Chapter Text
“Shit. Shit,” Steve muttered, kicking his trash can and ignoring the tissues and scraps of paper that spilled out. “Fuck!”
Bucky’s phone was clutched in Steve’s hand. The screen showed the results of the semi-final league games. On one side of the bracket, Steve and Bucky’s high school’s logo was proudly displayed. On the other side, as of ten minutes ago, was the logo of the team who had won the State Championship the year previous. The same team that had absolutely crushed Steve and Bucky the day after Homecoming, ruining their undefeated season.
Now, in the fucking Championship game, Steve and Bucky were absolutely fucked. The one team they weren’t able to beat was now the team they had to face in the Championship. Steve wasn’t sure how, if at all, he’d be able to cope with coming so close to winning a League Championship just to lose it at the last second.
Any joy in Steve’s heart from winning the semi-final was immediately extinguished by the new reality of the fact that they were going to lose the Championship. Going to lose the game that actually mattered. Steve ran his hands through his hair, feeling more stressed and panicked and scared than he could ever remember being.
Steve couldn’t let this all fall apart now. All his effort, his years of refusing to drink and eating healthy and exercising was for nothing. All his mental effort of devising new drills and ways to train his team were worthless.
Bucky wasn’t fairing much better than Steve, stresswise. He was pacing across Steve’s bedroom, his bare feet burning a line into the plush carpet of Steve’s bedroom. Bucky was running his hand through his hair repeatedly, tangling it. It was the most unhappy Steve had seen Bucky since he’d been crying the night before they got together.
It was such a contrast to the past few weeks that Steve was immediately worried about more than just the game. Since getting together, Bucky had been an adorable, cuddly boyfriend. Both Bucky and Steve had been as happy as they’d ever been since they’d gotten together.
They’d been more in sync than ever during games and practices, leading drills and encouraging their teammates in near-unison. The team had seen an improvement, too: they’d shut out two of the last four playoff games, and won the other two without it being too painfully close. They, and the team, were in great shape.
Off the field, Steve and Bucky had taken every opportunity to be near each other. It was natural and easy. When they’d just be friends, they’d watch a movie and throw popcorn at each other. Now that they were more than just friends, they’d do the exact same thing, but cuddle and kiss and feed each other the kernels that had fallen to the floor, too. When they were just friends, they’d run sprints and time each other. Now that they were boyfriends, they’d do the same thing, but kiss after each set. “For encouragement,” Steve had said, whereas Bucky had argued it was because Steve “couldn’t get enough of this tight ass.”
Plus, there was all the stuff they did that they didn’t used to do at all. Like when they made out on Steve’s couch until their lips were tingling. Or the way Steve would play with Bucky’s hair whenever he had the chance, and had even figured out how to braid it. Or the way Bucky had taken to lying on Steve’s chest just because he liked the sound of Steve’s heartbeat.
All of that easy, light happiness was seemingly gone now and Steve felt his chest ache with the need to make Bucky happy.
“We’re fucked for the Championship, huh?” Steve said in an attempt to both commiserate, since he wasn’t quite calm either, and get Bucky to get out of his own head.
Bucky had paused his pacing and was now leaning against Steve’s window, lighting a cigarette and carefully blowing the smoke out of the room so he wouldn’t trigger Steve’s asthma. His forehead was pushing against the window screen, the strands of hair that had fallen out of Steve’s shitty attempt at a braid framing his cheeks. Even though Steve was about to explode from stress, he couldn’t help but take a moment to study his beautiful boyfriend.
Bucky’s cheeks were hollowed pensively around his cigarette, making Steve’s hands itch to sketch it, just quickly. Bucky was wearing a black muscle shirt, and his toned arms would have distracted Steve’s downstairs if Steve wasn’t so concerned about him and the game. Bucky’s long legs were sticking out of his black athletic shorts, tanned and powerful. God, Steve loved Bucky’s muscles.
Bucky had said he’d loved Steve since he could throw him. He had been referencing Steve’s stature before his massive growth spurt, but Steve was pretty sure that if Bucky really set his mind to it, he could probably throw Steve now, all 200 plus pounds of him, and fuck if that wasn’t hot as hell. They hadn’t done anything beyond heavy making out, and Steve was fine taking it slow, but he still wanted Bucky desperately.
Steve was still bothered, both about the game and about Bucky’s unhappiness, but Steve couldn’t deny the fact that his dick was more interested in Bucky’s looks than it was about their potential failure to win the Championship.
Bucky, meanwhile, was clearly staying focused on the game rather than his attraction for his boyfriend. Bucky took another drag of his cigarette, shifting his weight from foot to foot. It would have looked like he needed to pee if Steve didn’t know that this was one of Bucky’s tells that he was nervous.
“Buck?” Steve asked, setting the phone down in favor of tending to his boyfriend.
“I’m fine, Stevie,” Bucky said, still looking out the window as he took another drag of his cigarette. “We were all hung over at that game. If we’re all sober, I’m sure it’ll be fine.”
That was true. When they’d lost to their now-competitors for the League Championship a few months ago, it had been right after the Homecoming dance. Everyone, Steve included, had been plastered the night previous, and were in bad shape the next day. They wouldn’t be at that disadvantage this time. Still, Steve was concerned.
This was a good fucking team. They were big, strong. Could throw further, hit harder than even Steve, even on his best day. There was no way this was going to go well.
Steve’s soul felt like it was shriveling up as his focus shifted fully to the Championship. The infinite worries started crashing down on Steve’s head, one after the other, like a broken wave pool at an abandoned waterpark. If Steve didn’t do well at the championship, scouts wouldn’t be interested in him. “He plays fine, but he chokes,” they’d say. He’d lose any chance at a scholarship, and thus not be able to afford college. He’d have to live with his mom, maybe get a job at McDonald’s or something, where the smell of week-old-fries would seep into his clothes permanently and the smoke from the kitchen would probably trigger his asthma.
“Fuck, Bucky, I don’t know if I can do this,” Steve suddenly uttered, the words out before he comprehended them. His hands came up to cup his forehead.
He didn’t want to fuck this up, both for him and for the team. He couldn’t let everyone down like this. He could already see his mother’s disappointed but comforting smile. . . .
“Steve.” Bucky’s voice was firm enough that Steve peeked through his fingers to look at Bucky. Bucky had stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill, and was now leaning against it, his eyes narrowed in determination.
“Yeah?” Steve asked, moving his hand to wrap around his middle and looking at Bucky fully.
“You’re gonna be fine. We’re gonna be fine. And if we’re not, I’ll strip to support us, and you can stay home with the kids, okay?” Bucky was deadpan, but one corner of his lips was turned up at his own joke.
Steve smiled back weakly at Bucky’s attempt to cheer him up. “I just don’t want to fuck everything up,” he mumbled.
Bucky shook his head firmly. “You won’t, Stevie. You are an amazing player and person, and this is just a game like any other.”
Steve blushed at the compliment and stared down at his feet. Bucky was so wrong. Any other game wouldn’t have insanely high stakes. Any other game wouldn’t leave a swirling, nauseous feeling in Steve’s belly that he’d only felt just before he’d broken up with Peggy. “It’s not, though. God, Bucky, it’s not at all.”
Steve’s eyes stayed fixed on his bare feet. He wasn’t ready to disappoint his coaches, his team, the scouts. He didn’t want to fuck everything up because of one fucking game. He was a good player, but one game was going to ruin it. He worked so fucking hard, but no one was going to care when he lost. Steve wasn’t ready to let everyone down.
Steve was so deep in his own head that he jumped when another pair of bare feet appeared in his field of vision. Steve looked up, eyes round and burning.
Bucky was staring down at Steve, his expression stern and soft and sweet all at once. His eyes were full of gentleness, but his eyebrows were knit and his mouth was turned into a soft frown. “What’s so different?” he asked, one arm coming to squeeze Steve’s shoulder. “Nine innings, three outs per. Seventh inning stretch. Obscenely hot outfielders Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes. What’s different?”
Steve shook his head at Bucky’s attempt at both logic and a joke.
“Tell me,” Bucky prompted. “What’s different?”
The frustrating thing was that Bucky was right. It was just a game. Steve had played in hundreds, maybe thousands of those. By all logic, he should be fine. But the stakes were so much higher. And Steve couldn’t think about this game without feeling sick.
Steve made a disgruntled sound and collapsed forward into Bucky’s stomach, wrapping his own arms around Bucky’s middle and squeezing tightly. Bucky smelled like soap and detergent and a little bit like cigarettes in a way that wasn’t quite as unpleasant as it should have been because this was Bucky’s scent. Steve inhaled the smell greedily, trying to calm himself.
“I don’t wanna disappoint anyone,” Steve whispered into Bucky’s shirt.
Bucky sighed and lifted one hand to stroke Steve’s hair, the other still holding Steve’s shoulder. “You’re not disappointing anyone. You are a good person who makes good choices and is fucking good at baseball. One game will never change that.” Bucky’s hand tightened in Steve’s hair.
“What about scouts, though?” Steve asked plaintively, rubbing his cheek against Bucky’s belly. The sensation of his soft shirt helped soothe Steve, if only a little bit. “What if I suck and they only see that one game?”
“Then they’ll step back and take a look at your entire record and think, ‘Fuck, I need to sign this kid.’”
Bucky had such conviction, it almost made Steve feel better. He nuzzled closer to Bucky, tightening his arms. “Promise?” Steve mumbled after a minute.
Bucky laughed, the sound reverberating into Steve’s body. “Promise.”
Steve pushed his nose into Bucky’s stomach. He could feel Bucky’s abs through his shirt, hard and hot. It was insane how Bucky was incredibly sweet and caring, yet simultaneously the sexiest, hottest person Steve had ever even conceived of. Didn’t make any sense how Steve was so lucky.
“You are incredible, Stevie. I love you. You’re gonna be just fine, sweetheart.” Bucky’s hand was starting to rub through Steve’s head, stroking his hair. Even that small gesture had Steve melting against Bucky.
“Plus,” Bucky added, his voice gentle, “we fucking made it to the Championship in the first place! Only one other team did that, Stevie.”
That was true. They hadn’t gotten to the Championship game at all during Steve’s entire four years on the team. No matter what, they were doing better than they had ever before.
“Everything else is just gravy, Stevie. And, if we lose, you’ll still have this tight ass to look at. Isn’t that prize enough?”
Steve hiccupped a laugh, because everything Bucky was saying was hilarious and right.
The Championship was a game. Steve had a whole season of good games (barring the one after Homecoming) for scouts to look at. And Steve would have Bucky, win or lose. It would be okay. The realization made Steve flush and press a soft kiss to Bucky’s stomach through his shirt.
It didn’t matter who they were playing, or if they won. Steve had worked hard all season. The championship was the cherry on top.
“Buck?” Steve asked after a moment.
“Yes, Stevie?”
“Why am I the stay at home dad?”
Bucky began to slide his hand through Steve’s hair, stroking it lightly. “Huh?”
“You said you’d strip to support our family when we lost, and I’d take care of the kids. So, why do you get to be a stripper, and I have to be a stay at home dad?”
Bucky giggled before responding, the sound traveling down Steve’s body. He felt safe and lovely, being held like this, arms around Bucky’s middle and Bucky in between Steve’s legs. Even if Steve lost the Championship, he’d have Bucky. And just that thought had Steve relaxing and tilting his chin up to make eye contact with Bucky again.
Bucky was smiling softly as he murmured, “Have you seen this bod, babe? This is the money maker.”
“‘Babe?’ Isn’t that a little treacly?” Steve teased as he raised an eyebrow, not really annoyed. He loved how Bucky could cheer him up, if only a little but, through only a few stupid jokes. He loved how Bucky looked right now, sexy and sweet and perfect. He loved Bucky.
“Not at all, babe,” Bucky confirmed, gently squeezing Steve’s shoulders to prompt him to let go of Bucky’s waist before turning and plopping next to Steve, way closer than they would have sat even a month previous. They were pressed together, thigh-to-thigh, hip-to-hip, shoulder-to-shoulder. “You got a problem with it, Rogers?”
“Not at all, sugarpie,” Steve replied easily, happy to joke instead of focus on his lingering nerves.
“‘Sugarpie?’ Okay, even I’ve gotta admit, that’s a little much.” Bucky was laughing, his side shaking Steve. Steve liked being close enough to Bucky to feel him laughing, feel his happiness. It made Steve feel warm all over, like he was lying in the sun with a blanket all over him.
Losing the Championship didn’t feel like it mattered so much when he felt like he was wrapped in sunshine.
“You don’t like it, babycakes?” Steve asked with mock innocence.
Bucky rolled his eyes graciously. “C’mere, sweetie-lovebug o’ mine.”
Bucky leaned closer to Steve and tilted his head to the side. Steve met him in the middle, their lips locking gently. Steve lifted one hand from the bed to Bucky’s braid and tugged out the hairband, running his fingers through the braid to undo it.
“Hey,” Bucky mumbled against Steve’s lips, “you worked hard on that braid.”
That was true. Steve had watched probably fifteen YouTube tutorials before attempting it on Bucky’s sinfully soft hair. It had been nice, getting to touch and be close to Bucky for such an extended period of time, even in a non-sexual, barely-sensual way. Of course, that’d fallen apart when Steve had seen the semi-final results.
When Steve had his lips on Bucky’s, though, that didn’t seem to matter much.
“I’ll redo it after,” Steve promised, kissing both of Bucky’s blushing cheeks before pressing their lips together again.
“After? That’s awful presumptuous of you, baby-schmoopsie poo-love muffin,” Bucky said, breaking the kiss to move down to Steve’s neck.
“You’re the worst,” Steve giggled as Bucky blew a raspberry into the hollow of his throat. “I’m gonna start freaking out again just to annoy you.” That wasn’t true. Steve wasn’t panting with nerves anymore.
Instead, he felt safe and loved, because he was.
“Yeah?” Bucky mumbled, shifting to kiss both of Steve’s cheeks right on the apples in a mirror of Steve seconds earlier.
“Yeah. Just ‘cause you’re the worst.”
“But you love me.” Bucky’s voice was sing-song as he slid a hand under Steve’s shirt and rubbed Steve’s side.
“Yeah,” Steve sighed. “Yeah, I do.”
Bucky took that as encouragement to swing his leg over Steve’s, straddling him. Steve’s hands flew to Bucky’s hips, pushing up his muscle shirt and rubbing the smooth skin of his abdomen. Steve focused on rubbing firmly and regularly so Bucky wouldn’t squirm away, ticklish.
Bucky was giggling anyway, though, so Steve moved his hands and let Bucky climb over Steve to lie on his back on the bed, head on a pillow so he was comfortable.
Steve took the barest of moments to appreciate how Bucky looked all spread out. It didn’t make sense that someone that gorgeous was that kind. Steve didn’t understand how someone could have two qualities in so much abundance all at once. Steve was a lucky motherfucker. This was Steve’s best guy, a guy who could yank Steve back from the brink of an anxiety attack with a few sweet comments, soft touches, and well-placed jokes.
Whatever god had brought Bucky into Steve’s life, who had brought Bucky into the world at all, was a fucking genius. Nothing else could combine such full lips with such bright eyes and such a sweet, jovial personality and leave it all for Steve to enjoy.
Before Steve could get too poetic, though, Bucky, who had settled less than five seconds earlier, tugged at Steve’s shirt impatiently. “C’mere,” Bucky was whining. “You’re too far away.”
Steve rolled his eyes dramatically, with no heat behind it, and slotted himself in between Bucky’s legs, leaning down to kiss him. Bucky made a happy humming noise and pressed his lips harder to Steve’s.
Steve whispered a laugh and returned the kiss. Bucky’s hands moved to settle on Steve’s ass, but Steve’s hands roamed, reaching to tuck Bucky’s hair behind his ears, rub Bucky’s shoulders, stroke delicately at the sensitive skin around his throat. Anything to make Bucky feel good and loved and wanted, because, God, he was.
Meanwhile, Steve’s tongue was having a field day in Bucky’s mouth. Steve’d long since learned how to make out well, and Bucky was clearly enjoying Steve’s expertise, moaning and grinding up against Steve.
In no time at all, Bucky was hard, impressively so as he grinded up against Steve’s stomach, and Steve gasped against Bucky’s lips.
Steve himself had been flying at half-mast since starting to make out with Bucky, but feeling the evidence of Bucky’s arousal had Steve whimpering in an equal mix of horniness and nerves .
On one hand, Bucky was hard. Steve was on his way there, too. Steve really did want to make Bucky feel good, be intimate with him in that way. Steve wanted Bucky’s cheeks to get all ruddy and for Bucky to moan Steve’s name while he came all over his and Steve’s bellies. Steve wanted Bucky to make Steve come, too. Steve wanted to bite into a pillow while he spent, and have Bucky kiss him after and tell him that he was beautiful. Steve wanted that so badly he felt his mouth water at the mere idea of getting Bucky’s dick in his mouth. After all, the realization that he loved Bucky came, in part, from a whole lot of lust for Bucky. The recurring dream that started Steve’s realization of his intense attraction to Bucky (which had thankfully been absent for almost a month now) was even about a blowjob. Steve wasn’t sure he was ready for anything else, but a blowjob would be nice. Steve wanted it.
At the same time, though, Bucky was hard. Which meant that he wanted Steve, and Steve was terrified of messing things up. Messing them up badly. Steve couldn’t help but think back to his worries about giving Bucky a blowjob from a few weeks ago. He didn’t want to choke, or bite Bucky. Bucky was big. Steve didn’t know how that would be conducive to a good blowjob. How would Bucky be able to relax enough to come all over himself if he was too worried about Steve choking and dying. What if Steve got an asthma attack while attempting to deepthroat Bucky? Steve wanted everything to be perfect for Bucky, but he’d never sucked a dick before.
Steve had sudden visions of barfing all over Bucky’s dick and Bucky walking out in a huff. He looked so nice in his muscle shirt, and Steve didn’t want to ruin it with vomit.
Steve gently pulled back and sat up, still perched on Bucky’s thighs, and wiped his suddenly sweaty hands on his shirt, trying to suck in a breath deep enough to calm down. So to speak. Christ, Steve needed to chill.
“What’s up?” Bucky asked, his hands immediately going to Steve’s biceps and rubbing up and down soothingly. “Are you still worried about the Championship?”
Steve shook his head mutely. The Championship was the last thing on his mind now that he’d been confronted with his sexy, sweet, concerned specimen of a boyfriend.
“What do you need?” Bucky asked, squeezing Steve’s biceps with worry lacing his features.
Steve shook his head again and took a deep breath. This was Bucky. Steve could always talk to Bucky.
“I would like to suck your dick. Please,” Steve said haltingly.
A wide smile spread across Bucky’s lips, and he put on hand over his mouth, his head tilted back to face the wall. His hips and belly were shaking. He was holding back a laugh. After a moment, Bucky looked up and positively beamed at Steve. “I’m glad you said ‘please.’ I wouldn’t let you otherwise.”
Steve shoved half-heartedly at Bucky’s shoulder in response to the teasing, but Steve couldn’t really push him anywhere since Bucky was flat on his back on the bed. “I’m feeling nervous,” Steve confessed after another minute of Bucky blushing as he tried to hold back his giggles.
Bucky’s stifled laughter came to an abrupt halt when Steve said that, though, and he leaned up on his forearms so he could more easily make eye contact with Steve. He was still smiling just a bit. “Nervous about what, bud?”
Steve rubbed his palms down his own thighs. “I wanna make you feel good. I don’t wanna mess up. And y-you’re. . .”
“Take your time, honey,” Bucky reassured.
Steve took a deep breath before continuing, “You’re really big and I don’t wanna choke and barf on you.”
That set Bucky to laughing again, openly this time. When he calmed down, he looked Steve straight in the eye. His expression was serious, but alight with mirth. “Let’s talk about this, okay?”
Steve nodded. Bucky would take care of Steve. They loved each other. Bucky wouldn’t let something bad happen to him.
“About making me feel good, we’ll communicate, sweetheart. If you’re not making me feel good or vice versa, we’ll do something else. As for the, um . . .” Bucky had the grace to blush as he finished, “size issue, I’m not expecting you to be, like, a porn-star deepthroater or anything. There are different things we can do so you’re comfortable. Anything else you’re worried about?”
“Um,” Steve wiped his sweaty palms on his shorts again. “How will we communicate if I have your dick in my mouth?”
Bucky laughed again, groaning as he squeezed Steve’s sides. “You’re killing me, Stevie. You can pull off if you need to talk, baby. You’ve had your dick sucked before. You know that’s an option, right?”
Steve flushed and looked down to where his hips were slotted with Bucky’s. He’d been so far up his own head that he hadn’t even thought about that. That was seeming to be a theme.
“It’s okay. We can always stop if you’re unhappy.” Bucky squeezed Steve’s sides again like it was punctuation.
“What if you’re feeling good but I’m unhappy?” Steve mumbled plaintively, still avoiding eye contact.
“Then I won’t be feeling good. It’s that simple, Steve. What else do you wanna talk about?”
Steve nodded. “What did you mean when you said ‘vice versa?’”
Bucky’s blush from before brightened and spread to his neck, creeping under the collar of his muscle shirt. “I was hoping I’d be able to reciprocate. That okay, sweetheart?”
Steve squirmed at the pet name, looking down at Bucky’s stomach to avoid making eye contact. “I’d like that,” he mumbled after a moment.
“You ready now? Your mom shouldn’t be back for a few hours at least.”
Now. Steve’s fantasies were going to come true now. That was just a lot to take in all at once.
Steve’s breathing started to accelerate, and he reached for Bucky’s shoulders, pulling him up into a soft, sweet kiss. Bucky was sweet and ever-insistent, his arms coming round to wrap around Steve’s waist and hug him into Bucky’s chest as close as possible.
Steve lifted his hands up to gently cup Bucky’s cheeks and rub his thumbs along Bucky’s jaw, finding all the little spots on it that Steve loved. The spot just under his left ear that made goosebumps raise all along his arm. The place on his right side, almost parallel with the end of his eyebrow, that had a little scar on it from when Bucky was first learning how to shave. The cleft in his chin. Steve loved it all.
Bucky’s lips were pressed only lightly to Steve’s, gentle and warm. Soothing, Steve realized belatedly. Bucky was trying to reassure Steve that this, sex, was going to be okay. And it was.
Steve was safe, and happy, and as wanted as he was wanting. The Championship didn’t matter. Steve was with his best guy.
Steve pulled back, just a fraction, their foreheads still pressing into each other. “I love you,” he murmured.
Bucky tilted his chin into Steve’s hand and rubbed against it, catlike. “Love you right back. Is that a yes?”
“Yes,” Steve said, confident in his decision. This was good. Steve was comfortable and safe and very, very clearly adored by his partner. Bucky would keep Steve safe. Bucky said that they’d communicate and Steve trusted Bucky to take good care of him.
“Can I take your shirt off?” Steve asked, swallowing hard.
Bucky nodded mutely, and Steve took the opportunity to plant one more hard, close-mouthed kiss on Bucky’s lips before slipping his hands under the loose muscle shirt and tugging it off. Bucky held his arms above his head to help, and Steve loved Bucky so much in that moment that it ached in his sides, back, and belly.
Steve flung the shirt behind him, uncaring about where it ended up. Bucky surged forward to capture Steve’s lips again, but Steve planted his hands on Bucky’s shoulders to stop him. He didn’t want to kiss more, not yet.
“Steve?” Bucky asked, concern lacing his voice.
“Just need a minute,” Steve mumbled, trying to soothe Bucky. Bucky should never be concerned during something like this.
Steve pressed on Bucky’s shoulders to get him to lie back, and Bucky went easily, flopping back. His hair poofed out beautifully when he collapsed back, and Steve smiled to himself. His boyfriend was gorgeous.
“You’re the prettiest person. Most handsome, too. And beautiful. And everything in between,” Steve gushed honestly. It was true. Bucky was laid out for Steve like a fucking painting (or a buffet, depending on how poetic Steve felt like being), and Steve wouldn’t trade the sight for the world.
Bucky was shirtless for Steve.
It was something Steve had seen a million times before, but this time it was different. He’d seen Bucky shirtless while they were changing, or at the pool, or in the locker room. Steve had even seen Bucky shirtless in a sexual situation, when he’d walked in on Bucky and Natasha after she’d broken Bucky’s nose. But it had never been like this. It had never been specifically for Steve. But this was all for Steve, for his pleasure. For their intimacy.
“Prettiest, handsomest, and most beautiful? You gotta let People Magazine know, Steve, they’ve been titling people wrong all these years,” Bucky remarked teasingly.
Steve flicked Bucky’s sternum in retribution, and Bucky giggled at his own joke. “Sue me if I’m at a loss for words, Buck. You have no idea what mental handicaps I’m having to deal with here, looking at you like this.”
It was true. Bucky was just . . . wow. A painting that Steve wished he had the talent to create. Bucky was buff from hours and hours working out for the season. He had smooth lines outlining his abdomen, and his pecs . . . Jesus, his pecs. Steve wanted to kiss them until they were pink all over. They stood up from Bucky’s torso, making the curve into his sternum even more dramatic. And the way his arms stood out, muscular and strong enough to hold Steve and make him feel safe all the time. Christ, even his fucking armpit hair was managing to do it for Steve.
Steve wasn’t even sure how he had enough blood in his head to comprehend what he was seeing, what with all the blood that was rushing to his dick. That seemed to be the case for Bucky, too -- under his athletic shorts, he was pitching a tent that made Steve’s stomach roll with excited anticipation.
It was like the butterflies that lived in Steve’s stomach had been replaced with an angry pride of lions, tearing at his organs until Steve had to consciously remind himself to breathe. The lions got more excited when Steve let his eyes drift past Bucky’s abs to his hips. His shorts were slung low enough that Steve could see the end of the remnants of Bucky’s tan from summer, his skin’s golden cast contrasting starkly with the beginning of the winter-pale skin nestled next to it, warm and snug like Bucky liked to be against Steve.
And his Adonis lines. . . . Shit. Steve, if he had been struggling to form words before, was now completely lost. Steve knew that Bucky was ticklish there, and it made some amount of sense. No one touched Bucky there unless they were closely intimate, so the skin was sensitive. But now, Steve could touch there. Bucky was all his.
The realization felt like euphoria to Steve. Here was a beautiful man, one who was clever and hilarious and made Steve’s insides feel like they were flying, singing, and he was all Steve’s. It made the back of Steve’s throat ache and his eyes burn, like there was a balloon in his head being filled with all the pure love Steve felt for Bucky.
Steve let his hands fall to the lines and gently, reverently, traced them with his fingertips, letting them linger on Bucky’s waistband before moving them back up, just slightly, and pressing into the hollows between the muscles and Bucky’s hip bones. It was one of Bucky’s most ticklish, sensitive spots, and pressing there was making Bucky’s breath hitch. Steve made some sort of choked noise in response, pride at making Bucky turned on mixing with Steve’s own unhinged arousal.
“Like what you see?” Bucky asked, still managing to sound suave despite beginning to pant.
Steve swallowed dryly, looking for acceptable words other than “guh.” “Wanna kiss it,” he managed after a moment.
“Please,” Bucky said, sweeping his hand like he was a cheap used car salesman displaying his product in a cheesy commercial.
Steve allowed himself to fall more than guided himself forward, but either way, he was now face to face with Bucky’s bare torso. Bucky smelled like his body wash, clean and sweet, cigarette smoke, and just a little like Steve’s sheets, which was driving Steve out of his fucking head. Steve let himself kiss Bucky’s abs first, up the line in the middle, up into his sternum, and around his pecs, taking a moment to tweak Bucky’s nipples.
Bucky seemed to like that, arching off the bed and inhaling deeply, hands scrabbling for purchase on Steve’s back before settling on his shoulders and squeezing tightly, a distorted, near-pornographic mirror of the position they’d been in earlier when Bucky was comforting Steve.
“Fuck,” Bucky mumbled after a minute. “Stevie, I’m hard.”
Steve smiled against Bucky’s chest and kissed it, right above the spot where Steve could best hear Bucky’s heartbeat. “Yeah? You ready, sweetheart?”
Bucky didn’t grace that with a response, merely pushing at Steve’s shoulders to get him to sit up enough for Bucky to stand up, turn his back to Steve, and kick off his shorts and boxers. Steve watched dumbly, his hands absently gripping his own gym shorts in tight fists. If Bucky’s torso was gorgeous, having him bare . . . elsewhere was even hotter.
First, Steve’s eyes immediately fell to Bucky’s ass. Jesus Christ, that should be the fucking dictionary entry for bubble butt. Steve wanted badly, desperately to squeeze it just to feel it, hard and tight. The skin there was pale, in sharp contrast to the golden cast Bucky had everywhere else. It was vulnerable, all for Steve, and fuck if that wasn’t an addictively heady feeling.
Bucky’s back muscles were nothing to scoff at either, corded and taut and absolutely lovely. Steve wanted to lick them, a thought which made him flush down to his fucking belly button.
Steve ogled for another moment, ready for Bucky to turn around, but enjoying the view while he wasn’t. Bucky didn’t seem to be sharing the love; his gorgeous bubble butt was dimpled in at the sides where Bucky’s muscles were tensed. Bucky was watching Steve’s expression over his own shoulder, his teeth worrying his bottom lip. He was scared, worried about his body under Steve’s eyes. That wouldn’t do, not at all.
Steve practically flew to Bucky’s side, wrapping his arms around Bucky’s delightfully warm middle and kissing the junction of Bucky’s neck and shoulder with fervor. Steve couldn’t see Bucky’s sweet little ass anymore, but he could feel it pressing against his hip bones and crotch, and that was almost better. Bucky’s back muscles were tense. It was such a contrast to his usual brash confidence that Steve felt his insides melt.
Bucky was trusting Steve enough to be vulnerable with him. And it was Steve’s number one job to reassure him, let him know that Steve loved him and was incredibly excited to be there with him, be intimate with him in this way.
“You’re so pretty, Buck,” Steve whispered hoarsely into Bucky’s skin. “I can’t even think, Jesus, you’re so hot. Can’t wait to suck you.”
Bucky shivered against Steve, and Steve smiled. “I love you, Bucky.”
“Back at ya, pal,” Bucky murmured.
“Wanna get back on the bed, sweetheart?” Steve tightened his grip on Bucky’s middle, trying to reassure him once more about how much Steve adored him.
Bucky nodded mutely and turned around. Shit, that was a sight. Bucky’s cock was standing out, almost proud from his body, the shaft a soft, blush pink that reminded Steve of sunrise, and the head going an angrier red. A little drop of precome was hanging from the slit, and Steve felt himself shudder.
What Steve was feeling was different than any arousal Steve had ever felt before. Instead of simply humming under Steve’s skin, this arousal was pulsing, throbbing. Well, that might just have been his heartbeat reverberating out of his dick, but either way, Steve had to take a deep breath to steady himself. He felt like his center of gravity was wobbling way up above his head, and he put a hand down on the bed to make sure he didn’t just topple over.
Bucky sprawled himself out on Steve’s duvet, his eyes following Steve’s slow clamber in between his thighs. Steve winked at Bucky just to tease him a little, and was rewarded with Bucky flushing nearly as brightly as the head of his cock, and flopping his head back onto the pillows, already breathing hard.
“Steve?” Bucky asked, still looking up at the ceiling. His hands were on his belly, pushing down like he was grounding himself.
“Yeah, Buck?” Steve asked, letting his own hands rest on Bucky’s outer thighs and squeezing lightly, sweetly. A touch meant to comfort, not to arouse. Bucky’s thighs were muscular, just like Steve’s own, and felt nice to grip and hold. It felt right. This whole thing did. There were no performative actions like Steve had taken with everyone else he’d slept with or gone down on. This was all natural, honest, and achingly earnest.
“Can you take your shirt off, please? I wanna see you.” Bucky sounded almost embarrassed to be saying it, but for Steve, it was impossibly hot. His boyfriend wanted to look at him naked because it would get him off. There wasn’t much of a higher compliment.
“Yeah, Buck, of course.” Steve stripped out of his T-shirt and tossed it on the ground. Bucky rewarded his actions by making a small, choking noise and reaching his hands out to clutch Steve’s shoulders.
“Like what you see?” Steve goaded, using Bucky’s earlier words against him.
Bucky didn’t say much of anything, just thrust his hips up into empty air and groaned. He was leaking more steadily now, and the only friction he’d gotten was rubbing up on Steve’s ass several long minutes ago.
The reassuring Bucky from when Steve had first suggested blowjobs was gone, replaced by a trembling, sweet heap of a thing. This Bucky was a mess, cheeks flushed and cock drooling precome.
Steve was finding he didn’t even need Bucky’s reassurances anymore. This would be okay. Bucky loved him, and was clearly into him. They’d figure it out. Plus, Bucky’s physical reactions were evidence enough that he was enjoying the proceedings.
“Haven’t even touched you, sweetness, and look at you,” Steve marveled, settling his hands back on Bucky’s thighs, the inside this time. They were flushed, too. His whole body was, from cheeks to navel to dick to nearly his knees. This was another thing Steve had never known about Bucky -- in the bedroom, he was a blusher. “Pink all over. Down to your fucking knees. Love you.”
Bucky honest-to-god whimpered, a high-pitched, desperate sound that was as heady as it was adorable. Steve couldn’t help but squeeze himself through his shorts, just to ease the ache, if only slightly.
“Ready?” Steve asked. As much as he was ready to make Bucky feel good, he didn’t want to make Bucky, already clearly overwhelmed, absolutely shatter.
Bucky nodded silently, letting one hand down from Steve’s shoulder and instead stretching it toward Steve’s heart. “Hold my hand?” he asked, voice small and thick with arousal.
Steve smiled at the sweet request. It would be as comforting for Steve as it would be grounding for Bucky. This way, if Steve fucked up, choked or grazed Bucky with his teeth or something, Bucky could squeeze his hand and offer non-verbal affirmations that it was okay, that Steve was still loved. If Bucky felt too overwhelmed, he could feel Steve’s fingers and know that he was safe, that Steve was here for him. They would communicate. It would be perfect.
“Of course, baby.”
Steve laced his fingers with Bucky’s already-sweaty ones. God, Steve’s baby was such a mess. Steve shifted so he was laying on his stomach, weight leaned in the elbow of the arm that was being gripped by Bucky, and head hovering over Bucky’s groin. Now Steve was truly face-to-face with Bucky’s cock. Shit, Bucky was big.
Steve didn’t let that worry him, though. Bucky promised that they’d communicate, and their hands were joined to do just that. Steve’d be fine. Plus, this was a lot less complicated than a pussy, and Steve’d had plenty of experience with those. At least Steve himself had a dick. He knew how they worked, and what he liked when he was being sucked. He just needed to apply that logic.
Plus, he was holding Bucky’s hand. That pretty much automatically meant that Steve’d be okay.
Steve spat into his hand copiously and wrapped his free hand around Bucky’s shaft, just barely circling it. Bucky’s breathing was already getting more labored, and he made an unhappy whining sound. “Don’t tease, Stevie. Hurts,” Bucky moaned plaintively.
Steve shook his head. He hadn’t been trying to tease, but his apprehensive, barely brushing touch had done just that. Steve liked pressure when he was getting his dick sucked. Same principle. He gently tightened his hand until Bucky’s hips were canting off the bed and was panting. Steve wasn’t even moving yet, but at least he’d found something that made Bucky feel good.
“Sensitive?” Steve teased, looking up Bucky’s heaving torso to make eye contact with him.
Bucky, even as he was panting and starting to sweat at his hairline, was glaring murderously at Steve. “I hate you.”
Steve pouted exaggeratedly. “Well, I love you.”
Bucky tightened his grip on Steve’s hand. “Me too. But I also hate you.”
“Mixed bag, huh?”
Bucky rolled his eyes until Steve started rubbing his hand up and down, stripping Bucky’s cock slowly and firmly. The shaft was velvet-smooth under Steve’s grip, hot and hard and a million times sexier than how Steve’s own cock felt under his own grip.
At Steve’s movements, Bucky squealed like a girl getting a new car for her 16th birthday, high-pitched and near-hysterical. Steve smiled in spite of himself. For all of Bucky’s purported sexual promiscuity, he was a real sweet mess when it got down to it. Bucky was falling apart just from Steve rubbing him. Steve hadn’t even gotten his mouth on Bucky yet.
This was going to be okay. Bucky was feeling good already. If Steve needed to switch to just a handjob for whatever reason, it would be okay. Bucky wouldn’t be upset. Steve needed to feel good for Bucky to feel good.
Steve slowed his hand, ignoring Bucky’s yelp in protest, and gently lowered his head to Bucky’s cock, licking once over the slit. Bucky’s precome was a little saltier than Steve’s own, but it was good and perfect and hot. Even hotter when Bucky made a high-pitched, practically inhuman noise, and tangled the fingers of his free hand in Steve’s hair. He wasn’t pulling or pushing Steve down, but rather rubbing through the locks like he was reminding himself that Steve was real. The hand Steve was holding started gripping tighter.
“Steve, c-can you suck m-me?” Bucky cut himself off with another noise. “Hnng, fuck, I-” Bucky let out another choking sound. “Christ, Stevie, it hurts. Please.”
Steve’s sweetie was a mess, sprawled out and panting. Steve looked up at him one more time. Bucky’s blush hadn’t spread more, but rather had deepened in color, a sunburned-looking red flushing over his whole torso and ruddy cheeks. He was all laid out for Steve. He was panting and begging for Steve. Steve exhaled harshly through his nose.
He almost wanted to just stop and gather Bucky up in his arms and kiss his forehead, tell him to breathe, that Steve would take care of him. Bucky didn’t need to beg. Steve had him, would never let him go.
Bucky’d had Steve’s back since day one, and Steve would always, always have Bucky’s.
“I got you, Buck. It’s gonna be okay.”
Steve tightened his grip, both on Bucky’s hand and his cock. He gently lowered his mouth to Bucky’s groin, and took the head in his mouth. For a minute, he just sat there, feeling it. Tasting it. Bucky smelled all sweaty down here, but he tasted more neutral than salty, like warmth and closeness, like all the winter nights Steve wanted to lie tangled with Bucky, tongues in each other’s mouths.
The head wasn’t too big, either. As long as Steve kept his mouth stretched like he was about to yawn, he was in no danger of hurting Bucky with his teeth. Steve wanted to push his head further down, but an experimental shove forward already had Steve’s throat constricting, so instead he sat where he was.
Bucky’s hand was a vice grip on Steve’s. His inhales were noisy, his exhales little moans. Steve was just holding Bucky, in his mouth and his hand, and already Bucky was practically inconsolable with pleasure. Steve’s sensitive baby.
“Steve,” Bucky panted. “Unh.”
Steve pulled back, his chin still brushing Bucky’s head. “Articulate, huh?”
Bucky had the good grace to laugh at Steve’s joke, panting even as he giggled and shook the bed lightly. “Please, Stevie. Want you.”
Steve flushed deeply. His perfect boyfriend wanted him so badly. Steve squeezed Bucky’s hands and sunk his head down over Bucky’s head again. This time, though, he began to stroke up and down the shaft, pressing sweet and firm as he did. He wasn’t moving too quickly, but it was still the fastest he’d moved yet.
With his mouth, Steve began to suckle gently but solidly, like he was trying to get the last sip of a milkshake out of an almost empty container. Spit was leaking out of his mouth and down Bucky’s shaft, adding to the slick sensation. The smell was a little heady and musky, and Steve panted through his nose, finding that he kind of liked it. It was hot and dirty and close, perfect for how Steve was feeling.
Bucky, meanwhile, was clearly having the time of his life, moaning and squealing and squirming, wrapping his legs around Steve’s waist, rubbing Steve’s sides with his inner thighs, stroking Steve’s hair, hooking his ankles wherever he could find purchase. Bucky was quite literally squeaking whenever Steve’s thumb or tongue swiped over his frenulum.
The only thing that was stable was Bucky’s grip on Steve’s hand. It was solid, unmoving, and full of loving squeezes and sweat from the exertion.
Steve himself was aching almost painfully from his own incredible arousal and utter lack of stimulation. He couldn’t help but rut against his own mattress, desperate for some relief. The ache slowly began to ease, and Steve used his own movements to aid in beginning to bob his head. He didn’t move much more than an inch, but in Steve’s experience and, judging from how Bucky’s sounds jumped practically an octave, it was more than enough for Bucky.
Plus, Steve wasn’t choking! His hand and lips and chin were covered in spit and copious amounts of precome, but he wasn’t choking! Steve began to accelerate both his hand and his own hips, chasing sweet, desperate pleasure for both him and his partner. Steve’s own mouth was making illicit slurping sounds that made Steve cringe. After each one, though, Bucky let out a little sigh of sound, and that eased Steve’s discomfort. A curse, or a groan, or a call of Steve’s name.
Steve began to hump his mattress in earnest, just a little harder than he had been, rubbing the underside of his dick against his boxers and the top against his lower belly. He was acting desperate, and he knew it, groaning haphazardly and grinding at any angle to provide his dick with a little relief. Bucky liked Steve’s groans. Each time the vibrations traveled the length of Bucky’s shaft, Bucky would let out a desperate cry.
Steve felt the apples of his cheeks fill with a happy blush. He had never, ever felt like this, especially not during sex. He felt like he was flying, soaring, air buffeting his back and sides, and sweet, warm heat between his legs. Best of all was Bucky, who was practically catatonic at this point, his eyes flying wildly between watching Steve’s face and fluttering closed, only to open and watch again after a bare moment. Steve’s baby was so beautiful when he was feeling good.
It had never been like this going down on Peggy. Then, even though Steve had been plenty good at it, it had just felt like another sex act. Now, this felt about a trillion times more intense than that.
Every pleasured hitch of Bucky’s breaths made Steve’s own air catch in his throat. Every jerk of his legs made Steve grind into the bed just a little harder. His stomach felt like it was filled with carbonation, fizzing pleasantly and sweetly and bubbling out whenever Steve moaned into Bucky’s velvet-soft skin.
Steve even found himself enjoying the scratch of Bucky’s wiry pubic hair against his hand. He’d never been with a partner who wasn’t bare before, and Steve was quickly learning that he liked it. Or maybe that was just Bucky. Steve felt insanely, achingly turned on, but his thoughts were just mush, every sense shouting over each other in a cacophony of “Bucky. Fuck Bucky. Make him feel good.”
Steve looked up at Bucky, his flush and his labored breathing. His hair, so soft and sweet in his braid earlier, was a tangled, sweaty mess of curls that Steve wanted to kiss, to feel against him in any way possible. Bucky’s eyes were dazed and glassy and supremely desperate. His lips were parted, red from kissing and biting, and they gently formed nonsense syllables in beautiful patterns.
Steve ground harder against the bed, and moved his hand on Bucky’s shaft a little faster, trying to communicate nonverbally how gone he was for Bucky. Even the fact that Bucky, clearly out of his mind with pleasure, was still holding Steve’s hand, steady and sweet, was driving Steve out of his mind. As pleasurable and good as this felt, it was impossible to ignore how much Bucky loved him. And fuck if it wasn’t completely mutual.
Steve’s jaw was beginning to ache, so he carefully lifted his head off of Bucky’s shaft and switched to only using his hand, making sure to twist on the upstroke to make up for the loss of his mouth. He planted a few wet kisses to Bucky’s hips to give his mouth a break but still provide Bucky with stimulation, his hand still going steady and flicking his wrist. Even with the pain in his jaw and the fact that Steve’s wrist was beginning to ache, he was feeling good. The bed, while certainly not Bucky’s wanton mouth, was rubbing him fine, and he had his best guy right there with him.
Steve dipped down to kiss around Bucky’s base, remembering how much that set himself off when he was having his own cock sucked. Steve couldn’t help but feeling stupidly proud of himself. He’d never sucked a dick before, and here Bucky was, acting like Christmas had come early. So to speak.
Steve was just going off instinct and educated guesses, and Bucky was literally writhing, all for Steve. It had never been like that with a woman before. This felt right.
Steve paused his oral ministrations to lean back the few inches he could and just squeeze Bucky’s hand. Steve’s hand on Bucky’s cock was still going (Steve wasn’t cruel), but this way Steve could just study Bucky for a minute or two.
Bucky was starting to sweat more, beads running down his chest and forehead. The smell of the sweat was heady and intense, but strangely pleasant and comforting, contrasting lightly with the taste of salty bitterness of Bucky’s precome that was still sitting on the back of Steve’s throat. Even though none of it was exactly pleasant by itself, together, it had Steve feeling elated inside, the carbonated feeling from before bubbling up happily.
This was Bucky. These were Bucky’s scents, Bucky’s beads of sweat, Bucky’s reaction to feeling so good. That alone made it just right.
Even better than the smell were the sounds, though. In between gasps and meaningless moans, Bucky was still babbling. Steve caught his name a few times, as well as several “love you”s and at least three “never sucked a cock before my ass”es. He was loud and squeaky and nowhere near composed. It wasn’t sexy in the way guys’ soft grunts in pornos are. Instead, it was sexy in that it was vulnerable and exposing and fragile. It was understated, soft, and infinitely more intimate than manly groans. This was all Bucky, honest and open and all for Steve.
Fuck if that wasn’t a heady thought. Steve ground his hips a little faster, finding a slick rhythm that helped keep Steve’s attention on Bucky and away from the aching, burning need building in the pit of his stomach. The carbonation was threatening to explode like a volcano, powerful and intense. The feeling was huge, bigger than Steve could possibly contain, especially while having the sensory experience that was Bucky right in front of him.
After only a moment or two more of rubbing and stroking, Bucky groaned loudly, even louder than his squeals. “Stevie, I’m -- ah, ahh, hnng, Stevie -- gonna come!” Bucky’s cry was squeaked, high-pitched and precious, and Steve felt his heart kick with something sweeter and more intense than mere arousal.
Steve just pressed his palm more firmly to Bucky’s and gave one more mighty squeeze at Bucky’s frenulum. Bucky made a quiet, high-pitched sound like the air had been punched out of him. His lips were parted in a small O-shape, his hand was wringing Steve’s, and he kicked his legs out. His hips canted up into Steve’s tight fist, arching his whole torso off the bed and making his head fall back and stare at the ceiling as he was wracked by his orgasm.
Steve kept stroking, encouraging Bucky to keep going through his orgasm, to keep making those sweet, choked noises of his. “So sexy, Buck. Love you, baby. Just relax. I got you,” Steve murmured, the words steady despite the frantic jerks of his hips. Steve’s encouragements worked; ropes of Bucky’s come painted Steve’s hand and Bucky’s belly. Steve noted absently that a streak landed near Bucky’s fucking chin.
Steve himself was closer to the edge that he realized. He humped down only a few more times, clasping Bucky’s hand in a death grip. The carbonation inside Steve exploded, and he made some sound midway between choking, groaning, and Bucky’s name.
It was intense to say the least.
Steve could hardly catch his breath as he panted, nuzzling into the junction of Bucky’s thigh and hip. Physically, Steve was exhausted. It felt like he’d run a thousand sprints, rounded the bases a million times. His jaw was sore and aching, and his wrist was trembling from overuse. His spit and Bucky’s come were drying sticky on his hand and chin, not to mention the mess within his own boxers.
Beyond the mere physical sensation, though, Steve felt elation. His insides were full and warm, like a well-loved stuffed animal. He was absolutely limp, but completely sated and sweet. Steve felt his breaths beginning to slow toward normalcy as he crept up Bucky’s body and lay on Bucky’s chest, right above his heart.
Steve didn’t care that he was smearing jizz over his bare torso, nor that Bucky’s chest was rising and falling a little too fast to be comfortable as a pillow. He didn’t care that he had spend in his boxers that was now clinging to him uncomfortably. He didn’t care that his jaw was hurting or that he was lying like a dead fish on his similarly exhausted boyfriend.
The only thing Steve really cared about was the fact that his love was holding him tight, and that Steve could hear Bucky’s steadily thudding heartbeat.
Bucky’s chest was rumbling. Steve liked it; it felt safe and steady, like falling asleep in the car after the pool when you were a little kid. Steve nuzzled Bucky’s chest, ignoring the unpleasant sensation that came with rubbing semen around with his cheek.
“Baby?”
Steve realized only belatedly that the rumbling in Bucky’s chest was him speaking, and Steve half-heartedly tilted his head to look up at Bucky. Bucky was still flushed, his breaths still coming fast, but his eyes were more lucid than they had been and he had a dopey smile playing at the corner of his lips.
“Mmm?” Steve hummed in response, liking that Bucky had called him “baby.” He was Bucky’s baby, that was true. No one else’s.
“Want me to take care of you?” Bucky asked, his hands going to Steve’s bare back and rubbing up and down, helping to ground Steve despite the floaty feeling that had pervaded him.
“Took care of myself on the bed,” Steve explained, yawning and cuddling into Bucky’s sternum.
“You humped the bed?” Bucky asked, awe lacing his tone.
Steve couldn’t help but smirk. “Yeah.”
“Fuck, Stevie. I love you stupidly much.”
“Back at you, pal.”
So maybe they would lose the League Championship. Maybe scouts wouldn’t want Steve. All of that was okay because Steve had this. He had his Bucky.
And his Bucky was infinitely better than whatever dream had sparked Steve’s long-dormant love. Steve would take this any day.
Steve would always choose his Bucky.