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Bone Of My Bones

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2010

"You know what I want?" Bucky asks, after a moment.

"What’s that, Buck?"

"A motherfucking shower," Bucky says, and Steve laughs. He slaps Steve on the leg. "I haven't showered for real since 1943. Come with me. Cut my hair. Mama's turning in her grave, God rest her."

"God rest her."

Bucky strips quick, efficient; peels away layers of himself without hesitation or shame. It's not the first time Steve's seen him naked, but it is the first time since 1945. It's the first look he gets at the place where Bucky's metal arm connects to his body, outside of photographs from long-forgotten files that once broke Steve's heart in clean two. It looks crueler, in person, the way the metal bites into his flesh; it looks more painful. But when Steve meets Bucky's eyes, they're fond and warm: here and now.

"Coming?" Bucky asks. He's already naked, stepping into the shower. Steve's still dressed. He scrambles, as ever, to catch up.

Bucky has the water piping hot, and Steve hisses when he steps under the stream, but he understands: they both hate to be cold. "Gonna hard-boil us, Barnes?"

"Your head gets any harder I don't know what the hell I'll do with you," Bucky murmurs. Looking at him like this, Steve has an idea or two. Bucky's eyes are closed, head tipped back into the spray, smile curling just a little at the corner of his mouth. The water's running down his body — his new body: harder, older than Steve remembers — making tracks through dirt on his skin. "Fuck," says Bucky, approvingly, and Steve thinks that he could watch him like this forever. But Bucky opens his eyes, then; catches Steve looking at the arm again. He seems to think on it a moment, then says, "You might as well go on ahead."

Steve's embarrassed. "You don't have to — "

"If you want to, you can."

There's no part of Bucky that Steve doesn't want to touch. He reaches up and brushes his fingers feather-light over the seam of the arm first, where the scars are ugly and raised, because Bucky's version of the serum had tried and tried to reject the arm they built into him. Then down further, to where the plates are closed together tight to keep out the water. Bucky watches him, assessing.

The files Steve found said Bucky's arm had been severed below the shoulder with something blunt, a wound likely self-inflicted. Two more amputations came later; one to remove the ragged edge of bone and dead tissue, another to take the rest of the arm, so the shoulder could be rebuilt to help support the weight of the prosthetic. The idea of Bucky in so much pain is devastating, makes the arm hard to look at. Steve looks anyway. He's sure it was harder to lose it. "Does it hurt?" he asks. This is his only concern.

It's the right thing to say. Bucky shrugs, easy, metal moving under Steve's fingers. "Mostly it's numb now, up into my neck even — nerve damage," he adds. "But it likes to ache just a little at the joint when it's about to rain. Kind of like Mr. O'Leary's trick knee? Or was it his hip — "

Surprise has Steve asking before he thinks too much on it. "You remember Mr. O'Leary?"

Bucky shrugs again. "Depends on the day."

Steve drops it — what does it matter, anyway? — and lets Bucky hog the spray while he washes himself, ducking under only long enough to rinse off when he's done. Even after all this time, Steve still tends to take his showers quick, like the hot water will run out any second if it isn't ice already.

Old habits die hard, it seems: Bucky isn't far behind him. "Let me get your back," Steve blurts suddenly, before he can finish. He hadn't known he wanted to until now. He just wants his hands on Bucky, maybe; wants to prove he's real the best way he knows how.

Bucky's got his number, of course. He does turn around, rolling his mismatched shoulders under the heat, but then: "Aw, Stevie, I didn't peg you for that kind of girl."

It punches a laugh out of Steve. "Would you believe me if I promised to behave?"

Bucky hums in reply, but doesn't answer him.

Steve washes Bucky with his hands, slowly sliding soap over his shoulders, then down his spine, feeling muscle and bone and breath under Bucky's skin, feeling the life in him. Almost seventy years, and he couldn't stop imagining Bucky frozen at the bottom of that ravine, dying alone.

Bucky shivers and then slumps a little, loose and bare under Steve's palms. He's here now. Warm all over, through and through, as he lets Steve make him clean again.

It's a good thing Bucky wants a haircut, because his hair is probably a lost cause. He shaves and gamely decides to give combing it out a go, but in the end he just breaks Steve's comb before he can finish, and that's the end of that.

"I'll get you another," Bucky promises absently, as though that matters. He's still intently studying his own reflection; Steve wonders how long it's been since he's seen himself without the beard. It's warm in here, heat on and bathroom door still shut because Steve doesn't think he could stand to see Bucky cold; they've both still just got towels wrapped around their waists. Steve keeps getting distracted by the droplets of water that run down Bucky's torso, following them with his eyes until they disappear into the cloth.

Bucky catches him looking again, because Bucky's got his eyes on Steve just as much the other way around. He raises his eyebrows, metal thumb hooking under the place where the towel's tucked in. "Guess I need something over my shoulders. I'd hate to have to shower all over again."

"You're full of shit, Barnes," Steve says. In all his long years, he has never in his life seen anybody enjoy a hot shower so much.

Bucky just grins at him and drops the towel.

Steve doesn't bother trying not to look at him — he's going to gorge himself on this, looking at Bucky, and won't be a bit sorry — but he feels himself go hot with it. Bucky's, well, he's a big guy, and he's half-hard just from the shower, just from Steve touching him like that. Steve doesn't know why he's surprised, he isn't exactly flagging himself — still, it's an effort, dragging his eyes back up to Bucky's face. "Sit," he suggests, and not only is he doing shit-all to keep his tone even, but he misses the first time he reaches for the drawer with the scissors in it.

Bucky laughs at him, open, then swings one leg over the chair to straddle it backwards, looking back expectantly over his shoulder. Steve wets his lips. Here he is; here he is. Chin propped on his shoulder, ass pressed against the chair, freshly clean and still dripping a little, calmly watching Steve watch him. He can see Bucky better now that they're out of the shower and in the sunlight. He can see Bucky so much better, now that he knows he wants to look. He's incredible, miraculous; Steve's still blown over that he's here at all.

"Come on," Bucky says finally, that little smile playing at the corner of his mouth again. He puts the towel on and then turns back around, leaves his vulnerable places bare to Steve without hesitation. "We ain't getting any younger."

"No," Steve agrees, but he feels younger now. Bucky must know. Steve runs his fingers over Bucky's scalp, not for the haircut but just because he can. There are thin curved scars just above his ears. Steve's seen them in photos, when they were fresh and bloody; brain surgery, nothing good. He thumbs gently over one of them, as if he can pull away the pain that no longer lives there, and Bucky tips his head into the touch.

Steve doesn't linger. Later, maybe, but Bucky had asked Steve to cut his hair and so he will. His hands remember just how to do it; he makes do with the bigger piece of his broken comb and his fingers, making sure to get everything even. Buck always did complain about a haircut, even on the front. Steve's fixed botched jobs by overworked barbers himself.

The familiarity of this is both strange and comforting. They've cut each other's hair a hundred times, before the war and during: who had money for a barber? Who had the time? The silence is comfortable between them; peaceable like it is every time they do this. The world is back on its axis again; here's Steve, in a too-small sunny bathroom, cutting Bucky's hair. Even if Bucky used to sit forward in chairs, it's just the same.

Well, almost. This time, Steve keeps getting distracted by the feeling of Bucky's scalp under his fingers, the way Bucky lets him touch. It's just a haircut, sure, but the intent is enough to keep Steve's blood hot.

So is Bucky's reflection: the both of them get hopelessly distracted, watching the years roll back as matted wet hair falls to the floor. Steve only knows how to cut Bucky's hair the one way, so without meaning to he's given Bucky the same look he had back in 1945, the last time he cut it before Bucky fell. Bucky eyes himself, eager, goads Steve: "Hurry up, hurry it up. Your ma was faster than this when she tending to dinner at the same time."

"My ma would never have stood for all this squirming," Steve says. "And you had less hair then too — hold still, Barnes, Christ Almighty. This is what I get for putting you in front of a mirror."

"Sorry," Bucky chuckles, incorrigible: not sorry at all.

Finally, finally Steve finishes, and almost as soon as he's done toweling off Bucky's hair again Bucky is back on his feet, squinting and leaning towards the mirror. "Not too bad considering, huh?" He strokes his jaw, tilting his head this way and that to get a better look. He even gives the mirror that heavy-lidded look he used to use to get a girl to dance with him.

"Barnes, quit peacocking," Steve says.

"Rogers, quit looking," Bucky replies. He grins at Steve in the reflection, then looks over at him for real, face-to-face, smile mellowing out to something more private, more tender. Steve's heart squeezes just a little. There's barely a foot between them in this tiny bathroom, and he hasn't seen Bucky like this in decades. It's not just his body, even with the hair and beard gone. Bucky looks almost the way he did before the war, when he was getting ready to go out: he's pleased to be in his own skin.

"You vain motherfucker," Steve murmurs, terribly fond. "Why don't you come over here and make me, huh?"

Bucky's expression does something strange, then, as though he's hurt and glad, all at once. When he finally speaks, his voice is rough. "Sweetheart, I thought you'd never ask."

Sweetheart. Steve's throat goes tight. It's the first time Bucky's ever called him that aloud, to his face. But he's always thought of Steve that way, hasn't he? It's just that until Steve read it in his handwriting in 1966, it was a secret. He really did think Steve would never ask.

Steve hurts for him, suddenly. "Bucky," he starts.

Bucky steps into his space, shaking his head, and Steve falls quiet. His hands settle light on Steve's waist, and he kisses Steve sweet at first, nearly closed-mouthed. He's holding back. It's the first time Bucky has ever pulled punches with him.

Steve won't have it. He presses his own self back against the wall, slips one arm around Bucky's waist and pulls Bucky flush to him so they're touching all over, just Steve's towel between them. "Buck," Steve says against his lips, winding his other arm around Bucky's neck. "C'mon."

Bucky lets out a harsh breath, kisses deepening, thumbs digging into the hollow points of Steve's hips. Steve pulls him in, opens gladly for him; he wants this for Bucky even more than he wants it for himself.

Then Bucky turns his head, so his cheek is a rough against Steve's, his breath hot on Steve's neck. Bucky's a sniper, and his sniper's hands don't shake, but his voice does, when he murmurs Steve's name. And when he asks, all quiet like he simply can't believe it: "Can I?"

Steve kisses the side of his head again and again, can't stand not to have the point of contact. Can he? Steve might die if he doesn't. "Jesus," he mumbles, in impatience, in sympathy. "Put your hands on me. Put your hands on me."

"Jesus," Bucky echoes, disbelieving; "Steve, fuck," and his grip tightens like he means it now, right hand sliding around to grab a handful of Steve's ass, his knee wedging itself between Steve's thighs. He's hard; Steve can feel it through the towel. Bucky presses his lips hot against the side of Steve's neck, behind his ear, breathing him in, and Steve's knees honest-to-God go weak.

He presses down against Bucky's thigh almost on accident, and the sensation rolls up from his cock all the way up his spine. Steve lets out a high, thready noise that would be embarrassing, except for how Bucky likes it; Bucky kisses him again, rough and so hungry, his right hand big and calloused on Steve's jaw. Bucky says, voice low, "Do that again."

Steve wants to. He wants to give Bucky everything, his whole self, now that his self is whole enough to give. "Kiss me," he says, and Bucky does, deep; Steve clings to him with the arm still around his neck, and with his other hand fumbles with and finally gets rid of the fucking towel, and oh, oh — Steve moans into Bucky's mouth, because Bucky's so warm, and they're pressed skin-to-skin everywhere. Steve rolls his hips down against Bucky's thigh, the thick muscle of it, to feel Bucky's cock, the only one besides his own Steve's ever touched, pressing up into his hip. There's no two ways about it, Bucky's really is big, and already wet at the tip. Knowing Bucky wants him and feeling it like this, visceral and present, are two totally different experiences; Steve is flushed all over, Steve wants him too. He can't stop the slow motion of his hips, even though he already knows he can't last long.

Bucky's handsy, trying to kiss and feel all of Steve at once like he's starving, squeezing Steve's chest and thumbing over his nipples, sucking a bruise into the dip of Steve's throat. Steve tips his head back to give him room, grabbing at Bucky's short hair. Bucky's kisses trail hot and wet and sometimes with teeth across his collarbone, and he ducks his head and presses them to Steve's chest, too, sliding the flat of his tongue across Steve's nipple and then sucking, rough thumb rubbing slow circles into the other.

Steve groans, nails digging hard into Bucky's back. The sound itself drives Bucky wild; he pulls Steve down against his thigh deliberately, rolls his own hips so his cock presses up against Steve's, and with his metal hand hitches Steve's thigh up against his hip. "Bucky, fuck," Steve says, because Bucky can't stop either; they're both moving into each other, desperate.

Bucky kisses Steve's open mouth, swallowing his sounds. When he pulls back enough for Steve to get a good look at him, he's flushed all over, eyes dark. "I wanted to take my time," he confesses. He lifts a hand, unbearably tender, to stroke over Steve's eyebrow. Now it's shaking, just a little. "I wanted to do this right, but — been awhile for me," he understates. "I won't last."

"We'll have time," Steve says, though he doesn't all-the-way believe it yet. "We're here, aren't we, we'll have time — " He doesn't know how to explain to Bucky, that they're already doing it right because he's doing it at all, because they're together. "Look, me either, it's okay — It's just the serum, that's all it is, making us quick shots — " Us. It's surreal, having someone like him, someone to explain this to. Like finding that gray hair on Bucky's temple.

For Bucky too: he looks a little gobsmacked. "That so?" he breathes, and kisses Steve again, hard.

"Yeah," Steve says into his mouth, "yeah, but we'll — oh — we'll get it up again quick too, we'll get to go again, and again — " They will. He's got Bucky. Bucky said. "We don't have to wait anymore. Okay? You don't have to wait."

Bucky makes a small, cut-off sound in his throat, then kisses at Steve's neck again, murmurs Steve's name into his skin like a prayer. Later Steve's going to pull that sound back out of him, learn Bucky the way Bucky's learning him. Now, though, his whole body thrums with want; he can barely stay upright. "Buck."

Bucky kisses him again. "Yeah," he gasps, "okay, hold onto me — "

Steve does. Steve is never letting him go again. Bucky lifts him, palms hot and huge on Steve's ass; Steve curses and just barely gets his knees pressed into Bucky's sides in time. Then Bucky swings them around so Steve can sit sideways on the bathroom counter.

"Better?"

Steve's still got one arm wound tight around his neck, the other having to support his weight. Holy shit, he thinks blankly, fuck, he wants — "Buck," he groans, "yeah, it is, I want you — "

"Good," Bucky says, hot; his eyes are burning into Steve. His metal arm circles Steve's waist and pulls him in close, canting his hips up just a little — Steve sucks in a breath in understanding and hooks one leg around Bucky's waist, heel digging into his lower back.

Like this, he doesn't have as much leverage to move against Bucky — there's nothing to lean back against — he just has to support his own weight and let Bucky do the work. His legs are open; Bucky's hips press against the insides of his thighs, his heavy cock slides slick in the space beneath his balls. And Steve's own cock is pressed between them, leaking at the tip. It's almost like being fucked, and that thought draws a high noise out of him, almost a whine. "Please," he finds himself saying, "Buck oh please — "

The skilled way Bucky rolls his hips makes Steve ache; he wants that inside him, but this is almost as good. Bucky's not using all his strength but he's not trying to be gentle anymore either. It's slick enough just from them, pre-come coating them both by now, and the pressure of that hot wet slide is so good; it's been so long, and Steve forgot anything could feel this way.

"All right, sweetheart," Bucky says, unsteady, like he's right at the edge. His right hand closes hot around Steve's cock. Steve moans, hips jerking what little they can. "You first."

"What?" Steve gasps; that's ridiculous, why does that even matter — "You first, asshole," he says, "you've waited longer — "

Bucky kisses him, biting a little. All right, all right. Steve can't speak but he bends, easy, becomes pliant to let his body do the talking for him. However Bucky wants it, because it matters to him. This time was always going to be for Bucky first.

"Damn," Bucky mutters in disbelief, then: "all right — that's it, come on — "

And that is it: Steve is gone. The orgasm hits him whole-body, hot and wet between them, so strong it almost hurts. And it just keeps going, might even be too much if Steve didn't need it so bad; he's loud, crying out wordlessly on his exhales, the breaths he drags in huge and desperate. Every part of him clings onto Bucky as tight as he can while he rides it out. He's hyper-aware of Bucky's lips against the side of his neck, his fingers flesh and metal digging into Steve's skin, the sharp jerk of his hips and then his full-body shudder, and finally the wet heat on the inside of Steve's thigh when Bucky comes near-silent just behind him.

Steve holds Bucky tight to him, and his vision blurs; God, he's here. He is here. This is Bucky, face pressed hot against Steve's neck, heart hammering next to Steve's own. This is for real. Bucky doesn't let go, but he is shaking a little, the fine little tremors of the exhausted. Steve shifts.

"Don't," Bucky rasps, alarmed.

"M'not." Steve wouldn't; of course he wouldn't. He promises, "just to the floor," so Bucky understands: he isn't going anywhere, they aren't moving. It's just that he doesn't want Bucky to have to stand when he's tired. He doesn't want Bucky to have to be tired anymore.

He waits for Bucky to nod against his neck, then eases down from his sitting position off the counter. His legs can barely hold him, and he doesn't bother trying to get them somewhere else, just slides down with his back against the side of the counter, tugging Bucky with him. Bucky more or less winds up settled on Steve's lap, knees at Steve's hips, and slumps forward bonelessly, chin on Steve's shoulder. Steve cards his hand back through Bucky's hair.

They stay there a long time, the bathroom going from overheated to comfortable to just the edge of chilly. Finally Steve says, "Me first?"

Bucky grunts. He's heavy and relaxed against Steve. "Couldn't take my time, maybe, but I could still — treat you right."

"Oh," Steve says, somehow surprised. He's rubbing his thumb in little circles on Bucky's metal shoulder, even though Bucky can't feel it. "Not too disappointed, I hope," he jokes, easy.

Bucky pulls back enough to give him a long, serious look. With his right hand he strokes his knuckles over Steve's face. "No," he says finally, simple and sincere. "No." His eyes drop to Steve's mouth, and he rubs his thumb over Steve's lower lip. Then cups his face in both hands, and leans in to kiss him quiet and sweet.

"Mm," Steve says, and wraps his arms around Bucky's neck, keeps him close. He's never going to get tired of this. He could do this for another hundred years and never, ever get tired.

After awhile though Bucky breaks away. "You weren't kidding." He shifts back, glances down unashamedly. Sure enough, they've both started to chub up again, and with the way they're sitting of course Bucky had noticed first.

Steve groans. "No, I was not."

"Bedroom," Bucky decides. "God damn, we've got to do this in a bed." Steve pulls him into another kiss. He's not quite ready to move yet. "Steve."

"Yeah," Steve says into Bucky's mouth, and makes himself pull away, and they stumble to their feet as though coming out of a dream. Steve finds his abandoned towel and wipes himself off, and hands it to Bucky, and while Bucky's doing the same Steve's got nothing to do but drink in the sight of him, so he comes up behind him and kisses his shoulder-scars from this side, metal cool against his lips. He wraps his arms around Bucky's waist.

"Steve," Bucky groans.

"I know, I know," Steve says, apologetic, "but look at you." His lips work their way along Bucky's shoulderblade. "Bucky, look at you." His hands dip down towards Bucky's cock. He hasn't had a chance yet to get that thing in his hand. It's still slick, blood-hot and heavy and new in Steve's palm. He thumbs over the head.

"Jesus fucking Christ," Bucky swears.

Steve hums, distracted by the way Bucky's skin shivers at when he tongues at a certain point on his neck. That's probably where the nerve damage ends, he realizes, and puts the thought away to keep. He wants to know things like that, he wants to make Bucky feel —

Abruptly Bucky spins around, yanks Steve in hard enough to bend him backwards just a little, and kisses him deep. They're both hard now, pressing up against each other. The kiss breaks just as sudden. "In the bed, I said."

"Yeah," Steve agrees, breathless and giddy. He meets Bucky's eyes. "Right, sorry, in the bed."

They make it, oh, a third of the way to the bed.

"So," Bucky says into Steve's mouth, deliberately casual, "we still using vaseline these days, or — ?"

Steve's got two handfuls of Bucky's ass and Bucky's cock pressed hot against his stomach again. "What," he says, uncomprehending, and then: "Oh. Shit." He pauses, trying to think around the aching need between his legs for Bucky, now, right now.

Bucky is so incredulous that he stops kissing Steve entirely. "You're fucking with me. We don't have anything?"

"We have — um, cooking oil?" Which is actually what they might have used back when they were living in their shoebox apartment together, but things have come so far since then, the future has so much to offer them, that Steve hates to go backwards now. "Cabinet above the stove."

Apparently satisfied with this, Bucky goes right back to kissing him. Then he pauses again. "What do you — ?"

"You kiddin' me?" Steve asks, breathless. "I want you to fuck me, Barnes."

Bucky groans. "Oh, Jesus. Steve, God damn." He kisses Steve again deep, then takes Steve's face in both of his hands and meets his eyes. "You're sure? Hey. You're sure."

"What, I don't sound sure to you?" Steve laughs a little. "Come on. Kiss me, Christ, I want you so bad. "

Bucky does kiss him at that, and hard. "Stevie," he says into Steve's mouth. "We're gonna do this right, huh?" He's backing Steve towards the wall. "I'm gonna be so good to you, I promise I'm gonna make it so good."

Steve's back hits the wall, which is lucky, because his knees are going a little weak again. "Buck," he says, surprised. He touches Bucky's face.

Bucky turns his head into it, pressing a kiss into Steve's palm. Then his wrist, then he kisses Steve proper again before he lays one on his jaw, his neck, and finally settles at the hollow of his throat. His tongue is hot against Steve's skin, and when he nips just a little Steve moans, grabbing at his neck and shoulders.

"That's it," Bucky says. He thumbs quick over Steve's nipples, and waits until Steve is arching up for more to come back again. He rubs slow circles with his thumbs, one rough and warm, the other smooth and cool. His kisses are hot and wet and slow, meandering on down to Steve's chest on their own time. Steve thinks Bucky would like to kiss every inch of him, if he could.

"Oh, shit," Steve gasps, and tips his head back hard enough to thunk against the wall behind them when Bucky's mouth finally closes around his nipple, that heat replacing the cool metal of his thumb. "Buck."

Bucky hums right into his skin, which would drive Steve wild on its own, but then he's also using teeth: not biting, exactly, but brushing by like he could. With his other hand he pulls just a little. Like he could be meaner, but he's being cautious. Steve almost tells him: to hell with that. But he keeps quiet. He's curious, if Bucky does it the way he wants, how it'll go. He wants to know what Bucky likes because he wants so bad for Bucky to have it how he wants it. And Steve likes it, too, just on its own: someone else calling the shots. But that Bucky must have figured out already.

Bucky switches, then, rubbing that cool thumb back into hot flesh, and tongue laving over the nipple he'd been tugging at. Steve grabs him by the back of the head, can't help it — pushes him in closer. Bucky groans, and finally speeds up a little, a trail of tiny hot kisses left down Steve's chest, working their way down towards his cock until his knees hit the floor.

"Oh, my God," Steve says weakly, when he figures out where Bucky's headed. Bucky flashes a look up at him that makes all his blood rush doward. "I won't last."

"Good," Bucky says. His voice is low and satisfied. If it was a little smoother Steve would think of dance halls and double-dates and Bucky's old Brooklyn charm. But he talks rougher, now: realer. This is different, because it's them and they've waited longer and they need it more. "The more relaxed you are," Bucky says, "the better it'll be."

Steve grips at Bucky hard, eyes wide. "Jesus."

"How many you think you've got in you?" Bucky asks, laying small kisses on Steve's abdomen as he speaks. He's so close to Steve's cock, where it's curved up hard against his belly. "I mean, us. How many times can we go?"

Steve swallows. He's a little dizzy. "At least two more times," he croaks. "Maybe three. Maybe more." He's never been the one to get tired first. "I couldn't say for sure, Buck."

Bucky lets out a breath against Steve's skin, not unaffected by this information. Steve feels the heat of it on his cock. "Good," he says again, rough. "Good. Because I want — " He meets Steve's eyes suddenly, his own hot and dark and serious. He takes a breath. "I want my mouth on you, everywhere. I want to feel it. I want feel it, how good I'm gonna make it for you." And that said, he leaves one of those wet kisses on the sensitive underside of Steve's cock, licks a long strip up to the tip — then closes his lips around Steve, all that slick hot wetness around him.

"Bu-cky," Steve says, higher than he means to on that second syllable. He jerks, a little, but Bucky has the metal hand pinning his hips to the wall, so instead he slumps over helplessly, anchored by the grip he has on Bucky's shoulders, his head. "Buck, Bucky, oh fuck — " He keeps saying Bucky's name and doesn't stop: wont, can't. He's pulling Bucky's hair, too. He knows he is, and he means to stop, but he can't help it. It's as though if he lets go he'll fly off the face of the earth right into the sun. Bucky doesn't seem to mind, though; Bucky likes it, Bucky's humming around him, moving on down deeper, moving his tongue in his mouth to stroke at the underside of Steve's cock. He's good at this. Steve doesn't know how many times he's done it before now, but he's good.

It's a moment before Steve can trust himself to look without losing it. Bucky's lips are stretched wide around him, not quite to the base, eyes closed in unmistakable contentment that makes Steve's chest tight. Then, as ever, Bucky seems to sense Steve looking, and glances up to meet his eyes. His right hand reaches up to where Steve's left is and covers it, squeezing. Then goes back to work, cheeks hollowing, taking Steve further — the head of Steve's cock hits the back of his throat, even, and Steve's worried he'll choke but he doesn't, he keeps going. It's only for a second, but his lips touch Steve's body, the wiry hair there, before he pulls back again.

Bucky gets into a rhythm like that, never staying too long in one place, getting his mouth on Steve just like he wanted. Finally he goes to pull off all the way, but sucks on the head of Steve's cock an extra second first, tongue swiping over the slit and leaving Steve an absolute wreck. "Good?" His voice is definitely rough now.

Steve can hardly speak. "Shit, Barnes." Smug fucking asshole — but Steve wants him, of course Steve wants him; how did he ever go so long without realizing? "Like you can't tell already."

"You'll like this better." Bucky lets go of Steve's hips, nudging his right shoulder between Steve's thighs, and lifts his leg to prop high on that shoulder, and it's lucky Steve's flexible. The angle leaves all of him wide open and exposed.

"Oh my God," Steve says again, in sudden comprehension.

Bucky turns his head, pressing those wet open-mouthed kisses on the inside of Steve's raised thigh. His cheek, even shaved, is just a little rough on Steve's skin. He starts closer to Steve's knee, and he's not exactly in any kind of hurry, but he's not teasing, either; they've waited long enough, Bucky especially. He's just — savoring it, Steve realizes. Bucky loves this, his mouth on Steve's skin, the way he's been wanting for so bad. Steve rubs at his scalp, watches Bucky's eyes fall closed. His own stay riveted on Bucky; he couldn't look away if he tried.

Bucky stops to suck a mark into the place where Steve's thigh meets his body, the same way he did at Steve's neck, even though they don't last long. Steve lets him take the time, but he squirms and groans; can't help it. He aches for something inside him. "Yeah?" Bucky asks, soft. With his thumbs he spreads Steve open. Then he ducks his head a little, and Steve has a dizzying second to feel his breath warm against his hole before Bucky licks into him, hot and wet.

Steve doesn't moan so much as almost shout with it, grabbing at Bucky's head, hips pushing towards his mouth. No one's ever done this for him before. He's sliding down the wall, and Bucky pins him to it with the metal hand again to keep him up. "Bucky," he gets out, "oh Buck, oh God — "

Bucky's only getting started. He hums with his mouth right up on Steve, and Steve feels his lips brushing right at the sensitive edge of his hole. Then Bucky eases the tip of his tongue inside.

Steve's cock blurts a little precome against his belly. "Buck, oh please, please — " Steve doesn't even know what he's asking for. He's flushed hot all over, aching and needy, and it's already so good he could almost cry. Bucky hasn't even gotten the oil yet; he's starting just like this, just with his mouth and tongue, making it filthy wet. And he loves it: Steve feels his cock brushing his leg, feels how hard he is. He's licking into Steve like he'll die if he doesn't, like he needs it even more than Steve does. Even the metal thumb is rubbing little circles into the skin of Steve's torso.

Steve tries to stay open for him, legs spread as much as he can like this; he wants Bucky to have it. He can't keep quiet either, even if it's wordless. There's no part of him capable of holding anything back anymore. He has to grab onto Bucky to keep balanced. "Buck," Steve gasps. "I'm not gonna make it."

Bucky pulls back with a wet sound. "Good," he rasps again, meeting Steve's eyes. His mouth is wet and red. He shifts, a little, and Steve almost loses his balance, but then Bucky's got his right hand loose around Steve's cock. "Just like this," he says again, "I want to feel it," and then he gets his mouth back on Steve's hole. Steve's looser there now, and Bucky's tongue can get much deeper, licking him inside. He's stroking Steve's cock easy, squeezing just enough to help him along. It's so much, too much — Bucky's tongue pressed up inside him, thumb rubbing at just the head of his cock and driving Steve crazy. He comes with a yell, clenching up again and again right around Bucky's tongue, the feeling jerking right up along his spine, hot and shivery.

The mess gets all over his belly. Bucky strokes him through it, gentle, stands up just as Steve starts to slide down the wall again. "Hey." He catches Steve's weight with a hand against his chest. Surely he can feel Steve's pulse still racing, must know how fuzzy everything's gone at the edges.

Steve gropes for Bucky, clumsy, and clings hard because his legs don't want to keep him up; half his weight is still against the wall. "Let me," he says, and reaches down.

Bucky groans. He's still hard as diamonds. "We're still not in the bed, Rogers."

"Oh yeah," Steve says. God, Bucky's big. Bigger than Steve, for sure. "All right, bed," he says, but he doesn't let go. "Just give me a minute to get my legs working again."

Bucky kisses the side of his head. "You drive me goddamned crazy," he swears, fond. "You drive me so goddamned crazy — "

What actually winds up happening is that Bucky carries Steve to the bedroom. Just lifts Steve up before Steve's finished getting him off, even, hands hooked under his thighs, and takes them straight through the apartment without stopping.

"Oh, God," Steve laughs, breathless, legs wrapped tight around Bucky's waist. "Barnes, you crazy asshole, put me down, you're out of your fuckin' mind — "

"I've been told," Bucky says, and he has to kick the bedroom door where it's only half open, but they do finally make it to the bed. It's a metal frame, thank God, so it only bends and doesn't snap when two heavy supersoldiers plus a metal arm land on it, but Steve hears the noise and laughs again, even though Bucky's about knocked all the breath from his lungs landing on top of him.

Bucky rolls off, and Steve grabs at him. "Stay here one more minute, c'mon."

"I'm not falling for that one again," Bucky says. "I'm going to get our goddamned cooking oil. Won't be gone two minutes."

What he actually comes back with is the cooking oil, a bottle of water, and a towel, and when he kisses Steve, he tastes faintly of mouthwash. He puts everything down and straightens back up, just looking at Steve, all spread out and loose and finally on the bed waiting for him, and Steve lets him. For as long as he wants. He holds still and lets Bucky look at every inch of him. He gets half-hard again, just from knowing Bucky's looking.

"Jesus," Bucky says finally, a little unsteady.

"Sight for sore eyes?"

Bucky huffs out something like a laugh. "You got no idea."

Steve thinks he might. "Come on. Get down here, huh? I missed you."

He reaches for Bucky and Bucky lets himself be tugged down by the shoulders, kisses him deep. Bucky gets one knee on the bed, then the other, never breaking off with Steve. It's only a moment before Bucky's lying half on top of him: chest to chest, one knee between Steve's thighs, pressing him in the mattress. Bucky's so heavy; Steve loves it. He really was gone less than two minutes, but he's still hard and hot against Steve's thigh. He wants Steve so much, and Steve wants just as much to give himself to him, every bit he can give. "Missed you," he says again, quieter, and Bucky doesn't reply but takes Steve's face in his mismatched hands; kisses him fiercely, which speaks for him.

Then Bucky kisses his way back down Steve's body, warming him back up. It's easier like this, where Steve can let himself go slack against the sheets, and Bucky can touch him where and how he likes. Bucky kisses every line of every muscle, stops and leaves little fast-fading bruises on his favorite ones: Steve's neck gets another, and the place beneath his hipbone.

When Bucky gets down far enough, he grabs the cooking oil. In short order he gets the first two fingers of his right hand slicked; with his left he eases Steve's knee up, then meets Steve's eyes. The look he gives Steve is hot and heavy; he still hasn't come, and the want in his eyes is plain and unhidden. It makes Steve hot all over; he spreads his legs further so Bucky can touch him. Bucky's calloused fingers press warm against Steve's hole, just circling.

Steve bites down on his lower lip, arches his hips up as much much as he possibly can. "Please," he says, flushed. "Buck, please."

Bucky can't deny him. He starts with one finger, which goes in slick and easy after what they've been doing, dipping down to kiss Steve's hip again. "Buck," Steve sighs, because that's a start: that's filling some of the awful aching void that's existed inside him since 1945. Steve's hand finds the back of his neck, just holding on. "I can take more than that, c'mon." You don't have to go so slow, he wants to say, but if Bucky wants to go slowly then Steve wants to let him.

"Impatient son of a bitch," Bucky says, voice ragged. "You'll thank me later."

Steve swallows a laugh, incredulous. "Yeah, yeah, big man. So far you're all talk."

"Shut up," Bucky says, and bites a little when he kisses Steve's hip again. He pushes his middle finger in alongside the first one. Now it's something, now it not-hurts, that bright stretching sensation that isn't quite pain. Steve wets his lips, eyes falling closed. "Deeper," he breathes. The pads of Bucky's fingers are so rough; Steve feels them even inside. He's easing his way in, searching —

Steve lets out a little yelp when Bucky hits his prostate, body clenching down around those fingers. "Oh, fuck." It goes straight through his cock, getting him hard fast. The hand on Bucky's neck has gone tight.

Bucky's smiling now, mouth curled up at the edge. "Better?" he asks. He's not moving much; starting easy, letting Steve get used to it.

"Shut up," Steve says weakly. Experimentally, he moves his own hips, and moans at the sensation of Bucky's big thick fingers shifting inside him. God, it's been so long. "Come on," he says, "come on, you can't break me — I promise you can't. I can take it — "

"You drive me goddamn crazy," Bucky says again. "You can take it, huh?" He spreads his fingers a little, making sure to curl them against that sweet spot too. But it doesn't hurt. At least, not in any way Steve could call bad — it's a good feeling, this stretch; it's a real feeling. And Bucky doesn't make him ask for the third finger. It hurts a little, but it's so good, it's what Steve needed. He doesn't mind that bright edge of pain, either; it's intense, it would get him hard if he wasn't already. He's shocked with it, how it makes his throat close up. It's been so long, and he wants Bucky so much. He wants —

"Bucky," he says, suddenly. "You're so far away, Buck. Come up here, huh? You can do it from up here."

Bucky does, instantly; settles himself so his chest and Steve's are pressed together, hearts next to one another, and he can keep his right hand down between Steve's legs. "I'm here," he says. He kisses Steve hard, metal hand holding his face. "I'm here."

Steve knows. Steve feels him, inside. Here he is, close — closer than in the bathroom. Like this Steve can see his eyes; grab his face. "Stay here," he says, and Bucky's fingers spread in him again. He's breathless, mouth opened partway. "I can't stand it, Buck," he says, "I don't want to wait anymore, please — "

Bucky cuts him off with another kiss, his lips over Steve's parted ones. They don't break apart, even for a breath. Buck grinds against the bed just a little, like he can't stop himself. His fingers stretch Steve open wide. When he pulls his fingers out, Steve feels empty and open and it almost hurts not to have Bucky there. "Please," he says again.

"Stevie," Bucky says helplessly, and he shifts: lining himself up. The head of his cock, slick, nudges up against Steve's hole, the soft skin right around it. Bucky really is a big man. He has to push in slow.

Steve moans in the back of his throat, needy; it's a lot, but he wants it bad. His fingers are dug into the backs of Bucky's shoulders, his legs folded around Bucky's waist. He bears down, makes himself open. He wants to take all of Bucky, all of him.

Bucky's face is pressed against Steve's neck again, his voice very close to Steve's ear. Steve can hear the quiet desperate little sounds he makes on his exhales, like he's fighting not to come. It's slow going because he's so thick, and because when the head of his cock pushes past Steve's prostate, Steve's whole body tightens down around him. Bucky's teeth clench around the quiet noise he has to make. Steve runs one shaky hand back through his hair.

Then finally he's inside Steve, all the way, as close as another person can be. It's intimate. Steve can feel how hot he is, how hard; can feel his pulse in the way he throbs, right there inside. They're pressed so close together, Bucky heavy on top of him, Steve's cock between their bellies, wet at the tip. "I want you," Bucky gasps, wrecked. "Say I can."

Steve gets Bucky's face in his hands, tilts it to look him in the eyes. "Have me," he says. "You take what you need, Buck, I want you to. I want you to so bad."

"Baby," Bucky groans, and Steve's heart flips right over in his chest. Shit, his eyes are wet, just a little. Steve blinks fast and pulls Bucky into a kiss as he starts to move. It's that same skilled roll of his hips from before, only much slower; oh, Christ, and he can aim, of course he can, he's taking care to hit the sweet spot every time. Steve moans into his mouth; he's so glad, so glad he can kiss Bucky while Bucky's seated inside him like this.

"Yeah," Steve says, panting. "Buck, just like that — "

Bucky teeth are gritted, his eyes squeezed shut. He rocks his hips, a steady forced slowness, and Steve feels Bucky splitting him open just the right amount, big, undeniable. He yields to it, tilting his hips up so Bucky can get the angle he needs, arms wound around his shoulders again. Bucky works his left arm between the small of Steve's back and the bed, so in the end they're just holding onto each other again. He's so big; he fills Steve all the way up.

"Yeah," Steve says again, even though his voice is thin and ready to give out. He knows Bucky wants to hear him. His legs are wrapped around Bucky tight, thighs pressing to his sides, heels digging into the small of his back. They're both sweating; everywhere they touch is hot, and stomachs pressing slick against Steve's cock. "Buck — "

Bucky's thrusting gets a little faster, desperate. He's needy, grabby, cupping Steve's face one moment and running down his side the next. Then his hand finds Steve's hair. Steve can't stop the little cry he lets out, and Bucky lets go. "Mm-mm," Steve says. He'd laugh if he had the breath. "I like it." Bucky's own hair is still just long enough to fall into his face a little, sweaty, the way it used to during a firefight, the way it did right before he fell. Tenderly Steve brushes it away, waits for Bucky to open his eyes. "I told you I can take it. Anything you want, huh? Anything you need, here I am. I like it," he repeats, so Bucky knows it's not just for him. He wants it, wants Bucky to take and take and take, to make up for all those long years when he was hurting and alone.

"Steve," Bucky gasps. Their mouths are both open; they're so close they even breathe each other. "Stevie — "

"S'right," Steve says, as Bucky's pace picks up. "Bucky, yeah, oh f — fuck, just — just like that — please please — "

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, hard, biting a little. Steve lets him, Steve loves it. Steve moans right into his mouth, and when Bucky moves off to his neck, he bites a little there too. Steve's body is all wound up tight, the sensation of Bucky inside firing off through his nerves with every thrust, and the little bright spots of pain spark up and down his spine. He's more or less past words, but it doesn't mean he isn't noisy, doesn't cry out. He doesn't need the words with Bucky anyway, not like this, not right now.

Bucky lets out a heavy breath, tugging Steve's head back by his hair. Steve's cock blurts out a little precome on their bellies. Bucky marks him up, greedy and true, kissing and biting his at his neck. He's shaking, a little. "S'too much," he gasps into Steve's skin. "I can't, you gotta — "

Of course. He still hasn't come. Steve fumbles and gets his hands on Bucky's face again, makes Bucky look at him. Bucky's eyes are desperate and they say so much. "You first," Steve breathes shakily. "You first this time, and I'll — ah — I'll be right there with you." Of this he is certain. He kisses Bucky, for a definition of kissing; presses his lips against Bucky's open mouth, kisses his lower lip and the side of his face, the corner of his eye where it's wet. "Okay?" Bucky nods, wordless and helpless, presses his face into Steve's neck, metal hand pressed between his shoulderblades. Steve wraps his arms back around his shoulders to hold him. "I wanna feel you," Steve says, hot, and he means it, he needs it so bad, "I wanna feel you, Buck, I want it inside me — c'mon — please, please — "

Bucky's thrusts lose their careful aim, become desperate and fast. He's moving with such force they're shaking the bedframe, Steve's sliding up the sheets towards the headboard. Steve's so turned on his toes are curling. Bucky's making those soft noises against his neck again, teeth gritted. He's trembling all over.

Then finally, even though it's less like he's letting go and more like he can't help but do it, his body locks up and his fingers dig into Steve's skin and his teeth sink into the muscle of Steve's shoulder so that when makes a sound it's only a near-silent whines in the back of his throat. Finally, he comes, and he comes like it hurts, and Steve feels every inch of it, because he's so close, because he's inside Steve. Steve feels every detail, nothing hidden; the the tightness of Bucky's muscles, how his balls are drawn up against the juncture of Steve's thighs, how Bucky pulses and twitches and spills hot and wet into him, still thrusting shallowly. Steve's coming too feeling it, almost shouts with it. He grabs at Bucky tight, clenching down around him and grinding up into him and forcing one last quiet desperate sound from Bucky's throat.

Eventually they ride it out, and grow still. Bucky's breathing hard and hot against the tooth-marks he left in Steve's skin, in that place where his neck meets his shoulder, eyes wet against Steve's neck. He's heavy laying on top of Steve. He's still inside him. Neither of them could dream of moving. Except that Steve strokes along Bucky's spine, a little; cups the back of his head. And Bucky presses his lips soft against that bite. Not even a kiss; just rests them there.

Steve holds him so tight.

"Steve," Bucky starts, shaky, and sucks in a shuddery breath; swallows. "Steve," he tries again, and then finally: "Sweetheart," and he still can't say it, but that's all right. Steve knows. He knows.

Steve falls asleep with Bucky weighing him down to the bed. When he cracks one eye open an hour or so later, Bucky is still there, still awake. He hasn't moved except to ease out of Steve, drink half of the bottle of water, and pull a sheet over them. The bed is very warm.

Everything's all right, so Steve closes his eyes and goes back to sleep. And finally, for the first time since the war, he sleeps a whole eight hours through.

"They make lubricant just for that, now," Steve says. Bucky's standing on one of the old kitchen chairs, getting out the two extra bottles all the way at the top and back of the cabinet, so they won't have to do it later when they're otherwise occupied. "Stuff that tingles when you rub it, stuff that heats up, stuff with scents and flavors — "

"Which flavors?" Bucky sounds intrigued.

"Oh, I don't know, probably any you could think up," Steve says. "And you can buy lube and condoms at every corner store, we just don't have any here. I wasn't exactly expecting you."

Bucky hops down; the chair remains miraculously intact. "And now you're stuck with me, more's the pity." He's smiling. "Well, it's not like you were going to use it for much else, at least."

"Except actually cooking," Steve chuckles. "Not that that's important." And, warmed through by stuck with me, he just has to pull Bucky forward by the shirt and kiss him.

Bucky kisses him back for a whole five seconds before making a sudden sound of surprise and pulling away. "You learned how to cook?"

"I just can't believe you, is all." Bucky shakes his head a little. He's got both of Steve's hands pinned to the wall under his metal one, and three fingers of his right hand working Steve open. Steve's throat is covered in fading marks. "I get a little bitey, you go all sweet and soft on me."

"Not that soft," Steve reminds him, jerking his hips downward.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm goin'," says Bucky, and he pulls his fingers out so he can hitch Steve's thigh up against his hip.

Bucky finds the button he popped off his own jeans in his haste to fuck Steve over the kitchen counter rolled all the way into the hallway, somehow. "Left hand will get you every time," he says, abashed. "Say, I don't suppose you mind if I run around here in just my undershorts for awhile." As though they haven't just been existing in various states of undress anyway, except — usually — when they answer the door for delivery.

"You can just borrow mine," Steve says, and adds, "what, hey, don't look so disappointed." Bucky wants to run around naked, he's not going to hear Steve complaining about it. "But we're finally the same size. Well, mostly." Steve's just a couple of inches taller, but Bucky's thicker. Steve's shirts would be a little tight around his big shoulders, and some of his pants might squeeze Bucky's ass a little, but that would hardly be the end of the world. "I'd mend it, but all we have is the floss in the first-aid kit." His first-aid kits will always have needle and floss.

"Works better on people," Bucky agrees. He admits, "Anyway, I wouldn't mind wearing yours."

The thought sends Steve's blood rushing downward again. "Maybe don't put on anything just yet."

They don't particularly decide on purpose that they're not going to sleep at the same time. It just always winds up that if Steve falls asleep first, he wakes to find Bucky still up just like he's keeping watch on the front. And when Bucky falls asleep first, Steve just can't keep his eyes closed: there's some small scared part of him that still just can't believe Bucky won't disappear when he's not looking. After all he did it that day outside the courtroom, and every time he shows up again he slips in from the side, unexpected, unseen at first. In the dark; from beyond the grave. Even now, Bucky moves around their place like a ghost, and scares Steve half to death when he isn't in direct eyesight and goes too long without making a noise. Even when they're fucking, when it's good enough to drive Steve to hollering, Bucky tries to bite back every sound.

So they take it in turns, never much more than a catnap at a time after that first long sleep; more than he needs sleep Steve needs not to miss a single second of being with Bucky. Buck said he was staying and Steve believes him, but it's never lasted before. They've never lasted, like this. His head knows they're together now but his heart's scared to believe it too soon.

The only time it feels real is when they touch. Not just during sex, though that immediate overload of sensation always helps; they can sit on the couch, and just talk, for hours, and Steve knows it's real so long as Bucky's skin touches his own. The rest of the time, he thinks about it too hard, worries at it too long. It just makes him want to touch Bucky all the more. Makes him want to be the one staying awake — keeping watch.

And maybe now that just means he watches Bucky, and not the rest of the world. Steve's all right with that. He's paid his debt to the rest of the world already, and it will keep on turning without them.

Bucky is buried in Steve so balls-deep that Steve couldn't say for sure where the one of them ended and the other began, and he's still the one choking back his noises, muffling them in Steve's skin; Steve's shoulder still aches from where Bucky bit into him again. Steve doesn't know how he keeps so quiet. They've already come three times each now, evidence of it slick on their stomachs and the insides of Steve's thighs, and each time Steve gets louder — he just can't help it. The first time Bucky just took his time about pulling out, and before long he was hard again, so they went again. After that, his body just didn't seem to want to quit. He comes, but he doesn't soften up.

Fine by Steve. He wants to stay here no matter how many times it takes, until Bucky is sated, has had his fill of Steve, every bit he can take. Steve's overstimulated to the point where everything is good again; sore and sweaty everywhere, wet and messy inside. After the edge had been taken off Bucky took his time. He fucked into Steve with long slow strokes that reached so deep, and it was perfect. He fills Steve up so good, there's not room for anything else. They're the only two people in the world. Steve doesn't have a single spare feeling or thought that isn't Bucky.

Now they're just waiting to see if Steve will get hard again, because Bucky doesn't want to fuck him if he won't. So far it's looking likely. Bucky is pushed all the way inside, so thick; there's no way not to feel him. They're so hot even the plates on the metal arm have opened up for air, and in a way Steve can see a little inside Bucky, too. It makes him crazy, that he gets to see it, that it's his now.

Bucky's fighting to keep a lid on it like he always does, but Steve runs off at the mouth. "You know something?" he says. "You're the only man who ever put hands on me. Only man who ever tasted me." Bucky bites back a groan and jerks, shallow; he can't possibly get any further up inside Steve. "Only man who's ever been inside me, like this." He squeezes down around Bucky, deliberate, and that earns him a low noise that's almost a growl, almost possessive, a noise that goes straight to his cock. That's it, he thinks. That's what he wants. Now he's hard again. "Only man that ever will. Fuck me, come on. No one else is ever gonna feel me like this. This is yours."

"Christ," Bucky hisses, because he knows what Steve is doing but he likes it, it makes him crazy too. He pulls back and fucks into Steve rough and a just little mean, and Steve's fingers dig into his back so hard his knuckles go white, and he leaves little red marks behind.

"This is yours," Steve gasps again, rocked by the force of Bucky's thrust on the last word. "Bucky, Bucky — oh, I love you bad."

Bucky's eyes lock on his. He jerks hard into Steve again. He's so deep; Steve can feel him. "Say it again," he says.

"I love you bad," Steve breathes. "I love you so bad," and Bucky closes his eyes like Steve has spread balm on a wound.

Turns out they can hit four after all, and go past that too.

The thing is: Bucky sleeps so still, Steve sometimes has to fight the urge to track the rise and fall of his chest as he breathes, to make sure he still is. That's how it's been since he came back. But tonight he shifts, almost imperceptible, the instant Steve's eyes land on him. Steve thinks for a moment that's all it's taken to wake him, just the weight of his gaze — then he sees his hands, clenching up and relaxing, over and over; his eyes, rolling panicked underneath his lids. He's not moving otherwise. Even when he dreams, Bucky is as still and silent as Death himself.

"Buck," Steve says, quiet. "Bucky." Steve's no stranger to this himself, and Bucky's must be so much worse. His hand hovers, uncertain; he doesn't want to startle him too badly. But Steve's incapable of watching Bucky suffer through anything, especially now.

At the first lightest touch Bucky jerks awake, sits bolt upright all clenched up around the yell like he used to be when he had nightmares in 1943. The only real difference is that now the new metal arm whirs, ready for a fight. Steve lifts his hands halfway, a surrender. But it's only when Bucky's eyes land on his own that he stills again.

"Hey, trouble," Steve says, quiet. They have the cursory parts of the exchange without a word: Steve's apologetic grimace says you were having a nightmare; the irritated jerk of Bucky's shoulders says no shit. These are givens. Finally Bucky flops back down into the bed with a groan and throws his metal arm over his eyes, which actually probably says pretty universally: motherfucker.

It takes a long moment for Bucky's breathing to slow down. Finally he croaks "thanks," and reaches over with his right hand to blindly clap Steve's torso a couple of times. Just to feel him, Steve thinks; he's rolled over to a lot of empty beds himself.

"Get some shut-eye," Bucky sighs. "I'll be here." He says this a lot, since coming back. It's beginning to feel more like truth.

Steve lies back down next to him on his side, propping his head in one hand. "What, and leave you here, stewing in your own shit?" he says, which gets a grunt out of Bucky but not much else. "You really think I'd do that?" Carefully Steve lays a hand on his abs, and when he sees the reluctant curl of Bucky's smile starting under the arm, sneaks it down the hair on his belly towards his cock, shifting to press his hips against Bucky's side. Neither of them are hard yet, but it won't take long. "Un-fucking-believable. Million better things we could be doing."

"Bend a guy's arm, why don't you," Bucky murmurs, and drags the metal hand down his face. He looks over. "I'm really fine." It's true. He looks a little tired, but his mood's lifted.

Still, Steve curls his hand around Bucky's cock, just resting it there for now. It's warm against his palm. "I can do better than fine," he offers, casual. He wets his lips. "Actually, I been thinkin' about — getting my mouth around you. I mean, I've never sucked anybody off before." Bucky knows that now; Steve mostly says it to get him going. He strokes his thumb over the head of Bucky's cock, gentle. "I wanna taste you, Buck." In his hand, Bucky's cock jerks a little, starting to fill. "I mean: I really want to."

Bucky's eyes are dark. "Oh," he says. He tries and fails to keep his voice even. "Is that all."

Steve could get drunk on this, how easy it is to wind Bucky up. But the truth is they go from zero to full speed so fast he never has time to treat Bucky the way Bucky treats him. No time to slow down and do something just for Bucky. He rolls over, letting go of Bucky to support his weight on his elbows. He's draped over him halfway; their faces are close. "Well, it's a start."

Bucky strokes his finger over Steve's eyebrow. Then he cups Steve's face in his hands and kisses him. "Yeah, all right," he murmurs, and Steve hums and kisses him one more time. Then he moves off, Bucky's right hand still resting on the back of his head. He kisses the seam-scar of the arm once, leaves a few peppered on Bucky's chest, but he doesn't stop and explore like Bucky did. Later, he promises himself, later — Bucky isn't all the way hard yet, and if Steve is quick he'll be able to feel him thicken up right in his mouth.

Steve can't resist tonguing around the edge of Bucky's navel on the way down, though, and Bucky shivers, muscles jumping in his stomach. Oh, Steve could get used to this. Bucky's warm all over, he smells so good. He's hard muscle everywhere, but softer right here on the inside of his thigh, where Steve's laying kisses. Bucky shifts, getting his legs apart, sitting up on one elbow to watch. He's still got the calloused fingers of his right hand threaded through Steve's hair.

Steve hasn't had time to get a look at Bucky this close up yet, and it turns out that yeah, Bucky's still a big guy, only half-hard and already curving heavy against his own thigh. Steve wets his lips, then kisses open-mouthed at the base of it, moving those kisses slow and hot towards the tip. Bucky's skin is so smooth here, so warm. Hell, Steve can't wait to get this thing in his mouth. He looks up at Bucky through his lashes, makes sure he's watching; he is, lower lip caught between his teeth. Still looking right at him, Steve kisses the head of his cock, parts his lips, and takes Bucky into his mouth.

Bucky moans in the back of his throat, fingers spasming against Steve's scalp like he's just stopping them from pulling. Steve gets most of the way, head resting on the back of his tongue, but only because Bucky's not hard yet. His cock is already heavy against Steve's tongue, skin here tasting like the skin everywhere else. Except it's hot, now: Bucky's hot in his mouth. Steve got here in time, he can feel Bucky growing, getting hard against his tongue. In some ways it's as intimate as the fucking; Steve can feel every detail, there's not a thing to hide. He sucks a little, experimental, and feels Bucky's hips give an aborted jerk upwards.

He stays there a minute, feeling Bucky out with the flat of his tongue until he's hard all the way, and then pulls back, slow, tip of his tongue trailing along and lingering a second at the sensitive spot below the head of Bucky's cock. His lips are shiny-wet, he knows they are. Bucky's eyes are on them. "You can move around, pull a little," he tells Bucky; like he did before. "I like it." He really does. He's hard against the sheets just thinking about it. He gets one hand around to roll Bucky's balls gently in his palm. "You don't have to be so careful."

"Steve," Bucky starts, rough, but Steve has already ducked his head and gotten his mouth back on Bucky's cock. He bobs his head, stroking at the underside of Bucky's cock with his tongue each time, almost like he's kissing, and Bucky's fingers do go tight in his hair; Bucky makes that quiet noise again, and it sounds a little less like it's coming through clenched teeth. Steve has to open his jaw wider to fit it this time, and he can't get it all the way at first. He circles his hand around the rest, frustrated; he wants to take it all.

Well, Bucky did it, didn't he? Not for long, and Steve's not so big, but he did. Steve takes it an inch at a time, a little deeper on each stroke. Bucky's all clenched up; still. "Steve," he pants, a warning. "you don't have to — "

Steve's mouth is a little busy, but the look he cuts up at Bucky is enough to shut him up. I want to, it says, and he does, and the first couple of times Bucky's cockhead hits the back of his throat he wants to choke a little, but he just pulls back and catches his breath and tries again; he's almost got it, he thinks, he's good at mastering things quickly now, and luckily Bucky's size is more girth than length anyway.

Bucky squirms on the bed, or tries not to, his muscles tensing up and relaxing again and again, his head thrown back. His moans are quiet, but Steve's got good hearing.

Finally Steve gets it; he makes himself stay lax the whole time and for a second his lips touch Bucky's pelvis, the dark coarse hair there, Bucky's balls against his chin. He feels Bucky in his throat, and he kind of wants to stay this way forever, God, it's good. He pulls back, reluctantly, tongues at the tip. Bucky's wet with precome; Steve likes the taste of him.

He pulls off, but ducks his head, lets it rub over his face as he trails little kisses down the side. He likes the feeling of it under his lips, against his skin. He could — well, do this all day. "I said," he says, and gets his lips against the base of the underside, licking a long stripe up Bucky's cock. "That you can move — " He takes Bucky in his mouth again, fast and sudden. He feels Bucky's cock twitch right there on his tongue, feels the hot bit of precome at the tip. He only just stops himself from grinding his hips down against the bed. Bucky's still trying not to jerk around too much, so Steve hums around him, sending another pointed look upward.

"Baby," escapes Bucky, "oh, Steve, fuck — " He arches up a little, just a little, and Steve breaks; he does rock against the bed, he has to, hearing Bucky say that, seeing and feeling him come apart like this. He's so heavy and hot on Steve's tongue. "Steve," Bucky breathes, and goes a little harder, at a more steady pace, and he's pulling Steve's hair a little probably on accident. It's loud, makes wet sounds. Steve hums around him, working his tongue, his hands on Bucky's hips, struggling to take Bucky as deeply as he can every time; he just can't get enough of it. His jaw is sore, but it's a good hurt.

"Oh, hell," Bucky gasps, "I'm about to lose it, Steve, you gotta — "

"Mm-mm," Steve says, and he risks pulling off one more time. Bucky wasn't expecting it; his hips jerk up once against thin air. Steve meets his eyes, hot. "In my mouth, Barnes," he croaks, his voice all raspy from Bucky where Bucky's cock was in his throat. "I told you I wanted a taste of you."

He doesn't waste any more time talking. He get his mouth back around Bucky, and when Bucky starts moving again, Steve looks back up at him. He wants to see this.

Bucky's face is screwed up, teeth locked together, eyes squeezed shut. He forces them open to look at Steve, right on the edge and desperate, and he lets out a low groan. Steve sucks, and he feels it, all of it, the way Bucky's balls draw up and how his cock jerks when he comes. It floods his mouth, hot. Steve swallows, his mouth still around Bucky, and Bucky lets out another groan, a little higher, jerking under Steve's hands.

Eventually, Bucky goes lax against the bed, save for where he's touching Steve's head. Steve pulls off nice and slow, bringing him down easy. Then he ruts twice more against the bed and comes so hard his vision gets a little fuzzy. He rests his head on Bucky's hip, grounded by the hand in his hair, for once nearly quiet as Bucky: his own orgasm is the afterthought, the need seen to only after Bucky was finished.

"Stevie," Bucky says, a little slurry. He's tugging Steve up. "Stevie, c'mere, God damn." Steve goes, boneless, and lets Bucky kiss him. "I would have gotten you," Bucky mumbles. "Good grief, Rogers."

"I couldn't wait," Steve says, just a touch giddy with it. "Besides, you always get me."

"I guess I do," Bucky says, and kisses him again.

Steve doesn't stay still long. Damn, he really liked those little sounds Bucky made, near the end. Bucky's so quiet, so quiet, that Steve wasn't expecting it. He wants to go again, see if Bucky's still in the mind to get a little noisy. Steve breaks contact with Bucky's lips to kiss at the side of his jaw. Then he moves his lips to Bucky's arm-scar. It's dual textures against his lips, smooth and rough. There's no way Bucky can feel it, but he shivers anyway. "You always get me," Steve repeats. It goes unsaid, but not unheard: my turn.

Their supply of cooking oil is getting dangerously low. Steve sits up and grabs for it anyway.

"What — "

"Take it easy for a sec," Steve advises. "Let me get it, huh?"

Bucky makes an inarticulate sound. "You, uh," he starts.

"Sure," Steve says, face getting a little warm. "I'll be quicker." He will be. He knows exactly how much prep is enough now. Even if he's off: his body can take just about anything, but especially Bucky. Some days Steve thinks that even before the serum, his every atom was made to fit alongside Bucky's. Bone of his bones in the end after all.

This would be easier if Steve was laying down, but he likes Bucky being the one lying back, relaxing. He braces his weight on his knees, instead, one on either side of Bucky's leg. He slicks his fingers up and reaches back under his own thigh. He keeps his eyes on Bucky's, starting with two, warming himself up quick.

"I liked that, before," he says, plain. "I liked — Buck, I liked hearin' you. You're always so quiet. What's a guy gotta do to get you to loosen up a little, huh?"

"Is that what you're tryin' to do?" Bucky sits up.

"You're good to me," Steve says. "I just wanna be good to you, too." He adds, honest, "That's all I want, Buck. To be good to you." As he speaks he watches Bucky watch him. He can see where Bucky's eyes go, what they're looking at. He twists his fingers on purpose to hit his prostate. The harder he gets, the more his cock rises up against his belly, the better Bucky can see where Steve's fingers disappear inside his body, between his thighs. "God, I just wanna be good to you."

"You're killin' me," Bucky confesses, low. His hands are fisted at his sides. Like if he can't touch Steve, he's sure as hell not touching himself.

Steve's mouth quirks up. "Almost finished."

And he really only has to get a little more oil before he's done. He wipes his fingers on the sheets and puts his hands on Bucky's shoulders, leaning in to kiss him. Bucky kisses back hungrily, settles his hands under Steve's ass. "Easy," he says into Steve's mouth.

"I am, I am." Steve brings one hand between them, to guide Bucky into him. It's slow going, it's always going to be slow going with Bucky on this first push. He sinks down slow, letting his body adjust. His thighs strain with the effort of keeping him up, especially when the head of Bucky's cock finds his prostate; it's good that Bucky's helping, holding him up. Bucky's a big guy, but it's perfect. He fits into Steve perfectly. There's just the right amount of him.

Finally Steve makes it, he's down all the way and he can give himself a break. He's breathing hard, sweating a little. Bucky pulls him in to kiss him, thick arms wrapped around his waist, one cool hand and one rough one resting on the small of Steve's back. Steve's cock gets pressed between their bodies, warm.

"Mmm." Steve deepens the kiss, letting Bucky have him like he likes. "S'good," Steve mumbles, and circles his hips, getting comfortable.

Bucky moans, his forehead falling forward onto Steve's shoulder. "Fuck," he says, hot against Steve's neck. He starts laying little kisses there.

Steve holds Bucky's shoulders for support, and starts moving, slow. Shit, he really likes this: Bucky's lips on his chest, Bucky's arms around him, even the strain on his thighs. It's like getting fucked slow and rough; Steve rises up a little at a time, but gravity drops him back down hard and fast when he lets go. He's using Bucky as purchase, fingers digging into his back.

Bucky for his part has his hands on Steve's ass again, to help lift him, and his mouth on Steve's chest. Steve arches into his mouth, slowing down enough for Bucky to get his lips on Steve's nipple, and then drops back down again. God, it's rough, it's visceral. Steve loves it.

So does Bucky. He kisses Steve deep, and his left hand finds the back of Steve's head and tips it back by his hair, giving him room to leave those little bruises he so likes on Steve's pale skin. His right is sneaking towards the place where they're joined, one finger idly brushing over the rim of Steve's hole. Steve moans, cock jerking against Bucky's body. He picks up his pace, a little, as much as he can, because Bucky is still so big inside him. He's doing all the work, like he wanted; Bucky gets to just hold him and kiss him. The next time he pulls up, he tightens down around Bucky again, and Bucky makes that quiet cut-off sound close to his ear.

Both of them are already sweaty; Steve's cock between them is hard and slick. He moves up into Bucky's body, back down onto his cock. It's work, but it feels good, it gets his blood hot and his senses sharp. Bucky helps him, lifting his own hips up the little he can to meet him halfway. He kisses Steve everywhere he can reach. "You're good to me, Steve," he says, serious. He still has Steve by the hair, and he makes Steve look him in the eyes. "I didn't even think a thing could be this good." Not for a guy like me, he doesn't say. Steve hears it anyway. "I didn't even — oh, fuck — " He bites down on another groan.

"You always do that," Steve says, through heavy breaths. Like it's a fight, against himself. He's so tired of watching Bucky fight himself. "Why do you do that, huh? You know you don't have to."

Bucky kisses him, wordless. Funny, isn't it, how he's always just fine speaking his mind when it comes to telling Steve off, and moments like these he'll sometimes clam right up.

The kiss breaks. "You think — what," Steve asks, "that there's anything I could see, or know, and I'd just disappear somehow? Now?" He brushes sweaty hair away from Bucky's face. "What've you got left to be worried about?"

"It's not that easy," Bucky gasps. He's still got his hand fisted in Steve's hair. "I can't just — "

"You can." Steve slows down so he can cup Bucky's face in his hands, press his thumb into the dimple of Bucky's chin. "C'mon," he says. "You think you can love me too hard? Need me too much?" He tilts Bucky's face up; kisses him simple, on the lips. "I told you, Buck." All the things he'd never thought he'd get to say. "I told you you could, remember?"

Bucky tips his head forward, his forehead resting against Steve's. He's breathing hard, hips minutely jerking up into Steve's body. He swallows. "I remember," he says, fiercely.

He pulls Steve down by the hair and kisses him viciously, then, possessively; his other arm pulls Steve all the way in by the small of his back. Bucky shifts, and then before Steve understands what's happening his back hits the bed. Steve's left breathless, world spun sideways and still somehow centered on Bucky. Bucky's on top of him, between his legs, still inside him.

"Oh my God," Steve gasps, and Bucky starts moving inside him, fast, stretching him open, hitting that place in him that makes him clench up everywhere. "Bucky, oh my G — "

Bucky cuts him off with another kiss, jerking his head back while Steve's mouth's still open; he actually moans into it, desperate and a little loud. Steve grabs at his shoulders for purchase, helplessly turned on; he's never heard Bucky make a sound like that. He's never pushy and greedy like this, Steve loves it, was this what he was so worried about?

Bucky lets go and works his other hand between them, closing around Steve's cock. "Right now," he says, low, "just like this, you hear me — " and Steve does, yes, he absolutely does; getting Bucky like this would have pushed him over anyway. He comes right into Bucky's hand, against his body, clenching down where Bucky's still filling him all the way up. Bucky slows his thrusts. They're no less deep but he rolls his hips a little more evenly, bringing Steve down from it perfectly.

"Keep goin'," Steve slurs, even though he's raw and overstimulated. "Keep goin', Buck, I want you to, shit, don't stop now." His arms are wound around Bucky's neck; he kisses the side of Bucky's head.

"Steve," Bucky breathes, "Steve, baby — I swear to God you drive me crazy, look at you, what you let me have, I can't believe it, I honest-to-God can't believe it — "

"Bucky," Steve says, and wraps his legs around Bucky's waist, too, pulling him in. "Bucky, yes, God — " There's something a little filthy about the feeling of Bucky jerking into him, knowing he's already had his and won't get much out of it. It's exactly what he wanted. "That's right," he says, "I wanna hear it, c'mon, c'mon, I got you — " Bucky moans, and jerks twice more, deep, deep, and Steve feels him tense up everywhere. "I got you," Steve says, and Bucky finally cries out as he comes, jerking shallowly into Steve, making him all hot inside.

"Steve, Steve," he mumbles, kissing Steve all over his face. "You're good to me, of course you are. You're so goddamn good to me."

Steve laughs, a little unsteady. "We're two lucky sons of bitches, Barnes."

"Yes we are," Bucky says, and kisses his lips. "We sure as hell are."

"I'm not sure where I want to do it," Steve admits.

"Anywhere you like," Bucky says agreeably. "Long as it's not the kitchen, there's nowhere comfortable in there, won't matter what position I'm in — "

"And you're sure it's all right."

"I said it was, didn't I?" Bucky asks. The look he gives Steve is fond. "How about the living room? Couch is plenty comfy."

"Lots of windows," Steve muses. "Yeah, all right. I want to be able to see your face." The last time he'd drawn Bucky with him sitting there as a live model, there'd been so much shadow. Steve wants to draw him in the light, wants to draw the sun reflecting off the metal arm. Steve wants to draw him in color; finally, a face to keep instead of burn.

Bucky strips off his boxers before he sits down, and gives Steve a look that means Steve's going to have a hard time keeping his hands on his sketchbook. "All right," he drawls, all soft suggestion. "Tell me how you want me."

Steve laughs. He's flushing already. "You really are one cocky son of a bitch."

Bucky smirks. "You love it."

Steve does.