Chapter Text
Steve’s a good boyfriend the same way he is a good friend. There’s very little awkwardness after that single morning, the one after the Talk, where they stared at each other over breakfast and couldn’t find any words to break the silence. Bucky was the first to laugh, breaking down a little hysterically, and Steve was quick to follow, and that was that. They have routines that flow around each other. They watch movies together and go out to eat. Bucky gets them tickets to an art exhibition, and Steve takes him to a no-kill shelter for a petting session. Steve’s starry-eyed over the art that can’t hold Bucky’s attention for even a second when Steve’s shining like a beacon beside him. Bucky falls in love with a gaggle of almost-grown dogs of varying breeds, and Steve watches him with that expression Bucky still can’t look at for very long.
It’s not like much has changed in their relationship, which is a mixed blessing if there ever is one. The kissing is new though. And the kissing is very, very good. But mostly, they just don’t have to hide it anymore, and Bucky realizes that he was a master of repression because the little crush he thought would stay in its lane if left alone turns out to be an inferno of adoration. He moons over Steve so much that he’s a moment of inattention away from doodling Bucky Rogers and Steve Barnes on his mission reports.
It’s terrible. It’s wonderful.
None of the Avengers know yet, but when they inevitably find out, that will be terrible and wonderful too, Bucky can tell. It gives him a headache when he thinks about it too long, so he doesn’t.
Bucky only has one complaint.
Steve won’t fucking touch him.
Oh, he’ll touch Bucky alright; he’ll put his arm around Bucky at every chance, he’s obsessed with Bucky’s hair, he’s as generous as always with those crushing hugs that block out the world. He draws, sometimes, on Bucky’s skin, designs that don’t last much longer than the one and only tattoo he gave Bucky but are beautiful while they last. That’s new.
And they kiss. Steve’s got a mouth that can drive a man mad with want, and Bucky’s on the verge of it every time they go beyond light petting, but Steve always pulls back with flushed cheeks and dark eyes and a bulge between his legs that Bucky hears him take care of later, in his room or bathroom.
Bucky’s jerking off so much more these days. He’s gone through more lube than he thought he’d ever need because his dick would be chafed otherwise, serum or no serum.
Steve won’t touch him.
We’ll take it slow, Steve said, holding Bucky’s hands in their kitchen.
You can set the pace, he said later that same day, escorting Bucky to his bedroom door and leaving him there with a kiss on the cheek.
It was sweet at first. It’s still sweet, but Bucky’s floating on a storm cloud of sexual frustration. Last week, he growled at some journalist who tried to interview him. The poor guy paled and fled, and no one said anything except Sam’s judgmental right eyebrow, but it’s not a pleasant state of existence.
It sure is novel though.
But even that wears off.
He’s close to snapping. He can tell. He’s hoping Steve will snap first and pin Bucky to some nice flat surface because Bucky wants that, wants Steve to just—do something. Anything.
But the stubborn fucker told Bucky to set the pace, and if this keeps up, he’ll fucking set it alright.
-
It happens on a nice Tuesday evening. Bucky pauses a documentary while Steve goes to get them drinks, and his lips are sticky-orange from juice when he comes back; Bucky gets distracted, and the program never gets unpaused.
They make out for what feels like hours but can’t be because it takes a damn sight less than that to get Bucky hot all over, which is when Steve draws back like the considerate asshole he is.
Bucky snaps.
“No,” he growls, fisting his metal arm in Steve’s t-shirt. “Fuck no, if we spend one more night jerking off in our separate rooms and pretend not to know in the morning that I can hear you and you know I can hear you and that we’re not having weird mutual masturbation sessions, I will go mad, I will explode, Steve.
Steve looks dazed, and for once, it’s not lust or Bucky’s hair that has put the expression there.
“Could you…repeat that?” he asks.
“No.”
Steve falls easily enough into the kiss and even lets Bucky pull Steve on top of him like the world’s bulkiest blanket. He takes a moment to get on with the program, yelping when Bucky thrusts both hands under his shirt. He must also register, at some point, Bucky’s tirade because he exhales sharply against Bucky’s lips and pulls back, cutting off Bucky’s whine with teeth that sink into the soft underside of his jaw.
The angle is awkward, right until Steve fists a hand in his hair and yanks it back.
Bucky groans, shuddering all over from the pressure on his scalp and the sting of teeth on his skin. It’s such a simple sensation, but it’s new and intense, and Bucky trembles under it.
Wet suction follows the rough bite, and Bucky’s hips jerk up, almost throwing Steve off him. Steve makes a soft, surprised sound that’s half muffled by Bucky’s skin, but he stays on top, shifting his weight to better pin Bucky to the couch. And Bucky shudders again, whole body lighting up under the weight and pressure of Steve, nerves he didn’t know existed flaring to life in a bright burst of need.
Steve raises his head from Bucky’s throat. The blue of his eyes is only a ring at the edges, pupils eating the rest. It’s a consuming stare; everything about Steve in this moment is consuming, from the careful tension in his body to the wet part of his mouth. Bucky aches to be swallowed whole.
Whatever Steve sees on Bucky’s face makes him let out a long, shaky breath and smile. It’s not a very nice smile, not when you compare it to Steve’s usual warm grins, but this one heats Bucky from the inside for a whole other reason.
“That how you wanna play, honey?” Steve asks, low and syrupy, and that tone—Bucky knows that tone.
“It’s been slow enough,” Bucky says, heart in his throat. “Now you’re just a tease.”
Steve looks startled, then amused. “I was trying to be nice.”
“I don’t want nice.” Bucky’s still got his hand fisted in Steve’s shirt, arm bent awkwardly between their bodies, and he gives it a good tug. The fabric tears. “I can take whatever you dish out, Rogers.”
Steve grins, wide and toothy.
“Kitten’s got bite.”
Bucky sputters. He can’t decide whether he wants to laugh or be insulted. His dick offers a third option.
And there’s no way Steve can’t feel the bulge of it, not when he’s got his thigh snug between Bucky’s legs. He grinds up into it, and Steve’s eyes narrow, and he bears down too, his own cock a hard line against Bucky’s leg. They’re both clothed, but the loose sweatpants aren’t too great a barrier against the heat of their flesh, and Bucky does take a moment to embrace how different this is from the bits and pieces he remembers. Steve’s nothing like the girls in his memory—he’s in a league all his own, and the cock digging into Bucky’s leg is warm and new—but it’s good, Steve’s good, and Bucky wants this with the same, scorching intensity that has been slowly driving him mad for days.
Steve kisses him, hard and brief, taking Bucky’s lower lip between his teeth for a sharp nip before he trails his mouth further down. Bucky arches his throat for it without Steve using his hair to guide him, but Steve tightens his fist anyway, pulling until tears spring to Bucky’s eyes. He moans, cock throbbing in a biting demand, and Steve’s mouth moving warm and wet over his pulse only makes it ache more.
“You like that,” Steve says against Bucky’s throat, and it’s not a question. “That’s sweet.”
Sweet isn’t what Bucky would call the live writhing of his spine at the little jolts of pain, but when Steve sucks a bruise over the jut of Bucky’s collarbone, he forgets to find a better word for it.
Steve gets him squirming with nothing more than the heat of his mouth and a single firm touch, and the weight of his thigh over Bucky’s cock is more electric than the desperate touch of his own hand, and if Steve keeps moving like that, Bucky’s going to come in his fucking pants.
“Come—come on, touch me,” Bucky gasps, and he doesn’t call it begging, not yet.
Steve licks a wet stripe up the column of Bucky’s neck. The air’s cool against drying spit, and Bucky shudders, ripping the rest of Steve’s shirt without even meaning to. Steve just smirks, not even shrugging off the scraps.
“I am touching you,” he says, yanking Bucky’s hair and grinding down for emphasis. Bucky moans and arches into Steve, rutting against his leg like an animal. Steve bears down harder, and there’s a glint in his eyes, knowing and hungry, and Bucky knows then that Steve’s going to make him come just like this. Maybe he’ll relent if Bucky begs; Bucky can’t tell whether it’s pride or something entirely different that stays his tongue, keeps him writhing under Steve even as it drives him closer to the edge.
“Steve,” he gasps, hands gripping Steve’s shoulders, roving over the clenching muscles of his back. “Steve, I—”
Steve kisses him quiet, tongue sliding deep, fucking Bucky’s mouth to the rough rhythm of their rocking bodies. Bucky whines into it, sparks dancing under his eyelids, and it’s not long before he’s just panting open-mouthed against Steve’s lips, all of him reduced to the climbing heat between his legs.
Steve bites his lip, sucks on the ache, presses his thigh down hard between Bucky’s legs, and the heat surges.
Bucky sucks in air through gritted teeth as he shudders under Steve, spilling wet and messy into his pants. And Steve grins against his mouth and doesn’t stop moving, body writhing to its own song above Bucky, and it’s too much between one breath and the next, but the white-hot bite of overstimulation makes Bucky freeze and fall quiet instead of even trying to move away until Steve groans, eyes screwed shut, and more warmth seeps into Bucky’s pants.
They slump together, Steve melting against him, more of his weight falling on Bucky. He tries to move away, but there’s not enough room on the couch for them to lie together, and Bucky doesn’t mind Steve lying over him. He’s not light and makes it hard to breathe, but Bucky likes how it’s just a little difficult for his chest to rise and for air to reach his lungs.
He tries to imagine it being someone else—Nat, maybe Sam, the two friends he trusts the most, but neither of them has the bulk to blanket Bucky the way Steve does, and even if they could, Bucky wouldn’t want it.
It’s Steve; it’s been Steve for a long time.
“Christ,” Steve says after a lovely eternity. “Been a while since I came that fast.”
“Ouch. My ego.”
Steve snorts because he’s secretly an asshole.
“Your ego will survive. You made me come in my pants.”
Bucky is speechless for a whole minute. Then he shoves Steve off him, grinning viciously when Steve hits the ground with a grunt. He leans over to glower at him.
“I made you come in your pants. It was my idea. That it?”
Steve just grins, unapologetic down to the insolent sprawl of his limbs.
“You complaining?” he asks, sitting up. When Bucky doesn’t dignify that with a response, his grin gentles. “Are you?”
“Don’t be stupid,” Bucky grumbles, staring down the bare skin between the frayed edges of Steve’s ripped shirt. He pokes one shapely pec. “Sorry about that.”
“Nah. It was hot. You’re hot.”
Bucky’s face flames like it wants to make Steve’s comment literal. Lips press to one heated cheek, then the other, trailing down slowly to Bucky’s mouth. He tilts his face into it, and they kiss nice and slow, sweet enough that Bucky forgets the come cooling in his pants and against his skin.
“You can always tell me,” Steve says, pulling away, “if you want more.”
Steve’s smiling, all of him open in gentle invitation, familiar like Bucky’s known him all his life, and he finally says what he’s been thinking since Steve kissed him at his bedroom door two weeks ago.
“What if I don’t want to set the pace?”
And Steve is no fool.
“Oh,” he says. “Oh, I see.”
His smile widens, and Bucky doesn’t know why he ever held off on telling him, why he ever thought Steve wouldn’t react exactly like this. But maybe it was never about Steve and his reaction. It was Bucky who needed to be ready to say what he wanted to.
“I know I said slow, and you’ve been a real gentleman, but I’m dying here. You can do anything you want,” Bucky says, meeting Steve’s eyes and holding them. “I’ll tell you if there’s something I don’t like.”
Steve nods. He’s got that look again, awe and adoration pouring out of his eyes like Bucky’s the best thing he’s ever seen, and this time, Bucky finds that he can’t look away. He wonders what his own face holds.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. “Yeah, that—we can do that, Buck.”
-
Steve comes home early the next day, bright-eyed in a way that instantly makes Bucky suspicious.
“Get dressed,” he says, sweeping in to kiss Bucky on the cheek and cheerfully evading when Bucky tries to catch it on his mouth. “Up you get, we’re going out.”
“Why are you even here?” Bucky grumbles like the ornery grandpa he actually isn’t, thank you, Sam. “It’s barely five.”
“Gwen’s got it. Told me to fuck off when I asked.”
“And you escaped because…?”
“I had a burning urge to take my boyfriend out. Come on, up!”
Bucky, unfairly stunned by hearing Steve call him his boyfriend, lets himself be herded into his room and suffers through clothes being thrown at him. He kicks Steve out and pulls on whatever Steve yanked out of his closet. Most of Bucky’s non-mission outdoor clothes are all items Natasha threatened him into buying. Their greatest quality is the way Steve’s expression turns distinctly appreciative whenever he sees Bucky all dressed up.
“Hey, handsome,” Steve greets because he’s a dork in disguise.
“Fuck you,” Bucky says on principle, three seconds before letting Steve kiss away the rest of his higher brain functions.
The daze doesn’t wear off until they’re already on the street, walking arm-in-arm toward wherever Steve is set on. Bucky trusts him implicitly because Steve’s as much a fan of crowds and glitz as Bucky is, but he’s also curious to know where he’s being dragged to.
“A new café,” Steve answers when asked. “Peter recommended it the other day.”
“Tony’s spider kid?” Bucky asks, squinting.
Steve lets out a burst of startled laughter.
“That’s one way to put it. So, what do you say?”
“We’re already on the way, you ass,” Bucky says, elbowing Steve. “But I can’t say I trust his taste.”
“Trust me then,” Steve says, easy as anything but with a disarming glint in his eye, and Bucky ducks his head and shuts up, squirming just for show when Steve pulls him hard against his side. They’re walking like someone sewed their side together, wrapped in each other and clinging shamelessly. It’s the kind of new couple bullshit Bucky never thought he’d indulge in, but here he is, trying his best to fuse with Steve.
The café is nice. Tony’s kid has decent taste. Steve orders for them both and watches Bucky try the food with a sappy grin. They hold hands under the table and split a gigantic milkshake.
Bucky can feel his teeth rot from the sweetness, and it’s not even the milkshake’s fault.
Outside, Steve pulls him close and kisses Bucky until he can’t breathe. Someone wolf whistles, and Bucky flips them off, shivering a little when Steve runs his hand down that arm and interlinks their fingers.
“What’s gotten into you?” Bucky gasps when they part, panting and flushed in the streets.
“I’m happy,” Steve says, grinning and gorgeous. “I’m really fucking happy, Buck.”
Bucky snaps his mouth shut. He can’t look away from Steve, from dancing eyes and flushed cheeks.
“Me too,” he mumbles, but Steve’s grin widens, turns radiant, and Bucky floats all the way back home.
He doesn’t realize until they’re halfway there that he just kissed a man in public for the first time. He prods at his mind for more of a reaction, but all he finds is that effervescent ball of joy that burst to life when Steve dipped him into a kiss and hasn’t faded since.
That’s good, Bucky decides. This is the life he wants.
-
Steve’s on him the moment they’re past the front door, kicking it shut while he backs Bucky into the closest wall. Bucky’s heart thumps when he’s pinned. They’re barely an inch apart in height, but right now, Steve looms larger than life, caging Bucky with arms and eyes.
“Steve,” Bucky chokes out, hot all over just from this. Steve’s not even touching him; there’s a solid inch of space between them, and it’s magnetic, deliberate.
Steve dips his head, dragging his nose from Bucky’s temple to his jaw. It’s sweet, cute even, right until Steve opens his mouth and sets his teeth to the sharp curve of Bucky’s jaw. The sting makes him jolt, but Steve just bites down harder, tongue flicking over the sliver of flesh between his teeth. Bucky stands there and trembles, hands frozen at his sides, cock swelling between his legs. He shaved before Steve came home, and Steve must be tasting the bitter bite of his aftershave, but he doesn’t let go, holding Bucky carefully in his jaws.
When Steve lets go, Bucky’s knees almost buckle.
Steve’s hands fly to his hips, pressing into skin and pinning Bucky to the wall. Lips brush the throbbing mark on Bucky’s jaw, the gentle touch as gut-wrenching as the sharp teeth of earlier.
“Suits you,” Steve says, lips stretching into a smile against Bucky’s skin. “My marks on you.”
Bucky remembers how Steve looked, last night, at the hickeys he left on Bucky’s throat, how tempted he seemed to follow Bucky into his bathroom and give him a few more.
Bucky likes them too, likes even better how Steve reacts in the aftermath, but he can’t find his tongue to voice the sentiment. Steve doesn’t wait for it anyway, dragging his mouth to Bucky’s, nibbling playfully at his lip before biting hard and licking in when Bucky gasps. Steve’s tongue slides velvet-warm over his, a fierce, filthy dance that drips fire down Bucky’s body. His veins pulse with want, and his cock’s aching between his legs, but Steve has him pinned and it’s not that Bucky can’t break free of his grip with a twist of his hips, it’s that he doesn’t want to.
“Please,” he says instead, breaking the kiss to beg. “Steve, don’t tease, please.”
Steve makes a noise, faint and pleased. His eyes are half-closed, his mouth wet and red. It hurts to look at him, hurts worse to look away.
“Like you begging,” Steve says. “It’s real sweet.”
Bucky knows, with stunning surety, that this will come back to bite him in the ass later, maybe literally. And he will let it, most likely.
“Please,” he says, digging his grave, and Steve eats the word off his tongue.
But he listens too, hand drifting across Bucky’s hips to curl over the bulge in his jeans. Bucky has one moment to curse the damn denim before Steve presses hard with unmistakable intent, and the pressure lands good and true even through the thick layer of cloth. He jerks forward, trying to grind against Steve’s hand, but Steve pulls back just then and waits for Bucky to slump against the wall before touching him again.
“Asshole,” Bucky hisses, burying his face in Steve’s neck.
“That I am,” Steve says, happy as a clam as he nuzzles into Bucky’s hair. “Know what, I think you’ll like it.”
There’s a promise there, and a threat too, the good kind, and Bucky just proves him right by whining and trying to chase his hand again. Steve puts him out of his misery, kneading Bucky’s cock over the denim, and it’s not enough, won’t be enough until he’s got all of Steve bare and pressed up against him, on him, in him—and Christ, there’s a thought.
Bucky twists both hands into Steve’s hair and surges up for a hard, biting kiss.
“You’re not making me come in my pants again,” he says, tugging at Steve’s hair and nipping at his sharp grin. “Fuck you, come on.”
“But I could,” Steve says, palm flat over Bucky’s groin, a tight pressure. “Bet you’d like it.”
Bucky wavers.
Steve sees it, mouth curved into a small, crooked smile.
“Please,” Bucky whispers, framing Steve’s face with both hands and pulling him close to his mouth. “I want your hand, please, Steve.”
“You ask that nice,” Steve says against Bucky’s mouth, half-feeding him the words, “how could I say no?”
There’s a fleeting pressure on his mouth, and then, in the blink of an eye, Steve’s gone, and Bucky opens his mouth with a confused noise to find him a good few feet away, pulling his shirt over his head. Steve throws it on the ground and pins Bucky with a steady stare.
“Go on,” he says. “Strip.”
Bucky’s heart jumps to his throat. He doesn’t realize until he starts peeling off his form-fitting Henley that he was expecting a heated fumble like yesterday, frantic and uncoordinated. This is nothing like that, Steve’s gaze almost a physical weight as Bucky struggles out of his clothes. His right hand shakes and the left’s no better, Bucky so out of it that it takes every bit of his shredded focus not to tear everything off. He almost does it, but when he grabs his waistband and makes the mistake of meeting Steve’s eyes, Steve shakes his head, mouth quirked in one corner.
So Bucky strips the old-fashioned way, slow and dazed, and almost laughs at the errant thought that he’s glad Steve didn’t pull this earlier, because Bucky might have combusted on the spot.
And then he’s naked, still braced against the wall, and Steve stalks forward, shirtless but still wearing his jeans. Bucky looks at it, then into Steve’s eyes, frowning in wordless question. Steve grins, something about the expression making Bucky’s stomach clench.
“Later,” Steve says. “If you’re good.”
The noise that escapes Bucky is downright embarrassing. Steve’s grin sharpens.
He doesn’t crowd Bucky like earlier, standing a little farther back and making no secret of giving Bucky a thorough once-over. Bucky shies away, hunching in on himself, but his dick’s a traitor and perks up, growing wet at the tip.
Steve, when Bucky risks a glance at his expression, looks far too pleased with himself.
“Pretty,” he says, eyeing Bucky’s cock.
“What,” Bucky growls belligerently, “my dick?”
“Among other parts,” Steve says, unruffled. He comes closer, and Bucky flattens himself against the wall, dragging in a shuddering breath when Steve’s arms cage him in. “It’s a cute little thing. Eager too.”
“F-fuck you.”
“Don’t think you’re there yet, Buck,” the bastard says, dragging his eyes back down to Bucky’s dick. “You look just about ready to explode.”
It’s not shame that creeps warm and thick up Bucky’s neck. It’s not just embarrassment either. There’s something else, a syrupy sensation that clings to the inside of his skin, burning him slow.
Steve shuffles forward, thigh tantalizingly close to Bucky’s cock. Bucky reaches for him, laying his palms on Steve’s broad shoulders and running them down his sculpted torso. He has scars too, scattered over his flesh—bearers of Steve’s own bloody history. Bucky rubs his thumb over one that can’t be anything but a bullet wound and meets Steve’s eyes in silent question.
Steve just smiles.
“Tell me what you want,” he says, shifting to brace an arm over Bucky’s head. It brings their faces close together, their bubble of warmth. Steve’s lips are dry but still so inviting, and Bucky can’t look at his torso without wanting to put his mouth on every inch of it. There’s only one answer he can give.
“Everything.”
Steve sucks in a sharp breath. He closes his eyes and lets his forehead fall on Bucky’s.
“You’re perfect, you know that?” Steve asks, the words squirming under Bucky’s skin. And then it’s something else squirming there because Steve reaches down between their bodies to take Bucky in hand, and the first touch of his fingers has Bucky arching into it with a stuttering cry.
Steve’s got big hands and long fingers, and he knows how to use them, stroking Bucky with slow, sweet deliberation. It’s a part of Bucky that hasn’t felt the touch of another in decades, and it twitches and leaks in Steve’s firm grip. Bucky shudders, legs shaking, knees weak. He’s clinging to Steve, hardly daring to breathe, half-afraid he’ll shatter to pieces if he tries.
Steve’s looking down; Bucky follows his gaze, and it’s a mistake because it’s torture, watching the head vanish into the hollow of Steve’s curled fist. It’s red and wet, foreskin pulled back to expose the tip, and Steve’s calloused palm sinks fiery teeth into every inch of it.
Bucky feels weightless, unmoored, trembling soundlessly in Steve’s warm grasp.
Steve raises his head, then, and guides Bucky into a kiss, his other hand sinking into his hair. He doesn’t stop stroking, still slow, still hot, and Bucky tries to kiss back, he does, but he can’t think, can’t move, can’t breathe, reduced to the throb of his heart at the head of his cock. He’s sloppy with his tongue, clumsy with his teeth, but Steve just laughs when Bucky makes him bleed and bites back hard enough to return the favor.
The pain bolts down his spine, sinks into his cock, and Bucky fucks into Steve’s fist, thrusting helplessly before Steve lets go and pins Bucky to the wall by the hips.
“Stay,” he says, and Bucky agrees with a whine.
Steve puts his hand back around Bucky’s dick, tighter this time, almost cruel, not unlike the edge to his grin.
He kisses Bucky again, prying his lips wide and licking in, and they taste like blood, both of them, but if Bucky has to drown in metal and salt, he’ll choose Steve’s mouth any time.
Steve’s grip tightens in his hair, and last night didn’t prepare Bucky for the intensity of his own response. He cries out, muffled around the tongue in his mouth, and melts all the way down to his curled toes when his scalp stings and throbs.
Steve pulls his head back, sets his teeth to the bared arch, and his hand starts to stroke in a fever-frenzy.
Bucky’s suspended in sensation for a single, stunning second, and then it hits, the whole barrage of it, sweeping through his veins like wildfire. He cries out with Steve’s mouth wet over his pulse and jolts full-bodied when a calloused thumb presses roughly under the head. Steve bites bruises along his throat and slides a hand furiously over his cock, and Bucky doesn’t stand a chance.
He plummets over the edge with a shout.
Steve works him through it, hand gentling, stroking slower, gripping looser. Bucky shudders through every moment of it, eyes screwed so tight that white light bursts under the lids. It’s nothing like the touch of his hand and nothing like spilling against Steve’s thigh; this is its own maelstrom.
And after, he slumps against Steve, grateful for the arm that slides around his waist and the mouth that whispers sweet nothings against his temple.
Once he gathers himself enough to stand straight without falling to his knees or proposing marriage to Steve, he pulls back and looks at Steve’s face. He’s smiling, soft and smug at the same time, and he’s flushed all the way down his neck. Bucky kisses his cheek and trails his mouth down Steve’s neck, peppering wet kisses down the length of it until Steve grabs his hair and yanks him up into another deep, messy kiss.
That’s when he notices that Steve’s moving, hips grinding forward with Bucky’s leg between both of Steve’s. His crotch is tented, and if his own jeans were maddening, Bucky has no words for the frustration he feels at fumbling fruitlessly with Steve’s fly. It’s his shaking hand that’s at fault, but he can’t say he regrets the mind-blowing orgasm. He’s also not about to use his left arm to grab Steve’s dick when he can’t quite regulate his strength. He’s hoping to get attached to the thing.
Steve puts him out of his misery, but he steps away to do it, and Bucky’s left yearning for the heat and solidity of him. Steve’s quick to rush back, pressing frantically against Bucky like he felt that same hollow ache, and Bucky wants to kiss him again, but he’s distracted by the sight of Steve’s cock.
It's long, thick, curved to the left, with a bulging vein along the side that makes Bucky’s mouth run dry. It isn’t his first time seeing another guy’s dick, but it is the first time it’s had any intent behind it.
Bucky doesn’t think, just drops to his knees.
Above him, Steve gives a startled shout.
Bucky blinks up at him and smiles in a way that got him into many, many places he shouldn’t have got into, back before the war.
“I’ve never done this before,” he says. “Tell me what to do?”
Steve swears, long and hard. His cock’s wet at the tip, and from this angle, it’s a damn sight more intimidating. But Bucky’s no quitter.
He wraps his hand around it, heart thudding at the heat of it on his palm. Steve’s a good handful, and Bucky bites his lips wondering how much of a mouthful he will be.
Despite his earlier words, he doesn’t actually wait for Steve to say anything before leaning to put his mouth to the tip. He’s had this done to him before, and the memories are as spotted and hazy as anything before Hydra, but it’s not like the basics are hard to figure out. And the porn he watched, for all that it did nothing for him, was moderately informative.
Steve’s cut, the head an angry red and bared to the world. Bucky gives it an experimental lick. Above him, Steve lets out a vehement curse.
“Bucky.”
Bucky looks up at him. Steve swears some more, and he’s wearing an expression that’s a close cousin of the one that makes Bucky wants to hide in his armpit. But it’s darker, more heated, and goes straight to Bucky’s gut, sinking hooks into his sensitive innards.
It's a relief when Steve slides his fingers into Bucky’s hair and grips firmly. He yanks his head back, and Bucky follows the motion limply, still tasting the musky warmth of Steve on his tongue.
Steve’s thumb digs into his lower lip. Bucky parts his mouth easily, eyes fluttering shut when it slides inside, a slick, easy slide along his tongue. There’s something oddly erotic about it, the slow, almost teasing way Steve explores his mouth. Bucky imagines his cock mimicking the lazy thrust of his thumb, and his own spent cock throbs in answer.
“Your mouth,” Steve says, low and hushed. “I’ve had dreams about your fucking mouth.”
Bucky smiles around Steve’s thumb, flushed and pleased. His own dreams are still of blood and bullets, but his waking moments are haunted by Steve. It’s nice not to be alone. Good, too, to be wanted as vehemently as he himself wants.
“Open up,” Steve says and tugs down Bucky’s mouth without waiting for what would have been easy compliance. “I’ll let you experiment later.”
There’s no disappointment in that, only a sharp thrill colored by pinpricks of apprehension. He told Steve to do what he wants, and Bucky’s starting to learn just how much he meant it. Already, it feels like there’s little he wouldn’t do for Steve and even less he wouldn’t let Steve do to him.
Steve’s cock prods his lips, and Bucky opens his mouth wider without prompting. He wants so desperately for this to be good for Steve because he sets Bucky on fire with a touch and melts him to the bone with kisses so sweet, and there’s nothing Bucky remembers wanting more than the gaping need to be everything this man wants.
“Ssh,” Steve says, stroking Bucky’s hair, soothing the aches he caused. “Easy, honey. I’ve got you. Just open your mouth. That’s it, that’s good, you’re so good.”
His heart thumps painfully at the quiet, soothing praise, or maybe it’s at the tight stretch of his mouth around Steve’s girth. He’s warm and thick, the sensation like nothing Bucky has ever felt, and his mind flitting from thought to thought, more image than word, and everything in him clenches when he imagines this same prying heat further down, in parts of him he’s only tentatively explored.
He must make some sort of noise because Steve hisses a curse and pulls out, slowly, slowly, and Bucky’s dazed when his mouth is free, licking his lips and tonguing his teeth at the sudden, aching emptiness.
“Steve?” he calls in a small voice. “Did I—”
“You’re perfect,” Steve cuts in, tugging Bucky’s hair as if for emphasis. “Christ, Buck, you’re everything.”
That doesn’t make a lot of sense, but Bucky smiles up at Steve anyway. Steve looks pained and hungry, and his chest is heaving, nipples pert, skin gleaming with sweat.
When Steve’s cockhead presses against his mouth again, he doesn’t have to tell Bucky to open up. He lets it in, lips curled over teeth and tongue pressed flat. When he breathes, all he can smell is Steve.
He gags when it hits the back of his throat, and Steve backs off, pulls out, stroking Bucky’s hair and murmuring soft, sweet things as he coughs and clears his throat.
“Again,” Bucky says. He looks up at Steve from under his lashes and adds a quiet, “Please.”
Steve closes his eyes. When they open, they’re blazing.
“Keep looking at me like that, and I won’t be lasting very long,” he says, already sliding back into Bucky’s mouth.
Precome drips on his tongue, and Bucky shivers at the taste, but it’s the heat and pressure of keeping his mouth open wide and lax that really goes to his head. There’s something about the dull ache of his jaw and the suffocating tension of a mouth full of dick that makes it hard to think, to do anything but suckle Steve as best as he can and breathe through the rush of sensation.
He can’t take all of it, he realizes belatedly, eyeing the long inches that are left.
Not yet, he thinks fiercely to himself, wrapping his hand around the base.
“Buck,” Steve hisses, a world of meaning packed into the one word. “Just like that, yeah, you’re good, honey, so good.”
He isn’t even doing anything, just letting Steve move gently in and out of his mouth and gripping what he can’t take, but there’s no doubting the hoarse strain in Steve’s voice. His body is honest too, cock leaking profusely on Bucky’s tongue, the taste a dark, heady thing. Steve’s being nice though, hand firmly gripping Bucky’s hair but not moving him, cock sliding carefully into his mouth without making him choke again. Bucky appreciates it, but a mad part of him wants Steve to be less gentle, less nice, wants him rough and violent.
One day, he’s sure. It’s good to be eased into it, and Bucky knows, at least, that he likes this, being on his knees for Steve and having his mouth stuffed full of cock.
He settles into a soft haze, eyes half closed as Steve fucks his mouth sweetly, and it’s not until the stretch and the weight disappear that he jolts to life. Before he can say a word, Steve’s hand closes over the one Bucky has around the base, and when it moves, Bucky moves his hand with it.
It’s not at all like watching Steve jerk him off. Bucky’s focus is narrowed to the silky wet heat against his palm. Steve’s fucking into their tangled fists, hips jerking frantically, and he’s quiet, so quiet, but Bucky hears every harsh, ragged breath.
The hand in his hair tightens and yanks his head up, and Bucky closes his eyes and opens his mouth in time for the first rope of heat.
It hits his throat, most of it. A drop or two lands on his mouth, over lips and tongue. It trails down his chest too, lines of warmth that tingle and tickle. One slides over his tight, peaked nipple, and Bucky moans, startling himself.
Steve’s cock is soft against his leg. Bucky swallows the urge to press his face there and nuzzle into the dark crook of his thigh.
“Fuck,” Steve says, voice nothing like Bucky has heard before. “Look at you.”
Bucky’s a mess. But he’s a mess Steve made, and he assumes that’s what makes the difference because Steve’s staring down at him with an expression that says he wouldn’t mind eating Bucky whole.
Bucky rises and almost falls when his shaky legs refuse to hold his weight, but Steve’s there like a wall of muscle. They both stumble, neither of them all that steady, but they don’t fall, not even when Steve crushes their mouths together in a claiming kiss that makes Bucky weak all over again.
“You came on me,” Bucky mumbles against Steve’s mouth. “I liked it.”
There’s a hint of wonder in that. He doesn’t hide it and is glad he didn’t when Steve groans and makes an enthused attempt to eat Bucky’s whole damn face. His hands are everywhere, palms sliding down Bucky’s back, fingers gripping his ass, nails scraping his hips. He’s half-hard again, but the need’s not urgent like before. He likes this, being held and kissed and kissed some more, likes the sweet, lazy thrum of orgasm in his spent muscles.
“So much I want to do with you,” Steve says. His lips are swollen. “To you.”
Bucky curls into him, arms snug around Steve, face shoved into the crook of his throat.
“Do all of them,” he says, half shy, half ravenous.
Steve holds him tighter and murmurs a promise into his hair.
-
Steve follows him into his room and then into the shower, and Bucky lets him run soapy hands over his skin and work shampoo into his hair. Steve’s clearly not used to handling long hair, but he does a decent job until Bucky swats him away and loves on his hair the way it needs, trying to ignore how much better Steve’s fingers feel on his scalp.
Steve crowds up against him after and kisses Bucky’s throat when he jerks him off again. It’s simpler, sweeter, and Bucky comes to the questioning nudge of a soapy finger against his hole.
“I want that too,” he tells Steve, watching water wash the come off him, again.
Behind him, Steve’s breath shudders.
“Yeah,” he says. “That can be arranged.”
Bucky snorts.
“Such a sacrifice on your part, I’m sure.”
Steve nips at his ear in retaliation. “I wanted to fuck you through a mattress the first time I saw you. Is that better?”
“Depends,” Bucky says faintly, proud to be able to speak through the sudden rush of blood to his head. “Is it true?”
Steve shifts behind him, soft cock rubbing against the cheeks of Bucky’s ass.
“Yeah, Buck. It is. Still wanna.”
“Then yes,” Bucky says through a dopey smile. “It’s better.”
Steve’s laugh is warm and fond, washing over Bucky and slithering into every crevice of his soul.
They dry each other off and emerge naked, sated. Steve hesitates, looking between Bucky and the door. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him and grabs his hand, pulling him close.
“You want to stay the night,” he says, not a question.
“I—I’d like to,” Steve answers, red-cheeked and almost shy.
Bucky tightens his grip.
“I have nightmares.”
That, of all things, seems to erase Steve’s uncertainty.
“You and me both, pal,” he says challengingly, meeting and holding Bucky’s eyes. “That a problem?”
Bucky’s got the sinking feeling that he’s going to love this man.
He says nothing, just tugs Steve closer to bed, watching the furrow between his brows smoothen out and his lips tilt up into that soft smile that wraps warmly around Bucky’s heart, every single time.
-
If he dreams that night, he doesn’t remember.
When he does wake up frantic and confused beside Steve, a week later, Steve’s there with quiet words, calling Bucky back to the present, sliding grounding hands over his arms and pulling him close to a body that curls around him like it will protect him from the world.
And when it’s Steve’s turn to jolt awake shouting, Bucky returns the favor.
-
The Avengers-level fuckups around the world don’t stay put for long. It’s something to do with Thor this time, and his brother seems to be on their side all of a sudden. Bucky doesn’t have the same beef with the guy the rest of the team does. Even Sam’s got a bit of a grudge on principle alone because he was there to watch destruction rain down on New York while Bucky was sleeping in ice.
It's a whole week spent chasing after an alien enchantress who can throw fire and also brainwash people with a touch. The fire’s fine. The mindfuck crawls under Bucky’s skin.
He’s not the only one. Clint’s paler than usual during the mission briefing. Thor claps his shoulder in passing, and he grimaces. Natasha frowns the whole time, not even bothering with a persona.
The week is hell.
At first, Bucky keeps to rooftops and fires tranquilizers at the red-eyed civilians who never signed up for any of this shit. He has to be out in the field eventually, every inch of skin covered, Peggy’s voice barking orders in his ear.
It’s Loki who takes her down in the end, and even watching Thor sweep his brother into a hug and get stabbed for his trouble doesn’t lift his spirits all that much. He wants to go home and crawl into Steve’s arms, paste himself to Steve’s skin. He wants to forget this whole thing.
“You’re not staying here tonight?” Sam asks tiredly when Bucky heads for the elevator.
Bucky shakes his head.
“Told Steve I’d be back,” is all he says, and he doesn’t wonder till later whether that gave away the whole truth.
Would it matter? Steve’s not a secret. Bucky’s just not the type to talk about his personal life with the Avengers. None of them are, not as a group. Sam, Peggy, and Nat presumably communicate like semi-functional adults. Thor and Bruce have some weird thing going on. Tony and he have an agreement not to talk more than strictly necessary, but he thinks Potts and Rhodes have him handled. Clint…has a family? Bucky’s pretty sure Clint has a family.
And Bucky has Steve, who’s Bucky’s roommate as far as they all know.
Alright, maybe none of them keep to themselves as much as Bucky does. He’s got his reasons. He’ll tell them eventually. Or they’ll find out somehow. Natasha sure has a pathological need to be nosy. It’s her way of keeping them all safe, and Bucky only throws knives at her for it sometimes.
He distracts himself with thoughts of their dysfunctional team until he’s home. It’s close to midnight, and Steve should be home. Bucky texted him on the Quinjet and got a reply that Steve will wait up. He couldn’t manage to be selfless enough to say that was unnecessary. He just thanked Steve.
And now, he collapses into Steve’s arms and thanks god that he thought to change out of his gear at the tower because he doesn’t think he could have stood the thick barrier of body armor and weapons between the two of them.
“Hey,” Steve murmurs, holding Bucky close and tight. “Hey, you’re alright.”
“I’m—” Bucky says, curling his hands into Steve’s shirt and breathing in the earthy scent of him. “I am now.”
That’s not quite true. It’s not quite a lie.
Steve, somehow, understands.
He kisses Bucky’s temple, says, “I ran a bath. Come on, sweetheart. It’ll help.”
It’s Steve’s room that he takes Bucky to, the one with the bath. Bucky’s slept here and used it in the mornings, but they usually wound up in Bucky’s room, and come to think of it, it was always Bucky leading them there, feet tracing familiar steps with his head tangled in Steve.
Steve’s bathroom is similar to his in coloring and arrangement, but it’s more spacious and messier—just different enough to make Bucky antsy. He clenches and unclenches his hands, staring intently at a bottle of shampoo left open by the sink, and doesn’t realize that he zoned out until Steve calls his name gently.
“Sorry,” Bucky says with a jolt. “I just—sorry.”
Steve says nothing, but he steps closer, telegraphing each moment as he takes Bucky’s face in his hands. The effect of him holding Bucky like that hasn’t diminished over time. All of him narrows to the warmth of Steve’s palms and the blue of his eyes.
Steve kisses him, lips brushing gentle over both eyelids. His hands drop down to tug at the hem of Bucky’s t-shirt.
“Can I?” he asks.
Bucky just nods.
Steve strips him quickly, efficiently. He hisses when he sees the fading bruises at Bucky’s side. It’s relatively recent; he threw himself against a slab of concrete, trying to evade a jet of fire. The damage was minimal and hindered him little, but the clear concern on Steve’s face, it—it twists something inside Bucky. He looks at the bruising again and tries to see it with Steve’s eyes.
The impact might have broken his ribs if he didn’t have the serum. The poison blue it was when he changed out of his gear has faded into a pinkish shade. In a few hours, it will be gone entirely. Days’, maybe weeks’, worth of healing reduced to mere hours. He barely notices it anymore. But Steve does. Steve has.
And Steve cares.
“It’s fine,” Bucky says, trying to smile. “Nothing serious.”
Steve just looks sad. He kisses the corners of Bucky’s mouth where they’re straining to stay curved up. He sucks in a breath and lets the smile drop, and Steve kisses him more firmly on the lips, lingering while they breathe deeply together.
“Come,” Steve says after several heartbeats. He pulls away. “The water will get cold.”
The water is hot. Not near-scalding the way Bucky prefers his showers but pleasant all the same. He sinks into it gratefully. Steve squats beside the tub and arranges bottles on the edge. Bucky takes a moment to realize they’re his toiletries, likely snatched from his bathroom. The conditioner label is torn at the corner from where he picked at it once.
Steve notices him looking. He smiles, sheepish, and turns pink.
“I, uh, I think I got them all? Should I go get anything else? Do you mind?”
The warmth inside of Bucky has nothing to do with the water.
“No,” he manages to say. His eyes are wet but the water hasn’t yet touched his face. “Thank you, Steve.”
Steve waves it off, getting redder. He looks hesitant when he asks, “Should I stay?”
“Do you want to?”
“Yeah.”
Bucky tries not to let his relief show, but he thinks it might have anyway. Steve settles, tension Bucky didn’t consciously note before draining from his body. When Bucky nods, Steve just smiles and says nothing. Bucky sinks further into the water, and it’s nice, cozy, but something’s missing. Watching Steve pretend not to watch Bucky, he can guess what it is.
He thinks he can’t ask, at first. His throat closes up, the words getting lost somewhere between his head and his mouth. But the seconds tick by, and Steve’s presence remains a quiet, unobtrusive comfort. Bucky never forgets he’s there, but then, he doesn’t want to.
He reaches for the soap and stares intently at its worn white surface, trying to summon his voice.
“Join me?” he croaks out finally.
Steve straightens, beaming at Bucky.
“Of course.”
They arrange themselves with Bucky lying against Steve’s chest, framed by his legs. The tub’s big, but they’re both big men. It’s a tight fight but not uncomfortable. And it’s not bad, being pressed to Steve and held so close. It’s not bad at all.
“Can I?” Steve asks, taking Bucky’s soap. Bucky doesn’t know how Steve manages to make these questions sound like he’s doing himself a favor when it’s Bucky who should be grateful. And he is.
“Yes, please,” he says.
It’s familiar by now, Steve washing him. But this is different from standing in a shower and ending the soaping session with blowjobs or, like that one memorable time, with Steve’s tongue lapping between his cheeks. The memories are pleasant, but Bucky’s arousal is lazy. Steve’s hands on him are soothing, comforting. Safe.
Bucky hasn’t felt safe in a whole week.
He gives into it gratefully.
When he wakes, it’s with a jolt, and confusion is his first reaction. His body starts to relax before his mind does, registering Steve’s cushioning bulk behind him and recognizing the hands linked over Bucky’s stomach.
The water is cool now.
“Hey there,” Steve says warmly, saying nothing about the tension that is still only trickling out of Bucky. “How are you feeling?”
“Tired,” Bucky says automatically. “How long…?”
“Barely an hour.”
“You could’ve woken me. Should’ve.”
“Nah. Think you needed it. And I was here to keep you from drowning in your sleep, wasn’t I?”
That’s not the point at all, but Steve’s tone is brimming with the sort of cheerful obstinacy that simultaneously makes Bucky want to throttle him and kiss him silly. He doesn’t have the energy for either right now, but he turns his head all the same, making a soft, warbling noise that Steve somehow translates correctly, catching Bucky in a close-lipped kiss.
Thank you, Bucky wants to say but can’t so he shows it instead, mouth sweet on Steve’s.
Steve is smiling when they part, and Bucky is, all of him, tender and warm.
Steve takes a quick shower while Bucky goes through the motions of brushing his teeth and washing his face. His hair is damp, and while Bucky doesn’t make a habit of going to bed with his hair wet, he’s this close to melting into the bathroom floor and passing out. Steve emerges, smelling like something floral, and his grin when he sees Bucky waiting is both fond and exasperated.
“Your room or mine?” he asks, unsubtly herding Bucky out of the bathroom.
“Yours,” Bucky grunts with great effort. “Close.”
He’s out almost before he hits the bed.
-
But life hates him, of course. His brain definitely hates him.
It’s not even a nightmare.
Or it is, technically, but not the usual sort. He doesn’t even remember the dream, only that it made him anxious and uncomfortable, and now he’s wide awake at some unholy hour, staring at the ceiling and trying desperately to let Steve’s soft snores lull him back to sleep.
He gives up half an hour in.
Bucky’s loath to leave the cozy cocoon of the bed, but lying here doing nothing isn’t helping him any. He sighs a little mournfully and shuffles away from Steve’s magnetic warmth.
On the bright side, he’s feeling better than last night. Most of it’s a blur, honestly. But he remembers Steve, gentle and kind and—good. So good. Bucky must have done something right in a past life to deserve him in this. It’s certainly not this one. That probably doesn’t bode so well for his next life.
It’s not about deserving, James, his therapist would say. It’s a little eerie that he can predict their words so well these days. But they’re helping, he can’t deny that. But he’s not going to let his inner Dr. Rossi psychoanalyze him right now. He needs to go do something, anything, and maybe if he actually puts his brain to work, it’ll want to sleep again.
He swings his legs over the bed and is about to rise when a hand grabs his wrist.
Bucky stills. Then he breathes and lets it take the tension with it.
There’s just enough light filtering in through the window for him to see Steve blinking blearily at him.
“Buck?” His voice is thick with sleep, unfairly endearing. “S’rong?
It takes him a moment to understand that.
“Nothing’s wrong,” Bucky says softly. “Woke up, that’s all. Go back to sleep.”
For a moment, it seems like Steve will do just that. His eyes drift closed. His fingers loosen. Then Bucky makes the mistake of trying to pull his hand back.
Steve jerks awake with a throaty noise, eyes wide and startled.
Bucky quietly despairs, guilt surging in him.
“Bucky,” Steve says a second later, sounding considerably more awake. “Where are you going?”
“Um.”
Bucky wildly contemplates lying, disregarding each half-formed falsehood as it occurs to him. He gives up a few seconds in because Steve’s growing more alert by the moment, eyes clearer, frown deeper.
“Couldn’t sleep,” Bucky says in the end. “Figured I’d go…I don’t know. Read or something.”
Steve quietly digests that, eyes never leaving Bucky. Then he tugs at Bucky’s hand, pulling him close, and Bucky’s helpless not to follow that call. He crawls back in bed, and Steve kicks off the covers, shaking his body out of loose-limbed sleep.
“I’m sorry,” Bucky says with a grimace. “I didn’t mean to wake you.”
Steve grumbles, wordless and displeased.
“Sorry,” Bucky repeats miserably.
“Idiot,” Steve says, poking Bucky, finger landing squarely on his nipple. Bucky yelps. Steve grabs it and twists, and Bucky’s eyes cross when sparks bolt down his spine. “I don’t care about that. Dumbfuck.”
“You—you’re particularly foulmouthed when you’re half-asleep.”
“I’m very awake, fuck you.”
Bucky settles beside Steve, rubbing his sore nipple. He doesn’t quiet realize when he starts pinching it himself, only notices when Steve’s eyes flick down and stay there.
Bucky stops.
Steve leans over him and flicks the bedside light on. He doesn’t lie back down, hovering over Bucky instead, and yeah, he doesn’t look sleepy anymore. The predatory interest in his eyes has become very familiar to Bucky over the last several days.
His right nipple throbs, the pain sharp and electric.
Steve leans in sweet and slow, eyes wide and unwavering on Bucky.
“Morning breath,” Bucky murmurs.
Steve stays just like that, supporting himself on one arm while the other pats along the bed. He looks away from Bucky long enough to pop a mint. Bucky takes the one he’s offered with a land, shaking his head as it dissolves on his tongue, flooding his mouth with the piercing taste of peppermint.
“You gotta stop stashing everything and anything under your pillow, Steve.”
“They’re essentials,” Steve corrects, breath as fresh as it can get under the circumstances. “You’re glad for my mint stash, admit it.”
Bucky admits nothing. He kisses Steve before he can make him.
Steve doesn’t kiss like he’s half-asleep. His mouth’s hot and sure, moving wetly over Bucky’s lips and down his throat, sucking bruises down the column of his neck. It reminds Bucky of the injury on his side. It’s gone now, as predicted, and he doesn’t miss Steve realizing as much when he comes up for air and narrows his eyes at Bucky’s side. His only response is to plop down on Bucky like the world’s handsiest blanket, so Bucky’s hardly complaining.
He's complaining even less a moment later, when Steve squirms down his body to put his mouth on Bucky’s chest, tongue sliding wet and warm over his aching nipple. Heat spreads its tendrils through Bucky, threading through vein and bone. His cock grows hard, and Bucky’s still caught off guard, sometimes, by how easy he is for Steve, how little it takes to draw forth feelings Bucky didn’t even care for before he fell down this rabbit hole.
Steve’s teeth close around his nipple, tugging sharply, and Bucky’s thoughts scatter as he arches up with a shout. Steve raises his head and shoots him a toothy grin, and Bucky’s more prepared when he sets his teeth to the other side, but the sensation is no less sharp, his reaction no less intense. Steve sucks lazy bruises along the surrounding skin, his mouth wet and hot and maddening. And he keeps at it, mouthing his way down Bucky’s belly, licking a filthy stripe along one hipbone and smirking when Bucky whimpers.
Steve nudges the cock begging for his attention, eyes on Bucky.
“Please,” Bucky begs, knowing that’s what Steve wants and not ashamed to give it to him. “Please, Steve, please.”
Steve’s mouth on him the first time was a revelation. He pinned Bucky to the kitchen counter and sucked his brain out through his dick. The shock of it has lessened since, but the sheer intensity hasn’t, and Bucky shoves a fist against his mouth before Steve’s lips even touch his cock. The first gasp comes out muffled, and then Steve lets Bucky’s cockhead slip from his mouth and glares at him.
“Drop it,” he says. Softer, he adds, “I want to hear you, honey. You know that.”
Bucky shakes his head but obeys almost instantly, fisting his hand in his hair instead. Steve’s smile is proud and goes right to Bucky’s heart, wrapping him up in the warm glow of having made Steve happy.
He’s trembling when Steve returns his mouth to Bucky’s cock, and he takes him in so easy, mouth and throat opening to swallow Bucky deep. He chokes at the constricting heat, groans when Steve hollows his cheeks and sucks, writhes when he pulls off with the gentle graze of teeth along the underside. Steve licks at the slit, hums like it’s the best thing he’s tasted, and dives down to wreck him all over again.
Bucky just clutches at the sheets and tries to breathe.
He’s close all too soon, and it should be embarrassing how Steve plays him like a violin, always knowing which strings to pluck to get Bucky screaming, but Bucky loves it, loves that he’s easy for Steve, loves that his hard, battle-worn body is turned into a squirming thing of helpless pleasure under Steve’s hands and mouth. He only ever wants more, and he’s half terrified to ask, but when the wet heat of Steve’s mouth starts to drag him to the edge, Bucky snatches a fistful of Steve’s hair and forces himself to speak.
“Wait!”
Steve stops instantly, letting Bucky slip out of his mouth.
“Buck?”
“I—I want you in me. I want to come with you in me.”
It’s a relief to just get it out. The gobsmacked look on Steve’s face is one he’ll never forget, and the hungry expression that takes over makes Bucky shiver from head to toe.
Steve doesn’t move immediately. He tilts his head, eyes softening a fraction as he takes in Bucky’s wide eyes and heaving chest. But he doesn’t ask if Bucky’s sure. He never has, just trusted Bucky to tell him, and Christ, Bucky adores this man.
“Fetch the lube.”
It’s an order. Bucky scrambles to obey. The lube is, shockingly enough, under the pillow, and it’s funny how he’s learned Steve’s bedroom habits from barely two weeks of sleeping—literally and otherwise—together.
He stares a little judgmentally before throwing it at Steve.
Steve grins unrepentantly and catches the bottle, taking the cap off with his teeth and squirting some on his fingers. He rubs his fingers together, surveying Bucky with narrowed eyes, cooking something up in that surprisingly devious brain of his.
“Turn over,” he says finally, knee-walking out from between Bucky’s legs. “All fours.”
Bucky turns over, limbs weaker than they should be. He fists his hands in the sheets and tells himself it’s just Steve. Bucky doesn’t have anything Steve hasn’t already seen, already felt.
Steve’s palm strokes up his thigh, gentle but firm, squeezing when he reaches Bucky’s ass. His lips follow the same path, and Bucky wants to hide his face in a pillow and scream a little because Steve pressing featherlight kisses along the crease of his ass cracks him open deeper than his mouth on Bucky’s cock. It’s the tenderness that trips him up each time, and knowing that Steve will get rough and dirty soon only makes it all the worse—or better, Bucky can’t decide.
Wet fingers tap his hole, rubbing gently, more to tease than to push inside. It’s still new, this sensation, even though Bucky has opened himself up a few times, thinking of Steve and his fingers and his cock and his mouth, and Steve did too, once, teasing Bucky open with a finger, then two, while he took Bucky’s cock deep into his throat. It’s the hardest Bucky remembers coming, and he’s hoping, mouth dry and head spinning, that this time will be more—just more. He wants to be out of his mind. He wants Steve to fuck even his name out of his head.
Maybe, next time, he’ll tell Steve that.
A finger pushes inside, and Bucky makes a conscious attempt to relax. Steve’s got big fingers, thick and long, and they know what they’re doing, sliding into Bucky knuckle-deep one at a time. It’s slower than Bucky would like. He wants a little burn, the sharp, singing sting when you force it in a little too fast. He tries to push back, take Steve deeper, and it works, but his pained groan turns into a yelp when Steve takes the finger out, leaving Bucky empty and aching.
“You’ll take what I give you,” he says.
“I can take more.”
Steve laughs, low and not entirely pleasant. His nails dig into the muscle of Bucky’s ass. He wants them to bruise.
“Did I ask?”
Bucky says nothing, face hot, tongue leaden.
He doesn’t expect the open-palmed strike on his ass. His whole body jerks, cock bouncing between his legs, dripping wet and throbbing as his mind repeats the blow in a red-tinged frenzy.
“Huh,” Steve says, rubbing the spot he hit. “Interesting. Now, answer, Buck.”
“N-no.”
“No what?”
“No, you didn’t ask.”
“Atta boy,” Steve croons, patting the spot he hit. It’s very gentle. Bucky tenses in anticipation of another blow, wanting it. Steve just takes his hand away, fingers returning to Bucky’s hole with a fresh helping of lube.
One slides in easily this time, and Bucky breathes in and out to the rhythm of those lazy thrusts. He almost folds his arms and lets his torso drop, but Steve said all fours and Bucky knows better now. Steve’s soft-spoken in bed, praise and filth all dropping from his lips with the same, quiet ease, but there’s steel under every word. Half of Bucky wants to obey every commandment, leave himself in Steve’s strong, capable hands. The other half wants to know what it would be like to taste the sharp edge of that steel.
He behaves, for now. Keeps himself still and lets Steve fuck him open. Moans when he wants to and whines for more, knowing Steve likes to hear him. And Steve rewards him for all of it, feeding Bucky a second finger, then a third, pressing knuckles against his tautly stretched rim and twisting the fingers to hear him shout.
Bucky feels raw, broken open and left exposed. It’s more than anything he’s taken, but he’s familiar with the thing Steve’s packing, knows it’ll still be a hard fit.
He wants it, the strain and the pain.
“Another finger?” Steve asks. “Or my cock?”
Bucky licks his lips and swallows. When Steve asks questions, he wants answers. Steve’s never asked him to choose before, but Bucky knows enough of how he works to assume his choice will be honored.
He thinks of taking four fingers. It would be a killer stretch, and it would be so good, but then he imagines Steve’s cock, the sheer damning size of it, and he shudders all the way down to his soul. They talked about this, about the serum and how much caution they’d need, which isn’t much at all, and Bucky recalls, with crystal clarity, the light in Steve’s eyes when Bucky said he should take him bare.
He imagines Steve coming in him, filling him with wet heat the way he drenches Bucky’s skin with it, and fuck, this was never going to be a hard choice.
“Your cock,” he says.
Steve hums. He doesn’t sound surprised.
“Alright,” he says. He continues to fuck Bucky with his fingers, drizzling more lube over them, some trickling down his skin, wetting his balls where they hang heavy. He bites his lip and shivers but doesn’t give in to the pulsing demand of his cock. He wants it touch it, but he meant what he said. He can come now and be ready raring to go again in a matter of minutes, but he wants Steve to fuck the orgasm out of him.
He wants a lot from Steve. Bucky’s lucky that Steve seems to thrive under these particular expectations.
The fingers slide out with slow deliberation. Bucky’s hole flutters around the tips, trying in vain to suck them back inside. The emptiness left behind is an unbearable ache, pulling out a mournful noise that Steve soothes with murmured endearments and his hand on Bucky’s ass.
It starts as blunt pressure, nothing at all like Steve’s fingers. Bucky’s breath catches in his throat.
“Ready?” Steve asks.
Bucky nods. He manages, somehow, to find his voice and say, “Yes.”
“Breathe,” Steve warns. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
Bucky wants it to be too much. He doesn’t really mean to say that out loud, but his mouth doesn’t seem quite seem under his control anymore. Steve just huffs, clearly amused.
“The wrong kind of too much then,” he says. He gives Bucky’s ass another, sharp swat, and Bucky tries not to feel like he’s just been rewarded. “You’re something else, Buck.”
Bucky squirms a little, the praise bubbling up in his belly. It almost—almost—distracts him from the cock that starts to push into him.
It’s big.
That’s not news; Bucky has held Steve in his hand, wrapped his lips around his heat, but it’s like it’s more, now, when the girth of it is stretching him beyond anything he’s ever felt.
Bucky grips the sheets and tries to breathe like Steve said, forcing his body to relax past the instinctive urge to clench up and push it out. He grits his teeth but can’t keep quiet, low, throaty noises escaping him with every exhale. Steve’s taking it slow, pushing in barely an inch before he pulls back, but the hot drag of his dick along Bucky’s walls is its own brand of torment.
He's shaking, legs and arms shaky, but Steve’s holding him in place with both hands on Bucky’s hips, thumbs pressing hard against his hipbones. The bruising grip is grounding but not enough to make him feel like he’s not coming apart at the seams.
He can’t say he doesn’t like it, trembling on this knife-edge.
Steve stops moving when he’s maybe halfway in. Bucky thinks it’s half. He hopes it’s not less. It feels like Steve has stuffed his entire forearm up his hole, but Bucky knows his body’s playing tricks on his perception.
Steve releases his death grip on Bucky’s hips and strokes him, hands running along his sides and back, down his thighs and over the tensed swell of his ass. Bucky tries to picture himself from Steve’s eyes—back arched, skin sweaty, hole stretched taut around the insane girth of him. He whimpers, heat suffusing his veins.
“You good?” Steve asks hoarsely, voice gone deep and guttural. He’s not unaffected, not at all, and Bucky wonders what it’s like for him, knowing he’s Bucky's first in so many ways. Bucky likes that it’s Steve, knows he’s in good hands, but he thinks it’s a different kind of rush as far as Steve’s concerned.
“I’m good,” Bucky says. “You can—I can take more.”
Steve laughs, but the sound’s wild around the edges, nothing of his usual composure in it. Bucky’s heart doubles in size.
“Yeah, honey, you can.”
Steve gives it to him, pushing in as slow as before, but this time, he doesn’t stop, just keeps going, taking Bucky for himself an inch at a time. Bucky shakes through it all, half-awed, half-crazed. His is a body that’s been pushed to the limits and then forced past them more times than he can count, but somehow, it’s the fever-hot crawl of Steve’s cock into him that threatens to break him.
“Christ,” Steve gasps. “You’re—”
His hands clench on Bucky’s thighs. There’s a hard, sudden shove, and Bucky’s screaming before he knows it, aware only of heat and pressure.
Steve’s hips slot snugly against the curve of his ass. Bucky’s arms finally give out.
The change in position makes Steve’s cock slide out of him, losing that last inch he took. Steve swears when he pushes in again, and Bucky whimpers, the sound muffled with his face half-buried in a pillow. He turns it to the side, breathing easier but still choking on air when he feels how Steve’s so deep inside him.
He's trying to soothe Bucky again, running his hands down his flank and massaging his clenched cheeks, but there’s hunger in his movements, in his loud, unsteady breaths.
“Bucky,” he grunts, rougher than he’s ever heard Steve. “Talk to me.”
Bucky kind of wants to shoot him a thumbs up and let that be it, but his arms are a boneless puddle around his head and unlikely to change any time soon. His lower half is kept elevated only Steve’s hands on him and his cock in him.
“I’m—I’m good,” Bucky says, voice wavering. “Just—Fuck, you’re a lot.”
Steve makes a very interesting sound at that.
“Too much?” he asks, sounding like he’s gritting his teeth.
“Not the bad kind.”
Steve laugh. Or tries. He cuts himself short with a shaky exhale, a moan trapped in the sound. Bucky’s whole body flashes hot, a blend of pride and need. He tightens experimentally around Steve, and it’s a double-edged sword if there ever was one because he shudders hard enough that his teeth rattle, but it’s worth it too when Steve shouts and sinks all fingers into the meaty swell of Bucky’s ass as if hanging on for dear life.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve says.
“How do I feel?” Bucky asks.
Steve growls. His hand comes down hard on Bucky’s ass, and he arches up this time, helpless and instinctive, stars bursting under his closed lids. Steve rubs the rapidly warming skin, none too gently.
“I’ll show you,” Steve says when Bucky slumps again. “How about that, huh?”
He doesn’t really wait for a response. Bucky doesn’t think he could have given anything beyond slight choking noises anyway, and as it is, he makes those anyway, whole body rocking when Steve starts moving.
If Bucky thought taking Steve flung him to his limits, it’s something else entirely when Steve fucks him. His cock’s thick and long and got the kind of curve that presses up everywhere, dragging along Bucky’s clenching walls and rubbing against his prostate on every other thrust. Steve’s fingers against that spot had Bucky coming so hard he almost blacked out, and that’s nothing in comparison to this, this white-hot pressure that crawls under flesh and skin, wrapping tight tendrils around the soft, needy parts of him until all of Bucky feels like a single exposed nerve.
The pace is slow, Steve sliding out slow and rocking with his just the head teasing Bucky, holding him wide open and keeping him empty, until he’s begging, cursing, clawing at the sheets, and Steve sinks his hooked fingers into his flesh and pushes inside, stuffing Bucky with cock until he can’t breathe around the claiming heat of it.
Steve speeds up, teasing Bucky with the tip one moment and buried to the hilt in him the next. Bucky’s too shocked to scream, mind and body stilling at the sudden, scorching fullness. Steve’s weight bears down on him, his chest slotting along Bucky’s back, and that’s all it takes for Bucky’s knees to buckle as well.
Steve follows him down, cock shifting inside Bucky, sliding out before fucking back in, hard and sloppy. He can feel heat on the back of his neck, Steve breathing on him.
Arms slide under Bucky’s, sweat slicking the way as Steve hauls him into position.
“This alright?” Steve asks, voice right at Bucky’s ear.
Bucky doesn’t trust his voice so he nods. Teeth sink into his lobe, tugging sharply.
“Yes,” he whimpers. “Please, yes, yes.”
Steve must be able to feel him trembling, the two of them pressed together with barely an inch between them. The noise that greets his answer is low and pleased, and then Steve starts to move.
Bucky’s pinned down, held tight, stuffed full, and fuck but Steve knows what he’s doing, hips jerking in short, rabbity thrusts. He’s everywhere, over Bucky, in him, breath on his ear and chest on his back, heat and weight consuming him. Steve sets his mouth to Bucky’s throat, nosing aside his hair to lick and bite at his skin, as frantic as the erratic thrust of his cock. Bucky bares his throat, straining to breathe, his blood simmering under his skin. His cock slides against the sheets with every thrust, sparking with sensation, and he doesn’t dare touch it, because he’ll burst the moment he does.
Steve groans his name and bites down hard on his shoulder. Bucky jolts, clenching tight around Steve. Steve cries out, muffled around a mouthful of Bucky’s flesh. Bucky keens, scratching at the sheets.
“I’m—I’m close,” Steve pants, teeth leaving behind a stinging bruise. “Want you to come for me, Buck, can you do that?”
Bucky tries to laugh but it comes out as a soft, sobbing cry. He doesn’t know what he can do; his body is more Steve’s than his, slave to the claiming warmth of his hands and the solid heat of his cock. He doesn’t have the words to say any of that, but maybe Steve hears something in his shuddering breaths because he kisses Bucky’s throat and mumbles gentle, soothing things even as his hips pick up their pace, ramming into Bucky.
“I want you to come,” Steve says, soft steel. “Just like this, honey. Come on, I’ve got you, come on.”
Bucky’s cock aches and leaks against the sheets, trapped between his belly and the mattress, and he’s being rocked harder as Steve fucks him rougher, quiet voice coaxing him to let go and come, just like this, split open on Steve’s cock and wearing his teeth on his skin, and Bucky can’t not obey.
It builds and builds and bursts, heat twisting through his body as his cock twitches and throbs through his climax. Bucky keens, hyperaware of Steve’s cock in him, of his own walls convulsing around it.
Steve’s still moving, grinding, and Bucky chokes on it, the size and the heat, and he squirms and clenches, and he doesn’t even mean to move but can’t help it, body pulled to a searing frenzy by Steve’s touch.
And Steve’s quiet the way he is when he’s close, so close that he’s shut his eyes and bared his teeth and is breathing through his nose.
“Please,” Bucky gasps, wrecked and wounded. “Steve, now, please, I’m so—”
Steve buries his face in Bucky’s throat and slides in deep and comes, shuddering through his release, each pulse of his cock drenching Bucky’s ass in come. It’s new and startling, nothing at all like when Steve comes on his skin. This is filling him and sliding out too, dripping out from around Steve’s softening cock.
Bucky barely dares to breathe.
Steve relaxes in increments, letting out a quiet sigh, muscles unspooling against Bucky’s. A shift of his hips finds him sliding out, cock soft and so much smaller but still stinging when it slips past Bucky’s swollen rim. Come trickles out in its wake, and Bucky tries to clench up, keep it inside him, his own dick half-hard again, having surged to life when Steve came in him.
“Buck?” Steve calls, and it’s gratifying to hear how gone he is.
“M’here,” Bucky says. “M’good.”
He’s better than good. He great. He’s beyond words.
Steve rolls off him. Bucky misses the suffocating weight of him even as it makes it easier to breathe. He likes the kisses though, Steve mouthing warmly along his shoulder and throat, a shaky hand sliding through Bucky’s hair.
His lips land on Bucky’s cheek, and Bucky obediently presents his mouth for a kiss.
Steve’s smiling, he realizes, lips curved up against Bucky’s.
“You okay?” Steve asks without quite breaking the kiss.
Bucky prods at his head a little. His brain’s stuck in a pleasant haze, lazily crooning Steve’s name.
“Very,” he says. “Kiss.”
Steve makes a soft, strangled sound and kisses Bucky until his mouth is raw and his body’s a puddle on the mattress, red eyes and jets of fire distant memories.