Captain America Bathed in Light

**Bathed in Light**

It was after ten on Friday night, and the 'youth' thing at the church was over, but Bucky and Steve were still there. Steve always stayed late to clean up because he was stupidly good like that, and Bucky always stayed because there was no way he was letting Steve walk home alone. The punk was only fifteen and still looked twelve—if he didn't get mugged or beat up, he'd probably get picked up by the cops. Like, 'What are you doing out this late? Do your parents know where you are?' So Bucky—who was only sixteen himself but at least _looked_ it—helped clean up too.

Bucky turned off the ugly orange vacuum cleaner, unplugged it, and then dragged it over to the storage closet to put it away. Stupid storage closet always smelled old and musty. Well, the whole church kinda smelled that way no matter how much they cleaned it, but the closet was the worst. Bucky wrinkled his nose, closing the battered old door with a little more force than necessary.

He found Steve in the bathroom, cleaning the mirrors. The sharp smell of the cleaners stung his nose and made his eyes itch. Leaning his hip against the counter, Bucky asked, "You almost done?"

"Yeah, almost." Steve frowned at a stubborn speck of dust in the corner of the glass, rubbing at it first with the rag and then his bare finger.

"It's good; it's clean," Bucky told him. Steve always volunteered to clean the bathrooms, because apparently he enjoyed the disgusting jobs no one else wanted. Bucky wasn't complaining; he'd take vacuuming over cleaning toilets any day.

Steve shot him an apologetic smile as he finally moved to put the cleaning supplies away. "Sorry for making you wait."

Bucky shrugged. "It's fine." Though, it wasn't really; Pastor Phillips' talk that evening had Bucky's gut all twisted up—normally he tried to tune out everything about sin and hell, but the bits he did hear left him wanting nothing more than to get away. But he wasn't about to tell Steve that. He did a final check of the building to be sure they hadn't forgotten anything and was standing at the door, trying not to fidget too much, when Steve finally joined him. He shot Steve a relieved grin. "Let's go."

Steve zipped his jacket about two thirds of the way up as he followed Bucky outside then pulled the key from his pocket to lock up.

"You know," Bucky observed, trying not to bounce too much on the balls of his feet as he waited, "it's a little strange for a kid like you to have a key to the church."

Steve shrugged, slipping the key back into his pocket. "If I didn't have it, someone else would have to stay to lock up."

Bucky frowned, shoving his hands deep into his pockets and hunching his shoulders as they started walking. "Yeah, I guess that'd be a terrible inconvenience." He kicked at a rock just to watch it skitter across the damp pavement and disappear into the darkness beneath some bushes.

"You okay, Buck?" Steve shot him a worried look.

"'Course I'm okay." Bucky rolled his eyes. "Why the hell wouldn't I be?"

Steve still looked thoughtful, concerned. "You just seem on edge—are you mad at me?"

"Don't be stupid." Bucky kicked another rock. "And I'm fine. Hey." He bumped his shoulder against Steve's. "Cutting through the graveyard, right?"

Steve nodded his assent. He never seemed to mind the graveyard shortcut, though most other people were a bit weird about it. Bucky grinned as he ducked through the gap in the old fence. Steve was different; Steve was better. But...that was the problem, wasn't it? Bucky bit the inside of his cheek. In his pockets, his fists tightened until his nails bit into his palms.

"Buck..." Sighing, Steve stopped and turned to look at Bucky. "It might help to talk about it, whatever it is."

Shaking his head, Bucky leaned against one of the old-style gravestones so he was half sitting on the top of it. He blinked, fighting the stupid tears that threatened, but he couldn't hide them in his voice when he spoke. "I seriously doubt that." And of course now Steve couldn't let it go. Bucky hunched his shoulders closer to his neck and stared down at his feet.

Steve leaned against the next gravestone. He was quiet for a while then he said, "Whatever it is, it's eating you up inside. I just want to help."

A short, choked laugh escaped Bucky's throat and he wiped angrily at the tears leaking from his eyes. Of course Steve would want to help. Well, until he knew what was up anyway. Then he'd probably never want to speak to Bucky again. Bucky tried to focus on the blades of grass around his feet, shiny from the recent rain. Steve deserved a better friend than Bucky, anyway. But...who'd walk him home? Who'd keep him safe? Bucky _couldn't_ tell him. But...maybe Steve would still want to talk to him; Steve was generous and kind—it was unfair to Steve to assume he'd abandon his friend. Sure, things would be awkward, but Steve would probably try to pretend they weren't. Maybe Steve would even have some decent advice for him. Steve was _good_; it stood to reason he might be able to give Bucky some tips in that area. Maybe he could help Bucky become a better friend.

"Buck?" Steve put his hand on Bucky's arm, encouraging. "I won't laugh, no matter what it is, if that's what you're thinking."

No, Steve would never laugh about something like this. Bucky sucked in a breath of cold, damp air through his teeth. "I think I might be gay." He waited for Steve to pull his hand back, but it didn't happen. Hesitantly, Bucky turned his head to look at him.

Steve's frown was just confused rather than angry or disgusted. Finally he said, "You like girls, though."

Bucky nodded. "I do. But...what I mean is, I also like guys."

"That means you're bi, Buck." Steve said it so calmly.

Bucky huffed out a frustrated breath. "Okay, so I'm _bi_. What difference does it make?" He made a choked, frustrated sound in his throat. "It's still _wrong_. It's still dirty. It still means I'm going to hell."

Steve's grip on Bucky's arm tightened. His voice was fierce, as though he could change the world by will alone. "You're not going to hell, Bucky."

Bucky slid down into a crouch, his back pressed against the gravestone. His voice was small and scared when he spoke, "Can you tell me how to be good then, Steve? Because you're going to heaven, that much is obvious, and—" God, he just didn't want to imagine an eternity without Steve. But that was the _problem_.

"Bucky." Steve put his hand on Bucky's face and turned it towards himself—he was kneeling in the wet grass in the middle of the graveyard in the light of the nearly-full moon, and he leaned in and kissed him.

Bucky's head snapped back so hard it made a loud cracking sound against the gravestone. It also kinda really _hurt_. "What're—what're you _doing_?"

Steve scraped his teeth over his bottom lip, hands curled into fists against his thighs. "I was trying to kiss you."

"But..." Bucky's eyes were so wide they were starting to ache. "Stevie, you're not gay—or bi, or whatever."

Steve's jaw hardened. "How would you know? Maybe I am."

But...that was _impossible_. "But, Stevie, you're _good_."

Steve shrugged one narrow shoulder. "I guess maybe I'm good and bi at the same time."

"Are you just..." Bucky's head hurt, probably at least partially because he'd smacked it against a gravestone. "Are you just trying to prove a _point_?"

Steve shook his head. "I really do like you, Buck. I mean, in the 'I want to kiss you' way." He looked down. "I'd kinda hoped maybe you felt the same way."

That really wasn't the point. "But, Steve, what about hell?"

Steve's eyes flashed as he met Bucky's gaze. "If you're going to hell, I'd rather go with you."

That hit Bucky like a punch to the gut, but he couldn't say he wouldn't choose hell over an eternity without Steve, either. Maybe it was stupid, but...never seeing Steve again would _be_ hell, just by itself. Still, Steve deserved better; Steve deserved everything good.

Steve's expression softened. "But I don't think you're going to hell, Bucky." He reached out and stroked Bucky's cheek. "Love isn't a sin."

Okay, maybe not. "But lust is." Steve was making it difficult for Bucky to think clearly, but he knew that much.

Steve nodded. "And it don't matter who you're lusting after; it's still a sin, just like lying or bein' lazy—and sins can be forgiven." His face softened even further. "That's what Jesus does: he forgives our sins."

Bucky took a shuddering breath. "You think Jesus would forgive me for lusting after you?"

Steve looked down, blush visible in the moonlight. "Yeah," he said softly. "All you have to do is ask him."

Bucky nodded, swallowing. His voice still sounded small in his own ears when he said, "Okay." He looked at Steve's face, so beautiful with his eyelashes casting half-moon shadows against his pale cheeks—almost delicate, but Bucky knew Steve was a lot tougher than he looked. "What about you? Can you forgive me for that and for not telling you and for being a jerk and throwing a fit in the middle of a graveyard in the middle of the night and making you kneel in the wet grass and pulling back like a dumbass when you tried to kiss me?"

"Yes." Steve met his gaze, eyes filled with sincerity. "Yes, to all of it." He put his hand on Bucky's arm again, fingers stroking soothingly through the fabric of his jacket. The corner of his mouth twitched upwards. "Could we maybe try the kiss again?"

"Yeah." Bucky nodded, relief washing over him. It still seemed so surreal, but maybe Steve understood things like forgiveness better than he did. It was pretty darn likely, actually. "But I think maybe we should stand up first?"

Steve laughed softly. "Yeah, good idea."

So that's how they had their first kiss—their first _real_ kiss—in a graveyard bathed in the light of a nearly-full moon, with Bucky's fingers threading through Steve's soft hair and Steve's lips moving warm and wet against his own and one of Steve's hands on the back of Bucky's neck, pulling him down, and his other arm wrapped around Bucky's back under his jacket, holding him tight.

"I really do love you, Stevie," Bucky whispered, shivering slightly as he held him close. It was such a wonder to be able to say it aloud.

"I love you too, Buck." Steve nuzzled at Bucky's jaw, eyes mostly closed. His fingers were slightly cold against Bucky's neck, but his breath was warm as it ghosted across Bucky's skin.

The night was cold and damp and they really needed to get home, but Bucky felt wonderful. He felt like...like he'd been a prisoner, but Steve had set him free.

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**A/N: This is actually meant to be a modern-day AU, but probably the only details that would be out of place in the 30s are the vacuum cleaner and the upright gravestones being called 'old-style'. Maybe this fic is set in the 90s? I dunno; I don't think it really matters.**

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Captain America, Angst, Romance