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“I got you a present” is always an ominous phrase coming from Tony. It could mean a nice cake from the fancy French patisserie a few blocks from the tower, or a rare supercar, or even a fleet of strippers. Or socks. That one time it had been socks.

Bucky just shakes his head, not looking up from his work bench. “You don’t need to buy me a present, Tony.”

“Oh, but I do, my cybernetic friend.” There’s a twirl of a wrench and a smile that spells trouble plasted on Tony’s face.

He’ll bite, this time. “Okay, what is it?”

Tony’s gleeful with it. Happy to get a rise out of Bucky. “I can’t tell you. It’s a surprise. It’ll be on your floor tonight at eight.”

Clearly it’s going to be strippers.

Bucky’s sort of resigned himself to sending the girls home when the time gets closer to 8 pm. Pottering around his overly large kitchen, getting a beer when the door chime goes.

When he does open the door, to his surprise, it’s not strippers.

Instead, it’s the most beautiful man Bucky has ever seen. Blond hair and bright blue eyes sitting on top of barn-door-wide shoulders tapering down to a trim waist and long powerful legs. He kind of wishes it was strippers now. That would have been easier.

The vision standing in his doorway says “Mr. Barnes?” and Bucky must nod as the stranger’s face breaks into a winning smile, which makes the corners of his eyes crinkle in a way that should be illegal. Illegal and cute.

“I’m Steve Rogers from the Shield Mobile Massage Company. Mr. Stark has booked you in for a 2-hour appointment.”

Bucky finally notices the enormous square bag the man is carrying, still distracted by those powerful thighs encased in loose navy sweatpants.

“Alright. You better come in then.” He’s going to regret this. Especially after he sees the tight ass when Steve walks past him and into the apartment.

“Where would you like me to set up?” He’s looking around curiously from the entrance way, and Bucky’s heart’s sinking. The Tower is just too much sometimes. Most days, Bucky wishes he was still living in Brooklyn. He motions towards the living area, those wide open windows that tint and go opaque on command. “Uh...the living room is fine.”

There’s a low whistle as Steve stops behind the couch. Looking out at downtown Manhattan laid below them. “That’s one hell of a view.” The lights out in the city flicker and twinkle, and it is stunning.

“Uh...yeah.” Fuck. Concentrate. It’s not like he even really looks at the view; he spends most of his evenings staring at the walls of the apartment or the white ceiling of his bedroom while not sleeping. “Doesn’t beat Brooklyn though.” He’s not sure why he says it, but it makes Steve smile, soft and careful. “Don’t I know it. Born and raised there.”

Bucky’s heart clenches. Homesick and missing it even when it’s just across the river. “Me too.” Steve’s nodding, unpacking and setting up the mobile massage table with a practiced air, laying out a stack of towels and a rolled-up blanket on one of the dining chairs he’s pulled next to the table.

Bucky looks out to Manhattan and past the East River towards home. But he can’t go back, not after the desert, the discharge, no matter how honorable. It just wouldn’t feel right anymore.

He’s pulled from his thoughts by the gentle clearing of a throat, and when he turns, Steve is standing by the fully set-up massage table.“If you’d like to get changed. A bathrobe or something similar would work well, you can wear that and I’ll hold up the blankets when you’re getting on the table for your modesty.”

“Uhh, did, uh, did Stark tell you about the arm?” Steve must have noticed the hand by now. Bucky can feel the calibration, the whirr and click of the arm that happens when he’s nervous.

Steve nods and smiles. “Yes, Mr. Stark let us know that you have a cutting-edge prosthetic which has been causing you some discomfort.”

“It’s, ah, it doesn’t look so nice.”

There’s a seriousness in Steve then, his face suddenly morphing into something contemplative. “Mr. Barnes, bodies are just bodies.” He shrugs, slightly helpless, and at least it’s not pity.

Unmoored by the response from the Steve, he just says the first thing that comes to his head. “Bucky.”

“Excuse me, sir?”

Bucky clears his throat, tries to smile. “It’s Bucky, not…Mr. Barnes.”

Steve nods, still serious, running his hands over the blankets laid over the massage table. “Okay, Bucky, I’ve worked with all kinds of bodies. I’m just here to see if we can make you more comfortable.”

He strips in the bedroom, hesitating for a second before sliding off his briefs and putting on his bathrobe. Well, it’s not really his, it came with the apartment, like everything else. He leaves his hair in its bun at the back of his neck. It’s probably easier for the guy like that. Not having to touch Bucky’s hair, not that he wants the hot masseur to touch his hair. No, not at all.

When he gets back to the living room, Steve has turned the lights down, and Bucky nearly groans. It’s just so romantic now, inviting. Steve lifts the blanket up as soon as he sees Bucky in the hall, covering his entire body and face so that Bucky can disrobe and lie down. It feels strange, vulnerable, lying there over plush terrycloth with Steve laying the blanket over him.

Then Steve’s hand presses down on his right shoulder, no hesitancy in his touch. “If anything feels uncomfortable or hurts, please let me know. I’m going to start on your right side and work across.”

Bucky can smell the oil in the air as Steve pours it, hears the slick sounds his hands make. It smells faintly of some kind of flower but it’s not too sweet, just rough, like a baked summer field. Steve’s hands are warm and smooth over his shoulder and Bucky wants to moan, but instead he tenses.

That in turn makes Steve slow, just holding his hands over Bucky’s shoulder, asking “is this okay?”

“Yeah...it’s just, I haven’t...for a long time.” He can’t even bring himself to say it. That no one has touched him for a long time. That he’d forgotten what it feels like for another human to lay their hands on you.

Steve just hums, rubbing down his shoulder. “That’s okay, as long as it’s not hurting.” He starts again, slow, working over Bucky’s right shoulder, the middle of his upper back and over his neck. Massaging at the base of his skull, and Bucky does moan at that, but tries to do it quietly.

Gently, Steve slides over the scar tissue over his left shoulder blade, gently skirting the metal socket where the arm connects. His fingertips are careful, but not coy. His touch is sure and that alone makes Bucky pant. He’s glad his face is hidden from view, doesn’t want to think what expression he must be wearing.

Steve lays a towel over Bucky’s shoulders, keeping him warm as he exposes more of his back, peeling the blankets down. Steve’s hands feel wonderful, their touch sure and strong, working the muscles over, touching Bucky in a way that no one has in years. It’s just been doctors or medical check-ups. Maybe a brief pat on the shoulder or the side of his right arm from a colleague, but the metal freaks everyone out. It’s just been easier to just not let people close.

But this, this feels different, and Bucky just floats with the sensations. He doesn’t know how long it’s been – it could have been days or only minutes, he’s been thrumming under the bliss of Steve’s hands – until suddenly, Steve is speaking.

“Would you like to turn around?”

Bucky makes as if to get up when he realizes. He’s hard, achingly so. His dick fat and engorged and pressing into the table between his legs. His balls feel heavy and tight, and he wants to roll them in his hand, pull on them just a little bit. He knows that Steve must have noticed him freezing. “Uh…I’m okay.”

“Okay, that’s cool. We can just keep working on your back.” And that’s it, Steve just moves to work on his legs, folding and unfolding the blanket so that only parts of him are exposed and the rest stays warm.

Bucky tries to relax back into it, but now he can’t seem to switch off the ache of his hard dick, the pressing need to come, to get off. He doesn’t know how long it goes on, rubbing his fingers on the terrycloth and clenching his buttocks to resist the urge to grind into the table. Then finally Steve is patting him on his shoulder, a gentle touch of his hand over the towel. “Okay, that’s it.”

Bucky knows that he needs to get up now. Fuck. Fucketty fuck fuck fuck. “Uh…” he says intelligently, dazed and aroused beyond measure.

Bucky must freeze again because the next thing Steve says is “if this isn’t the case, please don’t be offended, but it’s okay if you’re a bit hard. It just happens sometimes.” Bucky can feel the blush sweeping over his face. The silent mortification of it. The only thing he manages to get out is “uh…okay.” He tries to nod, but it comes out jerky.

Steve lifts the blankets and Bucky clambers off the table and awkwardly into his robe, his legs barely holding him up. He tries to hide his achingly hard dick in the folds of the fabric, moving to stand behind the couch.

Steve folds up the table and packs up his towels and things simultaneously too quickly and too slowly. Nodding at Bucky when he finally zips the final catch on his bag. “So, I’ll see you again on Thursday.”

Thursday is in two days’ time, and Bucky’s just staring at him. “Uh, what?”

“Mr. Stark had booked you in for ten sessions. Would you prefer to not continue?”

Bucky’s shaking his head, mechanical and half-panicked. “No! No...Thursday is good.” Steve smiles, again that winning, toothy smile as he picks up the table and his bag of blanket and towels.

Bucky jerks off as soon as he hears the door latch close. It only takes a few rough pulls and he’s coming into the folds of the bathrobe, leaning on the couch. Shaking. Still feeling Steve’s hands all over his body.

He sleeps better that night than he has in a few years.

Steve shows up again on Thursday at 8 pm, again with his big bag and even bigger smile. He sets up in the living room and dims the lights. Bucky lies on the table, floats and then grinds his teeth to try and keep his dick in check. It works as well as expected. Steve doesn’t seem to notice, just hums when Bucky again declines to turn around.

The next session is on the following Monday, and Steve’s pressing his skillful fingers into the divot at the base of Bucky’s scull. “Have you ever had a head massage?”

“Uh.. no?”

Steve’s speaking right by his ear, breath ghosting over the back of his neck and it makes Bucky shiver. “Would you like to try?” Bucky manages to croak out a “yeah, sure.”

He’s going to hell. The express elevator right to the bottom floor. That’ll be Bucky’s exit.

Gently, Steve pulls his hair loose from his ponytail, letting his fingers fan through it. It feels heavenly, the tips of Steve’s fingers pressing into his skull, massaging over the sides, behind his ears, down to his neck. It almost makes him forget about his dick for the duration.

It’s another two sessions – another Thursday, another Monday – with aching boners, and Bucky’s still resolute on not turning around. Steve doesn't seem to mind, even if he asks every time.

By session six, Bucky’s frustration has reached a boiling point. He knows it’s reckless and even stupid, but he can’t not say it when Steve asks him if he wants to turn. “I know you said it was normal, but…”

“It’s perfectly normal, so if you do want to turn around?” He can feel Steve’s hands on the blanket, fingers curled by Bucky’s shoulder blades. “Yeah…yeah, I’d like that.”

Steve lifts up the blanket the same way he does when Bucky lies down, allowing Bucky to rotate his body while Steve’s face is hidden behind the blanket. He slides over to his back and keeps his eyes closed. He’s pretty sure that Steve can see his dick even through the thick blanket once he’s laid it in place, but he doesn’t want to see the confirmation of it on the other man’s face.

Steve moves to stand behind his head, works Bucky’s shoulders and neck, the upper part of his chest and that little muscle right in his armpit that’s really sore for some reason. Bucky doesn’t open his eyes, but the steady motions of Steve’s fingers relax him. There’s no hesitancy in his movements, even now.

Then Steve moves to the end of the bench and starts to work on Bucky’s legs. He still doesn’t look, but Bucky’s knows that his dick must be tenting the blanket in an obscene fashion. He can already feel the dribble of precome over his stomach, tacky and wet.

He starts tensing when Steve gets to just below his knees, fingers pulling on the muscles of his calves. “It’s okay, Bucky.”

“It really isn’t. I’m really sorry.” He’s still not looking down, talking to the white ceiling, looking at the darkened light fixtures. Steve just hums. “This is meant to make you feel good, and it is. That’s a good thing.” Steve’s silent for a brief moment, fingertips rubbing gentle circles on Bucky’s skin just under his kneecap. “I could help with it, if you wanted.”

Fuck, does he ever, and then his dick seemingly acquires direct access to his brain and before Bucky can stop himself, he’s saying “okay.”

Steve’s fingers don’t stop their movements for a second, just move up a fraction. “Okay, then.” His hands slowly shifting higher and higher on Bucky’s thighs under the blanket, massaging around his patella and smoothing over his adductor, their destination clear. Slow and steady, but not teasing. Sure.

When he reaches the crook of Bucky’s hip, the inside of his thigh, Steve’s thumbs slide between Bucky’s legs, coming to rest behind his balls, drawn up tight and ready to go. Steve’s thumbs slide over his taint, slow, steady pressure, and Bucky whines at the zing of pleasure up his spine.

Finally, Steve’s hand wraps around his straining dick. His fingers are slick and hot, and it only takes a few pulls until Bucky’s shooting into Steve’s other hand, already cupped over the head.

Quickly, almost silently, Steve cleans him up with one of the small towels, but Bucky barely feels it, too busy floating on a high of endorphins. Steve goes back to massaging his legs, down his thighs, over his knees. Digging his fingers into the round muscle of his calf and then finally into his instep.

Bucky shudders, lax and mellow on the bench. Licking his lips, panting a little.

Afterwards, Steve packs up and gives him another brilliant smile and a “see you in a few days.” A large part of Bucky expects to get a phone call to say that Steve will no longer be coming to his appointments, but it never happens.

Instead, Steve shows up again a few days later with a smile, patting the table with a cheeky “hop on.”

It happens again, and this time Steve doesn’t ask anymore and Bucky is grateful. Instead, he just works over Bucky’s thighs and hips, pressing his thumbs into sore spots. It’s not so different to what he does to the rest of Bucky’s body. His hands are sure and warm as they work over Bucky’s cock, sliding the foreskin back and forth and letting the rough pad of his thumb tease the wet tip.

Bucky comes with a grunt and a sigh, feeling better than he has in years. Feeling safe. Taken care of. He can see Steve smiling, humming a little under his breath as he massages over Bucky’s hip and the side of his leg.

It goes like that the next time too, and it’s good. So good. The best. It’s not that he’s not happy, grateful even, and he knows he’s being greedy, but he wants it badly. Has been thinking about it all week. Thinking of how to ask, how to voice this particular desire. Instead, Bucky just spreads his legs a fraction, angles his hips up in a silent invitation when Steve’s hands slide over his lower back, working over the iliac crest.

He can feel Steve freezing, stopping for a fraction of a second, and Bucky’s ready to leap up and apologize, beg for forgiveness; but then those fingers move, palms sliding down to cup his ass, holding the flesh in his palms almost like a question.

Bucky pants, lets Steve hear his hitched breathing, pressing back, arching into the contact.

Steve hums a low “alright”, his thumbs pressing into the crease of buttock and thigh and sliding inwards. Spreading Bucky open. Thumbs massaging over his taint, slow little circles up and up and over his clenching hole and up the crack of his ass. Sliding over his tailbone and down again.

Steve works the pads of his thumbs over the tight rim of Bucky’s anus, not pushing in, just massaging, relaxing until Bucky’s cock is weeping and wet against the towels under him. Until his hole feels tender and ready, clenching like he’s wanting to milk something, achingly empty.

Finally, finally Steve pushes the tip of his thumb in, stretching out his hole, and Bucky moans against the headrest. Trying to press his knees under himself, present himself. Steve pushes in with two thick fingers, stretching him out, capturing his prostate between his fingers and the thumb pressing into Bucky’s taint. Knowing exactly where to touch to make Bucky cry out and twitch like he’s on a string.

Steve voice is like gravel when he finally speaks. “Do you want to turn around?” Bucky moans into the towels under his face, thinking of Steve’s hand on his cock, pushing up onto his elbows as Steve withdraws his fingers.

As soon as he shuffles onto his back, Bucky can see the massive erection tenting Steve’s sweats, pupils of his blue eyes blown wide open. He looks down over Bucky’s body, over his sweaty chest and hard dick, the smears of pre-come on his belly. Steve reaches out, presses his hands on Bucky’s thighs, spreads his legs open wider, and Bucky pulls Steve to him by his shirt, kisses clumsy and unpracticed.

Steve’s sliding his fingers back between Bucky’s legs and back into him. Two thick fingers again, and then he’s curling them, beckoning, making Bucky moan and grunt into the kiss. Panting out “fuck. Steve. Fuck. Get fucking in me.”

“Yeah, Bucky. Fuck.” Steve’s shoving down his sweats just enough to get his cock out, clumsily dousing it in the oil he’d been using. Then he’s pushing Bucky back down on the table, his thighs over Steve’s huge biceps, spreading him wide open.

The tip of Steve’s cock is blunt and wet, pressing against his rim, a sweet, aching stretch as he pushes in. It hurts a little bit, it’s been so long. The only thing Bucky can do is take it, throw his head back, arching his back, trying to spread his legs even wider.

Steve wedges one of his knees on the table, his other foot braced against the floor, and he starts fucking Bucky in earnest. Long hard thrusts. He grunts with each one. “Fuck, Bucky, you’re so fucking hot, all laid out on my table, and you’re so fucking tight.”

He loses his balance for a moment, dick popping out from Bucky’s ass with an obscene pop, but he’s pushing back in only a second, cutting off Bucky’s whine of complaint, forcing his legs wider, nearly folding him in half. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, Buck. So good.”

He’s grabbing Steve’s shoulder, the side of his waist, moaning and panting Steve’s name. “Yeah, Steve, yeah, you are.”

And he does, sliding his hand between their bodies and jerking Bucky’s cock, slow and sweet and tight until Bucky can feel his orgasm building at the base of his spine, his balls drawing up. Steve just keeps pounding him, swearing and grunting like an animal as Bucky comes.

Steve comes too, not long after, with a pained whine. Bucky can feel his dick twitching in his ass, the unholy amount of come that’s starting to slide out of him as Steve’s dick starts to soften. He’s hiding his face in Bucky’s chest, his massive shoulders heaving in the confines of his gray t-shirt.

Then Steve’s sighing, mumbling into Bucky’s chest. “Fuck, that was so unprofessional.” When he looks up Bucky can’t believe that after all that Steve is blushing. A dusting of pink over his cheeks and a shy smile on his lips.

Bucky can’t help but laugh, to wrap his legs around Steve’s hips to stop him from escaping. He doesn’t even care about the oil and come and sweat between them. “Well, I know this is probably quite late in the game, but would you like to come out to dinner with me? On a date?”

Steve’s smile is blinding, his hands worming their way under Bucky’s back, holding him tight. “Yeah, yeah, I’d like that a lot.” Bucky’s rubbing over Steve’s shoulders, slowly pulling up the fabric, inching it up, up and up. “We could have the date here. I have food.”

Steve smiles like he knows exactly what Bucky’s doing, but instead of objecting, he just wiggles and lifts up his arms, helping Bucky to pull off his shirt. “Are you offering to cook for me?” Bucky knows he’s smiling too, probably dopey and stupid with it. “Yeah, and you can stay over?”