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Bucky wakes to the feeling of eyes on him. Maybe it’s the distance between now and before he let Steve bring him home, but he doesn’t stiffen the way he might have before. He doesn’t lash out at something he’s yet to identify. He breathes and rolls onto his back, towards the source.
Then he stiffens up.
Because it isn’t Steve standing by the foot of the bed staring at him. Or at least, not his Steve. He doesn’t think so, anyway, judging by the startled look that flashes on his face when he sees Bucky’s.
Bucky stays there, frozen, arm tossed out over Steve's side of the bed. He doesn’t know what to say— this isn’t exactly normal. They haven’t had to deal with anything like this in a while, retirement settling over both of them kindly.
This Steve, smaller and dressed like he was dropped straight from the 1930s into Bucky’s bedroom, stands motionless and looks alarmingly pale. Bucky has to go first, clearly. He just doesn’t know what could possibly help. Steve might know, his Steve, who is also apparently missing. Jesus Christ.
“Hi,” Bucky squeaks, aiming for reassurance and ending up lightyears away.
Steve swallows. Then he sways a little and the right course of action is not nearly as hard to grasp.
—
Bucky sits next to him on the bed with his hands clasped— he has never been so conscious of the arm— and watches him drink a glass of water. Steve’s eyes keep darting to him and away every few seconds, like he’s checking to see whether he’s actually there or not.
Then he turns to put the glass on the bedside table, turns back to Bucky, closes his eyes and takes a deep breath, and says: “What the fuck is happening?”
Bucky doesn’t know. He has to figure out an answer, though. Steve’s brow furrows deeper as time goes on without Bucky saying a word. “I'm thinking,” Bucky tries.
Steve’s face goes flat, “I should’a known you’d have no clue,” he reaches out and pokes Bucky in the forehead, “You’ve never had anything going on up there.” Then, as if realizing what he’s done in slow motion, his face crumples into a look of horror and he puts his head in his hands.
Bucky blinks. He had somehow forgotten that Steve had always been an asshole and that this wasn’t something that came with the serum or from 70 years in the Atlantic.
Regardless, it’s easy to slip back into the routine. “I’m smarter than you,” Bucky retorts.
“No you aren’t,” Steve says into his hands.
Bucky takes this time to think over the events of the morning (the five minutes before Steve had almost passed out). He had woken up. rolled over. The sheets were pulled back on Steve’s side. So, Steve had to have gotten out of bed. Right?
“Did you wake up here?”
Steve looks up, “Where?”
“In the bed with me.”
“Where else would I have woken up?”
Bucky glances to the door, “So I guess my Steve isn’t here.”
Steve pinches the bridge of his nose, which is so familiar it’s almost funny. “Your Steve?” He shakes his head. “Where is here?” Bucky knows he has more questions than that, and silently thanks him for taking them at least two at a time.
“My Steve,” Bucky confirms. “And here is... Brooklyn. In 2028.”
Steve looks up at him, brow furrowed, fingers still pressed to the bridge of his nose. He drops his hand. “What?”
“Brooklyn in—“
“No, I heard you. I’m asking— I don’t know what I’m asking.” He leans back on Bucky’s-Steve’s pillows and closes his eyes. “Why is this bed so soft?”
“Everything’s soft in the future,” Bucky posits gently.
Steve’s head rolls to the side. “So, is this like an alternate universe? Like in those science fiction pulps you read?”
Bucky bites his lip. “Uh,” he looks to the door again. He would kill for Steve to be here right now. And he hasn’t killed anyone in a long time.
“What?” Steve sighs.
“Well. I don’t know what I can tell you.”
“Why?”
“Because I might— open a wormhole or something.”
“That’s not a thing,” Steve states.
“It is,” Bucky insists, “I think. A time travel thing.” With this, he knows Steve wouldn’t be able to help him explain it. That’s comforting for some reason.
“Time travel.”
“Me and Steve, my Steve. We were born in ‘17 and ‘18 like... you and- your Bucky?”
Steve takes a deep breath. Nods, like he’s humoring Bucky.
“And we,” Bucky looks at his hands. “We ended up here.”
“I hate to break it to you, but you don’t look over a hundred years old, pal.”
Bucky runs his hand through his hair. Steve watches him, follows his hand back down to his lap.
“You do look good, though.”
Bucky, mortifyingly, feels his face go red.
Steve chuckles, “You’re so easy.”
Bucky puts his head in his hands. Steve leans forward.
“Tell me how you got here, Buck?”
Bucky refuses to go that easy. He can be strong.
—
Steve puts a hand on his arm and he cracks immediately. He tells him briefly about Captain America, watches his face go from smug to unbelieving, scared, disappointed. He tells him about the war, skirts around the train, mentions Steve crashing the Valkyrie in vague terms, and then, he says, we were both here in the 21st Century. No need to mention the Winter Soldier at all. Bucky sits back, satisfied.
“What happened to your arm?”
“I lost it,” Bucky says. “That’s it.”
“That’s it?”
Bucky nods.
“Something tells me that’s not it.”
“That's all I want it to be,” Bucky says, desperately.
Steve looks at him for a while longer, glances at the arm, back to his face. “Fine.” he sighs. “So, how do I get home?”
Bucky tries to think about it but hits a roadblock immediately.
“I don’t know?”
Steve sighs again, closes his eyes like he’s finished with Bucky.
Bucky takes out his phone and hovers over his contact list. No one seems like a good idea. No one but Steve, who of course has to be missing when he needs him most. He's never going to let him live this down.
Then he hears a noise and glances up at Steve, who’s now glaring daggers into the phone in Bucky’s hand. “What is that.”
“It’s a phone,” Bucky tries.
“No, it isn’t.”
“I mean, it’s more than that. Kind of like a mini-computer.”
“A what?”
“Come here,” Bucky offers.
Steve moves closer to him, his side pressed to Bucky’s. Bucky takes a deep breath. He opens his camera roll.
“Here, that’s you.” He opens a selfie he had taken with Steve yesterday, Steve with his arm around Bucky and a shit-eating grin on his face.
There's no reaction from Steve for a while, so Bucky turns to look at him and sees the look Steve always used to get before enlisting, before charging into enemy fire, before sticking with Bucky even though it wasn’t safe. He wasn’t safe.
Bucky suddenly feels like shit for showing him that. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking-“
“I end up like that?”
Bucky nods, slowly. Steve exhales, rubs a hand over his chest.
“Steve,” Bucky starts.
“No, it’s okay,” then he’s smiling. “Look at how happy we are.”
Bucky’s chest aches. Then, he watches Steve’s eyes narrow. He points at the picture. “What is that.”
Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “It’s the picture of-“
“No, I’m talking about,” he points at it again. “That. The ring.”
Steve’s wearing his ring in the photo. It hadn’t struck Bucky as odd, as he wears it every second of every day. “Oh, that’s his wedding ring?”
Steve shakes his head. “But you live together.”
Bucky nods. He thinks he knows where this is going. “Uh,” he thinks about how to lay it out, “It’s legal now?”
“What is?” Steve looks baffled.
“Being queer, uh, getting married. To your partner.”
Steve blinks. “You’re married?” he manages, weakly. “We’re married?”
Bucky nods, smiles. “Yeah. Couple of years now.”
Steve’s face crumbles, he puts his head in his hands again.
“Hey,” Bucky startles. “It’s alright.”
Steve shakes his head. “What if things don’t work out for us like they did for you.”
Bucky thinks, fleetingly, of Steve not getting enlisted, not becoming Captain America. Bucky would have actually died, not just lingered at the precipice for 70 years. He shuts the thought out. “It’ll happen for you.”
Steve doesn’t respond.
“Steve,” Bucky insists. “It will.”
Steve takes a wet breath and lifts his head. Then he turns and kisses Bucky.
Bucky startles before relaxing into it, kissing back. This is Steve, he reminds himself. It’s Steve.
Steve curls fingers around his jaw, tilts his head so he can lick into his mouth. Then he pushes Bucky back onto the bed, gets onto his knees and tilts over him. “Is this okay?”
Bucky blinks, his insides turned hot and slick. “Yeah,” he nods. “Please.”
Steve’s hand slides up his shirt and Bucky whines as his fingertips play at his nipple, short drags across and around. Bucky’s breath comes faster, his eyes fluttering shut.
“Hey,” Steve says, “Look at me.”
He does, watches Steve’s face go soft when they lock eyes. “Steve,” Bucky manages.
“God, you’re so sweet,” Steve says, pinching Bucky’s nipple. Bucky gasps, pushing his pecs up into Steve’s hands. “You’re always so sweet for me.”
He pushes Bucky’s shirt up, spends a long moment staring at the way Bucky’s chest heaves, the t-shirt pushed up under his arms.
“Jesus, Buck.” Steve cups one in his hand, squeezes gently. “Got a grade-A set here, huh?”
Bucky whines, pushing his face into the pillow. Steve still talks like this, dirty and mean but always admiring, always loving. He always talked like this. It’s just been a while since he’s had this specific sort, a kind of talk that makes him feel 17 again.
“Look up, Buck, I gotta see that pretty face.” Bucky moans, his face heating.
“Steve,” he gasps out. “Please.”
“What, Bucky? I've barely even touched you yet— that future me not giving you what you need?”
That sends a jolt up Bucky’s spine. He knew this Steve was jealous of the way his Steve looked, but that: the jab at their relationship, at their sex life. He imagines his Steve going red, pushing up against Bucky from the other side. You think I can’t give him what he needs, huh? You think my boy’s not getting it good?
Bucky shivers, presses into Steve for more. Steve keeps touching at his chest, pinching his nipples and grabbing at his pecs. He can hear his Steve’s crass drawl; look at these tits, Buck. you gonna let me suck on these pretty tits?
Steve lowers his mouth to them, sucks a nipple into his mouth and grazes his teeth along it. Bucky yelps, his back going taut.
“Good boy,” Steve says into his skin.
“Steve,” Bucky begs. “I want—“
“You want me to fuck you?”
Bucky thinks of himself, younger, maybe a little sweeter, a svelte little thing turned onto his stomach. Steve running his hands along the curve of his hips. Steve pushing his fingers inside him, legs pulled apart. He wanted that.
Bucky whimpers, pulling a knee up to his chest.
“Oh, Buck,” Steve sighs, fingers pressing softly against his hole and then, Bucky’s brain shorts out, in just slightly. He had forgotten, he and his Steve, last night, with Bucky on his front and Steve all along his back. Steve: that’s it, baby, you take it all -- and Bucky crying and pushing back on his dick. He had forgotten, but it’s obvious now, Steve’s fingers pushing into the soft wet of him, pushing into where Steve had carved him out, came inside of him.
“Oh,” Steve marvels, pushing his fingers in deeper, curling them up and making Bucky’s eyes roll back. “He have you last night?”
Bucky hums, desperately, in the affirmative.
Steve slips another finger in. “Huh, bet I wouldn’t even need to slick you up anymore. Could just fuck right into you.”
Bucky shivers. That. He wants that, “Please.”
“Yeah?” Steve runs his other hand along Bucky’s ass, grabbing at his cheek and pulling it apart from the other one, pulling his fingers out. “I can’t believe I didn’t notice how open you were.”
Steve had kept him like that, on his belly with his cock inside of him, coming and then staying there until he was ready to go again, the breath knocked out of him with every thrust. “Steve,” he had gasped, “Steve.”
This Steve rubs his thumb against his hole, the tip dipping in every time. “Would he have fucked you this morning?”
Bucky whines, nods. “Please.”
“Pushed his cock back into the place he’d opened up?”
“Yes, Steve, please.” Then three slender fingers are back inside him, pressing in and up. “Steve!”
“So impatient,” Steve sighs.
Bucky feels his eyes start to twinge. He shuts them tight.
He feels Steve’s other hand slide into his hair and he takes a breath to steel himself before it’s yanked backward, his eyes flying back open. “You can’t follow one order, can you? Does he even punish you? Doesn’t he know you need to be put in your place?”
Steve doesn’t really hit him anymore, not the way he used to. He'll grab at him and squeeze until it hurts, edge him until he’s crying. But he doesn’t slap at him like this Steve does, like he’s doing right now. He slaps at one of Bucky’s pecs, grins when it makes him push up into it. “Or maybe you just like it too much, huh?”
Bucky pushes down onto the fingers in his ass, opens his mouth to beg, and then deflates when he feels Steve pull out again. “Please, please, Steve, please.”
Steve grabs his chin. “Please what? Tell me what you want.”
“Fuck me,” Bucky says. It spills out, “Fuck me, please.” The tears spill over.
Steve strokes his cheek, pushing his other knee back. “Okay, Bucky.”
Then he’s pushing in, no extra lube, just the soft space his Steve had opened up for this Steve yesterday without knowing it. Bucky shakes around it, his spine lit up with the slow drag of it inside. “Steve,” he gasps.
Steve groans, pushing into him again and again. “Come on, Buck. Tell me what you need.”
Bucky twists in his grasp. He could break away, of course he could. His Steve is barely stronger than him, this Steve he could run from easily. He stays and takes it, the slow shove of his cock into him again and again until it feels like he could practically die from it.
Steve wraps long fingers around his cock and watches him come, his body bending in half when he feels Bucky come around him, as he wets Bucky up from the inside again.
Bucky gasps, the whole thing feeling especially raw and intense. Steve pulls out and Bucky can feel the come drip out of him after. It feels nasty, Steve pushing it back in with eager fingertips.
Bucky swallows, takes deep breaths. Lets himself be gathered to Steve’s chest.
“You’re so good,” Steve huffs out, his breathing slowly evening out. Bucky listens to it happen. “You’re so, so good.”
Bucky clears his throat. Steve looks down at him, keeps running his hand from Bucky’s neck to the top of his ass. “What?”
“Do you...” Bucky, impossibly, feels his face flush again. “Do you fuck your Bucky like that?”
Steve snorts. “You don’t remember?”
Bucky tries not to tense. He doesn’t. Not that clearly, anyway. “It’s been a while.”
Steve shrugs. “Yeah, more or less. I usually don’t fuck him a few hours after someone else just fucked him, though.” He gropes Bucky’s ass as he says it.
Bucky sticks his tongue out. “He’s still you, he’s not exactly someone else.”
Steve sighs. “I guess so.” He pulls Bucky in closer. “Where’s that phone thing of yours, I wanna see more pictures.”
They both drift off looking at photos. The last thing Bucky sees before drifting off is the two of them at the altar.
—
He wakes up with his face pressed to a much larger chest.
“Steve?” he says, voice muffled.
“Mm,” his Steve says, still mostly asleep.
It almost feels like it could’ve been a dream, if not for the raw ache between his legs and, later, the selfies he took with the other Steve to try to show him how the camera worked.
“I have a crazy story to tell you.”
Steve grunts, hands moving down to grab at Bucky’s ass. “Mm?”
“It can wait,” Bucky squeaks, Steve’s hands pulling his cheeks apart, his fingers running along his hole.
Steve lifts him up, pulls him onto his lap, pushes him down onto his cock slowly. His rim burns, the stretch too much and not enough. He thinks, desperately, of the other Steve, pressed along his back, pushing his cock in alongside Steve's- Bucky jolts in Steve’s arms and comes untouched, his body shaking as Steve keeps pushing in.
“J’sus christ, Buck,” Steve groans.
“Sorry,” Bucky pants.
“S’okay,” Steve pumps his hips up into him. “You’re so wet,” Steve sighs, still grabbing and pulling at his ass.
“I,” Bucky manages.
“Fill you up,” Steve mumbles, pushing up as he pulls Bucky down. “You ready, honey?”
Bucky takes a deep breath and nods, face flat against Steve’s chest.
He’s flipped over, his legs wrapped around Steve’s back as he pounds into him. “Steve,” he gasps.
“Yeah, that’s it,” Steve grunts out, fucking him faster and harder until— Bucky feels him come inside, searing hot and so much. Bucky whimpers. It’s so much.
“Steve,” he manages. His dick is hard again, pushed up between their bodies.
“One more,” Steve hefts Bucky’s ass up into his lap and gets to it, Bucky’s head lolling to the side.
One more turns into two, which turns into three. By the time Steve’s done with him Bucky is crying, his face wet with sweat and spit and tears. Steve licks at his cheek and Bucky pushes his face away halfheartedly. “Gross."
“Love you,” Steve sighs.
“Love you too,” Bucky melts.
—
“So he was just… me from— before?” Steve’s peering down at Bucky’s phone, at the picture of Bucky and the other Steve. Bucky nods. Steve hums. “Weird.”
Then he tilts his head. “Huh.”
“What?” Bucky says, head against Steve’s chest.
“You’re all flushed,” Steve points out, zooming in on Bucky’s skin. He pans over to the other Steve. “So is he.”
Bucky makes a noise.
“Buck,” Steve says. Bucky can practically hear the shit-eating grin on his face.
“Shut up,” Bucky manages.
“Bucky,” Steve pokes him in the side, grabs his hips.
“Stop,” Bucky whines. He pushes his face into Steve’s neck. “Go away.”
“I can’t believe you let him fuck you,” Steve giggles, pulling Bucky back from his neck. “That’s why you were still so wet when I woke up. It’s all coming together.”
Bucky feels his face go red. He squirms in Steve’s lap, under the look Steve’s giving him. “He was you.”
Steve grabs at him and rolls them over so he’s on top. “Little slut,” he says, still grabbing at him, one hand at his pecs, the other on his ass. He kisses Bucky’s face, his cheeks and his forehead and his nose and his lips. Bucky giggles, fights at Steve’s hold on him.
They wrestle for a while, the fight ending in Steve’s cock between Bucky’s thighs, his hand wrapped vice tight around his dick. Steve makes him come twice, the feeling sharp and almost painful. After, he relaxes against Steve again and sighs.
“He looked so sad when I showed him the picture of you.”
Steve sighs. “This body is still the only thing he wants.” Steve pulls back, “You know I’d give it up in a second for you, right?”
Bucky takes a shaky breath.
“He doesn’t know what it’s like to lose you yet,” Steve runs a hand over Bucky’s belly. “He’ll feel different once he does.”
“Steve,” Bucky says, his voice caught in his throat.
“Hey, don’t cry,” Steve nuzzles into his neck. “I've got you, it’s a good thing.” He runs his fingertips over the ring on Bucky’s metal finger. “I’ve got you.”
Bucky cries, it’s inevitable. He chokes through it, pushing his face into Steve’s neck. Steve runs a big hand up and down his back, squeezing the nape of his neck every so often. He does have him. He does.