Chapter Text
From the hallway, Bucky could hear the grumbling, the irritation latent and almost vibrating in his ears every time Walker raised his voice to throw insults at the player on TV. At least, that was what Bucky could piece together from what he heard, since the living room wasn’t in his line of sight yet, but it only took turning the corner for it to come into view. Walker standing, a beer in hand. It was as obvious as daylight that the alcohol wasn’t fueling the anger of the — according to tabloids Bucky had accidentally come across — current daddy of the moment. It was just his dissatisfaction with whatever game was on TV.
Alexei was sitting in his armchair. Bucky had serious suspicions that when that Russian got up, the cushions would be left with the strange, awkward imprint of that large, heavy body. Not that he was going to check, far from it. Alexei also had a drink in hand, the beer still looking properly cold in the fogged bottle, the recent sip leaving traces in his trimmed beard. Sometimes Bucky hated being so observant. He hated it a little more when his eyes betrayed him as he leaned against the doorway, keeping his distance from the room while taking everything in. His gaze drifting again to that blond figure, the beer in hand, the other hand running through his hair, combing it back between his fingers, and then that same hand moving over his beard, much more to press against his own chin and jaw than to fix anything that, from Bucky’s view, already looked perfect.
Walker had… changed.
Bucky had seen that change before. He had been surprised when he ran into Walker after some time, more mature, more centered, in some ways… bigger. And with time living there together, he noticed another shift. Something about Walker’s posture, the way he seemed to be the man who always knew where each of them was, the one responsible for keeping them fed with his trips to the market and his ridiculously good recipes. The fallen hero stance had turned into — and may God forgive Bucky Barnes for paraphrasing what he had read in that tabloid, but… — a responsible hottie. With arms capable of holding up a damn car, a well-kept beard, longer hair, a shy yet confident smile, an ass that drew a lot of attention during training, and that steady, self-assured way he carried himself while cooking for his team. (All of that, additions from Bucky’s own mind. The tabloids had no way of knowing those details, although, of course, he had seen countless comments about how John Walker’s ass should be declared a national treasure.)
“Hey, Bucky, did you know our former captain here got this worked up watching hockey?” Alexei spoke loudly, which on its own was already something that would annoy Bucky, but the “our” used like that, by him, as Alexei cast a look at Walker and let it wander over that body while shifting in the armchair, then licking his lip as he blatantly stared at John’s back, at the outline of his ass that, Bucky knew without needing to look, would be defined through the jeans.
“If he had stretched properly, he would’ve caught that play easily. The legs have padding for that, to throw yourself onto the ice and use it as a block.” Walker seemed oblivious to Alexei’s gaze on his body, not so oblivious to Bucky’s presence, however, glancing at him briefly as if he wanted to be understood.
“Men aquarium again?” Yelena approached quietly, stopping beside Bucky, making him realize just how absent he became when he gave his focus to Walker. To the sound of his voice, to the movement of his lips as he spoke, to the way he moistened them and then dragged his teeth over his lower lip.
“That’s enough for today!” Walker put an end to it, his steps firm as he headed toward the kitchen, leaving the other three in the living room.
Bucky noticed once again Alexei’s gaze on Walker, his own eyes betraying him and following in the same direction. Taking in the broad back, the shoulders stretching the fabric of the shirt before it fell looser along the waist, clearly narrower than the shoulders, and then the jeans that left room for imagination, and Bucky couldn’t afford himself that luxury.
“I love when he criticizes the players like he’s a professional.” Alexei commented in his heavy accent, Bucky’s eyes still fixed in the direction Walker had gone, even though he could no longer see him, only build the scene in his mind.
“Ah, you know how it is… watching someone mess up something you know how to do, it’s torture.” Yelena dropped that information as if it were common knowledge, and not something she had learned during one of her many conversations with Walker while they both enjoyed the solitude of the kitchen during their almost shared bouts of insomnia.
“You’re telling me…” Alexei stood and followed Yelena, the sound of his voice grating on Bucky’s ears, but he kept his attention on what was being said. “…that our ‘sexiest dad alive’ knows how to stretch like that?” Alexei even made air quotes with his fingers, referencing one of the recent articles Yelena herself had brought up at their last meeting.
“Gross, dad.” Yelena pushed him aside just as Bucky’s feet decided to move in the opposite direction, curiously the same one Walker had taken moments before, the kitchen.
Not that he had anything to do there, but at least he could pretend he did.
Walker seemed distracted from everything else, focused on washing his hands in that meticulous way, between the fingers, under the nails, wrists, and almost his entire forearm. At a glance, you wouldn’t be able to tell if it was a doctor preparing to go into surgery, or just Walker and his cleanliness habit before cooking. As if a bacterium or something that simple could really take them down, or most of them, anyway.
Bucky played it off, his feet still guiding his movements as if there were a magnet pulling him closer to Walker, opening the fridge and grabbing a bottle of water to keep his hand and mouth occupied.
“So… men aquarium?” he leaned against the nearest counter, able to watch Walker’s movements as if it were a show for a single audience member. Watching the back of his neck, as well as his ears, take on that shade of embarrassed red that suited him so well.
He got that over-the-shoulder look; and if Walker knew the effect that had on people… Bucky always felt warm when that happened, something that made all the damn blood in his body rush to a single point, which was both unfeasible and ridiculous. But it fit the image that US Agent’s current supporters had been shouting across every corner of the internet.
“I used to practice back in school.” Walker grabbed a towel and dried his hands, leaning back as well, in his case against the sink, looking at Bucky while he brought the water bottle to his mouth. “Nothing worth mentioning.”
“Well, you should tell that to Alexei. The way he looked at you and the way he talked about… what was it again? Oh, right.” He took another sip of water, creating an almost torturous pause for Walker, who had leaned in slightly, hands resting at his sides against the sink. “…stretching in an erotic way.”
Walker was already red, but that? That was a vivid, ripe tomato red, on the verge of bursting. It made Bucky have to hide his laugh behind the bottle, forcing another sip of water into his mouth.
He knew Walker had been embarrassed ever since he found out about the articles and forums online praising his appearance — which he claimed was below expectations, far from his glory days. Little did he know that was exactly what made him even more appealing. A strong, real body; he didn’t have to be a wall to have the strength of one. And Bucky had to agree with whoever was feeding those forums online; Walker with longer hair, a beard, and acting like a gentleman… well, that was hard to resist. And now there was that image to add to everything else. Walker stretching like an ice hockey goalie.
“It’s not erotic, it’s just stretching.”
“Walker, I guarantee about 80% of the audience calls it a men aquarium because of the stretching, not because of the brawl it turns into after ten minutes of game time.” The smile was there to drive his point home.
Bucky heard the footsteps, heavy, almost too fast; he knew it was Alexei even before hearing the Russian’s voice.
“Any chance someone has a video of you from your hockey days?” Alexei asked before he had even fully stepped into the kitchen.
“Alexei!” Walker raised his hands as if it were the most ridiculous thing the Russian had asked him in a long time, shaking his head in denial.
“What? You’re not going to show us now, are you? If you want to, I think that’d be even better.”
Walker brought a hand to his face, rubbing his temples. Taking a deep breath and huffing the air out.
“We’re not talking about this again. And no, I’m not showing you anything. And no, I don’t have any videos from that time. Thankfully. And don’t even think about looking it up online, because last time you searched something on a post and still managed to pin your search, making it very clear to everyone the kind of nonsense you try to access on the internet.” Walker seemed to need that, the outburst of words, the color gradually returning to his face, losing that embarrassed red and shifting into a softer shade, anger.
Alexei at least seemed to know when he’d lost a battle, but he was always ready to go back to war. He left the same way he had come in, in a rush, with heavy, hurried steps. Surely going to do exactly what Walker had told him not to do.
Bucky moistened his lips, even though he had just had water. His body always seemed warm in Walker’s presence lately.
Walker turned toward the sink, hands against the cold metal, then turned again, moving to the counter in front. Reaching into the cabinet below, he grabbed a bowl and some utensils he would probably use to prepare something for them to eat soon.
“From the way he looks at you, it wouldn’t surprise me at all if he had an anonymous account on one of those forums.” Bucky commented just to fill the silence of the kitchen while Walker moved around without making a sound. “Who would’ve thought you’d be his type.”
Walker looked at him again over his shoulder, something between offended and almost curious. Maybe a hint of amusement in the way his lip curled.
“I don’t know if I should feel flattered or if you’re trying to take a shot at me.”
Bucky just laughed.
He wished Walker wasn’t Alexei’s type. He didn’t like the way the Russian looked at what he himself wanted just as much. But he only shrugged, knowing that would leave Walker thinking about it for much longer than advisable. And he left the kitchen before his thoughts about Walker stretching on the ice made him too worked up. If only he knew there would be no escaping it, neither in imagination nor in reality, when he ran into Walker the next day stretching in the training room…