Chapter Text
Bucky’s laughing to himself when he sits down for brunch at their usual spot. The laugh’s a quiet, bitter sound, just something to set the mood when he pulls his seat out and flops down in the wicker chair. It’s a patio day, apparently, with Natasha in a pretty wrap dress taking a deep and pointed sip of her mimosa when she hears him. She knows that laugh.
It’s not a good laugh.
Sam, to her right, does not know that laugh. Yet. “What’s got you, uh, laughing this morning, Barnes?” He doesn’t know the particular laugh well, but he’s smart. He knows it doesn’t sound good.
Bucky continues laughing as the waiter comes over, but he stops to give him the once-over. Cute. Brown hair, strong arms underneath a white button-pushed to his forearms. Really cute, actually.
For someone that isn’t him.
Bucky still smiles up at him, “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Not at all,” the waiter breezes. “Need the specials?”
“Mm. No. Just whatever smoothie’s on there,” he takes off his sunglasses and feels the familiar prickle of satisfaction when the rest of his face doesn’t disappoint the waiter. What a shame. He really is so cute for someone. He bustles off and Bucky turns to Natasha. “You ready for this one?”
“This one?” Sam interrupts, looking between them.
Natasha places a well-manicured hand on Sam’s thigh as she explains, “Bucky has a type and they’re terrible men.”
Bucky makes a face. “No, Bucky has a type and it’s older blond men.”
“Who are all terrible,” Natasha adds.
“I can’t help that coincidence.” Because sure, yes, there’s a track record of terrible here, and it’s not being broken today. But maybe somewhere, there’s a single older blond man who isn’t terrible.
He’s probably straight.
“So?” Natasha prods. “What was wrong with Walker?”
John Walker. Eight years older, extremely blond, and exceptionally rough in bed. Bucky doesn’t think he’d ever been as fucked out as he’d been in the past four months since they’d met. Really, originally, he hadn’t minded their arrangement: get a text, get prepped, John comes over (Bucky never went to his), get fucked, leave when John clears his throat. But after a couple months, he would ask Bucky if he could stay a few days every now and again. And each time, Bucky wondered if it was the end of the throat-clearing and the well, and the off-he-goes back home alone. It never was. Sometimes he’d be at Bucky’s place for a week at a time and then suddenly he’d have to leave and not hear from him for a day or two. It got old. So he risked asking for more, because that’s what you did, right? When you’re an adult in therapy for your fear of intimacy or whatever. If you’re into someone, you risk asking.
But as he was pressing for more time, he pressed on buttons he wasn’t supposed to press.
Bucky grins, even though he’d been absolutely fucking heartbroken the day before with the news and the nonchalant way that John cut him out of his life without even an apology. The amount of ugly crying he’d needed to do…he’d pay for it someday like the rest of the Botox gays. But today he’d just have his smoothie and grin. He looks between them to make sure he has their attention.
“He’s married,” Bucky drops. “He’s married and just found out he’s having a baby with his wife. Isn’t that wonderful? Isn’t that great?”
“Oh boy,” Natasha murmurs. The waiter returns with Bucky’s smoothie, something full of fiber and protein, it looks like. Perfect. He needs to get fucked later if he’s going to keep from crying. He still may cry. She smiles at the waiter, “Will you bring him a mimosa when you have a chance?” She turns her eyes to Bucky, sighing. “He needs it.”
They’re inside for brunch this time, six months after that. It’s way too cold out for the patio. But they’re inside, and Sam and Natasha are so in love that Bucky wants to fucking barf. Maybe it’s the hangover, too, but that’s neither here nor there.
Bucky’s speaking to the waiter, whom they’ve learned by now is Joaquín, and they’ve also learned that no amount of begging will get Bucky to leave his number for him or ask when he gets off shift. But Bucky’s not immune to the thrill of attention, so he always takes a moment to talk with him when he comes over. Ask how grad school’s going, how he’s been, what he was doing last Sunday when they had to slum it with another waiter. And Sam takes the moment to brush Natasha’s hair over her shoulder and lean in to whisper something that actually, honest-to-God, makes Natasha Romanoff blush.
Bucky’s eyes widen as he turns back. He looks at Sam, duly impressed. “What did you say?”
Sam smirks and shrugs. Natasha clears her throat.
“Sam, can you just–” Bucky leans in and taps the shell of his ear, “Just tell me something a little dirty–”
“No.”
“Come on, just a little bit–”
“Absolutely not.”
Bucky groans. “All I get is Alex leaving me on read after he gets mad at me for forgetting his niece’s birthday is today.” He makes a face. The fight had been so close to ugly, ugly enough that Bucky had wondered if this would finally be the thing to make Alex burst in anger. That was the worst part about Alexander Pierce, he thought sometimes. That he wielded his age into a careful calm demeanor, even when he was livid.
When they’d met, Bucky had been fucking wild about that. He wanted to see how tight he could draw his muscles, how unrestrained he could get him. It was a challenge. But as time went on, the joy he got from working Alex up had melted into a heavy dread for the way his face would more often conceal real feelings. The way that he seemed one step away from saying I’m not mad, I’m just disappointed, and Bucky’ll call a guy daddy if he wants it, but he doesn’t want a father.
Ugh.
“Can you just break up with him?” Natasha asks, beyond exasperated. “He treats you like an escort. He doesn’t spend time with you, has no interest in actually being a part of your life, but God forbid if you forget an iota of information about his.”
Sam refills his coffee from the carafe as he asks, “How old is he anyway?”
Bucky narrows his eyes, “I don’t see how that has anything to do with it.”
“Is his niece older than you?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Yes.
“God, he’s so old,” Natasha mumbles.
It’s probably too cold still to be outside for brunch, but they’re hopeful, damn it. It’s almost spring. It took him a few more months to kick the Alex Pierce habit but he’s gotten there, officially blocking his number with the promise that he wouldn’t have to pay that Sunday.
“Okay, it’s done. Happy? Look. Blocked,” he passes the phone across the table to Sam, who grins.
“First step done. Nice job.” He holds his drink up in a toast, “Next, maybe it’s time to look for a different type. Right? Come on…” he sighs when Bucky rolls his eyes. Natasha’s smiling fondly at him, knowing where this is going. This is how it’s gone recently, and Bucky knows it’s a sign that Sam likes him, that they’re a group of three now, that just because Natasha’s moving in with him and starting a whole new chapter of adulthood, it doesn’t mean that Bucky’s any less a part of their life. But it also means Sam’s very, very certain that the poor waiter he’s been stringing along and whom Sam has officially befriended by now would be perfect for Bucky.
“Joaquín’s not my type, Sam,” Bucky protests in advance.
Sam sputters, “New type! I told you! New type.”
Bucky shoots a look at Natasha. “I’m gonna get crass.”
“I would prefer it if you didn’t,” Natasha says. Bucky makes a face but settles down before he can scream at Sam, if you don’t see that your new friend is an incurable bottom, I don’t know what to tell you. She draws her fingers down Sam’s sleeve until he relaxes in the chair and holds her hand, smiling. Jesus fucking Christ, they’re so in love.
It makes Bucky lean back in his chair and look around the restaurant, just a quick glance to his left. Because he’s single. He can look. And hey, maybe Joaquín will finally scratch the itch in his brain; maybe there really could be something. Maybe he should look for a different type. At the very least, a break from men who ruin his life could give him time to focus on other things. Even if he and J go on a date and end up playing fucking Mario Kart due to what seems like clear sexual incompatibility, he likes Mario Kart. God, he shouldn’t do that. Joaquín’s a nice guy. And this place is their favorite brunch spot. They really should just play Mario Kart and call it a day, not a date.
“Okay,” he says, to no one in particular. “Okay. New type.” He turns back and gives a smile. “No old blond men.” Sam and Natasha blink at him in disbelief, which makes him double down. “I’m serious! I’ll go on dates with anyone that isn’t older and blond.” They continue to blink. “You really don’t believe me?”
Natasha gathers herself first. “It just seems like a very sudden lifestyle change for you.”
He shrugs, “I’m ready for a change. But I have to warn both of you, these guys just fall into my lap sometimes.”
“Really. That specific of a type just falls into your lap?” Sam doesn’t bother to hide his skepticism.
“Well, there’s not exactly a filter for it on Tinder.” Bucky crosses his arms.
He resumes his look around the restaurant and honestly–okay, sometimes the universe really does want to prove a point about him.
Because there’s an older, bearded blond man staring right at him. He is gorgeous, long legs in well-tailored pants and a soft-looking sweater covering his arms past his elbows. His forearms look strong. His hands look huge.
It’s like someone just plucked his brain for the very man who could wreck him and then drew him up, plopped him into Sunday brunch, and then made him stare at Bucky.
Point. Made.
He swallows before smiling and then very pointedly looking away. So what if his heart pounds a little? So what if his fingers drum against his thigh? So what if he needs to scream don’t look don’t look don’t look at himself? So what?
He keeps smiling and tilts his head towards the bar, where the man’s standing. “Like that guy? He would ruin my fucking life.” Natasha’s too busy narrowing her eyes at him to look but Sam does, and he curses under his breath. Bucky laughs, “I told you! They find me.”
Natasha keeps her eyes trained on Bucky, “You’re really not going over there?”
“No.” He narrows his eyes back.
They’re locked in a staredown when Joaquín suddenly appears at his table with a drink in his hand. “Uh,” he starts, and pushes it towards Bucky. “This is from the man, uh, over there.” And Bucky doesn’t need to look to know who he means, but he does enjoy the quiet how the fuck from Sam.
“Thanks, J,” Bucky looks up with a grin just for him. He won’t look over there. He won’t. He will not. He does taste the drink. “Mm.”
Joaquín is still there. “It’s like…” he shares a glance with Sam, “A nice drink.”
“Oh, is it?” Bucky smirks, enjoying the way Sam is shaking his head. He laughs when he sets the drink down. “How kind.”
Natasha is leaning forward now, still trying to call his bluff. “You’re really not going to go over there?”
Bucky shrugs, “Told you. I’m on a cleanse.”
The guy’s there the next time they’re at brunch. Bucky meets his gaze but still doesn’t go over to meet him.
“Bucky–” Sam starts.
“Shh,” Bucky interrupts. “He’s gonna buy me a drink.”
“How do you know?”
Natasha sighs for a very long time. “He’s an expert, unfortunately.”
When it happens, Bucky asks Joaquín to let the man know that he liked last week’s drink better than this one.
“What do you think the guy’s issue is, Nat?” Bucky asks the next time he’s sipping the first drink, pointedly not looking towards the bar. “Another married one?”
“I think he’s into something really weird. Blood play, maybe?”
“Interesting,” Bucky tilts his head just so, knowing how the angles of his face look when he does. “I think it’s far simpler than that.”
“Do tell,” she says.
“I think he’s one of those guys who talks about me like I’m a lady.” Bucky had one of those in between Walker and Pierce, one who wouldn’t shut up about his pussy. And Bucky’s down for maybe a mention or two; he can be a good girl if the situation calls for it. But at the end of the day, he’s just a man who wants to be told how nice his ass feels, and he wished that could be enough for some people. But apparently not.
“Does that happen?” Sam asks, like a goddamn amateur, and Natasha groans at the grin that spreads on Bucky’s face as he turns to Sam.
“Oh, yes.” He taps on his ear, “Come on, Sam, you can tell me about my pussy.”
“Jesus!” Sam’s eyes go wide, and he rises from his seat as Bucky laughs. “I’ll be back.”
Natasha sighs, leaning back and sipping on her coffee as she watches him walk away. “He’s smoking again,” she says. Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Work stress.”
“And here I thought it was my effect on men.” Bucky sips on his own drink. “I can cool off if it’ll help.”
She shakes her head, “No, you’re fine. I just worry about him.”
“Disgusting,” Bucky murmurs, but he keeps a private smile for her. They sit in comfortable silence for a moment, checking their phones, trusting each other to talk if they have something to say.
Natasha breaks the silence. “Oh, shit.” Bucky looks up to see her looking to the left, and he tracks her gaze to the bar.
Sam’s talking to the guy. Bucky’s guy.
“Oh, shit,” Bucky repeats. There’s a handshake, some laughter, comfortable and confident smiles shared between them. He shouldn’t watch; he figures they’ll look over again soon and it’d be so embarrassing to be staring back, but Bucky can’t help it. The two of them together look so beautiful that Bucky’s halfway to suggesting that he and Nat go over there, right then, when the man turns and makes eye contact with Bucky.
He’s so beautiful the breath gets knocked out of him. He smiles. Bucky nearly chokes on his own tongue.
He’s never been so grateful for someone to look away and turn back to Sam.
The next time they’re at brunch, Steve–that’s the man’s name, Bucky learns from Sam–isn’t even there.
Joaquín comes over a little awkwardly and sets the drink down regardless. “Steve left a note to serve this.”
Bucky stares at the drink like it’s an engagement ring. “Natasha…” he starts.
“I know.”
“Natasha, I’m gonna let that man ruin my life.”
“I know, Bucky.”
The next week, the night before they’re going to meet as usual, Bucky calls Natasha. “What should I wear tomorrow?”
“Why are you asking me, exactly?”
“I’m talking to Steve tomorrow. My whole life begins tomorrow.”
“Oh my god…”
“Help me? Now?” Bucky pleads. He’s staring at the rows of shirts in his closet, and he knows Natasha knows what he’s working with as well as he does.
She sighs on the other end. But she does help him.
Sam stares at Bucky long enough that Bucky sets his drink down and stares back, unblinking. He really is pretty; Bucky got Natasha to wax poetic about him once after they’d gotten high, and she fixated on Sam’s eyelashes until she almost cried. Bucky gets it. Sam’s pretty.
He’s just about to make a wistful comment about in another life… when Natasha snaps between them. “He’s here,” she says, raising an eyebrow expectantly.
Bucky turns to find Steve at the bar, where he always is. He looks good. Well-tailored gray slacks, a black polo. God. What’s his deal? He shares a small smile with his friends before he clears his throat. “See you later,” he says, trying to practice casual-and-cool as he walks over to the man who has been slowly moving into a corner of his brain.
He walks confidently to the bar, not slowing down or hesitating, and tries to ignore the way his stomach flips by simply being in proximity to this man. And God, he smells good. Of course he does. He smells warm and spicy, like sandalwood and nutmeg, and Bucky wants to wrap his arms around him and breathe in deeply.
He does not do that.
He waits to be noticed.
And he is noticed, Steve turning to meet his eyes, matching his small smile. He’s got gray-white hair through his full beard, still mostly golden, but getting there. Steve tilts his head, “I was wondering.”
“What were you wondering?” Bucky asks.
“When you’d let me steal you away for a minute,” Steve answers. The bartender comes closer, and Steve orders two of the same drinks he’s been ordering for Bucky for weeks. Fuck. He turns back to Bucky, “I’m Steve.”
“Yeah, Sam told me.” He waits for a moment before finishing the introduction. “I’m Bucky.”
“Bucky,” Steve repeats, trying it out, it seems. It sounds good, coming from his mouth, and Bucky’s brain starts chanting all sorts of filthy things that he needs to filter out to concentrate on what Steve’s actually saying. “So are you over here to tell me to stop buying you drinks or something else?”
Bucky clicks his tongue. “Oh no, I like the drinks.”
“You didn’t like the other one I bought you.”
“Well, I have taste, Steve,” Bucky teases, and Steve laughs along. “But no, I like the drinks.”
“Okay, so something else.”
“Yeah, something else,” Bucky smirks, turning to thank the bartender as their drinks come back. He considers the drink before looking up at Steve under his eyelashes. “When are you taking me out?”
“When are you free?” Steve asks, breezy and calm, just waiting for this moment.
Bucky fights the urge to scream now, now, right now! and instead lifts his drink in consideration. “I could be free sometime this week.”
“Like tonight?”
Bucky’s lips part in pleased surprise. This guy’s not fucking around. It feels nice. He finds himself shrugging. “I could be free tonight.”
Steve lifts his glass in a toast, “To tonight.”
“Mm,” Bucky hums, returning the toast, making eye contact all the way.
Later, when he’s at Sam and Natasha’s, getting ready to go and meet Steve, Bucky outlines his plan. “I think I’ll probably have to wait until the second drink to figure out his red flags.”
Sam gives him a look. “Is he not taking you out to dinner?”
Bucky grins salaciously, and Natasha groans. She’s the one who answers, “It’s because they’re gonna fuck. Even though I told him that just because a man buys him drinks for weeks, he doesn’t have to fuck him right away.”
“And I said,” Bucky continues, “That you’re right, but I really want to.” He’s buzzing, the promise of what’s become weeks and weeks of lead-up and wondering and waiting about to come to reality. He loves this part. He loves this part.
“What did you say a few weeks ago?” Sam asks, “That you were on a cleanse from old blond dudes?”
Bucky shrugs, pulling on his jacket, “Love finds you when you least expect it, Samuel.” He’s halfway out the door when Natasha calls out again.
“You don’t have to fuck him, you know!”
Bucky calls back, “I’m gonna!”
The thing is, it takes fewer than five minutes for Steve’s knee to find Bucky’s under the high-top table where they talk, so it’s not like Steve is under any impression of what this date is other than a precursor to a hookup. Bucky learns that he’s got a job, but zones out when Steve’s telling him details about it, enough to notice that Steve’s eyes are a little green when they catch the dim light of the bar. Bucky would trade verbal information for that visual knowledge any day. Steve asks about him, too, so Bucky gives vague answers to protect himself against whatever the fuck Steve’s deal is gonna be. Maybe he’s a stalker. Who’s to say?
Because the statistical probability is that Bucky’s type had led him to yet another link in a chain of assholes, rather than the fantasy of the one good guy out there. So he’s going to have fun.
Just…cautiously.
When Steve hasn’t offered anything himself, Bucky decides to go for it. “What’s your deal, Steve?”
“My deal?” Steve asks, a little amused.
“Are you wanted in several countries? What?”
Steve shakes his head, “No, can’t say that I am.” He thinks for a moment, “I was arrested twice, though.”
Bucky sits up, “Do tell.”
“Protests against the Iraq War,” he shrugs. “2003.” Bucky stares at him in shock, but Steve seems to take it as skepticism. “I’m still active in those circles, but the kids don’t want some loud, old white guy there anymore.” He smiles, goodnaturedly. “I’ll still show up, though.”
“Huh,” Bucky says, noncommittal. “So that’s the extent of your record?”
“Yes…” Steve answers slowly, with some suspicion. “Have…you been arrested?”
“No, I’m a very good boy,” Bucky says, reflexively, like a joke, like he forgot he was on a date with someone who looks like he’s definitely thinking about bending Bucky over his knee now. Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Uh huh,” Steve says, barely bothering to hide his smirk. Oh, fuck you.
Bucky taps the table, “Come on, what’s your deal? What happened between noble arrests in 2003 and now?”
Steve blinks, trying to concentrate. “I…was married.” He seems surprised to even be admitting that. Bucky’s eyes shine. Probably still married. Let’s see.
“Separation isn’t anything to be ashamed of,” Bucky says.
“I was married to a woman.”
Bucky narrows his eyes, “Also nothing to be ashamed of.”
“No!” Steve holds up his hands. “No, definitely not. I am totally cool with where my sexuality is.”
“Which is…?”
Steve shrugs, “If you need a label, bisexual, but I prefer a vague sort of–” he waves his hand around. Bucky lifts an eyebrow. “I like what I like.”
“You know it when you see it, yeah?”
Steve relaxes again. He smiles. “I do.” Bucky lets him drag his eyes over him, enjoying the attention for a moment. Steve seems to snap himself out of his reverie, and Bucky finds himself wondering what exactly is happening in Steve’s brain when he looks at him like that. “But I was married for a few years. Things didn’t work out; we tried to make them work but,” he shrugs. “She came out as a lesbian actually.”
“So do you hate lesbians now?” Bucky feels so close to the red flag.
“No!” Steve shakes his head quickly, “Fuck, no. I love Peggy to death. She and her wife.” He shifts in his seat, “Why are you trying to incriminate me?”
“Oh, just like that, huh?”
“Yeah, tell me.”
Bucky leans forward, face resting in his palm. “Let me tell you what I see, okay?” Steve nods, so Bucky continues. “I see a ridiculously handsome man, obviously successful, obviously charming. You’re graying a little; you’ve had time to meet someone. And yet, here we are.” He flicks his eyes around the bar. “Having drinks. In a bar. After weeks of you waiting for me to come over to you. So, yeah, I wanna know if this is your M.O. before murdering me or smashing my heart a dozen other different ways.”
Steve takes a long sip of his drink before he sets it down neatly on his coaster. He turns his eyes back to Bucky, calm and collected. “You wanna know what I see?”
“Please,” Bucky lifts his own drink to his lips.
“I see…” Steve starts. He pauses for a moment, seeming to get lost in another round of dragging his eyes down Bucky’s face, neck, the length of his torso before the table covers it. Bucky rolls his eyes at the show of attention, but doesn’t bother to hide his smile. “I see someone really handsome. Really smart. Really… quick.” And Bucky likes this. This careful consideration of who he is, how he’s been perceived. God help him now if he discovers any red flags, because he knows where this night is headed regardless. “Someone who’s way too world-weary for his age. Who have you been hanging around?”
“I really thought you were seriously gonna ask who hurt you?” Bucky jokes, just to take back some control in the conversation. He felt close to swooning.
“Did someone hurt you?” The edge of his voice makes Bucky’s breath catch. He wonders, dimly, what this guy would do to Walker. To Pierce. He seemed ready to drop everything to fight for his honor at a moment’s notice.
“We all hurt each other,” Bucky says.
Steve shakes his head, like it’s a ridiculous notion, that he would hurt Bucky. “I want to make you feel very good. “
Bucky takes a deep breath, “I bet you do.”
It’s really no use in pretending to resist him when Steve gets up from his chair to stand next to Bucky, finally touching his face, gliding the back of his hand, knuckles and all, down Bucky’s cheek. He meets Bucky’s eyes. “Can I do that?”
Bucky nods, letting his face be tilted up and his lips brought to Steve’s in a careful kiss. It’s slow, generous in its timing. He feels Steve’s tongue only slightly, curious but eager. And it’s Bucky who breaks off. “We should go,” he suggests, feeling his eyelids lower as he straightens up for one more kiss to Steve’s lips. “We should go now.”
Steve’s apartment is neat. Nice. Lived-in, too, which is always nice. Pierce’s apartment always had a clinical, sterile sort of feel to it. And Walker–well, Bucky figured now that his apartment was also probably lived in, but also peppered with wedding photos and…god. Anyway. Steve’s apartment is very much his.
It’s nice.
“I like your kitchen,” Bucky notes, dragging a finger along the counter as Steve puts their jackets away.
“Thank you,” he says. He walks confidently over to where Bucky’s standing, looking down slightly. He smiles. “Hi.”
Bucky rolls his eyes. “Hi, Steve.” But he’s surprised, pleasantly so, when Steve doesn’t just drag him against the counter or the cabinets, ravage him like his eyes seem to promise. Instead, Steve takes his hand, leading him to a couch.
“Do you want water or anything?” Steve asks.
Bucky blinks. He was under the impression they were going to fuck. Like. Immediately. Given the way that Steve kept a possessive arm around Bucky’s waist as they walked from the bar to his apartment building, he’d been pretty sure that was where they were going. Still. “I’d take water.” It was interesting to see his reaction at least.
But Steve gives no indication if there’s a right or wrong answer as he goes back to the kitchen, grabbing two glasses and filling them both from the tap as Bucky watches. He doesn’t look perturbed that Bucky’s supervising him getting water, so Bucky supposes drugs aren’t in the mix. Okay. Another point for Steve.
Bucky drinks his water slowly, taking his time before setting it down on a coaster Steve’s already provided. He clears his throat and leans against the back of the couch, watching Steve do the same. And then, because it’s where they’re headed anyway, Bucky reaches out and starts brushing through Steve’s hair.
It’s softer than he expects, and Steve smiles.
“So,” Bucky says. “You said you wanted to make me feel good.”
“I do want to make you feel good.”
“How do you suppose you’ll do that?”
“Gonna help me out?” Steve asks, and Bucky smiles. “Tell me what you like.”
One day, if he sticks around enough, he’ll let Steve see the full list of what Bucky likes, but he decides to go slow. “Well, who doesn’t like head, right?”
“Haven’t met anyone who doesn’t like head, sure.” Steve’s hand comes to rest on Bucky’s thigh, fingers rubbing little circles on the inside. “What else?”
Bucky smirks, “I like getting fucked.” He feels Steve’s fingers flex. “A lot.” He lets him move closer, still petting Steve’s hair as he begins to kiss Bucky’s neck. Bucky sighs into it, “Are you gonna fuck me?”
Steve hums, kissing at his jaw, “Gonna work you up to it.”
“God, yes. Tell me.”
“Suck you off, spread you open slow.” Steve’s voice is like gravel, and Bucky moves forward so he can sit closer to him. He lets out a gasp of surprise when Steve wraps his hands tight around his waist, lifting him so he’s straddling Steve’s lap. “God, you’re gonna look pretty on my cock.”
Bucky moans pretty for him, knowing what he sounds like, knowing this game so well and still loving every bit. Steve doesn’t wait for more, wrapping his hands under Bucky’s ass to pick him up, making him wrap his legs around Steve’s waist as he walks, and God, that’s good. He hasn’t dated anyone who could do that since he was a lot smaller. Bucky feels himself melt into Steve’s kisses because of it, letting himself feel precious and beautiful.
He’s nearly thrown on a bed, and it shouldn’t be so hot to bounce there, but Steve’s staring down at him like he’s going to devour Bucky at any moment, and Bucky doesn’t realize he’s spreading his legs until Steve smiles widely. Bucky backs up on the bed, letting Steve crawl on top of him, kiss him in between tugging off his shirt and fumbling in between them for the button and zipper on his jeans. Steve grumbles when they won’t pull down right away.
“Fucking…skinny jeans,” Steve complains, and Bucky wants to skip to riding him for that, for that ridiculous complaint about jeans that make his ass look amazing. He settles for tugging his jeans off himself and wrapping his arms around Steve again, kissing him deeply, tongues meeting again and again as their hips drag against each other. Bucky thinks, dimly, he should ask Steve to get his shirt off, his pants off, but Steve’s already cupping his dick, feeling it harden in his boxer briefs, so Bucky’s not really winning any awards for his brain anymore tonight.
He feels Steve pull off his briefs, and his chest heaves when they break off from each other’s mouths. Bucky’s eyelids are low and heavy as Steve sits on his knees, taking a moment to stare at Bucky. He’s still fully clothed, his flannel button-up pushed to his forearms as he drags his eyes down Bucky’s nakedness.
“You’re fucking beautiful,” Steve says, and Bucky blinks with the weight of it. He’s used to compliments, used to praises. But this is different. Steve’s tone is heavy, filled with awe, with an air of privilege of having Bucky in his bed, waiting for him.
Bucky breathes hard, not knowing how to go from here. Do I say thank you to that? He doesn’t know. But he responds by running his hand down the center of his chest, down over his stomach, fingertips running up his cock where it sits hard and ready. He starts stroking himself as Steve watches, but not for long.
Steve shoots a hand out, catching Bucky’s wrist and pinning it to the bed with such force that Bucky gasps, meeting Steve’s eyes. Steve slowly shakes his head and sinks down slowly, still holding Bucky’s wrist tightly in his hand. His tongue darts out from his pink, kiss-swollen lips to start licking at the head, eager beads of precome gathered at the slit.
Bucky tries not to moan right away, but then Steve lowers his head and sucks, and he’s over with. “Oh,” Bucky breathes out, “Oh, God, more.” When Steve keeps himself there, just little licks and sucks, he takes a deep breath and exhales. “Steve, please.”
Steve gives in to Bucky’s request, sinking down on his shaft and swallowing around him. Bucky’s back arches, and Steve’s other hand, the one not still holding Bucky’s wrist in a death-grip, comes to press down on his waist. Bucky whines at the restraint he’s got on his body now, helpless to do anything but let this man suck every other memory of what Bucky thought was a good blow job out of his dick forever. He can never go back. He knows it already; he can never have a different standard again.
Not when Steve– beautiful Steve–is looking up at him under golden-white eyebrows, sucking him down with a meticulously groomed beard, working for every moan and whine and gasp that Bucky’s giving him. He keeps going, hands hard enough to leave bruises for the way Bucky’s unable to keep still, and he already mourns the day that he loses the marks of Steve’s fingertips.
“Steve,” Bucky moans, “I’m so close.”
Steve pops off his cock with a filthy pop of his lips, the showoff, and looks up at Bucky. “Do you wanna come, baby?” he asks, and what the fuck kinda question is that? Of co– “Or do you want me to keep you hard when I fuck you?”
Oh. “That,” Bucky gasps. “That one, please, yes.”
“Mm,” Steve hums, giving him a broad lick up his shaft for good measure. “Good boy.”
“Don’t say that,” Bucky groans, looking up at him as Steve begins to unbutton his shirt, revealing the kinds of muscles that no man should have ever, let alone at Steve’s age. “Jesus Christ.”
Steve smirks, “Why shouldn’t I say that?” He watches Bucky closely as he shucks his pants off, making quick work of his clothes. “You don’t like to be told how good you are?”
Bucky feels his cheeks heat up.
Steve raises an eyebrow. “You like it too much?” he guesses.
Bucky’s voice is quieter than he’d like it to be. “Yeah.”
“Mm,” Steve hums, “I’ll let you earn it then.”
Bucky surges forward at that, tugging on the waistband of Steve’s briefs to tug them off, rushing towards the moment that they’d be bare together, finally, every inch of skin made visible and hungry to each other. He works them down Steve’s thighs as he kisses his chest, groaning into his skin as he finally touches Steve’s dick.
“Oh my god,” Bucky murmurs, looking down. “Oh my god, Steve.” And Bucky loves dick, always has, and never much discriminated against different kinds. There were people and places made for all sorts of dick, and most of them were Bucky’s body, thank you very much, but there were special ones. And Steve’s cock…
He wants to spend so much time with Steve’s cock.
“You’re so sweet,” Steve murmurs, and Bucky looks up at him and almost believes him. He’s heard hot, he’s heard wild, he’s heard all sorts of words for himself, but sweet is a rare one. And the way his heart beats for it, the way he wants to be sweet when he hears that…that’s a rare reaction, too. He lets Steve bracket his body again, spread him out under him again, kiss him again. Bucky moans into it when their hips meet, and he breaks off.
“Steve, you’ve gotta get me ready,” he sighs between them. “I want you inside me like…yesterday, okay?”
Steve laughs at that, but reaches to the bedside table, pulling out a condom and lube. “Like yesterday, huh?”
“If I knew your cock looked like that, I would’ve sucked you off immediately at brunch.”
Steve shakes his head sarcastically, lube dripping down his fingers before he snaps the cap back. “And here I was, buying you drinks like a sucker.”
“Could’ve saved so much money if you just whipped it out.” He can’t keep his excited, almost-giddy smile from his face as Steve leans down to lift his ass on a pillow.
Steve’s fingers travel down the cleft until they find that furled little rim of muscle, confident and careful. “I told you, my arrests were best left in the early 2000s.”
“What’s a little public indecency here and there?” Bucky teases, but soon he’s sighing incoherently, chasing relaxed bliss as Steve slowly works a finger in.
Steve leans over him as Bucky relaxes, already so relaxed for it, kissing him as he fucks another finger inside, spreading him out. “So good for me,” he murmurs. “You’re gonna feel so good. So hot and tight inside.” Bucky moans for that, so he keeps going. “Yeah? You want me to tell you how tight you are, baby? How hot you’re gonna feel around my cock?”
“I want it,” Bucky groans. “Come on, more.”
“Shh, I’ve got you,” Steve assures him, but he adds a third, making Bucky fuck himself on his thick fingers to move it all forward. “Fucking eager for it, aren’t you?” Bucky nods, feeling his cheeks heat up. “You weren’t lying, huh? Just love getting fucked.”
“I told you.”
Steve clicks his tongue, “Don’t get smart,” he says quietly. “Gonna give you what you want.” Bucky whines when he pulls his fingers out, his rim clenching on nothing and leaving him wanting more, more, more. Wanting everything. Bucky’s eyes open to watch Steve pull the condom on and slide in next to Bucky, kissing him deeply and pulling him on top of his body. Bucky groans, and Steve pinches his side. “Come on. Show me what you wanted before. Show me what you want. You want this cock?”
Bucky nods, pulling himself up using leverage from Steve’s shoulders. He does. He wants it so badly. He reaches behind him to line Steve up and sinks slowly onto him, his lips falling open with the patience it takes to fit him inside. His forehead falls in the crook of Steve’s neck, and his broad hands come to rest on Bucky’s back.
“That’s it,” Steve encourages him. “That’s it, take it, baby. Take it all the way. All the way inside that little hole.” Bucky groans, settling further, rocking a little bit. “So good, the way you stretch for me. So fucking good.” He can hear Steve’s voice give over to gravel again, the roughness thrilling. All for him.
Bucky bottoms out and breathes against Steve’s throat, filling full and wild. His thighs burn already as he starts to slowly rock up, only to sink back down, but the filthy encouragement from Steve’s lips keeps him going. He thrusts up a little faster, comes down a little harder, punched-out moans leaving his lips as he fucks himself on Steve’s cock.
“That’s so… fuck, Bucky, that’s so good,” Steve’s saying to him, hands helping to move his waist up and down. “God, I just need–”
“Go,” Bucky pleads, wet and desperate. “Take me, go.”
And Steve does, grunting as he grabs Bucky to flip them, holding him tightly as Steve fucks up into his body hard enough to make Bucky see stars. He cries out, and it should be embarrassing, except he feels his brain once again reorder his standards so that Steve–so that this is at the very top of what he wants forever.
Bucky’s fingers scratch down Steve’s back, holding on for dear life as he’s fucked harder than he may have ever been fucked. Steve throws every bit of muscle into it, and that makes Bucky moan more for the way someone’s throwing their entire self into him, giving everything he’s got. Steve grabs at him, manipulates his body until he’s bent tightly, and that’s it.
Bucky can’t form thoughts, only moans as his prostate is nailed again and again and fucking again, shouting, “God, yes, Steve, there. Right there, yes.”
“Yeah, baby?” Steve’s louder now, too, gasping and teasing and so serious at the same time that Bucky’s going to fucking die if they don’t come soon. “Gonna come for me?”
“Yes, I want to, yes.”
“Come for me, Bucky,” Steve says, “Look at me. Come on.” Bucky’s eyes fly open to meet his gaze: attentive, wild, and so turned on that it feels like looking into the sun. “That’s it, baby. So fucking good.”
Bucky shakes with the force of it, come spilling between their bodies as Steve keeps going, fucking into him. Bucky keeps his legs wrapped tight around him, moaning with sensitivity until Steve goes rigid, bowing his head to Bucky’s chest as he comes. Bucky’s fingers find his hair again, petting absently, weakly, as he catches his breath.
Eventually, Steve lifts his face to kiss him, groaning with the way their bodies are still connected. They stay there for a moment longer, breathing deeply into one another, until Steve has to pull out. Bucky slides the pillow out from under his ass and lets himself be pulled into Steve’s broad body, lets his stomach and chest be cleaned off with a tissue.
Bucky smiles, dreamy with it, as Steve wraps him up again. “Oh, that was good, Steve.”
“Mmhmm,” Steve agrees, kissing his temple, his cheek, his chin, his ear.
“Was it worth all the drinks for you?”
“Mmhmm,” Steve repeats, continuing his kissing.
Bucky sighs with the feeling, resigned to this. “Please don’t have any red flags,” he says, feeling Steve laugh against his skin. “I wanna do that again.”
“I’ll try my best, because so do I.” Steve finally stops kissing all over him to brush hair out of Bucky’s face. “Like a lot.”
Bucky nods, reaching up to kiss him again and again and again.
Bucky’s still riding the high of the date with he breezes into work on Monday, meeting his coworker Leah at the coffee machine. When he sees that no one has refilled the Brita filter, instead of leaving his usual passive aggressive note, he simply refills it himself, humming as he goes.
Leah’s staring at him.
He smiles, “Good morning.”
“There’s a very unusual smile,” she remarks, watching him cheerfully do the stupid little chore he hates with the pitcher.
Bucky’s smile deepens. “Had a date,” he says. Her eyes light up, and he gives her the safe-for-work version. He’ll save the other version for Natasha. He places the Brita pitcher back into the fridge and turns to her. “And he’s just…” he shakes his head. “I mean, we talked for two hours straight, just about life, in the middle of the night. He’s incredible. Like truly incredible, Leah. And–”
She holds up her hand, “I want to hear about this. I do. But we’ve got that meeting.”
Bucky shakes himself out of the already-half-in-love trance he’s found himself in. “Right. Yeah. New client.”
“Really tight-lipped, too, I’ve heard.” She leads him down the hallway and to the conference room. “Like really private. We’re gonna have to sign NDAs and all, no information besides need-to-know information. All that shit.”
“Huh,” Bucky says, but shrugs. Normal enough for PR. “Wanna do lunch after, then?”
“Yeah, sounds good,” she smiles as they turn to enter the conference room, but it disappears when he doesn’t match her smile. Instead, he is positively wide-eyed and frozen as he grips his chair before sitting down. “Are you–?” And then she follows his gaze.
Follows his gaze to where the proof sits. The proof that God truly hates Bucky Barnes and has planted his type squarely in his brain just to ruin his whole goddamn life. Because sitting at the end of the table is their new client and his lawyer:
His client’s lawyer: Alexander Pierce, who is already acting like he doesn’t know Bucky. That tracks. Classic Pierce. His eyes glaze over Bucky and turn to his client.
Pierce’s client. Bucky’s new client.
Steve. Steve Rogers, whose last name could’ve been helpful a few days ago, who apparently knows his ex.
Bucky turns on his brightest introductory smile and reaches a hand out. “Mr. Rogers,” he smiles, “James Barnes.” He fucking knew this man would ruin his life.