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you're the fireworks flyin' on the fourth of july

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Bucky climbs out of a sound sleep to the sensation of someone gently sucking his cock. From the way his skin is buzzing and the heat in his groin, they've been doing it for a while.

“Ohh,” he moans involuntarily, and he hears a chuckle.

“Good morning,” Steve murmurs, his lips buzzing against Bucky's skin. “Happy birthday.”

“It's not - ah – it's not my birthday,” Bucky gasps.

“Well, I missed a few,” Steve says. “I'm making up for lost time.”

Bucky manages to open his eyes and look down the length of his body to where Steve is lying between his thighs. Steve is wearing the cowl, and his eyes are sparkling with wickedness.

“Oh my God,” Bucky says.

Steve dips down to nuzzle Bucky's scrotum. Bucky instinctively tries to lower his hands to Steve's head, and hears a rattle of chain as he comes up short. He could easily break the cuffs, but that's not the point.

“How did you... Jesus Christ,” Bucky groans.

“I'm here to thank you for your service, soldier,” Steve says, and Bucky can hear that he's laughing at him, just a little bit.

Bucky can't bring himself to care.


The mission is finished, but Bucky is practically climbing the walls, still, so he hits the gym.

He's not expecting Steve to be there, working the heavy bag, but it's a nice bonus.

“Hey,” he says, and if his voice has a bit of a drawl to it, well, he doesn't really believe in being subtle about his intentions.

“Hey,” Steve replies, his eyes flicking up and down Bucky's body. “You need to spar?”

“Sure,” Bucky says, and it's on.

Steve's got more bulk, but Bucky's got decades of training. It's nicely levelled by Bucky's robot arm and Steve's habit of fighting dirty. What starts as a standard sparring session ends up with them wrestling on the mat, both hard, both kissing as much as they're fighting. Bucky's on his back, again. He probably could have come out on top more than he did, but if he likes Steve on top, his full weight holding him down, well, there's no law against that, not any more.

When Bucky thrusts up, rubbing his cock against Steve's belly, Steve pulls back. His lips are bitten and red, his eyes dark. Bucky wants to push him down flat on the mat, suck his cock right there in the gym until he can't keep back his shouts. Steve knows it; Bucky can tell by the way Steve lets his eyes sink shut and breathes out, slow and ragged.

Bucky starts to pull Steve down again, but Steve breaks away.

“I'm going to hit the showers. Meet me in my living room in twenty minutes,” Steve says. He stands and holds Bucky's gaze until Bucky says, “Yes.”

“Yes, what?” Steve asks, with a hint of steel.

Bucky swallows. “Yes, sir.”

Steve doesn't smile, but he looks satisfied. “Good.”

Bucky showers so fast, he thinks he might have missed some parts of his body all together. He feels nervous, standing on Steve's doorstep, but it's a good kind of nervous, an anticipation that thuds through him like a second heartbeat. When he knocks, he hears Steve's voice filter through from a distance. “It's open,” Steve says.

Bucky turns the knob, and he finds the door is indeed unlocked. He steps through, closes it behind him, and locks it, since he's pretty sure that they're going to want privacy. He kicks off his shoes, because Steve is fussy about that kind of thing, then walks barefoot up the hallway to the living room, where Steve is waiting.

Steve is on the sofa, bare-chested. His skin is pink from the shower, his hair wet, but combed flat. He's wearing a clean pair of sweatpants, and there's a drink in his hand that looks like scotch.

He's wearing his red uniform gloves.

It literally stops Bucky in his tracks.

Fortunately, Steve has that expression on his face, the one that means he has a plan, so when he says, “Come here,” Bucky doesn't have to think at all. He just lets his feet walk him over to the couch, lets Steve guide him to straddle his lap.

“You planned this,” Bucky says. To his own ears, his voice sounds embarrassingly breathless.

“Might have done. Happy birthday,” Steve says, looking smug.

“Still not my birthday,” Bucky says.

“Still not the point,” Steve replies.

“Well, now that you've got me where you want me...” Bucky leans in close.

“Almost,” Steve says. He puts down his drink.


Steve takes Bucky's hands in his own. “This one, here. You'll need the support,” Steve says, guiding Bucky's hand to the back of the sofa. Bucky's heart kicks up a notch. “And this one,” Steve presses a kiss to the palm of Bucky's metal hand. “This one, I want right... down... here,” Steve says, sliding it down the length of his own body to cup his hard cock. Bucky gives a little squeeze, and Steve rocks up into Bucky's grip. “That's right, that's good. Your hands stay right where they are. You move them, and this ends.”

Bucky doesn't believe that for a second, but he likes the way the words sound coming from Steve's lips, so he ducks his head to Steve's neck so that he can whisper, “Yes, sir,” against Steve's skin, and feel the way that makes Steve shiver.

Steve indulges him for a beat, then pushes Bucky back upright. “Right there,” he says.

One gloved hand cups Bucky's jaw, the fingers of the other tap at Bucky's lips. “Open.”

A bolt of arousal streaks through Bucky as he obediently sucks in Steve's index and middle fingers. The taste of leather tangs across his palate, and the gloves creak quietly as he sucks in long, hard pulls.

“Good, that's good,” Steve pants, his composure cracking slightly.

Bucky smiles around Steve's fingers, teases them, rubs Steve's cock in time with the strokes of his tongue. Steve's eyes are hot and fixed immovably on Bucky's face, and there's a flush on his cheeks. When he speaks, though, his voice is rock-steady with a thread of amusement.

“You're going to want to get those nice and wet,” he says casually.

Bucky whimpers desperately when the implication makes its way through the fug of arousal in his brain.

“No rush, though,” Steve continues. “We've got plenty of time. Right now, you're exactly where I want you. Understand?”

Bucky nods a little frantically, not letting go of Steve's fingers, not stopping sucking for a second.

“Good boy,” Steve says, and the wash of pleasure and embarrassment that breaks over Bucky only winds his excitement higher.

He thinks it can't get any better, but then Steve slides his other gloved hand back to wrap around the base of Bucky's skull, pressing him down deeper on his fingers, making him take it.

“That's it,” Steve says. “That's perfect.”

Yeah, it is, Bucky thinks, moaning around Steve's hand, sucking and licking the leather until it's dripping.


They save down-town Manhattan. Again.

Bucky and Hawkeye have a competitive thing going that borders on aggressive posturing. They keep a running number tally of their kills on the comms until Iron Man butts in to say that their flirting is revolting and starts calling them Legolas and Tauriel.

Steve eventually curtly interrupts and tells them to keep the comms clear. The fact that he's being so uptight and prissy about protocol while punching some bad guy in the nuts is enough of a dissonance to make even Bucky crack a smile.

“You know, you didn't have to organise a surprise party just because it's my birthday,” he says, shooting Steve's opponent right in the ear, because he's a show-off.

Steve wheels and glares up at Bucky's perch, which makes Bucky grin harder because he knows how wound up it makes Steve when someone poaches.

“It's your birthday?” Iron Man says. “You should have told me! We can go out! Strippers. Nine courses of sushi. Alcohol with gold in it! Name your poison.”

“We've got plans,” Steve says tersely. “Cut the damn chatter, or I'm sending the lot of you to SHIELD comm protocol training. Again.”

“Oh, God, fine,” Iron Man grouches, and flies off to blow a robot through a wall. He's taken offence to them for some personal reason, something to do with standards and copyright infringement and Justin Hammer's stupid face, if his rambling is anything to go by.

Bucky doesn't say another word, apart from strictly op-related communications, because he can't get that word plans out of his mind.

It's a quarter to midnight by the time everything's wrapped up and they're back home. Bucky's turning to make a smart remark, something like better act fast if you still want to celebrate my birthday, when Steve slams him up against the wall. Steve's mouth is on his, hot and hard and biting, and his hands move over Bucky's body, grasping and squeezing, like he's trying to touch everything at once.

Bucky gladly matches Steve's desperation, kiss for kiss, touch for touch. Steve's suit is slick and rough and hard under his hands. He fumbles until he finds the tab of the fly zipper, tugs it down and strokes what he can through the gap.

“Please, Steve, let me, I'll make it good for you,” he begs between kisses, because sucking Steve while he's fully suited-up is definitely on Bucky's kink wishlist, and would be an awesome birthday present.

“Mmmm, yeah, I don't think so,” Steve says, sliding a hand to Bucky's hip and squeezing possessively. “Turn around.”

Bucky swallows down a pang of disappointment and turns, obediently. Steve moulds himself to Bucky's back, breathes warm and damp against Bucky's neck while his hands make short work of Bucky's belt and fly. “So good for me,” he whispers, as he tugs Bucky's trousers and underwear to his knees.

“Sir,” Bucky gasps as Steve's gloved hands cradle his balls, stroke his cock from root to tip. They slip around to Bucky's hips, and Bucky's breath catches in his throat. Steve's hips press forward firmly, just once.

“Yes, please, please, sir, Steve, please,” Bucky babbles, reaching back and tugging Steve forward again.

Steve smiles against Bucky's skin and rocks his hips once more. He rasps, “Hands on the wall,” and Bucky complies.

Steve steps back, and Bucky can hear the sounds of Steve loosening his belt. Bucky cranes his head in time to see Steve bite his fingers and tug to remove a glove. It takes his breath away.

Steve's naked hand dips down. He slips his fingers between Bucky's cheeks and stops there, hesitates at what he finds. When Steve actually gets on his knees to look, Bucky moans.

“What, when, I-” Steve stammers.

Bucky laughs breathlessly. “It's my birthday,” he says. “Thought the least I could do is be ready for you.”

Steve chokes a little on his own spit; it's flattering. “When did you...”

“This morning,” Bucky says, and he feels Steve rest his forehead against the small of his back, breathing fast and hot against the curve of his ass.

“You went into battle with this...” Steve says, incredulously. He traces around the plug with a fingertip, and Bucky's knees tremble.

“We can talk about all the rules I broke later, right now, I really need you to fuck me into this wall until I can't stand up,” Bucky says in a rush.

Steve makes a high-pitched sound that he cuts off by kissing Bucky's skin feverishly. Then he pushes his fingertips under the edge of the plug, and Bucky bites down on a shout.

“Beautiful,” Steve murmurs, working the plug out slowly with one hand, petting Bucky's hip soothingly with the other. “Nearly there, baby, nearly there.”

Once the widest part is out, the rest of the plug slips out with ease. Bucky whimpers at the loss. Steve stands, tosses the plug aside, and fumbles with a sachet of lube, his movements jerky and hurried.

Bucky tilts his pelvis, leans forward until his head rests against his forearms. “C'mon, c'mon, you can just slide right in,” he teases, and Steve lets out a slightly hysterical giggle.

“I could – God,” Steve chokes out. “I don't-” Steve stops, heaves a breath. When he speaks again, he's recovered a fraction of his composure. “Turn back around,” he says. “I want to watch you.”

Bucky kicks off his shoes and his trousers, turns, and leans against the wall. Steve is completely dressed apart from his missing gloves and belt, and his cock, poking out from his uniform, standing almost vertically. His cowl is shoved back and his hair is a damp, tangled mess. Bucky has never wanted him more.

“You want to watch me?” Bucky pants, letting one of his hands tease along his cock.

“Not like that,” Steve says, crowding in, ducking and reaching under Bucky's thighs and lifting. Bucky catches on immediately, hops up and wraps his legs over the points of Steve's hips. Steve's cock trails wetly down Bucky's crack, across his hole that's still loose and open and empty. “Like this,” Steve says, and pushes up and in.

Bucky shouts; he can't help it. Steve pauses, most of the way inside. There's sweat beading on his forehead and he's breathing hard, but his eyes are sharp and assessing, like he's going over a battle plan, not having desperate wall sex two feet from their front door.

“Can you be quiet?” Steve asks mildly.

“Not a fucking chance,” Bucky pants, wriggling, trying to get Steve to move.

“That's what I thought,” Steve says, amused. He moves one of his hands from Bucky's thigh (still holding him up effortlessly with the other) and covers Bucky's mouth completely.

“Good?” Steve asks.

Bucky nods immediately. It doesn't matter what Steve's asking, whether it's is this good? or will you be good?, the answer is a very definite yes.

“Good,” Steve says with a pleased smile, then he pushes the rest of the way in, hard, and Bucky's eyes roll up in his head.

Bucky's been wound up for so long, what with the plug being inside him all day while he fought and shot and climbed up buildings, that Steve's been fucking him for barely a minute when Bucky comes untouched between them. He shoots so hard that most of his come lands on the star on Steve's chest, and a few drops hit Steve's chin. If he was able to think, he might be smug about so thoroughly defiling a national icon, but Steve doesn't let up, fucking Bucky relentlessly through his orgasm.

Bucky is making sharp, broken sounds behind the steel of Steve's hand, breathing so fast through his nose that he feels dizzy. His hands scrabble at the back of Steve's shoulders, wanting to dig in and leave long, red scratches, but he can't find any purchase on the suit, so he rakes them down Steve's neck instead.

“You're so... so... oh. Oh! Oh, oh, oh fuck,” Steve shouts. He shoves up two, three times, so hard that Bucky knows he'll be feeling Steve in him for days.

Steve moves his hand and covers Bucky's mouth with his own, kissing him sloppily through the aftershocks. Bucky loves Steve while he's like this, immediately post-orgasm, shaking and whimpering and out-of-control, about as far from his usual, put-together self as he can get. He deliberately clenches and Steve lets out a little cry, twitches forward involuntarily.

Bucky laughs between kisses. “That was so hot,” he says emphatically.

Steve laughs, too, flushing red and ducking his head, instantly bashful, even while he's still inside him. “Yeah, it was,” he says, leaning in to kiss Bucky slow and sweet, like they're holding hands in the park, not winding down from some of the best sex of Bucky's long life.

“So, birthdays,” Bucky says, as they untangle themselves and start picking up the clothing that's discarded willy-nilly. “I'm becoming a fan.”

“You were already a fan,” Steve says, smirking lasciviously. It's a good look on him.

“Of your birthdays, sure. But I'm getting to like mine, too.”

“Well,” Steve says with a smile. “We still have a lot to catch up on.”

“I'm sure we can manage it, between us,” Bucky says, licking his lips in anticipation. “Now, get outta that suit, and come to bed. It's only my birthday once a year, after all,” he adds with a cheeky smile.

“Yes, sir,” Steve says, and they almost, almost, make it to the bed for round two.