fic: I'll give you my heart to make a place (Captain America; Steve/Bucky; adult)
The long drought is over! I have finished a story! (I make no guarantees as to quality, but I'm just so glad to have written something!)
I'll give you my heart to make a place
Captain America; Steve/Bucky; adult; 5,725 words
The one thing Bucky knows is that he never wants to hurt Steve.
Title and cut-text from Richard Siken. All
angelgazing's fault, as usual.
~*~
I'll give you my heart to make a place
1936
Bucky would like to say that he'd only ever had eyes for Steve, that for as long as he'd known what desire was, Steve was the one he'd desired, but it wouldn't be true. Oh, he'd wanted Steve for a while before he figured out that's what it was, that heat that warmed up his chest as well as his belly, but there'd been more than one girl in between the feeling and the knowing, and a couple of fellas, too, just to test things out, make sure he knew what he was feeling, and once he was sure of that, to make sure he knew what he was doing. Because the one thing he's never doubted is that he doesn't want to hurt Steve, and Steve's been dealing with people picking on him because they assume he's queer since they were old enough to understand that people meant it as an insult.
Bucky's never made that assumption, because he's seen Steve mooning over girls in school and around the neighborhood, but sometimes there's something in the way Steve looks at him that makes him wonder, especially when Steve blushes and looks away. And Steve sure seems to draw him often enough, even after he's got willing models in Bucky's sisters and a couple of girls from school. Bucky's usually pretty good at noticing when someone's interested in him, and he doesn't think his instincts are wrong in this case, but he also doesn't want to make things awkward at best (and awful, at worst) if it turns out he's wrong.
So it takes him a while to work up the nerve, and for that to coincide with having some privacy to make a move, but one Sunday a couple of months after Steve's mom dies, Bucky's parents take the rest of the family off to Ebbets Field for a doubleheader with the Cubs, and they have the apartment to themselves for a long, lazy July afternoon. Steve's trying to finish a drawing assignment, and for a while, the only sound in the apartment is the rasp of his pencil on paper as he sketches, and the squeak of his eraser and some mumbled curses when he makes a mistake.
Bucky rifles through the newspaper and contemplates the deck of cards on the table before he finally works up the courage to do it. He drops onto the couch, ignoring the way it sags under his weight, and says, "Come here, Steve. I'm bored."
Steve turns toward him, tapping his pencil against his lips, which curve in a small smile. "I gotta finish this drawing, Buck."
Bucky grunts and gets the deck of cards before he moves back to the couch again. Steve doesn't look up. Bucky deals himself a game of solitaire and settles in for a wait.
He's found two kings and three out of four aces (the ace of diamonds is still hidden) when Steve lets out an explosive sigh and puts his pencil down.
"Come over here," Bucky says.
Steve eyes the cards doubtfully. "Don't wanna ruin your game."
"Pfft." Bucky tugs him down and slings an arm around him, cards scattering everywhere. They're both in undershirts because it's hot and nobody's around to tell them otherwise, and Steve's skin is warm and sweaty where he's pressed up against Bucky.
Bucky drapes an arm around those skinny shoulders the way he always does, but instead of just giving Steve a cursory squeeze and letting go, he lets his lips brush against the warm skin of Steve's temple and then nuzzles at his sweat-darkened hair.
Steve sucks in a quick breath and tenses, and Bucky wonders if he's just screwed up twelve years of friendship, but then Steve turns his head and surges up to kiss him, nothing tentative about it at all. Steve's always been braver than him. Their noses bump and their teeth clack and it's awkward as hell right up until it isn't--Bucky tilts his head and uses his fingers to tip Steve's chin in the right direction, and then it all slots into place. Steve's mouth is hot and wet and though he doesn't know what he's doing, the touch of his tongue against Bucky's sends his temperature through the roof.
They kiss for a while, getting drunk on each other's mouths. When Bucky bites his lower lip, Steve makes a desperate high-pitched noise that makes Bucky's cock jump, and Bucky presses him back into the cushions, hands jerking at the hem of the thin cotton undershirt Steve is wearing. Steve's hands--artist's hands, smudged and long-fingered, fighter's hands, the knuckles prominent and scarred, Steve's hands, always too big for his body--fold over Bucky's, stopping him for a moment. Bucky looks at him, and Steve's gaze drops, his cheeks flushing.
"Hey," Bucky says, "hey, Steve. Look at me." He puts a finger on Steve's chin, tips his face up again. "You got nothing to be ashamed of."
"Hmph."
"I still wanna--" He bites gently at Steve's jaw, licks at the sparse stubble there until Steve relaxes again and lets him pull the shirt off over his head. And then Bucky can't stop touching him. His hands are large and callused and tanned and they look big and clumsy spanning the pale skin stretched over Steve's ribs. He moves his thumbs, enjoying the way Steve squirms and pinks under the touch. He brushes at the flat brown skin of Steve's nipples, and then he leans in to suck one into his mouth.
Steve goes rigid, then shoves away, hurt and anger warring on his face. "What the hell, Buck? I'm not a dame."
"I know," Bucky answers easily. "But it'll make you feel good." He blows against the wet peak and Steve shivers and makes a wordless noise in response.
"Okay," he manages as Bucky leans in again, licking and sucking and occasionally using his teeth very gently against Steve's nipples until Steve's hands are tangled in his hair and his hips are hitching up off the couch, his breathing more ragged than Bucky usually likes to hear. He wonders if he could make Steve come just from this, but there's so much more he wants to do while they have the privacy.
He slides his way down, mouthing at the concave dip of Steve's belly, his fingers fumbling with the fly of Steve's trousers until he finally manages to get them open and shoved down Steve's narrow hips. He nuzzles at the thin line of hair on Steve's belly, then licks a stripe down to the wiry hair around his cock.
"Buck--Bucky, you don't have to," Steve says when Bucky wraps a hand around his dick and licks at the head.
"I know," he says, leaning in for another lick. "I wanna." He takes Steve in his mouth then, and it doesn't take much more than that for Steve to go off like a rocket. Bucky swallows what he can and wipes the rest away with Steve's discarded undershirt.
"Do you want me to?" Steve asks breathlessly. He reaches for Bucky's fly and it doesn't take more than two or three jerks of his hand before Bucky comes, as well, the whole world going white behind his eyelids.
"Wow," Steve says when they're done, and Bucky grins and pretends he's not thinking the same thing. He wants to curl up and nap with Steve in his arms, but it's too hot for that, even if there wasn't the chance of everyone getting home and catching them.
Bucky knows he should feel guilt or shame, that he should confess his sins, but he doesn't, not any of it. He looks at Steve and sees only good things, and can't understand how Jesus or God or Father O'Reilly wouldn't do the same. He doesn't bring it up, though. He doesn't want to make Steve to feel any of those things (if he doesn't already), or decide that they should stop.
They manage to steal private moments here and there over the next few weeks, but it's not until another doubleheader on an August Sunday, this time with the Giants up at the Polo Grounds, that they get the chance to take their time again.
Steve climbs into his lap as soon as the coast is clear, and they neck for a good long time, slowly shedding clothes until they're both down to their shorts. Bucky spends a lot of time licking and sucking at Steve's nipples, letting the stutter and hitch of Steve's breathing, and the way Steve's fingers tighten in his hair, guide him. He's careful, though, not to leave any marks where anyone else can see.
Steve reaches down and curls his fingers around the hard bulge of Bucky's dick, and Bucky has to suck in a quick breath before he stops him.
"Bucky?"
"Actually, I was hoping--" Bucky drags him up off the couch and into the bedroom. He pushes Steve down onto his bed and pulls the small tub of Vaseline out of the drawer. "I was hoping you'd let me fuck you."
Steve's eyes go wide. "Yeah, Buck. Yeah. Whatever you want."
"It'll be good for you, too," Bucky promises, slicking his fingers and rubbing gently at Steve's hole. Steve spreads his legs and watches, his whole body flushed and shaking, his chest covered with bite marks and stubble-burn. Bucky's never seen anything so beautiful, and he says so, too, but Steve just shakes his head. "It's true, though," Bucky insists as he works Steve open and finally finds the spot that makes him moan out loud. He plays with Steve like that for a little while, until Steve's cock is half-hard again and Steve's chest is heaving, but for once it's for a good reason. He listens carefully, making sure those breathless pants don't become wheezes, and then he slicks himself up, too.
"Lemme see," Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows. "Come on, Buck, I can take it."
"I know," Bucky says, but he still goes as slow as he possibly can, though his dick is rock-hard now and he's desperate to get off. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," Steve says fervently, and Bucky hopes that's always true.
He's finally deep inside Steve, and it takes every ounce of control he's got not to just fuck mindlessly, especially when Steve starts rocking up into him and begging him to go faster, harder. "I can take it," he keeps saying, his fingers clutching at Bucky's arms as they move. "I want it. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel it all day tomorrow."
Bucky's hips jerk hard against Steve and then he's coming, his whole body lighting up with pleasure. He's vaguely aware of Steve coming, too, warm and sticky against Bucky's belly. Steve's wobbly when they're done, but Bucky's none too steady himself as he gets a washcloth to clean them both up.
"Good, yeah?" he asks and Steve beams at him.
Steve walks gingerly for most of Monday, and Bucky gets a little thrill every time he notices. Maybe that's sick or wrong, but if Steve wants it, he figures it can't be bad, because he's never known anyone as good as Steve, and he probably never will.
They don't get to do it very often, though, not while they're still living with Bucky's mom and three younger sisters. They jerk each other off under the covers sometimes at three in the morning, praying nobody can hear, but that's no way to live. Bucky wants more than that for Steve. Steve's lost his latest job because of the flu, so they don't have money to rent a decent room, and Bucky doesn't want to take the chance of doing it in some alley down by the navy yard.
Then Mrs. McCarty's son dies in a factory fire, and she tells Bucky's mom that she's got a room to let at a price Bucky can afford, if he's willing to do some work around the house for free, and if Steve will take care of her dog while she works. It's a relief on all counts, because now he and Steve can fuck whenever they want (as long as they're quiet), and his parents don't have to stretch their meager income to feed two more people.
They're still careful, though. Bucky never leaves marks if he can help it, though Steve begs him for it more than once, begs to be fucked hard and fast, bent over the dresser or on his back in their lumpy bed.
"I want it," he gasps, his cheeks flushed and his mouth swollen while Bucky rolls his hips, "I can take it." And Bucky wants to give it to him, but he's afraid of leaving bruises, of causing an asthma attack, of hurting Steve when he only wants to make him feel good.
Bucky still goes with girls, still tries to set Steve up, because it's good cover, but also because he thinks it's what Steve wants. It's what Steve should want, and what Bucky should want for him, but Bucky's not selfless enough to let him go, so the girls are never the kind who'd actually appreciate Steve or be interested in him. (Sometimes he thinks he's a shitty best friend, and if anyone else treated Steve like that, Bucky'd wallop them. Sometimes he thinks he's the reason Steve's an invert in the first place. But Steve doesn't really make much of an effort with the girls, so Bucky locks those thoughts away.)
It's not an easy life, but it's theirs, and they're too busy trying to survive to think much about the future; Bucky imagines it just the same, except with Steve as a famous artist who has money for doctors and treatments, and himself in the background, making sure Steve takes care of his health.
And then the Nazis invade Czechoslovakia, and the world turns upside down.
*
1943
On the march back to base, Bucky keeps pinching himself, because he can't believe he's not still on Zola's table, that the giant of a man marching next to him is actually Steve, a Steve whose outside finally matches his inside. It's not until he offers himself up for disciplinary action that Bucky believes it's real. (That's a lie. Bucky never quite believes the next two years are real.)
He sees the way Agent Carter looks at Steve, like she's eating him up with her eyes, and Steve looks back, just as hungry, but also shining with the soft, loving admiration Bucky'd only ever seen directed at himself before, and he has to look away.
Still, when Steve comes to him after he's been checked out by the doctor and settled into a tent, Bucky doesn't ask about her, and he doesn't turn Steve away. He can't. It's been too long, and even if Steve isn't the Steve he remembers, he's still Steve, and Bucky wants him with a fierce hunger that overcomes his exhaustion and the ache in his bones. He almost brings her up, almost asks, but he knows Steve would never two-time a dame he was going with, especially not if it was serious, so when Steve curls his fingers in Bucky's sweater and kisses him, Bucky doesn't think about it again. Not that night, anyway.
As for what happens after the war, well, Bucky'd always known Steve would leave him to settle down someday, and now he thinks maybe he was never going to get even that future, the one where they both marry swell gals and live next door to each other so their kids can be best friends, too. He's pretty sure now that he's not going to survive this mess they're in, so at least Steve will have someone looking out for him when Bucky is gone.
They still have to quiet, but now he doesn't have to be quite as careful, he can grab and hold onto Steve as tight as he likes without worrying that Steve's going to bruise or break, and he does. He digs his fingers into the firm muscles of Steve's arms and thighs, curves his palms over the broad muscles of his chest, rubbing Steve's nipples while Steve pants and writhes beneath him, and never sounds like he's on the verge of wheezing. He takes his time there, like he always did, licking and sucking, and now he adds the gentle scrape of his teeth, and Steve's hips jerk up, his hard cock nudging against Bucky's thigh. Bucky trails his hand down Steve's belly, now ridged with muscle as well, before he wraps it around Steve's dick and strokes.
"Want you in me," Steve says, shifting his hips up and spreading his legs so Bucky can settle between them. Bucky swallows hard at the flare of lust that ignites. He looks down at Steve, sees his unfamiliar body, and for a moment, he thinks he's dreaming again, still strapped down to that gurney and waiting for the next round of needles. "Buck? Hey, hey, Bucky, you with me here? You okay?" Steve reaches up and cups his cheek, and his hands are the same, big and warm and long-fingered.
Bucky blinks, and grins. "Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses." He turns his face to press a kiss to Steve's palm, and he still tastes the same, too, so Bucky can close his eyes and let Steve's taste and smell surround him and ground him.
Bucky had pocketed a small container of Vaseline while he was in the hospital tent, and he uses it now, slicks his fingers and Steve's hole, opens him up slowly and carefully, while Steve begs in whispered cries for more.
Both of them are aching and desperate by the time Bucky slicks his cock, and as he positions himself, he has another moment of vertigo, where nothing feels real and he thinks he might jolt awake in a second to discover he's still back in the HYDRA lab. But then he's pushing inside the hot, tight confines of Steve's body, and it's the realest, most honest thing he's ever felt.
"Steve," he whispers.
"Yeah," Steve answers with a shit-eating grin Bucky wants to kiss off his face.
Bucky rolls his hips and Steve thrusts up to meet him, and it's like no time has passed at all. With his eyes closed, Bucky can pretend they're not both some weird science experiments fucking somewhere in the mud in Italy.
But when Steve gasps, "Harder," now, Bucky can give it to him, the way he always wanted and Bucky was too afraid to really do. His hands tighten on Steve's thighs and he snaps his hips harder, faster, his own breath coming in rough, ragged pants as pleasure races down his spine. He digs his fingers in watching red bloom beneath them, and Steve moans and begs for more.
"Touch yourself," he says, and Steve wraps a hand around his cock, jerking hard and fast until he comes in sticky spurts that are warm against Bucky's skin, his body trembling and his eyes fluttering closed.
Bucky's hips stutter and jerk--he's desperate to get off while Steve's body is tightening around him, and then he is, white-hot pleasure searing down his spine as he shoots his wad.
He's almost afraid to open his eyes and see the damage he's done to Steve with his carelessness, but Steve just looks smug and satisfied, his skin rosy and glistening with sweat. Bucky laughs softly and eases away, grabbing his undershirt so he can clean them both up.
"What?" Steve asks muzzily.
"Nothing," Bucky says, wiping Steve's belly clean. He used to be so afraid of leaving marks on Steve's pale, thin skin, the way Steve asked him to, and now that he can, that he does, they fade like they were never there at all, and ain't that just Bucky's luck. He shakes his head ruefully. "Go to sleep, Steve."
Steve hums, and makes grabby hands at him. "You, too."
"Okay." Bucky tosses the T-shirt aside with a sigh and settles down next to Steve. He doesn't sleep much, but that's okay. Listening to Steve breathe without a wheeze or a rattle is the most restful thing Bucky's done since he shipped out.
Army life in a war zone is a lot less private than even life back at the Barnes family apartment, though, so Bucky doesn't get many chances to watch the marks he makes fade from Steve's skin, or to make Steve shiver and shake apart in his arms.
Given the way Steve's mooning after Agent Carter, Bucky figures it's probably for the best.
*
2014
Bucky is still getting used to his body--to thinking of it as his body, to listening to it to figure out if it's hungry or thirsty or in need of sleep--so the first couple of times it happens, he thinks it's hunger, or possibly indigestion, when it happens after he's eaten, because he feels it low in his belly and high in his chest, a weird, warm squirmy feeling that seems almost familiar, but not quite. Mostly it happens on those nights when he climbs into bed with Steve after his nightmares have woken both of them. Steve presses his broad, warm chest to Bucky's clammy back and wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, and his warmth seeps into Bucky's skin. He dozes a little, but his awareness of Steve's body--the strong curve of his biceps, the hard lengths of his thighs--makes him feel like he's got lightning bugs under his skin, little bursts of warmth and light that make him shift and squirm, not unpleasantly, though.
Steve hums in his ear and rubs his belly gently, and suddenly Bucky is awake and fully aware, brief glimpses of memory flashing in his mind--Steve on his back, Bucky looking down at his as he moves inside him, Steve arching up and crying out in pleasure for once rather than pain. Bucky sucks in a sharp, surprised breath and scrambles out of bed.
"Buck? You okay?" Steve's voice is thick and warm with drowsiness and Bucky doesn't want to upset him so he shrugs nonchalantly.
"Gotta hit the head."
"Okay," Steve says, and even though he sounds a little skeptical, Bucky knows he won't press.
Bucky locks the door and grips the sink tightly--his fingers settle into the grooves he's already put in it--and tries to get his breathing under control. He can identify the feeling now--the warm twist of desire in his belly, the hot ache of need in his cock. He rests his left elbow on the towel bar, shoves his shorts down far enough to free his dick and takes it in hand. He replays those images of Steve, slower this time, and he imagines what he can't remember, filling in the details with how Steve smells now, how warm he is when he's pressed up against Bucky in the big soft bed in his apartment.
It's almost embarrassing, how quickly he comes, and it feels so good he lets out an involuntary moan as he strokes himself through it. He's still panting and quivering with the aftermath when Steve knocks on the door.
"Everything okay in there?"
"Yeah," Bucky answers, his voice low and rough and still breathless, but completely sincere for once. "Yeah."
Bucky doesn't know how he could have forgotten this, the hot, hungry ache of need and the sweet pleasure of relief, from his own hands or Steve's. He has to excuse himself a few days later when he remembers Steve's mouth wrapped around him, and he shoves his metal hand in his own mouth to muffle his cries when he jacks off desperately in the bathroom while Steve's watching the Mets.
Now that he remembers it, though, recalls having to hide away and jerk off two or three times a day as a teenager, and how no matter what Father Flaherty said about the sin of self-abuse, he'd almost always thought of Steve while he was doing it (though Carole Lombard took up some prime real estate in his fantasies back then, too), now that the floodgates have been opened, Bucky feels like a teenager again, feels like his body is his own again, and he can't seem to stop.
Now when Steve drapes a heavy arm over his hips in bed, Bucky thinks about twining their fingers together and dragging them down his belly to wrap around his cock. But Steve's made no move to touch him like that, though he doesn't shy away from throwing an arm across Bucky's shoulder or tucking his toes under Bucky's thigh when they're sitting on the couch, and he always cuddles up close to Bucky though there's more than enough room for them to sleep separately and sprawled out in his gigantic bed. And Bucky has no idea how to bring it up. It was a long time ago, after all, and Peggy was an unasked and unanswered question between them. Bucky had learned to love her in a way, all those years ago, because at least she'd known and liked Steve before the serum, and he's selfishly glad that he doesn't have to compete with her anymore (as if Steve would have ever let it be a competition; as if it were a competition Bucky could have won).
Still, he can't do anything but stare one morning when Steve comes back from his run, all sweaty and smiling as he strips off his t-shirt and wipes himself down with it. There's a smattering of freckles on his fair skin, and Bucky can recall mapping them with his fingers and tongue, as much of an artist with them on Steve's skin as Steve was with pencils on paper. His nipples are brown and peaked, and Bucky's mouth goes dry with another sudden memory, the rough texture of them under his tongue. He swallows hard, remembering the way Steve would arch up into his mouth, begging and pleading for more, completely unashamed.
Steve notices him staring--he's still got that full-body blush going and it rises up his chest in an unsteady pink wash that makes Bucky grin. Steve visibly braces himself and says, "See something you like?" He's as full of bravado as he ever was back on the streets of their youth, but Bucky can see the nerves beneath that façade, and it makes something in his chest clench.
He makes it from the counter where he's eating Cheerios out of the box by the handful to the spot where Steve's standing in three steps. He's not sure he even touched the ground. "Always." He pushes Steve back against the door, careful to avoid the door knob and the hinges. He goes for Steve's mouth first, licking at his lips and then against his tongue when Steve gasps. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but they settle comfortable on Steve's hips, the skin warm and damp with sweat against his fingertips. He drags his mouth away from Steve's, kisses his way up to the whorl of his ear and then down his perfectly carved jaw to scrape his teeth against Steve's throat. Steve moans and shivers and arches against him, his fingers tangling in Bucky's hair, and his voice as breathless as it ever was in the old days when he says, "You sure about this, Buck?"
"It's about the only thing I am sure of," Bucky answers, dipping his head down to suck at Steve's nipple, swirl his tongue around it and drink in the sounds Steve makes while he does it. He brings his left hand up and hesitates for a moment, but then Steve grabs it and rubs it against his other nipple, hips grinding against Bucky's the whole time.
Bucky leaves rings of red marks around Steve's nipples, marks that are already fading as he lifts his head and sinks to his knees so he can lick at the ridged planes of Steve's belly and then below, nose nudging at the line of hair that leads down to his cock. He mouths at the hard line of it through Steve's sweats, then tugs them out of the way so he can press kisses to the shaft.
Steve makes a strangled noise and Bucky jerks his head away. Steve's fingers rub his scalp gently, reassuringly. "S'okay," he says. "You look so beautiful like that, I just couldn't..." He trails off and raises a hand uselessly, unable to say what it is he couldn't do, but Bucky understands.
"Okay." He rubs his nose in the crease where Steve's leg joins his body, breathing in the salty, heady smell of him, and it's so much like what he remembers that his mouth waters in anticipation. He might not remember much in terms of technique, but when he wraps his lips around Steve's cock and sucks, it doesn't seem to matter. Steve tries to hold still, but Bucky pulls off and says, "Come on, Rogers. I want you to fuck my mouth." Steve makes another one of those choking noises but he doesn't hold back. Bucky just hangs on and goes for the ride, wrapping one hand around the base and using the other to stroke Steve's balls. Steve's cock slides between his lips and nudges the back of his throat, but Bucky has no gag reflex (he can't recall if he ever did), and he just takes it and takes it until Steve is coming, hot and salty down his throat.
When he pulls back, Steve hauls him to his feet and kisses him hungrily, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky's mouth, and Bucky makes a few wordless sounds of his own. Bucky's hard enough to pound nails, desperate for Steve's hands on him, but he doesn't protest when Steve leads him into the bedroom and down onto that huge bed with its mounds of pillows and tangled up sheets that smell like the both of them together.
Steve rolls them until Bucky's on top, his mouth stretched in a toothy, shit-eating grin when he says, "I want you to fuck me. I wanna feel it all day."
Bucky wishes he had a witty comeback for that, but his brain is kind of fixated on the way Steve is shucking off his sweat pants and spreading himself open. "You got Vaseline?"
"Even better." Steve tosses him the little plastic bottle and Bucky skins out of his own shorts so he can slick his fingers up with the stuff, and then go to work on Steve.
"We got time, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then I wanna do it right." Bucky takes his time, uses those brief heady flashes of memory and the sounds Steve's making now to guide him when he's not sure what to do. Steve's cock is already hard again, and Bucky gives it a smacking kiss before he leans up and kisses Steve's mouth, nipping at his lower lip as he draws back. "You ready?"
"Always," Steve answers, and then he whimpers when Bucky pulls his fingers out. "Come, Bucky, give it to me."
Bucky pushes inside and has to stop for a few seconds, because it's so overwhelming he thinks his brain might be shorting out. Then Steve smiles at him, sweeter than his earlier cocky grin, and Bucky pauses just to look at him. He wants to imprint everything about this, everything about Steve on his memory, so deep in his blood and bones that nothing can ever take it from him again.
"Come on," Steve repeats, breathless and tender, his hands big and warm on Bucky's hips, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones hypnotically.
Bucky starts to move, hard and fast, the way Steve likes it. The tight heat of Steve's body is setting his nerves on fire. The bed doesn't move--some vague corner of Bucky's mind thinks it must be reinforced somehow--but Steve thrusts up to meet him, his voice a broken litany of encouragement and curses.
He's rougher than he should be--can see the marks blooming on Steve's skin under the fingers of his left hand--but when he loosens his grip on Steve's thigh, Steve shakes his head and presses his own hand down hard against the metal.
"Told you," he says, holding Bucky's hand against his thigh and Bucky's cock deep inside his body, "I wanna feel you all day."
Bucky loses it, then, his orgasm rolling over him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything but the burst of pleasure pouring down his spine and through his veins. Steve moves their twined hands to his cock then, jerking himself until he comes, too, and Bucky thinks that watching him is just as good the second time as it was the first.
Bucky pulls out and lowers himself onto Steve like a heavy, blissed-out blanket, ignoring the sticky mess of come on Steve's belly and thighs. Steve pets Bucky's hair gently, his nails a gentle scritch against Bucky's scalp. Bucky presses a kiss the hollow of Steve's throat and nips at the sharp jut of his collarbone, and then gives his left nipple a lazy lick. Steve quivers and stirs beneath him, and he remembers that too, how quickly Steve could get it up again after the serum, and how they'd never really had a chance to explore how much stamina he really had. Bucky decides it's a subject he's uniquely qualified to look into, now that they have time and privacy. And as long as Steve lets him.
"We used to do this," he murmurs into the sweaty skin of Steve's shoulder.
"Yeah."
"How come you didn't mention it?"
Steve's hand stops and tightens a little in Bucky's hair, and then relaxes and resumes its gentle stroking. "I didn't want you to feel obligated, if you didn't remember or didn't want to anymore."
Bucky raises his head to look at Steve incredulously. "Jesus, you're an idiot."
Steve huffs a soft laugh. "Love you, too, Buck."
That makes Bucky warm all over again, and he tips his face up to kiss Steve as hard and as honestly as he knows how, since he doesn't think he can say the words yet. Steve hums into his mouth in contentment, and Bucky knows he understands.
*
We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
-- from "Snow and Dirty Rain" by Richard Siken
~*~
Notes: Have a couple of inspirational - NSFW! - links: http://the1001cranes.tumblr.com/post/81397917046 and http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/post/86964884445
~*~
Feedback is adored.
~*~
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I'll give you my heart to make a place
Captain America; Steve/Bucky; adult; 5,725 words
The one thing Bucky knows is that he never wants to hurt Steve.
Title and cut-text from Richard Siken. All
angelgazing's fault, as usual.
~*~
I'll give you my heart to make a place
1936
Bucky would like to say that he'd only ever had eyes for Steve, that for as long as he'd known what desire was, Steve was the one he'd desired, but it wouldn't be true. Oh, he'd wanted Steve for a while before he figured out that's what it was, that heat that warmed up his chest as well as his belly, but there'd been more than one girl in between the feeling and the knowing, and a couple of fellas, too, just to test things out, make sure he knew what he was feeling, and once he was sure of that, to make sure he knew what he was doing. Because the one thing he's never doubted is that he doesn't want to hurt Steve, and Steve's been dealing with people picking on him because they assume he's queer since they were old enough to understand that people meant it as an insult.
Bucky's never made that assumption, because he's seen Steve mooning over girls in school and around the neighborhood, but sometimes there's something in the way Steve looks at him that makes him wonder, especially when Steve blushes and looks away. And Steve sure seems to draw him often enough, even after he's got willing models in Bucky's sisters and a couple of girls from school. Bucky's usually pretty good at noticing when someone's interested in him, and he doesn't think his instincts are wrong in this case, but he also doesn't want to make things awkward at best (and awful, at worst) if it turns out he's wrong.
So it takes him a while to work up the nerve, and for that to coincide with having some privacy to make a move, but one Sunday a couple of months after Steve's mom dies, Bucky's parents take the rest of the family off to Ebbets Field for a doubleheader with the Cubs, and they have the apartment to themselves for a long, lazy July afternoon. Steve's trying to finish a drawing assignment, and for a while, the only sound in the apartment is the rasp of his pencil on paper as he sketches, and the squeak of his eraser and some mumbled curses when he makes a mistake.
Bucky rifles through the newspaper and contemplates the deck of cards on the table before he finally works up the courage to do it. He drops onto the couch, ignoring the way it sags under his weight, and says, "Come here, Steve. I'm bored."
Steve turns toward him, tapping his pencil against his lips, which curve in a small smile. "I gotta finish this drawing, Buck."
Bucky grunts and gets the deck of cards before he moves back to the couch again. Steve doesn't look up. Bucky deals himself a game of solitaire and settles in for a wait.
He's found two kings and three out of four aces (the ace of diamonds is still hidden) when Steve lets out an explosive sigh and puts his pencil down.
"Come over here," Bucky says.
Steve eyes the cards doubtfully. "Don't wanna ruin your game."
"Pfft." Bucky tugs him down and slings an arm around him, cards scattering everywhere. They're both in undershirts because it's hot and nobody's around to tell them otherwise, and Steve's skin is warm and sweaty where he's pressed up against Bucky.
Bucky drapes an arm around those skinny shoulders the way he always does, but instead of just giving Steve a cursory squeeze and letting go, he lets his lips brush against the warm skin of Steve's temple and then nuzzles at his sweat-darkened hair.
Steve sucks in a quick breath and tenses, and Bucky wonders if he's just screwed up twelve years of friendship, but then Steve turns his head and surges up to kiss him, nothing tentative about it at all. Steve's always been braver than him. Their noses bump and their teeth clack and it's awkward as hell right up until it isn't--Bucky tilts his head and uses his fingers to tip Steve's chin in the right direction, and then it all slots into place. Steve's mouth is hot and wet and though he doesn't know what he's doing, the touch of his tongue against Bucky's sends his temperature through the roof.
They kiss for a while, getting drunk on each other's mouths. When Bucky bites his lower lip, Steve makes a desperate high-pitched noise that makes Bucky's cock jump, and Bucky presses him back into the cushions, hands jerking at the hem of the thin cotton undershirt Steve is wearing. Steve's hands--artist's hands, smudged and long-fingered, fighter's hands, the knuckles prominent and scarred, Steve's hands, always too big for his body--fold over Bucky's, stopping him for a moment. Bucky looks at him, and Steve's gaze drops, his cheeks flushing.
"Hey," Bucky says, "hey, Steve. Look at me." He puts a finger on Steve's chin, tips his face up again. "You got nothing to be ashamed of."
"Hmph."
"I still wanna--" He bites gently at Steve's jaw, licks at the sparse stubble there until Steve relaxes again and lets him pull the shirt off over his head. And then Bucky can't stop touching him. His hands are large and callused and tanned and they look big and clumsy spanning the pale skin stretched over Steve's ribs. He moves his thumbs, enjoying the way Steve squirms and pinks under the touch. He brushes at the flat brown skin of Steve's nipples, and then he leans in to suck one into his mouth.
Steve goes rigid, then shoves away, hurt and anger warring on his face. "What the hell, Buck? I'm not a dame."
"I know," Bucky answers easily. "But it'll make you feel good." He blows against the wet peak and Steve shivers and makes a wordless noise in response.
"Okay," he manages as Bucky leans in again, licking and sucking and occasionally using his teeth very gently against Steve's nipples until Steve's hands are tangled in his hair and his hips are hitching up off the couch, his breathing more ragged than Bucky usually likes to hear. He wonders if he could make Steve come just from this, but there's so much more he wants to do while they have the privacy.
He slides his way down, mouthing at the concave dip of Steve's belly, his fingers fumbling with the fly of Steve's trousers until he finally manages to get them open and shoved down Steve's narrow hips. He nuzzles at the thin line of hair on Steve's belly, then licks a stripe down to the wiry hair around his cock.
"Buck--Bucky, you don't have to," Steve says when Bucky wraps a hand around his dick and licks at the head.
"I know," he says, leaning in for another lick. "I wanna." He takes Steve in his mouth then, and it doesn't take much more than that for Steve to go off like a rocket. Bucky swallows what he can and wipes the rest away with Steve's discarded undershirt.
"Do you want me to?" Steve asks breathlessly. He reaches for Bucky's fly and it doesn't take more than two or three jerks of his hand before Bucky comes, as well, the whole world going white behind his eyelids.
"Wow," Steve says when they're done, and Bucky grins and pretends he's not thinking the same thing. He wants to curl up and nap with Steve in his arms, but it's too hot for that, even if there wasn't the chance of everyone getting home and catching them.
Bucky knows he should feel guilt or shame, that he should confess his sins, but he doesn't, not any of it. He looks at Steve and sees only good things, and can't understand how Jesus or God or Father O'Reilly wouldn't do the same. He doesn't bring it up, though. He doesn't want to make Steve to feel any of those things (if he doesn't already), or decide that they should stop.
They manage to steal private moments here and there over the next few weeks, but it's not until another doubleheader on an August Sunday, this time with the Giants up at the Polo Grounds, that they get the chance to take their time again.
Steve climbs into his lap as soon as the coast is clear, and they neck for a good long time, slowly shedding clothes until they're both down to their shorts. Bucky spends a lot of time licking and sucking at Steve's nipples, letting the stutter and hitch of Steve's breathing, and the way Steve's fingers tighten in his hair, guide him. He's careful, though, not to leave any marks where anyone else can see.
Steve reaches down and curls his fingers around the hard bulge of Bucky's dick, and Bucky has to suck in a quick breath before he stops him.
"Bucky?"
"Actually, I was hoping--" Bucky drags him up off the couch and into the bedroom. He pushes Steve down onto his bed and pulls the small tub of Vaseline out of the drawer. "I was hoping you'd let me fuck you."
Steve's eyes go wide. "Yeah, Buck. Yeah. Whatever you want."
"It'll be good for you, too," Bucky promises, slicking his fingers and rubbing gently at Steve's hole. Steve spreads his legs and watches, his whole body flushed and shaking, his chest covered with bite marks and stubble-burn. Bucky's never seen anything so beautiful, and he says so, too, but Steve just shakes his head. "It's true, though," Bucky insists as he works Steve open and finally finds the spot that makes him moan out loud. He plays with Steve like that for a little while, until Steve's cock is half-hard again and Steve's chest is heaving, but for once it's for a good reason. He listens carefully, making sure those breathless pants don't become wheezes, and then he slicks himself up, too.
"Lemme see," Steve says, propping himself up on his elbows. "Come on, Buck, I can take it."
"I know," Bucky says, but he still goes as slow as he possibly can, though his dick is rock-hard now and he's desperate to get off. "I don't want to hurt you."
"You won't," Steve says fervently, and Bucky hopes that's always true.
He's finally deep inside Steve, and it takes every ounce of control he's got not to just fuck mindlessly, especially when Steve starts rocking up into him and begging him to go faster, harder. "I can take it," he keeps saying, his fingers clutching at Bucky's arms as they move. "I want it. I wanna feel it. I wanna feel it all day tomorrow."
Bucky's hips jerk hard against Steve and then he's coming, his whole body lighting up with pleasure. He's vaguely aware of Steve coming, too, warm and sticky against Bucky's belly. Steve's wobbly when they're done, but Bucky's none too steady himself as he gets a washcloth to clean them both up.
"Good, yeah?" he asks and Steve beams at him.
Steve walks gingerly for most of Monday, and Bucky gets a little thrill every time he notices. Maybe that's sick or wrong, but if Steve wants it, he figures it can't be bad, because he's never known anyone as good as Steve, and he probably never will.
They don't get to do it very often, though, not while they're still living with Bucky's mom and three younger sisters. They jerk each other off under the covers sometimes at three in the morning, praying nobody can hear, but that's no way to live. Bucky wants more than that for Steve. Steve's lost his latest job because of the flu, so they don't have money to rent a decent room, and Bucky doesn't want to take the chance of doing it in some alley down by the navy yard.
Then Mrs. McCarty's son dies in a factory fire, and she tells Bucky's mom that she's got a room to let at a price Bucky can afford, if he's willing to do some work around the house for free, and if Steve will take care of her dog while she works. It's a relief on all counts, because now he and Steve can fuck whenever they want (as long as they're quiet), and his parents don't have to stretch their meager income to feed two more people.
They're still careful, though. Bucky never leaves marks if he can help it, though Steve begs him for it more than once, begs to be fucked hard and fast, bent over the dresser or on his back in their lumpy bed.
"I want it," he gasps, his cheeks flushed and his mouth swollen while Bucky rolls his hips, "I can take it." And Bucky wants to give it to him, but he's afraid of leaving bruises, of causing an asthma attack, of hurting Steve when he only wants to make him feel good.
Bucky still goes with girls, still tries to set Steve up, because it's good cover, but also because he thinks it's what Steve wants. It's what Steve should want, and what Bucky should want for him, but Bucky's not selfless enough to let him go, so the girls are never the kind who'd actually appreciate Steve or be interested in him. (Sometimes he thinks he's a shitty best friend, and if anyone else treated Steve like that, Bucky'd wallop them. Sometimes he thinks he's the reason Steve's an invert in the first place. But Steve doesn't really make much of an effort with the girls, so Bucky locks those thoughts away.)
It's not an easy life, but it's theirs, and they're too busy trying to survive to think much about the future; Bucky imagines it just the same, except with Steve as a famous artist who has money for doctors and treatments, and himself in the background, making sure Steve takes care of his health.
And then the Nazis invade Czechoslovakia, and the world turns upside down.
*
1943
On the march back to base, Bucky keeps pinching himself, because he can't believe he's not still on Zola's table, that the giant of a man marching next to him is actually Steve, a Steve whose outside finally matches his inside. It's not until he offers himself up for disciplinary action that Bucky believes it's real. (That's a lie. Bucky never quite believes the next two years are real.)
He sees the way Agent Carter looks at Steve, like she's eating him up with her eyes, and Steve looks back, just as hungry, but also shining with the soft, loving admiration Bucky'd only ever seen directed at himself before, and he has to look away.
Still, when Steve comes to him after he's been checked out by the doctor and settled into a tent, Bucky doesn't ask about her, and he doesn't turn Steve away. He can't. It's been too long, and even if Steve isn't the Steve he remembers, he's still Steve, and Bucky wants him with a fierce hunger that overcomes his exhaustion and the ache in his bones. He almost brings her up, almost asks, but he knows Steve would never two-time a dame he was going with, especially not if it was serious, so when Steve curls his fingers in Bucky's sweater and kisses him, Bucky doesn't think about it again. Not that night, anyway.
As for what happens after the war, well, Bucky'd always known Steve would leave him to settle down someday, and now he thinks maybe he was never going to get even that future, the one where they both marry swell gals and live next door to each other so their kids can be best friends, too. He's pretty sure now that he's not going to survive this mess they're in, so at least Steve will have someone looking out for him when Bucky is gone.
They still have to quiet, but now he doesn't have to be quite as careful, he can grab and hold onto Steve as tight as he likes without worrying that Steve's going to bruise or break, and he does. He digs his fingers into the firm muscles of Steve's arms and thighs, curves his palms over the broad muscles of his chest, rubbing Steve's nipples while Steve pants and writhes beneath him, and never sounds like he's on the verge of wheezing. He takes his time there, like he always did, licking and sucking, and now he adds the gentle scrape of his teeth, and Steve's hips jerk up, his hard cock nudging against Bucky's thigh. Bucky trails his hand down Steve's belly, now ridged with muscle as well, before he wraps it around Steve's dick and strokes.
"Want you in me," Steve says, shifting his hips up and spreading his legs so Bucky can settle between them. Bucky swallows hard at the flare of lust that ignites. He looks down at Steve, sees his unfamiliar body, and for a moment, he thinks he's dreaming again, still strapped down to that gurney and waiting for the next round of needles. "Buck? Hey, hey, Bucky, you with me here? You okay?" Steve reaches up and cups his cheek, and his hands are the same, big and warm and long-fingered.
Bucky blinks, and grins. "Yeah, yeah. Hold your horses." He turns his face to press a kiss to Steve's palm, and he still tastes the same, too, so Bucky can close his eyes and let Steve's taste and smell surround him and ground him.
Bucky had pocketed a small container of Vaseline while he was in the hospital tent, and he uses it now, slicks his fingers and Steve's hole, opens him up slowly and carefully, while Steve begs in whispered cries for more.
Both of them are aching and desperate by the time Bucky slicks his cock, and as he positions himself, he has another moment of vertigo, where nothing feels real and he thinks he might jolt awake in a second to discover he's still back in the HYDRA lab. But then he's pushing inside the hot, tight confines of Steve's body, and it's the realest, most honest thing he's ever felt.
"Steve," he whispers.
"Yeah," Steve answers with a shit-eating grin Bucky wants to kiss off his face.
Bucky rolls his hips and Steve thrusts up to meet him, and it's like no time has passed at all. With his eyes closed, Bucky can pretend they're not both some weird science experiments fucking somewhere in the mud in Italy.
But when Steve gasps, "Harder," now, Bucky can give it to him, the way he always wanted and Bucky was too afraid to really do. His hands tighten on Steve's thighs and he snaps his hips harder, faster, his own breath coming in rough, ragged pants as pleasure races down his spine. He digs his fingers in watching red bloom beneath them, and Steve moans and begs for more.
"Touch yourself," he says, and Steve wraps a hand around his cock, jerking hard and fast until he comes in sticky spurts that are warm against Bucky's skin, his body trembling and his eyes fluttering closed.
Bucky's hips stutter and jerk--he's desperate to get off while Steve's body is tightening around him, and then he is, white-hot pleasure searing down his spine as he shoots his wad.
He's almost afraid to open his eyes and see the damage he's done to Steve with his carelessness, but Steve just looks smug and satisfied, his skin rosy and glistening with sweat. Bucky laughs softly and eases away, grabbing his undershirt so he can clean them both up.
"What?" Steve asks muzzily.
"Nothing," Bucky says, wiping Steve's belly clean. He used to be so afraid of leaving marks on Steve's pale, thin skin, the way Steve asked him to, and now that he can, that he does, they fade like they were never there at all, and ain't that just Bucky's luck. He shakes his head ruefully. "Go to sleep, Steve."
Steve hums, and makes grabby hands at him. "You, too."
"Okay." Bucky tosses the T-shirt aside with a sigh and settles down next to Steve. He doesn't sleep much, but that's okay. Listening to Steve breathe without a wheeze or a rattle is the most restful thing Bucky's done since he shipped out.
Army life in a war zone is a lot less private than even life back at the Barnes family apartment, though, so Bucky doesn't get many chances to watch the marks he makes fade from Steve's skin, or to make Steve shiver and shake apart in his arms.
Given the way Steve's mooning after Agent Carter, Bucky figures it's probably for the best.
*
2014
Bucky is still getting used to his body--to thinking of it as his body, to listening to it to figure out if it's hungry or thirsty or in need of sleep--so the first couple of times it happens, he thinks it's hunger, or possibly indigestion, when it happens after he's eaten, because he feels it low in his belly and high in his chest, a weird, warm squirmy feeling that seems almost familiar, but not quite. Mostly it happens on those nights when he climbs into bed with Steve after his nightmares have woken both of them. Steve presses his broad, warm chest to Bucky's clammy back and wraps an arm around Bucky's waist, and his warmth seeps into Bucky's skin. He dozes a little, but his awareness of Steve's body--the strong curve of his biceps, the hard lengths of his thighs--makes him feel like he's got lightning bugs under his skin, little bursts of warmth and light that make him shift and squirm, not unpleasantly, though.
Steve hums in his ear and rubs his belly gently, and suddenly Bucky is awake and fully aware, brief glimpses of memory flashing in his mind--Steve on his back, Bucky looking down at his as he moves inside him, Steve arching up and crying out in pleasure for once rather than pain. Bucky sucks in a sharp, surprised breath and scrambles out of bed.
"Buck? You okay?" Steve's voice is thick and warm with drowsiness and Bucky doesn't want to upset him so he shrugs nonchalantly.
"Gotta hit the head."
"Okay," Steve says, and even though he sounds a little skeptical, Bucky knows he won't press.
Bucky locks the door and grips the sink tightly--his fingers settle into the grooves he's already put in it--and tries to get his breathing under control. He can identify the feeling now--the warm twist of desire in his belly, the hot ache of need in his cock. He rests his left elbow on the towel bar, shoves his shorts down far enough to free his dick and takes it in hand. He replays those images of Steve, slower this time, and he imagines what he can't remember, filling in the details with how Steve smells now, how warm he is when he's pressed up against Bucky in the big soft bed in his apartment.
It's almost embarrassing, how quickly he comes, and it feels so good he lets out an involuntary moan as he strokes himself through it. He's still panting and quivering with the aftermath when Steve knocks on the door.
"Everything okay in there?"
"Yeah," Bucky answers, his voice low and rough and still breathless, but completely sincere for once. "Yeah."
Bucky doesn't know how he could have forgotten this, the hot, hungry ache of need and the sweet pleasure of relief, from his own hands or Steve's. He has to excuse himself a few days later when he remembers Steve's mouth wrapped around him, and he shoves his metal hand in his own mouth to muffle his cries when he jacks off desperately in the bathroom while Steve's watching the Mets.
Now that he remembers it, though, recalls having to hide away and jerk off two or three times a day as a teenager, and how no matter what Father Flaherty said about the sin of self-abuse, he'd almost always thought of Steve while he was doing it (though Carole Lombard took up some prime real estate in his fantasies back then, too), now that the floodgates have been opened, Bucky feels like a teenager again, feels like his body is his own again, and he can't seem to stop.
Now when Steve drapes a heavy arm over his hips in bed, Bucky thinks about twining their fingers together and dragging them down his belly to wrap around his cock. But Steve's made no move to touch him like that, though he doesn't shy away from throwing an arm across Bucky's shoulder or tucking his toes under Bucky's thigh when they're sitting on the couch, and he always cuddles up close to Bucky though there's more than enough room for them to sleep separately and sprawled out in his gigantic bed. And Bucky has no idea how to bring it up. It was a long time ago, after all, and Peggy was an unasked and unanswered question between them. Bucky had learned to love her in a way, all those years ago, because at least she'd known and liked Steve before the serum, and he's selfishly glad that he doesn't have to compete with her anymore (as if Steve would have ever let it be a competition; as if it were a competition Bucky could have won).
Still, he can't do anything but stare one morning when Steve comes back from his run, all sweaty and smiling as he strips off his t-shirt and wipes himself down with it. There's a smattering of freckles on his fair skin, and Bucky can recall mapping them with his fingers and tongue, as much of an artist with them on Steve's skin as Steve was with pencils on paper. His nipples are brown and peaked, and Bucky's mouth goes dry with another sudden memory, the rough texture of them under his tongue. He swallows hard, remembering the way Steve would arch up into his mouth, begging and pleading for more, completely unashamed.
Steve notices him staring--he's still got that full-body blush going and it rises up his chest in an unsteady pink wash that makes Bucky grin. Steve visibly braces himself and says, "See something you like?" He's as full of bravado as he ever was back on the streets of their youth, but Bucky can see the nerves beneath that façade, and it makes something in his chest clench.
He makes it from the counter where he's eating Cheerios out of the box by the handful to the spot where Steve's standing in three steps. He's not sure he even touched the ground. "Always." He pushes Steve back against the door, careful to avoid the door knob and the hinges. He goes for Steve's mouth first, licking at his lips and then against his tongue when Steve gasps. He doesn't know what to do with his hands, but they settle comfortable on Steve's hips, the skin warm and damp with sweat against his fingertips. He drags his mouth away from Steve's, kisses his way up to the whorl of his ear and then down his perfectly carved jaw to scrape his teeth against Steve's throat. Steve moans and shivers and arches against him, his fingers tangling in Bucky's hair, and his voice as breathless as it ever was in the old days when he says, "You sure about this, Buck?"
"It's about the only thing I am sure of," Bucky answers, dipping his head down to suck at Steve's nipple, swirl his tongue around it and drink in the sounds Steve makes while he does it. He brings his left hand up and hesitates for a moment, but then Steve grabs it and rubs it against his other nipple, hips grinding against Bucky's the whole time.
Bucky leaves rings of red marks around Steve's nipples, marks that are already fading as he lifts his head and sinks to his knees so he can lick at the ridged planes of Steve's belly and then below, nose nudging at the line of hair that leads down to his cock. He mouths at the hard line of it through Steve's sweats, then tugs them out of the way so he can press kisses to the shaft.
Steve makes a strangled noise and Bucky jerks his head away. Steve's fingers rub his scalp gently, reassuringly. "S'okay," he says. "You look so beautiful like that, I just couldn't..." He trails off and raises a hand uselessly, unable to say what it is he couldn't do, but Bucky understands.
"Okay." He rubs his nose in the crease where Steve's leg joins his body, breathing in the salty, heady smell of him, and it's so much like what he remembers that his mouth waters in anticipation. He might not remember much in terms of technique, but when he wraps his lips around Steve's cock and sucks, it doesn't seem to matter. Steve tries to hold still, but Bucky pulls off and says, "Come on, Rogers. I want you to fuck my mouth." Steve makes another one of those choking noises but he doesn't hold back. Bucky just hangs on and goes for the ride, wrapping one hand around the base and using the other to stroke Steve's balls. Steve's cock slides between his lips and nudges the back of his throat, but Bucky has no gag reflex (he can't recall if he ever did), and he just takes it and takes it until Steve is coming, hot and salty down his throat.
When he pulls back, Steve hauls him to his feet and kisses him hungrily, licking the taste of himself out of Bucky's mouth, and Bucky makes a few wordless sounds of his own. Bucky's hard enough to pound nails, desperate for Steve's hands on him, but he doesn't protest when Steve leads him into the bedroom and down onto that huge bed with its mounds of pillows and tangled up sheets that smell like the both of them together.
Steve rolls them until Bucky's on top, his mouth stretched in a toothy, shit-eating grin when he says, "I want you to fuck me. I wanna feel it all day."
Bucky wishes he had a witty comeback for that, but his brain is kind of fixated on the way Steve is shucking off his sweat pants and spreading himself open. "You got Vaseline?"
"Even better." Steve tosses him the little plastic bottle and Bucky skins out of his own shorts so he can slick his fingers up with the stuff, and then go to work on Steve.
"We got time, right?"
"Yeah."
"Then I wanna do it right." Bucky takes his time, uses those brief heady flashes of memory and the sounds Steve's making now to guide him when he's not sure what to do. Steve's cock is already hard again, and Bucky gives it a smacking kiss before he leans up and kisses Steve's mouth, nipping at his lower lip as he draws back. "You ready?"
"Always," Steve answers, and then he whimpers when Bucky pulls his fingers out. "Come, Bucky, give it to me."
Bucky pushes inside and has to stop for a few seconds, because it's so overwhelming he thinks his brain might be shorting out. Then Steve smiles at him, sweeter than his earlier cocky grin, and Bucky pauses just to look at him. He wants to imprint everything about this, everything about Steve on his memory, so deep in his blood and bones that nothing can ever take it from him again.
"Come on," Steve repeats, breathless and tender, his hands big and warm on Bucky's hips, thumbs rubbing over his hipbones hypnotically.
Bucky starts to move, hard and fast, the way Steve likes it. The tight heat of Steve's body is setting his nerves on fire. The bed doesn't move--some vague corner of Bucky's mind thinks it must be reinforced somehow--but Steve thrusts up to meet him, his voice a broken litany of encouragement and curses.
He's rougher than he should be--can see the marks blooming on Steve's skin under the fingers of his left hand--but when he loosens his grip on Steve's thigh, Steve shakes his head and presses his own hand down hard against the metal.
"Told you," he says, holding Bucky's hand against his thigh and Bucky's cock deep inside his body, "I wanna feel you all day."
Bucky loses it, then, his orgasm rolling over him like a tidal wave, drowning out everything but the burst of pleasure pouring down his spine and through his veins. Steve moves their twined hands to his cock then, jerking himself until he comes, too, and Bucky thinks that watching him is just as good the second time as it was the first.
Bucky pulls out and lowers himself onto Steve like a heavy, blissed-out blanket, ignoring the sticky mess of come on Steve's belly and thighs. Steve pets Bucky's hair gently, his nails a gentle scritch against Bucky's scalp. Bucky presses a kiss the hollow of Steve's throat and nips at the sharp jut of his collarbone, and then gives his left nipple a lazy lick. Steve quivers and stirs beneath him, and he remembers that too, how quickly Steve could get it up again after the serum, and how they'd never really had a chance to explore how much stamina he really had. Bucky decides it's a subject he's uniquely qualified to look into, now that they have time and privacy. And as long as Steve lets him.
"We used to do this," he murmurs into the sweaty skin of Steve's shoulder.
"Yeah."
"How come you didn't mention it?"
Steve's hand stops and tightens a little in Bucky's hair, and then relaxes and resumes its gentle stroking. "I didn't want you to feel obligated, if you didn't remember or didn't want to anymore."
Bucky raises his head to look at Steve incredulously. "Jesus, you're an idiot."
Steve huffs a soft laugh. "Love you, too, Buck."
That makes Bucky warm all over again, and he tips his face up to kiss Steve as hard and as honestly as he knows how, since he doesn't think he can say the words yet. Steve hums into his mouth in contentment, and Bucky knows he understands.
*
We have not touched the stars,
nor are we forgiven, which brings us back
to the hero's shoulders and a gentleness that comes,
not from the absence of violence, but despite
the abundance of it. The lawn drowned, the sky on fire,
the gold light falling backward through the glass
of every room. I'll give you my heart to make a place
for it to happen, evidence of a love that transcends hunger.
-- from "Snow and Dirty Rain" by Richard Siken
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Notes: Have a couple of inspirational - NSFW! - links: http://the1001cranes.tumblr.com/post/81397917046 and http://stevebuckypornlookalikes.tumblr.com/post/86964884445
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Feedback is adored.
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