Archive of Our Own

As if the weight of his coat against his shoulders and his scarf like a vice around his neck weren’t enough, the impending focus of the lamp above his head bearing down like a goddamn beacon was truly a splendid touch.  The low roar of the surrounding tables thrummed in his ears, pulsing against the back of his head as he reached out with only a slight tremble in his fingers to reach for his second water glass.  The condensation was slick on the outer edges, and he brought the straw to his lips.

Even with the rush of water, his tongue and throat were dry, sticky with tension as his heart pressed harder against his ribs, threatening to burst forward and dance the embarrassment away.  Swallowing slowly, Bucky clenched his jaw to refrain from biting his tongue as he placed his glass back to the table, ignoring the third sweeping glance from an elderly blonde woman two tables over.  Had he not looked away, he would’ve seen the furrow of her brows and a sympathetic smile.

Thumbing the edge of the menu once more, Bucky flipped open the inside cover, pretending to scan appetizers and entrees that he’d already memorized.  His fingers twitched, inching to swipe at the screen of his phone just to his right to check the time, maybe his messages, anything to—well, it wouldn’t matter, really.  He’d already checked the time—7:26PM—and knew he had no new messages to read.  Not even a notification from Twitter had come through, for fuck’s sake.

Swallowing again, Bucky relaxed, dragging his tongue across his upper teeth as his back molars seemed to sigh.  He flipped to the next page again, flicking his eyes to his phone briefly before looking away again.  He had to hope for the best—was trying to hope for the best.  But there was only so much hope to be had when your date was almost half-an-hour late without so much as an update or apology message.

Bucky grabbed his water again, the force of his action causing some to slosh and spill over the side, but he ignored it as he pressed the straw between his lips, his teeth hooking and chewing into it as he drank.  The old woman gave him another passing look, and he felt his face warm. 

A part of him long ago had insisted on removing his coat, but he was sure at this point that the impending doom of reality had left sweat stains all over his shirt.  As it were, the hairs on the back of his neck felt slick, and he aimed to nonchalantly roll his shoulders in an effort to loosen his own shattering pride as well as wipe his scarf against the back of his neck. 

Stamping down his own twisting gut, Bucky pressed a finger to the home button of his phone, watching the screen light up with the godforsaken time of 7:29PM and no other notifications.  No messages, no calls.  He had half a mind to take his phone into hand and maybe play some games, check Facebook, or something.  Anything to distract him from the woman nearby or the friends on their double date in the split-level section below, or the fact that he could see the hostess making glances toward his table and the front door, as if hoping for him.

This was, utterly, ridiculous.

Perhaps Bucky wouldn’t have minded the overall situation if it weren’t for the fact that this date was not some spur of the moment decision.  The date had been planned for the better part of a week, with the occasional reminder to meet up for dinner tonight at seven o’clock.  And now that his phone had helpfully reminded him that it was 7:31PM, his patience was thinning fast, and his tolerance for dealing with another fucking sympathetic look, really dude?  Ignore me, enjoy your pasta, for fuck’s sake…

Perhaps he could order an appetizer, and maybe the magical charm of deciding on something to eat would prompt his date to show up in a flurry of apologies.  Or, maybe, it would at least inspire some kind of text.  What if they’d gone to a different location by accident?  Or they’d gotten the time mixed up somehow?  It wasn’t entirely out of the realm of possibility…

But even Bucky couldn’t convince himself well enough with the excuses anymore, and he toyed with the idea of writing a note on a napkin apologizing to the wait staff for wasting their time on him and leaving.  He could sneak out, make a quick getaway to avoid further embarrassment.  Well, maybe not entirely unnoticed, since Nosy McGee with the blonde hair and green sweater that reminded him of his grandmother couldn’t be bothered to keep her eyes on her own food or partner.

Though his phone had not buzzed or rang, Bucky tried it in a last vain attempt, only to feel his heart sink a little lower and his face flush a little hotter as the time read 7:38PM.  Now nearly forty minutes past, Bucky reserved himself enough dignity to merely stand and leave.  He pocketed his phone, reaching to take one last sip of water when someone rushed by, placing a hand on the table before slipping into the booth.

“I am so, so sorry, I hit some fucking awful traffic.  You would not believe the madhouse downtown becomes at six thirty on a goddamn Friday.”

Bucky’s eyes widened briefly as he scrambled make sense of the jumble of words and the chiseled perfection of the man who’d taken up residence across from him.  He opened his mouth to speak when the stranger leaned forward, shrugging out of his coat, speaking quietly.

“Just go with it.  I know you’ve been here a while and whoever stood you up is an asshole.”

Bucky closed his mouth, brows furrowing briefly before a tentative smile crept at the corners of his lips.  The stranger smiled, bright and white-toothed as his blond hair caught the light of the overhead lamp, glowing faintly.  He straightened, leaning back into the seat some, and Bucky took a moment to admire the cling of his shirt to what Bucky could only anticipate to be an incredibly toned physique, the sleeves pushed up around his elbows to expose cream-white forearms and hands that were large and yet seemed almost painfully soft, and the popped collar at the base of his throat.

Smirking faintly, Bucky brought his water across the table, holding it gingerly between his hands.  “I appreciate it, but you didn’t have to.”

The stranger shrugged, blue eyes crinkling with a small smile, and Bucky bit the inside of his cheek.  “Maybe not, but I wanted to.  You seem like too much’ve a good guy to get stood up like this.”

Bucky raised a brow, tilting his head some as a smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.  “And how would you know whether or not I’m a nice guy.  For all you know, I could be waitin’ to meet a drug dealer, or I’m a serial killer.”

“If your first jump to bad examples includes drug dealers and serial killers, I think we can safely rule them out,” the stranger smiled, giving him a quick wink.  “Were you wanting to eat something?  My treat.”

Bucky gaped momentarily before shaking his head, “I can’t…  You don’t have to do that.  You’re already playin’ the knight in shinin’ armor, I can’t have you buy me dinner, too.  Besides, you must’ve come with your own date, or friends, or somethin’…?” 

“I came with a group, and they’re off in their own discussions and whatnot.  It’s cool.”  The stranger replied, his voice smooth like silk.  Buck sighed, bringing his straw back to his lips to sip from his water.

“Well,” he said after swallowing, “if you insist.  But drinks are on me.”

The stranger smirked, “Deal.”

Sipping once more on his water, Bucky took a moment to look away and ease the tremor that were running rampant through his body.  Perhaps it was some weird ass twist of fate that just as he was planning to leave, this blue-eyed guy came and sat down across from him to help him save face.  Or, perhaps this was some elaborate joke, and Bucky was going to make an even greater fool of himself before the night was over.

He swallowed heavily, ignoring the latter.

Setting his water down in time for the waitress to come by, Bucky and his mysterious counterpart placed orders for drinks and for meals—Bucky having had plenty of time to decide what would sound good in the event his date showed.  He wasn’t some grubbing little shit, mind you, he ordered something satisfying but not a wallet-buster by any means; he’d been raised right, thank you very much. 

Once the menus were taken away, the water glasses refilled—and the stranger provided one of his own—Bucky finally allowed himself to shrug out of his scarf and open his jacket, thankful that his shirt was dark enough to hide any nervous behavior from earlier.  He folded his hands on the table, tilting his head to the side.

Across from him, the stranger quirked a brow, smiling softly before sipping on his own water.  He seemed gentle and polite enough, having enough of a sense of humor to make Bucky smile.  But he’d been through that high school bullshit, and could clearly see that college didn’t necessarily make maturity akin to common sense.  Inhaling slowly, he glanced away.

“Well, here we are, ‘bout to have dinner,” he began, crinkling his nose in thought.  “What’s the game?”  He looked up again, meeting those baby-blues before feeling his shoulders sag just a little, tension he wasn’t even aware of having dissipating slowly.

“What game?”  The stranger mused.  Bucky bit his lip.

“Why come over here?  You have your friends, you already had plans.  What made you come over here?”

The stranger regarded his question, eyes wandering away briefly before returning to Bucky’s own gaze, “Because I wanted to.  I mean, yeah, I’m with my own company, but they’re people I see regularly, some almost too much.  I looked across and saw you sitting here and you just seemed really… I dunno that sad is the word, but hurt more than anything.  And I thought to myself that it just wasn’t fair for someone cute like you to just be left here alone.  If nothing else, I thought maybe I could talk to them, see if they’re okay.  Clearly, I wasn’t, originally, expecting this, but hey, I can’t imagine it happening any other way.”

It certainly wasn’t an answer that Bucky was expecting, likely because it was so damn honest and sweet.  He blinked slowly, feeling the twisting and tugging sensation that had wracked him earlier loosen and flutter instead, and Bucky looked away.  Biting at the corner of his lip again, he smiled, shaking his head slowly.

“What?”  The stranger asked, and Bucky glanced up at him.

“Did you come up with that off the top of your head?  Or was that some prepared poetry?”  Blue eyes glinted in the light, a wide smile pulling at the stranger’s mouth.

“I’d like to pride myself on being honest, and allow me to say that that was, one hundred percent, off the top of my head.  But, no less true.”

Shaking his head, Bucky smiled faintly into the collar of his coat before bringing the straw of his water back to his lips.  “Just figures, all eloquent and good lookin’ and shit.”  He mumbled, glancing up before staring at the man.

A smirk twisted into the corner of his mouth, “I’m sorry, could you speak up?  Didn’t quite catch that.”

Allowing a moment, Bucky blinked, letting his facial expression soften.  Biting his lip and swallowing slowly, he set his water down as a woman with black hair headed toward their table, carrying a tray, “What?” he mused, raising a brow, before shaking his head and quipping once more as the woman rounded to their table, “Sorry, you’re just so gorgeous, I forgot my pickup line.”

The stranger’s mouth dropped, his cheeks flushing faintly as the waitress set down their drinks before refilling their waters with a pitcher.  She made some comment about their food being almost ready, but Bucky was far too concerned with the glint in the stranger’s baby blue eyes to notice her, or the way she lingered momentarily before walking away again.

To say that dinner had gone swimmingly would have been an understatement.  The food was delicious, but Bucky could hardly concentrate on it with the way he and this devilishly handsome stranger seemed to click.  Bucky had often prided himself on being charming and quick-witted, but this blond had little to no trouble keeping up with comebacks of his own, their words progressively becoming more and more flirtatious as the time rolled on.

It was certainly a more positive turn of events, even so much as allowing Bucky to completely ignore the rest of the scene around them, or the buzzing in his pocket while he was half-way through his plate and sufficiently flushed in the face.  And if this stranger in front of him had any inclination to return to his friends or draw their dinner to an end, he made no significant notion of it. 

The tension that had been present, thick and churning in his gut like a sickness, had virtually vanished, leaving only a lingering sense of ease and satisfaction.  The flow of conversation was like water, constant and steady, occasionally rushing with laughter or slowing and softening with something a little tender.  Bucky couldn’t quite recall the last time something as simple as talking had felt so loose and natural, let alone with someone whose name he didn’t even know.  Regardless, the calm of the evening gave a sense of peace he hadn’t realized he was desperate to have.

Dabbing at his mouth with his napkin, Bucky leaned back into the cushion of his seat, giving the blond a small, bright-eyed smile.  Stuffed from his meal and satisfied with both drink and company, he felt his skin fluster as he looked away, swallowing slowly.  “This was absolutely wonderful, thank you,” he said softly, glancing up at the blond across the way.

A crinkled formed around his blue eyes as the stranger smiled back, setting his own napkin down onto the table beside his empty plate.  “I’m glad you liked it.”

“And,” Bucky cut in, shaking his head a little as he bit at the corner of his lip, “really, you didn’t have to do all this, but I’m really grateful.  Definitely made my night a lot better.”

“Good.”  The stranger smiled, wide and brilliant, and Bucky felt a tug and a loss of breath.

The waitress came back, clearing away their plates and setting down the check.  True to his word, the stranger scooped it away before Bucky could even see it, not even bothering to give it more than a glance before pulling his wallet out to tuck a card against the paper.  Chuckling, Bucky shook his head slowly, retrieving his own. 

“I’m still paying for drinks,” he said, thumbing at the Visa in the inside fold.  The stranger raised a brow, placing a finger over the check and his card as the waitress came rounding back to their table. 

“Next time,” he said, slipping it to her before Bucky could get a word in.  Open mouthed and speechless, Bucky laughed quietly as he flicked the card back into its slot. 

“Confident,” he mused, “I like that.”  The stranger winked.

With dinner paid, and a warm mention of thanks from the waitress, Bucky grabbed his scarf and slipped from his seat, readjusting his coat as the stranger stood.  Taller than he’d expected once they were side by side, Bucky found an additional charm to the fact that the top of his head came to just below the man’s nose.  The stranger smiled, winking momentarily before placing a hand against the small of Bucky’s back, leading him toward the exit.

Outside, the air had cooled considerably, and Bucky draped his scarf loosely around his neck, turning to face the man who had made his night a thousand times better than it had begun.  Smiling, Bucky licked his lower lip before sliding his hands into his pockets.

“This was amazin’, thank you,” he said, grinning as the stranger smiled back, mirroring his posture.

“I’m glad.  And… forgive me for being totally rude, I’m Steve.”  Steve.  Fitting.  Perfect.

Bucky pulled a hand free, holding it out for Steve.  “Bucky.”

Steve took his hand, shaking it once, firm and slow, before rotating Bucky’s hand in his own.  He brought Bucky’s knuckles to his lips, kissing them softly.  Bucky swallowed, feeling his face warm and his stomach flip as Steve lowered his hand and let go all together.  Biting his lip, he glanced at Steve’s lips before looking back up to his eyes.

“Charmer,” he said, and Steve grinned.

“Come on, lemme walk you to your car?”  He offered, and Bucky hesitated.

“I actually walked?  My place isn’t too far from here, and it was really nice earlier,” he explained, feeling the warmth of affection quickly turn to embarrassment.  Steve merely smiled, and stepped into profile.

“Then allow me to take you home?”  Bucky gaped, and shook his head.

“What am I gonna possibly do to make this up to you?  First helpin’ me save face, buyin’ dinner, and now a ride home?”  Bucky teased, and Steve laughed softly as he shuffled his feet, giving a shy shrug.  “Alright.  Take me home, gorgeous.”

In hindsight, perhaps there should have been a part of Bucky to be concerned.  After all, it wasn’t common for complete strangers to buy someone dinner and offer to take them home after confessing to having seen them be alone all night.  And when he regarded in that fashion, Bucky could see the underlying warnings that might pop up for anyone else.  But Steve seemed soft, sweet, and like a complete gentleman; hell, Bucky wasn’t sure that someone like Steve could be anything but genuinely nice even if he tried.

Besides, he was cute.  Bucky could rationalize this.

It was almost too easy to say that Steve had a nice car, and that he prided himself on being orderly and neat, because the leather interior felt new, and the smell was fresh and crisp.  Perhaps not quite new car, but definitely maintained with excellence.  Hardly the newest model, but the car had a classic feel, polished in the low light of the waning evening with a soft rumble of the engine that turned into a purr within seconds.

Bucky sunk into his seat, folding his hands over his lap as Steve pulled out from the lot and onto the road.  Giving directions was simple, with the occasional get into the left lane, and the light turn left, and so on.  Something soft was playing on the radio, with occasional rolls of piano and some runs of vocals that Bucky could have gotten lost in if he weren’t so busy side-eyeing Steve. 

Devilishly handsome to begin with, his profile was even more sinful.  The streetlamps cast an occasional wash of warm, orange-yellow light, illuminating his jaw and lips, his hair glowing now and then.  His hands were relaxed against the wheel, fingers curled loosely around the leather, thumbs tapping absent-mindedly.  Buck had a moment to wonder about reaching over, trailing his fingertips across the back of his knuckles and between the spaces in his fingers.  He reserved himself, knotting his own hands tighter together.

They turned onto his street, the complex where his shared apartment coming into view in the low light of the lamps and the distant streams of sun pushing through clouds and trees.  Bucky motioned to the entrance, and the car rolled into the lot.  Lit windows were dotted like stars and Bucky shifted in his seat, directing Steve around a corner and towards the back of the complex where his apartment was lying in wait.  Pulling into a visitor spot, Steve killed the engine.

A breath passed between the two of them, and Bucky glanced over at the blond.  Steve had a hand against his thigh, the other still loosely draped onto the lower half of the wheel.  In the shadow beneath a tree and out of the light, Bucky could barely make out the look in Steve’s eye, but he was sure he could see the faintest trace of a smile, and he felt his lungs squeeze.

“Thank you, for dinner and drivin’ me home,” he said, swallowing slowly.  Beside him, Steve nodded, a breath leaving him, soft and quick.

“It was my pleasure, Bucky,” Steve replied, “and… if I can be totally honest, I’d like to do this again sometime.”

Bucky had to suppress the urge to grin, ear to ear and toothy, as his heart pressed to the base of his throat.  As if it wasn’t hard enough to breathe with the way the butterflies circled up around his lungs, he allowed a small smile and a nod.

“I’d like that, a lot,” his teeth hooked into his lip, and Steve shifted in his seat, leaning forward slowly.  A breath sucked its way into Bucky’s throat but hesitated, and Steve regarded him carefully, before pressing his lips gently to the curve of Bucky’s cheek.  His skin flushed, the breath turning hard and forming into a lump in the hollow of Bucky’s throat, and he turned his head, brushing his lips against Steve’s.

Fuck better judgement.

If Bucky had a mind to consider the turn of events in his evening, he might have approached everything differently.  He might have let the kiss remain chaste, he might have pulled away.  He would have exchanged numbers with Steve and bid him goodnight.  But he didn’t—he didn’t think about how quickly things had unfolded, ignored the nagging thoughts that whispered in the back of his mind to better focus on the way Steve looked at him.  And he brought a hand to Steve’s cheek, cupping it, and kissed him deeper.

There was a grace of tongue along his lower lip, and he sighed deeply as Steve shifted closer.  Leaning over the center console and the gear shift was a momentary annoyance, but Bucky soon let it slip to the recesses of his consciousness as Steve’s fingers sunk into the hair at the back of his head, pulling gently.  A moan passed from his mouth to Steve’s, quicker than a heartbeat and louder than thunder. 

Feeling a hand pulling at the collar of his shirt, fingers fumbling at the buttons, Bucky pulled back just enough to give Steve a dazed smile.  “Come inside.”

It wasn’t a question.  Steve nodded anyway.

With as much grace as his jumbling legs and racing nerves would allow, Bucky led Steve out and away from the car, clutching his hand as he guided him towards the front door of his unit.  Times like these made Bucky thankful that he’d scored a ground floor apartment (even more so that his neighbors upstairs were relatively quiet by comparison).  Unlocking the door, they stumbled into darkness, and Bucky momentarily wondered when Natasha would be home.  But before he could even close the door, Steve’s lips were at the back of his neck, and he chuckled, dropping his keys to the floor.

The door swung shut with a slam, Steve’s hands digging into his hips as Bucky slung his arms around the blond’s shoulders and neck, fingers curling into the smooth lining of his coat.  Steve’s mouth was warm and wet, smearing kisses down the corner of his mouth to the hollow of his throat where teeth nipped playfully.  Bucky sighed, tilting his head back against the wall, hips canting into Steve’s hold as those pearly whites nipped and sank. 

A spike pulled at the base of his spine, heat coiling through his gut and up until his lungs until it was almost painful to breathe.  Bucky curled a hand around the back of Steve’s neck, leaning almost desperately into him as his opposite hand slid under the lining of his jacket, pushing it off of his shoulders.  His fingers raked against the fabric of his shirt, hooking around the jut of his shoulder blade long enough to earn a suck and a swipe of tongue against the pulsing in his throat.

Bucky made to look up at Steve, to catch something in his eye betraying any possibility of shared want, but the darkness made it impossible.  Fumbling some, Bucky palmed the wall before finding the switch.  Flicking it, warm light lit up half of the small entry space, casting a glow into Steve’s hair and a shadow across his already heavy features.  There was a kind of primal nature to the gleam in his eye that no amount of mood lighting would ease, and Bucky leaned up to kiss him again.

It was almost too easy to be here, pressed to the wall of his own apartment by someone he’d only met a few hours before.  But Steve felt familiar, like home, like security and fulfilled promises, accomplishments and satisfaction.  He was every good moment Bucky had felt, every ounce of pleasure and lesson learned.  He was the mended heartbreak and the excited awakening.

And in that moment, he was the only thing Bucky wanted.

Steve’s jacket slipped and fell to the floor, followed by Bucky’s.  Shoes were kicked off in a frenzy, and one of Bucky’s socks was tugged free in the process.  Hands clamored to pull at shirts and belt buckles, the two of them leaving a crumb-trail of fabric and leather down the hall and around a corner to Bucky’s bedroom. 

In the back of his mind, Bucky thought to make a list of the things he’d wished he’d cleaned prior to leaving; his bed was unmade, with a hamper of laundry beginning to overflow in the corner by his desk.  Pens and pencils scattered the surface with sketches, Polaroids collecting dust on the shelf nearby, with his book bag laying against his chair, stuffed with unopened textbooks and unused notepads.

There was a dirty coffee cup on the nightstand, and an empty Ramen cup stuffed atop an assortment of receipts, snack packages, and packing peanuts in the trashcan.  And, sure, in the absolute depths of his mind Bucky might have thought about it, and thought to feel embarrassed, but Steve’s hands pressed to his chest, shoving him down across his unkempt bed.  And all of that was, then, gone.

Propping himself onto his elbows, Bucky smirked as Steve leaned over him, his lips and jaw peppered with kisses.  He let his head fall back, relishing in the moment as Steve deftly popped the buttons of his shirt, the shirt opening wider and wider until air kissed his navel.  Steve’s lips were warm and soft against his collarbones, and Bucky shrugged out of his shirt, bunching it down to his wrists before tossing it away.

“Fuck, you’re gorgeous,” Steve breathed, kissing the hollow of Bucky’s throat again.  Biting his lip, Bucky reached up, fingers prying at the buttons of Steve’s shirt.  His hands trembled, clumsy under the weight of Steve’s darkened gaze.  The stirring in his stomach flared hotter, the tension in his spine thick like syrup and digging deep as Steve’s hands came up over his own, steadying them.  Their eyes met, and Bucky sighed quietly, fingers relaxing against the third button down, and Steve smiled.  Tender and sweet, Steve continued to watch him as his fingers guided Bucky’s down the line, until his shirt opened and Bucky lost his mind.

Steve’s torso was dotted in tattoos, chiseled muscles glistening faintly in the low light of the overhead lamp of his room; hardly romantic, but Steve could not have glowed any closer to perfection if he tried.  Two were lined along his right arm, while only one clung to the left arm.  Words traced the line of his left collarbone while another in larger, fuller script rested against the right side of his upper abdomen.  Time had faded some of the shading, but they were dark against his cream colored skin, and Bucky wet his lips slowly at the sight of him.

“What?”  Steve mused, raising an eyebrow.  Bucky sat up slowly, pressing his lips to the words scrawled across the blond’s left collarbone, tracing them with his tongue, beginning and ending each line with a small bite.  Steve hissed and moaned, arching into him, his hands fisting into the sheets on either side of Bucky’s hips.

Detangling Steve’s fingers, Bucky eased him onto the bed, his hands encouraging him to lay out, relaxed and open.  Unclasping the buckle of Steve’s belt, Bucky popped the buttons of his jeans, fingers hooking into the waistband before pulling.  It took some shimmying on Steve’s part, and perhaps some less than sexy tugging, but Bucky tossed the denim aside, fighting the urge to stare at the hardened outline of Steve’s cock beneath his black briefs.  Long, lean legs were toned and pale, knees bending and parting enough for Bucky to slip between them.  He gave Steve a long, slow kiss, sucking at his lower lip as his hand slid along the inside of Steve’s thigh, fingers ghosting over his cock.

Arching, Steve moaned, his eyes fluttering shut as Bucky stroked him slowly.  Biting his lip, Bucky looked away from him, swallowing thickly as Steve hardened under his touch.  His own ached, pressing to the zipper of his jeans as he thumbed the head through cotton, feeling it begin to dampen just slightly.  Beneath him, Steve squirmed lightly, a hand coming to curl around the back of Bucky’s wrist.

“Shit, Buck,” Steve sighed, opening his eyes slowly to squint in the light.  Bucky licked his lower lip, wriggling down the length of the bed until he could tuck Steve’s thighs over his shoulders, his breath fanning across Steve’s groin.  The blond’s eyes rolled back, his mouth widening in the most rugged moan Bucky was sure he’d ever heard in his entire life.  Wetting his lips again, Bucky dipped his head, dragging a soft, swift open kiss along Steve’s shaft.

“Shit…” came a groan, Steve’s fingers curling into the hair at the back of Bucky’s head.

Bucky couldn’t quite remember the last time he’d sucked someone off, but was quite positive he hadn’t exactly been sober for the experience.  Not that he was without practice: sometimes he found himself sucking at a dildo while jerking off, living in wild fantasies of being treated like someone’s slut for that extra edge.  It was nice to have something like that; the world was already squeamish and vanilla enough that having something that made him feel just fucking filthy was, quite literally, the best.

And, though he hadn’t quite been able to find that right person, he’d always had an itch for wanting to be tied up and manhandled.

Licking slowly at his cock, Bucky glanced up at Steve under a half-lidded gaze, his tongue flat against cotton-clothed heat.  Steve looked back, chewed at his lip, and mouthed a soft please.

Bucky’s heart practically shot out of his chest.

With Steve’s thighs propped over his shoulders, Bucky reached around with a hand to ease the fabric back, freeing Steve’s cock in one soft motion.  The blond sighed, his knee bumping the side of Bucky’s head as Bucky readjusted.  He propped himself onto his knees, easing Steve’s legs out and away, exposing him to the low light of the cramped bedroom.  Tucking the band gently as far out of the way as possible, Bucky nestled down once more, letting an exhale wash over Steve’s skin.  Steve arched, fingers digging into Bucky’s bed, and Bucky smirked softly before dipping his head, licking him slowly. 

To say that the twisting, churning, growing fire that had been slowly consuming Bucky’s insides didn’t very nearly burst into spontaneous combustion would have been an understatement; salty and entirely new, Steve was like something Bucky had never quite experienced.  Unfortunate enough to taste some people who hadn’t, obviously, taken the best care of themselves, Bucky found Steve to be rather satisfying, and he happily flattened his tongue against the head. 

He licked over the slit, along the ridge, and down the shaft, earning several moans and even louder curses from Steve’s mouth before taking the head between his lips, sucking softly.  Steve’s legs tensed beneath his hands, a slight tremble rumbling up along Bucky’s arms and to his shoulders, but he dipped his head lower again, taking him inch by agonizing inch.

“Jesus, Buck…” Steve hissed, his hips rolling and canting into Bucky’s face, forcing him to take another inch, quicker and harder this time.  Bucky moaned, sliding his hands away from Steve’s thighs to either side of his hips.  Steve shifted, cupping the back of his neck gently, before rolling his hips again, thrusting slowly into his mouth.  “Oh, fuck…”

Relaxing his jaw, Bucky squeezed his eyes briefly before looking up at Steve, only imagining the sight he must have been: reddened lips wrapped around his cock, eyes dazed and wanting, taking him more and more and with practiced ease.  Steve was all but face-fucking him, and the breathing room in his jeans was only becoming that much more nonexistent.

“Fuck if I could get a picture of you,” Steve rasped, thrusting a little harder.  Bucky opened his mouth a little wider, trying to disregard the slight ache in his jaw.  “So fucking pretty…”

Pretty.  Yes.

Moaning deeply, Bucky reached down, groping himself almost painfully to pull back from the edge.  Steve nearly bumped the back of his throat, taking the pace slow despite the edge to his words and his tone, and Bucky that ball tighten, the coil burning hot.  Moaning again, louder, and pushing against the back of Steve’s hand, Bucky pulled off slowly.  He ignored the hollow sensation of missing his cock to tear at his jeans, popping the buttons free before shimmying out of them.

His briefs were damp, and he grabbed himself again, rubbing and stroking to ease the ache, sighing heavily as Steve’s hands slid across his arms.  His hands stilled, guiding Bucky close before his lips sucked another mark into his throat.  Bucky whined, arching into him as one of Steve’s hands dropped, cupping him gently. 

Steve cursed, and Bucky kissed his jaw, teeth nicking at the edge and the slight scruff.  “Want,” he grumbled, fingers clawing into any inch of skin that he could.  Steve hissed, turned his head, and kissed him hard.

Briefs were abandoned, the crumpled blankets and top sheet kicked to the floor as Steve laid Bucky out, a pillow tucked beneath his hips.  A bottle of lube was within reach, and a half dozen condoms were hanging from Bucky’s headboard, glittering in their packaging.  Steve had laughed upon seeing them, their labels marked with sex puns and reminders of consent, to which he had pointedly held Bucky at arms’ length and asked if he wanted to have sex.

Bucky had tried to just laugh him off, kiss him, and pull him closer, but Steve held him again with a look in the eye.  Do you want to have sex with me?  He’d asked.  Bucky blinked, and smiled so wide he’d thought his face might split.

Fuck yes.

His heart was skittering beneath his chest, laughter bubbling past his lips as Steve kissed him all over.  The cap of the lube clicked, open, before Bucky felt Steve’s hand nudge his legs father apart.  Gnawing lightly on his lip, Bucky tilted his head into the pillows, breathing slowly as Steve hooked Bucky’s knee over his arm, angling him just right.  Blinking, Bucky nodded once at Steve’s glance, a smile toying at the corners of his mouth as a cool, slicked finger brushed against him. 

A gasp, and a sigh, and Bucky moaned as Steve traced circles against and around his hole before pressing.  His instinct said to tense, to clench his jaw, but he breathed, relaxing his hips and his legs and pulled Steve’s finger into him.  The sensation flared, uncomfortable at first, but Steve’s fingers were long, somewhat slender, and the delicate nature with which he utilized allowed Bucky to control just how much he took and when.  He knew it wouldn’t last, this momentary pain, and that it would soon meld into pleasure.

It was always getting there that was the hardest.

Moaning, Bucky reached his hands overhead, digging his grip into the pillow as he pulled Steve deeper.  With one hand working him open, Steve’s opposite hand curled gently around his hip, holding him steady as well as drawing neat, smooth circles with the pad of his thumb.  Bucky moaned, licking his lower lip as he tightened and relaxed around Steve’s finger. 

“You’re so fucking beautiful,” he heard Steve whisper, and he opened his eyes slowly.  The light washed over the tops of Steve’s shoulders and around his head, and Bucky smiled faintly as he arched some, rolling his hips.

Biting the inside of his cheek, Bucky twisted his smile into a smirk, glancing at Steve beneath a heavy-lidded gaze, “Bet you say that t’all the boys.”

Steve raised a brow, pressing a second finger to Bucky’s hole before leaning in close, nipping at his lobe before whispering into the curve of his ear.  “Do you see any other boys here?”

He pressed his fingers deeper, firmer than before, and Bucky gasped as a mix of pleasure and pain spiked up his spine.  His back arched some, his muscles tightening as Steve fingered him a little faster than before.  Moaning, Bucky curled his hands tighter into his pillow, letting himself fall open a little wider.  His cock pulsed, seemingly in time with Steve’s motions, smears of precum beginning to glisten against his stomach.  He hadn’t quite expected Steve to bite back so smoothly, but it stirred deep in his veins, and his skin felt like fire from head to toes.

“S’pose not,” Bucky moaned, arching again as Steve curled his fingers, a kind of tension clawing at the breath in the depths of his lungs.  His vision fluttered out of focus, and he swallowed.  “Does that make me special?”

Steve grunted softly, pressing so close Bucky could feel his erection against his inner thigh, “You’re damn right…”

Bucky smiled, the tip of his tongue resting against his lower lip as he moaned, arching again.  “You’re special boy?”

“Mine,” Steve hissed, agreeing.

Bucky’s skin felt like fire.

A third and a fourth finger were introduced, and the light dribble of precum had developed more into a small pool that was sliding its way down Bucky’s hip.  His legs were shaking against Steve’s arms, lips babbling with wants, needs, and the occasional curse word that earned a smirk from Steve.  Panting softly, Bucky arched, desperately trying to rock further onto his fingers.  He’d come so close on multiple occasions to getting Steve’s fingers to brush and press just right, and each time Steve had pulled his hand back just enough.

After the fourth time, it had become maddening.

Sweat gathered in his hairline, and he squinted against the lightly, tightening harder around Steve’s fingers.  He reached down with a hand, itching to touch, to soothe, to ease the ache that was becoming more and more insufferable with each curl and thrust of Steve’s fingers, but Bucky could only let out a pained whine as Steve batted his hand away, smiling all the while.  His body was taught, shaking, wanting so much he thought he might physically scream without ever opening his mouth.

Steve reached past him, the sound of a wrapper crinkling as he pulled the strip of condoms from the headboard.  Bucky gasped, eyes fluttering as Steve slowly withdrew his hand.  His muscles spasmed, his body oddly empty now that Steve had pulled his fingers free.  He swallowed, ignoring the racing of his heart or the churning of his stomach as he watched Steve tear into a condom, rolling it on with room to spare in the tip.  He’d begun to reach for the bottle of lube when Bucky gripped his wrist, stopping him.

Smirking softly, he sat up enough to grab the tube, breathing slowly as light glittered off of sweat and precum.  Even with the discarded blankets and clothing, Bucky could have felt as though he were dying in the heat.  He squeezed lube onto his fingers, smearing the cool, clear liquid evenly before setting the bottle aside.  Reaching out, his fingers wrapped around Steve’s cock, slicking the surface of the condom, fingertips pressing and tracing circles. 

Steve moaned, thrusting into Bucky’s hand before leaning in to capture him in a kiss. His tongue was slick, hot, and tasted just beyond the edge of sinful as Bucky laid back into the pillow and the sheets, bringing Steve over him.  The blond moaned, kissing him deeply, his hands trailing down Bucky’s sides and along his hips, fingers scraping gently.  Goosebumps dotted into Bucky’s hypersensitive being, flaring up and spreading like fire as Steve’s hands hooked under his knees.

Groaning, Bucky arched, caught between wanting to look and wanting to wait, to feel, and to experience everything without watching.  He stared at the ceiling, at the light, closed his eyes to the world before a hand cupped his cheek, and he opened to see Steve’s baby-blues, softer than he’d seen all night.  There was a pure, light clarity in them, a concern, and Bucky swallowed and smiled, turning his head to kiss Steve’s palm.

Please, he whispered.  Steve’s fingers curled along his jaw, holding him steady for a tender kiss.  Chaste and sweet, before a quick, warm slip of tongue ignited a wave of soothing pleasure, easing the tension in his shoulders and abating the storm in his nerves.  His knees went to Steve’s sides, a press and a tightness to his entrance, and Steve inched his way in.

A breath got caught halfway between in and out, a startled kind of pause that had Bucky gripping for Steve’s shoulders, mouths firmly pressed together.  His knee slipped, his leg coiling around Steve’s hip, pulling him closer, tighter, deeper, and Bucky cried out into Steve’s mouth.  But it was not, at all, of pain, and when Steve began to pull back, Bucky tightened even more.  The pleasure that wracked like the sound waves of an explosion through his body sent chills down every fiber of his being.  His nails dug into Steve’s shoulders.

There was a moment where neither of them moved—Bucky could have argued that it was singularly the best and worst moment of the night.  Good in that every cell, every atom in his body seemed to come alive, sing and scream, and all but praise some high power for granting the freedom and beauty of pleasure.  Bad in that it was all in a standstill, this great moment of absolute ecstasy, and he knew damn well it would feel even better once they started moving.

But Steve didn’t move, not at first, and Bucky choked and whined, nipping at his lip.  His hands were tight against Bucky’s body, holding as if for dear life.  Breathing slowly, Bucky kissed his throat, nudging him gently.

“Steve?”  He rasped, ignoring the trembling of his limbs.

As if prompted by his name, Steve moaned, relaxing a little, sinking deeper into Bucky’s body.  “You feel so fuckin’ good…”

Heat washed over Bucky’s face, and he nipped at Steve’s throat.  “I’ll feel better once you start movin’.”

Steve grunted quietly, turning his head to kiss Bucky’s skin, nipping and biting at the side of his neck he hadn’t already previously marred before thrusting slowly.  Pleasure flared, coiling around Bucky’s body and sinking deeper with each thrust.  His hands dug deeper, nails clawing into Steve’s back as a third, fourth, fuck—fifth bite were placed into his throat and collarbone, Steve’s hands palmed tight at his hips.

Moaning deeply, Bucky arched into him, his breath coming in ragged pants between guttural moans and shaking cries.  His legs tightened, pushing Steve deeper with each thrust.  The coil unraveled, sunk into his nerves and rewired again, pulsing beneath the surface of his skin.  Sweat slid down the back of his neck, and Steve’s fingers curled so tight into Bucky’s hips the brunette was sure he would see bruises in the morning.

Mine.

Bucky reached for one of his hands, prying it free from his hip before bringing it to the base of his neck.  Steve’s hand went lax, his eyes unsure until Bucky nodded.  I trust you.  Please.  Please, please, fuck—fuck yes, Steve, Steve—

Steve slammed hard into him, first just his thumb and his index finger applying pressure around his throat.  Bucky gasped quietly, the sting of Steve’s fingers against the bite marks sending sparks rushing through his body.  His cock twitched, leaking heavily against his hip.

“Yes,” he choked, arching into Steve.  The blond pressed his middle finger, tightening his grasp once more.

Mine.

“Bucky,” Steve moaned, kissing his jaw.  Panting softly, Bucky opened his eyes, staring up him, tightening and begging, pulling him closer.  The ring finger joined the others, squeezing more of his breath away.  Swallowing against his hand, Bucky let out a quiet, wrecked sigh until Steve eased up, allowing him to gulp a breath—the oxygen may as well having flown through his body and straight to his dick.

“Steve,” Bucky wheezed, earning a kiss, before Steve’s hand was back at his throat.

“Dirty boy,” he hissed, starting with two fingers to squeeze again.

The world shifted and spun, colors blurring together as Bucky rocked back against Steve’s hips.  His hands found purchase against Steve’s ass, forcing him deeper and harder as Steve tightened his third and fourth fingers again.  His tongue twitched against the corner of his mouth, before air rushed past his throat and into his lungs again.  Trembling, he babbled softly into Steve’s lips.

Mine.

“’M gonna,” Steve mumbled, biting at Bucky’s lip, his hand returning once more to Bucky’s already mangled throat.  But Bucky shook his head, kissing him softly.

“Kiss me,” he whispered.  Steve didn’t need to be told twice, his lips capturing Bucky’s in a delicate flurry, his thrusts becoming ragged and uneven.  Bucky reached to palm himself, to stroke and cum when Steve would, but a hand stopped him, squeezed at the base of his cock.  He whined, arching and shaking like a leaf in wind as Steve slammed into him.  He felt a tension, a rush of heat and a cry into his lips as Steve came into the condom. 

Precum leaked from the head of his cock, and Bucky wriggled, his body and soul screaming for release.  Tears clung to the corners of his eyes, and Steve only kissed him slowly.  His tongue left tender trails across his abused lips, kisses held for several long, labored seconds.  The jitters did not die, but continued to permeate through Bucky’s being as though there were an electric current constantly vibrating through him.

Steve kissed his bites and finger marks, ghosting a breath over each, softening the edges where his teeth had been.  The first tear rolled down into Bucky’s hairline as he tried to wiggle and thrust into Steve’s hand.  He only moved half an inch or so, and it did nothing to help the ache.

“S-Steve, p-please, fuck, please, I gotta—I need t’… oh, fuck, fuck, fuck, I can’t…”  Bucky choked, panting heavily as Steve eased out.  The whine to, then, leave Bucky’s lips was not for a desire to release.

Steve shh’d him, peppering kisses along his chest and ribs, letting his legs fall and relax along the bed.  His hand still held Bucky in a vice, almost painfully holding back his orgasm.  Whimpering, Bucky tried thrusting into his hand again, to no avail.  With his eyes squeezed shut, Bucky missed the glance Steve gave him, the smirk on his lips, or the way he regarded Bucky’s cock with something akin to goddamn adoration before taking him whole and swallowing him in one go.

His eyes flew open, back arching deeply of the bed, and Steve’s godforsaken hand still held him at the base, keeping him just on the edge as he sucked slowly.  His tongue dragged along the underside of his shaft, dipping along the veins and smoothing over the slit.  Bucking and thrusting into his hold, Bucky’s fingers dug and pulled at Steve’s hair, cries spilling off his lips as Steve finally relinquished his hold.

He shot across Steve’s tongue almost instantly.

Perhaps he might have been embarrassed, but the pleasure that had overtaken him reduced his vision to nothing for several moments.  When it returned, and the world stopped buzzing with the euphoria of heaven, Bucky felt a stirring, weak but present, at the sight of Steve licking his lips, smearing his cum across them before swallowing slowly.

He might have been embarrassed if it hadn’t been so fucking hot.

Bucky thought he breathed an audible fuck, or said something along the lines to acknowledge that he had seen Steve, but words were funny and took too much energy, and he couldn’t remember the time it took for Steve to smile at him to Steve wiping them both down with a cool cloth.  The condoms and lube had disappeared, the nearby trashcan stamped down and dotted with a few tissues.

Sighing heavily, Bucky slumped into the mattress, remembering only a set of lips at the corner of his mouth before he fell under.

He could still remember the morning after—rather, the afternoon after—waking up with sunlight streaming through his window, and an ache that settled down into the core of his bones.  His bed was empty, save for himself, with his blankets neatly pulled up around his waist.  His skin felt hot, tight, and prickled at each motion, and he would have gotten out of bed if not for the insane tenderness of his lower half upon even thinking about getting out of bed.

He could still remember looking over to find a note folded on the pillow beside him.  His nimble fingers had taken it up, opening it slowly before taking in a delicate, unfamiliar scrawl.  Sorry to leave you, but work called me away.  Just wanted to say that I had an amazing time with you, and you’re really cute when you sleep.  With love, Steve.

P.S. Call me if you’d like.  I’d love to see you again.

As if that had not made him flush enough, the knock at the door and a smug-faced Natasha sure as shit had been.

Did you have a good night?

As a matter of fact, yes, yes I did.

Teased as she might have, there was a fondness in her eye and a smile that she reserved for him only once in a while.

And… he was ashamed of it, but he didn’t call.  Everything in him screamed to, for Steve was never far from his thoughts if he wasn’t already occupying them.  But there was a part of Bucky that believed it to be a dream, an elaborate fantasy that he’d concocted to alleviate the ending of summer and the return of reality.  And when the marks faded, he felt even more certain that, perhaps, it wasn’t really that… amazing.  It couldn’t have been.  Fate was a fickle bitch, and meeting someone like…

Truly, how could it have been so good?  His night had turned so sour, so wrong and embarrassing, and then came this swooping angel with golden blond hair and beautiful blue eyes, and all because he’d looked sad.  And he fell for it.  Fell for every word, every glance, every small touch until Steve had all but slipped beneath his skin and felt just as comfortable there as his soul.

He didn’t call because there was something so precious about that night, faded and unreal as it became.  He’d been there once before, on the receiving end of a perfect night with someone who made him physically feel like nothing could touch him, only to be left hung dry and out on a stump of a limb.  Not that Bucky could have imagined that someone like Steve would ever do that, no, but then… there would be that fear.  That possibility that maybe it wasn’t…

But then he’d open his phone and see Steve’s contact information, a little heart-emoji that had been placed just next to the E, and his doubts and desires would fill him all over again.

Shame, though, had to be far removed, and he eased his mind with late mornings and one last Netflix binge with Natasha.  He’d promised her repeatedly for one more marathon before they returned to their senior year at Uni.  I swear, I swear, he’d said to her, with a toothy grin and a kiss on the cheek. 

Yeah, yeah, you swear one more time and your ass is mine.

He could remember stopping at that, hesitating almost, as heat flared up at his throat.

Mine.

He gave Natasha her marathon, and they drank and talked about her coming home early in the morning to see her roommate and best friend marked up like a Fight Club member in the arms of someone who could have easily modeled for Abercrombie-and-fucking-Fitch.  And the reality would settle in and seep into his bones, a familiar warmth tickling under his skin and pressing at his throat.

Have you called him?

I know… I will.  Eventually.

Eventually would wait, he rationalized, slinging his book bag over his shoulder before sauntering his way into another building to house another class for his major.  He couldn’t even be bothered with schedules or maps, and tried to spare some shred of patience to the freshman who did.  He’d been there, he knew what it felt like.  To be eighteen and naïve and in college for the first time ever.  To feel as though the world was simultaneously piled against you and at your feet.

That had been so long ago, it seemed.

But he tried, Bucky did, and he waved to fell classmates inside of the science hall before taking a flight of stairs up to the second level where a majority of the arts and workshop courses were being held.  He passed his English professor from his sophomore year, allowing only a moment to share a few words regarding the summer, and that he was glad to be almost done.  He ignored the heat in his throat when briefly asked if he’d met anyone new.

Traipsing down the hall, Bucky pressed a shoulder into a door on the left before slipping inside a wide, open, studio-style room with large bay windows and woot-slatted floors.  Long wooden tables stretched the length of the room with eight to ten stools arranged at each.  Easels were in one corner, new canvases stacked to their left with displayed art hung to the right.  Cabinets of paints, palettes, brushes, and reference photos lined the back wall, with posters decorating the front of the room.

Slinking into a table, Bucky withdrew a sketchbook and a pencil, setting his bag on the floor under the table, his phone to his left.  He flipped through the pages, passing sketches from previous classes, several drawings of Natasha, Clint, or Sam.  His heart thudded and pressed to the base of his neck as he hesitated over several with varying sketches of eyes, lips, a torso dotted with tattoos.

Swallowing, he flipped to a clean page, breathing deeply as he began to doodle.  He had time yet before the start of class, he could send him a text.  Apologize for being so stupid and not having called fucking immediately.  But wouldn’t that be desperate?  No, he wouldn’t say that.  Perhaps something simple, like…

Like, hey.  That always worked, right?

Sighing, Bucky shook his head, dragging his pencil back and forth.  Stupid fucking blonds and their stupid fucking blue eyes and stupid fucking Steve—

This was utterly ridiculous.

Stupid fucking me.  I just… I need to text him.  I’m gonna text him.

“Morning class… gonna start… roll…”

He couldn’t be bothered to listen, though there was a tone to the voice coming from the front of the room that seemed entirely familiar.  Frowning, Bucky closed his sketchpad before taking his phone into hand.  Swiping the screen, he tapped the message icon.

“…Barnes.”

New message—Steve<3

Oh, God, what was he gonna say?  Hey was fucking stupid.

“James Barnes.”

For fuck’s sake, he was twenty-one years old, a college senior, he could—

“James.  Barnes.”

Lifting his head, Bucky nearly dropped his phone.

Leaning against the front desk like he was born to own the world, fucking Steve was dressed in dark denim pants, a light blue collar poking out from under a thin black sweater, the sleeves rolled up neatly around his forearms.  His face was clean shaved, hair styled back just enough out of his face to be casual.  His eyes were focused, locked on Bucky’s face—and more, and Bucky would have probably died then and there.

“How nice to see you’re so attached to your phone, Mr. Barnes,” Steve said cooly, and Bucky wasn’t sure which was worse—the slight attack at his phone and his obvious lack of a call, or the rush of excitement that rolled over him at the authoritative tone that accompanied Steve’s voice so easily.

“Bucky.”  He said.  You fucking—

“Beg your pardon?”  Steve raised an eyebrow, jaw clenched.  But your eyes…

“I go by Bucky,” he said, swallowing a little, curling the corner of his mouth just slightly.

Steve chuckled, shifting from one foot to the other before standing to his full height, and Bucky felt both small and empowered.  There was a dangerous look in his eye, and his lips curled in what could have been construed as impatience, or even sarcasm, but… No…  That wasn’t quite right.

“Well, Bucky,” oh, fuck, “since you don’t seem to mind preoccupying yourself when I’m trying to get your attention, I’m sure you won’t mind having a chat with me after class.”