“Lord mercy, Steve. Gimme a minute.” Bucky fell back on the bed panting, the aftershocks of his nth orgasm still running through his body.
Steve braced himself above his body, still splitting his thighs open with his body and frowned down at him.
“You alrigh’, Buck?” He slurred, panting as he ran slow eyes over Bucky’s body.
Bucky groaned at the stare and closed his eyes for a moment, drawing in deep breaths. His whole body was a mess of aching joints and burning muscles. He couldn’t remember ever being this sore, even after missions with the Commandos that had him limping back to their temporary camp.
Hell, Steve knocking his ass into the front of a building to stop the mind-control hadn’t hurt this bad.
“Yer gonna fuckin’ murder me, Rogers.” He groaned out, Steve huffing out a laugh and coming down atop him.
Bucky moaned at the feeling of Steve nudging his hair away from his neck to nip and nuzzle at the skin. He’d always kept his hair long for Steve, even back in the army when he’d gotten his ass reamed for it a few times. Steve loved to tug and pull on it, use it to anchor himself when Bucky would shove him up against the wall and blow him. Now that he was back to himself—mostly anyways—and realized the Russians apparently didn’t believe in haircuts, Bucky was already prepping for the upcoming argument with Steve about cutting it back to normal length.
He wouldn’t normally have a problem but it had taken him a half hour in the fucking shower to scrub and rinse the shoulder length locks and that shit wasn’t cool.
Steve rolled his hips against him, shoving a thick erection against his hip and Bucky groaned once more, shoving ineffectually at Steve’s broad shoulders. Luckily for him he only had one shoulder to worry about. Damn good thing too because the movement made his bicep feel like it was on fuckin’ fire.
“No. Holy hell, Steve, no more. ‘M tired.”
“What do you mean you’re tired? You can’t be tired, I have plans for you!” Steve said, pulling back to look at him with wide eyes.
Never before has Bucky had such a desire to punch his best friend in his stupid, perfect, handsome face.
“Rogers.” He snapped out, glaring up at the man who was doing his best impression of a puppy abandoned on the side of the road. “We’ve fucked about fifteen times in the past twenty-four hours. I can’t even cum anymore! I’m pretty sure if I cum again I’m gonna go into shock.”
Steve whined and buried his face back in Bucky’s throat, sliding a hand into his hair to toy with the locks.
“Missed you, Buck. Missed you bad.”
Bucky suddenly felt like a heel, but all the bad feelings in the world couldn’t stiffen his cock. Not after all the shit they’d just done.
“Missed you too, punk. But I can only fuck so much. ‘M not a superhuman.”
“Are too.” Steve argued softly, tracing the fingers of his other hand around where skin met cold metal.
Bucky huffed out a breath and wrapped his arms around his best friend’s shoulders, laying a kiss to his temple. Damnit, Steve always had been a hell of a manipulator when it came to him. It was those big ass baby blues.
How else would a skinny little asthmatic convince someone to pin them up against the wall and fuck them until they were shaking?
“Gimme like an hour to sleep. Then I’ll let ya fuck me in the shower, dig?”
Steve shivered against him at the words and nodded into his throat. Bucky sighed at the feeling of Steve’s warmth settling atop him and closed his eyes once more, welcoming the sleep that rushed in.
And if one hour turned into three and fucking in the shower turned into fucking in the shower, against the bathroom sink, and inside the walk-in closet well….they had a lot of time to make up for.