A Life in Eight-time, by Ilye
Barnes comes to with a hard-on in his pants and a rock in his chest. Steve’s not home. Barnes listens to the song six more times, just to be sure that the memory’s not a fake, or a fluid chimaera made up of his own desires. But the picture is so damned solid, so unwavering, his hard-on so persistent, that he has to take it at face value.
The first time they’d… They’d. Barnes’d never even known that they’d they’d until Billie Holliday started crooning at him.
Mature, post-canon. Steve makes Bucky a playlist to jog his memory. It works. This is what a songfic should be.