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“Steve —“
“Not now.”
“Rogers, I swear to God —“
Steve jerks his arm away when Bucky grabs at it. When he turns to glare his eyes are blue and hotly angry, and there’s a furious tick in his jaw. “Don’t do that.”
“Like hell,” Bucky says, grabbing his arm again, this time with his left hand, so that it’ll really be starting something if Steve moves away. “Will you look at me? This isn’t on you.”
Steve’s eyebrows are an angry line, his mouth frowning, his whole body held tense like a bow. Bucky hates that frown. It kills Bucky to see, because what happened on the op today wasn’t Steve’s fault — it was the fault of shitty intelligence and bad visibility. Not nobody’s fault in the team there was a school where there was. No one could’ve done anything about it. But Steve used to get this way too during the war, Bucky remembers that — remembers this exact look on his face, the way he’d beat himself up after, running it over and over again with his picture perfect memory until he either had to give it up and fall asleep or find something to beat the shit out of.
And Bucky remembers, too, that there’s only one real way to get Steve out of this cycle of self-flagellation, and as a result of this revelation he says, in a totally different tone of voice — commanding, brooking no argument: “Meet me in the gym. Ten minutes.”
Bucky gets changed, gray SHIELD issue sweats and a tank, and when Steve meets him on the mats ten minutes later he’s got the worst look on his face. He seems resigned and grimly determined. Bucky realizes that Steve thinks he’s gonna get the shit beaten out of him because of his perceived fuck-up on the field today, and he feels even worse. But if he remembers right — and sometimes he doesn’t, but he thinks right now he does — if he remembers right then this is what Steve needs to believe that nobody’s mad at him, that he should cut himself some slack.
Steve goes to tape up but Bucky shakes his head.
“Come on,” Bucky says. “Come at me. Bare-knuckle.”
Steve drops the tape, takes his stance, and makes a perfunctory attempt at a hit. Bucky blocks it easy with his left arm. “Jesus, you’re a pussy,” he bites. “That all you got? That all you got, tough guy?”
Steve’s nostrils flare. He aims for Bucky’s throat, and this time it at least takes some of Bucky’s strength to fend him off. He goes for a dirty shot and lands a punch into Steve’s sternum that knocks the air right out of him. But Steve won’t fight back. So Bucky shoves him, sending him stumbling back a few steps. He can’t think of a way to piss Steve off enough to get this ball rolling, to make him let all that anger out, and so he shoves again, and again, and starts running his mouth: “Come on, you fucking pussy, you scared? What the hell’s wrong with you, huh? Land a hit. Land a hit!”
Whip fast Steve lashes out, and this time it takes all Bucky’s strength to catch his fist. And so Bucky hits back even though he pulls the punch, and jumps nimbly when Steve tries to sweep his legs out from under him. And then Steve jumps sideways at him, into his arms, planning to take Bucky by surprise and take them down together, but instead Bucky tucks and flips neatly over his shoulder and wrestles Steve into the ground. They grapple viciously, the mat squeaking under them, their breathing harsh. Steve winds up on top, but Bucky knows this game, and he lurches up and locks his thighs tight around Steve’s ears, flipping him over onto his back hard, mindful of the angle of his neck.
Bucky looks down at him. Steve’s exerted, panting at the viciousness of it, and there’s a surprised look on his face. There it is. Bucky chuckles and grabs Steve by the hair and rocks his hips into his face. “You like that?”
Steve snarls, really pissed off now, and somersaults over and away. He launches himself fast at Bucky’s back, trapping him with his big body, but Bucky elbows him hard in the stomach, once, twice, and finally throws him off. And then Bucky’s on Steve, who thrashes, but finally after a hit to the nose Bucky flips him onto his belly and gets his thighs straddling him, his right hand pressing Steve’s face into the mat and his left holding Steve’s wrists together behind his back. Steve struggles, and finally, frustrated, kicks his foot to the mat.
“You out?” Bucky asks. It’s not hard to get going with the day’s op and the adrenaline of the fight buzzing just under his skin, and he’s at least halfway there when he settles all his weight on Steve, shifting back so Steve can feel it right on his ass. “Huh? Gimme an answer.”
“Are you gonna fuck me,” Steve gasps into the mat lowly, “Or are you gonna fight me?”
“I don’t know,” says Bucky, like he’s really contemplating it. He makes his voice sweet and condescending. “It’s just you look so pretty when you’re pissed off.”
Steve tries to lash out but Bucky clamps down hard, legs, hands, hips, and Steve’s forced to still again after a minute.
“Ask me nicer,” Bucky grunts, squeezing Steve’s wrists behind his back, just to make sure he knows who’s in charge. He grinds down again. Steve shifts his hips and Bucky knows it’s because he’s turned on despite himself, and that knowledge makes Bucky feel all hot under his collar.
Steve rasps, “Fuck you.”
“Nah,” Bucky says. “I don’t think you want that. I think you want it in you. You want it in you, Rogers?”
“Shut up.”
Bucky doesn’t, because he might not start brawls in bars the way Steve used to — his hobbies were regular, like dancing and science fairs, thanks — but he has got a dirty mouth, and there’s no way in hell he’ll ever stop using it to his own advantage. He starts to rock his dick into Steve’s ass nice and steady through their clothes, getting dirty and close about it, feeling sweat start to drip down his own spine. “Maybe I won’t give it to you. Maybe I’ll just hold you down until I get off, pull up your shirt and get come all over your back. Just hold you down and use you and leave you here. Let you walk out with it sliding down over your ass. You want that?”
Steve groans, angry and hot, into the mat. The back of his neck is all red and sweaty because he’s turned on and can’t do anything about it. But Bucky’s made an error in his plan, which is that he didn’t account for how hard he’d get doing this to Steve. Usually he’s real good at being patient but today’s just been too much apparently, and now his dick has other plans, and what he’s threatening Steve with is liable to actually happen.
So Bucky leans forward and says into Steve’s ear, “You stay still or else I’ll spank your pretty ass so red you can’t sit for a week.”
Steve rolls his forehead against the floor but doesn’t move while Bucky lifts up enough to tug Steve’s shorts down and shove his shirt up, just a little. He keeps his left hand pinning both of Steve’s behind his back, though, because Steve’s a little shit, and can’t be trusted at this point not to play dirty.
“Thought you weren’t gonna fuck me,” Steve mumbles.
“I’m not,” Bucky says, because a wonderful plan is forming in his head. He takes his cock in his right hand, big and hard, and rubs it along the soft skin of Steve’s ass. After a second he decides that ass is too white, and spanks him after all.
Steve makes a noise because Bucky did it hard enough to sting, and he struggles a little again, but by now it’s just an animal reaction. “Keep still,” Bucky reminds him, and slowly unsticks his left hand from around Steve’s wrists. They’re all red now, with indents from the plating, and Bucky swears before God and more importantly Steve that he’ll press kisses there later if they’re still hurting after this.
He grabs Steve’s perfect, tight little ass in both hands now, spreading him wide open to get his dick to fit there. He squeezes Steve’s soft skin around his cock, settling into the crack of his ass, and it’s almost, almost as good as being inside him, considering that he gets to see his own dick rubbing Steve’s skin, marking him all up with precome, getting him good and wet and dirty. “Fuck,” Bucky manages, embarrassingly strangled. His baby’s skin is so hot, and now it’s flushed, and all he wants is to slide inside and fuck. He wants to fuck Steve so hard that he tastes the pleasure in his mouth. He wants to watch him fall to pieces and then he wants to put him back together.
“Baby…” Bucky murmurs, lost in his thoughts, and he squeezes both his hands in the flesh of Steve’s ass, groaning low and jagged when he comes all over the small of Steve’s back just the way he promised. Steve moans when the hot come hits his skin, sliding around to pool real perfect in the dip of his back. He shifts his hips restlessly, but Bucky ignores him, luxuriously riding out the rest of the goodness spooling up his spine, thrusting against Steve’s ass, watching mesmerized as the head of his cock, red and satisfied, drools out a little more come.
Bucky’s head falls back and his mouth drops open. Jesus. “Jesus,” he says, breathing deep. He’s surprised; it lasted so long, and it was so, so sweet. “Oh, Jesus, that was good. Baby, fuck.”
Steve’s annoyed, and horny, and he’s twisting his hips against the mat now with purpose, trying to get himself off. Bucky doesn’t bother to fix Steve’s clothes and instead just flips him right over onto his back, come-smeared and all, his metal arm revving as he does it.
Steve looks up at him. His erection is massive and embarrassing; the only thing, really, holding up his gym shorts, and where the head of his cock is the fabric is dark and wet. There are a million and one things Bucky wants to do to him. His chest is heaving, and his eyes are glazed over and electric, angry still, his red mouth wet from how he’s been biting at it. And that’s where Bucky’s eyes zoom, because he’s one sorry, predictable son of a bitch — to those plush swollen lips. And that’s when he knows exactly what he’s going to do.
Bucky grips Steve’s short hair in his left hand and grabs his own dick with his right, going soft. “Open up,” he says. Steve glares up at him, grinding his jaw, pointedly keeping it shut. Bucky’s surprised he doesn’t snap his teeth.
“Open up,” Bucky growls. With his metal hand he slips his thumb between Steve’s lips and his bottom row of teeth, which Steve allows, and then pries Steve’s mouth open. Bucky looks into his eyes, which are dark and huge and wanting and pissed. “You want it?” Bucky asks, because even though he thinks he’s sure it never hurts to check. So of course that’s when Steve lurches up and swallows down Bucky’s entire cock, making his spine jerk straight and a breathless groan rise up in his throat.
Bucky grabs Steve by the hair and yanks his head back. “You’ll take it when I give it to you,” he says.
And so Steve opens his mouth, all the muscles in his body tense, and rests back, weight on his elbows, and finally he waits. Bucky knows it’s too soon to tell him how good he is, but he wants to; God damn, does he want to. Instead he feeds Steve his soft dick.
“Get me hard — and if you can, maybe I’ll stick it in you, huh?” Bucky says. Really he knows he’s helpless and is going to give it to Steve anyway, but it’s fun to wait. Steve, miracle of all miracles, does just what he’s told. “Get it wet,” Bucky advises. “Wetter the better. You’re not getting any slick, just spit.” Steve flicks his hot blue eyes up to meet Bucky’s, moving his head and making it messy, real messy, and Bucky’s getting hard again, heat gathering deep in his spine, but it’s going deeper than before — he’s feeling visceral; going feral. It’s too fucking hot, the way his baby doll’s lips stretch so wide around a dick, and so of course Bucky tells him that.
“I swear to fucking God, Steve, you were made for this,” Bucky moans. “Born to suck cock. Christ, look at that mouth. You’ve never looked so good. Take it deep, baby; God damn.”
Steve’s worked up, so worked up, and he’s really got a mouthful now, trying so hard to take it down his throat. Bucky’s momentarily convinced he’s gonna die this way, watching Steve Rogers choke on his cock.
“You wanna know why I love fucking your face?” Bucky asks, all casual. “S’because you finally shut up.” Steve makes an angry growl and the vibrations jar all the way up Bucky stomach, making him shiver and shake. “Fuck you,” Bucky pants. “I’m not wrong. You always want it one way or another, wherever I can put it — in your ass or down your throat. I’ll tell you what, you act like a bitch in heat, and I’ll give it to you like one. And how can I help myself? You’re bein’ so good, just like I asked. Droolin’ all over me. I swear to God there ain’t a pin-up hotter than you. I’ll fuck you stupid. You want that? You want it?”
Steve of course can’t answer other than a low-throated, wrung-out moan, and Bucky grabs Steve’s face in both his hands to feel his jaw work while he sucks him. It’s filthy good, that movement, and so to make it even better Bucky holds Steve’s face where he wants it and fucks his mouth, and he doesn’t go easy. He jams his cock down Steve’s throat, so far Stevie’s eyes water, fuck, and he coughs a little, and his brows furrow up. It’s so wet and hot in Steve, wherever Bucky sticks it. Steve starts moaning around him. It’s magic, pure fucking magic, the way that Bucky’s cock looks sliding in and out of that mouth. And then the most amazing God damn thing happens: Steve’s jaw goes suddenly lax, and his eyes roll up in his head, and he moans, because he’s coming without either of them laying a hand on his dick.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” Bucky hisses. Steve’s gasping, making tiny breathy sounds with his mouth still stuffed full because he just can’t help himself — because he really does want it so bad — and Bucky keeps moving his hips, because damned if he isn't going to keep on giving it to him.
“Suck me,” Bucky demands, hardly recognizing the gravel in his voice. “Don’t shirk. Come on. Jesus, you’re greedy.”
Steve’s chest is heaving — they never could’ve done this, before — but he tries his best, shaking everywhere, blushing red all over. He sucks on Bucky dick like it’s his whole reason for existing, his eyebrows furrowed, trying to breath through his nose, really working himself up. Bucky pulls away to let him breathe, and when he does Steve whimpers, honest to God, whines because he wants Bucky’s cock back. “Easy,” Bucky says, and takes the opportunity to rub his dick on Steve’s open mouth, all over his swollen lips. Easy as anything he slips his dick back inside and thrusts once, twice, just to watch the bulge in Steve’s cheek where the head of his cock is, pushing against that velvet softness of the inside of his mouth.
Bucky pulls it out again, climbs off, flips Steve back onto his belly, and climbs back on. The fight’s still in Steve, and he groans out loud when Bucky tugs his shorts around his knees, trying to get up on all fours. Bucky plants a hand in the middle of his back and shoves him back down, but then he goes on and pulls him up by his hips anyway. Bucky reaches into the pocket of his sweats. Of course he brought slick — he’s not God damn stupid. It is Vaseline, though, because Vaseline is thick and old-fashioned, and Steve would never admit it in one hundred and one years, but the smell gets him hot; some kind of Pavlovian shit. Still Bucky’s not nice about it, because there’s only one way Steve wants it when he gets like this, and nice ain’t the word for it, that’s for damn sure. He slicks up his left hand because it’s colder, and shoves two fingers in right away. Steve yelps and buries his face in the gym mat, pushing his ass back.
It’s around then that Bucky catches sight of his own come drying on Steve’s back, and his mind whites out for a whole five seconds.
Steve moans and wriggles around. The pearls of liquid that’s Bucky’s come slides around too. Bucky can’t fucking take it, especially when Steve starts gasping.
“You want more, you gotta ask for it,” Bucky grunts. He twists his fingers right, and Steve’s body shudders. The only problem with using his left hand is Bucky can’t get a tease of the heat inside, but that’s okay; Steve likes getting fucked with the cold hard metal, and it’s not in Bucky to ever deny Steve something he wants. So he pumps two fingers in and out, listening to the sound of the joints whirring and Steve whining into the mat, not wanting to admit out loud that he wants a dick in him. And then Bucky starts to pull his two fingers apart, being real gentle, just stretching Stevie’s hot little pink hole open, wider and wider.
“I’ll leave you here,” Bucky threatens. Steve’s fucking himself back now, his own fingers clawing up the gym mat. “Swear to God, I’ll leave you hanging. You want it or not, Rogers? You want to get filled up? You wanna remember who you belong to?”
“Fuck,” Steve finally chokes. “Oh, Jesus.”
Bucky uses his middle finger to rub unforgiving at Steve’s prostate. He wish he could see his baby’s cock, because he just knows that Steve’s past gone, dripping all over everything. There goes another hundred bucks; Stark’s gonna kill them if he ever finds out. Small price.
Steve mumbles something delirious into the floor.
“What was that?” asks Bucky. He’s going crazy; he wants to put his mouth where his fingers are; wants his dick in there, too, but doesn’t want to move away his fingers either, because Steve’s moving his hips and gagging for them. “What was that, Rogers? You want to get fucked? Is that it? You want my cock in you, you want me to tear you up? I know you do. You won’t be happy until you’ve got come dripping out your ass and down your thighs.”
Steve’s really slamming himself back now, gasping wetly. One problem — that’s not really a problem at all, and kind of Bucky’s favorite thing on this planet Earth — one problem is that Steve comes so easy, Steve is so easy, and he’s already close again, so close he can probably taste it in his throat, and so Bucky replaces his fingers with his dick, which really is only slick with spit. Just shoves it in, feeling the hot muscles give and give, groaning because he can’t help it. He could eat Steve out for hours — hell, he has — but not even that ever gets Steve to really unwind, and he’s always tight, so tight Bucky thinks he’ll suffocate. It’s claustrophobic in the only good way.
Bucky grabs onto Steve’s slim hips, perfect handful, and he forcibly takes over, bruising Steve’s skin as he holds him in place. Steve likes it face down ass up, likes that he can try and fight back easier, squirm. Likes getting pinned. Bucky watches the huge planes of Steve’s shoulders, covered still in his little tight gray shirt, and he’s unspeakably turned on by the flushed shells of Steve’s ears, the glimpses of his face, eyes closed, mouth hanging open, that he keeps on getting. Steve reaches down for his dick and Bucky smacks his hands away and then slaps him on the ass for good measure. It’s sufficient warning. Then with both hands Bucky spreads Steve’s ass, stinging and a little red, so that he can watch. Steve moans and whines into the floor. It’s too fucking good. And then Bucky aims real deliberately, right up on him, and it’s like an answered prayer, the way that Steve’s whole body goes suddenly passive, his shoulders slumping. His moans even change. Steve says “ah, ah,” real long and low, and he doesn’t try to push back anymore. The pleasure’s finally outweighed his shitty day. Bucky thinks Steve might be drooling. He just lays there and takes it and makes little hurt noises. Pride rushes up in Bucky’s chest.
“Good, baby,” Bucky croons, slowing down. “Baby doll, that’s good, that’s sweet of you.” He grinds right up on Steve’s prostate, slow and steady and almost too much, and Steve makes a shuddering gasp, a big desperate gulp for air.
“Come on,” Bucky murmurs. “Pretty baby, come on. You know I wanna see it.”
He’s massaging Steve’s ass more gently now, just thumbing him open, and then he’s reaching down and around, sliding both his hands over Steve’s sweat-slick hips, following the V down to his cock. Bucky closes his left hand around the base and with his right makes a fist at the head, where Steve’s wants it the most, twisting his wrist just right, making Steve hot everywhere, still moving inside him. And Steve shakes right apart. It’s just too much for him, and first Steve goes tight around Bucky’s dick, and then he’s moaning with his mouth open, higher and higher, and then he’s coming all over Bucky’s hands and the floor. He shakes and his cock jerks hard. Bucky wishes Steve was naked so he could see his full-body blush. Instead he makes do with slapping his hand down over Steve’s on the mat, metal on skin, and coming hard inside him, breathing hard and pressing his forehead to Steve’s back, pumping him full.
The pressure sensors tell Bucky that Steve has overlapped their index fingers.
Steve’s breathing shudders and hitches, tell-tale, and Bucky’s careful in pulling out.
“Sorry,” Steve says, kind of garbled. He sniffs.
“Quit that,” Bucky says, and makes Steve turn over. Steve does, his eyes big and blue and wet, lashes even darker than usual. They’re still dressed and so it only takes Bucky a second to fix Steve up, even though he’s dripping come and covered in come and his whole face is a mess of bitten lips and almost-tears. This happens sometimes; Bucky’s not about to run away screaming. Steve wipes at his nose, blinking fast.
“Sorry,” he repeats.
Bucky chuckles. “I meant quit apologizing, knucklehead.”
Steve laughs too, but it’s watery. Bucky lays down beside him, avoiding the human-sized wet spot that’s actually just mostly sweat, not anything else, and tugs Steve into his arms so that they’re two parentheses curled together. Steve goes easily, tucking his face into Bucky’s neck and getting it all wet. Bucky doesn’t care.
“That bad, huh?” Bucky jokes.
“She was twelve, Buck,” Steve mumbles. His voice sounds about a thousand years old, and Bucky wants to pull him closer, but Steve backs up so he can look Bucky in the eye. “A little kid.”
“Is,” Bucky corrects. “She is a little kid. She’s in the hospital. Nothin’ worse than a broken leg. Kids get ‘em all the time. I broke my leg twice.”
“She coulda died,” Steve says. It might sound dumb to anyone else, but not to Bucky. She really could have. Just a civilian little girl, added to the body count. Tragic but not unusual in the grand scheme of missions gone ugly fast. Steve’s lost a lot and it’s been building up for a few weeks now, ever since the first anniversary of Agent Carter’s passing. It makes a lot of sense that this upset him so bad.
“Well she didn’t,” Bucky argues. “She didn’t because you got there in time.”
Steve looks at him all somber, and then he sniffs again and his mouth quirks up. “Three times.”
“What?”
“Three times. You broke your leg three times. Knucklehead.”
Bucky squints. “Amnesia, asshole.”
“Says the guy who pulls that card when he forgets to do the dishes and doesn’t wanna say,” Steve accuses, which is actually completely true.
“False,” Bucky defends anyway, and Steve laughs.
They look at each other for a second, and a tear spills over, and Bucky, because he’s one sorry bastard, brushes it away with his thumb and then licks the thumb he used. Jesus, he loves Steve. He could spend all day just doing this, looking right at him, and he’d probably never get bored. Find a new freckle after each blink, even.
He doesn’t voice this because it’s embarrassing as hell, but what he does do is kiss Steve, because he hasn’t had a chance to do that today yet, not even this morning. It’s just soft, just their mouths overlapping, two sleepy presses.
“Thank you,” Steve says.
“You’re damn right, thank you,” Bucky replies. “It’s such a chore getting you off. I mean I’ve really just got a million better things to be doing with my time.”
Steve socks him in the arm — the right one, even, so it actually hurts, which is frankly rude. Bucky loves it. Same spitfire, bigger body.
“I didn’t hurt you?” Bucky asks. “Tell me the truth, now.”
“Don’t think I could feel it if you did,” Steve admits, slurring up all his words. His eyes are closing. His whole body’s limp and pleased. “Gets all fuzzy when you smack me around. You know that. Gets all…everything’s good. All just feels real good, Buck.”
That’s the kind of news that could really go to a guy’s head, Bucky thinks, watching as Steve drifts, his mouth parted a little, eyes still closed. It’s also not a real answer, which means Bucky’s going to surreptitiously examine Steve in the shower later and make sure he really is as fine as he says he is. Bucky knows, of course, that it’s kind of dumb for him to be concerned; Steve heals quick anyway. But he worries. He can’t help it. Worrying about Steve is one of the main facets of his personality.
So they lay there for a while on the sad ruined gym mat, and Bucky thinks Steve must be getting uncomfortable and sticky. And eventually Bucky just can’t stop thinking about it, because it’s bugging him, and he says, “You know, if Stark ever happens to go back and watch the security feed, he’s gonna murder us in the street.”
“Eh,” Steve says, and that’s how Bucky really knows he’s done good.