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Back before all this craziness happened, when Steve was still small enough to be tucked underneath Bucky arm, he’d never been able to grow any facial hair. It’d been yet another thing that his body couldn’t do, another problem to add to his novel-length list of ailments. Granted, ‘unable to grow facial hair’ is a pretty minor issue, as far as health problems go, but it was just one of those things that Steve hated about his little body.
Then, he’d gotten the serum that had cured everything, lack of facial hair included.
During the war, Steve had always been pretty rigorous about keeping his stubble in check. Whenever the Howlies had a spare moment and an extra sliver of soap, Steve could be seen running a blade over his jaw, keeping everything neat and tidy. Apparently, the poster boy of America needs to be clean-shaven, because someone decided that that was the American image.
What all this means is that seeing Steve with facial hair is still quite the shock to Bucky.
Since moving into Steve’s little Brooklyn apartment, Bucky has seen Steve’s face at various levels of scruffiness, but in the year and a half that they’ve lived together, he’s never seen Steve with a full-on beard.
Steve’s grown a beard because he’s finally realised that a baseball cap and sunglasses do not make for an effective disguise when he’s aiming for incognito. He and Natasha have just gotten back from a five-week long trip to Madrid, where they’ve been helping the local police deal with a criminal organisation that somehow managed to appropriate Chitauri tech. The two had had to go undercover to take the group down from the inside.
They’d started off using face-shields, but that plan got abandoned pretty quickly. Though face-shields may be are pretty damn good at making you look like someone you’re not, they’re a right bitch to wear.
Hence, the need for Steve to shed his iconic Captain America image by growing one very full, very bushy beard.
Though it’s strange to see a bearded Steve walking around the apartment, Bucky can’t say that he dislikes it. Bucky’s made a lot of discoveries since escaping from HYDRA’s grasp, and one of the most important things that he’s found out is that he’s got a thing for beard burn. Feeling that glorious facial hair pressed up between his ass cheeks as Steve’s clever tongue licks him to orgasm is one feeling that he’ll never tire of.
Sadly, beard burn is what has put them into their current situation.
Whilst Bucky is down for a bit of irritation and soreness every now and then, he’s equally keen on being able to sit the next day. Steve might have gone a little overboard with his rimming last night.
This morning, Bucky had been woken up to gentle kisses being pressed to his chest. Steve’s beard had been tickling his skin and he’d smiled when Steve rumbled out a husky good morning. They’d fallen asleep – having literally fucked themselves to exhaustion – only a couple of hours earlier, but Bucky was ready to go again. As he rolled onto his stomach, Steve pulled the covers off his legs, then kissed his way up the back of Bucky’s thigh. Big palms cupped his ass cheeks, spreading them apart.
That’s when things went south.
“Bucky,” Steve gasped, “Are you—shit, you’re bleeding from—fuck, lemme get that cream thingie.”
It seems that you really can have too much of a good thing.
Now, with his sensitive ass cheeks slathered in various salves and creams, Bucky is standing in front of their bathroom sink, cleaning his knife under a stream of warm water. He hadn’t been serious about using the knife, but when he’d carelessly thrown out the suggestion, Bucky hadn’t missed the way Steve’s eyes darkened infinitesimally.
“Makeover by knife it is, then,” Bucky’d growled, pressing a hot kiss to Steve’s lips.
Steve is almost completely naked, wearing only a pair of tattered boxers that hang low on his waist. Bucky, by contrast, has not a stitch of clothing on him. Steve’s sitting by the sink, in a wooden chair that they’d dragged over from the kitchen. The back of the chair is against the bathroom cabinets, so that Bucky can clean off his knife without having to venture too far from Steve.
A washcloth that has been soaked in hot water is draped over Steve’s jaw and neck, allowing the bristles of his beard to soften up. Bucky had suggested that he take a shower to prep his skin, but Steve said that he wanted to take one later.
There was no missing the silent together that was tacked onto the end of his sentence.
The knife that Bucky is using today is one of his smaller ones, which he tends to keep tucked into his left boot when he’s on a mission. Its handle is a heavy and familiar weight in his hand.
Once he’s laid out all the things he’ll need beside the sink, Bucky grabs another towel and arranges it over Steve’s shoulders. He removes the washcloth draped over Steve’s face, runs it under warm water, then scrubs it over the bristles one more time. When he’s done, he chucks the washcloth into their laundry hamper .
“You sure you wanna do this, Stevie?”
“Why? You gonna chicken out on me, Barnes?” Steve asks, the corner of his mouth curling into a sly grin.
Bucky snorts. “Fucker. Shut up and sit still.”
“Copy that,” Steve replies, tipping his head back a little more and letting his eyes slide shut.
Bucky puts the plug into the sink and fills it with warm water, so that he can rinse off his blade as he goes. After he’s switched off the taps, Bucky squirts some shaving cream into his metal palm and works it into a lather with his flesh one.
“I really am gonna miss the beard,” he says morosely. “Made you look good. Hid half of your ugly mug.”
Steve chuckles. “You love my ugly mug. And I thought I always looked good.”
“See, that’s where the problem is, Stevie,” Bucky says solemnly, as he starts smoothing the cream over Steve’s beard. “You thought.”
“I’m wrong when I think, I’m wrong when I don’t think – can’t ever win with you, can I?”
“Nah, ‘cause I’m always right.”
Steve snorts in response, but makes no further comment.
Once he’s suitably lathered up, Bucky rinses off his hands, picks up his knife in his left hand and takes a deep breath to prepare himself.
He knows he won’t hurt Steve. Bucky’s hands are steady and sure; they never tremble. But, the thought of pressing a knife to Steve’s throat, to one of the most vulnerable parts on his body, where one slip-up could easily end his life? Yeah, it’s not a good thought.
Bucky shakes his head to clear his mind. This is supposed to be fun, damn it, he’s not going to let a dark cloud rain on his parade.
His flesh thumb presses against Steve’s cheekbone, holding the skin taut. He scrapes his blade downwards in light, feathery strokes, rinsing his knife off in the warm water every so often to clean the blade. Steve’s eyes are shut, and there is a weirdly tranquil quality to his expression, like he’s finally at peace with himself.
“Remember when I did this to you, the first time?” Steve asks quietly, pulling Bucky out of his focused reverie. His voice is strangely dark -- low and husky.
“Yeah,” Bucky replies hoarsely. He clears his throat. “We were what, sixteen, seventeen?”
Steve hums in agreement. “Sunday morning, it was. We were s’posed to go see your ma, but you said you couldn’t leave the house lookin’ the way you did.”
Bucky remembers the day clearly. He remembers the deep-red flush of Steve’s cheeks as he stammered out his offer, just as vividly as he remembers the flutter in his heart when he accepted Steve’s suggestion.
“You sat on my lap,” Bucky says. “Said you couldn’t see so well, otherwise.”
“That was bullshit,” Steve informs him, cracking one eye open. He barks a laugh when Bucky smacks him on the shoulder. “I could see ya’ just fine, I just…I wanted to be closer.”
“I wanted you so bad,” Bucky says quietly. “You…I wanted ta’ kiss you so bad, wrap you up in my arms and…”
“Me too,” Steve murmurs, as Bucky trails off. “What a pair of idiots we were, huh?”
“Speak for yourself,” Bucky says dryly.
Bucky wanted Steve then just as much as he wants Steve now. He might not be able to tell the future, but he knows for certain that he’ll always want Steve.
“Tuck your lips in,” Bucky instructs.
Steve does as he’s told. Bucky runs his knife along the skin around Steve’s mouth, shaving off the hairs with clean, precise strokes. When he’s done, and Steve has untucked his lips, Bucky notes how they’re a little pinker than normal. Plumper, if that were possible.
Fuck he wants to kiss them so bad.
There’s something strangely erotic about shaving Steve. There’s a clear power dynamic here; Steve is quite literally at Bucky’s mercy. It’s giving Bucky a little bit of a headrush. Not so much the fact that Bucky is in power, no – it’s more that fact that Steve has given him this power.
Yeah, that’s what’s doing it for him. Steve trusts him completely, would trust Bucky with his life and goddamn — that’s giving Bucky a heart boner.
It’s also giving Bucky an actual boner, but that’s a problem he’ll deal with in a minute.
Somehow, something as mundane as this — as mundane and everyday as giving Steve’s beard a little makeover -- has managed to become sexual, though neither of them intended to go down this route.
Then again, Bucky’s never sure of things when it comes to Steve. He’s a little shit. Maybe this was his ploy all along, the asshole.
“Tip your head back,” Bucky tells him, as he cleans off his knife.
Perhaps unsurprisingly, Bucky’s cock perks up in interest at the way Steve’s head is tilted back, exposing that ridiculously gorgeous, elongated neck. It’s like a Pavlovian response; Steve bares his neck and Bucky’s mouth wants to latch on, to suck, nibble and mark it up with purple love-bites that will disappear in the next few hours. Steve is so effortlessly gorgeous that Bucky finds his breath being stolen at the most unassuming of moments, in brief flickers of time, just like this one.
“What’s wrong?” Steve asks, snapping Bucky out of his stupor. He realises that he’s been standing there like an idiot, gawking at Steve.
“Nothing,” Bucky replies hastily, “Jus’ tryna figure out how ‘m doing this.”
Between his legs, his cock hangs thick and heavy. Bucky is thankful that Steve’s eyes are still closed, otherwise, Steve’d be teasing him to no end.
A cloud of arousal hangs thick and heavy in the air, so tangible he can practically taste it. It’s like a warm fog that wraps around his brain and makes it harder to think. Bucky runs his knife over the jut of Steve’s chin, scraping off the last of the shaving cream and shaving off the beard beneath it. He dumps his knife into the sink – he’ll clean it up later – and reaches to grab another washcloth. After running it under the warm water, he uses it to wipe the last remnants of shaving cream off Steve’s face.
“All done, Buck?” Steve asks quietly, his eyes still closed.
Bucky grunts in the affirmative. He tosses the washcloth somewhere over his shoulder, not caring about where it ends up, before plopping himself onto Steve’s lap.
Steve’s eyes flash open in surprise, his hands flying up to grab Bucky’s waist to steady him. Before he can even open his mouth to speak, Bucky surges forward, crushing their lips together. Steve – bless his soul – catches on immediately, his arms curling more securely around Bucky’s back and waist, bringing their bodies closer together. His lips part easily underneath the pressure of Bucky’s tongue, allowing Bucky to moan heatedly into Steve’s open mouth. Bucky shamelessly grinds his hard cock against Steve’s rapidly hardening one, relishing the pressure, the friction, the hot-heavy, sinfully erotic press of their bodies.
“Fuck,” Steve growls, fingers curling around the back of Bucky’s neck. He chuckles when Bucky nips at his bottom lip.
“Did that get you all worked up, sugar?” Steve husks, tongue darting out to flick across Bucky’s bottom lip. “Got you all hard and needy, huh?”
When Bucky pulls away to catch Steve’s gaze, he sees the extent of Steve’s arousal; the bursts of red on his cheekbones, the dark pupils that have drowned out his bright blue irises.
“Fuck, sweetheart,” Bucky breathes, running both hands up Steve’s sides. “You got no idea.”
“Yeah?” Steve whispers, leaning forward to run his lips over Bucky’s jaw. “Who knew this’d do it for ya, huh, pretty? All it’d take is you givin’ me a lil’ makeover and then you turn into putty for me, that right?”
“You fuckin’ talk too much,” Bucky hisses, turning his head to chase Steve’s lips.
“Uh-uh,” Steve says, steeling his tone, tightening his grip on the back of Bucky’s neck. “You stay right there, pretty.”
“Steve,” Bucky whines impatiently. His cock is throbbing insistently, demanding attention.
“Can’t mark you up with my beard no more,” Steve continues, as he runs the tip of his nose along the line of Bucky’s neck, forcing him to tip his head back. “Guess I gotta mark you up some other way.”
He demonstrates his intentions by catching a bit of Bucky’s skin between his teeth, right over his pulse point and sucking hard. Bucky jerks in Steve’s grip, which inadvertently grinds their cocks together. He moans, low and long, head lolling back in ecstasy as Steve’s tongue laves over his skin, soothing the spot that he’d just bitten.
“Wanna mark you up, Buck,” Steve tells him, lips ghosting over his skin, sending tremors down Bucky’s spine. “With my mouth, with my hands, with my come – d’you want that, sweetheart?”
“Yes,” Bucky begs wantonly, “Please, please yes, I want that.”
Steve chuckles darkly, as his hands slide down to grab two handful of Bucky’s ass. He stands up with no trouble whatsoever, prompting Bucky to let out an undignified squeak. Bucky loops his arms over Steve’s neck, just as Steve crashes their lips together. The kiss is uncoordinated, all clacking teeth and twisted tongues, but it’s sweet and sexy in its own way.
“Maybe I should let you shave my beard more often,” Steve mumbles, as they stumble over to their bed. “Don’t see why I shouldn’t, if this is how you get.”
“Not too often, though,” Bucky responds, as Steve sets him down – so gently – onto their rumpled sheets. “I do like a bit of beard burn every now and then.”