Sometimes it's hard to tell that Bucky and Steve live together, the amount of time they don't see each other these days. Seems like every time Steve's around Bucky's working, or looking for more work, or sleeping, and when Bucky's got some time at home, Steve's managed to pick up a job or three, none of them close by.
So when Steve puts his key in the lock and quietly pushes the door open, he's surprised that Bucky's not only home, but awake. Awake and right there on the other side to meet him.
"Get in here," he says and traps Steve's head under his arm as he wrestles him into the tiny apartment. Anyone else would be intimidating but not Bucky. Steve knows Bucky wouldn't hurt a hair on his head.
"Jeez, crack a window or something," says Steve. "A guy could suffocate in this place."
"Don't you even joke about that, pipsqueak," says Bucky, but he props open a window right away, and if the air wafting over the fire escape isn't exactly fresh, at least it's cooler than what's already baked inside the apartment. "That better?"
"I don't know how you even stand it," says Steve.
"I like a little sweat," says Bucky. When he opens the only other window, there's actually a faint cross breeze blowing through. It's small relief from the summer heat, but at least it's something. "I seem to remember you liking a little sweat too. Hard to say, though. Feels like I'm forgetting what you look like these days."
"C'mon," says Steve, looking at his feet and trying not to blush. He's not a girl, even if some people try to make him feel like he should be.
"What? It's the truth," says Bucky. "And I wouldn't mind doing a little sweating right now. It's been ages."
"Three days," says Steve. "Three days isn't ages, not by a mile. I've been working."
"Yeah?" says Bucky. "Bringing home a little extra dough?"
"Wherever I can get it," says Steve. "Not much call for illustrators right now, but I got a friend who throws me a bone once in a while."
"And speaking of throwing you a bone..."
"Bucky!" says Steve, but he laughs anyway, and he isn't self-conscious when he pulls his shirt off. Bucky knows his body almost as well as Steve knows it himself, and if he pokes fun, it's out of affection. Steve might even call it love, if he dared. If either of them ever dared. He takes it off because he knows that if he does, Bucky will take his off, and that's a view Steve wouldn't miss for the world.
"You say my lines are terrible, but I'm the one who gets the dames."
"You getting the dames has nothing to do with your lines, Bucky," says Steve, "and you're not with any of those dames right now, are you?"
"Well, it's not like they can hold a candle to you," says Bucky. "Why should I waste all my time chasing after second best."
"You know why," mutters Steve, but Bucky's got his shirt off now and so Steve is already pressing his forehead to Bucky's pectoral muscle, and a hand to his waist. But it makes him smile all the same—all the girls want Bucky, but when it comes down to it, Steve's the one he wants to come home to.
If they both didn't have to work every job that came their way just to make ends meet, maybe they'd be able to come home together more often. It's a little dangerous, but it's worth it.
"Lie down," says Steve. "Don't make me manhandle you. You know you want me to save my energy for something a lot more fun."
"You don't have to tell me twice," says Bucky, struggling out of his pants, too, before stretching out in the narrow bed. They have two, for propriety, but it isn't very often they make use of both of them when they're here at the same time, even when they're not getting up to any hanky panky.
"I always have to tell you twice," protests Steve. "Go on. Take up some room. I'll spread out on top, you'll hardly even notice I'm there."
"If I hardly notice you're there, you're not doing it right," says Bucky, stretching his arms out above his head, bending one knee up to the side and looking like Steve's own private Adonis. He doesn't know what he did to get so lucky; maybe this is what he gets in return for what he puts up with in the rest of his life. If so, it's all worth it.
He takes his own pants off before he gets on top, but leaves his underwear on. If he takes them off then Bucky'll get distracted and he'll get distracted and this'll all be over before it even gets started. Because sure, they had some time three days ago, but not much of it, and there wasn't much of it the time before that either. Steve teases him, sure, but Bucky's kinda right when he says it's been ages.
Steve pushes Bucky's knee down—though not before taking an extra few moments to enjoy the view—and straddles Bucky's body and Bucky doesn't even have to adjust for the weight on top of him. That's okay, though, here with Bucky; he's not going to give Steve a hard time about it.
"So now that you've got me, what are you going to do with me?" says Bucky.
He thinks he knows. Steve can tell. Things between them aren't predictable, not by a long shot, but there are only so many ways a couple of human bodies can come together and so they've been here before and Bucky clearly thinks he knows what's happening next.
Steve likes to think that he can still surprise him.
"I don't know," he says. "I guess you're just going to have to find out."
He kisses him first, because he'll always kiss Bucky, whenever he can, no matter what else he wants to do. He'd kiss him everywhere if it wasn't so dangerous, if he thought he could. So he kisses him deep, then kisses the stubble of his cheek and jaw, then sits up higher on his body to start running his hands down. Bucky doesn't flush like Steve flushes, but he can still see the color rise in him, and it doesn't take a genius to know when Bucky's aroused, even when the hard evidence of it is someplace Steve can't see right now.
He pauses at Bucky's nipples, not because he's mistaken him for a girl (like Bucky said to him the first time he lingered there) but because he knows what it does to him. Bucky thinks he's just going to do it for a second and move on, but Steve keeps it up, fingertips and thumbs and a brush of his palms, over and over again. Bucky makes like he's going to force Steve down further a couple of times, grin on his face like he doesn't think he's actually going to have to do it, like the suggestion will be enough.
Steve keeps it up, relentless, as Bucky squirms beneath him.
"Come on, don't be like that," says Bucky, and he makes a play for Steve's wrists, but misses on purposes. Steve knows he misses on purpose because if he really wanted Steve to stop what he was doing, there'd be no mistake about it.
"Why've you always got to take it so fast?" said Steve. "There's nobody here but us, and nobody expecting us anyplace else."
"Because you get me so hot," says Bucky, and hisses as Steve rakes his nails across his nipples. "I always want it so bad."
"And you're gonna get it," says Steve. "But you're gonna get it when I say so, Bucky, and don't even try to tell me you're not liking it because I've got plenty of evidence to the contrary."
Bucky's cock is behind him, only even brushing up against him if Bucky digs his heels into the bed and drives up towards Steve's back, but he knows.
"I never said I didn't like it," says Bucky, "but come on, you're gonna drive me nuts here, Steve, you really are."
"Yeah, that's kind of the idea," says Steve.
He loves that Bucky's so sensitive, loves that it's a secret only he really knows. Loves that he's figured out just how to take advantage of it and loves that no matter how much Bucky protests, he wants it too. Sometimes a boyfriend's job—and they've never called it that, not even close, but that's what Steve calls this thing of theirs in his head—sometimes a boyfriend's job is to give you what you can't ask for.
And sometimes a boyfriend's job is to drive you a little nuts in bed.
He pinches Bucky's nipples, not too hard, pain's not their thing, and strokes the fine hairs there, smoothes his hands over the muscles surrounding them, blows air across his nipples and even leans in to give one a kiss.
"Steve, Steve," says Bucky. "The whole neighborhood's going to know about us if you keep that up."
"You need me to put a sock in it for you, Bucky?" says Steve. "Cause I will, and don't think I can't."
"There's nothing I think you can't do if you put your mind to it," says Bucky softly, and the next time he wants to make a sound he bites down hard on his lower lip, hard enough to leave a mark. It looks a little swollen and Steve just wants to kiss it, but that can wait till after. After, he'll kiss it till he gets lightheaded.
"Can I do you, Steve?" says Bucky. "Will you let me do you tonight?"
They don't always. Sometimes it's all a little much for Steve's constitution no matter how much he likes it.
"Yeah, maybe," says Steve, but he's only really saying it to get Bucky even more riled up because he wants to see if he can do this, wants to see if he can take Bucky all the way with him at the reins and Bucky giving in to his wonderful weakness. He loves Bucky to death, but no matter how much he believes in Steve, he still always tries to step in. It's sweet and it's frustrating and Steve wants to get in his way this time. Maybe he has nothing to prove, but maybe he wants it like this anyway.
"Your sweet ass," says Bucky, and reaches around to grab it, and Steve grinds his cock down against Bucky's chest but he doesn't move down so Bucky can do him like that. He pinches his nipples again, brushes his thumbs over them until Bucky is shaking with the sensation of it all, leans in again and sucks one into his mouth. It pushes him back enough that Bucky's cock is rubbing up against the small of his back, but that's the closest he's going to get.
Sucks and licks and bites when Bucky starts squirming harder, hands on Steve's hips and pulling him back.
Steve lifts his head. "Not unless I say so," he says, and takes a moment to catch his breath before leaning in for more. Bucky's whole chest is reddened from Steve's attentions, a faint flush beneath it all mottled with kiss marks and fingernail trails. He admires it all for a moment, then makes more.
"Steve stop, stop, I can't, oh god, it's too much, I can't..."
"Are you sure about that?" says Steve, but he does stop because the right answer when someone tells you to stop is never 'no', unless you've come to some kind of alternate understanding.
Bucky heaves in two, three breaths, throws his head back and closes his eyes and says, "Don't stop, Jesus, whatever you do, don't stop now."
So Steve doesn't stop, he keep stimulating him until Bucky's shaking underneath him again, twisting his body and desperately trying to rub his cock up against any part of Steve he can reach.
"Oh God, I can't—"
"You can," says Steve. "Do it."
Even though he's just said it, Steve is still surprised to feel the hot splash of come against his back. Bucky is panting, holding back his noises so no one else can hear them but Steve can still hear them in his throat, groans and whimpers he's trying to hide.
"Jesus, Bucky," he says, and grins down at him.
Bucky lets his head fall back again, gives a rueful laugh. "Don't look so smug, punk," he says.
Sex usually leaves Steve exhausted and winded and a little dizzy from lack of oxygen, which isn't necessarily a bad thing—it's pretty crazy seeing sparks when you come—but it's not much fun in the aftermath. This doesn't leave him too wiped out to enjoy it when Bucky tries to return the favor, reaching for his shoulders, then his chest.
"Nah, you know that doesn't do it for me," Steve says. "You know what I like."
"Bossy," says Bucky, shaking his head at him fondly. "You like getting your way."
"Not likely to get it anyplace else," says Steve, letting Bucky shift him now so they're side by side on a bed that'd be too narrow for two men if one of them wasn't Steve. "Don't do me any favours. I think I've earned my way this time."
"You've definitely earned something," says Bucky, pushing Steve's underwear down just far enough to let his cock out. "Next time take these off, would you?"
"Didn't want to get you too excited," says Steve, but then Bucky starts stroking him off and he doesn't have the cleverness for any more smart ass remarks.
"Figure this is going to take me all of about thirty seconds."
"That might be optimistic," says Steve, already feeling a little breathless. But not in the bad way. After all, he's been making out with Bucky for what feels like ages now, and his cock's been rubbing at him just about the entire time.
"I love watching you come," says Bucky. "You make the best faces."
"Shut your hole," says Steve, with no force behind it. It's all he can do not to roll into Bucky's body as he comes, his body curling instinctively, choking on his last breath.
"Easy, easy," says Bucky and rests his hand on Steve's concave belly, where streaks of come are already cooling.
Though not cooling much. Now that he's not focused on Bucky's body, or on his own orgasm, the heat creeps up on Steve again and everything is hot, everything is sticky. His body is plastering itself to Bucky's and later on he's going to regret not peeling away and cleaning up but right now he doesn't care.
Bucky's right, nothing wrong with a little sweat sometimes. And if they can only work one up ever few days, well, that's more than a lot of people get. As long as he has Bucky, Steve has no complaints.