*skinny!Steve and pre-serum, rich!Bucky*
*A teaches B how to drive*
1940's era
"Buck, I can't do this!"
"Since when does the unsinkable Steve Rogers back down from anything?" The brunette asked with a smirk from the passenger seat of his Rolls Royce. The significantly smaller blonde next to him sent him a glare at the jab and gently shifted the gear stick in the car he'd never be able to afford in ten lifetimes. "I'm not backing down. I just don't want to wreck your beautiful car is all." Bucky smirked and reclined confidently in the seat. "You're not gonna wreck it. So long as you listen to me. And even if you did, Ma would just buy me another one. Don't worry, punk." Steve rolled his eyes at that and shifted again to get it into drive like Bucky had showed him with his foot on the clutch. "Okay, now you can go. The pedal on the right is the gas. Push that." Steve obeyed and the car lurched forward. This startled Steve enough to make a decidedly girlish noise that he'd deny ever came from him. "How do you stop?!"
"The pedal between the clutch and gas," Bucky replied easily, thoroughly enjoying seeing this other side of his fearless (and stubborn) friend. Immediately, the blonde stomped the aforementioned pedal in a way said pedal probably wouldn't appreciate. They lurched to a stop and Bucky was thrown slightly forward, laughing all the time. "Little warning next time you brake-check me." The brunette straightened in his seat and Steve looked painfully embarrassed. "Sorry, Buck."
"Just go. It's not gonna kill you to go faster than walking. It's kinda the point." Steve shot an elbow into Bucky's side, which he took with his obligatory "Ow!" that he rarely meant. Getting hit by Steve was kinda like getting hit by a dame, although you'd never catch James Buchanan Barnes saying that out loud. No, sir. He'd go down in flames before he ever hurt his friend's ego. (Even if said ego made him think he was tougher than he was and get himself in too many scrapes to count, even if it was for a good cause.)
Steve tapped the gas a little more cautiously this time, other foot hovering over the brake anxiously. For the first real time in his life, Steve was scared. Not to death or anything or enough to make him stop trying to learn to drive this stupid machine, but enough to make his breath catch when they went a little too fast for his taste. He tried his very best to keep his eyes forward and on the mirrors like Bucky had told him, but he kept sneaking glances to his friend, who was watching him intently. The attention, that usually didn't phase him at all, now had him sweating. It didn't help that this car was way too nice for someone like Steve to drive and he was worried he'd break it somehow. Hell, he was worried that he'd breathe on it wrong. He'd have felt more comfortable in the old Ford truck the Barnes' gardeners use to haul things, but Bucky had insisted they use his own personal car to teach Steve.
The small blonde didn't understand why Bucky was even bothering to teach him. It's not like Steve could ever afford one. He barely made rent on his tiny apartment and had just enough to not starve to death.
Of course, Bucky would never allow his friend to starve, but it always made Steve's chest clench in a way that put his asthma to shame whenever Bucky spent money on him in any way. (Buck already assumed the responsibility of paying for any medical expenses Steve had and that was way too much to ask anyone, much less your best friend.) He hated being in debt to anyone and he certainly didn't want to depend on anyone. Yet Bucky went out of his way (and pockets) to make sure Steve lived well above his means, just like Bucky. He'd always been generous to a fault, but he didn't let anyone take advantage of him. Except Steve.
"Steve, keep it on the path," the brunette warned, pulling the blonde from his thoughts as he almost strayed onto the grass. He corrected a hair too much and panicked inwardly.
