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All of a Sudden

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Steve’s not an idiot.

He’s quite frank with himself, his feelings, actually. He doesn’t lie to himself.

That’s the problem. He knows he likes Bucky; he has for years. Even more so after Bucky’s accident with the farming equipment on that field trip their eighth grade year, when Bucky had lost his whole left arm. Steve clung on to him tight, not caring about the gushing spill of blood, Bucky’s shrieking in his ear.

Steve passed out that day, and was taken to the same hospital.

Steve wasn’t an idiot.

He knew Bucky was slowly pushing him away ever since that tragedy. Bucky’s hatred and anger with himself, with the world, consumed him. Nobody understood why he had to be the one to lose his limb, especially him. No more sports. No more swimming during the hot summer days with his best friend. No more dancing with girls at parties. And Steve tried to understand, to feel what Bucky felt, but there was no way.

Steve has never been an idiot.

Natasha, Sam, and Clint pretended to like Bucky their freshman year. They pretended that they didn’t mind him tagging along, sometimes having to carry things for him. They acted like Steve wanted them to act. They did what Steve wanted them to do.

Bucky talked to his best friend less and less, cancelling plans, claiming his exhaustion as an excuse. And Steve never wanted to admit it, but he knew Bucky was jealous of him. And by sophomore year, Bucky had a real reason to be.

Steve may have been a late bloomer (really late; from 5’4” to 6’2” in less than a year, a rapid growth), but when he finally hit the peak, he did with force. Suddenly, weight-lifting four times a week was showing results. His once too-fast metabolism evened out, and he could pack on the muscle. Before, he stuck with Bucky every second he could, but now, he was invited to hang out with girls. They never said Bucky couldn’t come along, but it was understood. Every time it happened, he felt a pang of guilt for not telling Bucky about who invited him where.

He never stopped encouraging Buck, who was used to the life-like movements of the metal arm by his junior year. Although, while he was used to the arm in its physical way, he mentally endured torture from it. That he never told Steve, along with a lot of other things.


Steve couldn’t act like an idiot.

The day before senior year began, everything came to a head. Steve had called Bucky after no communication for at least a month. Things had flipped messily for the two friends.

“Buck? What’s up?” Steve asked nervously after the groggy ‘hello?’ from the other end. “How you doin’? Haven’t seen ya around in a month and some.”

“Gee, wonder why,” came Bucky’s sullen and sarcastic voice. Steve frowned.

“Well… I was thinkin’ maybe we could chill before the first day—“


“You sure?” Steve didn’t give up. “I mean, we don’t even know what classes we’ve got together,” Steve said.

“I have an idea. How about we go to school tomorrow, go to class, and see if we see each other?” Bucky said with fake enthusiasm. Steve heard a muffled ‘God forbid’ and some shuffling.

“Bucky, it’s our senior year. One more year of hell—“

“You don’t know hell!” Bucky yelled. “I’ve had hell. I’ve had it for over four years, goddamn it. Just stop bothering me with your happy-go-lucky positive bullshit. Just leave me alone.” And with that, Bucky hung up.

And Steve never called him again.

He wasn’t used to being rejected like this. Usually it was subtle. Like when he was a skinny, small little guy. People couldn’t just say no to him for fear of feeling badly afterward. And now Attractive-Steve got pretty much whatever he wanted. So, he just shut Bucky out completely, and Nat, Sam, and Clint didn’t seem to mind.

“See? He’s not even the same guy anymore. Nothin’ we can do,” Sam had said. Nothing we can do. Steve couldn’t just accept that, but he had to move on.


The class had nicknamed Steve ‘Captain America’, due to his knowledge of seemingly every fact about the U S of A. He could name the presidents, forwards and backwards. He could recite the Declaration of Independence in his sleep. Steve could tell you the state flower, bird, tree, anything of any state off the top of his head. Not to mention his $20,000 scholarship for his essay entitled “Why I Love America”, the essay that won at the national level.

Their small class of thirty-six had to shake the valedictorian’s hand at graduation. The valedictorian being Steven Rogers, of course. And nobody minded it. Everyone loved Steve… right?

“Grace Xavier.” The list started backward, Z to A. “Sam Wilson. Hannah Thompson.” Steve smiled as he shook the hands of his classmates, posing for a picture. “Natasha Romanoff.” He hugged his now best friend, keeping the redhead tight with a kiss on her forehead for the picture. “Eugene Peterson.”

“Clint Barton.” Number thirty-two. Steve’s hand was cramping up. He posed back-to-back with Clint, making a face for the camera. “James Barnes.” Steve didn’t even flinch. He’d trained himself to be neutral at the mention of his former best bud. He pushed the romantic feelings to the back of his brain, and it didn’t hurt anymore to think of how he used to adore Bucky. He was proud of himself.

‘James Barnes’ walked to the podium, head held high. He reached out his left hand to Steve, and without thinking, Steve had taken it.

He regretted that immediately when he felt the pinching, cold squeeze of the metal.

It took all that he was made of not to cry out at the agony his left hand was receiving. Bucky gave a small smirk to the camera, and Steve followed suit. Be professional, he thought to himself. It’ll all be over in a few minutes. You’ll never have to see him again. You’ll go to college and—

Bucky patted Steve on the back hard before stepping off the podium. Steve smiled like the professional he hoped he’d become.


Steve’s freshman year of college was a little more difficult than he anticipated. He made it, of course, with two As and three Bs. He figured he should celebrate somehow. He was doing better than a lot of other people. He’d be prepared for his second year.

That summer in June, Steve, Nat, Clint, and Sam took a small vacation in Cancun. A glimpse of him considered inviting Bucky with them, but he resisted. It was best. He didn’t even know what college his former best friend attended, if he even went to college; Steve had no way of contacting him anyway. Thing of the past, Steve, he reminded himself. He didn’t want anything to do with people who didn't appreciate him. 

Steve finally lost his v-card in Mexico. Not with Natasha, like he’d secretly hoped, but with Candy, a girl who had been in the same hotel as them. She was very beautiful, half-white and half-Mexican. And he felt bad for thinking so, but he didn’t believe in your first time being special (not after Nat was with Clint, and he and Bucky weren’t friends anymore).

It wasn’t like he’d thought about sex with Bucky all the time. Steve really just wanted Bucky to know how much he loved him. Metal arm or not. Popular or not. The fact that Buck didn’t realize that, or realized it and didn’t care, pained Steve’s heart as if Bucky held it in his own metal hand and crushed it between the cold fingers. Well, that was at first, of course. Steve did get over it. How else would he survive?


“I have to get to class, Wilson,” Steve persists. He clutches his stomach after laughing so hard from Sam’s voice on the phone. He rushes to pick up the books and notebooks he’ll need for his English session. The class calms him. Especially on Mondays like today, when the professor was a little too hung-over to teach, and has the small class journal for one and a half hours. It’s not like he really needs the credit.

“I’m just tellin’ you, man. The girl was a psycho. Catch ya later. I gotta get some sleep in before my piloting session. Can’t fall asleep flying a plane,” Sam chuckles.

“God forbid,” Steve laughs. “You get some rest. Stay away from that girl. Godspeed, haha.” And he hangs up. Now he only has four minutes to walk across the campus. It’s no big deal; he’ll just run. He chose not to use his car most days, unless it’s raining. Steve has to stay in some kind of shape.

Professor Barr is no good English teacher, but he makes it work somehow. Rumor stands he married one of his students, and she was an excellent English major. So she pretty much teaches his class. Barr simply gets the credit, and the paycheck.

Steve takes his usual seat in the middle of the classroom, sighing in relief for the calming sensation that comes over him. This, the first day of the semester, will be a good one. He’s sure of it. In routine, he and Peggy, a girl he frequently talks to, pull out their journals and click their pens together. He gives her a small smile, and she does the same. As soon as Steve had mentioned Peggy to Nat, she’d told him to ‘jump on that’. Natasha always tries to set him up with girls, despite being over two hundred miles away.

“Think Barr has his head on straight?” Peggy whispers in her accent. Steve shakes his head with a chuckle. Peggy shrugs.

“Well,” a smooth voice says from above him, “look who it is.”

Steve’s not an idiot.

Steve recognizes the voice as soon as the first word leaves his lips. He shivers at the clean, soft sound. He’d never had a really deep voice, but it was charming and sweet, and Steve loved it. Even after his ears haven’t heard it for years, it makes his cheeks warm and his insides buzz with unexpected happiness. A happiness he can’t express on his face.

“Barnes?” he turns to his left and looks up at Bucky.

“Hmph. Guess I’ve got more smarts than I thought,” Bucky shrugs and parks himself directly behind Steve. He doesn’t flinch. He knows better. Steve has seen Bucky run his game on other people-- deserving people, mind you. He knows how it works, and he will not succumb to the obvious scheme Bucky has already planned.

“You know each other?” Peggy whispers.

“Hardly,” both Bucky and Steve reply. “Barely,” Steve adds.

“How’s it hangin’?” Bucky asks nonchalantly. 

“About five inches soft,” Steve replies quickly. He pinches himself, annoyed at his own vulgar wit.

“Good one. Props to you.”

Steve pretends like he’s not panicking on the inside. The hour and a half class period seems much longer. He doesn’t even write in his journal or exchange glances with Peggy as he usually does. Bucky Barnes is sitting behind him. In his class.

Fifteen minutes before class ends, he feels a cold poke at his neck.

“You gotta pencil?” Bucky whispers.

“Seriously?” Steve snaps. “Class started over an hour ago.”

“You know me, Stevie,” Bucky sighs. Steve senses a smile in his voice. Steve sighs and turns around to hand Bucky a pencil. He tries to take in Bucky’s longer hair, lazily brushed back and hanging about an inch or two from his shoulders. “Like what you see?” Steve realizes he’s been staring.

“You look ridiculous.”

“Chicks dig it.”

“Good for you.”

Everyone digs it,” Bucky leans back and puts his hands behind his head, exposing the built muscles in his arms and chest. It was possible for Bucky to get even more attractive out of high school? After the surgery, Bucky slimmed down a little. Not in an unhealthy way, but he didn’t look like himself. One beneficial thing about the arm was it could adjust to the size of his other arm. Steve’s sure it was a confidence boost to have to adjust it to a bigger, more muscular size after Bucky gained all his desired muscle back.

“They don’t dig anything, Barnes. Not if you don’t do your work,” Steve says in a sharp whisper. That’s when he realizes that everyone in a desk-radius has been tuning in to their little debate. “Now, if you’ll excuse me.” Steve turns around and crosses his arms.

He’s relieved when the bell rings. He has to talk to someone about it. Does he call Nat? Definitely not Clint or Sam. They’d be surprised, yes. They all gave up on Bucky long before Steve did. And had Steve really given up? He more or less… pushed the ‘issue’ to the side (ugh, he called Bucky an ‘issue’), and hadn’t let it bother him. More than once, Steve fantasized the thought of Bucky randomly calling him up, wanting to ignite their friendship again.

But life sucked then, and it does now. Because there’s no imaginary conversations anymore. James Buchanan Barnes was in Steve’s life again. James Buchanan Barnes now sat behind Steve in his creative writing course.

There was nothing he could do about it.


“Heya, Stevie!” Bucky greets him on Wednesday with a bright white smile. Steve rolls his eyes, but takes his usual seat. Peggy sits beside him, smiling and shaking her head.

“Today—“ and Professor Barr starts talking. Steve couldn’t care less what he’s babbling about at this point. Not when he can feel the slight cold of the metal arm chilling the air between it and Steve’s neck. So, Steve hears the words and writes them in his notes without comprehending them. The class period lasts just as long as it usually does, yet Steve feels like he sat down four hours ago once the bell dings. The sound is muffled, and means nothing to him until the other students begin to leave their seats.

“Steve!” a voice calls from behind him as he steps out of the room. Steve shakes his head and walks even faster. “Rogers!” Just keep going. “Steve!” Finally he whips his head around. Instead of Bucky like he expected, it’s some douche, Brock Rumlow. Dude shows up to class once a month, and when he does, he asks Steve for his notes so he can have a copy.

“Yeah?” he sighs once he’s outside. Steve sees Bucky a few feet behind Rumlow. Bucky exaggeratedly waves with his flesh arm, smiling just as big as he was an hour ago. “Yeah?” Steve calls again, distracting himself from the sight.

“Think you can hook me up?” Rumlow asks, an eyebrow raised.

“I don’t even understand my notes right now,” Steve says. It’s not a lie. He didn’t pay attention throughout the class. “Sorry, man. You can ask Shannon. She’ll probably help you out.” Rumlow nods and looks toward the blonde girl. He gives Steve a thanks and heads over.

“Stevie,” Bucky smiles once he’s in Steve’s bubble.

“Why?” Steve asks plainly. “Why are you acting like this, Barnes?” He feels his cheeks flush when he remembers that Bucky used to always be energetic and smiley-happy, outgoing, the whole bit. Maybe his newly found confidence gave him an old sense of personality.

“Like what?” Bucky takes a tiny step forward.

Like yourself? “Like you won the lottery.”

“You are the lottery.”

“What?” Steve questions.

“What?” Bucky mocks him. “Where is your dorm located?”

“I’m in the D Flight across-- why?” Steve knows why. And gosh, he wants to tell Bucky it’s okay. But do things work that way?

Bucky sighs, crossing his arms. “I’m not gonna act like a jerk, alright? I know that this whole thing went to shit… I figured I’d just jump right into it, thinking maybe it’ll fix itself.” Bucky kicks a rock or two. He’s lying; Steve can see it in the smirk on his lips.

“Are you hungry?” Steve questions through slit eyelids. Bucky smiles. “Knew it.” Steve shakes his head and looks toward the sky. People eye them as they walk. How had no one mentioned the phenomenon that is Bucky Barnes? Or at least his arm? Something? This would’ve at least given Steve a heads-up. “I can’t be mad at that. Moocher.” And Bucky does a small victory fist-pump.


“Don’t touch anything.” Bucky carried Steve’s sack and books in exchange for a decent lunch. Fair trade. He sits them on the couch. “Don’t touch the TV especially. Not mine. It’s my roommate’s.” Bucky nods.

“Chef of America, what is on the menu?”

“Whatever I decide.”

“Is that sassiness I hear? Mr. Five inches?”

“Soft,” Steve corrects. He sets out a pan from a bottom cabinet. Well, he has to make a good lunch. He debates tossing a piece of bread in the pan to make grilled cheese (Bucky’s favorite, if he remembers right), but instead scours the freezer for the frozen patties his roommate stashed up. Steve never sees the guy, and knows he won’t complain about two measly beef patties.

“Didn’t know you went here,” Bucky tries. Steve grunts. “Thought you’d go to one of those fancy-shmancy colleges in the rich part of the country.” Steve gives no response. “Or not.”

“I’m just givin’ you lunch, Buck.” Buck… Steve pretends like it doesn’t mean anything.

“Alright, Captain.” It is strange that Bucky knows about Steve’s nickname. It didn’t start until they had parted ways. “But you kinda had your pick of any school, ya know. And—“

“I wanted to be close to my mom, and my friends.” Steve puts emphasis on that last word. “Nat and Clint and Sam,” he adds for unneeded clarification.

Damn him for that. It’s the little things you pick up on in friendship; what makes your friend smile, what makes them calm, angry, sad—it’s just as easy to pick up on little things that hit hard. And Steve just did it. He’s known how to crush Bucky’s spirit since they were little, and he always got so livid when other people would use that to their advantage.

Now, he’s just like everyone else.

“Oh…” Bucky says in a small voice. “Well, good for them.” There’s not a trace of a joke or cockiness in his tone. Steve hit a nerve. His pride lodges itself in the way, and he can’t turn around to say a proper apology. “You know? I was kiddin’ about the food. Just wanted to see what you’d say. You know—knew me. I do have some sleep to catch up on, Rogers.”

Steve turns around. “You sure?” Bucky nods, brushing a few strands of hair out of his face. He gathers the brown locks up and creates a nice ponytail. “It’s no big deal—“

“You probably want to call your friends and all that. Don’t need me to be in your way. Catch ya Friday.” And with that, Bucky leaves the small dorm in a rush. Steve digs the heels of his hands into his eyes and considers slamming the heated pan against his forehead.


Bucky still sits behind Steve every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday.

Steve’s ready every time. He flirts with Peggy whenever he can, rubbing it in without being totally obvious. This doesn’t seem to faze Bucky, who bumps Steve with his arm as usual, kicks at Steve’s desk, pretending it’s a study habit.

A month and a half of endless bothering and child’s play— Steve’s beginning to not feel so badly about hurting Bucky’s feelings. It’s small, but it’s constant, consistent. Steve tries playing it off, treating Bucky as if he’s a douche he barely knows, he tries ignoring it. Finally, one day, Bucky flicks Steve with the metal hand, and leaves quite a sting. He didn’t even know Bucky could do that. It takes Steve by shock, and makes him boil for the twenty minutes left of class.

“What’s your problem?” Steve shoves Bucky once he finally finds him hours later. ‘Where’s the douche with the fake arm?’ he’d asked around. And it felt awful, but the people that saw him a few minutes before point him in the right direction. This makes him feel about thirteen years old, but he doesn’t care.

“Woah, Captain. Calm down, Sir.”

“I’m not playing games,” Steve practically growls. He’s always tried to put bullies in their place; he didn’t know Bucky would become one of them. “You are acting like a little kid.”

“I’ve always bothered you. What’s new?” Bucky shoves him back. Steve pushes Bucky again. “Fuck you, Rogers.”

I almost wish. Steve keeps Bucky pinned to the wall. “I’ve seen you barely two months and you’re already annoying the heck outta me.”

“Just say ‘shit’, Prude. Say I’m annoying the shit outta you,” Bucky taunts.

“Leave me the hell alone,” Steve warns.

“Will you just say ‘leave me the fuck alone’? You never said how you really felt then and you still have the same damn problem, Rogers—“

“And you always said too much, too soon, too plainly. To the point where—“ But Steve is cut short.

He can’t process what is happening.

Is he being kissed?

This didn’t happen to real people. Real people aren’t cut off from an argument with a kiss. This only happens in movies and books. This only happens in his imagination.

Sure enough, he feels the fleshy fingers on the back of his neck. He smells the too-girly aftershave that Bucky always used in high school. And unh--he tastes the sweetness of Bucky’s mouth. It’s not a dream. This isn’t one of his fantasized scenarios.

This is real.

Steve pulls away quickly at the realization. He gives Bucky one hard look before slapping him across the face.


“Freakin’… douchebag,” Steve mumbles to himself. “Kissin’ on me like some… ch-chick…” He struggles to season his food, trying not to shake so much and apply too much salt.

Bucky kissed him.

Steve was sure Bucky was straight. Not even that, but he was sure Bucky wanted nothing to do with him besides the kicking at his desk and getting on Steve’s nerves, just to watch him heat up. As a subtle sort of revenge for completely ditching out on Bucky during their senior year. Child’s play.

All that flipped around a few hours ago. Obviously, Bucky had no way of talking to Steve, but kissing him? Out of nowhere? Maybe Bucky just wanted Steve to shut up; to stop reminding both of them of the friendship they used to have. Maybe the kiss was just his first impulse… something he didn’t mean to do.

It sure got in Steve’s head. All of those feelings from middle and high school jump-surface to the very tip of his brain… and his dick.

Steve’s roommate, Tony, bursts in the door, tossing a few books on the ground and flopping onto the couch. It’s a good thing Tony wasn’t present an hour ago; he’d find Steve on the couch, beating off something wild, head thrown back and mouth wide open in a quiet whine.

“Want any pasta?” Steve asks out of kindness, his voice cracking. He’s never really had a conversation with Tony, besides the brief quarrel they had about where to put the fridge at the beginning of this school year.

“Already ate.”

Steve says no more. There’s actually a chance he might blurt out all of his business to the guy, and he’s sure the last thing Tony wants to hear is Steve’s complaining about a past-best-friend whom he was totally gay for a few years ago, but now he wants to totally not be.

Damn if that kiss wasn’t the best fucking kiss he’s ever experienced.


Everything seems normal for the day.

He doesn’t have creative writing, so there’s no worry over flipping out at the sight of Bucky’s face or that gorgeous head of hair or that ass


Steve, of course, does the dumbest thing: ignores him, which he should know doesn’t work on Bucky when he wants something. So he pretends that it’ll work anyway, walking in long zig-zags to avoid big crowds and occasionally stopping to ask for fake directions or information, knowing Bucky won’t interrupt. Steve figures Bucky kept at least a few manners, even if everything else has seemingly changed about him.

The thunder that sounds from overhead is his saving grace.


He quickens his pace toward his dorm; he usually stays out to linger after class, meeting new people and asking around about any new projects the college is hosting, but Bucky is maybe a hundred feet behind him. Steve just can’t face him. Not after the restless night he suffered through, not after grabbing his cock and stroking fast— half-angrily, mind you —to the thought of Bucky’s lips on his.

Even the goddamn metal prosthetic turns him on, fuck. The way Bucky snatched Steve into him, grabbing the back of Steve’s neck like he fucking owned the moment. As if Steve owed him something.

That. That kind of thinking is why Steve needs to get back to his dorm and stop re-imagining what happened yesterday. He needs to stop thinking about all the other things he could’ve done instead of slapping Bucky across the face.

Of course he drops his keys a hundred meters away from his dorm. Of course this gives Bucky time to catch up to him.

“Hey,” Bucky says. Steve finally looks up at him, and immediately, Bucky’s flesh hand connects with his cheek. “You’re welcome.”

Steve is so in shock, it takes a few drops of rain to snap him out of it. “What the… what the hell?” he breathes.

Bucky holds a metal death grip on Steve’s forearm, dragging him under an outside staircase on the side of Shield’s History Hall. “I don’t deserve to be slapped across the face,” Bucky snaps, letting Steve go.

“I’m sorr—“

“Save it,” Bucky snaps. “I don’t get you, Rogers. I know what you want; Christ, you flippin’ blow me off all the time.”


“Shut. Up. I can’t believe you’re going to pretend you haven’t…” Bucky trails off. “Screw you, you know that? I’m done with your petty wannabe bullshit. Thinkin’ you’re better than me.”

Steve’s nostrils flare as he balls his fists. “I’ve always tried to help you, Bucky.”

“See?!” Bucky scoffs, covering his mouth with his hand as if he can’t believe a word Steve is saying. “That’s exactly what I’m talkin’ about. Thinking you gotta save everyone and be everyone’s friend instead of focusing on what you want.”

“You know what I want?” As soon as Steve raises his voice, the rain falls heavier. The roof had been protecting them up to this point. Now, it isn’t doing much good. Steve’s backpack will get soaked.

“I want to stop giving a crap about who you used to be. I want you to leave me alone,” Steve snaps. Lie. Bucky nods slowly, letting Steve’s words soak in more than rain ever could.

“Message clear, Captain. Just like it was four years ago.” He smiles that little, sarcastic, broken half-smile before spinning around to walk away.

This is what Steve was afraid of.

He doesn’t let Bucky get three feet away before snatching the brunette back to him and crushing their lips together.

They can’t even run to Steve’s dorm without tripping twice and kissing in the grass. They take a different route, a longer route, but it has less people.

Steve fiddles with his pocket, trying to find his keys while simultaneously pushing Bucky against the wall beside the door, licking at his lips. Bucky sighs and lets out tiny, teasing sounds. Sounds Steve is dying to hear more of if he could just find those damn keys. Bucky finally reaches into Steve’s back pocket himself and tears the keys from it.

“Wow, get a fuckin’ room, fags,” some guy says from probably twenty feet away.

“That’s what we’re—“ Steve begins, glancing in the guy’s direction. Bucky is quick though, and yanks his boy back in for another searing kiss. Steve snatches the keys away from Bucky’s grasp and jams them in the silvery lock.

“Freakin’ hell, you aren’t smooth,” Bucky breathes. “Not what I pictured.”


“Shut up.” Bucky shoves Steve onto the couch, and then raises his eyebrow in consideration. “Where’s your room?”

“C’mon.” Steve stands up and clutches Bucky’s right wrist to drag him to his room. They kiss again before even pushing through the door. They’re in a tongue frenzy before they even reach the bed. “This,” Steve tugs at Bucky’s black v-neck, “off. Now.” Bucky shakes his head and pushes Steve to sit on the bed before straddling him. Steve’s hands are on Bucky’s waist in an instant, fingers raking up and down his former best friend’s sides.

“You,” Buck breathes, “take it off for me.” A grating hum forms in Steve’s throat. He lifts the fabric barely past Bucky’s torso, and cranes his neck in to kiss and lick at Bucky’s defined abs. He never, never thought this day would come. “Mmm, Stevie,” Bucky whines. Steve proceeds to strip the shirt completely off of his boy, and gives Bucky’s nipples the same treatment he gave his abs. His reward is Buck’s right hand tangled into his blonde hair.

“Good boy,” Steve grunts, taking handfuls of Bucky’s ass in his hands.

“I’m not a frickin’ dog,” Bucky chuckles before removing Steve’s shirt.

“But you’re mine.” And the sound of those words sends a noticeable chill down Bucky’s spine that Steve assumes travels straight to his dick. “Good—“ Steve kisses his lover’s neck, “boy.” And he grinds his hips up into Bucky’s ass. This small movement elicits a sexy gasp from Bucky, and nothing could make Steve more satisfied at the moment. Bucky holds onto Steve’s left shoulder and rocks back and forth on his lap. “Buck. Oh, Buck—“

“I want—I need—“ Bucky breathes. His eyes flutter closed as he grinds harder into Steve’s lap. “Fuck. These jeans.”

“Off with them,” Steve whispers. He shoves Bucky onto his back. Both pairs of jeans are gone in an instant, flung across the room. He crawls on top of Bucky, and he realizes he’s had his left arm tucked behind his back this whole time. “Bucky—“

“Hush about it. I don’t wanna hurt you,” Bucky explains. He drags Steve in for a tongue-filled kiss.

Then Steve takes charge again.

He nestles himself between Bucky’s legs and grinds into him, hard. Bucky whines the tiniest bit. Steve ravishes his neck, sucking and kissing. He pins Bucky’s flesh arm up by his head.

“Hold—ah!—hold on,” Bucky huffs.


“D-do you…” Bucky pauses. “I mean…”

“Out with it.” Steve never knew he could be so demanding. At times like this especially. He wasn’t experienced one bit compared to Bucky. The confidence seems to alarm both of them.

“Do y-you just—I mean, do you wanna fuck? Or do you wanna fuck… me…?” Bucky’s bright ice-blue eyes are blown wide with arousal, but also… confusion? No. Nervousness.

“What do you want?” Steve asks, unsure.

“I—“ Bucky begins softly. He looks around the room in a panic. Then his expression changes. A darker feeling, but dark with shadowy, liquid desire. He glares right at Steve. “I need you to show me what you’re made of. I need you to make me scream.”


“Fuck—“ Bucky groans. “I’ll—nnh—I’ll open up a little more. Don’t give up yet.” Steve strokes himself, waiting, watching Bucky lay on his stomach, reaching his right hand behind him. Steve didn’t question whether Bucky had slept with a bunch of other guys or not. Either way, he was still tight enough to need extra prep-time (Steve was also pretty sizeable himself). The poor kid whimpered at their first attempt.

Bucky moans as he sticks two fingers into himself, scissoring them in and out, open and closed. It’s beautiful to Steve, really. He grabs a handful of Bucky’s ass, massaging it in his hand.

“You look so fuckin’ good, Buck,” Steve whispers. Bucky pauses, almost shivering at the sound of Steve’s voice.

“I figure, since you just said your first swear word,” Bucky chuckles. He gets back to work.

“Not my first swear word,” Steve grumbles.

“Yeah, because—“ Bucky is cut short when Steve smacks his butt lightly. “N-nevermind.” Steve smiles to himself. He’ll never say it out loud, but he loves the way he’s the dominant one. He loves that Bucky just opened the door (figurative door…) and let him decide. “Ugh, I’m going insane.

“Let me,” Steve sighs. He replaces Bucky’s fingers with his own, wrapping his arm around Bucky’s waist and kissing at his neck. “I think you’re okay—“

“Then go ahead. I don’t think I can wait much longer anyway.” Bucky adjusts himself on the small-ish bed, giving Steve full access. Steve slips on the rubber a little slower than he intended (not like he’s had much practice). He brushes Bucky’s hole with the tip of his aching member. “Fuckin’—don’t tease me, Rogers.” Steve smiles, removes Bucky’s hairband, and pushes into his partner just as Bucky’s dark hair falls in a small cascade on his neck, shoulders, and cheeks.