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O Night Divine

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          Bucky rolls over for the fourth time in ten minutes, sweat making him stick to the sheets as midsummer Washington crawls by like the lazy Potomac.  It’s three in the morning and Bucky’s insomnia is at an all-time high, the fourth night in a row he’s laid there and stared at the ceiling fan push around air so heavy that Bucky swears he can see it.

          Serum or not, he still needs rest.  He gets hyperactive and delirious without rest, obsessively pushing all of his energy into one thing – and lately that’s been nothing at all.  Downtime for superheroes is monotonous at best, even when that time is spent with the one he loves most of all.

          Steve’s still on his left side, turned away from Bucky – the same position he was in after Bucky snuggled him as he Steve at least fell asleep.  They had trained hard that day – Steve had insisted that the humid air was good for you, makes you sweat out all of the bad stuff.

          Okay, Mr. One Percent Body Fat – show me where the bad stuff is next time.  Bucky’s back and muscles are still sore from doing suicides up and down the Lincoln Memorial steps.  Steve the whole time had just… kept going, not even staining the sweat of his sleeveless black Underarmour.  It’s unfair to the extreme – he and Bucky wound up being incredibly similar in genetic code and Bucky still sweats like he’s dying.

          Like he is right now.

          With a groan, he gets out of bed and goes to the kitchen, not bothering with a light.  It’s too damned hot to turn it on. 

          He has one precious bottle of cold water left in the refrigerator and this is precious stuff in the neighborhood he and Steve stay in, so Bucky guards it like a dragon with his hoard.  Steve has no issue with tap water – warm as it is – and Bucky wishes he could.  Really, truly wishes he could just drink the stuff but the bottle comforts him, loving the cold sweat it makes between his fingers and as it drips down his chin onto his chest.

          He finishes the whole bottle in two minutes and cold floods his body, not bothering to wipe the excess off where it had spilled down his naked front and dripped into his pubes.  Hell, those are sweaty too – the droplets feel amazing as they work their way down and drip off the end of his cock.

          He pours the last little bit down his back and shivers as the tiny river follows his spine perfectly and down his crack, not quite cold by the time it reaches his hole but holy shit, it’s absolutely amazing – but only lasting a moment before he’s hot again.  He groans and grabs an ice cube from the freezer, the hundredth time he’s done that in the last few days.  The air conditioning is working, yes, but even it can’t keep up with the oppressive humidity.  He gathers his hair up in the fingers of his metal arm and puts the cube on the back of his neck and walks back to the bedroom, hoping to catch at least an hour before sunrise.

          The light coming through the window is just enough for Bucky to make out the best of his husband’s features on the bed – he’s actually changed positions, lying on his back and holy fuck, Steve’s hard.

          Very hard.

          The blankets are down around his waist, pushed off in his sleep.  He’s got his arms on his stomach, folded just so and he’s still in a very deep sleep but lo, he’s hard as a rock.  He’s naked like Bucky (any other night he’d be in a tank top and gym shorts) and Bucky stands in the doorway, just looking and drinking in the sight of Steve.  His mouth is open where he inhales and even that action pushes his chest out, so musclebound and beautiful.  He doesn’t moan in his sleep, nor does he fidget – which means his hard-on is nothing but biological need.

          Not that Steve should need sex, oh no – Bucky takes him extremely well taken care of in that regard.  Had they had the energy left after working out all day, he’d have let Steve have him anywhere he wanted.  There is never a time when Bucky doesn’t want his husband’s cock inside him.

          Like right now, in the dead of night with sweat rolling down his back so that he swears he can hear it dripping off onto the floor.  He stands there a moment longer, putting one foot up against the wall and stroking his cock with his right hand – the hand he wears his ring on, because its constant weight is a reminder of how fortunate he is, even though the world shouldn’t have been, not to him.  He didn’t fight a war to not spend the rest of his life with Steve.

          He exhales and lets the slow fire of arousal course through him, feeling it burn up from the souls of his feet to his neck, absolutely all of it for Steve.  There can’t be anything else in the whole world that turns him on as much as the sight of Steve Roger’s naked body, a reality that’s been true since before the government of the United States turned him into a super soldier.

          Bucky bites his lip as he rubs at the head of his cock, wet with precome and sweat from his palm.  Steve’s hard enough to where he’s got a case of leaky dick too, making a perfect little pearl on the bottom of the head before it gravity makes it run down the bottom of his shaft, all the way down to his big, loose balls.  God, Steve’s got this perfect all-American cock, long and thick with a pretty pink, wide flared head followed by a perfect, pink circumcision scar.  Bucky’s cut too, but it’s not nearly as prettily as Steve.  Not that he’s looking to put it in someone else, that is – and not once has Steve ever complained.  That in itself is a great comfort. 

          Bucky’s finding it awfully pointless to just keep leaning against the wall, not with a naked, hard Steve waiting in the bed for him – even if his dumb jock ass is out like a fucking light.  (Calling Steve a jock to his face makes his guy blush but Bucky doesn’t have a better term to describe his physique.)

          Their memory foam mattress makes not a sound as Bucky crawls up the bed between Steve’s legs, pulling the sheets down past his feet.  Steve doesn’t notice a thing, just keeps on venturing to dreamland.  His pulse is strong enough that it literally makes his dick vibrate ever so slightly, certainly visible enough to Bucky.  For the moment, Bucky bypasses it, ignoring how much his mouth is watering to get his lips around him. 

          He kisses Steve’s left hand, right on his ring finger.  Their rings are old and gold, just like the ones that Steve had shown up with one day in 1937 (I know we can’t Buck but I… I want to.  Really, really want to.)  Of course they aren’t the same ones but they’re dead ringers and to Bucky, there’s no difference.  His heart beat slows up a little and he kisses up the veins in his forearm, letting his lips linger a little on each spot where they dive back underneath the close surface of his skin.  The serum doesn’t let him scar but Bucky knows where all of the bad ones would be, so he kisses the invisible places and moves up, all the way to his chest.  He drags his tongue over the outlines of those too-perfect pecs, leaving shimmery little trails of saliva in his wake.  Steve doesn’t even so much as move, the only indicator he’s even alive being his gentle breathing and stupidly hard cock – at least his nerves are firing like they should.  Bucky would be deeply hurt. if his touches weren’t doing anything.

          “You’re really something else, Rogers.”  Bucky smiles to himself and looks up at his face, just as serene and sleep-slack as can be.  He brushes his lips against Steve’s, hoping to at least make him stir.

          Steve does nothing, doesn’t even make a sound.  Bucky furrows his brow and kisses him a little harder, adding tongue for good measure. 

          Nothing.

          Bucky’s a moment short of slapping him in the face with his cock before he rethinks that decision – why not just go for what he wants?  If Steve orgasms in his sleep, fine.

          If not, fine.  Bucky actively wants to suck his cock and truthfully, Steve doesn’t need to be awake for it.  It’s just more fun if he participates, is all.  Bucky also doesn’t feel really beat up about taking advantage of Steve’s body like this – they have a very elastic rule of consent, and “blowjobs while you’re asleep” falls well under that.

          Steve’s a space heater at worst, a furnace at best – right now it’s definitely the latter.  The waves of it coming off his body hit Bucky’s face as he slides back down the bed and hover over his cock, flushed dark pink in his arousal.  Bucky reaches down and grabs himself, stroking as he unhinges his jaw and opens wide.  Steve is stupid thick and there is no warm up to it – it just is.  Bucky would tease, lick his balls and lap up his precome first but he’s impatient – so he just goes right down, choking as softly as he can down on Steve’s cock.

          Bucky closes his eyes, makes his throat relax, and moves his tongue over the fat vein that proudly says “touch me and I’ll keep filling you up as much as you want.”  God, Bucky wants that, for Steve to fuck the insomnia out of him, over and over again against every possible surface in their apartment, until the walls are nasty with their come and the good furniture is overturned and Bucky’s hole is so wet and raw that he sloshes with spunk when he walks.

          It’s a damned shame that Steve’s asleep for this blowjob, because Bucky is positive he looks every inch the whore he is for Steve, bobbing up and down like he’s going for apples.  His mouth is fucked open wide around the thick base of his cock and his back arched perfectly so that he can take as much as possible and goddammit, he didn’t even realize he’d started playing with his hole.  He lets go of his dick and lets it hang, smearing precome all over his ass and making himself not go too fast; his metal fingers are a little too cold yet, even if it is balls-fucking-hot outside.

          Bucky sits back and wipes his mouth with the back of his right hand, spit and precome all over his lips and chin.  God, Steve’s leaking like a fucking faucet tonight and continues to do so even after Bucky’s stopped.  The worst part is that Bucky knows he’s not pretending to be out – Steve’s always been a heavy fucking sleeper.  Back in the 30s when they didn’t have coal for heat in the dead of winter he’d saw right through the loudest blizzards and summer thunderstorms – why Bucky can’t master that, he doesn’t know.

          “You owe me fucking breakfast in the morning, Steve – gotta give the wife something for the trouble.” 

          Steve’s reply is to snort softly and continue resting.  What a jerk.

          Bucky looks at Steve’s wet cock and frowns, knowing full well that he’s going to have to do all the work for what he wants.  He’d keep trying to wake Steve so that he could get bent up like a Coney Island pretzel and fucked stupid but he knows there’s no use – so he grabs the lube from the nightstand and holds Steve’s cock with his metal hand and uses the flesh one to finger himself open, his sweaty hair in his face the whole time.  He’s gotten good at opening himself up quick but fuck if he can’t enjoy it.  It doesn’t take him long to get to three fingers – the minimum required for taking his husband’s dick – and he rocks back on them, jerking off Steve in his sleep as he goes.

          He freezes when Steve moans and actually thrusts up into the air, fucking through Bucky’s fingers…

          …only to resume his state and really, Bucky wants to scream some of the more foul curses he picked up in his time with the 107th.  In what universe does he not get his sexy-as-all-fuck husband to rail him so that he can finally get some rest – it’s worse that he’s actually touching Steve and is about to have Steve inside him – he’s basically the world’s best dildo right now and really, Bucky hates to think of it that way but part of him knows he’d be better off to just reach into his bottom drawer, pull out his favorite toy, and fuck himself until dawn, at which point Steve might finally witness what he’s missed.

          Sitting on Steve’s cock reverse cowboy tramples that thought immediately, along with a whole bunch of other ridiculous notions.  It feels incredible to fill himself up without any hesitation, his ass burning because he was impatient but goddamn if it’s not the best fucking thing – every time.  Absolutely every time.

          He’s flush with Steve’s pelvis and is about to find that perfect, locked-in-the-pocket when a pair of strong, warm hands settle on his hips and fucking Steve, goddammit, fucking Steve Rogers finally wakes up and like he’s guilty of nothing, kisses Bucky center back and helps himself to feeling Bucky’s muscled body.

          “Enjoying yourself B-”

          “Shut up and fuck me.

          Bucky isn’t braced for it, but he gets pushed down onto hands and knees and slammed back into, Steve not exhibiting the first sign of tiredness.  Hell, he act like he’s goddamn refreshed as he slicks his cock up a little more and pushes that stupidly thick cock back into Bucky’s ass, not even moaning as Bucky claws at the sheets and has to bite the comforter to keep from screaming.

          Steve’s more than worth his ability to follow directions – and he gives it to Bucky exactly as Bucky wants it.  He doesn’t even start off slow, just starts pounding and Bucky honest to God tears up, half from relief and half from how much it hurts.  Steve’s a fucking champ at this, always has been and Bucky knows being married to the guy ought to tell him he’s ready for that initial burn – but it lasts a little longer this time, makes him feel it more deeply.  He looks back at Steve and yeah, he’s in the fucking zone, his mouth open and those gorgeous baby blues locked with Bucky’s eyes, reading and watching for the slightest change in direction.

          He’s too good for his own sake, even when he’s reaming Bucky open.

          Bucky reaches back and brings Steve down closer, putting him on his hands and knees as Bucky’s chest goes flat to the bed.  The angle change is everything and Bucky’s nailed right in the prostate every time, everything coming out of his mouth incoherent to the point of a long, continuous moan.  Steve keeps repeating shitshitshitshitshitshit under his breath and Bucky knows he’s close – he fucking ought to be – and he squeezes his ass around Steve as he turns his head back to kiss Steve, shoving his tongue in his mouth right as he brushes his thumb over Steve’s wedding ring.

          Bucky comes without a finger on his cock and Steve’s right there with him, shuddering into Bucky’s back and feeling so heavy against him that Bucky nearly comes twice just from the sheer pressure of his husband’s mass against him.

          Physics and sweat pushes them apart and they end up with their heads at the foot of the bed, come leaking out of Bucky’s ass onto the blanket and Steve’s heavy, panting breaths against the back of his wet neck.

          Steve moves Bucky’s hair out of the way and kisses him behind his ear, sending a shiver racing down to his tailbone.  “You could have just woken me up.”

          “You don’t think I tried?”  Bucky manages to get on his back and yeah, he’s gonna hurt tomorrow.  “I blew you for twenty minutes.”

          “Yeah I… I missed that.  I was out.

          “No shit, Inspector Rogers.”  Bucky reaches up and caresses Steve’s unfairly beautiful face, moving his fingertips over his cheekbones and mouth.  “But I can’t be mad at you for long.”

          “Why’s that?”  Steve dips his head and kisses along Bucky’s shoulder and neck, leaving little goosebumps all over his too-hot skin.

          “Because,” Bucky pauses to yawn, “I’m actually sleepy now.”

          Retribution being what it is, he wakes up at eleven the next morning with Steve tongue-deep in his ass – the beautiful thing though?’     

          Bucky is awake for every second of it.