[Captain America] New Heights
New Heights
Bucky/Steve | R, 1763 words
Written for this prompt at capkink. Because I am nothing but a fandom whore these days.
If Bucky was trying to convince himself of his sanity, he'd say that he'd started fantasizing about sucking Steve off after he showed up to save him that day, newfound strength in every limb as he helped Bucky up and out of that hellish place.
But it wouldn't be the truth.
Now, if Bucky was being honest, then he'd say how that was a complete lie, and that really he'd started fantasizing about such things long ago, long before Steve had become the star-spangled super soldier they all now knew him as, long before either of them had considered enlisting. Maybe even before there was a need to enlist.
Nothing has really changed. He hadn't talked about it then, and he isn't going to talk about it now. Especially not now, perhaps. He can have any girl he wants -- and he does want, that hasn't changed either -- and he isn't going to suddenly throw a spanner into the works by telling Steve that, hey, I've sometimes thought about sucking your cock.
Except that he does.
Accidentally, of course. Partly, anyway. A pre-meditated accident of sorts. He considers it, foolishly, for all of five seconds: he's had a few drinks, and it's an entertaining idea for a moment. He allows himself to laugh at it while he takes another drink, then realises -- albeit, belatedly -- that there could not be a more outrageous idea in all of the world, and he promptly halts his chuckling. He'd be shipped right out of here if he even so much as made a joke, and he doesn't want that. He wants to fight alongside Steve for as long as fate allows him.
But fate, as it were, decides that no matter what, the thought cannot go unsaid, and so when everybody else has left and Bucky is considerably more drunk than he has been in many weeks, and Steve is just sitting there, amused grin on his lips and looking not even the slightest bit worse for wear, Bucky opens his big fat mouth and tells him:
"Hey, I've sometimes thought about sucking your cock."
The glass in Steve's hand drops unceremoniously into his own lap, splashing alcohol across his thighs before it clatters to the ground, shattering into a thousand little pieces. Bucky has ten seconds to run, ten seconds to laugh it off and let Steve know he's joking, even if he isn't.
He has ten seconds, and yet he fails to use a single one of them.
"Bucky," Steve says, eyebrows knotting together slowly, and Bucky can basically see him forming his response, working through every available word.
His body feels heavy, like all his limbs are dragging on the ground even while they sit on high stools at the bar. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he goes to open them again, even his eyelids feel heavy and it takes him much longer than usual. Oh, he told Steve. Right.
"Bucky," Steve says again. "I don't know that you should be saying that here."
Yeah, Bucky thinks. I know.
They sit in silence for a while, and Bucky closes his eyes again, feels his body sliding in and out of consciousness as he falls from the sky, down through the clouds over -- is that Mexico? He hasn't been to Mexico. He'd thought about it fleetingly one time, but then they hadn't--
"Come on," Steve is saying, and when Bucky opens his eyes, he's slumped into Steve's chest, on his feet but barely standing, glass crunching under his boots.
"Hey," Bucky says, and there's this worried look that flashes across Steve's face and he laughs. No no no, not something like that again. "Thanks," he mumbles. For catching me, he thinks, but can't quite find the energy to get it out. Or maybe he just can't bring himself to say it in general. It's weird, having the tables turned, having to rely on Steve to save him, or just purely having to look up to Steve in the most literal sense (because god knows he's been looking up the other way for years).
Steve relaxes again, helping Bucky up to standing, and steadying him there. "No problem, partner."
Bucky's sure it's more just a Steve Rogers thing, not a Men In General thing; he's never thought anything like this about any other man. He's probably just known Steve too long. And Steve does look good now (not that that was really a factor, but still).
He shouldn't have said it. He didn't mean to say it -- especially not so crudely -- but at least Steve is doing a good job of not talking about it. Bucky should get some pointers from him. Also pointers on how to hold one's alcohol -- hadn't Steve been drinking at all?
Every time he stumbles, messes up his footing or bumps into a corner, Steve is there to help him back upright again, with heavy hands on Bucky's biceps to tug him out of the way of walls and posts and boxes at their feet. And Bucky's head clears ever so slowly as they walk. He has mixed thoughts running through his head: shouldn't have said that, that was entertaining, and also, quite frustratingly still, maybe Steve will let me suck him off.
He taps Steve's stomach as he finally sits down on his bed. The night is silent, save for the sound of his own breathing, amplified in his head by the alcohol. "You know, it's not just since the serum." There's no need to explain what exactly he's talking about.
Steve frowns and Bucky blinks slowly, twice.
"Honestly," he emphasises, and then drags his hand from Steve's stomach to the waistband of his trousers. He's tired, drunk, idiotic, but he wants this, so much, if Steve will just let him.
"B- Bucky," Steve stutters. "Buck."
"For a really long time," he continues, and slinks off the bed to rest on his knees on the floor, staring straight up at Steve. "Before we even thought about enlisting." He idly bites Steve's belt buckle and takes a deep breath.
Steve isn't running.
"No one has to know," he says, and unbuckles Steve's belt and slides it from the loops of his trousers. He hastily undoes his fly as well, letting his hands brush over Steve's crotch as he goes about it, surprised to find Steve hardening under his touch.
"No one will know," Steve corrects weakly, as Bucky slides trousers and underwear from his waist, down over his hips, exposing him. Steve's face burns a brilliant red and he fidgets incessantly.
Steve's probably never even kissed a girl, Bucky realises suddenly and laughs. God, Steve. He scrambles to his feet, wraps a hand around Steve's neck, and stretches onto his toes to press their lips together. It's probably strange that Bucky had never considered this part before. His heart thumps excitedly, and in matter of seconds, the feeling of the situation has changed entirely. He pulls back and gives Steve a lopsided grin, hoping it will help cover the fact that he's infinitely more nervous now. He squeezes Steve's neck, and then turns him around to sit on the edge of the bed before he drops to his knees again.
The first taste of Steve is like a kick to Bucky's senses: he is salty and sweet and at once everything and nothing like Bucky had imagined. He drags his tongue from base to tip, savouring, enjoying. He's never done this before, but then Steve hasn't either -- they're both in this together. Steve moans, fists his hands in the sheets and tries to clamp his lips shut as Bucky sucks the head into his mouth and slowly slides down further over Steve's cock.
He's going to need to do something about himself later, his own cock still trapped in regulation trousers, tight against the fabric. But right now he just wants to do this, wants to make Steve feel, make him come, make him cry out and forget everything of Hydra and of the war. He wants Steve's full attention, just for this moment. It's a shame that Bucky isn't more sober so he could better take it all in, remember this to the tiniest detail, but then he wouldn't have even gotten this far if he was.
He smiles despite everything, teeth scraping just lightly over Steve's cock, and Steve sucks in a deep, sharp breath and shoves a hand into Bucky's hair. Bucky's about to apologise, but then there's the sticky texture of pre-come on his tongue and so he does it again. Steve's grip on Bucky's hair wavers between moments from when he can't control himself, to when he remembers his strength and eases off, and it delights Bucky and makes his heart swell.
He runs his tongue up the length of Steve's cock, and then closes his lips and goes down again, kneading his fingers into Steve's thighs, muscles tensing under his grasp. Sometimes he looks almost nothing like the Steve that Bucky used to know, but that's honestly the only thing that's changed. He still smells like Steve, still talks like him, still continues to be as stubborn as he ever was -- and maybe most importantly, the atmosphere around him and between them hasn't altered in the slightest. He bobs his head forward and back.
There's a small, almost unintelligible mumble of a warning, and Bucky replaces his mouth with his hand and strokes Steve to and through his climax, Steve covering his own mouth with his free hand to stifle his cries.
"Bucky," Steve chokes out, like it's the only word in the world, and Bucky takes a deep breath and wipes his hand nonchalantly on his trousers.
He's still as hard as ever, and his knees are stiff and legs are cramping, but he can't remember being so satisfied ever, and he's content to just sit there as Steve massages his fingers into Bucky's scalp. Steve's breathing is still erratic but it's slowly reverting to normal as they hold their positions.
"Hey," Bucky says eventually, breaking the silence. "I've sometimes thought about--"
"Bucky," Steve warns, and Bucky bursts out laughing.
"I'm joking, I'm joking," he beams, and rolls back to sit down properly on the floor, and then lie down because this floor is surprisingly comfortable, and then he finally passes out.
Bucky's got a million things planned to say, a million ways of saying sorry and also thank you and everything in between, but the next time he sees Steve, all he can bring himself to say is: "Hi."
Bucky/Steve | R, 1763 words
Written for this prompt at capkink. Because I am nothing but a fandom whore these days.
If Bucky was trying to convince himself of his sanity, he'd say that he'd started fantasizing about sucking Steve off after he showed up to save him that day, newfound strength in every limb as he helped Bucky up and out of that hellish place.
But it wouldn't be the truth.
Now, if Bucky was being honest, then he'd say how that was a complete lie, and that really he'd started fantasizing about such things long ago, long before Steve had become the star-spangled super soldier they all now knew him as, long before either of them had considered enlisting. Maybe even before there was a need to enlist.
Nothing has really changed. He hadn't talked about it then, and he isn't going to talk about it now. Especially not now, perhaps. He can have any girl he wants -- and he does want, that hasn't changed either -- and he isn't going to suddenly throw a spanner into the works by telling Steve that, hey, I've sometimes thought about sucking your cock.
Except that he does.
Accidentally, of course. Partly, anyway. A pre-meditated accident of sorts. He considers it, foolishly, for all of five seconds: he's had a few drinks, and it's an entertaining idea for a moment. He allows himself to laugh at it while he takes another drink, then realises -- albeit, belatedly -- that there could not be a more outrageous idea in all of the world, and he promptly halts his chuckling. He'd be shipped right out of here if he even so much as made a joke, and he doesn't want that. He wants to fight alongside Steve for as long as fate allows him.
But fate, as it were, decides that no matter what, the thought cannot go unsaid, and so when everybody else has left and Bucky is considerably more drunk than he has been in many weeks, and Steve is just sitting there, amused grin on his lips and looking not even the slightest bit worse for wear, Bucky opens his big fat mouth and tells him:
"Hey, I've sometimes thought about sucking your cock."
The glass in Steve's hand drops unceremoniously into his own lap, splashing alcohol across his thighs before it clatters to the ground, shattering into a thousand little pieces. Bucky has ten seconds to run, ten seconds to laugh it off and let Steve know he's joking, even if he isn't.
He has ten seconds, and yet he fails to use a single one of them.
"Bucky," Steve says, eyebrows knotting together slowly, and Bucky can basically see him forming his response, working through every available word.
His body feels heavy, like all his limbs are dragging on the ground even while they sit on high stools at the bar. He closes his eyes briefly, and when he goes to open them again, even his eyelids feel heavy and it takes him much longer than usual. Oh, he told Steve. Right.
"Bucky," Steve says again. "I don't know that you should be saying that here."
Yeah, Bucky thinks. I know.
They sit in silence for a while, and Bucky closes his eyes again, feels his body sliding in and out of consciousness as he falls from the sky, down through the clouds over -- is that Mexico? He hasn't been to Mexico. He'd thought about it fleetingly one time, but then they hadn't--
"Come on," Steve is saying, and when Bucky opens his eyes, he's slumped into Steve's chest, on his feet but barely standing, glass crunching under his boots.
"Hey," Bucky says, and there's this worried look that flashes across Steve's face and he laughs. No no no, not something like that again. "Thanks," he mumbles. For catching me, he thinks, but can't quite find the energy to get it out. Or maybe he just can't bring himself to say it in general. It's weird, having the tables turned, having to rely on Steve to save him, or just purely having to look up to Steve in the most literal sense (because god knows he's been looking up the other way for years).
Steve relaxes again, helping Bucky up to standing, and steadying him there. "No problem, partner."
Bucky's sure it's more just a Steve Rogers thing, not a Men In General thing; he's never thought anything like this about any other man. He's probably just known Steve too long. And Steve does look good now (not that that was really a factor, but still).
He shouldn't have said it. He didn't mean to say it -- especially not so crudely -- but at least Steve is doing a good job of not talking about it. Bucky should get some pointers from him. Also pointers on how to hold one's alcohol -- hadn't Steve been drinking at all?
Every time he stumbles, messes up his footing or bumps into a corner, Steve is there to help him back upright again, with heavy hands on Bucky's biceps to tug him out of the way of walls and posts and boxes at their feet. And Bucky's head clears ever so slowly as they walk. He has mixed thoughts running through his head: shouldn't have said that, that was entertaining, and also, quite frustratingly still, maybe Steve will let me suck him off.
He taps Steve's stomach as he finally sits down on his bed. The night is silent, save for the sound of his own breathing, amplified in his head by the alcohol. "You know, it's not just since the serum." There's no need to explain what exactly he's talking about.
Steve frowns and Bucky blinks slowly, twice.
"Honestly," he emphasises, and then drags his hand from Steve's stomach to the waistband of his trousers. He's tired, drunk, idiotic, but he wants this, so much, if Steve will just let him.
"B- Bucky," Steve stutters. "Buck."
"For a really long time," he continues, and slinks off the bed to rest on his knees on the floor, staring straight up at Steve. "Before we even thought about enlisting." He idly bites Steve's belt buckle and takes a deep breath.
Steve isn't running.
"No one has to know," he says, and unbuckles Steve's belt and slides it from the loops of his trousers. He hastily undoes his fly as well, letting his hands brush over Steve's crotch as he goes about it, surprised to find Steve hardening under his touch.
"No one will know," Steve corrects weakly, as Bucky slides trousers and underwear from his waist, down over his hips, exposing him. Steve's face burns a brilliant red and he fidgets incessantly.
Steve's probably never even kissed a girl, Bucky realises suddenly and laughs. God, Steve. He scrambles to his feet, wraps a hand around Steve's neck, and stretches onto his toes to press their lips together. It's probably strange that Bucky had never considered this part before. His heart thumps excitedly, and in matter of seconds, the feeling of the situation has changed entirely. He pulls back and gives Steve a lopsided grin, hoping it will help cover the fact that he's infinitely more nervous now. He squeezes Steve's neck, and then turns him around to sit on the edge of the bed before he drops to his knees again.
The first taste of Steve is like a kick to Bucky's senses: he is salty and sweet and at once everything and nothing like Bucky had imagined. He drags his tongue from base to tip, savouring, enjoying. He's never done this before, but then Steve hasn't either -- they're both in this together. Steve moans, fists his hands in the sheets and tries to clamp his lips shut as Bucky sucks the head into his mouth and slowly slides down further over Steve's cock.
He's going to need to do something about himself later, his own cock still trapped in regulation trousers, tight against the fabric. But right now he just wants to do this, wants to make Steve feel, make him come, make him cry out and forget everything of Hydra and of the war. He wants Steve's full attention, just for this moment. It's a shame that Bucky isn't more sober so he could better take it all in, remember this to the tiniest detail, but then he wouldn't have even gotten this far if he was.
He smiles despite everything, teeth scraping just lightly over Steve's cock, and Steve sucks in a deep, sharp breath and shoves a hand into Bucky's hair. Bucky's about to apologise, but then there's the sticky texture of pre-come on his tongue and so he does it again. Steve's grip on Bucky's hair wavers between moments from when he can't control himself, to when he remembers his strength and eases off, and it delights Bucky and makes his heart swell.
He runs his tongue up the length of Steve's cock, and then closes his lips and goes down again, kneading his fingers into Steve's thighs, muscles tensing under his grasp. Sometimes he looks almost nothing like the Steve that Bucky used to know, but that's honestly the only thing that's changed. He still smells like Steve, still talks like him, still continues to be as stubborn as he ever was -- and maybe most importantly, the atmosphere around him and between them hasn't altered in the slightest. He bobs his head forward and back.
There's a small, almost unintelligible mumble of a warning, and Bucky replaces his mouth with his hand and strokes Steve to and through his climax, Steve covering his own mouth with his free hand to stifle his cries.
"Bucky," Steve chokes out, like it's the only word in the world, and Bucky takes a deep breath and wipes his hand nonchalantly on his trousers.
He's still as hard as ever, and his knees are stiff and legs are cramping, but he can't remember being so satisfied ever, and he's content to just sit there as Steve massages his fingers into Bucky's scalp. Steve's breathing is still erratic but it's slowly reverting to normal as they hold their positions.
"Hey," Bucky says eventually, breaking the silence. "I've sometimes thought about--"
"Bucky," Steve warns, and Bucky bursts out laughing.
"I'm joking, I'm joking," he beams, and rolls back to sit down properly on the floor, and then lie down because this floor is surprisingly comfortable, and then he finally passes out.
Bucky's got a million things planned to say, a million ways of saying sorry and also thank you and everything in between, but the next time he sees Steve, all he can bring himself to say is: "Hi."