress and disappeared into the bathroom. By the time she emerged—refreshed, dressed, and holding her toiletries—her suitcase was packed and waiting by the front door, her purse beside it.

The living room was empty.

With a heavy heart, she dashed into the spare room for her documents. When she returned, suitcase in hand, she found the door already open.

Steve and Bucky were standing there.

“I got you a ticket from Idlewild to Heathrow,” Steve said. “You depart at twelve-thirty. Sorry, it’s the earliest flight available. You’re listed as an Emergency Traveller. We’ll be able to accompany you to the plane.”

Eleanor stood very still.

“Eleanor?”

She didn’t respond.

“Breathe, darling. Breathe. Now.”

She did.

“Good. Again.”

Another breath.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I’m quite certain I didn’t deserve this. But I’m happy you’re here. Thank you. Thank you.”

Steve picked up her suitcase.

“We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Steve drove, while Eleanor and Bucky sat together in the back seat. She clung to Bucky’s hand the entire way. His thumb lightly stroked her skin, and she welcomed the quiet comfort.

They arrived at the airport just as the bright June sun had fully risen. Idlewild was still mostly quiet, with only a few early travellers about.

Eleanor made her way to the passenger terminal, searching for the right desk, but everything was still closed. She realised it was much too early for check-in to have started. Spotting some benches at the far end of the terminal, she began walking there.

Bucky’s gloved hand landed on her arm, making her stop and turn.

“Wrong way. We’re going over here.”

She spotted Steve about fifty yards away, approaching a side exit with a military-looking staff member beside him.

“What do you mean? That looks like it might lead to a private lounge.”

“We know what we’re doing. Come on.”

Eleanor and Bucky caught up as Steve greeted the uniformed man.

“Good morning. Corporal Steve Rogers and Sergeant James Buchanan Barnes escorting Miss Montrose. I called ahead.”

The man checked his list, then nodded, opening the door for them.

Inside, the space was cosy, with comfortable chairs and round tables. Bucky settled on a leather sofa in a corner, back against the wall. Eleanor sat beside him. Steve paced the room, then returned to their spot.

Eleanor’s gaze drifted across the lounge, but she barely registered the people around her.

After about half an hour, a porter approached.

“Miss Montrose? I’m here to check your luggage and your passport.”

He handled her suitcase quickly and efficiently, then stamped her passport.

“Have a safe flight to London, Miss.”

Eleanor nodded. Before five minutes had passed, another staff member offered them drinks.

“How on earth did you manage this, Steve?”

“I called in some connections from when we served. It’s always good to keep in touch. Served us well today.”

“This all from contacts twelve years ago?”

“Some were more recent.”

“You went through a lot of trouble for me.”

“Don’t start, please.”

“That’s not what I meant,” Eleanor said, hurt. “It was a lot of trouble. I don’t know how to thank both of you.”

“Just get all five foot seven of yours on that plane when it arrives, sweetheart.”

“I think I can manage that. I’m certain I can stay in my seat until then, anyway.”

“We’re staying here until your plane comes. We’ll make sure you do.”

Eleanor was silent for a moment. When she spoke, her voice thickened with tears.

“Thank you. So much.”

“Thanks for accepting it.”

She swallowed but couldn’t stop her eyes from overflowing again. Grumbling, she searched her pockets for a handkerchief.

Bucky held one up for her.

“Thanks. I’m not usually this weepy, it’s just…”

“I know you’re not. I saw you crack your head, bruise your back, and break your ankle on those stairs—and I think you described the whole ordeal as ‘highly unpleasant.’”

“You can take the girl out of Britain, but you can’t take Britain out of the girl.”

“I don’t know. I think we can put a good dose of Brooklyn in the girl before long.”

Eleanor nudged Bucky’s shoulder playfully.

“I think I know why you’re unmarried. Your one true love is Brooklyn, and it’s hard to put a ring on that.”

At quarter to twelve, boarding started. Eleanor was collected by the same porter.

She turned to Steve and Bucky, voice soft but steady.

“Thank you. I’ll call as soon as I’m able.”

Bucky seemed to struggle internally. Steve rested a hand on his shoulder, then handed Eleanor her purse with his other hand. His fingers lingered on hers.

“Let us know if we can do anything. Anything at all.”

She smiled, then tore herself away.

“Ladies and gentlemen, this is Heathrow Airport. The local time is 1 AM. Thank you for flying PanAm today. We hope you enjoyed your flight and look forward to welcoming you back on board soon. Please remember to collect all your belongings and have a safe onward journey.”

Within the hour, Eleanor was in the back of a sleek black taxi speeding toward Canterbury City Hospital. Her thoughts were mostly with her livewire brother. The doctor had mentioned spinal damage. She couldn’t imagine him still, in pain, confined to a hospital bed. Had George contacted their parents? Was he still with Frederick or back home with Charlotte? For a moment, she thought of Steve and Bucky. Just a moment. Then the taxi stopped in front of the hospital.

Eleanor looked at Frederick’s pale face. He was slightly propped up, arms bandaged, chest tightly wrapped. She had never seen him so still. Even as a baby, then a toddler, he’d been in motion, crawling, climbing, running, skipping, swimming, cycling. His stillness terrified her more than the bandages.

George entered, carrying two cups of tea.

“You got here sooner than I expected. Most flights don’t leave until late afternoon, I thought.”

“Steve and Bucky called in some favours for me.”

“How convenient to have a pair of ex-soldiers living across the landing.”

“How convenient to have a pair of good, reliable men willing to drop everything for your weird sister. Yes.”

She sipped her tea and pulled a face. George caught it.

“It’s warm, at least.”

“Thank you. How’s Charlotte?”

“I’m just glad we hired the nurse for the full month. She can help Charlotte with Victoria and Rupert while I’m here.”

“Was Charlotte OK in the weeks before delivery?”

“She slept badly. Not just because of the bump. Several times I woke to find her cradling the receiving blanket we had—from before.”

Frederick stirred. George and Eleanor held their breath. He opened his eyes. George stood.

“I’m going to get the doctor straight away.”

Eleanor held Frederick’s hand.

“Hello, dearest. You’re alright. You’re in hospital.”

“Eleanor?” His voice was soft but steady.

“Yes, I’m here.”

“My back hurts.”

“You fell off a ladder. A sore back is to be expected, brother mine.”

The doctor entered, George close behind.

“I need to examine him now. Please wait outside.”

A little later, he called them back in.

“Your brother is now stable. Three broken ribs, a bruised vertebra, and some minor lacerations to his lower arms. We were concerned there might be spinal involvement, but there’s no lasting damage. No loss of sensation, no impaired function. He’s lucky, all things considered. We’ll keep him here for observation for three days. You can stay with him for now, as long as you don’t agitate him.”

The last bit was said with a stern look toward Eleanor.

“Thank you, Doctor. I’ll make sure not to fuss.” She smiled, saccharine sweet.

At eight that morning, their parents arrived. They sent Eleanor to Elmcroft, promising to ring if there were changes.

She entered with suitcase and purse.

“Let me take that off your hands, Miss Eleanor.”

“No need, Howard. I’m going straight to bed. Can you ask Bess to have lunch ready for noon? I think Mother, Father, George and I will all be here.”

“At once, Miss. Your room has been prepared.”

“Thank you, Howard. Please thank Bess for me.”

“It’s our pleasure.”

Eleanor trudged upstairs. Her bedroom door was open. Inside, she dropped her things and fell onto the bed. She was asleep before her head met the pillow.

Chapter Text

The quiet halls of Elmcroft felt strangely unfamiliar despite the years Eleanor had spent there. It was a place of home and history, and now, a place of waiting. She sank slowly into the familiar softness of her childhood room, every creak of the old house reminding her of the life she'd left behind, and the one she'd made for herself.

The next morning, she returned to the hospital. Frederick looked better, propped up with fresh bandages and a touch of colour in his cheeks. Their mother sat primly at his side.

"This tea is absolutely atrocious," Frederick said, peering into his cup. "I think they steep it in old bed linen."

"Then next time, dear, do not get onto a ladder without someone holding it," their mother said, eyes over the rim of her own cup.

"You'd do well to listen to her," Eleanor added, lips twitching.

"Hello kettle. I'm pot."

"Oh, hush," their mother said with a fond smile. "Enough, children. Eleanor, how is life in Brooklyn? Any news from Arthur?"

"Life is good," she said lightly. "I enjoy the library. I love my house. Arthur and I wanted different things, which is why I ended things."

"You were engaged," her mother said, incredulous. "I remember how you blushed over him, like something out of Austen."

Thankfully, the nurse arrived just then to administer Frederick's pain medication, and the conversation was put to rest.

Unfortunately, the long drive to George's house offered more opportunity.

"The men who helped you after your fall...what are their names again?"

"Steve and Bucky. James, really. Everyone calls him Bucky."

"You're very fond of them."

Eleanor answered cautiously. "Yes. I'm fortunate to have them as neighbours. Friends, even."

"Careful there, my dove. Don’t lose your heart to men who are unavailable."

"Mother! What do you think of me?"

"I haven’t said a word. I simply see the look on your face and hear the way you speak of them. And to them."

"I promised to call, to let them know Frederick was stable. Bucky made me laugh. It was good to hear their voices. Nothing untoward is happening."

But as soon as she said it, images came unbidden: Bucky's hand curling around hers in the car, Steve's kiss to her brow, the way both men had leapt into action without hesitation.

Her mother gave her a look. "Like I said, Eleanor. Careful."

It was a golden afternoon in Chilham. After another quiet morning visit to the hospital, Eleanor decided to make the most of the warm weather. Frederick would be discharged that evening, and she had already arranged a return ticket with PanAm for two days' time.

She donned a wide-brimmed hat and wandered into the woodlands bordering the Elmcroft grounds, where dappled light danced across the path. Birds chirped overhead, and wildflowers nodded in the breeze. She felt at peace.

An hour into her walk, she spotted a small family ahead. As they drew closer, she blinked in surprise—the man was Michael, her first serious boyfriend. They hadn't spoken since her move to St Andrews and his acceptance to Cambridge. She remembered him as shy and bookish. He looked mostly unchanged.

"Michael! Goodness, it's been years."

He smiled, a little awkward. "Eleanor. What a surprise."

She exchanged pleasantries, asking after his parents, admiring his two daughters. He asked after her life with the faintly confused tone of a man still trying to make sense of a woman living alone in New York. Eventually, with a polite smile and a few more words, they parted.

When Eleanor returned to Elmcroft, she found herself craving the anonymity of Brooklyn.

Heathrow was crowded. As Eleanor navigated toward her gate, a cluster of Chinese tourists swept past her. In the shuffle, she dropped her ticket and bumped shoulders with a well-dressed woman.

"Oh, I do apologise," Eleanor said.

"Not to worry. Safe flight to, ah, New York. One of my favourite people came from there."

"Several of mine as well. Forgive me—have we met? You look familiar."

"Perhaps I just have one of those faces," the woman replied, a smile in her dark eyes.

"Let's go, Peggy," called a man nearby. "They're boarding."

"Coming, dear," she said, giving Eleanor one last warm smile before walking away hand-in-hand with him.

Eleanor spent most of the flight finishing a book on Oscar Wilde. On the train to Brooklyn, she tried to keep reading, but found herself drifting. At last, she put the book away. She was nearly home.

The streets were dark by the time she reached her building. She unlocked her door, dropped her suitcase, and kicked off her shoes. It was just past ten. She hesitated. Would it be too late to go see Steve and Bucky? Eleanor thought they might still be awake.

She knocked once on their door. Then again, louder. When no answer came, she gently pushed the door open. Inside, it was dim. Muffled sounds came from the living room: soft murmurs, the quickened cadence of breath. She took a few quiet steps forward.

There, sprawled across the sofa, Bucky was pressed against Steve, his usually gloved hand gripping Steve’s thigh, lifting it slowly and deliberately around his hip. Steve’s shirt was discarded somewhere on the floor, revealing his smooth chest, pale skin flushed with heat. His hands tangled in Bucky’s dark hair, fingers threading through the strands as if anchoring himself.

Oh, wow.

Bucky’s other hand traced a slow, teasing path over Steve’s chest, fingertips brushing hardened nipples with a delicate precision that spoke of a loving familiarity. His lips hovered just above Steve’s collarbone, breath warm, voice a husky whisper: “You look so good like this, Stevie… I can’t believe you’re all mine.” Steve’s breath hitched, a quiet groan escaping him as Bucky’s hand tightened just enough to pull him closer.

She stood frozen for a moment, heart thudding in a way she hadn’t expected. She was surprised, but shocked? No. The signs had been there all along, subtle hints she’d brushed off or filed away.

Her breath quickened, a faint flush warming her cheeks. It was part surprise, part curiosity, part something she couldn’t name, but heat spread low in her belly. Bucky’s hand around Steve’s leg, Steve's hands in Bucky's hair, Steve's chest glistening with sweat under Bucky's hand. It was somehow the most magical thing she had ever seen. So she watched.

Then Bucky kissed Steve. Hard. His mouth moved over Steve as though he was starving, his metal hand gripped Steve’s leg tightly enough Eleanor was sure there’d be bruises later and Steve moaned deep in his throat. Bucky pulled back then.

‘Say it, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

‘Please, Buck, please.”

"That's not good enough," Bucky murmured, tugging sharply on Steve's hair.

Eleanor would never know how, but she would swear, even years later, she felt Bucky’s hand in her own hair. She sucked in a breath.

Both men stilled. Their heads snapped toward her, eyes wide.

Steve flushed scarlet, scrambling for his shirt.

Bucky's body went rigid, metal hand flexing before he forced it still, making the flicker of panic in his eyes with a controlled, guarded look.

"Well," he said, breathless, "guess we’re not as alone as we thought. You caught us off guard."

Eleanor blinked. "I caught you off guard? Goodness, what about me? I... this... you two, and then—yes. I saw. I see."

"Eleanor? Are you alright?" Bucky asked, voice gentle. "Breathe, darling."

She nodded, dazed. "Yes. I'm fine. Just… not what I expected."

Steve cleared his throat, clearly mortified.

Bucky crouched slightly, his voice calm. "We’re sorry you had to see that. But thank you… for not running."

Eleanor smiled, weak but sincere.

"I’m not running anywhere."

Chapter Text

Eleanor leaned against the front door, breathing in deeply through her nose. It did very little to calm the racing thoughts in her head. She had told the guys she wasn’t running, and she wasn’t. She wouldn’t. She just wasn’t sure of her role around them anymore. Had she imagined the touches that lingered? It was easy to dismiss Bucky’s flirting. She had seen him dazzle Mrs Starmer with the same grin he’d shown her a hundred times. Steve’s kiss could have been friendly, or brotherly. Bucky could have held her hand for support. And she had not been a bystander. How many times had she reached out to touch them? Made remarks that would have made her mother scold her? No, she had invited and encouraged their behaviour every step of the way. Perhaps it had seemed like a game to them. She wouldn’t blame them.

She sank down to her knees on the hard, wooden floors. ‘Careful,’ her mother had said. It had been too late for careful. Eleanor squeezed her eyes shut, biting her lip fiercely, but it was in vain. She cradled her arms to her chest and cried. The floodgates opened.

She allowed herself exactly ten minutes of wallowing in self-pity. Then, she picked herself up from the floor and showered the remains of the day off her.

In bed, her thoughts returned to Bucky and Steve. The June heat made the room stifling, but she tugged the covers up anyway, as if the heavy cotton could shield her from the heat low in her belly, or from the shame that accompanied it. Steve’s bare chest. Bucky’s confident moves. Steve’s moans. Bucky’s husky voice. Bucky’s hand on Steve’s leg. Steve’s hands in Bucky’s hair. Even with her eyes wide open, the images were clear as day. Her fingers twitched. The need to shift, to move, was right there. Her hand rested at the base of her neck and she traced a soft line down to her sides, then lower still. Eleanor couldn’t be with them, but she could imagine it. So she did. She imagined her fingers skimming down Steve’s legs, then gliding up Bucky’s. She imagined opening her mouth for Bucky. She imagined tracing the contours of Steve’s ears with her tongue. She imagined Bucky telling her, ordering her to tell him what she wanted. She imagined his hands tugging her hair. Her body contorted and her breath came in soft pants. When the shaking had subsided, she got up and looked out of the window. Everything would be different tomorrow.

The low thud against the wood made Eleanor start. She’d been staring at the kettle, watching steam curl toward the ceiling. One more breath. Then she walked to the door. As she had expected, Bucky and Steve were standing there, looking more uncomfortable than she’d ever seen them.

Well, here goes.

She let them in wordlessly, moving to the living room. Bucky and Steve sat on the sofa, Eleanor opposite them on the armchair. It was absurd, really. She had needed to witness them kissing before the truth finally dawned. Bucky cleared his throat.

‘We came over to make sure you were OK. After… after last night.’

‘I told you I wasn’t running. I meant it.’

‘But then you turned around and left.’ Bucky’s voice was tight.

‘I thought I’d give you space. After what I saw, I didn’t think you’d want me around.’

Steve leaned forward, studying Eleanor’s face.

“We don’t know how you feel. You haven’t said much. And you’ve got every right to be… upset. Confused. Whatever you’re feeling.”

“Oh, thank you,” she said coolly. “How gracious of you to allow me emotions.”

Bucky flinched. “That’s not... That’s not what we meant.”

She looked at him, quiet, unreadable.

Bucky shifted forward, frustration creeping into his voice. “You’re just sitting there. You saw us. You know now. But you’re acting like none of it mattered. Like we’re just your neighbours again who forgot to close the damn curtains. I don’t know how to read that. So yeah, I’m asking if you feel anything, Eleanor.”

Steve murmured, “Buck...”

“No,” Bucky snapped, “She needs to say something. Anything. We’ve spent years hiding this. I’ve spent decades hiding. We risked everything and she hasn’t even... she’s calm and polite, so damn composed”

“You can get out,” Eleanor said, rising to her feet, her voice suddenly sharp as flint. “Right now. I won’t be spoken to like that in my own home. Get. Out.”

Her eyes blazed, her cheeks red with fury. “I’ve done nothing to deserve this. I have feelings, Bucky Barnes, you just don’t get to dictate what they look like.”

“There,” Bucky said darkly, rising. “Now that’s an emotion I can work with.”

“I’m not something for you to ‘work with,’” she spat. “I’m not a mission or a puzzle to solve. Now get out before I throw you out.”

He looked at her, really looked, and something shifted in his face. Frustration had given way to fear, but he covered it up with nonchalance, an opposite shade of the grin Eleanor had come to love.

“No worries, sweetheart,” he said softly, almost bitterly. “You don’t have to dirty your lily-white hands with me.”

He turned. “You coming, Steve?”

Steve didn’t move. “I’d like to actually talk. Isn’t that why we came?”

Bucky gave a short, disbelieving laugh and walked out, the door slamming shut behind him.

Silence fell like snow.

Eleanor pressed her fingertips to her eyes, drawing in a breath. When she looked up, Steve was watching her with quiet concern.

“Sorry,” she said. “I didn’t mean to shout.”

“I think maybe it needed shouting,” Steve said.

She sat again, slowly this time. “He thought I was indifferent. Because I didn’t cry? Because I didn’t scream? I’m here, trying to give him, to give you, the space to exist in peace and he spat on that. He spat on me.”

“I think you’re scared,” Steve said gently.

“I am,” she admitted. “Scared that I am about to lose him. Lose you. So scared that I am going to force you back into hiding. I am scared witless, Steve.”

Steve smiled faintly, but his eyes were warm. “That sounds familiar.”

She tilted her head. “Will he come back?”

“I think he’s probably pacing in the living room, waiting for that knock.”

“Then I’ll give that to him.”

Eleanor stood up and walked to the door. She didn’t knock. He’d be listening.

“I said get out because I was angry. I didn’t say I wanted you gone forever.”

She waited, her lip trembling but her voice steady.

“Come back. If you’re ready to listen.”

She went back to her living room. Steve was in the kitchen, making tea. Her heart suddenly ached. He looked so at home there, part of her life. She couldn’t be about to lose this. She wasn’t sure she’d survive. There was a slight creak behind her.

‘Guess I’m ready to listen.’

Eleanor took a long time to sit down. Then she took even longer to start speaking. Steve had sat down next to Bucky, just like before.

‘Both of you have asked me to trust you. More than once. But what I saw last night showed me something: that you didn’t trust me. So, you ask me what I feel?’

Her voice shook now, her control slipping.

“I feel violated. I feel confused. I feel like the two men I trust most in the world just looked straight through me. I don’t know how much of what I told Steve you could hear. But I’ll repeat it, just in case. I feel scared. I feel terrified that I am going to lose you both, one way or another. I am also scared for you. I know why you’ve hidden this. But I’m not done. I feel hurt that you didn’t trust me. I feel betrayed. I feel absolutely furious that you turned my attempt to protect myself, my composure as you call it, into something ugly. I feel…I feel. You need to know that. I feel.”

Bucky looked at the floor. Steve took one of his hands into his own. The quiet gesture made her breath catch, and Eleanor didn’t know how much more her heart could take.

“I am sorry.”

“Good.”

“I am also scared.”

“I know.”

“I’d like to ask you one thing, if that’s OK.”

“Just one more?” She’d tried for teasing, but it came out broken.

“You say you’re scared for us. Does that mean you accept us? What we are?”

“Without question. Unconditionally. You told me fear is fear. To me, love is love.” She wondered if she was the only one to hear the extra layer behind her words.

Steve’s knuckles were white, so hard was he squeezing Bucky’s hand. Bucky gently unclenched Steve’s fist. Steve looked up, his eyes finding Eleanor’s.

“Just like that?”

“Just like that.”

Chapter Text

Over the next few days, Eleanor settled into a fragile routine. She went to work, came home, had dinner, went to sleep. Her dreams had Steve falling off ladders, Frederick smiling at her from a tiny red tricycle, her mother tucking her in at night, Bucky in a dark room, all alone. In the most unsettling one, she was back at Elmcroft, watching Bucky and Steve in a house of glass walls and mirrors as they cruelly laughed at her every time she tried to find them. She woke up from the nightmare sweating and nauseated, and only barely made it to the bathroom in time. She rinsed her mouth, staring at her reflection in the mirror.

It won’t be like that, Montrose. You’ve got to trust them better than that.

On Friday, Eleanor tried a new recipe, an aromatic tomato soup with grilled bell peppers. It kept her hands busy, but not her mind. She’d settled down with The Iliad next, and that had done a better job of distracting her. Feeling ridiculously out of sorts, she knocked on 4B at their usual time.
Bucky opened the door. He looked appreciatively at the large pan of soup she was holding.

"Excellent, I’m starving."
"It will need warming up first, so you’ll have to wait, I’m afraid."
"My sister always says patience is a virtue."
"A pity her brother is more into vice than virtue, isn’t it?" she said lightly.

Bucky grinned. It was the first time she’d seen it since leaving for Chilham, and she realised how much she’d missed it.
"It’s good to have you back, sweetheart."

Dinner unfolded as it had many times before. Steve and Bucky helped themselves to second and third helpings of the soup, breaking off large chunks of thick rye bread to dip. Steve would frequently touch Bucky; on his elbow, his wrist, his shoulder.

"How long have the two of you loved each other?"

It wasn’t what she’d been meaning to say at all. Steve’s face took on a guarded expression, but Bucky looked at her, unfazed.
"I’ve loved him since I was twelve. Steve here took a bit longer."

Eleanor was slightly thrown by the certainty of Bucky’s voice.

"Some… some things happened in the war. Bucky went missing behind enemy lines with most of the 107th. I realised then that I would burn the world to the ground to get him back. When I found him again, I still pretended he was just my friend, that I loved him because I’d known him for so long. But I knew then. I knew he was… I just knew."
"When did you go missing?" she whispered.
"They took us in Azzano in 1943," Bucky supplied.
"That’s a long time to love someone."
"A lifetime won’t be long enough."

It should have weighed the room down, but somehow, the sincerity lifted it.

"You’re a romantic, Sergeant Barnes. Who’d have thought?"
Hours later, they stood on the balcony, watching the blue sky turn a deep black. Bucky’s gloved arm brushed against Eleanor.

"I promised you I would accept you without question. I do have a question, though."
"You? Curious? Now there’s a surprise."
"It’s about your arm."

Steve and Bucky exchanged a look, then moved to the living room. Steve closed the balcony doors behind them.

"What would you like to know?"
"What is it?"
"It’s a prosthetic."
"Can I see?"

Bucky blinked at the direct question, but removed the long glove and rolled up his sleeve.
Fascinated, Eleanor looked at the shiny metal. It was smooth, following the lines of a normal arm. She extended her hand, then looked at Bucky’s face.

"Yes, you can touch it."
"Does it hurt? Can you feel my hand?" Bucky shook his head, then nodded, his eyes on Eleanor’s face.

The metal felt hard and unyielding, but it moved with him, natural and flexible.

"What doctor or engineer managed this? I’ve never seen anything like it."

Bucky’s jaw clenched, and Steve got a hard look in his eyes.

"It’s not something that’s widely available. I’m not really at liberty to speak of it."
"Alright. I won’t ask again."
"You don’t seem all that surprised."

In answer, Eleanor got up and walked to the large plant in the corner.

"I saw this. Your drawing, Steve. Then Mrs Kennedy remarked Bucky might be ashamed of his heavy prosthetic, but I’d felt you lift me with it. I’d seen this hand in your hair, when… that time."
"Like I said. Too clever by half, Montrose."
"You and Steve provide all the brawn. You need a brain somewhere."
"Always so cheeky."
"I cannot believe those words just left your mouth."
"Believe it."

Eleanor left very late that evening, but she woke the next morning feeling more refreshed than she had in a while. She decided to write a letter to her parents and found herself wondering what she’d say if her mother asked how she was. She could hardly write, I spent the evening touching a man’s metal arm while his lover watched fondly from the sofa, so she signed it, Love, Eleanor, and left the rest unsaid. She walked to the post office in the afternoon to send it off. In the evening, she opened The Iliad again and ran her fingers down the page she’d marked. She didn’t read it. She just wanted to hold the book a while longer.

Chapter Text

Eleanor bumped into Bucky in the hallway, holding When The Sleeper Walks.

“You sure you want to give that back already?”

“If I keep it any longer, you’ll start charging late fees.”

“Late fees, smacked bottoms, sweetheart. You know how I feel about books.”

“I do. You treat them better than most people.”

“They behave better than most people.”

Bucky waved as he walked down the stairs.

“Steve, where are you? I want to return this, I’ve finished it and I’ll be meeting up with my friend soon, I haven’t got much time.”

Eleanor walked in without knocking, waving the novel around. She found Steve sketching at the dining table.

“Can I just put it back? I know where it goes.”

“Go ahead, as long as you didn’t dog-ear it. Bucky gets unbearable when his books are not treated with ‘the respect they deserve’.”

Eleanor heard the quotation marks in his voice and laughed. She went into the kitchen for a glass of water when she noticed the sketch. It was a hand, holding a book. Her hand.

“That’s…that’s pretty.”

“I could hardly draw your hand without a book in it, could I?” He spoke in jest, but he wouldn’t meet her gaze. She took a drink from the glass.

“Would you like some?”

“Please.”

She put the glass down in front of him. He was refining a sketch of Bucky now, dreamy and thoughtful.

“Do you ever think about before?”

Steve spoke quietly, his eyes on the sketch. “More than I mean to. Thought I’d come back to nothing. Didn’t expect to get a life back. Him. You.”

Eleanor looked for words, finding only two.

“Thank you.”

She left the apartment, her heart taking her on a ride where her mind dared not go.

“You haven’t changed a bit,” Alice said, pulling Eleanor into a swift, warm hug that somehow smelled like ink and lacrosse.

“You’ve gone American,” Eleanor replied, laughing. “You say that like it’s a compliment.”

“For a woman of twenty-seven to look the exact same as she did at twenty? Of course it is. How have you been? It feels like forever since St. Andrews.”

“Well, it has been a spell, yes. You know Arthur and I ended our engagement. I live in my own apartment now, which is freedom the likes of which I’d never imagined.”

“You were always a free spirit. Never going with the flow, never accepting things at face value. It’s why we got along so well. My American grandmother couldn’t stop congratulating me on my ‘newfound status as a married woman’ while at the same time expressing her incredulity any man had been willing to marry me at age twenty-six. I just reminded her we’re a new generation. We stayed behind when the men, our husbands, brothers and fathers went off to war and then we found we managed alright. It should come as no surprise we’ve found some independence.”

The green trees of Prospect Park shielded them from the worst of the clinging late June heat as they walked, arm in arm. They bought ice cream at a vendor, cheerfully eating. Several men tipped their hats at them when they came by. Alice and Eleanor smiled and winked back, never slowing down their walk.

“That one was very easy on the eyes.”

“Hmmm? Oh, I didn’t really notice.”

Alice eyed her shrewdly.

“Is that because another man has taken up all your notice? Your cheeks are suspiciously radiant. Or have you found religion?”

“It’s the tap water.”

“You can joke, but I know you. You feel different, somehow. Lighter.”

“It’s not what you think.”

“What is it, then?”

“Something impossible. Something beautiful. Something I’ve never seen before and can’t quite name.”

“Miss Montrose, you’re a poet.”

Eleanor chuckled.

“What news and gossip do you have from St Andrews? Your uncle still teaches Classics there, right?”

“Nice way to change the subject. Yes, he’s still teaching there. Still complaining about ‘the laziness of young people’. Still insisting his life companion is a ‘dear friend’. But they’re completely rebuilding the History wing, from what I hear. It irks him because half of his published words are in there.”

A low rumbling rolled through the park, shaking the leaves.

Alice glanced up. “We could use a bit of a thunderstorm to chase away that clammy heat. Let’s meet up again soon. We should head home before it hits.”

Eleanor made it home as the first fat drops of rain starting pelting the pavement. She took the stairs two at a time, ready to wait out the thunderstorm with some tea and her journal. She had put her foot on the landing when a flash lit the building and thunder came in so loud, she could feel it in her bones.

“Oh!”

Another flash. She covered her ears with her hands and squeezed her eyes shut.

“Eleanor?”

She opened her eyes. Bucky was standing there.

“It’s like then. Like London.”

He hesitated for a brief second, then put his arm around her shoulder and lead her into her apartment and softly pushed her down onto the sofa.

More thunder. Eleanor hunched in on herself.

“You’re safe here. You’re safe now.”

“I know.”

“You’re not alone. I’ve got you.”

He held her hands throughout the storm. She hadn’t let anyone do this for her in years. She’d forgotten what it felt like to be held through the noise.

That night, Eleanor dreamt of skin. Of heat. Of hands. Of two voices whispering her name. She woke flustered, her cheeks burning and buried her head in the pillow.

Chapter Text

Eleanor was crouched on the floor, carefully sorting through a battered metal box Steve had pulled out of a wardrobe earlier. Inside were old photographs, letters, old notebooks: remnants of a past neither he nor Bucky spoke about much.

“You’ll want to hurry up with those. The fireworks will start soon.”

“Do you ever look at these?” she asked softly, holding up a faded photograph of the both of them, in uniform, grinning at the camera.

Steve stood a few feet away, painting the afternoon sky. Bucky was on the sofa, reading The Iliad. He wasn’t wearing his glove.

“I try not to.”

“But you keep them around, so surely they mean something.”

“They mean something, alright.”

“I’m not sure you’re giving the two of you enough credit. It’s impressive, what you have. To love like this. Especially when you have to keep it hidden.”

Eleanor heard the paintbrush clattering onto the ground. She barely had time to look up before she felt herself being lifted off the ground. Steve’s hands were on her waist and then his mouth descended on hers.

It wasn’t careful. It wasn’t slow. His lips found her with intent, almost frustration. Heat bloomed in her chest, spreading to her limbs, her fingers, her toes. She gasped lightly when his hand slid from her waist to her neck, holding her just so, and his tongue moved into her mouth. Eleanor’s arms curled around Steve’s shoulders of their own accord.

From across the room, Bucky’s voice came in.

“Well, I guess that’s it. Whatever happened to being careful, though, Steve?”

Steve didn’t let go. He rested his forehead against Eleanor’s, breath warm on her face.

“How am I supposed to be careful when she says those words? When she looks at me like that? With those pretty hazel eyes…” He brushed his thumb across the bridge of her nose. “And those freckles?”

Eleanor felt her tummy coil and uncoil at Steve’s words.

“I wonder, though,” Bucky said, his voice soft as smoke, then getting up.

Eleanor was sure she wanted to say something, but her brain wasn’t cooperating. Steve’s hand disappeared from her neck and she felt the loss acutely, but it freed up some room in her mind to respond.

“What do you wonder?”

“I wonder if I could make you gasp like that.”

This felt dangerous. Impossible. She was just too far gone to care.

Bucky stepped forward, putting himself between her and Steve like it was the most natural thing in the world, his back settling against Steve’s chest, Steve’s hands finding Bucky’s waist. And then Bucky’s hand – warm and solid – closed around her upper arm, his fingers firm enough that she knew she’d feel the pressure later. His other hand, colder and smoother, slid into her hair, holding her steady as he leaned in and kissed her.

He was rougher. More demanding. He kissed like he was trying to claim something. She pushed herself against him, wanting to feel more of him. Eleanor threw her arm around his neck, feeling for Steve with the other. Bucky nipped at her lower lip with his teeth and her breath caught again, sharper this time. Bucky swallowed the sound. She felt Steve flex on Bucky’s waist. The kiss was deep and coaxing, unrelenting. When Bucky finally pulled back long enough to let her breathe, Eleanor’s eyes were wide, her chest rising and falling almost too quickly.

“You were right, Steve.”

“Was I?”

“There’s no being careful when she looks like that. Isn’t she just gorgeous, with her hair wild and those eyes all shiny?”

She whimpered before she could stop herself. It was barely there, but it made both men freeze. Steve’s hands tightened even more. Bucky tilted his head.

“Did you hear that?” His voice was a full octave lower than usual, yet there was a playful tone. Steve nodded, a slow smile curving at the corner of his mouth.

“Sounds like someone likes a little attention.”

Behind them, in the sky, fireworks exploded.

“Sorry to make you miss those, sweetheart.”

“It’s OK. I have my own private fireworks right there.”

She pulled on Bucky’s neck, drawing him in for another kiss. His grip on her arm loosened, then tightened again. She didn’t let go of him until she thought she might pass out. Bucky’s breathing was almost as heavy as her own. Eleanor’s hands clenched into fists, her nails digging into her palms. The air around her felt different. Alive. Then, slowly, she looked up, her eyes searching for Steve. He was still behind Bucky, close enough that her breath caught again when she met his gaze.

“Steve,” she said softly. Her hand reached out and brushed his chest, just over his heart. “I wasn’t finished with you.”

He didn’t speak—he only stepped forward, guiding her gently until Bucky shifted aside. Eleanor found herself between them now, cocooned in warmth and the scent of them both.

Steve kissed her again, slower this time. As if he meant to memorise her. Her hands fluttered helplessly, then found his face, his jaw. She opened to him with a quiet sound she hadn’t meant to make, and he answered it with a deep, possessive hum.

When they finally drew apart, she was breathless again. But this time it was laughter in her throat.

“I take it back,” she whispered. “This is better than fireworks.”

Steve gave her a look so full of wonder it nearly stole her breath all over again.

“Best birthday gift I ever got,” he said.

She blinked. “It’s your birthday?”

He nodded sheepishly. “Fourth of July, every year.”

“Why didn’t you say something?”

“Didn’t want to make a fuss.”

“Steven Grant Rogers,” she said, mock-scandalised. “You should’ve led with that.”

Bucky chuckled behind her. “Yeah, well. Somehow that’s not the biggest surprise tonight, I bet.”

“Well then. Happy birthday.”

“Best one I’ve ever had,” he said, brushing his knuckles against her cheek.

“I didn’t bring a ribbon,” she replied softly, her cheeks pink.

Bucky’s squeezed her waist lightly. “You don’t need one, sweetheart. We’ll remember how you looked tonight without it.”

The clock on the mantel struck ten. Eleanor startled slightly, blinking as though waking from a dream.

“I should…” she began, not quite sure how to finish.

Steve nodded. “We know.”

Neither man let go of her right away.

Eleanor stepped back slowly, her eyes glued to their faces. “I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Count on it,” Bucky said.

She smiled, then turned toward the door. Her lips still tingled as she let herself out, heart echoing all the way across the hall.

Chapter Text

The sun hit Eleanor’s vanity, the light reflected straight into her face. She woke, the memory of last night the first thing on her mind. The urgency of their kisses; hard, desperate, like they’d been holding back for far too long—echoed in her mind. She’d known they were close. Closer than most people she’d ever met. But this… this was something else. She had no words, no images to describe her emotions.

She rolled onto her side, staring at the wall, replaying the moments: Steve’s hand firm on her neck as his tongue touched hers, Bucky’s rough grip on her arm. She’d been right yesterday, she could still feel the pressure there. And then there was the way they had complimented her, saying she had pretty eyes, that she was gorgeous. Her heartbeat sped up by just thinking about it.

She caught sight of herself. Her hair was messy, her lips still slightly plump. Eleanor smiled; she’d see them again today. Then the smile in the mirror faded. What should she do? What should she say? What would they expect of her? What did she expect of them? Had this been a one-time thing? Her stomach churned at the thought. She was sure she wanted a repeat, and more. But then, what if it wasn’t just one time? How did it even work, with more than one person? The happiness she’d felt waking up was fast disappearing now that the real world crept in. Eleanor groaned. She scowled at herself in the mirror.

One thing at a time, Montrose. You don’t even know what your boys want.

But as today was Friday, she knew she wouldn’t have to wait long to find out. She looked at her alarm clock. It was eight-thirty. Only ten hours till she’d see them again. Despite the litany of confusing and contradictory thoughts in her head, the smile found its way back to her mouth.

She sat down with her breakfast but found she had no appetite. After getting dressed, she took up her journal. It had been some time since she’d written in it. She would start with some remarks about Frederick, then work, Mrs. Parker’s soft baby bump, Mrs. Starmer’s increasing deafness. Five minutes later, she looked down at her writing in consternation. Instead of seeing words about her actual weeks, she’d written Bucky’s and Steve’s names over and over. So much for journaling.

Eleanor decided to clean instead. She put on an album by Sister Rosetta Tharpe, who she wasn’t very familiar with but whose swing had made her want to dance till her feet were sore when she heard Tharpe’s version of “Didn’t It Rain” on the radio. And so, singing along merrily, she dusted her bookshelves, swept the entire apartment, and cleaned her icebox. This way, she succeeded in avoiding the clock until four that afternoon.

At five, she had gone through all of her dresses twice. None seemed to fit the occasion. What was she supposed to wear to her normal Friday dinner that was suddenly dinner with… them? Red was too gaudy. Grey too sober. White too nondescript. Light blue too innocent. They’d seen her in the periwinkle and the dusty pink. Finally, she decided on a muted green with prints of lavender blossoms. Steve liked lavender. She took a lot of care with applying her make-up, hands trembling enough when she put on the lipstick she had to reapply it twice.

Straightening her shoulders, she knocked on the door. Bucky answered. The fond look on his face told her everything she needed to know. She felt his hand on her lower back as she walked in, warmth immediately blossoming from the spot.

The table had been set, a jug of water with slices of orange in the middle.

“I’ve got a cold soda on the balcony, if you like? I drank some, but… you probably won’t mind.”

“Imp, Bucky, you’re an imp.”

He grinned and turned his back, moving towards the kitchen.

“Steve’s painting.”

Eleanor walked to Bucky’s bookcases, taking her time to pick something. She saw a poetry collection and carried it to the balcony. She was sipping orange soda and reading In Flanders Fields, the sounds of the street helping her calm her nerves a little.

“Dinner’s ready.”

Steve was gone before she’d got up. Eleanor sat down at the dinner table as Bucky came in carrying a large plate of chicken, just-wilted spinach, orange slices, and red potatoes. For a few minutes, they ate in silence.

“You’ve outdone yourself. This is really good.”

“Thanks, sweetheart. It’s my mother’s recipe.”

“Well, I must send her a thank-you note.”

“Just the one? She also made me, and I think I’m really good too.”

“I’d have a few tips to give her there. Perhaps next time she could make one with more decorum and humility.”

Bucky laughed, but Steve was still silent. Eleanor smirked in his direction, only to find him staring down at his plate.

“Are you all right?”

“Sure. Why wouldn’t I be?”

“You’re very quiet.”

“It’s difficult to get a word in edgeways when the two of you get going.”

“Okay. It’s never really stopped you before, though.”

“Could you please drop it? This one time?”

Eleanor looked at Bucky with her eyebrows raised, but he just shrugged uncomfortably. The rest of the evening was constantly on that same hint of uncomfortable. At eight, Eleanor’d had enough and said she was going to have an early night.

“We should walk you home. You never know what dangers could be hiding.”

“In our hallway?”

“Especially in our hallway. I’ve fought off monsters there beyond your worst nightmares.”

“Are you sure you didn’t happen to be looking in a mirror?”

“There’s that cheek again. You want to be careful with that, doll.”

They were standing before Eleanor’s front door. Bucky’s eyes glanced around, then he tenderly cupped her cheek.

“Goodnight, Eleanor.”

She leaned into his palm.

“Goodnight, Bucky.”

Steve looked at them, his posture unnaturally stiff. Eleanor took a deep breath.

“If you regret kissing me, you don’t have to say it. But if you want to pretend it never happened, at least be my friend. I don’t want to lose you.”

“Of course I don’t regret it.”

He seemed unsure of what to do with himself, his eyes darting around, his hands in his pockets as though he wanted to move but didn’t know where.

“Well, goodnight Steve.”

“Wait.”

His hand enclosed around her left wrist, soft and hesitant. She put her right hand on his, squeezing it. Steve’s eyes finally met hers, then he pulled her close. His mouth landed on hers, sweet and slow. There was none of the rush of the night before, but Eleanor’s heart jumped all the same and she opened her mouth without thinking. Steve smiled against her lips and pulled back.

“Maybe…”

Eleanor swallowed.

“Maybe we ought to go inside?”

Bucky spoke up.

“Best not to risk it, darling.”

She understood his words. Where would things go in the dark privacy of her apartment? She wasn’t sure if the thought made her want to go inside even more. Steve touched Bucky’s hand. They gave her a last, lingering look as she made herself step into her apartment. For the first time, she felt alone in there.

Chapter Text

“No, Dr. Grafton, we file them under ‘Napoleonic’, not ‘Military Miscellany’…”. Eleanor exchanged a brief look with Mrs Kaufman as she took the books from Dr. Grafton’s hands. She had enough to do without trailing around the old European History professor all the time. There were new books about soldier’s letters to the home front that needed to be catalogued, students to be assisted or scolded, books to be returned to the shelves and not one of these tasks was made easier by a cantankerous professor. She let him mumble at her and continued with her day, moving between the wooden desks and the soft background conversations.

“Perhaps we should ask for a raise, Lord knows we deserve it for dealing with that man.” Mrs Kaufman was stamping library cards which Eleanor handed to her one by one.

“You first”, Eleanor said with a wry smile. “I think I still have bruises on my soul from when I asked for leave to visit my brother. The ‘powers that be’ declared it a prime example of the risks of hiring women.”

“How is he doing, anyway?”

“Peachy keen, thank you. Ribs and spine all healed and he’s started his first job, he’s working as Junior Planner with the county.”

“You must be so relieved. Hmmm. Shall we tackle the soldier’s letters next?”

She was shelving returns later when her mind drifted. That student there was almost as tall as Steve, the graduate student she’d helped earlier had hair in a similar shade of brown as Bucky’s, the Department Head had grinned at Mrs Kaufman in a way that reminded her of Bucky, the colour of the  visiting student’s shirt was blue like Steve’s eyes. She shook her head, this was no way to conduct herself at work. She was a professional, after all.

Eleanor was holding two sets of stockings, trying to decide which one would be the better purchase. One could be machine-washed, the other promised no ladders for the first twenty wears. She ran her hands over the soft material, stretching the machine-washable ones carefully. They seemed to hold fine.

“Hello, Eleanor.” Eleanor looked up to a small, prim mouth and a mass of wavy blonde hair.

“Good afternoon, Hilary. How are you? Still living at Bedford House?”

“Simply splendid. Look!”

Her former fellow lodger help up her left hand. A slender gold engagement ring, adorned with an oval cut diamond, was sparkling there.

“Congratulations! When did Richard propose?”

“Last week, at the parade, just before the fireworks. Isn’t it just the most romantic thing you’ve ever heard?”

Best birthday gift I ever got. Knuckles being swept across her cheek.

“Quite romantic. I wish you and Richard all the happiness. Have you set a date yet?”

“We’re thinking of a winter wedding. The pictures will be lovely, with the snow as a backdrop setting.”

“Oh, that sounds very pretty!”

Hilary smiled and adjusted the handle of her shopping basket.

“If you let me know your new address, I could send you an invitation. Will you require a plus one?”

“I’d love an invitation. No plus one for me, thank you.”

“It was good seeing you. Well, must dash, bye!”

Eleanor picked up the stockings again. The one promising no ladders had an ornamental lace lining at the top. Would Bucky like seeing her in these, she wondered. She blushed, as though the other patrons could hear her forbidden thoughts. At home, she put the ladder-free stockings in her wardrobe.

“Sugar for you, dear?”

“I prefer my tea unsweetened, thank you Mr O’Sullivan.”

”I bet you’re sweet enough without it!” His laugh was boisterous. It made Eleanor smile despite herself.

“How is your son doing? Has his wife had the baby yet?”

“Aren’t you a darling to have remembered! He’s doing excellent. His wife is just about ready to pop. She says she’s terribly uncomfortable. I guess they just don’t make them like they used to, eh? My dear old Jane gave me four children and never once complained. Now she was a proper woman, my Jane was.”

Mr O’Sullivan’s hand caressed a faded shawl hanging over the back of his chair.

“Still no fella for you? Perhaps they worry they need to crane their necks to kiss you. That’s young men these days. So nitpicky, they would dismiss even a lady as lovely as you for being a little tall. Nothing you can do about it!”

She pictured Steve, picking her up from the waist, leaning in to kiss her, angling her head towards him. Her arms around Bucky, pulling his mouth onto hers.

“Nothing I can do about it, no, I’m afraid. I’ll just have to wait for a Brobdingnagian to come around.”

“So clever! So witty. This lemon cake you brought round just hits the spot. Keep baking like that and a good man is bound to notice you.”

He took another forkful of the cake, a few crumbs on his chin.

“I’ll do that. Now I do hope my music player hasn’t been making too much noise?”

“Noise? If I didn’t know you lived right above me, I’d think there was a family of mice in there. You’re a very good neighbour to have. Everyone here’s absolutely charmed by your British quirks and your politeness.”

“I do my best.”

“You should. You’d be speaking German without us, after all!”

Steve was taking the rubbish out the back alley at the same time she was. When he spotted her, he waved. Eleanor saw his muscles flexing beneath his shirt, arms tensing under the load. She wanted to feel him against her again, her hands under that shirt. Instead, she smiled. She had no hands to spare with both arms carrying full trash bags, anyway.

“You’re up early.”

“I couldn’t sleep. Too much on my mind.” Eleanor heaved the heavy bags into the large container, on top of the bags Steve had just deposited.

Steve stepped closer, brushing a stray hair behind her ear. “What kind of thoughts?”

She hesitated, then shrugged. “All of you.”

A faint flush crept across his cheeks. “We think about you too, you know.”

“Do you? Good things, I hope.”

“Some. Most…less so.”

He glanced toward the street. It was deserted. Then he kissed her, his body pressing into hers. Her hands found his chest, not quite squeezing. Her tongue darted out and grazed his lower lip. Steve responded with a low groan, his arms sliding around her, one hand settling on her lower back — the other drifting lower still. He brushed the curve of her bottom. They broke apart.

“See you Friday.”

“Right. Friday.”

The wooden laundry basket was overflowing. Eleanor brought it out on Friday morning at ten for the laundry man.

“Good morning, Miss Montrose.”

“Good morning, Mr Perkins. It’s quite heavy today. Do mind yourself on the stairs.”

“Don’t you go worrying yourself about me, Miss. I’ve been lugging laundry since before you could walk, never once took a tumble. I hear you did have a nasty fall down these right here.”

She felt Bucky’s arms lifting her against his chest. We’ve got you. His hands propping her ankle on a pillow.

“And how did you hear that, Mr Perkins? Don’t believe everything Mrs Kennedy tells you. I was out of crutches in two weeks.”

“She’s sure something, that Mrs Kennedy. Knows everything that goes on around here. I bet she knows what’s in everyone’s laundry, too.”

He lifted the basket without problems, winked and seemed to glide down the stairs.

Eleanor put on the new stockings. Her fingers slid along the skin of her thighs. The periwinkle dress was hanging from the door. She applied a cherry red lipstick and picked up the container with blush, but put it back then. She had a feeling her cheeks would be pink all by themselves.

At a quarter past six, she was in front of 4B again. The nerves were there, just like last week, but for different reasons. Her knock was sure. She was sure, too. Steve opened the door, looking just a little too good in his jeans and stretched out shirt. There were red and blue spots on the hem, faint paint stains most likely.

“You’re early. I haven’t changed.”

“No need. You look fine.”

“Fine isn’t good enough when you look like that.” He kissed her cheek, then closed the door behind her.

“Stealing all my lines, golden boy?”

Bucky took the halibut and fluffy rice from her arms. His Levi’s were slightly tighter on him, the lines of his legs emphasised by his bare feet. His smooth cotton shirt showed off his arms below the elbow. Eleanor walked to the kitchen with him, putting down the grilled asparagus and sauce for the fish.

“You’re early.”

“Steve said that. The fish should be eaten soon, it’s delicate.”

Bucky kissed her cheek, exactly where Steve had. His mouth moved to her ear.

“I’ve been thinking about you all week.”

His breath on her ear made her break out in goosebumps. She wanted to come up with a clever retort, but her voice stuck in her throat. Bucky smirked.

“You take care of the sauce, I’ll just get the table ready.”

Dinner could not have been more different than the week before. Steve kept looking at her mouth, but when she caught him looking, his gaze took on a challenging spark. Bucky was his usual irreverent self, bantering with both of them, eating his food and putting on an entertaining act.

“Careful with that sauce, Barnes! I spent a good hour stirring it to perfection.”

“I’m always careful. I mean, mostly.”

His knee purposefully bumped into hers. She rolled her eyes fondly.

Sister Rosetta Tharpe’s harmonious voice filled the living room as the evening sun peeked through the half-closed curtains.

“Remind me to steal this album. I’ve got a newer one, but these bluesy tunes are amazing.”

“You’ll have to fight me for it. It’s just the right music for a quiet summer night.”

“Do I have to fight you physically or could it be a battle of wits?”

“Physically, of course. How will I win otherwise?”

Bucky’s arm stretched along the edge of the sofa, his fingertips brushing Eleanor’s shoulders every so often. Steve came in with iced tea and poured her a large glass. His thumb grazed her wrist, then he sat down next to her. Her body felt alive, every nerve on end.

She heard Steve talk to Bucky about some type of plant he wanted to buy, then there was silence. Bucky touched her cheek.

“You really do look amazing. Can we…” His eyes looked at Steve, then back at Eleanor. “Can we kiss you?”

She nodded, breathless already. Bucky moved in first, both hands on her face. His lips moved on her mouth, unhurried, making her melt. His left hand was still on her shoulder, the cool metal pleasant on her warm skin. Eleanor held his other hand in both of hers, her fingers stroking up his wrist, his elbow, then down again. She felt Steve shift behind her, then his hands on her back, his thumbs lightly digging into her lower back. Bucky deepened the kiss, wringing a soft moan from her. He pulled back.

“Come on, Stevie. You know you want to.”

He turned her, so her back was against his chest, then pulled them both down. Steve moved on top of her, leaning his arms on the sofa so she felt his body, not weight. Eleanor curled one arm around Bucky’s neck, the other around Steve’s. Steve’s lips touched hers, a bit more rushed than Bucky had, but still taking his sweet time. Their mouths opened together. When Eleanor came up for oxygen, she tugged at his shirt.

“Off”.

Steve reached down and took his shirt off with one arm. Eleanor hissed in a breath at the sight of his chest and shoulders, her hand tracing a path along the ridges of his stomach, marvelling at the strength there. She kissed his chest. Bucky was now moving his lips up and down the arm she had around his neck. It still wasn’t enough. She moved, looking at Bucky, her hands sliding under his shirt.

“Yours, too.”

“I’m not stopping you, sweetheart.”

Eleanor bit her lip. She put her hands on the hem of shirt, rolling it up slowly. He sat up slightly, giving her more space to move. She got onto her knees. The shirt slid over his shoulders, then his head. Eleanor put one hand on his chest, then on Steve’s. Bucky reached out to her face. She shook her head.

“No?” Bucky’s voice was husky.

“Yes. I mean. Steve.”

She pulled at Steve. Bucky held Steve close, kissing him. Their chests touched. Eleanor thought she would be perfectly happy just seeing them kiss for the next few days. Or weeks. Steve’s hips started moving against Bucky, then slowed. Two sets of eyes looked at her.

“That’s just…I could watch you forever.”

“Not an option.”

Steve’s hand moved to the nape of her neck. He kissed her once on her mouth, then her neck, her ears, down to the line where her dress clung to her shoulders. Bucky’s hand touched the zipper on Eleanor’s dress.

“Is that OK?”

“Yes, yes. Yes.”

He slid it down an inch, kissing the skin that was exposed. Another inch. Two kisses. A few inches now. Steve was kissing her collarbones, his fingers on her knees. Eleanor forgot to breathe.

There was a knock on the front door.

“This cannot be happening.” Bucky muttered against her back.

More insistent now.

“Steve? Bucky? Could one of you be a dear and help me with my tap? It’s making the weirdest noise. Are you home? I’m going to come in.”

In a flash, Steve grabbed his shirt and put it back on. Bucky pulled Eleanor into the nearest room; Steve’s bedroom.

“Coming, Mrs Starmer.”

They heard Steve opening the front door and leaving. Eleanor exhaled. Bucky sighed, pulling her zipper back up. They moved back onto the sofa. Steve was back less than five minutes later.

“Just needed to be twisted a little more.”

He flopped down on the sofa, suddenly laughing.

“She couldn’t have waited till the morning?”

Bucky and Eleanor joined in. When their laughter subsided, Steve leaned in to kiss Eleanor. It wasn’t very passionate, but it wasn’t innocent either.

“Next time, we’re not stopping.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor settled into her favourite chair, the heavy phone next her. It was Sunday evening, back in Chilham and she hadn’t spoken to her parents in some time.

“Good afternoon, Father.”

“Hello there dear! How are you?”

“I am very well. How are you? How’s Mother? Is Frederick enjoying working life?”

“You know me, fine and dandy! Mother’s good, I do believe she’s gone on a bit of a walk. The weather’s been very unpleasant, hot and stifling but it’s just cooled down a little and she wanted to take advantage of it outside. Frederick is, oh, but we barely see him! He’s off at work or off gallivanting with his friends and he’s getting quite close with Annabelle, do you remember her?”

“Annabelle? From Kentish Downs?”

“That’s the one!”

“But that was primary school! I wasn’t aware they’d stayed in touch at all.”

“I don’t think they had. She came around a few days after you left; she’d heard of his accident and just came to keep him some company. Well, one thing led to another and she is certainly spending a lot of time here at Elmcroft now, though we don’t see much of her when she is. Frederick keeps her hidden from us, I think.”

“Perhaps he doesn’t need your and Mother around what both of them get up to,” Eleanor said mischievously.

“Eleanor Tessa Kathleen Montrose! I am sure nothing improper is happening! What a thing to suggest, and for a young lady, too.”

“I am twenty-seven, you realise.”

“You’re a young lady. You’ll always be a young lady to me. I wouldn’t mind an even younger lady to join you, dear. No news on that front?”

Eleanor sighed. The noise of the street below suddenly seemed too loud, her apartment too small to contain it.

“Father, you know I can’t. The doctors made it perfectly clear there was no way.”

“Doctors are wrong all the time! And with these amazing advances in medical science these days, who knows what might be possible in a few years?”

“Who knows what I’ll want in a few years?” Or now, she added silently.

“Alright, dear. I meant no offence. Mother and I just want you to be happy, you know that. It’s just hard to see you by yourself, far away, no one to take care of you.”

Eleanor thought of Steve and Bucky. We’ve got you. How was she supposed to tell her father about this? Did she want to?

“Are you still there?”

“Yes. I think there was a delay on the connection.” Eleanor lied smoothly.

“That happens with transatlantic calls, one might think! So, did you know about the latest issue with the renovations?” He launched into a long story with inept builders and paint imported from southern Greece.

The week went by so quickly, it felt like she’d never left their apartment. Steve had cooked again, a simple pasta with fresh tomatoes and basil that was full of flavour. Bucky filled his plate and ate with so much gusto, Eleanor had a hard time keeping her eyes off him.

“Any more fresh basil, Steve?”

“There should be plenty in the pot on the balcony, on the left.”

Bucky moved his chair back, but Eleanor smiled at him and shook her head.

“I’ll go. You just eat.”

She returned with a handful of basil leaves, scattering them over Bucky’s plate.

“Thank you, sweetheart.” He brushed her back. It could’ve been an innocent touch, but Eleanor shivered ever so slightly. His smirk made it clear this was exactly what he was after.

Her next bite of pasta was difficult to eat. Eleanor forced herself to swallow.

“Hey Steve, why do Mr and Mrs Osborne think you’re away for the weekend?”

Steve’s cheeks reddened a little.

“I told them I would be. I said I was going to Connecticut for an artist’s retreat.”

“Oh. When will you be going there, then?”

Bucky snorted.

“He’s not, of course. He said he was going to Connecticut for the same reason I told Mrs Starmer I’d be visiting my sister in Vermont.”

Eleanor stared at them. She felt like she was missing an important part of the conversation. To give herself some time, to think, she took a long drink from her lemon water.

“We’ve made sure we won’t get interrupted again.”

Eleanor nearly ingested a lemon rind in her water. Coughing and wheezing, she reached for a napkin. Steve jumped up and patted her back. Her mind swam with a million things to say. She picked one at random.

“How did no one see you get inside then? Mrs Kennedy’s always watching, like a personal doorman.”

Steve glanced at Bucky.

“We went out the front door around five-ish, carrying a bag and saying bye. Then we climbed up the fire escape from the back alley.”

“But the fire escape doesn’t even reach the ground anymore. The lowest part hangs in between the first and second floor. How on earth did you get up there?”

More glances.

“We jumped.”

“You jumped.”

Again, she felt she might be missing part of the conversation.

“I guess it’s just part of your ‘differences’?” She stressed the last word.

Bucky relaxed.

“Thanks. I guess Nancy Drew will need some time later to solve this mystery.”

“I have an entire system in my head labelled Steve and Bucky are odd. I’ll just add ‘can jump entire floors’. It will fit nicely next to ‘eat more than St Andrews lacrosse team’.”

Steve laughed and got up, taking their plates. Eleanor helped him with the dishes. Bucky disappeared into the living room with a book. Steve handed her a plate to dry and kissed her on the cheek. She dried the plate, put it away and then he handed her a new plate. Kiss on her brow. Last plate. Kiss on her mouth, chaste. Cutlery. Kiss on top of her head. A saucepan. Kiss on her nose. When she turned around again, he kissed her on the neck. The towel drifted to the floor. Steve kissed her on the neck again, just under her ear. Her knees went weak and she grabbed him for support.

“So responsive to my touch, pretty Ellie.”

Somehow, she hadn’t expected Steve to be vocal. Bucky was always the talkative one. But now Steve’s lips grazed her ear and she felt the tip of his tongue on her earlobe. Eleanor yanked his shirt up, her hands roaming over his back, the muscles on his tummy, his hipbones. Steve took her face in his hands and kissed her, his lips opening her mouth. Then, his arm swept her legs from under her and he carried her to the living room, bridal style. His lips never left hers.

“In a hurry, are we?” Bucky’s amused voice was right in front of her as Steve put her back on the ground.

“Couldn’t help myself. She looks so goddamn beautiful. Come, she has this place right here…”

His index finger lightly touched the spot where he’d kissed her. Bucky leaned in and kissed the same spot. Goosebumps broke out all over her arms. Bucky grinned.

“Oh, I see what you mean.”

His tongue pressed down on the spot now and Eleanor thought she might spontaneously combust.

“Bucky. Yes.”

She arched her neck to give him better access. He kissed her again, the exact same spot, then trailed down her neck. She moaned.

“Let’s go, pretty girl.”

Bucky picked her up, her legs straddling his waist. She heard Steve opening a door, then there was a world of soft bedsheets. Bucky was looking at her, his face so full of longing the only thing she could think of was to touch him. So she pulled him down on top of her, impatiently tugging the shirt over his head. Steve was on her right, kissing her shoulder, moving her dress down. It slid down, past her brassiere.

“Wait.”

“All in your time, sweetheart.” Bucky rolled off to her left. She held her dress up, just on her waist. Steve kissed her shoulder.

“There’s something… You need to… Right. OK.” She took a breath to steady herself. “I probably should’ve told you this before.”

Both men were quiet as Eleanor took another breath and then pushed down her dress, sliding it past her hips, to the ground. Gathering her courage, she rolled down the top of her underwear so that it was resting on her hipbones instead of her waist. Her hands held the edge tightly. She didn’t speak for a moment. She knew they could see the ugly scar below her bellybutton, stretching a good three-and-a-half inches diagonally towards the right. Steve gently placed his hand on her hip.

“You can touch it. It’s not painful. Not anymore.”

His fingers ghosted along the line of the puckered skin, forever a reminder of pain, of shock, of helplessness. After a few seconds, Bucky’s hand joined Steve’s. No one spoke for a while. Then:

“Why should you have told us this?”

She sat up, giving Bucky an incredulous look.

“Because, well, look at you. Look at Steve. You’re perfect. Both of you. And then here I am all normal and I just… I didn’t want you to be surprised. Or shocked. But I guess it was always there, so if it’s a problem… Sorry, if it is.”

“It is.” Bucky said, looking her straight in the eye.

She felt her heart drop out of her stomach.

“Not this scar. Not you not telling us. But how could you think this would be a problem? Why would we care? Also, it’s entirely adorable you think we’re perfect, I do appreciate that, doll, but it’s just not true.” He moved his left shoulder towards her. The red skin all around the prosthetic was clearly visible.

“See? When you took my shirt off last week, you didn’t seem to have a problem with it.”

“Of course not! It just… it’s just part of you.”

“Sure. How is this…” he lightly skimmed the scar “…any different? Why would it change anything?”

Eleanor felt stuck. She was going to have to tell them everything. She spoke haltingly, at first, then when they didn’t interrupt her, more surely. Of that March in 1949 and the cramps she’d been having. Of her nausea. Of the family doctor looking at her uncomfortably, asking her mother if she was unaware of womanly issues. The fever rising, the pain becoming so bad she couldn’t sit, or stand, or lie down, then a feeling of something bursting inside her. They moved her as she spoke, so her back was against Bucky’s chest, her hands held by Steve. She continued. Her parents rushing her to hospital after they found her on the ground of her bedroom, doctors touching her swollen belly. Screeching at doctors to examine her, to do something. A surgeon, telling her she should’ve come in sooner. Waking up after surgery, four different types of medications at five times of the day, but feeling worse, not better. The feeling of floating like a feather on the wind, then waking up after another surgery. Doctors telling her the surgery was a success, not meeting her eyes. Her fury at not being told what was wrong with her own body, and then finally being told she’d be unable to conceive. Her pain at needing to tell her parents and them crying. Having to console them.

She stopped talking. Bucky planted a kiss on her cheek. Steve stroked the palms of her hand.

“Thank you for telling us that. It still doesn’t change anything. Well, actually it might. I think I understand you better. Also, you’re even braver than I thought.”

“Brave? For what?”

“Silly girl,” he kissed her cheek again affectionately, “for saving your own life.”

“What? I didn’t exactly perform my own surgery.”

Steve spoke, quietly.

“You got the doctors into action. You demanded an explanation. You told your parents. Despite your own pain.”

“I’m not being brave right now, but that was difficult because I knew how they’d respond. I’m not sure my path in life would’ve been very different if they had managed to operate sooner.”

“It doesn’t matter. You took care of yourself. That’s brave. I think this is why you always want to take care of yourself. You’ve learnt it’s how you survive.”

This unexpected insight into her own personality was so acute it took her breath away. Eleanor was still thinking about it when Bucky spoke again.

“Now, you told us we were perfect. I wonder, have you ever seen Steve before breakfast? He’s a giant baby when he’s hungry.”

“Bucky believed in Santa Claus until he was twelve.”

Bucky kicked Steve in the shin playfully.

“See? We’re deeply flawed men, sweetheart.”

“The biggest flaw is you calling him Santa Claus. It’s Father Christmas.”

Bucky laughed, then lay down on his back, hands under his head. Eleanor laughed too, the heaviness in her chest loosening a little. She stretched her hand to Bucky’s face. He pressed a kiss to her palm.

“Really though, Steve? You get cranky when you’re hungry?”

“He’s a liar. I’m better after breakfast, but aren’t we all?”

Eleanor was absentmindedly letting her fingers trail along Bucky’s side as he stretched out beside her.

He twitched.

She paused. Did it again.

“Was that…?”

“No.”

She smirked. “It was.”

“Now listen here, doll...”

But she was already grinning, fingers skimming along his ribs, and he jerked again, letting out a laugh so undignified it only made her do it more.

“Don’t you dare,” he warned, laughing too hard to sound convincing.

Steve chuckled beside them. “He hates it.”

“Then he should never have told me.”

“I didn’t...Steve, you traitor...”

The room was suddenly full of laughter and limbs and flailing hands, Bucky trying to squirm away, Eleanor straddling him to keep him in place, her hair falling over her face.

“I surrender,” he gasped eventually, breathless, grinning up at her.

She didn’t move. She was sitting across his hips, hands resting lightly on his bare sides now.

And just like that, the air between them changed.

Eleanor leaned forwards, her hands moving to push his wrists over his head.

“Wise move.”

She kissed him, languidly. His tongue met hers. It was teasing, until it was serious. She took her mouth off him, then bent down to kiss Steve. Her brassiere moved over Bucky’s chest. He made a small noise. She kissed Steve again, grinding her hips down a little. Another noise from Bucky. Steve threaded his fingers through her hair, pulling her closer. Bucky’s hands moved to her hips, then to her back. His hands came to rest on the clasp of her brassiere.

“All right?”

“Yes. Please. Just… not all the way, right now.”

Deft fingers unclasped the fastening, knuckles brushing her spine as fabric loosened around her. Slowly, Bucky moved the garment from her arms, so slowly she could’ve stopped him any time. She didn’t.

“Christ. So goddamn beautiful.” Steve put his hand on her chest, his fingers just touching the tops of her breasts. Eleanor moved to her side, taking Bucky with her. Steve was against her back now and she could feel just how beautiful he thought she was. He pulled away a little, but she put a hand on his hip, keeping him right where he was. He started kissing her neck. Bucky’s lips were on hers again, somehow softer than before. His hands were on her sides. She nudged one towards her front. He touched her breast with his palm, then his fingers. He kissed her a little harder now, then his fingers brushed her nipple.

“Oh, oh.”

Heat raced through her. Bucky pushed himself against her and it was clear he was as affected as Steve. Her fingers dug into Bucky’s back.

“Yes, baby. Let us know what you like. What you need.”

“That. You. Yes.”

Bucky chuckled lightly against her mouth.

“It’ll have to do.”

Then Steve sucked on her skin, the place where her shoulder met her neck and she jerked wildly.

“Steve!”

“That’s right, Ellie.”

He sucked harder and she panted, grinding her bottom into him, her hands raking down Bucky’s chest. Bucky kissed her, taking up what little air she had. Steve rolled back a little, Eleanor’s back on his chest, giving Bucky more room to play. Her legs parted of their own accord, then closed again, trying to find friction. Bucky slowed down. His hand moved from her breast to her tummy, then lower.

“Will you let me?”

She gazed at him, not entirely sure what he meant until his fingers skimmed over the top of her underwear. She nodded, parting her legs. Bucky’s hand moved down over her most private part, gently rubbing her. Eleanor’s breath hitched in her throat.

“Yes, oh. Good.”

Steve’s mouth was on her ear, one hand making its way to her breasts. She didn’t know how she could bear it, but she did. Bucky’s fingers kept moving, rhythmic and sure. She didn’t recognise the noises she was making, needy and desperate. Bucky’s fingers, Steve’s hands moving from one nipple to the other, hardening them, Bucky’s mouth on neck, Steve’s mouth on her ear.

“Let go for us, gorgeous. We’ve got you.”

“Bucky, Bucky, Bucky.”

“I’m here, baby.”

Eleanor made a high, keening noise and clamped down hard on his hand. She was trembling, but the solid feeling of Steve and Bucky’s bodies against her helped her.

“Absolutely gorgeous, sweetheart.”

She calmed down slowly, skin flushed, chest rising and falling, her cheek pressed into Bucky’s shoulder.

No one spoke. There was just the soft sound of breath, of a heartbeat beneath her ear, of lips moving across her hairline.

And then, quietly, so quietly she wasn’t even sure she’d said it aloud:

“That’s never happened before.”

Steve’s hand paused on her hip.

“What do you mean, sweetheart?”

Eleanor swallowed. “With someone else. I’ve never…” She exhaled, shaky. “Not with anyone but myself.”

A beat of stillness.

Bucky kissed her temple. “We’re honoured.”

Steve let out the softest laugh. “And greedy. Because now we want to do that again. Often.”

She smiled, her lashes brushing Bucky’s chest, drowsiness overtaking her.

“I might let you. But perhaps I should head home for now.”

Four arms held her possessively.

“You can’t possibly think we’re letting you leave.”

“Not really,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper as she closed her eyes, surrendering to the quiet night and the steady beat of their hearts.

Chapter Text

Eleanor woke slowly, as though rising through water.

The air was warm, still scented faintly of sleep and skin. She became aware of the sheets first, soft and rumpled, her bare legs tangled in them and then of the hand resting low on her waist, steady, unmoving. A breath stirred the fine hairs at the back of her neck. She dozed, her head in the clouds.

And then came the kiss.

Gentle. Barely more than a brush, it landed just behind her ear and again, a little lower this time, warmer. The corner of her mouth curled reflexively. She didn’t open her eyes.

Another kiss, slower now. Lips lingering against her skin.

“Morning,” a voice whispered. Bucky. Sleep-heavy and fond.

A second hand slid along her thigh from behind, larger, broader, and Steve pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades.

She rolled onto her back, kissing Steve first, her hand on his cheek. She turned to kiss Bucky, leaving her hand on Steve’s cheek.

“Now it’s a good morning.”

Eleanor stretched her legs, meeting knees and toes on both sides.

“Weren’t you both wearing jeans yesterday?”

“They’re uncomfortable for sleeping in. You didn’t wake up when we moved. You barely even stirred in the night. I’d have worried, but you spoke plenty.”

“Did I keep you up?”

“No. Sleep is… often elusive to me. Anyway, I had a grand old time listening to you. Most entertaining.”

“What do you mean? What did I say?”

“You told George not to take your marbles. Also…” Steve’s voice softened, “my name. A lot.”

“She said my name, too.”

“Not as much as mine.”

“Better the best than the most.”

“Come now, guys. No fighting in front of a lady.”

“You’re right. Should a lady show up, we’ll stop fighting immediately.”

Eleanor gasped.

“How dare you!”

“I dare, doll. I’m brave like that.”

She bit down on the closest body part of his she could find, his thumb.

“Steve! She bit me!”

“What would you like me to do about it?”

“But… she… she left teeth marks!”

“You’re a big boy, you can handle it.”

Bucky pulled a face that suggested he was feeling very sorry for himself.

“Two against one, isn’t that nice. Next time, one of you can sleep in the other room.”

“Do you usually sleep here? Together?”

“Always.”

“But this is technically your bedroom?”

“Yeah. Best to have two bedrooms in use.” The meaning behind his words rested in the air, unpleasant and unwelcome.

“It’s very useful now. I can banish you there if you ever bite me again, for instance.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

“Oh, sweetheart. You have no idea what you’re getting yourself into.”

As if on cue, her tummy rumbled loudly.

“Right now, the only thing I’m getting myself into is breakfast. How about eggs and soldiers?”

Steve looked confused.

“Eggs and… soldiers?”

Bucky laughed softly.

“Wait, you mean, like… us? Eggs and soldiers?”

Eleanor raised an eyebrow, amused.

“No, no, not you as soldiers. It’s a British thing: soft-boiled eggs with toast cut into strips for dipping.”

Steve grinned.

“Well, eggs and us soldiers? I like the sound of that breakfast.”

Bucky nudged him.

“Careful, Rogers, you might eat yourself.”

“Or you.”

“Eggs and soldiers it is. It’s a childhood favourite of mine. Although…” Eleanor moved out of the bed, casting them a look over her bare shoulder, “it might very well become an adult favourite, now.”

She picked up her dress from the floor and left the bedroom.

Eleanor heard Steve in the bathroom while she was boiling water, singing to herself.

“…my oh my, what a wonderful day. Plenty of sunshine, heading my way…”

“Music and a show. I must’ve been good this year if Christmas came in July.” Bucky appeared in the kitchen, getting plates and cutlery.

“You’ve been… extremely… good.” She didn’t look at him, busying herself with lowering the eggs into the boiling water.

“If you think that was ‘extremely good’, you’re in for a ride, sweetheart.” His hand came down on her bottom, squeezing softly. Eleanor sucked in a breath.

Several minutes later, she put the soft-boiled eggs and buttered toast down on the table.

Eleanor broke a piece off her toast soldier and tapped it against her egg.

“I’ve never actually woken up with anyone before,” she said softly.

Steve’s brow lifted.

“What about Arthur? You were with him for two years. You even moved here because of him, right?”

She smiled wryly.

“Yeah, Arthur. He was the one. I’m not exactly a blushing innocent, Steve. I’m just not auditioning for ‘most experienced’, either.”

Bucky grinned.

“We’d win that contest hands down.”

Steve smirked.

“Speak for yourself.”

Eleanor took a breath, her voice quiet.

“Arthur always asked me to leave… after. Didn’t touch me much at any rate. It wasn’t bad, but last night, well.”

She dipped her toast into her egg delicately.

“I’m trying to say, very badly, that it was lovely, waking up with you. Best thing in a while. Thank you for allowing me to stay over.”

Bucky pulled on a curl lightly.

“Allowing you to stay over. Ridiculous. We didn’t allow you to leave.”

“I’d have found a way, Barnes. I’m devious. You’ll see.”

“I’ll be here, waiting.”

After breakfast, Eleanor looked down at her dress. It was wrinkled and creased from having been on the floor all night. She put the dishes in the kitchen, then kissed them both goodbye with a casualness she didn’t feel.

“I should shower. Change. I’ll come by this evening.”

Steve opened his mouth, perhaps to protest, but she was already halfway to the door. She didn’t run, exactly. She just left purposefully.

Back in her apartment, the silence was oddly loud. The clock told her it was eleven in the morning. She stripped off her dress and tossed it into the laundry basket, stood under the shower until the water lost its heat, then wandered about the flat in her robe for several indecisive minutes. She made a half-hearted attempt to style her hair, then gave it up as a bad job. It was a quarter past eleven.

She drank some water. Rearranged the fruit bowl. Opened a book. Shut it again. Sat on the arm of the chair. Stood up. Checked the clock. Eleven thirty.

Fifteen minutes. That was all it took for her to realise she was pretending.

There was nothing left to wait for.

She dressed again in a fresh summer skirt, a sleeveless blouse she didn’t remember liking this much and walked down the hall, not bothering with stockings or shoes.

The key turned in the lock with a soft click, and Eleanor let the door close behind her. She locked it, leaned her back against it, and exhaled.

They were in the living room.

Steve stood by the window, a sketchbook in his hands. Bucky was slouched on the arm of the sofa, holding a book upside down. Both of them looked up the moment the door shut, sharp, unreadable, as though they hadn’t moved at all since she left.

Steve blinked first. He took a half-step forward.

“It’s not evening. It’s not even noon. But you’re here,” he said, careful, hopeful.

Eleanor’s hands were still on the door behind her.

“Because you are here.”

She pushed off the door and crossed the room, her feet silent on the ground. The space between them shrank. Her heart was in her throat, but her hands were steady.

She stood in front of them both. Met their eyes.

Then, deliberately, she unbuttoned the top of her blouse.

Neither of them moved. Not at first. Steve’s hand was still curled loosely around his pencil. Bucky’s book was in his lap, long forgotten.

Eleanor stepped closer, fingers drifting to the next button. She didn’t speak. She didn’t have to.

She had made up her mind.

Chapter Text

Her fingers brushed the second button, but before she could undo it, Steve’s hand covered her fingers. His thumb traced a slow circle over her knuckles as his hungry gaze locked with hers.

Bucky’s left hand slid around her waist, fingers curling into the small of her back, pulling her closer. The faint brush of his lips against her neck made her breath hitch, heat pooling between her legs.

“Let me,” Steve murmured, his voice low, as his fingers finally slipped under the fabric, undoing the button with deliberate slowness. Eleanor’s pulse fluttered wildly in anticipation and relief as the blouse opened just a little more.

Bucky’s lips found her shoulder blades, soft and featherlight, sending a shiver down her spine.

“You’re breathtaking.”

Eleanor melted against them both, leaning into them. Her hands, free now, tangled in Steve’s hair, while Bucky’s palms traced the curve of her hips, moving to the waistband of her skirt. Her blouse fell open. Steve moved it off one shoulder, kissing her there. Another kiss, on her other shoulder and the blouse was on the floor. She kissed Steve, her hands finding his hair again. Her skirt dropped somewhere next to her blouse. She stepped back. Their eyes were locked on her as she reached behind her back to unclasp her brassiere. There was no hesitation in her movement. It fell to the ground next. Steve reached out, but she took another half-step back with a sly smile. She moved her underwear down, past her hips, her bottom, her thighs when it fell to join the rest of her clothes on the floor. Eleanor had never stood like this in front of anyone, never felt this seen, this desired.

Bucky and Steve exchanged a single look, then stepped forward as one. Bucky’s mouth came down on her lips, hot and insistent, her face in both of his hands. Steve’s fingers traced a path around her ears, her neck, her back, her bottom. Her skin was sensitive under his hands and she shivered. Bucky let go of her, pulling off his own shirt, then Steve’s. They kissed with the same intensity Eleanor had witnessed that night in June. She touched Bucky’s shoulder, Steve’s waist, the skin where their chests touched. Steve moaned ever so softly when her hands unbuttoned his jeans. As soon as his jeans were down, he kicked them off and lifted Eleanor off the ground. She locked her legs behind his back, her arms around his neck. He walked her to the bedroom and for the second time in less than a day, her world devolved into soft white nothingness. Steve’s body came down on top of hers, his weight both comforting and arousing. She felt a dip in the bed next to her, then Bucky turned her face towards his. His kisses were as hot as before, but now Steve’s lips were on her neck, moving down her chest, to her breasts. His tongue traced around a stiffened nipple and he sucked it into his mouth. Eleanor arched her back.

“Oh, oh, oh!”

Steve moved to her other nipple, his hand slowly going past her waist, through the soft curls between her legs and then she felt his fingers slip through her folds.

“Steve, God, yes.”

“So ready for me. For us. Aren’t you?”

“Yes, yes, oh.”

Eleanor lost her ability to speak then, as his thumb found the bundle of nerves and circled it gently, another finger slowly dipping inside of her. Her right hand wildly grabbed Steve’s neck, her left squeezed Bucky’s fingers harder than may have been pleasant for him, but he gave no inclination she’d hurt him, just kissing her neck and jaw.

Steve moved his finger a little faster and Eleanor’s hips buckled. It was good, so good but it wasn’t enough.

“Steve…”

His eyes flicked up to hers, mouth still on her breast, not stopping his hand working between her legs.

“Another,” she whispered, barely believing herself. “Please.”

He groaned against her skin like it physically hurt him to hear the words. “You sure, honey?”

She nodded, dazed. “Yes, yes. I’m sure.”

Steve’s fingers hesitated for a heartbeat, then another slid inside her slowly, curling gently. Eleanor’s breath hitched as the new fullness stretched and pleased her. Bucky’s lips traced a slow, warm path along her jaw, his hand firm around hers, grounding her with his quiet strength. She felt herself getting near her climax when Steve’s fingers curled away from her slowly, glistening. He looked at them and without a word, held them out to Bucky.

Eleanor’s breath caught. She should have been scandalised. She wasn’t. Not when Bucky took them like a blessing, mouth closing around Steve’s knuckles with a groan that made her thighs tremble. Bucky’s hand hand in hers tightened, fingers curling around her palm like he never wanted to let go.

When he lifted his head, his eyes were dark, glazed with something fierce and tender all at once. He murmured against her skin, breath warm and rough.

“God, Eleanor... you taste like heaven. Like ours.”

She hadn’t fully recovered from the sight, from his words, when Steve pushed his fingers back inside her, his thumb moving with more intent, pushing a little harder. Bucky was now slowly circling her right nipple with his tongue. Steve’s fingers sped up and then he bit down lightly on her earlobe.

It was enough to make her clench down on her fingers, to make her entire body shudder, to make her see stars. Her breath came in soft pants.

“You’re a sight to see, Ellie, all flushed and spent.”

She gave herself a few more breaths to calm her heart down.

“Not completely spent.”

Steve’s gaze was on her face, clearly looking for her permission. In response, she pulled at his shoulders and opened her legs. Then Steve’s eyes flickered to Bucky. Bucky pulled him in for a deep kiss, his fingers curling in Steve’s hair.

“I’m perfect right here, my love.”

Eleanor’s hands were a bit unsteady as she moved Steve’s underwear down over his buttocks. They felt like every other part of him; soft, firm, like steel wrapped in velvet. Down his legs, on to the floor. She thought Steve, in all his bare glory, kissing Bucky, was probably more beauty than most people would get to see in several lifetimes. Her hand was still unsteady as she reached out to touch his hard length. Steve groaned into Bucky’s mouth as she wrapped her hand around him. She moved her hand up and down gently, until Bucky’s hand stopped her. She looked up. Bucky pushed her down onto her back, moving Steve between her legs. Eleanor touched Bucky’s face, then Steve’s. She wanted to hold on to this moment, at the same time she couldn’t wait for the next.

Steve settled on his lower arms, his chest touching hers, lightly kissing her lips and slid into her. The first inch of him entering her slow and sure. Eleanor’s breath hitched sharply; a mix of nervousness and aching need that made her chest tighten. She felt the soft stretch deep inside, a fullness that was new but not unfamiliar.

Her fingers clenched Bucky’s hand, searching for something solid to grasp while her body adjusted to the new sensation. Warmth bloomed between her legs, pooling and spreading in waves that both startled and soothed her. It was not just physical; it was a trembling surrender, a letting go of control she hadn’t realised she’d been clinging to so tightly.

Her pulse thundered in her ears, every tiny movement sending ripples of fire through her nerves. She felt raw and utterly alive.

Steve slid in further, then built up a gentle rhythm. She kissed him deeply, moving her hips to meet him, matching his pace with an urgency that surprised her.

“You feel so good, Ellie.”

Bucky’s hands found her waist, steadying and claiming, while his lips brushed the curve of her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Her breath hitched as Steve moved faster. Her fingers dug into his back. Steve grunted, his muscles hardening, his breath quickening. Bucky kissed him, then pulled on his lower lip with his teeth. His voice, low and rough:

“You’ve got her, Steve. Don’t hold back now.”

Steve’s rhythm slowed, then softened as a low groan escaped him. With one last deep kiss pressed to Eleanor’s lips, he came inside her, warmth flooding them both in a heated rush. Gently, he eased out, breath mingling with hers in the quiet afterglow. Bucky’s hands were at her waist before she could fully catch her breath, guiding her to turn onto her side.

He draped one of her legs over his hips, and he slid inside her slowly. Eleanor savoured the new depth, the subtle shift of weight and warmth. His hands held her steady, firm yet tender, as his lips found the curve of her neck, trailing soft kisses that made her shiver. He felt so different, so similar, so entirely hers.

“That’s it, darling. Enjoy this, take what you need.”

Steve’s fingers brushed lightly over her breasts, delicate and teasing, coaxing a fresh swell of pleasure that built quickly, rising beneath her skin. Eleanor gasped, arching into Bucky’s slow, steady movements. Her nails scratched the skin of Bucky’s neck when he hit a different angle and she moaned loudly.

“Hell yes. You feel that, doll? So good, isn’t it?”

He sped up his movements, and Steve’s fingers found her clit with such gentle precision that her vision blurred. Eleanor barely registered the sound she made — only the heat spiralling fast and sharp through her belly.

“Bucky, please, please, please.”

“Only because you ask so prettily.”

His fingers dug into her hips and he pushed into her harder, not faster, just harder. She heard his breath catch a few seconds before she hit her release.

They stilled together in the quiet aftermath, skin slick and hearts pounding. Steve's hand found hers, lacing their fingers. Bucky pressed a kiss to her shoulder, slow and lingering, then rested his forehead against the back of her neck.

No one spoke. There was no need. Just warmth, breath and the unspoken promise of things to come.

Chapter Text

The living room was a little too warm, the windows cracked open in an attempt to let in a breeze. Eleanor lay on the couch in one of Steve’s undershirts, far too big on her, barely clinging to one shoulder, and nothing else. Her head rested in Bucky’s lap, who ran his fingers through her hair every now and then. Steve sat cross-legged on the floor, his back against Bucky’s legs, sipping lemonade that had long since gone watery.

They weren’t doing anything. That was the nicest part. They were simply being together, in the moment.

“You remember,” Bucky said, “that day with the guys at the café?”

Eleanor arched a brow without opening her eyes. “The ones who said I walked like I liked being watched?”

“And then you said they weren’t wrong.” His fingers slipped down, brushing her jaw. “This morning? You definitely showed it. Standing there all bare and smug.”

“I was not smug.” She smiled smugly, eyes still closed.

Steve let out a short laugh. “You had every reason to be. Like a picture from a dirty magazine soldiers hide in their bunks—except right in front of us.”

Eleanor cracked one eye open, looking at him. “Dirty magazines? Did you and Bucky actually have those?”

Bucky leaned down close, voice low against her ear. “You know we did. And now we have you. You like it when we look at you like that?”

There it was again: that quiet pull low in her belly. She didn’t move or answer right away. Just let the question sit there, warm and charged.

“Mm,” she said finally.

Steve shifted, resting his hand lightly on her thigh. “You like it when we talk to you like this, too.”

“Like what? About dirty magazines?”

Steve’s hand drew lazy circles up and down her leg. “Like when I called you my pretty Ellie, or Bucky said you were gorgeous.”

She tried to dismiss their words. “Every girl likes being told she’s pretty. Especially when the person saying it means it.”

Bucky’s fingers found her throat, resting gently, like a reminder: we see you.

“Then you’re in trouble, gorgeous,” he murmured, “because we always mean it.”

She bit her lip. Her skin felt too tight, too sensitive. Her body already wanted more. But this was better, in a way, the tension, the teasing, the way their words seemed to peel her open.

“You really don’t stand a chance,” Steve added, his hand moving along her calf now. “Not with the way you glow when we do it.”

“I… it’s… I mean… but…”

“That’s another thing you do.” Bucky teased.

“What’s that, Sergeant Barnes?”

“You’re usually all perfectly flowing sentences—never mixing up your adverbs and adjectives, clauses in check, even when you’re angry.”

“A thing I do is speak the Queen’s English the way it’s supposed to be spoken?”

“Yes. Except when you’re turned on. All that verbosity goes right out the window. A highly useful clue.” Bucky’s voice was a low purr.

“Who’s smug now?”

“We are. Sitting here with our pretty, sophisticated, highly prim, put-together Eleanor, who we can read like one of the books she’s always towing about.”

“Oh no. I like being called pretty. I like having two insanely attractive men look at me. I am not very articulate when I… when you… when I’m aroused. This could apply to a thousand women in Brooklyn alone.”

“You turn into jelly when that spot below your ear is touched,” Steve added, a smile in his voice.

“And you don’t simply like it when we say you’re pretty. Or taste good.” Bucky’s voice came back, low and wicked. His fingers skimmed her lips, letting her know he hadn’t missed the hitch in her breath at his words. “You get off on it.”

She opened her eyes, her insides leaping. She knew he was right, but they weren’t the only ones who had been observant.

Then, sweet as anything: “Well… so does Steve.”

The silence was instant. Then Steve let out a short, stunned laugh, colour rising high on his cheeks.

Eleanor turned her head toward Steve, gaze playful and pointed. “You don’t remember? The evening I walked in on you?” She let it hang. “You liked being praised just as much as I do. I heard the way you groaned.”

Steve rubbed the back of his neck, half-exasperated, half-flushed. “I wasn’t exactly thinking straight.”

Bucky grinned. “She’s got you dead to rights, pal.”

“Alright, alright,” Steve said. “I can take a compliment.”

“Can you?” Eleanor asked innocently, raking her nails up his arm.

“You are dangerous… gorgeous girl.”

They grinned at each other. The clock struck four.

“Hey Steve, do we still have cheese? And biscuits? And strawberries?”

Steve got up. Eleanor lifted her chin, looking at Bucky.

“How are you always hungry?”

“Four in the afternoon is the best time for a snack, doll.”

“If you say so.” She stretched languidly, then got up and kissed Bucky.

“Where are you going?”

“Just thinking of dinner. I think I still have some leftovers from Thursday in the icebox.”

“Eleanor.”

She turned around. “What is it?”

“You can have dinner here. And breakfast.”

“I’ve been here almost a full day.”

“Do you want to leave?”

Eleanor considered it. Her house had her things. Food. The floor could do with cleaning.

“No.”

“Then stay.”

She moved to the window, looking out at the street below. Steve returned with cheese on biscuits and a bowl full of fat, juicy strawberries.

“How long have you and Steve been together?”

There was no sound beyond the faint ticking of the clock and the neighbourhood three floors below.

“1947,” Bucky said, clearly not understanding her question.

“You’ve built a life together. I don’t want to… I mean, I don’t think I should…”

Steve was quicker on the uptake than Bucky.

“We’ve talked about it.”

Eleanor glanced over her shoulder.

“I could never forgive myself if I did anything to...”

But Bucky understood now, too.

“It’s not your decision to make. It’s ours. We’ve invited you in.”

“I know.”

“Stay. For now. You told me our love was impressive. If you believe that, you cannot think it’ll be damaged if you stay with us. For the weekend.”

Eleanor smiled despite herself.

“Outwitting me, Steven?” She felt his hand on her waist.

“Allow me my victories in this field. I don’t think I’ll have many.”

Bucky piped up.

“He’s right. He needs this victory.”

“Then I surrender.” Steve’s knuckles brushed against her neck.

“Good girl.” Bucky gave her a wicked grin.

“But only if I can have the strawberries.”

“We can share. You’ll have noticed we’re very good at it.”

It was true. She had noticed.

Chapter Text

The kitchen smelled of olive oil and rosemary. Bucky was fussing over the stove with such obvious joy that Eleanor smiled. She was leaning against the wall, just watching him.

“See something you like, sweetheart?” Of course, he knew she was standing there.

“No.”

“No? You’re breaking my heart.”

“I see everything I like.” She’d meant it to be playful, but it came out with a softness that turned it into something different, something heavier.

Bucky was in front of her before she could blink. His eyes shone. She stroked his face. He kissed her with a tenderness that made her stomach hurt. When he pulled back, she was surprised to feel a tear roll down her cheek. He brushed it away with his thumb. They looked at each other. Bucky moved his fingers through her curls. She stepped away, suddenly uncomfortable.

“I’ll set the table, shall I?”

Eleanor fled the kitchen, holding the cutlery like a life ring.

She laid the table with trembling hands, trying to breathe past the tightness in her chest. The clatter of cutlery felt louder than it should’ve, like it might give her away.

Get it together, Montrose. It was a joke. You made a joke.

By the time Bucky brought the food through, she’d managed to get her smile back in place, though she avoided their gaze.

Steve raised an eyebrow as he handed her a plate. “You all right?”

“Of course.” She cleared her throat. “Just hungry.”

They sat close. Steve’s thigh brushed hers beneath the table. He didn’t move his leg away. Eleanor barely touched her food. She watched the way Bucky’s fingers curled around his fork, the way Steve’s forearm flexed when he reached for the salt. She had to make an effort not to touch them. She’d meant to be composed, maybe even coy, but her body was already humming again, breath shallow, pulse flaring with every glance that lasted too long.

Steve noticed. Of course, he did.

“You’re not eating,” he said casually.

“I suppose I’m not as hungry as I thought.” But she picked up her fork anyway.

Bucky leaned back in his chair, eyes flicking from Steve to her. “You sure about that?”

There was heat behind it. Something deliberate. Eleanor’s fork paused mid-air. She looked Bucky straight in the face.

“Don’t ask questions you already know the answer to.”

That earned her a quiet, surprised laugh from Bucky and a spark behind Steve’s eyes she hadn’t seen before. She put her fork down, then stood up. And when she turned toward the bedroom, she didn’t need to turn around to see if they’d follow.

She was beside the bed. Bucky came in first, his mouth immediately on hers, his hands removing her blouse and brassiere in seconds. Eleanor stopped kissing him only to remove his shirt, then sought out his mouth again while she unbuttoned his jeans and moved them down. When Bucky’s hands moved to her skirt, she paused.

Steve stayed near the door, watching.

“Sit, please.” Bucky raised his eyebrows, but he sat on the edge of the bed. Eleanor kissed Steve, her hands finding the ridges on his stomach and sides under his shirt. Then she stepped back to the bed, straddling Bucky, kissing his mouth, his neck, his ears, his shoulders. She didn’t miss an inch of his skin. She slowly slid off him, landing on her knees on the ground. She continued her exploration of his chest, the muscles on his tummy, tensing when she caressed them with her tongue.

She wasn’t certain where her boldness had come from. Maybe it was the tenderness of his kiss in the kitchen, maybe it was Steve’s glances at the table or Bucky’s loaded question, but she suddenly wanted this. Specifically this.

She’d done it before. Once with Michael, awkwardly, on a rainy afternoon when the Chilham library was closed. Again with Arthur. That had been brief, clinical, as if it were something he expected her to try once and then move on from. It hadn’t been good, it hadn’t been awful. It hadn’t meant much. Neither Michael nor Arthur had ever moaned her name. No one had ever looked at her like this. Both they and she had been indifferent.

But now, now Eleanor was on her knees before Bucky Barnes, and there was nothing indifferent about it.

She touched his thighs first, then the soft cotton of his underwear, and she paused.

“May I?”

“You can do anything you want, gorgeous.”

One last breath. One last moment to change her mind.

She didn’t.

She eased off his underwear and he sucked in a sharp breath. She hesitated for a second, doubting herself, her boldness, her skill. But Bucky was there in front of her, giving her all of him, and she didn’t really have a choice anymore.

She leaned in and licked a slow stripe along the underside of him, just to feel his thighs twitch and hear the catch in his throat. Then again, slower.

She wanted to take her time. To learn what he liked by watching how he moved, how his hand fisted in the blanket behind him, how Steve’s voice murmured something low and rough from behind her that made Bucky moan. She stopped thinking about being good at it, she stopped thinking about her experiences and his. She just let herself enjoy it as much as she hoped he was. Because she was enjoying it. She enjoyed how he felt in her mouth. His heavy breathing. His taste. His legs strong beneath her hands. She enjoyed how she felt, secure and strangely pleased. Like she was giving him something after what he’d given her.

She tried to take in a bit more of him, until that made her cough. Bucky moved one hand to her shoulder, gently stroking her.

Then Steve’s voice came from behind her.

“You look beautiful like that.”

Eleanor shivered. Bucky made a sound that was something between a groan and a plea.

Steve’s tone was not something she’d heard before. Low. Confident. Hot.

“Look at her, Buck. Look how careful she is. She wants to make you feel good.”

Bucky twitched in her mouth.

“You’re so good for us, gorgeous,” Steve added. “Taking him like that, fuck, you look so sweet like this.”

Hearing him swear sent a rush of heat straight to her core and she whimpered. She looked up at Bucky. His head had tipped back, the tendons in his throat taut. Clearly Steve’s words were having a similar effect on him.

“You love this, don’t you? Her pretty mouth on you. You’ve been wanting it all day, haven’t you?”

Bucky’s hips jerked. Eleanor felt the way he strained not to move, not to thrust. The way he trembled. Steve stepped closer, just enough that his voice was right at Bucky’s ear, not touching either of them.

“And you look so good, baby. All flushed and shaking. She’s got you so wrecked.”

Eleanor pulled back slightly, her hand stroking where her mouth had been, and looked up. Bucky’s eyes were wild, glassy. She felt strangely powerful. She made him look like that. She wanted to tip him over the edge and she moved her mouth back over him. He was harder than ever. Her cheeks hollowed as she increased her speed. Eleanor took her hand into this own, squeezing. She continued moving her head and sunk her nails into his hip.

“Fuck, El!”

He came hard, head still tipped back and his legs trembling. She was surprised, swallowing just a second late, but she loved how he pulsed on her tongue and she kept going until he fell back on the bed, gasping. She wasn’t sure, but she thought he was panting her name. She let go of him then, wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, but Steve was on her before she could get up. He grabbed her face in both of his hands and kissed her, his tongue in her mouth like he needed to taste what she’d done.

“Fuck, Eleanor,” he breathed against her lips. “That was the hottest thing I’ve ever seen.”

His hands slipped down her body, gripping her waist like he didn’t know what to do with himself.

“You looked so good like that,” he murmured. “Mouth full of him. So fucking sweet.”

Behind her, Bucky made a soft, ruined sound. Steve kissed her again, his breath ragged. Eleanor clung to him, her knees struggling to keep her upright. She looked at Steve with her eyes full of want.

“When you look up like that,” he said, voice thick, “I swear to God, makes me want things I’m not sure I deserve.”

She’d never heard anyone speak like Steve was doing, but she knew she liked it. Loved it. She wanted him to keep doing it for hours. She wanted his mouth on her. She wanted his hands. She wanted him. So she pushed himself against her, her hands pulling on his neck, her mouth trying to connect with him. Eleanor tugged at his shirt, his jeans.

“I… please… off.”

Steve pulled off his shirt in one move, then kissed her again. They moved to the bed together, where he removed her clothes first, then his own. Her skin burned under his hands. Then his mouth was on her throat, her collarbone, down the centre of her chest. She gasped when he kissed the swell of her breast, when he circled one nipple with his tongue. Her hands curled in the sheets. Beside her, she felt Bucky shift closer, still bare from earlier, still watching, still wanting. He didn’t touch either of them. But she needed both of them right now, so she reached for him. He kissed her, open-mouthed, hand in her hair. Then she felt Steve’s hand move further down. She stilled.

“What do you want, pretty Ellie?”

She didn’t know how to say it. Or rather, she knew how to say it, but the words wouldn’t come. Instead, she went to kiss Steve, but he pulled back. Just a little.

“Tell me what you want, sweet thing.” It came out both a plea and an order. She put her face in his neck.

“I want… you. Inside of me. I want…” She paused, gathering her courage.

“I want to ride you.”

Steve’s breath left him in a rush.

Bucky let out a quiet, broken laugh behind her. “Jesus, Ellie.”

“You can have me. All of me.” Steve grabbed her waist, guiding her on top of him. Then she was straddling him. Her hand moved, then she paused. Steve reached down too, his hand guiding hers. Their eyes met. She swallowed.

And slowly, carefully, she sank onto him.

The stretch made her bite her lip, her hands flying to his chest for balance. She wasn’t sure how to move at first. Steve’s hands moved to her hips. They found a rhythm together. Bucky kissed her shoulder.

“Just like that. That’s right.”

Feeling a little more sure of herself, Eleanor picked up the pace, grinding down a little harder.

Steve groaned, head falling back against the pillow, hands now on her thighs.

“Oh fuck, Eleanor...”

“I thought that was what I was doing.”

Steve’s breath caught. He looked up at her, his face stunned.

“Jesus Christ,” he muttered, voice gone rough. “You can’t just say shit like that.”

But she saw he loved it in the way his eyes darkened, so she ground down on him again. He surged up to kiss her. His arms were now on her back, fingers digging into her skin.

From beside them, Bucky let out a low whistle.

“Sounds like she’s found her voice.”

She shifted, then gasped at the change in the angle. Her hands flew to Steve’s shoulders, pushing him down.

“Feels… so… good.” She moaned.

Steve’s hands were on her breasts, rougher than before. It only made her move faster, her hands on his abdomen, steadying herself.

“Yes, baby. Ride me like that. Let me feel you so very deep.”

She sighed his name, again and again.

“Fuck. My name on your lips, Ellie… you’re a goddamn dream.” The last words came out strangled, his hands tightening on her hips, driving himself up to meet her.

Her breath hitched with every roll of her hips, each thrust sending sparks through her nerves. Steve met her rhythm, eyes dark, jaw clenched, every word that left him tangled with awe.

“You feel… God, Eleanor, you feel... so fuckin’ perfect.”

She couldn’t think anymore. Couldn’t speak. All she could do was move. Again. Faster. Harder. Her thighs trembled. Her skin was slick. It was too much and not enough.

Then she felt it—Steve shifting beneath her, hips rising harder, deeper, his hands gripping tight.

“Ellie, baby, yes.”

He gasped, and she felt him spill inside her, warmth and pleasure crashing into him at once.

That should have been it. It wasn’t.

Because Bucky was behind her in a heartbeat, one arm around her waist, the other sliding between her thighs with an intimacy that felt like home.

“You’re so close, sweetheart,” he whispered into her neck. “Let me take care of you.”

And Eleanor, already on the edge, already floating, could do nothing but give in.

His fingers circled just right, and with Steve still deep inside her, still trembling beneath her, she fell apart with a soft, broken cry. Her body shook. She crumpled forward onto Steve’s chest.

“Attagirl,” Bucky murmured, kissing her damp skin. “Just like that. We’ve got you.”

They both held her while she came down. Steve’s hands stroking her back, Bucky murmuring sweet, filthy things in her ear until the aftershocks faded.

She moved off Steve when her leg started to cramp. Both Steve and Bucky shifted with her, unwilling to let go, just as she was reluctant to let them go.

Eleanor’s mind drifted back to the way Bucky had looked at her when she slipped off his underwear, the softness in his kiss, and how Steve had spoken to her, held her gently, letting her find her own rhythm.

She felt such a rush of affection for them both, it almost made her gasp. She kept it in, just barely. She wasn’t ready for them to ask questions about things she didn’t understand yet.

Chapter Text

They hadn’t moved much. Eleanor lay between them, head pillowed on Steve’s shoulder, one leg draped over Bucky’s thigh. The room still smelled of sweat and sex, which was unfamiliar to her and yet instantly recognisable. Steve had reached for the glass of water on the nightstand and handed it around in lazy sips. She took a small one, passing it back with fingers not entirely steady yet.

She felt boneless. Loose. Glowing. But not tired.

Bucky’s fingers traced gentle circles on her hip. Steve’s hand rested low on her stomach, warm and possessive. Eleanor’s mind was going over everything she had felt, seen, tasted, heard. Especially what she’d heard. She was curious.

“Steve?” she said softly.

His thumb brushed her skin. “Mm?”

She shifted just enough to look at him, propping herself up slightly. “What you said. Earlier. While I was…” she cleared her throat, eyes flicking to Bucky, who gave her a lazy, satisfied smile. “Where did you learn to talk like that?”

Steve blinked, then laughed, quiet and a little embarrassed. “Uh. Practice?”

Bucky gave a snort. “That’s one way of putting it.”

Eleanor tilted her head. “What’s the other way?”

Steve rubbed a hand over his face, but he was smiling. “I always kinda talked like that. Even when we were kids. We'd get worked up over some movie star in a magazine, and I’d start narrating what I’d do to her. Real filthy. Bucky would groan and tell me to shut up, but then he’d get quiet and ask for more. Couldn’t keep his hands to himself. Or rather, he definitely could. Just not north of the border.”

“You were a menace,” Bucky added, propping himself up on one elbow. “Sometimes you’d start in class, first period. It was unbearable to make it through the day with you whispering every dirty detail you could think of.”

She stared at Steve, lips parted.

“And you’ve just… always done that?” she asked, still reeling a little.

Steve shrugged, looking up at her. “Didn’t get much chance to put it into practice. I was only with one girl before Bucky. She didn’t much care for it. But with him, and now with you…I want you to know. I want to tell you exactly how good they are. How pretty you sound when you’re falling apart. How sweet you taste.”

Eleanor flushed. She tried to look away.

Bucky caught her chin. “Oh no, honey, don’t go all shy now. Not after what you just did.”

She felt something catch in her chest, heat and pride and desire all tangled up, but she didn’t know what to do with it.

“Maybe I’m not being shy. Maybe I’m just shocked. Appalled.”

Bucky held her chin a little tighter.

“Liar,” he said. He looked at her, smirking, but his voice had taken on a darker tone. “Go on. Tell him how it made you feel.”

She considered her options. She could stay silent. Lie. Joke. Run. Kiss one of them to distract them. Bucky seemed to sense her inner turmoil and his eyes softened. He kissed her gently on her lips. “You know you want to, sweetheart. So look at him and tell him.”

Eleanor looked back at Steve. He’d put his hand back on her stomach.

“I liked it,” she whispered. “More than liked it.”

Steve’s eyes darkened. “Yeah?”

She nodded.

“Good. Because I loved doing it.”

Steve’s hand traced random patterns against her skin. The conversation could tip back into heat at any second. Eleanor felt it around her.

Then Bucky’s stomach growled. Loudly.

She let out a startled laugh. “Was that you?”

He groaned. “I think I’m dying.”

Steve chuckled, voice still rough. “Pretty sure we left dinner on the table.”

Eleanor sat up slightly, her leg still tangled with Bucky’s. “Oh no. We did. You were both eating and then…”

“Then you were hungry for me instead?” Bucky offered, entirely unrepentant.

“Something like that,” she muttered.

Steve stretched with a satisfied sigh. “We should eat.”

“I can’t move. Eleanor’s ruined me.”

She smacked his shoulder. “You’re ridiculous.”

“You say that, but I think I’ve gone blind. Possibly paralysed. She’s a siren, Rogers.”

“She’s a dangerous, mythical creature alright,” Steve said, putting on some clothes. “Come on. Chicken’s not going to reheat itself.”

Bucky sighed like a man preparing to scale Everest. “If I never walk again, just know I had a good run.”

Eleanor climbed off the bed with exaggerated dignity. “You two are hopeless.”

Bucky leered at her nudity. “Hopelessly hungry.”

“Sergeant Barnes, you will control yourself.”

“Around you? Never.”

She ran her fingernails over the soles of his feet. Bucky yelped and jumped from the bed.

“You don’t play fair, Montrose.”

“I’m up against two men who lift bookcases with one arm, jump entire floors and hear whispered conversations across crowded cafés. I’m just levelling the playing field.”

“Too clever by at least one and a half.”

Eleanor pulled on a shirt from the floor, not bothering with the rest. She looked at Bucky still standing there. Her stomach contracted a bit at the sight of his effortless beauty.

“You heard the corporal. Time to eat.”

Steve was in the kitchen, turning on the oven. The food was still on the table, plates almost empty except for Eleanor’s.

“Tragic,” Bucky said, surveying the scene like a battlefield. “She died hot and we left her to go cold.”

Steve came back, picking up a pan. “We could reheat...”

“Too late,” Eleanor interrupted, spearing a cold green bean with the urgency of a woman freshly ravished and utterly ravenous. “Cold chicken is a legitimate delicacy.”

Bucky slid into his seat and immediately tore off a piece with his fingers. “Especially after what just happened. Everything tastes better after an exorcism.”

Steve, grinning, handed Eleanor a fork. “Wasn’t an exorcism.”

“It felt like one,” Bucky muttered, mouth full. “I saw God. She had freckles.”

Eleanor nearly choked on the beans. After wiping her mouth with a napkin, she threw Bucky a stern look.

“Fornication and now blasphemy, James? I pray for your soul.”

“I appreciate that, doll.”

They fell into a rhythm without effort. No asking, no ceremony, just food passed back and forth, Steve sawing through bread with the wrong knife, Bucky licking rosemary off his thumb with entirely unnecessary flourish, taking a bite off her fork without asking. Eleanor sat curled into her chair, half-dressed and wholly content, watching them move around her like she belonged to the scene.

“So,” Steve said eventually, raising an eyebrow at Eleanor, “is cold chicken a Kentish tradition, or just a you-thing?”

“It’s an Eleanor thing,” she said primly. “That makes it better.”

“She’s right,” Bucky said through a mouthful. “Everything’s better when it’s an Eleanor thing.”

She rolled her eyes. “You’re both absurd. And stop speaking with your mouth full. Honestly, your poor mother.”

“Still,” Steve said, lifting his glass toward her, “to the woman who left dinner half-laid to lay us instead.”

Eleanor blushed, pleased to no end. She raised her glass too.

“To cold chicken,” she said.

“To cold chicken,” they echoed, grinning.

After dinner, Eleanor insisted she do the dishes. Steve turned on the radio, and she hummed along with the songs with her arms in the soapy water. She heard a song come on that just asked to be sung out loud.

“…No matter how your heart is grieving, if you keep on believing, the dreams that you dream, will come true.”

She almost dropped the plate she’d been holding to the floor when she turned around to put it away. Steve and Bucky were both standing in the doorway.

“Oh, good heavens!” She clutched the plate to her chest, trying to catch her breath.

“How long have the two of you been standing there?”

“The first verse of the song.”

“Why?”

“Bucky was right. You’re a siren. We heard you and just…found ourselves here.”

She didn’t know what to say, instead returning to the easier job of putting away the clean dishes. Steve and Bucky stayed exactly where they were.

“I take it you approve of the performance.”

“We’ve already got dinner and a show,” Bucky said. “At this rate, we’ll be requesting encores by breakfast.”

She closed the cabinet with a firm little click. “You do not get a bedtime serenade just because I forgot you had ears.”

Steve came up behind her, voice warm at her shoulder. “You didn’t forget. You sang. For us”

She shot him a dry look. “Don’t make it sentimental. I was singing about dreams coming true.”

“Dangerous words in a place like this,” Bucky murmured.

She smirked. “Then perhaps I’ll sing about vengeance next time.”

“Sexy,” Steve deadpanned.

That earned him the dirty dishrag to the chest.

Eventually they drifted into the living room, too full and too content to do much more than sprawl. Eleanor curled on the couch, the large shirt riding up her thighs, leafing through a book. Bucky was at the other end with his arm lazily thrown along the back, skimming Friday’s newspaper. Steve was on the floor again, his head resting on her knee, his hands going through paint samples.

She thought maybe she could stay like this forever. Her fingers drifted into Steve’s hair without thinking, combing gently through the soft strands. His sigh was barely audible, just a little exhale, pleased and content.

Then he turned his head and pressed the lightest kiss to the inside of her knee.

It was nothing, really. Barely more than a brush of lips. He might not have even meant it. But her body answered anyway. It took her completely by surprise. One moment she was quietly looking at some pictures of archaeological dig sites, the next her tummy was flooded with heat.

Eleanor surged forward. Bucky looked up from the other end of the couch, startled.

She reached for Steve, her mouth on his, open and wet and full of heat. Her hands tugged at his shirt, fingers brushing beneath it, skimming along the lines of muscle she now knew by heart. She kissed him again, deeper this time, until Steve made a sound low in his throat.

Bucky was watching from the couch, paper on the ground.

“Ellie…” Steve’s voice was hoarse against her lips. “Are you...”

She dragged him onto his feet, then fell on her knees in front of him.

“I want this,” she said, looking up at him. Her voice didn’t waver. “I want you in my mouth. Now.”

Bucky made an unintelligible noise.

Steve’s hands were limp at his sides, like he hadn’t caught up yet.

Then Eleanor reached for his waistband.

She undid his jeans slowly, deliberately, never breaking eye contact. When she tugged them down with his underwear, he groaned, sharp and strangled.

“Christ, Eleanor…”

She pushed him a little, to make him sit down on the couch. His hands wrapped around her wrists and he pulled her with him. She straddled him, kissing him as though she hadn’t touched him in days. Breathless, she slid back the floor and wrapped one hand around his length. She leaned forward. licked the tip, a flicker of her tongue, just to see him twitch.

“Jesus.” Steve’s head dropped back against the cushion, his chest heaving. “You’re gonna kill me.”

She took less time than she had with Bucky. She wanted to hear him speak again. So she worked a little harder, to see what he did. How he responded. What made him gasp. What made his hips jerk. What made him praise her like she was his salvation.

When she hollowed her cheeks and took more of him in, Steve’s hand found her hair, trembling.

“Oh, Ellie. You don’t even know what you’re doing to me.”

Eleanor moaned, the sound muffled, but Steve heard it. Felt it. His thighs flexed.

“She’s...fuck, Buck, look at her.”

“I am looking,” Bucky said, voice rough. He moved to Steve, kissing him hard, his hand joining Steve’s in her hair.

Eleanor pulled back slightly, stroking him with her hand, lips flushed. “Say more,” she whispered.

Steve blinked. “What?”

“Talk to me. Like before.”

He let out a helpless breath, one hand clenching in her hair again.

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he said, voice low and ragged. “That mouth… Jesus, the things you’re doing to me…”

She leaned forward again, her eagerness surprising herself again. She wanted to earn everything he said.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” His voice was getting wilder, breathier. “So sweet like this, so fucking good for me.”

Eleanor squeezed his thigh. He was close.

Steve’s face was twisted, his eyes on her, his free hand scrabbling at the cushion. “Can’t hold on, baby...feels too good...”

She looked up at him then, her mouth full of him, making direct eye contact just as Bucky bit lightly into his neck.

He came with a strangled cry, every muscle taut. Eleanor kept going, swallowing instinctively, not stopping until he was shuddering, breathless, half-collapsed into the couch.

When she finally pulled back, Steve looked dazed. Eleanor sat back on her heels, licking her lips without thinking, her eyes fixed on him.

Bucky made a sound like a laugh that got stuck halfway.

“Jesus, gorgeous.”

She turned to look at him. “Yes?”

“You are a menace.”

She smiled like she’d won something. “I’m in good company, then.”

Bucky reached down and tugged her gently up from the floor and into his lap, her back to his chest.  “Yes, you are.” His hands went straight to her thighs, palms warm and sure, pushing the shirt up.

“Wait,” Eleanor said softly. “I didn’t...this wasn’t to get anything.”

“I know, sweetheart.” He kissed her temple. “But you’re getting something anyway.”

She didn’t protest. She just leaned into him, breath catching when one of his hands slid between her legs. Steve roused himself at that, still breathless but recovering fast. “She’s soaked,” Bucky said, looking over at him. “You feel that?” Steve’s hand joined Bucky’s, in a move that was so erotic, it made her moan and her legs tremble. But then Bucky’s voice was at her ear, low and rough:

“Up. On your knees, gorgeous.”

She was on her knees before she realised, bracing her hands on the coffee table in front of her. Her desire was humming through her. The large shirt fell around her hips, but it didn’t hide much. Bucky pushed it higher with one hand, slow enough to make her shake.

“Fuck,” he said behind her. “Look at you.”

Steve was beside her now, still half-wrecked, his jeans hanging open. He leaned in and kissed her forehead, murmuring, “You all right, pretty girl?”

She nodded, breath caught in her throat. “Don’t make me wait.”

Bucky made a low, approving sound behind her.

And then he was inside her.

She cried out, hands scrabbling for purchase on the table. He gave her a moment, long enough to let her adjust, before he set a rhythm that had her gasping. His hands gripped her hips hard, anchoring her, controlling her.

Steve knelt beside her, one hand cupping her breast, one between her legs. “You’re taking him so well, baby. So fucking good. You love this, don’t you? Love feeling what you do to us with that incredible body of yours, those hazel eyes all hot like you don’t know what you might do next as long as it gets you off. See how you’re making Buck lose his poor mind, making me talk like this. You’re making him feel so good.”

Eleanor whimpered. She was already close. From the high of wrecking Steve, from the press of Bucky behind her, from how filthy it all felt; shirt half off , knees on the rug, Steve kissing her lips, murmuring the dirtiest things she’d ever heard and touching her clit not at all gently while Bucky took her from behind.

“Let go,” Bucky growled. “Come for us.”

And she did, fast and hard, her moan caught in Steve’s kiss as her body pulsed around Bucky. He followed with a grunt, thrusting deep and stilling as he finished inside her.

For a long moment, there was only panting and the sound of the radio still humming something sweet and slow in the background.

Then Bucky leaned over her back, still catching his breath. “Next time,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to her spine, “I’m fucking you first.”

Eleanor felt like she should have been offended, but she simply laughed, wrecked, glowing, and completely undone. Bucky withdrew slowly, both of them groaning softly at the aftershock of it. Eleanor’s arms gave out and she slumped sideways into Steve’s chest, still laughing breathlessly.

“That was...God.” She shook her head. “I don’t even have words.”

“Unfair,” Steve offered, smiling as he tucked her hair back from her damp face.

“Illegal,” Bucky mumbled. “Unconscionable. Someone ought to call the cops.”

Eleanor giggled. “Who would we say committed the crime?”

“All three of us, sweetheart.” Bucky leaned in to kiss her spine again. “Joint operation.”

They were still tangled together, half-clothed, panting, when Eleanor sat back on her heels and gave a very proper little nod.

“I think,” she said, “we ought to make an attempt at the bedroom.”

Steve groaned. “We have to move?”

“Come on, soldier,” Bucky said, hauling himself to his feet and reaching down to pull Eleanor up after him. “Don’t tell me you’ve gone soft.”

Steve’s smile twisted into something sly. “Only where it counts.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake,” Eleanor said, but she was grinning too.

They made their way down the hallway.

The bed was cool when they fell into it, warm by the time they stopped laughing, and silent soon after that, save for the soft sound of breathing, limbs draped over limbs, Eleanor tucked between them.

Chapter Text

A stray hair tickled Eleanor’s nose. She woke up and blinked, drowsy and warm. The sheets were scrunched up by the bottom of the bed. She was warm because Bucky’s arms were wrapped around her back and waist. Steve was sleeping on his back, spread out like a starfish. Eleanor carefully stretched her legs, wincing slightly at the tender ache between her legs. She wondered at the day ahead. Would it be like yesterday? At that moment, Steve let out a small snore. She put her hand in his. She thought he might like waking up that way. Bucky stirred, then relaxed. Eleanor pressed a soft kiss to his arm, the only part of him she was able to reach with her mouth. Her mind wandered off, random memories from work, a letter from Alice, that kitchen floor that still needed cleaning. Bucky stirred again, then stretched. His arms tightened around her.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

She turned onto her back slowly so as not to wake Steve.

“How did you know I was awake?”

“I could hear you thinking away over there. Does that brain of yours ever stop?”

“As I’ve said before, I’m the brain. Your brawn doesn’t stop either,” she indicated, with a lazy gesture, his arms around her.

Steve opened his eyes, an easy smile on his features.

“Listen to you two bicker like an old married couple.”

“Don’t you know you’re never supposed to tell a woman she’s old?”

“Didn’t say you were old. Just said you sounded like you’d killed a few husbands already.”

He grinned, suddenly resembling Bucky. She kissed the hand that was in hers.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“How come he gets a handsome?” Bucky whined.

“Good morning, handsome.”

“How will I know you mean it?”

Eleanor nipped at his neck.

“Ouch. Is this a thing? Do you bite in the morning?”

“Only when you deserve it.”

“He called you old and then you called him handsome. I ask a question and I get bitten. Life is terribly unfair.”

“Alright. I think you are handsome. Good-looking. Attractive. Easy on the eyes. I know you make my knees go weak. Better?”

“Much better.” He kissed her shoulder. It was like Steve’s kiss on her knee the night before. Bucky had kissed her shoulder sweetly, without overt intent, but Eleanor’s body responded wildly. Her breath caught in her throat. Her arms tensed. Her legs twitched. Steve’s eyes were on her, knowingly. Bucky’s arms loosened around her.

“Alright, sweetheart?”

“Oh, she’s fine. She’s absolutely wonderful.”

Bucky caught on to Steve’s tone immediately.

“Christ, pretty girl. That’s all it takes now?”

Eleanor rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. Her voice came out muffled.

“I can’t help it. Something has just changed. I don’t know. It’s all your fault.”

“Yeah, it is. We take full responsibility.”

She felt Bucky’s hands on her hips, rolling her on her back again.

“You can’t honestly think we mind.”

“No, I don’t think you mind, exactly.”

“But?”

“It’s just…embarrassing.”

“I’m not embarrassed. Steve?”

“You like us. You like how we touch you. You respond to how we touch you. We like you. We like touching you. I see no problem.”

“I do.” Eleanor put her arms over her face.

“I don’t want you to stop touching me. Ever. The moment we’re done I’m thinking about when we can do it again. I have work tomorrow. How can I, in this state?”

Bucky chuckled, his cold left hand sliding over her ribs, her waist, her hips.

“Don’t think about tomorrow. It’s only today, after all.”

His fingers trailed lower, from her hip to the inside of her thigh.

Steve dipped to kiss her opposite hip.

“And today...”his voice was low and smooth, “we can touch you whenever you like.”

He moved her leg so he was lying between them, kissing her thighs. Bucky’s hand moved to her breast. Eleanor’s breath was shallow. Steve’s first kiss on her most intimate spot made her hips jerk involuntarily. She felt his hand settle lightly on her stomach.

“Stay still for me, gorgeous.”

Strangely, she found she could. Steve kissed her again, then pressed his whole mouth against her. He was gentle, at first, like he wanted to simply get to know her. Her shape. Her scent. Her taste. He wasn’t careful for long. She twisted her fingers in the sheet, her knuckles white, until Bucky took her hand in his own. And though she managed to keep her body still, for the most part, the same couldn’t be said for her mouth. Steve didn’t stop when she gasped. Not when she whimpered. Not when she said his name, whispered or, at the end loud. He didn’t stop until she moved away, unable to take one more touch. He looked up, then, her legs still over his shoulders. Eleanor wanted to say something, or smile at him, but she couldn’t.

Bucky was beside her, kissing her temple. His thumb stroked her cheek.

“Such a beautiful girl, you are. Stunning. You alright?”

She nodded, the words not forthcoming yet.

Steve lowered her legs, kissed the inside of her thigh, which made her twitch again and moved to her other side. Eleanor felt overwhelmed. Her body was just coming down from the high, but her mind was everywhere. She reached for Bucky, pulling his arm over her. She needed more. So she put her face onto Steve’s shoulder and pushed her leg against his.

“Ellie…you OK?”

She didn’t answer him, just held onto Bucky’s cool arm tighter. She could feel Steve and Bucky looking at each other.

“You need to say something, honey.” Steve kissed her hairline, soft as a feather.

She wasn’t lost for words. Words were lost for her.

Eleanor’s breath came fast, not slowing down. Her eyes were wide open. Bucky moved closer, holding her a little tighter.

“It’s OK if you can’t speak, sweetheart. But I need you to breathe, now. Breathe, alright? Slow and steady.”

She heard his words. His voice. She tried to focus on that. Bucky wanted her to breathe. It seemed like a simple thing to do. She listened to his breath. He breathed in, held it for a few seconds, then breathed out. She could breathe like he did, timing her breath with his: in, hold, out. After a minute or so, she tried to speak though she wasn’t sure what to say. Hold me? Don’t move? I’m scared? None of those seemed to fit.

“Just breathe. You’re doing so well. We’ve got you.”

They didn’t speak again. Not until she found her way back.

Eleanor didn’t know how long they all stayed like that, but eventually, she could feel her mind clear beyond the haze. She let go of Bucky’s arm and moved her face away from Steve’s shoulder, slowly sitting up. She was suddenly curious.

“It seems you know exactly what to do. With each other. With me.”

Bucky looked at her. “Is that a compliment or an accusation?”

“It’s an observation. Or, I don’t know. No, it’s a question.”

Steve tapped her nose.

“Curious again? You’re definitely OK now.”

“You said you’ve been together since 1947. But you’re so good at this. At me. Where did you learn?”

They were quiet. Bucky spoke first.

“Before the war, I had been with women. A few. It never meant much. Not to me, not to them. I was always waiting for Steve.”

She felt Steve’s hand flex on her jaw.

“And you, Steve?”

He spoke slowly, his tone measured, like he was weighing every word.

“I met a woman during the war. We were together for a while. Until I went…until Bucky was back. She knew before I did that I was in love with him.”

“So…not since then?”

More silence. Bucky glanced at Steve, then back at her.

“There were a few times. With different girls. Just for a night. Someone who didn’t ask too many questions. Someone who liked both of us.”

Eleanor’s eyebrows rose.

Steve’s voice was quiet. “It was never like this. We had to be careful.”

Bucky nodded. “No feelings. No mornings after. Just a need. But this...it’s not like that.”

She looked at him. He didn’t look away.

Something in her chest stirred, warm and tight and aching. She could have asked what he meant. Could have demanded the rest of the sentence.

But she didn’t. She shifted back between them, as if her body had made the choice for her.

“Well,” she said, “that explains the coordination.”

Steve let out a soft huff of laughter. “You saying we make a good team?”

“I’m saying,” Eleanor replied, adjusting her position slightly, “you’ve clearly had practice.”

Bucky leaned in and kissed the edge of her jaw. “We have. Now we’re just practising with you, though.”

She smiled and pecked him on the lips. “That’s alright, then.”

After breakfast, she kissed them goodbye, promising she’d be back before dinner. She left their apartment, checking to see no one would see her come out first.

Back at her own place, she managed to make a decent evening meal out of leftovers for all three of them, then cleaned the kitchen floor until it gleamed. She had worked up a sweat and needed a shower. Clad in clean clothes, her hair done, she looked out of the windows. It was sunny outside, and humid, but she couldn’t stay indoors. She needed to move, to breathe out in the open. She took a green apple from her fruit basket and decided to go for a walk. She wandered around aimlessly, nodding and exchanging pleasantries with several neighbours, admiring the elm trees in Prospect Park, buying a lemon ice, throwing a ball back and forth with a few children for a couple of minutes. She was trying very hard to enjoy herself.

But she thought of Bucky and Steve and wanted nothing more than to be with them. Or for them to be with her.

That morning had been chaos, in her mind. First Steve’s mouth on her. Then, straight after, her insides, her brain, her whole body whispering to her. That this was much more than a desire-filled weekend with her neighbours. That she didn’t just want their hands on her. She wanted all of them. She wanted them to have all of her. And the immediate, crushing realisation it would be impossible. Immoral. Illegal. It was such a push and pull between what she wanted and what she could have, that her breath just hadn't known what to do with it. Now, after her walk, some time without them, she had some clarity. She felt better, having come to a decision. She would allow herself this. To enjoy their company. The friendly banter. The flirting. The Friday dinners. The sex. It would never last, anyway.

She pushed open the door to their apartment. They were both in the kitchen, messing about with tomatoes.

“I come bearing gifts.”

“Good thing you’re not Greek, then.”

Bucky kissed her on the cheek and took the food from her arms.

“We have plenty of our own, you know.”

“With you boys, I never know. I’m just happy I don’t have to buy your groceries.” She walked over to kiss Steve, her mouth lingering on his jaw a touch too long.

They sat down to a steaming plate of roast vegetables and jacket potatoes around six. Bucky was talking about a possible upcoming work thing that would have him be out of state for a few days, to which Eleanor lamented she wouldn’t be able to miss him for that long. Steve suddenly looked at her, questioningly.

“What is it?” She used the moment to steal a piece of courgette from his plate.

“You said this morning, that you wanted to touch us, all the time. Now you’re saying you’d miss Buck if he left for two days.”

She felt somewhat uncomfortable. “Yes?”

“Surely it’s been like that before?”

“What, me wanting to touch you?”

“Not us. But you were with Arthur, and that guy before, what was his name…”

“Michael. We were teenagers at the time. It definitely wasn’t like this.”

“You said Arthur asked you to leave…after.” Steve took a large bite of his jacket potato.

“Well, yes. We broke up for a reason, Steve. Why do you ask?”

“This morning, you asked about us. Our earlier…experiences.”

“I did. You can’t blame me for being curious about you both.”

“I don’t. I’m just curious too.”

Eleanor shifted on her chair. She had set herself up for this. Sighing, she said:

“Alright. What would you like to know?”

“What was different then?”

“Arthur and I, we were the couple that made sense. Similar interests, similar backgrounds. I fell for his knowledge of literature, his passion. He had a clear view of what the future would hold for him. For us. It was good, that lack of doubt. For a time.” She cut into a roast tomato with unnecessary precision.

“You moved here for him.”

She looked up sharply.

“Yes. Our future seemed to be here. But it was clear even then, looking back, that there were cracks. He was mostly interested in having me hear him speak. Telling me about the world. About what the right opinion was. He liked taking me to parties, but just to be on his arm. To show off.”

“Can’t really blame him there,” Bucky said.

She jabbed at him with her fork.

“Steve said, that first Friday in March, after the hospital, that he knew I could speak my mind. Arthur took a little longer to figure that out. He started getting annoyed whenever I’d disagree with him, even on the smallest things. I threw in the towel when he took me out for dinner and decided I should have fish. I wanted the chicken. I walked out of the restaurant. I only spoke to him once after that. So…what was different? Everything. I loved him, until I didn’t. I never felt this weird, slightly unnatural,” she smirked at Bucky, “urge to take his clothes off all the time. Nor did he, for that matter. We did touch, just, more polite? More civilised? What we’ve been doing this weekend is definitely a first for me. It’s a little intense.”

“It sounds lonely. Polite is a lousy substitute for feeling wanted, feeling heard.” Steve sounded indignant.

“I made him sound worse than he was, I’m sure. I guess when we were…in bed together, it seemed to be more for him. It never really occurred to me to ask him to touch me more, to be fair. I certainly wasn’t unhappy with how he touched me at the time.” She spoke lightly. It wasn’t an act. She got over Arthur a long time ago.

They both looked at her, then at each other.

“Did I answer your question satisfactorily?”

Steve just nodded, chewing on a piece of squash.

“Do you mind talking about it?”

“No. It’s over. It happened. I look back with fondness, mostly.”

“You’re a better person than I am,” muttered Bucky.

The light-hearted atmosphere of before returned after that. They all took care of the cleaning up, taking up way too much space in the kitchen. Eleanor found herself singing again. Steve put his arms around her, slowly dancing on the rhythm she set. When all the pots and pans were clean and put away, the evening sun warm on them, she said:

“I should head home,” knowing she wouldn’t. Not yet.

Steve put his nose in her hair.

“You don’t have to. You can stay. For a while.”

She looked at Bucky. He nodded.

“Stay. With us.”

They naturally moved to the bedroom. She stood between them as they undressed her. Bucky folded her dress. Steve rolled down her stockings. When they were done, she suddenly felt ashamed of her nakedness. Until Steve kissed her. It was slow. It was sweet. She barely felt it as they moved to the bed, with the sheets still smelling like them. She kept kissing him, even when Bucky took off Steve’s clothes. Bucky laid down behind her. That’s when she stopped kissing Steve and turned around to kiss Bucky. She was surprised to find him naked before her. He smiled at her, his devastatingly beautiful smile. Steve moved her legs over his hip, then touched her between her legs. Bucky held her hands as she climaxed, kept holding her hands as Steve slid inside her slowly from behind. He kissed her as she moaned softly. She didn’t gasp their names, she didn’t whimper. She let her body do all the talking for her. When she lay with her head on Bucky’s shoulder and Steve’s hand stroking down her back, she said:

“That wasn’t polite.”

Steve chuckled.

“Good. It’s a crime to touch you politely.”

“A crime? Goodness. I feel so important.”

They didn’t speak for a while. Eleanor thought she could sleep like this, although it couldn’t have been later than eight o’clock. Then Bucky’s hand moved over her hip and she knew she hadn’t had enough of them yet. She grazed Bucky’s ear with her teeth and whispered:

“Still not polite.”

“No, but you’re not done being rude, are you?”

She felt her body respond to his tone. It definitely wasn’t polite or civilised.

“Lie back for me.”

Bucky kissed her again, but his kisses were hungry. Raw. They claimed her so she could think of nothing else. His hand pushed her legs apart, felt between them and came away wet. He didn’t tease, just moved on top of her and pushed inside of her, filling her, stretching her. She gasped, yes, now she gasped.

“Christ, look at you both.”

Steve was half-sitting against the headboard.

“Told you she was sweet like this. You gonna let him fuck you hard, pretty Ellie? Gonna let him ruin you for anyone but us?”

“She’s ruined me. Ruined me when she walked in our door,” Bucky grunted, his hands warm and tight on her hips. Eleanor writhed beneath him, so turned on she could barely breathe. She felt Steve press a wet kiss on her mouth, then a shift as he tangled his fingers in Bucky’s hair, kissing him sloppily. He pulled back, leaning against the headboard again.

“Like that, gorgeous. Let him feel all of you. Let him use that body of yours in all the ways you want it to be used. Or maybe,” his voice dropped down, “a way or two you didn’t even know you wanted it.”

Bucky growled low in his throat.

“That fucking mouth of yours, Stevie.”

“Tell me you want me to stop. She doesn’t. Look at those eyes, you’re filling her but you know she’s not done yet. Still wants more of you. Don’t you, sweetheart?”

Eleanor thought the heat might burn straight through her. It was much more than she could stand. Bucky suddenly grinned.

“She clenches every time you speak like that. Let’s see how far we can push her.” She wanted to say something, do something, but her arms just about managed to hold onto Bucky’s shoulders.

“I bet she’d let you fuck her all night, every inch, over and over. So wet for him, aren’t you?”

She was shaking, moaning, she didn’t care what she looked like, she just had to have them. If they stopped, she would die on the spot.

“You hear her? You’re fucking the moans right out of her. That’s our girl, so fucking perfect.”

“Please, please, please, please.” The words were in her mouth without her knowing how they got there.

“You don’t have to hold on, baby. We want to see you fall apart for us. We’ll put you back together.”

Bucky paused for half a second to move his hand between them and pushed down on her hard. It was all she needed. Her back arched off the bed, then she fell down. No sounds from her throat, just panting, bewildered, gone.

“God, you’re so beautiful like that.”

Bucky continued driving into her.

“Fuck, Steve, she feels incredible. Like she was made for us.”

Steve moved up to Bucky, his mouth finding his ear, whispering things Eleanor couldn’t hear. Moments later, Bucky spasmed and fell down on top of her, breathing heavily.

She didn’t know when her shaking simply became touching, but eventually, it did. She kissed Bucky’s head, then sought out Steve’s eyes.

He looked at her with a soft look that somehow matched his words exactly. It shouldn’t have made sense.

“So good, honey. So sweet for us. You OK?”

“OK doesn’t cover it.”

Bucky grumbled something against her shoulder and then rolled off her, right onto Steve.

“Hello, Buck.” Steve adjusted so Bucky was curled against his legs.

“I’m not sure I’ve ever heard you speak like that and you’ve been ruining me with that mouth for four decades.”

“Guess the pair of you just bring it out in me.”

Eleanor moved, her head in Steve’s lap. She kissed his hip.

“Do you speak to each other like that?”

“And she’s got more questions. Insatiable, aren’t you?”

“You’ve got no idea,” she said, getting comfortable.

“Steve speaks like that every now and again. It’s different for me.”

“How?”

Bucky hesitated.

“I mostly like telling him how good he looks when he does something.”

“Mostly?”

“I knew you’d pick up on that. There’s other things. You’ll find out. If that happens.”

“Is it…would you be OK with that?”

“With what, doll?”

“More. Later. I don’t mean tonight…maybe next weekend. You know.”

“OK with it,” Bucky seemed to mull the words over.

“I’d understand if it was just this. I wouldn’t be upset. I think.”

“You’re out of your mind if you think it’s not happening again. And not just in here, either. Friday dinners still stand, Ellie.”

Her breath caught for just a second. She was quietly relieved.

“Good,” she said, voice already drowsy. “I think I’d miss you too much.”

Bucky laughed softly. Steve’s hand slid through her hair.

No one moved for a long time.

Chapter Text

The alarm was loud. One moment she was having tea with a purple alligator wearing a monocle. The next, Eleanor was sitting up, rubbing her eyes. She kissed Bucky.

“Good morning, handsome.”

Then she kissed Steve.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

She gave herself half a glance in the mirror as she washed her face and brushed her teeth. Her cheeks were rosy, her eyes sparkled, her hair was a mess of curls. She’d take care of it after breakfast.

Steve was at the table, peering into his coffee as though considering ways he could drown himself in it. She could smell toast. Bucky entered with three plates. Her mug of tea was already waiting.

They know you so well. Like you’ve had breakfast with them for years.

She ate her toast hungrily, then looked at Steve, still staring at his coffee morosely.

“Are you alright?”

He looked up.

“Yeah. Just sleepy.”

“Told you he was a baby before breakfast.”

“He seemed fine yesterday, and the day before.”

“We had you for breakfast then.” Bucky gave her a grin that set her skin on fire.

“I should’ve known you’d be a morning person like him. Hmph.” Steve closed his eyes.

“Not to worry, I’ll be gone in a minute.”

“Don’t want you gone. Just… quiet.”

“Books to file, students to assist, rare editions to swoon over. My day is waiting.” She got up, kissed him on the cheek, then put her things in the kitchen. She didn’t see Bucky, so she just yelled a goodbye before going to her own apartment. There, she fixed her hair and her make-up and made lunch. She heard the door creak.

“Hello?”

Bucky’s mouth was on her neck.

“I didn’t get a goodbye.”

“I didn’t see you.”

“I need a goodbye.”

She put down the knife she’d been holding and pulled him in for a kiss. She had meant to go for a chaste peck, but clearly he had other ideas. His hands were on her bottom and his breath was hot in her mouth. Eleanor kissed him back, taking what she needed to get through the week. Cursing herself, she put her hands on his shoulders and pushed him away softly.

“Goodbye, Bucky. Have a lovely day. See you Friday.”

“Goodbye, sweetheart. Don’t break too many hearts out there.”

She shooed him out of the door, smiling.

The smile stayed on her mouth throughout the day. It survived the unpleasant heat on the subway, three books being returned in less than pristine condition and a leaflet warning of the threat of communism waiting in her post box upon her return home. She turned on the radio, made herself a light summer salad, grilled some fish and headed out to the balcony. The sun was on her face as she ate her dinner. Her bed felt cold when she got in.

On Tuesday, she had a long meeting with the Heads and Dean of the history faculty. None of her suggestions were noted. She considered reshelving her bookcase by interest in the evening, but instead wound down in her favourite chair reading 1984. It was interesting, but she thought the idea of Big Brother was a little too far-fetched. She wondered if Bucky had read it.

Wednesday passed in a blur. Eleanor stamped what felt like a thousand books, had an interesting discussion regarding the overrepresentation of American perspective history books in the library with Mrs Kaufman and went for a walk during her lunch break. She’d been invited to dinner at Mr and Mrs Parker’s, who had spent the weekend in New Jersey, apparently doing so regularly. They both preferred the beach there. When she went to sleep, her arms clutched her pillow.

The Thursday morning was quiet at work. Eleanor returned books to their places, paying attention to the titles, mentally noting down ones she might want to read. In the afternoon, she was copying a list of newly added books, in threefold, when Professor Still approached her. He requested her presence at the start of the new academic year in September, to help the new students find their way around the library and archive. She carefully penned the dates in the shared office calendar. The evening was even quieter. She went on another walk, needing the noises of the city around her.

Eleanor took her time with breakfast that morning. The smile was back on her face. She was wearing it the way she wore her favourite perfume; deliberate and clinging to places not shown in public. She spent lots of time rooms without a clock: in the bathroom, painting her toenails and brushing her teeth, on the balcony, watering her plants and reading more of 1984 and in the kitchen, cleaning the cabinets. She changed into a demure grey dress, already imagining Steve’s hands taking it off.

She stood in front of their door, unnecessarily smoothing the front of her dress. She knocked twice. The door opened almost immediately. Steve beamed at her like she was the sun after a freezing winter.

“Hello, beautiful.”

Eleanor stepped into the hall and kissed him. It started off politely enough, but her fingers had a mind of their own, finding her favourite spot around his hips within seconds. He didn’t seem to mind. She stepped back. Bucky was there, grinning and already reaching for her.

“Hi there gorgeous.”

She went into his arms, kissing him with no attempt at being polite. He responded enthusiastically, pulling her close to him, his left hand in her hair. She moved her hands under his shirt. He chuckled.

“We’ve missed you too, doll. Did you have a good week?”

“Less talking, more kissing,” Eleanor mumbled, trying to grab Steve with one hand. He was there instantly, mouth on her neck. When his tongue found that spot just below her ear, she realised dinner would have to wait. Her hands moved to Bucky’s jeans, fumbling with the buttons because she was too busy kissing his jaw to look at what she doing. Steve unzipped her dress, then took her hand and moved to the bedroom.

“No. Now. Now. Please.”

Bucky grinned at Steve.

“You heard her. She said now.”

She kissed Steve, rubbing him through his trousers and gasped when Bucky’s hand moved between her legs.

“Oh, you weren’t kidding, sweetheart.”

Bucky took off her slip. She turned around and pushed his shoulders to the ground. She didn’t even bother to take off all of his clothes or her own before she sank down on top of him. He groaned, holding her hips.

“So pretty like that, going straight for what you want.”

She rode him hard, just taking what she’d been missing. Steve knelt down next to her and she kissed him, kept kissing him as Bucky grunted and tightened his grip on her hips, then let his hands fall to the ground. Eleanor climbed into Steve’s lap then, locking her legs around him, moving more slowly until Steve’s hands moved under her thighs, lifted her and brought her down on him harder. Their lips stayed together, her arms around his neck. Steve breathed heavily, moved her up and down a few more times and his mouth on her stilled. He laid her on the ground, Bucky’s hand moved between her legs and didn’t stop until she rolled over onto her side, panting.

“Hello, guys.”

Bucky kissed her shoulder.

“Hello, Eleanor. You good there?”

“Better than I was an hour ago.”

Steve laughed. His fingers brushed over her back.

“Perhaps we should get off the floor.”

“The floor is good. It’s solid. Like you.”

He laughed again, quietly now.

“We’re half-naked in the hall, pretty Ellie.”

“I regret nothing.”

She let him help her up, zipping her dress back up. He went to pick up his shirt, but she stopped him. “Would you mind…leaving it off? You too, Bucky?”

“Thought you liked being seen.”

“Doesn’t mean I don’t like seeing.”

Bucky shrugged.

“It’s warm. And let’s face it, Steve, you do look good shirtless.”

They settled at the dining table. Steve checked the oven. When Bucky handed her a glass, their fingers brushed and he kissed her again.

“You staying the weekend, gorgeous?”

Her tummy curled.

“Wouldn’t miss it.”

Chapter Text

It was a revelation, having dinner with Bucky and Steve sitting there bare-chested. Eleanor wouldn’t have been able to say what kind of food was in front of her, but she could have described exactly how the sun hit Bucky’s wide shoulders, or the way the muscles on Steve’s lower tummy moved when he reached for something across the table. Every now and again, Bucky would catch her looking and smirk.

“I think perhaps the both of you should be banned from wearing shirts. Ever. Just for the good of humanity as a whole.”

Steve’s smile was just a touch uncomfortable, but Bucky grinned like a Cheshire cat.

“If it keeps you looking at me like that, doll, I’ll go shirtless whenever you’re here.”

“Oh, I’ll hold you to that.”

Eleanor sent both guys to the living room while she did the dishes. When she put away the last plate, the soft hum of their voices lured her to them. For a moment, she hesitated. She had told herself to enjoy it while it lasted, but she didn’t want to set herself up for heartache. Was she being foolish? Then Steve was there, smiling his you-are-the-best-thing-ever smile and she decided one more weekend wouldn’t hurt anyone. She kissed him as he filled a jug with water, ice and lemon rinds. She brought out three glasses for them, then stretched out on the sofa, her feet in Bucky’s lap. Steve put on some music; slow and jazzy. He curled up on Bucky’s other side, his head on his shoulder. Eleanor watched them, just touching, Bucky kissing the top of Steve’s head.

“Bucky?”

“Hmm?”

“Have you read 1984?”

He grinned at her.

“Are you sure you’re British? I think it might be printing ink running through your veins instead.”

“Says the man who has reserved an entire corner of his house to books.”

“I am all American, sweetheart. Stars and stripes to the core.”

“Sergeant America to the rescue?”

“You know it.”

She grinned back.

“So, 1984?”

“No, but I have Animal Farm here. Would you like to read it?”

“You could read it to us, Buck. I always like when you do.”

Steve got up to get the book. He found it quickly, handed the book to Bucky and settled down again. Bucky opened it and started reading out loud.

“Mr Jones, of the Manor Farm, had locked the hen-houses for the night, but was too drunk to remember to shut the popholes. With the ring of light from his lantern…”

Eleanor looked at Bucky as he read. He lingered on the adjectives, his face mirroring what happened in the plot. His chest, still bare, was relaxed yet the muscles were clearly visible. She’d never considered herself a person to care about muscles. It had never been a thing for her before. But now, apparently, she was quite taken with them, especially when they stretched or shifted or caught the light just so.

“…and those of us who are capable of it are forced to work to the last atom of our strength; and the very instant that our usefulness has come to an end…”

Bucky had a lovely voice for reading; slow, sure and calm. Eleanor would be quite content to listen to him read through the night. She sipped her water, Orwell’s words spilling over her.

“…never seen animals behave like this before, and this sudden uprising of creatures whom they were used to thrashing and maltreating just as they chose, frightened them…”

Steve was stroking Bucky’s lower arm and dipped his head to kiss his shoulder every few minutes. She was pleased to see him like this; soft and carefree. It made him look younger, somehow.

“…to begin the harvest, and when they came back in the evening it was noticed that the milk had disappeared.”

Bucky closed the book.

“That was the first two chapters. They are only ten altogether. Perhaps some more tomorrow?”

Eleanor nodded. Steve stretched, then looked at her. Bucky flashed her a smile before slowly kissing Steve, on his mouth, his ears, his neck. His hands were in Steve’s hair, not pulling, just moving through the strands. Steve returned the kiss just as slowly. There was something so right about seeing them like this. Just love. They seemed to accept each other entirely. She didn’t realise she was crying until her breath hitched in her throat. Their hands were on her immediately.

“What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

“Nothing. It’s just you. The two of you.” She wiped her eyes on her arm.

“What about us?”

“You’re like art, together.”

Silence.

“Jesus, Ellie. You tryin’ to make me tear up, too? Saying those words, looking at us like we’re the stars in your sky.”

Bucky’s face was alight with affection. Steve leaned forward, his hand on her neck.

“C’mere, lovely girl.”

Eleanor kissed him, slow, a little unsteady. His arms closed around her, holding her. He pressed a soft kiss to her cheek, lingering by her ear.

“Let’s go to bed.”

She got up. Bucky’s fingers laced with hers, warm and steady.

They didn’t speak as they walked to the bedroom. They didn’t speak as they undressed each other. They didn’t speak as they laid down. They didn’t speak as her hands pulled both of them close.

Their skin was warm against hers. Smooth. Solid. Bucky kissed her mouth, tasting faintly of lemon and Steve’s mouth was on her neck. Bucky shifted down, kissing her chest, her breasts, her stomach, her ribs. He kissed her hipbones, then moved her right leg on top of Steve’s. She felt his mouth between her legs and arched her back. Steve’s hand was cradling the side of her face like he didn’t want to let go. He held her like that as Bucky’s mouth had her come undone.

Steve pulled Bucky up, their mouths coming together with more urgency than before. Eleanor’s hands found Bucky, hard and waiting. He pulled away from Steve with a groan, curled one arm under her back and slid into her. His name fell from her lips. Bucky moved inside her, slow and deep, his forehead resting against hers. Their hands were linked, fingers clasped above her head, like he needed something to hold onto. She kissed him again, again, breathing his name. Steve was beside them, his mouth on Bucky’s shoulder, her collarbone, her waist, his ear. Eleanor looked at him, untangling one of her hands and reaching for Steve.

“Will you…?” Her voice was soft.

“What is it, sweet thing?” She opened her mouth, not sure how to shape her thoughts.

Bucky had stopped moving, just brushed her cheek with his knuckles.

“Can I…Can I see you? Together?”

Steve’s eyes flicked to Bucky’s. They looked at each other, then Steve nodded. The silence was heavy, but there was no shock. Bucky pressed one more kiss to her lips, then pulled out of her. Steve climbed over her, kissed her forehead and adjusted the pillow beneath her head.

“You alright like that, Ellie?”

She nodded, kissed his wrist and exhaled.

Steve kissed Bucky. They moved without hesitation. Steve’s hand slid along Bucky’s chest, up the curve of his neck, pulling him close. Their mouths were on each other like they belonged there. Like home.

Bucky leaned into it, his hands splayed against Steve’s back, one sliding up into his hair. Eleanor watched as they breathed together, shifted, pressed closer. When Steve pushed Bucky gently onto his back, her breath caught. He moved down Bucky’s chest, trailing kisses lower and lower until his mouth moved closed around his length. She couldn’t look away. It was arousing, yes, but it was mostly them showing her themselves as they were, as they had been. It should have pushed her out. Instead, it felt like they welcomed her.

Steve turned onto his side, back against Bucky’s chest. His hands stretched toward her, palm open. She moved closer and curled her fingers into his. She felt him move, felt when Bucky pushed inside of Steve, felt Steve’s breath hitch. She didn’t need to touch them more than this. This was enough. This was the world.

Their rhythm stayed slow, all breath and touch and quiet moans that seemed to belong to all of them.

Bucky’s hand wrapped around Steve, moving steady and sure, knowing how to get Steve exactly where he wanted him. Eleanor inched forward to capture his moans with her mouth as his body tensed, warmth spilling against her belly and the curve of her waist. Moments later, Bucky’s hands clenched down on Steve’s hips. The sound of them, panting, filled the room.

Steve rolled onto his back and brought Bucky’s head down for a kiss. Their eyes found hers.

“Yes,” she whispered, though she wasn’t sure what question she was answering.

For a long moment, none of them moved. Chests rose and fell, limbs tangled together in the heat of what they’d made together.

Steve let out a soft, breathless laugh and looked down at her belly.

“Sorry, lovely,” he murmured.

“I don’t mind,” she said, “it’s you.”

Bucky reached for the hand towel by the bed. He leaned across Steve to wipe her clean, gentle as anything. She let him. Let them both. Let herself stay right there, Steve warm and solid between them, Bucky’s hand curled around her calf, their bodies close enough to share a single breath.
Steve kissed her temple. Bucky smoothed her hair.

“That was different,” she whispered.

Neither of them asked what she meant.

Chapter Text

The sky was too blue. It was an odd thought to have, but it was the first thing Eleanor had thought as she had looked out of the window in the morning and it was on her mind now, as she sat on Bucky and Steve’s balcony with 1984 and a glass of water that had turned from ice cold to room temperature within fifteen minutes. She was in the shade and yet the blue bounced off the page so she kept squinting and losing track of the sentence she was currently reading.

They were on their morning run. She had intended on leaving their apartment and waiting in her own until they got back, but Bucky had kissed her and then promised they’d walk around shirtless if she had stayed.

It was a joke.

Still, there she was, on their balcony, with nothing but Orwell’s nightmare to keep her thoughts company. A pigeon cooed nearby. She looked up from the page. The bird looked back at her from the railing, its absurd little head bobbing up and down.

“I’m not feeding you. It’s summer. Go find a worm somewhere.”

The pigeon didn’t move. Eleanor sighed and returned to her book.

Twenty minutes later, she heard the front door open. The pigeon was still there. She put the novel down and got up. The bird looked at her again, then flew off into the Brooklyn streets. She watched it go.

Eleanor paused in the door opening. Steve and Bucky were thirstily gulping down water, moving around each other like two halves of a single rhythm she was only just beginning to hear. Steve laughed at something Bucky had said. Bucky’s hand was on Steve’s elbow. They disappeared into the kitchen. Bucky came out first, pulling off his shirt. His chest was glistening with sweat. Steve was just behind him, his gaze on Bucky’s back. Eleanor felt heat prick at her cheeks. She felt entirely ridiculous;  her fascination with their bodies and the way they looked at each other was bordering on creepy. She stepped into the living room. It was barely cooler than the balcony. Bucky immediately came to kiss her.

“Look, shirtless, like I promised.”

She chuckled against his mouth.

“Go have a shower, handsome.”

Bucky kissed her again, then kissed Steve and skipped to the shower. Eleanor looked at Steve.

“Is he always this happy after a run? He’s like a squirrel that stole a bag of peanuts.”

Steve smiled in that way that made the sun shine.

“He’s happy that you’re still here, pretty girl.”

She didn’t know what to say to that, so she just pulled him in for a kiss.

“I’m sweaty.”

“I don’t care.”

Steve kissed her, and again Eleanor felt her body react in a way that didn’t fit the moment at all. She opened her mouth and licked his lower lip. His hands came to rest on her waist and hip, his tongue teasing hers. Her hands dug into his shoulders. Steve let her go.

“You are incorrigible,” he mumbled into her hair.

“You started it.”

“I beg to differ.”

He pulled off his shirt, smirked at her expression and walked to the bathroom.

“Get out of there, Bucky,” he called playfully. “You’re done now!”

Eleanor stood there a moment longer, lips tingling, thoughts all over the place. Then she sighed and decided to go back to her book. Still, her drink was warm again.

In the kitchen, she opened the icebox and leaned in, welcoming the cool air.

That was when a wet body pressed against her from behind, all bare skin and dripping hair. Lips brushed the side of her neck.

She yelped.

“Sorry, doll,” Bucky murmured, grinning. “Did I startle you?”

“Bad Bucky!”

She turned to swat him, but he caught her wrists easily and held them behind her back. The movement made her lose her balance and stumble right into his chest.

“Bad, bad man you are.”

“You say that like it’s a bad thing.”

He kissed her ear. Her pulse thundered in response.

“Yes. You’re dripping all over me.”

“So tell me to stop.” But he knew her too well already and pressed his tongue onto that spot on her neck just beneath her ear. Her knees wobbled and he let go of her wrists to  grab her waist. Her fingers curled in his damp hair. He walked her out of the kitchen like that. They bumped into the doorway, a wall, then the doorway again.

“We’re not making it to lunch, then?” She asked, close to breathless.

“Doll, I’m barely making it to the bed.”

They stumbled into the bedroom, his hands pushing her dress down. The towel he’d been wearing around his waist fell off. Her dress fell in a heap on top of it, then her brassiere.

Steve came into the bedroom towelling his hair dry. His eyes noticed the clothes on the floor first, then Eleanor and Bucky. He grinned at them.

“You’re as bad as she is.”

“Undignified,” Eleanor muttered. “That’s what this is.” She bit lightly into Bucky’s shoulder.

Bucky turned around to kiss Steve, saying over his shoulder:

“Lie down for me, sweetheart.”

Eleanor’s heart sped up, then oddly calmed down as she lay down immediately.

Steve’s brows shot up. His eyes were on her face.

“Buck.”

Bucky was still kissing Steve’s jaw.

“Buck.”

“What?”

“Look.”

Bucky turned around and looked at her face too.

“Oh…oh.”

Eleanor was confused.

“What?”

“Nothing, doll.” But he looked back at Steve like they had just discovered a secret.

They lay down on either side of her. Bucky moved one finger up and down her chest, round the curve of her waist, her hips. Steve was still just watching her face. Their scrutiny made her want to cover herself and she brought her arms to her chest. Bucky moved his mouth to her ear, his voice low.

“Sweetheart, you wanna be good for us, don’t you?”

“Yes.” The swiftness of her response caught her off guard, but Bucky didn’t give her time to think about it, slipping a hand beneath her knee and guiding her leg up around his hip as he leaned down to kiss her mouth, slow, claiming, his hand cupping her jaw.

“Then put those arms back.” Steve’s voice was at her other ear.

Without thinking, she put her arms down by her side.

“Christ, El. You’re so beautiful right now.”

She didn’t know what to say. She wasn’t doing anything. That was the thing. She wasn’t teasing, wasn’t performing, wasn’t even touching them. She was just lying still, and yet the look in Bucky’s eyes made her feel like she’d set the room on fire.

Steve’s hand was on her underwear.

“Can I?” he asked, breath warm on her skin.

“Yes,” she said. Her voice cracked on, “Please.”

He rolled down her underwear, then parted her legs. Bucky put her on her back. She knew something was different, how they touched her, how they looked at each other. Not for the first time, Eleanor wondered about all the things she had been unaware of, that she was still unaware of. But then Steve’s mouth was on her and she lost all coherent thought.

“That’s it, pretty girl. Let him make you feel good. You’re so sweet.”

She whimpered, her hands balling into fists by her sides. She wanted desperately to hold Bucky’s hand or Steve’s shoulders, but her hands wouldn’t move from where they were. Her breath came in soft gasps and her legs trembled. Bucky was stroking her breasts, her jaw, her ribs, her thighs. Steve slid two fingers inside her, slowly, like he wanted to take his time. Eleanor panted his name. She felt as though all her muscles were wound like a springs.

“Please, please, Bucky.”

“What do you need, Ellie?”

“Please, your hand, I want, oh, please.”

His cool fingers intertwined with hers, Steve’s tongue pressed just right and her back arched so suddenly Bucky had to catch her.

“There you go. Like that. Ride it out with us.”

It took a few minutes until she had calmed her breath. Steve moved up, kissed Bucky, then her temple. Eleanor’s skin was buzzing. Her limbs felt warm and weightless, her pulse soft and slow now, but her mind was reeling. Their voices echoed in her head, louder than the silence in the room.

She stared at the ceiling, blinking, still tucked between them. One of Bucky’s hands stroked up and down her arm, soothing. Steve’s fingers toyed gently with a lock of her hair. Eleanor had questions. So many questions. She didn’t think they’d laugh.

“What was that?”

The silence stretched for a moment. Steve’s fingers were still curled in her hair, but Bucky stopped stroking her arm.

She looked between them, her voice steadier this time. “I mean it. I don’t understand what just happened. I couldn’t move. I didn’t want to move.”

Steve glanced at Bucky. Bucky was watching her face like it was a map he already knew by heart.

“You were perfect,” Bucky said softly.

“That’s not an answer.”

Steve gave a half-smile. “It doesn’t always have a name. Not one we ever needed, anyway.”

“But you do this,” she said, searching their faces. “Together.”

A beat. Then Bucky nodded. “We do. We learned each other that way. I didn’t have to ask Steve to listen to me. He just did.”

Steve’s thumb stroked her jaw. “Same with you, just now.”

Eleanor swallowed. “How did you know, out of nowhere?”

Bucky’s smile turned sly. “We’ve been seeing it. Tonight just confirmed it.”

“Oh?”

“When I asked you to lie still. When you said ‘please’. When Bucky praised you and told you to get on your knees, last weekend. You didn’t think, you just listened. You listen,” Steve murmured. “When you trust it.”

She flushed. “That’s not… I’m not…”

“We’re not saying you are anything,” Bucky cut in gently. “You don’t have to be. You just feel it. We did too.”

Steve’s eyes held hers. “Did it scare you?”

She considered. “A little. Mostly just surprised me.”

Bucky leaned closer. “You want to try it again?”

Eleanor hesitated.

“Because I think,” Bucky said, mouth at her neck now, voice lower, rougher, “you’d look real pretty on your knees right now.”

Her breath stopped.

“And I think,” Steve added, shifting next to her, “you like it when we tell you how good you are.”

Her eyes fluttered shut, opened again, seeking out Bucky’s face.

“Let us show you more,” he whispered.

She kissed him, put her head back down and nodded.

“On your knees, then, gorgeous. Stevie, in front. Let her hold you.”

Bucky moved behind her, kissed her back. She could feel him pushing at her entrance and pushed back.

“Impatient. That won’t do. You listen.”

She didn’t respond. Bucky’s fingers dug into her hips sharply. Eleanor gasped.

“Yes, yes! Sorry.”

She made sure to still as he pushed himself into her, her arms around Steve.

“So wet you are for me,” Bucky gritted out, sinking deeper. “You were waiting for this.”

Her answer was a strangled gasp into Steve’s throat, fingers clawing at his back.

“We’ve got you,” he whispered, holding her close as Bucky filled her, inch by inch. “We’re right here, pretty girl. You take what we give you. Feel it.” He kissed her face, her ears, her neck, everywhere he could reach.

Behind her, Bucky pushed in to the hilt, groaning low and wrecked.

Eleanor cried out, the sound muffled against Steve’s skin, her body clenching and pulsing like it couldn’t decide if it was too much or not enough.

“You’re shaking. So tight around me. You needed this, didn’t you?”

Eleanor whimpered in response.

Bucky began to move. Slow, at first, deep, rolling thrusts that made her body jolt forward into Steve’s chest. He caught her each time, his hand cradling the back of her head, murmuring praise into her hair.

“You’re doing so good, sweet thing. So damn good.”

But it wasn’t enough.

Eleanor gasped, hips pushing back, chasing more.

“Please,” she panted. “Harder.”

Bucky groaned and snapped his hips forward, hard enough to make her cry out.

“That what you want, baby?”

“Yes, yes…please…”

And then he gave it to her.

He fucked her deep and rough. She was a mess in seconds.

“You look so fucking beautiful like this,” Steve whispered. “Don’t hide it. Let it happen.”

Her moans turned ragged, open-throated and helpless. Her nails dragged down his back. Her thighs trembled. She felt it all, how her body welcomed him, needed him. She wasn’t sure if she could take more. She never wanted it to end.

“She’s gonna come,” Bucky groaned. “She’s squeezing so tight. Fuck, she’s close.”

“Let go for us, now,” Steve said. “Come for us like that. Show us what you can do.” His hand reached between her legs, circling her clit, then rolling it between two fingers.

Eleanor shattered again. Loud and wild and uncontrollable, her whole body convulsing as Bucky fucked her through it, grinding deep, moving with her like a wave.

She sobbed into Steve’s shoulder, shaking.

“That’s it,” Bucky gasped behind her, hips stuttering. “That’s it, baby, yes.”

He spilled into her with a guttural groan, pulsing hard inside her. A second later, he collapsed beside her, breath still heavy.

Eleanor was trembling. She wanted to memorise each moment, catalogue it for later. The aftershocks of release were rippling through her. At the same time, a sudden fresh hunger burning low in her belly was battling for first place inside her.

Steve’s gaze was sharp and steady as he leaned in, brushing a damp strand of hair from her face.

“Ready for me, pretty Ellie?” His voice was calm, in control.

Her heart was pounding in her chest. “Yes.”

He took her hand gently, guiding her to lie on her back.

“You’re going to feel all of this. Every second. But not yet.”

His fingers traced slow, deliberate lines along her skin, igniting sparks in their wake. His eyes never left her face. When he finally slid inside her, it was perfect.

Eleanor gasped, clutching at the sheets, her breath hitching with every measured movement he made.

Steve’s hands gripped her hips, steadying her. Bucky moved closer,  his body pressed against her.

“You feel him, sweetheart? Isn’t he just perfect, lookin’ at you like that? Making you his.”

She shuddered.

“Tell him how he makes you feel,” Bucky demanded, voice low and commanding.

Eleanor’s voice was barely more than a whisper, but it held all the want she felt inside. “So good. So hot. So right.”

“Good girl,” Bucky praised. He slid his arm under her head. He tethered her while Steve made her float. She felt like a kite in the wind.

Steve kept that slow, slightly maddening pace, watching her every reaction like it was the only thing in the world that mattered. His blue eyes were blazing.

“Steve…” his name felt good in her mouth. She said it again. Again. Again.

Steve’s pace shifted, a fraction rougher, and Eleanor cried out.

“Breathe through it, my darling,” Steve said, lips brushing her cheek. He moved faster until his rhythm faltered, his breath catching as he buried himself deep one last time. His forehead pressed to hers. She felt the tremor run through him, low and quiet.

Steve held on until the last pulse shuddered through him, then, for a moment, let his full weight descend on her.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “You were perfect.” He laid down next to her, his hand on her stomach.

Bucky kissed her temple, then her mouth, open and slow.

They stayed like that for a while, Eleanor too stunned to speak, her skin damp with sweat and heat, her mind finally quiet.

Chapter Text

Eleanor wasn’t sure whose shirt she was wearing, but it definitely didn’t belong to her and it didn’t cover enough of her for polite company. She was cutting bread with a knife that was really too dull.

“I’m butchering this bread. Do you have anything sharper?”

Bucky was sitting on the kitchen counter eating cherry tomatoes. There was a single seed on the corner of his mouth.

“Try the lower cabinet on my left,” said Steve. He was cooking eggs with his cotton training trousers low on his hips. Very low. Combined with his shirtlessness and messy hair, it didn’t make it any easier for Eleanor to slice the bread into even pieces.

She crouched down to check the cabinet, but it was full of pots and jars and she ended up on her knees, reaching for the back.

“That’s a nice position to be in, doll.”

Eleanor emerged with a large breadknife.

“Think hard and long about the next words to leave your mouth, Barnes.”

“I think I gave you hard and long, Montrose.”

With great care, she put the knife down on the counter. She took the tomatoes away from the counter.

“Hey, I was eating those!”

She left the kitchen, then returned with one plate and some cutlery and put them away again. Bucky looked at her.

“Whacha doing there?”

“Men without manners must be taught them before they’re allowed at the big table with the adults. You’ve been relegated to the kid’s table. Doll.”

Steve chuckled.

“I’ll just sit on your chair with you on my lap, sweetheart.”

“I’d rather sit on the floor.”

Bucky raised his eyebrows.

“Interesting.”

“Don’t make me phone your mom, Buck,” Steve said.

“You wouldn’t!”

“Wouldn’t I?”

Bucky raised his hands in a mock surrender gesture.

“Fine. I’ll behave. At least during lunch.”

They sat down with fried eggs, lightly toasted buttered bread and the remainder of the cherry tomatoes. Eleanor didn’t think they’d finish four eggs each and five slices of bread, but they managed it all. Steve even took the half slice she’d left on her plate.

“How do you manage it?’

“Soldier metabolism. Plus, we had a work out this morning.” Steve shot her a look that immediately set her nerves on edge.

“Yes. An educational one.”

“We take learning very seriously in this house,” Bucky said.

“Mine or yours?”

“Both, of course.”

“What did you learn?”

“What happens when we call you a good girl,” Steve said, with another one of those looks. Eleanor felt her cheeks darken.

“I’m not sure this was something you needed to learn,” she responded, her tone haughty.

“Perhaps you need to learn when you earn it.”

“And you scold me for talking like that. Listen to you. No fair I can’t phone your mom,” Bucky complained. Steve smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“How long has she been gone?” Eleanor asked, softly now.

“She passed in 1937. It was just me then.”

“And she was a nurse?”

“Yeah. Good thing, too. She could always take care of me.”

“What do you mean? You’re the epitome of health.”

“Right. I meant I would often scrape my knees and stuff.”

Steve got up.

“I’ll clear the table.”

Eleanor sat quietly as she watched him, eating the last tomatoes.

None of them felt like staying indoors. They left the apartment together. Eleanor quickly grabbed a hat from her place before they headed outside in the hot July sun. Mrs Kennedy waved from her chair under the parasol.

There were some kids throwing a ball back and forth in the street. When they walked by them, Bucky darted into the street and caught the ball mid-air. He threw it to Steve. Steve laughed and threw it to Eleanor. Surprised, she caught it just before it fell to the ground.

“Hey lady, here, throw it to me!” one of the kids shouted.

She lobbed the ball to the smallest kid. Delighted, the child squealed and ran off with it.

“I get to have it! She gave it to me!”

“No fair! She wasn’t in the game! Throw it back, throw it back, throw it back!”

Pouting, the little girl threw it to the biggest boy, but her aim was a little off and it sailed right to Steve’s face. With a speed Eleanor found disconcerting, he grabbed it just before it hit him.

“There ya go, kid. You play nice now, OK?” he gently threw it back to the girl. She beamed at him, then skipped back to her friends, cradling the ball in her chubby hands. When she got to them, she turned and brightly waved at Steve.

“I think someone’s got a little crush,” Bucky said.

“She’ll have to get in line,” Eleanor replied.

Steve pinched her waist playfully.

“Play nice. Like the little ones.”

“Compared to the both of you, everyone’s little.”

“Yup. Even Miss Five Foot Seven.”

Taking the longest possible way around, they walked to Prospect Park. Steve bought ice cream at a vendor, lemon for Eleanor, chocolate for Bucky and strawberry for himself. They passed young families and elderly gentlemen. Bucky stole a few mouthfuls away from Eleanor’s ice cream. She threatened him with water and bread for the foreseeable future. They all settled on a patch of grass, in the shade of a huge oak. A young woman walked by, holding hands with a man who seemed unable to keep his eyes off her. About fifty yards away, an elderly couple sat on a park bench, his arm around her shoulder. Bucky’s eyes were on the older man’s hand, stroking his wife’s upper arm.

“Must be nice to be able to walk around like that.”

Eleanor looked at Bucky. His face was wistful even though his tone had been light. The realisation that this was their life hit her like a slap in the face. Other people’s happiness was a reminder that they could never show theirs. Abruptly, she was furious.

“You and Steve should be able to. It’s not anyone’s business but your own. Love is love. You’re not harming anyone. I wish people could see that. Your love. If they paid attention, even for a few minutes, they’d see it was real. It makes sense, even when nothing else does.”

She paused, a little embarrassed at her outburst.

“Sorry. I just…I can’t stand that you have to hide.”

“Why would you apologise? You have no idea what it means to us, to have you in our corner.”

“I’m sure you don’t need me there.”

“Don’t decide that for us, please. You accepted us so easily. Even though you saw us. You said our love was special. So is your acceptance. Don’t think so little of it, Ellie.” Steve spoke with a certainty that allowed no contestation.

Bucky lay on his back, his hands under his head.

“I appreciate your support, doll, but I was actually talking about you, too.”

“Me? What do you mean?”

“I’d like to show the both of you off to the world. Why should I settle for one kind of impossible?”

Eleanor was stunned into silence for the second time that day. Her heart stuttered, it was light as a feather and heavy as lead at the same time. She put her head down next to Bucky’s, eyes on the oak leaves overhead. Steve joined them. They lay like that, shoulders just touching, each lost to their own thoughts.

After a few minutes, Eleanor started singing to herself, so softly it barely reached her own ears.

“See the pyramids along the Nile and watch the sunrise on the tropic isle…”

The melodious tune weaved itself into the breeze, the words floating around them.

“Just remember when a dream appears, you belong to me…”

She sang a little louder. She didn’t know why, but she knew she felt afraid, that’s the reason she was singing. Closing her eyes, she continued.

“I'll be so alone without you, maybe you'll be lonesome too and blue…”

Eleanor felt Steve’s hand on her wrist, there for a second, then gone again.

“But remember, darling, 'til you're home again, that you belong to me.”

She let the last line trail into silence. No one spoke for a moment. A breeze moved the leaves above them.

Then Eleanor sat up, brushing grass from her arms.

“Well,” she said, clearing her throat. “That was all very moving. But I think I deserve a drink.”

“You don’t drink.”

“Lemonade will do.”

“OK. But no more sad songs. I forbid it. We’re going to have ice cream again. Possibly even two.”

“You’ve already had ice cream,” Steve came, ever the sensible one.

“Yeah, and now I want more. Isn’t that the whole point of being an adult? I can have ice cream twice, three times in one day and nobody can stop me.”

“I can,” Steve said, sitting up. “I have the wallet.”

“I’ll wrestle you for it.”

Steve smirked. “You’d lose.”

“You’re both insufferable,” Eleanor said, though her brain was already supplying unhelpful mental images of the two of them shirtless and grappling in the grass.

“But charming,” Bucky added, looping an arm loosely around her waist. The casual touch warmed her more than the sun had.

“Debatable.”

“I’ll take it.”

“You’ll buy me another ice cream to make up for being insufferable. You stole my last.”

“I borrowed.”

“Stole.”

Chapter Text

The lemonade was cold and tart. Eleanor almost drank it in one go, then stopped herself halfway through. She didn’t fancy hiccupping all the way home. Her stomach slushed anyway, so she declined the ice cream Bucky held out to her. They took a shorter route home, popping into a grocery store. She wanted fresh fruit and vegetables. The bag was heavy.

“Just let me carry it.”

“I can do it myself, Steve.”

“I know. I’d still like to carry it.”

She hesitated. Then, without a word, she handed it over. He didn’t say anything either. Just took the weight from her hand like it meant nothing. Like it didn’t matter at all.

Bucky was deboning fish. His hands were skilfully separating the white flesh from the spine. Steve was cutting vegetables with a precision that was slightly alarming. Eleanor dawdled around them, looking for something to do.

“I wouldn’t mind doing some of that, you know.”

“We know.” Bucky kept plucking away bones.

“I could cut the vegetables.”

“Yup, you could.” Steve didn’t move away from the cutting board.

“I feel bad.”

“What on earth for?” Bucky’s blue-grey eyes flicked to hers, his voice curious.

“Doing nothing. I’m already sleeping here, eating your food. I should contribute.”

“You’re our guest. Guests don’t need to contribute.”

“Are you usually dressed like this around guests?”

True to his word, Bucky had taken off both his and Steve’s shirts as they came home. He flashed her that lazy grin.

“Maybe we are.”

“Now I know why Mrs Starmer always comes to you first when her pipes are making funny noises.”

“Witty girl.” Bucky blew her a kiss. “Now go sit in the living room. Read something. You’re bothering us.”

The table was full of food, with smells that made Eleanor’s mouth water. Bucky had lit a stubby candle for no apparent reason. “Ambiance,” he said, with a flourishing gesture that nearly singed Steve’s arm.

The fish was tender, the vegetables perfectly crisp. Eleanor tried not to moan obscenely at the first bite, but her eyes might have closed for just a second too long.

“Oh, it’s like that,” Steve said, grinning into his glass.

“Don’t tease her,” Bucky added, mouth full. “She’s finally learning what food’s supposed to taste like.”

“I can cook,” Eleanor said, a tad affronted.

“We know,” Bucky said. “You just don’t look like you enjoy letting anyone else do it.”

“Control issues?” Steve asked innocently.

“I will stab you both with my fork.”

“I’d like to see you try.”

She kicked Bucky under the table. He made a dramatic noise and nearly spilled his lemonade.

For a while they ate in companionable silence, the kind that existed between people who’d seen each other’s bad sides. Eleanor took another bite of fish.

“You never talk much about the war,” she said lightly, not quite looking at either of them.

Bucky paused with his fork halfway to his mouth. Steve’s eyes flicked toward her, then back to his plate.

“We try not to,” Steve said after a moment.

“It’s not off-limits,” Bucky added. “Just… there’s not much fun in it.”

“Of course,” Eleanor said quickly. “I didn’t mean to pry.”

“You didn’t.” Steve’s voice was gentle. “It’s just that…some things don’t come up unless they’re needed.”

Bucky nudged her ankle under the table. “Ask something else. Something easier. Favourite animal. First crush. Favourite ice cream flavour.”

“Favourite ice cream flavour?” Eleanor echoed.

“Could be revealing,” Bucky said.

“But I know yours. And Steve’s. Chocolate for you, strawberry for him. Also, you’ve told me you’ve loved Steve since you were twelve. I can’t imagine many crushes before that age. I guess that leaves favourite animal.”

“Manatee,” he said immediately.

“I can’t believe you told him!” Eleanor said to Steve, accusingly.

“I wasn’t aware this was a deep, dark secret for you.”

“Source of great trauma for me, I’ll have you know,” she said in a deep voice. “And this was supposed to be about you. So. Your favourite animal?”

“Crow.”

“You envy their ability to fly off into the sunset?”

“They’re clever. Mischievous. Funny.”

“They also mate for life,” Eleanor added. “I suppose that makes it very fitting.”

“I didn’t know that. Now I like them even more. And you, too.” Bucky crunched on some broccoli noisily.

“And you, Steve?”

“Dogs. Man’s best friend.”

“Of course.”

“What?”

“Dogs are loyal, smart, often a bit stubborn. Like Bucky.”

“Are you saying I’m his favourite animal?” Bucky sounded delighted, incredulous and offended all at once.

“Apt, don’t you think?”

“How come you know us so well?” Steve brushed his thumb across her cheek.

“Excellent observational skills. And you let your guard down around me.”

“You’re a dangerous creature.”

“Yes,” she said brightly. “But I use my great power with great responsibility.”

Eleanor was banished to the sofa again while Steve and Bucky cleared the table, did the dishes and cleaned the kitchen. She put on the Andrews Sisters while looking at the drawings and paintings on the walls, slowly moving her body to the rhythm of the music. Steve walked in and took her hand. They danced together. She was surprised by his grace. He seemed too big to be able to dance, but he twirled her around like it came naturally. He dipped her to the ground. Her eyes fell on a portrait.

“I think I know her!”

She let go of Steve and pointed at a drawing of a beautiful woman, her smiling face at an angle away from the viewer.

“She’s English. She doesn’t live here.” Steve looked with her.

“I…I saw her, though. I’m sure of it. Not here. Not in the States. Where in England does she live?”

“London. She travels a lot.”

Eleanor heard the tone in his voice.

“Is this her? The woman you were with, in the war?”

“Excellent observational skills, again.” But he didn’t elaborate.

Bucky came in with lemonade. He read from Animal Farm, nestled between Eleanor and Steve. The evening sun coated them in a golden light. They listened with their eyes closed.

Later, in the dark of the bedroom, she spent a lot of time touching Steve. Her fingers glided over his face, his neck, onto his shoulders, his back, the curve of his bottom, his thighs, then the back of his knees, even the soles of his feet. When she nudged him onto his back, his hands rested on her shoulders, then her hair when she took him into her mouth. He didn’t push or pull, just breathed her name. He held her tightly to his chest, one hand cupping her face, as she lay on her side, Bucky sliding into her from behind. Eleanor stopped his hand when it moved to touch her between her legs. She didn’t need it. 

Chapter Text

Her dream was pleasant. Bucky was running in front of her, encouraging her to keep up with him, laughing and joking. Steve was swinging from the branches in the trees overhead. They were wearing dove grey tailcoats. She looked down at herself and saw she was wearing a floaty white dress. A wedding dress.

Her heart hammering in her chest, Eleanor opened her eyes. The room was dark, the kind of dark you only get in summer, with a faint yellow glow creeping around the edges of the curtains. Steve was breathing deeply behind her, warm and solid. Bucky’s arm lay across her hip like a velvet ribbon. She could feel the weight of it, even asleep. Even now.

Her eyes burned.

She lay still for a moment, hoping the pressure would fade, that she’d drift off again into dreams. Dreams that didn’t feature wedding dresses. But the thoughts had already started; slippery, sharp-edged things.

This won’t last. It can’t last. They aren’t yours. You don’t belong here.

She put her hands over her ears as though that would keep her thoughts out.

The longer you stay, the harder it’ll be to leave.

She closed her eyes for a moment. She sighed. Carefully, she eased out from under Bucky’s arm, inch by inch until the heat of him was no longer touching her. Then she sat up, slowly, holding her breath. Her dress was folded on the chair. Her shoes were by the front the door. She could be quiet. She could get out without…

A shift in the dark. Mattress creaking.

“Where you goin’, sweetheart?”

His voice was soft, half-slurred with sleep, but there was no mistaking the alertness behind it. Her heart jumped painfully.

“I…” She reached for the first thing she could think of. “Just wanted some water.”

Bucky didn’t move. “You don’t need your dress for that.”

She stared at him in the dark, her mouth dry.

Steve’s voice, from behind her. “El?”

She didn’t respond.

“Eleanor.” Steve again. More awake now. “Talk to us.”

“There’s nothing to say,” she said quickly, too quickly, scrambling for her dress. “I just, I don’t, you two might sleep better, I think, perhaps…”

“Don’t,” Bucky said.

“I’m not…” she began.

“Running,” Steve said quietly. “Except you are.”

She turned, dress clutched to her chest. “What do you want me to say? That I can’t sleep here without wanting to, needing to, hoping to, believe it means something? That I can’t lie between you and not wonder how long it’ll take before it all falls apart? I didn’t plan any of this, I didn’t ask for…” Her voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I need to go.”

A pause.

Then Bucky, even quieter than Steve. “You’re leaving. In the middle of the night. That also means something.”

“I’m sorry. I wish…sorry.”

“Yeah.”

She hesitated. That nearly broke her. Steve sat up. She didn’t look at him.

“Will you be all right?” he asked, and his voice was so gentle she nearly cried.

“I don’t know,” she whispered.

She dressed quickly, fumbling in the half-dark, and when she opened the door to the hallway, she looked back once, just once.

They were still watching her.

They’d let her go.

They just hadn’t wanted to.

It was exactly why she had to go.

In the solitude of her apartment, she cursed herself, the boys, the world. Herself for allowing herself to feel too much. The boys for getting under her skin. The world for not letting her be happy the way she wanted to be happy. By the time morning had truly broken, the front of her dress was wet with her tears.

She spent the day doing mundane household things. She did laundry. Steve kissed her neck. She watered the plants. Bucky ate her ice cream. She dusted the bookshelves. She turned on the radio, because silence was unbearable. She cleaned the bathroom. They were in the kitchen, cooking. She changed her bedsheets. They held her as she climaxed. She scrubbed the living room floor. She turned the radio off, because music was unbearable.

That evening, she put on a nightdress and made herself get into bed. It was a Herculean task. Her bed was empty. Most of the night, she stared at the ceiling.

Eleanor welcomed her alarm clock on Monday morning. Work would mean a break. The subway was excellent. Lots of people, lots of noise. The walk was good. Air. Her colleagues were a distraction. She went through the motions. There were many books to be returned to their rightful place. One was about the 107^th. Her colleagues were a distraction. Until they weren’t. The subway home was terrible. Lots of people, lots of noise. She didn’t eat dinner. Night was spent staring at the ceiling again.

Tuesday came, hot and humid. Eleanor dressed in the most cheerful dress she had; light blue with deep red cherries. She looked at herself in the mirror. Her freckles were abundant, as was always the case for her in summer. It was early enough she could walk half the way to work. She opened the door. She looked at the door for 4B. When she went down the stairs, it was ten minutes later. The subway was noisy. A woman was sitting next to her. She had pretty brown eyes. Work was good. There weren’t many students in summer. Eleanor had time to read about the plans for renovating the Science faculty. The subway home was quieter. She made a half-hearted attempt at dinner. The night was long. There was a spider on the ceiling.

Wednesday brought cool air with it. At work, Mrs Kaufman approached her, holding a large stack of leaflets delivered by the university.

“We’re supposed to distribute these.”

“Are we the US Post Office now?”

“Would you mind making sure they go to all the teaching and supporting staff? We could task someone else with it.”

Eleanor sighed.

“Leave it to me.”

She got back to the library an hour before it closed for the day. Her feet were sore, but she felt fine.

“You’re a life-saver, Eleanor! You know how Mr Steiner can get.”

“That I do.” Mr Steiner, the Head Librarian, was notoriously ill-tempered.

“You haven’t been round our place for the longest time. How would you like to have dinner with us on Friday?”

“Oh, I love that idea. Thank you for the invitation! I don’t have anything planned for Friday evening. It has indeed been a long time.”

Mrs Kaufman gave her a searching look.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Of course. Just looking forward to it. Shall I make dessert?”

The alarm clock actually woke her up on Thursday. The cool air had stuck around and she managed to get dressed without crying for the first time that week. Eleanor left the house keeping her eyes firmly downcast until she rounded the corner at the end of the street. The same brown-eyed woman was next to her on the subway. They smiled at each other. At work, Mr Tippance asked for her help in archiving some of the works from Rare Collections. She was pleased he’d asked her. They recorded the name, description, code and condition for over seventy items. Her hands smelled like paper. Bucky smelled like that sometimes. When she got home, she didn’t even bother with dinner.

Eleanor arrived at the Kaufman’s house at six o’clock. It was unpretentious, tucked between two larger, fussier ones. She had kept herself busy by buying supplies for and then preparing an intricate layer cake with vanilla sponge and strawberry icing. Steve liked strawberry. Mr Kaufman declared it a masterpiece and placed it on the kitchen half-wall in full view of the dining table, which was set with mismatched plates and cloth napkins that had once been white. Eleanor sat between Mrs Kaufman and a cousin from Queens. That was the only thing she remembered about him. Conversation came easily; the weather, work, holiday destinations to try. The food was fine, but she couldn’t eat more than a few bites. No one pressed too hard, but Mrs Kaufman’s glances were sharper than her tone. When Eleanor went to the powder room, she caught sight of herself in the mirror. Her dusty pink lipstick had faded unevenly and she had neglected to bring it along. Her eyes looked tired despite the care she’d put into applying her make-up. Back at the table, a neighbour mentioned summer weddings. Apparently, her daughter had got married a few weeks before and the wedding had cost, as the neighbour put it, ‘a pretty penny’. Mr Kaufman asked if Eleanor had any gentlemen calling. She gave a curt smile.

“No one worth mentioning.” It felt like a betrayal.

She excused herself shortly after dessert. Her arms were piled with leftovers. Mrs Kaufman kissed her cheek and implored her to bring a date next time. Eleanor walked home, the foil-wrapped food warm in her arms. It had cooled down when she got home, so she stuffed it into the fridge without  a second thought. The dress she had put on with such care ended up on the floor. She didn’t care. She collapsed into bed, too tired to cry. Exhausted, she waited for sleep to finally come. The spider had caught a fly.

Chapter Text

The knock on her door was somehow there, like she’d been expecting it. Eleanor opened it, knowing who’d be there.

“You weren’t there. Last night.”

His voice was the best thing she’d heard in six days.

“Good morning to you too, Bucky.”

He walked into her apartment, not waiting for an invitation. She shut the door behind him. He didn’t sit down. He was pacing back and forth.

“You didn’t even let us know. You just didn’t come.”

“I wasn’t aware I needed a note from my parents to miss a casual dinner arrangement.”

“It’s not a fucking joke, Ellie!”

“Do not swear at me, James.”

“Sorry. I’m sorry. I’m saying it all wrong. Steve told me not to come over.”

Avoiding his eyes, she spoke.

“I’m happy you didn’t listen to him.”

He was in front of her within a heartbeat, close enough to touch.

“We were worried. Stevie even went to check your apartment, but it was empty.”

Despite his disarming presence, Eleanor was distracted.

“I distinctly remember locking the door behind me when I left. It was certainly locked when I got home last night.”

Now Bucky was the one to avoid her eyes.

“He locked it again.”

She breathed, not trusting herself to speak. She breathed in and out through her nose.

“He broke into my apartment.”

“Just because we were worried! You’ve never just missed dinner with us. We thought you might be dead somewhere.”

“And breaking in would have magically resurrected me?”

“Dammit, Ellie. Stop trying to be funny. You’re not listening to me.” He stepped back and resumed his pacing.

“That’s rich, coming from you.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

She grabbed his wrist. Touching him again felt so good, Eleanor almost forgot her anger, her sadness, her despair. Almost.

“You…the both of you, you just had me come into your life. I told you it was dangerous, but you kept having me anyway. How was I supposed to resist your friendship? And then it was more even though it was stupid. It was so stupid. You were so stupid. I was so stupid. I can’t be stupid. Not with this. Not with myself. Stupid, stupid!”

She still had his wrist in her grip, knuckles white. Her breathing was uneven, her face blotchy with emotion, but her eyes never left his.

“Stupid, stupid,” she whispered, the word collapsing at the end.

And then Bucky moved.

Not sudden. Not soft. Inevitable.

He pulled her in, arms strong and sure, and held her tight. He wasn’t sweet. He was as desperate as she was.

“I know,” he murmured into her hair. “It was stupid. I was stupid. But not for wanting you.”

She didn’t hug him back.

But she didn’t pull away either.

They stayed like that for a long time. When he finally let go of her, it was too soon.

“Nothing has changed,” Eleanor said.

“No. It hasn’t.”

They looked at each other.

“So where were you yesterday night, then?”

“Dinner at the Kaufmans’. She’s…”

“Your colleague. I remember. How was the food?”

“Good. I made cake. I have some leftovers. Would you like cake?”

“Have you ever known me to turn down food?”

She took the cake from the fridge.

“It should probably be eaten today, but it’s better at room temperature or the sponge will be too firm and the strawberry buttercream too cold.”

“Strawberry buttercream,” Bucky said, softly.

“It goes well with vanilla.”

“It goes well with Steve.”

“As do you.”

She handed him the cake. He took it, his fingers brushing hers. She moved away.

“So,” Bucky said, after a beat. “Friday dinners?”

She gave him a look.

“Not asking for a commitment. Just… letting you know the door’s still open. You know. If you ever want to show up.”

“I’ll be there. I’ll cook, though.”

He smiled. Her stomach jumped high enough she could feel it in the back of her throat.

“Bye, Ellie.”

“Bye, Buck.”

Eleanor exhaled as he left the apartment. The tightness she’d been feeling in her chest for the whole week was marginally eased. It was still too quiet, but the silence didn’t crush her quite so thoroughly. She even made some toast, although she threw it away after only a few bites. Then she swept and scrubbed all the floors and stepped out and walked to a market in a different neighbourhood. The sun was hot on her shoulders. As she arrived, she realised she hadn’t made a shopping list. She bought lemons and blueberries, butter. Oranges. Fruit had gone down reasonably well. She chatted with the vendors. When she got home, her arms burnt from the weight of the shopping bags. Dinner was an orange. Her bed felt large and uncomfortable. The night was restless.

She woke up with dry cheeks. She managed an entire slice of toast and thought this should earn her a reward. In the kitchen, she started measuring flour and sugar. While the cake was taking shape in the oven, Eleanor read the newspaper. She underlined two book reviews with faint pencil strokes. She watered the plants and removed the golden cake from the oven. It needed to cool off. The house was empty. She went into the street. The Johnson children were playing with the Taft twins. She sat on the kerb, watching them for some time, talking to Mr and Mrs Osborne about their eldest daughter, who was expecting her fourth. They looked pointedly at her stomach. In the evening, Eleanor took her time layering the lemon buttercream so it was perfectly even. Just before bed, she wrapped half of the cake in wax paper, slid it into a tin, and walked across the landing barefoot. She didn’t knock. She just set the tin in front of their door and went back. Her hands shook when she reached her flat again, but she didn’t cry. The spider was gone. She found herself wishing it had stayed.

She took the other half of the cake to work on Monday, saying she had eaten the first half herself and needed help polishing off the rest. She didn’t know why she lied. Work made her feel a little better. She logged catalogue corrections and avoided conversations with skill borne from practice. She didn’t eat lunch, but she drank tea with milk and two sugars and counted that as a victory. She stayed late and walked home slowly. That night, she slept four hours straight. That was a victory, too.

There was a meeting about fall acquisition budgets. Eleanor contributed, dryly, and someone laughed. She wasn’t sure if she liked it. On the subway home, she recognised a child’s voice from two weeks ago. It made her feel unreasonably emotional. She stopped at the grocer and picked up milk, apples, peaches, and bread. She ate half a sandwich for dinner. She woke up every half an hour.

She wore a navy skirt and pale yellow blouse. Someone told her she looked like summer. Her smile didn’t quite reach her eyes. In the break room, she forced herself to eat a peach and read a memo about overdue loans. She did not think about Friday. She did not think about the way Steve’s brow furrowed when something worried him. She went home and ironed all of her clothes, even the ones she wouldn’t wear in the foreseeable future. Her dreams were so jumbled, sleep exhausted her.

She saw herself in the mirror that morning and frowned. Her cheekbones seemed to jut out more and her collarbone looked like punctuation. She needed a lot of time and make-up to cover the dark circles under her eyes. The cheerful cherry-print dress didn’t sit quite the same way it had only a week before. At work, she was competent and efficient. She skipped dinner again. Not on purpose. She simply forgot. Food had lost its appeal. Her stomach didn’t tell her to pay attention. Sleep was more appealing than ever, and yet she slept no more than three hours.

She woke early, already dressed in her mind before her feet touched the floor. There was no panic. Just a kind of bracing. She made tea, toasted bread, ate half. Her makeup sat oddly on her face. Too much? Not enough? She wiped it off and started again. She had time. She considered the options for dinner. Braised chicken would be good. In the grocery store, she changed her mind. Beef. She needed the protein. She added onions and wine and fresh thyme to her shopping basket. The wire frame hit her hip. She was used to more padding there. She bought some crusty French bread at the bakery. Mashed potatoes would accompany the meal. Steve liked bread, too. At home, she cut the flank steak into pieces, rolled it through some flour, then added it to the sizzling pan. The smell of onion and fresh thyme spread across the kitchen and living room. The entire bottle of wine covered the meat. As it simmered, she peeled and diced potatoes. When they were boiled, she mashed them with butter and milk until glossy. Six thirty crept up on her. She eyed the heavy pan, the mash and the bread. She’d need two trips. She carried the beef first, put it down by the front door, then went back for the potatoes and French bread. When she went back out in the hallway, their door was open.

Chapter Text

Eleanor had to remind herself to breathe, to put one foot in front of the other. She walked in with the mash and bread. Music was playing softly, something instrumental, non-offensive. Neutral.

Steve looked up from where he was setting the table. When he saw her, his body stiffened. Then he smiled. It looked painful.

“Hey.”

“Hi.” She wanted to say more, but came up empty for words.

Equally stiff, Eleanor walked into the kitchen. She placed the pan with the mash directly on the stove, turning the burner on. Pushing herself to move, she went out for the beef. She was happy to do something, and she stirred the stew a little more often than was required. Bucky came into the kitchen and sniffed the air, reminding her of a dog. This in turn reminded her of their conversation about favourite animals. She held the wooden spoon so tightly she was surprised it didn’t break.

 “You made boeuf bourguignon.”

“I did.”

“For a casual Friday dinner.”

“Right. Casual Friday dinner.”

He moved closer, careful. “Smells amazing.”

She shrugged. “It’ll do.”

“Steve wasn’t sure you’d come.”

“Neither was I.”

They stood there in silence for a moment.

“How have you been?”

“Fine.”

“You don’t have to pretend with us,” he said quietly.

Eleanor didn’t look up. “I’m not pretending. I’m cooking.” It wasn’t what she wanted to say. She wanted to say that she’d been feeling horrible. That her life was floating away from her, that she had never been this sad. She wanted to scream. She wanted to kiss him and for him to kiss her back. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to feel him inside of her, she wanted to feel anything but this pit of darkness. Instead, she kept stirring and adjusted the burners.

They sat down like they had many times before. Plates, cutlery, linen napkins folded in half. Bread in a blue and white bowl. Water in mismatched glasses. But despite the familiar scene, it wasn’t the same as before. Everything she wanted to say was impossible. Their faces were a punishment. Her stomach had shrunk to something tight and fragile. Dinner was a battle, not a comfort. She pushed the food around on her plate.

“Not hungry?” Steve remarked, trying and failing to sound casual.

“I suppose not.”

“You’ve lost weight.”

“Everyone loses weight in summer.”

“You’re not sleeping either,” he said.

She didn’t look up. “I’m managing.”

“Eleanor…”

“Don’t,” she said, sharper than she meant to. She set her fork down, too hard. “Don’t act like I’m breaking in front of you. I’m tired, yes. But I’m managing.”

Steve leaned back slightly, hurt flickering in his eyes.

“If we can do anything…”

“You’ve done quite enough.”

“I’m not sure that’s fair.”

“It’s most certainly not. Another thing where I am lacking. Poor Eleanor doesn’t sleep or eat and now she blames it on you.”

“We miss you, too.” Bucky had spoken softly, but she flinched as though he’d shouted.

“Please, don’t.”

“El.”

Her throat tightened. She looked down at her plate again and loaded her spoon with stew.

“I’m sorry,” she muttered. “I didn’t come here to fight.”

“You didn’t,” Steve said. “We know.”

She brought the spoon to her mouth, chewed and swallowed. It was difficult, but the food went down and stayed down.

“How’s work, Bucky? Did you get that part in that you needed in the end?”

Bucky didn’t disappoint her. Of course he didn’t. He launched into a funny tale about auto parts from Minnesota and special equipment from Missouri. Eleanor listened. She even laughed a few times.

The evening wore on. They finished eating. Bucky and Steve didn’t comment on her plate that was only half-finished. She helped them put everything away. The soft sounds of the dishes and their voices was like a balm on the open wound that was her heart.

Later, alone in her bedroom, Eleanor slipped under the covers. For the first time in twelve days, sleep came more easily. Five hours passed in steady, uninterrupted rest.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough.

She met up with Alice on Sunday.

“Jesus, Eleanor! What’s happened to you?”

“Hi, Alice. Nice to see you, Alice.”

“Sorry. It’s just…I saw you in June and it’s like you’re a different person.”

“I have been feeling somewhat under the weather.”

They moved from Eleanor’s doorway to the living room.

“How long?”

“Two weeks.”

“Two weeks? You’ve lost a stone in weight in two weeks? You need to see a doctor, dear heart.”

“I don’t need to see a doctor. I’ll be fine. Food’s just a little difficult right now. I don’t think I’ve lost all that much weight as it is.”

“That dress you’re wearing disagrees. It’s loose around the bust, waist and hips. You’re not telling me you bought it like that.”

“Like I said, I’ve been a little under the weather.”

“Alright. We don’t need to talk about it right now.”

And that’s what made Eleanor burst into tears. Alice sprang up from the armchair and sat down next to her, her arms around her shoulders. She didn’t say anything as Eleanor sobbed into her neck. After a minute or so, Eleanor calmed down. She wiped her face on a clean napkin.

“Just under the weather, though.” Alice said, with a teasing lilt.

“I guess it might have been more than that.”

“Do you want to talk about it?”

“I don’t know. I’m not sure the words exist.”

“A man, then.”

Eleanor looked at her.

“Is this your first time being in love?”

With a pang, she thought of Arthur, his careful smile, the polite conversations, the safe boundaries they never crossed.

“I was with Arthur. You met him. You liked him.”

“Yes. It was a very polite way to love.”

“You’re not the first person to put it like that.”

Alice chuckled. She poured herself and Eleanor some tea, adding two sugars to Eleanor’s cup.

“Would you like to talk about him?”

“It’s not that simple. Arthur was steady, predictable. But this...” She shook her head, voice barely above a whisper. “This is different. Harder. Sadder.”

“Is he married?”

“No. But he’s not exactly available, either. I just…let’s not talk about it.” Eleanor took a breath and conjured a weak smile onto her face. “I’m upset, but I’ll be OK. I promise.”

“Alright. But we’re meeting up again next month and if you look the same as you do now, I’m writing to your parents.”

Eleanor surprised herself by laughing. They spent the rest of the afternoon discussing the next social event Alice was planning; a charity ball as a fundraiser for orphaned children. She described the grand hall, the guests in black tie formal, the orchestras and expected speeches, the auctions and dances.

Eleanor listened, picturing the bright chandeliers and silk gowns, worlds away from her own quiet days.

When the conversation turned to the causes the event supported, Alice’s face softened, her passion for the work clear.

That warmth touched Eleanor, a small thread of light in her dim world.

She went to bed that night expecting the gentle afternoon to carry her into restful sleep. But sleep failed to meet her expectations.

Chapter Text

Eleanor was returning books to the shelves. She normally carried a few books at once, balancing them against her hip as she moved briskly from one section to the next. Today she was using a cart and put them back one book at a time, as though anything more would overwhelm her. She took a heavy tome on Roman military tactics from the cart and watched it fall from her hand and land with a thud on the floor. Her limbs felt heavy. Before she had mustered the energy to bend over and pick it up, Mr Steiner had put it on the shelf.

“Had a lively weekend? Perhaps a little too much fun with the ladies at a soiree?”

She made herself smile.

“No, Mr Steiner. Just slept poorly.”

He gave a huff that might have been a laugh.

“Well, do try to take care with the books. If there’s any damage, it’s coming out of your pay.”

Gritting her teeth, she nodded.

Of course. Even exhaustion came with a penalty.

She pushed the cart forward. Her fingers trembled on the handle.

Around the next corner, she stopped and leaned against the shelves. Cool spines pressed into her back. Her breath came shallow.

She hadn’t eaten anything for breakfast. She couldn’t remember if she’d had dinner. She hadn’t slept. And she was exhausted from pretending none of that was true.

It had been fifteen days.

She didn’t count them consciously, not out loud, but her body did. Her body knew. Her body had forgotten how to carry itself without them. In their absence, it simply didn’t.

On Tuesday evening, she caved. Just a little. She’d spent two hours mostly staring at a book on her shelf, on pre-war city planning, that she’d borrowed from Bucky in early July. Beyond that first day, she hadn’t even opened it until this evening. His handwriting, neat and precise, in the dustcover, had been enough to undo her.

She brushed her hair, applied some blush on her cheeks to hide the lack of colour in her face and went over to 4B. Clutching the book in her arms as though it would try to get away from her, she knocked. Steve opened the door. For a few seconds, she looked at his face. Neither of them said anything. The hall light caught the sharp edge of his jaw, the shadows under his eyes. She had the absurd thought that he looked taller than usual. Maybe because she felt smaller.

“I brought this back,” she said. Her voice was hoarse. “I figured, I thought…maybe he might want it.”

Steve glanced at the book, then back at her.

“You know where it goes better than I do.”

She hesitated. Her feet carried her forward before she had made the conscious decision to go inside.

The door closed behind her with the same quiet click it always had. The apartment smelled the same, too, just quintessentially them. There was music playing faintly from the radio, something low and mournful.

Everything was the same, and yet the shift in her chest was seismic.

She walked through the living room like a guest in her own dream, and put the book on the end of the shelf where it belonged. The others leaned toward it slightly, as if welcoming it home.

“How’ve you been?” Steve asked, from behind her.

She turned.

“Oh, you know. Fine.” Her smile was brittle. “Busy. Coping.”

Steve didn’t laugh. His eyes were soft but dark.

“Buck and I…we’re not any of those.”

Her throat tightened. She looked away.

“I kept meaning to bring it back,” she said, brushing her fingers over the spines of the books. “But I liked having it around.”

Steve said nothing.

“It felt…” She stopped, searching for the right words. “It felt less quiet, with it in the room.”

His voice was wistful. “It’s been quiet here, too. Without your singing.”

They didn’t move toward each other. They didn’t touch. She wasn’t sure if she could have borne it.

After a long moment, she said, “I should go.”

He didn’t try to change her mind. He just walked her to the door.

Just before she stepped back into the hallway, he held out his arms like he might hug her, but then thought better of it at the last moment. He wrapped his arms around himself. He looked so vulnerable, she wanted to go back in time and undo every moment that led them here. She simply couldn’t help herself. She reached out and stroked his arm. Just from his shoulder to his elbow. He looked up. In his eyes was the same sorrow she’d been carrying.

Cruelly, it made her feel better.

“See you Friday, Steve.”

“We’ll cook.”

Friday morning arrived, sunny but mild. Eleanor struggled to eat her bowl of Grape-Nuts, especially after they’d gone soft in the milk. They required a lot of chewing, but she powered through. She had a weird sense of accomplishment after putting the empty bowl in the kitchen. She didn’t need to cook that day and felt like staying indoors. She spent a good hour reading the newspaper, then had a long shower. She caught a glimpse of her naked body in her bedroom mirror, not much liking the way her hipbones jutted out. She knelt down to retrieve the scales from under her bed. She hadn’t used them a lot. She got on them, looked at the number. It couldn’t be right. She got off them, then stepped on again.

133 pounds.

The same number. She carried the scales to the living room, then tried again. No change. The last time she had weighed herself, she’d been 146 pounds. Had she truly lost thirteen pounds? She went to her bedroom again and looked at her reflection. She checked out her hips, her waist, her thighs, her chest. She was definitely thinner than a month before. Not alarming so, nothing shocking, except the time frame in which this had occurred. Three weeks. Nineteen days. She looked at her face.

“Take care of yourself, Montrose. You’re no good to anyone like this.” She stuck out her tongue at her reflection. The silliness of the moment was a comfort. She was still in there, somewhere. Beneath the hunger and lack of appetite. Beneath the fatigue and sleeplessness.

She chose a dress that was meant to be loose around the waist and hips, to camouflage the changes her body had undergone. Then she put on some music; a piece by Erik Satie, her father’s favourite composer. The quiet, melancholy tunes filled her living room. She cleaned her windows slowly and thoroughly. For the first time since July, she continued reading from 1984. When she glanced at the clock, it was six already. She brushed her hair. Put on some mascara, her dusty pink lipstick. She straightened her shoulders and walked out.

Bucky opened the door before she’d finished knocking. The enticing smell of sauteed garlic and onions wafted past.

“Come in, quickly. I’ve done something wrong but I have no idea what it was.”

“Why, yes, James, I’d love to help you out.”

“No cheek from you. I need assistance this very minute.”

They walked into the kitchen together. There was a pan with garlic and onions floating around in water.

“Why are the onions in water?”

“That’s the problem. It’s supposed to be a sauce. This is not a sauce. It’s garlicky water.”

“Did you add the water all at once? Did you stir in flour?”

“Yes and no.”

“It’s supposed to be no and yes.”

“Can you fix this?”

“It’ll take some time.” She was thinking of increasing the heat, stirring continuously, adding flour, maybe butter. Still, it would need twenty minutes at least.

“You have plans after us?”

“Can you and Steve survive if dinner’s half an hour late?”

“I can. Bucky…doubtful.” Steve had entered the kitchen, holding a fork.

“This is dirty, I need a clean one.”

Eleanor almost moved to grab one for him, then remembered, at the last second, it wasn’t like that anymore. Her easy banter with Bucky had almost caused her to forget. She stepped back. Bucky opened the drawer and handed Steve a clean fork. He shot her an impatient look.

“Are you going to help me or just stand there?”

“That’s no way to speak to a guest, Buck.”

“Ellie’s not…” Bucky’s voice faltered. Steve’s hand landed on his wrist, squeezing slightly. Eleanor watched them. For an awful second, she hated them. Because they could still touch each other. Because they had touched her like that and then they’d let her end their touches. Because they were clearly hurting, just as she was. She turned her back to them, feeling the heat of the pan on her arms, turned up the burner and got on her toes to retrieve the flour from a high shelf. Her fingers tightened around the jar. The cold glass put her feet firmly back on the ground.

She stirred the contents of the pan, bringing the water to a boil. She added a spoonful of flour, stirred until it had dissolved, added more flour, stirred again. She tasted it. It was good, but more butter would ruin the flavour and texture. It would just take time, now. Her entire focus was on the sauce.

“That looks better already.”

She jumped a good half a foot into the air.

“Jesus, Bucky!”

“Why did that startle you? I was literally here the whole time.”

“You told me to fix the sauce. Here’s me, fixing.”

“Yeah. You are.”

She glanced at his face. He smiled, then winked, his normal, irreverent self shining through.

“So, what’s for dinner? I assume we’re having more than sauce.”

He opened the oven door. Golden, fluffy Yorkshire puddings were waiting there, next to plump, juicy sausages. He lifted the lid of a smaller pan on the stove. Mushy, minty peas. She looked at him.

“I thought you might miss home.”

“It’s very considerate. Very sweet. Thank you.” She went back to stirring the sauce before she did things she’d regret later. Mostly Bucky himself.

Thirty minutes later, dinner was on the table. Eleanor bravely ate an entire Yorkshire pudding.

“Good?” Bucky asked, feigning nonchalance, but his eyes flicked to her plate like he might be taking mental notes.

“It’s perfect,” she said. “Golden. Crispy. Greasy in all the right ways. I should be worried for my waistline.”

Steve reached for the peas. “That’s why you should probably eat another.”

“Not again, Steve.”

“I make no promises.”

The conversation drifted, mostly small things: a new exhibit opening at the museum, a stray cat with a fondness for howling at dawn. Eleanor nodded along, contributed here and there, though sometimes the thread slipped away from her. Still, it was better. Easier, at least.

Steve topped up her water glass without asking. Bucky hummed along with a Miles Davis song on the radio.

“We shouldn’t forget to get that tea for your sister.”

“Could you buy some? I might be late Monday and Tuesday?”

“When’s she coming over?” Eleanor asked, fingers playing with the rim of her glass.

“Rosie and my mother are coming over for dessert on Tuesday. They’re bringing dessert though.”

“Lazy.”

Bucky grinned. “They think I am. Who am I to disabuse them of this notion?”

“Do they know?”

She hadn’t meant to ask. It was a very private question. Three weeks earlier, she wouldn’t have thought twice. Now, she winced inwardly. Too much, too fast.

“Yes. For years. They don’t really get it, but they don’t argue.”

“Good. That’s good. I’m happy you have them.”

“Thanks. Me too.” He looked like he wanted to say something else, then shut his mouth. Eleanor thought Steve may have kicked him under the table.

After the plates had been cleared, Eleanor lingered at the table, hands cupped around a mug of tea. She didn’t want to go yet. Not just because it would be lonely in her flat, but because she was here again. With them.

Bucky leaned back in his chair. “You staying for a bit?”

She glanced at the clock, though she didn’t read the time. “Maybe a little while.”

They stayed at the dining table until nine, just listening to the radio. The August sunset drenched the room in orange hues.

She lay in bed staring at the ceiling, sheets cool against her skin, the hum of the city muted behind the window glass. There was no drama to it, no sudden gasp of clarity. Just a slow, steady ache in her chest and a deep, unrelenting pull beneath her ribs. She’d missed them every day. Every hour, if she were honest. Not just their voices or their warmth or their eyes on her. It was something quieter. She missed breathing the same air. Her body felt thinner without them and had adjusted accordingly. She could keep sleeping alone, but there was no rest in it. And she could keep lying to herself, but there was no dignity in that, either. This, this aching half-life, was no better than the risk of loving them. No worse than the fear. She sat upright. It was the first time she’d voiced it to herself. Missing them, existing without them, was no better than loving them. How foolish she had been. There was no risk of love. None.

She didn’t wrap herself in a robe. She just walked. Across the hallway, barefoot. She didn’t knock. Through their door. Their bedroom door was open. A light was turned on as she approached it.

Steve was leaning against the headboard. Bucky rubbed his eyes. They both looked at her, concern on their faces.

“Eleanor? What’s going on?”

She didn’t respond, she simply stepped forward and climbed onto the bed. Bucky shifted to the side to make room for her, and she folded herself between them, touching them. Steve drew the blanket over her shoulder. Eleanor closed her eyes.

“I love you.”

Her voice was clear and firm. It didn’t allow for doubt and the words didn’t allow for softness. She wasn’t soft. She was certain.

“I love you. Not one of you. Not some of Steve, some of Bucky. I love you together. I know you’re not mine and I can’t be yours and I don’t care. I can’t care. I love you.”

She felt from Steve’s tense posture he was going to speak, but she took his hand and looked at him, asking him wordlessly not to speak.

“No. Don’t make it sentimental. I just had to say it.”

Bucky moved against her, his metal arm on her side. Light enough that the slightest motion from her would have shaken it off. Eleanor laid back, moving her head onto his shoulder. She kept holding Steve’s hand.

“That’s all.”

The words were a weight off her chest. She felt lighter, having pushed them out into the world. Within seconds, she was asleep.

Chapter Text

The morning light sifted through the curtains as soft footsteps crossed the room. Eleanor’s eyes fluttered open to the familiar murmur of voices.

“Planning on staying in bed all day, or are you gracing us with your presence soon?” Steve’s voice was half-laugh, half-grumble next to her.

Eleanor blinked up at the ceiling, then glanced toward the clock. “Nearly ten thirty. I haven’t slept like this since that night…since…when I left.”

The words hung in the air for a moment.

Bucky’s voice came from the doorway. “Breakfast’s been ready for two hours. You need to get up, if only to save my life. Steve has threatened to eat me twice.”

“I can’t have Steve eating you on my conscience.” She sat up. The blankets slid to her waist.

Bucky’s eyes widened, and he whispered, “Fuck, Ellie.”

Steve’s jaw tightened, his gaze flickering to the pale lines tracing her collarbones and her ribs. the thin nightdress didn’t hide anything. Neither of them spoke for a moment. She wanted to cover up immediately, but didn’t. They’d see her soon enough.

She met their eyes, her voice low and steady. “Thirteen pounds.”

Bucky was at her side in four steps.

“El. It’s only been twenty days! Thirteen pounds? You…you…foolish, stubborn, don’t you…I just…”

“Easy, Buck.”

“But look at her, Stevie!”

“I did look. What can you say, what can I say, that she doesn’t know?”

“It wasn’t on purpose. I just...eating didn’t feel right.” Eleanor’s voice was small.

“I don’t care! You eat because have to! Aren’t you absolutely starving?” Bucky sounded close to breaking. She reached out for him. He threw his arms around her, sinking his face into her neck.

“You left us. You left us and then you stopped eating? How does that make any sense? Christ, Eleanor!” His hands were on her back. She knew he could feel the changes there as well.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry, my love.” Bucky’s hands tightened on her back.

“It didn’t make any sense. Maybe that’s the point.”

“I didn’t make sense without you.”

Bucky didn’t let go. His grip was fierce, trembling.

“I didn’t make sense without you,” she whispered again, her hand curled at the nape of his neck.

Steve moved closer, one arm on her leg, one on Bucky’s back. His voice was quiet. “Not making sense is not the same as disappearing.”

Eleanor turned her head toward him, Bucky still pressed to her side. “I didn’t disappear.”

“You did. You were so busy disappearing, you didn’t even notice we disappeared, too.”

Bucky drew back just far enough to look at her, then at Steve. “We didn’t know what to do, El. You walked away and we…” His voice cracked. “We didn’t stop you.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop saying that.” Steve’s tone was sharp.

“We didn’t know if we should come after you. We talked about it, every night.”

“Did you draw straws?”

“Don’t joke,” Bucky said, his voice still raw.

“I’m here now,” she said. “I’m eating again. I will. I promise. No more disappearing.”

Bucky kissed her, but Steve withdrew his hand from her leg. He sat against the headboard.

She reached for his hand. He let her touch him. He didn’t touch her.

“I’m sorry, Steve.”

“Stop saying that!”

Eleanor flinched.

“I know I shouldn’t have left. I was scared. I didn’t know what to do. I just thought…”

“You stopped being scared? You feel fine now? You know what to do?” He didn’t look at her.

“I’m still scared. I’d just rather be scared with you than on my own.”

“Good to know that’s how you feel. Better with us, than alone.”

“Stevie, no. That’s not what I meant.” She bit her lip. Bucky was still holding her. Surely that meant it wasn’t over, that she could mend what she’d broken?

“I left that night…because…I had a dream.”

“Yeah? Took a whole dream to do it?”

“I was wearing a wedding dress.”

Steve looked at her. She saw the first glimpse of understanding dawn on his face.

“I woke up. I had told myself, after we kissed, after we happened, that I could enjoy my time with you. As long as I didn’t get too attached, because it, us, this, would never work. When I woke up from the dream, I knew it was too late. I was already attached. Maybe that was my heart telling me I loved you. But I was terrified. How could we have a future? I don’t even have a word for us. So I left. To protect you, yes, but mostly to protect me. I left. In the middle of the night. I wanted to leave without waking you up. It was cowardly. It was wrong. I just didn’t know how to go on.”

Bucky pressed a soft kiss to her temple.

“You should have told us.”

“Yes. But I hadn’t even admitted to myself I loved you. I couldn’t have put it into words. And maybe…” She took a deep breath. “Maybe I was scared it didn’t mean to you what it meant to me. Or maybe I was scared it meant as much to you as it did to me. I don’t know.”

“And what happens if you have another dream?”

Eleanor got onto her knees. She took Steve’s face in her hands. He let her. He didn’t kiss her palms or pull her close. But he let her.

“Then I’ll wake you up. I’ll tell you I’m scared. I’ll tell you I’m so afraid for all of us. But I’ll stay.”

Steve ate six slices of toast, heavily buttered. Bucky was devouring the leftover sausages from the night before. He had put half of one on her plate with a glare that threatened capital punishment if she didn’t finish it. Eleanor cut it into hesitantly, but when she put a piece of it in her mouth, she found her appetite had returned. She ate the sausage and one slice of toast without difficulty. Steve gave her an approving nod.

“Do you have any plans for today?” She asked, aiming for a casual tone.

“I need to go to DeLuca’s Hardware for spackle,” Bucky said, eyeing a piece of toast still on Steve’s plate.

“Planning on building another bookcase?”

“No. I have to fix Steve’s rage.”

“Excuse me?” Eleanor wiped her mouth on a napkin and pushed her plate away. It was empty.

Steve sighed.

“I thought the wall was stronger than it was,” he said. “It looked like a good wall.”

“It wasn’t,” Bucky muttered. “It was crumbly.”

“It wasn’t crumbly,” Steve said. “It just wasn’t quite ready.”

“For your fist?”

“For… circumstances.”

Eleanor let her gaze drift between them. “Do I even want to know what provoked this heroic sacrifice of plaster?”

Bucky shrugged. “You’d left. He thought you weren’t coming back.”

Steve’s ears went pink. “That’s not why I…”

“It is,” Bucky said.

“Where?”

“Hall. There’s a landscape of Italy in front of it now.”

Eleanor got up and walked to the hallway. She moved to the drawing to the side. There was a hole. Not a crack, not a not a dent, an actual hole, clean through the plaster. She stared at it, then compared it to the size of her own fist. She pressed against the wall around the hole. It wasn’t plaster.

She walked back to the table and took Steve’s hand. His hand was unblemished, not a hint of bruises or cuts on his knuckles.

“How are you not hurt? You punched a hole in the wall.”

“I heal quickly.”

“Right.” She had questions, but it wasn’t the right time. Not yet.

Bucky stood and stretched, his chair scraping gently against the floor. “I’ll head to DeLuca’s before it gets too hot out.”

“Oh, can I come?” From the corner of her eye, she saw Steve tense in his chair.

“You’re coming too, right, Steve?”

She was not ready to be apart from then again, and she had the feeling Steve wasn’t either. He gave her a faint smile, then stacked the plates.

The bell over the door of DeLuca’s rang with a pitiful little drring, like it was embarrassed to still be in use.

“Morning, James,” called the man behind the counter, not looking up from his newspaper. “You here for another pack of wood glue or did your walls offend you again?”

“The second one,” Bucky said without hesitation.

“Yeah? You or Mr Handsome?”

“How am I not Mr Handsome?”

“Who are you kidding, kid?”

Bucky walked down the aisles. Eleanor followed him, trailing a finger along the rows of tiny labelled drawers. Nails. Washers. Hooks. Something called a ‘molly bolt’.

“What exactly is spackle?” she asked, frowning at a tin with an aggressively orange label.

“Joint compound,” Bucky said, lifting a bucket like it was a carton of milk.

“That clears up nothing.”

“It’s basically plaster,” Steve offered, less than helpful.

“Then why not call it plaster?”

Steve hesitated. “Because… it’s spackle.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes. “The two of you are hopeless.”

Bucky glanced at the counter. He pulled her close.

“Yes, but you love us anyway.” His mouth was on her ear. She shivered.

Steve walked by with a large bag.

“Behave, you two.”

With a regretful sigh, Bucky let go of her.

Outside, he shoved his hands deep in his pockets and gave Eleanor a sideways grin.

“So, how did you like Sal?”

“The man at the counter? It seems like he’s known you for a long time.”

“Yup. His store’s been here since we were kids. He’s got a big mouth. Bigger heart.”

Bucky regaled her with a story on the antics he used to get up to and the many trips down to DeLuca’s. Her stomach hurt from laughing when they got back to the flat.

By the time they got back to the flat, it was well past two o’clock. Eleanor took off her shoes the moment they stepped inside. Bucky headed straight for the toolbox; Steve vanished into the kitchen.

“Fruit,” he called, rummaging in the icebox. “And maybe eggs, if we’re desperate.”

“I’m not desperate,” Eleanor said. “I’m civilised.” She took a peach and leaned against the counter as she bit into it, juice running down her fingers. Steve looked up just as she licked it from her wrist.

His eyes caught hers. He opened his mouth, closed it again, and turned to wash his hands.

She smiled into her peach, feeling a little smug.

The hallway was sunlit and stuffy, the hole a little jagged around the edges now that the painting had been moved. Steve and Bucky had the spackle tools ready, and the bucket of joint compound was thick and pale.

Bucky handed Eleanor the putty knife. “You're helping. No arguments.”

“I wasn’t planning on it.” She took the tool. “Do I get a union card?”

Bucky smirked. “Not with that attitude.”

Steve moved beside her and reached for the wall. His shoulder brushed hers, warm and solid.

“Push it in, not over,” he said. “It’s not about hiding the hole. It’s about making it whole.”

She turned to look at him. “That was poetic.”

He shrugged. “I’m full of surprises.”

“You’re full of something,” Bucky muttered behind them.

Steve pressed the edge of the knife into the wall, showing her the movement again. His hands were strong and steady. She watched them too long. He caught her looking. Now it was his turn to have a smug smile.

Eleanor pressed the blade in. The movement was smooth, but she could feel Steve’s eyes on her, tracking each pass, each slow curl of plaster as it spread. She finished and glanced at him.

“Well?”

His gaze dropped to her mouth, just for a second.

“You did fine,” he said. “Better than fine.”

“Steve,” Bucky said from the other side of the room. “Stop making eyes at her and help me with the sandpaper.”

Steve turned away slowly. “Coming.”

Eleanor stepped aside, hands dusted with powder. Her heart was beating too fast for a home improvement project.

“I still think it should be called plaster.”

Steve’s shirt clung to his back in the heat. He was tearing strips of sandpaper in half.

“We’re not renaming the industry just because you’re stubborn,” he said.

“You’re both impossible,” Bucky muttered, stripping off his overshirt and tossing it onto a chair. “I’ll be in the kitchen. Someone’s making me a sandwich.”

Eleanor turned to follow, but Steve stepped into her path. Not in the way, just close. Closer than before.

“You’re good with your hands,” he said quietly.

She raised an eyebrow. “Is that a compliment or a suggestion?”

His mouth curved. Slow. Hungry.

“You tell me.”

Her breath caught, just for a moment. She felt suddenly, wildly aware of every inch of her body; where her skin was warm, where her clothes clung, where his eyes had just been.

Bucky’s voice floated back from the kitchen. “I swear to God, if you’re flirting while I’m starving…”

Steve stepped aside, but his gaze didn’t leave her.

“I’ll help,” Eleanor said, though she wasn’t sure what she meant.

She walked toward the kitchen. Behind her, she could feel Steve watching her.

Chapter Text

Bucky was inspecting the contents of the icebox. He was already holding tomatoes and ham. Eleanor opened the cupboard.

“There’s mustard here. Steve, do you want…”

But Steve’s mouth came down on hers hard. The jar of mustard fell from her fingers onto the counter. Before it had stopped spinning, Eleanor’s hands fisted in his shirt. Happiness exploded in her chest like a firework and spread through her body, making even her toes tingle. He kissed her like he hadn’t breathed in weeks and her mouth contained all the air he’d been missing. He cupped the back of her neck, sliding one arm around her waist. She pushed herself against him. She wanted to feel all of him. Everything.

“About time.” Bucky muttered.

Steve deepened the kiss with both hands in her hair. Eleanor let her fingers feel the skin under his shirt, the ridges on his stomach, the valley around his hips, the soft hair below his bellybutton that travelled down to his jeans. He broke the kiss.

“I missed you.” He cupped her cheek.

“I missed you so much,” Eleanor said, her voice thick with want. She pulled his head towards her, her mouth open, desperate, her hips pushing against his. He caught her under her thighs and lifted her onto the kitchen counter, the clatter of jars barely registering.

“God, I missed you,” Steve said again. His mouth was on her throat now, her collarbone, her shoulder.

Eleanor threaded her fingers through his hair.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered. “Please, don’t stop.”

“I’m not going anywhere,” he said against her skin. “You’re mine.”

She turned and found Bucky already there. Of course he was. His hands were already unbuttoning her dress. Steve’s hand slid up her thigh.

“You feel what you do to her?” Bucky said, mouth on Eleanor’s ear. Her dress fell down first, then her underwear. Steve spoke, but his hand was between her legs and she couldn’t understand his words. She only felt her need. She clawed at Steve’s trousers.

“Off, please, please.”

He didn’t waste time, unbuckling his belt, shoving down his trousers and underwear to his knees. For weeks, she’d had nothing but distance, silence and memory. He pushed into her in one slow thrust, both hands on her waist, and she cried out and it was like she’d never left.

Steve stilled, chest heaving. He was warm and hard and real. She hooked her heels behind him, dragging him deeper.

“You okay?” he managed.

Eleanor met his eyes, flushed and shining. “Yes. Don’t stop. Please.”

So he didn’t.

He moved, hard and fast, hips snapping forward, the counter thudding behind her. Bucky kept his hands on her, one on her throat now, just resting there, thumb against her jaw. She turned toward him and he kissed her, slow and deep, while Steve took her like he had to make up for time lost.

He came with his forehead against her shoulder, his hands gripping her hips so hard she knew she’d feel it the next morning. She kissed him, softly now. Just once.

Steve stepped back gently. His hands lingered as he let her down from the counter. She was unsteady on her feet, but Bucky caught her instantly. Pulled her into his chest. One arm around her back, the other on her neck.

“I missed you,” he murmured into her hair. “Missed how soft you are for us.”

Eleanor made a soft sound, melting and burning at the same time. She pulled off his shirt, feeling his arms, cool and warm, soft and unyielding. He moved her until her back was against the wall, her tongue in his mouth the entire time. His trousers went down. She didn’t know whose hands had done it, but then his hands lifted her up and she straddled his waist. She pulled her mouth away.

“We can move to the bed. Don’t hurt yourself.”

“Ridiculous girl.” Bucky reclaimed her mouth and pushed into her. His hands held her up with ease. Eleanor could only hold on as he brought her up and down on him. His hips shifted a little and when she came down he hit her clit every time. She clenched around him and sank her nails into his back.

“Bucky, yes, yes.” Her voice sounded odd to her own ears.

“Fuck. You take me so good. Won’t last long like this baby. You gonna come around me, just like this?”

Steve gave a low chuckle.

“Stealin’ my lines, Buck? Can’t really blame you. So perfect she is, all sweaty and needy.”

It was too much, the both of them speaking to her like that. She clung to Bucky, her body taught. He slammed back inside of her and her world went white. Her hips jerked and she felt her muscles spasm. The moan that escaped her echoed off the walls.

Bucky groaned. He caught her mouth and swallowed the last of her moans. His body stiffened and she felt him let go inside of her. He trembled, then stilled. His hands held her in place. She let her head fall onto his shoulder. For a few moments, they stayed like that; quiet and close. He lowered her to the ground. She put one hand against the wall for support, breathing deeply.

“I thought you wanted sandwiches.”

Steve grinned.

“He did. You were the sandwich.”

“Jesus, Stevie. Now I’m hungry and blushing.”

“It’s a good look for you, though.” Eleanor said and leaned in to kiss him again, just as he pulled his shirt over his head.

They were sitting at the kitchen table, their chairs all pushed together. Eleanor’s dress was only half-buttoned and her underwear was still on the floor. Steve was slicing the bread, Eleanor spread butter and mustard on each slide, Bucky loaded them with ham and tomato.

“Surely we’ve got enough now?” Eleanor asked, looking at the pile of sandwiches on Bucky’s left.

“Doll, you had us work up an appetite. Do not complain about how we refuel ourselves.”

“I was just asking, Barnes.” She stroked his thigh under the table. The inside of his thigh.

“You are absolutely unbelievable.”

“Thank you, dear. I try.”

Steve looked at them with his brows raised. Eleanor put the knife down and kissed his neck, nipping at him softly with her teeth.

“Buck, I’m not sure we’re ready for this. For her. We should probably banish her. To the other side of the table, at least.”

She increased her assault on his neck, letting her tongue move in.

“You cannot possibly want more right now.”

“Why not? You and Bucky are hungry all the time. I am too. Just…different.”

Eleanor let her tongue flick once more against Steve’s neck before pulling away, slow and deliberate.

“Eat your sandwiches, Rogers,” she said. “You’ll need your strength.”

Steve blinked at her, lips parted like he’d just forgotten how to form words. On her left, Bucky made a low sound in his throat.

“You’re evil,” he muttered, watching her with narrowed eyes. “Truly. I mean it in the nicest possible way.”

Eleanor smiled, innocent as sin, and passed him the last slice of bread. “Thank you, darling.”

Steve cleared his throat and reached for his own sandwich, his hands suspiciously steady. “If I keel over later, it’s on you.”

“No one’s keeling over.” Bucky took a bite of his sandwich, eyes still fixed on Eleanor. “Though you so much as breathe on me wrong, sweetheart, and you’re not making it to dinner.”

She gave him a challenging look. “Is that a threat or a promise?”

“Call it both.”

“Good thing my underwear’s still off, then.” Smiling, she bit into a piece of tomato.

Chapter Text

They were all curled on the couch, lazily draped over one another. Eleanor would have been embarrassed by her constant need to touch them, except they seemed to feel exactly the same.

“I still think you made that up,” Bucky said, nudging her with his knee. “There’s no way that’s a real psychological term.”

“It is,” Eleanor said, too pleased with herself to pretend otherwise. “I have a book about it.”

“Shocking,” Steve muttered.

She grinned. “Let me hop back home and grab it. I’ll prove it to you.”

She untangled herself from them, stood up and stretched, smoothing down her dress.

“Hey, bring your toothbrush too.” Bucky’s voice was nonchalant. It was very convincing.

She froze, hand halfway to the doorknob.

Then, turning around a little too carefully: “You want me to stay again?”

Steve rolled onto his side. “Don’t you?”

“Of course I do,” she said quickly, then forced a laugh. “I just wasn’t sure if…if it was a one-night sort of welcome.”

Bucky gave a quiet, sharp little sound, almost a scoff, and stood.

“You think I’d let you walk around half-naked all morning, eat my sausages, put holes in our wall, and then send you back to sleep alone?”

Eleanor blinked at him. “How did I put holes…?”

“Not the point.”

He kissed her.

“How did you sleep, the last three weeks?”

“I got intimately acquainted with a spider on my ceiling.”

“And before?”

“Quite well. It’s not like I don’t know what you’re saying. Yes, I slept well before and not at all when I…after I…when I left. I just didn’t want to assume anything.”

“You need to trust us a little better than that, Eleanor.”

Even without Bucky towering over her, she’d have felt small.

“I’m sorry. I’m trying.”

“We know. Just…just ask if you’re unsure, or if you want anything. That’s how it works.”

Eleanor rested her head against Bucky’s chest. He held her to him.

“I can see that brain of yours working overtime from here. Go on.” Steve’s voice was encouraging, careful.

“Could I…would it be okay, I mean, how would you…?” She paused.

Bucky held her a little tighter. No one spoke. She took a deep breath.

“I wanted to ask if you might be OK with it if I slept here every weekend.”

Silence.

“Jesus. This is you, just trying?”

She smiled into Bucky’s shirt.

“I’ve always been an overachiever.”

Steve jumped up.

“I’ll empty a drawer for you.”

She returned twenty minutes later with a bulking canvas bag and her toothbrush between her teeth. Steve opened the door.

“You went to grab your toothbrush. How many do you have?” He took the bag from her shoulder.

“These are the bare necessities: clean knickers, brassieres, toiletries, two dresses and a few of my favourite books. The one on top is to settle a debate. Mental Dissonance and the Returning Soldier is what I was talking about. You’ll need page ninety-two.”

“With a head like yours, how are you not a professor?” Bucky came out of the kitchen.

“I did consider staying on after my MPhil, to pursue a PhD.”

“Why did you decide not to?” He paused. “Also, what’s an MPhil?”

Eleanor gave a rueful smile.

“An MPhil’s an additional one-year track after a normal degree. I don’t know if it works the same everywhere. I’m sure it’s not that interesting.”

“El. We’re interested.”

“Arthur was sure it wouldn’t be the life I wanted; poor, unmarried, lecturing to uninterested students. Several of my professors expressed similar feelings. One suggested it would take away my ‘femininity’.” She cringed at the last word.

“I don’t think anything or anyone could do that.” Bucky spoke with a finality that warmed her.

“Yeah. I guess. At the time though, Arthur made a compelling argument. He wanted to move here and he wanted me to move with him, so I abandoned that plan. It wasn’t very difficult. I didn’t feel like fighting for a place that had already decided I didn’t belong there.”

“Would you have fought? Without him?”

She thought about it. “I don’t know. I loved studying and doing research. My marks were alright, though I did get comments about writing with too much feeling.”

“Only alright?”

She looked up at Steve’s tone. He was holding a folded paper in his hand.

“What’s that?”

“Looks like a transcript of your results.”

“Oh, it’s not important.”

“This says you got a First.”

“Well, yes. I did.”

“That means you were the best?”

“No. It doesn’t mean first in class. It’s just the highest classification you can get.”

“How many students were in your class?”

“Perhaps seventy or so.”

“How many got a First?”

She sighed. “Three.”

“Ellie. That means something.”

“I’m not trying to diminish my achievements, Steve.”

“Damn sure sounds like it.”

“I went for a degree. I was good at it. I went for an MPhil. Again, I was good at it. Don’t know I can say much more.”

“You didn’t put up your degrees in your living room.” Bucky sounded a little indignant.

“Why would I do that? They’re not pleasing to the eye.”

“They’re a reminder of your work. Your dedication. Your intellect.”

“My actual job is, too. Anyway, neither of you has commendations or medals from the war up here.”

‘Nice try, sweetheart. We’re talking about you.”

“Must we?” She was feeling more uncomfortable by the minute.

“Every now and again, yes. It’s like you’ve built this brick wall around your centre and it takes a sledgehammer to get past it.”

“I don’t know what you want me to say! I’m not hiding anything here. I’m being honest. I just don’t…I don’t like letting my emotions run wild with me.”

“Maybe you should let them sometimes. Just for fun.” Bucky kissed her cheek.

“I’ll get right on that.”

“You do that, doll.”

She had brought over exactly ten books, not counting Mental Dissonance, which she had borrowed from her work. She laid them out carefully on the bedroom floor in front of the set of drawers, one of which was now empty. She stroked the three volumes of The Lord of the Rings affectionately. The colourful language of Professor Tolkien’s fantasy saga had helped her through the move from England to New York, then through her break-up with Arthur. She’d left Frankenstein at her own place. Bucky also owned a copy.

“They’ll fit in here just fine,” she said, stacking the last volume. “Out of the way, and they won’t gather dust.”

Steve was crouching beside her, arms braced on his knees. “You want to put them in a drawer?”

“Yes?”

Bucky emerged from the kitchen. “Why?”

She blinked. “Because they’re mine. And they don’t belong out here.”

Steve’s brow furrowed slightly. “Sweetheart, it’s not a matter of belonging. It’s a matter of space.”

“Exactly,” she said, a little confused by his tone. “And I don’t want to take up any. Not unless…well. Not more than I already have.”

Bucky crouched beside her, picking up a well-worn book on Napoleon. He didn’t open it, just thumbed the edge thoughtfully.

“Do you think we’d ask you to stay if we didn’t want your things here?”

“I know that,” she said softly.

“Do you keep books in drawers at your place?”

Her face spoke volumes.

“Then let’s make it clear,” Bucky said. “Drawer’s for socks, underwear, whatever. Books go out here. On the shelf. Or the table. Wherever people will see them.”

Eleanor looked between them.

“They’re just books.”

“They’re yours,” Steve said. “That’s the point.”

She hesitated. Then reached for Shakespeare’s sonnets and walked it to the coffee table.

Bucky watched her, smiling. “That’s it. Stake your claim.”

“Oh, hush.”

She returned, picked up two more. Steve was already rearranging a shelf, Bucky was leafing through the sonnets. She was halfway through reading the spine of a title when she said, without thinking, “This one’s mostly ridiculous, but the footnotes are excellent. There’s one that suggests Napoleon’s favourite meal was a roast pigeon soaked in brandy. Which may explain everything.”

Bucky gave a small huff of laughter. “God, I love you.”

There was a pause. Her head turned slowly.

“Because of the pigeon?”

“Because of you and everything you are.”

She wanted to say something flirty, or playful, or casual. Instead, she smiled at him. She hoped he could see In her smile that he had reached a place inside of her too deep for jokes or smart comments.

Chapter Text

It was sometime after four. The light had grown warmer, slanting across the floor in honeyed stripes. Eleanor was standing by the window, one hand on the curtain, the other absently adjusting the collar of her dress, lingering on her collarbone. She was watching a dog run off, its owner trying to grab its leash. She felt Bucky’s eyes on her.

“What?” she asked, not turning around.

“You always touch your neck when you’re thinking.”

She smiled slyly. “And you always watch me when you think I’m not paying attention.”

He didn’t move for a long second.

Then he stood up and crossed the room.

She didn’t back away. She straightened, a flicker of awareness passing through her as his steps brought him right up to her. Close enough that she had to tilt her chin to meet his eyes.

“You wanna keep teasing?” he asked, low and rough.

“I’m not teasing,” she said, batting her eyelashes.

His hand came up to her hair and curled into a fist.

“Good,” he said. “Because I’m not in the mood to be gentle.”

Eleanor didn’t have time to process his words before his left hand tightened in her hair and his right hand pushed on her lower back, drawing her closer.

She gasped as her body met his, hips first. He didn’t kiss her, not yet, just looked at her mouth like it was a problem he meant to solve.

“You been walking around like that all day,” he murmured, his breath hot against her cheek, “knowing what it does to me?”

Her heart thudded. She opened her mouth, but whatever retort she might’ve managed dissolved as his hand slid from her lower back to her hip, gripping hard.

“Bucky…”

“Turn around,” he said. “Hands on the wall.”

Eleanor’s breath caught. For a second, she didn’t move. Not because she was unsure, but because of the heat that rushed to her at the command. Sharp and low in her belly. Her legs felt unsteady.

Bucky’s hand on her hip tightened. “Don’t make me tell you twice, sweetheart.”

Her thoughts vanished. She simply turned around.

The living room wall was cool under her palms, the afternoon light slanting in from the window just enough to catch the edge of her reflection in the glass. Her chest rose and fell as she stared ahead, waiting.

She heard the soft sound of his belt unfastening. A breath escaped her, just a tinge of need audible in it.

His hands came to her waist, possessive and sure. One dragged her dress up her thighs, slow and deliberate, until the fabric was bunched around her hips. She felt the brush of his fingers, skin to skin, and shivered.

“Look at you,” he murmured behind her, voice like gravel and hunger. “All prim, all correct, but you never put that underwear back on.”

A kiss landed at the base of her neck, then another, slower, followed by the scrape of his teeth. She moaned, head tipping forward as his fingers dipped lower.

“I’ve barely touched you,” he said roughly, “and you’re already soaked.”

She gasped when his fingers slid between her thighs, slow and knowing. She was already slick, and he groaned softly when he felt it.

“That all it takes?” he murmured, lips brushing her ear. “A look, a few words, and you melt for me?”

She let out a breathless sound, one hand flattening against the wall for balance. Her head dipped forward slightly, her body rocking just enough to chase the pressure of his hand.

“You’re quiet all of a sudden,” he said, fingertips teasing her, his touch lighter than she wanted it. “You gonna say something, sweetheart?”

“I, can you…I want…” She swallowed. It was difficult to put her want into words.

“Can I what?” His voice was low, coaxing. His other hand was still tangled in her hair, not pulling, just holding.

“Can you touch me?” she asked, barely audible. “Please, Bucky…”

He chuckled and kissed the side of her neck, open-mouthed and hot.

“I’m already touching you.”

Eleanor made a needy little sound and pushed her hips into him, trying to feel more of his fingers.

“No, gorgeous. You need to ask for what you want.” Bucky kissed her neck.

When she didn’t respond, he pulled his fingers back, then tugged once on her hair, sharply.

The words spilled from her lips.

“Please, please, oh, I want you inside me, please!”

“That’s a good girl. Such a good girl.” On the last word, he pushed in, slow but deep and her knees nearly gave out. He caught her around the waist, holding her up, locked tight against her with a groan like it was the first time all over again.

“You feel so damn good,” he said against her shoulder. “Every single time.”

She was barely managing to breathe, braced on her forearms against the wall, when she heard the quiet shift of movement behind them; the soft sound of Steve’s footsteps crossing the floor.

Then his hand was on her waist, warm and steady. She turned her head slightly, just enough to glimpse him over her shoulder. His eyes were heavy-lidded, his expression unreadable, until he leaned in and kissed her temple.

“She say please?” Steve asked, voice low.

“She did,” Bucky murmured. “Sweet as anything.”

Eleanor whimpered.

Steve’s hand smoothed over her hip, trailing down slowly until it rested at the curve of her hip. “You want more, honey?” he asked. “Or is this enough?”

“I…” She didn’t finish. Bucky thrust deeper at that moment, and her whole body trembled.

“She can take it,” Bucky said, mouth at her ear. “Can’t you, baby?”

She nodded, almost frantically. “Yes. God, yes.”

Steve’s fingers skimmed lower, through the soft hair between her legs. “We’ll take care of you,” he said. “Always.”

Bucky pulled her back and Steve shifted so she was caught between them. She kissed him, her moans muffled between them as Bucky kept moving inside her.

“I missed this,” Steve breathed. “Missed you.”

“She’s ours,” Bucky growled. “Right where she belongs.”

Steve touched her where she needed him most. “Oh, how wet you are for us. You like when he tells you what to do, pretty thing? You like when he takes what he needs from you and gives you exactly what you need at the same time?”

Eleanor was panting. Her nails were digging into Steve’s arms. She didn’t understand how she had ever thought she could have lived without this. This was the only thing to matter. Steve’s fingers getting her to places she had never been to before, Bucky inside her making her feel things she had never felt before. She moaned a name. It could have been one. Or both.

Bucky’s mouth was at her shoulder now, teeth grazing the skin just beneath her collar. He wasn’t talking anymore. He was all low groans, ragged and needy, each one vibrating through her as he rocked into her harder, slower, deeper.

“Look at me,” Steve murmured, his fingers never stopping. “I want to see your eyes when you let go.”

She did. Somehow, she did. Her head tilted as Steve cradled her face, his touch both gentle and filthy.

“Good girl,” he whispered. “Now come for us.”

She shattered.

Her cry broke open between them, high and helpless, muffled only by Steve’s mouth on hers. Her legs nearly gave out, but Bucky held her fast, pulling her back against him, still moving through every wave of her release.

“I’ve got you,” Steve said against her lips. “We’ve got you.”

And behind her, Bucky gave a hoarse groan and thrust once, twice more before freezing with a strangled gasp. He slumped against her, chest heaving.

For a moment, none of them spoke.

Then Bucky pressed a kiss to the back of her neck, breath still uneven. “Jesus,” he said, voice hoarse. “That was…”

“I know,” Steve murmured. His thumb traced the corner of her mouth, then tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “She’s incredible.”

Eleanor laughed. It came out more like a soft, stunned noise.

“I can’t feel my knees,” she said.

“You don’t need to,” Bucky muttered. “We’ll carry you.”

She didn’t protest when Steve lifted her into the air. She wanted to put her arm around his neck, but her limbs refused to cooperate. When he lowered her onto the bed, Bucky’s arms were there to welcome her. She felt warm, and thought she might be done. Then Steve’s hands touched her back, her sides and his thumb brushed the underside of her breast through her dress. Heat and desire raced through her, clearing away the glow and filling her veins with energy. She turned to face Steve, kissed his jaw, his neck, his ears. He pulled off her dress.

“Like I said. Incredible.”

She gave him a mischievous look.

“If you say that now, wait till you see what I’m going to do next.”

She felt Bucky’s soft breath against her neck as he chuckled. She sat up on her knees and started took off Steve’s clothes. Shirt first, her nails raking his chest. Trousers next, kissing the insides of his knees. Then his underwear. She didn’t wait even half a heartbeat before she took him into her mouth.

“Yes, baby, like that.” Steve put his hands in her hair, not pushing, just holding her steady.

Eleanor gave a soft hum of approval, not just accepting but craving the connection. She deepened her movements, her tongue flicking teasingly along the underside, then swirling in slow circles.

“You look fucking amazing like that, Stevie. Her pretty lips wrapped around you.” Bucky’s voice made her skin come alive. “Bet you missed that. Let her give you what you need.”

Steve’s breath hitched, and he thrust deeper, the sudden movement catching Eleanor’s throat as he tightened his grip on her hair. Her eyes watered at the force of it, but her body lit up, sharp, electric, aching to give. A more primitive part of her brain registered that she wanted this, wanted him to lose control, to push her. She moaned.

Steve let go of her hair and started to pull back, but she gripped his hips, not wanting him to move.

“She didn’t mind, Stevie. In fact, I think she liked it. Didn’t you, sweetheart?”

She looked up. Bucky was watching her, his face hungry. She nodded, then her lips parted, warm and eager, coaxing him back in.

Steve groaned and he pushed forward again, deeper this time, the subtle tremor in his body telling her everything.

Bucky’s approving murmur filled the space. “That’s my girl. Taking him just right.”

Eleanor hummed her pleasure, her movements slow and deliberate. When she felt his hands retake their grip in her hair, she intensified her rhythm, sure and steady and firm, until with a sharp, shuddering exhale, Steve tipped over the edge. She swallowed every inch, her hands steady on his hips, her mouth claiming everything he gave her.

She kissed the inside of his thigh. He twitched.

Bucky pulled her up. She lay between them, content as could be.

Chapter Text

Eleanor was singing again. It had been exactly three weeks since she’d last sung. Only when the first words left her mouth did she realise she’d missed it. They came to her as she was doing the dishes, having banished her boys to the living room. She wasn’t thinking about them as the song started, though. Definitely not.

‘’Someday, my prince will come, someday we’ll meet again…”

She didn’t hear it over the sound of her own voice and the clanging of the dishes, but when Steve opened the front door, she understood there’d been a knock on the door. One day she’d ask about their uncanny hearing.

“Mr O’Sullivan, good evening.”

“Hello my boy! Do you have a moment for your old neighbour?”

“Of course, do come in.”

Mr O’Sullivan entered the apartment. He saw Eleanor in the kitchen.

“And was that you singing? See how women are just happiest taking care of the house, eh? Like a lovely little songbird. You’ll make a man very happy soon and bless you for practising on these poor boys right now.”

Eleanor felt a familiar tightness in her chest, the words well-worn but no less grating.

1957 and I still have to explain being a woman is more than the value I can add to a man’s life. Heaven help me.

She smiled stiffly, voice even but distant.

“Thank you, Mr O’Sullivan. Singing is a comfort, yes. But I like to think there’s more to a woman’s happiness than songs and chores. I know there is more to mine than that, at any rate.”

She glanced briefly at Steve, who nodded. From the living room came Bucky’s voice, low but clear:

“Well, I’m glad she’s happy, singing or otherwise.”

Mr O’Sullivan blinked, a hint of surprise flickering in his eyes. Eleanor caught Bucky’s brief grin as he settled back into his chair. She was pleased at their support.

“Don’t let me keep you,” Eleanor added, turning back to the dishes, the rhythm of water washing away the awkwardness. When all three men were sitting down, she resumed her singing, determined not to let Mr O’Sullivan’s remarks ruin her evening. She finished washing and drying the dishes and wiped down the kitchen. She was just cleaning the dining table when Steve showed Mr O’Sullivan out. He glanced at the clock.

“Still here at this time, eh? Not often you see a young lady out and about so late—especially in a gent’s flat. You’re quite the modern woman, Miss Eleanor.”

Eleanor met his eyes steadily, the stiff smile returning to her lips.

“I like to think of it as good company and a warm kitchen. I am not sure it is very unusual.”

Steve spoke, polite but she could hear the note of frustration. “We’re lucky to have her come over. Keeps the place livelier.”

Mr O’Sullivan chuckled softly, shaking his head as he moved toward the door. “Well, keep an eye on the girl, boys. The world’s not always kind to modern women.”

“We’ll be sure to do that.” Steve closed the door behind him. He looked at Eleanor.

“Well.”

“Yeah.”

She sighed.

“I think I could do with some air. You want to come along? Just a stroll around the neighbourhood?”

Bucky was already in the hallway, putting on his shoes. Steve went to her apartment to grab a light jacket she knew she wouldn’t wear. The street was quiet, dusky. The last bit of sunlight slipping between buildings and trees. Eleanor threaded her arm through Steve’s, brushing knuckles with Bucky’s hand on the other side. She was silent for a while.

“Thanks for coming to my aid. With Mr O’Sullivan.”

“You didn’t need it. But he did,” Bucky said lightly.

“Yes. I’m not surprised, but then, maybe I am? By you, not him. Please do not take this the wrong way, but in my experience, military men are rarely so…progressive.”

Bucky and Steve exchanged one of their looks. It made her feel like they’d had an entire conversation.

“It’s been a while since either of us was in the military,” Steve said.

“That was hardly my point.”

“I’ve seen a lot. In the war, but also in peace. Buck has, too.”

“Oh good. For a minute there, I was worried you might say something vague and noble-sounding.”

“Cheeky.” Bucky squeezed her waist. She yelped and bumped into Steve.

“So. How come the both of you have been blessed with such enlightened views on the fairer sex?”

“The world doesn’t always work that way. Because you’re not always the fairer sex.”

Eleanor blinked at Bucky’s blunt words.

“Women can be mean, cruel, violent. Men can be sweet, caring, gentle. I’ve seen it. I’ve experienced it.”

She didn’t know what to say.

“Have I offended you?”

“No. I’m just more curious now.”

“Of course you are. On your tombstone, it’ll read ‘curiosity killed this cat’.”

“It might. If I go before you, I trust you’ll pick something more poetic.”

“Awfully trusting there, doll.”

“You and Steve keep telling me I should be.”

Bucky looked at her.

“What exactly do you want to know?”

“Everything,” she said, giving him a radiant smile. “I want to know about the start of the universe. The amount of water in the deepest ocean, the reason apples taste the way they do, why cats meow at people but screech at each other. When it comes to you…,” she ran her hand up his forearm, “what makes you happy. What makes you sad. The reason your eyes get greyer at times. How you made room for me. And, more pertinent, what women you saw being mean, cruel and violent. And maybe how I can track them down and punch them.”

Bucky was quiet. She was beginning to think he wouldn’t respond at all. Two streets later, he spoke.

“I’ve seen women do things I wouldn’t wish on anyone. Same with men. It wasn’t about whether they were men or women. It was about what people do when they’re broken, or when they think they’ll get away with it.”

Eleanor glanced over, but he wasn’t looking at her. He was watching the pavement ahead.

“There was this woman in Riga. Ran an informant network. Ruthless. Used kids to carry messages, turned on her own neighbours to keep herself safe. And rich. Left a lot of bodies behind.”

Steve made a low sound. Not quite a word.

“I’m not naming names,” Bucky said, without turning. “She asked.”

“I know. Just… not too much.”

Steve’s tone made her stomach tighten. It didn’t sound like information from over a decade ago. She wondered at more recent activities.

“Not because I don’t trust you,” Steve added quickly. “It’s just… with some of what we’ve seen… it’s not exactly safe. And some of it’s too heavy to throw around over a walk.”

Bucky’s hand found hers again.

“But the part you asked about how I made room for you? That’s simple.”

The look he gave her was so affectionate she forgot to breathe.

“I’ve put walls up. Steve’s the only one who ever got past them. But then you came, Ellie, and it’s like you see the walls and you don’t even try to take them down. You just started growing flowers all around them. They take root inside them, weakening them but somehow also strengthening them. You don’t realise how special it was that you sang to me, instead of just leaving. That first Friday dinner. That’s when you planted the first flower. A whole bunch more when you came back, the week after. Then, when you walked in on us but didn’t run. The day after, when I said those words, those terrible things, and you threatened to throw me out but let me right back in. You ask how I made room for you? You made room for you. You plant flowers with every touch, every look you give me. Like now.”

Eleanor’s heart felt too big for her chest. No one had ever spoken to her like that. She thought she might float away, like a cloud.

When she finally regained the power of speech, she said the only words that made sense.

“I love you.”

“I love you.”

The rest of the walk was quiet. Her arm was still in Steve’s. It wouldn’t draw attention. They’d walked like that at least half a dozen times before. She could smell cut grass. Usually, it made her smile. But her fingers ached for Bucky.

She could feel where his hand had been, like an echo on her skin. He walked just a pace behind, or beside, it was hard to tell. He wasn’t touching her anymore. Of course he wasn’t. They couldn’t risk that out here. Not when anyone could see.

But she wanted it. She wanted it so much it almost hurt. To reach back and catch his fingers again. To press her hand into his and curl it tight. To plant more flowers, as he’d put it.

She hated that she couldn’t. Hated that such a simple thing, so everyday common, hand-holding, was the kind of thing that could undo them. That the more honest they were indoors, the more careful they had to be outdoors. That love had to be portioned out and hidden, instead of worn proudly on her sleeve.

Steve’s arm was strong and steady around hers. She glanced at his face. He showed nothing. He was used to it. Used to having to hide love. To having to pretend. She wondered how he could stand it. How Bucky could, especially, with his tendency to be impulsive.

She considered throwing caution to the wind and reaching out anyway, consequences be damned. But Steve’s voice rang again in her head, it’s not exactly safe, and she knew.

Not yet.
Not here.

The first stars were showing themselves over the rooftops, but Eleanor kept her eyes on the pavement and the hand she couldn’t hold.

Chapter Text

“I think perhaps we should go somewhere today!”

Eleanor was looking out of the bedroom window. The sky was that almost white blue that required sunglasses to be comfortable outside.

Steve groaned and pulled a pillow over his head.

“El. I haven’t even had breakfast. Food first. Plans later.”

“Yes. Eggs and soldiers, I think? How many eggs would you like? Hmmm.  I want bacon. Do you have any?”

“Let’s go, doll. Stevie needs to wake up. We’ll make breakfast while he can grumble in his usual grumpy morning style.”

“I’m not grumpy,” Steve said, voice muffled beneath the pillow.

“It’s OK. I love you anyway.” Eleanor kissed his back, then skipped away to spare him from having to answer.

Bucky had put a slightly stale loaf of bread on the kitchen table. She started slicing it.

“How many slices? I think I want two. Four for you and Steve? Do you have bacon? I might still have some at my place.”

He gave her a look before opening the icebox.

“You’re very chipper this morning, even for you. What’s got you so cheerful? Still happy from last night?”

Her cheeks darkened just a shade at the memory of Steve’s mouth between her legs, of Bucky’s hands on her breasts as she’d ridden him, of Steve’s body on top of hers.

“Well, what if I am? Would that be such a terrible thing?”

“Yes, but only because you’ve just ruined the rest of the week for me. I’ll never be able to concentrate on anything. Oh, here’s your bacon.”

“I’ll fry it up. The smell is bound to lure Steve away from the bed.”

She busied herself frying bacon, boiling eggs, toasting bread. Bucky set the kitchen table, then disappeared for a few minutes. He came back with his hair wet, waterdrops making their way from his neck to his bare chest. She looked just a little too much and almost burnt the bacon.

“Do I distract you, darlin’?”

“Always. Never stop.”

“Yes, ma’am.” He kissed her neck.

“If you want your breakfast unburnt, keep your mouth to yourself, my love.”

Bucky took the toast from the pan, then kissed her again. She wanted to be coy and proper. She wanted to give him a superior look and direct him firmly to the kitchen table. So she put down the spatula and kissed him, running her hands over his chest.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get enough of how you respond to the slightest of my touch.”

“Can I get that in writing, Sergeant?”

“Triplicate. Stamped. Whatever you need.” He kissed her cheek, then pulled away and took the bacon off the stove.

She put the eggs on the table. Steve walked into the kitchen, freshly showered, looking a little more human.

“Where did you want to go?”, he asked, tapping an egg with a knife.

“I didn’t have anything particular in mind. Somewhere outside, though. I haven’t been that many places yet, outside of the city anyway. Do you know a place a little off the beaten track?”

“How do you feel about the beach?”

“In August? On a Sunday? I was hoping for a place with a little more…privacy.” She purposefully let the last word linger, giving Steve a pointed look.

“Dangerous. So dangerous. Seductive creature.”

“Isn’t she?” Bucky bit into his toast. “Hey, we haven’t been to Bayville in years. That was always a little quieter. Bit of a drive, though.”

“Where’s Bayville? How long’s the drive? Can we go into the sea? I want to swim. Oh, can I swim there?”

“It’s on Long Island, maybe a ninety-minute drive, if traffic’s bad. And it’s a beach so yes, there will be sea. For swimming in.”

“Can you take me there? Today?” Eleanor looked from Steve to Bucky.

“Get yourself ready, sweetheart. We’re leaving in an hour.”

She looked at the clock. It was half past nine. She scarfed down her last slice of toast and egg.

“I’ll shower at my place. I need a different outfit for the beach. I have a picnic blanket! I’ll make some lemonade for us, shall I?”

She kissed Steve on his nose, Bucky on his head, then ran out the door.

She calmed down a touch in the shower as she shampooed her hair. In the bedroom, she considered her three bathing suits. The two-piece she’d never worn. It was cute, a little old-fashioned with the black and white polkadot motif, but certainly more skin than she’d ever shown in public, even to the beach. The red one piece, a little safe. The yellow one piece, very summery. She went with the two-piece. She’d have to use the ladies’ room sooner or later, it’d be more convenient. She put Coppertone on her face and arms, some Tangee stick on her lips. It was warm already and she tied up her hair. A hat, cardigan, picnic blanket, towels, and sunglasses all went into a large canvas bag. She added 1984.

In the kitchen, she prepared two large battles of lemonade. Not too sweet, Bucky preferred it tart.

At twenty past ten, she was back at their front door.

“Hey! Are you ready?”

Bucky opened the door. His gaze slid appreciatively from her face to her bare legs.

“Nice dress. Don’t think I’ve seen it before.”

“It’s for the beach. I haven’t been to the beach since I moved here.”

“Should’ve taken you to the beach sooner.”

Steve appeared behind him. He looked so ridiculously beautiful in the striped swim trunks and white shirt, Eleanor was considering staying home. Just for a moment. She smiled.

“Shall we?”

The drive was uneventful. It did nothing to dampen Eleanor’s spirits. The windows were open, creating a lovely breeze. She sat in the front next to Steve. Bucky was sprawled on the back seat, eyes closed, his glove back on.

“Isn’t that hot?”

“Yeah I am, but you get used to it, darlin’.”

“I meant the glove.”

He opened one eye and gave a half-shrug.

“I’m used to it. Doesn’t bother me.”

“I suppose you’re keeping your shirt on, then.” She spoke with such obvious longing in her voice, Steve chuckled.

“He’ll keep his shirt off for the entire weekend next time. How’s that?”

“You’re deciding for me now, Rogers?”

“Like you could refuse her anything.”

Bucky closed his eyes again and smiled.

“Sing us a song, El?”

She didn’t need telling twice.

“Mr. Sandman…” she began brightly, hands folded in her lap as she looked out at the road. “Bring me a dream…”

Steve smiled, eyes still on the highway.

“Make him the cutest that I’ve ever seen…” she sang sweetly, tilting her head toward Bucky with a playful glance. The look he gave her was anything but playful and she almost stuttered on the next line.

“Give him two lips, like roses and clover…”

“…and tell him that his lonesome nights are over,” Steve chimed in just a beat late.

“Mr. Sandman…”

“Yes?” Bucky murmured in a mock-deep voice, eyes closed again.

“I’m so alone,” Eleanor crooned dramatically, clutching her chest.

Bucky opened both eyes this time, a wicked smile tugging at his mouth. “You’re the furthest thing from alone I’ve ever seen.”

“Don’t have nobody to call my own…” she finished, then let the last note trail off into the wind.

“Encore,” Bucky said lazily.

“You’ll get a whole concert if you behave at the beach.”

Steve glanced at her. “Promise?”

“Promise.”

They arrived at Bayville before noon. There were only three other cars parked there. Eleanor got out. The smell of the sea beckoned her. She took her canvas bag from the car. Bucky took it from her. She shook her head at him but made no attempt to take it back.

Steve found a spot quickly, secluded, and close to the surf. Several hundred yards away, a few small families were clustered near the dunes. She spread out the picnic blanket, laid her towel on top, then peeled off her dress.

She was suddenly aware Steve and Bucky had stopped putting up the parasol.

“What is it?”

Steve cleared his throat. “Sorry. Got a little distracted.”

Bucky let out a low whistle. “You didn’t tell us you were smuggling Marilyn Monroe under that sundress.”

Eleanor rolled her eyes, trying not to grin. “It’s a bathing suit, not contraband.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Bucky said, dropping the parasol and strolling over like he had every intention of misbehaving.

She looked at him sternly. “Are you planning on actually putting up that parasol, or…?”

“Thinking about asking you to sit on my lap for lunch,” Steve said, almost conversationally. “But maybe that’s too forward?”

Eleanor gaped at him, the dress slipping from her hands.

Bucky gave a delighted laugh. “She wouldn’t even make it to the sandwiches.”

“I…I’m going to give you two the chance to remember how to behave in the company of a lady.”

She walked off into the surf before she did something that would have them all in police custody before noon.

The breeze cooled her skin, but it didn’t help. Not when she could still hear Bucky’s laugh, or picture Steve saying sit on my lap with that infuriatingly mild tone.

The water came up to mid-thigh before she returned to the blanket. Determined to keep her eyes off them, she put her hat on, lay down on the towel, and opened 1984.

“How was the water?” Bucky plopped down next to her, his leg brushing hers.

“Just the right temperature.”

“Yeah? Did it cool you off?” His fingers skimmed the line of her bikini bottoms.

Eleanor kept her eyes on the page.
“Adequately.”

Steve sat down on her other side. She glanced at his chest, then reached into her bag.

“Might I suggest you put on some sunscreen?”

He took the tube and started applying lotion to his arms. She turned a page she hadn’t read. Then another. Then gave up and read the same paragraph five times while Steve rubbed lotion over his shoulders.

“Difficult scene?” Steve asked, now working on his chest. She vowed not to speak, not to twitch, not to look.

“Help with my back, would you, Buck?”

Bucky moved around her, one hand sliding across her lower back, and lingering, just long enough to make her stomach flip. Things went from bad to worse when Bucky put his right hand on Steve’s back. She made a tiny sound in her throat that she swallowed. From the way Steve grinned, she thought they might have heard it anyway. She turned a page with unnecessary force.

“You sure you’re cooled off?”, Steve asked. “You look like you’re overheating rapidly.”

It took every ounce of self-control Eleanor had not to throw the book down and rub herself on his chest. She took a deep breath.

Bucky’s hand slid slow across Steve’s back, then up to his shoulder.

“You missed a spot,” he murmured, and Steve turned slightly, giving him a look Eleanor couldn’t see, but she could feel it.

She turned another page of 1984. No idea what it said. Probably something dreadful about rats.

Steve glanced down at her book. “You look awfully tense for someone at the beach.”

“I’m fine.”

“Maybe you need some lotion too,” Bucky offered. “You’re starting to pink up, just here…” He traced the air just above her hip.

“I think I’ll survive.”

“Sure you don’t want to come sit in the shade?” Steve added. “Or on a lap? Just to be safe.”

That was all she could take. Eleanor snapped the book shut and gave them both a look worthy of a schoolmistress.

“You two are awful.”

Bucky grinned. “Takes one to date one.” She faltered for half a breath. Date. He’d said it so easily, like it was obvious. Something fluttered low in her chest. Not quite panic. Not quite pleasure. Maybe both.

She stood before they could see the traitorous smile starting to form at the curve of her mouth.

“I’m going for a swim.”

The water was cool, but not bracing, rising gently up her legs as she waded in. Small waves lapped at her thighs. She tilted her face to the sky and closed her eyes, breathing deep. Salt and breeze and the faintest scent of sunscreen. Somewhere behind her, gulls screeched.

Date, he’d said.

She ducked under a wave, letting it sluice over her body, lifting her hair off her neck. Still didn’t help. She came up gasping, blinking water from her lashes, and smoothed her hair back with both hands.

She wasn’t quite sure why it had got to her like that. Maybe the tone of Bucky’s voice. The ease of it. Not teasing. Not flirtation. Just… fact. They were dating. She was dating them.

Her heart thudded in her chest.

Another wave curled against her waist. She gave up pretending to cool off and sank down until she was submerged to the shoulders, legs drifting beneath her. The book was going to stay shut, that much was clear.

She could feel them watching. Knew it without looking.

She let herself float.

Chapter Text

Eleanor slipped beneath the surface, the water cool and enveloping, like a secret world just for her. It was too murky to see far, and she swam slowly through soft weeds.

She turned onto her back again, arms drifting wide. For a moment, it was just sky above and sea below with the quiet thrum of the ocean in her ears, her body light and loose.

Then there was a splash nearby.

“Found you,” Bucky said, grinning as he paddled closer.

Steve wasn’t far behind, slower and more deliberate as he waded into deeper water. His hair was already soaked, sticking to his forehead. The sunlight bouncing off the waves made it shimmer like gold. He blinked at her through the sun. “You okay out here on your own?”

“I was having a nice, peaceful float,” she said, trying not to smile. “And then two overgrown boys decided I needed company.”

“You do,” Bucky said, bumping her gently with his shoulder.

“We missed you,” Steve added.

“I was out of here for all of five minutes.”

“Exactly.”

She tried not to smile and failed miserably.

“Are you done tormenting me, then? Otherwise I’ll keep swimming till I hit Portugal.”

“We’re never done tormenting you,” Bucky said cheerfully, but he laced their fingers together. She dived under the water, taking him with her. Steve swam closer, pressing a soft kiss to her temple through the liquid veil, and Eleanor’s heart hammered as the two men held her between them. Her fingers traced the line of Bucky’s jaw, then slid over to Steve’s shoulder, anchoring herself between their warmth.

Beneath the cool surface, the world softened to muted blues and greens, a quiet sanctuary away from watchful eyes.

They stayed in the water after they came up for air. They all floated on their backs, but underwater, their hands held each other like it was the most natural thing in the world.

A ball bumped into Bucky’s shoulder.

“Huh. Wonder where that came from.”

“Maybe from one of the families up ahead?”

“No, they didn’t bring any,” Steve said.

“How on earth could you tell? They’re half a mile away!”

“Good eyesight.”

She looked at him. From the set of his jaw she could tell he wouldn’t offer any more details.

“Fancy a game of catch?”

She swam back to the beach, not waiting for his answer. Both Bucky and Steve reached the shallow waters before she did. They threw the ball back and forth. Bucky caught it lazily in one hand, then lobbed it toward Steve with exaggerated flair.

“Show-off,” Steve muttered, but he was grinning. He caught it without breaking stride and sent it sailing toward Eleanor.

She squeaked and ducked under, letting the ball splash just behind her shoulder. When she surfaced, her hair was plastered to her cheeks, lips parted in mock outrage. She was about to speak when a wave hit her unexpectedly, bowling her over. She went under with a startled yelp, limbs flailing, and came up coughing. Saltwater burned her nose and throat as she tried to blink through the stinging.

Before she could fully find her footing, a strong arm wrapped around her middle. Steve hauled her upright, his other hand steadying the back of her head.

“You alright?” he said, voice low and tight near her ear.

She nodded, still coughing, one hand gripping his forearm. “Just swallowed half the Atlantic.”

“You scared me,” he muttered, not quite letting go. His thumb brushed her ribcage like he didn’t realise it was still there.

“No need. No harm done, see?” She looked at him, a laugh back on her face, but he wasn’t smiling.

He looked at her the way he sometimes looked at Bucky; quiet, fierce, a little stunned. She felt her throat go tight.

“I love you,” Steve said softly.

Eleanor put both her arms around him.

“I love you.”

He wrapped his arms around her. They stood like that, the water gently moving them, not speaking.

Back on the beach, they sat down on the blanket. Steve dried her hair, kissing her neck a few times. When he got to his favourite spot under her ear, she broke out in goosebumps. Eleanor looked at him reproachfully.

“Hardly fair to do that when we’re out in public and I can’t do anything.”

“Do anything? What would you do, if we weren’t in public?” Steve’s voice was a challenge.

She bit into a sandwich and chewed, giving herself time to think of a good answer. Steve watched her, eyes narrowed just slightly, like he saw where her mind was going.  Bucky lounged beside them, arms stretched behind his head, sunglasses perched on his nose, silent but very much listening. Eleanor swallowed, then leaned in as if to whisper.

“I’d push you back on this blanket,” she said softly, “climb onto your lap, and kiss you until you forgot your own name.”

Steve’s breath caught, just audibly. His hand stilled where it had been brushing a crumb from her collarbone.

“I’d let you touch me,” she went on, licking a bit of salt from her lip deliberately, “just enough to make me beg you not to stop. And then I’d take off this swimsuit.”

Steve made a low sound in his throat, somewhere between a groan and a warning.

Bucky laughed. “You’re playin’ with fire, sweetheart.”

“Am I?” she said, turning to look at him with mock innocence. “I thought I was answering a perfectly polite question.”

“Keep going like this and you’ll be on your back in about thirty seconds,” Bucky said, voice smooth as heat, “and not a single soul on this beach’d have a clue.”

She looked over at him.

He stretched out, one knee bent, arms behind his head like he had all the time in the world. “I mean it. You start something like that out here… I wouldn’t even wait for the beach to clear.”

Steve chuckled under his breath but didn’t contradict him.

Eleanor swallowed, pulse skipping. “Oh?”

“Mhm.” Bucky finally looked at her, lifting his sunglasses just enough to meet her eyes. “I’d lay you back right here, whisper in your ear how good you’re gonna be for us. And by the time you said please, I’d already have your thighs around my waist.”

Steve leaned in, breath warm on her cheek. “Might not even wait for that.”

Eleanor drew in a sharp breath and took another bite of her sandwich, mostly to shut herself up. She could feel the heat rising up her neck, settling low and heavy between her legs.

“Cruel,” she murmured. “Both of you.”

“And yet,” Steve said, brushing a kiss to her shoulder, “you’re still sittin’ here.”

“Well,” she said, eyes bright, “it’s a shame we’re not alone.”

“Not yet,” Bucky murmured.

She looked at them both. They looked smug and golden in the sun, so casual they might’ve been talking about the weather. It simply wasn’t fair. Surely she should be able to say something that would have them in a similar state they had her? She considered her next words and she took a long sip from her flask of lemonade, making a valiant effort to ignore the dampness between her thighs that had very little to do with seawater.

Eventually, she managed a dry, “You’re lucky I’m feeling merciful.”

“Merciful?” Bucky drawled. “Sugar, you’re sittin’ here flushed and breathin’ heavy. That’s not mercy. That’s beggin’.”

She nearly choked on her lemonade.

Steve laughed and tugged her close enough to kiss the top of her salty, sun-warmed head.

She wiped her mouth and straightened up, attempting a breezy tone. “I’m not as affected as you seem to think, thank you very much.”

Steve raised an eyebrow, his grin slow and wicked. But it was Bucky who leaned in, elbows resting on his knees, voice pitched low.

“Sugar, you can sit there all prim with your ankles crossed, nibblin’ that sandwich like a proper lady, but don’t forget…”

He paused, eyes raking her with shameless affection.

“…we’ve got noses.”

Steve’s laugh was more of a puff of breath. “And right now, sweetheart? You smell real happy.”

Eleanor’s mouth fell open.

“You…! That’s…!”

“Biology,” Steve offered, helpfully, and he kissed her cheek. “Nothin’ to be ashamed of. It’s flattering.”

Bucky chuckled, warm and dark. “It’s torture, is what it is.”

She swatted at them both with the back of her hand, cheeks flushed scarlet. She felt the need to get far, very far away from them. How absolutely beyond mortifying that they could smell her. It didn’t bear thinking about. Eleanor got up and scrubbed the sand from her legs and put her dress on.

“I need a walk. A long walk.”

“You got it, babe.”

They walked slowly, the three of them, toes sinking into wet sand with each step. Eleanor trailed a little behind at first, letting the sea breeze cool her cheeks. Her dress clung to her thighs where they hadn’t quite dried, and the wind lifted the hem just enough to tease. Every now and then, Bucky looked back at her over his shoulder.

After a few minutes, they got to a bit of a crowd. They passed a child building a sandcastle too close to the tide, a couple lying tangled in a blanket of their own, and a man reading a newspaper with his feet in the water. The beach opened wider the farther they walked, families thinning out again, until they had long stretches of quiet between them and the next group.

And then Bucky stopped.

“What’s that?” he asked, nodding toward a slope of dunes just off the shore.

Steve followed his gaze. “Looks like a shack.”

Eleanor squinted. She could just see a shape in the distance. As they got closer, she discerned weather-worn wood, slatted walls faded to grey, half-hidden by tall grass and scrubby trees. It looked abandoned. Forgotten. And private.

Her breath caught.

As if the universe had sent it just for them.

“A bit of shade,” Bucky murmured.

“A bit of solitude,” Steve added.

Eleanor’s pulse quickened.

They turned to her together, identical glints in their eyes. The sea murmured behind them, endless and blue.

“Well?” Bucky said. “Shall we?”

She entered the ramshackle structure.

The door hung lopsided on its hinges, half open. Sand had drifted in, the floor uneven with it. The air inside was warm, dusty. Old fishing nets hung from a nail. A forgotten oar leaned against the far wall. But it was private.

Steve’s hands were on her hips. Bucky came up behind, mouth close to her shoulder, not touching. Just breathing her in.

“Still think you’re unaffected?” he murmured.

She swallowed.

He chuckled darkly. “Because right now, sweetheart, you smell like someone who’s dying to be ruined.”

Steve put one hand flat over her stomach, the other ghosting up her ribs, slow and seductive. Eleanor let her head fall back against his shoulder with a helpless little sound, already aching. She could feel Bucky at her front, the warmth of his breath as he looked down at her, eyes gone dark.

“You smell like longing,” Bucky said, so close their noses almost touched. “Hot, slick, needy little thing. I could've spent the whole damn day with my fingers in you.”

Eleanor gave a tiny, strangled sound that made Steve groan behind her.

“Mm-mm,” he whispered, pressing a kiss just under her ear. “You know what that sound does to us?”

He turned her head gently, stealing her lips before she could answer. His mouth was warm and wet and thorough, not a kiss so much as a taking. When he finally pulled back, she blinked up at him, dizzy.

“We can’t do anything in here,” she said weakly.

“Oh, we are,” Steve murmured, nudging her hips forward into Bucky’s. “No other way when you look at us like that.”

Her breath hitched when Bucky slid a thigh between hers. “Yeah,” he said, cupping her cheek. “That little look you get when you’re desperate but trying to be polite. So good. So proper. Legs clenched. Hands folded. But your body gives you away, darlin’.”

Her whole body flushed hot. Steve’s hand had slipped her dress down, calloused fingers skimming the edge of her bikini top. Behind her, he was hard; no use pretending otherwise. And Bucky, so close in front of her she could see his pupils blown wide, the twitch of his jaw as he held himself in check.

“You’re gonna let us ruin you in here.” Bucky said, voice pitched low. “On the floor. In the sunlight.”

“But…I…we…this hut has no lock.”

Steve rested his forehead against her neck. “Then be quiet.”

She let out a breathless laugh, then bit it back when Bucky's hand slipped under the hem of her swimsuit. Not too far. Just enough to draw a sound from her throat that had no business being heard by innocent beachgoers.

Steve untied her bikini top, his hands on both her breasts when it came down.

She made a strangled noise, as Bucky lowered himself to his knees in front of her. He kissed the inside of her thigh. His gloved hand pulled down her bikini. She locked her arms around Steve’s neck.

“Good. Hold me like that, gorgeous girl.”

Bucky kissed her then, right there, tongue flicking against the most sensitive part of her until her knees buckled.

They caught her easily.

Steve’s hands were everywhere, sliding down her sides, across her belly, back to her breasts, cupping them like he never wanted to stop. He pinched one nipple gently and she let out a moan.

“Shh, Ellie,” he murmured into her neck. “Gotta keep it quiet, remember?”

Her hips rolled helplessly into Bucky’s mouth. “I’m trying,” she whispered. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Steve said, voice rough with want. “Be still. Let us take care of you.”

They didn’t let up.

Bucky pressed his tongue against her harder, and Steve’s fingers tweaked and soothed in turns. One hand slipped down to her belly, holding her steady while she trembled and clenched and bit her own fist to keep from crying out.

“So fuckin’ good you are. Walking around with your eyes on us all the time, in that teeny swimsuit. I just wanna put my hands on you. You know that, don’t you? It’s exactly what you want. Have us crazy for you. Look at Buck feastin’ on you. Look at him, baby.”

Eleanor looked at Bucky. His hands on her hips, his mouth moving over her. The first wave of her climax washed over her and she craned her neck to bury her mouth in Steve’s arm, trying to muffle her moans.

Steve’s hands tightened on her breasts.

“There ya go. Let yourself feel all of it.”

She didn’t feel any calmer. Instead of satisfying her, her orgasm had only fuelled her desire. She sank onto her knees, blindly pulling Bucky’s face to hers. She kissed him. Steve groaned. He moved onto the floor behind her.

“Jesus, Eleanor. You taste yourself on him? See why we always wanna put our mouths on you?”

Bucky pulled her body tight against his. The floor was hard under her knees. She shifted, her back against Bucky’s chest, grinding her bottom into him.

“Like this,” she panted. “Please, I want it like this.”

The words hadn’t even left her mouth before Bucky was inside her. Her chest dropped forward, right where Steve was waiting for her. Her body felt hot, every touch a spark. Her hands roamed over Steve. His arms, chest, the muscles on his tummy, his hips, then lower. She looked at his face, then, hesitant, kissed his hard length. He groaned at the same time Bucky did. Eleanor took it as a sound of approval and licked along the underside, then took him into her mouth. It was, without a doubt, the dirtiest thing she’d ever done. She was on her knees in a beach shack with a door that didn’t lock, a man pushing into her from behind and her mouth on a man in front of her. But she didn’t feel dirty. Steve and Bucky didn’t make her feel dirty. They made her feel powerful. Happy. Proud.

She locked her eyes on Steve and smiled at him, her lips wrapped around him.

“Fuck. You’ll ruin me like that, sweet thing. Taking us both so well. You feel Buck deep inside you? He’s close already, I can tell. That snug little pussy of yours just won’t let go of him.”

Eleanor moaned louder, all thoughts of being careful gone from her head. Steve’s hands held onto her hair, but it was Bucky who growled, his hands digging into her waist,

“Be good now. You be quiet like a good girl.”

Her moans died in her throat. She sucked on Steve harder. He spoke quietly but no less fierce.

“I’m gonna come on your tongue soon, Ellie. Gonna come in that pretty mouth. You’re so beautiful like this. All ours.”

One of his hands stroked her jaw. She held onto his thighs, feeling him stiffen and then relax as he came undone in her mouth. He breathed her name. She kissed his chest.

Bucky moved a little faster. Eleanor gritted her teeth to stay quiet, nothing but puffs of air escaping from her mouth. He pushed into her harder, his cool left hand squeezing her bottom.

“Bucky…”

“That’s OK, baby. When you say it softly like that, so sweet. Listening so well.” He pulled her arms back, bring her back up to his mouth. He kissed her between her shoulders, then left his mouth there. She felt his breath quicken. His groan was muffled against her back.

Steve came forward and held her as Bucky let go and dropped onto his back. The shack was filled with the sound of their breaths slowly calming down.

Eleanor surprised herself by being the first to stand up. Her dress was bunched around her waist. She looked for her swimsuit. The bottoms were under Bucky’s legs, she found the top a few yards away.

She grinned at Bucky, feeling a little smug at seeing him still on the floor.

“Come on, Sergeant. We should get back.”

“You go on without me, doll. I need a moment.”

“I’ll give you exactly twenty seconds.”

“Oh? Then what?”

She let her fingers run over the soles of his feet. He yelped and jumped up.

“That wasn’t twenty seconds!”

“You should’ve known better than to test me.”

Steve had put his swim trunks back on and had his hand on the door.

“Let’s go, old man.”

“I am sixteen months older than you, punk.”

“And you look it, too.”

They emerged from the shack, blinking against the bright sun.

“You sure you’re decent?” Steve asked, glancing over his shoulder.

“Nope,” Bucky said, popping the ‘p.’ “And I plan to stay that way.”

Eleanor just laughed and kissed his shoulder. “Good.”

Chapter Text

They walked the short distance back to the blanket. Steve kept a hand low on her back, innocent-seeming, except every few steps his thumb traced a slow circle just above her waistband. Bucky whistled as he went, all breezy nonchalance.

They settled back into place. She dropped gracelessly onto the blanket, heart still thudding. Her towel was rumpled; she didn’t remember if she’d folded it. She reached for the sunglasses she’d left beside the thermos, trying to act casual while she was sure anyone looking at them would know what had just happened.

Steve lay down next to her, arms behind his head, eyes fixed on the sky.

“You’re quiet,” he murmured, just loud enough for her to hear.

“Sun’s nice,” she managed, her voice thin.

Bucky flopped down on her other side and tilted his face toward hers.

“You all right, sweetheart?”

“Mm-hmm.”

He grinned one of his languid, flirty grins. “Legs holding up okay?”

She turned her head sharply, about to shush him, but Steve was already smirking.

“Just wondering,” Bucky added innocently, “how you’d feel if we tried something like that tonight... only slower.”

She made a small noise in her throat.

Steve turned his head now, looking at her over the rim of his sunglasses. “And with both of us inside you again.”

Her mouth opened. No words came out. A full-body shiver ran through her despite the sun.

Bucky chuckled and leaned in to kiss her cheek. “That’s a yes.”

“Jesus Christ,” she whispered, flopping back onto the blanket and dragging the towel over her face.

“You started it,” Steve said, his voice maddeningly calm.

“I did not!”

“You said you wanted Steve to touch you and that you’d take off your swimsuit,” Bucky reminded her. “You knew what that would do to us.”

She groaned. Loudly.

Steve laughed. “Better rest up, honey. We’ve got hours before we head home.”

“And I plan to keep you begging all night,” Bucky added cheerfully, reaching for the lemonade.

Eleanor stayed under the towel, helpless with want again and not even slightly sorry. She muttered, “You two are insufferable.”

She felt Steve’s fingers brush lightly over her stomach. “You weren’t saying that twenty minutes ago.”

“She wasn’t saying much at all,” Bucky added, cracking open the thermos lid with a snap. “Too busy trying not to scream.”

“Bucky.”

“I just love when you try to keep quiet. That little whimper? The one you do when you're close but don't wanna admit it?” He took a sip of his drink. “Could’ve come right then and there.”

Steve stretched lazily. “You keep squirming like that, El, and I’m gonna take you right back to that hut.”

Her hand flew up to swat him blindly through the towel.

“Careful,” he murmured, catching her wrist. “You’re gonna get spanked if you’re not sweet.”

Everything in her went still. Her stomach gave a twist. Not fear, but something hotter, stranger, completely untested. It was only a tease, only a word, and yet the shock of it ran like a shiver down her spine. She wasn’t even sure she liked it. But oh, her body did. She stayed absolutely still beneath the towel, praying neither of them had seen the way her thighs had pressed together or how her fingers clenched in the terrycloth. Steve must have been joking. But God. What if he had meant it?

The tremor in her voice was saved by the towel muffling it. “I hate you both.”

“No you don’t,” Bucky said, brushing a kiss over her shoulder. “You’re just mad you’re still aching.”

“I’m mad I can’t walk straight.”

“That’s our girl,” Steve said proudly, and leaned over to tug the towel away.

She squinted up at him, face flushed, mouth twitching at the edges.

“If I go swimming, will you stop torturing me?”

“Eventually,” Bucky said, “but it’s more fun when you squirm.”

Steve hauled her to her feet. “Come on. I’ll race you in.”

She laughed when he took off, darting toward the water like a schoolboy. Bucky was right behind him, whooping as he ran. Eleanor hesitated just long enough to glare at their backs, utter menaces, they were, before tearing off after them at a dead sprint, pulling off her dress as she went, more laughter flying from her throat. She dived into the waves.

The cold hit her all at once, shocking and glorious, and she came up gasping.

Steve caught her under the arms and spun her in a tight circle; Bucky splashed them both, laughing like a boy who’d never known war.

She floated between them, smiling so hard her cheeks hurt. Steve swam backward for a few strokes, then popped up, flicking water from his hair like a golden retriever. Bucky ducked under the surface entirely, then came up behind her, hands catching her waist with a delighted roar. She squealed, half-laughing, half-scolding, trying to wriggle free.

They played like that for a long while, racing from one buoy to another, splashing like children, inventing ridiculous strokes. Bucky’s ‘octopus crawl’ was by far the most theatrical. At one point Eleanor climbed onto Steve’s back, shrieking with laughter when he dropped beneath the surface and sent her sprawling again. The sun beat down, glittering on the water.

Eventually they drifted into a calmer rhythm. Eleanor floated on her back, eyes closed, waves rocking her gently.

Bucky brushed a damp kiss to her temple as he floated beside her. “You happy?”

She turned her head toward him, shielding her eyes from the sun. “I think I might be.”

Steve was a few feet away, arms spread as he floated effortlessly. “We should do this more often,” he said. “All of it.”

They swam back in together, water streaming from their bodies as they trudged toward the towels. Eleanor wrapped hers around her shoulders, hair dripping down her back, salt on her lips and sun on her skin. Her limbs were pleasantly tired.

Steve offered her a grin as he shook out his shirt. “Ready to head back?”

The car was hot. It immediately lulled her into a state of drowsiness. She was in the backseat, her hair tangled and wavy on the warm leather, a soft breeze keeping her comfortable. Bucky fiddled with the radio until he found something jazzy and bright. Eleanor shifted a little to stretch her legs. Her eyes closed without her noticing. The rhythm of the road blurred everything into soft nothingness.

She woke up with Bucky kissing her brow. “Wake up, sweetheart.” His voice was amused, but there was something more tender underneath, too. “We’re here.”

“Where’s here?”

It turned out here was a small, lively restaurant called Giuseppe’s. It smelled like garlic and oregano even from the pavement. Inside, the place was bright, noisy in the warm, cheerful way Eleanor had always associated with swimming and campfires. The tables were mismatched. Someone had stuck red-checked cloths on half of them. The man behind the counter waved at Steve and Bucky like he’d seen them before.

“You’ve been here before?”

“We go here a few times a year. It’s nice and the pizza’s in our top three favourites.”

Eleanor was quiet as the waitress came to take their order; one large pie with mushrooms and pepperoni. She watched Bucky and Steve interact like they belonged here. It made her feel warm. Then cold.

“You’re not saying much,” Steve said.

“Still blinking myself into consciousness.” She sipped from her Coke.

“It’s not just that.” He waited, softly stroking her leg under the table.

“This place. It feels like it belongs to you. And Bucky.”

“We’ve been coming here for years.”

“Yes. That’s what I mean. I guess.” But she wasn’t even sure what she meant.

Bucky looked at her.

“Don’t tell me you think you shouldn’t be here.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s where you were going.”

“Please, don’t…” the rest of the sentence never materialised.

“We didn’t take you here by accident, honey.” Steve’s voice was careful, like he was speaking to an animal that might bolt at any time. She winced at the accuracy.

“No,” she said softly. “I know.”

Her hands were still curled in her lap. Neat. Like she didn’t quite trust herself if she moved.

Bucky nudged her foot with his. “Then what is it?”

She didn’t answer. Couldn’t.

Because what was she supposed to say? That she’d decided already, sometime between the sea and the sand, between Bucky’s mouth and Steve’s hands and the laughter that felt like it belonged to something permanent? That she already wanted more than just a drawer, more than weekends? That the thought of being without them now made her sick in a way she didn’t know how to name?

She reached for her Coke instead. Took a sip. Let the bubbles sting her throat.

“Tell us what’s happening inside you. It can’t be that bad.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to be here,” she said finally. “I do. God, I do.”

Bucky’s expression softened, but he didn’t speak. There was relief in his eyes.

“I think, perhaps, I’ve somehow already decided. About you. About this. Us. Not even on purpose. Not consciously. But I have all the same. And it doesn’t make sense, but it’s the only thing that makes sense. I might be a little frightened. Or a lot.”

Steve’s hand tightened gently on her leg.

“Because it matters,” she added. “And I wasn’t expecting that. Not like this. Not yet.”

There was a long, quiet pause.

Then Bucky said, “Yeah. I remember that feeling.”

“Do you?”

He nodded. “Every day since 1947.”

That made her laugh, a startled little sound. And something inside her loosened.

Steve’s hand was steady. Certain. Not demanding anything.

That helped.

So did the pizza, when it arrived at their table steaming hot and garlicky, the crust perfect.

She took a bite. Closed her eyes. “All right, you weren’t lying. This is top-three pizza.”

“Top two,” Bucky said, around a mouthful. “Top one, if you count the time they gave us free cannoli.”

Steve grinned. “You remember that?”

“Free cannoli is sacred,” Bucky said solemnly.

Eleanor laughed again, properly this time, and reached for another slice. She was still frightened. But she was also hungry, and warm, and not alone. Under the table, she squeezed Steve’s hand. He squeezed back. She nudged Bucky’s foot. He nudged hers. She ate her pizza.

They arrived at Ashford Street when the sun was starting to set. She took her bag from the car. They walked up the stairs together. The landing on the third floor was empty. She moved towards 4A, opened the door and put her bag inside. They were standing in front of their door. She’d known they would wait. Eleanor walked the few steps to them. She kissed Steve goodnight first, then Bucky. She rested her head on Bucky’s chest, taking in his scent. Steve kissed her hand.

“Goodnight.”

“Goodnight.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He just looked.

Eleanor walked into her apartment. She didn’t look back as she closed the door. Inside, she took off her shoes and went straight into the shower. Sand and sea washed off her. She was tender around her hips and thighs, her upper arms. Each ache was a souvenir. She took a lot of care drying her hair and brushing her teeth. It was only half past nine when she was done, but she went straight to bed. Her last thoughts as she drifted to sleep were of the three of them holding hands in the sea.

Chapter Text

The subway hummed beneath Eleanor’s feet, steady and familiar, but everything else had changed. A week ago she’d made this same journey hollowed out by want and doubt, her appetite gone, her sleep thin and haunted. Now, her skin was still glowing from the weekend. She’d slept between her boys again. She’d eaten. The food had flavour again.

She almost skipped from the subway station to the staff room. Mrs Kaufman gave her a peculiar look. Eleanor gave her a radiant smile in return. Mr Tippance asked her to continue with the archiving of works in the Rare Collections. She reverently handled a rare, complete first edition of Tristram Shandy. She was almost done with 1984, perhaps she’d read this next. Not this exact copy, of course. It wasn’t even allowed to be touched without gloves.

“When did we get this, Mr Tippance?”

He looked up from his desk, peering over his spectacles as though surprised anyone would need to ask.

“Oh, that copy? Quite a story, actually. Donated in '39 by a rather eccentric gentleman, Percival G. Remington. Claimed he’d inherited it from an aunt who kept it wrapped in muslin in a drawer with her underthings.”

Eleanor blinked. “You’re joking.”

“I never joke about Sterne,” he said gravely. “We verified its authenticity, of course, complete with the marbled page and the blank chapter. The black one too. You’ve seen it?”

She nodded, fingertips still gently resting on the calfskin binding. “It’s beautiful.”

“Well, Sterne would have liked you. He was fond of clever women. Wrote like a man perpetually winking at his reader.”

He tapped his pencil on the edge of his desk. “It’s an odd duck of a novel: nonsense, brilliance, and grief all tumbling over each other. A good choice, if you’re into something beyond the ordinary.”

“I might give it a go,” she murmured. “I’m just finishing 1984. I need a different kind of sadness.”

“Mm. And far fewer rats.”

Eleanor had always liked working with Mr Tippance. He was quietly intelligent and fully devoted to the library. A welcome antithesis to Mr Steiner, who was devoted only to himself. She had lunch with Mr Tippance, walking around the campus grounds while eating their sandwiches. They washed their hands in the sink together before returning to the Rare Collections. She finished there by four o’clock and went back upstairs to the reading room.

“You look like you’ve got a secret,” Mrs Kaufman said to her just before closing time, eyeing her over a pile of returned books.

“I have many secrets, Mrs Kaufman.”

“Mmm. Are any of them legal?”

Eleanor only smiled and stamped the next title. The ink left a clean, wet mark on the page. The silence after that was too loud.

She was doing the dishes on Tuesday evening, singing along with the radio, when she suddenly remembered she had to return Mental Dissonance and the Returning Soldier on Wednesday. It was only eight o’clock, but Bucky had said Rosie and his mother would be by for dessert. Eleanor didn’t much feel like disturbing a family visit. Perhaps she could get the book back on Wednesday morning? But she had to be at work for eight, and going by that early in the morning would disturb them equally. With a sigh, she finished the dishes and dried her hands.

Eleanor knocked on the door. Steve opened, looking, of course, so good her hands itched to touch him.

“Hey, Ellie. How are you?”

“Just fine, thanks. I just need my book…”

Bucky appeared in the doorway.

“Why are you standing in the hall? Come inside.”

“No, you have visitors, I really mustn’t, it’s not…”

“Yes, you must.” He pulled her inside and closed the door behind her.

She glanced past him. The living room was softly lit, and there, seated on the sofa, were two women she recognised immediately: Mrs. Barnes, with her dignified poise, and Rose, her eyes the exact shade of blueish grey as Bucky’s. She put a smile on her face and walked into the living room, right hand outstretched.

“Hello, Mrs Barnes. I’m Eleanor Montrose. I live across the hall.”

“Hello, Eleanor. Lovely to meet you.” She shook Eleanor’s hand, her grey eyes mild.

“Ah, so you’re the Eleanor we’ve heard so much about.”

Rose shook her hand next.

“Oh dear, good things I hope!”

“Only the best. Bucky hasn’t stopped talking about the new neighbour who’s a librarian.”

“Important matters first, clearly. Bucky tells me you live in Vermont?”

“You been gossiping about me, James?”

“Of course. I’ve only got one sister to badmouth.”

He grinned at Rose, who grinned back in the exact same way. She had the same easy charm.

“I’m just here to retrieve a book. I do apologise for interrupting a lovely family evening.”

“No need to apologise at all. Would you like some pie? It’s too much for us anyway.” Rose gestured to a cherry pie on the coffee table.

“Even for Steve and Bucky? I’m not sure I’ve ever seen a meal that could withstand their appetite.”

Mrs Barnes chuckled.

“It’s true. Ate me out of house and home as children and it’s only gotten worse over the years.”

She told Eleanor a funny story about a full Irish stew that had gone mysteriously missing. Bucky interrupted her several times, insisting that wasn’t what had happened. When Eleanor had finished her pie, she got up.

“Thank you for having me, but I really just needed my book. It’s due back tomorrow.”

Steve got it from the windowsill.

“I’ll walk you out.”

“It was very good to meet you, Mrs Barnes. Rose.”

“Rosie, please. You too, Eleanor.”

“See you Friday, Bucky.”

“See ya, sweetheart. But really, I didn’t take the stew!”

She smiled at him and walked out. At the door, she reached for the handle, but Steve’s hand brushed hers, holding her back for a moment. Her pulse skipped. His voice dropped low, warm and thick with meaning.

“They’ll be gone by ten. Maybe eleven.”

He let the words hang between them, slow and deliberate. Her breath caught. She met his eyes, feeling the heat in his gaze, the promise behind it.

“I’d like to hear you make those same noises you did on Sunday.”

He gave her wrist a gentle squeeze, leaning in close enough that she could feel his breath.

“Think you’re up for being on your knees again?”

Eleanor fled the apartment. She didn’t breathe until she was back in the safe solitude of her own living room.

“Jesus Christ.”

She looked at the clock. It wasn’t even eight thirty. With her evening suddenly having taken quite the turn, she was clearly in need of a shower. A cold shower. She emerged fifteen minutes later, her skin cooler but her mind hotter than ever. In the bedroom, she considered her wardrobe. A dress? Skirt and blouse? A nightdress and a robe? She thought about Steve’s hands on her thighs. Bucky’s hands on her breasts. A dress. Eleanor was looking for her best matching brassiere and underwear, when a wicked thought came to her. She could simply go without. For a second, she wondered if it’d be too forward, but then Steve’s words came to her.

“I’d like to hear you make those same noises you did on Sunday.”

He’d been crystal clear. She’d match his move and raise the stakes. She dried her hair, put on only some basic make-up and checked her reflection. They’d like her like this.

It was still only a quarter past nine.

She settled down with Tristram Shandy, but despite Sterne’s flowing prose, she couldn’t get into it. A crossword puzzle next. She gave up after five minutes. She put the dishes back into the cupboards, made lunch for the following day, then scrubbed the already immaculate kitchen. She felt flushed. Perhaps another shower would help. She dried herself thoroughly, dressed, and chanced another look at the clock. Ten thirty. Would Mrs Barnes and Rosie still be there? What good reason could she give for showing up if they were? Her thoughts were scattered. There were no words anymore, just images. She slipped into loafers and went out. Her heart beating as though she’d run a mile, she knocked.

Steve opened the door. He gave her an appraising look. Didn’t move from the doorway, all six foot two of him blocking the light from behind him.

“Hi.”

“Hello, Ellie.”

He still didn’t move. She felt a little confused. Was she not supposed to have come over? But then Steve raised an eyebrow and tilted his head.

“You forgot something?”

“N-no.”

“Then why are you here?”

He wanted her to say it. He was going to make her say it. Eleanor bit her lip. There was no way she could, but there was also no way she couldn’t.

“I kept thinking about you.”

He just stood there and crossed his arms. His shirt stretched around his biceps. Eleanor would have appreciated it more if she hadn’t felt so impatient, so eager to close the distance and lose herself in the heat that was simmering just below the surface.

“That’s not good enough,” he said quietly, the corner of his mouth twitching into a half-smile. “Say it. Say why you’re really here.”

The half-smile pushed her over the edge.

“I’m here to make the noises you wanted to hear.”

The half-smile became a full smile and he stepped back, the invitation clear.

She stepped forward, crossing the threshold on unsteady legs. Steve didn’t touch her, watched as she passed him, his gaze following her like a brand. The door closed behind her with a soft click. Then the lock turned. That was all it took.

Eleanor spun, no patience left in her body, and threw herself into his arms. Her hands tangled in his shirt, her mouth found his like she’d been starving for it. Steve caught her without hesitation, strong arms wrapping around her waist, lifting her clean off the floor as she pressed against him, every part of her straining toward the heat she’d been aching for since eight.

When she had to pause for breath, he slid his hand to her bottom, squeezing.

“Not feeling very patient, are you, pretty Ellie?”

She sought his mouth again but he leaned back.

“Tell me how long you’ve been wet for me.”

She tried to kiss him again, desperate to drown the question in heat, but he held her back, just far enough that she could feel the denial as sharply as the desire.

“Go on,” he murmured, eyes locked on hers. “Tell me.”

“Since I was here for the book.”

“Poor Ellie. Waiting for us to touch you since then? I’m surprised I couldn’t smell you from your apartment.”

She pulled on his neck but he didn’t give in. He bit her lower lip, not kissing her, just dragging his mouth slowly along her cheek, her jaw, the hollow of her throat. Everywhere but where she wanted.

“You took a shower, didn’t you?” he whispered against her skin. “Tried to cool yourself off. Didn’t help, did it?”

Eleanor whimpered, pressing herself harder against him, but he only chuckled.

“Thought so.” He nipped at her earlobe. “You came back here soaked through. You were begging before I even opened the door.”

One of his hands skimmed down the back of her thigh, lifting her dress to her waist. The heat of him was unbearable now with his body hard against hers, his voice in her ear.

“Not wearing underwear? Oh, baby. When did you get so desperate?” He lifted her thigh higher, around his hip. Not wanting him to take all the power, she dug her fingers into his back.

A low sound came from the bedroom.

“Jesus, Steve,” Bucky muttered, stepping into view, one shoulder against the bedroom doorframe, arms crossed. His grey-blue eyes flicked to Eleanor, to where she was breathless, flushed, straining against Steve’s grip and then back to his oldest friend. “You planning to kill her before I even get a hand on her?”

Steve didn’t let go. “She likes it.”

Bucky huffed a laugh. “She does.” He looked at her again, tilting his head. “But you’re dragging it out.”

“I’m getting her ready.”

“Oh, she’s ready,” Bucky said, pushing off the frame and walking toward them. “Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

Eleanor could only nod, still caught in Steve’s arms.

Bucky stopped just in front of them, so close she could feel his warmth. His voice dropped, soft and dangerous. “Let her go, Stevie.”

Steve hesitated, not defiant, not resisting, just holding her another second. Then he obeyed.

The moment her feet touched the floor, Bucky’s hand slid to the back of her neck. A little rough and possessive. Mostly just certain. 

“Come with me,” he said quietly. Not to Steve. To her.

She went.

He led her to the bedroom without looking back. Steve followed without a word.

And when Bucky sat down on the edge of the bed, he didn’t guide her between them. He tugged Steve forward instead, fingers at his belt, voice warm with command.

“You first.”

Chapter Text

Steve stood still for half a breath, his eyes flicking from Bucky to her.

Then he didn’t move at all when Bucky reached for his belt.

“Good boy,” Bucky murmured, tugging it loose with practiced ease. “You’ve had your fun. My turn.”

Eleanor stood three feet away at the foot of the bed, heart thrumming, breath shallow, watching as Steve let himself be guided without hesitation. He moved between Bucky’s legs. Bucky leaned forward and pressed a slow kiss just below his navel, fingers already working open the button of his trousers.

“You like teasing her,” Bucky said, his mouth brushing skin. “But you forget how much she likes seeing you like this.”

Steve let out a low, helpless sound and Bucky’s shoulders shifted as if he were smiling, his face still pressed to Steve’s stomach.

“Ellie,” Bucky said, without looking at her, “take off your dress and come sit next to me.”

She moved, a little uncertain. Her dress slid to the floor. Cool air licked at her skin as she crossed to the bed and sat down beside him.

Bucky didn’t look at her. His hands stayed on Steve, tugging his trousers down with slow insistence.

“You remember the first time you saw me do this to him? Back in May. I do. You can tell yourself you froze in shock, but I think there was more to it.”

A little noise escaped her throat, not quite a word, not quite a gasp.

“I had Stevie laid out on the couch,” Bucky said. “Hands in my hair, breath like he couldn’t catch it. Told him how good he looked.” His voice dropped to a growl. “He looks right now, too, doesn’t he?”

“Bucky,” she whispered.

“Doesn’t he?”

“Yes,” she said, barely audible.

Steve looked like a god. His blue eyes were dark with want. His trousers were down, showing those strong legs she couldn’t stop thinking about. His shirt was still creased where she’d grabbed at it earlier, and something about the disarray made her stomach clench. She reached toward him, needing to touch.

“Don’t,” Bucky said firmly.

She froze. Her arms fell back to her sides. She swallowed, pulse hammering.

Bucky stood and pulled Steve’s shirt off, then kissed him deeply. Steve dragged him close at once, hands gripping his back, kneading with greedy pressure. For the first time in her life, Eleanor understood what it meant to ravish someone. She was witnessing it. Bucky let it go on for half a minute, maybe less, then stepped back, eyes dark.

“Get on the bed for me, pretty boy. Hands behind your head. You’re gonna let our girl see what I see.”

Steve obeyed, lying back with a rustle of fabric and breath. Eleanor barely had time to take him in, sprawled, flushed, wanting, before Bucky turned to her. He kissed her neck as he eased her down beside him.

She clawed at his shirt, hungry for his skin. Her hands roamed his chest, his back, his sides, wherever she could reach. He grinned against her throat.

“Did that get you worked up even more, doll? Seeing Steve all sweet and good for me? Think you can be just as sweet?”

She didn’t answer. She couldn’t. Her mouth was already searching for his. But before she could reach him, he caught her wrists. His shirt fell back down, covering the chest she’d just been adoring. She could have cried.

“No chance,” he said. “Answer me first.”

“Yes,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll be sweet. Just… shirt, please.”

He released her wrists and pulled the shirt off with one hand. She leaned up to kiss him again, but he angled her away, directing her toward Steve instead.

“Touch him. Steve, do not touch her.”

Eleanor practically launched herself at Steve. His body felt like a lifeboat in a storm, broad and warm and solid under her hands. She felt his arms twitch. His mouth found hers, hot and open. She kissed him hard, then moved down his jaw, his throat, the line of his neck, the perfection of his shoulders. She wanted to taste every inch.

Behind her, Bucky knelt on the bed. She was straddling one of Steve’s legs, knees sinking into the mattress. Then Bucky’s hand was on her hip, steadying her. He pressed down gently, pushing her lower, and she jolted at the sudden friction.

“Easy,” he murmured. “You think he’s desperate now?” His fingers skimmed over her breasts, light enough to drive her mad. “Let him feel you. Grind down on him.”

“Buck, please, let me touch her,” Steve groaned.

“She needs to learn patience. And you need to learn to let her take care of you.”

Bucky wrapped his hand around Steve’s hard length, offering pressure but not release.

Eleanor rocked herself against Steve’s thigh, her breasts pressed to his chest, her mouth moving against his, her hands tangled in his hair. She kept her eyes locked on his face.

“You… you are so beautiful,” she whispered.

“Good girl,” Bucky said. “Let him know what he does to you. What he means to you.”

She cupped Steve’s cheeks in her palms, kissing his lips. The words came to her in an instant, as though she’d been waiting to say them and had only needed Bucky’s permission.

“The way you look at me…” She gasped as his thigh shifted beneath her, just a few inches, “makes me feel like we’re the only people in the world who matter.”

She kissed his nose, his cheeks, his brow. His arms trembled.

“When I see your face, my love, everything else fades. People search the world for beauty like this, and I have you right here.”

Steve’s only answer was a broken moan.

And Bucky, his mouth hot against her skin, voice thick with wicked affection, murmured, “That’s it. That’s the sound she came back for.”

Then he pressed down gently on Eleanor’s back and slid inside her. She’d been so preoccupied with looking at Steve, it took her by surprise. She cried out.

“Go on, Stevie,” Bucky said roughly. “Touch her now.”

Steve’s hands came up immediately, one on her face, one on her breast, his thumb finding her nipple. She moaned softly.

Bucky moved inside her, slow and deep, and Eleanor keened softly, clutching at Steve’s shoulders. Her eyes were locked on his, feeding off his ragged breath and helpless arousal.

“Good girl,” Bucky said again. “Take what you want.”

Eleanor rocked forward, grinding against Steve’s thigh as Bucky thrust in again, harder this time. Steve let out a strangled sound, almost a cry.

“You like watching her fall apart for you?” Bucky said low against her neck. “You like knowing she’d do anything to make you feel good?”

She barely noticed the building tension in her belly, in her limbs, she was so caught up with Steve, the look on his face and feeling Bucky, so full inside of her. Bucky’s hand slid from her hip to her back, holding her close as he kissed her shoulder, her neck, the curve of her ear.

“Think she’s close,” Bucky murmured, low and satisfied, half to Steve, half to her.

She whimpered in answer, hips moving helplessly, chasing friction, desperate for more. Steve’s hands steadied her, one on her waist, the other cupping the back of her head.

“Let her fall,” he said, voice husky but calm, like he was holding her together with his words. “Buck, let me take care of her.”

Bucky stilled inside her, then kissed the centre of her spine. “Yeah?” he asked, a little rough. “What do you want, Stevie?”

“I want to be inside her,” Steve said. “I want to make her come.”

Eleanor’s eyes fluttered shut. She didn’t think she’d ever heard anything more reverent.

Bucky kissed her once more before gently pulling out. She cried out softly at the sudden emptiness, at the loss of him, even as Steve’s arms came around her.

Steve guided her onto her side, tucking her against his chest. She felt the strength in his arms, the warmth of his breath at her temple. Her leg draped over his hip, and she could feel him, hard and hot and so terribly patient.

Behind him, Bucky moved into place, one hand steadying Steve’s hip, the other resting briefly against Eleanor’s back. It grounded her, that touch. It told her they were all still here, all still together.

“You ready for me too, sweetheart?” Bucky asked, not to her this time, but to Steve.

Steve nodded, and the sound he made when he slid inside her was a quiet groan. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders, trembling with want.

The only thought she had was of feeling him. Everywhere. The stretch of him was deep and aching and perfect, but it was more than that. It was the look on his face, tender and wide open. It was the way his eyes locked on hers like she was the only thing he could see.

And then Bucky was behind him, sliding inside him, and the sharp inhale Steve gave was echoed in her chest. Eleanor moaned. It was helpless and greedy and didn’t feel like hers at all. But it was. All of it was hers. Impossible.

Steve kissed her cheek, her jaw, her mouth. “I’ve got you,” he whispered.

She clung to him, body and mind trembling.

They moved slowly at first, Steve thrusting into her with careful, deliberate rolls of his hips, every motion answered by the deep push of Bucky behind him. Eleanor couldn’t tell where one of them ended and the next began. She was so full of sensation, even breathing felt like a difficult task.

Steve groaned, jaw tight as he pressed his forehead to hers. “You feel so good, sweetheart. You always do.”

She moaned again, softly, clutching at his back. He was shaking. She could feel it in his arms, in the tension down his spine, in the way he gasped every time Bucky rocked forward, pushing him deeper into her.

Somewhere in her mind, Eleanor registered it all; the rhythm, the heat, the impossible intimacy of the three of them joined like this. But most of all, she felt Steve. His skin against hers, his breath warm on her cheek, the thick slide of him inside her, all of it grounding and dizzying at once.

“I love you,” she whispered.

He blinked down at her, stunned. Then his arms tightened around her.

And then it just tumbled out.

“I love you I love you I love you I love you…”

She was gasping it now, clinging to him as the pleasure surged higher, the words tumbling past her lips like wind. Her body was taut with need.

Steve kissed her hard, messily. “God, El…”

Behind him, Bucky let out a strangled groan. “Fuck, that’s the best thing I’ve ever heard.”

She couldn’t stop, didn’t want to stop. She kissed Steve back, teeth and tongue and everything she had, still saying it between gasps, sobbing it now, as her body clenched tight around him.

“I love you…”

“Yes, sweetheart,” Steve said thickly. “Let go for me.”

She broke. Her climax hit like a wave, like falling through light, and she clutched at him as if that could hold her in place. Her thighs trembled, her spine arched, the whole world coming down to the sound of his voice and the stretch of him inside her and the feeling of home pressed skin to skin.

Steve was groaning against her neck, moving harder now, more urgent, and Bucky was right behind him, hand braced at Steve’s hip, mouth pressed to his shoulder.

“Let go, Stevie,” Bucky murmured, his voice wrecked. “Give it to her. You’re so good for us.”

Steve let out a sound she knew would stay with her till her last day and then he was coming too, deep inside her, his arms locked tight around her body.

He contorted against her, his breath hot at her throat, every inch of him trembling. Eleanor stroked his back with both hands, trying to soothe the quiver in his muscles, though her own limbs were shaking too.

Behind him, Bucky hadn’t stopped moving. His thrusts had slowed to a lazy, deep rhythm, like he couldn’t bear to stop yet. Steve made a quiet sound with each one.

Eleanor couldn’t catch her breath. She didn’t want to. It was too much and not enough all at once,  the heat of Steve’s skin pressed to hers, the weight of Bucky behind him, the rhythmic gasps of both of them like a prayer.

Steve lifted his head just enough to kiss her. “You’re everything.”

She brushed her fingertips along his jaw.

“I’m not going anywhere,” she whispered, tucking one hand into Steve’s hair, the other reaching blindly for Bucky.

Bucky grasped her hand.

He thrust once more, slower this time and then stilled, deep inside him, and came with a hoarse, shuddering groan.

Eleanor felt every inch of it through Steve, the way he gasped, the way his whole body tensed. She watched his eyes flutter shut, his lips part, his breath catch as Bucky spilled into him.

Bucky half-collapsed onto his side, his left arm staying on Steve, hand still holding hers.

The room was quiet now, except for their breathing. Sticky with sweat, tangled together. No one moved.

“I want to stay like this forever,” she said.

Steve huffed, still breathless. “Don’t tempt me.”

And Bucky, his voice low and hoarse: “Who says you have to move?”

Steve let out a long breath against her throat, his hand resting flat on her waist. And Bucky, behind him, had dropped a kiss to Steve’s shoulder and then another to Eleanor’s fingers where they were still laced with his.

After a while, Steve’s voice came, “What you said… ‘when I see your face, everything else fades’…”

“I meant it,” she whispered. “I mean all of it.”

Bucky’s hand moved along Steve’s hip, slow and lazy, not wanting to let go. “People search the world, huh?”

Eleanor smiled, eyes stinging again. “Fools, all of them.”

“I didn’t know I needed to hear you say things like that,” Steve murmured. “But now I don’t ever want to go a day without it.”

“Well, that’s a relief,” she said softly, letting her hand stroke his damp hair. “Because I plan to say them as often as you’ll let me.”

From behind, Bucky nuzzled in close, his breath warm against the back of Steve’s neck. “You can say it now, if you want.”

She let out a breath that was half laugh, half sob. “I love you. I love you both. I love you, I love you…God, I love you…”

Steve kissed her, and Bucky reached for her hand again, and no one said a word for a long, aching, perfect moment.

Time slipped sideways.

Eventually, Eleanor stretched, catlike, still nestled against Steve’s chest. Her mouth felt swollen from kisses.

Steve brushed a curl from her cheek. “Do you want to stay?”

She looked at him, then at Bucky, and smiled sadly. “I want to. But if I don’t go home, I’ll be completely useless tomorrow.”

“You’d be adorable and bleary-eyed and say strange things about footnotes,” Bucky murmured, teasing.

“And then fall asleep standing up in the stacks,” she added, lips quirking.

Steve kissed her collarbone and said, with less protest than she expected, “Alright, sweetheart. Let’s get you dressed.”

But no one moved.

She rolled to her back with a groan and stretched her arms overhead, entirely shameless in her nudity. “You’ve both ruined me.”

“You say that like it’s a complaint,” Bucky mumbled, eyes closed, grinning.

“Don’t make me laugh, I’ll never get up.”

“Alright, alright.” Steve sat up with a resigned little grunt and stood, utterly naked and unbothered, before helping Eleanor to her feet. She wobbled. He caught her waist.

She giggled and leaned against him, still flushed, still trembling slightly, though now from exertion and warmth rather than arousal. Her dress was in a sad little pile on the ground.

The hallway was quiet, dim. Eleanor stood on the threshold with one hand on the knob, the other still caught in Steve’s fingers.

She looked back at them, flushed and bare-chested in the doorway, Bucky’s arm slung around Steve’s waist, both of them warm-eyed and sleep-mussed.

“I love you,” she whispered, suddenly hoarse. “I didn’t say it enough.”

“You said it plenty,” Bucky said, brushing a knuckle down her cheek. “Say it again tomorrow.”

“I’ll say it Friday.”

Steve kissed her once, gently, just the corner of her mouth. Bucky pressed one more kiss to her temple.

And then she turned and padded the few steps across the hallway. The floor creaked beneath her, as it always did.

Chapter Text

Eleanor was sitting cross-legged on the living room floor, her back against the wall. She’d opened the window and a gentle breeze touched her shoulders. A letter from Frederick had arrived in the post.

El,

The sun has made a rare and arrogant appearance today, which our parents are interpreting as an ill omen and I as divine sanction to wear linen and behave like a rascal. I’m writing from my favourite bench in the gardens, the one you fell off trying to do a headstand in ’44, where I have positioned myself like some decadent Roman minor poet, only with considerably more tea and considerably less inspiration.

You will be pleased to know that I have not fallen off anything since the ladder incident. I continue to limp very slightly when it suits me, usually when Mother wants me to carry something or when someone attractive is offering sympathy. It's shockingly effective. You should try it.

Your last letter was a delight. I read the bit about the man on the Underground twice, once in horror, and then again in hysterics. Please tell me you didn’t actually apologise to him. Only you would flee across an ocean and still feel compelled to say ‘sorry’ when someone stands on your foot.

Elmcroft remains exactly as you left it, with a few improvements (me) and several irritations (everyone else). I’ve had to sit through two committee meetings at work this week and one dinner with Father’s old chums that nearly killed me. It’s all fine and ancient and slow and terribly clever. You’d hate it. You’d love it. You know how it is.

Speaking of work; I’ve now mastered the art of looking busy with a single well-timed frown. The office smells of tea, typewriter ink, and a permanent sense of disappointment. Everyone talks about ‘housing density’ like it’s the key to spiritual salvation. I’m pretending to care. So far, no one’s caught on. I spent an hour last week arguing about pavement widths and felt, briefly, like a god. Mostly I just draw rectangles and nod sagely. It’s all very grown-up. I keep waiting for someone to realise I don’t belong here.

Have you seen anything more of that quiet painter and the one suffering from bibliophilia like you? I don’t mean to pry, except I absolutely do. You mentioned them exactly once in the latter and then dropped the subject like a stone. I know that move. Tell them from me that I’m reserving judgment until I’ve interrogated them in person, preferably over strong drink. Still wonder how you befriended them within weeks. Were they assigned to you? Perhaps in case you’re a spy? I still haven’t put it past you, and I’m your brother.

George came round last weekend with Charlotte, Rupert and Victoria. She screamed every time I picked her up but gnawed lovingly on my tie. Charlotte says she recognises voices now, but I’m not convinced she recognises herself yet. She has George’s ears, poor thing. Rupert is in that phase, which Father insists on calling highly charming, where he screams ‘no’ to everything and then licks your face to apologise.

Mother is planning a rose-themed garden party next weekend. Apparently ‘tea among the blooms’ is the thing this year. I’ve been conscripted into planning seating arrangements and not knocking over vases. She puts too much faith in me.

You are, as always, the subject of great speculation among all the relatives. I told them you were living alone, working hard, and keeping out of trouble, which, between us, I realise is only two-thirds true.

Kindly notice I am not saying a single thing about Annabelle. She is too lovely for writing. Possibly for speaking. If you manage to make it home for Christmas, I’d love to reintroduce the two of you.

Write back soon. I miss you in that way younger brothers miss sensible older sisters. You’re allowed to miss me too, though only in moderation.

Yours, with fraternal exasperation,
Frederick

P.S. I’m enclosing that article I mentioned earlier about city expansion. Thought of you the whole time I read it, mostly because it involved dust, maps, and long walks underground.

Eleanor read it again immediately after finishing it. Then a third time, slower, tracing each sentence as though it might vanish if she moved too quickly. The paper was thick beneath her fingers, slightly ridged, one of Father’s monogrammed stocks, most likely filched from the drawer in the study. It still smelled faintly of dust and old wood and whatever room Frederick had typed it in.

She had a sudden yearning for a game of tennis on the lawn. Not for the game itself so much, she’d never been particularly good, but for the rhythm of it, the easy laughter, the sound of summer against white cotton. Frederick always got too competitive, shouting dramatic insults in a ridiculous French accent, and she’d end up bent double, laughing too hard to return the ball.

Her hands folded over the letter fondly. She could picture him so clearly: sprawled somewhere improbable with his long legs in the sun, tapping away at the typewriter he insisted made him ‘sound more literary’. The thought made her smile. He wouldn’t have drafted it or planned it. He’d just written exactly what came to him, exactly how he felt. She could hear his voice in every line. Affectionate, impertinent, sharp as ever.

He was the exact blend of their parents, their father’s charm and their mother’s mind, with just enough of George’s humour to keep it from curdling into smugness. And somehow entirely his own.

She pressed the letter flat across her lap and stared at it a moment longer, the smile lingering but softer now. Christmas. The word stirred something in her chest. Two weeks at Elmcroft. There would be roaring fires and silver polish, sherry in the drawing room, Rupert shrieking through the corridors. Her mother’s insistence on handwritten place cards. George’s silence to her opinions.

She would go, of course. That much wasn’t in question. It would be good to see everyone, to hold Victoria properly, to wake up to the sound of wood pigeons again.

Eleanor folded the letter carefully, smoothing the crease with her thumb, and crossed to the little cupboard beside her desk in the spare bedroom. Inside, tucked between the gas bill and a stack of postcards she hadn’t yet replied to, was a slim folder tied with ribbon. The one she reserved for favourites. Letters from old friends, a postcard from a tutor at St Andrews, the note Frederick had once slipped under her door the night before her final exams, even a love letter from Arthur he had written in the first months of their romance.

She slid this new one in behind the others, the paper warm still from her hands, and closed the folder with quiet precision. She stood there for a few minutes, fingers on the wood.

The shopping list was slightly smudged because she’d been holding it since leaving her apartment. She looked at the potatoes. With Steve and Bucky’s appetites, she’d probably need three pounds. It would be heavy to carry upstairs, especially with the whole chicken she’d purchased from the butcher’s weighing her down. She still needed fresh thyme and pears. The grocer’s shop was cool and dim compared to the brightness outside, and it smelled faintly of citrus. Eleanor hummed under her breath as she loaded the potatoes into her basket, then moved on to the pears.

A voice behind her said, “Forgive me, but… Miss Montrose, isn’t it?”

Eleanor turned, brows lifting in surprise. The man looked friendly, early forties perhaps, with a neatly trimmed moustache. His sleeves were rolled with casual precision, and he held a bottle of ginger cordial.

“Yes?” she said, cautious but polite.

“I’m Daniel Thorne. I’ve just moved into the building across the street. I’ve seen you coming and going, thought I’d say hello.”

She gave him a small smile. “How neighbourly of you.”

“Doing some serious cooking?” He nodded at her overflowing bags. “I’d be happy to carry those up for you.”

“Oh, thank you, but I’m quite all right,” she said at once, tightening her grip. She shifted her weight subtly, ready to move.

He chuckled, staying beside her. “No trouble at all. I live just there. It’s not far.”

“I appreciate the offer,” Eleanor repeated, still smiling, but her shoulders had gone a little rigid. “Truly. But I manage just fine.”

For a beat too long, he didn’t move.

Then a bright, wavering voice called out: “There you are, dear girl! I thought I heard your footsteps.”

Mrs Starmer, wrapped in her shawl and smiling beatifically, stood in the aisle holding gherkins. She hadn’t heard a word, of course, but her timing was impeccable.

“Coming, Mrs Starmer,” Eleanor said, with more relief than she meant to show. She turned back to Thorne. “Have a good afternoon.”

He gave her a lopsided shrug and stepped back. “Another time, then. I might do my shopping here more often.”

Eleanor dropped her smile. “That’s between you and the cordial, Mr Thorne.” She joined Mrs Starmer.

As she and Mrs Starmer stepped outside, the older woman said cheerfully, “Oh, I didn’t mean to interrupt, but you looked as though you needed extracting.”

“I did,” Eleanor said, “You’ve got excellent instincts.”

“Thank you. Now, I was wondering if you could help me with a lightbulb? The light in my hallway’s gone out and I just dare not get on the ladder.”

“Of course, Mrs Starmer. I’ll get the chicken into the oven and then pop by to fix it for you.”

Back in her apartment, she prepared the chicken and preheated the oven. After peeling and dicing the potatoes, she went over to Mrs Starmer’s place. It was cluttered but neat, with crocheted doilies on every flat surface. Mrs Starmer was already bustling ahead, cardigan buttoned askew, slippers whispering on the carpet.

“I was meaning to ask Steve or Bucky, but they weren’t home on Sunday,” she said, leading Eleanor into the sitting room. “Here’s a new bulb, can you see if a new one will do the trick?”

Eleanor nodded, a smile on her face as she thought of the day on the beach. The light fixture was one of those narrow-necked things that required standing on a chair, but she managed it with ease, twisting the old bulb out and slotting the new one in place. The light flared to life.

“There we are,” she said, stepping down. “Right as rain.”

“Oh, bless you,” Mrs Starmer said warmly. “You’ve saved my eyes, you have. I won’t open the door for anyone unless this light’s on. Sit a moment, won’t you? I’ve just put the kettle on.”

She hesitated, the chicken would be another ten minutes before needing basting, and then smiled and perched politely on the edge of a rose-patterned armchair.

A few moments later, Mrs Starmer returned with two teacups on a tray and a small tin of barley sugar sweets. The china rattled gently as she set it down.

“You always look so lovely in a dress,” she said kindly, passing Eleanor her tea. “Much more feminine than those girls who go about in slacks. I daresay the boys notice.”

Eleanor gave a small laugh, folding her hands around the warm cup. “It’s mostly just practical, really.”

Mrs Starmer didn’t appear to hear her. She was already reaching for her crossword book. “Now, tell me, what’s a four-letter word for a foolish man?”

She smiled, leaning back a little. “That depends,” she said. “How much time have you got?”

Eleanor stepped out into the hallway, gently pulling the door to behind her. The tea had been warm and fragrant and Mrs Starmer had only told two mildly confusing anecdotes about her nephew in Sidcup, whom she had been confused to hear Eleanor had never heard of.

“If you need more help warding off unwanted attention,” the older woman said breezily as Eleanor turned, “you just give me a look. Or cough twice. We’ll work something out.”

Eleanor laughed, a little gratefully. “Thank you. I really am all right.”

Just then Steve appeared around the corner of the landing, carrying a large shopping bag.

His eyes flicked from her to Mrs Starmer still visible in the doorway, then back again.

“Everything all right?” he asked.

“Oh yes,” shouted Mrs Starmer, beaming. “We were just discussing strategy.”

Eleanor gave her a look. “Not helping.”

Steve looked between them with the faintest amused crease between his brows. “Should I ask?”

“No,” Eleanor said, moving to meet him. “Absolutely not.”

She heard Mrs Starmer chuckle as she closed the door at last. Eleanor leaned in, just a little closer than she’d do with another neighbour and walked with him up the last flight of stairs.

“You sure everything’s all right?” he asked again, quiet this time.

“Just a man who had some issues understanding a ‘no’,” she said. “Don’t worry, I can handle it.”

Steve brushed a hair from her face. “Of course you can.”

“See you at dinner. I hope you and Bucky have your usual appetite.”

He grinned. “In more ways than one.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor turned up at 4B a little earlier than usual. She was carrying a heavy soup pan and tried to open the door with her elbow. She just thought she’d managed it when Bucky pulled the door open. He looked uncharacteristically grumpy, his mouth a flat line.

“Hi, Bucky. Would you mind leaving the door open? I’ll need to go back and forth a few times.”

He grunted, pressed a kiss on her forehead and disappeared into the living room. She looked after him curiously, but decided to worry about the food first. The soup pan went on the stove, low heat. Back to her apartment for the potatoes and beans, also on the stove. Then the chicken wrapped in foil, in the oven. Lastly the pear and almond tart. She still needed to whip the double cream into a semi-lob consistency. By the time she got back for the last time, she’d forgotten about Bucky’s look as he opened the door. She busied herself in the kitchen, whipping the cream and putting it in the icebox, stirring the soup, cutting the bread, sprinkling some fresh chives on the beans. She jumped a little when a hand came down on her lower back.

“My, my. Guilty conscience?”

“I’ve done nothing wrong unless you were there with me.” Smiling, she turned to Steve to kiss him. He returned the kiss tenderly, one hand on her cheek.

“Smells heavenly in here. You don’t need to go to all this trouble for us.”

“Of course I do. Now, off with you, I want it to be a surprise. I’ll set the table.”

“If I tell you I love you, will you let me help?”

A thousand butterflies took control of her tummy. She kissed him again, with her hands on his chest.

“I love you too.” She cleared her throat. “Now go.”

Pouting, he left.

She continued with the food and set the table, using the slightly nicer china. She filled a large glass pitcher with water, ice and slices of lemon.

“Dinner’s ready!”

Steve appeared immediately and sat down. Bucky came in a full minute later. He kissed her again, grabbing her a touch harder than she’d expected.

“Are you alright?”

“Peachy keen, doll. What have you made for us?”

“This is a leek and potato soup with fresh bread. It’s only the first course, so go easy.”

She sat down, watching Steve and Bucky carefully. She’d been fond of this soup as a child and had wanted to do something a little out of the ordinary today, but she was suddenly nervous they wouldn’t like it.

Steve closed his eyes.

“This tastes like Shakespeare.”

Bucky didn’t miss a beat.

“Thought you said you hadn’t been with anyone but Margaret before me.”

He took another bite of the soup, then added, without looking up.

“Lying bastard.”

Eleanor blinked. The air felt different for a moment, like something fragile had shifted in the light.

She didn’t say anything. Just reached for the bread and passed it to Steve with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes.

Bucky got up when the bowls were empty. She gave him a stern look.

“I said I’d take care of it.”

“Yup. Just like everything else.”

“OK. I don’t know what’s wrong, but we’re going to talk about this when I come back with the main course.” She pushed her chair back with a little more force than necessary.

Feeling annoyed, and underneath that, a bit hurt, she took the bowls to the kitchen. She’d worked on planning and preparing the meal with a lot of care and intention and now Bucky’s mood was about to ruin it.

She carried the potatoes and beans to the dinner table first. She had the distinct feeling they’d been talking when she was out of the room. Then she got the chicken. It was heavy and she put it on the table carefully.

“Roast chicken with pan fried potatoes and green beans. Now, please tell me what happened.”

Bucky stared at the wall. Steve fidgeted with his napkin, glanced at Bucky, then spoke, softly.

“Buck. We can just…”

“Of course we can. Steve to the rescue. Bad Bucky will just sit to the side and stay quiet. That’s what you want after all.”

“That’s not fair.”

“Life’s not fair, handsome. Is that still news to you?”

Eleanor had had enough. She got up.

“Lovely. You can eat the chicken hot or cold. I hope you have a good evening. You know where to find me.”

“Oh look. She leaves. Again.”

She froze. Ice ran through her veins.

“James Buchanan Barnes, did you actually say that?”

He looked at her at last. His eyes were stormy grey, jaw tight.

“Yeah. I did. You think I don’t notice when things get hard, you run?”

Steve stood abruptly.

“Bucky…”

“No, let him,” Eleanor said. Her voice was quiet, controlled.

Bucky took a breath, then shook his head. “Forget it.”

“No,” she said. “You wanted a fight. Congratulations.”

She turned for the door. Steve got there before she did.

“I’d like to go home, Steve.”

“He’s sorry. He is. Trust me.”

“I’m sure he is. I’d still like to go home. Please get out of my way.”

“Ellie…” He looked at her like a kicked puppy.

“I’m just going home. I’ll be back tomorrow. I’m not leaving.”

She took a deep breath and looked over her shoulder. Bucky was still at the table, his hands in his lap, staring resolutely at a wall.

“I am not leaving. You hear me, Bucky?”

He gave no sign he’d heard her.

“I’ll go with you.”

“No. He needs you. More than I do. More than he needs me right now, I think.” She kissed Steve on the cheek.

He stepped out of the way. Eleanor put her hand on the door and looked back once more. Bucky had left the table. The steam was still coming off the chicken. Her stomach felt flat. Should she stay? Was Bucky right? Was she running? But then the anger at having her evening spoilt and the hurt at being excluded came in. She straightened her back and stepped out into the hall. She closed the door behind her and walked to her place. As she opened the door to her apartment, she heard raised voices behind her. Eleanor made herself take the few last steps into her hallway, then closed the front door. She couldn’t hear them anymore.

She kicked off her shoes and walked straight to the balcony. She sat down on the cold metal chair, one leg curled beneath her. The chicken smell clung to her dress, teasing her stomach that wasn’t satisfied with soup alone. The cold metal of the chair annoyed her. She moved to the rotan bench.

She didn’t cry. She was frustrated and hungry. And lonely. The kind when someone lashes out and refuses to explain why. Why had they both refused to explain what was wrong? Clearly it hadn’t been a fight just between Steve and Bucky. What had she done? Was she supposed to have gone over before today? Maybe Bucky had wanted her back sooner, after that magical Tuesday night? But they’d all had work and she needed to be alone, in her place, the place that she’d had to fight for to even have at all. She didn’t think either of them begrudged her that. She gnawed on her index finger. Yes, she was definitely hungry.

In the kitchen, she searched for something to eat. Grape-Nuts with milk wouldn’t make for a pleasant evening meal, but it would fill her up. She got a bowl from the cupboard when the knock came. She took a spoon from the drawer. Another knock.

“Ellie?” Steve’s voice drifted through the door.

She didn’t move.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did.”

Somehow, she hadn’t been expecting Bucky yet. That’s what made her walk to the door and open it.

They stood there. The light from the landing lit them from behind like angels. Barefooted angels. The image made her smile. Or grimace. She wasn’t sure.

“I shouldn’t have said what I did. It was cruel.”

“You meant it, though.”

“No. No, Ellie, I was just…”

“You never say things you don’t think are true. It’s one of your best qualities. Usually.”

Bucky winced. She wanted to take him into her arms. Maybe he saw her eyes soften, because he rushed with what he said next.

“I am sorry. I am. Will you come back? You don’t have to stay. Just so I can tell what happened. You can eat.”

Steve stood beside him, looking at her with a hopeful look on his face. His stupidly gorgeous face. She sighed. She would have to find a way to become a little more immune to their looks.

“Please, El.” Bucky reached out. The moment he touched her wrist, she was gone.

“Fine. But I’m not putting my shoes back on.”

Bucky blinked, surprised, then smiled. “You don’t have to. Come barefoot. We’ll match.”

They sat back down at the dinner table. Less than an hour had passed since she’d left. Nobody touched the food, although she could hear Steve’s stomach rumble loudly. It made her grin.

“Hungry, Rogers?”

“Chicken smells so good. It’s a crime not to eat it.”

Bucky was sitting on the chair next to her, hands in his lap again. Eleanor wanted to take his hand, but she felt that coming back had been her half of the olive branch. So she waited.

“Steve told me. About the man at the grocery store.”

She didn’t speak. She didn’t understand where the conversation was going.

“I was upset that you needed Mrs Starmer to get rid of him. I wanted to go have a word with him, but Steve disagreed. I wasn’t angry with you.”

“Until you were.”

He looked up.

“Yes. You came in and the first thing you did was not tell me about this man. This man who talked to you like you were just some girl in a skirt.”

“To him, I was.”

“Well, to me, you’re not! You came in, with the food, smiling like nothing was wrong and then you left for more food and you still didn’t tell me. How could you not tell me?”

She didn’t care for his tone. It had a hint of accusation to it.

“Do you need me to explain myself to you, James? I thought you wanted to tell me what had happened.”

“Sorry. I’m not saying it right. I just…this must be a big deal. And you act like it’s not.”

“Welcome to a woman’s life. A single ‘no’ rarely does the trick.”

Eleanor sighed and took Bucky’s hand. He immediately moved closer.

“A man showing interest and not backing off, not even after being turned down? I act like it’s not a big deal because it’s not. You can ask any woman and she’ll have stories to tell you. Worse than mine. Far worse.”

“So this was not a big deal because worse things happen?”

“I wasn’t scared, I didn’t feel threatened. Slightly uncomfortable. I felt worse tonight.”

“Ouch,” Bucky whispered.

“Yes. Ouch.”

Bucky turned her hand over in his, tracing the lines on her palm with the tip of his thumb. “I didn’t mean to make it worse.”

“I know,” she said, quieter now.

Steve leaned forward on his elbows. “We just hate that you felt like you had to handle it alone.”

“I didn’t have to. I chose to.” She glanced between them. “I like being capable, you know. I’ve spent years learning how to be. You two sweeping in like avenging angels isn’t always helpful.”

“Angels?”

She snorted. “That’s what you looked like, in my doorway. The light from behind like that. It was unfair, showing up like that. How am I supposed to resist?’

“Says the woman who won our hearts falling down stairs.”

She shook her head, trying to fight the grin, but failing. “You’re both ridiculous.”

“Maybe,” Bucky said, turning serious again, “but we’re yours. If you want us.”

She glanced down at their joined hands. “You’re not mine to have.”

Steve reached out, brushing her knee under the table. “You don’t have to own someone to hold onto them.”

“I’d like to hold onto you now.”

She got up. Walked into the space between them. Felt Bucky rise behind her and wrap his arms around her waist, while Steve kissed the top of her head.

“You two are deeply inconvenient,” she mumbled into Steve’s shirt.

“But soft,” Bucky added, resting his chin on her shoulder.

“And hungry,” Steve said. “Can we eat now?”

“Yes, for God’s sake,” Eleanor muttered. “I made roast chicken, not an opening argument in court.”

They laughed. And this time, when they sat down, they ate.

Chapter Text

Steve carved the chicken. It was still slightly warm inside. Bucky reached for the fried potatoes without saying a word, then paused and pushed the bowl toward her instead.

She served herself and said, “Don’t look so solemn. It’s just dinner.”

“It’s your dinner,” Steve said. “You planned it, prepared it, cooked it. After working all week.”

“And being hit on by strange men,” Bucky muttered.

“One strange man,” she corrected. “And only mildly.”

Steve passed her a generous helping of green beans. “Still. You deserved better.”

“Yes, but like Bucky said, life isn’t fair.” To ease the sting of her words, she stroked Bucky’s hand.

Steve had seconds, then thirds.

Bucky tried to hide it, but she caught him spooning extra gravy onto a potato half and whispering, “Jesus Christ,” like the meal had bested him in battle.

By the time Eleanor stood to fetch dessert, Steve groaned dramatically and leaned back in his chair. “You made dessert too?”

She set the tart down with a flourish, golden and still slightly warm from the oven. “Of course I did. What sort of monster do you take me for?”

“You’re gonna kill us,” Bucky muttered, already reaching for a knife. “And what a way to go.”

She sliced carefully through the glistening fruit and fragrant almond filling, plating each piece with a dollop of softly whipped cream. The tart cut cleanly. It was the perfect temperature.

Steve took one bite, stilled completely, and then looked up at her like she’d just hexed him.

“Did you, wait, did you use a vanilla pod in this?”

Eleanor tried to sound casual. “Of course I did.”

Bucky let out a long, low breath. “We’re gonna have to build a shrine to you in the kitchen.”

His hand found hers under the table again, and this time she let her fingers slide over his, curling gently around his thumb.

“I’m still mad at that man,” he said eventually, not looking at her. “But I’m more impressed by you.”

“I’ll take it,” Eleanor said softly.

Steve reached for a final forkful of tart. “You’re not real, you know that? You’re like something out of a dream.”

She didn’t speak, just smiled at him warmly. She didn’t manage to finish her piece of the tart. Bucky polished it off.

“That was quite the meal.” Steve gave her one of his looks, like he was trying to see her thoughts.

Eleanor gave a small laugh. “I didn’t do it to impress you. Well, maybe a little. But mostly it was just…”

Her voice faltered for a moment. “This was the only way I could think to say thank you. For letting me come back. For letting me be here.”

“I know I messed up,” she said. “I left. I stayed away. And I know you both would’ve let me back in no matter what I’d made tonight, even if it had been awful.” Her voice dropped. “But I didn’t want it to be awful. I wanted it to be good. I needed to show you that I still belong here. That I want to.”

Bucky’s fork clinked gently against his plate as he set it down. “You don’t have to earn your place, Ellie.”

“I know you think that. And I know it. I mean, with my head. But, maybe…part of me feels like I do have to earn it. Being here. Being with you both.”

Her voice didn’t wobble, but her throat ached.

“I know what I saw before I ever kissed you. The way you look at each other. The way you are together. You fit. You’ve been through everything. And I came in like…like a guest who never left. And then I did leave. And now I’m here again and I’m…”

She stopped, swallowed.

“I needed to do something good. Just something that might say I’m grateful, and happy, and…more than happy. Ecstatic. That you still wanted me. That you allowed me to come back.”

“We missed you, too. It’s not like we welcomed you back here out of kindness. It just felt wrong without you. Steve punched a hole in the wall. I spent most nights sitting on the sofa.”

Bucky got up and moved to the balcony.

Eleanor stood and started stacking the plates.

“No, honey.” Steve took her hand. “You first. Cleaning later.”

Bucky pulled her onto his lap. She snuggled into his chest, her head on his shoulder. Steve held her legs, clasping Bucky’s hand in his.

“You have this idea of who Bucky and I are together. And it’s not untrue. We have been through a lot together. But you add to it. You’re not instead of. You’re more. You’re you.”

He kissed Bucky’s hand, then her leg. She didn’t say anything right away. She couldn’t. Her cheek was pressed to the soft cotton of Bucky’s shirt, the faint rise and fall of his chest a buoy in the storm of what she was feeling. Steve’s hands were warm and steady around her calves.

“You said we’re not yours to have, just now. Last week, when you came back to us, you said you couldn't be ours. Ellie, that’s where you’re wrong. You’ve been ours and we’ve been yours. Bucky and I…we’ve just been waiting for you to see it. But if that’s difficult, we’ll tell you. Whenever you need to hear it. Every day. Until you believe it. We’ve got you.”

Eleanor closed her eyes, breathing in Steve’s words, trying to let them settle her doubts.

“I don’t know how to believe something like that. Because it feels like more than one person should be allowed to have. I don’t understand how I get to have both of you,” she said finally. “But I want to. So if you don’t mind saying it more than once…” She glanced up at Bucky, then over at Steve. “I’ll keep listening. Until it sinks in.”

Steve gave a soft sound of agreement and leaned forward to press a kiss just above her ankle.

Bucky tucked his face into her hair, his grip tightening.

They sat like that for a while, not speaking.

Eventually, Bucky broke the silence. “I still don’t know how you got the crust that thin without it falling apart.”

“Because I’m a sorceress,” Eleanor said without moving. “Obviously.”

“Mm. That explains the vanilla pod,” Steve said.

She gave a little huff of amusement. “Do you know how many food ration lectures I had to sit through growing up? I wasn’t allowed to bake with vanilla. I was told it was wasteful.”

Steve grinned. “And now you’ve turned rebellious.”

“In more ways than one.”

“Good thing you can rebel by cooking and baking for us.”

“I’m not sure my rebellion stretches far enough to match your appetites. I’ve never seen people eat like the two of you.”

“Part of our charm, doll.”

“And here I was thinking it was the chiselled jawlines.”

She got up.

“Those dishes aren’t going to do themselves. Let’s tidy up.”

“Absolutely not. You cooked. Steve and I will do it. It’s our house. You can put up some music.”

“You drive a hard bargain, Sergeant Barnes.”

She saw the glint in his eyes.

“Lord save me. No. Do not say whatever you were going to.”

Eleanor walked to the record player. The smooth, uplifting voice of Ella Fitzgerald filled the living room, complementing the domestic sounds of a sink being filled in the kitchen.

The top shelf of the closet was stacked with board games in slightly battered boxes. She squinted at the titles, weighed her options, and smiled when she spotted the familiar green and white. Eleanor put out the game on the coffee table, dividing the money. The glass pitcher was still on the dinner table. She set it down next to the board, then sat on the ground.

“Oh, no.” Bucky had returned to the living room, his eyes on the coffee table.

“Is one fight not enough for you in one evening, Montrose?”

“Depends. Will you be the bank?”

He groaned. Steve walked in behind him.

“Oh. You’re going down, old man.”

“You’re on, punk.”

Eleanor insisted on reading every Chance card aloud with dramatic flair. Steve managed to buy Park Place and Boardwalk within the first two rounds. Bucky threatened to withhold ‘bedroom benefits’ if she didn’t agree to swap Electric Company for New York Avenue.

“You’re going to regret this swap, sweetheart.” She drawled the word in his tone.

“Never.”

On her next roll, she bought St. James Place and immediately put down two houses on each property.

“Don’t blame me,” she said sweetly as she collected rent on the orange properties for the third time, ten minutes later. “I didn’t force you to land on Tennessee Avenue.”

“You lured me in,” he said. “With your eyes.”

“Then maybe you should’ve invested in railroads like Steve.”

“I just like trains,” Steve said. His face suddenly darkened and he got up and walked away.

“Steve?” she called.

“It’s OK. You wait here. I’ll get him.” Bucky went after him, leaving Eleanor alone and confused on the ground.

The music played on, Ella’s voice drifting smooth and low across the room. Eleanor sat still on the floor, the Monopoly board in front of her like a stage set abandoned mid-play.

She glanced at the glass pitcher beside her. The condensation had started to form tiny rivulets. A bead of water slid down her arm as she picked it up and refilled her glass, the motion slow, deliberate. She was trying not to read too much into it. Trying not to follow him down whatever corridor he’d just vanished into.

Still. That shift in his face; it hadn’t just been distraction. Something had closed.

She sipped her water, carefully folded the Chance cards into a neat stack, and waited.

After a minute or so, Bucky came back. Alone.

He bent to pick up the die, like nothing had happened. “He’s fine,” he said lightly. “Just needed a breath.”

Eleanor watched him. He was good at dodging, she’d learned that much. Soft jokes. Easy smiles. Misdirection.

But he didn’t meet her eyes as he sat down again. She decided she’d let it go. For now.

“All right,” she said, reaching for her top hat. “Let’s see how you do without your teammate.”

He snorted. “A proper teammate would’ve stopped me from trading with you.”

“I did tell you you’d regret it.”

“Yeah. I’m a fool.”

“My fool, though.”

“Yeah,” he said, voice soft. “Yours.”

They played for a while longer. Eleanor pressed her advantage with ruthless efficiency, coaxing extra rent with little gasps of sympathy and the occasional flutter of lashes. Bucky groaned theatrically every time he landed anywhere that wasn’t his property, and cursed his past self for ever letting go of New York Avenue.

Steve still didn’t return, but she heard the clink of a glass in the kitchen at one point, and then the back door opening. The soft creak of the balcony.

Bucky kept up the rhythm of the game, making jokes, muttering threats at the dice. But he didn’t bring Steve up. Not once. And she didn’t ask.

Then, finally, she heard his footsteps again. His hair was a little windswept. His face was calm again, but he didn’t quite meet her eyes as he sat down on the floor beside her.

“Did we lose yet?” he asked, settling cross-legged.

“No,” Bucky said. “But you left me to be eaten alive.”

Eleanor passed Steve a stack of fake bills. “I made him pay dearly for poor trades.”

“Good.”

They played on, the three of them in their quiet little triangle, until Steve landed on Chance, bankrupting himself with house repairs he could no longer afford.

He flopped backward onto the carpet with a groan. “That’s it. I’m ruined.”

“I win?” Eleanor asked, mock-modest.

“You win,” Bucky sighed. “You destroyed us.”

Steve reached for her hand and tugged her down beside him, pulling her into the little heap of limbs and laughter he’d made on the rug.

She let herself fall with a huff, resting her head on his chest. Bucky dropped down beside her, one arm slung around her waist.

Steve’s hand found hers again, their fingers tangling easily. She felt the rise and fall of his chest beneath her cheek. Bucky’s thumb brushed the curve of her hip through her dress, gentle and slow.

“You’re warm,” Steve murmured.

“So are you,” she said.

“We should get up,” Bucky added, without a hint of conviction.

“Terribly important things to do,” Eleanor agreed. She didn’t move an inch.

Steve exhaled a low, happy sound. “This counts as doing something.”

“We’re engaged in deep strategic reflection,” Bucky said, eyes closed. “Plotting future Monopoly vengeance.”

Eleanor laughed softly. “That’s what you’re plotting?”

“I mean, mostly.” He opened one eye. “Unless you’ve got better ideas.”

“I might.”

Steve shifted just enough to press a kiss into her hair. “Let’s stay here a little longer.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor lay awake, staring at the ceiling. One of Steve’s arms was around her waist, Bucky’s warm breath was on her back. They’d succeeded in making her forget about the Monopoly game with rather more enthusiasm than subtlety. Eleanor hadn’t stood a chance. Between Bucky’s mouth and Steve’s hands, her thoughts had been efficiently turned to mush, and she'd fallen asleep afterwards in a happy, exhausted heap between them. But now she was awake, her mind circling the moment Steve had walked out of the game. He’d said something about trains. She couldn’t even remember what, but it had made him walk out and Bucky had understood straight away. Neither of them had told her afterwards what had happened. She wasn’t sure if she agreed. It could’ve been something from the past, something still too difficult to speak of. Yet if they wanted her in, to be part of them, she needed to know more. She decided she’d ask. Next time anything happened.

She wiggled down. When she got to the foot of the bed, Steve’s eyes were on her.

“I’m not leaving. Just can’t sleep. I’m going to have a cup of tea. You should sleep.”

He closed his eyes again as she pulled on one of Bucky’s shirts.

She sat on the cool balcony with a hot mug of tea. The city was asleep in the streets below. On the other side of the road, a light was turned on. She could see someone moving about in the room. After a few minutes, the room was dark again. Eleanor’s mug was empty, her skin just colder than she liked. She washed the mug and crawled back into the bed. Steve had curled himself around Bucky like a shrimp. His face was not as relaxed as she liked to see it in his sleep. Perhaps a bad dream? She lay down next to him, her forehead against his back, her hand on his hip. She got to sheep four hundred and fifteen before she finally drifted off.

She raised an eyebrow.

“You two are plotting something.”

“No we’re not,” said Bucky, far too quickly.

“That’s exactly what someone plotting something would say.”

“We’re just having breakfast,” Bucky offered. “Like normal people. On a Saturday.”

Steve added, “No plots. No schemes. Just eggs.”

“But you’re not normal people.”

Bucky gave her a look as though she’d mortally offended him.

“I’ll have you know I am perfectly average. Steve not so much, though, I’ll give you that.”

“Hey! What did I do?”

“You’re just too pretty to be average.” Bucky blew him a kiss.

“Highly entertaining, this, but the two of you are definitely up to something.”

“Absolutely zero. Scout’s honour.”

“You weren’t in the scouts. Nor was Steve.”

“Figure of speech, doll. Now, would you like another egg?”

“No, thank you. Is there any fruit?”

“Check the icebox,” said Steve, cutting into his third egg.

Eleanor got up. There were two extremely cold apples. She took both.

“Do you have any plans for this afternoon?” Bucky sounded entirely too casual to be believable.

“No. Why?”

“Just wondering. Perhaps we could go to Prospect Park again.”

“Perhaps.” She bit into the apple.

“So suspicious,” Bucky lamented. “What have we done to deserve this treatment?”

“What a performance, honestly.”

“Thank you, thank you. I’ll be here all week.” He grinned at her over his toast.

She yawned.

“What time did you sleep?” Steve asked.

“Not sure. About two, maybe?”

“You could go back to bed. Sleep for a couple of hours. I’ll wake you up.”

“Sleep? After breakfast?” It sounded so decadent. But she was definitely a little sleepy.

“Well, we’re not exactly going to war this afternoon,” said Steve. He leaned back in his chair, toast in one hand. “Come on, honey. You look like you could do with a nap.”

She glanced down the hall toward the bedroom, then back at her plate. “I don’t know,” she said quietly. “It still feels like your room, when you’re not in it. Like I’m sneaking into something I wasn’t invited to.”

Bucky frowned, his fork paused halfway to his mouth. “You’re always invited,” he said.

“I know. I do know. It’s just…” She twisted the apple stem between her fingers. “I’ve got used to falling asleep with you both. Feels odd without that.”

Steve stood, nudging back his chair. “Come on, then.”

She blinked up at him.

“I’m not making you sleep in there alone. You want to rest, you should be comfortable.”

Eleanor hesitated, but he held out his hand and she took it.

The bedroom was cool and dim, the bed still warm from earlier. He pulled back the covers and waited while she slid in, then sat down on the edge beside her.

“You don’t have to stay,” she mumbled, though she was already curling toward him.

“I know,” he said. “But I want to.”

She laid her head against his thigh then her body soften against his, the scent of clean cotton and warmth and something distinctly him easing her nerves.

Steve reached down and brushed a few strands of hair from her cheek, his fingertips feather-light. “Just close your eyes, Ellie,” he murmured. “I’ve got you.”

Her hand found his where it rested on the quilt, their fingers tangled loosely. She didn’t answer. Her eyes had closed.

Eleanor stirred, blinking against the midday light. She stretched beneath the sheets and found herself still nestled close to Steve. He’d moved down, half-sitting half-lying against the headboard, his knees pulled up, a book against his thighs.

“You’re still here,” she murmured, her voice wobbly with sleep.

“Didn’t want to move you,” he said softly.

She smiled. “What time is it?”

“Almost eleven.”

Her eyes widened. “Eleven?”

“You needed it.” He brushed his thumb lazily along her hip. “Besides, you sleep like a cat in the sun. Would’ve been criminal to wake you.”

She gave a sleepy hum of amusement, nuzzling him. “You’re warm.”

“I aim to please.”

They lay there for another few minutes. Then Eleanor let out a contented sigh.

“You’re very good at this.”

“What’s this?”

“Letting me sleep off a weird night and pretending you’re not plotting something.”

Steve chuckled. “I’d never.”

“Liar.”

“Maybe a little.” He kissed her temple.

“You’re also very good at comforting me.”

His eyes shone.

“You don’t ask for much. Didn’t even ask for this. You’ll find out I’m here when you need me.”

She held her breath.

“Breathe, baby.”

She did. Then she put her arms around him, pulling him close.

“I love you.”

“I love you too.”

He put the book on the night stand.

“Feeling better now?”

“Mm.” She nodded, then paused. “I still don’t want to be out there just yet.”

“Then don’t be.” He leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her nose, then the corner of her mouth.

She turned her face fully toward his. “That’s not fair.”

“What isn’t?”

“You know exactly what you’re doing.”

“Do I?” He kissed her properly then, slow and seductive. She opened to him without hesitation, one hand sliding into his hair as he deepened it just a little, then eased back.

Her fingers curled into his shirt. “Again.”

He laughed, but quietly. Happily. “Greedy.”

“You like it.”

“Yeah,” he said, already moving in again. “I really do.”

His mouth was warm and coaxing, one hand slipping beneath the hem of her borrowed shirt to trace her waist. Her body eagerly surged toward his. She hooked a leg over his hip without thinking, tugging him closer.

“Steve…”

He kissed her throat. “Mm?”

“I think I’m awake now.”

“Oh, I noticed.” He kissed the dip just beneath her jaw, then lower, dragging the collar of the shirt aside. “You’re very…” a kiss “…very…” another “…awake.”

She arched into him. “This is your fault.”

“I’ll take the blame.” His thumb brushed the underside of her breast and she shivered.

“Steve…”

There was a creak at the door, then a dip in the bed behind her.

“Love when she says your name like that.”

Steve didn’t stop. His mouth was hot and sure on hers, and Eleanor didn’t stop either. She kissed him until she was breathless, until her thighs were clenching involuntarily, until she felt Bucky’s hand on her waist, pushing her down onto her back, a look on his face that was nothing short of devouring. He leaned in, kissing her neck just below her ear while Steve’s hand slid under her shirt again, more impatiently. As usual, goosebumps broke out on her skin. Bucky grinned against her neck.

“Such a sweet thing you are. A little kiss right here…” he kissed the same spot again, “and you’re ready to go.”

“I’m sure you have a spot somewhere just like it,” Eleanor said, pulling at his shirt.

“You can try to find it after,” Steve said, pulling off his own.

“After what?”

“After we make you come so hard you forget your own name,” Steve said against her collarbone.

Her breath hitched.

“Not sure that’s medically advisable.”

Bucky chuckled, sliding a hand up her thigh. “Let’s run the experiment.”

She should have protested; some show of decorum, some clever remark. But Steve was kissing the curve of her shoulder, and Bucky was sliding her underwear down her legs with slow, unhurried hands, and the words simply wouldn’t come. Eleanor’s hands were on Steve’s face, bringing his mouth back to hers. He pulled the large shirt over her head, then leaned back and looked at her bare frame. The heat in his eyes made her stomach flip.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

She didn’t have time to answer, because Bucky now had his mouth on her breast, tongue circling her nipple. Steve kissed the hollow at the base of her throat and then lower, then lower still, his tongue flicking gently over the soft skin of her belly. The feeling of both of their mouths on her had her on edge.

“Already shaking,” Bucky said. “And we haven’t even gotten started.”

“You’re going to be such a good girl for us, aren’t you?” Steve asked, looking up at her. “You’ll let us take our time?”

She nodded, unable to speak, hips already shifting restlessly. But Bucky caught them easily, stilling her.

“Ah ah,” he murmured, biting lightly at her neck. “Not yet.”

Steve leaned down and kissed the inside of her thigh, then another, higher, wetter kiss that made her jolt.

“Sensitive,” he said, smiling against her skin. “That’s good. You’re going to feel everything.”

And she did feel everything; every gentle touch from his tongue. He teased her with long, slow licks, never quite enough, never quite where she needed it. Eleanor whimpered, head falling back onto Bucky’s shoulder. He was holding her open now, hands spreading her thighs, fingers firm but comforting against her skin.

“Look at her,” Bucky said softly. “Fucking trembling. You want to come, sweetheart?”

“Yes,” she gasped.

Steve paused, eyes gleaming. “Too bad.”

She let out a strangled noise of protest, and they both laughed. She’d be angry if there had been room for it in her mind.

“You’ll come when we say you can,” Bucky said, sliding a hand down to toy lightly at her inner thigh. “And not a second before.”

“But you’ll like it better that way,” Steve added, dragging the flat of his tongue up through her slick folds, just enough pressure to make her twitch. “Won’t you, honey?”

“Yes…yes, please…”

“I want to hear you beg,” Bucky said, voice like velvet and steel. “Tell us how good it feels. Tell us how much you want it.”

“I…God…I want it so much, please, Steve…please…”

He sucked gently at her clit, just once, and she cried out, hips bucking before Bucky caught them again and held her down, whispering filthy praise in her ear while Steve went right back to tormenting her with those maddening, teasing strokes.

“Doesn’t take much, does it?” Steve said. “And we haven’t even started fucking you yet.”

She couldn’t speak. Couldn’t do anything but pant and twist between them, needing more, needing everything.

“I think she’s there,” Bucky said, his hand curled tight around her thigh now, holding her wide and helpless. “Feel that? She’s right there.”

Steve moaned softly, and it vibrated against her clit. Eleanor squirmed with want.

“Oh…God…I’m going to…”

“Not yet.” Bucky’s voice was a command wrapped in velvet. Steve pulled back instantly, leaving her soaked and right on the edge.

She let out a broken sound, trembling all over.

“Breathe, sweetheart,” Steve murmured, climbing up her body to kiss her mouth, gentle now, coaxing her through the frustration. “We’ve got you.”

“You’re so good,” Bucky whispered, stroking a hand over her belly. “Taking it so well for us. That pretty little pussy just begging to be filled.”

Eleanor whimpered, pressing her forehead to Steve’s shoulder. Her hands fumbled at Bucky’s chest until he caught one and kissed it.

“We’ll give you everything,” he said. “But you’ve got to wait for it.”

Steve’s fingers took over where his mouth had been, soft, slow circles that built the pressure right back again. Bucky bent over her, kissing her jaw, her throat, her chest, murmuring little nothings between each one.

“You’re perfect,” he said. “So fucking perfect like this, all flushed and needy. We’re going to make you feel so good, baby.”

“Can I…please…”

“You want to come now?” Steve asked, voice low. “Beg for it.”

“Please, Steve…please, Bucky…I need to…I need…”

Steve added just the barest hint of pressure and her back arched clean off the bed. Bucky had to hold her down again, laughing breathlessly.

“God, she’s gorgeous like this.”

“She’s everything,” Steve said, lust and awe in his voice.

Her thighs were trembling, her nails digging into Bucky’s arm…and then, just as she was about to crest.

Steve stopped.

Eleanor let out a cry so desperate it bordered on a sob. She tried to close her legs, but Bucky didn’t let her.

“You said…” she gasped. “You said I could…”

“I will let you,” Steve said, his mouth soft and hot against her ear. “But not until you’re begging so sweet it breaks our fucking hearts.”

“But I did…I did…I was right there, please!”

“We know, baby,” Bucky murmured, brushing her hair back with a hand that was almost tender. “We’ve got you.”

Steve moved between her thighs again, this time with a different kind of focus. She felt the hot, heavy press of him, not quite entering, just nudging.

“You ready for me?” he asked, breathless now, too. “You gonna let me in?”

She nodded frantically. “Yes…yes, Steve, please…”

He pushed in, much slower than she needed. The stretch of him made her gasp aloud. Her fingers clutched at the sheets, her whole body tensing.

“There you go,” Bucky said, watching her face. “That’s it, sweetheart. Let him fill you. Let him take his time.”

Steve groaned as he bottomed out, forehead pressing to hers. “Fuck, you feel so good. So tight and warm. You were made for this.”

She whimpered, hips rolling up to meet his, but Steve didn’t move. He just stayed there, buried deep, one hand stroking her side as if to soothe her.

“I need…”

“I know what you need,” Steve whispered. “You’ll get it. Not yet.”

Bucky kissed her temple. “He’s gonna fuck you slow, baby. So slow it hurts. And you’re gonna take every inch and wait for it.”

And he did, with long, deep strokes that didn’t quite push her over, but dragged her higher, inch by inch, until she was trembling again, jaw slack, hands desperate on their skin. Bucky leaned over her, kissing her mouth, her throat, whispering how beautiful she was, how good.

“Tell us how it feels,” he said, nipping at her earlobe.

“I can’t…” she moaned. “It’s too much…it’s…God, please…”

“You’re close again,” Steve panted. “I can feel it. She clenches like that every time she’s about to…”

“I am, I am, please don’t stop…”

But he did. He pulled out slowly, all the way, and Eleanor sobbed, her whole body wracked with need.

“No…no…Steve…”

“You’re going to come so hard you forget your own name,” he said again, voice hoarse now. “But only when we say.”

Bucky caught her face between his hands, kissed her hard. “One more time, sweetheart. Just one more. You can take it.”

“I can’t, please, please, Bucky, please.”

Steve moved between her thighs again, kissed her like he meant to ruin her with it. “You ready?” he asked, pressing his forehead to hers.

She opened her legs wider. “Please…please, I need…”

He slid back into her in one slow, steady thrust, and this time, he didn’t stop.

His pace stayed deep and deliberate, but there was urgency in it now, a rhythm that built fast. Her body welcomed him like she had been waiting her whole life for this, her legs wrapping around his hips, her nails digging into his back.

Bucky held her close, murmuring soft, steady praise against her skin. “That’s it, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good. You’ve taken everything. Let us give this to you.”

“Come for us, sweetheart,” Steve whispered against her cheek. “Come on. Be good and let go.”

Her whole body seized with the heat of it. The pressure broke fast and hard. Her climax hit like a wave crashing through her, loud and uncontrollable, her cry muffled by Steve’s mouth on hers, Bucky’s hand fisted tight in hers, holding her down while she exploded. It was almost violent.

She came hard, exactly like they’d promised, every part of her clenching, pulsing, overwhelmed with it. Her vision went white, then black at the edges, her voice wrecked, her body helpless between them.

“There she is,” Bucky said, sounding half-wrecked himself. “Jesus, look at her.”

Steve let out a rough, desperate groan and buried his face in her neck. “You feel so good…I’m not gonna last…fuck…”

Eleanor barely heard him. She was floating, wrecked, nothing but heat and love and the safety of their hands, their mouths, the sound of their voices pulling her gently back to earth.

When Steve finally followed her with a hoarse cry, it was with his arms locked tight around her body.

She felt Bucky press a kiss to her shoulder. “That’s my girl,” he whispered. “So fucking good for us.”

“I don’t remember my name.”

Bucky grinned against her skin. “Told you.”

Eleanor lay back, boneless and panting, her skin flushed and gleaming with sweat. Steve was still draped over her, chest rising and falling against hers.

“God,” she whispered.

Steve huffed a breathless laugh. “You okay?”

“No,” she said weakly. “I’ve been murdered.”

They didn’t move for a minute or two. Just let her drift, loose-limbed and warm between them, her cheek pressed to Steve’s shoulder, Bucky’s hand stroking lazy circles along her thigh. Steve rolled off her.

One of them pulled a blanket over her. Someone kissed her temple. Everything was soft and safe and quiet.

Her eyes fluttered closed.

And then, unexpectedly, Bucky’s fingers slid between her legs again.

She gasped, jerking slightly. “Bucky…”

“Shh,” he said, voice low and dark at her ear. “You’re not done, sweetheart.”

Steve was already kissing down her chest, his mouth open and reverent. “We’re going to see how many times you can come.”

She whimpered. “I can’t…”

“Yes, you can,” Bucky said, his fingers slipping through the wetness between her thighs. “You’re still so wet. So sensitive.”

“She’s trembling,” Steve murmured, his tongue circling her nipple. “She loves this.”

“I can feel it,” Bucky said, sliding two fingers inside her, slow and gentle. “She’s still fluttering.”

Eleanor moaned, arching helplessly between them.

“That’s it,” Steve said, cupping her face. “Let us take care of you. Just lie back and let it happen.”

“I thought we were done,” she breathed.

“We’ll tell you when we’re done,” Bucky said, curling his fingers just right.

She hadn’t recovered from her first climax and she felt the next one already building, almost sharper  than she could take.

Bucky shifted behind her, drawing his fingers out and tugging her hips toward him with sure, confident hands. She followed without thinking, pliant, aching.

“I want to try something,” voice low and dark at her ear.

“Okay,” she whispered, already half-gone.

He turned her slowly, gently, until she was on her knees. He stayed upright behind her, knees bracketing hers, her shoulders and breasts just on the sheets.

“Just like that,” Bucky said. “Stay down, sweetheart. Let me fuck you like this.”

Her breath caught.

Steve was on his side, his hands stroking her hair. “You look so good like this. You should see yourself. You’re dripping.”

She let out a strangled sound, and then Bucky slid back inside her.

The depth made her cry out. It was different, lower and somehow fuller.

“Oh…God…”

“That’s it,” Bucky growled. “Let me feel you. Let me take you just like this.”

He started slow but deep, his hands locked around her hips, guiding her back onto him with every thrust.

“Can’t believe we haven’t done this yet,” he said, breath hot at her ear. “You were made for this. Taking me so well.”

Steve’s hand stroked her jaw, down her throat. “You okay, honey?”

“Y-yes,” she gasped. “It’s just…God…so deep…”

“I know,” Bucky said, driving into her again, unrelenting. “Bet you feel me in your stomach, don’t you?”

She nodded wildly, her hands scrabbling at the sheets, moaning with every thrust.

Steve kissed her brow. “You’re doing so good. You’re so beautiful when you take him.”

Bucky groaned. “She keeps clenching like she’s gonna come.”

“She’s close,” Steve murmured, kissing her temple. “But she’s not allowed to come yet, is she?”

“No,” Bucky said, voice rough and firm. “Not until I say.”

“No, no, not again, please, I just…”

Steve’s thumb brushed her bottom lip. “You want to come, pretty Ellie?”

“Yes…yes…”

“Not yet,” Bucky said, snapping his hips forward again, harder now. The slap of skin filled the room, filthy and precise.

Eleanor choked on a moan. Bucky kept her steady with both hands locked around her waist, fucking her in deep, devastating strokes that made her entire body tremble.

Then Steve’s hand slid between them.

She jolted like she’d been shocked.

“Oh…God…Steve…”

His fingers found her clit, stroking in slow, tight circles that matched Bucky’s rhythm.

“You’re soaked,” he said, voice low with awe. “She’s making such a mess, Buck.”

“I feel it,” Bucky groaned. “Fuck, she’s going to make me come if she keeps squeezing like that.”

“I can’t…” Eleanor gasped. “I can’t…”

“Yes you can,” Steve said, fingers still working her in a perfect, unbearable rhythm. “You love this. Being full, being touched like this. You love having both of us on you.”

“She’s fucking shaking,” Bucky said, pounding into her just a little harder, angling up to hit that spot that made her scream.

Eleanor’s cry turned into a whimper, and then into a plea. “Please…I need…I’m so close, I’m right there…”

Steve leaned in, kissing her hard. “Not yet, baby. Just a little longer.”

Bucky stilled inside her, hips grinding instead of thrusting, that deep pressure without release. Steve didn’t stop his fingers, he just lightened the touch, barely brushing now, just enough to keep her there.

Eleanor was sobbing again, her body twitching with denied climax, her hands clinging to Steve’s arms like a lifeline.

“God, you’re good like this,” Bucky murmured. “Fucked out and desperate. We could do this all day.”

“You want to come so bad, don’t you?” Steve whispered. “Tell us. Tell us how much you want it.”

“I want it…I need it…I’ll do anything, please, I’ll be so good…”

Steve’s mouth curved against her ear. “Yeah you will.”

Then finally, finally, finally he pressed his fingers down with real pressure, matching the rhythm of Bucky’s hips as he started to move again, fast now, relentless.

She didn’t stand a chance.

The tension snapped all at once, like a fuse burning straight through her body…and Eleanor shattered. Her cry was sharp and guttural, pulled from somewhere deep in her chest. She jerked upright, her arms locking themselves around Bucky’s neck.

“Fuck,” Bucky groaned, holding her tight as she came around him. “Jesus Christ…look at her…”

Steve didn’t stop. His hand kept moving as she convulsed, as her body jerked through the aftershocks, every nerve on fire. She was gasping, moaning, nearly incoherent, her arms losing grip and she slumped forward, into Steve’s arms.

“That’s it, baby,” he said, holding her close, brushing her hair back from her face. “That’s it. Let it all go.”

Bucky groaned again behind her, hips stuttering, his grip tightening on her waist.

He came with a low, drawn-out growl, buried deep as he rode it out.

For a long moment, no one moved. The air was thick with heat and sweat and breathless sounds. Eleanor was limp between them, completely spent, her heart pounding like it might never slow.

Steve kissed her temple. “You’re incredible, you know that?”

Bucky gently pulled out of her and lay down next to her still holding her like she was the only thing in the world.

“You okay, sweetheart?” he asked, voice hoarse, hands tender on her skin.

She made a sound that could’ve meant yes or no or anything else.

“I think I may have found religion.”

Chapter Text

They lay tangled in silence, a heap of limbs and breath and warm skin. Steve stroked her hair where her head rested against his shoulder, fingers moving slow and steady, like he could calm the thunder in her chest just by touching her.

Bucky’s arm was slung low around her waist, his face buried in the curve of her neck. He hadn’t let go of her since they’d collapsed. His breath tickled her skin in soft, even waves.

No one said anything for a while.

Every part of her felt loose and heavy, like her bones had been unraveled and carefully stacked elsewhere. She could still feel both of them inside her somehow, phantom pressure, lingering heat. Her legs trembled with every exhale, her skin slick, her thighs sticky.

She wasn’t uncomfortable. Not exactly. Just extremely sensitive.

Steve seemed to sense it. Of course.

“Too much?”

“No. I don’t think so. Just didn’t know anything like that existed.”

Steve’s hand moved gently over her belly, light as breath. “It’s a lot,” he said. “First time doing it like that.”

Eleanor nodded against Bucky’s shoulder, still half-dazed. “It was… more than I thought I could feel. And it didn’t stop. I thought it might, but it just…” She exhaled, shaky and awed. “You didn’t stop.”

“We wouldn’t,” Bucky murmured against her neck. “Not unless you asked us to.”

Her fingers twitched where they lay on Steve’s chest.

“Did you plan it?” she asked quietly. “That… whole thing?”

Steve let out a low laugh. “Not exactly.”

“We talked a little,” Bucky admitted. “About how much we love watching you come apart.”

She let the quiet sit for another moment, heart still thudding slow and satisfied beneath Steve’s palm.

“Have you…” Her voice was thoughtful. “Have you done that before?”

Steve’s hand stilled. Bucky’s breath caught, just briefly.

“With each other?” she clarified, though she wasn’t sure why she felt the need. “Or… with anyone else?”

Steve looked over at Bucky, then back at her, his expression open. “With each other, yeah.”

Bucky hummed against her neck. “Not the exact same way. But close.”

“But not…” she began, already knowing the answer. “Not with other women?”

“No,” Steve said. “Never.”

“It takes a kind of trust,” Bucky added. “Most people don’t want more than one set of hands on them like that. Most don’t want to give that kind of control, either.”

Eleanor considered that. “But you both did. With me.”

Steve leaned in, kissed her brow. “Because you trust us.”

“And we trust you,” Bucky said. “That’s the only way this works.”

Her fingers tightened slightly against Steve’s chest. “I liked it.”

Steve smiled. “We could tell.”

“I want to do more. Know more,” she whispered, pushing her face into the sheets.

“Give us a second to recover, doll.”

She swatted at him blindly.

“I didn’t mean right now!”

Bucky rolled her onto her back.

“Why are you hiding?”

“It’s embarrassing to talk about this.”

“Why?”

“You know why.”

“Sure, with people in general. Pretty sure you don’t get naked with people in general.” He sounded so comfortable, she wanted to hurt him. Just a little.

“I feel like the two of you know everything. About this.”

“Sex?”

“Yes. I suppose, if you want to use that word.”

“What word would you use?” Steve asked.

“Ugh!”

“That’s a new one,” Bucky said. “Haven’t heard it before.”

Eleanor sat up, glaring at both of them.

“You know what I mean. I just feel like I know nothing.”

Steve grinned. “We’ve had a bit of a head start.”

“A long one,” Bucky added, hands behind his head. “Takes time to figure someone out. What they like. What they don’t. And, of course, about yourself.”

“Hmmm. It’s not like I’ve never thought about things. Sex.”

“Oh?” Steve’s voice was innocent. “How?”

“Absolutely not. No way. I am not sharing.”

“Fine. You don’t have to. Right now. Maybe tonight.”

“You’re both imps!”

“Yeah, but you feel good, don’t you?”

“It’s possible that I do, but also,” she said, “absolutely disgusting.”

That earned a laugh from Steve. “Fair.”

“I…” She blinked at the rumpled sheets. “Oh God, I need a shower. I need seven showers.”

“Too bad,” Bucky said, tugging her back against his chest. “You live here now. You’re ours. Dirty forever.”

She swatted his arm. “Let me up. I’m getting crusty.”

Steve, still grinning, tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. “You’ve never showered here, have you?”

She shook her head. “No. But I need one now. I didn’t realise…” she gestured vaguely at her own body “…this was going to happen.”

“Oh, sweetheart,” Bucky said, propping himself up on one elbow. “It’s always going to happen.”

Steve was already climbing out of bed. “C’mon,” he said, reaching for her hand. “We’ll show you how nice our shower is.”

“And how nice you look in it,” Bucky added with a wicked grin.

Eleanor let out a groan. “I’m not starting something again.”

“Of course not,” Bucky said, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder as he stood. “Pinky promise.”

The bathroom was small, like everything else in the building, their shower like hers; curtain hanging in the tub.

Eleanor eyed it skeptically. “We’re all getting in that?”

Steve shrugged, already adjusting the water. “It fits one and a half adults just fine.”

“One of you counts as one and a half.”

“It’ll be another experiment.”

She rolled her eyes, but her cheeks were flushed. “This is going to be ridiculous.”

“It always is,” Steve said, stepping in first and holding out a hand.

She let him pull her in, squeaking at the first touch of hot water against her shoulder. Bucky climbed in right behind, pulling the curtain closed, and then, well. There wasn’t much room for modesty.

They were a tangle of wet limbs and steam, skin slick against skin, the water beating down unevenly. Eleanor was pressed chest-to-back between them, one of Steve’s hands braced on the wall beside her, Bucky’s fingers already in her hair.

“This is absurd,” she said, trying not to laugh.

“And yet,” Steve murmured, kissing her neck, “here you are.”

Bucky reached around for the soap, catching her hip as she swayed. “You want clean, sweetheart? We’ll get you clean.”

She leaned back into him with a soft sigh, eyes half-lidded.

Steve poured her shampoo into his hands and started working it gently through her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp in slow, steady circles.

“That feels obscene,” she said, eyes fluttering shut.

Bucky’s hands slid around her waist, soapy now, running over her belly, up between her breasts with deliberate care.

“It’s just us taking care of you,” he said against her ear.

The water cascaded down her shoulders, over her chest, steam curling thick around them. Every so often one of them would shift, bumping her into the other, arms tangling, hands brushing places they had definitely already explored.

She definitely hadn’t meant for it to turn dirty again, but Steve was firm behind her and Bucky looked irresistible with his chest and shoulders all wet.

And Bucky’s hand slid down again, cupping between her legs.

“You’re still sensitive,” he murmured. “I can feel it.”

She gasped, clutching at Steve’s wrist for balance.

“I thought you said this wasn’t starting anything,” she said, breath shaky.

“I lied,” Bucky said, and he kissed her shoulder.

“Still with us?” Steve asked.

Eleanor nodded faintly, her voice gone to air.

“Good,” Bucky said, “Then I want to feel you one more time.”

His hand was already there, his mouth on hers. Steve kissed her neck, her ears, one arm around her waist. She was whimpering already.

“Too much?” Bucky asked, searching her eyes.

“No,” she whispered. “Please don’t stop.”

“Fuck,” Bucky muttered, and his fingers worked more insistently now, two of them slipping through the slickness between her legs like they belonged there. “You’re gonna give it to us, sweetheart?”

Her body shivered in answer, spine arching slightly despite how little room there was. Bucky caught her face in one hand, kissing her again, and her moan was swallowed between their mouths.

“That’s it,” Bucky breathed. “I can feel you already. Just let go.”

“I…I can’t,” she gasped, legs buckling.

“You can,” Steve murmured, one thumb brushing her cheek, his arm tighter around her waist. “Of course you can, honey.”

And she did.

The heat crested like a wave, crashing through her in a flood of sensation so sharp it bordered on pain. She cried out into Bucky’s mouth, her whole body shuddering, jerking against Bucky’s hand as he coaxed her through every last second of it.

“I’ve got you,” Steve whispered, holding her upright while she shook.

“Jesus,” Bucky said softly. “You are something else.”

Her knees nearly gave out entirely, but they caught her between them, held her like a treasure, like something breakable and beloved. The water pounded down around them. Her chest rose and fell in erratic swells, her limbs heavy, skin flushed pink from heat and pleasure.

Bucky leaned in and kissed her forehead, then her nose, and smiled.

“So gorgeous.”

Her breathing was still uneven, her legs a little unsteady, but Steve had one arm wrapped around her waist and Bucky was already reaching for the soap.

“No more funny business,” Bucky murmured, pressing a kiss to her temple. “Just taking care of our girl.”

Eleanor let her head fall back against Steve’s shoulder, utterly pliant. “I think I’ve been taken care of quite thoroughly.”

Steve chuckled, low and warm. “Not like this, you haven’t.”

The cloth was soft against her skin, slick with soap and reverent hands. Bucky washed her slowly, carefully, starting with her arms and shoulders, his touch so gentle it barely counted as scrubbing. Steve kissed her damp hair and ran one hand soothingly down her side, the other cupping her hip, steadying her without crowding.

“You did so good for us,” he murmured. “So brave.”

“And patient,” Bucky added, his voice all honey. “Letting us take you apart like that. Christ, sweetheart.”

She blinked slowly, flushed with pleasure at his words.

“You make it very hard to say no to anything,” she said, trying for a wry tone, though it came out dreamy instead.

“That’s because you’re perfect,” Steve said simply, and kissed the top of her head. “And we like making you feel good.”

“And you look so pretty when you come,” Bucky said, smiling up at her as he knelt to wash her legs. “That little breathless sound you make? Drives me fucking crazy.”

Eleanor gave a shaky laugh, her fingers twisting slightly in Steve’s arm.

“Careful,” she murmured. “I’m dangerously close to melting.”

Steve pressed his lips to her cheek. “Then we’ll hold you up.”

Bucky worked gently over her knees, then down to her feet, lifting one carefully, rinsing the suds away with the handheld sprayer.

“Every inch of you,” he said softly, “we’ve got you.”

Steve took the cloth next, lathered it again, and began to clean her back in slow, soothing circles. Bucky combed his fingers through the wet tangles of her hair.

“I love you.”

Eleanor opened her eyes, looking at Bucky.

She felt the ache bloom in her chest then, tender and quiet. She reached for him, for Steve too, wanting to anchor herself in their heat.

“I love you.”

Steve put his arms around both of them.

“I love you.”

They stayed in the shower until the water ran cold.

Chapter Text

“This is the best thing I have ever tasted in my entire life.”

Eleanor held up her pastrami sandwich.

“I can’t believe you’ve lived in New York for almost three years without having had one.”

Bucky was halfway through his chopped liver sandwich. She took another big bite.

“I didn’t know I was this hungry, but good Lord, I think I could have five of these.”

Steve grinned at her. “Sounds like you’ve found religion all right.”

She felt too satisfied to chastise him. She took her time finishing the sandwich, savouring each bite. When she was done, she looked at Bucky, who was checking the clock for the third time.

“I think you can tell me now.”

“Tell you what?”

“Your plan. Grand scheme. Sinister plot.”

“Nope. Not yet.”

“At least you’ve finally admitted there is one.”

“Just come with us, Nancy Drew.”

She got up and walked out into the busy street, squinting against the late August sun.

“Should’ve brought my sunglasses.”

“Let’s get you a pair now, then.” Steve pointed at a Woolworth’s ahead.

“Only if Sergeant Barnes thinks we still have time.”

“So cheeky. Might want to keep that in check.”

Eleanor laughed and skipped ahead to the Woolworth’s. Inside, she checked the sunglasses. There were mostly relatively cheap, plastic frames. The pair she’d forgotten at home was nicer, but she still found a relatively good pair.

“You look cute.” Steve looked at her in the mirror.

“Thanks! Do we have time? I need some compact powder.”

“How long do you need?”

“Five minutes at most.”

“Go on, pretty girl.”

She was looking at two different varieties when a shopping assistant approached her.

“Those only offer minimal coverage, Miss.”

“Yes, thank you. That’s what I’m looking for.”

“To cover up those ugly freckles, I’d really recommend this Max Factor.”

Eleanor blinked, more surprised than offended. “I actually quite like my freckles.”

“I’m sure,” the salesgirl said, smiling in that insipid way that wasn’t a smile at all. “But some girls prefer a more…refined look.”

“She is refined,” came Bucky’s voice, warm and low next to her. “And her freckles are the best thing I’ve seen all day.”

The girl startled, eyes darting up to take him in, and then just as quickly shifted to Steve, who had appeared just behind. He said nothing at first. Just stood there, tall and broad and so unfairly good-looking, watching with that quiet steadiness of his.

The salesgirl flushed. Actually flushed. Eleanor would sympathise if the girl had been nicer.

“I…I didn’t mean…”

Steve gave a small smile, polite and somehow final. “We’re all set, thanks.”

Eleanor watched the girl blink, falter, and then step away, clearly dazed.

And it hit her, sharp and unexpected, that little twist low in her belly, watching this stranger take Steve in like he was something rare and unattainable.

Which, of course, he was.

She slid her fingers into his, just to feel him. And because she could.

Out on the street, she slipped on the sunglasses.

“That was somewhat unfair, you know,” she said to Steve.

“Hmmm?”

“You kind of dazzled her.”

Steve looked genuinely confused for a moment. “I didn’t say anything.”

“Exactly.”

He flushed a little, eyes darting away like he couldn’t quite believe she meant it. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

But then Bucky cut in, dry and unmistakably fond. “You do know what you look like, right?”

Steve shot him a look. “Shut up.”

“Don’t tell me to shut up in front of the lady. She’s just telling the truth.” Bucky turned to Eleanor with a smirk. “He’s been making people forget what they came in for since nineteen forty-three.”

Steve froze.

“Forty-three? Why that year?” She took in his face, which was relaxed again. Maybe too relaxed.

Steve exchanged a quick glance with Bucky, then smiled gently, although it wasn’t quite right. “Just a good year,” he said. “Lucky for me.”

“Because of Azzano?”

“Some years just change you. Not specifically Azzano but yes, that also changed me.”

Bucky walked ahead. “Let’s go, you two!”

Eleanor put the matter aside. Another file for Steve and Bucky are odd. She wondered how many more things would be added to it.

Bucky halted in front of The Kent Theatre. Eleanor looked up. The marquee read ‘NOW PLAYING – WALT DISNEY’S LADY AND THE TRAMP’.

“Oh,” she said, glancing from the sign to the two men beside her. Her voice caught the second time. “Oh.”

“Thought our girl who sings Disney songs might like the full experience.” Bucky looked at her. “Is that OK?”

“You’re taking me to see a picture.”

“Yes. If you don’t like it, we can go somewhere else.”

“You’re taking me on a date.”

“Not sure an afternoon showing of a movie that came out years ago technically constitutes a date.”

Eleanor was quiet. Steve brushed her arm.

“Are you alright?”

“The two of you planned this.”

“We didn’t think you’d mind. Ellie, are you alright?” Steve repeated.

She looked up at them, her eyes shining with tears.

“Yes. Yes. Yes. Thank you. For this.”

“Silly girl. It’s just a movie.” Bucky wiped a tear from the corner of her eye.

“No knocking my first date with you.”

He beamed at her. They walked in together, Eleanor in between them.

Inside, it smelled of popcorn and old carpet, and the cool air was a welcome change from the heat outside. Steve led the way, handing off the tickets with that impossibly wholesome smile of his, and then guiding her with a light touch at her elbow.

The theatre was less than half full. Children chattered in the front rows, and a few parents were already trying to shush them. Bucky, without hesitation, steered them toward the back.

“Here?” Eleanor said.

“Best view in the house,” Bucky said.

“Back row’s quieter,” Steve added, eyes all innocence. “Less foot traffic.”

Eleanor gave them both a suspicious look as she slid into her seat. Steve sat to her right, and Bucky to her left, and they had somehow arranged it so she was between them again without ever asking.

She narrowed her eyes. “You’re both terrible at being subtle.”

Bucky smirked. “Good thing you like us anyway.”

The theatre darkened when the newsreel began. Queen Elizabeth II would be visiting Canada in October, Nikita Khrushchev was threatening to launch missiles at Turkey if it attacked Syria, Ford was pushing its new family car, the ‘Del Rio’. Steve took her hand. Eleanor turned her head to press a kiss lightly on his cheek. He caught her chin in his hand, she immediately shivered, and kissed her on the lips, just once, gently.

Then the screen lit up with colour and music, startling in contrast. A ‘Tom and Jerry cartoon’. Eleanor blinked at the sudden switch in tone. Jerry was wreaking havoc in someone’s kitchen, chasing, clanging, smashing, all set to a cheerful orchestral score. A few children giggled somewhere down in the front row. Eleanor leaned back in her seat, still holding Steve’s hand, her other arm brushing Bucky’s. When the cartoon ended in a final cymbal crash and a puff of smoke, the screen went dark again. A few more people filtered in.

And then the lights dimmed further.

The first notes of Bella Notte drifted in under the Walt Disney logo. A hush fell over the room.

Bucky shifted beside her, his fingers grazing hers on the armrest. Steve’s thumb rubbed small, absent circles across her knuckles.

It was, impossibly, her first time seeing it. She was still for a while, utterly focused, her face tilted slightly toward the screen. Bucky leaned back in his seat, arms folded loosely. She felt his gaze on her, but couldn’t take her eyes of the talking dogs.

“You’re not going to survive the spaghetti scene,” he whispered. He was right. During Bella Notte, when the dogs nudged the last meatball between them with their noses, Eleanor made a quiet, wrecked sort of sound.

“Oh, that’s not fair,” Eleanor whispered. “That’s just cruel.”

Steve chuckled and pressed a kiss to the side of her head. Bucky didn’t say anything, but he put his on her thigh, his thumb gently stroking through the fabric of her dress. The theatre was still and hushed around them. Children had gone quiet. Somewhere in the room, someone sniffled. She gripped Steve’s hand a little tighter when the rat appeared. Eleanor let out a breath she hadn’t realised she was holding when Lady rescued Tramp from the dogcatcher’s cart.

The credits rolled over a final swell of strings, the screen glowing gold and blue. The house lights came up slowly, and the theatre stirred to life. Eleanor stayed still a moment longer. Then she sniffed once, very quietly, and stood up with a soft rustle of skirt.

Outside, the afternoon light was so bright it made her squint. She stepped onto the pavement between them, blinking against the sun, her hand shielding her eyes, finding her new sunglasses in her purse. Bucky stretched beside her like a cat, arms over his head, then shoved his hands into his pockets. Steve just smiled, as if the whole outing had gone exactly as he hoped.

“Well,” Eleanor said at last, voice a little thick but trying for breezy. “I wasn’t expecting to get misty-eyed over a cocker spaniel today, but here we are.”

“You made it through,” Bucky said, nudging her shoulder. “Barely.”

She shot him a look. “One dog spoke like you.”

“Oh?” He grinned.

She raised an eyebrow. “That dog in the pound, by the way, the blonde one, the one who sang that jazzy little number?”

“Peg?” Steve offered.

“Yes, Peg.” Eleanor pointed at Bucky, absolutely triumphant now. “She sounded exactly like you.”

Steve laughed out loud, surprised and delighted.

Bucky frowned, genuinely confused. “Me?”

Bucky just shook his head, but there was colour in his face and something smug curling at the corner of his mouth.

“If you ever decide to sing, I want a private performance,” she said, chin lifted, mock-regal.

“You already got one,” Bucky muttered, just low enough that only she heard. She went pink instantly, and he grinned, wicked and satisfied.

Steve coughed to hide a laugh. “We could walk you back.”

“You could walk me forever,” Eleanor said, too quickly, then covered her face with one hand. “Oh God.”

Bucky wrapped an arm around her shoulder. “You’re lucky you’re cute when you’re wrecked.”

They crossed the street slowly, Eleanor still nestled under Bucky’s arm. Steve kept brushing her hand with his fingers.

They were nearly halfway down the block when Bucky said, casually, “You remind me of her, you know. Lady.”

Eleanor turned her head. “I what?”

Bucky looked down at her, easy and earnest. “Sweet. Proper. You’ve got that soft little bark when you’re mad…”

“I do not have…”

“…and the same big eyes,” he went on, ignoring her protest entirely. “All prim and polite until something gets under your skin.”

Steve chuckled. “She does bark a little.”

“Et tu, Steve?”

But Eleanor was already recovering, already narrowing her eyes. “Fine. If I’m Lady, then you’re obviously the Tramp.”

Bucky stopped walking. “What?”

“Oh, don’t pretend to be offended,” she said sweetly, adjusting her handbag. “You’re scrappy. You’re cocky. You pretend you don’t care about anything but actually you’d throw yourself in front of a horse cart for someone you love. Steve’s favourite animal is making more and more sense.

Steve laughed so hard he had to lean against a lamppost.

“She’s got you dead to rights,” he managed.

“I am not a…” Bucky scowled. “The dog eats spaghetti out of a trash can.”

“And I have seen what you do with leftovers,” Eleanor replied cheekily.

Bucky opened his mouth, closed it again, then turned to Steve. “You’re just gonna let her talk to me like this?”

Steve was still laughing. “She’s not wrong.”

Eleanor slid her arm through Steve’s and looked up at Bucky with the most innocent expression she could manage. “Come along, dear. Try to keep up.”

Bucky caught up with her in three steps, tugged her gently back by the waist, and dropped a kiss just below her ear. “You’re gonna regret that one, Lady.”

“I sincerely hope so,” she whispered.

They turned onto their street, the shadows longer now, the warmth of the day still clinging to the pavement. Steve’s hand had found the small of her back. Bucky’s fingers brushed the inside of her wrist as they walked, casually at first, then not so casually.

“So if I’m Tramp,” Bucky murmured, low and thoughtful, “does that mean I get to seduce you in an alley with spaghetti?”

Eleanor kept her face forward, her breath catching slightly. “You’d have to buy me dinner first.”

“We did take you to the movies.”

“That wasn’t a movie,” she muttered. “That was an emotional ambush.”

Bucky laughed, his mouth close to her ear. “You were asking for it. Sitting there with your soft little whimper…”

“I did not whimper.”

Steve leaned in, his voice just as low. “You did. Right when she got locked up. You made this little noise like…”

“I swear to God,” Eleanor said, “if either of you imitate it…”

“What, this?” Bucky let out a soft, high-pitched whine.

Eleanor stopped walking, spun, and slapped him on the chest. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” he said, grin widening. “You’re thinking about whether I make the same sound when you’re on top of me.”

Steve made a quiet sound in the back of his throat.

Eleanor’s mouth went dry.

“I…don’t,” she said. “You…”

“I what?” Bucky stepped in, all heat and shamelessness now.

Steve slid an arm around her waist. “We should probably get inside before he keeps talking.”

“I’d really prefer that.”

And together, they climbed the steps to the third floor.

Steve unlocked the door. She stepped in first, barely two paces into the apartment before Bucky closed it behind them, flipped the lock, and leaned back against the door like he had all the time in the world.

“So,” he said. “First date. And now we’ve walked you home. Our home, but still, and we’ve invited you in.” He pushed himself off the door and strolled toward her. Eleanor didn’t answer. She was watching the way Bucky moved. The heat in his eyes. The fact that Steve, behind her now, had rested both hands on her hips and was just letting them settle there, warm and steady.

“You’re both very sure of yourselves,” she said.

“You’re the one who said she wanted a private performance,” Bucky murmured. “I took that personally.”

“Oh, you did, did you?”

Bucky stepped in, tilted her chin up. “Don’t tell me you didn’t mean it.”

She didn’t.

Steve’s lips brushed her neck, just behind her ear. “Can I sing to you, sweetheart?” he murmured, his voice a low hum that vibrated right through her. “Or should we skip to the part where we make you sing?”

“I…perhaps…”

Bucky’s mouth curled. “She whimpers and stammers. What a lucky couple of dogs we are.”

Eleanor grabbed his shirt and pulled. Bucky stumbled forward with a laugh, catching himself on Steve’s shoulder with one hand.

“You wanna play, Lady?” he murmured, breath warm against her mouth. “We can play.”

Steve’s breath ghosted over her neck as he kissed just below her ear. Her knees were already weak. She felt them both, Bucky’s body crowding in front of her, Steve’s behind, and there was nowhere to go, nowhere she wanted to go. Heat rose fast in every inch of her.

“You’re cornering me,” she breathed.

“You love it,” Bucky said. He wasn’t wrong. She loved feeling them like this and for a moment, her thoughts took it one step further. She imagined it for one filthy second, Steve driving into her, Bucky filling her from behind, both of them inside her at once. She bit back a sound, her cheeks burning.

Jesus.

She was relieved both of them were too busy to notice. Steve’s hands were sliding up her sides, then down again, finding the curve of her thighs, the hem of her dress. Bucky’s hands were on her breasts, his mouth on her neck again.

“You know,” he said between kisses, “I was gonna be good.”

“Liar,” she gasped.

His teeth grazed her collarbone. “Fine. I thought about being good. Briefly.”

He unzipped her dress. Before it had even dropped to the floor, Bucky’s hands were on her knickers, Steve’s on her brassiere.

“Would you like at that…” Steve said, his mouth at Eleanor’s ear, “you’re all naked in our hallway.”

Bucky picked her up.

“Let’s see if I do make those sounds with you on top of me.”

Chapter Text

She was still catching her breath, her legs resting on top of Bucky’s, her head on Steve’s chest. Bucky was holding Steve’s hand.

“I think we can confidently say I do not make the same sound with you on top of me.” Bucky said, clearly pleased.

Eleanor grinned.

“Not the same, no. Definitely a lot of sounds, though.”

“You liked them.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny these allegations.”

“Christ, woman. Why’d you have to bring those words to the bedroom?”

“Steve has his dirty mouth. This is mine.”

“We’ve gotta work on that mouth, then.”

Eleanor poked Bucky in his ribs. He yelped.

“Help me, Steve. She’s attacking me.”

“I’m good right here.”

Eleanor shifted to kiss Steve’s cheek.

“I appreciate it.”

“Can’t believe the two of you are conspiring against me.” But Bucky sounded so fond, she couldn’t take him very seriously. She sighed, closing her eyes. The image she’d had earlier flashed in front of her immediately and she opened her eyes again. A tiny noise escaped from her mouth.

“What is it, honey?” Steve’s arm wrapped around her waist.

“Oh, nothing.”

“With you, every sound is something.”

“Hmph.”

“Even that sound.”

“I guess, maybe….there’s something, I was thinking about earlier. Not even thinking. Just wondering, you know, not really…”

“Now I’m definitely curious. What’s got you stammering like this?” Bucky rolled closer.

Her heart thudded. “I wondered what it might be like. If the two of you were with me. At the same time.”

There was a pause. Sharp, heated, crackling like a wire stripped bare. And then:

Steve’s voice came low and sure, rougher than she’d ever heard it. “You mean one of us in your pussy and the other in your ass?”

Eleanor made a sound that wasn’t quite a gasp and wasn’t quite a moan. Her whole body flushed hot.

Steve just smiled faintly, his fingers still gentle on her skin. “You’d take it, wouldn’t you, honey. All full, just like that. Bucky holding you open while I fuck you slow.”

“Oh, God,” she managed, hiding her face in his chest, completely undone.

Bucky gave a low groan against her shoulder. “Jesus, Steve.”

Steve kissed her hair. “What? She brought it up.”

“You didn’t have to paint a fresco,” Bucky muttered.

She was still trying to breathe. “I did not mean right this second.”

“I’ve got thoughts now too, you know.”

She looked up at Steve. “What do you mean?”

“Don’t encourage him, doll. He’ll keep going until we’re both wrecked.”

But Steve had that glint in his eye, the one that means he’d keep going till he was good and done.

“You think you’re the only one wondering? I’ve wondered. About fucking your mouth. About making you watch us, hands behind your back. Or us watching you. On your own. Pretty Ellie, I’ve wondered about that one since May.”

Bucky let out a choked laugh, more breath than sound. “Christ almighty, Steve.”

Eleanor went very still.

It took her a moment to place it…May. May. Before anything had ever happened between them. Before they’d so much as kissed. Her stomach turned over.

“You remembered that?” she said, voice small and stunned.

Steve looked at her, his gaze both soft and hot. “Course I did. You told us it was sometimes nice, being watched.”

She groaned, dragging a pillow over her face. “I did not mean like that.”

“You didn’t say not like that,” Bucky said, far too gleeful. “I remember too, sweetheart. You said it with a look over your shoulder.”

“I hate both of you.”

“You’re blushing so hard I can feel it,” Steve murmured. “You knew what you were doing. Dirty little thing.”

Eleanor let the pillow fall to the side, her whole face aflame. “I was making conversation.”

“You were planting ideas,” Bucky said.

“And you watered them,” Steve added, smug. “Now look where we are.”

“You’re both insufferable.”

“And you like us that way,” Bucky said, kissing the top of her spine. “What was that about hands behind your back?”

“Oh my God.”

Steve grinned. “She’s thinking about it.”

“I am not!”

“She is,” Bucky said.

“Tell you what,” Steve murmured, voice low and conspiratorial. “We eat dinner. We don’t touch her. Just let her sit with those thoughts for a while.”

Bucky looked absolutely delighted. “Mean.”

“Cruel,” she added, voice muffled against Steve’s chest.

“But effective,” Steve said.

She groaned again and whined, just a little, which only made them both laugh. They fell quiet after this, which didn’t help Eleanor’s thoughts much.

Then Bucky, voice almost thoughtful: “You know what they say about curiosity.”

“If you say anything about cats, I’m going to kick you.”

“I was gonna say it leads to very interesting Sundays.”

Eleanor snuggled up on Steve’s lap while Bucky pulled leftovers from the refrigerator. She’d offered to heat things up, but Bucky had ordered her to stay put.

“You’re not allowed near a stove in this condition, sweetheart.”

They ate sitting close, shoulder to shoulder. It was roast chicken and potatoes from yesterday, warmed through and doused in gravy, and Eleanor didn’t care what it was because she was too busy pretending not to notice how Bucky’s thigh pressed against hers. Or how Steve’s fingers tapped absently against her knee. She liked how they touched her without thinking. Like they were used to it. She didn’t think she’d ever get used to it.

She turned on the radio after dinner, looking at Steve’s art on the wall again. Eleanor looked at the wall every time she was there. It was as though there was always a new detail to discover, a new way to look at the paintings. A small leaf came down from the plant in the corner. When she bent down to pick it up and straightened, she looked at the portrait of the pretty brown-eyed woman and she suddenly remembered.

“The woman. I remember now. I saw her at the airport. At Heathrow.”

Steve looked skeptical.

“The odds are unlikely.”

“The man she was with called her Peggy.”

That stopped everything.

Steve stilled. Bucky gave him a look.

“That’s her name. Margaret Carter. Most people said Peggy.” Bucky spoke softly, his hand on Steve’s leg.

“Wow. So she was your girlfriend?”

“Yes. For a while, anyway.”

“Can you tell me about her? What was she like?”

Steve hesitated. “Why?”

Eleanor looked at him, a little incredulous.

“Because she’s part of your past. You told me she knew you loved Bucky before you did. If I…if we…I mean, you took me out on a date today. I sleep here every weekend. Bucky said last week we were dating. I’m in your bed. I’m in your life.”

Her voice wobbled on the last sentence. She hadn’t meant for it to.

“I think she means to say she’d like know a bit more about you, my love.” Bucky had moved closer to Steve, his arms around his shoulder and waist.

“Yes. Quite.”

Steve remained silent. He exchanged a brief look with Bucky. It was just a glance, barely a second, but it was a conversation all its own. Eleanor could feel it, in the way Bucky’s gaze softened, the way Steve’s shoulders straightened, the way Bucky’s touch seemed to give Steve strength.

“She was in an organisation working closely with the US military. That’s where I met her, in 1943. Peggy was kind. She was beautiful. It was the first time a woman had shown any interest in me, really. It wasn’t always easy for her, life like that. Men all around, not treating her with the respect she deserved, but she was so strong, she never let them break her down. It was impossible not to admire her.”

“You put all that, and more, into this drawing.” Eleanor had her eyes on the picture on the wall. “It’s full of love.”

“She was the first woman I loved. The only one. Until you.”

Eleanor exhaled slowly. She sat down on the floor, her head resting on Steve’s knees.

“Our relationship ended when I heard Bucky might still be alive. She told me the risk I’d be taking if I went into unknown territory, up against an unknown force, to get him. When we both returned, I finally understood what she’d meant. There was no fight, no anger when we broke things off. We still write to each other a few times a year.”

In a way, this gave Eleanor even more questions. Steve’s tone was so measured, so careful. Like he considered every word before saying it. And then the story itself. She didn’t doubt it. Steve wouldn’t lie. But it felt… off. Incomplete. Unfamiliar territory. An unknown force. But it was 1940s mainland Europe. Surely it had to have been the Germans? But she sensed this was not the time to ask. Whatever it was, it had cost something. And it wasn’t easy for him to speak of it. She would wait. Again. Her questions weren’t going anywhere.

The living room was quiet after that. The radio was still on, but they didn’t speak.

Steve’s fingers threaded through her hair where she sat at his knees. Bucky had returned from the kitchen with a cup of tea for her, which she cradled in both hands even though it was too hot to drink.

“Want me to read something?” Bucky’s voice was soft.

Eleanor looked up at him. “I think we were on Chapter 5.”

He disappeared for a moment and came back with the slim paperback. Animal Farm. She smiled. Steve pulled her into his lap again.

“If you recall, it’s a story about animals,” Bucky said, settling on the couch again. “On a farm.”

“Well, that narrows it down,” she murmured, curling herself against Steve’s side. She felt his arm come around her again, his fingers lazy at her waist. When Bucky began to read, low and clear, it was easy to close her eyes and let it wash over her.

The words had rhythm. The cadence of the sentences and the warmth of his voice folded into the music, which played on as a quiet backdrop, a lullaby of jazz and brass.

At some point, Steve shifted and dropped a kiss to the crown of her head. “Tired, honey?”

“No,” she murmured. “Not yet.”

Bucky glanced up, his thumb marking the page. “You sure?”

“Yes.” She smiled at both of them. “Just… content. You’re nice to listen to.”

Bucky’s mouth quirked. “That’s not what you said earlier.”

“That’s because these aren’t your words.”

Steve chuckled. Bucky shook his head but kept reading, and Eleanor let herself drift in and out of it, content in a way that felt unusual and whole.

She thought about Peggy again, just for a second. About the way Steve had spoken, the carefulness of it. And the way Bucky had looked at him during that pause. As though he knew precisely how much could and couldn’t be said.

Eleanor let the thought go for now. It would come back. But tonight was for warmth, for quiet, for staying in this golden hour just a little longer.

Chapter Text

The apartment was quiet except for the hum of the fridge and the occasional creak of the floorboards above. Eleanor sat at the kitchen table, wrapped in nightdress and robe, her bare feet curled under her on the chair. A half-drunk cup of tea rested by her elbow, lukewarm now.

They’d gone running. Steve had kissed her forehead before they left, still sleep-warm and mussed, while Bucky had nuzzled her neck and murmured something about being back before she had time to miss them. She’d mumbled a protest into her pillow, but now that they were gone, she missed them anyway. Not in any dramatic sense. Just the way one missed sunlight when it slipped behind a cloud.

She should be reading. Or making the bed. Or writing back to Frederick after his lovely letter; he would absolutely mention it if Eleanor delayed much longer. But she was doing none of those things.

Instead, she was thinking. About Steve’s story. About how they were strong. And ate so much. And could hear quiet conversations across crowded rooms. About Bucky’s mysterious arm.

She got up and made more tea, not because she particularly wanted it but because she needed to do something with her hands. The quiet pressed at her.

They were back before she finished the cup. She heard the apartment door open, heard Bucky’s laugh and Steve’s low voice and the muffled thump of shoes kicked off against the floor.

She didn’t get up right away. She made herself have one more minute alone.

Eleanor sat cross-legged on the rug in her apartment, sorting through a small box of postcards, getting rid of some, keeping others. Steve was in the spare room.

“Can you hand me the screwdriver?” Bucky said, crouched by the wall, one hand inside the base of the standing lamp Eleanor had loved on sight but which had proved, over time, to be temperamental.

“Why do I keep trying to have you fix it?” she asked. “It’s possessed.”

“I like a challenge.” Bucky twisted something, then blew out a breath. He finished what he was doing, straightened, and without hesitation, lifted the lamp upright with one hand, palming the base like it weighed nothing at all.

Eleanor blinked. “Hold on.”

Bucky turned. “What?”

She set down the postcards. “You do realise that’s a full brass base? I need both hands and a grimace to move it across the room.”

“Sweetheart, you also make sounds carrying the laundry basket.”

“I do not,” she said automatically, then shook her head. “That’s not the point.”

He raised a brow, mock-innocent. “No?”

“No,” she said. “Because it’s not just this. It’s everything.”

Steve reappeared in the doorway, holding a tea towel. Bucky clocked him immediately.

“You lifted the bookcase off me, while taking care of me. Back in March,” she said to Bucky. “The one three men from the moving company said was too heavy, the one that was crushing me.”

“Because they just didn’t want to be bothered. It wasn’t that bad,” Bucky replied smoothly. “Ask Steve. He moved it into the living room.”

Steve came to lean against the wall, towel still in hand, just listening.

Eleanor turned to him. “And you opened that jar last week, that I had been struggling with for days.”

“That one was jammed,” Steve admitted. “But I had leverage.”

“You snapped the seal,” she said. “I heard it.”

He tried a smile. “I have big hands.”

“Oh, stop it.”

There was a beat of silence. Then Steve said, quietly, “El.”

“I’m not being unreasonable.” She looked from one to the other. “It’s not just strength. In May, when I got the phone call about Frederick, you were here right after.”

“We were both still awake.”

“So?”

Steve hesitated. “I have good hearing.”

Eleanor gave a short breath of a laugh. “You really want me to believe you overheard a rotary bell from your bedroom, the hallway, the landing, then my living room?”

Bucky wandered over to the armchair, perched on the arm. “Maybe we’re just lucky.”

“Since when?”

Steve stepped in smoothly. “She’s going to start asking for proof next,” he said with a faint smile. “Tests of strength, hearing, vision.”

“X-ray vision,” Bucky added. “Don’t tell her about that one.”

Eleanor narrowed her eyes. “You’re deflecting.”

Bucky reached out and tugged gently on a lock of her hair. “Maybe.”

“So?”

“So we’re just us,” Steve said, his voice soft now. “Same as we’ve always been.”

“But that’s not true, is it?”

Steve held her gaze. “It’s the only answer you’re getting right now, honey.”

“I won’t accept that. Sweetheart.”

Bucky picked up a cushion and tossed it idly between his hands. “We got lucky. Or unlucky, depending on how you look at it.”

“That’s not an answer.”

Steve sat beside her now. “Some things are hard to explain.”

“Try me.”

There was a pause. Bucky’s hands brushed down her arms, then bent to kiss the side of her neck.

“You don’t want to get lost in all this,” he murmured. “Not when we could be doing something a whole lot nicer.”

She didn’t pull away. But she didn’t lean in either.

“Don’t do that,” she said quietly.

“Do what?”

“Distract me when you don’t want to answer.”

He hesitated. “I’m not…”

“You are,” she said. “It’s not working and I don’t appreciate it.”

Steve’s hand came to her back, soothing. “We’re not trying to hide things from you. Not really.”

“Then why not just tell me?”

“Because it’s not just our story to tell,” Bucky said, voice a little rougher now. “And it didn’t always end well.”

“With each other?”

“No,” Steve said. “With other people.”

“And you think I’m like them?”

“No,” Bucky said instantly.

“Then?”

“It’s complicated,” Steve said.

“I’m not asking for a full confession. At this time. But if you’re different. From me. From other people. You could say that. You should say that. You could say, yes, something happened, and that’s why we can lift furniture and hear things and see beach balls from half a mile away.”

There was a long silence. Eleanor took a few steps back.

“Something did happen,” he said eventually. “But we can’t explain it. And I don’t know we ever can.”

She took that in. Let it settle between them.

“So that’s it?” she said. “No lies, but no truth either?”

Steve didn’t look at her. “Apparently.”

Bucky moved to the window, hands in his pockets, quiet for a beat. Then he said, “We do trust you.”

She walked over slowly. “You have a funny way of showing it.”

He looked at her, and for a moment, didn’t smile.

“It’s just, it’s in our past. It doesn’t matter now.”

“Right. Because none of this concerns me, right?”

“I don’t think it does, actually.”

Eleanor’s eyes flickered, in hurt and disbelief, but she didn’t argue. Instead, she drew a slow breath and nodded.

“Okay,” she said quietly. “If that’s how you see it.”

Steve stepped forward, voice low. “We want you here, El. Even if it’s messy or hard to explain.” He paused, his hands clenching and unclenching. “Bucky means it’s not something we want to burden you with. Not that you don’t matter, exactly the opposite. You do. You matter most.”

Bucky looked back at her, softer now. “Just... don’t give up on us yet.”

Eleanor swallowed hard, searching their faces, then took a steadying breath. “That’s the whole thing. I can’t. What I said, last week, at Giuseppe’s? I’ve decided. You are it.”

Her hand reached out, trembling just a little, and found Bucky’s. She held onto it, clung to it, as if it might hold their worlds together.

“I don’t think I could walk away if I tried, now. So if you say it doesn’t concern me… well, I don’t agree. But I’m here. I can’t not be.”

Bucky’s breath hitched. “Christ, Ellie.” He squeezed her hand, eyes shining with something fierce and raw. Steve took Bucky’s other hand. Then, quiet but fierce:

“You still choose us…even like this.”

She didn’t speak. Didn’t nod. Just extended her hand. He stepped in close, his hand over Bucky’s and hers.

“Then we’ll spend every damn day making sure you never regret it.”

Chapter Text

The remains of lunch; crumbs, two apple cores and a small pot of jam with the lid off, were still scattered across the table. Eleanor sat on a chair with a table cloth, blotting at a faint brown mark with a damp cloth and a determined frown.

“You’ll make it worse like that,” Bucky said, holding two mugs of tea. He passed one to Steve, then crossed the room, peering down at her handiwork.

She didn’t look up. “I won’t.”

“You’re scrubbing it. You’re not supposed to scrub. You blot.”

“I am blotting. Very firmly.”

“That’s scrubbing.”

Steve sat down at the table, watching with open amusement. “Here we go.”

Bucky leaned down. “You’re pushing the stain deeper in.”

“Then perhaps you’d like to do it?” Eleanor offered sweetly, gesturing the cloth toward him.

He didn’t take it. “I’m just saying there’s a right way to…”

“Oh, is there now?” she said, setting down the cloth with exaggerated care and folding her hands primly in her lap. “Well, please, Sergeant Barnes, by all means. Enlighten me with your wartime rug-cleaning expertise.”

Steve coughed, his hand just up in time to catch a few drops of tea.

Bucky narrowed his eyes. “It’s not wartime expertise. It’s common sense. You dab with vinegar. You don’t attack it like it insulted your family.”

“It has insulted my family,” she muttered. “This tablecloth is older than I am and was perfectly clean until someone knocked over the tea tray.”

Bucky lifted his hands in pretend innocence. “I caught the tray.”

“You caught the tray and then tilted it so everything went flying.”

“Technically,” Steve said from behind his mug, “that was me.”

There was a pause. Eleanor turned, slowly, to glare at him.

Steve grinned. “I sneezed.”

“Oh, for heaven’s sake.”

Bucky was laughing now, full and easy. “That’s it. We’re getting her one of those signs: No tea allowed past this point.”

“With your faces on it,” she said. “And maybe a diagram.”

Bucky took the cloth and, with almost exaggerated gentleness, began to blot. Eleanor watched for a beat, then leaned into his shoulder, her voice softening.

“If this doesn’t come out, I’ll forgive you. Eventually.”

“I’ll take that deal,” he murmured.

Steve draped one arm draping lazily over her knee. “It’s not the first stain we’ve put on a tablecloth.”

Eleanor made a strangled noise in her throat. “Steve Rogers, I swear…”

“What?” he said, feigning innocence. “I meant from dinner.”

“Liar.”

He winked, and she hid her face in Bucky’s shoulder with a groan.

“He’s not wrong, sweetheart.”

“Christ almighty. You’re going to be the death of me.”

“Possibly,” Steve said, “but I can promise you’ll enjoy it if we are.”

Eleanor pushed her chair back, giving him the sternest look she had in her arsenal.

“I am going to get some baking soda. When I get back, you’d better be on your best behaviour.”

She got up and walked to her apartment. She found the little box soon enough, but gave herself an extra minute to calm down. And then one more minute. Then she strode back to 4B, wielding the box of baking soda like a sword.

“Well guys, this ought to do…”

She stopped dead in the doorway. The box of baking soda tipped slightly in her hand.

Steve looked up first, utterly at ease, still cradling his mug in one big hand. The other rested low on his stomach, drawing her eye to the trail of gold dusted hair that disappeared under the waistband of his trousers.

“Everything all right?” he asked, mild as milk.

Eleanor blinked. “You’re not wearing a shirt.”

Bucky glanced up then too, one brow raised, his hands still methodically working at the tablecloth, though it wasn’t clear whether he was doing anything useful at all. “Neither of us is, sweetheart. Is that a problem?”

“No,” she said, too quickly. “I just…”

Her voice faltered. She tried again, aware of the sudden flush in her cheeks and the way Steve's eyes tracked it, slow and appreciative.

“I thought I told you to behave,” she said, but it didn’t come out half as stern as she’d meant it to.

Steve smiled, wide and innocent. “We are behaving. Just got warm.”

“And tea spills,” Bucky added, not even trying to hide his grin now. “Real messy business.”

Eleanor stood there for one more second, still gripping the box, more like a shield than a sword, before setting her jaw and walking forward with as much dignity as she could muster. She could feel  smugness radiating off them. Her mind was going into overdrive, until she thought of Steve, the day before, what he’d said. What she’d said. About being watched.

She set the box down on the table with a soft thud and folded her arms.

“Oh, I see,” she said coolly, eyes sweeping over the two of them. “Shirts off, tea in hand, powder on your fingers. You think you’ve won this round.”

Steve smiled like he already had. Bucky just raised a brow.

Eleanor tilted her head. “All right then. I see your domestic seduction,” she said, voice low, “and I raise you this: if you don’t behave, I will leave a stain on your tablecloth. But it won’t be from tea.”

Bucky’s mouth parted just slightly. Steve made a strangled sound behind his teeth.

She turned on her heel and marched to the kitchen, triumphant. When she came back, she didn’t go for the cloth. She didn’t say a word. Just set the box of baking soda back on the table, slow and careful. Then she turned, pushed in one of the chairs, and climbed up onto the edge of the table between them.

Both men went utterly still.

Eleanor looked between them, her voice deceptively light. “You seem so comfortable. Half-dressed. Sipping tea.” She hooked a finger under the hem of her skirt and drew it slowly up her thighs. “Thought I might join you.”

Steve’s jaw tightened. Bucky’s hand flexed on the tablecloth.

She didn’t stop. Didn’t look away.

She reached under her skirt, slipped her knickers down, inch by inch, and let them fall to the floor.

And then, as casually as if she were settling in to read a book, she leaned back on her hands, legs parted just enough, eyes bright with wicked challenge.

“Go on,” she said. “Finish your tea.”

Steve didn’t move. His teacup was halfway to his lips, frozen there, his knuckles white around the handle.

Bucky let out a low sound, somewhere between a laugh and a groan. “You tryin’ to kill us, sweetheart?”

Eleanor tilted her head, feigning innocence. “No,” she said sweetly. “I’m giving you a chance to prove you’ve got some self-control.”

She leaned back further, arching just a little, her skirt rucked up around her hips now, nothing between her and the warm air of the apartment. She could feel the heat of their gazes, thick and heavy. Her heart was thudding, her skin flushed, but she held her pose. Let them look. Let them want.

Steve swallowed visibly. Bucky’s hand slid away from the tablecloth, like he might be getting ready to stand.

“I said finish your tea,” Eleanor repeated, sweet as honey. “That’s what you’re always telling me, isn’t it? Sit still. Be patient. Behave.”

Bucky let out a breath through his teeth. “Jesus, look at her.”

“I am,” Steve said hoarsely, setting his cup down with a soft clink. His eyes never left hers. “I can’t look anywhere else.”

“You’re the ones who started this,” Eleanor murmured, her thighs shifting just a little. “You sat here, shirtless, smug. Thought I’d blush and scurry off?”

She ran her hand up her own leg, dragging her fingers across the sensitive skin just inside her thigh.

Steve made a choked sound.

“I’m not blushing,” she said. “And I’m not leaving.”

Then, she dipped her fingers between her legs. Just once. Enough to spread the slickness gathering there, enough to make herself shiver.

Steve’s hands fisted on his knees. Bucky’s jaw clenched.

Eleanor smiled slowly. “Still feeling smug?”

Bucky got up, his hands on her legs.

“Now, now, sweetheart. Did I say you could touch me?”

She moved her foot up to his chest, pushing him back.

He sank back into his chair and Eleanor caught his gaze then, just briefly, and gave the faintest little smile.

She leaned back again, legs only parted enough to keep herself exposed as she dragged her fingers over the place she wanted them most. Her breath hitched. She was already so worked up, her pulse racing from the sheer audacity of it all. Of sitting there, spread and flushed, skirt gathered around her waist, while they watched like men starved.

She stroked slowly, circling. Pressing down, teasing herself with the gentlest rhythm. Every nerve felt primed. Her eyes fluttered shut, then opened again, because she didn’t want to miss their faces.

Steve’s jaw was tight. His hand cradled the back of his neck, like he didn’t trust what it might do if left free.

“Look at you,” he murmured. “You’re so fuckin’ pretty like that, honey.”

Her breath caught.

“Don’t stop,” he said. “You wanted to give us a show, don’t you dare leave the stage.”

Eleanor let out a quiet, shocked laugh, though it ended on a moan. She shifted on the table, legs parted wider now, her other hand clutching the edge for balance. She was soaking. And it wasn’t just the sight of them, shirtless and flushed and breathing her in like smoke. It was this, the choice, the heat, the utterly wicked thrill of letting herself want this out loud.

“You’re both so smug,” she said, voice thin with need. “Thought I’d return the favour.”

“You’re doin’ just fine,” Bucky rasped. “Jesus, sweetheart…”

She let her head fall back, mouth parted as she circled once, twice, pressed down. Close. So close.

Steve leaned forward, his voice rough and coaxing. “Go on. Let go. Let us see how good it feels.”

And for one shivering moment, she nearly did.

But then Eleanor paused.

She inhaled, slow and shaky, and pulled her hand away.

The table creaked beneath her. Her thighs trembled. But she looked up at them with the quiet satisfaction of a woman who knew exactly what she was doing.

“Not just yet.”

They were on her like lightning, chairs shoved back with a scrape and bodies pressed in. Hands everywhere. Steve’s mouth was at her throat. Bucky’s hands slid under her thighs to lift her bodily off the table like she weighed nothing. She let out a sharp gasp as her back hit something solid, Steve’s chest, maybe, or the wall.

It didn’t matter.

They moved to the bedroom like that, arms and legs twisted and she wasn’t sure who was carrying her. Her skirt came off along the way, then her blouse. By the time she was on the bed, she was naked, as were they. Eleanor was flat on her back, Bucky’s mouth on her breasts, Steve’s hand between her legs. She stopped him when she felt her muscles start to spasm.

“No. I want to have you inside me when I come. And Bucky,” she paused, giving herself a second to muster up the courage, “I want you in my mouth.”

Steve groaned, his hands rough on her hips. She arched her back when she felt him slide into her, then twisted just enough to be able to reach Bucky, hard and ready for her. He supported her head with both hands, not pushing, just holding her so she could take him in.

“Fuck, Ellie. Just like that. Let him feel that sweet mouth. See how he looks at you? Can’t believe you’re real. Can’t believe your ours. Can’t believe we’re yours.”

Eleanor moaned as she took in more of Bucky’s length, one hand on his firm thigh, then again, louder, when Steve’s fingers started circling her clit.

“Go on, gorgeous girl. Let him make you feel good, the way you make him feel good.” Bucky’s voice joined Steve’s, telling her how she looked, how she felt, how she was theirs. As she felt her climax approaching, she pulled her mouth back from Bucky just long enough to ride it out.

“Yes, let go, sweetheart. We’ve got you. We’ve got you.”

Eleanor cried out as her orgasm took her, thighs tightening around Steve, her fingers digging into Bucky’s hip. Her breath caught. She felt Steve’s mouth on her neck again, murmuring praises against her skin, and Bucky’s fingers brushing her hair back from her damp forehead.

She was still trembling when Bucky leaned down, kissed her cheek, and whispered, “You want to finish me off, baby, or let me come all over that pretty chest of yours?”

She let out a wrecked little laugh, kissed the tip of him in answer, and then took him back in with soft, messy determination. It didn’t take long. He cursed, low and filthy, one hand clutching the headboard behind her, pulling out of her mouth just before he came, emptying himself hot across her collarbone and breasts.

Bucky’s hands trembled as he brushed her hair back from her face. “Jesus, sweetheart.” He cupped her cheek. “You don’t know what you do to me. I’d stay like this forever, just to look at you.”

She smiled, still tasting him, still flushed and bare, and leaned into the touch like it meant something. Because it did.

Steve followed soon after, her name the only word on his lips as he drove deep and spilled inside her.

They lingered, tangled together in the soft aftermath, breathing uneven, bodies humming. Eleanor shifted slightly beneath them, warm and maybe drowsy, Steve still buried inside her, Bucky kneeling beside them, one hand resting on her thigh.

“Don’t know if that proved we have self-control, Buck,” Steve groaned. She chuckled, the sound barely making its way past her swollen lips.

She brushed damp hair off her forehead and let her gaze flick downward to where Bucky’s release had left its mark on her. She dragged a finger through it lazily, then brought it to her mouth and sucked it clean with slow, deliberate intent.

Bucky made a noise that sounded almost like pain.

Steve groaned above her. “Jesus, El.”

She smiled, pleased with herself, but it was more than mischief now. There was still a pulse of need thrumming under her skin, insistent as ever.

“Thought I was done?” she murmured, hips rolling the tiniest bit beneath Steve. His breath hitched. “Think again.”

Bucky’s eyes darkened. “What exactly are you after, sweetheart?”

“Oh,” she said, her voice light but wicked. “Just want to see how long it takes you to get going again.”

Steve slipped out of her with a low groan, already twitching back to life, and Bucky didn’t give her a single heartbeat to consider her words. He hauled her hips up and drove into her in one long, filthy slide, deep enough to punch the breath from her lungs.

Eleanor cried out, but not in protest. Her head lolled back, hair damp, body gleaming with sweat and slick and need. Steve knelt beside her and she turned to him like it was instinct, tongue wetting her lips.

“God, look at you,” Bucky rasped, gripping her hips like he might come undone right there. “Taking both of us like it’s nothing. Like you were made for it.”

She turned her head toward Steve and sucked the head of his erection into her mouth with deliberate slowness, making eye contact the whole time. He groaned and threaded his fingers through her hair.

“Christ, baby,” he muttered. “You want us ruined, huh? Want us wrecked for anything but you?”

She hummed around him. Bucky’s rhythm stuttered.

“Oh, fuck. She’s showing off,” he said, breathless. “Don’t stop. Don’t you dare stop.”

She didn’t. She clenched down on Bucky and he was pounding into her hard enough to make her see stars.

And still she moaned around Steve, fingers twisting in the sheets, like she couldn’t get enough of the way they both filled her.

“That mouth, that pussy…Jesus, El…you’re gonna kill us.” Steve’s voice cracked. “Let me come on your tongue, sweetheart. Let me feed you while he fucks you full.”

That did it. She whimpered, utterly undone, and Steve came with a broken cry, his grip tightening as she swallowed around him, greedy for it, for him. She pulled back with her lips glistening, just as Bucky slammed into her one final time and came inside her with a ragged shout.

For a moment, they stayed like that, ruined and boneless, Steve quietly mouthing her name.

And Eleanor, flushed and gasping, licked her lips and whispered, “Told you. I wasn’t done.”

She lay flat on her back, every inch of her humming. She was sore and crusty, yet she felt glorious. Her thighs still trembled if she so much as breathed too deep. Bucky was draped across her legs, arms folded beneath his cheek as though she were a particularly beloved pillow. Steve, propped up on one elbow beside her, had been trailing slow fingers down the inside of her arm for several minutes. His chest was pink with exertion. His hair was a mess.

She turned her head toward him. “You look entirely indecent.”

Steve blinked slowly. “Hard not to with you around.”

“Don’t flatter me,” she said, grinning despite herself.

“But you look so cute when I do.”

Bucky groaned, the kind of sound only a man utterly ruined could make. “If one of you gets up, I’m going to cry. I need a health check.”

“You need a mop,” Eleanor said. “I’m not going to survive the cleanup.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow without lifting his head. “You say that like you didn’t start it.”

“I only said ‘not just yet’,” she said innocently.

“You said it like a queen.” Steve’s voice was warm and teasing. “We didn’t stand a chance.”

“And don’t you forget it.” She let her eyes drift shut again, smile tugging at her lips.

There was a pause, then Bucky’s voice, quieter: “You were… unbelievable, Ellie. Not just…well. All of that.” He gestured at all of her. “But the way you took control. You ever wonder what you look like when you’ve got us like that?”

She peeked at him through her lashes. “No. Tell me.”

Steve let out a soft puff of laughter. “Like something carved out of marble. Like a painting Bucky’d get thrown out of a museum for staring at too long.”

Eleanor turned her face into the pillow to hide her blush, but they were having none of it. Steve pressed a kiss to her shoulder; Bucky rolled enough to nip at her knee.

“You take us apart,” Steve murmured, voice like sunshine soaked through cotton. “And you make us feel safe doing it.”

“I thought I was just filthy,” she said, eyes still closed.

Bucky leaned over her leg and kissed the hollow of her hip. “You’re everything, sweetheart.”

She lay still for a long moment, soaking it in. Letting herself be adored. Letting her body cool and her thoughts slow and her heart settle into that dangerous rhythm she’d come to know too well. The one that meant she was gone for them, completely. She turned her face into Steve’s bicep and breathed him in.

“I should go soon,” she said reluctantly.

“No,” Bucky moaned.

“We’ll carry you,” Steve offered.

“You’ll have to,” she said, voice wry. “I’ve lost all motor function. I think I broke my spine.”

“You broke us,” Bucky said, flopping dramatically onto his back.

“I did not.”

Steve gave a helpless, ruined sort of grin. “You might’ve.”

Eleanor reached down and nudged Bucky with her toes. “You two say that like it’s not what you wanted.”

Steve rolled onto his side, his voice warm against her neck. “Oh, it’s what we wanted. It’s definitely what we wanted. But now we’ll never be the same.”

“Guess you’ll have to rebuild yourselves,” she said sweetly, rising onto her elbows.

Bucky looked up at her like she hung the moon. “Only if we get to do it around you.”

Her face softened, her breath catching.

Steve kissed the corner of her mouth, his voice gentle. “Hey. Don’t go getting shy on us now.”

“I’m not shy,” she said, but her voice was quiet.

“Then stay for five more minutes,” Bucky said. “Let us keep looking at you.”

Generously, she gave them ten.

Chapter Text

Eleanor balanced the steaming teacup carefully in one hand while the other waved the door closed behind her. Mrs. Suarez was already bustling in the tiny kitchen, pulling out a plate of shortbread biscuits from beneath a linen cloth.

“I do say, Eleanor,” Mrs. Suarez said, settling into the faded armchair by the window, “these late August days seem to stretch on forever. Perfect for a spot of tea and gossip.”

Eleanor smiled, setting the cup down on the small table. “Too true. And speaking of gossip, did you hear about the issues in the building over on 14^th Street?”

Mrs. Suarez’s eyes sparkled. “No, but do tell me everything.”

They fell into easy chatter, the soft hum of the radio playing something classical in the background. Outside, the distant clatter of children playing mingled with the scent of freshly mown grass drifting through the open window.

“My, it’s half nine already. You must want to take off soon, you’ve got work tomorrow, don’t you?”

“Yes. Thank you for the tea and the delicious shortbread. It’s quite as good as the ones I used to be at the bakery down the street when I lived at St. Andrews.”

“You flatter me, sweetheart! Come by any time, it’s lovely having you.”

Work was very busy that week, with the new academic year just around the corner. Even before she reached her desk each morning, Eleanor had usually answered at least three queries; where was the binding request form kept now? Had the new acquisition budget been approved? Had anyone seen the Galignani volumes that were meant to be in the catalogue room? She fielded them with calm efficiency, grateful in a way for the bustle. There was comfort in being needed, and the steady hum of preparation kept her from thinking too long about other things. Things like Steve’s startlingly blue eyes, especially as he leaned in to kiss her.

She spent the better part of Monday buried in accession records, double-checking that every incoming title had been properly logged and marked. The stack beside her elbow seemed to replenish itself when she wasn’t looking, and by noon, she'd only just cleared her way to the bottom.

“Might as well be trying to empty the Thames with a teaspoon,” she muttered, rubbing a smudge of ink from her finger with the hem of her blouse.

At lunch, she sat on the back steps of the library with a thermos of tea and half a sandwich, the sun warm on her knees. One of the new hires from the circulation desk passed by and gave her a shy wave. Eleanor couldn’t quite remember if her names was Julia or June.

“You're braver than I am,” the girl said, nodding to the sky. “Every time I sit out here I get dive-bombed by squirrels.”

Eleanor smiled. “They only go for the ones with biscuits.”

Julia-or-June giggled and ducked inside. Eleanor leaned back against the brick, sipping her tea. The sound of a jackhammer drifted in from two streets over, startling a bird from the guttering.

Tuesday began with a broken typewriter and an argument in the staff room. Dr. Wendell, who ran American Literature like a benevolent dictator, had discovered someone had refiled the first edition Twain under M instead of T.

“He's not called Mark Twain,” he was saying when Eleanor walked in. “He’s Samuel Clemens. Pseudonyms don’t change alphabetical order!”

“Oh, come now,” replied Mrs. Kaufman, unbothered as always. “Tell that to Byron.”

“Byron is Byron!”

“Not to his mother, he wasn’t.”

Eleanor ducked her head to hide her smile and went to coax her typewriter back to life. She had three research requests to answer. One on late colonial trade tariffs, another on early French feminist tracts, and one extremely ambitious undergrad asking if she could find "contemporary reactions to the Russian Revolution in the American press." That last one made her raise both eyebrows.

By late afternoon, she'd chased down two of the sources, a bound copy of The Masses and a brittle, yellowing issue of the New York Evening Post from March 1917. The latter smelled so strongly of newsprint and dust it made her sneeze.

Her back ached by the time she stood. She stretched carefully, glanced out the tall window beside the archive shelves, and caught sight of the low sun casting long shadows across the quadrangle. It always startled her, the way days in the library slipped by without notice.

She made it halfway to the cloakroom before spotting the note on her desk, scribbled in Dr. Wendell’s spidery hand.

Miss Montrose – Where on God’s earth has the Shelley facsimile gone?
Also, do remind Miss Barnes that books are not coasters.
– W.

She sighed, tucked the note in her pocket, and went back up.

On Wednesday, students, mostly first-years, were beginning to trickle in, towing suitcases, trailing nervous parents, and staring up at buildings with that unique expression of mild terror mixed with excitement. Eleanor had seen it before, though not quite so many at once. The corridors of the library echoed with unfamiliar footsteps. They’d be properly full by Monday.

She’d taken off her cardigan halfway through the morning, already warm from moving between floors and from helping a boy from Connecticut, no older than seventeen, navigate the filing system after he’d somehow ended up in the engineering section while looking for European history. She smiled as she remembered him, lanky and stammering, with a hopelessly folded campus map and the kind of bashful thank-you that always reminded her of Frederick.

Professor Still had caught her that Monday with a clipped “Miss Montrose?” and a sideways smile. “You won’t forget about guiding the incoming students, would you? Some of them could use a steady hand.”

And so it had filled her week: part librarian, part tour guide, part glorified babysitter. She didn’t mind. It made a change from cataloguing pamphlets and chasing overdue returns.

That Wednesday morning, she had two groups scheduled. The first, at ten, consisted of six bewildered young women from various departments, English, philosophy, one doing biology and clearly regretting it. They gathered at the main desk, clutching spiral notebooks and watching her like she might begin the test any moment.

“Well,” Eleanor said, hands folded neatly in front of her, “first of all, congratulations. You’ve chosen the most beautiful building on campus. I’m not biased in the slightest.”

That got a laugh, albeit a nervous one.

She showed them the reading rooms, quietly echoing with early arrivers, the card catalogue, the reference section, and the Rare Collections they were strictly not to be touched without permission. Mr Tippance hovered nearby anxiously throughout the visit. She explained borrowing policies, how to find their assigned carrels once classes began, where the coat hooks were (halfway hidden behind the stairs), and how to request a book from the storage stacks. She walked them to the periodicals room and stopped beside the filing cabinets there, already slightly ajar from earlier use.

“This,” she said, “is where you’ll find back issues of The Times, The Economist, and if you’re feeling particularly masochistic, Scientific American. Do not attempt to re-file them yourself unless you’re particularly fond of alphabetisation and disappointment.”

Another laugh. They were warming up.

One girl, dark-haired, bookish, stayed behind as the others filtered on toward the entrance. She looked nervous, her fingers clutched tightly around the strap of her bag.

“Miss Montrose?”

“Yes?”

“I… I’m studying history. Nineteenth century. And I was wondering if there was a good place to…you know, sit. That’s quiet.”

Eleanor smiled. “Upstairs, back left, under the stained glass. There’s a little alcove near the window. The radiator’s dreadful in winter, but it’s always quiet. That’s where I used to sit when I was writing my dissertation.”

The girl blinked. “You studied here?”

“No. St Andrews. But libraries are rather alike, in the end. If you find one good corner, you can survive nearly anything.”

The girl smiled back, clearly comforted. Eleanor watched her go, then glanced at the clock. Eleven-forty. Her next group wasn’t due until one, which meant…

“Montrose!”

She turned. Dr Bourne, the head cataloguer, was already marching toward her with a folder under one arm.

“Storage request from the history department. Something about pamphlets from the Paris Peace Conference, and they want them yesterday.”

Eleanor accepted the folder with a nod and was already heading toward the basement stairs.

By Thursday, her feet were sore and she’d spoken more in the past three days than she had in the past three weeks. Her one-o’clock group that day included a boy named Harold who asked a great many questions about the Dewey Decimal system, and a girl named Ruth who managed to spill her ink all over the main desk within five minutes of arrival.

“Good omen,” Ruth had said miserably, dabbing with her handkerchief.

“It happens every year,” Eleanor replied, pulling a cloth from the supply drawer. “You’re simply christening the semester.”

Later that afternoon, as she was walking back from the stacks with three pamphlet boxes balanced against her hip, she passed Professor Still in the corridor.

“All still standing?” he asked.

“Mostly.”

He nodded toward the boxes. “What are those?”

“Your students will be very pleased. Paris Peace Conference minutes. 1919, with margin notes in red pencil.”

His eyebrows rose. “Didn’t know we had those.”

“We did. They were just hiding behind an incomplete set of Punch magazines from 1906.”

“Excellent.” He hesitated. “You’ve been a great help this week. If the new students stick around, it’ll be in no small part because of you.”

She blushed, but waved it off. “Don’t say that. They’ll forget my name by next Tuesday.”

“I doubt that.” He stuck out his hand and shook it solemnly when she took it. “You are a highly appreciated member of staff, Miss Montrose. Do not think we don’t notice your efforts.”

That night, Eleanor walked to the subway with aching calves and ink on the edge of one sleeve. But her thoughts were light. She’d done something useful, something that stretched beyond shelving and order slips. She'd helped people begin. And now she had the whole weekend to look forward to.

Chapter Text

Eleanor was on the sofa, ostensibly reading Tristram Shandy, but slightly more focussed on Steve leafing through a magazine. The evening sun was on his hair, turning the blonde into a golden honey. Bucky was sprawled on the living room floor engrossed in 1984. Eleanor put her index finger on the page she’d got to and leaned over to drop a kiss on Steve’s shoulder. He smiled and drew her in closer. She kissed his cheek. He turned a page. She kissed his neck. Bucky looked up from his book and locked eyes with her, a smirk on his face.

“Sterne not good enough for you, doll?”

“Sterne is just fine. I’m allowed to kiss Steve, though.”

“You certainly are,” Bucky agreed.

She continued placing soft kisses on his neck, the hand not holding her book now stroking his chest and shoulders.

The phone rang.

Bucky jumped up. “I’ll get it.”

He got to the phone before its third ring.

“Yeah. It’s me. True, the sky does look more orange in summer.”

Eleanor stopped kissing Steve. That sounded like an odd thing to say.

Bucky was quiet. Then: “You’re sure? Tuesday the 10th?”

Another pause. Short. Clipped.

“Yeah. Got it. Thanks.”

He hung up and stood there for a moment, then turned and came back into the living room, his eyes on Steve.

“Everything alright?”, Eleanor asked.

“Yeah,” Bucky said. “That dealership course is on. The one upstate. Tuesday morning start. I’ll be back Thursday evening.”

“That was them? Why would they ring you at home on a Friday evening?”

“It was just the garage. Stanley was still there and forgot to tell me earlier, so he figured it was better to tell me now instead of on Monday.”

It was a plausible explanation, but Eleanor thought something was off. Maybe it was the weird remark about the sky. Maybe it was the way he’d immediately looked at Steve when he came back into the room.

“I can see you overthinking, doll. Nothing going on.”

“I suppose I do remember you bringing this up back in July.”

“Of course you do. Memory of yours never fails to impress me.”

The lightness with which he spoke appeased her a little, although Steve had stilled next to her. He hadn’t said anything. His breathing was just different. Then he spoke.

“Guess I’ll have to make the most of being alone for a few days. Throw a scandalous party, copious amounts of beer, pretty girls, loud music.”

She gave him a look, just arch enough to suggest she wasn’t entirely convinced.

“Pretty girls,” she repeated, voice dry.

Steve opened his mouth, but Bucky beat him to it. “You’re the only pretty girl who’s ever managed to make him stammer.”

Steve gestured helplessly. “She ambushed me. With a book and a cardigan.”

“You’re very easily ambushed,” Eleanor said, leaning into him again. “It’s part of your charm.”

“Might be,” Bucky said, “but I’d watch what you’re doing to his poor heart, doll. Kissing him like that. You’ll break him.”

“Will I?” she asked, and slipped her hand under Steve’s shirt.

Bucky was next to her in a flash, already crouching beside the sofa, fingers curling around Eleanor’s ankle where it peeked out from under her skirt. “Alright,” he murmured, voice gone dark and low, “you’re starting something, sweetheart.”

“I was being affectionate,” she said, the most innocent lie she’d ever told, as Steve’s hand disappeared beneath her blouse and found the warm skin of her waist.

“Mmm,” Bucky said, “and now we’re going to be affectionate back.”

Her breath hitched.

Steve kissed just beneath her ear, then said, “You’ve got about five seconds to put that book down properly.”

“I’m on page three hundred and eighty-four.”

“We’ll remember,” Bucky promised, already dragging his hand up her thigh.

She carefully reached forward, closed Tristram Shandy with reverent precision, and placed it gently on the side table.

Then she turned to kiss Steve properly, hungry and sweet all at once, her fingers laced in his hair.

Behind her, Bucky's hands were already under her skirt. “See?” he whispered, kissing the back of her neck. “That’s better. Nothing between us now but your stubbornness.”

She got onto her knees, her bottom pressing into Bucky. “Then take that, too.”

The curtains had been left ajar and the light in the room was pale and slanting, catching the edges of Steve’s jaw where it rested against the pillow beside her. His mouth was slightly open, lashes dark against his cheek, one arm slung across her waist like he’d fallen asleep mid-embrace. Bucky was behind her, body pressed close, one leg tangled with hers and his hand curled around her hip. Eleanor had been awake for a few minutes and was lying with her eyes on the ceiling, enjoying their closeness but feeling increasingly thirsty.

She shifted slightly, intending to slide free and find her dressing gown. Steve made a faint, unhappy sound and tightened his arm.

“You’re not going anywhere,” Bucky murmured, voice low and still half-asleep behind her.

Eleanor stilled. “I was just…”

“No,” Steve said, face buried in her shoulder now. “Stay.”

“You’ll have to let me up eventually. People need tea.”

Bucky kissed the back of her neck, lazy and firm. “We’ll survive five more minutes.”

“Ten,” Steve corrected.

Eleanor smiled and sank back against the pillows. “Spoiled, the both of you.”

“Yes,” Steve agreed without shame. “You made us this way.”

Ten minutes later, she left the bed to a chorus of ‘don’t leave us’ and ‘we’ll never make it without you’.

She was boiling eggs when Bucky came up behind her.

“Why are you only boiling five eggs?” he asked in considerable distress.

“There were five eggs left. You can have mine, that still gives you three.”

His hand rested on her hip. He squeezed it gently.

“You should eat it. You haven’t gained much of that weight back. If any.”

“Did you expect me to eat back thirteen pounds in two weeks? Anyway, I’ve been living on love.” She turned around on the last word, kissing him. He returned the kiss with his arms around her waist. Eleanor broke off the kiss when the eggs started to tap against each other in the water.

“Now go set the table, handsome.”

Bucky gave her a lazy grin. “Bossy.”

“You like it,” she said, turning back to the stove.

He didn’t argue. He kissed her neck instead, slow and deliberate, then finally peeled himself away and padded off to the cupboard. “Forks and knives for boiled eggs, huh?”

“Don’t you dare just use your fingers again.”

“I’m wounded,” he called over his shoulder, already grinning again. “You think I’m some kind of animal.”

She arched an eyebrow without looking back. “The way you bit me last night suggests you might be.”

From the other side of the kitchen came a very self-satisfied, “You squealed.”

Eleanor was just putting down the plate with twelve slices of toast when Steve walked in sleep-rumpled and warm-looking in his undershirt, and she caught the way Bucky’s expression softened just for a moment. Not much, some quiet flicker of love so ordinary, so enormous, she didn’t think she’d ever get tired of seeing it.

The eggs and toast vanished quickly, as did the fruit. Bucky looked at his empty plate.

“We need groceries,” he announced. “If we don’t go today, Steve and I will starve to death before dinner. Tragic, heroic deaths. In our prime.”

Eleanor was cutting up an orange. “You’ve had half the fridge already this morning.”

“Doesn’t count. We’re out of eggs, almost out of bread, and there’s no fish.” He leaned across the table to peer at her. “There’s always fish this time of year. You like trout, right?”

“I like whatever you put in my mouth,” she said without thinking. Bucky’s grin twisted into something wicked.

“Guess that means you’re the main course, Buck.”

“Good grief. Can’t say anything around here without the two of you making it indecent.”

Steve slid his hand up her thigh.

“Who’re you calling indecent, pretty girl?”

Her cheeks darkened.

“Best if you keep your hands to yourself, Corporal Rogers.”

“Yeah? Or what? You gonna blush at me?”

She reached under the table and flicked his knee.

“I’m trying to eat breakfast, not be devoured.”

Steve kissed her cheek anyway. “Who says you can’t do both?”

Eleanor bit into her orange.

Bucky had gone out to the grocery store not long ago. Eleanor was on the sofa again, buried in Tristram Shandy while Steve was doing the washing up. Suddenly, she heard a loud clang. She looked up.

“Steve?”

There was no answer. She walked to the kitchen. Steve was standing at the counter, still and too upright. His hands were braced on either side of the sink.

“Steve?” she repeated gently.

He didn’t look at her. “Did he say how long he’d be?”

“Only a few minutes. You know Bucky, he’ll talk to Mrs. Candelaria for half an hour about peaches.”

Steve nodded once. But something in his face was wrong; mouth too tight, eyes gone distant.

He walked into the living room, checked the front door latch, then turned back and crossed to the bedroom. Eleanor heard a drawer open. Then another.

“Are you OK?” she said.

He didn’t answer.

She found him in the hall, opening the coat cupboard, looking like he expected to find something or someone hidden inside.

“Steve,” she said. “He’s not gone. He just went out for groceries.”

He turned then, finally looked at her, but it was like he wasn’t quite seeing her. “He said he’d only be five minutes.”

“I know. And he will be. He always is.”

His breathing was sharp now, irregular, like something old rising up and filling the space behind his ribs.

“I’ve looked in every room,” he said, and his voice cracked on it. “I can’t find him.”

Eleanor reached for his hand. He didn’t pull away. She wasn’t sure he could feel her hand.

“He’s just downstairs,” she said softly. “That’s all.”

But Steve was shaking his head now, fists clenched, as if trying to root himself to the floor.

“He was just, he was right there. And then I looked up and he was gone and I didn’t…” His voice died. Swallowed hard.

Eleanor stepped in closer. Slid both arms around his waist.

“I didn’t hear the door,” he said, quietly. “I should’ve heard it. I always do.”

Steve’s arms had tightened around her, to the point of discomfort, but she didn’t move. His body was stiff, trembling with tension just under the skin.

“I used to know,” he said quietly. “Always. Where he was. Even when they kept us apart. I could feel it.”

Eleanor didn’t speak. Just stroked between his shoulder blades, her palm moving slowly with his breath.

“And then one day I couldn’t. Not anymore.” He pulled in a jagged breath. “I tried, but there was nothing. Like he’d gone off the edge of the earth. And I didn’t know if it meant he was dead. Or worse.”

She kept stroking him, her head on his chest.

“I still dream about it. Not the pain, not the blood. Just that feeling. The not-knowing.”

She lifted her head, gently. “But you found him.”

He nodded, barely. “But I lost him first.”

His eyes were red now, shining but dry. Too much held in, even now.

“I used to hear him calling for me,” he said, almost inaudible. “In my head. For weeks. Months. Years, maybe. Sometimes, I still do.”

Eleanor’s heart ached. She lifted her hand to his cheek, brushed her thumb just under his eye. “You saved him, Steve.”

His mouth moved, but no sound came out. His grip tightened even more. It was difficult for her to breathe.

The front door creaked open.

They both froze.

“Honeys, I’m home,” Bucky called cheerfully, the bag rustling as he shut the door behind him. “And I brought blackberries. Big ones, too. Mrs. Candelaria said they’re mouthwatering.”

Steve pulled away so fast Eleanor stumbled. He was down the hall in three strides.

“Buck.”

Bucky had just kicked the door shut behind him when Steve caught him around the waist and lifted him clean off the ground. Bucky laughed in surprise, the grocery bag thunking down on the floor.

“Whoa! Hi…hi, baby, I was gone twenty minutes…” But his voice broke off as Steve held him tighter, his head pressed into the crook of Bucky’s neck like he was breathing for the first time in hours.

“Oh,” Bucky said, softly now. “Oh, sweetheart.”

He wrapped his arms around Steve’s shoulders, one hand cradling the back of his neck, the other stroking gently down his spine.

“I’m right here. I was just outside. I’m here.”

Steve didn’t speak. Just stayed there, holding on. His whole body was shaking now, but not from fear. Relief, Eleanor thought. Or something like it. The crash after the panic. She knelt to collect the spilled groceries, giving them their moment.

She felt a deep ache, somewhere around her midriff. Steve’s panic had been so tangible.

He hadn’t been afraid Bucky was hurt.

He’d been afraid Bucky was gone.

She wasn’t sure if she should stay or quietly make herself scarce, her manners whispering that sometimes the best kindness was discretion. She glanced toward the pair, Steve still holding Bucky, breath slowing, shoulders shaking less. Bucky kept repeating the same words.

“I’m here. With you till the end of the line, my love.”

Chapter Text

They sat down on the balcony, catching a breeze.

Steve sat with his back against the wall, knees drawn up. He hadn’t let go of Bucky’s hand. Not since he’d come in. His thumb moved now and then over Bucky’s knuckles like he needed to keep checking they were still there.

Bucky hadn’t pulled away. He was seated close, his knee just touching Steve’s. Quiet. Watchful. Letting Steve breathe.

Eleanor stood by the railing for a long moment, unsure if she was meant to give them space or come closer. In the end, Bucky tilted his head, just a little, and she took it for what it was. Permission. Invitation. She sat on her knees on the floor beside them, her dress rustling against the concrete.

For a while, none of them spoke.

Then Steve said, voice low, “It gets bad sometimes.”

Bucky made a small sound, not quite agreement, not quite protest. His fingers flexed inside Steve’s.

“It hasn’t been like that for a while,” Steve went on. “I thought maybe it wouldn’t come back. But then I was doing the dishes and…he wasn’t there. You weren’t there.” He looked at Bucky. “I panicked.”

“You thought you’d lost him,” Eleanor said softly.

“I always think I’ve lost him.”

That silenced them again.

But Eleanor reached over, placed her hand over their joined ones.

“You didn’t,” she said. “You won’t.”

Steve was quiet for a long moment, eyes on the street below. When he spoke again, his voice was low. Careful.

“I used to tear the place apart. Before we lived here. Before he came back.” He glanced at Bucky, but didn’t look for reassurance. “Woke up once swinging a fist. Thought I was still in Europe. Put my fist through a cabinet door.”

Bucky let out a breath.

“He put a chair through a window once,” he said. “Didn’t even remember it when I found him. He was bleeding from the glass and asking what happened like someone else had done it.”

Steve’s jaw twitched, but he didn’t deny it.

“It was worse before,” he said. “When it was just me. When he was…” He trailed off, but Bucky gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“I broke a sink,” Bucky said casually, like he was listing groceries. “First year back. Didn’t even feel the shards in my hands, or the water spraying against me.”

Eleanor felt her throat close, but she didn’t speak.

“And now?” she asked. “Does it still get that bad?”

“Not always,” Steve murmured. “It’s worse when we’re apart. Or when we try to pretend nothing ever happened.”

Bucky was looking at her, steady and quiet.

“Most people don’t get it,” he said. “Don’t want to.”

Eleanor drew a breath. “What… what should I do next time?”

Steve turned to look at her properly, brows drawing in. “Next time?”

“I mean…if it happens again. If one of you…if you need me. I didn’t know what to say. I just kept talking to Steve. Maybe I shouldn’t?”

“You did everything right,” Bucky said. “You were calm. You stayed. That’s the hardest part.”

“I didn’t feel calm,” she admitted. “I felt helpless. Like I was standing outside something terrible and all I could do was knock.”

Steve’s hand tightened over hers. “You opened the door.”

Bucky was watching her, cool and collected. “You really want to do this? Be here for all of it? The mess? The bad nights?”

She blinked at him, caught off guard. “Of course I do.”

The look they gave her then, both of them, somehow in tandem, was a kind of silent astonishment. As if she’d said something no one ever had before.

“I love you,” she said quietly, almost surprised to hear it aloud. “I don’t care if it’s messy. I care that it’s you.”

Steve leaned in first, pressing his forehead to hers. “Sweet girl,” he murmured.

And Bucky’s hand came up to her cheek, reverent. “We don’t deserve you.”

She laughed a little, breath catching. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“You’re taking care of us. Since the beginning. When it was bad for me. You sang. You knelt down in front of me and sang. Voice sweet as a nightingale. You barely knew me, but you stayed. Don’t know why I’m surprised you want to stay now, too.”

“Bucky…” she didn’t know what to say.

“Don’t say it’s normal. Christ, Ellie. Nothing about what you do for us is normal.”

She found the words, then.

“Alright. I won’t say it’s normal. Now remember what you did for me, weeks before the singing.’

He avoided her gaze.

“You found me on the stairs, lifted that bookcase of me. Lifted me. Took care of me when I pushed you and Steve away. Took me to hospital kicking and screaming, then Steve stayed with me. And then you did. You’d known me for three days. Three days.”

“Are you saying you’re just returning the favour?” Steve broke in, voice light.

“No. I’m saying I’m returning the love you’ve been showing me since before you loved me. Not as a favour. Not because I’m grateful. Not because I should. Because I can’t help it. Can’t help loving you.”

She looked down at their joined hands, Steve’s fingers cradling Bucky’s, and then back up to them both.

Bucky sighed. His usual light-hearted self shone through in its theatricality.

“Well, now I feel like a schmuck.”

“Why?”

“You poured your heart out and I compared you to a bird.”

“Your favourite animal’s a bird. I liked it, anyway.”

“Buck likes all birds. Remember that sparrow?” Steve said, a mischievous tone to his voice.

“Don’t…” Bucky groaned, half-laughing. “You swore you’d never bring that up.”

Steve turned to Eleanor, mock-solemn. “When we were kids, Bucky found a baby sparrow that fell out of its nest. Kept it in a shoebox and fed it with a dropper. Wouldn’t leave the house for two days.”

“I was ten,” Bucky muttered.

“And cried when it flew away,” Steve said.

“It was an emotional week.”

Eleanor tried to bite back a grin, failed entirely. “You're ridiculous. But I’d have done the same.”

“See?” Bucky said, folding his arms. “She gets it.”

Steve looked at them both, warm-eyed and amused. “God help us all.”

Eleanor leaned her head against Bucky’s shoulder and reached for Steve’s hand again. “Don’t need God,” she murmured, content now. “Just you two fools.”

She had them stay on the balcony together while she made lunch. When she came back out with a plate full of sandwiches, she found Steve asleep on Bucky’s shoulder. She sat cross-legged on the ground in front of them, balanced the plate beside them and pressed a kiss on Bucky’s knee.

“Hello, sweetheart,” he whispered.

“It must be tiring. That fear,” she said, nodding her head at Steve.

“It’s exhausting. Nothing like it. I’d rather be in ten actual battles than have one more…episode like this.”

“Do you have them often?”

“A few times a year. Stevie has them in clusters. Nightmares, too.”

“I am so sorry.”

“How about you?”

“Me? I haven’t fought. Or lost anyone.”

“You told us about the Blitz. And a few months ago, with the thunderstorm, on the stairs…”

“Oh. That. I don’t like thunderstorms, no. Usually I manage to distract myself during one. But if one surprises me, yes. The odd bad dream. Not very often.”

“What do you do when you have a bad dream?”

“Make tea. Read. Remind myself it’s over. Pace my apartment.”

“Alone.”

“It’s how I’ve always done it.”

“You don’t need to, now.”

“I…you…I don’t want to add to your burden.”

“You’re not. Ever.” Steve’s voice was rough with sleep, but certain. He had opened his eyes.

She shifted closer and kissed him.

“Promise me you’ll come to us next time you need it. Even if it’s the middle of the might. Especially then.”

“Alright. I promise.”

Bucky looked at her.

“Swear on The Lord of the Rings that you will.”

She grinned.

“I swear on nine-fingered Frodo that I will.”

Eleanor lured them outside with promises of old bindings, quiet nooks and unsteady bookshelves. The streets of Brooklyn were busy. Busy enough she could stealthily touch Bucky’s fingers, then Steve’s hips with no one any the wiser.

“Tadaaaa!”

Bucky and Steve looked into the tiny bookshop.

“Doll, I’m not sure both of us will even fit in there.”

She shot him a wicked grin.

“Said the actress to the bishop.”

“What does that even mean?”

“I’ll explain when you’re older. Now go inside. Trust me.”

Bucky tapped her nose and walked over the threshold. Before he had even got a yard in, he bent down to pick up a little blue book. His fingers brushed the worn cover, tracing the faded gold lettering. “Looks like a poetry collection. Might be worth a read.”

Steve ducked inside behind him, eyes scanning the cramped space with quiet curiosity. The air smelled of dust and paper. Eleanor smiled, stepping past a wobbling shelf and into a narrow aisle lined with spines that threatened to topple at the slightest touch. Her fingertips trailed over the jagged edges, steadying a leaning volume.

“These shelves hold centuries of stories. And secrets.”

Steve’s gaze flicked toward her, eyebrows raised. “Secrets, huh?”

“Maybe,” she said, turning to catch Bucky eyeing a leather-bound tome with a brass clasp.

“Things we once knew but have since forgotten. Or the best recipe from your own garden against ailments like stubbornness.” She gave Bucky a pointed look.

He grinned, carefully balancing the little blue book against his chest as he followed her deeper inside.

Steve lingered near the front, pulling a small volume from the non-fiction section. “You know, I never thought I’d find this place charming,” he said, voice low.

Eleanor’s grin softened. “Charm is in the eye of the beholder. Or the company you keep.”

Their eyes met for a heartbeat, and Eleanor felt the quiet warmth of being exactly where she belonged.

Then Bucky cleared his throat. “Ladies first,” he said, holding open a narrow stairwell leading to the shop’s upstairs nook.

Eleanor glanced up at the creaking steps and smiled. “Lead the way, soldier.”

Steve chuckled and followed, fingers still lightly grazing her waist.

Upstairs, Bucky’s hand paused on a thin, worn volume tucked between two much thicker tomes. He pulled it free and held it up with a grin.

“Check this out. Sex in Education. Sounds like a scandalous read.”

Steve snorted, leaning over to glance at the cover. “Bet it’s a how-to manual.”

They exchanged a look, smirking like schoolboys caught sneaking a forbidden book. Eleanor’s eyes narrowed as she approached, her smile tightening.

“That’s not what it is,” she said softly, taking the book from Bucky’s hand.

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Oh? Enlighten us, Ellie.”

She flipped through the yellowed pages, her voice steady but edged with frustration. “It’s an 1870s pamphlet arguing against educating women. The doctor who wrote it claimed that too much learning would make us infertile.”

Steve’s grin faded, the joke dying on his lips. “Are you serious?”

“As the Plague.”

“That’s despicable. But now I worry that you’ve read every single book in here.”

Eleanor smiled. “Would that I could.”

Steve pressed. “How many books do you read?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific.”

“In a month. Give or take.”

“Depending on the number of pages and genre…six to eight, nine? I think?” She counted in her head.

“Yes, that sounds right.”

Steve and Bucky looked at each other, then at her. She was uncomfortable under their sudden scrutiny.

“I don’t learn them by heart. I just read one, then the next.”

“It’s still impressive.”

“Thank you. To be honest, I’ve been reading less, lately. My weekends have been mysteriously taken up with extracurricular activities.”

Steve exchanged a flirty glance with Bucky, then murmured, “We’ve got plenty of extracurriculars planned.”

Bucky’s grin was wicked. “You’re going to like this syllabus.”

“Good thing I was always a quick study.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor climbed back into the bed, her nightdress riding up her thighs.

“How do you look this pretty before coffee?” Bucky asked, his arms reaching for her.

“I don’t drink coffee.”

“That’s my point, doll. You’re always pretty.”

Eleanor smiled as Bucky’s hands found her waist and pulled her between them. Steve shifted behind her, murmuring something into the pillow that sounded like agreement.

She settled with a pleased sigh, her hands on Bucky’s chest. “You’re both absurd.”

Steve’s voice, still rough with sleep, came from behind her. “We’re not the ones crawling into bed looking like a painting.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bucky muttered, pressing a kiss to the curve of her shoulder. “I’ve seen paintings. None of them bite their lip like that.”

She flushed, a spark running low through her belly. “I didn’t…”

Steve’s hand slid over her hip, fingers warm against her bare thigh. “You did,” he said, and kissed the back of her neck.

She luxuriated in the simple feeling of both of them against her. Bucky’s chest in front of her, solid as a wall. Steve’s arm heavy on her waist and thigh, all heat and muscle. She could stay like this for days. Just bodies, tangled and warm. Just the sound of breathing and the weight of them around her.

Steve’s fingers skimmed the back of her neck. Bucky’s nose nudged the curve of her shoulder.

“You’re quiet,” Bucky said.

“Mmm,” she replied. “Just…thinking.”

“Good thoughts?” Steve asked.

She smiled against his skin. “Greedy ones.”

Steve’s breath caught. Bucky’s hand stilled on her leg.

She shifted a little then, the barest tilt of her hips forward into Bucky, back into Steve. Suggestive, deliberate.

Bucky’s hand flattened low over her spine. “Yeah?” he murmured.

Her answer was a kiss at his jaw, then a slow, languid roll of her hips, brushing against the growing hardness between his legs. Behind her, Steve let out a low noise, his hand tightening on her thigh.

“You sure, pretty girl?” he asked, voice rough already.

She nodded. “Mhm.”

He pressed his lips to the back of her neck, slow and hot. “We’ll take our time.”

And they did. Bucky kissed her, slowly. Even when she pushed her mouth into his, hungry for more, he kept his rhythm. Steve pushed up her nightdress, his hand on her breast. Finally, Bucky kissed her a little harder, then nudged her onto her back, and kissed his way down her jaw, all the way to between her thighs.

Eleanor’s back arched, a little whimper breaking in her throat.

“Oh,” she said softly. “Oh…yes, right there…”

Steve chuckled, a low warm sound by her ear. “So good like this.”

Bucky worked her open slowly, one slick finger, then two, spreading the warmth, making her tremble. Then Steve’s hand moved down from her breasts to join Bucky’s mouth. She felt Bucky kiss Steve’s hand, then Steve’s fingers on her wetness. Bucky moved up, guiding her onto her side, his fingers still inside her.

“You OK, baby?” Steve asked, kissing her neck.

She moaned in answer.

Then, he touched her there, lower, slower and she tensed. Breathed in. Breathed out.

It felt strange. Not painful, just... unfamiliar. A pressure more than anything else, as Steve traced slow circles before pressing the tip of one finger inward.

Bucky kissed her shoulder, her neck, her jaw. “That’s it, you’re doing so good.”

Steve moved slowly, deeper by fractions, pausing at every breath she took. “You’re gorgeous like this,” he whispered. “Can’t believe you’re letting us.”

“I wanted this,” she said, voice breathy. “I asked…”

Bucky’s thumb started circling her clit. She clung to the sheets, to them, breath coming short, heart stuttering, body stretched with a pleasure she hadn’t known she could feel.

“So fuckin’ soft you are, Ellie. So brave. Look at you, like a gift just for us.”

She wasn’t even sure who was speaking. She was entirely caught up in their fingers inside of her, and Bucky’s thumb gently pushing her, pushing her, pushing her, until her voice cracked around a gasping moan, her body tightening and shaking between them.

“You’re incredible,” Steve said as she came down from her climax. Eleanor fell onto her back. Steve kissed one shoulder, Bucky the other. She hissed as they kissed each other right over her face.

There was something desperate in the way Steve’s hand curled around Bucky’s face. She put her hand on Steve’s side, pushed him gently towards Bucky as she moved to the side. The bed creaked and then Steve was in the middle. Bucky’s hands drew him in.

Eleanor lay curled on her side, the sheet slipping low across her hips, one hand tucked beneath her cheek. Steve moved above Bucky with a kind of trembling intensity, his shoulders gleaming in the light, every line of his body drawn tight with something deeper than desire. Their bodies were on top of each other, chest to chest, legs tangled.  

She watched, dazed and spellbound, as Steve kissed Bucky like he was something sacred. Like he’d been gone too long and Steve was still convincing himself he was real. She put her hand on Steve’s ribs, feeling the shiver in him even now.

Bucky tipped his head back slightly. “C’mere, sweetheart,” he said, his voice a little rough as he reached a hand out to her. Steve shifted to make room and Eleanor moved closer, pressing a kiss just beneath Bucky’s ear, tasting salt and skin. She slid one hand along Steve’s thigh, the other cupping the back of Bucky’s neck.

“Can we…?” she murmured, and Bucky gave her a breathless little smile.

“Oh yeah,” he said. “We can.”

Between the two of them, they coaxed Steve down. Eleanor kissed along the inside of his thigh while Bucky pressed his mouth to Steve’s hip, his stomach, his chest. Steve’s hands flinched slightly before settling in their hair, one on each of them, holding tight like he might come apart otherwise.

“Jesus,” Steve muttered, voice cracking as they took him together. Eleanor loved this new adventure…loved how responsive he was, how undone he could be when he let them see him. His hips twitched and his breathing staggered and he said both their names like he was praying.

Eleanor glanced up to find his eyes squeezed shut, his chest heaving, Bucky’s hand stroking gentle circles on his thigh. Steve spilled over with a strangled sound and Bucky kissed Eleanor once, soft and salty, before nudging Steve back with a smile.

“You okay?” Bucky asked.

Steve nodded, still catching his breath, and pulled him into a kiss that was messy and slow and full of gratitude. Eleanor moved around behind Bucky, wrapping her arms around his waist, her cheek against his back.

Steve’s gaze met hers over Bucky’s shoulder. There was still something aching in it, something almost fragile.

“Let me?” Steve asked, quiet and hoarse.

Bucky nodded. Steve lay back, pulling Bucky over him, and Bucky settled side by side, pressed in close. Eleanor stayed behind him, her hand on his hip, kissing his shoulder as Steve reached into the nightstand drawer.

A soft pop of a lid, and then Steve’s hand was back, warm and steady. It was careful, all of it. Tender in a way that made her stomach contract.

It was slow. Eleanor could see the way Steve’s hands shook, the way his mouth parted around a sigh as Bucky took him in, inch by inch. Their faces were so close she couldn’t tell where one ended and the other began. She leaned up just enough to kiss the back of Bucky’s neck, then rested her forehead there, content to watch, to feel them both.

Steve’s voice was wrecked. “You’re so good, Buck. Jesus, you feel so good…”

Eleanor slipped her hand around to Bucky’s front, stroked him softly in time with Steve’s thrusts. Bucky made a sound so low it vibrated against her chest. She looked at Steve’s face, flushed and open and so terribly young in that moment, eyes wide as if even now he couldn’t believe he was allowed this.

Eleanor shifted closer still, her hand at Steve’s waist as she pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple. He turned toward her blindly, like he’d been waiting for her, and she kissed him, his cheek, his mouth, the sharp edge of his jaw. His hand came up, shaking just slightly, and cupped the back of her neck.

“Hey,” he whispered, ragged, and she could feel Steve trembling too, still moving slow and deep inside him.

“Hi,” she breathed, and she kissed him properly then, soft, open-mouthed, nothing urgent but full of heat.

Steve made a sound like he couldn’t stand it. Eleanor’s hand found his face and he turned into it like it grounded him, eyes flicking from her to Bucky and back again. His rhythm faltered. He looked so ethereal, held together only by the weight of their hands and mouths.

She brought her forehead to his. “You’ve got him,” she whispered. “You’re okay.”

Steve let out a long, shaking breath, and Bucky tightened his arms around him.

“C’mon, Stevie,” Bucky murmured. “You’re right there.”

Eleanor kissed Steve’s jaw, the side of his throat, her fingers still pressed to his cheek. His hips jerked and then stilled, his whole body going taut before he let go, burying his face in Bucky’s shoulder as he came.

It was quiet for a long time after. Just the sound of their breathing, Bucky stroking Steve’s back, Eleanor still wrapped close around them both.

“I love you,” Steve said at last, muffled but clear. “Both of you.”

Eleanor smiled against Bucky’s skin.

“We’ve got you.”

Chapter Text

Eleanor had curled herself into the armchair in another of their shirts, knees tucked under her, Tristram Shandy open in her lap. She wasn’t reading so much as resting inside the book, the words familiar now. Occasionally, she smirked at a phrase and turned the page with one lazy finger. Mr Tippance had been correct; it was definitely an odd duck of a novel, but she enjoyed the flowing prose.

Steve sat on the floor in front of the couch, sketchpad braced on his knee, tongue poking thoughtfully at the corner of his mouth. His brow was furrowed in that particular, beautiful way that meant he wasn’t going to hear anything that wasn’t urgent.

And Bucky had been convinced to pose. Shirtless, of course, because Steve had asked so nicely, and because Eleanor had made a soft sound of encouragement when Steve suggested it. Now he was sprawled along the couch like a Renaissance study in frustration, one arm tucked under his head and the other lazily draped along the cushion. His feet were bare, his hair still a little damp from the shower after his run, and he looked like sin personified. If sin could also scowl.

“This is ridiculous,” he muttered, shifting again. “My shoulder’s falling asleep.”

Steve didn’t look up. “Then don’t put all your weight on it.”

“I didn’t mean to. This isn’t a normal way to sit. Who sits like this?”

“You did,” Steve said, pencil still moving. “Fifteen minutes ago. You looked perfect.”

“Fifteen minutes? What am I, the king?”

“When I met the King, he managed to sit still for much longer than that.” Eleanor said, absently.

Steve’s pencil stopped.

“What do you mean by the king?”

“The late King George VI and Queen Elizabeth, the Queen Mother, now.”

Bucky sat up.

“Hold on, doll. You’ve met the actual King and Queen?”

“Yes, but only once. At Buckingham Palace. I was a debutante.”

Bucky put his hand on Tristram Shandy so he could look at her face.

“Are you serious?”

“Well, yes. It doesn’t mean much. I put myself into a frilly dress I never wore again, curtsied, spoke to girls who were shocked I’d never had a governess, smiled at the King, ate unusual foods. That’s about all.”

“That’s all? You really grew up in a different world.” Steve had put his sketchpad down.

“I suppose I did, yes. I forget sometimes, with you.”

“You forget you’re the one who went to Oxford…”

“St Andrews,” Eleanor corrected automatically.

“Same difference. Went to a fancy university, lived in a fancy manor, with fancy parents, fancy clothes, fancy friends.”

“I was very fortunate to be born the way I was. It doesn’t make me special.”

Steve cupped her cheek. “You are special, El. I grew up poor. There wasn’t always enough food and I wore shoes till they fell apart. Does that make me special?”

She considered it. For a second. “Yes. It does. Look at what you’ve achieved despite the poverty. That’s special.”

“So you think you’re less special because your parents are rich?”

“Not in general, no. But with you…” her voice was more hesitant, “sometimes, yes.”

Bucky said “That’s ridiculous,” at the same time Steve asked “Why?”

“You’ve both had to overcome so much. Endured the worst of humanity. And you still came out like this. Strong. Kind. So beautiful it makes my stomach hurt. Forgive me for feeling a little inadequate in comparison.”

Bucky frowned, his scowl deepening in a way that had nothing to do with posing.

“El, sweetheart,” he said, low and firm, “you think we chose any of that? That it made us better?”

Steve shifted closer, his hand still warm against her cheek. “What we went through didn’t make us special. It just… didn’t kill us.”

She was quiet.

“You know what I think is special?” Bucky said. “You’ve got a First from a fancy university most people wouldn’t be able to attend. You read Tristram Shandy for fun. You talk to our neighbours like they’re interesting, even Mr O’Sullivan, and I’ve seen you spend ten minutes helping that little girl with her skipping rope. In the rain.”

Steve was smiling now. “You gave a stray cat the fish you’d just bought.”

“It looked hungry,” Eleanor said.

“It looked possessed,” Bucky grinned. “Thing growled at you and you still fed it.”

“And then you told it to be good and not follow you home,” Steve added. “Like it was going to listen.”

Eleanor pressed her lips together, but her shoulders shook with a suppressed laugh.

“You’re smart,” Steve said gently. “Kind. Brave. And not the kind of brave people write poems about, though they should, but the kind who tells people in charge, or asks hard questions, or stays when it’s easier to leave.”

Bucky nodded. “You’re also stubborn as hell.”

“Tenacious,” Steve corrected. Bucky shrugged.

“The point is, you are special. We’re lucky to have you.”

She kissed Steve’s hand.

“Not sure what I’m supposed to say to all of that.”

“You say ‘thank you, I love you too’ and you start believing it.” Bucky’s tone was that of a general’s.

“Thank you, I love you too.”

“Well done. Now work on part two of that sentence.” He settled back into the pose he’d had earlier.

“Next, can we please agree that I am the real star of this room, and go back to admiring me?”

Steve rolled his eyes. “You lasted all of thirty seconds.”

“That’s long for me.”

Eleanor grinned. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And posing nobly through my pain. Go on, Steve. Immortalise me.”

“You’ll be immortalised for being the most talkative model I’ve ever had,” Steve said, but he was smiling again, pencil already in motion.

Steve was kissing her, his hand on her waist. Bucky’s mouth was on Steve’s neck, tugging at his belt. The knock on the door startled them. Eleanor froze on the sofa. Bucky swore softly under his breath and was already swinging upright, fingers reaching instinctively toward the coffee table, where his glove was.

“Yeah,” he called, voice sliding into something casual. “One second.”

“Shall I hide?”

Bucky didn’t look at her as he answered. “Yeah. Just in case.”

She nodded once. Quiet. And slipped inside the bedroom, the door left slightly ajar behind her.

Steve waited until she was gone before pulling open the front door, just a few inches.

“Afternoon, fellas,” said Mr. Taft. “Hope I’m not interrupting anything?”

Steve’s voice: “Not at all.”

“Need to borrow a screwdriver.” A thump, his hand against the doorframe, maybe. “Mind if I come in a minute?”

Bucky said something that didn’t quite carry. The door clicked shut.

From the bedroom, Eleanor sat on the edge of the bed and listened.

“Wife’s got her sisters over,” Mr Taft said. “Seven women in that kitchen, I swear to God. Needed some air or I was gonna scream.” A pause. “You two always so tidy, or is it for show?”

Steve laughed. “We keep a schedule.”

“That right? Schedule, huh. Must be nice, not having anyone breathing down your neck about chores and supper.” A pause. “Beer?”

“Soft drink, David?” Bucky offered.

“Sure.”

She heard the clink of bottles, the creak of Steve settling into the armchair.

“Hell of a racket over there,” David said. “Twins are screaming, someone’s peeling potatoes like it’s a full-time job. And then my sister-in-law starts in about how I oughta paint the bedroom door.”

“You want help with that?” Steve asked mildly.

“No, no, I’ll get to it. Just… Christ.” A long sip. “Can’t believe you two dodged all that. Never did get yourselves shackled, huh?”

Bucky let out a low chuckle. “Nope.”

“Smart. You’re smart. I tell the boys down at the office, ‘Barnes and Rogers? They figured it out. Stay single, save your sanity.’ Hell, even when you’ve got a good one, they come with family.”

“Not always a bad thing,” Steve said.

“Well, sure, you say that now,” David replied, good-humoured. “But believe me. There’s freedom in coming home to a quiet house. You don’t know what I’d give for a weekend where no one talks to me.”

Bucky snorted. “Careful. You might get what you wish for.”

David huffed. “That’s the trouble, ain’t it? You start liking the peace, and suddenly you’re the crank who drinks beer on the porch by himself and talks to the cat.”

Steve made a sound, somewhere between a laugh and a sigh.

“You two still have that Friday night supper, though, huh?” David asked. “Heard Eleanor talking to Mrs Kennedy about it a week ago or so.”

Steve didn’t answer at once.

Bucky said, “Yeah, she comes by sometimes.”

“Well, I’d keep her coming if I were you. Bit of eye candy like that? You’re living the dream.”

There was a pause, and then Steve said, more curtly than she’d ever heard, “She’s been a good friend to us.”

David chuckled. “Alright. Just saying. Pretty girl, that’s all.”

Another long silence.

“Well,” he said eventually. “I should get back. If I disappear too long, Mary’ll send the cavalry.”

Bucky stood. “You need that screwdriver, or…?”

“Oh. Right. Yeah, might as well borrow it while I’m here.”

She waited until she heard the door open again, a brief farewell exchange, and the soft thud of it shutting.

Then silence.

She peeked out a moment later. Bucky was in the kitchen, washing out the bottle. Steve stood by the window, arms folded, jaw tight.

“Is it safe to come out?” she asked gently.

Steve turned. His expression softened when he saw her. “Course it is.”

She crossed the room and touched his elbow. “You okay?”

“Yeah.” He let out a breath. “Are you?”

“Sure. It’s fine.”

Bucky was already peeling the glove back off, jaw tight. He didn’t look at her right away.

“Sorry,” he said. “Didn’t think anyone’d come by.”

She crossed the room to him and took his hand, bare now. Twined her fingers through his. Pressed her forehead lightly to his shoulder.

“I know,” she said. “It’s all right.”

And it was. And it wasn’t.

The sky was already darkening when they were doing the dishes. Eleanor was thinking of the letter she’d be writing to George, back in her own apartment later.

“You could stay here. While I’m away. If you want.” Bucky was putting away a large pan, his back turned.

Eleanor blinked. “Oh…”

Steve didn’t look up from the sink. But his hands slowed.

She felt heat creep into her face. “That’s kind of you,” she said carefully. “But I don’t want to…”

“To what?” Bucky asked, like he already knew.

She tried to smile. Failed. “To get in the way.”

Steve looked over then. His eyes soft.

“You wouldn’t be,” he said. Quiet. Firm.

Eleanor’s fingers worried the edge of the towel. “I know I’m not… I mean. I know I’m not part of that,” she said, gesturing vaguely between them. “Not really. And it’s not that I’d be uncomfortable, just…Bucky’ll be gone. And I’d be here. With you. And that feels like… something I’m not meant to step into.”

Bucky sat back. Exhaled slowly through his nose. “Sweetheart,” he said. “You’re not stepping into anything. You’re already in it.”

Steve handed her the last of the plates. He didn’t interrupt.

Eleanor shook her head a little, as if trying to clear it. “It’s just… the two of you, you’re… you. You’ve been through things I can’t imagine. And I know what this is for me. I just don’t ever want to make it harder. For either of you.”

Bucky gave her a long look. “You think being close to Steve would make it harder?”

“No,” she said quickly. “No. But being in the way might. And I… what you have, the way you love each other… I fell in love with that first. Before I ever … before us, even. I’m not trying to… replace anything. Or anyone.”

“You’re not a replacement,” Steve said gently. “You’re not a guest. You don’t come after anything, Eleanor. You’re part of it. That’s the only way this works. But it doesn’t mean you have to stay over. You’re here on weekends, usually. Not weekdays. If you don’t want to, that’s also perfectly fine.”

“Except Steve doesn’t sleep well when he’s alone,” Bucky gave her a look usually found on golden retriever puppies.

She flicked the wet tea towel at his backside. He yelped theatrically.

“I barely offered my heart and you’ve assaulted me.”

“Stop being ridiculous,” Eleanor said, but there was laughter in her voice now.

Steve smiled at her over the rim of the towel. “So?”

She didn’t answer right away. She turned back to the sink and began drying the last plate, slow and careful. Then she said, without looking up, “All right. I’ll break all the rules.”

Bucky beamed. “That’s what they’re there for.”

Chapter Text

On Wednesday afternoon, Eleanor spotted the dark-haired student she’d shown around the library the previous week. It seemed she, Angela, she thought her name was, had taken the suggestion seriously, she was already deep into a thick volume, Gibbon, if Eleanor wasn’t mistaken, with a notebook open beside her and a line of neat, looping annotations running across the top of the page. Her brows were drawn, mouth slightly pursed in concentration, cardigan sleeves tugged down over her wrists. Eleanor didn’t speak to her, not wanting to disturb her focus. Later, when she was busy reshelving the daily returns, Angela caught her eye. She gave her a small nod and Angela smiled, then gathered her things and left.

She finished Tristram Shandy during her lunch break on Thursday. The last page was as ridiculous as the first. She closed the volume with a little snort of laughter, then held it in her lap for a moment, thumb tracing the edge of the binding. It was exhausting, brilliant and completely unnecessary. She’d have to discuss it more with Mr Tippance next week. Across the staff room, Mr Steiner opened a bottle of fizzy water. The sharp hiss made her think of Bucky, who enjoyed buying Coke for the sole purpose of hearing the pop and seeing the bubbles in the glass.

“Penny for your thoughts!”

June, from the circulation desk, was standing in front of her with a mug of coffee.

“Oh… I was just thinking about the next book I should read.”

“I am reading Pride and Prejudice. You know Paul, the postal worker? He’s been bringing me coffee. And yesterday he handed me a copy of Pride and Prejudice and said I reminded him of Elizabeth Bennet.”

“Well, that’s certainly bold.”

“I know!” June’s eyes sparkled. “I told him I’d only accept the comparison if he’s already read it. He has. Twice. I think he’s serious.”

“Ah,” Eleanor said lightly, “Elizabeth Bennet is not the worst heroine to be compared to.”

“That’s what I’m thinking, although I’m only on chapter 2. He said he might bring me Persuasion next.”

“You could do far worse,” Eleanor said, and turned to go.

“You look like someone’s been reading you love stories too,” June called after her. “Or writing them.”

Eleanor smiled but didn’t respond. She knew what she’d read next, though. The only Austen novel she hadn’t read yet. Sense and Sensibility. Bucky had a copy.

Dear Eleanor,
I trust this note finds you well. I am delighted to confirm that I shall be visiting on the 15th, as you suggested in your last letter. I must warn you, should you look as despondent as you did last time, I shall certainly make good on my threat and inform your parents. I still have their address from when you lived at Elmcroft.

I confess I have missed your company terribly. A bit of Britain in these weird United States of America that appear less united each day.

Should you desire it, I would be more than happy to bring a selection of my latest invitations, charity balls and soirées, that you might find interesting. There is a certain art to the New York social season that I believe you would appreciate.

Please do let me know if there is anything you would like to arrange during my visit. Until then, take care of yourself.

With warmest regards,
Alice

Eleanor put the letter on the coffee table. It would be good to see Alice again, in more cheerful circumstances than last time. She’d bake something. Maybe an apple pie or a plum cobbler. She retrieved her recipe notebook, looking for good options. There was a knock on the door. She glanced at the clock; it was ten. Oh, of course.

“Mr. Perkins,” Eleanor called, moving to open the door.

The laundry man stood on the stoop, a bundle of shirts and sheets balanced under one arm, his usual easy smile in place.

“Morning, Miss Montrose. Got your laundry here, fresh and folded. Thought I’d stop by before the rush.”

“Thank you, Mr. Perkins. You’re a lifesaver.”

He tipped his hat and stepped in briefly to set the bundle on the kitchen counter. “You keep things running like clockwork in here.”

“Only trying,” Eleanor said, watching him settle the laundry.

He lingered a moment, then gave a little nod toward the stack of books on the table.

“Still reading all those heavy things, I see.”

“Trying to,” Eleanor answered.

“Very impressive. I never got beyond Huckleberry Finn, myself.”

“Nothing wrong with Twain. An American icon.”

Mr Perkins picked up her laundry.

“You have a good day now, Miss Montrose.”

“You too. Don’t work too hard.”

He laughed. “Never do.”

The peach crisp she’d made for dessert was cooling on the counter, filling the kitchen with a nutmeg and sugar perfume. She was just reading the newspaper when there was another knock on the door.

She opened it.

Bucky stood there in a pressed shirt and jacket, one hand behind his back, the other holding a bouquet of roses so full and lush they looked almost unreal. He gave her a crooked smile.

“Hi, sweetheart.”

Eleanor blinked, her heart doing something absolutely foolish in her chest. “What…?”

“I wanted to do this properly,” he said, stepping forward just a little. “Pick up my girl. At her door. With flowers. Like a regular guy.”

She stared at the roses, then at him, her throat tight. “You walked twelve feet.”

“Yeah,” he said. “But they’re your twelve feet.”

She tried to laugh, but it came out half-breathless, half-smitten. “You’re absurd.”

He grinned. “Maybe. But I’m also crazy about you.”

“Get in here before the neighbours see,” she murmured, pulling him gently inside.

He handed her the bouquet like it was something sacred.

“I don’t know much about flowers, but the lady at the shop said these were the kind you give when you really mean it.”

Eleanor looked down at the blooms, red and warm and velvety in her arms, then back up at him.

“Then I suppose I should find a vase.”

“I’ve got time,” he said. “All weekend, in fact.”

She took the bouquet carefully, fingers brushing his, then crossed to the kitchen to fetch a vase from under the sink. It took a minute to find one tall enough, and another to fill it halfway at the tap. She trimmed the stems with her little kitchen scissors and arranged the roses with a kind of reverence she didn’t entirely understand.

They looked ridiculous on her modest little table. Lush, extravagant, too much. Perfect.

She put the vase down and adjusted the angle of one single rose.

“Eleanor.”

She turned. His mouth was on hers before she could answer. As usual, he wasn’t careful. He kissed her hungrily, his hands came to her waist, her back, gathering her in, and she let out a soft, startled moan against his mouth as her hands clutched at his shirt.

“How d’you do that?”

“What?” she asked, her hands still at his chest.

“Get more beautiful each time I see you.”

“The same way you make my heart flutter each time you kiss me.”

He put his hand on her chest.

“Hmm. Might be dangerous, for it to race like that.”

She stepped back, smiling.

“Let’s go.”

He took the peach crisp from the counter, and she locked the door behind them.

Bucky pushed open his front door. A soft thread of music curled toward her. Jazz, tender and low, something brushed with piano. The curtains were half-drawn, and despite the late summer light, there were candles glowing on the table, tall ones, white, set in mismatched holders like they’d scoured every drawer for just enough to make it beautiful.

Steve was in the kitchen, dressed like Bucky, and stirring something on the stove, but he turned at the sound of the door and smiled the moment he saw her.

“Hi, honey,” he said.

Eleanor blinked again, and then laughed. “What is all this?”

Steve shrugged, but his cheeks were just slightly pink. “Friday.”

“Friday,” she echoed, setting her handbag down as Bucky slid past her and put the crisp on the counter. “Do you always light candles on Fridays?”

“Only when the girl we love is coming over,” Bucky said.

She was quiet for a second, just looking at both of them. Then she took their hands.

“I’ve never had anyone make a fuss over me. Not like this.”

Steve turned his hand and caught her fingers, lifted them to his mouth and kissed her knuckles. “You deserve it.”

“You both do.”

Bucky slipped his arms around her waist, resting his chin lightly on her shoulder.

“We’ve got you for the whole weekend, sweetheart. You’re not getting away without at least two candlelit meals, one slow dance in the kitchen, and an unreasonable amount of kissing.”

“Don’t forget the peach crisp,” Steve added.

“Oh, I’ll earn the peach crisp,” Bucky said, and Eleanor laughed into the curve of his cheek.

“I love you,” she said, quietly, clearly, letting it sit in the candlelight with everything else.

Bucky held her a little tighter. Steve kissed her shoulder.

They sat down to dinner an hour later. The salmon was already plated, pink and glistening, with risotto nestled beside it, brightened with peas and the faintest shimmer of parmesan. A bowl of green salad waited off to the side, already dressed, the leaves glinting with vinaigrette.

“This looks like something from a magazine.”

Steve shrugged, trying for modest, though a proud little smile tugged at his mouth. “Figured if I only had one shot to impress you this week, I’d better not burn the fish.”

“You could’ve served it raw,” she said, unfolding her napkin. “I wouldn’t have noticed.”

A few bites in, she slowed down.

“This tastes amazing. Truly.”

Bucky made a noise clearly meant to express agreement.

“You’re usually in charge of pasta.”

“Figured branching into other Italian cuisine couldn’t hurt.”

They didn’t rush the meal. Outside, the city turned slowly toward dusk. Conversation drifted in and out, easy, unhurried. The candles burned lower. It was at least nine by the time they left the table.

Bucky held her hand, moved her in between him and Steve and they danced to the slow music. She leaned her head on Bucky’s chest, her fingers tangled with Steve’s where his hand rested on Bucky’s upper arm. After a few minutes, Eleanor looked up at Steve. His eyes were closed. She put her free hand on his neck, pulling him in for a kiss. His eyes were still closed when his lips touched hers.

She deepened the kiss almost immediately, opening her mouth. Steve cupped her cheek. Bucky kissed her neck, softly first, then more insistent. When he got to that spot under her ear, she gripped his arm and opened her eyes.

“You keep lookin’ at me like that, I’m gonna forget this is meant to be romantic.”

Eleanor turned her head, catching his mouth with hers before he could say anything else.

He let out a soft sound of surprise, and then melted into it. Into her.

Her hands slid into his hair. She kissed him deeply, until he stopped teasing, until his hands were tight around her waist and he was kissing her back like he needed it.

When she finally pulled away, his eyes were dark, unfocused.

“Well,” he said, voice a little hoarse. “Okay then.”

He glanced at Steve, who only smiled and stepped aside.

Without another word, Bucky bent down and swept her up into his arms.

Eleanor gasped and laughed, clutching his shoulders.

“So ridiculous.”

“You kissed me like that,” he said, already crossing the room. “What did you think was gonna happen?”

She raked her nails down his back. He let out a breath that turned into a groan.

“Oh, doll. You’re really not helping my case.”

Bucky set her down gently, but didn’t step back. His hands lingered at her waist. Eleanor tilted her head to look at him. The dim light caught the softness in his expression, and the heat.

She reached up to smooth the crease between his brows. “You okay?”

He nodded once. “More than.”

Then, quieter, “I want you so bad I can’t think straight.”

Eleanor rose onto her toes and kissed him again. Slower this time. Letting him feel how much she meant it. Steve moved behind her, his hands on the buttons of her dress. When her dress came off, she pushed Bucky down to the middle of the bed. Steve lay down next to him. They kissed, Steve’s hands working on Bucky’s trousers. She watched them. How they touched each other in a way that showed their familiarity. In a way that suggested they hadn’t touched in months. In a way that made her wish she could paint.

“C’mere, gorgeous.” Bucky reached out to her.

She kept him in the middle as she traced every line of his front with her lips. Steve left his mouth, moved to his neck, his back. He met Eleanor’s mouth around Bucky’s waist.

“Look at him,” Steve murmured.

She did, and Bucky was gone already, eyes closed, chest rising fast. Steve’s mouth followed hers lower, then lower still.

At some point Bucky swore. Eleanor chuckled, which only made him swear again. His cool hand tangled in her hair. The blankets fell onto the floor. No one noticed.

Chapter Text

Flames licked the walls. The wallpaper was curling down like melted candles, and dark smoke was filling the room, filling her lungs. Eleanor’s heart pounded in her ears. They were inside. They were in the fire. She stumbled forward, her eyes burning, falling over an upturned chair. There were frantic voices calling her name. It was so hot. She crouched low, the floor trembling beneath her, and then with a crash, a wall gave way, sending bricks tumbling like thunder. She scrambled through the debris, coughing, searching, but they weren’t there. Her fingers scraped the cold concrete, reaching blindly in the smoke. She opened her mouth and inhaled ash. She choked. Choked.

Coughing, her hands on her throat, Eleanor bolted upright in bed.

“El?” Bucky’s hand was cool on her back.

She blinked rapidly, her lungs burning for air. The edges of the dream clung to her and she gasped, throwing the blankets off her.

“I... I can’t...” she whispered.

Bucky shifted closer, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

“Too hot. It’s too hot.”

“Ellie. You’re alright. You were just dreaming.”

She looked at them. Bucky’s hand had moved from her shoulders to her lower back. Steve was on his other side. They was no fire. They were fine.

She touched their faces, real and soft beneath her fingers.

“Oh, God. You’re alright. You’re alright. You’re alright.”

Bucky glanced at Steve. Steve held her hand against his face.

“We’re right here, baby. Nothing’s wrong. We’re all safe.”

Their steady breathing soothed the raw edge in her chest, but the tight knot of fear didn’t loosen completely. She blinked against the weight of the lingering panic, trying to will it away, but it pulsed stubbornly beneath her ribs.

“I have to get out. It’s too hot.”

The cool wooden floor helped a little. She stood in the living room. There was a soft creak behind her.

“Sorry I woke you up. You can go back to bed. I just need a moment. It’s OK.”

“We don’t leave each other when one of us is hurting,” Bucky said.

“I’m not hurting. I just had a stupid dream. It’s…I’m…it’s alright. It’s fine.”

Steve stepped closer. “We can stay up with you if you want.”

“No. No. I just need some air. I…maybe I’ll go sit on the balcony. Don’t worry about me.”

“You were worried about us.”

She turned around.

“It was a dream. I can see you’re okay. You’re okay. Yes.”

“If you need to say it out loud, you’re not.” Steve brushed her arm.

“No, I… I mean, it’s just that I know it wasn’t real, but it felt…” Her voice caught. “I saw it. I smelled the smoke and… and I thought…”

Bucky came up beside her, quiet and steady. “You don’t have to explain.”

“I wasn’t going to wake you,” she said. “I just needed to breathe, and the bed was too hot, and I didn’t want to wake you up over nothing…”

“It wasn’t nothing,” Steve said. “And we’re already up.”

Bucky nodded toward the bedroom. “Come sit. At least be warm while you try to settle.”

She let them guide her gently, but the moment she sat, her spine went rigid. The bed felt wrong; too heavy with heat, too thick with memory. She shifted, tried to tuck her feet under her, then stretched them out again. Her fingers fidgeted in her lap.

“You don’t have to lie down,” Steve said gently. “Or stay here. Just sit a minute.”

“I’m trying,” she said. “I just… I can’t…” She made a helpless motion toward her chest, fingers on her collarbone like she could clear the tightness with touch.

“For me,” Bucky said, “it can help to go outside. Just a walk. With Steve.”

Steve kissed her cheek.

“You’ve seen what works for me. Pretty much just Buck holding me. Or you holding me, now.”

She gave a weak breath of laughter, too thin to be true and moved to the bedroom window. “But that’s different. You’ve… you’ve got reasons.”

“So do you,” Steve said.

“Not like that.” Her hands curled a little, half-frustrated, half-defensive. “Yours matter.”

Bucky looked at her, long and quiet. “You think yours don’t?”

She didn’t answer.

“You think we’d rather hold each other than hold you?” Steve asked. He sounded more curious than anything.

“I think… I think it’s selfish to need too much. From people who’ve already been through so much more.”

Bucky got up. “Needing us isn’t selfish. Wanting us isn’t selfish. You gotta let us in, El.”

She put her arms around herself.

“Let’s go for a walk, sweetheart. We’re all awake now. It’ll be cool outside. You said it was too hot.”

He was already putting on clothes.

She nodded, small and stiff, as though the movement cost her something. “Alright. Just to the corner.”

Outside, the air was clean and cool. The city had folded in on itself for the night, streetlamps casting gold pools onto empty sidewalks, the occasional window still lit above them. They walked in silence at first.

The movement helped. The knot in her chest began to ease, loosened by the rhythm of their steps and the hush of leaves overhead. She felt it when Steve took a deep breath beside her and let it out slowly, the way he did when his own head was too full. Bucky’s fingers brushed her back once, twice, as though reminding himself she was there.

They walked past shuttered cafés, laundry strung over balconies, the smell of damp brick and the faint sharpness of asphalt cooling under moonlight. Her fingers found Bucky’s. A moment later, Steve took her other hand.

She started talking then.

“It was a fire.”

They both looked at her.

 “In the dream. There was so much smoke, I couldn’t… I couldn’t find you. I was on the floor, coughing. Looking for you. I was calling and calling. You didn’t answer.”

“Oh, Ellie.” Bucky’s voice was equal parts love and disbelief.

“What?”

“Even in your dreams, you’re too busy worrying about us to think about yourself.”

“I wasn’t…”

“You were.” He didn’t say it like an accusation. Just truth, laid bare.

Steve's voice was quiet beside her. “You always are.”

They kept walking. There was no clear destination until the trees of Prospect Park rose ahead, dark shapes against the stars.

The gates stood open. Inside, the gravel path crunched gently underfoot. Moonlight filtered through the leaves in silver fragments, enough to see by. The hush felt sacred.

Eleanor inhaled slowly. She felt the coolness on her skin, the damp scent of leaves and earth, the steady warmth of the men beside her. The knot in her chest had eased, not vanished, but loosened enough to let her breathe fully again. It had stopped being just a walk to shake off a nightmare. Somewhere between the street and the trees, it had become something else.

The gravel became a dirt trail. They slowed, their footsteps softening as the woods thickened around them.

Eventually, Steve paused by a slender, leaning tree. Perhaps a maple or elm, she couldn’t tell in the dark. He glanced at them.

“Give me a second?”

She nodded, still catching her breath from nothing in particular. Bucky stayed beside her while Steve pulled something from his pocket that glinted when the moon caught it.

He leaned in and began to carve, careful, slow. She could hear the faint scrape of blade on bark.

When he stepped back, he let her come closer.

Three letters, ringed by a soft heart: S + B + E

She reached out and touched the bark.

“Oh,” she said, and it was a breath, not a word.

“Just thought it should be somewhere.”

“It’s beautiful,” she whispered.

“We don’t have a name,” Bucky said softly, behind her. “Not one that fits. But we have this. Us. You, and me, and him.”

“And this tree,” she said, smiling now.

She turned to them, her heart tightening in a way that felt like light.

“Thank you. For the walk. For this.”

Steve kissed her, long enough to make her tummy start to do clumsy cartwheels.

“You keep us standing upright. It’s only fair we carve it into something that’ll last.”

She laughed, a small sound, a little embarrassed, but she didn’t look away. Her hands found theirs again.

They stood like that for a while, just touching, the three of them framed in moonlight and quiet, hearts pressed close to the night.

They got home sometime after four. The city was still asleep. The hallway smelled faintly of floor polish and Mrs Kennedy’s home-made apple cider from the day before. Steve unlocked the door, held it open, and Eleanor slipped in.

Bucky yawned as he kicked off his boots.

“Well,” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck, “I’m not really sleepy.”

“Sure,” Steve said dryly, already reaching for the light by the couch.

“No, I mean it,” Bucky insisted, though his words came around another yawn. “Just gonna sit for a second.”

Eleanor smirked. “Right.”

But he had already sunk into the armchair, one arm over the back, head tilted to the side.

By the time Steve came back with a glass of water, Bucky was asleep. Completely out. His metal hand slid off the armrest and hung down.

Eleanor covered her mouth to stifle a laugh.

Steve grinned and sat beside her on the couch. “Five minutes,” he whispered. “Tops.”

She curled against his side. “I’ve seen toddlers put up a better fight.”

Steve kissed her hair. “He’ll be sore in the morning, falling asleep like that.”

“We’ll pretend we warned him.”

They sat for a while in the quiet. The room still smelled faintly of candles from the night before. Bucky’s breathing was soft and steady. Eleanor and Steve kissed each other slowly, content to be touching. Eventually, she nudged his knee.

“I think I’m ready for bed now.”

She sat up, then crossed the room to kiss Bucky’s forehead.

“Come on, handsome. Time to lie down.”

Bucky cracked one eye open. “Wasn’t asleep.”

“Of course not.”

But he let them lead him to bed anyway.

They fell asleep wrapped around each other.

Chapter Text

Eleanor woke with her cheek on Steve’s back and Bucky’s arm snug around her waist. The memory of their moonlit stroll was the first thing on her mind. Her heart seemed too big for her chest. She kissed Bucky’s arm. Once. Twice. A few more times. Then Steve’s back, and his shoulders. He stirred. She moved to kiss his temple.

“Good morning, handsome.”

She shifted, but his hand caught the back of her head.

“More kisses.”

Smiling, she kissed the part of his face she could reach. Bucky’s arm tightened around her waist. His lips trailed from her neck to her shoulders, down the middle of her back. She turned around.

“Good morning, beautiful.”

He held her face in both of his hands.

“Good morning, gorgeous girl.”

They kissed slowly. She took his arms and wrapped them around her, then nudged Steve and took his arms too.

“Mmmm. This is nice.” Bucky’s eyes were closed again.

Eleanor kissed him again. Her hand moved from his chest to his belly, then lower. He hardened under her touch. She didn’t speak, just moved her leg to his hip. Steve’s fingers were on her breasts, his mouth on her neck, her ears. She gripped Bucky a little firmer.

“You want him, baby?” Steve murmured in her ear. She nodded, her hips moving. Bucky lifted her thigh higher over his hip, then touched her briefly between her legs. He put one hand on her cheek, then pushed himself inside of her.

“So pretty like this. All soft and sleepy.”

She locked one arm around Steve’s neck. Her other was rested against Bucky’s chest, fingers lightly on his jaw. Bucky moved slowly. Neither of them sought a release, just closeness. The kind that came from breathing together and feeling skin against skin.

Steve’s lips brushed her cheek. His fingers traced patterns over her breast, then down her side, until his hand rested just above her hip.

“You feel good?” Bucky asked, not even thrusting now, just staying buried deep.

Eleanor nodded, her eyes closed. “Mhm. Stay like this.”

He leaned in to kiss her temple, her cheek, the corner of her mouth. “I could stay like this all day.”

They held there, still, quiet, wrapped in each other, until her breathing slowed again and Bucky gently pulled back, slipping out of her with a kiss to her shoulder.

His stomach rumbled.

She grinned.

“Hungry, Barnes?”

Then, behind her, Steve’s stomach made a similar noise. Bucky laughed.

“Not you too, Rogers!”

Steve kissed her hair.

“That’s what you got when you chose us, honey.”

“Fine. But I’m just having tea for now. It’s too early for eggs. Or toast.”

“Toast is an all-day food. No such thing as too early, doll.”

Bucky got up and put on his cotton joggers. He cast one look at Steve and her, a wicked grin appearing on his face.

“I feel like today, we might as well leave most of our clothes off. Saves us the hassle of putting them back on.”

He left the room before Eleanor could think of a clever retort.

Eleanor wrapped herself in her threadbare robe before following the sound of cupboard doors opening and the soft clink of mugs. Bucky had the kettle on, one hip leaning against the counter, shirtless and smug.

She bumped his hip as she passed. “That was shameless.”

He shrugged, grinning. “Efficient.”

Steve wandered in five minutes later, nothing but a towel around his waist, hair damp from a quick rinse. He moved behind her and kissed the back of her shoulder like it was second nature, then reached around for the coffee.

Eleanor moved her chair so her leg could touch Steve’s while he was buttering four slices of toast. Bucky was on his third egg. The gentle tap of rain filled the apartment with the first sounds of autumn. She got up and walked to the living room windows.

“That looks like it might rain for a while.”

She wandered to the bookshelves.

“Would you mind if I borrowed Sense and Sensibility? I promise to protect it with my life,” she called to Bucky.

“Feeling romantic, sweetheart?”

“You’ve read it four times,” Steve said.

“Hey! That’s not for public knowledge.”

Eleanor smiled and pulled the book from the shelves.

She was brushing her teeth when Steve walked into the bathroom. He stood very close to her as he opened the tube of toothpaste, then even closer when he ran the tap. His hand was on her backside. She stepped aside. He moved with her. Eleanor turned around.

“May I help you?” her voice was low.

“I think you may.”

He kissed her and pulled her off the ground in one move. Her legs settled around his hips automatically. He tasted minty. She kissed his jaw, then moved to his ear. Her teeth grazed his earlobe. He moved till her back was against the wall.

“Oh! That’s cold.”

“I’ll warm you,” he promised and pulled her underwear to the side, then slid into her. She groaned and put her nails in his back.

“Knew you’d be wet for me.”

He thrust once, deep and slow, and Eleanor gasped against his shoulder. Steve groaned into her neck. “You feel so good, baby.”

Then the bathroom door creaked open.

“Well, well.” Bucky’s voice was warm and amused. “You two started without me?”

Steve didn’t look over, didn’t even stop. “She was asking for it.”

Eleanor let out something between a laugh and a whimper. “I was… oh, yes… I was brushing my teeth.”

“Yeah?” Bucky stepped in, bare-chested and grinning, and leaned against the doorframe. “Sure didn’t sound like it just now.”

He stepped forward, hand brushing down her side. “I love seeing you like this.” His fingers traced over her ribs, then lower. “You gonna let me touch you too?”

Steve growled, low and fond. “She’s letting you do anything you want.”

Bucky kissed her, then kissed Steve’s cheek. “Alright, sweetheart,” he murmured, “let’s make this a real morning.”

Steve adjusted his grip on her thighs, still buried deep, breath hot against her neck.

Bucky dropped to his knees on the bathroom tile. “Hold her steady for me.”

“I’ve got her,” Steve murmured.

Bucky’s hands slid up Eleanor’s legs, slow and sure, then hooked her underwear down her thighs and let them fall around one ankle. He kissed the inside of her knee, then higher, and grinned when she gasped.

“Already shaking,” he said softly. “God, you’re gorgeous like this.”

His mouth was on her a moment later. Gentle at first, teasing, just the flat of his tongue where she was stretched around Steve. Her head fell back against the wall with a thump.

“Oh, God…”

“Don’t close your eyes,” Steve whispered. “Look at him.”

She obeyed. Bucky looked up from between her legs, his eyes dark and full of want, lips wet. His tongue flicked higher now, over her clit, while Steve rocked into her in short, slow thrusts.

She made a sound in the back of her throat.

Bucky’s mouth stayed on her, licking and sucking, tongue timed to Steve’s rhythm. His hands gripped her thighs, steadying her even as she trembled.

“Gonna come for us, pretty Ellie?” Steve murmured. “Like this, right here with both of us?”

Eleanor couldn’t answer. Her whole body tightened. Bucky didn’t stop. If anything, he went harder, lips wrapped around her clit now, groaning into her like he couldn’t get enough.

She clenched around Steve. Her whole body jerked in their arms. Her cry echoed off the tile.

Steve held her through it. Bucky kissed her thigh, then the other, then stood slowly and cupped her cheek, brushing hair back from her forehead.

“Goddamn,” he said, voice rough. “That was beautiful.”

She panted and hooked her legs around Steve.

“So greedy.” But he smiled, before he clenched his teeth and drove into her harder. His face was in her hair, breath hot on her ear. Eleanor felt so satisfied, so hot, so good, the words spilled from her lips as though she’d been thinking them for days.

“You still feel me squeeze you? Like this? Feel how wet you and Bucky got me?”

Steve let out a low growl and his hands tightened under her thighs. He drove into her harder, deeper, like he was trying to answer her with his body.

“Christ, yes,” he panted. “Still feel you, clenching. All slick and tight…”

His hips stuttered. He kissed her neck, open-mouthed and hot, almost frantic. “You’re so perfect. Ours.”

Bucky, still standing close, looked wrecked, flushed and breathing hard. She reached out for him. He brought her hand down on him through his trousers.

“Keep talking like that, sweetheart, and I’m gonna come just from watching.”

Steve came with a groan, burying his face in her neck as his hips jerked once, twice more. She felt the warmth of him spill inside her and shivered at the sensation.

He held her a moment longer, chest heaving, arms tight around her. Then he eased her down slowly, gently, her feet touching the tile again.

She was trembling, flushed and breathless, still wet and filled and aching, but her eyes were already on Bucky.

He stood just a step away, still hard under his joggers, lips parted, watching her like he couldn’t believe her.

Eleanor slid to her knees without a word.

Bucky’s breath caught. “Jesus…”

She tugged his waistband down and took him into her mouth before he could finish the thought. Her lips wrapped around him, tongue already teasing, her fingers curling around the base.

Steve wrapped one arm around Bucky, kissed him.

“I can still taste her on you. Look at our girl, Buck. Still dripping with me and already got her mouth on you.”

She took in a little more of him, finding a smooth rhythm. Her hands steadied herself on his thighs. Bucky rocked into her mouth, careful at first, then harder as her tongue coaxed him. His head fell onto Steve’s neck. The tiles were cold under her knees, but Eleanor didn’t care. All she wanted was to make Bucky feel as good as he made her feel. She moved faster when she felt his muscles flex.

“God, baby, you feel so good,” he gasped. “Gonna come for you. Gonna come just like this…”

She looked up at him as he broke, swallowing him down, his hands clenched in her hair as his body shook.

He sagged back against Steve, dazed.

She stayed on her knees, catching her breath, still tasting him. Bucky’s hand was gentle in her hair now, smoothing it back, his thumb brushing the edge of her jaw.

“Jesus Christ,” he whispered, eyes wide and tender. “Come here.”

He helped her up slowly, steadying her even though she didn’t need it. His hands held her hips, his mouth met hers, sweetly, even after all they’d just done. He kissed her like he’d missed her.

Steve kissed her hair, then Bucky’s cheek. She leaned into them.

“Now I’ll have breakfast.”

She perched on the counter, still wearing her nightdress and a robe, humming an up-tempo song.

Bucky fussed at the toaster.

“You said bacon and toast,” he said, adjusting the dial like it was a sensitive machine part. “So you’re getting both. Perfectly golden toast and crispy bacon. Just wait.”

Steve poured her tea, added the tiniest splash of milk the way she liked it. His fingers brushed hers when he handed her the cup. The bacon was sizzling in the pan.

“I could’ve made it myself,” she said.

“We know,” Steve said, smiling as he leaned on the counter beside her.

Bucky looked over his shoulder. “But why should you, when you’ve got us?”

The toast popped up. He caught it one-handed and inspected it like a jeweller with a diamond. “Look at that. Flawless.”

She rolled her eyes, but her smile gave her away. “I’m honoured by your devotion to bread, Barnes.”

“You should be. It’s an art.” He winked and reached for the butter.

She was drying her hair after her shower when Bucky walked into the bedroom. Her skin prickled again. She pushed him down onto the bed and climbed on top of him, riding him until her thighs trembled. Then Steve took her, pressing her onto her back, one leg over his shoulder, eyes locked on hers the entire time. When they got up again, she didn’t bother with her underwear, just slipped into a soft cotton dress. Bucky had been right.

Eleanor was curled up on the couch with her legs tucked under her, Sense and Sensibility propped open against her thighs. The afternoon light was golden through the curtains, and the silence in the room was companionable, broken only by the soft rustle of pages turning and pencils scratching and Bucky sanding a piece of wood.

“Why do you keep pulling that face?” Steve’s voice drifted from the other side of the room.

She didn’t look up. “Colonel Brandon is far too old for Marianne. I know it was different in those times, but still. She’s only seventeen.”

“Wait, I thought you had just started reading that?” Bucky asked.

“Yes, I did, seventy-five minutes ago or so?”

“What page are you on?”

“Ninety-two.”

He set down his rag and walked over, peering at her with mock incredulity. “You sure you’re not secretly a machine?”

“Just a woman with a good education and no distractions,” she said sweetly, though her eyes flicked toward him, clearly amused. “At least until you started making fun of me.”

They watched her for a beat. Then Steve said, “You always read like this?”

“Like what?”

“Like you’re gonna walk into the book and give someone a lecture.”

She looked back to the page. “Only when they deserve it.”

“So does Brandon deserve it or Marianne?”

“Marianne doesn’t deserve anything bad. She’s a bit impulsive, but very caring,” Eleanor said. She sank back into the book. Twenty minutes later, she spoke again.

“Willoughby seems charming. I mean, he reads poetry, carries her home when she twists her ankle, calls her by her first name after two conversations…”

“Oh sweetheart,” Bucky said, low and full of warning, “you’re gonna get your heart broken.”

She made a face, but didn’t answer.

Steve leaned in. “You know how it ends, right?”

“Yes, but I don’t know why it ends that way. Yet.”

“And still you’re defending him?” Bucky grinned, hand sliding along her bare calf. “Eleanor. Sweetheart. You fall fast, don’t you?”

“No,” she said, though her voice betrayed her. “Not like that.”

Steve’s hand brushed the back of her neck. “No? What about us?”

She looked up at him sharply.

“Wasn’t that fast.”

“No? When was it, then?” Steve’s tone had shifted from playful to earnest.

Eleanor reached for her bookmark and closed the book.

“I’m not entirely sure. I think I probably liked you from the first time we met. That Tuesday in March. Then, well, there was that issue with the bookcase.”

“Like Marianne twisted her ankle.” Bucky sat down next to her.

“I am not like Marianne.”

“True. You’re more like Elinor. What’s in a name, right?”

Steve kissed her knee. “You were saying, Ellie?”

“It’s difficult. I… I knew I wanted to get to know you early on. Within a few weeks. And…” her cheeks burned.

Bucky picked up on it immediately.

“Bet you thought we were handsome!”

She whacked him with a pillow.

“Yes, if you must know! Yes. The moment you opened the door I thought you were good-looking. I wasn’t going to do anything, of course. It was just a thought.”

“You want to know what I thought?”

“Lord save me. Tell me, then.”

“Thought you looked like spring came early. Then you opened your mouth and that English accent came out…”

She looked at Bucky from the corner of her eye. He glanced at Steve.

“Wouldn’t have minded kissing you right then.”

Eleanor kissed his cheek.

“Well, you got your wish in the end.”

Steve’s hand came down on her knee.

“You haven’t answered me yet.”

“Alright. It wasn’t one specific day, of course. It was little things you did. And then things I noticed about myself. Remember when you attached the bookcase to my wall, Bucky? I kept wanting to touch your hand. And when Steve drove me to work, before that. I remember having this weird desire to stroke your cheek. I looked forward to every Friday dinner, it was always the highlight of my week. It was a bit odd, because I was technically just your neighbour. Then, Frederick fell. And you showed up here in the middle of the night. As though it made perfect sense you’d help me. But not because you’d do it for anyone, but because it was me. I was sad and worried, so worried about Frederick. At the same time, when you held my hand then, Bucky, a little part of my was hoping that drive to Idlewood could take longer. Well, then I came back. You know what happened…”

“Still have the scars on my soul to prove it,” Bucky mumbled.

“When I got back to my apartment, I felt a million things. I wasn’t very shocked, because in hindsight there’d been some clues. But I felt this inexplicable sadness. I cried. Not even sure why. I guess for what I was sure I would never have. That should have been a big sign for me that I was a bit overly attached. I was a bit busy though. Sadness was kind of fighting with a dozen other emotions.”

Bucky’s brow furrowed, just slightly.

“What kind of emotions?”

She hesitated, her gaze dropping to Steve’s hand on her knee.

“Confusion,” she said. “Longing. A bit of embarrassment.”

Steve didn’t say anything, but his fingers tightened ever so slightly.

“Right then? Right after you saw us?”

“Yes.” She swallowed. “You were kissing, and Steve, your shirt was off, and then Bucky spoke to you like that. It was probably the most erotic thing I’d ever seen.”

Steve made a low sound, not quite a groan.

“I felt like someone had punched me,” she said. “Not because I was upset. But because it hit me all at once… how much I wanted you both.”

She paused, then spoke again, voice quieter. “I wanted to touch you. I wanted to be touched. It was physical. Immediate. I’d missed you so much and then I saw you like that and…”

Bucky let out a breath, slow and deliberate.

“But you didn’t say anything.”

“What was I supposed to say?” Eleanor gave a small, helpless laugh. “Nice to see you again, mind if I join?”

Steve leaned forward and kissed her gently.

“Yes,” he murmured. “That.”

She chuckled softly at the thought.

“You’d have called a mental institution.”

Bucky laughed, too. Differently. “Please. We’d have cleared the sofa, this sofa, in fact, in under five seconds.”

“Oh, yeah,” Steve added, voice gone low. “I’d have made room on my lap, real fast.”

His hand was still on her knee. It slipped higher, slow and steady, warm beneath the hem of her dress.

Eleanor swallowed. “Steve…”

He kissed her, open-mouthed and deep, one long stroke of tongue that made her toes curl.

“I’d have touched you everywhere,” he whispered against her lips, then his mouth trailed to her neck.

“I’d have found this spot,” his tongue pressed down just below her ear, “and my fingers would have touched you here, between your legs.”

Bucky didn’t speak. He was watching, hands gone still, chest rising slow. Steve didn’t look away from her.

“I’d have put you on your back, right there. Your head in Bucky’s lap. Pulled up your dress and made you mine.”

Her hand found his shoulder, nails catching on his shirt.

“I had missed you too,” he said. “Missed you, thought about you, talked about you.”

He kissed her again, harder this time. He pulled her hips down until she was on her back, her head in Bucky’s lap.

“Look at that. Just like I would’ve had you in June.”

He pushed her dress up to her waist and spread her legs. Her breath hitched when his fingers brushed her clit.

“Your shirt’s still on,” she said.

“Cheeky girl. But I suppose you’re right.” He took his shirt off.

“Better?’

“Everything’s better with your shirt off.”

Steve grinned in the most Bucky-like fashion. Then, so fast she barely saw him move, his mouth descended on her breast. She gasped when his teeth grazed her nipple, just enough to make her arch. He sucked until she whimpered, his fingers never pausing between her legs.

“Good girl,” he murmured, breath damp against her skin. “That’s it. Let me feel you tighten…”

She did. Her hips lifted, her whole body drawn taut beneath his mouth and hands. Bucky held her head as she came, whispering low praise into her hair.

Steve didn’t stop until she shuddered and gasped and reached for his wrist. Only then did he ease off, kissing her belly, her hip, the inside of her thigh.

“Beautiful,” he said.

Still flushed, Eleanor rolled onto her front, hips lifted just slightly in invitation. Bucky’s hand was steady on her back, sliding down. He knelt behind her and guided himself inside in one smooth stroke.

“God, Ellie. You’re so fuckin’ perfect. Not sure I’m ever gonna let you leave.”

Steve knelt on the sofa in front of her. She looked up at him and opened her mouth without a word.

Steve groaned. His hand cupped her cheek, thumb brushing her lips as he slid himself in, slow, careful, watching her eyes. She hummed around him, relaxed into it, letting Bucky fill her from behind and Steve from the front.

“That’s it,” Bucky groaned. “Take us both, sweetheart.”

Steve cradled her face with both hands, gentle even as his hips began to move. She rocked between them. Then Bucky moved a little faster and Eleanor couldn’t help the groan that escaped her. He stilled immediately.

“You alright, baby?”

She moved her mouth away from Steve.

“Yes. Yes. Just… a bit tender.”

Bucky pulled out of her gently.

“No, no, I want you…”

“Shhh. We’ve got all day.”

Bucky moved her up into a sitting position. He kissed her, still hungry, still hot. Steve shifted. He kissed Bucky’s neck, his hands on his Bucky’s stomach. Bucky turned around. Eleanor looked up at them as they kissed.

Steve lay down on the couch, his cheek against her leg. Bucky knelt between his Steve’s legs. He reached out, his fingers brushing softly along Steve’s hip, gentle and reassuring.

“Ready for me?” he murmured.

Steve nodded. Eleanor slid onto the floor and held Steve’s hands. Bucky moved carefully.

“Tell me if it’s too much,” Bucky said.

Steve tilted his hips in response.

Inch by inch, Bucky eased inside Steve. Eleanor could see each move on Steve’s face, the way his lips parted, the way his eyes narrowed and then widened. When Bucky had settled deep inside Steve, a soft sound escaped from them both.

Bucky’s hands gripped Steve’s hip, steady and sure as he began to move, pressing deeper with each thrust. Steve’s hand tangled in Eleanor’s hair, pulling her closer. His eyes were locked on hers, raw and intense. She held his face. Bucky’s other hands gripped Steve a little harder, pulling him back just enough to catch his breath.

“Fuck,” Steve whispered.

Bucky’s hips rolled harder, driving deeper, and Steve’s breath hitched sharply. His head dropped, resting against the cushions, eyes closed, surrendering to the movement.

Bucky leaned forward, mouth brushing the curve of Steve’s neck, voice a low murmur. “You’re mine. Always.”

Steve’s breath hitched again, a soft grunt escaping him. Bucky groaned low, hand gripping Steve’s hip tighter as he drove deep one last time. A shudder ran through him as his muscles clenched.

Steve panted softly, his body trembling beneath Bucky’s. Eleanor pressed her mouth against his jaw, with no intention to kiss him. She stayed like that until Bucky sat down and Steve had turned onto his back. Bucky caught Eleanor’s gaze and gave a slow, lazy smile.

“You okay down there?”

She smirked back.

“Right where I want to be.” She kissed Steve’s temple.

Her legs were trembling just a little. She liked it. Liked the hum beneath her skin, the soft ache low in her belly, the way every step reminded her how wanted she’d been.

The kitchen looked like they’d all forgotten how to live like regular people: mugs on the counter, a shirt draped over a chair, Bucky’s belt on the floor beside the table. She picked it up and looped it neatly. There was a drying patch of something near the sink, and the faint smell of lemon oil, maybe from Steve cleaning the chopping board earlier. The sun had moved; it lit up the top shelves now, throwing gold across the tile.

She reached for the fridge, thinking vaguely of what they might have left. Cheese, probably, tomatoes, other fresh vegetables, perhaps leftovers from Thursday. Before she could even open the door, she heard the high-pitched noise of a drill.

She followed it.

Bucky was on the floor of the living room, drilling holes in the same piece of wood he’d been sanding earlier.

“There’s sawdust in the rug,” she said softly.

He grinned without stopping. “Good thing we don’t have any guests coming.”

Eleanor crossed her arms, smiling. “You planning to sand the whole apartment?”

“Just this. Thought you could use somewhere nicer to keep your dried herbs.”

Her throat caught for a second, but she said nothing, just sank slowly down onto the arm of the sofa.

Steve walked in a moment later, towelling off his hair, loose cotton trousers slung low. “Hey,” he said, leaning down to kiss her temple. “Don’t touch dinner. We’ve got it covered.”

“Do you?”

“Yup.” He tipped his head toward the kitchen. “Bucky started some pasta dough yesterday. I’m doing the sauce.”

“Oh,” she said, caught off guard. “What sort of sauce?”

“Garlic, herbs, tomatoes. And those little sweet peppers you like.”

She drew him in for a longer kiss. “Thank you.”

“Anything for you.”

Bucky drilled three more holes, blowing off the corners and checking the distance between each one. Steve was humming something in the kitchen as he cut up onions. The windows were open. A breeze stirred the curtains. Someone down the block was playing a trumpet badly. It all felt very far from the rest of the world.

Eleanor shifted on the sofa, leaning down to rest her hand on Bucky’s shoulder. He’d moved to sit on the sofa, sorting some screws. “Did you really make that for my herbs?”

He looked up, his eyes flicking briefly to her face, then lower. “Of course I did.”

“I mean it. You…”

Her voice hitched. His fingers had splayed across her thigh, bare under her dress, his thumb brushing high. Not quite a caress, not quite a warning. But enough.

“Keep talking,” he murmured, sanding the inside corner of the tray with a slow, circular motion. “I’m listening.”

She swallowed, her cheeks warm again. “You… you didn’t have to…”

Bucky’s left arm moved next, cold and steady, pressing lightly against her back to guide her down, just a little, just enough that she was straddling one denim-clad thigh. He looked entirely unbothered, all steady workman’s rhythm and idle focus, like he wasn’t doing anything at all. But she could feel the flex of his leg, just enough tension to make her breath catch.

“I didn’t have to,” he repeated, tone mild, “but I wanted to. You get all these little bags on your counter and in the cupboards and even in a mug on the windowsill.”

“That mug is very useful,” she said faintly.

“Mmhm,” he said, and tensed his thigh again.

Her hands landed on his shoulders for balance, the dress riding further up her leg. She bit her lip. Tried to breathe.

“You’re not being fair.”

“I know.”

Across the room, Steve called, “Everything alright in there?”

Bucky didn’t answer. He slid his left hand between her knees, just resting it there, feather-light. She was still too sensitive, and he knew it, she squirmed, just slightly, then whimpered when his flesh hand settled on her hip, holding her in place.

“Buck…” she whispered.

“Not going to fuck you,” he said, very quietly. “Not yet.”

“Then what…”

“You’re gonna rub yourself raw on my thigh while Steve finishes dinner.”

“Oh my God…”

“He won’t mind,” Bucky murmured, finally lifting his eyes. “He loves hearing you beg.”

She would’ve argued. She really would have. But his thigh flexed again, and her hips moved without permission, and the next thing she knew she was burying her face in his neck, whispering his name on a gasp.

Eleanor moved once, her hips barely shifting forward, and impatiently took off the dress when it got stuck between her legs. Bucky hummed low in his throat. “That’s it. Just like that.”

“Bucky, I can’t…” Her voice broke. Her body was already climbing back up, nerve endings flickering back to life.

“You can.” He laid the tray of screws aside, slow and careful, then leaned in. His lips brushed her collarbone. “You want it.”

“I do,” she breathed.

“Then let me have you like this. Slow. Soft.” He kissed lower, open-mouthed over her breast, tongue flicking at the peak. “Gonna make you so dumb you forget what dinner is.”

She choked on a laugh, which turned into a moan when his thigh flexed again and his hand tightened on her waist. She rutted down without meaning to, dizzy with it, her forehead dropping to his shoulder again.

The sauce in the kitchen hissed. A drawer opened. Closed.

Bucky didn’t stop. He moved his hand between her thighs, knuckles brushing softly — not enough, just enough to tease.

“I thought you said…”

“I’m not fucking you,” he murmured. “But you can fuck me all you want.”

That did something to her. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, one knee slipping wide. His thigh shifted upward and she ground herself against the muscle, hips catching a rhythm before she could think better of it.

“Oh,” Steve said. She turned her head toward the kitchen. He was standing there, wooden spoon still in one hand, shirt clinging faintly to his chest from the heat of the stove. His eyes dropped to her bare frame and he exhaled, slow and low.

“Smelled something burning,” he said. “Guess it’s just you.”

She made a helpless noise, somewhere between laughter and shame.

“You should see her,” Bucky said, looking up at Steve with a smile that Eleanor felt had no business being that sexy. “She’s soaked the seam of my jeans. And she’s not even close yet.”

Steve crossed the room in three long strides. He kissed her before she could say a word, one hand tilting her chin up, the other slipping behind her back to hold her steady. She moaned into it, body still rocking slowly on Bucky’s thigh.

“Think you’ve earned a little reward,” Steve murmured, lips against her cheek, then her ear. “But not yet. Keep going.”

“You’re awful,” she whimpered.

“You love it.”

Against her better judgement, she did. So she moved again, slower this time, her folds dragging slick over rough denim. She was still too tender, and the friction made her twitch, but that only made it worse. And then better. Her eyes were glassy. Her hips rolled. Bucky kissed her neck. Steve dropped to his knees behind her, ran one warm hand down her spine, and pressed two fingers just above her backside.

“Wanna keep her right here,” Bucky said, voice thick. “Think she’s almost there.”

Steve kissed her shoulder. “Yeah. Let’s keep her there a while.”

She was panting now, hips slicking back and forth on Bucky’s thigh, her breath catching every time his fingers so much as brushed her. Steve stayed kneeling behind her, murmuring soft, awful things, how good she looked like this, how proud they were, how tight she’d be when they finally…

“Please,” she whispered, half-gasped. “I’m, oh, God, I’m…”

Bucky caught her chin in his hand and tipped her head up.

“Not yet.”

His thigh stopped moving. His hand disappeared. Steve’s breath was still hot at her ear, but the touch had gone. Everything had gone. Her whole body jolted, grinding down once more in protest, but Bucky held her hips in place.

“No,” he said, firm this time. “Don’t you come.”

“You…”

She felt betrayed. Genuinely wounded.

“Bad?” Bucky said, brows raised. “Or delicious?”

“I hate you both.”

“Sure you do.” Steve kissed the side of her neck. “Poor thing. You’re soaked. Bet you’d let us do anything right now.”

“I wouldn’t let you stop me, are you absolutely out of…”

But Bucky kissed her then, hot, deep, one hand cupping her jaw, and she fell apart in the middle of the sentence.

And just when she started again, just when she built back up, hands clawing at Steve’s arm, her hips finding that rhythm again with a keening, half-feral sound…

They stopped her again.

This time, she growled. Actually growled. She threw her head back and shouted, “Are you joking?”

Bucky bit her lip. Steve stood up.

“Dinner,” he said.

She blinked.

“You… you can’t be serious…”

“We made fresh pasta,” Bucky said. “It’s got to be cooked now or the dough’ll go gummy.”

“I am going to kill you.”

“Sweetheart,” Steve said, handing Eleanor her dress casually, “you’re going to sit at the table, eat your dinner, and thank us.”

“For what?”

“For what comes after.”

She sat at the dinner table stiffly, thighs pressed tight, mouth scowling and eyes bright.

Bucky spooned sauce onto her plate.

Steve offered her grated cheese.

Neither one of them looked remotely sorry.

“You two are monsters,” she said.

“Mm,” Steve said, mouth full. “But you love us.”

“Absolutely not. I despise you. Truly.”

Bucky winked. “Tell us if you want a third helping. Of anything.”

She did not eat a bite.

They didn’t stop smiling once.

The pasta went cold on her plate.

Neither man seemed in a hurry.

Steve was drinking water. Bucky sat back, one ankle crossed over his knee, the picture of lazy satisfaction.

“So,” Bucky said, swirling his wine, “any thoughts on dessert?”

Eleanor made a noise somewhere between a scoff and a groan. “You’re dessert.”

Steve arched a brow. “You think you’ve earned that?”

She stared at him, utterly scandalised. “I think…?”

“I don’t remember hearing a single ‘please,’” he went on, as if it were a legal argument. “Not a proper one.”

Bucky nodded solemnly. “She did say she hated us.”

“Multiple times.”

Eleanor pushed her chair back. Not a big motion, just enough to signal rebellion. She stood slowly, arms loose at her sides, then walked over to where Bucky sat and, without asking, climbed into his lap. She pulled her dress up a little and straddled his thighs and kissed the corner of his mouth.

“I want you to touch me again.” Her lips brushed his jaw. “I want to come on your thigh. Or your hand. Or Steve. I don’t care. I need it.”

Steve pushed his chair back with a low scrape of wood on tile and came to stand behind her.

“That’s better,” he murmured, fingers sliding gently into her hair. “But you can do better.”

Her breath caught.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. “Please. I’ll be good. I’ll be so good, I promise…”

Bucky caught her chin, tilting her face up.

“You want to come, doll?”

She nodded.

“Then beg like it.”

She hesitated for a second, but the heat in her belly was twisting, aching, and her thighs were already slick again. Bucky moved his hand over her bottom.

“Please,” Eleanor whispered. “Please make me come. I’ve been good all day, and I’m aching, and it hurts. I need it. I’ll do anything you want. Please, please.”

Steve groaned low behind her, mouth at her ear.

Bucky’s grip tightened.

“Yeah,” he said. “That’ll do.”

“Get up,” Bucky said, voice gone rough. “Go sit on the edge of the bed.”

She stood on shaky legs. Steve kissed her shoulder, then gave her a pat on her butt, like sending her on her way. She froze. It hadn’t been hard. A casual, almost careless tap, but it seared through her like a lightning bolt. Her breath stuttered out of her, thighs clenching. Her heart pounded.

Behind her, there was a pause. A shift in the air.

“Jesus,” Bucky muttered. “You see that?”

Steve made a sound low in his throat. “Oh, yeah.”

Eleanor didn’t dare turn around. She was already blushing furiously, but she walked to the bedroom and sat down own obediently, fingers trembling in her lap.

They followed a moment later. Steve leaned against the doorway, Bucky stayed by the dresser, both of them half-dressed. Both of them looking at her.

“Open your legs,” Steve said.

She did, slowly.

“Touch yourself,” Bucky said. “But don’t come.”

She whimpered. Actually whimpered. But her fingers dipped down all the same.

It wasn’t even a rhythm. Just pressure, just contact, and already her body was desperate to tip. Her lips parted around a gasp, hips rocking without her permission.

And then Steve pushed down his cotton trousers. Dropped them to the ground. Next, he unbuttoned Bucky’s jeans. Eleanor’s fingers moved faster.

“Slower,” Bucky warned.

She let out a whine.

“You want me?” he asked.

“Yes…” she moaned.

“You want to sit pretty in my lap and ride me slow until you fall apart?”

“Please…”

“Then stop touching yourself.”

She did, instantly.

Bucky stepped forward and knelt in front of her, pulled her knees wider. He didn’t touch, not yet, just blew softly over her swollen sex and watched her writhe.

“Think she’s ready?” Steve asked.

Bucky smirked. “She’s been ready since dinner.”

“Let’s make her wait just a bit longer.”

“Please,” she moaned. “Please, I’ve done what you asked, please.”

Steve sat down on the bed. “C’mere.”

She surged to him, feeling eager, almost dizzy, and he caught her waist, helped her straddle his thighs. His pressed thick and hot against her. She moaned low in her throat.

“Slow,” Bucky said behind her.

Steve leaned back, arms loose, letting her move how she liked. And she did, grinding down against him, her hands on his chest, her lips parted with every stuttering breath.

“You look so needy like this,” Steve murmured. “Like you’d cry if I told you no again.”

She gasped.

Bucky came up behind her, hand sliding into her hair. “Would you cry, baby?”

She whimpered.

“I think she would,” Steve said, twitching beneath her. “She’s shaking. Fuck. I could come just watching her.”

“Don’t,” Bucky warned, voice rough. “We’re not done.”

Steve’s hand moved to her hip. His other slid down, gripped himself, right at her entrance.

“Is this what you want?” he asked.

She looked down, nodded frantically. “Yes, please, let me…”

“You want to sink down slow and feel every inch?”

“Yes…”

“You want to take your time?” Bucky whispered in her ear. “Show us how grateful you are?”

“I’ll be good,” she swore, desperate. “I’ll be so good, please, let me…”

Steve lined her up.

Bucky held her hips.

She sank down half an inch.

And they stopped her.

Bucky’s grip tightened. Steve didn’t move.

“Wait…no…”

“Not yet,” Steve said, low and stern.

“You said…”

“We say a lot of things,” Bucky murmured. “Doesn’t mean we’re ready to let you come.”

She was panting again. Wild-eyed. Her hands fisted in Steve’s shoulders, her hips trying to drop again, but Bucky held her firm.

“You’re going to sit here,” he said, “with Steve’s cock right there, and you’re going to keep still.”

Eleanor squirmed, moaned, whimpered, trying to get more friction.

“You’re going to leak on me,” Steve added, “and beg like the sweet girl you are.”

“I am begging!”

“Then beg prettier.”

She broke.

Whined, sobbed, buried her face in Steve’s neck and let out something soft and filthy.

“I need it,” she gasped. “Please, I need it so badly, I’ll say anything, I’ll do anything, I want you, I need you, I have to have it, please.”

“Oh,” Bucky said, breath catching. “Now that’s begging.”

Steve’s eyes darkened. “Think we’ve made her wait long enough?”

“Almost.”

They held her there, one breath, two breaths, three frantic breaths longer.

Then Bucky said, “Alright, sweetheart. Take what you need.”

She didn’t hesitate this time. Her hips dropped and Steve groaned as she slid down onto him. He filled her inch by inch, and she whimpered at the stretch, at the unbearable relief of it.

Steve caught her hips. Held her steady.

“That’s it,” he murmured, voice thick. “There you go. Fuck, you feel like heaven.”

She was already shaking. Her hands clutched at his shoulders, her forehead dropped to his neck.

“Ride,” Bucky whispered. “Nice and slow.”

She tried, but she’d been edged too long, teased too hard. The moment she began to move, the pressure came roaring back and her rhythm faltered.

“Can’t…” she gasped. “It’s, Steve, I...”

“Take it,” Steve growled, snapping his hips up once and a scream tore from her throat.

Bucky stepped in behind her, hand in her hair, the other pressing down between her shoulder blades to arch her back. “You said you’d let us wreck you, baby. You said anything.”

“I did. I meant it, I… oh God...”

She was sobbing now, hips rolling frantically, the pace messy, desperate. Steve thrust up into her again, and again, letting her do the work but meeting it, catching her deep each time until she was nothing but noise and sweat and need.

“Look at her,” Bucky breathed, watching the way she clung to Steve. “She’s gone.”

“You gonna come for us?” Steve said.

“Please…”

“You wanna come like a good girl, crying on my cock while Bucky pulls your hair?”

“Yes, please…”

That was all they needed.

Bucky’s hand slid into her hair, tight and firm. Steve pulled her down harder. Eleanor’s body contorted, she bit Steve’s shoulder, she scratched his back with her nails.

They didn’t stop.

“Again,” Bucky said, already pressing two fingers to her clit.

“Wait, no… I…”

Steve held her in place, kept her full, let her twitch and writhe and gasp.

“One more,” he murmured. “You’ve got it in you. Come on, pretty Ellie. One more.”

“I can’t… I’m, Bucky… please”

“Yes you can.”

They built her back up. Tore her open again. Her hips jerked between them, she didn’t speak, didn’t scream, just moaned. She collapsed against Steve’s chest.

Bucky kissed her temple.

Steve stroked her spine.

“Good girl,” one of them said. Maybe both.

She slumped against Steve, his arms the only thingy holding her up. Her thighs were soaked. She was still pulsing around him in slow, helpless aftershocks.

Steve kissed the top of her head. Bucky’s hands were gentle now, skimming her spine, brushing her hair off her face.

“There you go,” Bucky whispered. “You did so good for us.”

She nodded, or tried to, cheek pressed to Steve’s shoulder. He was still hard inside her. She lifted her head slowly, eyes going wide, lips parted.

“You didn’t…”

Steve gave her a slow smile. “Didn’t want to rush you.”

She looked up at him, dazed.

Then slid off his lap and knelt between Steve’s knees.

Lifted her eyes.

And said, “Let me.”

His breath caught. “Honey…”

“Please. I want to. I, I think I need to. Let me be good for you.”

Bucky groaned behind her. “She’s so fuckin’ sweet.”

Steve looked at her, his hand on her cheek.

“Go on then,” he said, voice hoarse.

She leaned in, hands braced on his thighs, mouth hovering just above him. Then she took him in, slow and careful.

Steve moaned quietly.

Eleanor’s fingers wrapped delicately around the base. The scent of her own arousal was still thick on his skin. She swirled her tongue around him, then sucked a little harder.

“That’s it. Fuck, you’re…. Jesus, you’re good at that.”

She worked him slow at first, savouring it, cheeks hollowing. She was still trembling, her knees barely supported her weight but she gave everything she had.

Bucky came to stand behind her. Crouched low. Whispered into her ear, “Look at you. Messy little thing. You were made for this.”

She whimpered and took Steve deeper.

“Don’t stop,” Steve gritted. “I’m close. You want it, baby? Want me in that pretty mouth?”

She moaned around him. Bucky gently stroked her hair as she sucked faster, her hand gripping him tighter.

“Look at our girl, Stevie. Working so hard for you. Just gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Steve came with a groan that cracked into a shout, hips twitching once, twice, hand fisting in the sheet and her hair. When he softened, Eleanor fell back. She felt disjointed, like her bones had softened into marshmallows. Bucky lifted her onto the bed, next to Steve. He pulled her against him, kissing her face sloppily.

“You did so good,” he murmured against her mouth. “So beautiful.”

She ate the cold pasta, ravenous after what Bucky had dubbed ‘a blistering round five’. Steve had only chuckled, brushing her hair back from her face, and Eleanor had let her head rest against his shoulder for a moment before they coaxed her to the table. She felt loose and warm. Her legs nudged Bucky’s under the table, and when he glanced over, she gave him a soft smile. Steve leaned his elbow on the table, watching her eat.

Bucky stretched one leg out, catching her ankle under his. “Might’ve left you a little wrecked, sweetheart,” he said, lips twitching. “You alright over there, or we gotta carry you to bed already?”

“I’m fine,” she said, swallowing quickly. “I’m starving.”

Steve grinned into his water glass and Bucky leaned over to steal a bite from her plate.

“Leftovers are in the kitchen,” she said.

“Don’t wanna move,” Bucky replied. “Also, taste better like this.”

Bucky carried her to the sofa when she’d finished. She didn’t complain. He and Steve did the washing up. Eleanor stretched, satisfied and complacent.

Later, they lit the candles in the living room and turned the radio dial until they found something slow. Some soft-voiced woman singing in French, nearly drowned beneath the crackle of static. Steve sank into the sofa with his sketchbook. Eleanor sat cross-legged on the rug with a pillow in her lap, combing her fingers through her curls.

“I’m never going to untangle this mess.”

Bucky grinned. “That’s the price you pay for being such an insatiable creature.”

“Nice to meet you, pot. The name’s kettle.”

A little while later, he settled down with Animal Farm in hand, feet on the coffee table.

He didn’t make it halfway through the final chapter before his voice began to dip. She looked up from the rug to find his head tilted back, the book propped loosely on his chest. He was still reading, but just barely.

“…the creatures outside looked from pig to man, and from man to pig, and from pig to man again,” Bucky murmured, “but already it was impossible to say which was which.”

He let the book fall shut, rubbed at his jaw.

“Christ. That’s bleak.”

“Told you.”

Eleanor reached up to touch his ankle. “I think I liked it,” she said. “Not the ending, but… the shape of it. Like something sour you can’t quite stop tasting.”

Bucky dropped a hand to her hair, running his fingers through the strands.

“You want dessert?”

She shook her head. “Too full.”

He smirked. “Not what I meant.”

Steve made a noise of mock despair.

Eleanor giggled, and then curled up smaller on the rug, turning her face into the cushion, suddenly overwhelmed by how much she loved them.

“I think this might be the happiest I’ve ever been.”

Steve’s pencil stopped. Bucky’s hand stilled.

“I know that sounds a bit dramatic. But it’s true.”

A breath. Two.

Bucky leaned forward, just a little, so his hand slid from her hair to the slope of her shoulder.

“That’s not dramatic, sweetheart,” he said softly. “It’s just honest.”

Steve's voice followed a moment later, warm and quiet. “It’s true for me too.”

That did make her look up. Both of them were watching her now, and the weight of it made her eyes sting in a way she hadn’t expected. She gave a quick little laugh.

“Don’t cry,” Bucky said, smiling. “Or I’m gonna cry. And then Steve’ll cry. You wanna see Steve cry on the rug?”

Steve rolled his eyes but scooted closer. “She’s allowed to cry. I’m allowed to cry. You’re the only one who sobs like a five-year-old.”

“I’ve got range,” Bucky said, placing a hand on his chest, mock-offended.

She was laughing again, properly now. Steve kissed her cheek without needing to say a word. Just that press of lips against skin, solid and steady. Then Bucky leaned down too and kissed her other cheek, just as soft.

“I love this,” she whispered. “I love you.”

The candles had burnt themselves out when they moved to the bedroom. She curled up, her head on Steve’s shoulder, her back pressed against his chest. His hand stroked her tummy. There was heat again, slow and insistent in her lower belly, but not like before. Eleanor kissed Bucky. He reached between her legs.

It was slow. Deep. Her body opened for him like it always did, but without that ache of urgency. Just the rhythm of him inside her, the weight of his arm across her waist. Steve kissed her fingers her hair. Her eyes were only half open.

“You’re so beautiful like this,” Bucky said, brushing her cheek with his knuckles. “Like you were made for us.”

She made a soft, grateful sound and curled closer to him. His pace didn’t change. He held her as he rocked in slow, careful thrusts, head tucked just behind hers.

“Don’t stop,” she whispered, her voice gone dreamy now. “Even after you…just stay there.”

Bucky let out a breath like he’d been holding it for years. He tightened his arm around her.

“I’m right here,” he murmured. “Right here with you.”

He came quietly, his face hidden in her neck, a low groan that trembled against her skin. Steve reached for him too, cradling the back of his head, threading his fingers into his hair.

For a few long moments they stayed like that, Eleanor in the middle, soft and warm as Bucky stilled inside her. Steve leaning close, kissing first her temple, then Bucky’s.

She let her eyes close as their hands found her again. She fell asleep to their fingers on her skin and their voices whispering in her ears.

Chapter Text

The next morning, Eleanor slipped out of bed before either of them could stop her. She made tea and coffee. Toasted bread. Boiled eggs. Cut fruit. Grilled some ham. She set the larger table in the living room, a single rose from the bouquet they had bought her in the middle.

Steve sat down first.

“This looks like you need to make up for something.”

She kissed the top of his head.

“Or maybe I just love you.”

He smiled and caught her hand.

“I love you too.”

Bucky sauntered in.

“We make you happy yesterday, doll?”

“Such an imp, Sergeant Barnes. I have half a mind to take this away from you.”

“I’d like to see you try.” He waved a knife at her before buttering his toast.

She left in the late afternoon.

Bucky kissed her hard, her back against the door.

“I’ll miss you.”

“Silly. You never see me during the week anyway.”

“Hush. I’ll miss you if I damn well please.”

He kissed her again.

“Take care of Stevie for me, sweetheart. Wouldn’t trust anyone with him but you.”

The words landed harder than Eleanor had expected. She looked at him.

“You’re just going on a dealership course, right?”

She wasn’t sure why she suddenly doubted him again. Something felt off. The way he kissed her. She thought of the phone call, the Friday before last. The weird way he’d answered. Bucky stroked her cheek.

“Yup. Just a few days.”

“Alright then. I’ll miss you too.”

“You never see me during the week anyway,” he parroted her words at her.

She grinned, then looked at Steve.

“Suppose I’ll see you Tuesday evening.”

“Can’t wait, honey.”

The subway ride home on Tuesday felt different. She’d put a few more things into her bag than usual, some make-up, a dress. Eleanor wondered how it would be, just Steve and her. Together. Alone. Her tummy fluttered a bit.

She opened the door to 4B. Eleanor stepped into the apartment with a slow, quiet breath, closing the door gently behind her. The smell hit first. Roast peppers. Something comforting. Something homey.

Steve was at the stove, back turned, wearing slacks and a white undershirt. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the door and smiled.

“Hey,” he said, wiping his hands on a dish towel. “Good day?”

She set her bag down by the bookshelf and slipped off her shoes. “Long. But good. Dr Wendell was appalled to hear I hadn’t read the entire collected works of Hawthorne.”

Steve turned the burner down and walked to meet her. She didn’t expect the way her body reacted, how good it felt, suddenly, to be here. To be with him. She’d thought she’d be nervous. Thought it would feel strange, being here without Bucky.

But it didn’t.

It just felt calm.

Steve leaned in, kissed her cheek, then paused to look at her properly.

“You sure?” he asked. “About staying?”

She nodded. “I want to be with you.”

His hand found the small of her back. “I’m glad you’re here.”

They ate on the couch with the radio low, Steve talking about his latest illustration assignment, her entertaining him with anecdotes of clueless first-years getting lost in the rows of Renaissance philosophy. Eleanor tucked her feet up underneath her, Steve sitting sideways with one arm thrown along the back of the cushions, his fork in his left hand, his mouth always curling around the edge of a grin when she spoke. They cleaned up together, Steve handing her each clean plate, fork and pan carefully.

“They probably won’t explode, you know,” she teased.

“Probably not. Chances are never zero.”

When he handed her the last pot, she kissed him, dripping water on the floor. He didn’t pull away. He deepened the kiss, the pot warm and wet between them.  The kiss deepened. Her hands slid up, fingertips tracing the shape of his shoulders, the nape of his neck.

He made a sound then, low in his throat. Pulled back just enough to look at her.

“I was tryin’ to be good,” he murmured, voice thick. “Was gonna wait. Take it slow. But you come in here with your pretty dress and your little frown, like you don’t know I’ve been thinkin’ about this since the second you said yes.”

Eleanor’s breath caught.

Steve leaned in again, nose brushing hers. “You feel so good here,” he whispered. “Can’t stop thinking how you’ll feel under me.”

That did it. She tugged him down again, kissing him harder this time, more certain. Her fingers fumbled at his belt as he backed them toward the hallway.

Clothes trailed behind them, her dress, his slacks, her stockings, the camisole she wore underneath. They kissed between steps, in the doorway, against walls. Steve’s hands never left her skin for long. Always touching. Always grounding.

By the time they reached the bedroom, they were both flushed and breathless. Eleanor crawled onto the bed in just her knickers and brassiere, and Steve followed, his bare chest rising and falling like he’d run miles for this.

She lay back, looking up at him. “We can still take it slow.”

He bent to kiss her collarbone, the slope of her shoulder, the hollow beneath her ear.

“We will,” he said. “But I’m not gonna pretend I don’t want you. You’re here. You chose this. I’m not gonna waste a second.”

Eleanor’s hands slid over his back as he kissed her again. Slower now. More thorough. Like he meant to learn every inch of her.

He took his time. Undressed her fully, kissing every part he revealed. She reached for him in turn, marvelling at the weight and strength of him, how gentle he was, how sweet.

When he finally pressed into her, it was with a slow groan, forehead resting against hers, their hands tangled between them.

“God, you feel so good,” he whispered. “I missed you so bad.”

Eleanor didn’t answer but her legs wrapped around him, and she tilted her hips, and Steve gasped like he was being taken apart. He kissed her when she cried out, held her when she arched beneath him. She stroked his hair, murmured his name, told him she wanted him.

When she came, it was with her forehead pressed to his chest and his hand in her hair.

When he came, it was with a stuttering moan of her name against her skin.

They lay tangled in the sheets after, warm and trembling.

He wrapped his arms around her. “You’re not filling anyone’s place,” he said. “This is yours.”

Then Eleanor said, very quietly, “I didn’t think you’d want this. Not like this.”

Steve glanced down. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t look at him. Just toyed with the sheet near his waist. “Without Bucky. Just us. I thought… maybe you’d feel like something was missing.”

He was quiet for a moment, then said, “No. Nothing’s missing.”

Her breath hitched, barely.

“I mean, I miss him,” he said honestly. “I always do when he’s gone. But not like I’m waiting to start breathing again. You’re here. And that feels…” He seemed to search for the right word. “Full.”

Eleanor blinked, then whispered, with a tiny laugh, “You’re very good at this, you know.”

“At what?”

“Saying the right thing.”

Steve smiled. “I mean it.”

The alarm went off at six sharp, slicing through the quiet like a blade. Eleanor blinked into the dimness, her body already moving to hush it before it could startle Steve. He stirred, arm flopping across the bed in search of her before settling with a quiet grumble when he didn’t find her.

She smiled to herself.

She moved quietly through the house, getting ready for the day. Back in the bedroom for her stockings. Steve hadn’t moved much. One arm under the pillow, the other thrown loosely where she’d been lying.

She padded over to his side, her heels in her hand, and leaned in to brush a kiss to his temple.

But as soon as her lips touched him, his arm came up and pulled her in.

“Steve…” she began, laughing softly as she was hauled across the bed.

He kissed her. Really kissed her. It was full and slow and still a little lazy from sleep, but thorough enough that her knees went soft and her shoes dropped to the floor. His hand settled at her waist, the other cradling the back of her neck. He kissed her like she wasn’t about to walk out the door. Like there was all the time in the world.

“You don’t get to leave without kissing me like you mean it.”

“I didn’t want to wake you.”

“I was dreaming about you anyway.”

“Oh, you charmer.”

He gave a pleased hum, eyes still half-closed, already sinking back into the pillows. She slipped out, shoes in hand, breath caught somewhere between her ribs and her throat.

By the time she walked into the library, she was floating.

Everything felt golden, touched by the echo of that kiss. Her skirt swished when she moved. She smiled at strangers. She shelved three books in the wrong section and didn’t even care.

She felt so entirely wanted. Like there was a piece of her still lying warm and content in that bed, curled beneath Steve’s arm. She thought of him dozing there, sheets tangled around his hips.

Mrs Kaufman looked at her. “You’re positively glowing. Had a good night?”

Eleanor grinned. “The best.”

“Does that mean you’re bringing a date, the next time I invite you to dinner?”

Her grin slipped, just a little.

“I’ll tell you next time you invite me, shall I?”

“That’s a yes.” Mrs Kaufman winked and walked away.

The door had barely clicked shut behind her when she heard the soft thud of Steve’s footsteps coming from the kitchen. She turned, ready to greet him, to say something about the weather, the subway, the ridiculous man who’d asked if she was a Soviet spy, but she didn’t get the chance. He crossed the floor in three long strides, took her face in his hands, and kissed her like he hadn’t seen her in weeks instead of nine hours.

His mouth was possessive, slanting over hers, one hand in her hair, the other at her waist as he backed her up against the door and stole the breath right out of her lungs. Her bag slid from her shoulder.

His tongue stroked into her mouth, confident and hungry, and her fingers curled in the front of his shirt like she needed it to stay standing.

When he finally pulled back, his forehead rested against hers, both of them breathing hard. Her hands were still fisted in his clothes.

“I missed you today,” he said, like it wasn’t the most absurd thing in the world. “All day. Even with the sheets still smelling like you.”

She took off her shoes.

“I missed you too.”

“Come here.”

He reached for her again, and she let herself be drawn into his chest, her face tucked beneath his chin, her arms around his waist. His hand ran slowly up and down her back. Neither of them moved for a moment.

Just the low hum of the apartment. Just their hearts.

“Let me cook for you tonight.”

“You cooked last night.”

“A man can’t cook for his girl?”

She smiled.

“I love when you say that.”

“You’re my girl.”

She kissed his chest, right over his heart.

“I am.”

She was sitting on the kitchen counter, watching Steve mash potatoes.

“You’re adding too much butter.”

“Am not.”

“It’ll be half butter half potato.”

“Bucky likes it like this.”

“He’s not here.”

“You think you can just walk in here, boss me around in my own kitchen?” He put the buttery potatoes down, a glint in his eyes.

“I think I just did.”

He huffed a laugh against her neck. “You know what you are, sweetheart?”

“What?”

“Wicked. Cheeky. Insubordinate.”

“I’m not…”

His mouth found hers, quick and claiming. He lifted her up from the counter and put her on the ground. His belt was already half undone. Eleanor grinned at him.

“I think you kind of like it.”

“Let’s see if you like this.”

He turned her around and put a hand between her shoulder blades, pushing her down. Her dress was around her waist. He shimmied her underwear down to her ankles.

“Hands flat on the counter, baby.”

She did as he asked. His hand brushed her bottom, dipping into her entrance.

“God, look at you. Wet already and I’ve barely touched you.”

“Steve…”

“No.” His hand stilled. “You want me?”

“Yes,” she whimpered.

“Then say it.”

She clenched around nothing, breath shaking.

“Say it, pretty girl.”

Eleanor’s fingers gripped the counter. “I want you inside me.”

“Louder.”

“I want you inside me.”

“That’s better.”

He didn’t make her wait after that.

One hand braced firm at the small of her back, the other gripping her hip, and then he was inside of her.

“Steve, oh, oh, yes.”

He pulled her back from the counter just enough to move his right hand around her waist, between her legs.

“You’re mine,” he panted. “Mine in this kitchen, mine at this table, mine all over this goddamn apartment.”

“Yours,” she gasped. “Yours, yours…”

“Good girl,” he growled, thrusting harder, circling her clit faster. “Take it for me. Take it like you need it.”

She climaxed with his name in her mouth. He followed a heartbeat later, wrapped around her like a vice, teeth on her shoulder, hand flat over hers on the counter. They stayed like that for a few moments. Then Steve’s hand came down on her bottom. Like the previous Saturday, it wasn’t very hard, but enough to make her jolt against him.

He chuckled near her ear, then moved off her.

“Go set the table,” he said, zipping up his trousers. “Dinner’s almost ready.”

Eleanor turned to glare, flushed and trembling, and he had the audacity to grin.

“You absolute bastard.”

“You’re welcome.”

Steve was awake before the alarm went the next morning. When she turned it off, she turned around to find him staring at her.

“Good morning, handsome.”

He kissed her.

“This is dangerous.”

“Why?”

“I want to wake up with you every morning.”

Eleanor didn’t know how to respond. Thoughts in her head ranged from varying degrees of ‘when can I move in’ to ‘run while you still can’. She kissed him again to quiet them all, to just feel him. After a minute or so, she got up.

“When’s Bucky coming home?”

“Probably six or seven tonight.”

“Give him my love.”

“Always.”

He was at the door when she put on her shoes.

“Will I see you tomorrow night?’

“Don’t trust me, Rogers?”

“Just checking.”

“I’ll be here.”

She straightened, shoelaces tied, bag on her arm.

“I love you, Steve.”

The smile on his face was just a touch stiff.

“He’ll be with you soon.”

“I know.”

He was silent for a moment.

“I love you, Ellie.”

She kissed him one more time, then left.

Chapter Text

Eleanor looked at the overflowing rubbish, then glanced at the clock. It was almost ten. Would it be too late to take out the bin now? If she waited until tomorrow morning, the fish bones might have taken over the entire kitchen and even the living room with the smell. She decided she could do it quietly. Her arm muscles protested under the heavy load. Eleanor gritted her teeth. Perhaps she should start calisthenics, she’d seen it in a magazine. She managed to take the rubbish out without banging a single step or wall. As she approached the front door of the building, she heard footsteps behind her.

It was Bucky.

“Hello, handsome! I thought you were supposed to be back hours ago! How was your training? Steve’s probably grinding tracks in the living room floor waiting for you.”

“Hi there, doll.” There was something slightly off about his posture. Like he was standing straighter than usual.

She opened the door and the hallway light hit their faces.

Bucky looked tired. Worn. There was a vague, dark shadow on his jaw.

“Are you quite alright?”

“Just fine, sweetheart. Didn’t get much sleep. You know how it is, men together.”

She had the distinct feeling he was lying.

“Did you take good care of Steve for me?”

“He was alive when I left this morning. He ate, slept and showered. It was good, being there.”

“That’s good. Good.” He fell silent.

“Did you learn anything new?”