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Bucky never thought his job would kill him. Never expected, when he'd first broken into the modeling world, that it would be anything more than a way to keep the wolf at the door at bay. He had barely dared to hope it would be even that - young, hungry, and more than a little desperate, Bucky had given into a friend’s suggestion to give modeling a try, as a last resort. He prayed that even if he wasn't the most confident in his appearance, it might be unique enough that someone would want to give him a chance. And incredibly, someone had.
Ten years, countless shoots, numerous fashion shows, and one huge contract later, he was as far from that starving boy as it was possible to be, becoming a success in the modeling world beyond anything he'd ever imagined in his wildest dreams. His hard work and, he knew, a massive dose of good luck, made him one of the most sought after names in the business. He definitely no longer had to wonder where his next meal would come from, or when it would be. His lean, muscular build was now cultivated through long hours in the gym, rather than pure hunger. So Bucky knew he'd been fortunate in his career, and as a result, in his life. Until, that is, his most recent contract began.
Most recent, and the biggest to date. The clothing campaign by the internationally famous designer was one that would be advertised in over fifty countries, making Bucky's already famous face one that would be recognized around the world. It was a prospect that left him vaguely dazed, and rather anxious when he considered it, so he tended to avoid that. Instead he focused on how with an engagement like this, his sister's future was secure, to say nothing of his own. Given the size of the campaign he'd been surprised to discover the photographer chosen by the designer was relatively unknown. A bold move, when the individuals who photographed the models often became as famous and sought after in their own right, and straying from the elite inner circle was practically taboo in large campaigns.
Intrigued, Bucky had researched the photographer. Wanting to more know about the individual who’s work he knew full well would impact how the campaign was received, implicitly aware the right photographer could make a model’s career. And he'd found there was very little information available about the artist himself. But his work.... it was incredible. Unquestionably the best Bucky had ever seen. At which point Bucky was no longer just curious about the photographer, but eager to meet him, Bucky's respect for artists no small thing. Having an interesting face was simply the luck of genetics, and he'd been fortunate enough to possess one that allowed him to support himself and his sister at a time when he'd had no other means to do so. Modeling was harder work than he had anticipated, and a job he didn't devalue, striving to do his best with the career that in a very real way had saved his life. But to hold a camera in your hands, and capture a moment in a way that moved people, turning an image into a feeling that translated in any language - that was a skill he desperately admired.
So when his first shoot took place, Bucky showed up early. Wanting to get a feel for the theme of the shoot. To get himself into that place where he could let go of the Bucky he was, and become the face the world would see. And most of all wanting a chance to speak to his new photographer - the man he'd be working with closely for weeks. Bucky’s trademark grin grew wide when Sam, his longtime agent, called him over, more than ready to be introduced to one Steve Rogers.
Until the tall blond turned, a smile spreading across that heartbreaking face. The look was soft, sweet, slightly shy, and utterly sincere - a look that was practically unheard of in this industry. And Bucky's heart simply stopped.
He'd met beautiful people before. His entire job was to be surrounded by them. But Steve... he wasn't beautiful. He was the most incredible individual Bucky had ever seen. So much so, that it took him long minutes to pay attention to the conversation, too busy feeling as though a blazing supernova had shot across the sky, leaving him blinded, stunned, and utterly in awe. Jolting awkwardly when he realized both Sam and Steve were staring at him with varying degrees of confusion, Bucky quickly introduced himself, thrusting his hand out towards Steve. An action he regretted the second that large, warm, firm hand grasped his own, and his heart skipped several more beats. It threatened to give out altogether when Steve gave him another sweet smile, a little squeeze, before letting him go. Fuck. Bucky may still have a pretense of a heartbeat, but he was officially dead.
Things only went downhill from there. Bucky went from dazed by the instantaneous and overwhelming attraction to the gorgeous photographer, to utterly and irrationally smitten by Steve. There was so much about him that left Bucky falling deeper, and despite his own desperate attempts to keep himself removed, it proved impossible. For starters, Steve was so involved, preferring to be hands on, doing all the things other photographers had assistants jumping at their beck and call to do. Meaning that Bucky and Steve spent a significant amount of time together, without the typical amount of people fluttering around in the background - a fact that made it just that much harder for Bucky to maintain his equilibrium. After all, where else could Bucky focus his attention when Steve was just so there?
Steve handled his own lighting, fiddling with light meters and reflective panels until he'd achieved precisely the look he wanted. He scouted his own outdoor settings, which while all approved by the designers company, were Steve's finds. He set up his own indoor shoots, taking care with the smallest detail, making sure they fit the tone he was going for that particular day. Quite aside from anything else, Bucky appreciated the care Steve took with his work. No ego whatsoever, but instead a sincere desire for things to be done right, and a need to do it himself.
As if that wasn't bad enough, Bucky was becoming addicted to the way Steve would frown in concentration as he carefully handled his equipment with the reverence of a lover. Enthralled by the way Steve would shove a careless hand through his hair, the golden strands catching the lighting and gleaming in a way that made Bucky's body tighten, resisting the urge to reach out himself. To touch what he was sure was delightfully soft hair. Or just slam Steve against the nearest flat surface and kiss the hell out of him. The intimacy of spending days in and days out together, often with very little or no outside company, left Bucky with no distraction from the man he was becoming very nearly obsessed with. Yet the worst of all was the way Steve looked at him.
Rationally, Bucky knew there was no reason for it to affect him the way it did. He'd built a life upon being stared at. And yet, there was something in the way those intensely blue eyes focused on him, so intently, so completely, it felt more intimate than anything he'd ever known. Bucky had learned the fine art of exposing his face, his body for anyone to see, while keeping his true self hidden away. A delicate balancing act, but a vitally important one when with each rising rung of fame, his private life became more integral to maintain than ever.
With each snap of the shutter, every time Steve would lower his camera to stare at Bucky, those intensely blue eyes both considering and intense, Bucky felt that Steve was skillfully, deftly moving past each protective layer Bucky had so carefully constructed around himself. As though, for the first time since entering this industry, someone saw past the surface, to who he truly was. The sensation was one he'd never experience before. And fuck, it was so incredibly arousing, he had to restrain himself from straight up tackling Steve, until there was no camera between them. No clothes between them. Preferably no space whatsoever between them. Just the press of hot skin against hot skin, where he could spend hours working over that body that was slowly driving him out of his mind.
Bucky spent the first several days convincing himself that this wild lust that had turned into an even more inconvenient infatuation would pass. Or rather, trying to. Which was rather difficult when he lay awake at night, sighing and hugging his pillow as he recalled just how long and pretty Steve's lashes were. Or the barely there flecks of green in his gorgeous blue eyes. Or... any of the rest. While also imagining banging Steve like a screen door. Seriously, the fantasies were non-stop. Still, Bucky thought he was doing a good job of hiding his preoccupation. Because lust or crush aside, he was a professional, and not about to screw up the biggest job of his life by sexually harassing his photographer. But when Sam showed up with paperwork for Bucky to sign on the fourth day, and witnessed Bucky staring as Steve squatted down, digging through his bag for a different camera lens, jeans stretched tight over a truly phenomenal ass, Sam had sighed. Rolled his eyes. Shoved the paper at Bucky and muttered, "Dude. Just ask the guy out." Okay, clearly Bucky was not doing such a great job of hiding it.
"What? Why would you even say that?" Bucky demanded, doing his best to interject some indignant outrage in his voice, turning away from what was truly a living work of art to glare at his agent, and more importantly, his best friend. Who stared back, completely unimpressed.
"If your stare was any hotter, his clothes would literally burst into flame. You fool no one, Buckster."
Well that was quite a thought, Bucky's eyes glazing over slightly as he imagined that amazing turn of events occurring with delightful detail. Before realizing he was trying to defend himself, and failing miserably.
"Okay, so I think he's hot," Bucky admitting, ignoring the muttered obviously from Sam, not appreciating the interruption. "But I'm trying to be a professional here. And as my agent, I think you'd appreciate that."
"Man, please. I may be your agent but I have been your friend for twenty years. And if you're looking at Steve like he's a BigMac you want to go to town on, I say ask the boy out. Or, cut to the chase and just go down on him," Sam added with a thoughtful look. He grinned knowingly when Bucky's eyes threatened to glaze over once more.
Clearing his throat, Bucky folded his arms across his chest, and fixed Sam with another impressive glare. Which, after twenty years of friendship, Sam was still completely immune to. But still, he felt the right thing to do was keep trying. Bucky was no quitter. "First off, we don't even know if he swings that way-"
"We know. Steve's out and proud."
Annoyed at the continued interruptions, Bucky couldn't help but be sidetracked by that delightful bit of information. "How exactly do you know?"
"Because Steve is also my friend. Different crowd," he added when Bucky's brows flew up in surprise. "I've known him for a few years, and I've been really impressed with the work he's shown me. I was actually the one who suggested him for this job."
And Bucky was sidetracked once again. "You did? I mean, he definitely deserves it, his photos are incredible. But still, out or not, that doesn't mean he's interested in me. And I don't want to make him uncomfortable if he isn't." Bucky wanted to make Steve aroused, yes. Panting and sweaty and moaning for more, fuck yes. But not uncomfortable.
Sam nodded. "They are. But the point is, Steve isn't afraid to say no to anything he's not down for, and since I know you wouldn't be a dick about if it he did, it would be fine. For the record though, I think he looks at you the way I look at chocolate cake. Which is saying something. So, go work your magic, get all hot and sweaty with Rogers. But please. No details... Who am I kidding. I want all the details. And I'll accept full credit for you two meeting, falling in love, and having adorable, unfairly photogenic children someday."
With that last little gem, Sam clapped Bucky on the shoulder, before sending Steve a wave, and heading out. His work here was done. And damn, he was one smooth wing man.
Steve wasn't one for dramatics. But he was relatively certain taking this job was the worst decision of his life. Which was a damn shame. He'd been so excited. Thrilled and stunned and more than a little disbelieving when Sam had come to him with the offer. Unable to comprehend that such a huge designer would actually choose him, when Steve was still relatively unknown. But Sam had laughed, assured him that yes, this was a legit offer, no, Sam hadn't gone out of his mind, and of course Steve would do a brilliant job. Appreciating the vote of confidence from a friend who not only told the truth but was brilliant at his own job as an agent in the modeling world and knew the kind of photographer which made a campaign successful, Steve firmed his resolve. He would give this job his all, do his best, and hopefully make everyone proud with the results - himself included.
Yet somehow, he hadn't seen the writing on the wall. Even knowing Sam represented Bucky Barnes, he had never expected to be working with that particular model. Who Steve may have been harboring a ridiculous crush on for years. When he'd met with the designer's people, to discuss and sign a contract that left him laboring for breath like he was a kid struggling with an asthma attack all over again, because Jesus, so many zeros, he'd asked who he'd be working with. Steve knew he'd do his best work if he tailored his concepts and photos to the model's particular style. He wondered if his hearing aids were faulty when they told him just who he'd be shooting.
At that point, in a haze of sweaty panic, Steve had nearly backed out. Before lecturing himself that not only was he a professional, and this was the biggest opportunity of his life, he also never ran away from anything. Even one incredibly sexy model. Who he'd be working with... day in, day out. For an extended period of time. While Bucky would be wearing clothing expertly tailored to hug every inch of his phenomenal figure. And staring directly at Steve with his trademark sexy smolder which sparked the fantasies of woman, and more than a few men across the country. Well, directly at Steve's camera, but really, same thing.
So, several anxiety attacks later, Steve had calmed himself into a state he hoped was a convincing state of cool professionalism. He braced for actually meeting Bucky Barnes in the flesh. When he finally had, Bucky had stared at him in such a way, Steve knew he'd failed to hide his embarrassing celebrity crush, and briefly wondered if he'd have to run away after all. Get a new name, move to a new city, with a new career and a new life. When he'd mumbled these thoughts dejectedly over beers that night, his best friend had pinned him with her best superior stare, and given him the eye roll of doom. "Please, I'm sure he didn't notice you swooning over him and planning your wedding registry. And even if he did," an elegant shrug while Natasha commandeered the beer he had yet to touch. "I'm sure he's used to it. You're hardly the first one to want to carry him over the threshold, have tons of hot sweaty sex, and adopt lots of adorable babies together."
She had a point. A depressing one, but a point none the less. So Steve manned up, showed up for work the next day, and was relieved to discover Bucky was perfectly friendly. No trace of awkwardness in his interactions with Steve. Which was great, seriously. Okay, maybe a tiny bit disappointing, when a teeny part of Steve had been fantasizing about how when he'd finally met his celebrity infatuation, Bucky would obviously instantly return his feelings, and they'd make out to celebrate a future of living happily ever after. However, he was glad the brunet hadn't made things any more embarrassing than they had to be.
Steve had been surprised to discover that the longer he worked with Bucky, the more relaxed he became. Simply because Bucky was so damn good at what he did. Plenty of models Steve had previously worked with either relied heavily on direction, unable or unwilling to innovate in the setting of a photo shoot. Steve was he was fine with providing instruction, but it was amazing working with Bucky who, while being entirely open to Steve's suggestions without ego, actively collaborated with him, bringing his own ideas and opinions. More, models often had an arrogance that Steve knew full well the industry only fed into, thinking they were above everyone else. Yet Bucky was genuinely kind, speaking with the makeup and hair artists that prepared him each morning. Joking with the occasional prop guy, hired to stage the sets that were bigger than Steve could practically do on his own. Taking the time to talk to anyone who wanted or needed a second of his day. Which, while impressing Steve with Bucky's fantastic character, did nothing to squash his ridiculous fascination with the model.
Still. Steve kept it together. But despite his growing ease being around the man, the urge to run away firmly eradicated, Steve conversely found it harder to not just grab the compelling male. Who seared him with the incredibly sexy stare every day. Biting at that gorgeous mouth, until Steve wanted to take over the task and do it for him. Lips curving in a secret smile, enticingly inviting Steve to join in a private joke with him. Glorious eyes piercing Steve straight through the lens of the camera, sending heat tripping down his spine, mouth going dry with want, until Steve had to clear his throat more than once before he could indicate where he wanted Bucky to stand next. That mouth curving wider each time.
But Steve was managing. More than managing. He was taking photos which he knew were his best work. So much of that had to do with Bucky. So, torture aside, he was happy with the state of affairs. Until, that is, Bucky, who each day kept up a casual running conversation asking Steve friendly and undemanding questions, telling about himself in return, asked the one thing Steve hadn't expected. If he was willing to do a personal photo shoot, aside from the campaign? He just wanted to update his head-shots and portfolio, Bucky explained easily, a charming smile on that stunning face.
Of course, that would be fine. No reason not to do it. After all, Steve had handled himself thus far. What harm could an additional shoot do? Nothing, he assured himself, happy to comply and help Bucky out. He also knew the favor was really in Steve's benefit, when any chance to have his name attached to Bucky's only helped his career. It would be fine. Totally fine. Until Bucky provided Steve with an address for that Saturday, mentioning oh so casually it was his own apartment. And Steve felt his own self-control start to evaporate at the very idea of being in Bucky's home. Yup. Worst decision ever.
So, Sam might have been right. Not that Bucky would ever admit it - in the context of their friendship that is. In their business relationship, he bowed to Sam's expert advice, the man's skill and connections helping get Bucky where he was today. However when that location was inside his house with one incredibly sexy Steve, well, Bucky didn't intend to provide Sam the opportunity to gloat. But Sam had been right.
After Sam's lecture, deciding his friend had a point, Bucky had chucked the determined professionalism aside, and moved to Phase Two of Mission: Win Over Steve Rogers. Which was diametrically opposed from Phase One, where Bucky pretended he was unaffected by the infinitely appealing man. No, Phase Two consisted of his best smolders, all for the irresistibly attractive photographer, even as he wondered how the man was behind the camera and not in front of it. So Bucky had asked, because wild physical attraction aside, he really liked Steve, and wanted to get to know every piece of the blond. Bucky day dreamed about both hitting that like a hammer, and sweeping the blond off for ridiculously sappy, cliché, delightful dates. Really, he just wanted every single part of Steve he could get - back story included. Bucky had been surprised to learn the blond had suffered from a myriad of medical problems in his youth, which led to him being short, scrawny and basically the human version of a "kick me" sign, as Steve put it with a rueful laugh. So, wanting to take attention away from himself when his self-esteem wasn't at its greatest, Steve had picked up photography. Vastly more comfortable behind the lens than in front of it.
Fortunately, his health had finally turned around - no fucking kidding, Bucky mused at this point of the narrative, appreciating the mouthwatering muscles flexing under an almost indecently tight shirt as Steve lifted a heavy lighting fixture - but Steve’s love for photography had only grown. Bucky couldn't fault him for the logic, finding it admirable that Steve was able to make a career, and a good one, doing what he loved. As for himself, Bucky hoped someday he got there. But until he decided just what that passion was, he would never complain about the career he had now, when it had treated him so well. And, best of all, had brought him in contact with one beautiful Steve Rogers.
One beautiful Steve Rogers who was in his apartment. Which was Phase Three. Get the man alone, and see if this attraction that had crashed past all control could go anywhere. And Bucky was fairly certain it could. Prayed that it would. Because while he still wasn't certain that Steve had ever looked at him like Sam looked at chocolate cake, Steve certainly didn't seem unaffected by the lingering gazes Bucky had given him. Which gave Bucky hope that Steve was open for more. The kissing sort of more. Or touching, more. Maybe all sorts of hot sweaty sex, more. Meeting at the end of an aisle in front of all their friends and family someday, more. Whatever - Bucky wasn't picky. So long as there was more. And he was more than ready to explore the possibilities from inside the privacy of his apartment. Which would put them, conveniently enough, in close proximity to a bed. Or the couch. The table. The walls... Again, Bucky was not picky. He was the very epitome of flexibility. And fuck, he was ready to demonstrate that to Steve, enthusiastically.
Steve, for his part, seemed calm enough when he arrived, smiling at Bucky with that sweet, still somewhat shy smile that Bucky had come to adore. Carrying his bag of equipment in, asking with complete innocence where Bucky wanted him. Bucky had to bite his own tongue for a moment to school his words into an appropriate answer. He led Steve over to the corner of his apartment he thought would work best for the photos, since Bucky did actually want those as well. Especially if he'd been reading this all wrong and the photos were all he'd get out of the day. But he sincerely hoped not.
Nodding in appreciation of the soft light streaming in through the windows, knowing it would highlight Bucky's incredible features and create intriguing shadows, Steve quickly fell into his normal rhythm of a shoot. Bucky seeming to read his mind with an uncanny accuracy, posing precisely where and how Steve would have suggested. Steve felt himself relax, telling himself being in Bucky's home, the entire place smelling so sexily of the brunet, wasn't so bad after all. Until Bucky reached down, and peeled the deceptively simple yet incredibly appealing dark gray shirt off, leaving him in tight, low slung jeans. Swallowing painfully, Steve quickly lifted the camera that was dangling uselessly in his hands at the sight, berating himself to get it together. Steve photographed people in various states of undress all the time. Never Bucky, but it was logical why the man wanted pictures of this nature - practically all models had them in their portfolio.
Clearing his throat, Steve ran his finger around the collar of his shirt which felt unexpectedly tight. The apartment was overly warm all of a sudden, when Bucky with each shot somehow seemed to be closer to Steve. Perfectly gorgeous, and close enough to touch - no, no, perfect for close-up shots. The proximity played complete havoc for Steve's equilibrium, when, with every picture, Steve was imagining his hands were running over that body as faithfully as the light streaming inside. Steve knew he was so screwed, the professionalism that he was famous for among other models burning up just as quickly as his self-control. Especially when Bucky curved those wicked lips and said, "We should get some underwear shots. You're okay with that, right?" he questioned innocently. The question was a moot point, seeing as how he'd already unzipped those sinfully tight jeans, shoved them down his legs and kicked them off in one smooth motion.
Steve's hand clenched so hard around his camera, the plastic made a sharp noise of distress, perilously close to breaking. Coughing, he relaxed his hand, rubbed at the back of his neck with the other. "Uh, yeah. No. No problem-" he stuttered out, eyes tracing over every inch of Bucky, the afternoon sunlight glowing on every inch of that flawless skin. The breathtaking man clad in nothing more than tight black boxer briefs looked like a god. Lifted his camera, Steve pressed the shutter almost blindly, wondering wildly if keeping just one photo in his own private file would be unethical. Probably. At the very least, a little creepy.
Leaning against the exposed brick wall, hips tilted out the slightest bit, Bucky slowly licked his bottom lip. Eyes hooded as he stared with dark eyes at Steve. Who, to his horror, felt his body reacting helplessly, to the fucking incredible sight before him. Dick hardening at what his body was so certain was blatant invitation. Rather than Bucky simply working, as his brain was trying to scream at the rest of himself. His body didn't listen. Quickly dropping his hands, Steve coughed slightly even as he looked away, taking a few safe steps back. "Uh, maybe we should take a break for a minute. I could use some, uh, water," he stuttered out. Which was entirely truthful. His throat had nearly closed up in want, hands begging to touch the acres of muscle displayed so perfectly.
"Good idea," Bucky said simply. Before startling Steve into perfect stillness when he walked straight up to the blond, carefully taking the camera and setting it gently on the coffee table. Before he then tucking the very edges of his fingertips into the waist of Steve's jeans and tugged, until the blond's body collided with his own. Steve was unable to bite back the groan at the delicious, tormenting contact. "We should do... something else. Just for a bit," Bucky proposed, voice rougher than usual. He felt the shudder than ran through the photographer at the suggestion, pressed together the way they were. Bucky experienced a jolt of triumph that shot through him when Steve's hands fell onto his hips, grasping tightly, thumbs brushing over naked skin. Okay, maybe he'd thank Sam after all. Later. Definitely later.
"Yeah, that, uh, that sounds good," Steve managed, praying he was not misinterpreting this. He muttered "Oh God yes," when he watched Bucky's face move hypnotically slow towards his, saw those lips curve into a grin before they met his own. And then all the thoughts he had were of how fucking incredible Bucky felt, under his hands and against his lips. The taste of him was perfection on Steve's tongue when Bucky licked at his lips, sweeping aggressively inside when Steve opened for him. Both of them groaned at the contact that was wet and hot and so damn good.
Time was meaningless as Bucky lifted a hand to fist in Steve's short hair, glorying to discover it was every bit as soft as he'd imagined. Tugging just enough to coax a blissful moan out of Steve, he angled the blond's head just right so Bucky could deepen the kiss, practically devouring the man in his aching need. Jesus, Steve tasted like heaven, eagerly meeting each stroke of Bucky's tongue, those large, artistic hands finally on Bucky. Steve held himself carefully still, almost as though he couldn't believe his fortune, and feared breaking the moment. But Bucky wanted more, wanted everything.
Wrapping his other arm around Steve's neck, moving up on tiptoe to get that much closer to the man who was a few inches taller, he let out a moan of satisfaction when the motion lined their dicks up perfectly. Steve jolting at the feel of Bucky's achingly hard cock rubbing against his own as the brunet arching his hips gorgeously. His own mingled shock and fear that this unbelievable experience would be ripped away, couldn't really be his, evaporated.
Fisting a hand in all that gorgeous, waving hair, Steve nipped sharply at that intoxicating mouth, felt more than heard Bucky's little gasp. Triumph tearing through him, Steve gave into the desire to run his free hand everywhere. Tracing gorgeous defined muscle. Mapping every inch of that sculpted back. Skimming down to grab that incredible ass, hissing out a breath at how fucking perfect it felt. Coaxing Bucky to grind harder against him, his thought processes short circuiting when Bucky complied all too happily, the taste of his breathy little gasps more addictive than anything Steve had ever known.
Tearing his mouth free, gasping for air, Bucky felt his eyes roll when undeterred, Steve trailed his lips along Bucky's neck, pressing hot, damp open mouthed kisses everywhere. His tongue stroked over Bucky's wildly beating pulse, before he nipped hard where Bucky's neck met his shoulder. Making a humming noise of approval when Bucky's feet nearly gave out from under him, Steve supporting his weight effortlessly.
"Steve," Bucky panted. Not wanting to stop for even a second. But he needed to know this was heading where he thought it was. Where he desperately hoped it was. "Steve," he repeated, voice trembling when those powerful fingers dug into the muscle of his ass, electricity sparking along his spine at the wonderfully possessive hold.
"Hmm?" Steve managed as he nibbled at Bucky's ear, and oh yes Bucky liked that.
"Steve, I just, Jesus, hold on, give me a second here," Bucky panted, both grateful and disappointed when Steve immediately lifted his head. He found that staring up into that face that already looked wrecked, flushed, eyes nearly black with lust, didn't exactly provide the relief he'd expected. Fuck, he'd wondered countless times what Steve would look like, undone with need, but this was better than anything he'd imagined. Forcibly jerking his thoughts in line, Bucky gave his head a little shake. "I just want to make sure we're on the same page here."
A smile curved those plush lips. The blond’s eyes darkened further, even as Steve looked sweetly delighted by the request for explicit consent. "All the sex," he agreed enthusiastically. At the precise moment Bucky said, "I want to take you on a date."
Those blue eyes blinking in confusion. "Wait- what?" Steve demanded in confusion. "You, uh, you don't want to-" he trailed off, wondering if he was supposed to remove his hands from Bucky's body now. God, he really didn't want to.
"No! Jesus, of course. Fuck, Steve I want you so bad, you have no idea. Yes, all the sex," Bucky quickly assured him. "But, I just want to let you know I want more than that, I guess? I really want to take you out. If that's something you want," he added belatedly when Steve continued to stare at him with wide eyes. Damn, of course Bucky fucked this up. Before he even got fucked.
"Really? Wow, I, yes, I want that too. A date sounds good. Sounds really good," Steve jumbled out, smile back and wider that before. Bucky nearly collapsing in relief this time, his own grin wide and foolish.
"Awesome. We should definitely do that. But first..." Letting his expression go wicked, Bucky trailed his hands down to grip the hem of Steve's shirt. Who obediently lifted his arms, letting Bucky peel it off his body. And Bucky groan aloud at the sight of Steve.
"Fuck, I'm glad you're not a model. No one else should see this but me," Bucky muttered, hands tracing defined pecs, gorgeous abs that could almost make him come just looking at them. He was too far gone to worry if the possessiveness would turn off the man who'd agreed to date him literally seconds earlier. Yet, he clearly didn't need to regardless, when at the verbal claiming, Steve's breath punched out, and the hands that had found their way back to Bucky's ass ground them together hard enough Bucky was abruptly on the edge. Which was unacceptable, because Bucky had plans.
Plans that began with him dragging Steve down for another drugging kiss, dominating it, gratified when Steve let him, gorgeously receptive to being taken over. Perfect. Trailing his fingers south, Bucky quickly flicked open the button on Steve's jeans, then dragged down the zipper. He watched Steve's face tighten in helpless need when Bucky smoothly shifted down to his knees, and with skillful fingers, began to relentlessly tug down Steve's pants, taking his boxer briefs with him. Steve obediently stepping out of them, until he stood there, glorious naked and more beautiful that anything Bucky had ever seen.
"Fuck," he breathed, eyes caressing the cock that was better than anything his fluid imagination could conjure. Impressively large, gorgeously thick, moisture already beading at the tip, Bucky watched in delight as it jerked at the warmth of Bucky's breath washing over it. Glancing up through his lashes when he felt Steve's hands tangle back in his hair, he noted it wasn't a tight grip that took control. But rather a helpless handhold as though Steve was trying to desperately ground himself. Reaching out to brace his hands on those powerful thighs, Bucky stopped torturing them both and leaned forward. His tongue flicked out to trace a line straight up that beautiful cock, adoring the way the air punched from Steve's lungs at the gesture.
Licking delicately at the flared head, Bucky's lashes fell closed, because fuck, Steve tasted amazing. Greedy now, Bucky relaxed his jaw, and slowly took as much of that hot length into his mouth as he could. Which wasn't nearly enough. God, Steve would fill him up so good, he though, his own hips shifting at the idea. But first things first. Pulling back, Bucky began to blow Steve with intention, taking him deeper with each try, until he could feel Steve nudging the back of his throat, then swallowed. He gloried in the shout that drew out of Steve, that Adonis like body trembling at the feel of Bucky's mouth moving so perfectly on him. Just as swiftly, Bucky leaned back until he was sucking on the tip, tongue stroking into the slit, greedily drinking the pre-come that was practically flowing from Steve.
"Buck, oh Jesus, Bucky I'm close," Steve pleaded, unsure what he was pleading for. Opening his own tightly clenched eyes to stare down at Bucky, the sight nearly sending him over. Who could resist the vision of sculpted mouth stretched wide around his dick, before Bucky let him slide from between his lips, and nuzzled along the length of Steve's dick.
"You can come if you want. Fuck, you'll taste so amazing coming in my mouth," Bucky breathed, and Steve made a pained sound, fighting back the climax that was even now trying to tear through him. "Or..."
"Or?" Steve gritted out, cursing when Bucky gave him another quick, teasing little lick.
"Or you could come fucking me instead."
Yes, yes, definitely that. Steve wanted that. Needed that. Groaning, he in an instant had jerked a delighted looking Bucky to his feet, then kept lifting, until he was holding the brunet clean off the floor. "Fucking," Steve mumbled against Bucky's lips, moving in the direction he hoped was Bucky's bedroom. He was rewarded when he stumbled through the correct door, more than a little distracted by Bucky licking into his mouth while wrapping muscled legs around Steve's hips, grinding against him in mid-air. Steve just barely made it to the bed, where he leaned over intending to place Bucky on his back, the better to rub against him, because fuck at this point he didn't even care what they were doing, Steve just needed to come. Yet with a strength and agility that was all sorts of impressive, Bucky somehow maneuvered so that Steve had landed on his back with a huff, Bucky pining him down effortlessly.
"God, you're so gorgeous. You're going to feel so good in me," Bucky breathed, licking over one tempting little nipple as he wiggled out of his boxers, feeling the way Steve shuddered beneath him. Then Bucky trembled in return when one of those big, clever hands wrapped around his dick at last. The contact on his aching erection was incredible, Steve fucking his fist over it, the pressure perfect, the little twist he added at the top heaven, and suddenly Bucky in danger of going over again before he was anywhere close to done.
As much as it pained him, and fuck, it really did, Bucky quickly grasped both of Steve's wrists in his own, and in a lightning fast motion, had them pinned to the mattress above Steve's head. He was nearly bucked off of Steve's body which arched in reaction to the motion. Bucky grinned devilishly at the blatant sign that Steve enjoyed being physically dominated, just as much as he loved to do it. Seriously, if Steve got any more perfect, Bucky would be proposing before he even got that gorgeous cock inside of him. And as delightful as that sounded, even he knew that was a bit preemptive, when they had yet to even go on a date. So instead, he swallowed the blissed out words and instead squeezed tighter on Steve's wrists. Not enough to hurt, just enough to make the erotic prison feel unbreakable. He brushing his lips over Steve's trembling mouth, open and gasping.
"Your hands feel wayyy too good," Bucky breathed, flicking his tongue over that plush lower lip, nipped at it teasingly. "Can you be good for me and leave them here, Stevie?" he questioned, watched the last narrow ring of blue in Steve's eyes practically disappear as his pupils exploded. That gaze was practically blind as Steve nodded immediately.
"Yes, yes, I can be good," Steve panted out, and Bucky rewarded him with another lingering kiss. Slowly releasing Steve's arms, he watched the impressive muscles flex as Steve strained to keep them precisely where they were, clearly going against his every instinct. Yet Steve didn't move. Fuck. So, so perfect.
Sitting up, Bucky straddled Steve's thighs, taking just a moment to drink in the paradise that was one naked Steve Rogers, sprawled out below him, trembling to do exactly as Bucky asked. Unable to hold the praise back, and having no reason to want to resist, Bucky slowly shook his head. "Stevie, you are so beautiful. So perfect, so good for me." He needed to verbally pet the man just as much as he needed to touch him.
The breathy sound that coaxed out of Steve was a ghost of a moan. Fine white teeth bit hard at his lush bottom lip as his hips jerked despite his best intentions. Steve’s cock was so hard it looked painful, flushed and leaking a gorgeous mess all over his abdomen. Unable to draw things out a moment longer, Bucky let out a harsh breath as he leaned over to his nightstand and fumbled out a condom and his bottle of lube. Quickly popping the lid off, he coating his fingers, before reaching to rub at his entrance. Lashes fluttered at the feel of his own fingers, rubbing teasingly before he slowly breached himself. Bucky moaned aloud at the sensation that never failed to send him flying. Fuck, he loved being filled, and knew he would adore the feel of being filled by Steve's cock most of all. Wasting no time, he thrust his finger into himself until he could take it with ease, the slick glide feeling so amazing. He quickly added another finger as he watched Steve watch him, dark eyes nearly glassy as he took in the glorious sight that was Bucky, hips rocking as he fucked back on his own hand. Steve's breathing turned ragged and uneven. Encouraged, Bucky picked up his stream of words, filthy now, yet still just as reverent.
"Jesus baby, I can't wait to feel you inside me, fuck, you're going to stretch me so good. With that gorgeous dick, God, you're so incredible." Bucky strained now to take four fingers, sweat gleaming on his body as he pushed himself. He knew the stretch was worth it because Steve was seriously hung, and Bucky wanted nothing but pleasure when he sank down on that divine cock for the first time. His eyes snapped back up to Steve when he made the faintest whimper, which caused Bucky to bite back his own, knowing he'd never heard a more exquisite noise in his entire life. And fuck he couldn't wait a second longer.
Pulling his fingers free with a needy little moan, Bucky opened the condom with hands that shook now. Not from nerves, but rather a lust that went past want into sheer need. Quickly sheathing Steve's cock with it, then rubbing slick over him, it was all too fast to be a tease when Steve let out a pained noise, so aroused it was excruciating. Crawling back over Steve's body, wanting the intimacy of being pressed skin to skin, Bucky laid a soft kiss on Steve's jaw. He reached back, angling the tip of Steve's cock until it pressed against his ass. Then in one slow fluid motion, Bucky sank down, slowly taking every inch of Steve inside of him. Dropping his head to Steve's shoulder, Bucky shuddered at the stretch that despite his best intentions, still stung sharply, Steve feeling huge inside of him. But fuck, it hurt so good, and he spared barely a moment to adjust, as Steve now gripped the headboard so hard Bucky could actually hear it splinter. And fuck, he didn't care.
Just as slowly, Bucky rose back up. Before gliding down, the feel of Steve dragging over his prostate making Bucky see stars. "Oh fuck you are so perfect, so good," he groaned, rolling his hips leisurely, until his desire to see Steve obeying his orders so perfectly was overwhelmed by his need to have those hands on him. "Touch me Steve," Bucky whispered. The words were barely out before Steve was grasping Bucky’s hips, snapping his own as he slammed Bucky down on him, impaling the brunet. Bucky's words turned into high, keening wails as Steve set a pace that had the edges of his vision going black. Steve fucked up into him with a strength and speed he couldn't begin to keep up with. Instead Bucky simply braced himself, hands spread on that gorgeous chest, lips parted and eyes squeezed shut.
"God, Bucky," Steve panted out, his voice wrecked. His fingers were painfully tight on Bucky's skin, and Bucky loved it.
"Yes, baby, oh fuck, so good, so good," Bucky chanted mindless, no longer even knowing what he was saying, just knowing he never wanted Steve to stop. He gasped when in a sudden move, Steve rolled them over, in an instant shoving Bucky's legs to his chest, fucking into him with sharp, deep thrusts that nailed Bucky's prostate every time. Bucky had no words, crying out as he clutched the rucked up sheets in his fists. The feel of Steve so hot and thick inside of him was beyond anything he'd ever known.
Blinking sweat out of his eyes, Steve stared down at Bucky, his gaze worshipful. The way Bucky looked, face a masterpiece, body the picture of perfection as he rocked into each stroke, Steve knew he would never see anything else so flawless in his entire life. He needed to give Bucky, anything, everything he could. Needed to give Bucky pleasure more than he needed his next breath. Because Jesus, the feel of the smaller man clenching around him, so tight and slick and warm - Steve never wanted anything else.
Bucky cried out sharply when Steve insinuated a hand between them, grasping Bucky's cock in his grip once more. Steve began to stroke in time with his thrusts, firm and tight and just the perfect amount of rough. Sobbing, Bucky tumbled over the edge, coming between then, each pulse a tidal wave of agonizing pleasure through his body. Steve stroking him through his release, easing his hand away just when the friction became too much for Bucky's sensitized body to stand. Steve's thrusts becoming harder until moments later he stilled, cock flexing deep inside Bucky, and Bucky forced his eyes opened, needing to witness the glory of Steve coming.
Bucky felt his cock pulse weakly once more at the sight, Steve's lips parted, handsome features carved into an expression of such ecstasy the blond seemed genuinely shocked by it. Chest heaving, Steve fell forward heavily over Bucky, yet before Bucky could luxuriate in the sensation of that heavy frame draped so warmly over his own, or, more likely, feel slightly suffocated, Steve rolled them once more. He disposed of the condom before arranged Bucky with possessive, gentle hands until he was sprawled over Steve like a trembling Bucky blanket. Steve’s hand stroking once down Bucky's spine, before the blond fell still.
Breath ragged, delighting in the feel of their hearts pounding against one another, Bucky blinked in delayed shock. "Wow. That was... seriously incredible."
"Mhmm," Steve managed, giving Bucky's ass a little pat that had the brunet chuckling. Laying his hand on that truly divine chest, then propping his chin on top, Bucky smiled down at Steve, contentment and lingering gratification surging through every inch of him.
"So. How about that date?"
Cracking one eye open, Steve pinned Bucky with a look that clearly stated he thought the brunet was insane. Gorgeous, but insane.
"A date sounds awesome. After I've had some time to recover," he added pointedly.
Bucky gave an experimental little wiggle. Noted with interest, and a heartfelt prayer of thanks, how Steve was already half hard against him. A small groan worked out of the blond at the motion which had their cocks brushing against each other once more.
"I dunno, seems like you've already ... recovered quite nicely," Bucky stated solemnly, expression one of complete innocence. Steve opening the other eye to glare at Bucky more effectively.
"If you're wanting to go on that date anytime soon-" Steve began, before his words were cut off by Bucky's mouth upon his. It didn't take long for them to conclude, by mutual silent agreement, the date could wait. Hours later, when dark had fallen and they lay sprawled like two survivors of a war, Bucky suggested a bit breathlessly that maybe breakfast would be a good first date. He dragged Steve closer so they could curl up around each other. Who went happily, and agreed that sounded perfect. And it absolutely was.