Chapter Text
Bucky stumbles in through the creaking door and, without taking off his shoes or coat, continues to the bedroom. Steve looks up from his sketch, his mouth halfway to telling Bucky’s drunk ass off for barging in with muddy boots, but Bucky is at the edge of the bed already and Steve can’t find it in him to bitch about it when his heart gives a muted pang at Bucky’s disheveled look.
His tie is undone, hanging loose around the neck of the half-unbuttoned shirt. He smells of cigarettes and alcohol and perfume. Steve’s chest tightens. Bucky’s eyes are clear, clearer than one might think they could be after all that stumbling. He’s looking at Steve like he’d looked at him so many times before. Just as many times as he’d denied it. His mouth is red, smudged with lipstick. Steve hates the sudden feeling of gratitude towards the girl that put it there tonight. Bucky looks downright sinful with his lips all red and ravished.
“Hey,” Steve says, gripping the pencil in his hand tighter.
“Hey, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, and his hand is in Steve’s hair, like so many times before, petting, caressing. “Why are you still up?” he asks as if Steve isn’t always up, waiting for Bucky to come back home after a night out.
The look Bucky’s giving him, the familiar, yet fleeting look he’s always quick to hide, bar on nights when alcohol impairs his judgement, spreads like heat inside Steve’s chest. He knows that look, personally, intimately. It’s a look he often spies on himself. Longing.
“Oh, you know,” he tries for nonchalance. “Had to stay up in case I had to save you from a brawl.”
Bucky huffs out a laugh and smiles, lopsided and honest, his thumb tracing across Steve’s forehead. Steve doesn’t want him to ever let go.
“Bucky,” he whispers and he knows he’s pleading, begging, like an idiot wanting something that he shouldn’t want, wanting something that he shouldn’t ever have. But he can’t stop himself from wanting. Even if someone cut out his heart, it wouldn’t stop him from wanting because he wants Bucky everywhere, every corner, every crease, and every cell.
Bucky shakes his head and snatches his hand from Steve’s hair in a moment of sobriety. “No,” is all he says, pushes a hand through his own hair, messing it up further, and marches off towards the bathroom.
Steve lets his eyes fall closed, his scalp tingling. Fuck this shit. Fuck it. He throws back the covers and pads to the bathroom, hesitating momentarily in front of the door before pushing it open. Bucky’s just taking off his tie. He glances at Steve, throws the slippery string of fabric in the corner and turns to the mirror. Steve steps into their small bathroom, cramping the space further.
“Buck.” He meets the clear blue of Bucky’s eyes in the reflection. “I—Buck, please—”
“Don’t,” Bucky cuts him off, angry. Desperate. “Don’t do this. Just don’t.”
“Why?” Steve steps closer, feels the nervousness radiating off Bucky’s body in waves. Feels the heat.
“Because.” Bucky gulps. “Because if we do...I. If we do, there ain’t no going back.” He’s gripping the sink so hard the veins in his forearms stand out, blue and thrumming.
“I don’t care about going back. I don’t like it as it is anyway. I wouldn’t want to come back to it.” Steve feels the habitual wave of bullheadedness rise in him. “Why don’t you just...just let yourself.”
“Just let myself.” Bucky turns towards Steve then, fully, so much bigger and so much handsomer than Steve could ever hope to be. He’s trembling. “They’re already whispering about it behind our backs, you know. Two buddies in their twenties, not one of them with a serious girl. Living together. Who’s to know what they’re up to when the curtains are drawn. Fairies. They’re already sayin’.”
“Don’t mind that they do.” Steve raises his head. “They’re right.”
Righteous anger makes Steve’s heart pound faster. Why shouldn’t he have this. Why should it be wrong. Bucky never felt wrong. All that Bucky ever felt was right, fit like a glove around him, like that was where he belonged. Steve reaches up, cups Bucky’s jaw in his hand, can’t resist dragging his thumb over the corner of his mouth where the smudge of red is the brightest. “If this—” his voice catches in his throat, “—if wanting this makes me a fucking fairy, then I wanna be one.”
The fact that Bucky doesn’t so much as flinch at the cuss word shakes Steve to the core. Bucky always reprimands him for his filthy mouth. It’s become a habit, an almost automatic response. He doesn’t even hear it this time. God, Bucky’s scared. His eyes are panicked when Steve pushes him back, crowds against him. Bucky tries to resist, but it’s weak.
“You get the shit beaten out of you for just looking at people wrong.” Bucky’s grasping at the last straws of reason, his resolve visibly crumbling. Steve slides his thumb over Bucky’s lip, pulls it down, traces his finger over Bucky’s lower teeth. Bucky’s lips tremble. He turns his head away, letting Steve’s hand fall to his shoulder. “Just remember what they did to Bobby. That’ll be us if we let it happen.”
Bucky’s eyes make contact with Steve’s again. Afraid. God, he’s so afraid. Afraid for the both of them. Afraid for Steve because he knows Steve can’t muster up enough fear to protect himself, so Bucky does it for him. It’s not fair, really. Steve feels selfish, demanding even more from him, but god, he can’t be selfless about this.
“You know how they’ll know?” Bucky asks him, gripping Steve’s wrist hard, pleading. “You know how? ‘Cause I won’t be able to hide it. ‘Cause once we do this Stevie, my hands will keep reaching for you and they’ll know. They’ll know, ‘cause it won’t just be wanting anymore, it’ll be having, and I’ll wanna have you all the time.”
“I don’t care. I don’t care Bucky. I can’t. I can’t go on like this,” Steve whispers. He pushes at Bucky’s chest and knows that Bucky’s given up; his body moves with the push and Steve follows, pressing himself against him when Bucky’s back hits the bathroom wall. “I want you. Don’t you want to be selfish for once?”
Steve’s hands curl around the collar of Bucky’s shirt, as Bucky’s arms slip around his waist, gripping him tight. Steve needs to tell him, he needs to let him know.
“I wanna fuck you. I wanna fuck you like I wanna fuck girls. I want you to fuck me like you fuck girls.” Steve’s staring directly into Bucky’s eyes, sees them dilate, sees Bucky’s Adam’s apple bob in his throat. Bucky opens his mouth, but Steve cuts him off. “No, I’ll say it. I’m done not saying it. I want, god, Bucky I want you so much.”
“Steve,” Bucky whispers. “Stevie.” Steve feels the heat between them that he didn’t feel before, distracted by his monologue. He feels how clammy his hands are, feels how his breaths rush out of his lungs.
“Kiss me.” His hand on the collar tightens, pulls. He’s only an inch away, Bucky’s breath soft against his lips. “Please, kiss me.”
The sound Bucky makes just before their lips meet couldn’t be described as anything other than a whine. Bitter about giving in but desperate to have it. For a while all they do is press their lips together, clutching at each other, pulling each other in, further, closer. Bucky’s lips move then, nudge Steve’s apart, and Bucky’s kissing him for real. Steve gasps. It’s everything. Everything he ever wanted because it’s Bucky. It’s not the best kiss — Steve hasn’t had much practice after all — it’s mediocre at best, too desperate and too sloppy to be anything else, but it’s perfect because it’s Bucky kissing him. It’s Bucky who cups the back of Steve’s head and tilts it. It’s Bucky who slips his tongue into Steve’s mouth.
Steve lets his leg slip between Bucky’s thighs. Before realizing he’s hard himself, he feels Bucky’s cock against his hip and moans. Fuck. He rubs against Bucky, making him moan too. It’s the best sound Steve’s ever heard. Low and quiet and strained. Steve bites Bucky’s lip before breaking the kiss. He lets his hips rut against Bucky’s leg, unable to stop, it feels so good, the pressure building inside him.
“Bucky.” Steve’s breath is quick against Bucky’s lips.
“Yeah?” The huskiness of Bucky’s voice goes straight to Steve’s cock.
“Tell me you want it. Tell me you want it just as much.”
“I do, god, I do.” Bucky’s hand twines in Steve’s hair and pulls him forward, pressing their lips together. “I want you so much. Always wanted you.”
Then Bucky is kissing him again, and Steve loses himself in the feeling. Bucky’s hips are rolling against him with just as much vigor as Steve’s, his free hand roaming Steve’s body, drawing shivers from Steve as it goes. Steve never thought anyone’s hands could make him this aroused. His breath picks up as the pressure in his groin becomes impossible. He’s positively riding Bucky’s thigh, moaning and gasping into his mouth. Bucky ends the not-quite-a-kiss and nibbles his way down Steve’s jaw, settling his mouth on Steve’s neck. The angle is awkward because Bucky’s so much taller, but it’s worth it because, when Bucky’s teeth make contact with Steve’s sensitive skin, Steve’s hips buck, one, two, three more times and he’s coming in his pants like a thirteen-year-old. He grabs at Bucky, presses his head into his shoulder, breaths him in, and then Bucky is coming too, calling out Steve’s name, his body shuddering.
-----
“The mating patterns of wild sloths are severely under-researched. Consequently, we know very little about the sloth reproduction system. The two-toed sloths and the three-toed sloths have been noticed to have very different mating patterns…”
Steve’s eyes start to flutter shut as the narrator of the documentary drones on about the differences between the two different types of sloths. He’s trying to keep awake, but he can’t say he cares enough about sloths to put any real effort into it. When he’s almost decided he doesn’t care one bit about these sad animals, Bucky speaks up.
“I remember.”
Something in his voice makes Steve’s attention snap back. He looks at Bucky,whose eyes are glued to the screen. One of the sloths is sniffing another sloth’s behind.
“Uhh?” is all Steve manages to say, still a bit fuzzy from the promise of sleep.
“I remember all the times I told you off for cussing.” Bucky flicks his eyes at Steve but looks back to the TV quickly. The male sloth is now awkwardly climbing the female. “And all the times I didn’t.”
Steve freezes on the spot. The only times Bucky didn’t tell him off was either when he was too shocked to do it or too...well, horny. Steve glances at the sloths gearing up for fucking. He looks at Bucky in disbelief. Did—did Bucky just remember their relationship while—while watching the most anatomically fucked up mammals getting it on?
“Uhh…” Steve says again, suddenly really, really uncomfortable with thinking about Bucky’s mouth and cock while sloth mating calls echo around their living room.
Silence settles between them as Steve tries to figure out what to say. So Bucky remembers. That doesn’t mean anything. Maybe he only wants to talk about it. Maybe he only wants to clear up the memories, make sure what’s true and what isn’t. Should Steve just straight up tell him. Yeah, we were.... But what were they? They never defined it, really. Boyfriends? The word was too weak for what Bucky had always meant to him. Lovers? Partners? It was just him and Bucky. Steve’s Bucky and Bucky’s Steve.
“The actual deed itself is over and done with in under five seconds.” The narrator interrupts his thoughts. “It would appear that sex is the only thing that a sloth does quickly.”
“Switzerland.” Bucky’s voice cuts through the sad realities of sloth sex life. “Andermatt Gasthaus. I remember that.”
Steve fervently prays it wasn’t the comment about the sloth’s short performance that reminded Bucky of Switzerland. Yeah, maybe Steve didn’t last the longest, but really, associating the very good sex they had in that inn with sloth stamina was a low blow even for Bucky. And maybe Steve was reading too much into it, but Bucky was still resolutely staring at those stupid animals who looked like really well-used dusters having a nice cosy post-coitus on a tree, and Steve couldn’t tell if Bucky resented their relationship or if he thought it was weird or if he was about to tell Steve to never even think about touching him like that again. Steve knows he’s working himself up into a frenzy and that he’s bound to explode with words, when Bucky saves him.
“It was the last time we were together.” Bucky finally looks at him and Steve’s throat closes up. The noise of the television fades to a background shuffle, sloths completely forgotten, when Steve’s attention is swallowed by the depth of Bucky’s eyes. “I remember receiving new intel, getting sent to Austria. I remember...falling. I remember falling and thinking, just remember thinking that you said it. You’ve never said it before. Not like that. And once I was thinking of that, falling didn’t scare me much anymore.”
“Bucky.” God. He remembers that. Steve wants to reach out, he wants to take Bucky into his arms and hold him, nothing else. He wants to wrap his arms around him and squeeze out all the hurt and pain he went through. Brush his hair off his forehead, kiss his temple and tell him again. I love you so fucking much, Buck. Over and over and over again. He wants to say it with his mouth, with his hands, with his whole body. But he doesn’t know if Bucky feels the same. Steve went into ice and woke up like he was on the day he crashed. Bucky was frozen again and again and woke up a different man each time. Different to the point he didn’t recognize the first man who went under as himself. Steve lives his second life. Bucky lives his hundredth. And maybe dragging that love across decades was too hard on Bucky. Maybe it was easier—kinder—to let it go.
“Bucky, I don’t know what to say. I don’t—” Steve cuts off because he really doesn’t. He doesn’t have a clue what he wants to say. I still do? Every day. Every single day, even when I thought you were gone. Always, always, always. He tries again. “I don’t want you to think you need to do anything about it. I understand if you don’t want to—now. I don’t know what you want me to say here but, if it helps any, my answer to everything is yes. I do. I still do. Always. Till the end of the line and over and beyond.”
Steve’s heart is thumping against his ribcage. It feels good saying it, letting it out from the tight grip of his heart. He feels the prickle of tears in his eyes. He tries to brush them away but they fill in again. Bucky is looking at him as if he’s saying something new and curious, as if Bucky shouldn’t have already known all that, and Steve can’t bear the pain of ‘what if’ that blooms in his chest. Bucky moves. Slowly, deliberately, as if assessing his own desire. He moves until he’s hovering over Steve.
“I remember,” Bucky says again, low and quiet. “But I—I don’t know how it feels. Loving you like I used to. I don’t know if I’d like it.”
Steve’s heart doesn’t know whether to sink or soar. Bucky’s not saying no, but he’s not saying yes either, but a maybe is still more than he ever hoped for. A maybe is the sound of a promise. Maybe I could love you like I used to. Maybe I could love you different. Maybe I could love you new.
“Yeah.” Steve whispers. Bucky is so close he can smell him. His floral shampoo is gentle in Steve’s nostrils, but the scent that is all Bucky is clear and sharp below it. “Okay. That’s okay.”
“We can try.” Bucky wets his lips. They glisten and Steve can’t look away.
“Try,” he echos.
“Yeah.” Bucky’s lips are only a breath away. “Test it. Reject or confirm the hypothesis.”
“Oh,” Steve breathes. Bucky’s hand snakes around his neck and small pinpricks run down the nerve endings in his back, the warmth of Bucky’s palm reigniting their long lost function. “What’s the hypothesis?”
“That I do, too. Still.”
“So.” Steve gulps because Bucky is so close, so warm. “How will we test it?”
Steve barely has the time to draw in a hitched breath before Bucky’s lips are on his and his lungs momentarily lose their ability to function. Bucky gasps against his mouth and Steve, abandoning all self-control, wraps his arm around Bucky’s waist, twists, and pulls him on top of him. It feels right. It feels right like it always did, no matter the bodies they had. He opens his mouth and deepens the kiss, revelling in how Bucky still kisses like Bucky. Going from gentle kisses to hard nibbles, from sliding against him effortlessly, to grinding into him demandingly. His body is new, heavier, and the metal arm in Steve’s hair is slightly colder than normal, but the kisses are Bucky through and through.
When Bucky pulls back, his lips are their usual post-kissing red. Steve runs a finger over them, marvelling at the familiar shape. Curved and pliant as always.
“So...” He looks into Bucky’s eyes. The mask is off. He looks curious. Gentle. Vulnerable. Raw. “Where does the hypothesis stand?”
“Further testing is necessary.” Bucky answers truthfully. “But for now it’s standing pretty firm.”
Steve doesn’t mind the need for further testing. Bucky can take all the time he needs, the test subject will be (wanton) and willing.
-----
When their vehicle finally pulls up into what can only be called civilization in a really broad sense of the word, Steve finally feels like he can breathe again. Like he can rest. Like he can let the nervous tension seep out of him. Andermatt Gasthaus, is written on the white facade of the rather large inn. The commandos cheer at the sight and jump onto the road, the prospect of alcohol and possibly some Swiss ladies improving their mood considerably. They deserve it after the shit they just went through in Italy. Steve looks at them, his men. Stronger and braver than he could have ever hoped for. Right up Steve’s alley with their amount of crazy too. He grins, and ushers them all in.
They settle behind a table and start drinking. Dugan’s as loud as ever, his laughter booming, and Dernier’s French is more and more slurred with every drink. Soon, even Jones can barely understand him. Morita is the only one who has the sense to pace himself and only looks slightly happier after half an hour, instead of ecstatic.
Bucky, on the other hand, is matching Dugan’s drinking pace even though Dum Dum’s almost twice heavier. It shows too. His cheeks are pink and his mouth deliciously red as he downs another shot of schnapps in one go and slams it on the table. Steve can’t help but record every single movement of his neck, every single gulp of his throat. It’s been so long since they had any time for themselves, bar a few quick gropes in a tent or a snog or two in the woods. He sucked Bucky off behind a tank a week ago, and Bucky had returned the favor but, fuck, Steve needs more, and from the very second they set foot into the inn, with the promise of a warm room and a firm roof over their heads, all he’s been able to think about was Bucky naked on his bed. Naked and flushed and his.
Steve’s staring must be obvious because Bucky looks at him, eyes heating up. He turns his gaze away quickly and licks his lips, the amber liquid having made them glistening and sweet. He slides his tongue across his upper lip and then—unnecessarily—over his teeth and Steve knows it’s all for show. All for him. The heat of his entire body settles in his groin. By the smirk that stretches across Bucky’s face he knows it too. Steve wishes he could get dead drunk too.
Instead, he watches as Bucky’s hands become more wilder and his gaze more and more unfocused. What the hell is he thinking getting drunk so fast? When his inebriation passes every semblance of good taste and he looks ready to topple over, chair included, Steve stands up and hauls him from his seat.
“Okay, that’s enough. I am putting you to bed.”
Dugan roars with laughter while Falsworth giggles at what a lightweight their Sergeant is. Bucky shows them the finger and waves it in the air, his coordination so bad he almost costs Steve his eye.
“Okay, let’s go.” Steve throws Bucky’s arm over his shoulders. “What the hell were you thinking trying to match Dugan?”
Bucky’s hot breath is on his ear as Steve half drags, half carries him towards the staircase leading to their rooms. “I wanted to buy us some time.” Steve shivers as Bucky exhales. “Some time alone.”
“A load of good, that’ll do,” Steve says, low. “You can barely walk, much less get it up.”
“I’m not drunk.”
Steve wants to roll his eyes and laugh, but the way Bucky’s voice goes from slurred to level is way too convincing. He looks at him, and Bucky’s eyes truly are clear, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips.
“I’m not,” he repeats when they round the corner. The corridor is empty and Bucky lets his palm slide from Steve’s shoulder down his spine. It settles heavy on the small of his back. “Had to make a fast exit. Wanted to fuck you while you were still in your uniform.”
Steve swallows heavily. He’s never gonna make it with Bucky looking at him like that. Heat pools in his belly when Bucky’s eyes slide down the blue fabric. They stop at the white star. Bucky wets his lips. Steve wants to kiss him right there against the hallway wall, hot and wet and dangerous and desperate.
Instead, he turns away and starts hauling Bucky up the stairs. His body’s still heavy, continuing to act the part. He should get a role in one of those Hollywood movies. Cary Grant good, he is. Handsome too.
After Steve searches his pockets for keys for a whole minute, Bucky’s previous excitement for the uniform vanishes, and he starts to cuss out Stark’s stupid multi-pocket design. When Steve finally lets the door close behind him, Bucky is on him, pressing their foreheads together. Steve’s hands fumble, not knowing where to land, wanting to touch everywhere at once. Bucky’s breath tingles against his lips, the smell of alcohol distinct.
“You should be drunk,” he says, pulling away slightly. “I know you’re no lightweight, but I saw how many shots you drank and it’s more than you can handle.”
Bucky’s eyes don’t really meet his as he says, “Guess Swiss schnapps just sucks.”
There’s something Bucky’s not telling him, something Steve feels has been weighing on him for months. He wants to press the issue, but Bucky drops his lips on his neck, just below his ear, and all thoughts of talking vanish when he feels Bucky’s stubble on his sensitive skin.
“Oh,” is all he manages, and then Bucky’s mouth is biting down on the juncture of his neck and jaw and all he can think about is how long he’s wanted this. No hurry, no hiding, no fear, only Bucky’s mouth and body and time, taking his mind off the horrors they’ve witnessed, using their bodies for love, instead pain. He clutches at Bucky’s hip and slides his other hand into his hair. He pulls him back and kisses him like he’s wanted to kiss him all along. Hungry, desperate, pouring out all that he can’t put into words, letting him know how much he misses him, how much he wants this every day, every single day till the end of their lives. Till the end of the line.
“Bucky,” he whispers against his lips, biting down. “God, Bucky, I—”
“Shh,” Bucky presses their heads together again. “I know, Stevie, I know.”
Bucky slides down, his eyes never leaving Steve as he travels along the line of Steve’s body. When he’s kneeling, he bites his lip and, fuck, Bucky looks so good. His mouth is red from kissing, and Steve is reminded of their first kiss, of Bucky’s lips smudged with lipstick, of his uncertain eyes, of his hitched breath when their tongues finally met. The Bucky kneeling before him is much more certain as he presses his lips to the bulge in Steve’s crotch and mouths at his cock through the hard cloth. Steve can hardly feel anything, he’s wearing his combat gear after all, but the mere image of it makes him impossibly hard.
“Fuck,” Bucky whispers, sliding his strong hands up Steve’s thighs. “I’ve wanted to do this ever since I first saw you in this stupid walking flag.”
“I thought you, ahh,” Steve sighs when Bucky palms him firmly through the fabric, “appreciated the uniform.”
“I’ll appreciate defiling it even more, Captain.” It shouldn’t be hot, but Steve shivers. Perhaps it’s because he knows Bucky’s the only person in the entire world who would never forget who Steve really is. Perhaps it’s the thought of defiling. Probably, it’s that.
Bucky’s hands make quick work with the zipper, and he pulls Steve’s cock out. It should be obscene—and maybe it is—both of them in their non-standard military-issue uniforms, but uniforms nonetheless, doing the thing the military would have them prosecuted for. It feels good. A nice fuck you to everyone who ever told them, who ever implied, this kind of love is worth less.
Steve touches Bucky’s cheek, cups it in his palm, and slides his thumb over his eyebrow, his cheekbone. Handsome. Beautiful. Everything.
Bucky doesn’t leave him much time for contemplation. He wraps his mouth around Steve’s cock and swallows it down, as far as it goes, without warning. Steve’s head bangs against the door. He doesn’t give a damn. His hips buck into the hot, wet mouth, and he has to swallow down a loud moan. It comes out as a soft whine all the same. He won’t last thirty seconds like this. Bucky licks and sucks, his hands squeezing Steve’s thighs whenever Steve’s thrusts get too enthusiastic and his cock hits the back of Bucky’s throat. He twines his fingers in Bucky’s hair, torn between pushing him down and pulling him away because he’s so close and he can’t come yet.
“No, Buck,” he gets out, tightening the hold in Bucky’s hair. “Buck, shit, slow down or I’m gonna come.” But Bucky, like usual, doesn’t listen. Instead, he wraps his hand around the base of Steve’s cock and strokes while his lips wrap around the head, and no willpower could stop Steve from coming then.
“Fuck. Jesu—fuck.” He gasps as his hips twitch forward, his eyes never leaving Bucky’s pretty, hot mouth as he orgasms, lets go for a few precious few seconds of bliss. If it hadn’t been for the door behind him he would have fallen over. Bucky licks the head of his cock and Steve shivers, sensitive. He pulls him up and kisses him, tastes his come on Bucky’s lips, on his tongue. It’s so fucking dirty, so fucking good. “Jesus fucking Christ, Buck,” he says again, because he doesn’t know what to say, how to say how fucking brilliant that mouth is, how fucking good to him.
Bucky’s lips are hot on his ear, his crotch rubbing against Steve’s hip, his hardness more than obvious. “Say it again,” he whispers.
“What?”
“Tell me how fucking good my mouth is.” Steve didn’t know he said that part out loud.
“God, Buck.” Bucky’s tongue is on his earlobe, making Steve shiver. “So good, Bucky, so fucking good. The best goddamn mouth in Brooklyn and it’s mine. You’re so good to me, Bucky, so fucking good.”
Steve’s hands glide down Bucky’s back until they settle on his arse and he pulls him further in, letting Bucky ride his thigh, revelling in the soft gasps against his ear.
“God, Rogers, you and your filthy mouth.”
“I see you don’t mind it filthy when it’s your tongue that makes me cuss.”
“Nah.” Bucky tangles his hand in Steve’s hair and pulls his head back. He grazes his teeth down Steve’s Adam’s apple, to his collarbone. He bites down. “Don’t mind if you do it when you’re dressed in this.” He traces the white star. “Captain America, cussing with his patriotic mouth while his dick is down my throat. Doing dishonor to the uniform.”
“It’s still me you know?” Steve says, but his voice is hitched and his cock is already reacting again. “All of this.”
“I know it is, Steve. You were always a hero. But this.” Bucky traces the line of his jaw, his chin. He drags his palm across Steve’s chest. “They went and made you all pretty. A fucking window display of virtue to salivate over.”
He traces Steve’s nose—that big cucumber you call a nose, Rogers— presses his thigh further between Steve’s knees. “I hate what they did to you because before you were mine and now you’re the world’s. And now I can’t even fuck you against a wall like I used to.”
Steve pins Bucky in place with his gaze and lets a satisfied smirk stretch his lips. “But I can.”
Steve’s hands curls around Bucky’s biceps, and he pushes him back, away from the hallway wall and against the outer one because, yes, Steve might be horny as fuck, but he’s still not ready to risk it. Bucky’s eyes are wide when Steve finally presses him against the cold stone. His breath catches. Steve leans in, bites Bucky’s jaw and mumbles against his skin, “I’ll show you what this window display can do.”
In one sweep he’s scooping up Bucky’s legs, settling them against his hips and pressing Bucky harder into the wall. Steve is already hard again. In that moment, the serum seems like the world’s best invention.
“How’s that sound?” He speaks practically against Bucky’s cheek, pushing his very obvious sign of renewed arousal against Bucky’s arse.
“Sounds good.” Bucky’s legs are tight around Steve. “But you can hardly fuck me through the clothes. Wouldn’t be too sexy if I had a hole in my pants even if it was from a supersoldier cock.”
Steve laughs. “Seems pretty sexy to me,” he says and, because he feels impatient, licks Bucky’s cheek. He lets go of Bucky’s legs, steps away, takes off his shoes and starts undoing the buckles in his uniform. Bucky follows with removing his own clothes.
“Oh, you’re really going to hate the uniform now,” Steve says when Bucky is almost completely naked already and Steve is still unbuttoning and unzipping. Bucky only smirks, watching Steve’s fingers until they finally manage to remove the top. His blue eyes roam over Steve’s body, from his shoulders, across his chest, his abs, to the top of his pants. A shiver runs down Steve’s spine. Bucky steps closer, brushes his knuckles over Steve’s collarbone before sliding them down over his nipple.
“There really is something to say about the quality of your tits,” Bucky grins, leans in, and bites Steve’s nipple. Hard. Steve yelps, but proceeds to divest himself of his pants and underwear as quickly as he can. As soon as they hit the floor he steps closer to Bucky, touches him all over. He runs his hand through Bucky’s chest hair, like he’d wanted to for so long. He slides his hands down his back, simply touching, simply feeling Bucky.
Bucky presses their chests together, skin to skin, and licks Steve’s earlobe. “So…” his voice is husky, all velvet. His tongue dips into Steve’s ear, wet and hot, and Steve groans. Fuck. “You, me, and the wall?”
Bucky raises his hand between them, a jar of Vaseline clutched between his fingers, his eyebrow cocked suggestively. Steve immediately heaves Bucky up around his hips backing him against the wall again. He kisses him, deep and hungry.
“Finger yourself for me,” he breathes against Bucky’s lips.
He feels more than hears Bucky gulp. Steve glances down. Bucky’s cock is hard against his stomach. Bucky only nods, unscrews the cap on the jar and dips his fingers in. He reaches back, behind himself, and Steve bets the angle is all weird, but Bucky’s pupils are blown wide as he brushes a finger against his opening. Steve knows exactly when Bucky’s finger slides into his assby the way Bucky’s eyebrows draw together.
“That’s right, Buck,” Steve encourages even though Bucky doesn’t need encouragement. He twists his hand, and, judging by the way his breathing changes, he’s added another finger. “God, Bucky, look at you. So handsome. So fucking pretty.”
Steve holds him close, one arm behind Bucky’s back, while he brings the other one around to smooth Bucky’s frown away with his thumb. He kisses him, soft this time. “So fucking good to me, Bucky. So good.”
Bucky never takes his eyes off Steve as he moans and rocks back on his fingers. Steve helps as much as he can, positioning them so they’re most comfortable even though his legs are starting to burn. It doesn’t matter when it’s Bucky looking like that, his cock leaking precome onto the trail of hair on his stomach.
“Steve,” Bucky’s voice is strained. “Please, fuck, please.” Steve just nods, dips his fingers into the jar Bucky’s still holding, and sloppily lubes up his cock. He pushes the jar out of Bucky’s hands, letting it tumble and roll across the wooden floor. Bucky brings his lube-slicked hand back around and wraps it around Steve’s neck. After a few failed tries, Steve finally aligns his cock with Bucky’s hole and presses in, slowly, giving Bucky time to adjust. God, it feels so good, being wrapped by Bucky in every sense of the word. He knows he’s moaning loudly, but he couldn’t stop if he wanted to. It’s been so long since they did this. Months.
“Fuck.” Bucky presses his face into Steve’s shoulder. “So good, feels so good.”
Steve slides all the way in, adjusts his hold on Bucky, leans them more firmly against the wall, and pulls out, only to slide back in, this time with more force. God, he wants to do this every day. Every single day, just feeling Bucky, feeling his body move against his, listening to his hitched breaths, to the beat of his thrumming heart. He pulls back, pressing Bucky’s shoulders against the wall. Suddenly, urgently, he needs to let Bucky know just how much he wants this. Bucky looks at him, lips open and wet, his eyes clouded with arousal.
“Bucky,” Steve speaks softly. His hips stop moving. Bucky rolls his, urging him on, but Steve needs to let him know. Bucky’s hair is wet and sticking to his forehead. Steve brushes it away, tracing his knuckles down Bucky’s cheeks, his jaw. “I just need you to know. I need you to know that I love you. I love you so fucking much, Buck.”
Bucky makes a strangled noise in his throat. “Stevie,” he finally manages to say. Bucky tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair, pulls him in against his lips. “You know I do, too. You know I do, Stevie. So fucking much.”
He kisses him, and if Steve hadn’t believed his words he would have believed his kiss. Bucky rolls his hips again, taking Steve’s cock deeper, and then they’re moving, faster, more hurried. Steve grips Bucky tightly, pulling him down on his cock harder with every thrust. Bucky is gasping into his neck, biting, licking, moaning, and Steve thinks he could come from the sound alone. He’s driving into Bucky hard now, practically ramming him against the wall and, fuck, it feels so good, and he really can’t fucking hold off longer, it’s been too damn long.
Bucky fists his cock, pressing his lips to Steve’s again, just breathing against him, unable to kiss him for the hurried breaths leaving his lungs. Steve presses their foreheads together, sweaty and hot, and then he’s coming, his hips snapping hard against Bucky’s ass. He spills inside Bucky, body shaking, wracked with shivers of pleasure leaving his groin and spreading through his body, hot and tingling. Legs trembling from orgasm, he somehow still manages to hold Bucky up, and it’s not long before Bucky’s coming too, his moans reverberating against Steve’s lips in a song that settles right in his bones, an evergreen melody.
-----
Steve sighs, content, turning his head slightly, so that he can kiss Bucky’s sternum. Then he goes back to lying with his head on Bucky’s chest while Bucky’s flesh fingers trail aimlessly through Steve’s hair. They’re both sweaty and sticky, but Steve can’t be arsed to move. His position is giving him a great view of the drops of come on Bucky’s stomach. His come. An urge to touch it and smear it over Bucky’s abs grips him, but he resists because that would be weird. Sexy though. In fact, he can’t resist it and raises his arm, about to push his fingers right in when Bucky’s metal hand slaps it away.
“Really?” Bucky asks exasperated, but his stomach shakes as he chuckles. “I’m sticky enough as it is.”
Steve smiles. Silence settles between them, but there’s something Steve has been dying to ask Bucky about now that his memories are mostly all back.
“Bucky,” Steve interrupts the silence. “You never did tell me exactly why you decided to take it upon you to stop me cussing.” Bucky is quiet for a moment before he answers.
“I don’t know.” Bucky’s hand leaves Steve’s hair and trails down his shoulder. “It’s just… remember how your ma used to talk about heaven a lot? I always thought, out of the two of us, if anyone’s making it to heaven, it’s gonna be you. So I decided to make sure of it. Took it upon me, as a job, not to drag you in hell with me. Starting with your terrible mouth seemed like a good start.”
“Jeez, Bucky.” Steve can’t help but roll his eyes. Bucky must know he did because he pinches him. “When did you decide that? When you were like, six?”
“Give me some credit, Steve, I was a smart boy. I decided when I was five and three quarters.”
“Yeah, it shows.” Bucky pinches him harder this time. After a pause Steve continues.
“What about now? Do you still believe in going to heaven?” He trails his hand down Bucky’s side, reaching over to Bucky’s left to entwine his fingers with the metal ones.
“I don’t know.” The shoulder under him moves with a faint shrug. “And if it exists, I’m not so sure if I’d let you go there without me anymore. Might just as well drag you to hell with me. I’m selfish like that now.”
“I’m glad.” Steve says, squeezing, knowing that Bucky can feel it, even if faintly.
“But at this point,” Bucky continues, “I’ll be happy if I can even die. We’re like cockroaches, Steve. Just refuse to be killed.”
Steve laughs. It really does seem that way. No matter what the world throws at them, they keep on kicking. With Bucky by his side, even the cockroach life seems perfect. He lets the comfortable silence envelop them for a moment, but then he thinks of something again.
“Hey, Bucky,” Steve says again. This time he props himself up so that he can look at him. “What’s with the hypothesis? Confirmed or rejected?”
“Hmm,” Bucky pretends to ponder on the question. “No, still can’t say. I believe further testing is still required.”
“Oh, really?” Steve shakes his head, grinning. “Don’t you think the scientist got a bit sidetracked by the experiments? Just asking, you know. Tony always says peer review is important.”
“Peer review?” Bucky’s eyebrows knit together.
“Yeah.”
“Are you saying Tony Stark should peer review our love life? Because we might have said till the end of the line, but a threesome with Stark is far, far, far beyond that line.”
“What?” Steve hears himself squeak, cringing. “No! Jeez. No, we are not having a threesome with Tony. Eww, Buck. Thanks. I can’t unsee it now. This is the worst thing you’ve ever said to me. I merely thought that the scientist—you—might not be entirely objective and that a peer reviewer would expose that fault in the experiments.”
“I thought the test subject was enjoying the experiments?” Bucky cocks his eyebrow.
“Oh, he is.” Steve smirks slowly. He presses a soft kiss to Bucky’s lips before settling back down on his chest. “He definitely is.”
Bucky tangles his fingers in Steve’s hair again and strokes his scalp. The sun is about to set on the lazy autumn afternoon, and the stray rays of late sunshine trace golden lines onto the white wall. They are warm and sated and happy. No one knows what tomorrow will throw at them, but right now, they are happy. Steve’s eyes are about to fall closed when Bucky presses a soft kiss to the top of his head.
“So fucking much, Stevie,” he mumbles into his hair. “Always so fucking much.”
Steve snuggles closer, enjoying the warmth of Bucky’s words. Bucky loves him just like he used to, but he also loves him different and new, and Steve knows that no matter how Bucky loves him, he will always love back just as much too.