Why Then Oh Why Can't I? (Part 6 of 6)
Title: Why Then Oh Why Can't I? (or, 5 Times Steve Rogers Felt Awkward Talking About Sex, and One Time He Stopped Talking Altogether)
Author:
ladyblahblah
Fandom: Captain America, The Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Clearly I own none of this. I can't even imagine a world in which I would be able to make any profit off of something like this. I have nothing, and make no claim to anything but the story itself and the OCs. Please don't sue me. Pretty please.
Summary: “You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”
Author's Note: So, um. I SWEAR I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THINGS TO GET THIS PORNY, I JUST SORT OF GOT CARRIED AWAY, SORRY I'M NOT SORRY. Also, super-sappy ending is super-sappy. Sorry I'm not sorry about that, either. JFC, this is longer than the first two parts combined what even is my brain? Nothing really more to add; this is pretty much just gratuitous porn and a sappy ending because ffs, there's only so many feels a girl can handle, you know what I'm saying? Hopefully it doesn't feel like too much of a departure, tone-wise. But if it does, well, at least you get porn out of the deal? :erm:
6. We Were Always Heading Here
“Thanks again for agreeing to do this.” Steve glances over the top of the canvas with a nervous grin. “I'm sure it's probably getting tedious for you by now.”
“Don't be an idiot,” Bucky says fondly. “I told you already, I don't mind. Besides, I get to hang out with you while you work, so where's the down side?”
“I guess there isn't one.” Steve knows he's smiling stupidly now, and he ducks his head back down. “I like having you over,” he admits, applying one final messy stroke to the canvas before he deposits the brush in a waiting jar of mineral spirits. “And if it's not too much of a chore for you, I was sort of hoping I could convince you to do it again.”
“What, come over?” Bucky teases.
“Ha-hah. No, I meant sit for me again.”
“I know what you meant. You've hardly started on this painting and you already want to do another?”
“No. Well, not exactly. I was thinking of drawing, not painting; you've got a great face for charcoal. And a great body, too, obviously.” Steve's face immediately flares bright red. “From an artistic standpoint, I mean. I mean, you do have a great body, I just-”
Bucky is laughing, grinning like Steve hasn't just made an idiot out of himself. Or maybe like he has, but it just doesn't matter. Steve grins awkwardly back and tries to relax.
“You're seriously on-edge tonight,” Bucky says. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I . . . everything's fine.”
Steve swallows hard, trying to unclog the words that have caught in his throat, and wishes absently he were wearing nicer clothes. His old jeans and faded S.H.I.E.L.D. t-shirt are fine enough for painting-there are already spatters on both from old projects, in addition to a couple of new smudges from tonight-but not exactly what he'd consider ideal attire for a romantic confession. He could change, but there's really no way to justify that unless they're leaving the apartment. He considers that idea for a moment-they could go out for a nice dinner, and Steve could order a bottle of wine and pretend that it's making him braver. But no, if he's going to do this he wants it to be in private; he doesn't want to face the possibility of crushing rejection in a crowd full of strangers. So maybe, he thinks, it would be best to hold off altogether? Tomorrow would be every bit as good, really, and-
He's stalling. He knows it. And if there's one thing that Steve has never been, it's a coward, so he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath.
“Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Yeah?” Bucky hops down off of the stool and pads over to the easel. “Shoot.” He pokes his head around to steal a glance, and he can't keep his brow from creasing into a frown. “Huh.”
“What?” Steve asks, momentarily distracted and shifting nervously from foot to foot. “What's wrong?”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That,” he says, jerking a thumb at the canvas, “doesn't look a thing like me.”
“It's not supposed to, idiot.” It's a little ridiculous, how relieved Steve is; he hadn't quite realized until this very moment how worried he's been that Bucky won't like his work. “This is just to get the basic shapes down; it won't start looking like you until later.”
“Uh huh.” Bucky doesn't seem to be paying terribly close attention, too busy staring critically at the blocks of color. “You're still planning to have me shirtless? That's why this bit is all sort of the same color, right?” he asks, gesturing. “So how come you had me keep it on tonight?”
It's an opening, of sorts, but somehow because I'm getting ready to tell you that I'm in love with you, and under the circumstances, asking you to strip half-naked first seemed like a creepy way to start the evening doesn't seem like the best possible answer. Instead, Steve just shrugs uncomfortably.
“I know what color your chest is; I don't need to see it just to block it in.”
“You had me take my shoes off,” Bucky points out. “My feet are the same color as the rest of me, too.”
“That's different; it's an entirely different shape, you-”
“Nope, sorry,” Bucky interrupts easily, his mouth twitching. “No more of this blind faith in your abilities. I'm gonna need to see some proof you know what you're doing if you want me to show up tomorrow.”
Steve rolls his eyes and grabs his sketchbook, handing it over with an exasperated grin. “You could've just asked, you know.”
“I've asked before; you always brushed me off.” Bucky starts flipping through the pages, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. “You said you had something to talk to me about?”
“Hmm? Oh.” He's gotten distracted again, watching Bucky's hands. “I, um. Yes. I did.”
“Okay, so.” Bucky glances up with a grin that makes Steve's stomach flip. “Spit it out already. It's just . . . me. Oh.” He's glanced back down at the sketchbook, and when Steve follows his gaze he sees that he's turned to the most recent pages. “Wow.” Bucky swallows visibly, his fingers trailing over a rough sketch of his profile. “These are . . . I always knew you were good, but these are really amazing. I look . . .” He laughs, a little nervously. “I don't really look like this.”
“You don't spend as much time looking at you as I do,” Steve says, and immediately wishes he could snatch the words back. There's no going back, however, so he clears his throat and decides to use the opening that it's given him. “That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Sort of. I mean, not specifically, but-” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “You see, the thing is, when you're drawing someone, when you're looking at someone so closely for so long, you start to . . . well, to notice things that you might not, otherwise.”
“Okay.” Bucky closes the book warily and sets it aside. “I take it you've noticed something about me.”
“Yeah. Sort of. More something about me, I guess? Just.” Steve clears his throat and tries to summon his courage. “You remember when you first told me you were . .
. interested in men? And, um. I told you that it didn't change anything, but . . .”
“I told you that it would.”
“Right. Well, the thing is . . .” Steve feels flushed and shaky; he can barely speak he's so nervous. “You were right.”
“Was I?” Bucky's face is falling into neutral lines, closing off in a way that makes Steve's nerves skitter uneasily.
“You were. It . . . well, there are things it's made me notice. Realize, I guess. About, um. Well, I don't think any of it is new, really, I just never understood what it meant, before. But now-”
“Look, Steve, it's okay.” Bucky glances at the canvas again and then quickly away. “I think I know what you're getting at. But you don't need to worry, all right? Nothing has to get . . . weird between us.”
“Oh.” As reactions go, Steve is finding this one ambiguous at best. It feels like rejection, though, and he does his best to steel himself against the sudden hollow feeling in his stomach. “Okay, that's . . . good, I guess.”
“You do trust me, don't you?”
“With my life,” he says immediately, without needing even a moment to consider, and he watches a grateful smile spread over Bucky's face.
“Okay. Then trust me when I say that you don't have to worry about this.”
“Right.” Steve opens his mouth, closes it again; best to let it drop, to change the subject, to let it go. But he has to know, has to be sure; he has to hear the words, or he'll never really be able to move on. “So . . . you're saying you're not interested?”
“What?” Bucky looks like he's been caught off-guard, and he blinks up at Steve in confusion.
“Aren't you?” Against all reason, a cautious spark of hope catches hold in Steve's chest, and he dares to edge an inch closer. “If that's not what you were trying to say, then what were you talking about?”
“What were you talking about?”
“I . . .”
The words won't come out, stuck as they are behind his heart that's managed to climb its way into his throat. He's trying not to stare at Bucky's lips, but for some reason he has Tony's voice in his head talking about getting his point across, and before he can remind himself why it's a bad idea he's framing Bucky's face in his hands as he darts forward to steal a kiss.
Bucky's mouth is slack with surprise beneath his, but his lips are soft and warm, and the scent of his skin is making Steve's head spin, so it's several long moments before he fully realizes what he's doing. Guilt hits him immediately, and he's about to pull away, to stammer out an apology and hope that his friend will forgive him, when things abruptly change.
There's sudden pressure against his lips as Bucky begins to kiss him back, and Steve can't even hope to think beyond how good it is. He's aware of a warm hand curling around his waist, of the shift and press of Bucky's lips against his, of a gentle wash of breath against his cheek. His entire body feels like it's humming, buzzing and trembling and vibrating with the sudden force of this, yes, finally. He's half-hard already, from nothing more than a single chaste kiss; Steve thinks, distantly, that he should be embarrassed about that. He's not, though, and he hears himself make a small, eager sound as he moves in closer. His hips fit against Bucky's, and they both groan as the hand at his waist pulls him in, encouraging for a brief, wonderful moment. But then both of Bucky's hands are braced against Steve's chest as he steps away, steps back, and Steve is left floundering and unsure.
“Sorry,” he says automatically, even as he fights the urge to reach for Bucky again. “Sorry, I . . . was that not-?”
“No, it's just-this is a bad idea.”
“It's . . . but . . .” Steve can't seem to make himself understand. “You kissed me back.”
“I know. Fuck.” Bucky runs a trembling hand over his mouth. “I want to; god, Steve, you have no idea.”
“Oh. Oh, good. Thank God.” Nearly giddy with relief, Steve steps forward, but Bucky edges back again. “What?”
“Look, it's natural to be. You know. Curious.” Bucky isn't quite looking him in the eye now. “But you're not the type to do this sort of thing casually. That's just not who you are. And I'm not gonna let you to do something you'll regret later, just because-”
“Bucky.”
Steve is quicker this time, taking hold of Bucky's shoulders before he can evade. There are so many things he wants to say, so many thoughts tangling together in his mind, but none of them quite manage to make their way into words. Truthfully, that's probably for the best, since at least half of what he's thinking is probably too much, too soon. So instead he focuses on the single, simple truth that runs through everything else he wants to say.
“I don't want to do this with anyone else.”
There's something like recognition in Bucky's eyes at that, something like the same cautious hope that Steve is feeling; like perhaps those meager words are, after all, enough to make him understand. Steve moves slowly forward, his eyes still locked on Bucky's as he carefully lowers his head. If Bucky pulls away again he won't stop him, but he hopes-oh, Steve hopes he won't. And when he doesn't, when Steve feels his lips brush softly against his friend's, his eyes drift closed as pleasure and relief wash over him.
There's that moment of hesitation again, but this time when the response comes Steve can feel it in every line of Bucky's body, in sudden relaxation followed by a breathless surge towards him, and it doesn't feel like surrender so much as attack. Steve shivers when Bucky's arms wrap around his waist, tugging him closer, and again when clever hands slip beneath the hem of Steve's shirt, warm skin and cool metal sliding over his back. Feeling suddenly bold, he swipes his tongue across the full lower lip that's been haunting his thoughts lately; the groan that he gets in response makes him feel ten feet tall, even when Bucky's tongue darts out to meet his and Steve's knees threaten to give out.
“Hold on,” Bucky pulls away to gasp, “slow down.” Big words, Steve can't help but think, from a man whose hips are still moving in slow, insistent
circles against his. “We should talk about this.”
“No.” Steve kisses him again, almost drunk on the taste of his lips alone, and lets his mouth start trailing over the delicate skin at Bucky's jaw. “I'm bad at talking.”
Bucky lets out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, you really are.” He pulls one hand out from beneath Steve's shirt, and Steve nearly protests until he feels it stroke into his hair instead. “But I . . . ah . . . I need to know how far you're looking to go here, though.”
Steve pauses, his forehead pressed to Bucky's temple as he struggles to catch his breath.
“How far will you let me?” he asks at last, and can't help but smile at Bucky's quiet, heartfelt curse.
“Damn it, Steve.” Bucky leans in to wraps his lips around Steve's earlobe, and for several long moments Steve forgets how words work altogether. “If you get uncomfortable-”
“Yeah.” Steve threads his fingers through Bucky's hair and drags his mouth back for a deep, desperate kiss. Then he fists a hand in the fabric at his collar, and starts tugging him towards the bedroom. “I'll let you know.”
And then Bucky is laughing, and Steve is grinning between kisses as they stumble their way through the apartment because he can't remember the last time he felt this simply, overwhelmingly happy.
He can't stop touching, can't stop tasting; Bucky's shirt is tossed aside somewhere along the way and Steve has to pause to crowd him against the nearest wall, ducking his head down to run lips and teeth and tongue down his neck and along his shoulders. Meanwhile, Bucky's hands have dropped to cup Steve's ass, pulling their hips tightly together; the first time Steve feels Bucky grinding hard and eager against him, all the blood seems to leave his head in a sudden rush. He buries his face in Bucky's neck as he tries to keep his balance, teeth sinking into firm muscle almost of their own accord. It has Bucky letting out a breathy moan and thrusting his hips harder against Steve's, and Steve has to remind himself that he has very good reasons for wanting to get to a bed instead of just pushing Bucky to the floor right here and now.
Steve's hands are trembling by the time they finally make it to the bedroom; he threads them into Bucky's hair, letting the soft strands between his fingers soothe him as he kisses him again. He can't get enough of that mouth, of the softness of those lips and the clever twists of Bucky's tongue, the careful scrape of teeth and the shape of his smile as they kiss. He focuses on that, on taste and texture and the sneaky thrill of pride that hits him whenever he does something that makes Bucky's breath catch, and lets his hands drop down to work at the other man's belt.
Between the unfamiliar angle and the need to keep touching, it's surprisingly difficult to get the thing loose. He gets distracted twice: first by the crisp hairs trailing down over a smooth, flat stomach, and again when he gives in to the urge to cup his hand around the bulge at the front of Bucky's trousers, squeezing and stroking through the fabric until Bucky's clinging to his shoulders and breathing short, panting gasps into Steve's mouth. His hips are moving, helpless little thrusts into Steve's touch, and that's because of him, because of Steve and what he's doing, and Steve is smiling into their kiss again because he just can't help himself.
He finally breaks away when Bucky's belt and trouser fastenings are vanquished, pressing gently on Bucky's shoulders to urge him down onto the bed. For a moment Steve simply stands, looking down at him. Bucky's lips are swollen and red, his pupils blown; there's a darkening bruise on his neck where Steve bit him, and Steve feels vaguely guilty over how smug he is at the sight of it. He presses his fingertips gently against Bucky's jaw, bending down to brush a light kiss over his lips as he sinks slowly to his knees.
Bucky is staring like he can't quite believe this is really happening, and Steve grins up at him even as nerves tie his stomach into slippery knots. Kneeling between his legs, Steve hooks his fingers in the waistband of Bucky's trousers and underwear, giving them a gentle tug. Bucky lifts his hips and Steve pull them off, sliding the fabric down long, strong legs before tossing it aside.
There seems to be miles of bare skin in front of him now, and it takes a moment for Steve to build up the courage to really look. He's certain that this is what he wants, but even so, Steve hasn't quite been able to suppress the worry that he might not be ready for the reality of it. When he does look, he's filled with a curious sense of relief, because there's nothing frightening about this at all.
Bucky is hard, his cock flushed and erect between his thighs. It's a good size, Steve thinks-more or less as big as his own, if maybe a little longer. He thinks that it would fit nicely in his hand, and he reaches up to find out. It's firm and smooth and warm against his palm, and as he wraps his fingers carefully around it Bucky lets out a little sighing puff of breath that makes Steve's own cock twitch inside the confines of his jeans. It's a good sound, one that he immediately sets out to try to get again.
His movements are uncertain at first, hand and wrist moving at an unfamiliar angle, but soon enough he finds a rhythm: squeezing lightly on the upstroke, skimming his thumb over the head every so often to collect the liquid that's beginning to leak from the top. He's going on instinct more than anything, on Bucky's quiet gasps and groans and the shift of his hips into Steve's touch; on the way Steve likes to be touched himself-and everything that he's read over the past several weeks has assured him that masturbation is entirely normal and healthy, so he's not even going to blush over the thought, he's not.
Steve licks his lips, absently, and a sharp gasp from Bucky has him swiftly loosening his grip, afraid he's hurt him without meaning to. When he glances up, however, and sees that Bucky is staring at his mouth, a sudden wave of heat roll through him as realization hits. He wants to . . . but it's still a little daunting just yet, so he leans down instead to kiss along the smooth, delicate skin of Bucky's inner thighs. His skin smells incredible, musky and warm and just a little sharp, and Steve lets his mouth trail higher as the scent of it fills his head.
Bucky's cock is leaking steadily now; before he has time to think about what he's doing Steve swipes the thumb of his free hand over the tip, bringing it to his mouth to sample the taste. Bucky bites off a moan at that, his hips bucking helplessly into Steve's grip.
“Fucking hell.” His voice sounds hoarse and wrecked, which Steve discovers makes him feel incredibly smug. “Are you trying to tease me to death here?”
“Sorry,” Steve says, though the smile on his face is more self-satisfied than sheepish. “I'm sort of making this up as I go along. Besides.” His grin widens, grows wicked. “I thought you said you were bossy.”
Bucky chokes out a laugh at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I usually am, but I'm just a little bit nervous about deflowering my best friend.” He swallows hard. “I don't wanna push you.”
Steve has no hope of fighting back a blush at that, but he grins unabashedly nonetheless.
“Guess I'll just have to keep taking the lead for a while, then.”
And really, once he makes the decision it's remarkably easy to follow through. Leaning down again, he licks at the tip of Bucky's cock, savoring the sharp, salty flavor of the liquid there before he slowly drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of the shaft. He likes the way it feels: the smooth skin, the weight, the heat. He likes the way it tastes. But most of all, he likes the way it sounds, the way it turns Bucky's breathing to short, shallow gasps and quiet moans. A glance at Bucky's face to find him watching intently, eyes wide and lips parted, fills Steve with a sense of pride he'd never have expected, and he smiles again before he wraps his lips around the head of Bucky's cock and starts to gently suck.
Wary of taking too much in at once, Steve leaves his hand around the base to compensate as he draws him in as deeply as he dares. And oh, oh, it's good, so good to feel him in his mouth like this, to savor the stretch of his lips and the weight of Bucky's cock against his tongue. Steve hadn't realized how good it would be, how much he would want it; his own cock is painfully hard, but he can't spare a moment to relieve the pressure. Both hands are occupied now, one sliding up to gently squeeze at Bucky's balls as the other pumps around his shaft, moving in counterpoint as his head begins to bob.
Trembling fingers thread through his hair, cupping the back of his head in gentle encouragement, and Steve lets out an eager groan. He hears Bucky curse, then, fingers tightening in his hair, and a fresh wave of lust has Steve redoubling his efforts. The sound of it is filthy, wet and loud as he sucks at the hard cock in his mouth; he has to pull one hand away then to grind the heel of his palm against his own cock, still trapped in his jeans. It's all he can manage at the moment, unable to summon up the concentration or coordination necessary to get the damned things open.
He's lost to almost everything that isn't the taste and feel of Bucky in his mouth; the trembling in his parted thighs; the sound of his breathing turning ragged as Steve works at him. For a moment he has to pause to struggle for air himself, his own breath panting out over wet skin until Bucky groans and tries to tug his head back down. Steve goes willingly, eager to fill his mouth again, and he thinks that he could happily stay here on his knees forever, making Bucky shake and gasp and groan.
“Steve.” Too soon, Bucky is tugging insistently at his hair again, trying to pull him off. “I'm going to-oh god, I can't-Steve-”
He doesn't care. A day, an hour, even ten minutes ago he might've, but now he only wants to feel Bucky come and come apart in his mouth. So he stays put, keeps going, and after a moment Bucky stops protesting, hips shifting towards Steve's mouth in irregular, helpless little jerks. Steve grinds his hand down harder against his own erection, desperately seeking more pressure, more friction. And then Bucky's cock is swelling against his tongue, and the sensation shoves Steve violently over that final edge moments before Bucky spills himself down Steve's throat in hot, staccato bursts.
Steve feels dazed, lightheaded, and amazingly powerful as he finally lets Bucky slip from his mouth, reveling in the feel of his rapidly softening flesh as it slides past his lips. He swallows carefully; the taste and texture aren't the best, he thinks, but it's well worth it for the way he can see relaxation written in every line of Bucky's body. Steve starts pressing lazy kisses over Bucky's hip and stomach, and there's a soft sigh above him before he's pulled upright and into a proper kiss.
“For heaven's sake, Steve,” Bucky laughs softly when he pulls back, “get your clothes off already.”
Unsteady on his feet, Steve scrambles to obey as Bucky scoots back onto the bed, reclining lazily to he watch him strip; Steve knows full well that it's ridiculous to blush over that scrutiny, considering what they've just done, though apparently that isn't going to stop him. He winces a little as he peels off his underwear, embarrassed at the mess he's made.
“I, uh. Sort of . . . sorry.”
He makes a vague gesture and Bucky rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab his wrist and tug until Steve topples down onto the bed. They're both of them laughing as they collide, playfully shoving each other back and forth until Bucky finally shoves him onto his back and seals their mouths together. Steve melts into the kiss, pulling Bucky as close as he can manage, astounded at how his head is already spinning again from no more than the simple pleasure of bare skin against bare skin.
“You're still such a punk,” Bucky murmurs, smirking against his lips before his mouth starts trailing down.
Steve smiles lazily as Bucky works his way down his body-lips and tongue and the gentle scrape of teeth along the column of his neck and across his shoulders, warm kisses that rain over his chest and shoulders-and his breath catches when he feels Bucky's mouth moving lower still. Propping himself up on his elbows to get a better angle, he watches wide-eyed as Bucky's tongue begins to slide carefully over his groin, cleaning away the sticky mess still drying on his skin.
He can't seem to breathe properly as Bucky's lips wrap around his cock, already almost half-hard again. Bucky's eyes have drifted closed, and he looks as lost to the sensation as Steve had felt. He's doing something sinful with his tongue that has Steve moaning; it would be good, so good to lose himself in this haze of warm, wet pleasure. But as much as he wants that, there's something else he wants even more, so he steels himself and reaches down to pull Bucky back up, pleased when he goes without too much complaint.
Steve has a moment's shock when their mouths meet and he realizes he can taste himself on Bucky's tongue, but he's easily distracted when Bucky moves to straddle him, slowly grinding their hips together. Steve moans again, opening his mouth wider to the kiss as he thrusts up eagerly to meet him.
Bucky's hands are braced on Steve's chest, pinning him to the mattress, and Steve is taking shameless advantage of this new position to let his hands wander freely over warm, bare skin. He slides them slowly down Bucky's back until he's cupping his ass, pulling him closer, and skims one careful finger over the cleft there. Bucky shudders and pulls back with a groan, his breath ghosting over Steve's wet lips as he presses their foreheads together.
“I wasn't expecting this when I came over tonight, you know.”
“I know,” Steve says quickly, though he can't quite bring himself to move his hands. “I . . . if you don't want-”
“No, I mean-” Bucky laughs. “Jesus. I mean I don't have anything with me.”
“Don't have anything-oh. Oh. Um.” Steve turns his head to glance at his bedside table. “Well.”
“You're kidding me.” Bucky fixes him with a disbelieving look, and reaches over to open the drawer. “You . . . really weren't,” he says after a moment, pulling out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. “Wow.”
“Bucky,” is all Steve can manage in response, trying with only limited success to keep his hips still beneath all the twisting and squirming that Bucky's just done. He's somehow surprised, though he really shouldn't be, when Bucky's answer is to grin wickedly and rock down in a hard little circle that makes Steve's toes curl. “Oh, God,” Steve whimpers, beyond caring how it sounds because right now he just needs that to happen again.
“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, going still, and Steve simply groans, grabbing hold of him and flipping them over in one quick, rough move.
“I'm sure.”
Bucky's mouth opens eagerly to his, and for a time Steve allows himself to simply drink in the sensation of Bucky's body beneath him, the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his kiss. Before long, though, their hips are rocking together again, erections sliding against each other as their tongues meet and tangle, and Steve can feel his mind beginning to haze over. Bucky's left hand lifts from the mattress, and a moment later there's a popping sound that makes Steve shiver in nervous anticipation. He leans up just enough to look down into warm brown eyes, sliding to one side even as he presses his lips gently against the creases that form at the corners as Bucky smiles.
Steve holds out his hand to let Bucky squeeze the contents of the bottle onto his fingers, coating them with the slippery liquid. His heart is beating faster already, from nothing more than the slide of his fingers against each other; a sudden bout of nerves threatens to overtake him, and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself. When he reaches down, though, Bucky's legs fall easily open for him, and in the face of such unquestioning trust there's nothing that Steve can do but move forward.
He kisses Bucky again, grounding himself in the soft press of lips against his as he gently rubs a fingertip against Bucky's entrance. The moan that echoes into his mouth makes him bolder, and slowly, carefully, he pushes inside. Bucky is warm and tight around his finger, muscles pulling him deeper as his hips begin to shift; still moving cautiously, Steve begins to pump his finger in and out. It only takes a few moments before Bucky is lifting fully up to meet him, lips gone slack as he pants against Steve's mouth, and Steve braces himself up on one elbow. He wants to watch this.
“More.” Bucky licks his lips, and when he opens his eyes Steve sees that they're blown nearly black. “Steve. Come on,” he says with a grin that breaks on a moan as Steve twists his hand. “I'm not made of glass here.”
Steve pulls out entirely, taking just a moment to enjoy Bucky's protesting moan before he presses back in with two fingers. He's never seen anything as beautiful as this, he thinks: Bucky naked and open beneath him, spots of color riding high on pale cheeks, parted lips slick and red and raw. He's working himself eagerly onto Steve's fingers now, planting one foot flat against the bed so that they can slide in even deeper. He looks wanton and filthy and all, all for Steve.
Trying desperately to remember the things he's read through the haze of lust fogging his brain, Steve starts to carefully spread his fingers on the outstroke, stretching Bucky for-he shies away from finishing the thought, afraid that just the idea of it will make this end all too soon. An urge is rising in him to simply take, hard and fast and rough, and consequences be damned. The fear of doing real damage holds him back, however, and he distracts himself by running a line of wet, exploratory kisses up the column of Bucky's neck as he trembles with need.
“Can you take another?” he whispers in Bucky's ear, enjoying the way Bucky groans when Steve bites gently on his earlobe.
“Yes.” Bucky's voice is little more than a gasp, but he clenches around Steve's fingers and Steve's eyes threaten to roll back in his head. “God, yes, another. More.”
Steve pauses to grab the bottle again, adding more lubricant to his fingers before he pulls the first three in tight together and begins to gradually work them into Bucky's body. A strangled cry escapes Bucky's throat, and his eyes clench shut, but his hips are moving as insistently as ever; praying his friend will speak up if he needs to stop, Steve keeps going. He watches as Bucky bites down on his lower lip, and the sight tears a desperate moan from Steve's chest. Without pausing the movements of his hand, Steve leans down to run his tongue across straight white teeth, urging them open so that he can replace them with his own.
He twists his hand again, spreading his fingers and grazing something deep inside, and suddenly Bucky is arching up, crying out, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands fly up to pull at Steve's shoulders, trying to draw him closer.
“Jesus Christ. Now. Steve, now, fuck me now, now.”
And Steve, who's never quite seen the appeal of dirty talk, is suddenly scrambling to move between Bucky's legs, desperate to obey the command. The air between them is thick and hot; it clogs Steve's lungs with the scent of sex, with musk and the salty tang of sweat. He manages to open the box lying discarded on the bed, but his fingers fumble on the small foil packet and Bucky laughs, breathless, before he reaches out to help. It's Bucky's fingers that roll the condom gently onto Steve's cock, that wrap around him to stroke more lubricant on over the latex. And then he's guiding him in, helping him into position as Bucky lifts his legs up, and Steve begins to press his way inside.
It's tight heat, soft and slick, and Steve sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the thin sheath around him that's dulling the sensation, because without it he's afraid he would've come as soon as he started. As it is he's already trembling, struggling to catch his breath because nothing in his life has ever, ever felt this good. His hands are gripping Bucky's thighs-too tightly, he's afraid, but he can't seem to loosen his grip; it seems to be all that's keeping him from exploding out of sheer, unbelievable pleasure.
When his mind finally begins to clear he realizes that Bucky's legs have fallen loosely around his waist and his arms have wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him down so that Steve's head is resting against Bucky's shoulder. Gentle fingers stroke lightly through the sweat-dampened hair at the nape of his neck, soothing and enticing all at once. Steve's hips stutter before he can help himself, an unconscious rock into the comfort of Bucky's body that draws a shallow gasp from both of them.
Bucky's lips find his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth as his hands lower to Steve's hips. With careful pressure he begins to guide him, encouraging him into longer strokes. After a few thrusts Steve slides his knees forward, working them beneath Bucky's hips for better leverage, and Bucky's head falls back, the line of his throat exposed on a guttural, drawn-out moan. Paired with the slick, wet sounds of their bodies moving together, it's easily the sexiest thing Steve has ever heard in his life. He sits back on his heels so that he can see as well, can watch himself sliding in and out of Bucky's body, and he's shaking again with the effort it takes to keep himself in check.
“Steve.” Bucky's beginning to squirm beneath him, drawing an embarrassing little whimpering moan from Steve's throat. “Harder.”
“I don't . . .” Steve shakes his head. “Don't want to hurt you,” he finally manages to gasp out, and can't help but be surprised when Bucky laughs.
“You worry too much. C'mon, Rogers.” He grins breathlessly up at him. “I can take anything you dish out.”
He does . . . something, then, a careful squeeze of his muscles that makes Steve's eyes lose focus, hips snapping forward before he can help it. Bucky groans shamelessly, legs tightening around Steve's waist, and Steve's composure breaks, his mind going blank beyond the immediate, desperate need for more. He's driving himself into Bucky in earnest now, chasing the sparks that shoot up his spine each time he thrusts in deep. It's too much, and not enough, and his world has narrowed down to nothing more than the two of them and way they move together.
Steve's head is spinning with the heavy scent of musk and good, clean sweat, with the sound of ragged breaths and broken moans and the creaking of the bed beneath them. Bucky's left hand has lifted to grasp the headboard, bracing himself to meet Steve's thrusts. The wood groans in protest as metal fingers squeeze tighter and tighter, a new addition to the chorus that's threatening to drive Steve out of his mind with lust. He grits his teeth, determined to hold on, because Bucky is panting and groaning and crying out because of him, and Steve wants this to last forever.
It's too good, though; he's trembling, sweat is pooling at the base of his spine, and every shift of his hips tears at his control just a little bit more, and despite what he wants he knows that he can't hold out much longer.
“Bucky.” He drops forward, hands braced flat against the bed as he keeps moving, helpless to stop now. “I-I can't-I need-”
Bucky just nods, right hand reaching down to fist around his cock. The sight of him as he works himself over, chasing his own pleasure, has Steve moving harder still, thrusting in tandem with Bucky's strokes. Steve feels Bucky start to shake around him, eyes squeezed closed and raw red lips open on a wordless, grunting cry as he spills out his release over his own stomach.
Bucky's body tightens as he comes, and Steve goes still, arms trembling with strain until he falls onto his forearms, struggling for breath. When he starts to move again it's rough, unfocused, helpless to everything but the feeling of Bucky so relaxed and open underneath him now, lips at his ear whispering filthy encouragement until Steve shudders as well, and the world explodes behind his eyes.
It's long moments before he can think clearly enough to worry that his weight might be uncomfortable, and even then he can't do more than simply slide to one side, shuddering again when the movement slides his softening cock out of Bucky's body. Bucky presses a light kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth, and reaches down to carefully remove the condom as Steve tries to ride out the aftershocks. When he lies back down Steve reaches out instinctively, pulling him close until they're lying face-to-face with Bucky's forehead resting against his.
“Is it going to freak you out if I tell you that I love you?” he asks quietly, unable to regret the words even when he feels Bucky give a start of surprise. “Look, I know it wasn't exactly fair of me, springing this on you the way I did. And maybe . . . maybe this was just sex for you, I don't know. But I do love you, Bucky. And I should warn you that I'm not gonna give up easy.”
“When have you ever?” Bucky cups Steve's jaw in one hand, tilting his head up for a kiss that makes Steve's cock give an interested twitch despite his exhaustion. “You really are kind of an idiot, aren't you?”
“Why?” Steve frowns. “For loving you? Because-”
“For thinking I don't already love you back, you twerp.” Bucky's smile is warm and easy, and something in Steve's chest seems to give way at the sight. “Jeez, I've been crazy about you since we were eighteen years old.”
“You . . . really?” Steve can't do more than blink back at him like the idiot Bucky says he is, even as a grin starts to stretch over his face.
“I really sort of figured you knew already,” Bucky grins, and give him a playful nudge. “I don't think I always managed to be subtle about it.” He shrugs. “Lucky for me you're a little slow; you still let me hang around, anyway, even when you didn't need me anymore.”
“I always needed you,” Steve contradicts, and Bucky seems to falter for a moment. Steve lets his hand drift from Bucky's back, still damp with sweat, to rest cautiously against his waist. “I was afraid you might not-I remembered what you said, about what happened to you. About love dividing loyalties. I wasn't sure you'd be able to-”
“They didn't take you,” Bucky says quietly, and stops Steve cold. “Not all of you; not everything I felt. They would have, if they could, but it ran too deep. No matter what they did, I still remembered parts of you, even when I didn't know what it was I was remembering.” Bucky shakes his head and fixes Steve with a wry look. “Damn it, you're making me get sappy over this.”
“Yeah, well.” Steve knows he's back to grinning like an idiot, and absolutely can't find it in himself to care. “I'm trying to feel bad about that, but I really don't.” Bucky lifts an eyebrow, and Steve's grins widens. “Okay, I'm not trying hard.” He laughs. “I still can't believe you had a thing for little Shrimpy Steve.”
“I hated that nickname.” Bucky's hand slides lazily over Steve's hip. “Besides, I liked how little you were.”
“You did?”
“Well, yeah. Not that I like the way you look now; believe me,” he says with a wicked grin, “I do. Most of the times I pictured doing this, you were a lot smaller, but-um.”
Steve's eyebrows lift in surprise. “You really thought about that back then? About . . . having sex with me?”
“I, ah. Well. Yeah.”
“Are you blushing?”
“God, you're a brat,” Bucky mutters, and yes, there's a distinct reddish tinge to his cheeks.
“You are!” Steve leans up on one elbow, a delighted grin splitting his face. “Oh man, I can't believe I actually made you blush for once.”
“Shut up.”
“Did you think about it a lot?” Steve teases.
“Oh, for-” Bucky lunges at him suddenly, grinning now as well despite his obvious embarrassment, and Steve laughs unabashedly as they wrestle back and forth. Soon enough Bucky has him pinned again, the glare on his face softened by the sparkle in his eyes. “Shut up,” he says again, and Steve lifts his chin in blatant invitation.
“Make me.”
Bucky, much to Steve's delight, proves to be more than up to the challenge.
Author:
ladyblahblah
Fandom: Captain America, The Avengers
Pairing: Steve Rogers/Bucky Barnes
Characters: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes
Rating: NC-17
Disclaimer: Clearly I own none of this. I can't even imagine a world in which I would be able to make any profit off of something like this. I have nothing, and make no claim to anything but the story itself and the OCs. Please don't sue me. Pretty please.
Summary: “You really never did grow up all the way, did you, Steve? Of course it changes things. But hey.” He lifts his glass, and Steve reluctantly lets go to join in the toast. “Who says change has to be bad?”
Author's Note: So, um. I SWEAR I DIDN'T MEAN FOR THINGS TO GET THIS PORNY, I JUST SORT OF GOT CARRIED AWAY, SORRY I'M NOT SORRY. Also, super-sappy ending is super-sappy. Sorry I'm not sorry about that, either. JFC, this is longer than the first two parts combined what even is my brain? Nothing really more to add; this is pretty much just gratuitous porn and a sappy ending because ffs, there's only so many feels a girl can handle, you know what I'm saying? Hopefully it doesn't feel like too much of a departure, tone-wise. But if it does, well, at least you get porn out of the deal? :erm:
6. We Were Always Heading Here
“Thanks again for agreeing to do this.” Steve glances over the top of the canvas with a nervous grin. “I'm sure it's probably getting tedious for you by now.”
“Don't be an idiot,” Bucky says fondly. “I told you already, I don't mind. Besides, I get to hang out with you while you work, so where's the down side?”
“I guess there isn't one.” Steve knows he's smiling stupidly now, and he ducks his head back down. “I like having you over,” he admits, applying one final messy stroke to the canvas before he deposits the brush in a waiting jar of mineral spirits. “And if it's not too much of a chore for you, I was sort of hoping I could convince you to do it again.”
“What, come over?” Bucky teases.
“Ha-hah. No, I meant sit for me again.”
“I know what you meant. You've hardly started on this painting and you already want to do another?”
“No. Well, not exactly. I was thinking of drawing, not painting; you've got a great face for charcoal. And a great body, too, obviously.” Steve's face immediately flares bright red. “From an artistic standpoint, I mean. I mean, you do have a great body, I just-”
Bucky is laughing, grinning like Steve hasn't just made an idiot out of himself. Or maybe like he has, but it just doesn't matter. Steve grins awkwardly back and tries to relax.
“You're seriously on-edge tonight,” Bucky says. “Everything okay?”
“Yeah. I . . . everything's fine.”
Steve swallows hard, trying to unclog the words that have caught in his throat, and wishes absently he were wearing nicer clothes. His old jeans and faded S.H.I.E.L.D. t-shirt are fine enough for painting-there are already spatters on both from old projects, in addition to a couple of new smudges from tonight-but not exactly what he'd consider ideal attire for a romantic confession. He could change, but there's really no way to justify that unless they're leaving the apartment. He considers that idea for a moment-they could go out for a nice dinner, and Steve could order a bottle of wine and pretend that it's making him braver. But no, if he's going to do this he wants it to be in private; he doesn't want to face the possibility of crushing rejection in a crowd full of strangers. So maybe, he thinks, it would be best to hold off altogether? Tomorrow would be every bit as good, really, and-
He's stalling. He knows it. And if there's one thing that Steve has never been, it's a coward, so he squares his shoulders and takes a deep breath.
“Actually, there's something I wanted to talk to you about.”
“Yeah?” Bucky hops down off of the stool and pads over to the easel. “Shoot.” He pokes his head around to steal a glance, and he can't keep his brow from creasing into a frown. “Huh.”
“What?” Steve asks, momentarily distracted and shifting nervously from foot to foot. “What's wrong?”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. “That,” he says, jerking a thumb at the canvas, “doesn't look a thing like me.”
“It's not supposed to, idiot.” It's a little ridiculous, how relieved Steve is; he hadn't quite realized until this very moment how worried he's been that Bucky won't like his work. “This is just to get the basic shapes down; it won't start looking like you until later.”
“Uh huh.” Bucky doesn't seem to be paying terribly close attention, too busy staring critically at the blocks of color. “You're still planning to have me shirtless? That's why this bit is all sort of the same color, right?” he asks, gesturing. “So how come you had me keep it on tonight?”
It's an opening, of sorts, but somehow because I'm getting ready to tell you that I'm in love with you, and under the circumstances, asking you to strip half-naked first seemed like a creepy way to start the evening doesn't seem like the best possible answer. Instead, Steve just shrugs uncomfortably.
“I know what color your chest is; I don't need to see it just to block it in.”
“You had me take my shoes off,” Bucky points out. “My feet are the same color as the rest of me, too.”
“That's different; it's an entirely different shape, you-”
“Nope, sorry,” Bucky interrupts easily, his mouth twitching. “No more of this blind faith in your abilities. I'm gonna need to see some proof you know what you're doing if you want me to show up tomorrow.”
Steve rolls his eyes and grabs his sketchbook, handing it over with an exasperated grin. “You could've just asked, you know.”
“I've asked before; you always brushed me off.” Bucky starts flipping through the pages, and Steve shoves his hands in his pockets. “You said you had something to talk to me about?”
“Hmm? Oh.” He's gotten distracted again, watching Bucky's hands. “I, um. Yes. I did.”
“Okay, so.” Bucky glances up with a grin that makes Steve's stomach flip. “Spit it out already. It's just . . . me. Oh.” He's glanced back down at the sketchbook, and when Steve follows his gaze he sees that he's turned to the most recent pages. “Wow.” Bucky swallows visibly, his fingers trailing over a rough sketch of his profile. “These are . . . I always knew you were good, but these are really amazing. I look . . .” He laughs, a little nervously. “I don't really look like this.”
“You don't spend as much time looking at you as I do,” Steve says, and immediately wishes he could snatch the words back. There's no going back, however, so he clears his throat and decides to use the opening that it's given him. “That's actually what I wanted to talk to you about. Sort of. I mean, not specifically, but-” He takes a deep breath and tries again. “You see, the thing is, when you're drawing someone, when you're looking at someone so closely for so long, you start to . . . well, to notice things that you might not, otherwise.”
“Okay.” Bucky closes the book warily and sets it aside. “I take it you've noticed something about me.”
“Yeah. Sort of. More something about me, I guess? Just.” Steve clears his throat and tries to summon his courage. “You remember when you first told me you were . .
. interested in men? And, um. I told you that it didn't change anything, but . . .”
“I told you that it would.”
“Right. Well, the thing is . . .” Steve feels flushed and shaky; he can barely speak he's so nervous. “You were right.”
“Was I?” Bucky's face is falling into neutral lines, closing off in a way that makes Steve's nerves skitter uneasily.
“You were. It . . . well, there are things it's made me notice. Realize, I guess. About, um. Well, I don't think any of it is new, really, I just never understood what it meant, before. But now-”
“Look, Steve, it's okay.” Bucky glances at the canvas again and then quickly away. “I think I know what you're getting at. But you don't need to worry, all right? Nothing has to get . . . weird between us.”
“Oh.” As reactions go, Steve is finding this one ambiguous at best. It feels like rejection, though, and he does his best to steel himself against the sudden hollow feeling in his stomach. “Okay, that's . . . good, I guess.”
“You do trust me, don't you?”
“With my life,” he says immediately, without needing even a moment to consider, and he watches a grateful smile spread over Bucky's face.
“Okay. Then trust me when I say that you don't have to worry about this.”
“Right.” Steve opens his mouth, closes it again; best to let it drop, to change the subject, to let it go. But he has to know, has to be sure; he has to hear the words, or he'll never really be able to move on. “So . . . you're saying you're not interested?”
“What?” Bucky looks like he's been caught off-guard, and he blinks up at Steve in confusion.
“Aren't you?” Against all reason, a cautious spark of hope catches hold in Steve's chest, and he dares to edge an inch closer. “If that's not what you were trying to say, then what were you talking about?”
“What were you talking about?”
“I . . .”
The words won't come out, stuck as they are behind his heart that's managed to climb its way into his throat. He's trying not to stare at Bucky's lips, but for some reason he has Tony's voice in his head talking about getting his point across, and before he can remind himself why it's a bad idea he's framing Bucky's face in his hands as he darts forward to steal a kiss.
Bucky's mouth is slack with surprise beneath his, but his lips are soft and warm, and the scent of his skin is making Steve's head spin, so it's several long moments before he fully realizes what he's doing. Guilt hits him immediately, and he's about to pull away, to stammer out an apology and hope that his friend will forgive him, when things abruptly change.
There's sudden pressure against his lips as Bucky begins to kiss him back, and Steve can't even hope to think beyond how good it is. He's aware of a warm hand curling around his waist, of the shift and press of Bucky's lips against his, of a gentle wash of breath against his cheek. His entire body feels like it's humming, buzzing and trembling and vibrating with the sudden force of this, yes, finally. He's half-hard already, from nothing more than a single chaste kiss; Steve thinks, distantly, that he should be embarrassed about that. He's not, though, and he hears himself make a small, eager sound as he moves in closer. His hips fit against Bucky's, and they both groan as the hand at his waist pulls him in, encouraging for a brief, wonderful moment. But then both of Bucky's hands are braced against Steve's chest as he steps away, steps back, and Steve is left floundering and unsure.
“Sorry,” he says automatically, even as he fights the urge to reach for Bucky again. “Sorry, I . . . was that not-?”
“No, it's just-this is a bad idea.”
“It's . . . but . . .” Steve can't seem to make himself understand. “You kissed me back.”
“I know. Fuck.” Bucky runs a trembling hand over his mouth. “I want to; god, Steve, you have no idea.”
“Oh. Oh, good. Thank God.” Nearly giddy with relief, Steve steps forward, but Bucky edges back again. “What?”
“Look, it's natural to be. You know. Curious.” Bucky isn't quite looking him in the eye now. “But you're not the type to do this sort of thing casually. That's just not who you are. And I'm not gonna let you to do something you'll regret later, just because-”
“Bucky.”
Steve is quicker this time, taking hold of Bucky's shoulders before he can evade. There are so many things he wants to say, so many thoughts tangling together in his mind, but none of them quite manage to make their way into words. Truthfully, that's probably for the best, since at least half of what he's thinking is probably too much, too soon. So instead he focuses on the single, simple truth that runs through everything else he wants to say.
“I don't want to do this with anyone else.”
There's something like recognition in Bucky's eyes at that, something like the same cautious hope that Steve is feeling; like perhaps those meager words are, after all, enough to make him understand. Steve moves slowly forward, his eyes still locked on Bucky's as he carefully lowers his head. If Bucky pulls away again he won't stop him, but he hopes-oh, Steve hopes he won't. And when he doesn't, when Steve feels his lips brush softly against his friend's, his eyes drift closed as pleasure and relief wash over him.
There's that moment of hesitation again, but this time when the response comes Steve can feel it in every line of Bucky's body, in sudden relaxation followed by a breathless surge towards him, and it doesn't feel like surrender so much as attack. Steve shivers when Bucky's arms wrap around his waist, tugging him closer, and again when clever hands slip beneath the hem of Steve's shirt, warm skin and cool metal sliding over his back. Feeling suddenly bold, he swipes his tongue across the full lower lip that's been haunting his thoughts lately; the groan that he gets in response makes him feel ten feet tall, even when Bucky's tongue darts out to meet his and Steve's knees threaten to give out.
“Hold on,” Bucky pulls away to gasp, “slow down.” Big words, Steve can't help but think, from a man whose hips are still moving in slow, insistent
circles against his. “We should talk about this.”
“No.” Steve kisses him again, almost drunk on the taste of his lips alone, and lets his mouth start trailing over the delicate skin at Bucky's jaw. “I'm bad at talking.”
Bucky lets out a breathless laugh. “Yeah, you really are.” He pulls one hand out from beneath Steve's shirt, and Steve nearly protests until he feels it stroke into his hair instead. “But I . . . ah . . . I need to know how far you're looking to go here, though.”
Steve pauses, his forehead pressed to Bucky's temple as he struggles to catch his breath.
“How far will you let me?” he asks at last, and can't help but smile at Bucky's quiet, heartfelt curse.
“Damn it, Steve.” Bucky leans in to wraps his lips around Steve's earlobe, and for several long moments Steve forgets how words work altogether. “If you get uncomfortable-”
“Yeah.” Steve threads his fingers through Bucky's hair and drags his mouth back for a deep, desperate kiss. Then he fists a hand in the fabric at his collar, and starts tugging him towards the bedroom. “I'll let you know.”
And then Bucky is laughing, and Steve is grinning between kisses as they stumble their way through the apartment because he can't remember the last time he felt this simply, overwhelmingly happy.
He can't stop touching, can't stop tasting; Bucky's shirt is tossed aside somewhere along the way and Steve has to pause to crowd him against the nearest wall, ducking his head down to run lips and teeth and tongue down his neck and along his shoulders. Meanwhile, Bucky's hands have dropped to cup Steve's ass, pulling their hips tightly together; the first time Steve feels Bucky grinding hard and eager against him, all the blood seems to leave his head in a sudden rush. He buries his face in Bucky's neck as he tries to keep his balance, teeth sinking into firm muscle almost of their own accord. It has Bucky letting out a breathy moan and thrusting his hips harder against Steve's, and Steve has to remind himself that he has very good reasons for wanting to get to a bed instead of just pushing Bucky to the floor right here and now.
Steve's hands are trembling by the time they finally make it to the bedroom; he threads them into Bucky's hair, letting the soft strands between his fingers soothe him as he kisses him again. He can't get enough of that mouth, of the softness of those lips and the clever twists of Bucky's tongue, the careful scrape of teeth and the shape of his smile as they kiss. He focuses on that, on taste and texture and the sneaky thrill of pride that hits him whenever he does something that makes Bucky's breath catch, and lets his hands drop down to work at the other man's belt.
Between the unfamiliar angle and the need to keep touching, it's surprisingly difficult to get the thing loose. He gets distracted twice: first by the crisp hairs trailing down over a smooth, flat stomach, and again when he gives in to the urge to cup his hand around the bulge at the front of Bucky's trousers, squeezing and stroking through the fabric until Bucky's clinging to his shoulders and breathing short, panting gasps into Steve's mouth. His hips are moving, helpless little thrusts into Steve's touch, and that's because of him, because of Steve and what he's doing, and Steve is smiling into their kiss again because he just can't help himself.
He finally breaks away when Bucky's belt and trouser fastenings are vanquished, pressing gently on Bucky's shoulders to urge him down onto the bed. For a moment Steve simply stands, looking down at him. Bucky's lips are swollen and red, his pupils blown; there's a darkening bruise on his neck where Steve bit him, and Steve feels vaguely guilty over how smug he is at the sight of it. He presses his fingertips gently against Bucky's jaw, bending down to brush a light kiss over his lips as he sinks slowly to his knees.
Bucky is staring like he can't quite believe this is really happening, and Steve grins up at him even as nerves tie his stomach into slippery knots. Kneeling between his legs, Steve hooks his fingers in the waistband of Bucky's trousers and underwear, giving them a gentle tug. Bucky lifts his hips and Steve pull them off, sliding the fabric down long, strong legs before tossing it aside.
There seems to be miles of bare skin in front of him now, and it takes a moment for Steve to build up the courage to really look. He's certain that this is what he wants, but even so, Steve hasn't quite been able to suppress the worry that he might not be ready for the reality of it. When he does look, he's filled with a curious sense of relief, because there's nothing frightening about this at all.
Bucky is hard, his cock flushed and erect between his thighs. It's a good size, Steve thinks-more or less as big as his own, if maybe a little longer. He thinks that it would fit nicely in his hand, and he reaches up to find out. It's firm and smooth and warm against his palm, and as he wraps his fingers carefully around it Bucky lets out a little sighing puff of breath that makes Steve's own cock twitch inside the confines of his jeans. It's a good sound, one that he immediately sets out to try to get again.
His movements are uncertain at first, hand and wrist moving at an unfamiliar angle, but soon enough he finds a rhythm: squeezing lightly on the upstroke, skimming his thumb over the head every so often to collect the liquid that's beginning to leak from the top. He's going on instinct more than anything, on Bucky's quiet gasps and groans and the shift of his hips into Steve's touch; on the way Steve likes to be touched himself-and everything that he's read over the past several weeks has assured him that masturbation is entirely normal and healthy, so he's not even going to blush over the thought, he's not.
Steve licks his lips, absently, and a sharp gasp from Bucky has him swiftly loosening his grip, afraid he's hurt him without meaning to. When he glances up, however, and sees that Bucky is staring at his mouth, a sudden wave of heat roll through him as realization hits. He wants to . . . but it's still a little daunting just yet, so he leans down instead to kiss along the smooth, delicate skin of Bucky's inner thighs. His skin smells incredible, musky and warm and just a little sharp, and Steve lets his mouth trail higher as the scent of it fills his head.
Bucky's cock is leaking steadily now; before he has time to think about what he's doing Steve swipes the thumb of his free hand over the tip, bringing it to his mouth to sample the taste. Bucky bites off a moan at that, his hips bucking helplessly into Steve's grip.
“Fucking hell.” His voice sounds hoarse and wrecked, which Steve discovers makes him feel incredibly smug. “Are you trying to tease me to death here?”
“Sorry,” Steve says, though the smile on his face is more self-satisfied than sheepish. “I'm sort of making this up as I go along. Besides.” His grin widens, grows wicked. “I thought you said you were bossy.”
Bucky chokes out a laugh at that. “Yeah. Yeah, I usually am, but I'm just a little bit nervous about deflowering my best friend.” He swallows hard. “I don't wanna push you.”
Steve has no hope of fighting back a blush at that, but he grins unabashedly nonetheless.
“Guess I'll just have to keep taking the lead for a while, then.”
And really, once he makes the decision it's remarkably easy to follow through. Leaning down again, he licks at the tip of Bucky's cock, savoring the sharp, salty flavor of the liquid there before he slowly drags the flat of his tongue up the underside of the shaft. He likes the way it feels: the smooth skin, the weight, the heat. He likes the way it tastes. But most of all, he likes the way it sounds, the way it turns Bucky's breathing to short, shallow gasps and quiet moans. A glance at Bucky's face to find him watching intently, eyes wide and lips parted, fills Steve with a sense of pride he'd never have expected, and he smiles again before he wraps his lips around the head of Bucky's cock and starts to gently suck.
Wary of taking too much in at once, Steve leaves his hand around the base to compensate as he draws him in as deeply as he dares. And oh, oh, it's good, so good to feel him in his mouth like this, to savor the stretch of his lips and the weight of Bucky's cock against his tongue. Steve hadn't realized how good it would be, how much he would want it; his own cock is painfully hard, but he can't spare a moment to relieve the pressure. Both hands are occupied now, one sliding up to gently squeeze at Bucky's balls as the other pumps around his shaft, moving in counterpoint as his head begins to bob.
Trembling fingers thread through his hair, cupping the back of his head in gentle encouragement, and Steve lets out an eager groan. He hears Bucky curse, then, fingers tightening in his hair, and a fresh wave of lust has Steve redoubling his efforts. The sound of it is filthy, wet and loud as he sucks at the hard cock in his mouth; he has to pull one hand away then to grind the heel of his palm against his own cock, still trapped in his jeans. It's all he can manage at the moment, unable to summon up the concentration or coordination necessary to get the damned things open.
He's lost to almost everything that isn't the taste and feel of Bucky in his mouth; the trembling in his parted thighs; the sound of his breathing turning ragged as Steve works at him. For a moment he has to pause to struggle for air himself, his own breath panting out over wet skin until Bucky groans and tries to tug his head back down. Steve goes willingly, eager to fill his mouth again, and he thinks that he could happily stay here on his knees forever, making Bucky shake and gasp and groan.
“Steve.” Too soon, Bucky is tugging insistently at his hair again, trying to pull him off. “I'm going to-oh god, I can't-Steve-”
He doesn't care. A day, an hour, even ten minutes ago he might've, but now he only wants to feel Bucky come and come apart in his mouth. So he stays put, keeps going, and after a moment Bucky stops protesting, hips shifting towards Steve's mouth in irregular, helpless little jerks. Steve grinds his hand down harder against his own erection, desperately seeking more pressure, more friction. And then Bucky's cock is swelling against his tongue, and the sensation shoves Steve violently over that final edge moments before Bucky spills himself down Steve's throat in hot, staccato bursts.
Steve feels dazed, lightheaded, and amazingly powerful as he finally lets Bucky slip from his mouth, reveling in the feel of his rapidly softening flesh as it slides past his lips. He swallows carefully; the taste and texture aren't the best, he thinks, but it's well worth it for the way he can see relaxation written in every line of Bucky's body. Steve starts pressing lazy kisses over Bucky's hip and stomach, and there's a soft sigh above him before he's pulled upright and into a proper kiss.
“For heaven's sake, Steve,” Bucky laughs softly when he pulls back, “get your clothes off already.”
Unsteady on his feet, Steve scrambles to obey as Bucky scoots back onto the bed, reclining lazily to he watch him strip; Steve knows full well that it's ridiculous to blush over that scrutiny, considering what they've just done, though apparently that isn't going to stop him. He winces a little as he peels off his underwear, embarrassed at the mess he's made.
“I, uh. Sort of . . . sorry.”
He makes a vague gesture and Bucky rolls his eyes, leaning over to grab his wrist and tug until Steve topples down onto the bed. They're both of them laughing as they collide, playfully shoving each other back and forth until Bucky finally shoves him onto his back and seals their mouths together. Steve melts into the kiss, pulling Bucky as close as he can manage, astounded at how his head is already spinning again from no more than the simple pleasure of bare skin against bare skin.
“You're still such a punk,” Bucky murmurs, smirking against his lips before his mouth starts trailing down.
Steve smiles lazily as Bucky works his way down his body-lips and tongue and the gentle scrape of teeth along the column of his neck and across his shoulders, warm kisses that rain over his chest and shoulders-and his breath catches when he feels Bucky's mouth moving lower still. Propping himself up on his elbows to get a better angle, he watches wide-eyed as Bucky's tongue begins to slide carefully over his groin, cleaning away the sticky mess still drying on his skin.
He can't seem to breathe properly as Bucky's lips wrap around his cock, already almost half-hard again. Bucky's eyes have drifted closed, and he looks as lost to the sensation as Steve had felt. He's doing something sinful with his tongue that has Steve moaning; it would be good, so good to lose himself in this haze of warm, wet pleasure. But as much as he wants that, there's something else he wants even more, so he steels himself and reaches down to pull Bucky back up, pleased when he goes without too much complaint.
Steve has a moment's shock when their mouths meet and he realizes he can taste himself on Bucky's tongue, but he's easily distracted when Bucky moves to straddle him, slowly grinding their hips together. Steve moans again, opening his mouth wider to the kiss as he thrusts up eagerly to meet him.
Bucky's hands are braced on Steve's chest, pinning him to the mattress, and Steve is taking shameless advantage of this new position to let his hands wander freely over warm, bare skin. He slides them slowly down Bucky's back until he's cupping his ass, pulling him closer, and skims one careful finger over the cleft there. Bucky shudders and pulls back with a groan, his breath ghosting over Steve's wet lips as he presses their foreheads together.
“I wasn't expecting this when I came over tonight, you know.”
“I know,” Steve says quickly, though he can't quite bring himself to move his hands. “I . . . if you don't want-”
“No, I mean-” Bucky laughs. “Jesus. I mean I don't have anything with me.”
“Don't have anything-oh. Oh. Um.” Steve turns his head to glance at his bedside table. “Well.”
“You're kidding me.” Bucky fixes him with a disbelieving look, and reaches over to open the drawer. “You . . . really weren't,” he says after a moment, pulling out a bottle of lube and a box of condoms. “Wow.”
“Bucky,” is all Steve can manage in response, trying with only limited success to keep his hips still beneath all the twisting and squirming that Bucky's just done. He's somehow surprised, though he really shouldn't be, when Bucky's answer is to grin wickedly and rock down in a hard little circle that makes Steve's toes curl. “Oh, God,” Steve whimpers, beyond caring how it sounds because right now he just needs that to happen again.
“You sure about this?” Bucky asks, going still, and Steve simply groans, grabbing hold of him and flipping them over in one quick, rough move.
“I'm sure.”
Bucky's mouth opens eagerly to his, and for a time Steve allows himself to simply drink in the sensation of Bucky's body beneath him, the taste of his tongue and the warmth of his kiss. Before long, though, their hips are rocking together again, erections sliding against each other as their tongues meet and tangle, and Steve can feel his mind beginning to haze over. Bucky's left hand lifts from the mattress, and a moment later there's a popping sound that makes Steve shiver in nervous anticipation. He leans up just enough to look down into warm brown eyes, sliding to one side even as he presses his lips gently against the creases that form at the corners as Bucky smiles.
Steve holds out his hand to let Bucky squeeze the contents of the bottle onto his fingers, coating them with the slippery liquid. His heart is beating faster already, from nothing more than the slide of his fingers against each other; a sudden bout of nerves threatens to overtake him, and he has to take a deep breath to steady himself. When he reaches down, though, Bucky's legs fall easily open for him, and in the face of such unquestioning trust there's nothing that Steve can do but move forward.
He kisses Bucky again, grounding himself in the soft press of lips against his as he gently rubs a fingertip against Bucky's entrance. The moan that echoes into his mouth makes him bolder, and slowly, carefully, he pushes inside. Bucky is warm and tight around his finger, muscles pulling him deeper as his hips begin to shift; still moving cautiously, Steve begins to pump his finger in and out. It only takes a few moments before Bucky is lifting fully up to meet him, lips gone slack as he pants against Steve's mouth, and Steve braces himself up on one elbow. He wants to watch this.
“More.” Bucky licks his lips, and when he opens his eyes Steve sees that they're blown nearly black. “Steve. Come on,” he says with a grin that breaks on a moan as Steve twists his hand. “I'm not made of glass here.”
Steve pulls out entirely, taking just a moment to enjoy Bucky's protesting moan before he presses back in with two fingers. He's never seen anything as beautiful as this, he thinks: Bucky naked and open beneath him, spots of color riding high on pale cheeks, parted lips slick and red and raw. He's working himself eagerly onto Steve's fingers now, planting one foot flat against the bed so that they can slide in even deeper. He looks wanton and filthy and all, all for Steve.
Trying desperately to remember the things he's read through the haze of lust fogging his brain, Steve starts to carefully spread his fingers on the outstroke, stretching Bucky for-he shies away from finishing the thought, afraid that just the idea of it will make this end all too soon. An urge is rising in him to simply take, hard and fast and rough, and consequences be damned. The fear of doing real damage holds him back, however, and he distracts himself by running a line of wet, exploratory kisses up the column of Bucky's neck as he trembles with need.
“Can you take another?” he whispers in Bucky's ear, enjoying the way Bucky groans when Steve bites gently on his earlobe.
“Yes.” Bucky's voice is little more than a gasp, but he clenches around Steve's fingers and Steve's eyes threaten to roll back in his head. “God, yes, another. More.”
Steve pauses to grab the bottle again, adding more lubricant to his fingers before he pulls the first three in tight together and begins to gradually work them into Bucky's body. A strangled cry escapes Bucky's throat, and his eyes clench shut, but his hips are moving as insistently as ever; praying his friend will speak up if he needs to stop, Steve keeps going. He watches as Bucky bites down on his lower lip, and the sight tears a desperate moan from Steve's chest. Without pausing the movements of his hand, Steve leans down to run his tongue across straight white teeth, urging them open so that he can replace them with his own.
He twists his hand again, spreading his fingers and grazing something deep inside, and suddenly Bucky is arching up, crying out, his breath coming in ragged gasps as his hands fly up to pull at Steve's shoulders, trying to draw him closer.
“Jesus Christ. Now. Steve, now, fuck me now, now.”
And Steve, who's never quite seen the appeal of dirty talk, is suddenly scrambling to move between Bucky's legs, desperate to obey the command. The air between them is thick and hot; it clogs Steve's lungs with the scent of sex, with musk and the salty tang of sweat. He manages to open the box lying discarded on the bed, but his fingers fumble on the small foil packet and Bucky laughs, breathless, before he reaches out to help. It's Bucky's fingers that roll the condom gently onto Steve's cock, that wrap around him to stroke more lubricant on over the latex. And then he's guiding him in, helping him into position as Bucky lifts his legs up, and Steve begins to press his way inside.
It's tight heat, soft and slick, and Steve sends up a silent prayer of thanks for the thin sheath around him that's dulling the sensation, because without it he's afraid he would've come as soon as he started. As it is he's already trembling, struggling to catch his breath because nothing in his life has ever, ever felt this good. His hands are gripping Bucky's thighs-too tightly, he's afraid, but he can't seem to loosen his grip; it seems to be all that's keeping him from exploding out of sheer, unbelievable pleasure.
When his mind finally begins to clear he realizes that Bucky's legs have fallen loosely around his waist and his arms have wrapped around his shoulders, tugging him down so that Steve's head is resting against Bucky's shoulder. Gentle fingers stroke lightly through the sweat-dampened hair at the nape of his neck, soothing and enticing all at once. Steve's hips stutter before he can help himself, an unconscious rock into the comfort of Bucky's body that draws a shallow gasp from both of them.
Bucky's lips find his cheek, his jaw, the corner of his mouth as his hands lower to Steve's hips. With careful pressure he begins to guide him, encouraging him into longer strokes. After a few thrusts Steve slides his knees forward, working them beneath Bucky's hips for better leverage, and Bucky's head falls back, the line of his throat exposed on a guttural, drawn-out moan. Paired with the slick, wet sounds of their bodies moving together, it's easily the sexiest thing Steve has ever heard in his life. He sits back on his heels so that he can see as well, can watch himself sliding in and out of Bucky's body, and he's shaking again with the effort it takes to keep himself in check.
“Steve.” Bucky's beginning to squirm beneath him, drawing an embarrassing little whimpering moan from Steve's throat. “Harder.”
“I don't . . .” Steve shakes his head. “Don't want to hurt you,” he finally manages to gasp out, and can't help but be surprised when Bucky laughs.
“You worry too much. C'mon, Rogers.” He grins breathlessly up at him. “I can take anything you dish out.”
He does . . . something, then, a careful squeeze of his muscles that makes Steve's eyes lose focus, hips snapping forward before he can help it. Bucky groans shamelessly, legs tightening around Steve's waist, and Steve's composure breaks, his mind going blank beyond the immediate, desperate need for more. He's driving himself into Bucky in earnest now, chasing the sparks that shoot up his spine each time he thrusts in deep. It's too much, and not enough, and his world has narrowed down to nothing more than the two of them and way they move together.
Steve's head is spinning with the heavy scent of musk and good, clean sweat, with the sound of ragged breaths and broken moans and the creaking of the bed beneath them. Bucky's left hand has lifted to grasp the headboard, bracing himself to meet Steve's thrusts. The wood groans in protest as metal fingers squeeze tighter and tighter, a new addition to the chorus that's threatening to drive Steve out of his mind with lust. He grits his teeth, determined to hold on, because Bucky is panting and groaning and crying out because of him, and Steve wants this to last forever.
It's too good, though; he's trembling, sweat is pooling at the base of his spine, and every shift of his hips tears at his control just a little bit more, and despite what he wants he knows that he can't hold out much longer.
“Bucky.” He drops forward, hands braced flat against the bed as he keeps moving, helpless to stop now. “I-I can't-I need-”
Bucky just nods, right hand reaching down to fist around his cock. The sight of him as he works himself over, chasing his own pleasure, has Steve moving harder still, thrusting in tandem with Bucky's strokes. Steve feels Bucky start to shake around him, eyes squeezed closed and raw red lips open on a wordless, grunting cry as he spills out his release over his own stomach.
Bucky's body tightens as he comes, and Steve goes still, arms trembling with strain until he falls onto his forearms, struggling for breath. When he starts to move again it's rough, unfocused, helpless to everything but the feeling of Bucky so relaxed and open underneath him now, lips at his ear whispering filthy encouragement until Steve shudders as well, and the world explodes behind his eyes.
It's long moments before he can think clearly enough to worry that his weight might be uncomfortable, and even then he can't do more than simply slide to one side, shuddering again when the movement slides his softening cock out of Bucky's body. Bucky presses a light kiss to the corner of Steve's mouth, and reaches down to carefully remove the condom as Steve tries to ride out the aftershocks. When he lies back down Steve reaches out instinctively, pulling him close until they're lying face-to-face with Bucky's forehead resting against his.
“Is it going to freak you out if I tell you that I love you?” he asks quietly, unable to regret the words even when he feels Bucky give a start of surprise. “Look, I know it wasn't exactly fair of me, springing this on you the way I did. And maybe . . . maybe this was just sex for you, I don't know. But I do love you, Bucky. And I should warn you that I'm not gonna give up easy.”
“When have you ever?” Bucky cups Steve's jaw in one hand, tilting his head up for a kiss that makes Steve's cock give an interested twitch despite his exhaustion. “You really are kind of an idiot, aren't you?”
“Why?” Steve frowns. “For loving you? Because-”
“For thinking I don't already love you back, you twerp.” Bucky's smile is warm and easy, and something in Steve's chest seems to give way at the sight. “Jeez, I've been crazy about you since we were eighteen years old.”
“You . . . really?” Steve can't do more than blink back at him like the idiot Bucky says he is, even as a grin starts to stretch over his face.
“I really sort of figured you knew already,” Bucky grins, and give him a playful nudge. “I don't think I always managed to be subtle about it.” He shrugs. “Lucky for me you're a little slow; you still let me hang around, anyway, even when you didn't need me anymore.”
“I always needed you,” Steve contradicts, and Bucky seems to falter for a moment. Steve lets his hand drift from Bucky's back, still damp with sweat, to rest cautiously against his waist. “I was afraid you might not-I remembered what you said, about what happened to you. About love dividing loyalties. I wasn't sure you'd be able to-”
“They didn't take you,” Bucky says quietly, and stops Steve cold. “Not all of you; not everything I felt. They would have, if they could, but it ran too deep. No matter what they did, I still remembered parts of you, even when I didn't know what it was I was remembering.” Bucky shakes his head and fixes Steve with a wry look. “Damn it, you're making me get sappy over this.”
“Yeah, well.” Steve knows he's back to grinning like an idiot, and absolutely can't find it in himself to care. “I'm trying to feel bad about that, but I really don't.” Bucky lifts an eyebrow, and Steve's grins widens. “Okay, I'm not trying hard.” He laughs. “I still can't believe you had a thing for little Shrimpy Steve.”
“I hated that nickname.” Bucky's hand slides lazily over Steve's hip. “Besides, I liked how little you were.”
“You did?”
“Well, yeah. Not that I like the way you look now; believe me,” he says with a wicked grin, “I do. Most of the times I pictured doing this, you were a lot smaller, but-um.”
Steve's eyebrows lift in surprise. “You really thought about that back then? About . . . having sex with me?”
“I, ah. Well. Yeah.”
“Are you blushing?”
“God, you're a brat,” Bucky mutters, and yes, there's a distinct reddish tinge to his cheeks.
“You are!” Steve leans up on one elbow, a delighted grin splitting his face. “Oh man, I can't believe I actually made you blush for once.”
“Shut up.”
“Did you think about it a lot?” Steve teases.
“Oh, for-” Bucky lunges at him suddenly, grinning now as well despite his obvious embarrassment, and Steve laughs unabashedly as they wrestle back and forth. Soon enough Bucky has him pinned again, the glare on his face softened by the sparkle in his eyes. “Shut up,” he says again, and Steve lifts his chin in blatant invitation.
“Make me.”
Bucky, much to Steve's delight, proves to be more than up to the challenge.