Bucky Barnes was not Christian, but he firmly believed that angels walked the Earth.

He had no proof other than Steve Rogers.

He could (and would, often) spend hours studying the man.

The messy blond hair that looked lighter than it was, the tired and keen eyes so blue the sky itself hid in shame. Veined, sturdy hands that gripped his own, a pencil, his phone, a shield symbolizing everything he stood for.

He liked to trace the moles and freckles he could spot. Sitting on their second hand couch, taking in the quiet of the evening, metallic thumb trailing lines across the constellations of Steve's pale skin.

"What're you staring at?" Steve would murmur, attention elsewhere -- drawn to his sketchbook, normally, or the latest bullshit Avengers hero paperwork Bucky didn't care to read.

"Nothin'." Across his chest, warm and solid, tracing a line up to his jaw. It was a relief, finding Steve so sturdy -- not brittle enough too strong a wind would knock him over. He missed those days on occasion. The simplicity. The... being needed.

He could often picture Steve, then and now, holding a flaming sword aloft, eyes blazing with a righteous fury he'd always admired. If he could find the words, write them down, scratch a poem like the scars across Steve's shoulders--

"Buck?"

"Mm?" He raised his head.

"What are you doing?"

"What, a man can't relish his buddy's looks? What has this world come to?" Dry and sarcastic as ever, Bucky adjusted, sprawling a leg across Steve's and god it was like touching a furnace.

Angels would be hotter than space itself, brighter than a million stars, he thought idly as he watched Steve's hand move across the page.

"Most guys don't appreciate staring, Buck."

"Most guys aren't you. Besides, I know you love the attention."

"...Right."

"You do," he insisted, shifting closer. "Else you wouldn't let me do this."

"Maybe I know you need to give attention."

Bucky snorted. "Maybe I think you need it." A hand, not metal, curled up around the shell of Steve's steadily reddening ear, fingers grazing the soft darkened hair and how is it so soft? He smelled like coconut and aftershave.

"I'm a little busy, Buck--"

"Drawing," he interrupted, head cocked to the side. "What, anyway?" He took the moment to shift closer, shoulder to shoulder, dropping his scraggly bearded chin to Steve's bare skin. Closing the distance.

The distraction worked. Even from that he heard the breath hitch, the shifting weight from Steve, subconsciously pulling closer.

"Ah... Some architecture, I guess..."

"Looks like the apartment. From -- back then." His hand was so gentle carding through Steve's hair, gently begging for attention from this angel on Earth.

Steve squinted. "Oh. Yeah, I guess I'm... Thinking about the past, and..."

And there it was. Bucky smiled, small and secret. That pause for breath, the fluttering lashes.

"Still miss it, huh?" He scratched through short blond tufts and relished the sigh it drew from soft pink lips.

"You're distracting me."

Bucky hummed and closed the distance, breath ghosting across Steve's freckled neck. "You think so little of me."

The angel sighed and heaven itself opened. Becky smiled lazily and pressed a kiss to the freckled skin bared just for him.

His chest swelled with pride as the pencil and paper were pushed aside, as those keen ocean eyes turned to his own and god, there he was. He often felt like an ant under a microscope when Steve got that look in his eyes. Searching for answers, eyebrows furrowed, lips parted.

"What?"

Steve pursed his lips, and Bucky smiled, tilting his head and intwining their fingers.

"Someone need attention?" Steve finally murmured, and Bucky flushed.

"Well... I wouldn't be opposed, or anything..."

The searing kiss that followed damn near stopped Buck's heart. Could angels touch humans? Their skin would burn if they came into contact, Bucky knew it must be true the way thigh on thigh caused heat to race through his torso, as he was shifted to straddle Steve and goddamn he was a furnace--

"Better?" And Steve's hands were on his thighs, strong and secure, and Bucky distantly remembered their positioning switched. He wasn't used to feeling small.

He laughed, small and nervous after getting what he asked for, shifted his weight and forced his confident gaze back up to stare into an angel's eyes.

"Sure I won't crush you, Steve?"

An amused grin and a squeeze to his hips was his answer.

"You're incorrigible," Steve murmured into his neck, and Bucky sighed, letting his head lull into the touch.

Golden afternoons with his angel were his favourite.