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Rest up, Bucky sighs to himself, back stiff against the thin mattress of his tent, Doc’s orders.
Silence saturates the grounds, all the merry men who have drunk themselves stupid finally retired back into their cots to sleep the night away. The only souls awake at this god forsaken hours are the Allied officers and the infantry’s brand new Captain, talking logistics back in the London base.
Bucky’s back at his tent now, watching the way shadows dance and stretch across the walls, meaningless shapes and figures that offer little distraction from the static in his head. He can hear the wind howl outside, a high pitched wail that tears through the grounds like a siren, and he sighs, restless.
The hours sit on him like dead weight, a bruising force which stagnates the air.
The taste of beer is thick on his tongue, stomach full of liquid courage, but there’s no warmth in veins, no fire in his spirit.
He’s not drunk, and that’s almost the most unsettling thing since he’s been back, minus the nightmares.
For a man who never thought he’d see the sun rise again, the doctors have taken well to Bucky’s current condition, giving him a quick once over before sending him on his way. There are men in greater need of medical attention, and Bucky’s not quite sure they can offer what he needs, whatever that might be.
He’s back in Allied territory, back under the safety of men he trusts with his life, he’s –
In a musty old room.
Trapped.
The air’s so sterile it stings Bucky’s lungs when he inhales, forcing wretched coughs out from the depth of his chest. His mouth tastes like copper, blood coats his tongue from where he’d bitten into it, and there’s a dull ache where a syringe slowly slips out from the underside of his arm.
He can feel the bite of metal against his wrists, the steel of the counter pressing against his back, punishing and cold.
Men are shouting orders in a language he doesn’t understand, and Bucky can’t keep up, can’t understand what in God’s holy name is happening.
There’s the sound of a drill, and he can’t close his eyes, can’t tear his gaze away as it looms closer, beckons to tear through the casing of his skin, crush his bones until he’s nothing more than dust and dirt, and it hurts, it hurts –
“Bucky?”
A tentative voice calls out from the entrance, piercing through his haze of thoughts. His heart is racing and sweat is pouring out from his skin, soaking through his shirt. Bucky blinks, once, twice, and the warm orange glow of his lamp bleeds back into his vision, replacing the dull browns and blues and looming figures that aren’t there (they aren’t fucking there, Barnes, pull yourself together).
He takes a moment to take a much needed breath, sitting up and facing the doorway.
“Come in.” he calls out, and he hates how his voice sounds, weak and plaintive and wrong, so damn wrong.
Bucky knows who’s there, but it doesn’t stop the shock that trails up his spine at seeing the man enter, following his every movement as he steps inside, shy in revealing himself.
Awfully timid for someone who’s 6 foot tall, he scoffs.
Steve enters, same soft blue eyes and pretty blond hair catching light from Bucky’s beside lamp, and he’s, he’s –
Tall. Jesus, never thought he’d ever associate that word with his Stevie, the little spitfire guy full of piss and vinegar who barely reached 5’4. Bucky doesn’t even know why he’s looking at him like it’s the first time he’s seen him, reverence in his gaze with feet aching to close off the distance, when they’ve been attached by the hip the entire journey back to their camp grounds from Azzano and just enjoyed the night at a pub in London.
Perhaps it’s the absence of 400 men around them, knowing there’s no one but God as their witness for whatever they choose to do in this private space.
Alone, Bucky laughs, unable to hide the twitch of a smile, ‘s been a while since that’s been the case with Steve.
He never thought that’d happen again.
Bucky almost thinks he’s hallucinating, it wouldn’t be the first time that’s happened in the last 48 hours. He almost thinks he’s imagining the man before him, the way he’s built like a tank and stands with the strength of a hundred men, but he’s a firsthand witness to the heat that radiates from over his uniform, how there are rows and rows of lean, taut muscle ready to bear the weight of the world and carry it on his shoulders like he’s always dreamed of doing. He doesn’t have to see it to know it’s all there, after practically carrying him out from the burning building as it erupted in flames.
It’s almost intoxicating, seeing his Stevie here, an entire ocean away from home and wearing a body so foreign to what he was born with.
“Not enough fights to pick at Brooklyn that you hadda come overseas?” Bucky jokes, still planted in his seat. His fingers are digging into the sheets, unable to let go.
The larger man shrugs, stepping closer, “Awfully boring without someone to save me from the nasty ones.”
“Well, looks like you’re doing all the saving now, pal.”
Steve gives a small smile, unsure of how to respond. He’s never been any good at receiving praise, even when it’s offered in jest.
“I meant to come earlier,” he says instead, voice soft, “But I’ve barely had a moment to myself since we all got back.”
Bucky nods, mostly to himself. The man’s rescued an entire infantry, been promoted to Captain and received the Medal of Valour in the span of a few hours, of course he’s been pulled in 30 different directions t at once.
He’s glad Steve’s been busy though, he would have hated being seen the night before when he woke up every other hour from night terrors. It was better this way, least now his grasp on reality has returned a bit and he can actually hold a conversation for longer than 15 seconds without stuttering over every other word. Steve knows Bucky too well, knows his ticks and habits like the back of his hand. Dum Dum and Gabe would miss it, unaware of how Hydra’s already started eating away at his core like a virus, but Steve wouldn’t, without a doubt. And Bucky’s not quite ready for that.
“So,” Bucky straightens up, finally rising from his seat, “You got taller.”
He can hear Steve swallow, watching the man shift under Bucky’s careful gaze.
“Never thought I’d see you again, but swear on my mum’s favorite cross, I never in a million years would’ve expected –“ he cuts himself off, simply marveling for a moment. Steve’s all muscle and fine edges, and he can’t help but stare, can’t help the way his eyes drift. Never expected to see you again, he wants to say, let alone with lungs and a body that actually work.
“Jesus, I even have to look up at you now. Ain’t that a twist?”
Steve’s beautiful as ever, incandescent and glowing, whereas Bucky’s trudging mud underneath his boots, blood under his fingernails from where they were pressing into his palm. The cuts have healed faster than they ever have before, but it doesn’t stop the grime that’s collected beneath his skin, invading him and filling him with a wretchedness that has never seen light.
He’s never been good enough for Steve, and this moment just solidifies it, makes it real.
Steve’s staring at him like he’s hung the moon and all its glorious stars, but Bucky turns away, his throat going tight. It hurts, knowing he can never be what Steve wants, and he wonders why he’s been so selfish all these years, always keeping him at arm’s reach.
Maybe if he could let go, if he let this be their last night, Steve could finally move on, meet someone worth his time. He might not know much, but Bucky recognizes the glint of Agent Carter’s eyes as she stepped into the bar, unbothered by anyone who wasn’t Steve. Bucky knows that look, and his chest aches, remembering it.
It’s the same damn look he’s given Steve time and time again, and he swallows hard, willing the pain away.
There are flashes of medical equipment and masked men, and he inhales sharply, eyes fluttering closed.
He feels so exposed, knowing that Steve is standing a mere feet from him, hyper vigilant of his every move or action. There are no distractions, no officers barking orders at him and stopping him from seeing how broken Bucky’s felt all day, and the brunet can’t stand it, can’t stand Steve seeing him so vulnerable.
“Are you okay?”
Bucky can’t help the furrow of his brows at that question, his jaw working tight.
His hearing might’ve gotten better since laying in that filthy lab, but Bucky chooses silence instead of answering, hoping the blond will simply ignore it.
Hah, fat chance.
This is the same guy who ran into enemy territory after having never won a single fight in his life, course he’d never choose the easy route.
Just as Bucky expects, he watches Steve step closer, his voice low and firm.
“Buck,” he calls out, “I asked if you’re okay.”
Yeah, Bucky wants to spit out, shoulders laxed forward as he scoffs, Why wouldn’t I be?
There’s breath in his lungs and blood rushing through his body, he’s alive to tell the tale of the horrors behind Azzano and he’s fighting for his red white and blue flag with every ounce of strength he can muster.
He’s okay, he tells himself, desperation welling in his chest.
He’s fine.
So why can’t he say it?
“I don’t know,” Bucky responds instead, tone clipped as he avoids eye contact, “I don’t know, okay? I’m –“ he stops, chest aching and lungs gasping as he struggles to take a breath, to calm his racing heart before it beats right out of his sternum. The words fall from his lips before he can stop them, unable to keep them at bay, to stop the pain that’s lacing through his body.
I’m all wrong, he wants to admit, feeling exposed and helpless.
He doesn’t know what they did to him, doesn’t know what was in the syringes or patches, the IV they stuck into his arm or the liquid they forced down his throat, he can’t attest to what was in them or why they gave it to him or just why any of it happened.
He’s just a kid from Brooklyn, what could they have wanted with him?
The tears come so fast he hardly even feels them, burning tracks down his cheeks and drip dropping against the flooring of his tent. Steve’s the only fella he’d ever get caught crying in front of, but it doesn’t stop the shame that’s churning in his gut, the way he can’t quite meet Steve’s eyes.
War don’t got time for a soldier’s tears, he tells himself, desperate to stitch himself back together and regain his composure.
Steve just saw him a few hours ago, it’s been days since he’s been back, he shouldn’t be like this, shouldn’t be so fucking pathetic, so worthlessly vulnerable when the doctor said that there ain’t nothing wrong with him. There are men who have lost their arms, legs, their fuckin’ lives at most, and Bucky’s here letting fat tears roll down his cheeks, all cause a guy or two poked him here and there.
His parents raised him better than this.
Steve takes a tentative step closer to him, trying to close off the distance that is steadily separating them.
“Bucky,” He calls out, his damn voice so sweet it’s both soothing and irritating. Steve’s brows are knitted together in worry, his baby blue eyes honed in on Bucky as he scrubs his face with the back of his sleeve, desperate to remove any remnants of his weakness.
“I’m here,” Steve says, “I’m right here, Buck, tell me how to help, tell me what to do.”
He brings his hand forward and presses it against Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky can’t help his reaction, can’t help stepping back and swatting his hand away.
They’re pushing him into the bed spread, holding him down –
Still halten!
A voice yells, and he’s staggering backwards, terrified.
In a fit of desperation he reaches forward and grips tightly at Steve’s uniform, scared of making contact but even more horrified of being alone.
“Stevie,” Bucky gasps, and he’s pulled into the heat of Steve’s arms, shaking right out of his damn boots like a child, and he wants to laugh at himself, at how fragile he’s being, but he can’t muster up the energy to do it, can’t pretend that he’s okay.
“I still see them,” he whispers, and he knows Steve doesn’t understand, doesn’t know what he’s talking about, and every time he blinks he see’s them, hears them –
“Where you found me. I still see them, sometimes, the ones who tied me there, who –“ he stops, jaw tighter than a livewire, and he feels so raw, like its judgment day and the Lord doesn’t have time to forsake his soul.
Steve’s hand is hesitant against his back, scared to touch him, uncertain of what Bucky wants or needs, but Bucky simply drags him forward, pushing through the haze of thoughts that are distorting his vision.
There’s no one here but Steve, the fella who’s loved him with the universe as their witness, and Bucky should really be counting his Hail Mary’s right now, thanking her for giving him this moment.
He’s shaking and he hates feeling restrained in someone’s arms, but Jesus, Mary and Joseph, he’s missed him, missed him so damn bad his skins on fire, itching to feel Steve’s touch, desperate to know this is real and he’s not there, not trapped in enemy territory and going to die alone.
“Please,” Bucky gasps, fingers straining as they take hold of Steve’s uniform, “Please Stevie, I just, I need –“
He buries his face into the heat of Steve’s neck, sucking a bruising kiss against his racing pulse.
He needs a reminder that he’s still the same guy from Brooklyn.
He needs Steve to tell him that it’s still him, it’s still him underneath the fingerprints those men left on his skin when they pushed and prodded against him, still him behind the anxiety and nightmares.
He needs anything Steve will offer him, and he needs it with such urgency the desire is almost blinding.
Steve licks his lips, swallowing dryly as his hands grip at Bucky’s waist, his skin scorching even with layers of clothes separating them. “Are you sure?” he asks, his voice slipping into that intimate hush no one else would ever have the luxury of hearing.
“Yes,” Bucky answers, eyes glazed over as if he’s trying with all his might to get the word out, “My skin don’t fit right no more.”
Remind me that I’m still me, his eyes plead, and he watches Steve struggle for a moment, consider his options.
As Steve stares into him, that longing gaze memorizing the details of Bucky’s face, his bottom lip twitches, resolve in his gaze. He nods, leaning forward to press a chaste kiss against Bucky’s forehead.
“You remember our rules, right?”
Bucky nods frantically, the desperation that’s fizzling through his chest so visceral he almost wants to laugh. He hates rushing it, rushing their first time in months like this, but he can’t help it, hopes Steve won’t be disappointed with him.
“Green,” he says, “Green, please.”
Steve smiles all sweet and brushes a wayward strand from Bucky’s forehead, leaning in close, close, and pressing a firm kiss against his lips, using his hand to cup at Bucky’s cheek to keep him steady. The brunet sighs into it, a desperate little whine at how good it feels to kiss and be kissed, and Steve gives him a faint little smile, unable to resist being a sap before their scene.
He feels Steve straighten, and Bucky stands there, listening to his blood thrum as it rushes through his ears.
“Buck,” Steve calls out, and there’s strength in his tone now, an authority he hasn’t used in months. Bucky’s staring at him like he’s hung the sun, moon, and all the Lord’s glorious stars, his yielding under Steve's gaze.
“Take my uniform off.”
Bucky makes haste. His fingers are clumsy, pulling and prodding as they struggle to take hold, and he listens to Steve exhale sharply from his nose, unimpressed.
“Hey,“ Steve says, brows furrowed, “You pop off any of those buttons and I’ll tan your hide, Barnes.”
Bucky almost wants to tear each and every button off its thread just so Steve will make due of his promise, will straddle him over his knee, use those big hands of his and tear his pants off and, and –
“Oh,” Bucky can’t help but gasp, knees feeling weak as he buries his face into Steve’s throat, kissing his skin as goosebumps erupt against his flesh.
“Please,” he gasps, “Oh, Stevie, please, please –“
“Relax,” Steve says, fingers running through Bucky’s hair, and Bucky keens into the contact, nuzzles into it, “C’mon baby, can’t do much of anything unless you get my uniform off.”
Bucky nods, eyes glazed over as he manages to peel off Steve’s jacket, folding it all proper and setting it aside. He does the same for Steve’s shirt, and by the time Steve’s undershirt is tossed aside, revealing the taut skin underneath, Bucky’s fingers twitch underneath the expanse of skin, unable to resist touching.
“Jesus Christ,” he whispers under his breath, and Steve simply smirks, heat rising on his cheeks. Bucky’s fingers graze against Steve’s chest, remembering how they used to be bird boned and tiny underneath his hands, and he wants to touch his cute, pink nipples, hold his tits in his hands and suck hickey’s into them, mark him up all pretty.
But he has to wait. Steve hasn’t given him permission yet, so his fingers travel down and settle on the buckle of Steve’s belt, willing himself to stay focused as he slips it off. By the time Steve’s stepped out of his pants, naked as the day he was born, Bucky can’t help the whine that erupts from his throat, his hands clenching and unclenching as he desperately aches for something to hold onto, to get his fingers around his tiny waist or cup his tits or wrap around the length of his cock.
Steve’s erection curls perfectly against his belly, full and heavy and perfect, so perfect. It’s definitely gotten bigger, but Steve’s always been a big fella, he just grew into his size with the new body.
“Stevie –” Bucky begs, and he can’t hide the lust that’s rumbling through his body, how his pants are tented forward, his skin hungry for a single touch. His mouth waters and he’s on his knees, leaning forward to have a taste, to wrap his lips around him. His breath ghosts against the underside of Steve’s cock, inhaling deep and slow to enjoy Steve’s musky scent. Bucky almost goes dizzy over it, feels like the next time he’ll open his eyes, it’ll be in their disheveled little apartment back home in Brooklyn, nuzzled in between his baby’s legs and nestled underneath the covers of their bed, safe from the cold.
Bucky’s trembling in anticipation, so desperate for it, and Steve can’t help but chuckle, charmed by the sight of Bucky so needy for it.
“Not yet,” Steve tells him, and Bucky whines in response, looks up at him through those thick lashes of his, “Get on the bed.”
Bucky can feel his bottom lip thrum, desperate to latch onto something, to lick up the length of his Stevie’s cock and taste him, please him. “But –“
Steve’s hand reaches down and cups at Bucky’s cheek, his thumb pad running across his stubbled cheek, “Can you be good for me, Bucky? Can you do that?”
Bucky’s eyes go wide, focused on the man in front of him. He wants to be good, wants it so desperately. He can do that for Steve, he can, so he slowly leans away, sweat collecting on his brow as he bites his bottom lip till it’s bright and red.
“Yes, yes I – I can, I can, baby, yes.” He nods, and Steve smiles in response, pleased.
“On the bed,” he reminds him, voice gentle and sweet, and Bucky quickly follows, desperate to please.
He’s on his back when he notices his breathing start to pick up, anxiety slowly trailing up his spine, but he closes his eyes, wills himself to relax.
Gentle, warm hands slowly travel down his chest, and Bucky lifts into the touch, yearns for it.
He’s safe, he tells himself, he’s with Steve, just like he’s wanted. His shirt is slowly removed, and it’s not long before his skin is barred to Steve, hesitant after remembering the bruises and cuts that liter his chest and side. He opens his eyes and props himself up on his elbows, eyes panicked as he gazes up at Steve.
“You’re okay,” Steve tells him, voice soft and sweet as he presses kisses against his Bucky’s eyelids, up his forehead and back down his cheeks, “Gonna take care of you. You tell me if I do anything that you don’t like, okay, baby? Can I trust you to do that?”
Bucky’s heart is still racing, but he nods, firm in his answer. He can. He will.
“Good boy,” Steve smiles, and he looks so pleased, so proud to know that Bucky is his, and Bucky wants to smile, to relish in the feeling.
“I want you to lay down and relax, Buck. Deep breaths, ain’t no one here but me, ain’t no one gonna hurt you. I promise.”
Bucky slowly lays back down, nodding.
He may not know what happened to him, may never know the answers to that question, but there’s one thing he’s certain about:
He trusts Steve - wholly and undoubtedly.
He counts to five, lets the breath steadily fill his lungs, then slowly exhales back down to one, doing so a few times as Steve lavishes kisses across his chest and clavicle, taking the delicate skin of his collar bones and nipping it in between his teeth long enough to leave pretty purple marks.
Steve’s tongue and lips travel down his sternum, across the soft hair of his chest, and down the dips of his ribs, pressing delicate kisses against Bucky’s ticklish skin. Steve’s careful to kiss against the bruises and cuts too, albeit gentle and sweet, weary not to irritate them. Bucky’s still focused on his breathing by the time Steve’s made his way down his abs, approaching the course trail of curly brown hair. Bucky sucks in a deep breath, his cock drooling against his stomach as it throbs, aching for attention.
Steve smiles, those full lips of his curled nice and pretty as he make his way right back up Bucky’s chest and to the curve of his jaw, careful not to leave visible hickey’s where he’s sucked and teased at the skin of his neck.
“Jesus, sweetheart,” Bucky chokes, and he smirks, warmth filling the hollow emptiness that dwells in his chest.
He’s missed calling his Stevie that, missed the nicknames or the weight of his lips against his skin, missed the intimacy they used to share back in Brooklyn.
It’s nice, having this reminder of home.
His eyes slowly open and he can’t help but stare at Steve, watch his body work. His muscles look warm and soft like butter in the sun, as if the moment Bucky presses into the comfort of his chest his hand will simply sink in, meld right into him and discard at this wretched distance between them.
Bucky whines, aching for it.
“Baby,” he calls out, fingers twitching and antsy, “Please, can I touch you? Can I?”
“Not yet,” Steve answers, nipping at the skin of his hipbone, “Be a good boy. Let me take care of you.”
Bucky shivers when he feels Steve’s hands press against his chest, his fingertips scorching as they run down the length of his stomach, up his arms and down his legs, across his shoulders until they finally settle on his waist.
“Baby,” Bucky exhales, his skin animated and buzzing, “Sweetheart, oh, fuck, Stevie!” he purrs, hips twitching upward as Steve’s fingertips slowly run up the length of his cock, the touch feather light and barely there; a tease. It leaves Bucky on edge, leaves him gasping for more, counting the seconds until Steve’s touch returns to the needy skin of his cock. Steve’s peppering kisses into Bucky’s inner thighs now, letting his teeth scrape and toy at the skin there, slowly, slowly making his way higher.
Bucky gasps the moment those lips of his press chaste kisses against the underside of his cock, unable to hold the noises in. Steve shushes him, his fingers running idle circles against his thigh.
“People are sleeping, Buck,” Steve says softly, his breath hot and punishing against the sensitive skin of Bucky’s dick, “Gotta keep quiet, don’t want anyone hearing us.”
Bucky nods gracelessly and sucks in a deep breath, fingers digging into the sheets below him. He counts, albeit a little distracted, to five, losing his place the moment Steve expertly flicks his tongue across his red, leaking head, dipping towards the slit to taste the precome that’s started to collect there.
The second the taste is on his tongue, Bucky can hear Steve sigh, a content little sound.
“Mmm,” Steve hum under his breath, a lopsided smile tugging against his cheeks, “You taste good, Buck,” he says under his breath, and Bucky squirms underneath his touch, embarrassed.
When Steve finally lets Bucky into his mouth, sucks and tastes him in earnest, Bucky can’t help but twitch against the contact, tremors racking up the length of his spine. He doesn’t know if he’s so sensitive because of that cocktail of drugs they pumped him full of back in Azzano or cause he’s missed his baby so damn much, but Bucky keens into it, fills the room with sweet little sounds that echo through his tent.
Steve is rubbing at his side, praising him as he takes more of Bucky into his mouth, his movements slow and purposeful. Bucky is thick and heavy on his tongue, a fulfilling weight he’s missed in all the time they’ve been separated, and he wants, he wants –
“No,” Bucky can’t help but whine when Steve slowly slips him out of his mouth, the cold punishing against his wet cock. He thrusts upward absently, missing the heat, missing the warmth of Steve around him. At the sight, his fella gives his stomach a soothing kiss, sitting back on his haunches.
“Buck,” Steve calls out, cupping at his cheek and directing his attention back at him. Steve’s eyes are blown to hell and back, and his cheeks are flushed, a nice pretty color that compliments his pale complexion. Bucky likes it, wants to stare at him all day. He misses the days where he could do exactly that, stare at his Stevie and kiss him and love him without a care in the world.
Maybe after the war, they could have that again. Return to that peace and quiet, untouched by others.
“There’s slick in my coat,” Steve says slowly, accentuating each word, “Go get it.”
Bucky makes a plaintive little sound but does as he’s told, returning back with the small jar. Rogers prolly nabbed it from the infirmary, the fiend. It’ll be back exactly where the doc left it before the rooster will even be up tomorrow morning, but Bucky can’t help but smile, reassured that maybe Steve missed this just as much as he did.
“Get your fingers wet,” Steve commands, and a moment later the cap’s removed and Bucky’s doing exactly that. He sighs, a deep, hearty breath slowly easing the tension from his shoulders.
It’s odd, the way such a familiar scent brings him back home.
“You remember how I like it, right?” Steve half jokes, and Bucky almost barks right at him, confusion worrying his expression.
“Of course,” he responds, “Could never forget, baby, never,” he defends.
Steve gives him a sweet little smile and leans right in, kissing him flush on his lips.
“Good boy.”
Bucky actually smiles at that, cause he’s a sap and he’s always been one to feed off of praise.
Steve sits himself down on Bucky’s lap and brackets Bucky’s hips with his strong legs, rippling with muscle. Bucky takes a moment to admire them, completely distracted by how much his Stevie has changed since he last saw him. Steve brings his hands behind him and slowly spreads his cheeks apart, gaze soft as it concentrates on Bucky.
“Go ahead.” He smiles, a little shy but with all the sweetness he can muster. Bucky melts under his gaze, desperate to please. He leans in close and slowly teases at the rim of Steve’s opening, circling around it with the pad of his finger before slowly, slowly pressing in, bringing his first finger in up until the second knuckle.
He glances up at his baby, reads his expression, and waits until he nods at him, encouraging him on.
Bucky proceeds to slowly press inside, slipping a second finger once he’s felt his Stevie is stretched enough to take it. He’s given sweet little kisses in his hair as encouragement, earning delighted little gasps when he finally curls his fingers, pressing a teasing touch against Steve’s prostate.
Steve hums in approval, a pleased smile curling on his lips.
Steve can’t help but move in tandem with Bucky, fucking himself on his fingers and exhaling wonderful little whimpers and moans, his cockhead drooling and dripping onto Bucky’s thigh. His eyes are screwed shut, lost in the desire that’s rippling through his body as goosebumps erupt up his flesh, the blond hairs on his legs standing on end.
“Bucky –“ he gasps, a pleased whine bubbling up his throat, “That’s, oh, fuck.”
Bucky watches the way Steve spreads his legs wider, his hips moving as his blush travels down his neck and blossoms across his chest, sprinkling as far down as his knees. It takes a moment, but Steve finally brings his hand over and nudges Bucky’s fingers out of him, his breathing coming hard and fast as he struggles to regain his composure. His brows are knitted together in concentration, chest rising and falling.
“Sensitive,” he explains, a vestige of a laugh following in suit, “Serum made it worse, I think…”
Bucky listens to the way Steve sighs, red blotching his cheeks like black ink soaking into paper.
He’s gorgeous, Bucky thinks absently, cock throbbing at the sight of his baby in his lap like this, flushed and hungry for him. Bucky can’t help the way his fingers absently claw and grip at the sheets below them, his ears ringing and lips twitching and body thrumming with desire, with want, with the need to close the distance with this man and love him with every ounce of his being, offer everything to him and ask for nothing in return.
Steve is radiant and stares down at him like the sun pressing kisses against the soil, and Bucky is drinking him in, drinking in his light and feeding off it. He doesn’t know how he’s gone so long without him, without his Stevie’s touch or kisses, his smile or those beautiful eyes of his, of everything that makes up Steven Grant Rogers.
“Do you want me?” Steve asks, his voice soft and filled with a sweetness that’s rotting away at Bucky’s core.
“Yes,” Bucky all but chokes, the emotion of it bursting from his chest, “Please, baby, I need you, I need you. ‘ve missed you sugar, can’t sleep, can’t eat without thinkin’ of you, thinkin’ of my fella,” the words are all jumbled together, all coming out in one breath, and he can’t stop, can’t keep them from bleeding out. His hands are firm on Steve’s hips, his fingers digging in so hard they’ll leave pretty bruises under their wake, and he wants to bruise him up, wants him to wear them with pride underneath his uniform tomorrow morning.
“God, babydoll,” Bucky all but cries, his throat going tight as he blinks wetly at the man above him, “You don’t know how you look, how beautiful you are. Loved you back when you were a skinny little thing of nothing, and I love you now, built stronger than a tank. I love you, Steve, I, I –“
“I love you too, Buck,” Steve says, pressing a firm kiss against his lips, and Bucky hums into the contact, can’t resist bringing his hand up to cup at Steve’s cheeks, to steady his head as he kisses him silly, bites at his bottom lip and sucks in his breath when Steve exhales, filling his lungs with his breath, his essence.
He’s needed this, and he can’t stop the way his hands scramble against him aimlessly, seeking purchase.
Steve makes haste of slickening up Bucky’s engorged cock, delighted by the way his partner hisses from the sudden contact. Steve gives him a few firm jerks and pulls his hand away, lining Bucky up against his entrance.
Bucky’s almost dizzy, laying there while Steve’s scent saturates his skin, branding him.
Steve gazes down at Bucky, unmoving.
“You still want this?” he asks, those bright, lust-hooded eyes of his gauging his partner’s reaction for any sign of true discomfort.
Bucky musters a genuine smile, leaning forward as he kisses his baby right on those pretty lips of his.
“Yes, I’m sure.”
Steve proceeds to sink down onto him, the head of Bucky’s cock pressing against his entrance and slipping inside, stretching him wide.
Both men gasp, Steve’s thighs trembling as he slowly, ever so slowly makes his way down, and Bucky’s using every ounce of self control he has to not thrust up, to not push into the heat of Steve’s body. He can’t help the pleasure that’s coursing through his body, ebbing and flowing like fresh water as his back presses flush against the mattress, the anticipation of it all seizing him.
He waits until Steve is fully seated, watching the way sweat rolls down his baby’s temple, his eyes unfocused and the way his cock spits precome against Bucky’s belly. His fingers are digging into the meat of Steve’s hips, waiting.
Steve rolls his hips experimentally, a hesitant little motion as his mouth falls open, his head falling back.
“Fuck,” he hears Steve gasp, staring up at him in reverence, “Fuck.”
He sits there for a moment, reveling in the sensation, and Bucky can hardly complain, watching the way Steve’s face melts into him, how those big, strong hands of his that he’s watched fight hundreds of men with press against his chest.
“Touch me,” Steve all but begs, and Bucky couldn’t move any faster, his hands flying off his hips to snake up his chest.
His thumbs rub over the tight skin of Steve’s nipples, and Bucky’s shocked at the way Steve’s body twitches at the contact, how a low whine bubbles from his throat. He does it again, gauges the blond’s reaction, and feels him tighten around his cock, his nails biting into the skin of his shoulders.
“Jesus –" Steve gasps, trying to keep his composure, but his eyes are glazed and he’s fucking himself in earnest against Bucky’s cock, picking up the pace. Bucky can hardly stand it, the way Steve moves like water and how shadows work against the taut muscles of his body, defining and accentuating all of that beautiful skin.
“Not too much,” he breathes, his voice thick with desire, “Don’t touch them too much, Buck, I don’t wanna come, not yet.”
Christ, his Stevie’s always been a little sensitive there, but Bucky can hardly imagine, it being so much that it could throw him over the edge.
He wants to try it, sometime, watch his baby come untouched with nothing but his pretty pink nipples being teased, wants to watch him totally get lost in the desire.
Bucky leaves his nipples alone as he leans in close and presses devout kisses around Steve’s chest, his hands groping and touching at the skin of his back, grabbing onto the firm shoulders, his ass, the taut muscle of his thighs. His baby’s always been a work of art, the serum never changed that. He’s just ashamed that it took a new body for people to realize that, and it sets him aflame with anger from deep in his core, a flare of protectiveness that he can’t quite ignore.
Bucky’s thrusts hard and fast, his hands gripping Steve’s hips with bruising force as he buries his face into his shoulder, teeth grazing the soft skin there as he bites down hard, his teeth sinking deep enough to leave pretty little marks. Bucky fucks him like a train, no reprise or pause in his movements, and Steve can’t help the gasps that slip past his lips, how they tear out of his chest as he moans and sighs into Bucky’s hair.
“Just like that,” Steve whispers, muscles tight and burning, “Just like that, baby. You’re so good, god, so good.” Steve lavishes kisses against Bucky’s temple, arms wrapped around his shoulders as he moves in motion with Bucky, pulling him tight against his body.
He gasps as his cock presses against Bucky’s lower stomach, the head catching against the trail of coarse hair there, and Steve can’t help but whine, trembling from the stimulation of it all.
He didn’t used to be this sensitive, Bucky reckons, watching the way Steve’s body trembles against each kiss and thrust, how the tip of his cock is red and drooling against him. He wouldn’t be surprised if the serum made him this way, what with how it’s changed just about everything else.
Steve’s fucking himself on his cock, the sound of flesh slapping against flesh obscene, and it’s almost sinful, just how good it all feels, how Bucky’s head is a messy stream of endless static and yet the burn of his muscles and the rush of endorphins is keeping the worst thoughts at bay, keeping him present in this moment, happy and with Steve.
The pleasure is so visceral it’s practically blinding, and Bucky kisses Steve will all his might, partly because it’s been a moment too long since he’s done that, and because his baby just tastes so sweet against his tongue.
Steve’s holding tight against him, desperate to close any inch of distance between their skin. He kisses at Bucky’s forehead, the highpoints of his cheeks, his lips are slack against the rush of pleasure and yet he can’t stop lavishing his fella in kisses and soft touches, aching to soothe his pain.
He knows there’s only so much he can do.
He can’t kiss the nightmares away, he reminds himself. He can’t make the invasive thoughts disappear with sweet words or praise, can’t fight them away with his fists like they’re tangible, living things with a beating heart and a physical form. He can’t conquer Bucky’s demons for him, but he can remind him that there’s a fire burning bright in his chest, untouched and uncorrupted by anything that might’ve happened behind enemy lines, and that regardless of what has happened, of the cross he has been forced to carry, he is tenacious, an indestructible vessel that does not bend underneath the weight of the world.
It’s one of the many reasons he’s fallen so hard for him, Steve settles, his heart thundering as he gazes into Bucky’s lust filled eyes, his hips slowing against him.
One moment Steve is fucking himself on Bucky’s cock, skin flushed and muscles tight from exertion, and the next he’s rolled onto his back, Bucky climbing over him and kissing his full lips like it’s 1934 and it’s their first time, fooling around before they knew what sex even was.
They’re back at Steve’s place, rutting on his ma’s couch as they steal fevered kisses and grope each other over their clothing, each touch desperate and experimental, drunk on hormones and each other.
Bucky seats himself back inside and rolls his hips slowly, fucking Steve long and sweet and taking his time, like there isn’t a war raging right outside their tent. His breath tickles at Steve’s skin, and Steve cups at this cheeks, stares into those gorgeous eyes of his like it’s the first time he’s seen him in years.
“Bucky,” Steve gasps in reverence, eyes honed in and focused, “Buck, Bucky, Bucky,”
He moans long and low, eyes holding Bucky’s stare.
“Thought you were dead,” he says, and Bucky practically growls, shaking his head in response.
Bucky fucks him hard and desperate at hearing that, his hips snapping forward as Steve’s toes are curling, arms flailing to hold onto his shoulders, “I – oh, oh, thought I’d never have this again, have you again. Know you never wanted me to join up, never wanted me in danger, but I couldn’t just stay at home, Buck, and I couldn’t just stay put, knowing you were in danger, knowing I could’ve lost you.”
Bucky’s fucking him with every ounce of strength and Steve can’t help the moan that erupts up his throat, how it tears through his body. His head rolls on the pillow and he exposes the juncture of his throat, offering it to Bucky.
“Stevie,” Bucky gasps, and his lips slip behind the crook of Steve’s ear, kissing and sucking at the skin until Steve keens, whines from the contact, “Stevie, sweetheart, oh fuck, Stevie,” his hips are snapping hard, movements losing their finesse, “Don’t deserve you, baby, never have, never will,” he admits, and the words taste like bile, burning up his throat and tearing through his teeth until they’re free.
“Someone else,” he whimpers, a broken little sound, “You could be happy with someone –“
“Hush up,” Steve says, and he kisses him like there’s no tomorrow, like they’ll never again have to worry about being separated, “Don’t you say that nonsense, Barnes, I don’t want no one but you, you understand me?”
Bucky stares down at him wetly, unable to stop the tears from flowing. His lips twist, throat going tight, and he hides his face into Steve’s neck, latching onto his pretty throat and sucking on the skin like hard candy. He nods, repeats the words softly to himself like a prayer, in hopes he’ll remember them proper this time.
Tension coils low and hot in his lower belly, and Bucky can’t help the urgency of his movements, how they’ve grown in their desperation.
“Wanna come,” he gasps, his breathing gone ragged, “Wanna come, baby, please.”
“Go ahead,” Steve smiles, kissing at his temple and the highpoints of his cheeks, “But don’t you dare pull out, Barnes, or you’ll have hell to pay.”
Bucky shakes his head, biting his bottom lip, “You,” he says, his eyes glazed as he stares down at his baby, barely even there as he stares unfocused, “You first.”
Steve smiles, lips full and red. He wants to focus on Bucky, focus on his own pleasure, but he knows his fella will never be settled unless he’s taken care of him too, the punk.
Some things never change.
“Okay, baby,” Steve answers, unable to hold himself back much longer, “Make me come.”
Bucky’s fist wraps around Steve’s cock and strokes him in earnest, thumbing his slit and swirling his precome over the head. Bucky whines louder then Steve at the contact, leaning down and kissing Steve hard and full, tasting his mouth as he jerks him in sync with each thrust.
Steve whines into his mouth, pitchy breaths filling the room.
“Just like that,” Steve encourages, whole body flushed red, “Buck, ah, ah, ah!“
Steve comes all over his stomach, white stripes coating his muscles and dripping into the sheets. Bucky is stroking him through it, watching the way his baby’s face tenses in pleasure, the scrunch of his nose, the way the pink of his cheeks turns a scarlet red.
Bucky almost forgets to breathe, unblinking as he watches Steve tremble in pleasure, drunk off the delirium of it.
“Can I?” Bucky asks, a silent request, and Steve hums in approval.
“Yes, baby,” he smiles, blue eyes soft in the amber light, “I want it, go ahead.”
His hips stutter and Bucky buries himself deep, pushing once, twice, before he’s spilling into Steve, heat traveling up his spine as his nerves come alive. He slumps onto Steve, unable to hold his weight any longer, and latches his lips against Steve’s throat, sucking at the dainty skin there. He stares unfocused into the milky expanse of Steve’s skin, hands absently running across his chest. He’s rutting into Steve, whimpers falling from his lips as wave after wave envelop him in pleasure, the feeling so sharp it’s almost painful.
“Good boy,” Steve says as Bucky empties inside him, a hand rubbing at his back, “You’re so good to me, Buck, so good.”
Bucky hums sweetly, feeling small and safe as Steve’s big arms wrap around him.
His name sounds so good on Steve’s lips, and he smiles, wanting to hear it again and again, be lulled to sleep with the sound of Steve’s voice in his ear.
He doesn’t realize how long he’s drifted off for, but he wakes up with his head cradled against Steve’s large chest, listening to his heart working like an engine. His fingers are laced into the messy mop of Bucky’s brown hair, and Steve’s sprinkling kisses against his forehead, gentle little touches that are barely there.
“Stevie?” he calls out, his voice thick with exhaustion. He barely feels like he's there, as if only half his body exists in this moment. It's almost surreal, and he scrambles to find purchase, to get any closer to Steve.
“Hey Buck,” his fella responds, the heat of his body intoxicating as Bucky drinks in his warmth, “How are you feeling?”
“Better,” he answers, and it’s genuine, the way he can breathe without stuttering now.
Steve’s hands absently run down the length of Bucky’s back, drawing idle circles against his skin.
“It takes some getting used to,” he says against the silence, and Bucky can’t help but tilt his head up to make eye contact, concerned.
“Is it that obvious?” he asks, feeling unsettled. Steve simply gives him a lax smile and the shrug of a shoulder.
“You didn’t get drunk tonight.” He says simply, as if the answer was obvious, “5 beers and you’re usually out like a light, and there you were, emptying the bartenders stock,” he jokes.
Bucky’s brows furrow, and Steve kisses them the moment he sees them twitch.
“Hey, it’s alright,” he says, and Bucky just wants to melt into those words, believe them without a sliver of doubt, but he can’t help but work at his lower jaw, his body slowly tightening as the tension begins to seize at his limbs again.
"It hurts, don't it?" Steve asks, and Bucky can't help but hold him tighter, terrified to answer and validate the existence of his weakness, "You've changed, and you're not quite sure how to respond to that, huh, Buck?"
He’s sure Steve can sense his uncertainty with the way he leans over and presses a lazy, soft kiss against Bucky’s cheek, hand warm and grounding against his chest. It’s impressive, how Steve can ease the stress from his body just from existing.
“You’re okay,” he says, voice soft and sweet like Bucky’s mama’s apple pie, “You’re okay, Buck. You’re a hell of a lot stronger then you give yourself credit for. We're really a pair, ain't we? Facing this kinda thing at the same time. And, hey, you know what?”
Bucky turns, holding Steve’s gaze.
“It’s okay to not be okay sometimes. To have nights like these. Doesn’t mean you’re any less grand, y’hear me, Barnes?”
Bucky scoffs at that, burying his wet face into Steve's neck, "Says the emotionally constipated guy who can't ever admit when he needs help," Bucky says, and Steve actually laughs at that, unable to prove him wrong.
All the same, Bucky leans in close and presses a deep kiss against Steve’s flushed lips, letting all of his passion to bleed into the simple gesture.
“I love the hell out of you, Stevie,” he says into the silence, hand cupping Steve’s cheeks as he leans in close, “Fuck, you don’t even know, baby, you don’t even know.”
“Might have an idea,” Steve smirks, kissing him right back.
“Will you stay tonight?”
“Hell,” he snorts, “You couldn’t kick me out if you tried. We have lost time to make up for.”