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Steve can hardly believe it. He’s stuck in a cabin in the middle of nowhere in a blizzard with his host and the object of his current crush, who also happens to be a powerful mob boss as well as the most gorgeous person he’s ever met. And said gorgeous person has just asked if he likes him, and touched his shoulder like he’d like to be touching a lot more than that.
So what is Steve to do, except lean into that touch and make it completely clear that he’s down for whatever Bucky is willing to give him?
He reaches up to grasp that incredible metal hand…
…and then his stomach rumbles loud enough to wake up someone in the other room.
Bucky laughs out loud, and the mood is broken, the moment of tension passed.
“C’mon, Stevie,” he says with a grin, taking his hand off his shoulder. “Let’s get you fed.”
Steve feels the loss of that touch immediately, and follows his host over to the kitchen counter with some chagrin. But soon enough he’s relaxed, laughing at Bucky’s jokes as he sits and watches him cook a gourmet meal.
It’s an impressive sight — Steve can’t cook to save his life — and even more impressive is the care that the other man is taking to put him at ease. Bucky seems to want to put the violence and fear they’ve experienced today right out of Steve’s mind, and Steve is only too happy to follow his lead.
“Where are we?” Steve wonders, looking out the huge window toward the lake.
“Floodwood Pond,” responds Bucky, deftly plating the steaks next to roasted vegetables he’s just pulled out of the oven. “It’s basically west-southwest of Saranac. In an incredible coincidence,” he goes on, rolling his eyes, “It’s not far from Tony Stark’s little hideaway on Long Pond, just north of here.”
He picks up the plates and takes them to the little dining room close to a pair of French doors. “Wonder who inspired him to find that place. It’s much cozier than his huge mansion and compound on Lower Saranac Lake,” he chuckles.
Tony Stark…
Steve looks pointedly at Bucky’s metal arm as he follows him to the table. He doesn’t know Stark personally, but everyone’s heard of the eccentric billionaire who was an outrageous playboy and party animal but became a recluse after a trip to the Middle East that went somehow horribly wrong, though the details were never leaked to the public.
When he returned, he announced that Stark Industries would no longer be manufacturing weapons, but would focus instead on clean energy and medical and industrial robotics. His prosthetics for veterans are a step above anything else on the market, but even those have got nowhere near the beauty and functionality of Bucky’s arm.
“Cheers,” says Bucky, smiling at Steve and raising his wine glass.
Hastily following suit, Steve clinks glasses with his host and takes a sip. He doesn’t know much about wine, but it tastes lovely.
“This is great,” he says. “Everything smells delicious.”
“Well, dig in,” exhorts Bucky, his eyes sparkling.
Not surprisingly, it tastes delicious as well. Steve has to keep himself from shoveling the food down his throat in two minutes. They dawdle over dessert, but soon enough Steve feels himself politely suppressing a yawn.
Bucky notices. “Time for bed, Steve,” he orders, taking the plates into the kitchen.
“I can help…” Steve starts, but suddenly his feet feel like lead and he has to blink hard to keep his eyes open.
“Sure you can,” says Bucky, his voice sweet. “But in the morning, OK? You look dead on your feet, and after the day you’ve had, that’s not a shock.” He flicks his head toward the hallway that leads to the bedroom. “Go ahead and brush your teeth. And then get in bed.”
Steve shakes his head, although even this is difficult in his state of exhaustion. “It’s your place,” he says, trying to sound insistent. “You should take the bed.”
Huffing a laugh, Bucky leaves the dishes on the counter and walks Steve to the bedroom, gentle but firm. It’s a reminder that he’s got the strength to manhandle Steve like few people can, and it would turn Steve on like nothing else…if he weren’t so goddamn tired.
As it is, it makes Steve feel some sort of way — not the quick, hot flames of passion, but a slow, carefully stoked fire that ignites and burns steadily somewhere under his ribcage.
“Brush your teeth,” urges Bucky. “I’ll get you some pajamas.” When he comes back, he finds Steve with clean teeth but still fully dressed, staring blankly at the king-size bed.
“Pajamas,” Bucky says, handing them over. “Put ‘em on before you fall into bed, they’re a lot more comfortable than dress pants and a collared shirt.” He claps Steve on the shoulder, opens his mouth like he’s gonna say something, and then closes it again with a minute shake of the head.
“G‘night, Steve,” he says. “See you in the morning.”
Steve echoes these words and watches Bucky leave the room, gently closing the door behind him. Now it’s a real struggle to get undressed, but somehow he manages it, throws on the t-shirt and sleep pants, and climbs into bed.
He’s asleep seconds after shutting out the light.
It’s dark when Steve wakes in the middle of the night. He was having some vaguely sexy dream in which Bucky featured prominently — about exactly what, he can’t quite remember. But it’s left him with a raging hard-on that doesn’t go away after a couple minutes, even when he does his best to will it down. He’s about to take care of it then and there, and realizes that he could leave evidence all over the sheets.
Oh god.
Standing resolutely, he makes his way in the dark to the bedroom door. It’s dark out here, but there’s a faint glow off the still-falling snow that helps him navigate without barking his shins on the bed frame. He tries to be as quiet as possible as he steals into the bathroom.
Once there, he takes care of his problem, stripping his length quickly and efficiently. And if he thinks of his host the whole time, pretending it’s his metal hand on Steve’s cock and hissing “Bucky” when he comes with a shudder over the toilet, well, that’s no crime.
Cleaning up a few rogue splatters on the seat, he flushes and heads back to bed. He crawls back under the covers and is out in 30 seconds.
There’s a dim light filtering in through the curtains and the muted sounds of crockery coming from the kitchen when Steve wakes up again. Quickly he scoots into the bathroom to relieve himself, wash his face, and pull on the comfy hoodie before heading out to the living space.
And there’s Bucky, fully dressed in black with a red apron over top, humming along with the soft music playing on the stereo as he expertly stirs something in a frying pan and flips something in another. Like last night’s dinner, it all smells delicious.
“Hey Buck,” says Steve, feeling a little awkward. He approaches the kitchen island and slides into a chair.
Bucky turns toward him in surprise. “Steve,” he says.
And if the smile he flashes at Steve weren’t enough to send a jolt through his gut, his still-damp hair, tied up in a loose bun with a few tendrils escaping around his face, would do the trick.
“Whatcha makin?”
“Breakfast,” answers Bucky. “Pancakes, scrambled eggs. Bacon’s in the oven. You slept late — it’s already 10.30 — so I figured you’d be hungry.”
“Oh yeah, that’d be amazing,” Steve says sincerely. “Can I help?”
“Ehhhh, just hold that chair down,” insists Bucky. Before Steve knows it, he’s got a big mug of steaming coffee in front of him. As Steve sips his coffee, Bucky’s flipping the last pancakes and turning off burners. “You sleep OK?” he asks over his shoulder.
“Yeah, I slept great,” answers Steve.
“I just wondered, ‘cause I heard you get up in the night, and you were in the bathroom for a bit,” remarks Bucky, his voice casual.
Then he busies himself with setting up their plates, and it’s a good thing because Steve almost chokes on his coffee. He can feel himself going red from his chest to the roots of his hair.
Did Bucky…hear his late-night shenanigans?? He was so sure he was being quiet in there…
But Bucky says no more about it. “Breakfast’s ready,” he says. And the awkwardness passes.
It’s another lovely meal, with good food and good company. Steve helps Bucky clean up the kitchen, and then ambles over to the big window, stretching. He’s still a little tender around the ribs, but his wounds from the attack in Vegas have healed up and even his worst bruises are almost completely faded. Thinking about the attempted attack on him and Fury yesterday, he’s thankful that they weren’t physically hurt.
He’s not gonna think about that panic attack in the back of that SUV.
Outside, the snow continues to fall. There’s already over a foot on the ground and it shows no signs of stopping anytime soon.
“Wow,” Steve breathes out.
“Right?” says Bucky, joining him by the window. “I love this view. Forecast says we’re s’posed to get maybe another foot? They get these freak storms here sometimes.”
He cocks his head and looks at Steve. “How’re you feelin? Wanna go out in the snow before it gets too deep? We got boots and snowshoes…”
“Yeah, that’d be great,” Steve responds with enthusiasm.
Once they’re outside and have trudged around for a while, though, his eagerness sours a bit. The snow is beautiful, coating the lake, the trees, the rocks, the ground with pristine white. It falls steadily and quietly, and blankets the world in a deep silence that Steve, used to Brooklyn and city noises, finds oppressive and maybe even a bit ominous.
“It’s unsettling, ain’t it,” remarks Bucky softly, trudging up alongside him as he stares back toward the cabin from the opposite side of the pond.
Steve nods, trying to calm the nervous feeling in his gut.
“First time I came here, I was really freaked out,” Bucky says. “There wasn’t this much snow, but there was enough. Enough to make it this quiet. Enough to make you feel like you were alone in a huge wilderness.”
“Yeah,” says Steve, and clears his throat in an attempt to keep it from closing up.
He stamps his feet. “It makes me a little nervous,” he admits. “It’s incredible, but it makes me wonder if we’ll ever be able to get outta here.”
“Get out?” says Bucky, incredulous. He looks at Steve, eyes dancing. “You sayin’ you sick of me already, Stevie?”
“Oh god, no.” The words tumble involuntarily out of Steve’s mouth, as serious as the grave. When he realizes how that must sound, he stutters through an attempt at explanation. “I mean…no, Buck, I could never be…I ain’t sick of you.”
Exhaling with discomfort, Steve looks down at his boots before lifting his head and risking a glance at Bucky. Now those grey eyes are blazing with a steady fire and two pink spots have appeared above those sharp cheekbones.
There’s a moment of silence as the two men stare at each other. Steve feels rooted to the spot, wondering if his host will turn and stomp off into the woods or lean in and kiss him breathless.
He does neither. That wide, generous mouth turns up in a smile and Bucky claps Steve companionably on the shoulder. The moment is over.
“That’s a relief,” Bucky says lightly. “Cause we might be here for a while. Even without the damn blizzard, we gotta figure out a plan to keep you safe from Pierce.”
Oh. Yeah. That.
Steve follows Bucky down the path back toward the house. He ought to feel worried about Pierce, he thinks. Or comforted that he’s safe out here in the middle of nowhere.
Instead he just feels deflated.
The outside expedition casts a bit of a pall on the rest of the afternoon and evening. Bucky is, as ever, a perfect host, cooking another perfect dinner and even breaking out a bottle of good bourbon afterward.
But Steve feels awkward and out of sorts, unable to match his host’s aplomb and annoyed at himself and Bucky as a result. He wants to recapture the relaxed camaraderie they shared at the apartment in Brooklyn, but he can’t figure out how and he’s not up to searching his own thoughts and feelings to find the reasons for his discomfort.
Instead he looks to assuage it with bourbon. He’s started his third — on the rocks, Bucky takes it neat — and they’re lounging on the comfortable couch watching some Netflix series Bucky likes. Steve’s emotions are still churning, but his inhibitions are down with the alcohol, especially because he’s not generally a heavy drinker.
Stretching out his long legs, his bare feet come in contact with the soft shag rug. It’s big enough to cover most of the living room floor from the couch to the hearth. Bucky’s moved the coffee table for convenience while he sleeps on the couch, so there’s even more space. Steve stares at the rug as he rubs his feet in it.
The image comes into his mind, unbidden and complete, of him kneeling there naked, reveling in the warm glow of the fire while Bucky looms over him, holding his neck with that metal hand and guiding his dick between Steve’s asscheeks…
Choking a little on a sip from his glass, Steve puts it down on the side table, wipes his mouth.
“Y’OK, Steve?” Bucky says lightly, sliding his eyes over, a teasing smile suggesting that he knows all too well what Steve was thinking. “You look a lil flushed.”
Suddenly Steve can’t do this anymore. He’s exhausted, he’s buzzed, and his head is reeling from all the events of the past month — especially getting shot at yesterday and isolated today with a man he both lusts after and can’t read at all.
“Yeah,” he answers abruptly, standing up and leaving his glass where it is. “I…uh…I’m pretty tired and think I’m gonna go to bed.”
He forces himself to look Bucky in the face. “Thanks for a nice day, I appreciate everything,” he goes on, because his ma didn’t raise him to be impolite.
It just makes him feel more awkward.
Before it can get any worse and before Bucky can say anything, he nods a little and lumbers back to the bathroom, performs the world’s fastest bedtime routine and stumbles into bed. It takes him longer to get to sleep, even with the outside exercise and the bourbon.
It was different at Bucky’s apartment, he thinks, turning over and burying his face in the pillow. When Dr. Banner was there and Bucky’s lieutenants were flitting in and out. When the banter was fun and Steve only had to focus on recovering rather than all these inconvenient emotions that are welling up now.
He resolves that tomorrow will be different, that he’ll revert to provocative little shit mode and recover that easy, lighthearted dynamic between them. With that, he falls into an uneasy sleep.
🥊🥊🥊
The hallways are long and dark and branching, almost like a maze. Angry voices and occasional gunfire sound in the distance, and he knows he can’t make a wrong move because that would be fatal. Every now and then some bad guy will pop up in front of him and, panicked, he hits out until they go down.
At the end of a corridor there’s a warm glow shining out from under a door. He opens it slowly, and there’s Pierce, sitting in a high-backed leather chair by a cozy fire. Ah, there you are, says Pierce, standing up. Ready to join us?
Never, he spits out. Infuriated, he starts to punch that arrogant, smug face. Punch it so hard it leaves him alone forever. Blow after blow, just as he was taught…need to block it out, destroy it…
Steve.
He looks up and with dismay realizes he’s punching Erskine, the old man’s nose broken, eyes bruised, blood coming out of his mouth.
Steven, please.
See, says Pierce, now magically to his right, watching with glee. You can’t escape.
No! he yells, dropping his fists. And then keeps yelling no no no no as the flesh peels off Erskine’s face and his skeleton hands reach up to tighten around his throat…
“Steve.”
“Steve.”
A very different voice, low and rumbly, sounds in his ear now. He’s still yelling “no,” only in a strangled voice because he can’t breathe, goddamnit, his throat is closing up and his lungs don’t work and he hasn’t had asthma since he was 16, what the fuck…
“Hey Steve, I need you to breathe with me, OK?” Bucky’s voice is calm and reassuring, almost as reassuring as the warmth of his bulk that now surrounds Steve, spooning him from behind. He drapes his flesh arm over Steve’s torso and puts a huge, gentle hand on his chest.
Steve stops yelling no. “Bucky,” he gasps out. He opens his eyes to see that Bucky has turned on the bedside light behind him to maybe 5% so the room isn’t completely dark.
“I’m here,” Bucky says. “I’m here and you’re having a panic attack. Did you have a nightmare?”
Instead of answering, Steve just nods his head. He can feel the other man’s breath warm on his neck, and the hand on his chest feels like a hot brand, even over his t-shirt.
“It’s not real,” soothes Bucky. “It’s not real and I’m here. Breathe with me, OK?”
Steve can feel the big chest behind him, expanding and contracting, and with an effort he starts to try to match his breath with Bucky’s. In and out, in and out, slowly, slowly…
Finally he feels calmer; the tightness in his throat and chest ebbs away and he can breathe normally again. He lies there on his side, feeling small and exhausted and vulnerable, curled up and protected. Too many feelings are roiling through him right now, feelings that somehow he’s always had but kept at bay in the ring or with a punching bag. He…
“Can I get you some water?” That deep, honeyed voice sounds again in his ear.
“No! No, I mean, no, please don’t leave,” pleads Steve. The words blurt out of his mouth before he can stop them and he feels the panic rising again. He takes a few deep breaths.
“I’m here, Steve,” Bucky promises. Steve can feel his face pressing against his shoulder and suddenly a whole new emotion washes through him and it’s too much. He closes his eyes again.
“Buck,” he chokes out. “I can’t do this.”
Is it his imagination or does the other man squeeze him a little tighter?
“Can’t do what, Stevie.” It’s not really a question.
“I’ve always been so angry, all my life,” says Steve. “Even as a little guy I was furious, mouthing off at bullies and getting black eyes and split lips.”
“I can see that tiny blond spitfire,” whispers Bucky with a smile in his voice.
“And then my ma died at the end of high school and I was so alone,” Steve goes on. “But I had the gym, and Erskine. He took me in, and trained me, and believed in me.”
A pause, and then: “I learned to focus my anger in the ring, to channel it into a career and surround myself with people like Erskine and Fury.”
He takes a shuddering breath. “And now Erskine’s gone,” he says, voice breaking on the gone. “I never really had a father, but he was the closest I got. And now I’m alone again.”
Tears well up under his eyelids unbidden, and he takes a moment to force them to recede.
“Yer not alone, Stevie,” says Bucky, gruff in his ear. The warm fingers on his chest tighten for an instant before relaxing. “I’m here.”
“Are you?” Steve demands, in a strident tone, surprising even himself. “I mean, I guess you’re here, but I don’t know you at all. You’re a mob boss who doesn’t traffic in people or drugs, with a handful of lieutenants who are all almost as beautiful and terrifying as you are. And for some reason you saved me in Vegas and you’re helping me now. That’s about all I know.”
The bitterness in the last sentence is palpable, and now Steve is tense in Bucky’s arms.
There’s a pause before Bucky says, “You think I’m beautiful?”
Steve laughs out loud, some of the tension leaving his body. Leave it to this man to laser in on the most embarrassing part of his post-confession diatribe.
“C’mon, Buck,” he says, bumping his back against the other man’s chest. “You know you’re fucking gorgeous.”
Now it’s Bucky’s turn to snort. “I wasn’t always,” he remarks. “I was an awkward, nerdy kid in high school, all gangly and legs. Ran cross-country and track in high school. I was gonna go to engineering school upstate. But I had to give that up when my old man died and we had no money.”
He sighs. The middle of the night seems to be true confession time for them both. Steve turns his head a little, listening intently, signaling him to continue.
And given that Steve has been dying to know Bucky’s story for weeks now, he’s gonna keep quiet.
Bucky goes on. “I enlisted after graduation and got sent to sniper school. After that they sent me on a tour to Afghanistan. That experience made me grow up real fast,” he says drily. “After my second tour, I got into Special Forces. It paid a little better. I sent all my money home to my ma and my little sister.”
Another deep breath. “On leave home after my fourth tour in, my ma took me aside cryin’. She had medical debt and was in trouble with a loan shark. I went to see him. I was a hotshot soldier doing black ops in the Middle East, I could handle a lousy loan shark. And I did. Beat him up pretty good.”
His fingers twitch again against Steve’s chest. “Turns out he was one of Pierce’s toadies. But Pierce didn’t have me killed or rat me out to the cops, and in return he took me on as an employee. Paid off my ma’s debt and took care of my sister. Got me an honorable discharge from the Army, set me up in Brooklyn. I became his enforcer there. Did all kinds of dirty work for him.”
Bucky’s breath is coming fast and shallow, and Steve can feel his full-body shudder.
“Buck,” he says softly, encouraging. But he says nothing else, hanging on every word of the story he instinctively knows very few others have heard.
“I did horrible stuff, Stevie,” Bucky whispers, shaking his head. “A few years in, my ma died of cancer and my sister was off at college in California. I was so rotten inside I couldn't even look myself in the mirror anymore. But Pierce gave me a big bonus. Said he relied on me. Appreciated my loyalty.”
He snorts derisively, the puff of air hitting Steve’s neck. “A total fucking lie. I found that out three months later, when he sent me to cut a deal with a cell of the Bratva in Brighton Beach.”
Another sigh. “But he set me up,” he goes on. “The Russians’ car exploded right next to me. Woke up in the hospital, my right arm handcuffed to the bed and my left arm…gone.” His voice wavers a little on the gone.
“I was in bad shape, Stevie. Felt like I was gonna die. Wanted to die. Plus I was facing three murder charges. Thought I was done.” Bucky’s hand moves up and over Steve’s chest to clutch at his shoulder.
“But one night a month into my hospital stay, I got a visit from Tony Stark,” he says. “I’d met him in Special Forces years earlier because my unit rescued him from kidnappers in Kandahar, but we hadn’t stayed in touch. He offered to get the charges dropped if I’d be a guinea pig for a new bionic arm he was testing at Stark Industries.”
Tony Stark! This explains a lot, Steve thinks. But he says nothing, only humming noncommittally.
Bucky continues. “Not only did he get the charges dropped and gave me a new arm, he moved my sister and got her a new identity to protect her from Pierce. And once I’d fully recovered, I found an extra twenty mil in my secret bank account — followed the next day by an encrypted text that suggested I use that money for ‘a little revenge.’”
“Did Stark do that??” Steve is gobsmacked. He knows the billionaire is eccentric, but didn’t peg him for a vigilante.
“Tony’s parents died in a car crash outside DC 15 years ago,” Bucky responds. “He told me during my rehab that he didn’t think it was an accident. The text and the money indicated he’d figured out who did it but could never prove it.”
“I couldn’t prove it either — least not so a judge’d buy it.” Steve can feel rather than see the shrug against his back. “But I did get revenge for Tony, at least in New York. Lured away Pierce’s two most promising young managers in Brooklyn and Harlem…”
Steve nods against the pillow. It’s Clint and Sam, has to be.
“…and went to the Bratva with proof I’d been set up. They agreed to my plan and lent me their best operative to help make it happen.”
Another nod. Natasha.
“We took down all of Pierce’s ops in the city, piece by piece. All arranged to look like accidents or infighting or his own people snitching to the cops. He’s tried to get back in over the years, but we’ve never let him. And he might suspect I’m behind it all, but he can never prove anything.”
Steve remembers the rumors years ago at Goldie’s about Pierce’s failures in his city, and about the mob legend called…
“Are you the Winter Soldier?” he whispers, not because he’s superstitious but because he’s hesitant to derail the narrative at this critical juncture.
Bucky huffs a laugh. Steve can feel the warm breath on his neck; a warmth stirs in his gut but he tells his body to calm down so he can focus on the answer.
“The Russians came up with that. Thought it’d make me seem, I dunno, scarier? Especially in Russian.” He laughs again.
Damnit, Steve loves that laugh.
“It helped that I wore a mask on my own jobs and no one knew who I was,” Bucky says. “That reinforced the legend. When we’d kicked Pierce out of the city, Nat came to work with me. With the Bratva’s blessing. It was part of our agreement.”
He sighs. “They control the human and drug trafficking in Brooklyn, but since our interests don’t intersect, we have an understanding.”
“I don’t like…” Steve starts to say, but Bucky cuts him off.
“I don’t like it either, Steve,” he asserts, squeezing Steve’s shoulder again. “But I and my team can’t take on the Russians. We don’t have the people, and we can’t afford to start a local war. You gotta pick your battles in my line of work.”
Steve stifles a hmph. He gets it. He doesn’t like it, but he gets it. Turns out that in his profession, too, you have to pick your battles — in and out of the ring.
“Why’re you telling me all this?” The question blurts its way out of his mouth and he curses inwardly.
Bucky sighs, hot against Steve’s ear. “I’ve told you before that you’re special,” he whispers. “I still believe that. I’m here for you. I support you. I really like you.”
The hand on Steve’s shoulder rubs up and down his arm. “And it can be really lonely, where I sit,” he goes on. “It’s great to have your companionship. To let it all out and share stuff with you. Even in the middle of this shitshow with Pierce. Especially in the middle of this shitshow with Pierce.”
“Oh,” says Steve, taken aback by the honesty. “That’s…that’s nice,” he remarks flatly.
Next thing he knows, there’s a noise that sounds like quiet sobbing, and fast, shallow breathing hot on his nape.
A flood of warmth flows through Steve’s midsection, but weirdly enough, it’s accompanied by a feeling of dismay that lodges deep in his gut like the remnants of a cheap meal. Is Bucky crying, now that he’s told Steve his life story? Did he make this big confession and now he wants Steve to comfort him and take control in whatever physical activity might be coming next? To take care of him?
Steve sighs out loud. He admits that he hoped for something else from this man, something different from all his hookups who’ve always expected him to take charge. Especially the way things have been between them for the last month — Steve being a bratty, disobedient little shit, Bucky being the forceful adult, curbing his bad behavior.
Bucky taking care of him.
But before Steve can turn over and start comforting the other man, maybe a little regretfully given what he really wants, everything happens in quick succession.
A strong arm loops back around his shoulders, pulling him hard against Bucky’s broad chest. At the same time, Bucky thrusts his hips forward so Steve can feel his hardness against the cleft in his ass.
Then that arm snakes upward and a powerful hand closes around his throat, gripping his neck muscles and cutting off his air with just enough pain to get his full attention.
And what Steve thought was crying gets louder, and he finally realizes that it’s laughter — the full, triumphant, deep-throated laugh of an apex predator who’s captured its prey before devouring it.
“Aww, baby boy,” rumbles Bucky. “Were you all sad and disappointed? Did you think I needed comforting after my big sob story? Were you worried you’d have to pretend to be dominant, like what all those twinks beg for when they throw themselves at you at Good Judy and the Rosemont?”
A thread of mockery winds through Bucky’s voice, sending a prickle of humiliation over Steve’s skin. The lump of dismay vanishes from his stomach in an instant, replaced by a jolt of pure excitement.
Especially when Bucky squeezes harder.
“That’s really cute, Stevie,” he hisses. “But we’ve both known for weeks now just who in this bed is in charge here.”
He licks up Steve’s neck to nip at his ear and grinds harder against Steve’s ass as if to drive home his point.
“Bucky…” Steve manages to gasp. He already feels light-headed, whether from airway obstruction or all the blood rushing to his dick, which is chubbing up faster than it ever has before.
“Tell me this is what you want,” rumbles Bucky, his tongue running down Steve’s jaw. “Tell me you wanna give it all over to me, let me do anything with you. To you. Tell me.”
He releases his hold on Steve’s throat. Steve misses it immediately, but he takes advantage of the action to turn over and look the other man in the face. In the low light of the bedroom he can see those grey eyes gleaming, those plush lips wet and shiny. His shoulders and chest are big, as big as Steve’s, and there’s scarring where metal joins flesh at the top of his arm.
“Jesus Christ, Buck,” he croaks out. “It’s all I’ve ever wanted, ever since I woke up in your bed last month. Take me. Claim me. Use me. Want it so bad. Please.”
“That’s right, princess,” hisses Bucky, pulling him close. “I’m in control now. Gonna take such good care of you.”
He snakes his flesh arm up Steve’s shoulder to grasp him by the back of the neck. “And by ‘take care of you,’ I mean take you apart, thoroughly and at my leisure.”
Steve swallows hard at this, at the wicked smile that spreads over the other man’s face. Bucky squeezes and leans in as if for a kiss. Steve’s lips part in anticipation, but he gasps as Bucky veers at the last second to fasten his teeth onto his neck.
“You’re wearin’ too many clothes,” Bucky snarls against his shoulder. “I need to see you naked in about 10 seconds, baby boy.”
Quick as a wink, he pulls back the covers, and obediently, eagerly, Steve sits up to tear off his t-shirt and sweatpants. Then he waits, breath coming a little faster now as Bucky scans his gaze over the bare skin.
“Oh Stevie, you do heal fast,” remarks the older man, raising his eyebrows as he sees the scars and almost-faded bruises from Pierce’s attack a month ago.
“Yeah, I told ya that…” Steve starts, and then hisses in surprise and pain as he gets a quick backhand across the face. It’s from Bucky’s flesh hand and not really that hard, just hard enough to sting.
“Y’need to stop bein’ a brat.”
Bucky’s voice is a low, dangerous rumble that sets a fire kindling at the base of Steve’s pelvis. The realization that he’s secretly wanted — needed? — this treatment for so long hits him between the eyes like a blinding light.
“Buck,” he rasps out, throat tight, dizzy with anticipation.
That smile only gets more wicked as Bucky reaches up to grip him by the throat once more.
“There ya go,” he says. “Just let go and take what I give you, Stevie.”
And with this, he forces Steve onto his back on the bed, continuing to squeeze his neck as he bites down his chest, sucking greedily at both nipples before proceeding southward, leaving marks across his abs and below his navel.
But just as Steve thinks Bucky’s going to take his rock-hard, leaking dick into his mouth, the other man lets go of his throat and pushes his legs wider, latching that beautiful mouth onto his inner thigh.
“Nghhh…” gasps Steve as teeth nip hard at that sensitive skin before a strong tongue licks over the bite. His arms move down, involuntarily reaching for that dark, tousled head, but…
“Ah ah ah,” tsks Bucky, looking up at him. “You stay still. Put your hands over your head. Be good.”
Immediately Steve complies, reaching behind him to grab the headboard, fingers flexing against the wood as Bucky pushes his legs further apart. His hold on the bed tightens when he feels warm breath on his balls.
“Oh baby boy,” Bucky coos, those grey eyes glued to that spot between his legs. “Your cock is so big and pretty. And what a beautiful lil’ hole there, waitin’ for me.” He blows on it gently and within seconds, Steve feels a calloused finger caressing his taint and softly around his rim.
Steve has never had any fingers but his own anywhere near this area, and his body reacts as expected. A shiver passes over him from head to toe and his asshole contracts once, twice. His dick twitches in anticipation and a pearl of precome beads at the tip.
“Oh it wants me, Stevie, look at it tryin’ to pull me in.” Bucky’s voice is lazy and smug. The next moment he’s circling Steve’s rim, pushing against the tight furl at first gently and then more insistent, until the muscle gives way and he eases his finger in, up to the first knuckle.
There’s no lube and the friction is almost too much, and yet in that moment Steve knows that he’d take whatever Bucky gave him, even a dry fucking, even if it hurt like anything.
“Buck,” he sighs out in a breathy moan, his hole contracting around that magic finger.
There’s a chuckle between his legs. “I know, princess, you’re already gagging for it,” Bucky drawls, crooking his finger just a little. “But we can’t hurt you too bad, least not this first time.” Pulling out, he dips his hand into the silvery precome that’s now leaking onto Steve’s abs and uses that to work his finger back inside, this time further, massaging those inner walls as he goes.
Steve can’t help it. He pushes his hips upward, straining to get Bucky to go deeper. He wants more, he wants to feel full, he wants…
“Baby, I gotta see this hole better,” Bucky snarls. With one more nip to Steve’s bruised inner thigh, he vacates Steve’s ass and manhandles him into a kneeling position, ordering him to stay still as he leans over to reach into the drawer of the bedside table.
Then there’s the snick of a bottle and Steve feels cool liquid running down his asscrack, warm touch following the trail to his rim. He wants to cant his hips back, to demand that Bucky penetrate him again, but as soon as he moves there’s a stinging swat on his left cheek.
“I said stay still, brat,” Bucky growls, and a wave of want passes through Steve’s torso at the power and threat in his voice. Steve freezes immediately. The spot on his ass burns for a moment and then the pain dissolves into a delicious warmth which pulls a tiny gasp from Steve’s throat.
There’s a chuckle from behind him. “You like that, huh, princess,” says Bucky softly, his metal hand kneading the abused skin. It’s not a question. “Noted for later. But right now, I need to get into this hole.”
And he does. It’s not tender or soft or slow; within seconds he’s got one flesh finger buried in Steve up to the hilt. Before Steve knows it, there are two, scissoring him open, pressing occasionally against that spot that sends sparks up his spine. He stays still as ordered but can’t help moaning with pleasure, head thrown back. It feels so much better than his own previous attempts at fingering himself, clumsy and desperate in the dark.
“Such a slut for me,” Bucky comments, adding a third finger as he pumps in and out. “You need this bad, dontcha.”
“Y—y-yes,” wails Steve, breath stuttering even more when he feels cool metal fingers gripping his shaft. He can’t say that he hasn’t dreamt of feeling that hand on him — and in him. “Oh god…”
“Nope, just me,” Bucky hisses, stripping him hard as he expertly stuffs him full. It’s not much later when Steve feels his heat rising and that familiar sensation at the base of his balls…
…and suddenly the hand on his dick disappears and Steve’s stuck on the cliff top, unable to come. Even the fingers in his ass are assiduously avoiding his prostate. He groans in frustration.
“Buck,” he whines.
“Aww Stevie,” croons Bucky in his ear. “Did you wanna come?”
“Uh—hu-uh,” Steve stammers out as one finger brushes over that magic spot inside him.
A strong tongue licks up his neck. “Not yet, princess,” Bucky whispers. “Not until I say you can.”
Bucky edges Steve again, leaving him hanging once more, panting and desperate. It’s agony. Steve feels like he’s gonna die if he can’t come soon, and yet at the same time he never wants this to end.
“Need to fuck you, baby boy,” mutters the older man. The fingers leave Steve’s ass, leaving him empty and bereft. But next thing he knows he’s being flipped onto his back — and isn’t it something that here’s someone who can manhandle a 6’3, 230-pound heavyweight champion — and Bucky is pushing his knees up.
Steve’s eyes fly open and he gets his first real look at his lover’s bottom half. A trail of dark hair down perfect abs, narrow hips with cum gutters above powerful thighs.
But it’s Bucky’s cock that makes Steve’s mouth water, long and thick and uncut, proudly erect with a large ballsack hanging heavy underneath. At some point in the near future he will get that monster in his mouth.
“Wanna see your face…” Bucky starts, lifting Steve’s legs onto his shoulders and nudging the head against Steve’s loose rim. There’s nothing Steve wants more. The muscle parts, stretching to accommodate the width.
“Oh god, Buck,” he moans, but it’s cut off when the metal hand reaches up to touch his throat. Involuntarily he lifts his arms and rests them on the mattress in supplication.
“…and hold onta you,” finishes Bucky with a hiss. “Remind you a’who you belong to.”
“Yes…please…aaaahhhh,” says Steve in a constricted gasp when Bucky squeezes his neck and slides all the way into him in a stroke. He doesn’t stop at the top to savor the moment, just pulls out and starts smoothly fucking him, a rhythm of in-out in-out that drags across that sweet spot with regularity.
Bucky is bigger than even three of his thick fingers and Steve feels the burn as he pistons his cock deep inside. But this quickly melts into a molten warmth that spreads through his pelvis and up to light up every nerve in his entire body. Partially choking adds to the feeling of floating through some warm, viscous sea.
He’s never felt like this before. How did he ever live without it until now?
Steve’s cock is painfully hard and he can feel the precome leaking out onto his abs. After all the build-up he’s desperate to come, and his hands flex against the pillows as he tries to beg.
Please…please…
These express more as grunts than actual speech, but Bucky knows what he wants.
“Y’wanna come, dontcha, babydoll,” he rumbles, never slowing his pace for a moment but removing his hand from Steve’s throat.
“Yes, Buck, oh god, please let me come, I wanna…I wanna…I…”
He’s practically gabbling now, a little frantic with it, his dick aching for friction even as his ass gets plenty. He feels good, so good, so fucking good, and yet it’s not enough.
“You can come whenever you want,” answers Bucky, sliding all the way in and pausing for a few seconds, “but you gotta come on my cock. I ain’t touchin’ you.”
“Oh—Ohh-uhhhhh,” gasps Steve when Bucky resumes his hard, steady thrusts. His heat starts to rise and he knows he’s getting closer, but it’s slow, agonizingly slow, and…
“I can’t…I can’t…” he moans after what seems like hours.
Without stopping, Bucky leans forward, bending Steve in half and planting those powerful arms on either side of Steve’s head. His dark waves fall forward to frame that gorgeous face, glowing with sweat.
“You can,” he says simply. He picks up the pace and the angle shifts just enough so his fat cock is continuously dragging across Steve’s prostate. “Come for me now, princess,” he growls.
Steve’s balls tighten at the order and his orgasm spreads over him like fire over a puddle of gasoline, intense and furious. His hole contracts hard around Bucky’s cock and his entire body seizes up in delirious pleasure. He barely feels the hot ropes of come hitting his abs and chest.
He does feel Bucky’s hips stutter and his shaft pulse, hears the older man’s groan, almost a yell, as he empties inside Steve. Feels Bucky slowing his thrusts to push it deeper, roll his hips to really ruin Steve. To seal his claim.
There’s a moment of quiet as they bathe in the aftershocks. Dexterously Bucky pulls up the sheet to wipe the worst of the mess off Steve’s torso. He settles on top of him, forearms framing Steve’s face, and it’s only then that he kisses him.
Bucky’s lips are full and soft and everything Steve’s been dreaming about for the past month. The kisses are tender but firm, Bucky sealing his mouth over Steve’s in a gesture that’s as much possessive as it is intimate.
“Stevie, baby,” he whispers into Steve’s mouth a minute later, “you were so good, did so good for me, came on my cock like I toldja to, such a good boy…”
Something under Steve’s sternum clicks into place at these words, like a puzzle piece that was missing. He’s floating on clouds, high on endorphins and preening at the praise, reveling in Bucky’s teeth softly biting his lower lip and the heat where their sweaty bodies are touching and the satisfying soreness where they’re joined together.
Steve loves feeling Bucky inside him, loves feeling this close, this connected. So when he senses the older man softening and pulling out of him, he whimpers like a toddler whose toy is being taken away.
“Don’t worry, babydoll,” murmurs Bucky, kissing down his jaw. He reaches over to the bedside table for something Steve can’t see.
Next thing Steve knows, his lover is slipping out of him. But before he can whine with disappointment, there’s something cool and smooth nudging at his relaxed hole and within seconds he’s full again.
“Gotta keep my come inside you,” Bucky hisses into his mouth, “so you know who owns you.” Again he leans in to give him a languorous kiss, swiping his tongue into Steve’s mouth.
Steve’s head is buzzing but he’s so happy to feel Bucky’s mouth against his and the smooth metal plug filling him up and holding him open. He sighs with contentment when Bucky pulls a wet wipe out of the nightstand to clean up the remains of the mess on their bellies, curls up against Bucky’s chest when the older man pulls him close.
“Buck,” Steve whispers, pushing his face into his neck. He can hardly believe that this is happening, that the man he’s been crushing on for the past month is proving to be everything Steve wants in a partner and more.
And despite what he confessed to Bucky an hour ago, Steve no longer feels alone.
He’s just settling into the embrace when two fingers tuck under his chin, lifting his gaze to meet a pair of grey eyes, shining wicked in the low light.
“Oh princess, did you think we were done? That we were just gonna cuddle and fall asleep?” Bucky’s voice is deep and a tad contemptuous. A sharp thread of delicious humiliation snakes through Steve’s stomach.
“Uhhh…” he starts, but Bucky cuts it off with a filthy, almost vicious, kiss, opening his mouth wide as if he wants to swallow Steve whole and then biting down hard on his lip. Steve feels something swell and pulse against his thigh.
“I know what you were thinkin’ about last night in the living room while we were watchin’ TV,” he growls as he nips at the sensitive spot behind Steve’s ear. “You’re gonna get it.”
Bucky pulls back and sits up, delivering two sharp swats to Steve’s asscheeks. “Go out there and kneel on the rug on all fours. I’ll be with you in a few minutes.”
Obediently Steve gets up and pads into the living room. It’s still completely dark outside, and the room is cozy-warm — clearly Bucky banked up the fire before he came into the bedroom earlier. He shivers as he drops to his hands and knees on the soft rug, not from the cold, but from the plug shifting inside him. The position is submissive, compliant, and makes him completely vulnerable from behind.
His skin is tingling all over and he feels his cock steadily harden as it hangs between his legs.
He’s ready for round two.