It starts in Paris.
“You can’t steal things just because you like them,” Sam tells Bucky, feeling innately that this is a losing battle, and Bucky cocks his head to the side, considers Sam very thoughtfully.
“Really,” he says. “I’m stealing you, aren’t I?”
hello, here is that long painfully slow-burning Sam-centric fic that’s been killing me for the last month. 33.5k words spanning from post-Winter Soldier to… well, to A Time. featuring art theft, meaningful conversation in hotel rooms, burning undercurrents of tension, Steve Rogers being Steve Rogers, moments of softness and breathless stillness. have fun. I’m dead.
Steel Phoenix Studios 