“Hey,” Bucky says when Steve gets out of the bathroom, holding a towel around his hips. “You made it back in one piece.”
Bucky’s reclining on his stomach on Steve’s giant bed, dressed in loose shorts and a black t-shirt. His hair is pulled back into a messy ponytail and he looks bored, flipping through a Wakandan magazine about-- Guns? Steve squints at it a little, then at all the pen marks and !!!!! WANT ’s circling some of the weapons, and decides to let it go.
“Yeah,” Steve says, trying to comb his wet hair from his face and ignore the !!!!!! WANT his brain is yelling at the sight of Bucky. “I think the beard helped with staying incognito.”
“The beard doesn’t help with your stupid freedom-shaped physique,” Bucky says, tossing the magazine on the floor. “But I’m glad they didn’t arrest you. How did it go?”
He still looks bored, but Steve knows him well enough to know that it’s a big goddamn lie: Bucky’s propped up on his elbows, face turned eagerly up, like he’s trying to reach up for Steve; for reassurance that Steve’s indeed safe and sound.
“Fairly well, I think,” Steve says, rubbing droplets of water out of his beard. “Tony and I didn’t try to kill each other, and he roasted me and the hair only for two hours.”
Bucky laughs, and Steve gives in, leaning down to kiss him. Bucky meets him halfway, pushing himself up on his hands; a perfect upward facing dog pose, like Steve’s seen him doing in his yoga class. His lips are chapped from the sun and sticky with lip balm.
“Hey,” Bucky says again when Steve pulls back, and his mouth is curved in a smile that practically asks for more kisses, which Steve is more than happy to accept. Bucky laughs against his mouth, but kisses back, cola-flavored chapstick and all. “Good to have you back.”
“Yeah,” Steve agrees. “Making peace with Tony was good, but I also like not being seen as an international criminal.”
“Mm-hm,” Bucky says, cupping Steve’s neck with his new vibranium hand. “It has its perks.” Bucky kisses him again and lets go, swipes a damp lock of hair behind Steve’s ear. “Are you gonna shave now that you’re back?”
Steve scratches his chin, straightening up. “Probably. Although I did like how pink your thighs got with it.”
Bucky makes a face. “Keep that bush away from my privates, I had beard burn for days.”
“But what a sight,” Steve says in a wistful tone, and Bucky hits him on the left thigh. Steve pats him on the cheek and moves towards the dresser to look for fresh clothes, and Bucky settles down onto his stomach again, chin propped up on his right palm.
Wakanda and T’Challa’s influence has been good for Bucky: he’s tanned and happy as a clam, slightly less fucked up after the cryofreeze disaster, and the new arm strains his body less. He’s unwound from the tightly held, tense ball of constant ache he was when Steve met him again in Bucharest.
Sometimes, when Steve looks at him, he thinks that in Wakanda Bucky’s started to bloom, finally reaching the fragile peace and happiness he’s always deserved.
“So,” Bucky says when Steve turns back from the drawer, eyeing Steve’s towel-covered crotch. “Are we gonna mention the fact that your dick is hard?”
“Um,” Steve says, looking down. He’d thought about jacking off in the shower, mostly because he’d thought about shaving, and that had led to remembering the pretty pink beard burn on Bucky’s ass a week earlier. Rationality and the hope to see Bucky in person had won, but his dick clearly hadn’t gotten the memo, still half-mast under the towel.
Bucky grins, tilting his head and glancing up at Steve from between his lashes. “Want me to help you with that?”
He’s clearly eager for it, tongue darting out to wet his lower lip, and Steve’s dick perks up, very interested in the possibility of a blow job. But Bucky’s also sprawled comfortably on the bed, relaxed and at ease, and that gives Steve an idea.
“Actually,” Steve says, leans back against the dresser and palms his dick over of the towel, squeezing a little. “I thought you could just watch.”
Bucky’s mouth parts in surprise, and then he smiles, slow and wide. “Sure,” he says, gaze dropping down. “I can do that.”
Steve rubs his cock with the heel of his palm, coaxing it to swell, and watches Bucky bite his lip at the sight. Bucky’s eyes are hooded, and the fingers of his left hand are curling and uncurling almost unconsciously, like he’s imagining stroking Steve with his fingertips.
Steve tips his head back but keeps his eyes open to see Bucky, and kneads harder, letting out a low, filthy moan. He’s exaggerating a bit, but it makes Bucky swallow, and Steve smirks, untucking the towel and letting it fall.
He gives Bucky a moment to stare: Steve’s fully hard by now, pre-come already pearling at the tip, and Bucky licks his lips again, swallows like his mouth is going wet. It makes Steve’s dick twitch, and he almost regrets turning down the blowjob, because Bucky’s mouth is red from kissing and just on the right height. It would be so easy to just go to him and tell him to open up.
Steve fists his dick instead, tugging at it. His hips buck when the callouses on his palm rub the underside of his cock just right, making him moan again, slightly more brokenly. Having Bucky watch him is thrilling; knowing that he can be a tease if he wants to.
Bucky’s eyes are tracking the movements of Steve’s hand, but his hips are rocking shallowly against the bed, like he’s seeking friction, and his breathing has gotten a little heavier. His cheeks are flushed; a sure sign that he’s just as aroused as Steve is.
“My, my,” Steve says, grinning, and gives himself a nice, slow tug from the root to tip, nodding towards Bucky’s grinding. “Looks like someone’s enjoying the view.”
“Of course, asshole,” Bucky says, looking affronted. “What did you expect me to do, sit here like a nurse watching you rub out a semen sample?”
Steve snorts, and Bucky pushes up onto his hands and knees and rolls gracefully onto his back. His shorts are tented, and Bucky’s quick to push them down and kick them off, pulling off his t-shirt and spreading his legs. He’s gotten tanner while Steve was in America, and Steve’s mouth goes dry when he realizes that Bucky’s tan is perfectly even everywhere.
The fucker has been getting a tan naked, and Steve hasn’t been here to see it.
Bucky’s mouth turns up into a lopsided smile when he notices what Steve’s staring at.
“Like it?” he asks, throwing his arms over his head and stretching languidly, his back curving enticingly off the bed. His cock is hard, jutting up against his stomach and his neatly groomed pubic hair, and Steve licks his lips, suddenly seeing the flaw in his plan. Because he’s never gonna be content to just watch Bucky; he’s always gonna want to touch and kiss and lick, map out that perfect body with his fingers and tongue.
“Yeah,” Steve says, his voice rougher. “You’ve been using my balcony?”
“You have a private pool,” Bucky says, his metal fingers skittering absently down his torso, pausing to flick one pert nipple before continuing down, past his dick and reaching back between his thighs. Steve swallows, unable to look away, and Bucky bends one knee, foot flat on the bed, to give him a better view.
Bucky cants his hips up and rubs his hole with two fingers, then drags them back up his perineum and wraps his hand around his dick, thumbing the crown. A low noise escapes from his throat, and Steve’s cock jumps in his fist. Bucky tips his head back and sighs, eyes fluttering closed, running his thumb down the underside of his cock.
Steve swallows again around his dry throat, mesmerized. He’s so tempted to just cross the room and slap Bucky’s hand away, but he started this, and god fucking damn, he’s going to finish it too. He squeezes his dick, rubbing the head with his palm to spread the pre-come and slick up the way, watching Bucky raptly.
Bucky cracks his eyes open and smiles crookedly as he brings his metal hand up to his mouth, licks the palm, and really goes to town. His hips start twitching, then slowly rolling up from the mattress as he fucks into his hand, making him sigh again. His toes are curled and shoulders pushed down to the mattress, telegraphing how much he’s enjoying it. Bucky’s never been vocal about his pleasure, but he gives clues with his whole body, and Steve knows that language intimately.
“Fuck,” Steve says breathlessly, propping himself better up against the dresser and mimics Bucky’s movements, imagining that it’s Bucky’s hand wrapped around his cock instead of his own. “You look so good.”
Bucky smiles at him, hitting an especially sweet spot. His hips jerk up and he makes a downright pornographic face, mouth opening in a perfect, silent ‘o’. Bucky speeds up, holding Steve's eye as he reaches down with his right hand to play with his ass, pelvis pushed up to let Steve see.
“You're not exactly a bad view yourself,” Bucky says, breathless and ragged. “C’mon, give me a show.”
Steve spits into his palm and fists his cock again, moaning brokenly at the touch as he keeps jacking off, rougher and faster. He's getting close, uncoordinated and sloppy, and Bucky's breath is hitching in a way that tells Steve that he's not far from an orgasm either.
“Good enough?” Steve pants, palming his pec with his free hand and rolling the nipple between his fingers; scritching his blunt nails just slightly against the length of his cock, enough to feel the mind-numbing pleasure-sting. “Oh.”
“Hell yes,” Bucky sighs, “ah, fuck, ah,” and then his back is arching, a low sound tearing from his throat as his hand stutters. Steve watches him come, eyes screwed shut and legs spread open, warm and contorted and perfect like every wet dream Steve's ever had. Steve bites his lip and grips his dick tighter, and it's that combined with Bucky's amazing o-face that helps him approach the peak faster.
Bucky opens his eyes and pins Steve with his pale, liquid gaze, his mouth turning up to a pleased, arousal-edged smile. “My, my,” Bucky rasps in mockery of Steve's words. “Looks like somebody's enjoying the view.”
“Fuck,” Steve says and comes, as if on command, because he's got a mile-wide kinky streak for Bucky being nasty.
Bucky bites his lip, grimacing at his spunk-covered hand, and crooks his finger at Steve. “C’mere, hon,” he says, and Steve, wobbly from his orgasm, scoops the discarded towel from the floor and goes to him, letting Bucky pull him down and wipe them both with the towel.
Bucky’s whole face is flushed, the pink deepest on his sharp cheekbones and broad forehead, and Steve has to lean to kiss it; drop a trail of kisses down Bucky’s cheek to the corner of his mouth. Bucky smiles, tugs Steve to lie on top of him and wraps his arms around him. He's pliant under Steve, an excellent pillow, carding his right hand through the damp hair at the back of Steve’s neck.
“We should make a sex tape,” Bucky says then, his voice low, throaty, as it always goes after he comes. “I already know what to call it.”
“What?” Steve mumbles, starting to get sleepy now that he's sated and playing a human blanket for Bucky.
“Fappin’ with Cap,” Bucky says, trying to keep his face straight, and shrieks a little when Steve tickles him in revenge, dissolving into laughter. Steve wants to hear him laugh for the next hundred years.