What...the...HELL...Verity...seriously...
I have ZERO clue what happened here, what possessed me to write Steve/Bucky at 8.30 this morning, but something did, and I did, and its here.
Don't judge.
“Christ Steve,” Bucky mutters as Steve traps him against the hard tree. It’s dark in the wood and Bucky still has a lingering headache, a deep ache behind his eyes, but he can still see Steve for some reason. He’s always been able to see Steve, even before he changed, became Captain America, back when he was just Steve, the skinny kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know the meaning of the word no, didn’t know when to back down from a fight and couldn’t talk to girls to save his life. Bucky saw him then and he’s seeing him clear as day right now.
Steve leans forward and drags his teeth over the pulse in Bucky’s neck and Bucky gasps again, Steve’s fucking huge hands, huge now before they were tiny things running over Bucky’s ribs, pin him against the bark and Bucky feels it scrape along the back of his neck.
“Is this how it felt for you? Before,” Bucky says and Steve mutters “huh” into hiss neck. “Is this how it felt Steve?” Bucky says again and Steve pulls away far enough that Bucky feels like he can breathe again and Steve’s face is only slightly out of focus.
“How do you feel Bucky?”
“Helpless,” Bucky replies without a moments hesitation and Steve cocks his head to the side. Steve slides his hands up Bucky’s sides, presses large thumbs into the soft skin under his chin and forces his head back. “So goddamn helpless,” Bucky mutters as Steve presses his mouth to his Adam’s apple.
“Yes,” Steve breathes out, his breath hot and damp against Bucky’s skin, “yes it was like that,” he finishes, hands sliding up into Bucky’s hair, “missed you so much,” he mutters and Bucky arches his hips, rutting against Steve’s thigh and yet again he’s struck dumb by the height difference, the fact he feels so small in Steve’s hands, the fact that he has to press his hands to Steve’s shoulders, to keep himself upright. Steve shifts, and Bucky feels the world tilt as his thigh presses in between Bucky’s, drags upwards so that Bucky sees stars behind his now tightly closed eyes.
They should be frantic, trying to get off as quickly as possible, the knowledge that they could be caught any second fuelling them both as they rut against each other like the horny teenagers they used to be, but they aren’t. They take it slow, Bucky’s hands trailing over Steve’s shoulders, down his arms, sliding up under his clothes, fingers splaying out across his ribs, the new dips and mounds of muscles making Bucky that much harder. And Steve just lets him, keeps his hands in Bucky’s hair, his mouth against Bucky’s throat, puffing hot air across his skin and shifting his thigh every now and then to get that pathetic noise to escape Bucky’s throat once more. Steve uncurls a hand from his hair, latches it onto Bucky’s hip and presses him flat back against the tree, the bark scrapes across his back now, harsh on his skin and Steve’s fingers dip into the waistband of Bucky’s pants, just hovering, his thumb pressing in hard enough to bruise.
“Steve,” Bucky pushes his hips up, tries to get Steve’s hand lower, to where he wants, needs it. Steve finally, god it feels like years since Bucky’s had Steve hands on him, pushes it inside his pants, his large fingers curling around Bucky’s dick and its feels the same yet so different. There is the same hesitance in Steve’s grip, but his hand is bigger now, and there are familiar and unfamiliar calluses on his palm, across the bottom of his fingers and Bucky lets his head fall back against the tree and grips at Steve’s shoulders. The shoulders that are bigger under his hands down and Bucky can feel the muscles shifting under Steve’s skin. Steve twists his hand, kisses Bucky hard and Bucky feels his chest constrict under the weight of Steve, and the way Steve pushes his tongue into his mouth like he wants to taste all of Bucky.
Steve was pushy before, he was pushy but little, writhing on Bucky’s lap with a blush on his cheeks that was more than just embarrassment at having urges. Pushy now means something different though, it means huge hands pressing into Bucky’s skin, hard chest pressed close to Bucky’s and his long fingers wrapped around Bucky’s dick.
Steve twists his hand again, tugs gently on Bucky’s hair at the back of his neck and Bucky feels it tightening in the pit of his stomach, the coiling that means he’s close and he doesn’t want this to end yet, not when he doesn’t know when he’s going to touch Steve like this again. And certainly not when he knows Steve can come without Bucky touching him, rutting up into Bucky’s thigh whilst Bucky is too blissed out to do anything other than hold him as he shudders against him. He wants to touch Steve, to feel how different he is down there.
“Steve…Steve stop,” Steve pulls away, a flash of worry across his almost innocent features and Bucky gives him a lopsided grin, as smirking as he can muster given the proximity of Steve’s hand to his dick, and the buzzing under his skin, “I want…I don’t want…I…” he stammers and Steve smiles, a flash of white teeth in the near darkness and slides a thumb across Bucky’s cheek.
“Bucky what?”
“I want to touch you…I…” Bucky slides down to his knees, the bark catching on his shirt and the damp wood floor seeping into his pants as he fumbles with Steve’s button and Steve’s hips arch forward, like he can’t help himself. “…so big,” Bucky curls his fingers around Steve’s dick, watches the way it moves in his grasp, the drop of precome that beads on the tip and he leans forward enough to lick at it. Steve drops his hands to his head and tugs at Bucky’s hair.
“Still me Bucky,” he says, “still me.”
“I know,” Bucky replies, twisting his hand and swiping his thumb over the slick tip of Steve’s dick.
It doesn’t take long, Steve’s always been sensitive, hyper reactive when it came to Bucky touching him and at least that hasn’t changed and there’s something achingly familiar about the noise Steve makes as his hips twitch and he’s coming, hard, fingers tugging at Bucky’s hair as Bucky leans down at catches the come. Its bitter on his tongue but it tastes of Steve and Bucky remembers the first time he did that, the first time he tasted Steve like that and he has the almost insane urge to cry.
Steve hauls him to his feet a few seconds later, kisses him hard and pushes his tongue into his mouth like he’s trying to taste himself, and the bark of the tree is back, scraping against Bucky’s neck and Steve presses the heel of his hand to Bucky’s crotch, moans into his mouth and curls his fingers backwards.
“Missed you too,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s mouth and Steve pushes his hands into Bucky’s pants, covers Bucky’s dick and within seconds Bucky’s is arching into Steve’s tight grip and coming hard and hot over Steve’s hand. Steve strokes him twice more, making Bucky whine, before sliding his hand out, pressing it to Bucky’s face and Bucky can’t even find it in him to care about getting come in his hair, not when Steve leans forward enough to slide his other hand through Bucky’s hair, and kisses him, soft and gentle this time, like they have all the time in the world to get to know each other again. Bucky kisses back, tugs on Steve’s waistband, pulls him closer and it feels so good to have him pressed against him, even though the weight is different, even though Steve’s taller now, and Steve’s crowding in so close Bucky’s practically on his tiptoes. It’s still them, and Bucky can almost imagine them holed up in their crappy apartment with no where to go and nothing to do, just touching each other all they want.
Steve pulls back, and Bucky licks his lips, watches as in the darkness Steve’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue and then someone calls Steve’s name and they both jump guiltily.
“I’ve gotta…” he says and Bucky nods.
“I know.”
“Will you sleep?” Steve asks, tucking himself away and smoothing out his clothes. Bucky grins, curls his hand around Steve’s neck and drags him close for a quick hard kiss.
“Only if you’re the big spoon,” he says and Steve laughs quietly, a little sadly.
“I’ll see you later?” he poses it like a question when they both know it isn’t, but he waits until Bucky nods before disappearing off into the darkness, off to save the world. Like he was always meant to do.
Bucky tidies himself, tries to ignore the scent of Steve still lingering on his hands before joining the rest of the boys and having a bottle of some crude alcohol thrust into his hands, a crude alcohol that does nothing to dull the taste of Steve on his tongue.
He passes out in a rudimentary tent later on, head pillowed on his arms and feels Steve’s fingers trailing across the small strip of skin between his shirt and pants sometime in the early hours of the morning, pale light trying to peek through the spaces in the trees above their heads.
“Ste?” he manages to mumble past a thick tongue and a heavy head, remnants of a nightmare skittering away as Steve settles next to him, his heavy arm across his back.
“No, it’s the big spoon,” Steve says, presses his lips to Bucky’s temple and Bucky’s asleep within seconds.
Don't judge.
“Christ Steve,” Bucky mutters as Steve traps him against the hard tree. It’s dark in the wood and Bucky still has a lingering headache, a deep ache behind his eyes, but he can still see Steve for some reason. He’s always been able to see Steve, even before he changed, became Captain America, back when he was just Steve, the skinny kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know the meaning of the word no, didn’t know when to back down from a fight and couldn’t talk to girls to save his life. Bucky saw him then and he’s seeing him clear as day right now.
Steve leans forward and drags his teeth over the pulse in Bucky’s neck and Bucky gasps again, Steve’s fucking huge hands, huge now before they were tiny things running over Bucky’s ribs, pin him against the bark and Bucky feels it scrape along the back of his neck.
“Is this how it felt for you? Before,” Bucky says and Steve mutters “huh” into hiss neck. “Is this how it felt Steve?” Bucky says again and Steve pulls away far enough that Bucky feels like he can breathe again and Steve’s face is only slightly out of focus.
“How do you feel Bucky?”
“Helpless,” Bucky replies without a moments hesitation and Steve cocks his head to the side. Steve slides his hands up Bucky’s sides, presses large thumbs into the soft skin under his chin and forces his head back. “So goddamn helpless,” Bucky mutters as Steve presses his mouth to his Adam’s apple.
“Yes,” Steve breathes out, his breath hot and damp against Bucky’s skin, “yes it was like that,” he finishes, hands sliding up into Bucky’s hair, “missed you so much,” he mutters and Bucky arches his hips, rutting against Steve’s thigh and yet again he’s struck dumb by the height difference, the fact he feels so small in Steve’s hands, the fact that he has to press his hands to Steve’s shoulders, to keep himself upright. Steve shifts, and Bucky feels the world tilt as his thigh presses in between Bucky’s, drags upwards so that Bucky sees stars behind his now tightly closed eyes.
They should be frantic, trying to get off as quickly as possible, the knowledge that they could be caught any second fuelling them both as they rut against each other like the horny teenagers they used to be, but they aren’t. They take it slow, Bucky’s hands trailing over Steve’s shoulders, down his arms, sliding up under his clothes, fingers splaying out across his ribs, the new dips and mounds of muscles making Bucky that much harder. And Steve just lets him, keeps his hands in Bucky’s hair, his mouth against Bucky’s throat, puffing hot air across his skin and shifting his thigh every now and then to get that pathetic noise to escape Bucky’s throat once more. Steve uncurls a hand from his hair, latches it onto Bucky’s hip and presses him flat back against the tree, the bark scrapes across his back now, harsh on his skin and Steve’s fingers dip into the waistband of Bucky’s pants, just hovering, his thumb pressing in hard enough to bruise.
“Steve,” Bucky pushes his hips up, tries to get Steve’s hand lower, to where he wants, needs it. Steve finally, god it feels like years since Bucky’s had Steve hands on him, pushes it inside his pants, his large fingers curling around Bucky’s dick and its feels the same yet so different. There is the same hesitance in Steve’s grip, but his hand is bigger now, and there are familiar and unfamiliar calluses on his palm, across the bottom of his fingers and Bucky lets his head fall back against the tree and grips at Steve’s shoulders. The shoulders that are bigger under his hands down and Bucky can feel the muscles shifting under Steve’s skin. Steve twists his hand, kisses Bucky hard and Bucky feels his chest constrict under the weight of Steve, and the way Steve pushes his tongue into his mouth like he wants to taste all of Bucky.
Steve was pushy before, he was pushy but little, writhing on Bucky’s lap with a blush on his cheeks that was more than just embarrassment at having urges. Pushy now means something different though, it means huge hands pressing into Bucky’s skin, hard chest pressed close to Bucky’s and his long fingers wrapped around Bucky’s dick.
Steve twists his hand again, tugs gently on Bucky’s hair at the back of his neck and Bucky feels it tightening in the pit of his stomach, the coiling that means he’s close and he doesn’t want this to end yet, not when he doesn’t know when he’s going to touch Steve like this again. And certainly not when he knows Steve can come without Bucky touching him, rutting up into Bucky’s thigh whilst Bucky is too blissed out to do anything other than hold him as he shudders against him. He wants to touch Steve, to feel how different he is down there.
“Steve…Steve stop,” Steve pulls away, a flash of worry across his almost innocent features and Bucky gives him a lopsided grin, as smirking as he can muster given the proximity of Steve’s hand to his dick, and the buzzing under his skin, “I want…I don’t want…I…” he stammers and Steve smiles, a flash of white teeth in the near darkness and slides a thumb across Bucky’s cheek.
“Bucky what?”
“I want to touch you…I…” Bucky slides down to his knees, the bark catching on his shirt and the damp wood floor seeping into his pants as he fumbles with Steve’s button and Steve’s hips arch forward, like he can’t help himself. “…so big,” Bucky curls his fingers around Steve’s dick, watches the way it moves in his grasp, the drop of precome that beads on the tip and he leans forward enough to lick at it. Steve drops his hands to his head and tugs at Bucky’s hair.
“Still me Bucky,” he says, “still me.”
“I know,” Bucky replies, twisting his hand and swiping his thumb over the slick tip of Steve’s dick.
It doesn’t take long, Steve’s always been sensitive, hyper reactive when it came to Bucky touching him and at least that hasn’t changed and there’s something achingly familiar about the noise Steve makes as his hips twitch and he’s coming, hard, fingers tugging at Bucky’s hair as Bucky leans down at catches the come. Its bitter on his tongue but it tastes of Steve and Bucky remembers the first time he did that, the first time he tasted Steve like that and he has the almost insane urge to cry.
Steve hauls him to his feet a few seconds later, kisses him hard and pushes his tongue into his mouth like he’s trying to taste himself, and the bark of the tree is back, scraping against Bucky’s neck and Steve presses the heel of his hand to Bucky’s crotch, moans into his mouth and curls his fingers backwards.
“Missed you too,” Bucky murmurs against Steve’s mouth and Steve pushes his hands into Bucky’s pants, covers Bucky’s dick and within seconds Bucky’s is arching into Steve’s tight grip and coming hard and hot over Steve’s hand. Steve strokes him twice more, making Bucky whine, before sliding his hand out, pressing it to Bucky’s face and Bucky can’t even find it in him to care about getting come in his hair, not when Steve leans forward enough to slide his other hand through Bucky’s hair, and kisses him, soft and gentle this time, like they have all the time in the world to get to know each other again. Bucky kisses back, tugs on Steve’s waistband, pulls him closer and it feels so good to have him pressed against him, even though the weight is different, even though Steve’s taller now, and Steve’s crowding in so close Bucky’s practically on his tiptoes. It’s still them, and Bucky can almost imagine them holed up in their crappy apartment with no where to go and nothing to do, just touching each other all they want.
Steve pulls back, and Bucky licks his lips, watches as in the darkness Steve’s eyes follow the movement of his tongue and then someone calls Steve’s name and they both jump guiltily.
“I’ve gotta…” he says and Bucky nods.
“I know.”
“Will you sleep?” Steve asks, tucking himself away and smoothing out his clothes. Bucky grins, curls his hand around Steve’s neck and drags him close for a quick hard kiss.
“Only if you’re the big spoon,” he says and Steve laughs quietly, a little sadly.
“I’ll see you later?” he poses it like a question when they both know it isn’t, but he waits until Bucky nods before disappearing off into the darkness, off to save the world. Like he was always meant to do.
Bucky tidies himself, tries to ignore the scent of Steve still lingering on his hands before joining the rest of the boys and having a bottle of some crude alcohol thrust into his hands, a crude alcohol that does nothing to dull the taste of Steve on his tongue.
He passes out in a rudimentary tent later on, head pillowed on his arms and feels Steve’s fingers trailing across the small strip of skin between his shirt and pants sometime in the early hours of the morning, pale light trying to peek through the spaces in the trees above their heads.
“Ste?” he manages to mumble past a thick tongue and a heavy head, remnants of a nightmare skittering away as Steve settles next to him, his heavy arm across his back.
“No, it’s the big spoon,” Steve says, presses his lips to Bucky’s temple and Bucky’s asleep within seconds.