Stucky One Shots

Art Practice

Post-WinterSoldier!Bucky and Skinny!Steve.

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Bucky studies Steve carefully, wondering what he's doing. The smaller blond was sketching something out, singing quietly to himself. Bucky leans over and peers over his shoulder, and Steve lifts his gaze.

"Yeah, Buck?" he asks, meeting his eyes. Bucky pauses, unable to look away. He motions to the sketchbook and clears his throat.

"Whatcha doing?"

Steve shrugs, turning his attention to his sketch again.

"Just drawing."

"Who?"

Steve looks a little embarrassed and rubs the back of his neck absently. "Ah, you, actually," he confesses. Bucky stares at him.

After the brainwashing fiasco, he was still trying to remember things. Things such as Steve drawing often, for example.

"Oh," is all Bucky says, looking back to the sketch. "It looks nice, Steve." He had taken to calling him by name more often, to help himself remember. Just in case he forgot again.

"Thanks." They lapse into silence and Bucky taps his fingers on his thighs as he sits quietly beside Steve. The blond, used to this, continues to sing under his breath and sketch. He lets Bucky do his thing.

Bucky watches him draw for a while, amazed at how good he actually is. In mere minutes he sees a figure appearing, him apparently, but he looked different - he was smiling, and in motion, his eyes bright, alive.

He feels the urge to draw as well. He didn't know how to - never had, not like Steve - but he wanted to try regardless.

He steps away and gathers all the supplies he sees Steve using; an eraser, a pencil, charcoal, a sketchbook. He walks back to Steve and sits closer so he can follow his movements properly.

Steve doesn't move as he feels Bucky press his hip against his own as he settles in. Pressed up against the taller brunet, Steve takes a breath and looks up at him. "Hey, Buck."

Bucky looks a little embarrassed, glancing down at his art supplies. "I was hoping if I -- " he pauses, waving a hand at Steve's art. The latter nods along slowly. Bucky blows out a quick breath and looks away, his cheeks reddening. "Just wanted to draw with you," he finally mumbles. Steve gives him an encouraging smile and nods again.

"No problem." He smiles and turns back to his sketch, ignoring the way his heart is beating a little extra hard.

Bucky tries to secretly follow his actions, rubbing charcoal and sketching shapes the same way he does. Bucky tries to draw Steve - the blond drew him, and Bucky figured it was only fair to draw him back.

Steve leans back and stares at his art, before frowning and erasing a mark. Bucky watches him do so and uncertainly does the same. Steve smudges charcoal on his page and again Bucky copies him - all the while trying to pretend he totally isn't copying off of him.

Steve had caught on instantly, of course, but didn't want to tell Bucky that. He draws slower than usual, pretending to pause to let Bucky catch up.

Eventually, he scrubs his eyes and sighs, cracking his neck to the side and flexing his fingers. It'd been nearly two hours of sitting motionless, sketching and re-sketching. Steve drops his drawing on his lap, signs it and stretches his back, then glances over at Bucky.

He was deep in thought, frowning at his page. Steve watches him for a second, smiling to himself.

"Steve," Bucky says suddenly, sitting up, "can you... lean over a little?"

Steve does so, leaning towards the brunet as he's motioned to do so. Bucky studies his face a moment, a look of concentration set on his own. He tilts his head a little and Steve sits stone still. He pulls away to draw again and Steve watches with amusement, propping his chin in the palm of his hand. "How's it coming?"

Bucky doesn't answer, biting his lip. Steve yawns and almost hesitantly leans against him. Bucky doesn't notice, and Steve closes his eyes.

Still two hours later, Bucky finally finishes and smiles to himself, huffing a breath and wiping his face, smearing charcoal across his cheek. He glances at Steve to find him asleep against his shoulder.

"Steve?" he speaks, shifting to free the arm that Steve'd been lying against. He moves it to around his waist to stretch it out and Steve doesn't respond, his head dipping onto his chest. Bucky smiles and glances back down at his sketch.

It wasn't nearly as good as Steve's, but it was a start. Bucky copies Steve again, signing his own name in choppy letters underneath the drawing - he had forgotten how to handwrite years ago. After some afterthought, he writes it in Russian beneath that, and in brackets. It seemed fitting to him.

He places it on Steve's lap and goes to get up, pausing when he remembers that his arm is trapped. Rather than wake Steve and move him, Bucky sits quietly as he's done for the past couple hours. He stretches his legs out on the couch and rests his head back, sighing.

He, too, eventually drifts off, and the two remain there late into the evening.

////

Steve wakes up hours later to find Bucky's sketch on his lap. He takes a look and smiles happily. It looked little like him, but he was proud of Bucky. He glances over at him and smiles again, his heart again skipping a beat.

God, he really did love him.

Steve moves the two drawings and tucks up next to him again, content.

They remain there throughout the rest of the night, peaceful and undisturbed.