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Answer your goddamn phone, Bucky !

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When Bucky first got back, there wasn’t much for him to do. So sometimes, Bucky spends the whole day in the library. It’s an easy escape, Bucky decides, from the constant strain of the noise from the Avengers compound and Steve’s constant paranoia of where Bucky was. Bucky knows Steve is just trying to help but sometimes he feels like Steve is squeezing his neck, suffocating him. It’s not a nice feeling.

Today, is an especially bad day for Bucky with him waking up in sweat soaked sheets, shaking and panting from a bad dream at an unreasonable hour in the night. Then the voices came. Buzzing around in his head and repeating things that Bucky didn’t want to remember, tormenting him until morning. Then at the crack of dawn, all of the fire alarms in the building went off, courtesy to Stark, waking everybody up. And let’s just say, when Natasha doesn’t get enough sleep, the Avengers tower is going to be anything but peaceful.

Which is why Bucky is going to the library. His head is throbbing from the voices and the noise, and with the pressure of trying to act like he was fine and sane around Steve, Bucky feels like he’s being held under water, left to suffocate. A perfect time to go to the library.

He can feel Steve watching him by the counter, drinking coffee. He tugs a baseball cap down, shrugs on a black fleece jacket that mostly hides his arm and steps into the well-worn black boots, lacing them together.

Steve approaches with soft footed steps like Bucky was a wounded animal, and asks where Bucky is going, his voice muted and mellow. Bucky shakes his head, replies with a gruff, “I’m fine”, and pushes himself to his feel, shoving hands in pockets and walks out of their shared living space, closing the door with a loud bang. Bucky knows that he’s being mean but couldn’t bring himself to apologise, despising the way that Steve treats him like a child.

Bucky likes to sit at the back of the bus with the old graffiti and the mysteriously stained seats. The bus stops at one of the stations and some teens filter on. There are two boys that walk in the front, one with a hat and the other with a heavy looking backpack. They walk towards Bucky at the back of the bus and sits together a couple of rows in front of him. One rests his head on the other’s shoulder and the other reaches around to put his arm around his friends shoulder.

Something in Bucky’s chest inflates, fills him with a deep sense of nostalgia. Flashes of pictures come back to Bucky. Ones where Steve used to do that with him, back when he was small. The bus stops again and this time, it’s his stop. Bucky couldn’t help but to glance at the couple when he walks off. His heart gives a loud THUMP and Bucky nearly trips. A tonne of feelings hit Bucky straight in the heart and makes it hard to breathe.

The boy with the hat has tufts of brown hair sticking out everywhere, and looking down with adoration at the slightly flushed blonde, his head tucked into the curve of the brunette’s shoulder and neck. Bucky remembers a time when Steve looked like that. Thin, fragile and when Bucky had to look after him. Bucky stepped off the bus, taking in a lungful of cold Brooklyn air and sighed, making his way to the library.
Even ten minutes in the frigid winter of NYC had Bucky shivering uncontrollably. The cold penetrated through the thick jacket, shirt and under shirt he was wearing, and nestled it’s unwelcoming presence in Bucky’s muscles and bones, reminding Bucky of a different time. He shook his head, reminding himself that there was no cryo, no chair.

With a whoosh of the glass doors, Bucky stepped into the library and immediate relief went through his stone cold body, sighing at how the cosy warmth engulfed him.

Searching for a book in the Russian section was not difficult, especially since the section itself was small.

Bucky swiped his library card under the monitor and with a loud beep, the machine pushed out a russian copy of Eugene Onegin towards Bucky, signalling that he had borrowed the book. How the machine worked was a complete mystery that baffled Bucky, but machines were, he concluded, amazing.

Taking the book, Bucky walked to one of the many plush and cosy chairs the library offered and curled up onto it and began reading, cradled by the heat and getting engrossed in the storyline, the voice in Bucky’s head began to die down until it was non-existent.
When Bucky decided to take the bus back to the Avengers’ Compound, it was already dark and the people on the bus was scarce. Bucky went to the back of the bus, clutching the book tightly to his chest, face dark under the hood, his metal arm glistening like a silent warning in the light.

Bucky sat in the seat he saw the couple sit, looping his arm around the back of the couple seat, pretending that there was a little head of blonde resting his head in the crook of Bucky’s shoulders and neck. If Bucky was imagining it hard enough, he could almost feel the skinny arms that resting on his thigh and the startling warmth that the little body radiated, warming up the bone penetrating cold he felt. If Bucky though hard enough, he could almost feel it.
Bucky was faced with a red rimmed eyes and shaking figure of Steve standing in the doorway of their shared kitchen, gripping a ceramic mug so tightly Bucky thought it would shatter at any moment. As soon as he was spotted, Steve took off towards him, wrapping his arms around Bucky like an unyielding weight, his head in the crook of Bucky’s neck. Body shuddering sobs racked Steve’s sturdy frame, and inhumane noises of distress and melancholy rang out of Steve’s throat.

“Goddamnit Buck, answer your p-phone next time,” Steve stammered, his hands gripping Bucky’s jacket tightly, his tears soaking the fabric, making dark patches og black on his jacket.

“I’m sorry возлюбленная, I’m going to do better next time, I’m sorry возлюбленная,” Bucky sid soothingly, his heart breaking inside his chest as Steve shook and cried, feeling like a stupid teenager again.

“I-I kept thinking something happened, I watched you fall and fall..,” A wrangled sob forced its way out of Steve’s chest and Bucky’s heart shattered, “Need, need to check, Buck, please, need to check that you’re here.”

Sometimes Steve was haunted by visions and nightmares and sometimes he had to check if Bucky was still there. And the answer was always the same. Bucky was always going to be there for Steve, always. ‘Til the end of the line, they swore to each other when they were little and the oath was never broken.

Bucky hoisted Steve’s legs around his waist like an octopus and walked them over to the couch, dropping Steve on the sofa. Bucky stripped off his shirt, dropped on top of Steve, bracketing his arms around Steve’s head, his hair bracketing his face as he leaned down to press a chaste kiss to Steve’s forehead, eyes, nose then claimed his mouth in a bruising kiss, nipping and sucking at Steve’s lips, reminding Steve that he was always here.

Steve panted as Bucky’s mouth moved lower until he reached Steve’s chest, pressing a kiss in the middle of Steve’s pecs, feeling the pleasurable shuddering of Steve’s body, panting each time Bucky kissed a new spot on Steve’s body. Tracing a pattern on Steve’s chest with his tongue, Bucky traced over Steve’s left nipple, sucking the hard nub into his mouth, making Steve mewl and pant, arching up.

Bucky sucked harder on the nub, biting it gently, fingers tweaking the other. Steve’s hips bucked up, trying to seek friction from his growing erection, big and heavy trapped inside the rough denim. Bucky lowered his hips, aligned his erection alongside Steve’s and grinded. Steve’s eyes rolled back, arching himself back into the delicious friction, his cock leaking precome against the rough fabric.

“Buck, Buck, please, please, need, need….” Steve panted, his voice breathy and strung out.

“My pretty doll, aren’t you?” Bucky cooed, leaning down to lick Steve’s throat, sucking and nipping at his neck.

“You feel so good for me sweetheart, look at you, fuck, Stevie, so fuckin’ hot, aren’t cha, doll?” Bucky’s arm shook as he dragged his stubble over Steve’s adam’s apple, making the skin red and irritated.

Steve clenched his fists above his head, rocking harder into the cradle of Bucky’s hips, all sweaty and flustered, lips cherry red and body covered in a sheen of sweat. “Bucky, Buck, Sir, I’m gonna, please say I can, oh please.”

“That’s alright baby, let go, let go for me,” Bucky cooed, and grinded hard before Steve jerked up, his body shaking, a long strung out whine ripped out from his throat.

Bucky groaned, in Steve’s ear, hips jerking in an erratic pattern, chasing his own orgasm.


Bucky’s vision rippled dangerously in front of him as he came, his arms trembling as the hot sticky fluid was forced out of him, staining the front of of his pants. Bucky dropped like a rock on top of Steve, trying to catch his breath.

It felt like he was floating. Lazing in the sun streaked clouds and marshmallow sky, feeling so warm and high like he had no worries in the world. It was like falling asleep but being so awake and alive and so stimulated in ways that he didn’t think was possible. Bucky felt so safe, so loved and full in ways that only Steve could do and he never wanted to end.

It was Steve’s voice that brought Bucky back to earth.

“Get off me jerk, I’m suffocating,” Steve pretended to wheeze from underneath Bucky, clutching his chest.

“Shut up, punk,” Bucky replied, rolling off Steve and sliding onto the floor, sitting down cross legged on the fluffy carpet. The sticky mess on Bucky’s thighs made him grimace, reminding him to change.

Bucky stood up, extending a hand out to Steve, who kay on the couch, an arm laid over his forehead, fucked out grin on his face. “Com’n Stevie, we need to get up and change out off this mess.”

Steve took the outstretched hand, Bucky hauling him to his feet. Steve smiled at Bucky.

“Love you Buck.”

“Love you too Stevie.”