Archive of Our Own

His first thought is exactly how much did I fucking drink last night?

He rubs his eyes, sitting up in the bed, sighing heavily. He’s in just his pants and whoa, that’s weird, because that’s what he went to sleep in. So he hadn’t been drinking after all. 

It gets weirder when another ma walks out of what Bucky assumes is the bathroom. He’s towel drying his long hair, and fuck, is his left arm made of- 

He stops dead in his tracks when he sees Bucky, body immediately going rigid. His fingers twitch around the towel in his hands, and Bucky realizes with a lump in his throat that the man wanted to reach for a weapon. Bucky deduces that he has to be a soldier too, and wonders if the man has gotten his orders yet.

“Who the hell are you?” The man finally speaks, and Bucky rolls his eyes.

“I have no idea what the hell I’m doing here, pal, so lose the attitude.” Bucky says, and the man steps into the light streaming in from the open window.

Bucky’s mind does a complete 180, short-circuiting when he looks at the man’s face.

“Okay, now that’s just fucking weird,” Bucky comments, eyes slipping in and out of focus. The boy, man? God, Bucky doesn’t even know, all he knows is that save for the too long hair and oh god, metal arm, this man looks exactly like Bucky does. “Um, this is gonna sound really weird, but does your name happen to be Bucky Barnes?”

“Who the hell is Bucky?” The man growls and Bucky immediately retreats.

“Wow, okay, um. Never mind. You know what, I’m just gonna go, because this is getting really awkward, and I’m not sure what the hell Steve slipped in my drink before I went to-“

“Steve?” The man says suddenly, and Bucky stops, frowning.

“Yeah, Steve. Steve Rogers?” Bucky says, confused beyond belief, but not wanting to anger this guy anymore. The man’s face falls, contorting into a confused expression.

“I knew him,” is all the man says, and Bucky shakes his head, laughing shortly out of disbelief.

“Okay, yeah that’s great, but um, considering that you don’t look like you’re living in the 1940s like I am, I’m just going to-“ Bucky waves his hand, stepping out of the bed and starting to walk towards the door. 

“No,” the man says, and Bucky sighs exasperatedly, turning around to face the man, throwing his arms up in the air.

“I don’t know what the fuck your problem is pal, but I obviously don’t belong here, so-“

The man moves then, quicker than any guy Bucky’s ever been pinned up against in an alley way. Bucky can’t even raise his fists to react, his front suddenly pressed up against the wood of the door. Bucky gasps, crying out as the man’s metal hand pulls roughly at his hair. His back arches, and Bucky’s eyes flutter shut of their own accord.

“Oh, oh God,” Bucky chokes when the man presses in closer.

“I hate the way you speak to me. I kind of want to make you not be able to talk at all,” the man says, breath hot against Bucky’s ear. Bucky shivers, hands balling up into fists at his sides.

“Fuck,” Bucky hisses when the man’s flesh hand comes to grip his hip, stroking teasingly at the skin there. “Fuck, I can’t-“

The man chuckles, low and deep in his throat.

“You’re going to obey me, Bucky. You’re going to do everything I say because you want this. I can tell that you do,” he breathes, and fuck, the way he says his name. The man’s bionic hand reaches down to palm Bucky’s dick, squeezing firmly, and Bucky groans, pushing into the touch. He’s getting hard from a single touch, and he would be ashamed of himself if he wasn’t insanely turned on.

Bucky swallows tightly, because he doesn’t know how the fuck this man knows every single sweet spot on his body, and he doesn’t even know what he’s asking for. He just know that he wants, he wants so badly, and he knows he shouldn’t.

Maybe that’s part of it, the fact that Bucky shouldn’t be this turned on by someone who is essentially his twin. It’s weird and intoxicating and so unbearably hot, Bucky doesn’t know how to process it.

“On your knees,” the man growls and Bucky groans, sinking to the ground. The man still has a tight grip on his hair and it’s mucking up Bucky’s thought process. “Turn around.” 

Bucky does, immediately pressing his forehead against the man’s thigh. His breath is coming in short, sharp pants, and all he wants is to get his hands in his own pants, bring himself off hard and fast. This has to be some sort of wonderful nightmare, there’s not other explanation for it, and that means that no one else is going to know if he enjoys himself while he’s here.

“Hands behind your back,” he says next, and Bucky hesitates. “Did I stutter?”

“No,” Bucky swallows, interlocking his hands behind his back. The man tugs on his hair again, forcing his head back. Bucky whimpers, licking his lips as the man stares heatedly down at him. His face is flushed, and he squirms under the man’s gaze, feeling almost as vulnerable as he looks. Bucky doesn’t normally do this, he’s almost never the one on his knees for someone else, but there’s something in the man’s eyes, the way he carries himself, that makes Bucky want to obey.

“I knew you’d be good,” the man says and his thumb swipes across Bucky’s lips. Bucky lets him, breathing hard, opening his mouth wider. He fumbles with the belt on his jeans, pulling his hands away from Bucky’s mouth. His pushes his pants down to the ground and Bucky’s mouth practically waters at the sight of how hard he already is. Let yourself enjoy it Barnes, no one is gonna know- “Suck,” is all the man says, and Bucky immediately presses his face in closer, swallows the man down.

He groans, tangling his fingers in Bucky’s hair tighter. Bucky is short of breath in the worst way, head swimming with arousal and the fact that it’s his own eyes staring down at him. The man’s hips thrust forward and Bucky chokes slightly, trying to pull back. The man doesn’t relent though, hissing out a you can do it, take it like a good boy and Bucky starts to savor the burn. He finally lets up, letting Bucky pull off slightly only to gasp, catch his breath.

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“I-“ Bucky coughs, throat rough and scratchy is the best possible way. “I want-“

“You want whatever I want to give you,” he corrects and Bucky’s eyes flutter. He bites down on his swollen bottom lip, looking away.

“Get on the bed, you’re allowed to take your pants off. But then I want your on your back, hands above your head,” is all he says before Bucky’s scrambling off of the floor without using his hands (because the man hasn’t said that he can yet). Bucky strips quickly, obeying his orders. The man just watches for a second before walking towards him slowly.

He crawls onto the bed and Bucky wants to recoil. He feels too spread out, too vulnerable. He’s achingly hard at the hands of someone that is just a stronger, rougher version of himself. His brain still hasn’t fully caught up with his eyes.

The man hovers over Bucky’s body, settles in on top of his thighs. Bucky whimpers when the man’s hands wrap around his wrists, pressing them into the pillows. His back arches under his touch, and Bucky’s own name almost leaves his lips.

“You can call me it, I know you want to.” The man finally speaks again and Bucky could cry with relief, hips pressing forward.

“Oh god, Bucky please-“ he chokes with relief when the man leans down to kiss him, finally. His stubble scratches around Bucky’s mouth and Bucky moans, wanting to tangle his hands in the man’s long hair. His struggles under the man’s grip but he gasps when he discovers that that definitely won’t work. One wrist is pinned down by cool metal and one by warm skin, and Bucky lets out a ragged moan at the sensation. 

“You’re going to fuck me,” the man says and Bucky’s brain goes blank, vision whiting out. He’s pretty sure he moans, pushing his hips out eagerly. The man takes both of Bucky’s wrists into his bionic hand. Bucky shudders. He spits into his hand, stroking Bucky once firmly. Bucky gasps at the touch, trying to gain more friction. He gets himself into position, hole pressing up against the head of Bucky’s cock.

“Wait, you should-“ Bucky chokes, but the man shakes his head, starts to sink back further onto Bucky’s cock anyway.

“I don’t need to,” the man hisses and Buck pants, trying to catch his breath. He’s so hot and tight and god, is this what I feel like too?

“Oh my god,” Bucky whimpers, trying to rock his hips upwards.

“No,” the man says suddenly, and it’s just threatening enough to make Bucky stop and also make his cock twitch at the same time. The man groans, pushing back even further until his hips are seated in Bucky’s lap.

“You’re just here so I can get off. Don’t you dare move,” he growls, riding him harder and Bucky cries out, pushing up against his restraints. It’s just degrading enough to make Bucky moan like a whore. He doesn’t even want to get out, he doesn’t know what he needs, just wants something more, wants friction, wants to fucking come-

“Shit,” the man pants, bearing down again and again until he’s coming undone himself, eyes scrunched tightly, metal hand tightening around Bucky’s wrists as white splashes up against his abdomen. Some drips onto Bucky’s own stomach and fuck, he almost screams, metal closing in hard enough around his wrist that he feels bones shifting slightly. It hurts so badly, and fuck Bucky is gonna come-

“Please, please Bucky please, I’ve been good, I’ve been good for you-“ Bucky chokes, crying out with relief when the man pulls out, lifting himself off of Bucky’s lap. He releases Bucky’s bruised wrists, and Bucky gets a hand on himself, bringing himself off hard and fast.

“Come for me,” the other Bucky says, voice rough, and Bucky takes one look at his face, eyes locking for a second before Bucky’s orgasm rips through him, thighs shaking and throat screamed raw. His stomach is officially covered in come, some that's his and some that isn't. He curls into himself after, breathing still shallow. The last thing he sees is the man retreating back into the bathroom again, and he even doesn’t know he’s fallen asleep until he wakes up again.

+

When he wakes up, he’s back in Brooklyn; back in his own bed. There’s still dried come on his stomach, which doesn’t make any fucking sense, but he’s eager to push the events of the past few hours to the back of his mind. He takes a quick shower, washes his hair and scrubs at the come on his belly. He stands in front of the mirror, runs a hand through his hair and gasps when he sees his wrists. He immediately looks down, blue and black marks in the shapes of fingertips pressed into his skin. His draws his fingertips over his left wrists, presses slightly. Pain blossoms where there’s pressure from his fingers and it makes his toes curl, eyes slipping closed. 

What the fuck happened to me?

“I had the weirdest fucking dream, Steve,” Bucky says when he sits down at the table, and Steve chuckles.

“I believe it. You kept whimpering in your sleep, it was a little disconcerting.”

“S’too early for big words,” Bucky say groggily, and Steve just laughs. It’s normal, and Bucky lets himself adjust back to what that word means.

+

Bucky doesn’t ever forget a moment of it.