Archive of Our Own ^beta

It was only because he had sold all the pin-up magazines to the boys on the base, he would tell himself. Keeping any for himself would be stupid; he had to save up cash and never eat from your own supply, he reassured himself, ignoring the case of candy and booze under his bed.

The poster on the wall next to him was obnoxious. Well, the man on the poster was obnoxious. He looked ridiculous in his star-spangled outfit. 

The first time Bucky had seen it, he thought, that’s the last man you want next to you on the frontlines, a huge spectacle, with a star-shaped bullseye on his chest. It was comical.

And as for the man in the outfit? That was a whole different kind of comical. Bucky resented him. Parading around, spewing the glory of war, all while hiding behind a mask and tights.

Those tights. 

The man, ‘Captain America’, as he was known, was too big for them. They stretched thin around his thighs. And what kind of man wears tights? Bucky thought.

But he was the one who couldn’t stop looking at the poster. 

When he was sure the men on base were asleep, and nobody would disturb him, he’d slip the poster out from under his mattress and tack it to the wall next to his bed.

If he squinted, the man’s broad chest and hip-to-waist ratio could pass for a woman’s build, but as nights went on, he started squinting less and less.

Although he didn’t care for the man behind the mask, he could still appreciate his body. 

The way that stupid costume hugged every curve of the man’s body. The smirk that peeked out from under his mask. His hand. His big, stupid hands. 

When he wasn’t not squinting at his poster, his eyes were closed, imagining his hands weren’t his own.

This was one of those nights. 

In the heat of the night, he didn’t even use a sheet. A box fan on the floor was the only relief he found from the fever that consumed him. He wasn’t doing himself any favors by relieving himself from the rising temperature.

His tank top was bunched in a heap at his neck, and he was biting the collar to stifle any sound. His pants might have been somewhere, but right now they were just an obstacle in the way of him and his poster boy. 

Bucky tried to make their brief moments together last, but it was hard when his eyes were so blue and his smirk was so damn condescending. 

Before long, Bucky was sheened with sweat and panting, trying to prolong his release. He was writhing on the mattress, his hips jerked up to meet a body that wasn’t there, but the thought alone, and one more look at the poster, was enough for him.

He never expected to meet the guy. 

The man in the infirmary cot next to him seemed familiar, sure. Bucky thought he was just one of those guys who had an allure that could imitate the likes of a lifelong friend, not the star-spangled man himself. 

The way he spoke, his demeanor, it couldn’t be the same person on his poster. The symbol that he thought had no dignity. Steve Rogers was not like that.

Steve Rogers was undeniable; a powerhouse, with a very mild demeanor. But he was snarky. Bucky didn’t expect that. Steve must’ve liked Bucky, because as soon as his injury subsided, he was sent to be Captain America’s kid sidekick. 

The pair thought it was funny, considering their age gap is a whole two years. Steve only looked so much older because of his …enhancements. In truth, they were both still teenagers.

They became close in those days, inseparable, even. Bucky was one of the lucky few who knew Steve's real identity, and he was grateful. He never would have considered being in a room with The Captain before he met Steve. If not because of politics, then out of sheer embarrassment.

One of the things Bucky didn’t like about Steve is that he looked Like That. Undeniably perfect. A specimen. A well-fit, gorgeous, god of a man. Not because he was jealous, but because, unlike his poster, he couldn’t shove his thoughts about Steve under a mattress. But just like his poster, he was in his room every night.

The worst of it was that Bucky couldn’t risk acting on his feelings, even though the temptation was torture. Now he knows what his poster boy looks like without the tights. Seeing muscle groups he didn’t know existed before. And, god, seeing the waist he spent so many nights pretending to grasp onto, the bare chest he would pretend was his pillow, and those hands.

The first time Steve clasped a hand around Bucky’s shoulder, he felt his stomach flip and his pants tighten. He had to run to their tent to wait it out, still too afraid to relieve himself.

It was another hot summer night. Another box fan was in the center of their tent, doing nothing but blowing hot air around. Both men opted to sleep in their underwear. No doubt they’d both be more comfortable naked, but they opted for this out of respect for the other. But Bucky thought that if he saw Steve fully bare, he would do something stupid enough to get himself dishonorably discharged.

It was late, late enough that it was early, and the morning birds were already singing. Bucky couldn’t get a minute's rest; he kept stealing glances at the other man, looking at the outline of the bulge in his underwear, how it would twitch throughout the night, and how right now, it was at full attention.

Bucky allowed his palm to rest on the outside of his fabric, moving slowly enough to deny all movement if caught. But it wasn't enough. The slow palming became more fervent. Now, thoughts of getting caught didn’t matter; he’d stay sleeping, right? Now, his waistband dipped below his hips, and Bucky was stroking himself greedily, hard and fast. 

He glanced at his poster just as he was reaching his peak, but noticed Steve's position had changed. Bucky met Steve's gaze, and his eyes weren’t closed or squinting, but wide open. 

Bucky tried to pull a sheet over himself, but there wasn’t one to be found. He was exposed.

“Buck-” Steve began, but didn’t get far before Bucky jumped to his explanation.

“It’s not- look, when I was- I used to have a poster of you on my wall, and I would- you looked- it- I’m not- I’m sorry. It was the only thing I could think of, y’know…” Bucky's face turned a shade of red that rivaled the color on the Captain’s suit. All Steve could do was smirk.

“You had my poster?” Bucky’s head was in his hands.

“Well, no. I mean, yes. You were the only poster that was there.” Maybe Bucky should’ve lied? Maybe in this situation, flattery, no matter what kind, wins out over honesty. Steve chuckled.

“What about now that I’m the only person that’s here?” Bucky shook his head in shame, freeing it from his hands. As he looked up at Steve, he saw that Steve still had his erection. And so did Bucky.

Steve pushed himself to his feet and crossed the distance to stand in front of Bucky’s bed.

“What did you like about the poster?” Bucky tried to swallow, but his throat was dry.

“What?” Steve's hand took purchase on the base of his erection, unmoving. “Steve, I don’t..”

“Well, you had to be looking at something, thinking about it, picturing it in your mind?” He was right, but why was he saying all that? Was it a trick? Bucky thought he should just turn around and ignore him, but then he saw his eyes. His big blue eyes that pulled you in and made you forget your inhibitions.

“I liked your body, I wanted to look like that.” That was a safe answer

“Don’t lie to me, Buck.” Not a safe answer. “I know how you feel, tell me what you liked.” His voice was like cream, silky and smooth. Bucky couldn’t deny him anymore.

“Your legs. I liked your thighs, wanted to see them without the tights.” Bucky flinched as he admitted it. His cock jumped as he had to picture it again. He swore he saw Steve's tongue dart out to wet his lips.

“And?” Fuck. How did he know there was more? Steve moved to sit himself at the end of Bucky’s cot.

“Your waist- I wanted to know what it was like to hold onto it. If I were under you, I’d be able to buck up and you’d block the air.”

“Show me.” Steve was moving his hand now. Painfully slowly, but it was moving.

“I don’t-”

“I want to see how you touched yourself when you thought of me.” Well. Captains orders. 

Bucky's hand bolted to grab at his leaking erection as his knees bent and he began to thrust up into nothing. He no doubt looked pathetic, and he had nothing to muffle his whimpers, so he sounded pathetic as well. He felt humiliated, but he couldn’t stop; he didn’t want to.

“What else?” Steve was relentless. He was now free of his underwear, and there was a pearly bead of precome about to fall from his slit.

“You- Your hands. Wanted them everywhere. All over me. I would pretend mine were yours.”

“Is that what you’re picturing now? All Bucky knew how to do was nod. His throat was too preoccupied, choking down cries. Steve smiled at his answer, satisfied. He grabbed Bucky’s waist on either side, stopping the imaginary sensation, and in one swift motion pulled him so that Bucky was directly underneath him. “I knew there was a reason you looked at me like that.” Steve punctuated this statement with a kiss.

Bucky had kissed a lot of girls before, but this was different. Steve was rough and hard. His jaw felt like marble, and his breath was steamy. He smelled and tasted like a salty lake. Bucky was so wrapped up in the kiss he didn’t notice when Steve took both their cocks in his hand.

There was enough precome at first that they slid together smoothly, with much-needed friction, but when that dried, Steve stuck his other hand to Bucky's mouth, and commanded, “Spit.” Bucky obliged to his shock, since the last time he checked, swallowing was impossible.

Steve swapped out his hands, and his pace quickened, holding the two of them together close. With his free hand, he guided Bucky’s arms to keep at his waist, which he took advantage of, trying hard to press their lower bodies together for even more contact.

Bucky wouldn’t be able to last much longer; he never was great at delaying gratification, and now that Steve was so close that he could taste him, he was practically weeping.

But Steve still seemed unfazed; sure, he was panting, his eyes were half-lidded, and he had a glistening, sweaty sheen, but he didn’t look close to his peak. Not like Bucky.

“Stevie- ‘m gonna-” The words were air as he breathed them out, gripping harder onto Steve to steady himself.

“I know, Buck.” And Bucky was gone. Steve kept his grip firm, but bent down to kiss him through his release, whispering praises against his cheek.

The sun was low in the sky and rising around them as they lay in Bucky’s cot. Steve was still at his full length, and Bucky drifted between stages of his erection. They talked about anything they’d usually discuss, all the while, Bucky would absentmindedly play with Steve's cock, testing it. Where were his most sensitive areas? Would his whole body jump if he licked the tip? Can he get Steve to finish even if he moved in slow motion?

“So, you didn’t like the poster?” He asked with the same smirk from the god damned thing.

“It wasn’t that, I didn’t like what I thought it stood for, who I thought you were.” Bucky was proud of his answer, kept to his morals, and did not offend.

“Well, you certainly liked it enough to…” Steve gestured to Bucky, who was piled over Steve's legs, with his head nestled on his stomach next to the patch of coarse dark hair that led down his body. Bucky playfully nipped at his Adonis belt, which made Steve exaggerate a cry of pain. They both ended up laughing.

“Do you wanna… try something else?” Bucky perked up at the offer, nodding. Steve laughed again, softer this time.

“C’mere.” As Bucky crawled up to meet him, Steve grabbed him and effortlessly flipped him onto his back to lie on top of him. They were both still slick from the heat, and it was getting worse as the sun rose, but that was part of Steve’s plan.

“Put your knees apart.” Bucky obliged, and Steve maneuvered his cock into the open space. “Now hold your thighs together, tight.” Bucky knew what Steve was trying to do; he’d done it before with a Christian girl who was waiting for marriage, but thought that thighs didn’t count. Maybe not for her, but it still counted for Bucky.

Bucky began sliding up and down, like he wished that girl would, careful not to lose his grip on Steve.

“Done this before?” Steve sounded breathless, not like Bucky had heard him before, not as in control anymore. “You’re gonna be the death of me, Barnes.” Bucky took that as his sign to move faster, grip tighter, lean his head back, and whisper back the little things Steve had said to him earlier.

They entangled their arms against Bucky’s chest, spreading out their fingers and contracting their muscles until Steve reached his peak and spread his release all over Bucky’s thighs.

It was a lot more than Bucky’s, after being pent up for so long, Steve sighed into Bucky’s ear, and they lay there together, neither felt any urgency to clean up, or get ready for the day.

“Y’know, Buck, I think you’d make one handsome poster boy.”

“Oh, but I would never do that to you, it’d just be unfair.”

They did clean up for the day eventually. They went their separate ways on different assignments for camp, had brief and normal interactions, but neither could wait until they were both in that tent again.

Bucky got there first and spotted a folded paper peeking from under his pillow. It was an incredibly explicit drawing of Bucky in a very compromising position, with a note from Steve scribbled on that said:

“My poster boy”