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They haven’t done this in a while. Since they were kids, probably.


They roll around the floor like they used to when they were twelve; puppies letting off steam, laughing as they punch each other’s sides, as they try to put the other down. Steve still fights with all his might and Bucky still has to put little effort to block the blows that come his way and fight back. It’s ruthless and inelegant. Bucky grins when Steve punches him in the jaw and splits his lip; he tastes blood into his mouth and smiles wider, shows his teeth and crouches down to sweep the floor from under Steve’s feet, lets him fall heavy on his back without mercy. Bucky tackles him, tangles their legs until Steve is locked in place under his weight. He hisses when Steve lands a blow into his left kidney, when he hears him laugh for a point well taken.


His legs tighten their hold and Steve grunts, pushes his head back until it thumps against the floor and Bucky looks up, takes advantage of the moment and fists his hand into Steve’s hair, right at the nape of his neck.


‘’Say uncle,’’ he says.


‘’Nope’’, Steve answers.


He pulls his hand a little, ‘’Come on.’’ Steve’s head arches with it.


Steve keeps grinning like a loon. Bucky looks at him and sees the dark shapes of a bruise start to spread over Steve’s cheek; it’s oddly pretty the way his skin is turning purple and Bucky knows that by morning it’ll be two shades darker and it will probably match the one he has on his own face.


The room is silent except for their heavy breathing. Bucky can hear his own heart thumping in his ears with the exertion of the fight; his head is spinning with the rush of adrenaline and lack of oxygen and he wonders idly why they’d stopped doing this over the years. It used to be a good way to let go of their excess energy. It used to leave them exhausted, sore and content if bruised and battered and covered in dirt. It used to be the only way Steve could go to sleep, his body wiped out of strenght, his hot-headed character mollified.


For all that changed in the last five years this seems to be the same, even as Steve is looking up at him with wide eyes and something in his stare, his mouth open and breathing in deep and shallow, his heart beating fast against Bucky’s chest.


‘’Are you done?’’ Bucky asks again.


‘’No,’’ Steve says and looks away.


Bucky pulls Steve’s hair a little harder for good measure, starts to ask again until the words die a miserable death in his throat at the sound Steve makes.




He thugs once more and Steve moans again, deep enough it rumbles through his body and into Bucky’s right after.


Bucky registers the sound through the fog around his brain at the same time he realizes Steve’s hips are moving almost imperceptibly against the hold of his own legs.
Steve is completely pinned down under Bucky’s weight and he looks away ashamed, his eyes leaving Bucky’s even as a blush starts to bloom over his cheeks, blending with the bruises and going down to the perfect arch of his neck.


His neck, straining under Bucky’s grip.


Bucky doesn’t ask again, doesn’t have the voice to. Instead he makes that neck stretch a little more, lets Steve make his sounds as his other hand clamps down on Steve’s wrist and presses it into the floor. He feels the tender flesh give under his fingers, feels the way Steve’s hips are thrusting more insistently, pushing him higher into the air and against Bucky’s leg, looking for friction.

The line of Steve’s dick is warm against him even through the layers of their old trousers, and Steve looks completely mortified but doesn’t seem likely to stop.  
Bucky’s face is burning. He has no doubt his skin is flaming red, as red as Steve’s flushed cheeks. He keeps watching Steve breathe, mesmerized by the way the muscles move as Steve swallows thickly trying to calm himself down.


They’re lying on the floor tangled in each other, not an inch of their body uncovered by the other’s touch someway or another, and Steve is slowly but surely getting himself off humping Bucky’s thigh.


Bucky knows he should let Steve go. Knows he should probably laugh it off and never talk about this again. And yet he watches greedily as Steve’s embarrassment doesn’t seem to be enough to stop the motions of his body or ask Bucky to move away. He watches as Steve shakes his head feebly at the same time as he rubs himself off with little movements, the length of his cock a very real, very present thing between them.


‘’Steve.’’ The word falls from Bucky’s lips laced with surprise.


‘’Stop looking at me,’’ Steve says and Bucky shakes his head no, pulls Steve’s hair again a little until Steve groans and pushes himself into Bucky even more. ‘’Please,’’ Steve murmurs, but there isn’t any real conviction to it. The way Steve bites his lips around another choked sound looks almost deliberate and suddenly Bucky wants to know how deep Steve is blushing; what would it look like if he pushed Steve’s shirt aside? If he followed that pink trail where would it lead?


He’s not even thinking when he slides up over Steve’s body and latches his lips where shoulder meets neck and sucks hard. He lets Steve press into him even further as he nips at the skin softly, then a little harder when it’s clear Steve enjoys it. He suckles at the skin between his lips, lets his tongue soothe with a little wet lick and then bites it harder.


‘’Fuck,’’ Steve swears in between pants and Bucky almost breaks the skin with his surprise. He hums appreciatively when Steve’s free hand lands into his hair and pushes him down even more, wrapping even tighter around Bucky’s body, fitting Bucky’s legs between his own and drawing a surprised breath when he feels Bucky as hard as he is.


Steve comes right there, silently and as discreetly as he can, fingers tangling into Bucky’s hair and feet pushing against the floor.


Bucky can’t stand the sounds Steve makes for long before he starts to rub himself as well, his body sliding against Steve’s mindlessly. His mouth is wet around Steve’s skin as he pants against it and keeps sucking a bruise that will definitely keep until tomorrow.

The thought of waking up to see it there in the morning sets him off as much as Steve murmuring ‘’come on Buck,’’ against his ear; Steve’s out of breath and sated, placid, his hand caressing the nape of Bucky’s neck and digging his fingers in when Bucky finally can’t take it anymore and comes. He grunts through it still latched on Steve’s flesh and he doesn’t even care about the uncomfortable wetness inside his trousers.


They stay like that for a while, comfortably entwined and ignoring the stickiness as long as they can. When Steve squirms under him Bucky finally untangles their legs and lets go; he realizes he hasn’t let go of Steve’s wrist or Steve’s hair, and smiles apologetically, too shy to really meet Steve’s eye.


They don’t talk as Steve takes his shirt off and goes to take a shower; they barely look at each other, the awkwardness of what happened heavy in the room. When Steve comes back Bucky goes in without a word, takes his tacky pants off and gets under the shower spray to wash himself from the sweat of the fight and the come drying off. He doesn’t want to think and yet it’s all he can do to think about Steve’s face, the delightful embarrassment as Steve was realizing how much he was getting off Bucky being rough to him. His mind whirls around the hows and whys but he comes up empty. He doesn’t care, as long as things are good between them.


He gets out of the shower and towels himself dry thinking he could live with it if Steve wanted to forget about it. If Steve wanted to take a step back and get back to how things were before. Bucky would probably die a little letting go of all the hope he’s been building up for things he never thought he’d have, but he’d do it. He would.

He takes a calming breath before he steps out of the bathroom.


What he finds stops him in his tracks, heart in his throat.


Steve is sitting on their ratty couch, lost in thought as he examines his wrist: a deep purple bruise is darkening around it, the faint shape of Bucky’s fingers barely visible but there. Steve is smiling sweetly at it.

When he hears him come into the room Steve looks up; his grin widens, a little embarrassed and a little daring, a bit wicked, too. He looks beautiful, his cheeks aflame with what looks like happiness.  


Oh. Bucky thinks. Okay then.