Archive of Our Own ^beta

One week in the house, and Steve feels like a new person. It’s strange – sometimes, in certain situations, he still finds himself feeling that old dysmorphic dissociation with his body. His old self is doubled over the new one and he overshoots reaching too far for things, steps too short and trips, bumps into people and objects that were in different places for him before. But not sex. He has no prior frame of reference for sex, so when he’s touching Bucky he doesn’t have that split second of readjustment. And after all he thinks he might be glad of it because Bucky has no frame of reference for him either. He doesn’t know what having sex with Steve would have been like before the serum, and so all this, all of Bucky, belongs only to him, right now. It would be unpleasant to feel jealous of his younger self – it’s bad enough that Bucky’s sometimes wistful about never getting to have that Steve.

New York has gone from brightly blue to sullen with cold rain, and when the roof leaked they crawled up and put some tarp over it in the middle of the night, came in drenched and shivering, and spent the rest of the night bundled in a blanket on the new sofa, watching the rain through the tall windows and having what Steve is assured is really a very astonishing amount of sex.

“No, this is definitely not normal,” Bucky says when he asks. “I think even when I was thirteen I didn’t do it this much. It’s gotta be the serum.”

“Don’t tell the doctors,” Steve says, mortified. In the early days it seemed like every doctor who met him wanted to know how his sex life had been affected, and it wasn’t until he started walking out of the room the moment they asked that they finally stopped begging for samples of his sperm.

“They’d try to observe us,” Bucky agrees. “We probably heal even faster. I bet someone could shoot me while I’m giving you a blowjob and I’d be fine.”

What Bucky seems to love best is startling Steve in the middle of reading, or drawing, or occasionally even eating, by getting into his lap and kissing him senseless. He'll do it for as long as Steve lets him, just kissing and grinding down against his cock and moaning into his mouth, until Steve really can't take it anymore and pulls away. Today, for example, it's nearly an hour of Bucky straddling him and rocking his hips, fingers stroking through his hair, before Steve stops him. Bucky follows with his lips, trying to kiss again, but Steve puts a hand on his chest to hold him steady.

“God, you’re so worked up,” he says.

"Told you I liked petting," Bucky says, smiling down at him sleepily. His eyes are glassy, lips puffy and red. Steve slides a hand down to the thick outline of his cock and thumbs at the head of it through his jeans, making a wet spot on the fabric.

"I guess you do," Steve says, rubbing at the wet spot, making it bigger, until he’s just circling his thumb under the head of Bucky’s cock through his jeans. Bucky has to keep himself sitting upright with shaking arms, and Steve doesn’t stop, relentlessly stroking him and pushing him closer, closer, until the wet spot is spread all the way across his fly. He’s starting to lose control, his gasps coming louder and ending in urgent little rising moans, when Steve stops and murmurs, “Do you want to come?”

Bucky pants for a few seconds, eyes closed, before he shakes his head. “I want you to fuck me,” he says, and Steve groans and helplessly pushes up against him, rubbing against his ass. On the third day – maybe the second, but he’s pretty sure it was the third because they ran out of food and actually had to go out of the house, and he was so sweaty and nervous about buying lube that Bucky had to do it for him – Bucky grabbed his hand and said put your fingers in me, please, I’m about to – god, god – and the instant Steve pressed two fingers inside him Bucky went off so hard he grabbed the leg of the new coffee table and shattered it.

Since then Bucky hasn’t asked for it again, and instead has focused on Steve. And god knows he's enjoyed it – all Bucky has to do now is look at him and he’s practically scrambling to lie facedown on the bed, hands above his head, desperate to be pinned there by Bucky’s metal hand and pounded through the mattress – but he wants to get Bucky like he was that first time, completely wrecked and useless enough that Steve had to haul him up and half-drag him into the shower.

The bedroom is a disaster area – clothes strewn everywhere, bed unmade, broken lamp set carefully in the corner where neither of them will step on it – and Steve supposes it’s a sign of how far gone he is that he doesn’t even have the urge to tidy it up. That can happen later. Much, much later. All he cares about is finding the lube, which he eventually locates under the bunched-up covers near the foot of the bed. After they strip down, Steve sits on the bed with his legs sprawled out, waiting for Bucky to lie down beside him. Bucky runs a hand up the inside of his thigh, gives him a grin, and says, “Stay right there, I want to ride you,” and Steve moans and feels himself flush all the way down to his stomach, hips twitching upward as Bucky climbs into his lap again.

At first, he wants to go slow, to explore a little, one finger brushing against Bucky’s entrance while his thumb rubs over the back of his balls, but Bucky wraps a hand around the base of his cock and says unsteadily, “I can’t – if you play with me I’m gonna – ” and Steve stops messing around.

“I guess I can play with you later,” he says, watching Bucky’s face. He’s keeping himself locked down so he won’t lose control the way he did before, but Steve can see it’s crumbling pretty fast; his eyes keep fluttering shut, and every time Steve moves his finger he breathes faster and bites his lip.

"One more," Bucky says tightly after a few minutes. "Go ahead, I can take it."

Steve slips another finger in and flexes a little, and Bucky drops his head onto Steve’s shoulder, clinging to him while Steve slowly spreads him.

"You always had really long fingers, even when you were a little guy," Bucky says against his neck. "I thought about them a lot."

Steve kisses his ear, his jaw, rubbing cheek-to-cheek to feel the beginnings of his beard. "Did you do this to yourself?"

"God, all the time, but it wasn't the same. I wanted you to just – " He gasps and pulls himself up off Steve's fingers, too close already.

"What?" Steve asks, lightly tracing slick fingers over him without sliding them inside. "What did you want?"

Bucky goes quiet and kisses Steve's neck for a little while. "I had this fantasy," he says finally.

Steve wants to see him, but Bucky clings to him even harder and won't lift his head. It's strange, the things that make him stupid with love. Sometimes it’s obvious, and sometimes not – the scrunched-up, faintly suspicious face Bucky makes when a movie gets too sentimental, for example – but it always bowls him over. Right now it's the way Bucky can't look at him, so flustered but trusting him all the same. Steve pulls him close and kisses him slow and soft all the way down his neck until Bucky's moans get a little frantic at each touch, then murmurs, "Come on, I wanna hear about this fantasy."

"I'd come home with a girl, and you'd tell her to leave because I was in trouble," Bucky says. "You'd tell me I wasn't allowed – I was only allowed to have you. You'd order me to take off all my clothes, and then..."

"And then what?" Steve asks.

"Bunch of different things," Bucky says. It sounds like he's trying very, very hard to be casual. "Mostly you'd tie me to the bed, make me wait, get me all riled up until I...until I cried."

Steve slides a hand over Bucky's thigh. "I'll do anything you want," he says. "You said you didn’t want to be tied up."

"No, not anymore. But there are some – ah," Bucky sighs, rocking his hips when Steve runs a thumb over the tender juncture of thigh and hip. "There are some things I still like about that fantasy."

"Yeah?" Steve says softly. "You want me to rile you up, make you cry?"

Bucky pauses. "Yeah," he admits in a low, shaky voice.

"Show me how," Steve says.

"Put your fingers in me again."

"How many?"

"Three." He takes Steve's hand, palm up, and spills more lube into it. Steve slips his hand between Bucky's thighs and presses two fingers inside again, and Bucky's breath hitches in a dry sob. "Careful – god, I'm gonna go off all over myself."

"I won't let you, don't worry," he says. It takes several minutes, and Bucky directing him when to slow down or stop, before he slides a third finger in. He could probably do this all night, he thinks. There's something about being fingered – he blushes at even thinking the word, and feels stupid for blushing when he watches what his fingers are actually doing – that really makes Bucky lose it like nothing else. He rubs his hot face against Steve's shoulder and shudders when Steve strokes his back soothingly.

"Enough, enough, I'm good," Bucky says, too soon. He's breathing hard, and his thighs keep tightening around Steve's hips like he's struggling not to push himself down onto Steve's hand. Steve pulls his fingers out and Bucky pushes him flat on the bed and grabs both his wrists, pinning them down against his pillow. "Don't touch, okay? Not until I say so."

Steve nods, sliding his hands under the pillow and holding on tight, as Bucky slicks him up, stroking his cock until he's dizzy, then draws it back gently and starts to slide down on it. It's almost agony; Bucky pulls up and off him again and again, and Steve can't move, can't touch. His toes curl and he clenches his teeth and stays still, and eventually Bucky is almost there, gasping harshly with every movement.

"Don't touch, not yet," he mutters, until Steve is fully inside him. He stays there for a moment, cock jerking hard, eyes screwed shut. He's trying so hard not to come, Steve thinks, and knows how he feels. The moment stretches out and Steve concentrates on his own ragged breathing, his fingers tightening on the pillow, until Bucky finally gasps, "Okay, okay."

Steve stays exactly where he is, watching.

"You can – Steve," Bucky says desperately, nudging him with his thighs. His eyes are wet and red-rimmed already, about to spill over, and Steve stays completely still.

He's rocking his hips and fighting against it at the same time, and whenever he moves a little too much his breath stutters in alarm. Steve lets him drive himself closer, focusing on the beautiful distress on his face. The urge to move is so strong Steve can barely hold back, and Bucky's trembling, dripping onto Steve's stomach and pulsing faster and faster around him.

"Come on." Bucky’s voice cracks, face crumbling. He takes a deep quivering breath and he's crying, his fingers curled against Steve’s chest like he wants to claw at something but won’t.

"What are you gonna do if I make you wait?" Steve asks, and maybe it's the question or maybe Bucky's just too far gone, but he sobs, loud in the room, and just as he chokes out, “Please, please,” he comes in long, hot spurts all over Steve's chest. Steve's hands instantly go to his hips, and all it takes is a single hard thrust upward, pulling Bucky down to meet him, before he follows. Shaking, Bucky curls over, finishing himself off with his hand as Steve rocks up into him.

Steve pushes at him until he rolls onto his back, flushed and panting, damp hair stuck to his forehead. He throws his right arm over his eyes, and Steve can see the pulse beating fast in his throat before he reaches out and pulls his arm away. One kiss next to the right eye, one beside the left, and one to his trembling lips.

"You want me to keep you riled up?" he asks softly, stroking Bucky's wet cheek with his thumb. “All night?”

Bucky closes his eyes, turning his face into Steve's hand and nodding. He looks like it's too much for him, like there's nothing he wants more than to be at Steve's mercy for as long as he can take it. Steve wants to understand everything he needs, to find out every fantasy and give it to him until he's like this, so undone by pleasure he can barely think or talk. He reaches for Steve wordlessly and Steve pulls him close and breathes with him, stroking his hair away from his face. As much as he loves the way Bucky takes care of him – the way Bucky fucks him with such focus and precision and attention until he’s an absolute mess – it’s this he wants most. He already knows how the rest of the night will go: he’s going to get up and get a glass of water and then he’s going to come back into the bedroom and take Bucky apart again, and again, and again, with his fingers and his tongue and his cock. There will be food and a shower and sleep at some point, but what matters is the bed and how much pleasure and comfort he can give there. No interruptions, no one else but the two of them. The house could fall down around them – and it very well might – and he wouldn't even pause.

“You ready to go again?” he murmurs when he comes back in with the glass of water. Bucky nods, takes a sip, and goes to roll onto his back again, but Steve shakes his head and nudges at him until he’s on his front, legs slightly spread.

“What – ” Bucky begins as Steve kisses the inside of his thigh. He has a slightly absurd obsession with the fact that Bucky's thighs are so soft where the rest of him is so hard.

“You might want to grab a pillow,” Steve says, running a finger down his spine and over the curve of his ass. “According to my research you might get a little loud.”

“Oh,” Bucky says breathlessly, sliding a pillow over and wrapping his arms around it, and Steve smiles and gets to work.