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it's just a spark (but it's enough)

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James Buchanan Barnes is a thing of beauty.

This is something that Steve has always thought, has been stubborn and unrelenting on insisting, even in the darkest of times. Those times include, but aren’t limited to: living in the 30’s and 40’s together when two men together was considered an awful, awful thing, and Steve remembers Mr. Vaughan from next door, and the way the older women in the neighborhood whispered awful things about him, and the way the husbands smashed in his windows and beat him there on the street. Steve remembers what it’s like to have to hide your whole self from the world, to pretend to be something that you’re not, just to survive. That’s why Steve went to war. Those times also include most recently, with Bucky healing, slowly, so slowly, from being the Winter Soldier, and then spending months upon months upon months trying to discover who he is again. Night after night filled with nightmares. Day after day filled with Bucky lurking, pacing the apartment like a caged tiger, snarling when Steve tried to get too close.

Through it all, James Buchanan Barnes is a thing of beauty. He is square jawed, bright eyed, slender and lean, then years later, built and sturdy and strong, almost as strong as Steve himself his. He is fierce, manipulative and charming personality, mixed with dark, angry, dangerous memories and triggers. He has a silver tongue, and knows when to use it best. He kisses Steve in 1937, 1942, and later in 2014, 2015, and the kisses are different, to match the difference in Bucky, but they still light Steve up, spread fire through his veins and make him needy and greedy.

Even in the different decades, Steve insists on Bucky’s attractiveness. Bucky laughs it off. “Shut up,” he says, one day when they are both naked, mid-afternoon sunlight streaming through the sheer white curtains, warming Steve from the inside out. Steve looks down at him, Bucky’s pink bow-lips pouting, his fingers, both real and prosthetic tapping away on each side of the mattress, nervous energy making him hum with a response. He always tries to keep things fast paced, even when Steve insists on taking his time.

It makes Steve laugh, now. Back before, when Steve was small and scrawny, Bucky insisted on taking it slow, drawing it out. Steve knows he worried about triggering something with Steve’s bad health, and Steve appreciates it now, even if he didn’t, before. He wishes Bucky will someday learn to appreciate it, too, the fact that Steve wants to spend all his time relearning Bucky’s body, proving just how much he loves him.

Steve ducks down, kisses Bucky’s shoulder. “I mean it. Never been nobody but you, Bucky.”

Bucky shivers. Closes his eyes, and blows a puff of air across Steve’s lips. Shakes his head. “Ain’t true,” he says softly.

Steve frowns. “There has never been anyone else,” he says firmly, and Bucky reaches up, waves a hand dismissively.

“Not what I meant,” he mumbles. “Meant I don’t deserve it.”

Steve understands.

He understands self-loathing better than anyone, really. He spent his entire life hating his body and its hang ups, hating how weak he was, and wondering why Bucky chose to stick around. Bucky always laughed and shook his head, ran a hand through Steve’s hair and told him how he just didn’t understand how good he was. Steve never understood it. Years later, thawed from the ice, beating punching bags, he spent his time hating his new body from failing to let him die, hating himself for letting Bucky fall, and hating the new world he lived in because he just didn’t fit.

Steve understands, really.

So he takes Bucky’s old approach, shakes his head, and murmurs, “You will never understand how good you are, how perfect you are for me, and how much I need you.”

Goosebumps rise on Bucky’s skin and Steve follows them with his lips. Bucky doesn’t say anything, just gasps desperately as he bucks his hips up when Steve’s mouth closes over his cock. “Jesus Christ,” he mumbles, clenching his hands into the sheets. Steve feels a spark, both of happiness and satisfaction at Bucky’s enjoyment, light up inside of him. He sucks Bucky’s cock and reaches up and takes both of Bucky’s hands in his, looking up at him the entire time. Bucky keeps his eyes closed, gripping Steve’s fingers tight, and rolls his head from side to side.

Steve pulls away, says, “Buck, Bucky, Buck,” until Bucky opens his eyes, glazed over and blissed out as they are, searching wildly for Steve’s. When they land on Steve, Steve says, “Watch me,” and Bucky moans as he takes his cock back into his mouth, sucking him wetly, loudly.

James Buchanan Barnes is a thing of beauty.

Steve has seen him injured. Steve has seen him sick with the worst winter cold when they lived in an apartment with next to no heat, and couldn’t afford basic ingredients for soup, and Bucky insisted he stay on the other side of the room, lest he get sick. Steve has seen him in action, both in the war together, and later, while running from Steve. Steve has seen Bucky drunk, he’s seen Bucky sad, angry, and happy. He’s seen him in the throes of a giggling fit while Steve rolled him around the bed, tickling him mercilessly. He’s seen him after a mission, upset because he couldn’t save everyone.

And through it all, he is beautiful. Amazing.

But he is never as beautiful as when he’s coming for Steve, spine arched, fingers gripping Steve tight, mouth dropped open, eyes hazy and unfocused, and whimpers spilling from his mouth like an angel’s song, golden and bright. He’s never as beautiful as when he comes down from his orgasm, reaching for Steve’s cock and jerking him sloppily, mouth crooked into a half-smile, all Brooklyn accent, mumbling, “Think ya know everythin’ don’t’cha, Stevie? Too goddamn cocky, I’m tellin’ ya,” and kissing along Steve’s closest shoulder, biting lightly every once in a while.

Steve shudders, comes, and feels it along his spin, sparking up, lighting him up inside.

He falls next to Bucky and grins.

It’s enough.