Soldier, Keep On Marching on | au

1

Of course, I was scared. Why wouldn't I be scared? I just released a full album telling people my point of view of things. Was it going to change how they looked at me? No. God, I wished Steve was here.

He always found the perfect words to make my worries subside. Hell, he didn't even have to say anything. He could just smile at me softly and bring me into a comforting hug and I was fine. Fuck. I miss his hugs so god damn much.

"Bucky?" I was brought out of my thoughts by the sound of Sam's voice calling my name. My eyes glanced up. That's when I noticed I was crying. Crying. Pathetic.

"I'm sorry, Sam, I'm such an idiot," I said with a soft laugh as I wiped my face. I watched his brows furrow and his jaw clench and I instinctively looked down. "This is just so nerve-racking... especially without him here," I admitted softly as I played with my hands.

I felt the couch dip next to my left and knew that is was Sam coming to try and calm me down.

"Of course it's going to be nerve-racking you're releasing an album about you," Sam reassured and nudged me softly. "Plus you've made us listen to it so many times I'm 100% sure everyone's going to love it," he added with a soft smile.

"Don't pity me, Sam," I stated plainly, turning my head to look at him. Instinctively shifted my weight so I was leaning in my right leg, away from him. I hate pity.

"I'm not?" Sam questioned confused, tilting his head slightly.

I just sighed and stood up, walking over to the bar, and made my way behind it. I grabbed a glass and a bottle of very expensive whiskey. Like top-notch whiskey. The kind you see in high-end suit shops, expensive.

I couldn't get drunk off of it, of course, super-soldier serum is a bitch sometimes. It reminded him of the time when Steve was 19 and he got drunk.

"Steven Rodgers drinkin' though he ain't of age yet... not as straight-laced as everyone thinks you are," I chided with a soft laugh at the completely out of it blonde leaning against me.

Steve's face broke into a smile, his head on the back of the brown leather couch that smelled like shit. His legs kicked up next to him as he put his full weight on me, his right arm on my propped-up left thigh.

He lifted his head weakly to face me. Those glazed blue eyes are going to be the death of me. I watched as his lips curved into a soft smile.

His body pivoted, his left hand coming up to hold my jaw as his lips met mine in perfect synce, almost like he'd rehearsed this in his head thousands of times. I kissed back softly, knowing this kiss wouldn't last too long. They never seemed to last long enough.

His face fell to the crook of my neck with a soft whine.

"You're so hot, buck... ugh," he whines the hand once holding my jaw moved to the back of my neck.

I laughed as I began to gather the drunken boy beneath me.

"And you're drunk. Cmon, Stevie," I chuckle.

I still don't know how he convinced me to let him do that.

I poured the whiskey to a height of my liking before closing the expensive bottle and putting back where it was on the bar counter.

I sighed softly and as I leaned my metal arm against the counter, the glass half full of alcohol in my right. Or maybe it was half empty. I stared blankly at the grey marble counter in front of me. Why couldn't Steve be here to hug me tightly and make sure everything was alright?

I sighed softly before bringing the glass up to my lips, cocking my head back, and swallowing the amber liquid. The burning sensation in my throat seeming like the only feeling I could get out of my numb body.