gift fic, Steve/Bucky
Title: The Way That You Move
Fandom: Captain America
Pair: Steve/Bucky
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The minute Steve meets Bucky, he knows he's in over his head. AU.
A/N: So this is the stripper!Bucky AU that stardustcities requested. It was supposed to be commentfic. As you can see, it... is not. Also at AO3.
“It’s just, well, what on earth am I going to do with a strip club?”
The bartender, Tony, shrugs and pushes his sunglasses up in his hair. “The same thing everyone else does?”
Steve’s expression must say exactly what he’s thinking, because Tony pours him a very strong drink and presses it into his hand. “Hey, all you gotta do is make sure it turns a profit and keep your dancers safe and happy.”
At the mention of the dancers, Steve glances involuntarily toward the stage. There are a few warming up before opening time, scattered across the stage stretching or running through bits of dance routines. Like this, casually chatting with one another and dressed in comfortable clothes they can move in, they seem relaxed. Just a dance troupe.
“I never really thought that they must warm up before shows,” Steve muses aloud. He’s watching one on the far end of the stage, a slender young brunet with a sharp jaw who is arching his back into an impossible curve.
“No one does. I hang around and watch rehearsals sometimes.” Tony indicates the man Steve had been watching with a nod of his head. “The bendy one there is Bucky, he’s the best thing for this place’s profits there is.”
“Bucky, huh. I didn’t know spines did that.”
Tony barks a laugh. “His spine is the least of it.”
Steve can see what Tony means; the way Bucky moves is sinuous, almost hypnotic. He’s graceful, but he’s strong too, power coiled in those lean muscles, and under the smoothness of his motion there’s something raw about him. He practically oozes sexuality, but it’s the kind of sexuality that puts a person on edge. His eyes are sharp and laughing, like he knows something nobody else does, and Steve’s gaze can’t help but be drawn back to him again and again over the rim of his glass.
“Good lord, just ask him to show you the private rooms, already,” Tony remarks, and Steve flushes.
“It’s not- he’s just really good. You were right.”
“Of course I was right.” Tony slides a glass down the bar to one of the other dancers as he passes. “Bucky can make even the straightest man question his sexuality. He’s like Helen of Troy, except instead of his face it’s his hips, and instead of launching a thousand ships it’s causing a thousand sexual crises.”
“That is the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”
“You pay me to mix drinks, not spout poetry.”
“Do that, then.”
“You’re the boss, boss.” Tony drifts off down toward the other end of the bar, chatting with the patrons, and Steve looks back toward the stage. Steve isn’t straight, exactly, but he’s never considered his interest in men as more than a theoretical, general thing. The opportunity just never really came along to do anything about it, but Bucky... watching him gives Steve an itch under his skin, and they’ve never even spoken. Maybe if they did it would shatter the illusion and he’d be just another guy, but Steve can’t really believe that. He’s just so damn gorgeous, so sensual and confident in his own skin (and very little else).
Steve leaves the club just before closing without so much as saying hello.
“You’ve been staring at me all week,” says a voice, and Steve whips around to find himself face to face with Bucky, who is still mostly naked from the night’s performance. Bucky signals Tony for a drink and leans against the bar in a lazy, liquid motion, watching Steve. “You’re the new owner, right? You don’t gotta be shy about asking for a private show.”
Steve’s brain splutters to a halt at that, and watching Bucky’s throat work as he downs his drink really doesn’t help matters.
“Um,” he tries, “I don’t want to- take advantage or anything. Sorry if it’s, um, if I made you uncomfortable. You’re just really beautiful.” He’s cherry red by the time he gets himself to shut up, and Bucky’s mouth has curled into a faint, amused smirk. He wears it well.
“I take my clothes off for a living, being stared at ain’t a problem.”
“Okay. Um, good.”
“It sure shows that you’re new at this, wow.” Bucky holds out a hand. “James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.”
“Steve Rogers.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, teasing but not unkindly. “I gotta run, but I’ll be seeing you.” Before he leaves, Bucky leans in close and murmurs, “And who says you’d be the one taking advantage?”
“I’m doomed,” Steve mutters as he watches Bucky saunter across the room and disappear backstage. Tony appears at his shoulder and nods wisely.
“You really are.”
After that, it becomes a habit for Steve to hang around at the end of the night waiting for Bucky to wander over. Sometimes he puts on his street clothes, but he’s just as likely not to. Possibly he’s trying to make Steve uncomfortable, possibly he just doesn’t really notice the difference. The more time Steve spends around him, the more he thinks it’s the latter; Bucky seems totally at ease no matter what he is or isn’t wearing, and really he isn’t any less distracting when he’s dressed, anyway. He can wear the hell out of a pair of jeans.
“Do you have formal dance training?” Steve asks one night. Everyone else has cleared out, and the two of them are alone in the club, sitting on the edge of the stage. Bucky cocks his head slightly.
“Why do you ask?”
Steve shrugs. “Tonight’s performance, it looked like you might. It was sort of latin.”
Bucky grins. “I’m trained in latin ballroom, yeah. Cha cha, samba, rumba, all that. You must know something about dance to have spotted it.”
“Not a lot. I was an art student, but I knew some people in the dance department. I guess you pick up a little. Uh, if you don’t mind my asking-”
“-what the hell is a formally trained ballroom dancer doing stripping for a living?” Bucky finishes wryly. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said the money’s better.”
“I’d believe it is, I know what dancers make. Is that why?”
“Not really.” Bucky’s mouth pulls down a bit at the corners. “I had an injury to my arm. I can still dance, obviously, but doctors said I’d never really recover enough for the kind of partner work I used to do. No girl is gonna trust me to lift her now, even if I still can.”
“Oh.” Steve knows enough to tread carefully; a career-ending injury is a touchy subject. “I’m sorry. I bet you were good.”
“Oiled hips, pal,” Bucky answers with a grin, recovering. “But you already knew that.”
Steve barely blushes now when Bucky says those kind of things. “I might’ve noticed.”
“One of these days, you’re gonna let me take you to one of the back rooms.”
“Just because I’m your boss doesn’t mean I want to be your job. Goodnight, Bucky.”
“I don’t get it. Why aren’t you hitting that, exactly?”
Steve frowns disapprovingly at Tony. “He works for me. It wouldn’t be right.”
“It’s not like you’re coercing him or sexually harassing him. If anything, he’s sexually harassing you, Stevie boy.”
“Isn’t that sort of the point of his job?”
Tony rolls his eyes. “All I’m saying is he’s obviously every bit as hot for you as you are for him.”
Steve looks at him uncertainly. “Just because someone flirts, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Bucky could have anyone he wants. Hell, he’s surrounded by gorgeous mostly-naked men on a constant basis, but you’re the one he’s flirting with, not them.”
Steve casts a glance toward the stage; it’s true, Bucky is on perfectly friendly terms with his co-workers, but he doesn’t tease and smirk at them they way he does at Steve. Steve had always sort of assumed it was just because the other dancers were immune.
“You really think?”
“You’re an idiot, boss. Have a drink.”
Steve doesn’t know if Tony has been gossipping or if Bucky just has some kind of sixth sense for people considering making a move on him, but in any case when he slinks down from the stage he weaves around the tables in what’s unmistakeably Steve’s direction. For a fleeting moment Steve considers making a run for it, but that would be rude. Besides, he’s not sure his legs will actually work.
“Hey handsome,” Bucky purrs, moving astride Steve’s lap. He smells like sweat and cologne, and his abs are right at eye level. Steve wants so badly to touch, to fit his hands to Bucky’s hips and lick his way up his chest. To stay still with Bucky grinding on top of him is torture, and Bucky must know it, he has to.
“Bucky,” Steve says, not quite a whine, and Bucky pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair and gives a particularly cruel roll of his hips.
“Wait up for me,” he orders before leaving Steve alone with his inconvenient erection. As if Steve could possibly do anything but wait for him. The rest of the night passes in a haze; Steve stays right where he is, and Bucky keep looking at him across the room, all wicked and promising.
“So,” Bucky says, cool as you please once he reappears from backstage, dressed again, “your place or mine?”
“Whichever is closer.”
“Good choice. I’m just down the road, come on.”
The door has barely shut before Bucky is on him, but this time Steve can touch back.
“Never do that to me in public again,” Steve growls, hauling Bucky in closer, “or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna fuck me right in the club?” Bucky demands, shoving Steve towards what’s presumably the bedroom.
“Why, do you want me to?”
“Christ,” Bucky says, and finally topples them both into bed. He’s an aggressive, biting kisser, hot and demanding, and Steve is more than willing to let him take the lead.
“It’s fuckin’ unfair, you see me without my clothes on all the time, and you’re hidin’ this under your shirts.” Bucky tosses Steve’s shirt aside as if it has personally offended him, then makes short work of Steve’s pants and underwear.
“Hey, come on,” Steve complains, reaching to undress Bucky himself for once instead of just watching him shed his clothes.
“You should be up there on stage with me, baby, body like this,” Bucky purrs, rubbing against him with a full-body roll that slides their hips together just right. Steve groans and clutches at Bucky’s pert ass, probably hard enough to leave finger-bruises that will show at work the next night. He should be chagrined, but the thought gives him a gut-deep satisfaction, knowing that he’s the one Bucky is letting touch him.
“Let me fuck you.”
“Oh,” Steve pants, blinking up at him. “I’ve never actually- with a guy.”
“Never? Fuck, that explains a lot. Scratch that then.” Bucky rearranges them, nudging Steve to lie propped up against the pillow with his legs spread before Bucky slides between them and wraps his mouth around Steve’s cock.
“Oh God,” Steve moans. It’s been a while since he’s been with anybody, and Bucky has an incredible mouth- this will probably be over embarrassingly fast, especially with Steve at an angle to watch him suck. Bucky hollows his cheeks and takes him so deep on every slide, and it’s all Steve can do not to thrust up into the wet heat of his mouth. He grabs hold of Bucky’s hair just to have something to hold on to, desperate for any kind of anchor.
Bucky makes a sound in his throat- it might’ve been a stifled laugh- but whatever it is, it’s enough to tip Steve over the edge with a gasp. Bucky swallows, licks Steve clean and grins up at him, smug and amazing and gorgeous.
“You are,” Steve says breathlessly, “just... incredible.”
“Flatterer,” Bucky retorts, but he sounds unmistakeably pleased. Steve feels wrecked, but he pulls Bucky up for a kiss and curls a hand around his cock.
“Sorry I’m not-”
“Hey, no, shut up,” Bucky says, and sounds a little breathless. “You’ve got great hands, fuck, this is just fine. Harder, come on.” He’s not kidding, that much is clear when Steve obliges- Bucky likes his sex hard and fast, growls and pants until he comes all over Steve’s stomach.
“Next time,” Bucky murmurs as he wipes them off and flops back on the bed, “we’ll work you up to getting fucked.”
All Steve hears is next time.
Fandom: Captain America
Pair: Steve/Bucky
Rating: NC-17
Summary: The minute Steve meets Bucky, he knows he's in over his head. AU.
A/N: So this is the stripper!Bucky AU that stardustcities requested. It was supposed to be commentfic. As you can see, it... is not. Also at AO3.
“It’s just, well, what on earth am I going to do with a strip club?”
The bartender, Tony, shrugs and pushes his sunglasses up in his hair. “The same thing everyone else does?”
Steve’s expression must say exactly what he’s thinking, because Tony pours him a very strong drink and presses it into his hand. “Hey, all you gotta do is make sure it turns a profit and keep your dancers safe and happy.”
At the mention of the dancers, Steve glances involuntarily toward the stage. There are a few warming up before opening time, scattered across the stage stretching or running through bits of dance routines. Like this, casually chatting with one another and dressed in comfortable clothes they can move in, they seem relaxed. Just a dance troupe.
“I never really thought that they must warm up before shows,” Steve muses aloud. He’s watching one on the far end of the stage, a slender young brunet with a sharp jaw who is arching his back into an impossible curve.
“No one does. I hang around and watch rehearsals sometimes.” Tony indicates the man Steve had been watching with a nod of his head. “The bendy one there is Bucky, he’s the best thing for this place’s profits there is.”
“Bucky, huh. I didn’t know spines did that.”
Tony barks a laugh. “His spine is the least of it.”
Steve can see what Tony means; the way Bucky moves is sinuous, almost hypnotic. He’s graceful, but he’s strong too, power coiled in those lean muscles, and under the smoothness of his motion there’s something raw about him. He practically oozes sexuality, but it’s the kind of sexuality that puts a person on edge. His eyes are sharp and laughing, like he knows something nobody else does, and Steve’s gaze can’t help but be drawn back to him again and again over the rim of his glass.
“Good lord, just ask him to show you the private rooms, already,” Tony remarks, and Steve flushes.
“It’s not- he’s just really good. You were right.”
“Of course I was right.” Tony slides a glass down the bar to one of the other dancers as he passes. “Bucky can make even the straightest man question his sexuality. He’s like Helen of Troy, except instead of his face it’s his hips, and instead of launching a thousand ships it’s causing a thousand sexual crises.”
“That is the worst metaphor I’ve ever heard.”
“You pay me to mix drinks, not spout poetry.”
“Do that, then.”
“You’re the boss, boss.” Tony drifts off down toward the other end of the bar, chatting with the patrons, and Steve looks back toward the stage. Steve isn’t straight, exactly, but he’s never considered his interest in men as more than a theoretical, general thing. The opportunity just never really came along to do anything about it, but Bucky... watching him gives Steve an itch under his skin, and they’ve never even spoken. Maybe if they did it would shatter the illusion and he’d be just another guy, but Steve can’t really believe that. He’s just so damn gorgeous, so sensual and confident in his own skin (and very little else).
Steve leaves the club just before closing without so much as saying hello.
“You’ve been staring at me all week,” says a voice, and Steve whips around to find himself face to face with Bucky, who is still mostly naked from the night’s performance. Bucky signals Tony for a drink and leans against the bar in a lazy, liquid motion, watching Steve. “You’re the new owner, right? You don’t gotta be shy about asking for a private show.”
Steve’s brain splutters to a halt at that, and watching Bucky’s throat work as he downs his drink really doesn’t help matters.
“Um,” he tries, “I don’t want to- take advantage or anything. Sorry if it’s, um, if I made you uncomfortable. You’re just really beautiful.” He’s cherry red by the time he gets himself to shut up, and Bucky’s mouth has curled into a faint, amused smirk. He wears it well.
“I take my clothes off for a living, being stared at ain’t a problem.”
“Okay. Um, good.”
“It sure shows that you’re new at this, wow.” Bucky holds out a hand. “James Barnes, but everyone calls me Bucky.”
“Steve Rogers.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Steve Rogers,” Bucky says, teasing but not unkindly. “I gotta run, but I’ll be seeing you.” Before he leaves, Bucky leans in close and murmurs, “And who says you’d be the one taking advantage?”
“I’m doomed,” Steve mutters as he watches Bucky saunter across the room and disappear backstage. Tony appears at his shoulder and nods wisely.
“You really are.”
After that, it becomes a habit for Steve to hang around at the end of the night waiting for Bucky to wander over. Sometimes he puts on his street clothes, but he’s just as likely not to. Possibly he’s trying to make Steve uncomfortable, possibly he just doesn’t really notice the difference. The more time Steve spends around him, the more he thinks it’s the latter; Bucky seems totally at ease no matter what he is or isn’t wearing, and really he isn’t any less distracting when he’s dressed, anyway. He can wear the hell out of a pair of jeans.
“Do you have formal dance training?” Steve asks one night. Everyone else has cleared out, and the two of them are alone in the club, sitting on the edge of the stage. Bucky cocks his head slightly.
“Why do you ask?”
Steve shrugs. “Tonight’s performance, it looked like you might. It was sort of latin.”
Bucky grins. “I’m trained in latin ballroom, yeah. Cha cha, samba, rumba, all that. You must know something about dance to have spotted it.”
“Not a lot. I was an art student, but I knew some people in the dance department. I guess you pick up a little. Uh, if you don’t mind my asking-”
“-what the hell is a formally trained ballroom dancer doing stripping for a living?” Bucky finishes wryly. “I suppose you wouldn’t believe me if I said the money’s better.”
“I’d believe it is, I know what dancers make. Is that why?”
“Not really.” Bucky’s mouth pulls down a bit at the corners. “I had an injury to my arm. I can still dance, obviously, but doctors said I’d never really recover enough for the kind of partner work I used to do. No girl is gonna trust me to lift her now, even if I still can.”
“Oh.” Steve knows enough to tread carefully; a career-ending injury is a touchy subject. “I’m sorry. I bet you were good.”
“Oiled hips, pal,” Bucky answers with a grin, recovering. “But you already knew that.”
Steve barely blushes now when Bucky says those kind of things. “I might’ve noticed.”
“One of these days, you’re gonna let me take you to one of the back rooms.”
“Just because I’m your boss doesn’t mean I want to be your job. Goodnight, Bucky.”
“I don’t get it. Why aren’t you hitting that, exactly?”
Steve frowns disapprovingly at Tony. “He works for me. It wouldn’t be right.”
“It’s not like you’re coercing him or sexually harassing him. If anything, he’s sexually harassing you, Stevie boy.”
“Isn’t that sort of the point of his job?”
Tony rolls his eyes. “All I’m saying is he’s obviously every bit as hot for you as you are for him.”
Steve looks at him uncertainly. “Just because someone flirts, it doesn’t mean anything.”
“Bucky could have anyone he wants. Hell, he’s surrounded by gorgeous mostly-naked men on a constant basis, but you’re the one he’s flirting with, not them.”
Steve casts a glance toward the stage; it’s true, Bucky is on perfectly friendly terms with his co-workers, but he doesn’t tease and smirk at them they way he does at Steve. Steve had always sort of assumed it was just because the other dancers were immune.
“You really think?”
“You’re an idiot, boss. Have a drink.”
Steve doesn’t know if Tony has been gossipping or if Bucky just has some kind of sixth sense for people considering making a move on him, but in any case when he slinks down from the stage he weaves around the tables in what’s unmistakeably Steve’s direction. For a fleeting moment Steve considers making a run for it, but that would be rude. Besides, he’s not sure his legs will actually work.
“Hey handsome,” Bucky purrs, moving astride Steve’s lap. He smells like sweat and cologne, and his abs are right at eye level. Steve wants so badly to touch, to fit his hands to Bucky’s hips and lick his way up his chest. To stay still with Bucky grinding on top of him is torture, and Bucky must know it, he has to.
“Bucky,” Steve says, not quite a whine, and Bucky pushes his fingers through Steve’s hair and gives a particularly cruel roll of his hips.
“Wait up for me,” he orders before leaving Steve alone with his inconvenient erection. As if Steve could possibly do anything but wait for him. The rest of the night passes in a haze; Steve stays right where he is, and Bucky keep looking at him across the room, all wicked and promising.
“So,” Bucky says, cool as you please once he reappears from backstage, dressed again, “your place or mine?”
“Whichever is closer.”
“Good choice. I’m just down the road, come on.”
The door has barely shut before Bucky is on him, but this time Steve can touch back.
“Never do that to me in public again,” Steve growls, hauling Bucky in closer, “or I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”
“Oh yeah? You gonna fuck me right in the club?” Bucky demands, shoving Steve towards what’s presumably the bedroom.
“Why, do you want me to?”
“Christ,” Bucky says, and finally topples them both into bed. He’s an aggressive, biting kisser, hot and demanding, and Steve is more than willing to let him take the lead.
“It’s fuckin’ unfair, you see me without my clothes on all the time, and you’re hidin’ this under your shirts.” Bucky tosses Steve’s shirt aside as if it has personally offended him, then makes short work of Steve’s pants and underwear.
“Hey, come on,” Steve complains, reaching to undress Bucky himself for once instead of just watching him shed his clothes.
“You should be up there on stage with me, baby, body like this,” Bucky purrs, rubbing against him with a full-body roll that slides their hips together just right. Steve groans and clutches at Bucky’s pert ass, probably hard enough to leave finger-bruises that will show at work the next night. He should be chagrined, but the thought gives him a gut-deep satisfaction, knowing that he’s the one Bucky is letting touch him.
“Let me fuck you.”
“Oh,” Steve pants, blinking up at him. “I’ve never actually- with a guy.”
“Never? Fuck, that explains a lot. Scratch that then.” Bucky rearranges them, nudging Steve to lie propped up against the pillow with his legs spread before Bucky slides between them and wraps his mouth around Steve’s cock.
“Oh God,” Steve moans. It’s been a while since he’s been with anybody, and Bucky has an incredible mouth- this will probably be over embarrassingly fast, especially with Steve at an angle to watch him suck. Bucky hollows his cheeks and takes him so deep on every slide, and it’s all Steve can do not to thrust up into the wet heat of his mouth. He grabs hold of Bucky’s hair just to have something to hold on to, desperate for any kind of anchor.
Bucky makes a sound in his throat- it might’ve been a stifled laugh- but whatever it is, it’s enough to tip Steve over the edge with a gasp. Bucky swallows, licks Steve clean and grins up at him, smug and amazing and gorgeous.
“You are,” Steve says breathlessly, “just... incredible.”
“Flatterer,” Bucky retorts, but he sounds unmistakeably pleased. Steve feels wrecked, but he pulls Bucky up for a kiss and curls a hand around his cock.
“Sorry I’m not-”
“Hey, no, shut up,” Bucky says, and sounds a little breathless. “You’ve got great hands, fuck, this is just fine. Harder, come on.” He’s not kidding, that much is clear when Steve obliges- Bucky likes his sex hard and fast, growls and pants until he comes all over Steve’s stomach.
“Next time,” Bucky murmurs as he wipes them off and flops back on the bed, “we’ll work you up to getting fucked.”
All Steve hears is next time.