Chapter Text
“Steve! Sweetheart! We’re home.”
Shoving his sketchpad and pencils to the side, Steve props himself up on one elbow and rolls off the bed. Stumbling over a pair of his discarded shoes, he hurries into the living room and tugs on his unkempt, tangled hair.
“Hi, Ma,” he chirps as he enters the room. He freezes at the sight of an enormous, broad shouldered man with a head of dark hair and cheekbones that could cut glass. His mother’s friend has the most entrancing eyes Steve’s ever seen. “Hellooooooooooo, sir.”
“Bucky, meet my son,” his ma says with a wide smile. “Steve, this is my special friend, Mr. Bucky.”
A beatific smile spreads over Bucky’s face as he extends a massive paw to shake Steve’s hand. It engulfs his, and Steve swallows hard at the electric shock that jolts through him when they touch. Blinking furiously, Steve tries to speak, but he’s stunned into silence. Mr. Bucky is the single most glorious human being Steve’s ever seen. He looks like an avenging angel.
“Nice to meet you, Steve. I hope we’ll get to know each other much, much better.
For weeks, Steve tries not to admit how fascinated he is with his mother’s boyfriend. With all the hormones coursing through him and an erection that pops up what feels like every five minutes, Steve doesn’t stand a chance. He doesn’t understand anything—not why his pecker is hard every morning and any time a gust of air hits him. Not why he wakes up on a soaked mattress every morning and in soiled pajama bottoms. Not why he wants to insert objects inside him or why shoving his fingers as far up as he can makes his eyes cross. He wants to ask his mom, but somehow, he knows she’s not the right person for this.
But maybe Mr. Bucky would know all the answers. Maybe, by some miracle, Mr. Bucky can help him understand what’s happening to his body.
The opportunity comes one evening when his mom is scheduled for an overnight shift and Steve’s still recovering from the flu. His fever’s broken, and he feels fine. However, his mother insists he needs someone to take care of him in case his illness returns. Bucky’s volunteered, and Steve’s lying on the couch with Bucky seated in the cushy chair just to his left.
“How you feeling, kiddo?” Bucky asks when a commercial comes on the television. “You need some water? A bowl of soup?”
Shaking his head, Steve offers a tentative smile. “No, sir. Mr. Bucky. I don’t need anything…to eat.”
Arching an eyebrow, Bucky turns the chair toward him fully and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. “You need something else? Something I can help with?”
Steve’s tongue is thick in his mouth, but he manages a jerky nod. “I, uh…I thought maybe—” His voice cracks, and his cheeks turn hot. This won’t be easy, but he really wants to understand what’s wrong with him. Surely, this isn’t how his body is supposed to work.
“What is it, son?”
The deep timbre of Mr. Bucky’s voice sends shivers through Steve’s slim body. To his horror, blood rushes below his waist, and he shifts so the blanket will hide what’s happening to him. Somehow, though, Bucky seems to understand anyway. The corner of his mouth quirks up, and he takes a long, leisurely perusal of Steve’s thin shoulders.
“Come on. You can tell Mr. Bucky. What’s worrying your pretty little head?”
“M-mr. Bucky, I think…I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Bucky stands, his bulk taking up half the living room, and crosses the distance between them in two strides. Scrambling onto a single cushion, Steve shrinks into the arm of the couch and stares at his mother’s boyfriend with wide eyes.
“I won’t hurt you,” Bucky says, and that makes Steve feel better. He can trust this adult because his mom does.
His voice is small when he replies, “I know.”
“Tell me what’s wrong? I’ll help you. I promise.”
Squaring his shoulders, Steve swallows hard before gathering the courage to speak. Bucky—Mr. Bucky—is a big man, so big that Steve feels safe and protected by his bulk.
In a voice barely above a whisper, Steve admits, “I…I get hard all the time, Mr. Bucky. I get hard constantly, and it’s really embarrassing. It happens everywhere. At school. In the shower. In the locker room with the other boys. Over—uh—at night. I wake up, and it’s…it’s sticking straight up, and there’s a mess in my bed. Is that…is that supposed to happen?”
Bucky raises his arm and clasps Steve’s neck in his massive palm. A shiver runs through Steve’s body, and his willy twitches beneath the blanket. He feels silly calling it that when his mom insists on using medically accurate terms, but he doesn’t like the word penis. Dick and cock seem too pornographic and adult for him. Pecker and willy are very teenager-y, so he sticks with them.
“It’s supposed to happen,” Bucky confirms and licks his lips. “Not all the time, of course, but at your age…pretty much anything creates an erection.”
“Even when I’m sick?” he squeaks as Bucky’s thumb brushes against his cheek.
Nodding sagely, Bucky smiles gently. “Even when you’re sick. Why? Are you? Right now?”
Flushing, Steve squeezes his eyes closed in shame. He shouldn’t get hard for Mr. Bucky. Not when his mom seems to really enjoy spending time with him. After several long moments of electric silence, Steve bobs his head.
“All the time,” he reiterates. “Will you…will you look at it? Make sure it’s not messed up? I think it looks weird sometimes.”
Bucky’s eyes make him want to melt as he agrees. They’re intense, almost penetrative as he watches Steve toss off the blanket and shimmy out of his pajamas. His skinny, white thighs pull a frown to his lips, but his hard pecker, standing straight up like a soldier saluting, holds both of their attention.
Exhaling sharply, Bucky explains, “There’s nothing wrong with you, Steve. You just have a foreskin because you aren’t circumcised. Did you think you looked wrong because you saw some of your friends, and they’re different?”
Face flaming, Steve answers softly, “I only got a quick look. I didn’t want to stare. I just…”
As he trails into silence, Bucky smiles at him again. “I’m circumcised, so I don’t have a foreskin. I can show you mine.”
Nodding eagerly, Steve leans forward as Bucky fumbles with his belt, button, and zipper. He works his hand into his pants and pulls out…an enormous—
“It’s so big!” Steve gasps. “Is it…is it supposed to be so big?”
Chuckling, Bucky responds lazily, “Not everybody’s is. I’m bigger than most. Blessed, I guess.”
“Can I…uh, can I touch it?”
Because Steve has to. His hand is already outstretched, only inches from Bucky’s…whatever that massive thing is between his legs. It’s twice as long as Steve’s and at least three times as thick. Without waiting for Bucky’s answer, Steve brushes his fingers over it and watches in fascination as it grows.
“It’s getting bigger!”
Delighted, Steve looks up at Bucky and freezes. Mr. Bucky’s expression is hungry and dark, his eyes blazing and his mouth in a fierce line. He looks like he’s furious, which makes Steve wonder if he’s in big, big trouble.
“I’m sorry,” he whispers, terrified Bucky will tell his mother he’s misbehaved. “I didn’t mean to—”
“It’s okay,” Mr. Bucky replies, his voice hoarse and strained. “It’s okay. You can…go ahead and touch it. Wrap your hand around it if you want. You can—you can play with it. I don’t mind.”
“Y-you don’t?”
Shaking his head, Bucky pets Steve’s neck. “I don’t. Touch it, Steve. Put both your hands on it and rub up and down. You can watch what happens to me.”
So, Steve touches him because Mr. Bucky told him to, and Steve likes it. He likes it a lot because he’s been fantasizing about his mother’s boyfriend for weeks. Because his dreams are filled with images of naked men. Because touching Mr. Bucky makes his own pecker harder, hard enough that his tip is wet and sticky.
As Steve rubs, he watches with wide eyes as Mr. Bucky gets bigger and bigger. He moans as Steve twists his hands, and then he does something Steve never thought would happen. He reaches over with his free hand and closes it around Steve’s willy.
A noise builds in his chest that he’s never heard before. Heat rushes through his entire body, and he jerks his hips. When Bucky pulls away, Steve scoots across the cushion, chasing the touch until he’s straddling Bucky’s lap. He’s panting, but so is Mr. Bucky whose eyes are closed while his mouth is open. He whines as he rocks in Bucky’s lap and yelps when his body clenches. He spurts over Bucky’s hand as a groan rockets through him. Without thinking, he begs for it to happen again.
“You’re such a good boy,” Bucky rasps as Steve rubs his palm over the sticky fluid dribbling from Bucky’s tip. “Such a good boy. Keep rubbing. Yeah. That’s it. That’s just right. That’s—augh! FUCK!”
Stunned, Steve flinches as fluid spatters his face. He was looking right at Bucky when his pecker twitched and shot right at him. It’s in his eyes and all over his chin. Shaken, he watches in fascination as it pumps from Bucky, milky fluid spurting in lazy geysers, and slides down Steve’s wrists and along his forearms. As he stares, Bucky softens in his hand, and it flops over Steve’s thumbs to hang limply.
“Did I hurt you?” Steve asks, completely awed by what just happened. “Is that the way it’s supposed to work?”
Humming as he nods his head, Bucky presses his forehead to Steve’s with his eyes still closed and twists his hand around Steve again. “That’s exactly how it’s supposed to work, son. You did it just right. Now, give me another one. Let me see how much you appreciate Mr. Bucky.”
It doesn’t take long before fire sears through his insides again. He trembles as he loses control, but Bucky seems to like it. After Steve’s done, Mr. Bucky lifts his hand to his mouth and licks the mess off his palm and fingers. He makes noises Steve’s only heard when he paused outside the window of a brothel. He hasn’t really ever understood those high-pitched moans before, but now… with this new information from Mr. Bucky, he gets it.
“Thank you,” Steve says later once he’s tucked back under the covers and Bucky’s back in his pants. “I have so many more questions, but this helped.”
Bucky strokes his cheek and gives him a soft smile. “You’re welcome. I can show you more sometime. If you’d like me to. It just needs to stay a secret between us. Can you do that, son? Can you keep it quiet?”
“I’m really good at keeping secrets, Mr. Bucky. I won’t tell anybody.”
Leaning forward, Bucky embraces him and whispers in his ear. “Good boy. You’re such a good, sweet boy. Next time, I’ll show you something brand new. Now, go to sleep. It’s bedtime.”
Grinning happily, Steve wriggles back under his covers and giggles. He can’t wait to find out what else Mr. Bucky knows.