Fic for ravyn_ashling: Secrets | Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers | R
Title: Secrets
Author: jain
Recipient: ravyn_ashling
Rating: R
Universe: Marvel Avengers movieverse; contains elements drawn from the Winter Soldier comics arc
Pairing/Characters: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Word Count: 1900
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work. No money is being made in this venture.
Summary: Bucky prefers to go for guys wearing wedding bands.
Bucky prefers to go for guys wearing wedding bands. It makes him feel kind of bad sometimes, but it also feels safer, and in the end that matters more to him than any lingering moral qualms. Married guys are less likely to ask him uncomfortable questions, less likely to want things from him that he can't give. Occasionally one will invite Bucky home with a, "My wife would just love you," or, increasingly, "my husband," but they're still in the minority and easy enough to turn down. Mostly the married guys are more than happy to follow Bucky into the bathroom or a dark corner of the club for a bit of no-strings sex.
The guy with his hand down Bucky's pants right now is one of them: cute enough in a bland way; a boring conversationalist for the three minutes they talked between the guy's buying Bucky a drink and their ending up in a bathroom stall together. The guy nuzzles at Bucky's jaw, and Bucky tilts his head to catch the guy's mouth in a kiss.
Bucky's read enough psych articles over the years to know what it means that he cares more about this and about the warm, human press of the guy's body against his than he does about the hand steadily working him closer to orgasm, the hard dick in his own hand. It just doesn't matter. Anonymous sex with boring strangers is the closest thing to a relationship that Bucky can manage right now; the fact that, in an ideal world, he might want more is irrelevant.
"James," Natasha says from behind him and to the left; Bucky stiffens with the effort of not reacting visibly. Ten years ago, she wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him like that.
He doesn't bother beating himself up over it. He hasn't gone soft; he's still a better fighter than she is, a better killer. But Tasha's obviously upped her game in other areas, and he makes a mental note of that.
She walks around to face him. Her hands hang casually at her sides, though he'd bet good money that she was armed a few seconds ago. Just in case. It's a relief to know that someone recognizes him as the threat he is, and he can relax in her presence as he can't around people who only see the person he wants to be and not all of the broken pieces he's hiding inside.
She smiles at him as though she can see what he's thinking. "Have a good time?"
His answering smile is twice as big as hers but half as real. "Sure. Can't you tell?"
She gives him a coolly assessing look. "You came twice. A guy...both times. Neither of them fucked you."
Bucky draws a long, silent breath, lets it out. He was just bullshitting, not actually inviting her to start the game again. At this point, though, the only way out is through, so he says, "Not gonna be more specific than that?"
She shrugs. "I could guess, but I'd probably be wrong."
"You're already wrong," he says with mild satisfaction. "I got off three times. Only two guys, though; you were right about that."
The first guy took so long to come with Bucky's mouth on him that Bucky got hard again. He figures the handjob the guy offered him afterwards was just compensation for Bucky's aching jaw.
"I've got vodka in my suite."
"Let me grab a shower first. I'll be there in a minute," he says, and Natasha nods and leaves him.
The forfeit is perfunctory--it always was. They started the game in the Red Room, back when Natasha was barely more than a kid and Bucky's functional memories were so sparse and fragmented that in a way he was even younger than she was. They were in love--as much as any person could love another in hell--but their assignments had them fucking other people ten times as often as they managed to steal time together. Hence, the game.
Number of participants, their gender or genders, and number of orgasms (for Bucky or Natasha; neither of them cared about the marks) was the minimum info required to win a round. Additional details increased the guesser's potential reward, but also the risk of losing: getting a single detail wrong resulted in a loss.
Not that it mattered. The prize was always alcohol--readily obtainable by all but the stupidest and most incompetent Red Room trainees--and it was always shared. The point wasn't to win the game, but to play it well. It was something they could share, something that brought them together, when everything else in their world was trying to keep them apart.
Natasha's door is unlocked when Bucky arrives there sporting still-wet hair and his sleep clothes. It's a measure of how far she's come, though he knows better than to think that she leaves it unlocked when she's asleep or otherwise vulnerable. Still, Bucky's pretty much physically incapable of leaving the door to his own suite unlocked. He wants to work on that someday, but right now he has more important goals to focus on.
Natasha's waiting for him in the living room, a book on her lap that she puts aside when she sees him and a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the coffee table. The bottle is slippery with condensation when he picks it up to pour for the two of them.
Bucky and Natasha raise their glasses to each other in silence. English toasts feel inadequate, Russian toasts too memory-laden.
"Steve was asking about you," Natasha says when they've each taken their first sips.
Bucky freezes; he should've known that her maneuvering him into this evening was fueled by more than nostalgia. "What did you tell him?"
"That you were out at a club. If you'd wanted me to lie, you should've warned me beforehand."
Her words and tone of voice are reproving, but her expression is surprisingly sympathetic. Bucky swipes a tired hand over his face. "I know. He's been giving me a lot of space; I didn't think the warning was necessary."
Natasha fixes him with a steady gaze. "Look, it's your business whether or not you tell him. But right now almost everyone on the team either knows you're bi or has no interest in your personal life. Steve's the only person who cares but who has no clue. And that's not a great position for him to be in, or any of the rest of us who are in the loop."
"So what you're saying is that I'm hurting the team," Bucky says flatly.
She shrugs but doesn't deny it. In all honesty, he knew that's what she was getting at as soon as she mentioned Steve. Natasha doesn't meddle unless she thinks the situation warrants it. A fractured team definitely qualifies.
It's also not anything he wants to think about right now, when all of his energy up until this point has been directed towards survival first and healing second. He pours the two of them fresh glasses of vodka and raises his eyebrows at Natasha, a silent 'listen to this.' "A guy and a girl; you came once." He's cheating slightly; he's seen the way Natasha responds to Clint and Agent Hill, has sussed out the interrelationships among the three of them.
Natasha lets him take the out and gives him a surprisingly conspiratorial smile. "Right on all counts," she says and raises her glass to him.
Bucky's in the middle of brushing his teeth when there's a quiet rap on his door. He spits and rinses quickly, then goes to answer it.
"Hey," Steve says with a smile; Bucky waves him in, unsurprised. Back when they were kids, Steve was an early to bed, early to rise kind of guy. The serum changed that. Unless he's injured, Steve's now late to bed and early to rise; he averages four hours of sleep a night, his body repairing itself more efficiently than most people's. Bucky's gotten used to Steve stopping by his rooms well past midnight.
"You want a drink?" he offers, despite the fact that his mouth is fresh and minty and alcohol would taste disgusting for the first few sips.
Steve considers the question, then shakes his head. Bucky changes course from the liquor cabinet towards the sofa where Steve has already settled himself.
"So, did you have a good time tonight?" Steve asks in unconscious imitation of Natasha's earlier question.
"Not really."
The answer surprises Bucky at least as much as it surprises Steve. Steve might be his best friend--still and always--but Bucky spends a hell of a lot of time lying to him. He's never liked doing it, though, even when he's considered it necessary. And confessing to a bad night isn't even close to sharing some of his other secrets, so maybe it's not so unexpected that Bucky would let this innocuous detail slip.
Of course, it's only innocuous until Steve presses for more info, which he does immediately. "Couldn't find any pretty girls to dance with?" he asks with a small smile that does nothing to detract from the concern in his eyes.
Bucky snorts. "Completely not the problem."
Something flickers in Steve's eyes--confusion? deeper concern? sympathy?--and Bucky sighs. He should've known he'd end up following Natasha's advice.
"I was at a gay club, Steve," he says. "A lack of pretty girls really wasn't my issue."
"Oh!" Steve stills as he processes this, and Bucky waits him out. "Tony took me to a couple of gay clubs right after we formed the Avengers," he offers. He gives Bucky a wry smile. "I think he was trying to shock me, but there wasn't anything too shocking about them. Just...they weren't really my scene. I can see why other people would like them, though."
Bucky nods his understanding, even as a small, absurd hope that he's carried and cherished for untold years dies within him.
Steve blushes suddenly and unexpectedly. "I can tell just fine when someone's attractive, but that's never been what I cared about the most. I've always wanted someone who's more than that. Someone kind and strong and dependable. Someone who's a friend first and a lover second."
"Someone," Bucky echoes, and Steve's blush deepens.
"Well, as far as that goes, we're maybe not that different."
"You're queer," Bucky says, disbelieving.
Steve shrugs casually, though by this point his face is so red it seems it's on fire. "First crush I ever had was on you, Buck," he says, "and...uh...it's not gone away yet, so..."
"Me, too," Bucky blurts out, not even considering the repercussions of his confession, just not wanting Steve to feel alone in this, as Bucky's felt all this time.
Steve gives him a tentative smile. "Yeah?" he says.
"Cross my heart."
If this were a romance novel, this would be the point where Bucky leaned forward to give Steve a kiss full of all the love and hope and longing he's held inside for forever. He just can't do that, though. It's too big and scary, too new for all that they've known each other for decades.
Luckily, Steve seems to realize that all on his own. He reaches out to place his hand over Bucky's heart, a warm, solid, comforting touch, and gives him a smile containing all the love and hope that Bucky could wish for. "That's good enough for me," he says.
Author: jain
Recipient: ravyn_ashling
Rating: R
Universe: Marvel Avengers movieverse; contains elements drawn from the Winter Soldier comics arc
Pairing/Characters: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Word Count: 1900
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work. No money is being made in this venture.
Summary: Bucky prefers to go for guys wearing wedding bands.
Bucky prefers to go for guys wearing wedding bands. It makes him feel kind of bad sometimes, but it also feels safer, and in the end that matters more to him than any lingering moral qualms. Married guys are less likely to ask him uncomfortable questions, less likely to want things from him that he can't give. Occasionally one will invite Bucky home with a, "My wife would just love you," or, increasingly, "my husband," but they're still in the minority and easy enough to turn down. Mostly the married guys are more than happy to follow Bucky into the bathroom or a dark corner of the club for a bit of no-strings sex.
The guy with his hand down Bucky's pants right now is one of them: cute enough in a bland way; a boring conversationalist for the three minutes they talked between the guy's buying Bucky a drink and their ending up in a bathroom stall together. The guy nuzzles at Bucky's jaw, and Bucky tilts his head to catch the guy's mouth in a kiss.
Bucky's read enough psych articles over the years to know what it means that he cares more about this and about the warm, human press of the guy's body against his than he does about the hand steadily working him closer to orgasm, the hard dick in his own hand. It just doesn't matter. Anonymous sex with boring strangers is the closest thing to a relationship that Bucky can manage right now; the fact that, in an ideal world, he might want more is irrelevant.
"James," Natasha says from behind him and to the left; Bucky stiffens with the effort of not reacting visibly. Ten years ago, she wouldn't have been able to sneak up on him like that.
He doesn't bother beating himself up over it. He hasn't gone soft; he's still a better fighter than she is, a better killer. But Tasha's obviously upped her game in other areas, and he makes a mental note of that.
She walks around to face him. Her hands hang casually at her sides, though he'd bet good money that she was armed a few seconds ago. Just in case. It's a relief to know that someone recognizes him as the threat he is, and he can relax in her presence as he can't around people who only see the person he wants to be and not all of the broken pieces he's hiding inside.
She smiles at him as though she can see what he's thinking. "Have a good time?"
His answering smile is twice as big as hers but half as real. "Sure. Can't you tell?"
She gives him a coolly assessing look. "You came twice. A guy...both times. Neither of them fucked you."
Bucky draws a long, silent breath, lets it out. He was just bullshitting, not actually inviting her to start the game again. At this point, though, the only way out is through, so he says, "Not gonna be more specific than that?"
She shrugs. "I could guess, but I'd probably be wrong."
"You're already wrong," he says with mild satisfaction. "I got off three times. Only two guys, though; you were right about that."
The first guy took so long to come with Bucky's mouth on him that Bucky got hard again. He figures the handjob the guy offered him afterwards was just compensation for Bucky's aching jaw.
"I've got vodka in my suite."
"Let me grab a shower first. I'll be there in a minute," he says, and Natasha nods and leaves him.
The forfeit is perfunctory--it always was. They started the game in the Red Room, back when Natasha was barely more than a kid and Bucky's functional memories were so sparse and fragmented that in a way he was even younger than she was. They were in love--as much as any person could love another in hell--but their assignments had them fucking other people ten times as often as they managed to steal time together. Hence, the game.
Number of participants, their gender or genders, and number of orgasms (for Bucky or Natasha; neither of them cared about the marks) was the minimum info required to win a round. Additional details increased the guesser's potential reward, but also the risk of losing: getting a single detail wrong resulted in a loss.
Not that it mattered. The prize was always alcohol--readily obtainable by all but the stupidest and most incompetent Red Room trainees--and it was always shared. The point wasn't to win the game, but to play it well. It was something they could share, something that brought them together, when everything else in their world was trying to keep them apart.
Natasha's door is unlocked when Bucky arrives there sporting still-wet hair and his sleep clothes. It's a measure of how far she's come, though he knows better than to think that she leaves it unlocked when she's asleep or otherwise vulnerable. Still, Bucky's pretty much physically incapable of leaving the door to his own suite unlocked. He wants to work on that someday, but right now he has more important goals to focus on.
Natasha's waiting for him in the living room, a book on her lap that she puts aside when she sees him and a bottle of vodka and two glasses on the coffee table. The bottle is slippery with condensation when he picks it up to pour for the two of them.
Bucky and Natasha raise their glasses to each other in silence. English toasts feel inadequate, Russian toasts too memory-laden.
"Steve was asking about you," Natasha says when they've each taken their first sips.
Bucky freezes; he should've known that her maneuvering him into this evening was fueled by more than nostalgia. "What did you tell him?"
"That you were out at a club. If you'd wanted me to lie, you should've warned me beforehand."
Her words and tone of voice are reproving, but her expression is surprisingly sympathetic. Bucky swipes a tired hand over his face. "I know. He's been giving me a lot of space; I didn't think the warning was necessary."
Natasha fixes him with a steady gaze. "Look, it's your business whether or not you tell him. But right now almost everyone on the team either knows you're bi or has no interest in your personal life. Steve's the only person who cares but who has no clue. And that's not a great position for him to be in, or any of the rest of us who are in the loop."
"So what you're saying is that I'm hurting the team," Bucky says flatly.
She shrugs but doesn't deny it. In all honesty, he knew that's what she was getting at as soon as she mentioned Steve. Natasha doesn't meddle unless she thinks the situation warrants it. A fractured team definitely qualifies.
It's also not anything he wants to think about right now, when all of his energy up until this point has been directed towards survival first and healing second. He pours the two of them fresh glasses of vodka and raises his eyebrows at Natasha, a silent 'listen to this.' "A guy and a girl; you came once." He's cheating slightly; he's seen the way Natasha responds to Clint and Agent Hill, has sussed out the interrelationships among the three of them.
Natasha lets him take the out and gives him a surprisingly conspiratorial smile. "Right on all counts," she says and raises her glass to him.
Bucky's in the middle of brushing his teeth when there's a quiet rap on his door. He spits and rinses quickly, then goes to answer it.
"Hey," Steve says with a smile; Bucky waves him in, unsurprised. Back when they were kids, Steve was an early to bed, early to rise kind of guy. The serum changed that. Unless he's injured, Steve's now late to bed and early to rise; he averages four hours of sleep a night, his body repairing itself more efficiently than most people's. Bucky's gotten used to Steve stopping by his rooms well past midnight.
"You want a drink?" he offers, despite the fact that his mouth is fresh and minty and alcohol would taste disgusting for the first few sips.
Steve considers the question, then shakes his head. Bucky changes course from the liquor cabinet towards the sofa where Steve has already settled himself.
"So, did you have a good time tonight?" Steve asks in unconscious imitation of Natasha's earlier question.
"Not really."
The answer surprises Bucky at least as much as it surprises Steve. Steve might be his best friend--still and always--but Bucky spends a hell of a lot of time lying to him. He's never liked doing it, though, even when he's considered it necessary. And confessing to a bad night isn't even close to sharing some of his other secrets, so maybe it's not so unexpected that Bucky would let this innocuous detail slip.
Of course, it's only innocuous until Steve presses for more info, which he does immediately. "Couldn't find any pretty girls to dance with?" he asks with a small smile that does nothing to detract from the concern in his eyes.
Bucky snorts. "Completely not the problem."
Something flickers in Steve's eyes--confusion? deeper concern? sympathy?--and Bucky sighs. He should've known he'd end up following Natasha's advice.
"I was at a gay club, Steve," he says. "A lack of pretty girls really wasn't my issue."
"Oh!" Steve stills as he processes this, and Bucky waits him out. "Tony took me to a couple of gay clubs right after we formed the Avengers," he offers. He gives Bucky a wry smile. "I think he was trying to shock me, but there wasn't anything too shocking about them. Just...they weren't really my scene. I can see why other people would like them, though."
Bucky nods his understanding, even as a small, absurd hope that he's carried and cherished for untold years dies within him.
Steve blushes suddenly and unexpectedly. "I can tell just fine when someone's attractive, but that's never been what I cared about the most. I've always wanted someone who's more than that. Someone kind and strong and dependable. Someone who's a friend first and a lover second."
"Someone," Bucky echoes, and Steve's blush deepens.
"Well, as far as that goes, we're maybe not that different."
"You're queer," Bucky says, disbelieving.
Steve shrugs casually, though by this point his face is so red it seems it's on fire. "First crush I ever had was on you, Buck," he says, "and...uh...it's not gone away yet, so..."
"Me, too," Bucky blurts out, not even considering the repercussions of his confession, just not wanting Steve to feel alone in this, as Bucky's felt all this time.
Steve gives him a tentative smile. "Yeah?" he says.
"Cross my heart."
If this were a romance novel, this would be the point where Bucky leaned forward to give Steve a kiss full of all the love and hope and longing he's held inside for forever. He just can't do that, though. It's too big and scary, too new for all that they've known each other for decades.
Luckily, Steve seems to realize that all on his own. He reaches out to place his hand over Bucky's heart, a warm, solid, comforting touch, and gives him a smile containing all the love and hope that Bucky could wish for. "That's good enough for me," he says.