Chapter Text
Between the Devil and the Deep Blue Sea
“From the bottom of my heart, know this Steve,” Natasha says. “I truly, deeply , hate you.”
She pulls her silver wool overcoat from the hall closet a little more forcefully than she could have, and the plastic hanger that once held it clatters to the floor. She doesn’t pick it up.
Steve grins something wicked from behind her, shouldering himself into the ancient down feather jacket he’s had since high school. He’s pretty sure it’s more patches then original material.
“I love you jealous of me for once,” Steve says.
“The Maldives , Steve?” Natasha nearly hisses through her teeth. “Five months into a relationship, and he’s taking you to the Maldives ?”
“Six,” Steve corrects, shoving his head into a black knit cap. “And technically he’s travelling to Dubai for work. We’re just stopping off in the Maldives right before.”
“For work. Sure. One of the most romantic destinations in the world, the most tedious to get to from here,” Natasha gripes. “Oh, no, he’s showing off.”
“You think?” Steve says with as much innocence as his heart can muster. Natasha pauses where she’s collecting the various bags from the floor, and gives him a look of unbridled fury.
“I will kill you, Steve,” she says.
Her glare melts Steve’s smile from ruthless to sheepish. “I’ll bring you back a shell?”
Natasha turns to the door sharply. Steve can nearly smell the fumes coming off of her. Steve collects the last three bags of clothes on the floor, follows her down the steps of their walkup, and out the door into the cold Brooklyn winter.
“You’d better bring me back a rich husband,” Natasha says, about a half hour later. Equipped only with a shark like smile and an extremely short dress, Natasha got herself an SUV from the nearby dealership. His favorite moment had to be in hour five of negotiations, when Natasha took off her jacket to expose her bare shoulders, and asked to speak to the manager. Steve had never seen a salesman sweat like that before.
“And, what. Clint will be your servant boy?”
“If he’s lucky.” They roll to a stop next to the clothes donation center, and Natasha pops the trunk for the workers to begin to unload. They’d done an impromptu wintertime spring cleaning after Sam put his foot down on the amount of dirty laundry Steve and Natasha produced on a weekly basis. Natasha, being a single-ish woman with a cash income and a weakness for beautiful dresses, had acquired a full wardrobe. Steve, whose boyfriend was currently on a natural-fibers-only kick, took it upon himself to steal as many of Bucky’s nicer synthetic items as he could, replacing his usual thrift and third-hand outfits. They were now doing an out of cycle donation to the local charity; non-church based at Nat’s request.
“Ah…” Steve realizes. “I knew you weren’t just angry at me.”
Natasha holds onto the steering wheel, despite the car being in park. Steve sees her grip flex on the wheel, tightening, then loosening. With the snow casting a white glow around everything, she looks almost like a porcelain doll, with an expression to match.
“What’d he do?” Steve prods.
“He...” Natasha glares at nothing in the snow. Steve gives her the space and time to think, knowing her standoffishness was a byproduct of her fiercely independent nature.
“I don’t know. He’s so... honest.”
Steve blinks. “That’s a good thing. Right?”
“It’s -- who is honest about the fact they aren’t ready to settle down?”
Steve frowns. Natasha doesn’t seem like a person who wants to settle down.
“I don’t get it, isn’t flexibility what you like?” Steve actually never thought to ask the next part, “I mean, what is the nature of your relationship?”
Natahsa doesn’t say anything until a friendly man knocks at her car window, offering her a receipt with a gloved hand. She drives off in the freshly fallen snow, swerving into traffic silently. Steve watches the people shovelling the snow on the sidewalk for a little while as they drive through the city streets.
“I value the fact that I am self-sufficient,” Natasha finally says. “I have never had a man in my life respect that.”
“Until Clint?” Steve guesses.
“I tell him I need my space, he gives it to me. I tell him I may want to strip for the rest of my life, he says that he’s okay with that. I tell him one day, I’d like to... acquire a place of my own, and settle down, hopefully with someone else. And he says he wants that too, and then just says he wants that to be with me, but for now, that he’s not ready.”
Steve’s lost. “But you’ve told me, countless times, that you’re not ready.”
“I know!”
“Then what’s the problem?” Steve asks.
“Why is he listening to me? He’s respecting me,” Natasha snaps. “Men never respect me.”
“... Do you want a man that disrespects you?”
“When a man disrespects you, he is wrong and punishable. That is easy. When a man respects you... I don’t know. I’ve never been with a man who respects me.”
That, Steve thinks, is fucked up
“I need him to be more assertive. To oppose me.” Natasha makes a frustrated noise, one that Steve’s rarely heard from here. “It’s as if I only know how to argue. To fight. To prove I am right. But he refuses to fight back! He just lets me be distant and rude and... I can’t handle that. I don’t know how to handle that.”
This is rapidly turning into a conversation that Steve and Nat had determined, early on, ‘belonged to a therapist.’
“Nat...” Steve starts, and he says this only out of begrudging respect of Clint Barton, someone he’d never thought he’d be defending. “I think you need to love yourself a little more. He’s clearly a good guy. Even if he’s a hot mess, he’s treating you right, giving you what you ask for, and that’s something that you have to take care of.”
“Fuck you,” Natasha says, turning sharply at a yellow light. “Tell me more about the Maldives.”
Nat likes to mark changes in conversation topics very deliberately sometimes. Steve rolls with this.
“We are getting a private villa,” Steve says, laying it on thick. “One that has steps that lead to the water.”
“I hate you.”
“Which is on a private island that we have to take a private plane to, with breakfast buffet and one of the best Thai restaurants in the world. Though Bucky says we can spend the whole week in the bungalow if we wanted too...”
“I genuinely despise you,” Natasha says. “What do you want to pick up for lunch.”
“Burritos,” Steve says after a moment. “I’ll buy.”
“Damn right.”
Steve purchased himself a nice shiny new luggage set for about sixty bucks online. When the box arrives, he unpacks it messily, pulling out his new medium suitcase in bright red, with a matching carryon. He lines them up and smiles at them. He’s never had a matching set of suitcases before.
They are spending about nine days on vacation, with one day on the way back for Bucky to stop for a business meeting at their connection in Dubai. Bucky provided Steve a basic packing list through text, then sent another text about how Steve really only needs clothes for the plane ride. It had been a long week and a half of preparing their respective businesses for their departure, and Steve’s been missing him heavily.
Despite that, Steve’s excited he’s finally getting the island vacation he’s always dreamed of, and he wants to be as extra as possible. Among other things, he brings about five swimsuits, three in that extra small European cut that Bucky seems to prefer, tank tops, board shorts, water shoes, flip flops, at least a metric ton of sunscreen, and a bag full of pills and snacks.
Bucky’s probably pulling a bunch of designer clothes and suits with brands Steve’ll barely recognize, Steve thinks idly as he zips the case shut. He’s far more fashionalbe than Steve.
Steve’s phone dings. Steve takes his time loading his laptop and various books into the carry on before answering.
Around the corner. 5 min.
Steve grins.
By the time Steve made it outside, Miriam, Bucky’s new driver, pulled the shiny Escalade up to the loading zone in front of Steve’s place. It stood in stark difference to the snow and mud covered cars lining the street.
Bucky meets him halfway down the stairs with a bone crushing hug that becomes a kiss tasting of sweet peppermint.
“Hello, my love,” Bucky says. He looks dazzling, his long hair tucked neatly under his hat, snowflakes slowly gathering on his jacket.
“Hi baby,” Steve smiles, balancing his carryon so that it doesn’t teeter down the uneven steps. “Candy cane chapstick? Really?’
“It’s the holidays,” Bucky says. “Tell me you don’t love it.” Bucky punctuates the statement with a flurry of kisses to Steve’s cheeks, causing Steve to laugh.
“You two are gross,” Clint says from the landing, hoisting Steve’s other suitcase with a grimace. “And you need to know it.”
“Don’t be homophobic, Clint,” Steve says back.
Clint mutters something about how Steve’s too small to be packing so much. “Boss,” he offers to Bucky as he passes the men on the stairs. Steve steals one last kiss and follows him down.
Miriam loads the trunk while Bucky and Steve slip into the leather seats. The inside is already warm, and a little travel cup is passed into Steve’s hand. One sip determines it’s hot chocolate.
Bucky’s pulling off his hat to Steve’s right, his shoulder length hair sticking up. Steve suppresses a giggle as Bucky brushes it down irritably.
“Don’t laugh at me,” Bucky pouts.
“I’m not laughing at you, I’m laughing at your hair.”
“My hair is part of me, therefore, you are laughing at me.”
“Are you sure? It looks like your hair is trying to leave your head entirely.” Steve gestures towards the static points that Bucky’s hair is making.
“I can’t control that,” Bucky says.
“Hey, I’m not the one that decided to do the long hair look,” Steve says. “Which I love, darling, but it certainly means you suffer from hat hair.”
Bucky finally manages to tame his locks by running his fingers through the strands, though it hangs a little wet. “You think I should cut it?” He muses as the car lurches off the curb and into the snowy streets. The Escalade cuts through the snow and ice like a small tank. Steve feels very tall.
“I’ve never seen it cut before,” Steve says.
“It makes me look a bit younger, but it also makes me look... cleaner.”
Steve tries and fails to picture Bucky with short hair. “Do you have pictures?”
“Yeah, hold on.”
The car ride to JFK starts with Steve rating Bucky’s various hairstyles through the years, and ends with Bucky telling Steve to embrace his Irish heritage and go fire engine red.
“Not all Irish are red haired,” Steve says as they enter one of the busiest airports in the Northeast. He looks around at the airport with a bit of apprehension. Give him a subway stop and he could get you there with his eyes closed (and nose, too), but navigating an airport always feels foreign to Steve. His first international trip was less than a year ago to Ireland, and then he was flying an American airline. But Bucky has booked them on an airline Steve has only heard of in passing.
“This way, love,” Bucky says, guiding them toward international departures, and Steve falls into step beside him, a little red faced. ‘Love...’ that one is very new, and each time Steve hears it he feels a little more off-kilter than that last.
Bucky, of course, noticed this, absolutely loves it, and uses it whenever he can. That asshole, loving him.
They enter an area with airlines that Steve doesn’t recognize too much, though with lines as far as the eye can see. It takes effort to follow Bucky as he weaves through the mess of it all, stopping finally when they reach a red and white themed airline called ‘Eithad,’ the airline Steve remembers Bucky telling him about.
Yet Bucky breezes by the entrance to the ticket counters. Steve frowns, and is just about to open his mouth to ask Bucky if they should be going back, when they come across a much shorter line with a bright sign reading ‘Priority First’ over the top.
“Passports, please?” An elegant woman behind a brown podium says.
Steve passes his thin, neat passport over along with Bucky’s used and frayed one, then turns to Bucky with an accusatory look.
Bucky pretends not to notice, instead taking their passports back and entering the ‘Priority First’ line with a bored expression.
“Bucky,” Steve hisses.
“Yes, Steve?”
“Don’t tell me you bought us first class tickets.”
“Okay.” Bucky says. “I won’t tell you.”
“Buck.”
“Okay, fine,” Bucky says with a sigh as they move forward a few steps. “I bought myself one, and left you in economy. I believe you are in row... forty eight? I think it’s a middle seat.”
“ Bucky Barnes .”
Bucky finally meets his eyes, and Steve narrows them further. But Bucky just says, “Please, enjoy it, honey.”
Steve makes a face, and stares resolutely ahead, debating on being angry.
They have had this conversation before, or, at least, skirted around this conversation before, since Bucky is a man of open communication and Steve is a man that would rather punch people than talk. Nevertheless, it’s fairly obvious that Bucky lives a much grander lifestyle than Steve does, and that’s just something that Steve’s going to have to get used to. First class tickets, trips to islands in the middle of nowhere for no reason at all...
Steve sighs, and lets himself deflate. “I’m not quite used to this yet.”
They near the front. Steve feels a hand squeeze around his bicep, and he looks up at his boyfriend, who has a softness in his gaze. “I want you to get used to it,” he says. “You deserve it.”
“I’m tryin’,” Steve says, and tries to shake off his discomfort.
Check in was a breeze, which was a miracle because Steve doesn’t think he’s ever spent this little time in an airport line before. After that, they get escorted to ‘Priority’ security, which certainly felt ridiculous, as it was the same ass security process, just a bit faster.
“Should we go and check on the gate?”
“Sure,” Bucky says, wheeling his carry on behind him. “Then we can hit the lounge.”
“The lounge?”
Bucky grins. “You’ll see.”
The lounge, as it turned out, was another room designed specifically for ‘Priority’ customers. While Steve only passed by the lounges on his last international flight, this time they both turned inside one. The lobby feels like a five-star hotel, and the receptionist is so beautiful Steve can barely think to stutter out a hello, let alone remember to pass over his boarding pass for verification.
“Inside we have showers and bathrooms, as well as a hot food buffet and drinks, should you like to partake,” he says warmly.
“Showers,” Steve repeats dumbly.
“Yes, dear.” His smile is dazzling. “Feel free to head back to the right.”
Walking in, Steve slows as he takes in the lounge with wide eyes. A whole line of windows looked out over the tarmac, where a massive jet was currently gearing up for take off. On the other side of the long room was a buffet with salad bar, and a full bar, stocked to the brim with drinks, some Steve’s never even heard of before. The lounge itself was about a third full, mostly with men in suits sitting alone on phones or laptops, though a few were chatting warmly with one another. A striking woman with ink black skin was sitting by herself, knitting, and lifting her head occasionally to watch as a plane rolled by. A tired looking couple with three energetic young children took up about six of the chairs and two tables. They were dressed in clothes that indicated they were likely of Middle Eastern descent. Steve curses his lack of worldly education the public schools of Brooklyn offered, wishing he knew more. The mother was in a long, black robe with her head and face covered, while the father wore a white robe with a baseball cap. The three children were dressed in various mixes of Western and traditional Middle East wear, crawling all over the couches.
Steve gazed around the room, mindlessly following Bucky, who was guiding them towards a couple of plush chairs in a corner seat by the window, setting down their bags and motioning for Steve to sit as well.
“These are so soft...” Steve says as he sits down. His last time at the airport he sat in a plastic chair, hugging his suitcase to his chest and eating leftover pretzels from the first flight. Now... Now he’s here, sitting next to one of the most beautiful men in the world, who probably grew up with luxury like this. Steve grips and loosens his hands on the chair, feeling a hot wash of inadequacy roll over his skin.
“Do you want to look at the food?” Bucky, endlessly patient, asks him. He’s smiling, but it’s not patronizing, instead pleased, perhaps a touch endeared.
“Yes, please.”
Waiting through the buffet line, Steve ignores his desire to reach for the chicken fingers and instead tries a curry he’s never seen before. Though it was still early in the day, people were indulging in alcoholic drinks as if it were after five PM. Steve supposes that with jet lag, they could all be in different timezones right now. Steve himself decides to stick with coffee, and they carry the food back to their seats. They eat shoulder to shoulder on the small coffee table. One bite of the curry causes Steve to scrunch up his face on reflex. He passes it over to Bucky who finishes it happily.
After they eat, Bucky pulls out his ever trusty laptop from his carry on. He’s got a designer Stark 2 in 1 that he folds over into a tablet and balances on his thighs, turning on a news channel to play. Having an... international... job means that he’s always dialed into world news for some reason or another. Steve usually doesn’t ask.
After eating his salad and some of Bucky’s fish, Steve once again catches sight of the dark skinned woman in the corner of the room. His fingers twitch, and he reaches into his carry on, digging past his pills and a change of clothes for his notebook and pens.
After a few minutes of tracing nothing over the page, he catches his muse and begins to draw, the woman, the windows in front of her, the gaze out of it. The most intense moments are when she looked up from her knitting to gaze out the window. A contemplative look, one with a bit of wistfulness. It could mean anything. Steve wants to capture it so badly, he spends nearly ten minutes on an eye alone, erasing and redoing it.
Her likeness came next. Her body was strong and tall, and she was dressed in a black dress. Out the window, instead of drawing just the tarmac, he creates an abstract landscape of moving rolling lines and curly cue treetops. He’s deciding on a colorscheme, getting ready to add more detail, when he looks up to find the woman staring directly at him.
“Uh,” Steve said dumbly. She stands from the chair and walks towards him, knitting needles in hand, and Steve turns to Bucky, who looks over at Steve with mild confusion. Steve looks back at the woman. She is extremely tall, easily taller than Clint’s 6'3.
“I can’t help but notice,” she says in an English accent, and Steve glances back at Bucky again, who’s taken interest in the proceedings. “That you keep glancing over in my direction.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve blurts. “I’m sorry, I was...”
Steve turns the page in the sketch book toward her. Her expression goesfrom aloof to astonished, and she takes the book from his hand.
“You were... drawing me?”
“I’m very sorry, I should have asked,” Steve says. “It was just. Your eyes.” They were a deep, mysterious brown, Steve notices. “When you looked out of the window. It looked like you were... searching for something. It was inspiring, so I had too...”
Steve trails off, face hot. She doesn’t speak for a moment, looking over Steve’s unfinished work with those same intense eyes Steve was agonizing over moments ago.
She touches the page, then hands it back to Steve. “You are very good.”
Steve blushes. “Thank you ma’am.”
“What’s your name?”
“Steve Rogers. And this is my... friend. James.”
Bucky tilts his head in a nod.
“I am Abeba Getachew,” she says. “You are very good. Thank you for sharing this with me.”
“Thanks for... sitting in an interesting way?”
Bucky snorts, and Abeba raises an eyebrow, before turning around to head back to her seat.
Steve exhales, looking at the notebook in his hand.
“Alright, Steve?” Bucky’s giving him a considerate look. Steve can almost see his desire to wrap an arm around his shoulder, squeeze a little of the discomfort away and ask him how this moment made him feel. He can only do the latter.
“I’m alright. I’m going to grab another coffee,” Steve says.
“Really? It’s shit compared to yours,” Bucky says.
“Flattery,” Steve grins, “gets you everywhere.”
“It got me you,” Bucky says.
Steve makes a blech face, and Bucky chuckles.
They boarded the plane first. They got onto the plane, first . And the first class seat? Steve couldn’t seem to find words for it, because it wasn’t really a seat, it was more a whole little room, complete with double doors.
The seat itself is large and spacious, and Steve starts to sink into it as he sits down. On his right hand side is a table for Steve to rest his things on. In front of him was a TV screen that was larger than the one he had at home. Underneath the screen was another thin table with a little shelf underneath. Steve couldn’t even reach it without scooching to the edge of his chair. On top of the table was a set of foreign candies and snacks.
Looking back out into the aisleway, he could see Bucky, who was sitting in his own tiny room, typing on his laptop with focus.
“Bucky.” Steve says, and Bucky leans around his wall to look at Steve. “Oh my God.”
Bucky grins back at him, closing the laptop in favor of Steve. “Nice, right?”
“Bucky,” Steve shakes his head. “Oh my God. ”
Steve ignores Bucky’s laugh as he sits back down. He’s frankly beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed. He brought books to read, but the TV has movies that are still in theaters .
“Hello Mr. Rogers,” a charming flight attendant in crisp uniform greets Steve with a smile. “My name is Donna, and the other attendant Kate will be serving you on this flight. Would you like something to drink, perhaps?”
“What do you have?”
“We have a full bar, juice, coffee, tea, anything you’d like”
A full bar. Steve stares at her with his mouth slightly agape.
Bucky, his savior, gains Donna’s attention. “Perhaps me and him could get champagne?”
Steve’s brain reboots. “Champagne!” Because apparently you can drink that on an airplane. “That’s a good idea!”
Donna takes this all in stride. “I’ll be right back.”
As she leaves, Steve peers around the suite wall to look at Bucky. “I’m making a complete fool of myself,” he hisses.
“Relax, lo--Steve,” Bucky says. Taking his own advice, Bucky has already reclined in his seat, and is flipping through the TV as well.
“I don’t... I don’t know...” Steve feels hasty and nervous at once. He shouldn’t be here.
Bucky must catch his tone, because he leans forward with a frown. “Talk to me.”
Steve leans over too, peering out the open sliding doors of his suite. “Look, this seems silly, but... can you tell me exactly what’s going to happen on this flight?”
Bucky’s face twists into confusion. Steve’s response is interrupted by Donna’s return.
“Is Dom Perginon alright?” She points the label of the bottle towards Steve. Fuck if Steve knows, his last champagne was from the bodega on the corner and cost less than the sandwich he got with it.
“That’s fine, thank you,” Steve says.
He waits for her to pour both his and Bucky’s glasses, and she leaves them for the next row.
Bucky leans back over. “What do you mean?”
“Look,” Steve says, running his sweaty palms on his pants. “I’m not used to this. I’m not. And I feel like everyone here is . This is only my second international flight, and even on that? The flight attendants never spoke to me more than ‘red or white?’ or ‘chicken or pasta?” and now we are getting drinks?”
“It’s much better, right?”
“You don’t understand... Bucky I feel so out of place,” Steve says. “I just went from a less than 100 foot square bedroom that legally is not considered a bedroom in the state of New York, to a first class ticket on an international plane.”
“But you--”
“There’s no way I can explain.”
Bucky furrows his brow, then takes a deep, steading breath. “Okay. I can’t understand that,” he says. “What do you need?”
Steve repeats his earlier request. “Tell me exactly what’s going to happen. Not the flight. I know the plane will take off and all that, but more along the lines of... what is the flight attendant going to ask me? What options do I have? What can I do to my seat? You know... make me feel a bit like I fit?”
Bucky nods. “If that’s what you need. First, your seat. You can open and close window shades on your right,” he says pointing at the buttons on a little console by Steve’s arm. “You can close your doors using the buttons on the left.” This time he taps his arm rest on his left side. “You can open your mini-bar if you push the buttons on the right, though you can also ask for an attendant at any time other than takeoff and landing for a drink. Like she said it’s a full bar, but they also have coffee and tea. If you order that, she will bring you teas to pick from in a box. Throughout the flight, they will offer you a number of things. Papers to read. Chocolates from a box. A set of pajamas.”
Steve blinks at him owlishly. “You get clothes. They give you clothes.”
“They will also ask you what size is okay,” Bucky contines, unperturbed. “There are extra pillows and blankets behind you to the right, and slippers too. I usually bring them back for the kids. There is also a menu. When they serve you, they will take out the tray for you, set up a tablecloth and utensils.”
“Do we get... Dinner and breakfast?” Steve thinks out loud, doing the math in his head.
“You get whatever you want, whenever you want,” Bucky says.
“Okay. I can work with that.”
“If you can,” Bucky says after a second of silence. “ Really try to relax. I’m not taking you here to stress you out.”
“I know,” Steve says, and he takes a deep breath, then reaches for the champagne.
“The best part is at night,” Bucky murmurs. “They project stars on the ceiling.”
“Really?”
“Yeah,” Bucky says.
That’s kind of cute, actually. “The seats go all the way down, right?” Steve asks him.
Bucky just winks, and Steve shudders out a laughing breath. Okay. Alright. Okay.
There was a real life lamp by the side of the desk, lampshade and everything, and Steve flicks the thing on. The have about a half hour for the rest of the plane to board, so Steve pulls out the extra large tray table and his notebook, and starts to color in the background
He’s drawing little bird-planes when they come to offer him pajamas, size small, and a little piece of chocolate from a tin of Godivas. He takes two, then nibbles on them through his next champagne until the flight is ready to actually take off.
He looks over to Bucky. He can only see his lower half, but he seems to be paging through a magazine in a language Steve can’t understand.
“Buck,” he calls, and Bucky leans forward to meet Steve’s eyes.
“Thank you for this,” Steve says, and Bucky smiles wide.
“Of course, Steve.”
The flight is long.
After they take off, Steve spends some time moving the seat up and down for fun, pressing buttons to open and close the minibar and the window shades, until he’s startled by an amused flight attendant who came to offer him a snack. He takes the bowl of almonds with a sheepish grin, and takes another refill on his fancy champagne, and finally starts to loosen up a tad. He flips on a movie, watches a few men smack each other with sabers of light, then decides to see what caviar tastes like.
Apparently, it tastes like… Well. Cum.
Steve decides he only likes that flavor in the bedroom, and hunts the menu for something else. Having indulged in a falafel or two, he’s curious to see how Middle Eastern food differs from the restaurants in New York to the actual Middle East, so he orders a spread of different types of Arabic sauces and appetizers, and works his way through them slowly. He recognizes the blinis, and is upset to see the caviar has made a reappearance, so he offers the fish eggs to Bucky, who looks delighted and eats them eagerly.
“Hm,” Steve says.
Frankly, Steve forgets he’s on a plane entirely. He draws a little more, walks up and down the aisles, orders blindly from the wine list, and drinks something so incredibly delicious he takes a picture of the menu as a reminder. A little bit sloshed now, he can’t stop but think about the implications of their suites actually closing their doors now. Have men...? They have to have, with the doors closed? If they kept real quiet, saved a magazine or a picture. But the poor flight attendants...
It’s late. Or. Early? Time was hard. On the plane it was late though, the lights of the cabin were dimmed, and Bucky had changed into his pyjamas.
“Bucky,” Steve says quietly.
“Steve,” Bucky says, then snorts when he sees him, swirling the wine in his glass.
Steve leans over the aisle, and Bucky leans over as well. “Do you ever think about... you know.”
“About what, ba- About what.”
Steve stops the lewd question from falling from his lips, swallows it down. He has to be careful here. “Nothing, nevermind.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “If you’re sure.”
Despite the burning question, Steve simply goes directly to sleep, setting up a pillow and blanket and moving the seat down flat. He sleeps well, then orders eggs and orange juice and watches another TV show, some period piece he can’t really remember. Another hour of dozing, and the plane is actually landing.
Steve barely feels the plane touchdown, and after a moment, they slow to a steady crawl. Steve looks out the window to see the bright glaring sun, reflecting off of the city of Dubai. Steve can’t take his eyes off the glimmering city, looking like a beautiful mirage before his very eyes. He’s suddenly very happy they are taking a day on the way back to explore the massive area.
Bucky stretches, popping his shoulder with a yawn, and says, “I forgot, when we land, there’s a first class bus to take us to the terminal.”
“Of course there is,” Steve says with a shake of his head.
The Dubai airport was eons classier than JFK. The lounge was less of a shock this time, except Steve, for the first time in a while, found himself in the minority. There were a flurry of different languages spoken, a cultural menagerie of European, Middle Eastern, Indian, and East Asian.
Steve tried another curry this time, this one called Aloo Aloo. It tasted so good he had to go back for seconds.
“How often do you get to travel like this?” Steve asks.
Bucky swallows a bite of his bao bun “With all the first class pomp and circumstance? Not actually that often. Usually a business class seat is called for, and I usually have to head straight to work.”
“Never in coach?”
“Not if it can be helped,” Bucky says. “We had to put Ma on a coach flight once, from Ireland -- actually -- ”
“That’s right, that was mine,” Steve says with a smile.
Bucky smiles. “Maybe it was serendipitous. It was... imperative she return home at once, and the next flight out had first and business class full. They put her in those seats with the extra foot room, but she was miserable. Until she met you of course.”
Steve shrugs. “What can I say, I’m adorable.”
Bucky swallows down a comment, looking around at the men around them both for a moment.
“So... what’s left?” Steve asks, breaking the odd silence.
“About four hours to Malé. There we will take an hour seaplane, and arrive, finally, at the resort.”
Steve can’t help the small grimace.
“It’s worth it, I promise.”
“I’d know that if you’d just let me see the place.”
“It’s a surprise. I want to see your face when you first see the island. Just know that even for me, this is a luxurious vacation.”
“Cocky.”
“You get the point.”
Steve does. “The travel is the worst part,” Steve sighs, leaning back in the chair with mild dejection.
Bucky takes another quick glance around the room, then Steve watches his fingers flex, as if searching, on the armrest. “The worst part.”
Most of the initial excitement has worn off on the second flight. It was the same plane, the same seat, even though this flight was just four hours as opposed to the other twelve. Steve realizes that if he ever gets used to this treatment, he’s going to become one of those people.
“Dom Perginon, please?” Steve asks when the flight attendant comes around for drinks, and she nods approvingly.
“Right away sir.”
Another acquisition of pajamas, and Steve starts to see why Bucky says he packs the clothes and blankets away for the orphanage, if they are so willy nilly with them. He stuffs that one into his carryon for later.
He orders off the menu and flips on a movie. Compared to the first flight, it’s as if they are barely in the air at all before they are told to prepare for touchdown. They shuffle off the plane, but this time, there’s no first class bus, barely even a terminal at all. Just a staircase that leads them down onto the tarmac, and a few airport employees waving them all forward into the terminal. Malé was hot and humid, and Steve stripped off his jacket and dons his sunglasses before heading inside the airport.
Which is where Steve learns a hard truth: there can be first class seats, first class lounges, priority security, check in, even first class buses.
But there’s only ever one customs line.
The Malé airport is unairconditioned, and Steve is sweating bullets through his t-shirt. They both join the back of an eighty person line, waiting to get their passport stamped. On either side of the room are four men with machine guns hanging loosely at their sides.
“I’m rich,” Bucky explained much earlier when he first bought the trip for them. “But I’m not rich enough to get us outside of customs.”
Ironic, considering that avoiding customs is Bucky’s line of work, but Steve’s learning there’s tiers inside the upper class, and Bucky’s not at the level that affords him a private plane. Yet.
So they wait, like everyone else. Inching forward, Steve remembers what Bucky told him about the Maldives. That alcohol is technically illegal, and will be confiscated at the airport, though that doesn’t apply to the resorts. That bikinis were strictly banned, except for bikini beaches which were, once again, allowed only at the resorts.
That homosexuality was punished with 100 lashes and 8 years in prison.
That would likely never happen to a foreigner, Bucky had assured him at the time. Tourism is too good a business, and resort owners know enough to look the other way. The island they are going to is run by a friend of Bucky’s colleague, who knew of the best gay friendly resorts across the world to go to. This one is run by a gay man, and was likely the safest and the most close to home resorts.
But it still meant that they had to go through this, first.
It takes half an hour, but when Steve gets to the front, the customs officer is polite, if rather abrupt. She stamps his passport and allows him to move along to baggage claim. Steve waits for Bucky to get his, then they collect their bags and head to the hotel’s travel booth, where a smiling man gives them a cup of tea and a seat to rest as they wait for the seaplane.
A few minutes later they are led outside. Steve takes a breath of fresh sea air, pushing his glasses back on. The sidewalk was full of people, a mix of locals boarding boats to the capital city and travellers also headed towards the shore for the final legs of their journey.
Steve and Bucky are led onto a thin wooden dock, where a bright yellow seaplane floats, tethered. Steve is awestruck as he looks at the massive expanse of water spread before them. “I didn’t realize the ocean could even be that blue...” Steve says, and Bucky hums in agreement. It was the kind of blue Steve always assumed was touched up in photographs.
They leave their bags with the friendly steward and board. A flight attendant explains in a flat tone that they have to even out the weight of the plane, and with the other people aboard, Steve and Bucky need to sit apart. Bucky is put in the back, while Steve sits next to another traveller in the middle.
The plane rocks like a boat while people continue to load and Steve decides he’s not quite a fan of this. The propellers began to spin, and the plane began to taxi across the beautiful blue waters. Finally, the engine revs into high gear, and the plane roars into the sky.
“Wow...” Steve kept his face glued to the window as they did a low flight over the Maldives. Boats scattered like ants underneath them in different directions, skating over the unreal blue sea. He could see numerous small islands below them, some with resorts built on them, some untouched. He could also see through the water to the various sandbars below.
The hour-long flight was over in a snap, and they were descending into the deep blue sea, before taxiing towards an island.
They unboard the rocky plane onto a wooden deck, and Steve’s heart nearly stops.
A beautiful sandy beach extends around the small island. In the center, lush green island trees grew unburdened, moving lightly in the wind. The sun is warm on the back of Steve’s neck, the ocean air a carrying a gentle scent of salt and sea life.
“Wow...” Bucky breathes, coming up behind him. He takes no time wrapping an arm around Steve’s waist and tugging him towards his body, like one day being near him without touching him was too much to handle.
“This is incredible,” Steve breathes. “I’m... this is amazing.”
The hotel staff, local Maldivians who lived on site part time, seem used to Bucky and Steve’s dumbfounded expressions, and wait patiently for them to collect themselves. They unload their suitcases from the back and guide them toward the resort center. They check in, are loaded into a golf cart, and are given a tour of the small island. All of this passes in a sort of blur for Steve. The only thing keeping him from actively becoming overwhelmed by the paradise was probably the steady, constant presence of Bucky’s arm around him. Steve scooches an arm behind his back, and slides closer.
“We have a spa,” the driver says brightly. He has dark skin, and wears the pale blue uniform of the resort. “Three pools as well. You can enjoy complimentary kayaks and canoes. There are also scuba trips and other water sports. Our facilities include a gym, with scheduled exercise classes, including sunset and sunrise yoga. WI-FI is available throughout, though it is strongest in your villa. We also have many restaurants available to us, including the underwater restaurant that we highly recommend.”
“Underwater?” Steve looks at Bucky with excitement. “We have to try that one out.” Bucky nods in agreement.
The cart goes from the bumpy sand to a smooth wooden dock. The villas were lined up next to one another, standing directly in the ocean. Steve and Bucky’s is near the end, where the villas grew more spaced apart, and the ocean was just a touch deeper. For now the tide was low, and Steve could see people walking around on the ocean floor in the distance. It seems the few miles around them are a sandbar, and they are welcome to go as far as is safe.
They stop in front of one of the dark wood villas, and are told that their bags are already inside. Bucky helps Steve out of the cart, then takes his hand as they walk inside. The driver doesn’t even blink at the display. Perhaps sensing some urgency, he opens the door to the villa for them, offers them both a key, then leaves them in the main entryway with a smile.
And then, it’s just the two of them.
Steve looks at Bucky, right as Bucky looks at Steve.
They move at the same time, Bucky holding out his arms as Steve jumps in them, and Steve pulls Bucky’s face towards his own. Steve moans at the first connection of their lips, hard and desperate, and wastes no time adding his tongue, hands pulling at Bucky’s hair. Bucky just holds him closer, grasping at Steve’s waist and pulling him in.
Bucky presses them against the hallway wall, and tries his best to devour Steve. Bucky’s power rests under Steve’s fingertips, muscles flexing and tensing as he attempts to get further into Steve, find every inch of space between the two of them and fill it.
Steve wrestles his lips away with a gasp. Bucky, though, he can’t seem to stop. He starts kissing Steve’s cheek, making a trail with his tongue down to his neck, then he bites Steve’s skin, causing Steve to whimper. Steve scratches his nails on the exposed part of Bucky’s back near his neck, and Bucky growls in response.
“Twenty hours,” Steve gasps as Bucky sucks his bite mark, starting what is likely to be a massive hickey. “Travelling. Not... not clean.”
“Don’t care,” Bucky mutters. He squeezes Steve’s ass so tight it hurts, and Steve lets out a shocked moan, rolling his hips involuntarily and putting incredible friction on his cock.
“You’re gonna.” Steve tries to gain a little bit of control. “Come on, fuck, put me down, babe.” He squirms, and Bucky relents his onslaught of Steve’s neck enough to let Steve back down to his feet. He doesn’t give him so much an inch of space however. His eyes are clouded with lust, but also, Steve realizes, with frustration. His grip is too tight on Steve’s shoulders, his body still tense next to Steve’s.
“Hated that,” Bucky says, voice full of annoyance. “Pretending.”
Steve nods. International air, international laws. Too many risks.
“It’s not fair ,” Bucky’s voice flares with fury.
“I know.” Steve makes a soothing circle with his thumb on Bucky’s arm, trying to calm the other man down. “But we made it. It’s over.”
“You’re mine , Steve.” Steve can see his irritation in his face now, see how badly having to hide is affecting him. He’s so dialed up he looks ready to snap. It must have been this kind of passion that toppled the Zola’s, Steve realizes. The frustration Bucky must have felt having to go back to hiding after years of fighting to be free to hold another man’s hand, kiss him in public, call him a pet name.
“Let’s get to the shower, baby,” Steve says softly. “There, you can call me whatever the hell you want.”
The room was probably nice. Steve doesn’t know, because after he says that, Bucky simply picks Steve up, tosses him over his shoulder, and strides to the bathroom. Steve shouts in surprise, then laughs the whole way there, banging his fists against Bucky’s back and demanding to be put down.
When they reach the bathroom, Bucky puts him down and again claims his mouth against a tile wall, acting like any minute away from Steve is a minute without oxygen. Steve pushes him off, and steers him towards the glass shower. As Steve strips himself, he notices to his left that the entire wall was made up of floor to ceiling windows that give an uninterrupted view to the Indian ocean, an expanse which takes Steve breath away. He finds himself slowing, watching as a barge far in the distance makes its slow way across the horizon line.
“Steve,” Bucky barks.
Right. His very hot boyfriend is currently dripping primordial rage. Steve jumps into the shower with him and is immediately accosted, backed up into one of the two stone walls under the warm water spray. Bucky’s cock is rock hard and poking his thigh, and Bucky starts grinding against him, even as Steve reaches for the soap to begin to work onto both of their bodies.
Bucky separates enough to give himself an actual cleaning, and Steve does the same, including pushing a soapy finger up his own ass, just to be sure. When it comes back clean, he washes it off under the spray. He looks over his shoulder to see Bucky slicking himself up with lube he must have pilfered from his bag before coming in here.
“Gonna fuck you,” Bucky says, his tone brokering no argument.
“I like the way that sounds - oomph.” Bucky quickly turns Steve so that he’s facing him, then backs him up against the glass wall of the shower. He makes a motion to pick Steve up, and Steve wraps his legs around Bucky’s solid waist with practiced ease.
Steve relaxes his inner muscles, and Bucky slides in, ever so slowly, moving his hips just enough to keep Steve open. Each inch seems to work a line of stress out of both of their bodies, pulling some of the frantic energy from the air. Steve watches as Bucky’s face ever so slightly melts into something soft.
Bucky tucks his head against Steve’s chest for a moment, his chest heaving. “ God I missed you,” Bucky whispers into Steve’s wet skin.
Steve’s not sure if he means the day pretending they weren’t together, or the days that they were apart before vacation, but it doesn’t really matter.
“I missed you too,” Steve murmurs. “But I’m here now, and all yours.”
Bucky digs his teeth into Steve’s neck, right on the sore spot. “Mine.” And he starts to move.
Steve cries out as Bucky rolls his hips expertly, short, firm movements that jostle him up the shower wall. The lull of energy is quickly forgotten as Bucky picks up speed, and Steve grabs at his shoulders and tries to hold on, wet fingers sliding against wet skin. He swears he can feel Bucky’s cock pulse inside of him when Bucky digs deep, grinding his pelvis against Steve’s.
“Buck!”
“Mine, Steve, mine,” Bucky growls. “Everyone’s gonna fucking know it. Gonna see that bruise on your neck -- ”
“Yours, oh God --” Steve grabs his own cock, his body aching for release. Bucky has other ideas, it seems. He unseats Steve, and Steve has only a second with his feet on the ground before he’s being turned to face the shower door.
“Hands on the wall, doll,” Bucky orders. “Gonna make you scream.”
Image: Bucky fucking Steve against the glass wall of a shower, looking out to the ocean | Art by: kocuria
Steve whimpers and obeys, jutting his ass out for Bucky to grab. Bucky’s cock fucks into him again, and Steve moans as Bucky digs into his prostate. He goes so hard; Steve tries to find purchase on the shower wall and fails as Bucky keeps up his assault. Steve’s moans turn into shouts, the glass wall rattling with the force. He doesn’t have time to process how good a thrust feels before he’s taking another one, and it’s beginning to add up.
“Bucky, please!” Steve cries out. His breath clouds the glass under his face. Bucky is moving his body like a ragdoll, fucking in right as he pulls Steve back, making him take it.
“Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck ,” Bucky’s hips stutter, and Steve senses he’s close.
“Come, Bucky,” Steve gasps. “Come on, ah! Come in me, p-please, I want to feel you--”
“S-Steve!” Bucky shouts, and slams his cock in as deep as it could go. Steve gives a sobbing cry as Bucky fills his ass.
Steve stays prone, Bucky’s harsh pants filling the air for a few long moments. Bucky then sighs quietly, the aftershocks probably settling in his skin. He pulls out with a wet noise, and in the reflection of the glass, Steve watches as he goes down to knees.
Steve makes to turn his body, thinking maybe Bucky’ll finish him off with his mouth, but he’s only half right. Bucky grips both of Steve’s thighs and stops him from moving. A second later, his hands are up and spreading Steve’s ass, and Bucky’s hot tongue circles his rim.
“ Christ oh, Bucky, that’s -- ” He’s eating his own cum, Steve thinks, and his eyes roll back as he finally gets to put his hand on his cock. He doesn’t think he has a lot left. “That’s so dirty...”
Bucky digs his tongue inside and moans. It sets Steve on fire. His orgasm comes a moment later with a sharp cry of Bucky’s name. He tries to buck his hips, but Bucky’s grip tightens on his thighs, holding him in place as he licks in deeper, and Steve does scream now, one of his knees going weak as he paints the shower wall white.
Steve slumps in Bucky’s hands when it’s finally through, panting. He whimpers as Bucky keeps rimming him through the afterglow, the sensitive nerves firing blindly up his spine. Bucky finally pulls back, then bites Steve ass lightly. Steve moans weakly in response. He can practically feel Bucky’s triumphant grin against his back.
The towels are fluffy and warm on the rack, and Steve wraps one around his waist as he finally peruses the over-water condo. The bathroom, which they rushed into from the bedroom, was positioned facing the ocean. Directly in the front was a massive jacuzzi tub, a perfect square with white and blue tiles, jutting outwards so it had a 270 degree view of the ocean. Steve thought about the fun they could have there, then realized that someone could simply swim across the ocean and see them, and he could feel his face burning a bit at the implications.
Behind him, the shower they just marked up was on the right of the bathroom, and the left had a pair of sinks and a mirror, each covered in tiles and pale blue paint. The toilet was in its own small room on the side, and Steve giggled as he saw a little glass window built into the floor where a person’s feet would be. Something to do other than read shampoo bottles, Steve guesses.
Walking back out the bathroom, Steve sucks in a breath at the beauty of the villa. The bed took up most of the room and pointed towards massive windowed doors leading out to the balcony. There was a small seating area next to it, as well as a dining room with tables and chairs near a row of appliances and a mini fridge.
Outside on the balcony, Steve has to actually steady himself at the view. The deck was an L shape that simply stood in the ocean. At the part that juts out, there was a staircase that led down into the sea, coated with algae and moss. There was an infinity pool at one end, with two loungers in front of it, and Steve shakes his head at the audacity of building a swimming pool that overlooks an ocean. A wooden railing wraps around the deck everywhere except the infinity pool. Steve leans over it, and closes his eyes.
“This is so amazing,” Bucky says, emerging from the villa behind him in a fluffy robe. Even he is a little breathless at all this beauty.
“It looks like a post on Instagram,” Steve says, eyes fluttering open. “Or a damn postcard.” But he’s actually here, breathing in the sea-salted air, taking in the warming sun on his skin, watching little fish swim around underneath.
“Technically we are supposed to eat at the buffet,” Bucky says. “But there’s a service that will deliver meals.”
“So you’re saying we theoretically never have to leave this place for a week?”
“My goal is to stop you from leaving the bed for a week,” Bucky growls and bites at his ear.
Steve laughs. Energized by their bout in the shower, he kisses Bucky thoroughly, and Bucky makes an interested noise, then a rather excited one.
“Get that robe off, silly,” Steve says, pulling the tie from around Bucky’s waist. Bucky tosses it to the side, shamelessly, and Steve gives him a salacious once over, then removes his own towel. Steve grins, a thrill rolling up his spine at being so visibly naked in public, so exposed. And yet the island they were on is so private, so remote, that the chances of anyone seeing are next to none. Hopefully, they don’t have curious neighbors.
They leave the towels carelessly outside, and walk through the double doors back to the bedroom. Even the comforter is soft when Steve jumps on the bed, bouncing slightly. Bucky crawls on top of him, and they kiss, slow and long, without a care in the world.
“Where’d you stash the lube?” Steve asks between hot kisses.
“Everywhere,” Bucky admits. He crawls over Steve’s body and pulls a bottle out from under the pillow. Steve snickers.
“Gimme,” Steve says. “I wanna fuck you.
Bucky passes Steve the bottle, and they flip over, Steve crawling between Bucky’s legs.
Steve slicks up his fingers, then grabs Bucky’s cock, rolling the skin over the head. He’s rewarded with a sharp exhale and a bead of wet dripping from the tip. Steve suddenly thinks about caviar, and he giggles.
“What’s that?”
“Nothing, baby,” Steve says. He finally dips his fingers between Bucky’s thick thighs, and Bucky sighs as Steve pushes in.
It only takes a minute of prep for Bucky to grunt his readiness, cheeks pink and hair mussed. Steve slicks up his own dick and slides home.
Bucky’s hot and wet, and feels like crushed velvet surrounding his cock. Steve gives him a few inches at a time, and watches his boyfriend’s normally stoic face go slack. Eyes closed, hair loose, mouth open in a silent moan, he looks like sin on the blankets, abs flexing as Steve starts working his thrusts.
Steve leans over the other man and begins to press in more firmly, rolling his cock into Bucky’s p-spot. With the difference in their height, Steve can only reach the other man’s neck, but Steve makes good with what he’s given, kissing over the other-man’s obscenely defined pecs, squeezing a nipple between two fingers.
“Fuck...” Bucky whines a bit with his moan, and Steve starts to hasten his pace. Bucky’s ass is alive around him; Steve feels like he’s trying to wring the cum from his cock.
“So good , Bucky,” Steve says. Bucky simply moans in response, too caught up in his own experience. Steve pushes a hand between their bodies, grasping Bucky’s massive cock from where it lay, hardening against his thigh. He strokes him the rest of the way there, until it’s standing straight from his body, and he leaves it be when Bucky is just starting to gasp for it, just so he can watch it bob between their bodies.
Bucky gives a whine of protest, but seems content with playing Steve’s game for the moment, digging his hands into the sheets at his side. Steve leans back on his ankles, finding a sharper angle to play Bucky’s prostate, and watches as each thrust jerks his cock a little more, pulling pre-cum from the tip. The clear liquid drips from his head and drops down to collect on his abdomen. The constant press against his sweet spot has his prostate working overtime, and Bucky is soaking wet in no time.
Steve gets lost in his movements, gets lost in being surrounded by the man he loves, keeping a smooth pace until Bucky’s contentment starts to speed into desperation. Moans turn to whines, his hips rolling back harder into Steve. Steve grunts, hands coming down to fruitlessly try to hold Bucky in place.
“So wet, baby,” Steve purrs. Bucky’s bobbing cock had made a stick puddle of pre-cum on his abdomen. Bucky opens his eyes and gives him the strongest glare he can muster. Steve grins wildly, but decides to offer relief.
He grabs Bucky’s cock again, and Bucky gasps. It only takes a minute to get Bucky to shake to orgasm on Steve’s cock, and that moment of vice clenching is enough to push him to the edge as well.
Steve pulls out and finishes in that puddle on Bucky’s stomach with a curse, then a sigh of relief. He knee walks over his boyfriend to find Bucky’s lips. Bucky’s kisses are languid and sated, eyelids half lidded.
Steve uses his towel to wipe Bucky clean, then curls, naked, into the other man’s body. With them and the bed finally silent, Steve can hear the sound of the gentle ocean waves lapping at the base of the villa, and lets that lull him to sleep.