They make good time on their escape from the HYDRA camp, even though none of the men are what you'd call hale or healthy. If they're not wounded they're malnourished, and all of them are dehydrated, so their first stop is at the riverside, so that everyone can drink their fill, and every container capable of carrying water can be filled. Several of the men roll into the water, just to cool off or to wash away the blood and grime of captivity. Steve does not; consequently, neither does Bucky, who will not leave Steve's side.
He stares at Steve. It's making Steve a little bit nervous, the way Bucky won't stop staring. He supposes it makes sense; he's had several months to get used to his new form, while Bucky has only had a few hours. He was still staring at himself after only a few hours.
Still, it makes Steve nervous, for a variety of reasons. Not he least of which is because he can see that look on Bucky's face - the one he always recognized back home, the one that said once I get you home I'm getting you naked. That's a dangerous look, out here. It wasn't so bad in Brooklyn Heights where nobody really cared if a fella looked at another fella like that, but out here in the big world?
He carefully maneuvers the two of them out of earshot of anyone who might be listening. “Bucky, you gotta stop.”
Bucky blinks at him, hurt flashing across his face. “Stop what?”
“Stop lookin' at me like that,” Steve hisses. “The men are gonna notice.”
To his credit, Bucky doesn't even pretend not to know what Steve is talking about. “I can't help it,” he admits. “You're just so... different now.”
“I'm still me on the inside, Buck,” he says, reaching out and clapping his friend on the shoulder to keep from leaning in and kissing him the way he's wanted to since the morning Bucky shipped out. “Just... just try to keep a lid on it, okay?”
Bucky swallows hard. “I'll try,” he allows. Then he turns away from Steve, going to see about one of the injured men.
Steve makes his way through the group, checking on everyone, making sure every man has had his fill of water and a chance to clean up a bit if he wanted it. Then he calls the group to order. As it turns out, by virtue of his honorary captaincy, he is the highest ranking officer present. So he nuts up and gives the orders. “If you can walk, you walk. If you can't walk, you ride. Everybody helps everybody else out; the man walking beside you is your responsibility. We're all in this together, but if we work together, we'll all get out of this alive. All right?”
They agree - why shouldn't they? Did he not just single-handedly bring them all out of a HYDRA facility? - and they form up, hale men helping the injured up onto the captured tanks. They have about three days of walking ahead of them, if they can keep pace and they don't get stopped by any German troops. Briefly, he wonders what the hell they're all going to eat.
They bivouac that night in a sheltered, wooded valley that is thickly surrounded by trees. There is a creek running through it, where they can re-water, and enough game that there will be both supper and breakfast. Once the men start to settle in for the night, Steve organizes the watches from the most sound among them - himself, Bucky, and a few other guys: Falsworth, Morita, Dugan, Jones, a few others. He and Bucky take the first watch, and they move out into the trees that surround the little valley, patrolling north while Falsworth and one of the other guys patrol south.
It's out there in the woods, with the sounds of the camp faded away and the night birds serenading them, that Bucky backs him up against a tree and goes to his knees, his face nuzzling at Steve's crotch. “Stevie,” he murmurs. “God, I've missed you.”
“Buck,” Steve pants. “Jesus Christ, Bucky.”
“Missed you so much,” Bucky is saying, his hands managing the fastenings on Steve's pants, tugging them down only to reveal the knit tights of his ridiculous costume underneath. “Jesus, Stevie, how the fuck many layers you got on?”
Steve huffs out a quiet laugh, finding the hidden fastenings and undoing them with shaking fingers. Bucky pulls the knit fabric down, along with Steve's briefs, and groans softly. “Look at you,” he whispers, his breath hot against the side of Steve's cock. “Jesus Christ .”
“Yeah, it's... it's definitely bigger,” Steve manages, hissing in a breath when the tip of Bucky's tongue delicately traces a line up the underside of his shaft.
“You're tellin' me,” Bucky says, his lips brushing Steve's head, catching the precome that leaks from the tip. He licks his lips, grinning up at Steve in the dark. “I can't wait to have this thing inside of me.”
But then he opens his mouth and he swallows Steve down, and Steve groans, his head falling back against the tree and his hands coming to rest on top of Bucky's head. Bucky uses his own left hand to brace against Steve's thigh, and his right hand comes sliding up between Steve's thighs to cup his balls, testing the weight of them, giving them a gentle squeeze.
Steve's hips buck, and Bucky laughs around the cock in his mouth, sucking hard, his lips and teeth and tongue working Steve like he's been starving for it, and maybe he has; they haven't seen each other in almost five months. But it's the first time anyone besides himself has touched this new body of Steve's, and Bucky is helping him discover that it processes pleasure in a whole new way, and before he realizes it's about to happen, Steve is coming, sucking in air and letting out soft vowel sounds as Bucky swallows him down.
When he opens his eyes again, Bucky is smirking up at him from his knees.
A few days later, Bucky's smirking at him again from the next barstool over. “Hell no,” he's saying. “That little guy from Brooklyn who was too dumb not to run away from a fight: I'm followin' him.” Then he pauses, and that smirk gets even wider, and he adds, “But you're keepin' the outfit, right?”