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Steve lives in a penthouse at the San Remo on Central Park West, because of course he does. There are floor-to-ceiling windows in the living room looking out over the park and the UES, and the entire place is immaculately lit and decorated. It’s such a contrast to the tiny hovel in Alphabet City that Bucky shares with his roommate that he almost laughs out loud.
But Steve gives him no time to stand and gawk, just throws their coats on a chair and pulls him down a hallway into a palatial, sumptuous primary suite. Since they left the bar, he hasn’t once let go of Bucky’s wrist, clutching it in the limo and across the sidewalk and up the private escalator.
The pain in his arm has intensified. Bucky would be lying if he said he didn’t like it.
“On the bed,” growls Steve, propelling Bucky toward it and only then letting go of him. Bucky lets himself be pushed, turns, and flops down. The mattress is, of course, the perfect balance of firm and soft.
“Dontcha want me to take my clothes off f—“ starts Bucky. He’s cut off by a large hand over his mouth.
“I want you to shut up and obey my orders,” Steve snarls, looming over him. “Can you do that?”
Swallowing hard, Bucky nods once, his eyes huge. His dick, which has been on alert since they left the bar, now shows real interest, stirring in his pants.
Steve notices, because of course he does. A wicked smile plays over that gorgeous face.
“Good boy,” he hisses, followed by a chuckle when Bucky’s traitorous dick twitches again. Over the next hour, he carefully, methodically takes Bucky apart, removing all his clothes and administering an expert clinic on blowjobs and fingering, even though Bucky is still loose and wet from their earlier post-biting session at the club.
By the time Steve has bent him in two and is preparing to breach his hole with his monster cock, Bucky is off, floating on a cloud. But somehow he retains the two brain cells needed to look up at Steve and beg.
“Please,” he says, looking up into those ocean blue eyes, now dark with lust.
“I got you, baby boy,” answers Steve, misinterpreting his plea. “Gonna fill you up now.”
“N-no,” Bucky stammers out. “I mean, yes, but…wanna see you? Please?”
He stares pointedly at Steve’s looming form, still covered head to toe in his dress shirt and pants, only his dick visible in the vee of his zipper.
Those plush lips part, and the older man lets out a tiny gasp. “Y’wanna see me?” he counters, with a hint of uncertainty. Bucky doesn’t know how to tell him how much, so he just nods sharply and groans out an uh-huh.
It must convince Steve, though, because he unbuttons his shirt, rips it off, and pulls back far enough to shuck off his his pants and underwear, and…
Well.
Bucky could gaze at naked Steve all day, at the acres of freckled skin across the rippling muscles, but now he needs to touch even more. He holds out his arms, beseeching.
Steve smiles. “I got you,” he says again, and leans forward, lining up and pushing into Bucky with one smooth stroke.
There go Bucky’s last two brain cells. He gives himself over to the pleasure.
***
“This is a really nice apartment,” remarks Bucky, looking at the ceiling, hands tucked behind his head. They’ve fucked and changed the sheets and showered, and Steve forestalled any doubt in Bucky’s mind about what to do next by deftly pulling him into bed and wrapping the covers around both of them.
“But I mean,” he goes on, turning to face the other man, “it’s not surprising, given your fancy job as Tony Stark’s babysitter and all.”
Steve looks annoyed for half a second but then chuckles. “My home makes up for a lot about my job,” he comments. “A job that does have its perks.” He trails fingers down Bucky’s arm, smiling at the shiver this elicits.
“What other perks?” inquires Bucky, sassy. “I betcha got mansions everywhere, huh?”
Another chuckle. “Nope,” says Steve. “Just this place. Well, and an apartment in Paris. And a farm upstate.”
Bucky is pulled up short at this information. “A farm,” he says, gobsmacked. “Upstate.”
“Yes.” Steve raises his eyebrows. “You know, upstate New York? It starts right after Westchester, but my farm is a couple hours north of that.”
“A farm.” Bucky repeats.
“Uh-huh.”
An image flashes through Bucky’s mind of Steve next to a tractor in overalls, bandanna, and straw hat, a hayseed sticking out of his mouth, and it’s breaking his brain a little.
But he’d be lying if he said he didn’t like it.
“So whaddya grow on this farm, Steve?” Recovering himself, Bucky reverts to teasing mode. “Wheat? Corn? Al-FAL-fa?”
Steve rolls his eyes. Cups Bucky’s elbow. “I rent out some pasture to a local dairy farm for their cows, but most of it is an orchard.” He shrugs. “50 acres, maybe 1000 trees. Mostly apple, but some pears too.”
“1000 trees.” Bucky’s brain breaks all over again. He looks at Steve in shock. “Steve, that is a fuckload of trees.”
“Much smaller than a commercial orchard,” Steve says, laughing. “Some of the fruit goes to local distributors, some of it is pick-your-own, and we have a cider mill and a country store. And…” he squeezes Bucky’s shoulder, “…there’s a nice farmhouse across the road. Built in 1824. I renovated it, though.”
“Yourself?” Bucky sounds incredulous, but it’s not impossible. Maybe that’s where Steve got all those muscles.
Another laugh from Steve. “I helped a bit,” he replies. “But most of the credit goes to my general contractor.”
“A farmhouse,” Bucky sighs. “That sounds really nice.” And he means it, though he’s hardly been out of the city himself, and never that far north.
“It is very nice,” agrees Steve. He looks Bucky over, eyes shining in the dim light. “Maybe I’ll take you up there for a weekend. If you aren’t too much of a brat,”
Bucky’s a little overwhelmed. He bit Steve and stole his wallet, or at least showed him he could, and now Steve wants to take him away to the country for the weekend?
This guy.
To cover his emotions, he clears his throat. Grins wickedly into those deep blue eyes.
“You like it when I’m a brat,” he teases, tossing a challenging smirk at the older man.
A smile like an ocean sunrise spreads over Steve’s face. He pulls Bucky close, tucks his face into the crook of Bucky’s neck.
“Yeah, Buck,” he whispers in Bucky’s ear. “Yeah, I do.”