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home is a feeling i buried in you

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Bucky's always gotta be so careful, and so careful not to look like he's being careful, because the one way he hurts Steve, and the other way he...hurts Steve.

Steve hates feeling like Bucky's holding back because of him. He never tells Bucky to stop when he catches Bucky looking too concerned or clenching his jaw a little too tellingly, because he knows it's as necessary as Bucky does, but that doesn't mean that he enjoys being reminded of it. Bucky gets that, really, he does; what he hates most, though, is the look Stevie'll get on his face like he starts thinking Bucky should be with that dame that was chatting him up at the bar ealier. Honestly, Steve looks so much better biting Bucky's pillow.

Bucky's gotten real good at hiding his tells, or at least, the ones Steve knows up close and personal. Steve, though... Steve doesn't even try.

All Bucky has to do is walk into the room and Steve's legs are parting just a little. He gets out of the bath wearing just a towel and Steve's grinding back against his seat, not enough to be noticed, particularly - Steve might not even know he does it, Bucky's never brought it up - just enough to be one of the sluttiest things Stevie'll ever do.

Except for times like these, of course.

"Oh - oh, Bucky," Steve pants, eyes wide, pupils blown. Bucky flexes the two fingers he's got inside Steve again and kisses the underside of Steve's chin when he moans. The callous of his thumb catches little on the delicate skin behind Steve's sac and his moan turns into something a little hotter, a little more feeling.

Bucky's so hard his dick seems to think he's gonna die if he doesn't get some attention soon; Bucky tells it to shut up, because he can't be assed to pay attention to it right now. His hands are a little full.

Steve's got these long, long lashes that get fluttery when Bucky pets him just right inside. His mouth's still red from sucking Bucky's cock earlier, and hanging open because he doesn't have time to close it in between making soft, helpless sounds that make heat flare in Bucky's thighs and the base of his spine. Bucky feels like his entire being is throbbing with the need to bury himself in Steve right the hell now, but Steve's nowhere near ready to take him yet, no matter how he's whining for it. Bucky withdraws his fingers over Steve's protests and reaches for the Vaseline again. Steve, the little brat, doesn't stop complaining until Bucky leans over to kiss him quiet, and, when that doesn't completely work, slides three fingers back into him. "Needy," Bucky tries to tease, but it sounds embarrassingly adoring the second it comes out of his mouth.

"Only because you're taking for-fucking-ever," Steve whines. He leans up and kisses Bucky again, sucking on his tongue in a way Bucky swears to God didn't use to turn him on so much. "'M ready, jerk. Been ready."

"You're ready when I say you're ready," Bucky says, more than half distracted by the way Steve very deliberately clenches around his fingers.

Steve's head thumps back against the mattress and he groans dramatically. "Hate it when you say that," he mutters.

"Well," Bucky says, and has no rebuttal that won't land him with a sad, decidedly unhorny Steve - they mostly all sound like you always push yourself too hard, Steve, you're gonna get yourself hurt - so he looks for that spot in Steve that makes him go to pieces again. It doesn't take him long to find it; Steve squeaks in surprise and Bucky doesn't bother hiding his smirk when Steve glares.

It's another three or four minutes before Steve smacks Bucky in the shoulder - hard - and says, "Now. Now now now now now now, you jerk." Bucky laughs.

"Okay, yeah, fine." Bucky pulls out and wipes his hand on the undershirt that was hanging off the corner of the bed. Steve drums his heels impatiently against the small of Bucky's back and makes a grab for the jar of slick before Buck can get to it. He nearly swallows his tongue at the feeling of Steve's small, artist's hands sliding over his cock, getting him just ready enough before squirming down the bed a couple of necessary inches and lining them up. Bucky kisses Steve on the forehead - the only part he can get his mouth on at the moment without bowing his back to a truly awkward extent - and moves as obligingly as possible when Steve kicks his hips this way or that.

"Having difficulties down there?" Bucky asks after a minute, half amused, half worried.

"Shuddup," Steve mumbles. "Can't get a good angle." In response, Bucky pulls the pillow Steve had his head on out from under him and pushes it under his hips.

"Better?" he asks.

"You're an asshole," Steve tells him. "I was using that already, you know," but Bucky doesn't care right then, because Steve has apparently found an angle he's happy with and Bucky's suddenly got the head of his dick in him.

One of the reasons Bucky tries so hard to be gentle during the prep is that when they get to this part, he can't think quite so clearly - or at all. He can hang on for the first couple of tentative thrusts, until Steve gasps and says, "Yeah, yeah, Bucky, there," and then he's gone. It's a really fucking good thing that the bed doesn't have a headboard and that their bedroom's nearest neighbor is always black-out drunk by this time of night, because every time Stevie says, "Harder," or "Faster", or "theretherethere," it's like Bucky can't help himself.

If he were a good person, he'd find some way to keep track of Steve's pulse, and make sure it didn't get too high. He'd go slow enough - or at least quiet enough - that he could listen to Steve's breathing and see that he didn't stop completely, or hyperventilate, like he did sometimes. Instead, his hands are braced on either side of Steve's head and all he can hear is his own heartbeat and Steve's strangled moans.

Every once in a while, Bucky has the wherewithal to pull them back from where they've been sliding up the mattress, but that's about it. He keeps his gaze trained on Steve's face - his blush, his fucking mouth - and can't seem to stop fucking into him for love or money.

Steve comes first - and no wonder, he's spent fifteen minutes beforehand getting worked over. He moans and opens his eyes long enough to look at Bucky through the very start. He looks wrecked. Bucky regrets not changing positions earlier; he can't reach to kiss him.

It's Steve's soft, hurt sound when the overstimulation starts to get to him that pushes Bucky over. He'll spend all night trying not to think about that too hard, but he already knows that that's the memory that's gonna get him off the next time Steve's not in any shape to be doing much of anything and Bucky needs to come.

Bucky's careful when he pulls out like he hasn't been the rest of the time, and makes a sympathetic sound when Steve murmurs in discomfort. He lays down on his side next to Steve, almost falling off the narrow bed until Steve shifts a little to give him more room.

A minute passes in silence until Steve hums contentedly and aches his back, curls his toes. "That was nice," he says, sounding a little dreamy.

"Glad you enjoyed yourself," he says, not sounding half as sarcastic as he meant to; he sounds like a fucking sap, is what he sounds like. Steve doesn't take the openning, though, just hums again and settles with his face turned towards Bucky.

He waits until he's sure Steve's asleep before moving away to grab something to clean them up.