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A Love That Weighs Heavy

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The war was won, the birds sang, families were reunited, the Stark funeral left the universes strongest defenders in tears.

A new mission was begun. Banner and other super geniuses, Pym’s and raccoon’s and Lang’s alike, worked as a seamless unit and pieced the time machine together in less than a week. Steve eagerly volunteered for the job. That was the moment Bucky knew something was wrong. When Banner had agreed that Steve was, indeed, the best person for the job, Steve looked down and smiled. Not a proud smile, not a grime “I shoulder this mission with honor” smile, but a… a secret smile. A bashful smile.

Something horrible twisted in Bucky’s gut.

That night found Steve at Bucky’s door. For the moment those who had nowhere else to go were staying in Stark’s cabin by the lake. It was a tight squeeze, but it worked well enough for now and Bucky was certainly used to worse accommodations. He supposed he’d have to find somewhere else to stay until and unless the Avengers compound was rebuilt. Buck was stretched out on the ground. He and Thor were temporarily sharing the room and the God of Thunder was obviously given the bed. Mainly because Bucky hated electricity and would rather not do anything that could even begin to annoy the man who could literally control it. Bucky shivered at the memory of lightening buzzing through his skull, scrambling memories he once held dear.

Steve knocked quietly; Buck turned his head to smile at his friend. God, Steve was gorgeous, he had always been gorgeous in Bucky’s eyes, of course, but now he looked like a fucking god. The god that, as far as Bucky was concerned, he always had been. He looked beautiful, his eyes, his hair, his smile. Bucky loved this kid.

“Hey,” Steve said, returning Bucky’s small smile.

“Hey, Punk.” Bucky sat up, jerking his head to the bed. Steve gratefully took the invitation and stepped in the room, closing the door behind him and sitting carefully on the edge of the bed. He was chewing his lip.

“What’s wrong?” Bucky finally asked, brow furrowing in concern. Steve wouldn’t meet his eye.

“I uh, I wanted to talk about tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?” Bucky asked suspiciously. “Why? What’s up?”

Steve was silent for a long moment before he reached in his pocket and took out his watch. The one with Peggy Carter’s face in it. The one that made Bucky burn with envy.

“I… I’ve been thinking.” Steve was smiling dopily at the image, something in Bucky’s chest twisted.

“Don’t do that too much, you’ll hurt yourself.” Bucky choked out in a strangled voice. Steve scoffed.

“I mean it. Buck… This is my second chance. Tony is…” Steve's face dropped in sorrow, “was always saying I needed a life. Nat always said I deserved to go live for myself a little. I’m… I’m thinking they’re right. I… I’m tired of fighting Buck, I’ve been fighting for so long. Fighting so many things I didn’t even understand. I’m just… done, you know?” Steve looked at him with a sad smile, which dropped when he saw Bucky’s face twisted in grief. “Buck?” he said, worriedly as he slipped to his knees beside his best friend. “Buck, what’s wrong?” Steve laid a hand on Bucky’s shoulder and Bucky sagged into him.

“You… You’re going to leave.” He breathed out. Was the room spinning? It felt like it was spinning, it felt like electricity was dancing across his skin, dangerous, corrupting. He wouldn’t mind if this memory was one that got corrupted.  “You’re going… to be with her. You’re going to go and not come back.” Bucky folded in on himself, the space in his chest that usually held a heart began to hollow out.

“Buck-“ Steve started, looking at his friend in alarm. Suddenly, Bucky couldn’t control his hands, couldn’t control his actions. He grasped the front of Steve’s shirt and pulled the soldier in, one hand tangling in Steve’s golden hair, holding him still. And Bucky kissed him.

It wasn’t at all like Bucky imagined, and he had imagined this a lot. Their lips were dry, Steve was nothing like a woman, no soft edges and not the baby bird corners he had been before the serum. This Steve was hard, a little rougher, warm… and not moving. Bucky’s eyes flashed open and he released Steve, falling back on his ass.

“Oh god,” he choked out, eyes wide. He scrambled away until he hit the wall, then he stood quickly. “Oh god, fuck, I didn’t mean-“ Steve looked heartbroken and confused.

“Buck-“ he started, standing slowly. Bucky backed up until he was pressed into the wall, wishing to fall through it.

“I- I didn’t, oh fuck, I’m sorry, oh fuck, fuck.”

“You never said…” Steve said, touching his lips, he looked lost. “Why did you never say…?” his face was twisting into anger suddenly. Bucky forced himself not to cower, “What the fuck, Bucky?! We had twenty fucking years together and you didn’t say shit?!” All Bucky could do was stammer.

“I- I didn’t, I was scared!” He finally forced out, “It wasn’t done back then, Steve! People whispered about us enough as it was!” Bucky argued weakly. Steve’s looked at him in furious disbelief.

“So instead of telling me you dragged me around on all those dates, all those ladies you brought home, made me sit in our living room and fucking listen? Instead of not being a fucking coward, you kept this to yourself all these years, you made me think I was alone in this? Even now, even when we got somewhere it was allowed, somewhere safe?!” Bucky looked up in shock.

“You... You want..?” He said quietly, folding his arms around himself in disbelief. Steve growled in frustration and kicked the side table. It splintered.

“No,” Steve hissed, furious, a fury Bucky hadn’t seen since the 40’s, “No, Barnes, I wanted. But you never said anything! All those years of looks and touches and sharing a damned bed and you never said shit! Then I moved on, I met someone who loved me back, who wanted me. And now, now that I finally get a chance to be with her, you say something?!”

Bucky was quiet for a long moment, pulling into himself defensively. “I… I didn’t mean to but…I don’t want you to go, Steve. Please, please, I love you, I always have. Don’t…” Bucky drifted off, suddenly feeling lost. Steve sighed, backing away from him, scrubbing over his face. When he looked at Bucky it was with angry, sorrowful, eyes.

“If you had just…. God, Buck, if you’d just said something… anything. It’s… it’s too late. I can’t pass this up. I can’t, not for your…not for whatever this is.” Steve sounded more like he was trying to convince himself than Bucky.

“I know,” Bucky whispered, suddenly deflating and looking away. Because he did know. He never meant to kiss Steve, really, truly. Why did he though? Why didn’t he just hug his friend one last time and wish him all the happiness in the world? God his stupid fucking brain, cryo or no, his brain was still scrambled sometimes. Fact and fantasy blurring into listless, hazy clusters of a life that may have been but never was. The fight drained out of him, out of them both. There was silence for a long moment before Steve stepped past Bucky and opened the door.

“You can’t tell-“ he started.

“I won’t,” Bucky assured him. They stood in silence again, the air felt thick with what could have been.

“I’m sorry, Bucky.” Steve murmured as he stepped out.

“I’m sorry too,” Bucky said as the door shut.


The next day as Steve got a rundown from Banner and bantered with Sam, Bucky tried to keep his face even. Steve was kind to him, even then, assuring him all would be ok. And maybe it would be.

For Steve.

Bucky, on the other hand, had been gone for a golden-haired kid from Brooklyn since he was eight years old. A kid with a lion in his chest, larger than life and uncontainable in such a small frame. A kid who was never without a notebook and pencil and smiled in the sunshine. A kid who was righteous and good and worthy and pure. So pure Bucky never dare lay a hand on him, lest he be corrupted, and so worthy even a magic fucking hammer from a realm of gods could recognize it.

And so, as Steve took his place on the pedestal, Bucky tried to say with his eyes what he couldn’t with his mouth.

Good luck

Be safe

Go be happy

Go be in love

(even if it’s not with me)

Because you deserve it. Above all others, you deserve it.

And like that, Steve was gone. Banner counted down, Bucky looked away. As the green genius and Sam began to bicker, Bucky stepped away, looking out over the lake. What a beautiful place to have my heart ripped out, he thought, somewhat melodramatically.

Then the sound of the machine powering on behind him. Sam exclaiming “Cap!” in relief. Bucky spun on his heel, blinking back tears of bewilderment. There was Steve, a little worse for wear, but alive, whole. His hair had grown again, so had the beard, he had a split lip and his suit was tore. He was beautiful.

“Sorry I’m late,” he said distractedly as he gently pushed past Sam, eyes locked on Bucky “New York was a bitch.” He stopped in front of Bucky, there was still sweat on his brow, his hair ruffled in the breeze.

“You came back.” Bucky breathed in amazement; his eyes wide in shock.

“I did,” Steve said, his face serious.

“I didn’t think you would,” Bucky whispered, his hands twitching to touch Steve, held back by sheer force of will.

“I didn’t think I would either,” Steve admitted earnestly, “but… I’ve had time to think about it.”

“Think about what?”

“When we said till the end of the line, we meant it, didn’t we?”

“Yea, we did.” Bucky sniffled, rubbing roughly at his eyes, they burned with tears of relief.

“Does this look like the end of the line to you?” Steve asked, grabbing Bucky’s hand. Bucky smiled through his tears and let out a garbled laugh.

“It did there for a minute.” He admitted quietly.

“Yea, well, that’s cause you’re an idiot.” Steve smiled at him, warm and the embodiment of home.

“Punk.” Bucky choked out before snagging Steve by the shoulder and pulling him into a kiss.

It was chaste and glorious; Steve was warm and tasted of blood and smoke and those cold winter nights trying to teach a much smaller Steve to sway to the music so he could go out with Buck and not step on Sarah Hansen’s toes again (holding Steve close, close… closer but not indecent. Steve warm and small against his chest). Bright summer days and endless laughter and an eternity stretched out behind Bucky’s closed eyelids. He could feel one of Steve’s hands tugging his hair, the other pulling on his waist. Closer and closer and never close enough and never apart again, (please god), never apart again. Vaguely he heard Banner say “oh,” in surprise and realization before Sam echoed the sentiment with a very quiet “oh, shit” of his own. Bucky ignored them. Let them look, they didn’t have to hide, it wasn’t the 40’s anymore, and Bucky never wanted to hide again.

“I’m sorry,” Steve said when they finally parted, gasping like they’d both just fought an epic battle. “I’m sorry about the argument, I’m sorry I almost didn’t come back, I’m sorry for even thinking of leaving you here.”

“You don’t got to be sorry,” Buck said, still running his fingers through Steve’s slightly greasy hair and shaking his head, “I started it. I should have-“ Steve cut him off with another kiss.

“Apology accepted,” he said against Bucky’s lips, muffled slightly, “and no more lingering in the past. I’ve been living in it for more than a decade. I’m done, I’m ready to move on. With you.”

“Yeah?” Bucky asked in wonder, pulling back so he could look at Steve. Steve was smiling, his eyes soft.

“Yeah. But I meant what I said. I’m… I’m tired of fighting Buck, I’m ready to rest. If you’re not I understand and of course, I’ll support you, but-“ Bucky cut him off with a kiss.

“I think… I think I wouldn’t mind just being a kid from Brooklyn again. Maybe trying some of that life we always dreamed of, rescue cats and all.” Bucky said, giving a hesitant half smile. He was being honest, though. He had been fighting other people’s wars for decades, and this, a chance to rest? A chance to have a life with the only man he ever loved? How could Bucky ever turn that down? Steve smiled at him, soft, relieved. He pecked Bucky on the forehead and detached himself, approaching Sam.

Bucky watched with a smile as Steve handed over the mantel, Sam was wide-eyed and shocked. Both Banner and Sam gapped as Steve motioned to Bucky, before Steve turned back to him, all smiles and sunshine. As Steve approached, Bucky held out his hand, warmth buzzing in his veins as Steve accepted it.




Bucky had never been happier in his life. He and Steve had bought out a studio flat in Brooklyn with some of the “retirement” money Stark had gifted Steve. Apparently, the billionaire had a sneaking suspicion that most, if not all, of the remaining original Avengers would hang their hats once the final battle with Thanos had been fought and left instructions for everyone to receive a lump sum in the event of his death. Nats portion had been given to Clint, stored away for his children’s future. Steve liked that, Bucky could tell.

He was beautiful against the Brooklyn backdrop, softer and less hard edges, more the boy Bucky remembered from childhood. Only now he was large enough that the lion in his chest could find rest. Bucky sighed contentedly from where he was making dinner. Steve was still in his lounge clothes, though Bucky had already told him to change twice, curled around a sketchbook on the couch. Their cat, Star (a lovely grey stripped thing with eyes the same blue as Steve's ) was curled on the back of the couch against one of Steve's shoulders. 

Once they moved back to Brooklyn, Steve had taken up his art again, and his fame did wonders to help it along. People left and right were scrambling to commission The Original Captain America for his beautiful sketches with their deep shadows and photo-realistic lines and his paintings that one seemed able to almost fall into. Bucky loved that, loved that Steve was never far from his sketchpad, loved that the man was now eternally covered in paint and graphite, loved to watch him work.

Everything here was perfect, they still missed their departed friends upon occasion, and they both still had nightmares sometimes, but they would handle it. After all, who could be more intimately acquainted with loss and pain than these two? Two men displaced in time, two men who managed to find the best of it and trudge on through the worst. They lived, they mourned, they healed. That’s how life works.

The only downside, in Bucky’s humble opinion, was their sex life, or rather, lack thereof. Sure, they shared a bed and kissed languidly on the couch, but clothes stayed on, hands never strayed. Steve never pushed for more and neither did Bucky. It was beginning to be a frustration. Bucky had been walking around with blue balls for almost 80 freaking years, thank you very much, eternally jacking off to the image of golden hair and bright blue eyes. And now that his obsession was before him….? Nothing. Nada, zilch. Bucky wasn’t just frustrated though, he was worried. Though Steve never showed any issue with their lack of physicality, he also never showed any desire for more. Did he even want more? Bucky knew he must, when Steve pulled away it was with an almost pained look, and he was very obviously aroused. So why didn’t the moron just… do something?!

The ringing of the doorbell interrupted his growing annoyance at their predicament. Steve looked up in bewilderment, suddenly yanked back to earth from the daze he so often found himself in while working. Bucky shot him a look that said “see? I told you so,” as Steve scrambled up and into their room to dress. Bucky fondly rolled his eyes and opened the door. Sam stood there with a wide grin on his face, perfectly iced cake in hand.

“Barnes.” Sam greeted with a false sniff of annoyance. Bucky couldn’t help the grin on his own face.

“Birdbrain.” Bucky sneered as he stepped to the side, allowing Sam entrance.

"That's Captain Birdbrain to you," Sam quipped good-naturedly as he stepped in. Bucky snorted in amusement.

By then Steve had walked into the room, tugging his shirt down. (Holy fuck, this guy, Bucky’s hindbrain whispered.)

“Sam!” Steve said, smiling widely.

Bucky diligently took the cake from Sam’s hand and stepped back, allowing the two to embrace. As they talked shop, discussing everything from the latest alien invasion to the new specs Banner and Princess Shuri had added to the shield and Sam’s wings, Bucky began to set the table for three. He eyed the duo suspiciously, though, when he saw Sam slip something into Steve’s hand, who deftly tucked it into his jean pocket.

Neither Sam or Steve acted as if anything was amiss all through dinner, nor during their long conversation that carried well into the night. By the time Sam crashed on their couch, Bucky had all but forgotten the quick exchange.


Bucky didn’t think about it again until a few days later. They were having a quiet night in, tomorrow they were meant to attend a charity event to help raise money for the families affected by the snap, the Stark relief fund had teamed up with numerous other governments and organizations around the world. This event to raise money was meant to be massive, celebrities from every industry and corner of the globe in attendance, Steve and Bucky along with the other living Avengers not least among them.

 It was a mild day, the sun setting low over the horizon, painting the sky in oranges and golds as a breeze ruffled Steve’s hair. Steve was attempting to curl up in a chair on their patio. The way he sat sometimes made Bucky think the kid didn’t remember he was now a six foot something giant, not the bird-boned 5’4 of pure stubbornness he had been before. Bucky joined him, sighing as he flopped into the chair next to his partner. They sat in silence for a long moment, Steve biting his lip and twirling one of his pencils between his fingers.

“Buck,” he finally said.

“Yea, Stevie?” Buck responded, looking to the man with a soft smile.

“You know…” Steve started, before licking his lips, “the future really is amazing sometimes.” Bucky smiled at him.

“Yea, it is.” He agreed. Steve looked to him with love and adoration and apprehension.

“There’s so many things… so many things that have gone right. There’s still a long way to go but… Do you remember Mr. Hendrickson?”

Bucky furrowed his brow, then whispered “ah” in understanding of where Steve was going. Mr. Hendrickson had lived with his “friend”, Mr. Quentin, for many years. In the late 30’s Mr. Quentin and Mr. Hendrickson had been arrested for “lewdness” and acts against nature. They never saw either man after that, though Bucky always wanted to pretend they dropped off the grid together, he liked to imagine them living in the woods in some remote cabin. Free. Never having to hide from the light of day again. Mr. Hendrickson had a soft spot for the young Steve Rogers, always slipping him a little bit of money, urging the boy to go get a decent meal, to go out with friends. He also helped Steve learn how to draw and gifted the boy his first set of sketching pencils for his birthday one year, the same year Bucky gifted Steve his first proper sketchbook.

They were kind men, treated unfairly by both law and society. Steve gave him a knowing, sad smile.

“You know, they could have gotten married if they’d been born just 100 years later.” Steve looked out at the sunset. “How much good, do you think…” he said haltingly, “do you think we had to do to be given this opportunity? The opportunity so many like us didn’t get, still don’t get? Dropped in a time and place so many like us would have killed for? Our friends don’t balk when we hold hands, we don’t have to worry about anyone storming into our own home to arrest us for being in love, we can…” Steve dug in his pocket, digging out a small container. It looked almost like a lady’s powder compact, but square and much smaller. Bucky’s breath caught as Steve pulled it open. Inside was a simple band of metal.

“We could even get married, if… if we wanted to. Free and clear of the law, properly married.” Steve looked at him then, vulnerable and apprehensive, eyes wide. Bucky was just as wide-eyed.

“Steve…” he breathed out, amazed, “are you… are you askin’-“

“I could be.” Steve cut him off, “if you… only if you want me to be, then I can.” He was very serious but clearly anxious.

“Then ask,” Bucky demanded, though it came out breathy and pleading. Steve’s eyes widened in shock and he scrambled to his feet, before dropping to one knee in front of Bucky.

“Buck-“ he started, seeming to get the words caught in his throat, “will you- I mean would you, maybe, I- I mean, marry me?” Steve stammered, flushed and amazed. His face overlapped with the boy Bucky met so many years ago, wide-eyed in wonder as they rode the Ferris wheel on Coney Island for the first time. All of eight years old and gapping at Bucky with his front tooth missing, his blue eyes shining.

“Yes,” Bucky choked out, leaning forward in his seat and snagging Steve by the collar, pulling him in for a kiss, “yes, like I’d ever say no to you, punk.”

Steve breathed a sigh of relief, sagging against Bucky with a smile on his lips. “I, I was sure you would until I tried to ask.” He admitted, making Bucky smile even wider. Bucky rested his forehead against Steve’s, looking between them at the open box.

“Jesus Rogers,” Bucky laughed suddenly, “is this why we’ve been necking like a couple of teenagers instead of actually fucking for a year?” Steve pulled away with a blush and a guilty smile.

“I… I wanted to wait until the ring was finished, until I asked. It took forever, Sam and Clint have been hunting down the metal and building it and… yea.” Steve plucked the ring from the box and dropped it in Bucky’s hand.

“The metal?” Bucky asked as he turned it over. It was heavy, seemingly made of steel, though it had been sanded and polished, there were still spots of rust. Steve traced one finger over it.

“Our, uh, our old building, the one we grew up in, the one we lived in together after my Ma’ died, it’s still standing. I… I got them to pull some metal from it.” Steve admitted, “and here,” he flipped the ring over in Bucky’s hand, he traced a fingernail over a small strip of metal, discolored from the rest of the ring.

“That’s, ah… that’s from the- the train tracks,” Bucky looked up in shock, his right hand immediately going to his left arm. Steve grabbed the hand and took it between his own, kissing it. “To remind us it’s not the end, not yet.” Steve said quietly. Bucky suddenly felt tears clogging his throat.

“You’re a fuckin’ idiot, Rogers.” He croaked and Steve smiled at him fondly.

“Yea, but I’m your idiot, jerk.” He said, taking back the ring.

“Yea,” Bucky murmured, watching with awe as Steve took his metal arm, “you are, punk.” Steve grinned at him and slipped the ring on his finger. Bucky vaguely guessed someone must have made it magnetic because it was immobile on his finger, stuck fast to the vibranium.

They stared at the ring for a moment, amazed, just leaning into each other. Before Steve pulled back a little and took Bucky’s face in his hands, kissing him soundly.

“We’re engaged,” Bucky breathed against his lips and Steve smiled knowingly.

“I guess we are,” he whispered back. They stared each other down before Steve finally broke, “Buck?” he asked, wide-eyed and giddy.

“Yea?” Bucky said, breathless.

“Come to bed with me?”

“God yes.” Bucky hissed, gripping Steve’s hair and dragging the blond into a kiss. Steve grunted and melted into Bucky, just as he always did.

They stumbled to their room, shirts and shoes and pants scattered along the way until they stood in their bedroom, both naked, blushing like a couple of virgins on their wedding night. Which wasn’t very far from the truth, Bucky supposed. They had seen each other naked time and again before, during the war, during childhood, while living together. But not since, not since Bucky lost his arm, not since he began to collect scars like baseball cards. And still, for all that, Steve looked at him with barely disguised want and longing. So like that boy from decades ago, yet so different. Bucky still wanted to take care of him, still wanted to be his equal and his defender. And now they were, now they could easily protect themselves, protect each other.

They both moved at the same time, crawling on the bed as one unit, both sitting back on their haunches, facing each other. With shaking hands, Steve reached out. He combed his fingers through Bucky’s hair and Bucky closed his eyes, leaning into the hand before it moved down. Cupping his jaw, then two hands running down both arms, fingers catching on metal and scars, before drifting back up, thumbs pausing over his nipples. Bucky breathed out a sigh of surprise and swayed into the touch. He didn’t know his chest could be so sensitive, none of the dames he had once made himself bed to keep up appearances and chase away his lust for the man across him had ever touched him like that. With intent, circling, tugging, pinching and rolling his nipples until they were red and hard, peaked in excitement. (Though to be fair, it had been a literal lifetime since anyone had touched him sexually at all. A small mercy from HYDRA, all things considered, Bucky supposed.)

His hands flashed out, tugging Steve closer by the hips, their lengths bumping against each other, making both gasp in surprise and stimulation. Then they were kissing, hands pulling in hair, squeezing skin, dragging closer and closer, never apart. Bucky found himself atop Steve, both gasping hard.

“H-how do you wanna do this?” Bucky said, blinking the haze of lust from his eyes, groaning as Steve rocked his hips up, he and Bucky rubbing together deliciously.

“I- I dunno?” Steve looked unsure and confused, a bit like a deer in headlights. It was kinda cute, “I’ve never…”

“With a man?” Bucky finished; eyebrow raised when Steve blushed bright red down to his chest.

“With… with anyone.” He admitted. Bucky blinked hard for a moment, trying to process.

“Peggy?” he asked, shocked. Steve shook his head.

“She… stayed professional.” Bucky just gapped.

“Well, fuck.” He breathed, suddenly dizzy with desire. Fuck, fuck, he was going to be Steve’s first, hell, he was going to be Steve’s only if the ring on his finger was anything to go by.

“Have you ever… with a guy?” Steve probed in that old-fashioned gentlemanly way of his. Bucky shook his head honestly.

“No, never. I only slept with those dames cause I thought… I dunno, thought it’d make me normal.” Bucky shrugged, shifting at his vulnerability. (And still, he and Steve were hard.)

“Oh,” Steve breathed. He looked the same way Bucky probably did, lost and aroused and possessive. Damn, it was a good look on him. “Ok,” he said after a moment, “who, um, who… tops?” he seemed unsure of the terminology.

They stared at each other for a minute before,



And like that the tension melted away, eyes playfully narrowed before Bucky fell on Steve, suddenly they were laughing and giggling and tossing each other about on the bed. They wrestled like they were kids again, though Bucky didn’t recall so much tongue and teeth and thrusting against each other, gasping in delight. Finally, Bucky rolled, pinning Steve’s hands at his side, he knew Steve had gone lax, had let Bucky win, and that was somehow even hotter. The Steve from a lifetime ago had to be handled with care, Bucky touched him with gentleness, ears strained for the moment Steve’s lungs began to burn with the effort of their play fighting. Not this Steve, this Steve could easily throw down a fucking car. And still, he laid himself out as an offering to Bucky.

“Know what to do, Buck?” Steve asked, relaxing back into the mattress.

“Yea,” Bucky assured, it was mostly true. He understood the mechanics and the theory of what he needed to do, but he was sorely lacking in experience. They would just have to forge ahead together, blind leading the blind and all that.

“Uh, do you have lube?” Bucky asked, suddenly looking about him. He thought they might have some Vaseline in the bathroom if it was needed, but proper lube would probably be best for this.

Steve blushed scarlet (damn, it was fun making the kid go red like that) “Yea, my bedside table.” Bucky raised an eyebrow and smirked at Steve.

“Presumptuous or needy?” he teased. Steve blushed brighter and sputtered.

“S-shut up, you jerk!” Steve pointedly avoided his gaze as Bucky scrambled around in the drawer, pulling free a half-empty bottle of lube. He looked at Steve smugly.

“Soooo, needy it is?” Bucky snickered. Steve groaned.

“I will get up and leave.” He warned halfheartedly and Bucky snorted.

“You’re not going anywhere, Rogers, you put the damn ring on my finger, you’re stuck with me.”  Steve just gave him a dopey grin.

“Yea, I am.” Steve looked at him with dreamy eyes that made Bucky flush and grin in delight.

There was a bit of awkward scrambling about before they finally had a few pillows stuffed under Steve’s hips and his legs spread invitingly. Bucky cursed under his breath, opening the cap on the lube while not taking his eyes off Steve spread out before him. Hesitantly he slowly circled a finger around Steve’s opening, looking up at the soldier again and again.

“’m ok Buck,” Steve assured with a shaky smile. Emboldened, Bucky slide his slicked finger in up to the second knuckle. Steve gave a small “oh” furrowing his brow.

“You ok?” Bucky asked, not yet backing off.

“Yea,” Steve said, “just… feels weird.” Steve shifted a little. Bucky rocked his finger back and forth, stretching along Steve’s rim, feeling for something he had read about but not experienced himself. After a long moment, he looked to Steve.

“Can you… er, are you ok with another one?” he asked gently.

Steve grunted in acknowledgment. His erection had started to flag at the strange sensation. Bucky pulled back and coated his fingers again, figuring there was no such thing as too much in this case. As he wriggled his second finger in with his first his metal hand took a gentle grasp on Steve’s wilting erection. Steve sighed at the feeling and relaxed back into the bed more fully. A moment later, though, he yelped and jerked his hips.

“D-do that again!” he demanded, fucking himself down on Bucky’s fingers. Bucky just stared in amazement as Steve hardened again and obediently rubbed his fingers along the walnut-sized bundle that had Steve gasping and writhing.

After that things went much more smoothly, Bucky managed to squeeze in a third finger, rubbing and taping the little bundle (prostate, he reminded himself) causing Steve to groan in delight and rock his hips. Whispered demands of “more, Buck, fuck, do that again” in a strained voice. The sunset, then the golden light of their bedroom lamp cast Steve in a hazy glow. Minutes or hours past, Bucky was hypnotized by the feel of Steve’s body gripping his fingers, scorchingly hot, viselike in its grip, and the sounds he pulled from his love. Finally, Steve lost his patience.

“Buck,” he pleaded or demanded, neither could really tell, “I’m ready, for god's sake just fucking-“ Bucky thrust up hard against Steve’s prostate, causing the blond to choke on a gasp and roll his eyes into the back of his head.

Bucky rose onto his knees, coating himself liberally with the lube before holding Steve’s legs up in the crook of his arms. Slowly, oh so slowly, he pushed into Steve. Under him, Steve gasped and choked on his breaths like he was a damn asthmatic again. The super soldier reached up and scrabbled at Bucky’s arms and hands, his eyes wide, wild. Finally, Bucky felt his hips meet Steve’s backside.

“Fuck,” he whispered in amazement, Steve was tight, so fucking tight.

Nothing could compare, and hot, god, hot like the summer days spent aimlessly wondering Brooklyn’s back alleys, picking fights and stripping off their jackets, unbuttoning shirts as sweat dripped down their brows. Fuck, it was perfect, complete and utter perfection. Steve seemed to be feeling the same because he gave a strangled chuckle, before whining through his nose, teeth gritted.

“Buck,” he groaned.

Bucky took his cue and began to move. They both gasped and groaned, sliding against each other deliciously, Steve hot and heavy between them. Steve pulled at him, forcing Bucky down into a kiss, bending the blond nearly in half. Steve didn’t seem to notice, too busy cursing and moaning in pleasure, lips sliding against Bucky’s, hands tangled in long brown locks.

“Love you,” Steve groaned, arching. Bucky nearly whimpered at the way Steve clinched around him.

“L-love you too,” he choked out.

“Bucky, fuck, Buck, babe, I’m not gonna break, ok?” Steve said, cradling Bucky’s face. His eyes full of love. “I’m not gonna break anymore, stop holding back.” Steve soothed, pushing Bucky’s hair out of his face.

And that was the permission Bucky didn’t know he was waiting for. He snarled suddenly, bending Steve down, fucking into him faster and harsher. He vaguely registered Steve hissing “oh god, fuck yes” among other things in his ear. He devoured Steve like he’d wanted to since he was 13 years old and awoke with cum in his pants and Steve’s name on his lips for the first time. He took and took and gave Steve his heart and soul and life and loyalty in return. And somehow that must have been enough because Steve gasped and gave as good as he got, leaving bruises and scratches and love bites along Bucky’s skin, embroidering his love along the ex-assassins very flesh. A sign clear as day that screamed “Property of Steve Rogers” in a way that sent a shiver of delight down Bucky’s spine.

He could have cradled Steve and possessed him for moments or decades, he didn’t care, it didn’t matter. What mattered is that Steve let him. From the first day, from the first moment, Steve had been the one in control, Steve was the one who owned and commanded Bucky, it could never be the other way around, it just couldn’t. Steve was Bucky’s very reason for being, his tether in the storm, his brother in arms, his friend, his soulmate, his leader and idol. Steve was everything Bucky wanted to be one day, so good, so right, perfection incarnate, the serum only made that perfection visible to everyone else.

Bucky gasped when he got closer, his hips beginning to thrust erratically. “Steve,” he whined out. Steve gasped, nodding his head in understanding.

“M-me too, oh god, Buck, me too. In me, please, come in me?” Buck groaned and nodded, obeying after another few thrusts. Before his orgasm had even ended, he reached his right hand between them and stroked Steve’s cock, making the blond curse and relax into the bed, arching his back.

“Yes, fuck, Buck. Baby.” He went silent then, moth open in pleasure. His whole body convulsed, grasping Bucky tightly from his place still inside Stevie. Bucky groaned at the overstimulation, but his hand didn’t waver, stroking Steve through his orgasm.

In the aftermath they were sticky and sweaty, thighs coated in lube and cum, bodies slick with sweat. The sheets needed to be changed, they needed to shower. Bucky felt achy in the best way and grinned as Steve wrapped around him, arms circling Bucky’s waist, head on Bucky’s chest. Bucky wrapped his own right arm around Steve, holding his fiancé (his fiancé!) tightly. He held his left arm up, the metal shined dimly in the low light of their room, the ring caught the light brightly as he twisted his hand.

“Guess this makes it official official, huh?” Bucky said, finding himself unable to stop smiling.

“Wha?” Steve asked stupidly. That made Bucky buzz with pride a little, he had just fucked Captain America silly, something no one else ever had done and never would do, long as he had a say in it.

“Till death do us part. No backing out of it now. It’s gonna be official, legally binding.” Bucky wriggled his left hand, “we’re stuck together Stevie, till the end of the line, properly now.”

Steve looked at him with fond adoration, “Oh Buck,” he breathed, leaning up and laying a kiss on Bucky’s lips, “we were always stuck together. But now everyone else just gets to see it too.”