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There was that unspoken agreement, something that recalled what came before, something that kept in secrecy a fragile thing still learning to stand — still leaning on false legs while the real ones prepared for a long walk ahead, full of obstacles and detours.
They were discreet, good at suppressing desire when they weren’t alone, good at not making it obvious that they liked each other more than they should — more than teammates normally would.
But then…
“What do you think, Buck?”
That voice — that damned Southern drawl that made every letter sharper when Walker called Bucky not the way he did in public, but the way he did when it was just the two of them…
If anyone had been observant enough — and unfortunately, Yelena was — they would’ve noticed the shift in Bucky’s expression as he settled onto the tall stool by the kitchen island.
They would’ve seen the glint that flickered across his blue eyes, the way he swallowed hard before raising his mug to take a sip and mask his reaction.
It was just a split second, but Yelena caught it.
Walker hadn’t even noticed — his back was turned to them, hands busy with the stove, the frying pan, and the sizzling bacon and eggs, while he talked about the next event they’d have to attend, planning their travel schedule.
He was only asking for Bucky’s opinion.
But Bucky’s focus slipped the moment Walker called him like that.
“Sure.”
He didn’t even know what he was agreeing to — but God, with the way Walker said his name, it could only be something good.
Yelena couldn’t hold back a laugh. She stood, plate in hand, grabbing a share of the bacon and eggs Walker had just made, plus the stack of pancakes already on her plate and a ridiculously generous drizzle of maple syrup now dripping onto the bacon.
“I’ll take advantage of the quiet morning to go over yesterday’s report and get ahead on what I can with Mel. Enjoy your breakfast, boys.”
Oh, she left because she didn’t want to stick around to see where that was going — but she left laughing all the same.
Walker turned around, a ridiculously perfect apron covering his clothes — the one Bob and Yelena had given him a few days earlier when they declared him the official cook of the New Avengers.
It was simple, with a small phrase embroidered on the left side, right over the chest: kiss the cook as a thank you.
Something Yelena sometimes did in her own way — when she passed Walker on her way out of the kitchen, she’d kiss her fingertips and tap them against his forehead like she’d kissed him.
Today, she skipped that routine.
“Everything okay?” Walker noticed Bucky’s expression, the way he was looking at him — still holding his coffee mug, eyes trailing up and down as if scanning every detail of Walker.
“Coffee’s bad?”
Bucky smiled, shaking his head.
The coffee was perfect — strong, just how he liked it. The pancakes were soft and flavorful, the eggs cooked to the right texture; he knew it without even tasting them. And he’d bet his life the bacon was crispy. Walker delivered perfection in the kitchen — he poured himself into it, it relaxed him, made him feel good.
And he had that little habit he swore he hid so well — that constant chase for perfection.
“You called me Buck.”
He took another sip of coffee, set the mug down on the counter, and walked around the kitchen island, stopping just inches from Walker, face to face.
“With that slow drawl of yours stretching out the vowels — and I still have no idea what I just agreed to.”
His hand tugged on Walker’s apron.
They had been deepening whatever they were when they were alone — Bucky slipping into Walker’s room in the middle of the night, stolen kisses in the locker room after training.
Missions in pairs, where Bucky’s hand found Walker’s on the way back in the quinjet when no one else was there.
But in the kitchen? With Yelena maybe just one room away? With Ava or Bob possibly walking in any second?
“I… didn’t notice.”
But he did notice — the way Bucky’s hand gripped his apron, the way he licked his lower lip before biting it, like he was holding himself back from doing all that to Walker’s mouth instead of his own.
“I know. And I think that’s what made it even sexier.”
“Sexy?” Walker gave a short, nasal laugh, even as Bucky’s other hand reached up to his jaw, fingers threading through his beard in that tender way that always disarmed him.
“Mm-hm. I love that Southern thing you do when you say my name like that. I just wasn’t expecting it to happen over breakfast — I’m used to getting turned on when we’re alone in your room and you use that tone while—”
Bucky was silenced — Walker’s finger pressed to his lips, only to be promptly bitten and licked, earning him a look of mock disapproval that made Bucky laugh out loud.
“Maybe it’s time to take the training wheels off this relationship, John.”
Bucky pulled him closer, lips finding his in a kiss right there in the middle of the kitchen.
“Then you can call me Buck as much as you want.”
Their foreheads rested together as he spoke, fingers brushing over John’s face.
“But if you use that tone again, remember to do it when we’re alone — or I can’t be held responsible for what happens next.”
He emphasized the warning with a smack to Walker’s ass, earning the best possible response — that perfectly shocked expression Walker did so well, followed by the bright flush of red that crept up his ears and across the tops of his cheeks just above the beard.
Maybe it really was time to stop keeping things so secret — especially when Bucky was pretty sure Yelena had figured it out the moment John called him that way, so casually.