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Bucky doesn't think of himself as a virgin. He's never gotten his dick properly wet, he guesses, but he showed a lot of girls a really nice time back in the Brooklyn he remembers. It doesn't make sense that he'd have to stick it in to make things count. And Steve. He'd taken special care to be real sweet to Stevie back when they were touching each other that way.
And some of those girls had showed him a good time in return, red lipstick smeared across their cheeks when they'd gotten up off their knees. He remembers liking that, the obscene glisten of waxy color all out of place before they cleaned themselves up. Bucky is pretty sure he'd been grateful like a gentleman every time, too.
He wasn't asexual then and he doesn't think he's asexual now that he's got a pretty good grasp of what that even means. His therapists said it was normal for his sexual drive to be a little sluggish after everything was all. They also mentioned it might come back.
Maybe he should have asked them a little more about what that might feel like.
***
Bucky had been 15 when he'd run a few jobs for Clive Jackson and his toughs. Playing lookout hadn't seemed like a lot of work for the money and they'd needed the money - he'd wanted to bring it back to his ma and his sisters, contribute something since George Barnes had been drinking more and working less. Bucky admired Clive, too - big and muscular in a way Bucky wasn't, red haired and freckled and always smiling in a way that felt comfortable and familiar.
That summer was hot, he remembered. Steve had been gone for two weeks already, and Bucky had felt so restless; his legs ached at night and he woke up with sticky underwear more often than not, after dreams that left him confused even as they felt better than almost anything. He'd dreamed about girls before. And he'd figured out where to find five minutes to take care of himself whenever he got the chance. But now there were wide shoulders and a broad grin behind his eyes whenever he laid himself down. Now he was curious what Clive's big hands might feel like in places he'd only thought about letting Stevie touch.
It had felt disloyal to Steve, looking and thinking about Clive. And Bucky knew it was all dangerous in the first place. He knew a couple of the fairies and the queens that lived in the neighborhood and he didn't think he was like them. But he didn't think he was like the Joes that came creeping around to bend them over either.
***
Steve puts his hands on Bucky a lot now, casual touches, the kind of easy physicality that Bucky has been missing, has been craving. They've traded a couple of chaste kisses, easy brushes of lips to cheek that make Bucky a little nervous but only because he's not sure where Steve wants to take them.
They share ice cream, trade bites before it all melts. And Steve has taken to making bread on Sunday mornings, for them to slather with butter and devour while the thick slices are still warm from the oven.
It's easier to talk to Steve now, too. Bucky explains more about his classes, doesn't hide when he comes home, celebrates when something has gone particularly well and sulks when something hasn't quite worked out. Steve trades him stories about his art classes, about the work he's doing and how frustrating it is when he can't get what's in his head to come out onto the canvas - but also how when he does manage it, there's something magical about everything.
Bucky likes those nights best, the ones where he's had a good class and so has Steve. That's when they're most likely to wind up sitting together on the couch watching something neither one of them is particularly interested in. If this was before, he'd be romancing Steve something fierce but the muscle memory of how to do that is long gone. And he thinks Steve is still just a little skittish about pushing for more faster than Bucky is willing to give it.
***
The air in the warehouse had been stifling, still and hot and sour with booze spilled on the floor and gone stale. Clive had asked him back and offered Bucky an open bottle.
There hadn't been a reason to say no; Bucky didn't want to go home lit like his father but it would hardly be the first time he'd snuck a little bit to drink. And there had been something in Clive's eyes, something Bucky was starting to recognize when it was directed at him.
Some of the women in the neighborhood had started looking at him that way, too. Like he was something tasty just on the edge of being ready to serve up at the table. It made him want to squirm away and hide but it also made him want to flex his arms and thrust his chin out.
He tried not to think about it too much because it all made him uncomfortable.
But Clive was easy going and Bucky took the bottle from him and sat when Clive invited him to sit and didn't move away when Clive put a casual hand on his neck and pulled him closer.
***
On almost any other night, Bucky would definitely be paying attention to a new episode of Dog Cops. He and Clint meet for fancy coffees in the mornings sometimes now, to talk about new episodes and the best way to teach hip throws. He likes Clint, likes their terrible sense of humor and awful taste in clothes. It doesn't hurt that they're a really good shot.
But this night involves Steve sitting close enough that his thigh is pressed right up against Bucky's, and Steve has his arm spread out over the back of the couch so it doesn't quite touch Bucky's shoulders.
The move feels familiar somehow, like Bucky should know it well enough to laugh. Instead, he feels just a little quivery, excited like he wants something to happen even though he's not one hundred percent sure just what. He shifts, and his knee bumps into Steve's knee.
"Hey, Steve, you think that new gelato place is still open?" He has no idea why that's what came out of his mouth but it's better than some of the other options. Things like, Hey, Steve, you have any idea how much I want to suck you off? or, Hey, Steve, you need to wash your sheets as often as I do lately?
His therapists hadn't been wrong about his libido, Bucky guesses. He should probably let them know.
***
Clive Jackson had not been a gentleman.
He'd covered Bucky's mouth with his own and Bucky hadn't tried to get away because he was curious and it was kind of thrilling; he'd been looking at Clive and now Clive wasn't beating him up for it, was showing Bucky what to do with his tongue and his lips and his teeth.
It was Bucky's first real kiss. He and Steve had practiced a little bit on each other but Stevie wasn't really interested and Bucky didn't feel right, asking Steve for it like a favor. He kept hoping Steve would get interested though - maybe in a year or two. His ma said Stevie was a late bloomer.
But none of that had been in Bucky's head because Clive had gotten a grip on his hair and hadn't let go. The sting of it had made Bucky's head swim just as much as the need to breathe; by the time Clive had pulled back, Bucky's eyes were wide open and his neck felt loose. When Clive had reached for the button on Bucky's pants, Bucky hadn't objected.
***
Steve moves his arm to reach for his phone, checks online to see if the gelato place is open. He lets Bucky see the screen, never hides anything from Bucky, more often than not goes out of his way to make sure Bucky can see whatever he's doing these days.
It's a nice thought, Bucky figures. But he's not doing the same because then Steve is likely to see the porn Bucky has stumbled onto. People just keep their blue pictures right online, like there's nothing shameful about looking up how to give head.
In truth, Bucky doesn't get off on most of the porn he finds. It doesn't actually look like the people in it are having a very good time, and the blow jobs all seem to be real violent. Bucky doesn't think he minded choking on Steve's dick sometimes but that's more intense than would be advisable for him to start with. If he can't remember how to work up to kissing Steve, he probably shouldn't be jumping ahead to trying to shove that Vita-Rayed cock down his throat.
He wasn’t going to tell his therapists that but Bucky thought they’d appreciate him setting realistic goals about it just the same.
"I've got a pint of Beet Goat Cheese & Candied Pistachio if you want." Steve looks hopeful, like all he really wants is to make Bucky happy.
Bucky's stomach does a weird swoopy thing and he isn't sure if it's a response to Steve's face - that's not an entirely new expression and he still isn't sure how to do anything in response to it - or to the flavor. "You're just making that one up, punk."
"I swear! I'll grab us some spoons." Steve leans in and brushes his mouth against Bucky's temple, the most forward he's been yet.
There are other places Bucky would rather have Steve's mouth, if he can figure out how to ask for them. The fluttery feeling he was nursing earlier hasn't gone away either. He reaches for Steve's arm before Steve can pull away entirely.
“Hey.” Bucky used to be smooth. History books even said so.
Steve hovers, on his feet but still bent over the couch so Bucky can hang on to him, caught in motion that leaves him looking like some kind of Greek statue. He’s always been pretty to Bucky but this is ridiculous.
Bucky shifts himself, like he’s easing up on a target that he doesn’t want to see him coming, moves to the edge of the sofa. That puts him closer to Steve, right up in his space so they’re breathing some of the same air.
***
Clive had been rough as he jerked Bucky off - and Bucky had just about managed to not die from how amazing it felt to have someone else’s hand on him, sliding over his erection, tugging his foreskin back, thumb rubbing in vicious circles under the head. He’d come all over himself and Clive’s fist, a mess in just about every conceivable way.
He hadn’t had any idea it would feel that good. No wonder, he’d figured, that people were a little stupid about sex. No wonder they got themselves in all kinds of trouble over it and had to go see his ma.
His head was still dizzy with it when Clive went to undo the fastenings on his own trousers. He still had a grip on the back of Bucky’s neck, and it was a surprise when he pushed Bucky down toward his lap instead of pulling him in for another kiss.
Bucky had wanted another one of those kisses. He had felt a little wobbly, a little unsure which way was up and he'd thought another one of those kisses would set him just right.
Instead, Clive’s other big hand had grasped his jaw, wedged Bucky’s mouth open with a thumb to Bucky’s cheek.
It had hurt.
***
Steve stays so still Bucky isn’t sure that he’s even breathing anymore. Bucky wants to scoff, but he mostly just appreciates Steve’s steadiness. He brings his flesh-and-blood hand up to touch the pink of Steve’s mouth.
There’s nothing wrong with the metal one, not really; he’s been working on believing that more and more. His students are all relaxed around it; some of them have even told him how pretty it is. But he wants to feel Steve’s mouth without any fancy technology between them, like it’s them in the Brooklyn he remembers that first time, that summer Steve came home from camp and had started to look back at Bucky with a certain interest.
Bucky had been waiting for just that look so he’d kissed Steve the first chance he’d gotten then, hadn’t he? And Steve looked at him all the time like that now, didn’t he?
***
Afterwards, with a raw throat and bruised lips, Bucky had stumbled back home. His ears had rung, a constant high-pitched whine that he didn’t think came from him but Bucky had no way of being sure. He’d scrambled up the fire escape ladders, needing to get up and away from the press of bodies on the street.
It had been good that Steve was away at camp; Clive would have taken advantage of Steve, too, and Bucky would have killed him. He might not have known how but he’d have figured it out or died trying.
He’d cleaned his face up with the stagnant water pooled in an old rain barrel.
People were stupid about sex. He'd not guessed that would include him but Bucky was determined to be smart about it going forward.
***
Steve has real long eyelashes. Bucky stares at them and tries to keep his breathing regular. If he hyperventilates before he can kiss Steve, that’s going to set them back a bit. Steve might take it personally.
The voice of calm in his head still sounds like Banner. That’s never been awkward before but now it kind of feels like Bucky’s trying to kiss Steve in front of the other Avengers. It’s definitely not helping him calm down to imagine that scenario; he’s never been into exhibitionism, he’s pretty sure he would remember something like that if he were.
“What’s going on in your head, jerk?” Steve keeps his voice low and he doesn’t move.
It helps though, and Bucky manages a little smirk up at him. “Just figuring out the best tactical approach to this. Don’t want to give up all my defensible positions at once. Just in case.”
He doesn’t expect the softness that creeps into Steve’s eyes. “I’m a pretty sure thing, Buck. You don’t gotta do that much strategic thinking with me.”
***
The next time Clive had called him for a job, Bucky had stayed out of grabbing range but agreed to it. He’d taken Clive’s money and done his job - but he’d paid attention. And when Clive had invited him back to the warehouse for a drink, Bucky had begged off, told him his ma needed him to help with the little girls.
He’d scampered then, as quick as he could. Bucky wasn’t interested in getting caught alone anywhere on the street by one of the gang. He’d had to duck into a few stores but he’d made it home without getting grabbed so he counted it as a victory.
Then he’d snuck right back out and headed for the gin joint where Mackey Thompson hung around.
It wasn’t Bucky’s style to double-cross anyone he took a job for. Even at 15 he had known that was a bad business practice. But he also had been pretty sure he wouldn’t survive the summer looking over his shoulder for Clive and his boys.
Mackey had listened and, more importantly, hadn’t asked why some kid was trying to influence his business. Instead, he’d told Bucky to scram and to stay home the next time Clive tried to give him a job.
Bucky had promised.
Clive and half his gang had disappeared the following week.
***
Steve had come back with a surprisingly deep voice, like his insides had grown up even though his outsides mostly looked the same. He’d gotten off the train and Bucky had ignored their mothers long enough to hug him, just for a minute.
There hadn’t been anyone as pretty as Steve, not ever, Bucky had thought. Gold hair and blue eyes and he’d always smelled like home to Bucky even when Steve had been sick enough to make his mother call that priest for Last Rites. Bucky had been used to looking and appreciating without it being returned.
But after Sarah had fussed over him and hugged his neck and cried a little bit, Bucky saw it. Hadn’t trusted his own eyes at first until later that night, when he was in his own bed, curled on his side with his hand down his pants.
Steve had finally looked back at him.
***
Bucky wets his lips with tongue, swallows. Leans that little bit more forward.
Steve’s mouth tastes as pink as it looks, gentle and easy under his.
He tugs Steve closer, pulls at him again until they’re both back on the couch, Steve kneeling carefully to face him without caging him in.
Definitely not asexual.
When they separate, Steve ducks his head and grins. Then he swoops back in for another kiss.
It’s better than ice cream, sweeter and cooler. Bucky thinks he’ll probably never get enough.