Chapter Text
Sharon Carter is appointed Captain America on July 4th, 2021. It’s a nice, chilly Sunday, the sun nowhere to be seen, the cloud cover comforting instead of ominous. The weather really doesn’t matter for the indoor ceremony, but Bucky appreciates the glimpse he catches in between the rush of it all.
Appointing a new Captain is a Big Deal – the kind that comes with capital letters and the President of the United States – and it’s an even bigger deal this time because Sharon’s the first female bearer of the title. That also means the amount of death threats are double the usual, everyone from hardcore MRAs to your run-of-the-mill misogynist chipping in to add a casual ‘die lol’ and worse. Bucky’s part of her security detail and between the rest of his team and the Secret Service, the whole ceremony is a fucking nightmare.
To him, at least. The general public is ecstatic. Bucky really wishes S.H.I.E.L.D would do this in a drab room somewhere like they do the rest of their business. He knows it’s not possible, Captain America is too big for one organization and even one country these days, but it’s sure nice to imagine.
The ceremony goes off without a hitch.
Afterwards, once things have calmed down somewhat, Bucky manages to give Sharon a hug and a whispered congratulations. She grins back, radiant and genuinely happy, looking completely at home in her new red-white-blue suit. He’s happy for her despite his loathing for the pomp and parade, and in the end, he’s glad to end the day on a high note.
The next morning, he goes to S.H.I.E.L.D and announces his resignation to Fury’s face.
-
Well, he tries.
-
“Is this because we chose Carter over you?”
There’s a long, tense moment in which Bucky just stands there gaping, stunned speechless.
“Are you kidding me?” he manages to choke out. Fury stares impassively at him. Behind him, Hill is similarly stone-faced. They are decidedly not kidding. He doesn’t know how this, of all things, can surprise him so much, but it really, really does. “For fuck’s sake, come on. You asked me whether I wanted the title. I said no. Remember that? I said ‘hell no, you couldn’t pay me to prance around in the goddamn American flag.’ That ring a bell?”
“You have to admit the timing points to it,” Hill says, voice as neutral as her face. She could be planning his murder as she speaks, and he wouldn’t know.
“The timing points to me wanting to see my friend decorated in a way she deserves before I blow this joint and fuck off with my boyfriend.”
Fury’s face does something complicated and painful. Hill suddenly looks like she wants a drink or ten.
“Your boyfriend,” Fury repeats, disdain dripping.
“Well, he’s far from a boy, I admit,” Bucky says, grinning toothily. He keeps something vicious tucked behind his teeth like a secret. “But partner sounds just wrong in this line of work, I’ve never really liked saying significant other, and you really don’t want to hear what I call him in my head or out loud. So boyfriend it is.”
If looks could kill, Fury would have him reduced to a smear on the floor by now.
“Barnes,” Hill sighs, shooting him a look that’s more exasperated than anything else. Bucky shrugs. Maybe he’d act like less of an ass if their response to his announcement wasn’t to ask if he was jealous of his coworker.
“I knew letting you run with Rogers was a bad idea.”
“Well, Director, you’re the reason we ever met in the first place.”
He can see it, Fury’s temper flaring and then calming down, just like that, because yes, the man is intimidating and prone to yelling, but he’s no hothead, and he didn’t get this far by running on emotions.
“Agent Barnes, there’s a certain protocol to be followed in resigning from S.H.I.E.L.D.” Bucky can almost see the air-quotes around resigning, and he thinks with no real humor that most agents either die in the field or become too injured for it, at which point they become admin drones, again until they die or are too old and ‘mentally unfit’ to continue the work. Fury frowns like he can read the uncharitable direction of Bucky’s thoughts. “Protocol that you haven’t followed.”
“Yes, I have,” Bucky says mildly. “Three-month notice, during which S.H.I.E.L.D is free to review my case and decide if there are…complications that need to be addressed. I did submit my notice three months ago. And HR didn’t contact me, so I assumed there was nothing to discuss. As protocol dictates, my contract is over, and you’re legally obliged to let me go.”
By the time he finishes, Fury’s frown has escalated into an impressive scowl and even Hill looks nonplussed.
“No such notice was submitted,” she says.
Bucky shrugs nonchalantly and keeps his expression blank.
“Hey, I did my part. You can check your systems.”
Fury does. His fingers fly over his desk and a holographic screen blinks to life. Bucky watches his face, nerves thrumming with caution and excitement as Fury’s expression darkens with each progressive minute.
He wasn’t all that sure, agreeing to this particular idea, but he knew even then that following the rules wasn’t an option, not in this. Because in the end, S.H.I.E.L.D only followed its own rules when it wanted to, and in Bucky’s case, it’s guaranteed that it wouldn’t want to.
Sure enough, Fury dismisses the documents with a hard tap of his finger and turns his one-eyed glare on Bucky.
“Barnes,” he growls. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“Leaving,” Bucky says softly, and then, louder, “I made a choice. That’s all.”
“It’s the wrong one.”
“You’re entitled your opinion. Even when it’s wrong.”
“You’ve known Rogers barely a year. His dick’s not worth leaving behind everything you’ve built here.”
“Director, all I’ve ‘built’ here–” Bucky is blatant in his air-quotes, making them in between the two of them without a care for the way it makes Fury’s eyebrow twitch. “–is a kill count in the hundreds and half a dozen semi-legal bank accounts. There’s more to life than that. There’s more to me than that.”
He can almost hear Steve echo those words, his voice proud and pleased, his eyes infinitely kind.
For a moment, Fury says nothing. Then he slumps in his chair, still looking intently at Bucky.
“He really got to you, didn’t he?” Fury murmurs, more to himself than Bucky. “I don’t want to do this, Barnes.”
Bucky’s not so great a fool that he thinks Fury is talking about letting Bucky resign. He braces himself and draws his gun, but it falls from metal fingers that suddenly turn stiff and unresponsive. There is a moment of blissful numbness before the pain whites out his mind.
-
“You’re a fucking idiot, Barnes,” Bucky tells himself the moment he gathers his bearings. “A fucking idiot sandwich.”
“You can say that again,” Sharon says from the other side of the glass.
The right side. Because Bucky’s in a S.H.I.E.L.D containment slash observation cell. Because he got himself there. They’ve given him the standard cot without pillows, starchy white sheets, and metal toilet affixed to one wall.
He is a fucking idiot.
“Bucky,” Sharon sighs. “What the hell is this?”
It so closely echoes what Fury said earlier that Bucky almost loses his shit from apoplectic rage right there. But he calms down, mostly because his instinctive left-armed punch only serves to remind him that his left arm is dead metal and he’s a fucking sitting duck here. Alright, it doesn’t take his anger away, but it does make him calm down in spite of it, training and a lifetime of experience kicking in.
“What are you doing here, Sharon?”
“Fury sent me,” she says because of course he did. Bucky’s a solo operative most of the time, but Sharon’s the agent he’s worked with the most, the closest he has to a partner. Damn right Fury sent her. “He said to, uh, talk some sense into you.”
“Yeah? He also tell you I’m throwing a tantrum over not getting the Cap title?”
He’s pleased and surprised to see her looking sincerely taken aback.
“What? Fuck no. Bucky, you hated being even considered for the title. You weren’t really subtle about it.”
“Should have been even less subtle apparently.”
Sharon exhales sharply.
“Listen, I don’t know what the fuck that’s got to do with this. Fury said you were trying to resign and to talk some sense into you. And here I fucking am because what the fuck, Bucky? That’s not – S.H.I.E.L.D is your life.”
“That’s the fucking problem,” he snaps. “I want more out of life, and I know how to get it. Does Fury have an actual reason to hold me here, other than his hissy fit?”
Sharon shoots a significant look at the ceiling that he pointedly ignores. Of course they’re watching and listening. Fucking let them.
“I’m not sure,” she says after a pause. “Probably. He can’t just keep you here otherwise.”
Bucky raises an eyebrow. Sharon grimaces.
“Not indefinitely,” she amends.
Bucky’s got his doubts about that too, but he’s more concerned by what she – very deliberately – let slip. They really are planning to hold him here until he sees the error of his ways. And he doesn’t think they’re going to let the grey walls and lack of hair products do the convincing.
Bucky’s not imagining torture or anything truly terrible. Fury’s not evil. Harsh, ruthless, manipulative; but nowhere close to evil or even truly cruel.
It still won’t be a pleasant stay for Bucky.
He wonders how long he’s had that failsafe in his arm; whether it’s been there from the beginning or if they added it after he returned from the mission that put him in Steve’s path. He did need maintenance, then, to make sure the cuff Steve used to deactivate his arm didn’t have any lasting effects. Bucky knew some details about the work done on his arm but not all of it. And he was always dizzy and half-gone from the pain after it reconnected. It would have been the easiest thing for the S.H.I.E.L.D technicians to build in a kill switch.
All of a sudden, he’s tired of this shit.
He should have listened to Clint and Natasha.
“Sharon, I’m not changing my mind. Nothing’s gonna make me. You might as well leave.”
He doesn’t wait for her response before lying back down, turning towards the wall and curling up. It’s uncomfortable, lying on his left side. The arm works as seamlessly as any organic part of him when it’s functional, but like this, everything about it is alien. He hates it. But he doesn’t turn over.
It's a long time before footsteps let him know she has left.
-
“That was a hell of a risk, what you did,” Bucky tells Steve point-blank the next time they meet.
It’s not a mission. There’s a black, compact cellphone burning in Bucky’s front pocket with only Steve’s number programmed in. Steve promised him no one will be able to trace it, and Bucky believes him, but this still feels so illicit, even though all he’s doing is having a nice dinner with the guy he’s been fucking on the regular for half a year.
No sooner than that thought passes through Bucky’s head, he’s blurting, “Wait, is this a date?”
Opposite him, Steve blinks.
“Sometimes,” he says at length, “I want to peel open your skull and take a peek just to see what’s going on in there. Your head’s an interesting place, Buck.”
“Thank you, I needed that image to go with my pasta.”
Steve shrugs, and his face is impassive, but Bucky’s not fooled. He knows that glint in his eyes.
“Asshole.”
“It is a date,” Steve says, all casual-like. “We can’t go out in public unless you’re willing to let me whisk you away to some island tucked away out of S.H.I.E.L.D’s eyes. But I pulled some strings, now this apartment’s mine for the weekend. A dine-in date.”
Bucky, inexplicably, blushes.
Well, he pretends it’s inexplicable but honestly, Steve’s been pulling that reaction out of him in spades. It’s terrible. It makes Bucky’s guts squirm like they want to wriggle out through his asshole and wrap Steve in a hug.
“You don’t want to?”
Steve’s voice is softer now, with uncertainty threaded in. It’s a humanizing effect on a man that’s made a career out of being inscrutable and controlled, and Bucky gets the feeling that Steve’s making a conscious choice to let Bucky see his feelings. And that means a lot, almost more than knowing Steve is uncertain and hasn’t just assumed that Bucky will fall all over himself to take what he can get, all he can get, when it comes to this man.
It feels ridiculous too, at the same time, that he hasn’t assumed. Bucky’s not subtle, not with this. Never was.
“I want to,” Bucky says, smiling. He feels almost shy when he meets Steve’s eyes. “Didn’t know you were a romantic at heart, Steve.”
Steve shrugs, but he’s smiling too, the expression as soft as the way his eyes are trailing all over Bucky.
“Haven’t had much of a reason to be, recently. Until you.”
This time, Bucky flushes all the way down his neck.
They eat in silence for a while, the air between them weighted by the words exchanged. It’s hardly a confession of undying love, but it’s certainly not nothing. And if Steve were a meaningless fuck, Bucky would be unsubtly edging out the door right now, but he’s not and never was, and if anything, Bucky’s relieved and delighted that he’s not the only one whose emotions got involved alongside his dick.
“What did you mean by risk?” Steve asks eventually, and it takes Bucky a moment to even remember what he’s talking about.
When he does, Bucky straightens up, the weightless feeling he’s been nursing for the last few minutes vanishing just like that.
“Me. This thing you’re doing, seducing me over to the dark side.” He shakes his head when Steve opens his mouth, predicting the protest. “I’m kidding, mostly. You’re not on the dark side anyway. It’s not the sex though. Or, um, this. Not us. But the Avengers and me. You couldn’t have known I’d be…conflicted about my mission.”
“I couldn’t,” Steve agrees placidly, and that’s how Bucky knows that whatever he argues with, Steve’s already picked his hill to die on. “But I had a good feeling about you. And you didn’t do anything to change my mind during our missions or outside of them.”
“I did give S.H.I.E.L.D information,” Bucky points out, feeling his stomach swoop as he does. “I had to. Mission reports.”
“You told them about Nat’s changing hairdos and Clint’s low-priority safe house. Truly sensitive information, that.”
Steve’s tone is a blend of amused and fond. Bucky quietly meeps and shovels pasta into his mouth. Steve watches him stuff his face and hide behind a fork like it’s the best sight he’s ever seen, and fuck, Bucky wants to keep this man.
“Natasha would have killed me if I told them her actual hair color, let’s be real.” And then it occurs to him– “Wait, how the fuck do you know what I told S.H.I.E.L.D?”
Steve leans back in his chair, grinning wide enough to make his eyes crinkle. He’s never up for good when he smiles like that, but Bucky’s heart gives a traitorous flip anyway.
“I can’t believe – you know, I’m dutybound or whatever to tell S.H.I.E.L.D you’ve got spies there.”
“I never said I had spies there. And you won’t.”
“I won’t,” Bucky snaps, scowling. “But you can’t just assume that! Don’t just – just–”
“Trust you?” Steve asks quietly.
Bucky has swallow before speaking.
“Yeah.”
“I do, Buck.”
“You shouldn’t. Listen, I haven’t even agreed to join you guys yet. I’ve been with S.H.I.E.L.D for a decade, Steve. It’s been the most formative part of my life. I can’t just leave that.”
“You don’t have to,” Steve says, so patient that he pisses Bucky off a little. “But you haven’t said you won’t, either.”
Bucky knows exactly why it rankles so much, the faith Steve has in him.
“It’s still a risk, Steve. I’m a risk.”
“So I took a leap of faith.” Steve smiles, the small, sweet one that makes Bucky’s chest feel ten sizes too small. “I don’t and won’t regret it, Bucky. Whatever you choose.”
“And your team?” Bucky challenges, defiant despite the part of him that wants to vault over the table and kiss Steve until neither of them can breathe. “You said you’d do anything to keep them safe, but this is dangerous to them too.”
At that, Steve sharpens, sitting up straight. Bucky doesn’t even realize he was slouching until the sudden change in posture goes right to his dick.
“They were never in danger. Bucky, I took a chance on you. And during the missions with Nat and Clint, you only vindicated my decision. But if you hadn’t come clean after meeting Ant-man and Wasp, at least before our next job, I would have had to let you go.” Steve pauses, letting out a huffing breath that’s half laughter. “Mission failure, I suppose.”
Bucky tries to envision that, these little adventures stopping. No more of Steve whisking him away at the most random times. No more of Clint’s lame jokes and Natasha’s scathing quips. No more missions that were fun and bloody instead of boring, unpleasant, and bloody.
His mind rebels viciously at the thought. He’s so fucked, and it’s nothing he didn’t already know, but it manages to have the weight and gravity of an epiphany each time.
He doesn’t look at Steve when he asks, “If the Avengers were never in danger, what was your leap of faith about?”
There’s no answer for a while. Bucky looks up, eventually, because he thinks that’s what Steve’s waiting for. But Steve’s looking down at his plate and not seeing anything on it.
“Steve?” Bucky prompts tentatively, and Steve raises his head, bright blue eyes catching on Bucky’s.
“Me,” he says, so softly that Bucky has to strain to catch it. “That was for me, Buck. I liked you a little too much, from the beginning. I told you, didn’t I? It wasn’t selfless.”
Bucky takes a minute to digest the implications of that. When he does, his heart starts pounding fiercely, threatening to jump out of his ribs and into Steve’s arms.
“I – Steve.”
He swallows, words crowding up his throat.
“Buck, you don’t have to–”
“I liked you too much too. From the start. I still do. A lot.”
It’s a graceless confession, but the way Steve’s expression breaks into something startled and soft makes Bucky feel like he’s ten feet tall.
-
By Bucky’s internal clock, it’s after a little less than twenty hours since he woke that he gets his second visitor. He has slept in that time, not for long, but in two-hour catnaps. He’s gone longer on less, but that kind of thing takes its toll eventually, and Bucky wants to be in possession of all his mental faculties for what’s coming.
He’s facing the glass when he hears the sound of footsteps. He does seriously consider turning away and pretending to sleep but curiosity gets the best of him, and anyway, if his visitor irritates him, he can always give them the cold shoulder – literally, now – later.
But he’s not prepared to see Sam Wilson.
“The fuck are you doing here?” he says harshly before Sam can so much as open his mouth. But Sam takes it in stride in that way he has, levelling Bucky with a no-nonsense stare that easily rivals what Bucky remembers of his mom.
“You tell me, Barnes.”
“I’m – man, how are you even here? You don’t work for S.H.I.E.L.D anymore.”
“Technically, Samuel Wilson never worked for S.H.I.E.L.D. Captain America did.” The way says it, with an unsubtle glance upwards, tells Bucky that those words aren’t meant for him at all. “And I’m here because a little birdie told me your fool ass got yourself thrown in a cell, and as much as I wanted to stay in bed and pretend I didn’t hear that, all that superheroing’s left some permanent side-effects.”
For the first time since he woke up here, Bucky leaves the bed for something that’s not pissing. He finds himself grinning too because of course Sam can pull a smile out of him even in the worst situations.
“Nah, that’s one-hundred percent certified Sam Wilson bullshit. Captain America ain’t got shit to do with your moral fiber.”
Sam manages to look both pissed and pleased at the same time.
He taps at the keypad near the door, and for a moment, Bucky’s heart stops, but the door doesn’t open and he doesn’t get to walk out. He wondered, in that split-second, whether Sam managed to talk some sense into Fury but apparently not. Instead, the little chute meant for feeding him opens up. Sam sets a neatly wrapped, delicious-smelling package on the tray.
Bucky doesn’t take it, keeping his eye on Sam.
“C’mon, man, I wouldn’t poison you.”
“Yeah, no shit.” Bucky rolls his eyes. “I trust you, but not the assholes who put me in here.”
Sam keeps smiling but his eyes tighten at the corner, a sure sign of anger. Sam’s not prone to losing his temper, but Bucky is his friend and well, he wasn’t kidding about that moral fiber.
“They didn’t touch it,” Sam promises. “It’s a fucking burger. Not much I can do with it.”
“I dunno, I was hoping you’d snuck in an EMP.”
But he takes the burger and all but inhales it, all the while Sam watches with a half-concerned, half-disgusted expression on his face. His voice is grave when he asks, “They didn’t feed you?”
“They tried. Some formless nutrient goop. I didn’t touch it.”
“Don’t blame you,” Sam mutters. He nods at Bucky’s arm. “Is that…?”
“Yep.” Bucky smiles, grim and humorless. “I’m getting the VIP treatment. Surprised they let you in, really.”
“They weren’t happy about it. What the hell though. This is fucked up.”
“Tell me about it. So why are you here? They sent Sharon in, told her to talk sense into me.”
He’s pretty sure she’s the one who told Sam too. They’re closer to each other than to Bucky, and damn if S.H.I.E.L.D’s confidentiality policy would stop either of them from gossiping like teenagers.
“That’s an exercise in futility if there ever was one. Nah. I just wanted to see you were okay.”
“I am. Well, I’m not hurt. And I doubt they’ll try to change that. I’m not happy, but,” Bucky shrugs, “it’s my fault, really. Should have called in my resignation from another continent.”
That’s what Sam did, more or less. Announced, to cameras shoved in his face after a very public mess in Poland, that he was giving up the title. Not much S.H.I.E.L.D or anyone else could do after that. Sam’s contract was up anyway. All he had to do was not renew it.
The reference pulls a smirk out of Sam which gentles into a smile. Bucky smiles back, realizing how much better he’s feeling with Sam here. He’d like him to stay, he really would, but–
“They can’t just keep you here,” Sam says before Bucky can speak. “You haven’t done anything wrong.”
Well, he has. That leave of absence sure as fuck didn’t get into S.H.I.E.L.D’s systems legitimately. But Bucky being in this cell is proof enough that trying the legitimate route wouldn’t have worked out either. Maybe if he were, as Steve once put it, not one of S.H.I.E.L.D’s most valuable assets, and if Fury didn’t take Steve’s continued defiance of him personally, he’d be able to just leave.
As it is, well, desperate times and all that.
“You’re right, Sam. They can’t. But you can’t fight them on this, and you shouldn’t try. I’m glad you visited, I really am, but you should go home.” Sam narrows his eyes, gearing up to protest, and Bucky hurries to speak over him. “Not that I mind your company, but being in a cell doesn’t make me very chatty.”
Sam keeps frowning at him, eyes intent like he’s trying to figure Bucky out. Bucky tries to pull an innocent face and grimaces when that just makes Sam more suspicious.
He hates lying to his friends.
“Sam,” Bucky hisses, a little desperate. “Just leave, man.”
Too late.
The lights start flashing red and the sirens wail, those only last for two seconds before everything goes dark and quiet.
-
“Tony Stark?”
Bucky doesn’t intend it as a question; well, he does, but it’s not the man’s identity he’s questioning, it’s the situation that has placed the two of them in this room. Because Tony Stark, what the fuck?
The man in question blinks at Bucky with eyes that are bloodshot and slightly manic.
“Yes? Were you calling me or just whispering my name in helpless adulation?”
Bucky walks backwards until he hits a brick wall that promptly slides its arms around him.
“Steve?” he says without taking his eyes off Stark. “Why is Tony Stark in this room?”
Stark perks up at that, eyeing Bucky with an expression he’s not strictly comfortable with, especially when it lingers for a generous amount of time on his metal arm. The plates recalibrate threateningly, but that only intensifies Stark’s stare.
“We’ll explain that in a bit,” Steve says, but Stark’s speaking almost before he’s done.
“I am Iron Man.”
It’s a very simple statement. The drama is in how undramatic it is.
Bucky grinds the heel of his right arm against his forehead as if that will stave off the impending metaphorical headache.
“Right. Of course you are. Steve fucking Rogers is alive and also the world’s most effective vigilante. Tony fucking Stark is Iron Man. I want to say nothing will surprise me anymore, but that’s just begging for trouble I cannot fucking handle.”
“I’m sure you can handle it, Buck,” Steve says, the bastard not even hiding his amusement as he herds Bucky towards a chair. “And mind your language.”
“Steve, seriously.”
Bucky notices then that the table at the center of the room is literally round. He’d make some quip about that, but honestly, he’s still processing Tony Stark being Iron Man. Sure, the guy more or less vanished from the social pages – and trashy gossip rags – a decade ago when he handed the company over to Pepper Potts and announced he was going into rehab. But he’s still Tony Stark. Half his company’s new projects are credited to him.
“Now, as for why I’m in the room,” Stark begins, but Steve cuts him off with, “Tony’s our tech guy.”
“I thought Friday was your tech guy. Girl. Person.”
Bucky has just enough time to notice the comically offended look on Stark’s face before someone says, “Not quite, Agent Barnes.”
There’s nothing special about the voice itself. It’s pleasant and markedly Irish. Would be perfectly normal too if it originated from a person instead of from seemingly everywhere in the room.
“Uh.”
“Friday – think of that name in, like, all caps if it helps. She’s my AI. Well, one of them. Her big bro’s busy with other duties so she wrangles the Avengers.”
“Her big bro – you?”
Stark blanches. It’s Friday – FRIDAY? – who replies.
“Certainly not.”
“No, no that’s – I’m more her father than–”
“No,” says the AI.
Stark looks offended again and kinda pitiful, like a kicked puppy.
Steve clears his throat.
“Tony, focus.”
Stark mutters something Bucky can’t make out, but then he straightens in his chair and leans forward, returning to his too-intent examination of Bucky.
“So you’re the guy who lit a fire under dear Cap’s ass.”
“Steve’s not Captain America.”
“He is when you grew up hearing your dad rhapsodize about Cap this, Steve that. Gotta get my little pleasures when I can.”
Bucky sneaks a glance at Steve but finds him staring at Stark with fond exasperation. As if sensing Bucky watching, he turns to him, catches his eye, and winks.
“Ew, no, put that face away, Steve, it’s disgusting.” Tony doesn’t look disgusted, just vaguely thoughtful as he turns to Bucky. He gives him a very obvious once-over. “Not my type but then, finely aged patriotism isn’t my type either. You do you. Don’t make me hear a thing though. That’s worse than finding your parents are fucking.”
There’s just so much to unpack in that one rant that Bucky’s struck speechless. Steve, clearly used to Stark, is quicker to react.
“Tony has known me since he was a kid,” he tells Bucky.
“And he’s directly responsible for half my daddy issues,” Stark quips helpfully.
Bucky abruptly feels like he’s stumbled into a soap opera and has a moment of fear for this future life with the Avengers.
“This is fascinating,” Bucky says before the retort he can see building on Steve’s tongue has a chance to be said. “And I’d love to hear all about it later when I’m not planning to somewhat illegally quit my job to join your merry band of vigilantes.”
That does bring them back on track. Steve even gives him an apologetic look that just makes Bucky grin.
“Speaking of that,” Stark, for maybe the first time, sounds absolutely serious, “why do you want to join the Avengers?”
And this, at least, is easy.
“Steve asked.”
Steve, seated halfway between Bucky and Stark, probably so he can keep an eye on them both easily like the control freak Bucky has discovered he is, shoots Bucky a look that can’t decide whether it’s smitten or disapproving.
The thing is that they’ve had this conversation a hundred times already, and while the end goal is what they both want, they can’t seem to see eye-to-eye on the reasoning. It’s not that Bucky agreed because he’s fucking – dating and god, he’s gotta get used to that – Steve. But he is doing this because of Steve; because Steve read Bucky’s S.H.I.E.L.D file with its long list of the dead and the damned, saw his sins lit up in holographic green, and decided he could help save the world.
That’s a hell of a thing to tell an assassin.
Bucky’s not tortured by his job. He doesn’t think he’s evil. But he is a realist, and he knows he’s no hero. The Avengers are imperfect too, but they’re the closest to heroes that this world has.
Sometimes, Bucky doesn’t know why he ever imagined he’d say no.
Sometimes, he thinks he’s a fucking idiot for saying yes.
But he’s not changing his mind.
He can’t tell any of this to Stark, couldn’t find the words even if he wanted to, but the essence of it, he can share. Bucky’s here because Steve asked. And he’ll stay for as long as he wants him.
Somehow, he’s not surprised when Stark nods easily and accepts the answer.
Bucky grins triumphantly at Steve, who shakes his head but doesn’t bother hiding the quirk of his lips. Bucky’s seized by the overpowering urge to go to him and cover that big, furry face in kisses. He resists because he’s a goddamn professional.
Stark, who’s been ignoring the byplay in favor of doing something on his holopad, absently asks, “So, what does the Terrible Two think of this plan?”
“The terrible – you mean Clint and Natasha?”
“Bingo,” Stark says without sparing Bucky a glance. He almost asks but then decides against it, and a quick look at Steve earns him a shrug and a gesture to go ahead.
“They think it’s a stupid idea and, to quote Clint, ‘you should ghost them the way I did,’ which, okay, I see the appeal. But no. S.H.I.E.L.D, whatever its faults, gave me purpose when the army chewed me up and spat me out. Fury can be a right ass, but he means well. Least I can do is tell him what I’m doing to his face.”
Stark looks up suddenly, eyes sharp despite the bags of exhaustion under them.
“And if that blows up in your face?”
Bucky shrugs, and his shoulders don’t lose their stiff tension, but he does keep his voice even.
“Then all of you get to tell me I told you so. Except you, Steve.”
“It’s your decision, Buck,” Steve tells him, same as before.
He doesn’t like the plan either, doesn’t like that it puts Bucky at risk. But Bucky can also see that there’s a part of him that admires the sheer gall of it. And he thinks, though he hasn’t yet mustered the nerve to present this particular theory to Steve, that the man who jumped from a plane flown by a civilian engineer into enemy territory for an unsanctioned rescue mission just because it was the right thing to do – he thinks that man is the part of Steve that appreciates why Bucky wants to do this.
Of course, that stunt changed Captain America from a dancing fool and turned him into a weapon of war. Bucky’s action won’t have such dramatic returns. But it’s what he plans to do.
“Of course you’d say that,” Stark mutters. “It’s what your star-spangled ass would do.”
“Language, Tony,” Steve corrects mildly, remaining impassive in the face of the twin judgmental stares that find him. Bucky’s so fond of him, it’s hard to breathe sometimes.
It’s what he plans to do. But he’s not going into it blind and he’s not going to believe in S.H.I.E.L.D’s goodwill to get him out of it alive. That’s why they’re here, and that’s why Tony’s here, and as the three of them settle into planning what is, technically, treachery, Bucky can’t stop probing at himself for guilt or shame or even fear.
But what he finds is hard-edged conviction and the memory of Steve’s smile when Bucky gave him an answer.
-
It’s Bucky’s turn to take a leap of faith.
-
“Man, what the hell?” Sam says into the sudden darkness.
It’s pitch black; emergency lights should have been activated by now, unless something is specifically preventing it. Bucky half-expects guards to rush to his cell, but he knows how S.H.I.E.L.D works. He’s only a prisoner of convenience and low-priority. These cells are designed to hold without power, but they can’t survive a strong and calculated attack from the outside.
“Sam,” Bucky sighs. “I guess it’s too late to tell you to leave. Safer to stay now.”
“It is,” says a voice that doesn’t belong to either of them but makes Bucky’s heart fucking sing. “Nice to meet you, Sam Wilson.”
Sam’s understandably silent and prepared for an attack, if Bucky knows him at all.
“Guys, don’t fight,” Bucky warns, almost flat against the glass now. “Steve, come on.”
“Steve?” Sam asks the same time one of the overhead lights flicker to life.
Bucky saw Steve the night before Sharon’s appointment. They kissed and fucked and spent hours just lying in bed, trading stories in the dark because neither of them could sleep.
It shouldn’t hit him this hard, seeing Steve here, but it does.
And god, what a sight he makes. He’s not wearing his usual suit. This one’s darker, the star at the center a mere impression set into a drab striped pattern. His sleeves end halfway, revealing muscled forearms peppered with fine grey hairs.
Bucky wants to fucking sit on his dick right there.
He says as much.
There’s a brief, stunned silence.
“What the fuck,” Sam says, softly but with great feeling.
“Buck,” Steve huffs through a laugh. “Don’t have an off-mode, do you, sweetheart?”
He’s doing something to the door, while Sam watches warily but does not interrupt. Bucky doesn’t miss how his eyes are bug-eyed as they rest on the shield – a polished grey that Steve told him is the original color, sans any patriotic paint – strapped to Steve’s back. Even without the iconic red, white, and blue, it’s not hard to put the pieces together, at least for Sam who grew up on Captain America comics and ended up being Captain America in his thirties. Sam’s seen it before, but no one suspected the shield-wielding man in the Avengers to be Steve Rogers himself after all. Well, no one but conspiracy theorists in deep corners of the internet. Sam even had his own star-spangled shield, and now Sharon’s got it, but they’re replicas – effective and lethal, but not made of fucking vibranium and more of a symbol than the Captains’ primary weapon.
“You know I don’t,” Bucky answers absently, eyes on Sam who in turn is peering intently at Steve’s face as if mentally erasing the beard, subtracting a few decades, and adding a little blonde.
“I know,” Steve says fondly and takes a long step back. Sam starts but holds his position.
The door kinda…melts. Bucky steps out delicately, careful not to burn his shoes.
Then he kisses Steve right on the mouth, hard and fierce.
“Sam,” he pants when he pulls back, “this is my boyfriend, Steve. Steve, my friend, Sam.”
Steve nods at him. Sam nods back. It would be very casual and civilized except for aura of danger radiating off Steve and the wide-eyed expression on Sam’s face.
“It’s good to meet you, Sam. I’ve heard good things about you. But Bucky and I gotta leave now. That going to be a problem?”
“Sam, hey,” Bucky hurries to explain. “This was planned. I didn’t intend to stay in a cell till Fury saw sense.”
“I can see that,” Sam says after a beat, and he’s calm now, dark eyes assessing. He gives Bucky a long, hard look before his gaze flits to Steve. “No. No trouble. Would have liked to meet you under better circumstances, but I’m used to this kind of shit. Go, before someone comes.”
“One moment,” Steve says, reaching behind him to pull out, from god knows where, a contraption that Bucky recognizes with a flare of delighted relief. “Buck, can I help?”
“Yes, makes this faster.”
It only takes a few seconds for them to strap Bucky’s metal arm securely to his chest, where it won’t dangle at his side and wreak holy havoc on his back muscles and spine when they run. He kisses Steve again, has to, and isn’t even bothered by Sam’s audibly exasperated cursing in the background.
“Guys, go,” Sam snaps.
Steve shoots him a sharp salute, and Bucky half-loses it at Sam’s expression.
“Bye, Sam!”
They book it out of there.
Bucky takes the gun Steve offers him gratefully. He doesn’t check whether it’s a tranq; he knows.
They do encounter a few agents along the way, but they’re taken down easily between the two of them. He’s never seen Steve shoot before, never even imagined it because in his head, everything about Steve in action is tied to that shield. But it’s a hell of a sight, and yeah, he really doesn’t have an off-mode, not with Steve.
“What did you guys do?” Bucky asks once they make it to the elevator without being swarmed like he half-expected.
“Not a lot,” Steve says, a little too lightly for Bucky to believe him. Steve’s expression, set in a hard grin that’s as arousing as terrifying, doesn’t help. He catches Bucky looking and his expression softens. “Hey, kid. You okay?”
“I’m fine.” Bucky tries to roll his eyes, but he’s too pleased to really pull it off. “I knew you’d come.”
“Of course, Buck. I told you. We take care of our own.”
“No. You told me you take care of what’s yours.”
Steve’s eyes darken, and it’s probably one hell of a liability, the way they get to each other, but it’s nothing Bucky’s ever felt before and he’s hungry for it, hoarding each intense flash of feeling and its mirror in Steve’s eyes.
“I do,” Steve growls, and if they were alone, they’d be on each other, but they’re breaking out of fucking S.H.I.E.L.D so they gotta keep it in their pants.
The elevator opens to a floor that’s just a little on fire.
“Uh, Steve?”
“It’s fine, come on.”
His heart pounding in his ears isn’t enough to block out the sound of something that’s suspiciously similar to repulsor blasts.
“Is S – Iron Man here?”
“He insisted,” Steve says, not even out of breath as they sprint full-speed down an empty corridor. “He won’t do harm. Just cause some mayhem.”
“I’d normally frown upon that kinda thing at my workplace, but y’know, being locked up like that has done wonders for my perspective. S.H.I.E.L.D can suck my dick.”
“I’ll suck your dick,” Steve says happily, coming to an abrupt halt. Bucky follows suit less gracefully. “And this isn’t your workplace anymore. You ready to jump out a window with me, kid?”
“Guess that’s one way to drive home my resignation. Sure, why not?”
Steve doesn’t look at him, canvassing the area for hostiles. But he does clamp one tree trunk of an arm on Bucky’s shoulder.
“Trust me, Bucky.”
“You know I do.”
“Then come.”
And then he’s running again, across an open office space, and Bucky’s right at his heels, even when the supposedly bulletproof but currently shattered set of windows making up one wall loom closer and closer.
Steve doesn’t stop, just barrels right through and into the open air.
Bucky’s animal brain screeches in fear, but the rest of him is ready and willing to follow Steve into hell.
And so he does.
His hits the ground with his left shoulder, which hurts a lot less than it would have if it wasn’t strapped down. It still hurts a hell of a lot. Bucky blinks the pain out of his vision and looks to his side, where Steve’s scrambling to his feet with a grimace of his own. He extends a hand to Bucky who grabs it gratefully and lets Steve yank him to his feet.
“Ow,” he says with feeling, and then, “Woah.”
They’re in the Iron Maiden, and Bucky sees just a sliver of the slightly smoking S.H.I.E.L.D building before the door seals shut.
“Tell me we didn’t jump out of a 30th floor window and just happened to fall in here.”
“Such faith, James.” It’s Natasha, standing behind them, dressed in her gear. She’s smirking. “Clint’s at the controls. We didn’t happen to be anywhere.”
Bucky assumed as much, but still. What the fuck?
“You’re all crazy,” he says and doesn’t bother hiding his admiration.
“You’ll fit right in, won’t you?” she says before sauntering off, punching Steve lightly in the bicep as she does.
“You will, you know,” Steve says in her wake. When Bucky turns to him, he’s looking at Bucky with gentle concern.
“I know I will.” He leans up for a kiss, delighted when Steve meets him halfway. “I’m here, aren’t I?”
They stand there, exchanging lazy kisses as the Iron Maiden flies – well, not home, not yet, but a place that can be home, if Bucky will let it.
He intends to.
-
“Wait,” he gasps several minutes later, stiffening up in Steve’s lap. “What about Stark?”
Steve waves a dismissive hand.
“Tony will make his own way home. Apparently, he’s not done having fun yet.”
“But–”
“It’s okay, Buck. Don’t worry. S.H.I.E.L.D won’t get him.”
“If you’re sure,” Bucky says dubiously, a little distracted by Steve’s kiss-swollen mouth.
“I’m sure.”
The hand curved around his nape tugs him forward, and Bucky’s helpless to resist.
-
Bucky spends ten hours as a very disgruntled patient in Base Three’s infirmary. Steve, bless him, keeps him company until Stark and a woman who introduces herself as Helen Cho bustles in and kicks him out.
Well, it’s more that Stark says, “Fury’s on the line with some very creative threats that Widow’s having way too much fun countering, fucking get that under control before he tries to nuke us,” and Dr. Cho says something about patient confidentiality, and Bucky makes reassuring eyes at him through the pleasant fog of consensually administered anesthesia – but Steve goes.
He’s not there when Bucky wakes the first time, sees the empty metal cap where his left arm should be, forgets everything Stark and Cho told him, and panics until he passes out again.
Next time, Steve is there, seated on a chair that must be hell on his old-man back and holding Bucky’s hand like an absolute sweetheart.
Bucky’s heart does a Thing.
He must make some lovestruck noise because Steve’s eyes fly to his face. They’re wary and intent, but whatever he sees on Bucky’s face makes him relax visibly. He smiles one of those eye-crinkling smiles, and Bucky honest-to-god sighs.
“Hey, kid,” Steve murmurs, leaning in and cupping Bucky’s face with one huge palm that blocks out the world.
“Hey,” Bucky garbles back, probably with hearts in his eyes.
“How you feeling?”
“Good. Really good.” All that happened filters back into his conscious mind, and he looks at his left side. His arm’s back. Except, no, not exactly. “It looks the same.”
“It does. Stark liked the aesthetic of the original, and you told him you did too, remember? The insides are all different though. More efficient. They’ll still need to put you under to work on it without causing pain, but minor repairs should be easier now. The old one, Bucky, the electrical charges inside, do you–”
His brain’s a little foggy, but he remembers, very clearly, what Steve’s talking about.
“I didn’t know, no. Pretty sure they weren’t there originally. Probably added them as a contingency for – well, exactly this.”
Steve’s expression shutters for a moment, but there’s a set to his jaw that Bucky identifies as sheer rage. But what he says is, “I’m sorry, Buck.”
“Hmm? Why?”
“I shouldn’t have let you go in there. We knew this might happen and yet–”
“No, no, fuck, I’m gonna stop you right there. Help me sit.”
“Buck–”
“Steve.”
Steve frowns but slides his arm under Bucky and raises him up, easy and gentle. He even arranges the pillows behind Bucky so he can lean back against them comfortably. It’s when Steve pulls back that Bucky notices what he’s wearing.
“Hello,” he leers, and Steve just blinks at him for a second before comprehension dawns.
“You really like this uniform, huh?”
“Fuck yeah. Where has it been all my life? Combat suit?”
“Yep.”
“Goddamn. I don’t think I can physically do it right now, but if I could, I’d walk my talk and sit on your dick this instant.”
It still makes him fiercely proud to see those words hit Steve. Bucky revels in the closed eyes and hissed breath. The kiss Steve presses to his mouth stays soft and undemanding, but Bucky’s blood sings to feel the violent need brimming under the tenderness.
“You’ll make good on that promise, sweetheart,” Steve murmurs before he pulls away.
“I will,” Bucky agrees dazedly.
They stare dopily at each other for a few moments before Bucky remembers why he went to the trouble of sitting up in the first place.
“Steve. You know it wasn’t your fault. I knew this might happen too, but I went anyway. It was my choice. And I don’t regret it. They didn’t hurt me–” He sees the storm brewing in Steve’s eyes and hurries to add, “Okay, the arm was a dick move, and I’d punch Fury for that. But if S.H.I.E.L.D wanted to really harm me, they’d have done a lot worse than lock me up in a temporary cell and leave me to stew. I’m pretty sure they were just keeping me until, I don’t know, I changed my mind or Fury traced the doc Stark put in their system and brought the wrath of S.H.I.E.L.D Legal down on my head. And fuck all this, even if they’d really tried to hurt me, I wouldn’t have been scared. You know why?”
Steve looks like he has an inkling of the answer, but he dutifully asks, “Why?”
“Because I knew you’d come for me.”
Steve says nothing, but his hands bracket Bucky’s face and hold him so gently it hurts, and that says enough.
Bucky manages to let Steve cradle his flaming face and make moon-eyes at him for a few minutes before the squirming in his insides get too much. He breaks away with a shy smile he can’t hide and tries to save his composure by focusing on his new arm.
A quick visual examination makes it seem much like his old one, except for one glaring new detail.
“This Stark’s idea?” Bucky asks, raising a brow at the black, stylized A painted on the bicep. It’s the Avengers symbol, but what’s notable is that it’s nestled inside a very familiar white star.
Steve sighs.
“Yes. I tried to talk him out of it or ask you first. He said he would but, well. He’s Tony.”
“You know, I get that, and I barely know the guy.” He turns to shoot Steve a grin that almost falters at the caution clear in his expression. “Aw, Steve. C’mon. I quit my job for you. Bearing your star on my shoulder ain’t where I draw the line.”
“I doubt it’s even my star at this point but try telling Tony that.”
Bucky reaches out and strokes Steve’s beard, shivering to feel the bristles on his palm.
“It’s yours, as far as I’m concerned. This one, on my shoulder. It’s yours, Steve.”
I’m yours, he doesn’t say, but he thinks the sentiment comes across loud and clear.
Steve covers Bucky’s hand with his own, leaning his face into their joined palms.
“Yeah. Yeah, I know. Me too, Buck.”
-
“You sure about this?” he asks Steve, trying to keep his thirst at bay and act professional. “You never go out on missions.”
Steve raises an eyebrow at Bucky without even pausing in pulling on his uniform, the combat one that is easy as hell on Bucky’s eyes but hard as hell a little further south, literally.
“Okay, fine, you came to rescue me, but you’re always on command otherwise!”
“Do you not want me to go with you?”
“No!” Bucky rubs a hand over his face like that’ll douse the heat on his cheeks. “I just – worry. Sorry.”
Steve softens a little at that, easing up on the stern-and-ready-to-fuck-you-up aura he’s been projecting since morning. Commander Rogers is, Bucky has discovered, much more chill than Man-on-a-Mission-Rogers.
Bucky goes easily when Steve pulls him close. Their respective suits make it hard to mold together the way they usually do, but Bucky can still tuck his face into Steve’s neck and breathe in the calming scent of him.
“It’s a tradition,” Steve tells him, hooking his chin over Bucky’s head. The angle strains his voice, makes it low and raspy. “New members always go on a two-man run with me once they’re ready.”
“Interesting tradition.”
“I didn’t set out to do it. Did it build trust with Nat, show her I knew she had my back. Same with Clint. Then Tony built that suit, joined us, and wheedled me into a run. After that, it sort of kept happening. Now it’s tradition.” Steve leans back and tips Bucky’s face up, thumb coming to rest at the corner of his mouth. “Can’t fuck with tradition, Buck.”
“God forbid,” Bucky says drily. “I’m not – I want to, you know. And I saw the footage of you fighting the Chitauri. You ain’t as rusty as the S.H.I.E.L.D file on you hopes.”
“I am old. Not as strong as I used to be.” Steve grins, and it’s not forced. He doesn’t seem resentful about the passage of time through his serum-laced body. “But don’t count me out of the game yet, kiddo.”
This time, Bucky flushes for a whole other reason.
“I wouldn’t dare,” he says dreamily and cuts off Steve’s laugh with a kiss.
And of course, Steve turns out to be right.
Their mission is a terrorist cell, this time, and Bucky’s got both live and tranquilizer rounds. On the ground, Steve’s following the same policy; non-lethal force when possible but death is on the cards. It’s a hell of an experience to have him in Bucky’s crosshairs, shield in one hand and bloodied knuckles on the other.
He looks like an angel of war.
Bucky’s worked with most of the other Avengers by now; his favorite so far is Wanda with her well-earned moniker of witch. Watching her powers at work still rouses a sense of childlike wonder in him, the kind he hasn’t felt since he was a kid hoarding an eclectic mix of grimdark fairytales and outrageous science fiction.
But this, watching Steve systematically punch his way through their enemies with a grin that’s almost feral – that’s a whole other sort of wonder.
Bucky loses his tenuous hold on self-restraint all too soon and joins Steve on the ground, and then it’s better and worse, the two of them falling into place like two pieces of a puzzle – like fate, like they’re written in the stars.
-
Bucky waits until they’re back on the base and in Steve’s room before trying to climb him like a tree.
Steve, expecting it, barely stumbles when Bucky slams into him. Hoists him up like he’s nothing and slams him into a wall, biting Bucky’s grunt off his lips and licking into his mouth with the taste of blood on his tongue.
Bucky fucking writhes against him, wrapped around Steve like a koala and bursting with faith in the strong arms holding him up. They kiss until Bucky’s panting for breath and his dick feels raw from being strangled by his tac pants.
“You’re worked up,” Steve says, breathing hard and fucking beautiful. “Watching me fight do it for you, son?”
“You know it did,” Bucky says, swatting at Steve until he’s put down. He sets to stripping without preamble, grateful that he disarmed on the Iron Maiden itself because the way he’s yanking at his gear, he’d stab himself if he had his usual arsenal strapped to him.
Steve starts to do the same, but Bucky stops him with a protesting yelp.
“Keep it on, I’ve got plans for that suit.”
Steve remembers, of course he fucking remembers, and he’s crowding Bucky back against the wall with a growl, hands suddenly everywhere, and Bucky just gives himself over to be kissed and groped and stripped out of the rest of his suit by warm, demanding hands.
“Look at you,” Steve says once he’s got Bucky naked and pinned. “Could just eat you up, sweetheart.”
Doesn’t matter how often Steve says it, it still goes straight to Bucky’s hindbrain, gets him trembling and desperate.
“Steve,” he whimpers, begging for something, anything.
“Ssh, I know.” Steve kisses him, faint, fluttery kisses on his mouth and jaw and cheeks and eyes. “Turn around.”
He doesn’t wait for Bucky to coordinate his boneless limbs and turn. Just grabs him by the shoulders and whips him around, leading his arms to brace on the wall. Bucky swears when Steve grabs his hips and yanks them back, hands sliding smoothly to his ass to spread them.
“Pretty and eager,” he croons, pressing a thumb against Bucky’s hole. “Can’t wait to get fucked full, can you, kid?”
“You know I can’t,” Bucky whines, high and shameless. He thrusts his ass further out, biting his lips when Steve squeezes the cheeks hard. “Sir, please, c’mon.”
“Patience,” Steve warns, but he doesn’t make Bucky wait. A moment later, there’s warm breath brushing his ass and Steve’s spreading him wider. Bucky holds his breath in anticipation, but the first touch of Steve’s beard to his skin still pulls a gasp out of him. It devolves into a high-pitched moan when Steve presses his face between Bucky’s cheeks, opening him wider with intent.
His legs are shaking already, and Bucky’s not sure he can survive what’s coming.
Steve doesn’t ease him into it. Not teasing nips or sweet kisses. He just fucking goes for it, licking a broad stripe along Bucky’s hole and tracing his tongue around the rim, getting him wet and sloppy in a matter of seconds, then pushing further. His tongue slides in, Steve’s mouth open and hot around his hole, and Bucky fucking wails.
There are slick, dirty noises coming from below, and it’s too much, all of it, and he wants to look over his shoulder and see, but he’s not that strong a soul. No one’s made to survive Steve Rogers with his face buried in their ass, but damn if Bucky minds dying like this.
Steve eats him out until Bucky’s shuddering all over and begging senselessly. He takes his sweet time pulling back, kissing him there like it’s Bucky’s mouth he’s licking into and sucking bruises down the slope of his thighs before finally rising. Bucky’s knees buckle without Steve to keep him steady, but he doesn’t hit the ground; he’s swept up, instead, and carried right to Steve’s bed, dumped on it like he’s a simpering maiden about to be ravished by some big brute.
And sweet fuck, there’s an image.
Steve looms over him, peering down at Bucky with dark eyes and red, red lips. Bucky hole throbs at the sight, wet and empty, and he reaches for Steve desperately. Steve’s got him though, Steve’s always got him, and Bucky’s cradled and kissed and wrestled into his lap in just a few, frenzied moments. He braces his hands on Steve’s shoulders and rises to his knees, still feeling exquisitely weak all over but determined to do this.
“Said I’d sit on your dick,” he tells Steve, taking his face between his hands and getting a little distracted by that beard and those lips and – and everything. He kisses him, once and again, then again, before tearing his mouth away with effort. “C’mon, sir, gimme.”
“We’re pushy today,” Steve says indulgently, hands already working on his pants.
Bucky watches hungrily and moans when Steve pulls his cock out. It’s hard already, flushed a mouth-watering red, but Bucky’s got his priorities this time.
Steve hands him something, and it takes Bucky a moment to tear his eyes off Steve’s dick and look at it. It’s lube, and when he turns to Steve, he finds him leaning back in the wall, the very picture of relaxation.
“Get to work, Buck,” he orders, crooked grin tugging at Bucky’s gut. “I’ll watch.”
Bucky ducks his face, intensely aware of Steve’s eyes as he wets his fingers and reaches behind himself. Steve’s mouth already loosened him up some, and it’s easy enough to slide in a couple of digits and fuck into himself, harsh and a little violent, the way he likes it. He teases himself with glancing touches to his prostate and adds another finger. It’s better, the friction more satisfying, but it’s not enough. Nothing will be until Steve’s in so deep that Bucky can barely breathe around him.
He finishes the prep, eager for Steve, but when he tries to position himself, Steve stops him, taking him by the hips and keeping him right where he is.
“Sir,” Bucky whines, laughing the next moment when Steve flicks his forehead.
“Behave, brat.”
Bucky does, staying where Steve put him even when he’s all but vibrating out of his skin when Steve’s hands take a slow, groping detour to Bucky’s ass.
“Gotta make sure,” Steve says, lust-bright eyes not once leaving Bucky’s face. “Can’t have my boy hurt himself, can I?”
“Sir,” Bucky gasps, a shiver seizing him. “But I did good.”
Steve hums noncommittally, but Bucky chokes on his next protest when Steve slides in with two fingers and fucking spreads them, knuckles grinding against the rim. Bucky digs his fingers into Steve’s arms and arches his back, panting as he fights not to ride Steve’s hand.
“Yeah,” Steve breathes. He’s smiling, dark and promising. “You did good, Buck.”
“Told you,” Bucky says, pleased and petulant. “Can I please ride you, sir?”
“Now he’s polite,” Steve murmurs as he leans back, waving one hand in permission. The absolute fucker. Bucky’s so gone on him.
Steve’s silky soft and so hot in his flesh hand, and Bucky can’t resist giving it a sweet stroke or two. Fluid beads at the tip in response and he catches it on his thumb before raising it to his mouth and sucking, holding Steve’s gaze as he does.
“Kid,” Steve growls. “Get to it before I bend you in half and have my way till you scream.”
Bucky shudders, a wounded noise punched out of him. Fuck, he wants that, but he wants this too, and it gets him moving, sinking down on Steve’s cock. Doesn’t matter how many times he takes it, he’s breathless and straining every time, stretched wide around the sheer girth and gutted by the way it goes deep and deeper and keeps fucking going.
He's got one hand pressed against his stomach by the time he’s seated on Steve’s lap, and he knows he can’t, but he still thinks he should be able to feel Steve bulge out there with how deep he is in Bucky.
“Sweetheart,” Steve whispers, stroking Bucky’s hair out of his face. “You good?”
“S’always good, with you,” Bucky says honestly, slurring a little. “Just – gimme a sec.”
Steve nuzzles at him, and Bucky shamelessly rubs his face against his beard. He’s never going to tire of that, and as far as he’s concerned, beard burn on his ass is a bonus. He’ll be reminded, every fucking moment for days, of the things Steve did to him.
He starts moving, impatient to feel it, the burn inside and the wet-hot slide of Steve’s cock. He doesn’t take it easy, and Steve doesn’t make him, watching with hungry eyes as Bucky builds himself up into a frenzy, bouncing up and down Steve’s lap with tight, desperate cries spilling from his lips. Steve slips out, once, and Bucky scrambles to get him back inside, throwing his head back to scream when Steve jerks his hips up and fucks all the way into Bucky on one, savage thrust.
“God,” Bucky sobs. “Again, again, please–”
And Steve gives it to him, fucking up while Bucky drives down, their bodies meeting with slick slaps of controlled violence. Steve tugs Bucky forward into his torso, tucking him against him, and Bucky goes with it sweetly, letting Steve hold and take over the work. The hand not holding Bucky to him creeps down to grab one cheek and spread him wide, and Bucky doesn’t need to hear Steve’s bitten-off curse to know he’s watching over Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky tries to imagine it, his ass bouncing with the force of their fucking, Steve’s dick vanishing between his cheeks, and it’s too much to picture, drives him fucking crazy and gets him squirming like that will coax Steve in deeper.
Steve’s murmuring in his ear, a coarse, wrecked litany of Bucky’s name and sweet nonsense, and he doesn’t stop thrusting, goes at it faster, making Bucky rock in his lap, held in place only by Steve’s strength.
“Touch yourself,” Steve orders, voice hoarse in a telling way. “Want you to come on my cock.”
Bucky’s obeying blindly before the words are all the way out. The slide of cool metal on his dick makes him hiss, but the likes the sensation of it, the shock of the touch settling into dizzying pleasure. It doesn’t take much, just a few, rough pulls and a flick at the head for him to come, making a mess on his skin and Steve’s suit.
He'd apologize, but he doesn’t have the breath for it, and Steve doesn’t care, groaning fitfully and speeding up, fucking Bucky raw as he chases his climax. Bucky tries to clench around him, head spinning from oversensitivity, and fuck but he loves this part, the way he’s barely clinging to sense while Steve takes what he needs.
The burst of heat inside him rips another cry out of him, weak and guttural. Steve echoes it, panting praises into Bucky’s ear as his hips jerk erratically through his orgasm.
He slips out, soft and with come trailing in his wake. Bucky shivers at the sticky warmth of it and tries to clench up, keep all of Steve inside of him.
They catch their breaths like that, Steve slumped against the wall and Bucky collapsed on him. They manage, after a while, to wrangle their soupy limbs and lie down properly, all tangled up. There’s nowhere Bucky feels as safe as he does in Steve’s arms, and it should be a at least a little terrifying, that epiphany, but it’s only comforting when he has Steve octopused around him, breathing into his hair.
“I think I love you,” Bucky says. Doesn’t mean to, sure as fuck doesn’t plan to, but he does, and it’s out there, and oddly enough, he doesn’t tense up, doesn’t flare up in fear. His heart’s racing, but anticipation is a hell of a drug.
“Yeah?” Steve murmurs, dragging his mouth out of Bucky’s hair to press to his temple. “Not the sex talking?”
“Don’t insult me, Steve,” Bucky says calmly, like his heart isn’t in his throat.
“Wouldn’t dare, sweetheart. I love you too. Always knew I’d end up here. Was hoping you would too.”
“Sap,” Bucky accuses, not quite keeping his delight out of his voice.
“Your sap.”
Bucky presses his face to Steve’s neck to stifle a jubilant cry. He doesn’t quite manage it, but the trembling keen he lets slip just makes Steve’s arms tighten around him and his mouth curve into a smile against Bucky’s forehead.
“Mine,” Bucky agrees, hopelessly in love with the way his mouth shapes those sounds.