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“What was it like?” When Steve frowns, Bucky quickly clarifies, “Going back, I mean.”
Steve’s arm, wrapped tightly around Bucky’s shoulders, squeezes once before massaging circles into the covered skin. Bucky lies against Steve’s chest, the steady thump thump of his heart a reassuring tempo against his ear. He matches his breaths with Steve’s exhales, but it’s not enough. He’s never sated when it comes to Steve. Steve’s other hand rubs absentmindedly at the plates of the metal hand, and Bucky stamps down the urge to pull it away.
No matter how long Bucky looks at it, he will never get over the abnormality of his metal arm—the implications woven into each plate. Despite getting a replacement from Shuri all those years ago, rooted deep into his mind, he’ll never see it as anything other than a weapon. It— he —was used as a weapon, and that is all he learned to use it as.
But Steve touches it so gently, like it’s a real hand made from flesh and bones and not the metal and wires it really is. Bucky turns his face and pointedly stares at everything but their intertwined fingers.
“It was strange at first,” Steve replies moments later. “I saw the Howlies again”—He chuckles when Bucky’s breath hitches. An ache settles behind Bucky’s ribcage—“and they instantly knew I wasn’t their Steve. Mocked my beard a little and said I almost resembled Dum Dum.” This time, Bucky weakly laughs into Steve’s shirt, swallowing the wrenching memory of friendly faces he can barely remember. “The war was over and they were celebrating. Celebrating , Bucky. You should’ve seen it. It’s the first time I’d seen the place so… alive.”
His voice dies down, but bittersweetness already bubbles in Bucky’s throat. We missed that , Bucky doesn’t say. I missed that .
He sees the twist in Steve’s brows and the gnawing on his bottom lip. “They asked me about the future, you know. Wondered if there were any flying cars yet.”
“They must’ve been disappointed then,” Bucky chimes in. The beating of his heart burns, and he breathes in Steve’s warm sandalwood scent, muting the ache.
Steve hums. “Very. It’s better that way, though. Who knows what would’ve happened if humans, God forbid, got access to flying cars? Society would fall apart.” Bucky hides a faint smile in Steve’s neck. “They miss you, Buck. Gabe nearly had a heart attack when I told them you were still alive. Kept asking me about you. If you were healthy. If you were eating well. If I was treating you right.”
“Did you tell them?”
Steve doesn’t ask what he means. “No, I didn’t think it was right to tell them something so sensitive to you. They didn’t ask me how I ended up in the future. I knew they wouldn’t ask the same about you.” Bucky sags against Steve.
Bucky barely remembers what the Howlies look like without a reference photo, but he misses them all the same. A long, long time ago, they were family. He travelled with them, defended them, ate with them, joked with them, and killed with them. He trusted them with his life. Now, though, their faces, their memories, are nothing more than fleeting images, flickering like dying candlelight. And when the candle finally dies out, Bucky wonders if he’ll lose them, too—just like he lost everything else.
“What about Peggy?” He doesn’t realize he forced the words out of his lungs until they dangle tauntingly in the air. “Did you see her again?”
“I saw her after returning all the stones. She hadn’t aged a day since I last saw her.” Bucky swallows thickly, and the ache in his chest turns into a throb, but Steve’s voice gets so soft while mentioning her that he doesn’t dare interrupt. “She was just as beautiful with that dashing red lipstick of hers, and her loud heels and curly hair. But I was there at her funeral, you know. It was like seeing a ghost. I’m sure she felt the same when she saw me.” Steve pulls Bucky closer and pecks the crown of his head. “Ask me what I felt when I saw her again. Go on, ask.”
Bucky inhales sharply. “What— What did you feel when you saw her again?”
“Like I was reacquainting with an old friend,” Steve answers. He smiles wistfully. “There was a time when I thought I’d marry her”—And oh, how every word pierces Bucky’s heart, like a cruel, cruel knife only Steve could ever twist—“because to me, she represented normalcy in a time of instability and war. I think I was blinded for so long by my need to prove myself, and then by my desperation to escape the battlefield and regain control over my life. I fantasized about a normal life, and there she was. My calling to stability. So, I chased it. And I went back in time, urged by that lingering fascination.”
“Right,” Bucky murmurs. Peggy’s name, a blackened rot he can’t scrape out, sits heavily in his chest. His eyelids burn with tears.
“I felt none of that when I saw her again. She and I had both moved on. She had a husband and I— Well I had you. I guess, after everything that happened, I couldn't let the past go, but seeing her again gave me the closure I didn’t realize I needed. I don’t yearn for her anymore, you know. I don’t yearn for the past because I realized, during my time with her, that I had everything I wanted right here, waiting for me in the present.”
A lifetime. Bucky had waited a lifetime to hear Steve say those words, to hear him say that he was enough, that he was everything Steve ever wanted, but now that he hears it, he can’t help but curl in on himself.
“Bucky?” Steve mutters, glancing down at him. His expression shifts when he realizes Bucky’s shuffling away from him. “You don’t believe me.”
Bucky stops. “What? No. No, I do. I just— You know…”
When Steve goes silent, Bucky swallows the urge to cry because he fucked up , didn’t he? Steve is here and he should be grateful, but he recoils like Steve burnt him and he’s ruining everything . An apology sits on the tip of his tongue, scorching hot like molten lava.
A rough, calloused hand cups the side of his face and gently turns it until Bucky faces Steve, and oh, he can’t do anything when Steve, his blue eyes as deep and hypnotizing and terrifying as the ocean, stares at him like that. All warmth and not a trace of malice, not even in the deepest crevices of his gaze.
“How do I prove it to you?” Steve tenderly whispers, like a secret only Bucky is meant to hear. “How do I get you to believe that I mean it when I say you’re all I want?”
“I— I don’t…”
How is Bucky supposed to respond to that? Even he doesn’t think he’s all Steve would want. He has nothing to offer him, nothing of value that could possibly convince Steve to stay. He’s a former assassin, beaten up and corroded around the edges from the years of war and fighting and gunpowder up his nose and electric currents sent to his brain, rotting him from the inside out.
He wonders if Steve even realizes that. He wonders if Steve is aware of whom he’s talking to because he isn’t James Barnes. He isn’t the man displayed in the Smithsonian who carried a rifle on his shoulder and an air of confidence that tiptoed the line of cockiness. He isn’t the man who scraped together coins off the side of the road just to afford them a ticket to Coney Island. He isn’t the man who stayed up with him when he caught a fever and nursed him back to health.
Bucky is nothing more than a shell of the man Steve knew, wearing his face and his body and using his voice, but only has fragments of his past life—bits and pieces that can’t even be placed together to create a full picture. He is a tortured ghost, adopting a dead man’s name and sharing his past while adding haunted memories of his own.
Steve doesn’t want a man who doesn’t even know who he is . He is not the Winter Soldier, the deadly assassin with no life in his eyes and no will of his own, but he is not James, the man Steve called his best friend. Instead, he is a bizarre hybrid of the two, a lost soul who holds the pieces of both sides and doesn’t know what to do with either.
He tries to tear his gaze away from Steve, maybe distract himself by counting the loose threads on Steve’s sweater, but Steve’s grip on his face, though gentle, remains firm. He doesn’t attempt to pull away. His eyelids flutter when Steve leaves a chaste kiss on the side of his mouth. “Hm?” Steve hums, and Bucky realizes he still awaits an answer. “Look at me, Bucky. What can I do to prove it to you?” He kisses Bucky’s lips, a gentle press that has Bucky questioning if it was real when Steve pulls away.
“You don’t—” You don’t have to prove it to me , Bucky wants to say, because he couldn’t possibly ask that of Steve. There is nothing he has to prove. The problem lies with Bucky, and it’s not something Steve can do anything about.
“You’re thinking really hard right now, Buck,” Steve muses. “Talk to me, hm? I can’t read your mind, love. I need to hear the words from you.” Bucky’s brain short circuits at being called love , and his mouth goes dry. His reaction doesn’t go unnoticed. Steve smiles sweetly. “You like when I call you love ? Because you are. You’re my love. My everything.” He kisses the side of Bucky’s face, right next to his ear, and each word pierces his heart until he begins quivering.
Bucky’s hands fly to Steve’s chest when one of Steve’s hands slides underneath his shirt, pressing innocently at his stomach. “Wait, Steve…” Stop lingers in his throat, but he doesn’t know if that’s what he wants. He doesn’t know if he wants to push Steve away or pull him closer, but nonetheless, he tightens his grip on his sweater. When he notices the metal hand twisting in the sweater’s fabric, he quickly jerks it away. Steve grabs it, stares directly into Bucky’s eyes, and holds his gaze as he presses a kiss to his metal palm.
Bucky’s body twitches, unsure if he wants to burrow closer or scramble to the farthest side of the couch. He does neither.
“Hey, look at me.” The softness in Steve’s eyes makes Bucky want to hide. “Is this okay?” he asks, his hand travelling farther up Bucky’s stomach until his shirt is pushed up, barely covering his nipples. “Do you want me to stop?”
Yes.
No.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
I don’t know.
Bucky wraps his flesh hand around Steve’s nape, and pulls him down for a proper kiss. Steve sighs into it, his hand abandoning his stomach to wrap around his waist and pull him closer until he’s firmly against Steve’s chest. He radiates warmth, big and strong and fitting perfectly against Bucky. When Steve’s unoccupied hand finds his abs again, Bucky jumps and promptly breaks the kiss.
Steve frowns. “It’s alright if you don’t want this. You know I’d never force you to do anything.”
“That’s not— That’s not it. I swear, I’m fine. I promise.” Steve thoroughly scans his face for any sign he might be lying. He’s not, but God only knows why Steve’s concern affects him the way it does. Maybe it’s because he doesn’t remember the last time someone touched him so tenderly, so intimately, and he let them . Maybe it’s because he doesn’t remember the last time someone expressed genuine concern over his discomfort, and did everything in their power to ensure he felt safe.
When Steve finds not a single trace of a lie in his statement, he leans down to pepper firm kisses over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, and his lips. Bucky melts into it, adjusting his position so he can throw a leg around Steve’s hips. Steve hums approvingly and pulls both of Bucky’s legs around him. Bucky strategically doesn’t flinch when Steve cups the underside of his thighs and easily picks him up, walking them into Bucky’s bedroom.
He pointedly avoids looking at the floor of his room, knowing that, if he does, he’ll find his pajama bottoms and a few pairs of pants scattered over the polished wood in his haste to get changed after he received Sam’s call. It’s crazy to think that, just a few hours ago, he’d gone to sleep with longing rooted deep in his heart. Now, Steve is right here and he’s still yearning, and he doesn’t think it’ll ever go away. At least, not yet.
A smile tugs on Bucky’s lips when Steve drops him on top of his unmade bed, and he lightly bounces before settling. Steve carefully shuffles forward, watching Bucky’s face for any changes as he sits between his legs.
Steve bends down at the waist, planting his hands on either side of Bucky’s head, and just stares. “Hi,” he smiles.
“Hey,” Bucky replies breathily.
Steve pushes Bucky’s shirt back up and fiddles with the buttons on his pants. “Is this okay?”
“What? Yeah. Yes. Yes, it’s okay.”
“Okay, okay. Sit up for me.” Bucky complies, and Steve yanks the shirt over his head, pecking his forehead as he tosses the shirt to the other side of the room. Bucky doesn’t see where it lands, occupied by Steve’s lips as he gently pushes him back down. His metal arm is on display along with all his scars in their naked glory. They rise on his skin, jagged bumps from hastily patched gunshot wounds, incisions and stab wounds. The scar on his shoulder is no better. Even Shuri’s technology couldn’t rid him of the marks where metal meets flesh. He looks away when he catches Steve staring, almost analyzing the scars Bucky left several decades ago when he tried to claw the metal off to no avail.
“You’re beautiful,” Steve states, kissing his shoulder like it’s not hideous.
“You don’t have to lie,” Bucky mutters. “I know it’s not pleasant to look at.”
Steve nods. “You’re right, it’s not.” Bucky’s stomach drops, and he thinks he’ll throw up. Steve runs his thumb over it. “They hurt you, tore you apart like you were nothing, but each of these scars prove that you survived, that you made it out.” Steve nuzzles the scar on his shoulder, and Bucky marvels at how he doesn’t shy away from it. “I can’t stand to think of what they did to you. I wish they were still alive just so I could tear them apart, but—”
“I did that already.”
Steve smiles, running his hands over the scars littering his torso. “Yeah, yeah you did. And I’m so proud of you for it.” Bucky huffs, rolling his eyes and hoping Steve will just do something if it stops him from looking at Bucky like that .
Steve curses under his breath as he fumbles with the buttons of Bucky’s pants, something about how much he hates the new century’s form-fitting clothes, and Bucky can’t help but lightly laugh into his hand. Steve manages to tug them off, minor tears and all, and when he reaches Bucky’s boxers, he hesitates.
Bucky clucks his tongue. “Any day now.”
“Is this still okay? You can tell me if—”
“Jesus, Steve, you ask me that one more time and I’m going to bed.”
“You’re already in bed,” Steve says matter-of-factly.
“I hate you.”
Steve grins. “No you don’t. You love me.” He says it both teasingly and like it’s a revelation, like he can’t fathom how Bucky could ever love him. Bucky argues it’s the other way around because how could he not love Steve? Someone as beautiful, persevering, resilient, and kind as Steve? But Bucky, on the other hand? He doesn’t know what Steve sees in him, what he sees as he gazes down at Bucky’s half-naked form in a way that Bucky dare describe as lovingly .
The boxers smoothly roll down Bucky’s thighs and his breath catches in his throat. His hands fly to cover himself, but Steve seizes his wrist. “Don’t. You don’t need to hide from me, love. You look stunning.”
Bucky grumbles. “Easy for you to say. You’re still completely clothed.”
But when the embarrassment dissipates, the reality of his situation dawns on him. He’s completely naked now, lying on his back and caged by Steve’s arms, and he doesn’t remember the last time he was so vulnerable in front of someone and he tries to fight it but his breaths come in short and suddenly he’s scared because he can’t be vulnerable, not in front of someone else when they could easily hurt him, when they could use him, manipulate him, break him down and refuse to build him back up, and he can’t give that sort of power over to someone, he can’t —
“Hey, hey, Bucky, breathe for me. It’s okay. It’s just me, sweetheart, it’s just Steve. You’re safe, and I’m not gonna hurt you.” A gentle palm runs up and down Bucky’s side as he sucks in aborted breaths, reminding himself that this is Steve . Steve is the one in bed with him, witnessing his vulnerability, and he would never hurt him. Never. “This is why I’m so adamant about checking in on you. I was worried I would do the wrong thing.”
“Shut up, just— Shut up,” Bucky grits, covering his eyes. He hates how pathetic he feels, shaking with fear underneath the man he loves . He wishes Steve would look away. Any longer, and Steve is sure to see how unappealing he is after the post-confession bliss wears off. He has half a mind to kick Steve out of his bed, out of the apartment so Bucky can curl up on the floor and let his self-loathing consume him until he’s reduced to nothing more than the skeletal form of the former James Barnes.
But he doesn’t push Steve away, and the hands that rub his sides and the voice that currently whispers sweet nothings into his ear aid in slowing the rapid beating of his heart. He peels his hand away from his eyes, wincing at the tears on his palm and the clumping of his lashes.
“We can stop here for now. We don’t have to do anything tonight if you don’t want to,” Steve says softly, but Bucky doesn’t want to stop. He can’t stand that Steve might look at him differently after this, that he’s continuously ruining everything because he keeps overreacting and he can’t get his shit together for one second — “I won’t hold it against you if you do. I don’t expect anything from you, except for you to feel comfortable with me. We can take it as slow as you want.”
Bucky wipes furiously at his eyes. “Fuck you, Rogers. I’ve already taken it slow. I waited nearly a century to have you and I’m not letting a little hiccup fuck this up for me.”
Steve nods. “Okay.” He kisses Bucky’s shoulder again before pecking his lips. “Okay. But anytime you want to stop, you tell me and I drop everything.”
“Yeah, I know.” Bucky swallows. “I know.”
Steve cups the insides of Bucky’s thighs, parting them, and his hand is so close to his dick that Bucky nearly cries. Steve doesn’t touch it, doesn’t even look at it as he bends down to kiss the soft skin of his inner thigh. He bites down, his teeth digging into the fat before he sucks the same spot into his mouth to soothe it, and Bucky lets out an embarrassing squeak.
He stares at his ceiling, ignoring the way his dick tingles when Steve licks at his thigh and sucks another bruise into the unblemished skin. Steve switches sides and mumbles, “Beautiful,” and Bucky only has a second to relish in the compliment before Steve’s biting his other thigh. “You look beautiful.”
“Flatterer.” Bucky turns his face into his pillow.
“Just saying it as I see it, sweetheart.” Steve finally, finally , trails his kisses up until he merely stares at Bucky’s half-hard cock laying on his stomach. Bucky forces his legs to stay open under Steve’s scrutinizing gaze. Steve kisses the side of it, licking a strip up to the tip where precome has started to pool. An iron grip pins Bucky’s hips down when he tries to thrust up.
“Fucking hell , Steve, I’d prefer if you did something before the next century or I’ll kick you out and do it myself.”
Steve rolls his eyes and sucks the tip of Bucky’s cock into his mouth, sending ripples of pleasure up Bucky’s spine. “What’s the rush, Buck? We have all the time in the world for this now.”
“Yeah, well, the sun’s gonna come up soon and I’d like to get something done before then, thanks.”
“So impatient,” Steve grumbles, and then promptly takes Bucky’s dick into his mouth and holy shit , he barely has a gag reflex. Bucky’s back arches off the mattress and he moans, pleasure setting into his bones and sucking out the tension in his muscles.
“ Fuck ,” Bucky whimpers, his legs twitching around Steve’s head when he runs his tongue along a thick vein and sucks . Bucky’s real hand flies to Steve’s hair and grips at the strands, firm but not forceful. His metal hand twists into his sheets and his chest heaves. Steve hums approvingly. He sucks harder, and a low whine drags out of Bucky’s lungs. Steve’s thumbs dig into Bucky’s hips, keeping him pinned, and through the building haze in Bucky’s head, he feels the pain that is sure to result in bruises. “Fuck, Steve, yes , just like that —” His hole twitches when it comes in contact with a dry finger, his rim clenching around air. Bucky lets out a sob.
Steve pulls off, his lips glistening with spit and precome. Bucky looks away, his cheeks burning red. One gentle kiss on his hip bone turns to two, and then three. “Where’s your lube?” Bucky gulps, his brain barely catching the words, too focused on the finger pressing against his hole. “You do have lube, right? Or should we go for the more old school approach and use saliva?”
The thought of Steve pinning his thighs to his chest and licking him open with his tongue intrudes Bucky’s mind, and he swallows a whine. “God, you filthy animal, no . Of course I have lube. Top drawer.” If Steve sees through his feigned disgust, he doesn’t mention it. He does, however, raise an eyebrow when he pulls out the lube and notes that it’s half-empty. “Stop staring at me like that. I’m a single man with needs and a century worth of orgasms to make up for.”
“Not single anymore,” Steve replies as he uncaps it.
“Yeah,” Bucky sighs. “I guess not.”
Steve eyes the lube, considering. “Would you feel more comfortable lying on your stomach for this part? It might be easier.”
“What? Oh, yeah, okay.” Bucky scrambles to turn over. Steve’s gentle hand guides him, rolling him until his hard cock is trapped between him and the mattress. It takes everything in him to keep from rutting against the sheets until he comes.
Steve’s clothed chest rests along Bucky’s back, Steve nosing at the shell of his ear. “Beautiful,” Steve says again.
Bucky hides his face in his pillow. “Jesus, stop saying that.” The tips of his ears flush pink, and Steve presses a kiss behind them.
“I’ll say it ‘til you believe it, Buck.” Rough hands part Bucky’s cheeks, and a lubed finger presses against his hole. He shudders, clenching around nothing. “You’re okay, love,” Steve mutters as he presses the first finger in, and Bucky immediately clamps down around it. His finger feels bigger than it looks. “Relax, Bucky, I got you. It’s just me, darling.”
Bucky tries to relax, he really does, but this isn’t just Steve. This is the man he has loved since before he even knew what love meant. This is the man he’s followed and stood alongside since they were kids, and he’s here, feeling larger than life against Bucky, softly pinning him with a finger in his ass until he can’t feel anything but Steve. This is the man he loves more than anything, and he’s witnessing Bucky’s vulnerability, his naked body and his scars and touching him like he’s a sight to behold, like all the carvings on his body aren’t a turn off, but a factor that accentuates his beauty.
His senses vibrate, overwhelmed, and he blinks back the prickling tears in his eyes. “This isn’t fair,” Bucky grumbles. “You haven’t taken a single thing off yet.”
“Would it make you feel better if I did?” Steve asks, not even a hint of judgment in his voice.
Bucky thinks it over. “Yeah, I just… I feel a little…”
“It’s okay.” The kiss Steve leaves on his shoulder burns. “You don’t have to explain. I get it.” The weight disappears from Bucky’s back, and he almost whines in protest when the finger in him disappears, too. He twists his neck and watches Steve peel off the sweater, reuniting it with Bucky’s shirt on the floor. He fiddles with the buttons on his pants, and yanks both his pants and boxers off at once.
Bucky gulps and averts his gaze. He’s supposed to fit that in him? He knows the serum altered Steve’s size and his, well, everything , but Bucky hadn’t pondered the extent of it. Maybe he should’ve.
He startles when Steve plasters himself to his back again, his finger coming in contact with his lubed rim. “Still okay?”
Bucky swallows, ponders the question, and nods. “Yeah, still okay.” He gets a kiss to his ear for his answer, and this time, two fingers slip in, reaching deep inside him. There’s barely any resistance, and Bucky sighs as Steve stretches his fingers. The slightest lick of a burn runs along his rim, but Bucky welcomes it as easily as he welcomes Steve’s fingers.
Each thrust of Steve’s fingers sends a jolt through Bucky’s trapped dick. His fingers are longer and thicker than Bucky’s, and they press along his walls in places Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever reached. And Steve’s so gentle, holding him open with one hand while the other hand scissors his hole. It’s not enough to get Bucky off, but he could almost sink into the mattress and let the soft rippling pleasure lull him into a state of tranquility.
But that’s not what Bucky wants.
“Are you going to do something, or are you going to admire me with your fingers up my ass all night?”
“It’s our first time. I’m not trying to rush.”
“Yeah, well we’re not getting anywhere anytime soon if you just sit there fingering my ass.” Maybe, deep down, Bucky just doesn’t want to admit how Steve’s considerate pace gives Bucky too much room to think, and too much room to panic.
Steve sighs into Bucky’s shoulder. “You really can’t let a guy enjoy things, can you?” But he doesn’t sound mad—only teasing. He pulls his fingers out enough to pour lube onto a third finger, and pushes back in. This time, Bucky feels the burn enough to arch his back, trying to accommodate the stretch. When Steve thrusts and scissors his fingers, Bucky’s breath hitches, cut off by a moan that he tries to muffle into the pillow.
He pushes his ass back onto Steve’s fingers and tries to get his knees underneath him. It doesn’t work as well as he hoped. He rocks back, taking the fingers deeper and deeper and rutting the tip of his dick against the sheets. The burn fades somewhat, and his shoulders sag into the mattress.
“ Fuck, Steve ,” Bucky moans.
Steve plants a kiss in his hair and nuzzles his ear. “You’re so sweet for me, love. Take my fingers so nicely.”
Bucky whimpers. “Could be taking something else nicely.” He pushes back one last time on Steve’s fingers and stills. “Come on, I’m ready.”
“Ready, or impatient?” Steve wonders, but he pulls out his fingers regardless.
“Is there a difference?” Bucky swivels his head to watch Steve squeeze out a dollop of lube into his hand. When Steve fists his cock, all red and hard and veiny and so much bigger than three fingers , Bucky has to hide his face to avoid backing out.
A light tap on Bucky’s hip causes him to raise his head. “Do you want to lie on your stomach or on your back?”
Bucky purses his lips, thinking for a second, before flipping onto his back and spreading his legs. The outline of Steve’s face, even in the dark room, punches air out of Bucky’s lungs. Steve’s silhouette, looming over him, doesn’t make Bucky feel caged like he feared. This is Steve , and it’s about to be their first time together, and hell if Bucky wastes this chance mouthing at his pillow when he could be holding Steve’s face in his hands.
“Comfortable?”
Bucky smiles. He doesn’t know if Steve sees it or not, but it doesn’t matter because he can see Steve. “Yeah, I just. Yeah, I’m comfortable.”
“Good.” Steve lifts Bucky’s leg onto his shoulder, pressing closer until it pushes against Bucky’s chest. Steve’s dick probes his hole. “Deep breaths, love, okay?” Bucky barely manages to follow Steve’s advice when he pushes in and fuck , three fingers were not enough.
Bucky sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, digging his teeth into the flesh. He feels the burn down to his toes, the girth tugging at his rim. He chokes on a whine. Steve mumbles apologies into his ear, kissing his shoulder and staying still even though Bucky keeps clenching tightly around him, and Bucky wants to reach up and hold Steve in his arms, nuzzle his shoulder and pant into his neck but his metal arm tears a hole into the sheets, and the shock freezes Bucky’s pounding heart. He wraps his flesh hand around Steve instead.
“Bucky?” Steve’s voice cuts through Bucky’s panicked thoughts. “Talk to me, sweetheart. I need to know if you’re okay.”
Tears sting Bucky’s eyes because Steve sounds so worried and damn, doesn’t that send prickling needles straight into Bucky’s heart. “I’m fine. I just need a minute.” His voice wavers and he tries to hide it in Steve’s neck. It doesn’t work. An unwarranted sob escapes Bucky’s throat, his heart aching at being bundled up in warmth and cradled so gently.
Steve stiffens. “Fuck, Bucky am I hurting you? You should’ve said something!”
“You’re not. You’re not ,” Bucky emphasizes. Even in the darkness, he sees and smoothes out the furrow between Steve’s eyebrows. “I promise. I’m just—” Overwhelmed, happy, scared.
Overwhelmed that you’re here, and you’re in me.
Happy that you love me, that you chose me.
Scared that you’ll leave me.
“You can move,” Bucky murmurs into Steve’s shoulder. “I’m okay now.”
The tense line of Steve’s shoulders screams disbelief, but Steve pulls back. He presses a kiss onto one of the bruises on Bucky’s leg, pulls out, and thrusts back in, sheathing the entirety of him in one go. Bucky tosses his head back and screams. The burn runs up the back of his neck and he nearly goes cross-eyed. Steve ditches patience and thrusts back in as quickly as he pulled out, and Bucky is thankful. This way, the burn, the stretch around Steve’s girth, and the pulsing of his hard dick is enough to distract Bucky from the growing, blackening ache in his chest. It throbs with each of Steve’s meticulous thrusts.
Bucky cranes his neck, forcing his head back into his pillow, and breathy moans push out of his lungs. Steve bends down to mouth at the pale skin of his neck, nosing underneath his jaw and licking along his pulse. Steve pivots, angling his hips and pulling Bucky’s leg up higher, and Bucky almost asks what he’s doing when Steve thrusts back in and jabs his prostate.
Bucky wails, and he claws at Steve’s back with his flesh hand. His metal hand remains tangled in the sheets, tearing hole after hole into the material. Each thrust against his prostate forces rhythmic uh, uh, uh s out of him until he’s nothing more than a giant ball of tingling nerves and pleasure.
Steve gasps against the shell of Bucky’s ear. “ Fuck , you feel so good, love. So perfect for me. Does it feel good for you, too?”
Bucky sobs out a moan and digs his blunt nails into Steve’s skin. “Yes, yes, Steve, Steve —”
“I know,” Steve whispers. He lets go of Bucky’s leg, lowering until Bucky’s thigh is pinned against his chest. Steve frames Bucky’s head with his arm. “I know. I love you. I love you so goddamn much.”
The ache in Bucky’s chest seizes him. He tries to ignore the first declaration, and the second, but then Steve mutters I love you, I love you, I love you over and over into Bucky’s skin until he fears he’ll drown. Tears build in his eyes, blurring his vision, morphing Steve into a large lump of security and ecstasy and yearning. And then the tears slip, one by one, down the side of Bucky’s face, soaking his pillow.
It sinks in, really sinks in, that Steve is here, in him, over him, and he loves Bucky the same way Bucky has always loved him. It’s everything Bucky could’ve ever wanted, everything he hoped for, and it’s too much for him to process. In a previous lifetime, he’d already accepted that Steve would never be his, would never love him as more than a friend. He’d accepted that no matter what, he’d always follow Steve, sick with love, as he moves on and finds a woman who accepts and treasures him for who he is and not who America made him out to be. But Steve loves him, came back to him, and Bucky has a hard time believing this isn’t a dream, that he didn’t stay dead after the snap.
He squeezes his eyes shut and prays, prays , that Steve doesn’t see his tears and, if he does, prays that he’ll believe it’s because of the immense pleasure and not his overflowing sentiments.
But Steve, curse him , stops and runs his finger through Bucky’s hair, pushing the loose strands off his forehead. “Bucky, sweetheart?”
Bucky sniffles and laughs shakily because this is ridiculous . “Brooklyn smells like you, you know.” He doesn’t know why he says it—doesn’t even know where the thought came from. But it’s true. Steve always carried Brooklyn’s scent like a second layer of skin. Only now does Bucky realize all the scents he associated with Brooklyn weren’t hers at all, but Steve’s.
Brooklyn, in her entirety, doesn’t have a scent without Steve Rogers.
Steve’s breath hitches, and he takes one look at Bucky’s face and crumbles. His gaze softens. “Oh, Bucky…”
“Don’t. Don’t say anything.” Tears well in Bucky’s eyes again and, mortified, he slaps his metal arm over his eyes to shield them—to shield him from Steve. Steve’s dick in his ass is all but forgotten. “Fuck, don’t look at me. Please.”
Steve tilts Bucky’s head with two fingers under his chin. “Bucky, look at me.”
“No…”
“Bucky, please… look at me, honey. Please.” Bucky shakes his head, but he does, and he sees the sheer layer of glistening tears in Steve’s eyes. “Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. I’m so, so sorry.”
Bucky’s heart splinters, and he aches. “Don’t, it’s— It’s fine.” His voice trembles. The half assed reassurance slides off his tongue like molasses.
The fingers under Bucky’s chin disappear, and then Steve cups his face, forcing Bucky to look at him. His thumbs run over the tear tracks on Bucky’s face. “No, it’s not. It’s not and you know it. Don’t forgive me so easily after I fucked up.” His arms wrap around Bucky’s waist, and he scoops him up and holds him against his chest. Bucky, temporarily dismissing his metal arm, wraps both arms tightly around Steve’s shoulders and buries his face in his neck. “I’m so sorry.”
“Okay,” Bucky mutters. “I don’t forgive you.”
Steve nods. “I know. I’m sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I love you. I’m so sorry.”
“I don’t forgive you.”
“I’m sorry,” Steve repeats into Bucky’s hair. “I’m so sorry for everything I’ve done. For not knowing what my heart wanted and for hurting you in the process. For breaking your heart over and over without realizing. For making you feel like a rebound. For leaving you behind. For not admitting to myself and you how much I have always loved you.”
The tears flow freely from Bucky’s eyes, and he no longer does anything to stop them. He chokes on each sob. The ache in his chest throbs once, twice, and soothes until it’s nothing more than a dull pulse. “I don’t— I don’t forgive you.” But even then, his words quieten, weaken and, finally, die out in his mouth before he says the last syllable.
Steve presses a kiss to Bucky’s temple, and then his cheek, and his lips, until he nearly smothers him while saying, “I love you. I love you so much. I’m sorry it took me so long. I love you, and I’m never leaving you again.”
Bucky frantically wipes at his tears, only succeeding in smearing them. “I love you, too. God, I love you more than anything. Please don’t— Don’t leave me again. Please, I can’t— I don’t think I could handle it if you did. Please…”
“I won’t,” Steve promises into Bucky’s shoulder. “I won’t, I’m sorry.”
Bucky shivers against him, and rotates his hips, forcing Steve’s cock deeper in him. “Move, will you?” He tries to snark, but his voice falls flat and he’s hit with a fresh wave of mortifying tears. “Fuck, I don’t know why I’m like this.” Without looking, he knows Steve is boring a hole into the bed with his stare, and he knows his lips are pursed and his eyebrows are turned down in that way he always gets when he feels guilty.
Holding him tighter, Steve slowly moves. In this position, he can’t do more than soft hip rotations and shallow thrusts, but it’s still enough to run along Bucky’s prostate and send shocks to his toes. Bucky whimpers with each thrust and, encouraged, Steve picks up the pace bit by bit until tears form in Bucky’s eyes for a different reason.
It takes too long for Bucky to remember that he’s gripping Steve with the metal hand, probably tearing his shoulder to shreds. Yet, Steve hasn’t flinched even once since Bucky touched him with the cold metal plates. Ashamed, Bucky jerks the hand back like it’s on fire and twists his fingers into the sheets instead.
And of course Steve notices, like he’s been carefully taking note of everything Bucky has done all night. “Why did you do that?”
“Do what?” Bucky feigns oblivion.
“Pull your hand away. You’ve been doing it all night.”
Fuck.
Fuck, Steve wasn’t supposed to see. He wasn’t supposed to know .
For a hot second, Bucky entertains the thought of lying, but what would he possibly say? What lie could he possibly craft that would make Steve believe him? And when Steve looks at him like that, like he knows but he’s waiting patiently for Bucky to say it, Bucky can’t possibly lie to him.
“I’m scared to touch you with it,” Bucky admits meekly. “I’ve already hurt so many people with this arm; I don’t want you to be one of them.”
“You could never hurt me with it, Buck.”
“It’s a weapon .”
“It’s part of you,” Steve retaliates. “And it’s beautiful.” To demonstrate, Steve pries the metal hand out of the sheets and intertwines their fingers and curse Shuri for putting sensors in it because Bucky can feel the warmth rolling off Steve in tendrils.
“No, it’s not,” Bucky argues, but his heart melts when Steve kisses one of his knuckles.
“Yes, it is.” Steve kisses another knuckle, and surely the metal must be cold, but Steve doesn’t recoil. “You think most people walk around with such a beautifully crafted arm like this?”
“Yeah, well, most people aren’t brainwashed killing machines.”
“Is that how you see yourself?” Steve frowns, and Bucky might not see it, but he feels the disapproving curve of Steve’s lips against his hand. “Because I don’t. I see a man that’s been wrongfully hurt, and is doing his best to reintegrate into society and heal. I see a strong, resilient man who picked himself up and fought back—”
“God, Steve, just stop —”
“And this arm doesn’t make him any less of a worthy human as everyone else,” Steve continues as if Bucky didn’t interrupt him. “I don’t understand what you went through, and I never will, but that doesn’t mean I’ll sit here and listen to you talk about yourself like you’re undeserving of love and humanity. I know you don’t like this arm, and I’m aware of what you’ve had to use it for, but it’s every bit a part of you as these scars are. And yeah, it hurts to look at it and be reminded of what happened, but that doesn’t make it the weapon you claim it to be. It’s beautiful, just like every other part of you.”
Bucky gapes. “I…”
Steve smiles, his lips still on the metal, and then he presses their linked hands against the bed, right beside Bucky’s head. “See, you’re not hurting me. And look how lovely your hand looks with mine.”
Reluctantly, Bucky cranes his neck to see Steve’s thumb caress the side of his hand, and each metal finger grips the back of Steve’s palm, not violently, but like they’re afraid that, if they let go, Steve will leave and never return.
“See what I mean? There’s nothing wrong with your metal arm,” Steve says.
Bucky’s tear-clumped lashes feel more prominent when he shuts them for a second. “I hate you. God, I hate you so much.”
Steve’s tone, tender around the edges: “I know you do, love. I know you do.”
And then he picks up where he left off, his hips snapping into Bucky and rubbing mercilessly at his prostate. Amidst his cries, Bucky catches his metal fingers digging into Steve’s hand. His eyes fly open.
Steve sees his fear building, and lowers to let his lips brush Bucky’s temple. “It’s alright, you’re not hurting me. You’re okay.”
Bucky wants to believe him—he really does—so he absorbs the reassurance and succumbs to the pleasure. His hard dick rests against his abs, jolting with every thrust. A part of him wants to reach down and wrap a hand around himself, but Steve’s body cocoons him, and the moment feels so sacred that he can’t bear to ruin it by letting go of Steve just yet.
His back arches as he sobs, his mind dizzy with euphoria and Steve . It’s Steve between his thighs. It’s Steve that’s in him, pressing in all the right places and grinding against his swollen prostate. It’s Steve sucking a nipple into his mouth, his bicep flexing as he tightly wraps one of his arms around Bucky’s waist and holds him tenderly.
And Bucky has never felt more safe. He hears the rapid thumping of Steve’s heart, the throbbing of his cock where Bucky’s rim stretches, painfully and deliciously, to accommodate him. Bucky doesn’t remember the last time he ever felt this secure.
He won’t fall. He knows he won’t ever fall because Steve’s got him. Steve will shield him, his arms cradling his body, shoulders curling protectively around Bucky until he’s completely engulfed in Steve’s warmth, his presence, his scent.
As Bucky’s eyes roll into the back of his head, his jaw dropping in a desperate wail, he feels sweetly overwhelmed. Steve is everywhere, flooding every single one of his senses. Steve is above him, below him, around him, in him. He is warmth and safety personified, the very definition of comfort.
Steve’s arms are the only place Bucky has ever sought refuge in, and even in this life, that hasn’t changed. Before the war, during the war, and now, in his bed, their hearts beat in sync as one existing entity, side by side, hand in hand, like ropes that tangled long ago and have never found a reason to untangle.
He’s not focused on his impending orgasm so much as he is on how whole he feels for the first time since he was shipped off to war and forced to kill. He spent more years as a killer than he did as James “Bucky” Barnes, but here, in Steve’s arms, protected from the world until nothing exists apart from them in this moment, he feels like, maybe, a human being really does exist somewhere in him.
Maybe, much like how Steve is shielding him, Bucky also shielded that fragile human and tucked him away, deep within him, to save him from the torment he would inevitably endure.
Bucky’s voice climbs a few octaves, loud staccato ah, ah, ah s that Steve breathes in, signaling his nearing orgasm. His flesh hand claws at Steve’s shoulder while his metal hand tightens its grip on Steve’s. His hole throbs around Steve’s cock, accentuating its size, and he wails. “ Oh God , Steve, please, I’m gonna come, please —”
“I know, darling.” Steve’s thrusts grow erratic, quicker. “Come for me, Buck.”
And that’s all the reassurance Bucky needs before he shoots off, and he swears his soul leaves him for a split second. When he comes to, Steve’s coating his insides with warmth, and Bucky pants, closes his eyes, and smiles.
*
Bucky looks beautiful.
He’s always looked beautiful but, underneath the sunlight that peaks above the horizon, announcing the start of the day, Bucky looks ethereal.
Somewhere deep, deep down in Steve’s artistic mind, he craves the picture of Bucky on all fours, the sun hitting his skin and illuminating his soft curves as he desperately presses back against Steve’s cock, chasing his own pleasure. He craves the beautiful picture Bucky would make, clenching his pillow in his hands, especially in his polished metal hand that Steve can’t peel his eyes off.
He wants to draw him. He wants to pick up a pencil and sketch out each of Bucky’s curves, the bruising bites on his thighs, the plushiness of his waist, the defined muscles in his back and biceps, and the soft gaze with which he regards Steve, submitting to him, taking everything Steve gives him and begging for more.
Not now, though. As much as he itches for a sketchpad and wants to flip Bucky onto his stomach, raise his ass in the air and pound him until he’s crying, Bucky looks blissful underneath him. There’s something so special about a man that has been hurt so much, opening up to Steve, clinging onto him and moaning into his neck.
For their first time, it’s perfect. It’s everything Steve could’ve ever wanted.
He chalks up the idea of Bucky on all fours for another time.
And it’s selfish, Steve realizes, to assume there will be a “next time” after how badly he fucked up. And yet, as Bucky arches his back and hesitantly lets Steve hold his metal hand, Steve swallows and lets himself be selfish. He entwines his fingers with Bucky’s metal hand, feeling the plates lightly shift and, as he raises the vibranium to kiss each of his smoothened knuckles, Steve lets himself believe that this isn’t just a lucky night, but one of many lucky nights. Lucky days, too, if Bucky will have him. A lucky life by Bucky’s side if he forgives him.
It doesn’t have to be now. He isn’t naive as to believe Bucky would forgive him so easily.
(But maybe, Steve bittersweetly thinks, Bucky would forgive him that easily after everything he’s been through. Steve doesn’t know what he ever did to deserve him.)
But that’s okay. He’ll wait as long as he has to for Bucky to forgive him, and he’ll gladly fight for the right to love him for another century if that’s what it takes.
He’s ready to make up for a lifetime of errors for this man.
*
The sun is out, filtering through Bucky’s closed blinds and casting shadows over his wooden floor. The night’s events weigh on him and, after Steve diligently cleans them up, he’s ready to waste the rest of the day, in Steve’s arms, sleeping.
As Bucky slowly drifts, Steve kisses the top of his head. “Bucky, I love you.” His hand finds Bucky’s metal one, and he intertwines their fingers again.
Bucky swallows and shuffles closer. “I know.”
Steve squeezes his hand. The next kiss is on his forehead. “I love you.”
“I know.”
Then another kiss on Bucky’s eyelid. “I love you.”
“I—” Bucky’s voice cracks and he falters. He buries his face in Steve’s chest to hide his teary eyes. “I know.”
Steve smiles sadly against the crown of his head. “No you don’t… and that’s okay. I’ll remind you as many times as I have to until you believe me.” Not once does he let go of Bucky’s metal hand.
And, Bucky thinks, if Steve stays just a little longer, maybe he will.