This is his body,
This is his love,
Such selfish prayers
And I can't get enough
Bucky watches from the sidelines as Steve makes his speech and uses the big ceremonial scissors to cut the ribbon that marks the reopening of the Chelsea Piers after mutant space whales had destroyed it. He's glad the speeches are few and short and they can make a quick getaway, because his fingers are itching to run through Steve's hair until it's tousled and standing up in little spikes, instead of neatly parted like he's on his way to Mass (though Steve might be on his knees when Bucky does it).
He's always wanted to make a mess of Steve and his perfect choirboy appearance. When they were boys, the urge expressed itself in ruffling Steve's neatly parted hair and scuffing his newly shined shoes (and he still resorts to those when there are no other options), but he's since learned way more fun ways to get Steve all dirty and disheveled.
He especially likes Steve's new uniform--the old one had all sorts of buckles and zippers and straps that interfered with Bucky getting his hands or his mouth on Steve's cock, but with this one he can just tug the tights down over Steve's slim hips (or shove his hand inside if he's desperate and they don't have much time) and bury his nose in the crease where Steve's leg joins his body. When they get home, he does just that. He presses little kisses down the insides of Steve's thighs before he takes Steve's cock into his mouth and sucks. Steve's hands always flail around for a few seconds before landing in Bucky's hair and he'll try so hard not to pull, but he always does, and Bucky loves it, loves the sting of it on his scalp while he's got the velvety heat of Steve's dick on his tongue. He loves the way Steve bites off his name when he comes, salty and warm, down Bucky's throat, and the way Steve flops back against the pillows, eyes closed and mouth open, breathing hard.
And that's just the beginning. Bucky likes to take his time when he can, climbs up into Steve's lap and kisses him until his mouth is red and swollen, biting at his full lower lip. Every grunt and moan Steve makes goes right to Bucky's dick, which is hard and aching but he won't touch himself. Not yet.
He likes to suck bruises onto the perfect skin of Steve's neck and chest, like he's marking his way on a map of territory claimed and flags planted. He watches as they all fade away and he has to start over again, teasing Steve with lips and teeth and tongue while Steve arches and bucks beneath him, his voice cracked and hoarse and his hands gripping hard on Bucky's arms, his shoulders, his hips, fingers leaving marks that take a lot longer to fade and that Bucky likes to press afterwards, the sting reminding him that this is real and they are alive.
He leaves bite marks, the imprint of his teeth on Steve's collarbone, on the soft skin of his belly and thighs, which last a little longer, sometimes even until they wake up in the morning and Bucky can do it again, his own little morning prayer, a task he's willing to dedicate his life to, if Steve will let him. And Steve always lets him.
They roll around a little on the bed, Steve naked and Bucky still half-clothed, but once Steve's decided Bucky should be naked, he doesn't waste any time stripping Bucky bare and pushing him down on the bed so he can take his turn marking Bucky up with bites and kisses. He's hard again and Bucky hasn't come once yet, his dick aching to be touched, but Steve gives him a wicked grin and presses slick fingers against Bucky's hole without ever touching his cock. Bucky fucks himself on Steve's hand for a little bit, but he wants--needs--more. Steve teases him a little, fingers twisting and stroking in a way that makes Bucky's hips arch off the bed, but Bucky flips them again so he can straddle Steve and finally sink down onto his cock.
He rocks his hips slowly at first, closing his eyes and dropping his head back and feeling every inch of Steve inside him. He ignores Steve's hands on his hips and his muttered instructions to move, dammit, Bucky. He laughs breathlessly at Steve's desperation until Steve leans in to kiss him, and while he's distracted by the swirl of Steve's tongue around his, Steve starts thrusting up, and there's something exhilarating about the way Steve can just move him when he wants to, so Bucky lets it go and takes the ride.
He strokes his dick in time with Steve's thrusts and tangles his fingers with Steve's when Steve wraps a hand around him. Delicious heat shivers down his spine and his balls draw up tight and his vision starts to go white around the edges.
"Fuck," he says, his voice a rusty wreck, "fuck, Steve."
"Yeah," Steve answers. "Come on, Bucky. Come for me now."
And Bucky does, spangling Steve's chest with come, his whole world narrowed down to the lightning hot pleasure streaking through him. Steve's hips stutter beneath him, and he can feel the wet heat of Steve coming inside him as he's floating down through the afterglow.
He tumbles off Steve's lap, groaning a little when Steve's cock slips out, and then humming happily as he takes in the sight of Steve covered in spunk and sweat and lube and saliva, and dozens of little bruises and bite marks signaling Bucky's presence and his progress.
Steve might wear the American flag on his uniform, but underneath, he's all Bucky's.