Chapter Text
Bucky walks a little faster as the wintry drizzle increases. He’s off work early, which makes him happy because he could use the extra sleep after a long shift at the docks. He hates working nights, but the pay is better. It won’t be for much longer, and it’ll help him put a little away for Steve’s inevitable illnesses this winter. He needs a cushion, so there’s no delay in seeking treatment. He made a promise to help his best friend after Sarah Rogers died, and he’s not about to renege on it. Bucky Barnes is a man of his word.
It’s not hard to sacrifice some of his independence for his best friend. Steve and he have been inseparable since they met on the schoolyard when they were five, so it was logical Steve would move in with him once he lost his mother. When they both started working, they moved out of the Barnes’ household and got their own place. Steve’s a good roommate, if a little grumpy in the morning, which is why Bucky’s got to be exceptionally quiet when he gets home. No need to wake Steve just because he got off work early.
He briefly considers stopping by to see Dot. They haven’t been on a date in a while, though she’s always happy to see him. He wouldn’t mind getting a few kisses from her, but he’s not the cleanest he’s ever been. Besides, the weather is terrible. He should get home and make sure the stove is lit, so Steve doesn’t catch a chill. Easier to keep him well if he doesn’t have to expend all his energy attempting to stay warm.
Bucky trudges up the stairs to their third-floor walkup. He tried to get a place on the bottom floor to spare Steve’s lungs, but they both wanted a balcony for those warm summer nights when the breeze doesn’t quite reach inside. Besides, Steve’s doctor hinted the physical activity of climbing stairs might actually be good for Steve’s lungs rather than weakening them.
Quietly, he unlocks the front door and steps into their place. It’s not freezing, for which he’s grateful, so he doesn’t have to risk waking Steve up by adding more coal. He toes off his boots and leaves them placed neatly by the door before creeping across the living space, avoiding that creaky board, and entering the darkened bedroom. He glances at Steve’s bed, expecting to find him cuddled under the covers and sleeping soundly. That’s not at all the sight that greets him.
Bucky stands frozen, dumbfounded at what’s before him. Steve’s sitting on the bed with his back to the wall and his eyes screwed shut underneath a furrowed brow. His legs are splayed, his shirt rucked up to expose his stomach, and his hand is wrapped around his very hard cock. He’s breathing hard, tongue peeking out at the corner of his mouth, as he moves his arm, jacking himself with short, rough tugs.
Stunned, Bucky watches, unable to tear his eyes away from the dainty hand wrapped around Steve’s erection. Steve has artistic hands, long fingers that can wield a paintbrush and pencil with equal ease. Bucky’s never thought about those same fingers wrapped around a penis, Steve’s or anyone else’s, and it’s both shocking and something else he can’t quite pinpoint. He’s not completely naïve. He knows Steve masturbates, just like Bucky does sometimes, too. They are roommates, and he’s seen evidence in towels and dirty laundry. That doesn’t mean, though, that he’s prepared to watch it happen right in front of him.
Steve’s hand slows, and Bucky’s mouth goes dry. He can see it more clearly now, the raised veins and the drop of moisture pearling at the tip. It’s oddly erotic, which doesn’t make sense because this is Steve, his best friend, not some John in a dirty picture. He can’t think straight, mind buzzing with so much new information, and he’s a little bit troubled by the stirring in his gut.
“Buck?”
His eyes snap to Steve’s face, and Bucky flushes a deep red. Bucky wonders for a moment if Steve’s color blindness extends to his skin tone. Steve has to know he’s embarrassed. Neither of them know what to say, and Bucky’s positive his expression is one of sheer panic. Steve’s watching him, apprehensive, but Bucky can’t find any words. He also can’t move.
They stare at each other for several seconds that feel more like hours. Steve’s brow smooths out, and he surveys Bucky carefully, unsure what Bucky’s silence means. Holding his gaze steady, Steve doesn’t move, doesn’t apologize, doesn’t do anything but watch Bucky spiral. For his part, Bucky has no idea what action to take, but his eyes flick downward unbidden. He’s sure a horse has kicked him in the chest recently because he can’t breathe, especially when Steve’s hand moves again.
Bucky’s mesmerized, his eyes trained on Steve’s cockhead as it disappears in his fist several times. His breath hitches when Steve twists as he tugs, and Bucky glances up again. Steve’s watching him, lips parted just a smidge, his breath uneven, but his expression sliding into one Bucky can only describe as relieved pleasure.
It should be weirder. That’s all Bucky can think. Steve continues to masturbate, jerking himself harder, while Bucky watches. He doesn’t want either of them to stop. He can’t think about what this means, about how things might change between them if he doesn’t leave the room. Instead, he decides to enjoy the show because the image in front of him is beautiful.
Carefully, he crosses to his own bed, a twin pushed against the wall on the opposite side of the room from Steve’s. Mirroring his best friend, he climbs onto his bed and sits with his back against the wall and his feet dangling over the side and watches.
Steve whimpers under his scrutiny, and Bucky realizes he’s affected. He’s not stiff, but he’s not soft either, his penis chubbing up under his work clothes. He’s a little surprised at his response but chalks it up to untapped energy from his shift ending early. He would have had to take care of himself later anyway. It’s just that there’s erotica on display for him that’s producing this reaction. Of course, that’s the reason. No other explanation makes any sense.
Steve closes his eyes again, his head dropping back against the wall as his mouth falls slack. His breathing grows more labored, and his hips are just starting to jerk in an imperceptible response to his rhythm. Steve groans lustily, and Bucky’s nipples tighten at the sound. His breath has picked up a little in response to Steve’s movements, and he’s feeling slightly lightheaded. He must be overtired or something.
Steve’s breath hitches repeatedly until his blue eyes open again, bright and glassy, and latch onto Bucky. Steve’s face is flushed, the deep pink spreading from his cheeks down his throat and tinging his stomach. His thighs shake as he pumps his arm, and Bucky’s sure the exposed flesh is soft and feverishly warm. Steve babbles, garbled thoughts spilling from him as his stomach tightens, and Bucky cheers him on silently. Steve thrusts upward now, meeting his fist with his hips in a frantic chase.
Steve hisses and slows, his hand loosening. Bucky raises his eyebrow, but Steve doesn’t speak. He’s shaking his head, his eyes closed again, desire replaced with shame. His hand falls slack at his side, but Bucky can’t take his eyes off Steve’s dick. It’s longer than he’s remembered from the few times he’s glimpsed it over the years—hard not to when they’ve spent as much time together as they have—and it curves just a little toward his left shoulder. Moisture glistens at the tip, and the flesh is angry and swollen, veins pulsing from pent up pressure.
It’s so wrong. It is, but suddenly Bucky doesn’t care. Steve needs to come. He’s shaking with need, and Bucky’s never been able to deny Steve anything, unless it’s letting him take on a gang in a fight. A choked sound bubbles up from Bucky’s throat, and Steve opens his eyes to watch him warily. Keeping his face open and accepting, he undoes his belt and fly. As Steve’s pupils expand, Bucky reaches into his pants and pulls himself free.
“Oh,” Steve breathes, his embarrassment alleviated by Bucky’s response.
Bucky grunts in annoyance, restricted by the clothing catching on his hips. He wiggles his pants down to his knees and bends them, giving Steve a better view of his own anatomy. Steve devours him hungrily with longing looks, and Bucky licks his palm. Steve’s eyes darken at the action and glow like embers when Bucky wraps his hand around his cock and sighs.
He closes his eyes then, allowing the familiar act to lull him into a languid state. He strokes slowly, rubbing from base to tip with a firm grip. He grunts as he grows fully erect, blood pulsing and buzzing in his veins. He knows Steve’s watching him, and that makes this routine task more than a little salacious.
Bucky’s breathing is uneven when he opens his eyes to a gorgeous sight. Steve’s hand is back on his cock, pumping again in time with Bucky’s rhythm. Steve’s watching him intently, licking his lips and panting. The mortification is gone, replaced with anticipation and eagerness.
“Look at me, Stevie,” Bucky orders, the words surprising him as they rumble from his chest. He hadn’t planned on speaking, but they just tumble out. Steve’s blinks, and Bucky repeats, “Look at me.”
Steve squeaks at the command but obeys. Bucky swallows, turned on beyond belief that, for once, Steve isn’t resisting him just to be a punk. Instead, he’s compliant, seemingly awed by Bucky’s tone.
“Wasn’t expecting to find this when I came home today. Never thought I’d see you all hot and needy, fucking into your fist like you can’t live without it. Never thought I’d like it so much either. Did you want to get caught, Stevie? Did you want me to walk in on you with your hand on your cock and aching for it?”
Steve’s mouth gapes, and he curses as his eyes drift shut. His fist tightens on his shaft, but Bucky isn’t done.
“I said to look at me. I mean it,” he snaps, and Steve blinks open slowly, his gaze cloudy and eyes rolling. “Listen to me. Tell me if you understand.”
“Yeah,” Steve sighs and shudders.
“I want you to c—” He stammers to a halt, unable to believe he’s about to say this to his best friend, but Steve’s so close and so in need. Bucky can’t stand it when Steve’s desperate. Clearing his throat, he admits, “I want you to come, and you want that, too. Don’t you?”
“Y-y-yes.”
“Yes, what? Tell me.”
“Yes, I want to come. Please, Buck.”
Bucky’s hand tightens, and he picks up speed. His balls are heavy, and he can’t stop his own hips as they thrust upward. His curiosity has evolved into pure horniness, and he has to work to keep his voice steady. He’s got to help Steve. That’s his responsibility, even though this particular act hasn’t ever been part of the deal before today.
“Keep stroking, Steve. Keep fucking into your palm.”
Steve hums in the back of his throat and nods. “Okay. Yeah.”
“And I can see you’re leaking, Stevie. Can see you dripping with it, so smear that in your hand and use it to lube yourself up. Make it slick and easy. Can you do that for me?”
“Yeah,” he whines, high and breathy. “Bucky. Yeah, I can. I can do that for you.”
“Are you slick?”
“Yeah.”
Steve can barely speak, so turned on his voice registers an octave higher than normal. In contrast, Bucky’s drops, deepening as he observes, protective of Steve’s enjoyment. Bucky’s still jacking himself, surprised at how good it feels to share this with his friend the way they’ve shared everything else. In a lot of ways, it makes perfect sense for them to masturbate together, urging each other on and basking in the other’s success. It’s how it’s always been with them, so he wonders how they’ve gotten this far into their friendship without it happening. He finds he’s already looking forward to the next time, even while he’s reveling in how good he feels in the moment.
“Stevie, I can tell you’re close. I know you are, so I want you to concentrate on my voice, okay?” Almost incoherent with want, Steve nods. “I need you to put the fingers of your left hand in your mouth. Do it now.”
“Buck, why?” he wails, squirming against the bed.
“Do it, and I’ll tell you. I promise, Stevie. You trust me, don’t you, pal?” Steve lifts his hand and sucks on his index and middle fingers with a groan. When Bucky can tell they’re nice and wet, he growls, “Take them out. Take them out, and open yourself up with them.”
“That’s… Oh, fuck, that’s…”
“Do it, Steve. Fill yourself up. I’m doing it, too. See?”
Steve struggles to focus, and he bucks into this hand when Bucky sucks and then presses against his own puckered flesh. He cries out when he penetrates himself, and Steve answers with a yelp of his own.
“You’re stupid with it, aren’t you? Just dumb for a cock up your ass. I didn’t know, Stevie. I didn’t know.”
“Bucky! Shit, Buck. Please, please, please…”
“How long have you liked cock instead of pussy? Your whole life? You been wanting someone to fuck you into the floor, but I kept setting you up with dames? Is that the problem?”
Bucky can tell Steve’s about to explode. He’s so close, but Bucky wants to shove him over the edge, not let him tip into it gently.
“I can just see you on your knees, sucking dick, so eager to please. I bet you’d swallow real good, Stevie, and then be all shy until you get him hard again and he bends you over and splits you in two. I had no idea. Glad I know now, though. Glad I know what makes you happy.”
Steve’s glowing, his skin sheened with sweat, muscles quivering, thin frame heaving with gulped breaths and his shirt tucked up in his armpits. He’s a wonder, frantic with need but surrendered to Bucky in a way Steve’s never acquiesced to anything.
“You look real good all loose and open, Stevie. So pretty.”
Steve’s moaning loudly, his head thrashing from side to side, as he fingers himself and jerks his cock. Bucky watches, admiring the stamina, as Steve’s back bows and he chokes into a silent scream. When he climaxes, it spatters over him, from his waist to his neck, soiling his shirt as he grinds against his fingers. He’s loud, cursing and begging, until the tension drains from him. His head lolls to the side, and Bucky smiles fondly, pleased at how good his friend must feel.
Bucky plans to stop. He really does. This is about Steve, not him. His actions are altruistic—not for himself but to make sure Steve doesn’t feel any shame of his own sexuality, his own desire that he’s hidden from Bucky for years. Bucky doesn’t need this, doesn’t need the release the way Steve does. He’s got dames who will suck him off when he wants it, so he doesn’t have to keep going right now. Steve’s finished.
Alarm builds inside him because he can’t control his limbs. They aren’t obeying the orders his brain screams at them. In disbelief, Bucky watches as he yanks his cock and works himself open until he can’t stop it from happening. It rolls through him like a slow, delicious wave that breaks and retreats and breaks again. Eyes wide, he shouts as he spurts not once or twice, but three times. Panicked, he looks at Steve, positive he’ll see disgust, but Steve’s watching, fascinated. He’s stroking his half-hard shaft lazily, a dopey smile on his face, his eyes glued to Bucky.
Bucky doesn’t know what to say or do. He’s completely flabbergasted by the entire situation. He hadn’t ever considered that Steve wasn’t into women, but there’s ample evidence Steve’s turned on by men. What’s even more shocking is that Bucky’s never contemplated that his love for Steve was anything other than a deep friendship, but he can’t deny that seeing Steve in the throes of an orgasm—even watching him masturbate—turns him on as much as he’s ever been.
What if this doesn’t have to be a one-time thing? What if Steve wants it to happen again—maybe with them doing what they’d just done to each other instead? Bucky can’t wrap his mind around it, but he knows he’s going to ask for it anyway. After all, Steve won’t deny Bucky any more than Bucky can deny Steve.