(yes, that was a One Direction reference don't kill me)

(I just want to say thank you guys for all the support! Never in a million years would I think this crap would get 361 reads! Holy CRAP. I am so happy I get to talk to other amazing people through this, your comments mean the w o r l d to me. Keep commenting please! IT KEEPS ME SANE. )

*they do sorta get fRisKy in this chapter, but not a lot since I'm 15 and very awkward.*

*1758 words*

(Bucky's POV)

*a couple weeks after the last chapter, they bought an apartment in Brooklyn*

"Where should I put these paint cans, Buck?" Steve asks, wobbling back and forth with three cans in his hands.

I rush over and take them from him, setting them over by the wall behind him. His hair is dampened with sweat, and his breath is staggering. I wanna pin him against it but now's not the time.

Or is it?

I mean, we're all alone and there's nothing else to do......

Ah what the heck.

I walk back over to where his frail, perfect body is placed and grab his hand.

My other arm reaches up to his face but a pain shoots up it and causes me to groan.

"You gonna be alright there?" He asks. God his eyes drive me insane.

I can't control myself.

I push on his chest, causing him to fall into the wall and I smash my lips up against his. My arm nags me a bit, but I don't care.

Not at the moment.

I lift his small body up and he wraps his legs around me. Our tongues slide together in the kiss, while my hands run up and down his chest.

I can't get enough of this boy.

This small, boney boy.

His back arches and he opens his mouth as if to moan, "Wait, Buck. We just did...it..." he blushes, "like two hours ago. I'm not as strong as you, I don't think I could take any more......"

"We barely did anything though." I rest my head on his neck, biting the skin to leave marks. 

Marks that prove he's mine.

And I'm his.

"Bucky" He runs his hands though my hair. I let out a small moan myself.

He lets himself out of my grasp and begins to walk away.

"I'm going to start painting the walls, so you CANT pin my up against them again. Wanna help?" He grabs the paintbrush, smiling WAY too much.

I'm not complaining.

"Sure, just give me one more?" I ask politely.

Well, desperately.

"Whatever." He chuckles. I ready my lips but he presses up against my neck and kisses it up and down. His hand trickles to my belt. He bites me and I jump a little, wanting more, but he pulls away.

"Goddammit Rogers. Stop teasing." I give his sly ass a smack. A smile grows across his face, adding to his already mischievous behavior.

"Tonight, my love." He walks away, limping. Not sure if it's the fact that he can't even handle a blowjob or that he has arthritis.

But tonight? I don't know if I can wait that long.

Ever since the 'incident' with my dad, I can't leave his side. I'm scared to.

He makes me feel safe.

He is my home.

His paintbrush moves up and down, then side to side as he reaches for the top of the wall. The box beneath him stumbles and I rush over to catch him.

He falls over, into my arms.

His pale, sunken, beautiful face stares back at me like the world was shut out. The cars outside became silent and the neighbors shut up about their stupid oven not working.

Stevie just stares back at me.

He is covered in paint, head to toe and it is the cutest thing ever.

EVER.

~~~~~~~

We could have left the walls the pale tan they started as, but that's not our way. Our love is so much more than neutral.

He makes me feel alive and free. Colorful and vibrant.

Also, we're gay.

I move over to the side of the room where all the furniture is. I throw a tarp over them and get to work on the second wall. Starting with a roller, I cover the wall in the same light blue paint as the other wall. This one should have a sun to remind me of Stevie.

"Hey doll?" I turn around, but am interrupted by the beauty that sits in front of me.

A field of flowers line the bottom of the wall and trail to the door. I think I might actually cry.

"They're Salvias, Sunflowers, Pansies, and Edelweiss. I worked at a flower shop with my dad when I was little so I know the meaning behind each. I'll explain them to you tonight. But these are the ones that fit us."

"I love it more than words can explain." An actual tear runs down my masculine face. A tear. "You make me so happy Steve." Okay now tearS. I can't stop crying.

He rushes over and uses his delicate thumbs to wipe away them away.

"I have an idea." He gets a paintbrush and dips into the black paint. My eyes follow him as he stumbles over his own feet. He reaches up as far as his little legs will let him and draws a line across the entire room. It ends where it started.

"Till the end of the line." He smiles, expecting me to do the same.

I don't.

I just cry even more.

So now, I am painting the last spot, fully drenched in my own happiness.

Well, I'm drenched in tears.

Not necessarily a problem.

Because my heart beats more when I'm with him. I feel alive.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

After about three more hours of painting, the fumes get to us.

"Wanna go look for a bed?" I suggest.

"Sure! Just gotta get a sturdy one if you know what I mean.' He nudges my shoulder and I flinch a little. "Maybe you should put that thing back in the sling, before you get hurt more."

"Sure, mom." I roll my eyes at him. "And what do you mean: sTurDy? You haven't taken me in yet! We've just been sucking eachother off for the past weeks!"

His face turns about as red as a tomato. "Maybe," He argues, "I'll be ready tonight!"

"Oh yeah?" I tease.

"YEAH! MY ASS IS READY!"

A man walking by laughs at us, don't blame him.

We get back with a new bed, which I set in the bedroom. It's still in the box, so it shouldn't take up too much space while Stevie paints in there.

The living room walls are dry now, so I move the furniture around to finish the room. The couch makes a dent in the carpet as I move it, so I use my arm to fluff it back up.

After I finish moving all the furniture, with one usable arm, I sit on the couch and rest a little. My eyes fall upon a flower that is held up by a base of perfect green leaves. Red shoots out of them and reach towards the sun I painted. Bell-shaped pedals spread across the field, reaching every corner of the wall.

And, my heart.

Apparently, I lost my connection with reality and fell asleep. I was awoken when Steve jumped in my lap, leaning to the side to protect my arm.

That thoughtful little prick.

"Hey, Stevie!" I give him a kiss on the nose while I practically cradle him. "Did you finish the bedroom?"

"YeP! I even built the bed!" he jumps out of my lap, exclaiming.

"I told you to wait! I could have helped you!" I argued. He could have hurt himself!

He held his arm out and pointed to it, as if to mock me. I smirked and got up, holding his hand as we walked to the bedroom.

The walls were painted a sage green with one white wall, which the bed was leaned against.

This room was simple and calm, simple and sweet. Stevie's paintings hang on the far wall, covering it almost entirely. How long was I asleep?

He squeezes my hand to bring me back to earth, but I ignore it, and walk us over to the paintings. Fields of flowers, dinosaurs, bakeries cover the walls and tell stories to me. His imagination speaks to me and I feel as if I could jump into a painting and start a new world with him.

One where we could be who we are. Without judgement.

That day may never come, but at least I have him now.

His boney, pale, veined fingers pointed to a drawing of a train chugging through the mountains. A cliff lines the end of the tracks, it looks scary at first, but it's actually quite calming.

"I drew that the day we first kissed," He says quietly, behind a full face of blush. I pull him into a tight hug, squeezing him to let him know he's safe with me. "It reminds me of you," he says into my chest.

"And why do you say that, Stevie?" I ask, running my fingers through his hair.

"Because trains are often overlooked. They do so much and carry so many people and supplies to places. They chug all day just for the convenience of someone else. Even if a cliff is ahead, or danger is right in front of them, they hold on and keep going. Till the end of the line."

I give him a tight squeeze and step away.

"I love that. Stevie, God." I sigh, "You make me so happy, it hurts."

He looks down at his shoes and wiggles them a little.

"By the way," I put my hand on his shoulder. "I hate trains. But I love that one." A big smirk stretches across my face. His eyes practically beg me to throw him on the bed, but he promised me he would tell me what the flowers meant. As much as I want him, flowers.

Flowers Buck. Flowers.

He fidgets with his sleeve, alerting me he's nervous about something.

"Hey, uH, buck?" His eyes stay glued to the ground; he's so cute when he's nervous. I use my finger to lift his chin up and keep it rested there while I stare into his eyes.

"What, doll?" I move a little closer.

"You, uh" he bites the inside of his cheek, "You promised something..." He mumbles.

"Actually, I think it was you that did the promising, Mr. Rogers..." I reach down and grab the paintbrush behind him.

"Well," he stutters, "I-"

"Let me stop you right there, love. You said you would tell me about the flowers you painted." I use the paintbrush to tickle his neck, causing him to squirm.

"Can't I just tell you tomorrow over lunch or something? Or maybe we could go out to some bar!?" He suggests.

"Fineeeeeeeee" I groan and push him down to the bed. "Get ready to board the Bucky Steam Locomotive." 

*Thank you guys so much for reading, it's been a long long time and it's been really rough for me lately. If you ever want a really good fic recommendation read "Wanted" by TheAuthorAgain!!! I would marry that amazing fic and it's lovely author! Thanks for the support!!!!*