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Steve’s not sure how he ended up here. He was minding his own business, working on – god he doesn’t even remember, a mission report maybe? He’d been doing something then his phone goes off. Sam’s got a custom ringtone, if only because Sam set it himself, so he grabs his phone and checks it.

It’s a link, and Steve trusts Sam, so he clicks it. It takes him to YouTube, and, yeah, he knows about YouTube, knows he could find pretty much anything on there. He’s fallen into YouTube holes before, on those nights where everything is just a little too loud, a little too real. But he hits play, kicks his feet out in front of him and can’t help but laugh as a husky dog chases a bird around the house, apparently best friends.

Sam’s text just says us, so Steve replies I didn’t think you were that much shorter than me and by the time he’s gone back to the video, his suggested items have updated.

One catches his eye, a puzzle piece held aloft and words claiming that it’s part of the hardest jigsaw puzzle on earth.

Steve’s curious, he’s competitive, but mostly he just wants to know how hard a jigsaw puzzle can possibly get.

It’s less than a minute in, and Steve’s realised he’s made a grave mistake.

The opening part of the video seems out of place. Puzzle pieces being pulled from jars of liquid, scientific instruments moving around, and then it cuts to a man, sitting in a workshop-looking area, grinning at the camera.

He’s stunning.

There’s just a little bit of wildness to him, the long windswept hair, the edge of a beard that looks like it was a five-o’clock shadow a week and a half ago. Something glints in his eyes, an invitation, a warning, and Steve’s caught in them, so caught he barely notices the man start to speak. But, he’s glad he does.

Hey guys, me again, the man starts, and Steve’s left blinking. His voice doesn’t match the rest of him, soft and almost shy, at odds with the curl of his lips at one corner. I managed to get my hands on something a bit new this week – the guys at PuzzleX called me up the other day and almost paid me to take this, and frankly, I’ve never seen anything like it.

The man holds up a clear Ziploc bag full of blue puzzle pieces, grins as he bounces them, and Steve’s caught again by him – the tattoos on his hands, black ink crawling over his skin with seemingly no rhyme or reason.

This, my darlings, is known as the Jigsaw-29. It’s made by Yuu Asaka, and, as you’ve probably guessed, has twenty-nine pieces. The trick to it is, though, that it has five corners, and every piece has a place on this white plate – he holds up a white piece of plastic that looks so fragile between his fingers and shows it to the camera. I know this puzzle is solvable, but I don’t know if I’m going to be able to – let’s see, huh?

The video cuts and the mistake Steve realised? The mistake is continuing to watch from the new camera angle, where the only things on the screen are the white tile, a Ziploc bag of puzzle pieces, and the man’s hands.

This close, Steve can see exactly how beautiful his hands are. He’s never really noticed before, or at least he’s never really had a reason to notice, but the man’s hands are large, tanned like he works outside all day. There’s an endearing callus on the heel of one of his palms, and Steve can’t quite work out when calluses became endearing.

Steve pauses the video. Swallows hard. Casts his eyes around for anything that’ll keep his mind off the hands on his screen, off the words inked into those hands, the delicate shape of a bird’s wing, the curling edge of a vine.

He looks down. The name of the channel is right there, blaring the man’s name right into Steve’s brain until it feels like he’s known it all along.

Bucky Barnes.

 

 

Two hours. Steve spends two hours watching this man, falling deeper into a hole that caught him off guard. The first video had been something alright, half an hour of the man, of Bucky, playing with small puzzle pieces, turning them over and clipping them together in hundreds of configurations until he reached that moment of aha! when he got two pieces together. The second video was somehow worse and better at the same time, starting with the man talking to the camera and ending with an incredibly complex looking burnished lock disassembled on the table.

His hands are resting in the frame, and Steve can’t help but wonder what those hands would feel like in his, what they’d feel like on his skin. Can’t help but wonder what Bucky’s tattoos would look like against his sheets. Guilt crawls over his skin just for thinking it, but he can’t stop watching, can’t help the way his eyes keep getting drawn to those hands, can’t help but watch the deft twists of a wrist or flick of a finger instead of the puzzle he’s supposed to be looking at.

Steve finally drags himself away, tries to focus back on the report he’d been working on, but the words jump around the page like they know he’s too distracted to catch them.

He makes it through the report, heads for the shower. Hoping he’d be able to quiet the thoughts running through his head. It doesn’t quite work that way, though.

He locks the bathroom door – an old habit even though he lives alone – and gets the water running before he strips down. He catches his own eye in the mirror, frowns at the way he looks – still a little affected, eyes wide and darker than usual, flush high on his cheeks. He presses his hands over the redness, presses for a second, then turns away to the shower box.

The water is hot, close to scalding, and Steve steps in, lifts his head into it, lets it hit his face. It’s good by itself, easing the tension locking up his shoulders, and he does his best to keep his mind blank.

Steve’s mind has other ideas, not that he’s surprised. He grabs the soap, bypassing the washcloth to lather it in his hands before starting to wash. He can’t help the way his hands linger on his chest, the edge of a nail catching on one nipple and stopping the breath in his throat.

He shoves past it, works the lather down, can’t help the flicker of a what if in the back of his mind. What if the hands on him weren’t his, what if they were smaller, what if they were broken up by black ink.

He groans, annoyed at himself, then catches the noise that follows as his knuckles bump against his cock.

He doesn’t mean to, he tells himself later, not really. But he can’t help it, rubs the back of his fingers up his cock before taking it in hand, stroking, and once he starts, he can’t stop. He doesn’t start fully hard but that changes with a few strokes, biting his lip and clenching his other hand at his side, then that hand is sliding up, up his hip and across to pinch at a nipple.

It's over too fast after that, steady strokes getting shaky, hips twitching then outright shoving forward, chest red from his own blunt nails. In his head there are other hands on his skin, a shy little smile all too close to his cock, a knowing glint in their eyes – it’s Bucky, no matter how he tries to fool himself – then a flick of a wicked tongue and hands sliding up his chest and he’s done.

Steve comes with a groan muffled into his bicep, eyes scrunching closed as his cock jerks and the thick splatter of white gets pulled away by the pressure from the shower. He sags into the shower wall, the glass cool against his overheated skin, and wishes it wasn’t just him and his hand there.

The guilt slips in between breaths, cock flagging with the weight of it, and Steve washes his hands, scrubs his palms over his eyes once they’re clean. “Shit,” he says into the shower spray, and it gets drowned out by the beat of the water.

 

 

Three days later and Steve’s sure that he’s watched all of Bucky’s videos. Not just his puzzle ones – he has some that are more like a diary – a vlog he called them in his titles – and some that are... Magic? He’s talking about magic tricks and doing the tricks both for a camera and out on the street for people. It’s those videos that have the back of Steve’s mind whirring away because he knows those streets, he knows the areas Bucky’s heading to. Recognises the shops in the background, the lay of the streets. He knows Bucky’s in New York, Brooklyn, even.

That still doesn’t stop Steve from shoving his hand down his pants more often than he’d like to admit with Bucky’s voice echoing in his ears. He’s not likely to run into the guy, especially not when he spends most of his time in Manhattan anyway.

Steve’s looking at the videos again, scrolling through the list on the subway on his way home when he gets a notification alert on his phone. He’d subscribed to this guy in that first couple of hours, made sure he got notified whenever a new video dropped, and when he pulls down the notification panel, he can’t help but smile.

Bucky Barnes has posted a new video: solving this EXTREME level 10 lock puzz-

Steve goes to click it when the bored, barely audible voice of the subway staff announces his stop. He jiggles his knee, annoyed, then pushes to his feet.

By the time he gets home and opens the video, it already has thirty thousand likes, and part of Steve, a part he doesn’t like entertaining, resents those people for being able to watch the video first.

He squashes that feeling down, drops onto his couch and hits play. The first thing that catches him is the way Bucky looks, his usually down hair pulled up into a bun. There’s a lock escaping the tie, falling down his cheek, and Steve wants to curl it around his finger, see if it's as soft as it looks.

And they’re back to this Steve sighs to himself, forcing himself to focus on what the man’s saying. It’s not that he finds the topic uninteresting, not in the slightest, but Bucky is so... much that Steve can only focus on one thing at a time without imploding.

So, some of you might have noticed that in the description box I’ve put a link to my coffee, the man is saying, and Steve blinks, confused. He hits pause and scrolls down, expanding the description and – oh, ko-fi, and it’s a website, cool, okay. He starts the video again.

-and the only reason I’m doing this is because I have something special lined up for you guys, but it’s pretty pricey – we’re talking twelve-grand pricey, wow – so I thought, if you enjoy what I do and want to see something one-of-a-kind, I’d give you the opportunity to drop a few dollars in my virtual tip jar to help me get there.

Steve pauses the video. Looks at Bucky’s smiling face on the screen. Looks at the link. Part of him wonders if it’s a good idea, paying off his guilt in the most literal sense, but a bigger part of him wants to see Bucky happy and smiling (and yeah, he’s curious, sue him). He looks at his wallet. Clicks the link.

He does feel guilty, later when he’s got his hand around his cock, wishing it was someone else’s hand, but there isn’t really much he can do about that.

Then the world tries to end, and Steve gets pulled away. The actual saving the world is quick, the bad guy of the month locked away by SHIELD awaiting trial, but the clean-up drags on. Doesn’t get any time for himself, works until the ache beats out the serum, crashes, wakes up the next morning to do it all over again.

It's long, it’s tedious, but a month later the Avengers are sent home and Steve heads straight for his bed. He sleeps for nearly two days straight, only crawling out of his room to shovel his crafted protein bars into his mouth before heading back to his mattress.

When he finally ends up on the sofa, he trawls through a month’s worth of notifications. He’d had a burner phone while he was overseas, standard Avengers procedure, so there’s a lot to look at. No text messages – not that he’d expect any considering the only people who text him were in Europe with him – but a lot of emails. Too many, almost. He sighs, starts marking them as read, but one catches his eye.

It's from an email address he doesn’t recognise, and the subject line is Ko-Fi donation???

Steve opens it.

Hi,

I’m not supposed to do this especially because you donated anonymously, but I wanted to follow up because, well.

That had to be a typo?

There’s a picture of what Steve assumes is the other end of the Ko-Fi page, and there’s Steve’s donation in big bold letters.

If it was, just let me know your details so I can send it back. Frankly, I’m not even sure what to do if it's not.

Thanks,

Bucky Barnes

There’s a logo under it, a twist of two letters, the J and B intertwined. It’s beautiful, and Steve can’t help but smile a little until he realises that this is Bucky’s email. And he’s expected to reply.

It takes him seven tries to come up with a reply that he’s actually willing to send.

Hi Bucky,

It's not a typo – I enjoy your videos and you looked excited about this special thing you were talking about.

I look forward to seeing what you’ve got planned.

SGR

 

 

Two months later, a new video drops.

Steve had received a reply from Bucky, one that had consisted of a lot of holy shits and thank yous that left a little ball of something in his chest knowing he’d made the man happy. Then there hadn’t been any new videos for a while, and Steve had been distracted enough by press conferences, alien attacks, and, memorably, the leader of a country being taken over by an alien parasite. So, when the alert on his phone arrives, it takes him a second to realise how long its been.

He’s lucky this time – he’s on his sofa when it happens, kicking off his shoes after another press conference about the parasite incident – yes, the host is fine and is only in hospital as a precaution, no, we do not believe anyone else was affected, yes, we would be able to tell – and the alert has him dropping his cufflinks, grabbing his phone.

Bucky Barnes has posted a new video: Solving a one-of-a-kind puzzle box (Leve-

Steve clicks it, gets his feet up on the coffee table, and settles in to watch.

Bucky’s – he’s beautiful, lit up and animated, and he’s in short sleeves this time, so Steve gets a moment to admire the tattoos covering his arms, the play of golden skin around the ink. There’s a band of what looks like saran wrap on one of his biceps and Steve’s eyes keep returning to it. It doesn’t help that Bucky keeps touching it, pulling at the wrap, itching below it.

Steve’s seen enough tattoo recovery to know what it is, and he’s curious about the new ink, about why Bucky chose to get it just before filming. He’s curious about why Bucky looks a little nervous whenever he touches it, guilt flickering in his eyes for split seconds at a time.

Hi guys, welcome back, Bucky starts, and his voice is a little lower than usual, a little rougher. Today I’ve got something really special for you guys, and it’s all because of one special person. You’ll remember in my last video I talked about donations – someone, one of you guys watching this, decided to just… pay for this thing, which is – wow. I see you, SR, I know you’ve done it in the only way I couldn’t give it back, and – know this is said in the nicest way possible – you’re an asshole and I appreciate you very much. So, this video is sponsored by the apparently filthy rich subscriber I have, because holy shit guys, they bought me this box.

The video angle cuts down to a beautifully crafted wooden box, several shades of wood and what looks like a bronze inlay. Bucky keeps talking, spins the box gently with his almost delicate hands, explains how he got in touch with multiple puzzle crafter and commissioned the box in front of him. It’s one of the longest intros Steve’s ever seen him do, and he sounds absolutely floored by the puzzle and by the workmanship.

Steve thinks it’s pretty but is frankly far more interested in the man who owns it.

As soon as Bucky starts working on it though, Steve’s entranced. The thing is so incredibly complex, and it takes Bucky an hour of completely uncut footage to work his way to the middle and solve it. It’s a work of art, and Steve’s a little stunned that something like that exists in the world – and exists just a little bit because of him.

After he’s solved it, put it back together, talked a little more about how much he enjoyed every part of the process, Bucky licks his lips, uncharacteristically nervous. He taps his bicep and Steve can’t help the way he leans forward a little even though it won’t get him any closer.

I usually keep his stuff to my blogs, but I also wanted to say I got a new tattoo yesterday. It’s something I’ve wanted for a while, but I recently got a push to do it, so. He turns his arm out, shows the inside of his bicep, and Steve’s breath catches.

It's the shield, stunning wash of colour visible even through layers of the clear wrap over it. Bucky’s fingers linger under it, then he taps once, smiles at the camera. You’ll find out why that’s relevant later, he says, before winking at the camera, and Steve wonders if it's possible to die like that, heart stopped dead because a gorgeous guy winked at him. A gorgeous guy with Steve’s symbol tattooed into his skin.

Bucky wraps up, bringing the attention back to his puzzle box, then waves at the camera before the video ended.

Steve’s switching into his email app before he realises what he’s doing.

The puzzle box is beautiful he starts with, taps his fingers against his phone screen absently while he tries to make the words coherent. The creators really outdid themselves. He can’t think of anything else to add, so he signs off, then puts a postscript at the bottom as if it hadn’t been the main reason he was reaching out in the first place.

ps. I like the tattoo.

He hits send before he can regret it, drops his phone on the table and stands. Then, heavily judging himself, he goes to find something to keep himself occupied and keep his mind Bucky-free.

It doesn’t work.

 

 

Two days after that, and a response lands in his inbox. It’s two lines, blunt and to the point, and has Steve grinning at his phone for a good five minutes before he does anything.

Want to see it in person? the email enquires, then it’s followed by a handful of digits, an open hand extended towards him that Steve can’t refuse. Once he collects himself, it takes him less than a minute to dial.

“I didn’t think you’d call,” is what Bucky answers with, and his voice sends a shiver down Steve’s spine. It’s smooth, rich, a little amused, and Steve can just imagine the half smile on his face, the way the corner of his lips curls up just a little.

“How’d you know it was me?” Steve asks, and it surprises him, the way his voice drops, takes on an edge he hasn’t heard on himself since-

“The call or the donation?” Bucky shoots back, and there’s a noise in the background, like the click of a door.

Steve hums as though he’s thinking about it, and Bucky laughs, the sound curling around Steve and putting a smile on his face, tugging at something in his gut. “Either,” he says, just to hear Bucky’s voice some more.

“Knew it was you calling because of the timing, and the fact that you have a blocked number,” he says, then his voice drops a little and says, “as for how I knew it was you donating? Your email display name is ‘Captain Steve Rogers’ and it’s a government email address, so it wasn’t hard to work out.”

That’s… not what Steve was expecting. He snorts, rubs the back of his head with a hand, because yeah, he was the dumbass who used his work email address for the donation. Anonymous is hard to achieve for someone like him, but he had really done everything to make his identity obvious without even realising it.

“Yeah, well,” he says, and Bucky snickers, Steve can almost hear the eye roll that accompanies it. “I never claimed to be smart.”

“Yeah, everyone else did that for you,” Bucky says, before he sobers a little, says, “so.”

“So,” Steve replies, lets just a little of his curiosity colour the word. A little bit of expectation, a little bit of want.

Bucky takes a breath, and Steve can hear the shake in it. When he speaks though it’s steady. “So, did you still want to see it in person?”

Steve smiles.

 

 

The coffee shop is one of the hole-in-the-wall types, where the only people who really stop there are locals. Steve’s been there a few times before, so the barista doesn’t react when he walks in, just acknowledges his entry with a nod before moving from the coffee machine to the till. It’s only a step and a half, then Steve’s leaning his hip against the tiny counter, ordering his coffee of choice – black, single spoonful of sugar. He’s just paid when the door opens behind him and he glances over his shoulder, smiles a little stupid when he sees who it is.

Bucky’s eyes land on him almost immediately, and the smile lights up his face in a way that Steve wasn’t prepared for. He’s got a beanie on, covering his ears, and the beginnings of a beard coming in. He’s even more beautiful in person, and the part of Steve that doesn’t want to get up on him is telling him to run, to regroup. Surely it’s not fair for Bucky to look like this without warning?

It takes a snicker from behind him to realise that his staring is obvious, and he blinks, takes a step forward as Bucky approaches, looking up at him.

“Steve,” he says, and – god his voice is like velvet. Steve would give anything to hear Bucky says his name again and again, hear it high pitched and breathy, hear it throaty and- Steve shuts down that line of thought there. “Good to meet you for real,” Bucky adds, and Steve takes his cue from that, shoving his hands in his pockets so he doesn’t do anything stupid like reach out and touch.

He smiles, says, “Bucky, you too,” gets stuck where he is for a second before going, “oh,” and stepping out of the way so Bucky can order. Bucky smiles up at him, moves forward to the counter Standing next to the man, Bucky’s height surprises Steve. He seems bigger, has this presence to him that takes up space, that fills the air between them, yet he barely comes up to Steve’s shoulder. He’s lean next to Steve’s bulk but broad-shouldered and when Steve glances down he fills out the jeans he’s wearing like they’re painted on. Steve wants.

He looks up and catches the look the barista is giving him, more than a little amused. Steve feels his cheeks flush, fixes his eyes on the coffee machine, and tries not to look too guilty.

Bucky’s shoulder bumps into him and he looks back down, warm from the inside out when Bucky smiles again, puts a hand on Steve’s hip and nudges him sideways. Steve can’t help but resist for a moment, just to feel Bucky’s weight against him a little longer. But he moves and Bucky’s hand stays where it is for a moment, two, before squeezing a little and dropping. Steve wants to grab it, bring it back, but he resists.

“I think part of me didn’t expect it to actually be you,” Bucky says on a laugh, and Steve can’t help the way his smile grows, the way his heart skips a beat because Bucky’s laughing.

It takes him a second to unstick his tongue from the roof of his mouth, then he says, “Who did you think I was going to be?” He takes his coffee from the barista when it comes up, needing something to do with his hands that isn’t getting his hands on those thighs, seeing exactly how bulky Bucky is.

Bucky shrugs, leaning his hip against the counter, and Steve’s eyes drop down, meander their way back up to Bucky’s smiling face. “I don’t know. A really good catfish? Maybe even an actual agent or something. Not-” he waves a hand at Steve, and Steve can’t help but follow it with his eyes. “-this,” Bucky finishes after a pause that was longer than it needed to be.

Steve raises an eyebrow, can’t help himself, says, “Are you disappointed?” as Bucky’s drink is handed to him.

“There’s nothing disappointing about you,” Bucky drawls, eyes flicking down Steve’s body before he turns and heads to one of the tables.

Steve smiles, follows.

Bucky is- he’s easy to talk to, easy to listen to, easy on the eyes, everything about him is just easy for Steve to spend time with. He talks with his hands, making his point with a flick of his fingers, a twist of his wrist, and Steve’s enraptured.

About halfway through his story Bucky pauses, smiles up at him and lifts a hand, pulls at his beanie until the fabric comes free. Steve can’t help the way he watches, can’t help the noise that catches in the back of his throat, disguising it as a cough. He doesn’t think it’s fair, the way Bucky’s hair falls to his shoulders, the hat apparently the only thing keeping it up. Steve wants to touch it, nearly swallows his tongue when Bucky drags his fingers through it, fluffing it out and pulling it to one side absently before tucking it behind one ear.

Steve swallows, and Bucky grins.

Maybe not so absently, then.

“Do you want to see it then?” Bucky says just as Steve lifts his mug to his lips, and he chokes on the sip he was taking. He splutters, and Bucky laughs at him, head thrown back like Steve’s reaction is the funniest thing he’s seen.

Steve manages to stop coughing eventually, and Bucky clarifies, laughter still in his eyes, “the tattoo, Rogers.”

Steve takes a sip of his coffee – successfully this time – then sets the mug down on the table very deliberately before he replies. “Either way the answer’s the same,” he says, taking a chance. He knows Bucky swings both ways thanks to his vlogs, but that doesn’t mean he’s interested in Steve like that. Then he adds, just to be sure, “Show me?”

Bucky’s very still for a moment, so different from how he’s been the entire time they’ve been here. He blinks, slow, and Steve just smiles. “Only one’s suitable for this fine establishment,” Bucky says after a second of silence, and Steve raises an eyebrow. Bucky looks at him for a moment longer before reaching over his head and pulling his sweater over his head. It pulls his shirt up and Steve can’t help it, eyes dropping to the strip of skin before Bucky pulls it back down, drops the sweater to the side.

The shirt he’s wearing is tight – not as bad as some of Steve’s shirts, he’ll admit, but tight enough that he can see the curve of Bucky’s pecs, and this time Steve doesn’t try to hide the fact that he’s looking as he returns his gaze to Bucky’s face, to the pleased little smile on his lips.

The sleeves are short, and when Bucky brings up one arm Steve’s gaze is caught again, locked to the sprawling mass of ink winding up Bucky’s arm. The tattoos are intricate, clearly not done all at once as a unit but still interlocking perfectly, and Steve’s inner artist is almost curious enough to win over his inner horndog. Almost.

“They’re beautiful,” he says as he watches Bucky’s arm twist, watches his opposite hand roll the short sleeve up and out of the way. Then he’s shifting, flexing a little, and Steve leans forward to get a better look. The tattoo isn’t as big as he expected it to be, interlocking with another one nearby that looks like a stylised wing, but now that he’s actually seeing it in person the intricacies of it are visible. The edge of each part of the shield isn’t just a single line, but very thin lines braided together, and the shading is incredible, like it’s been filled with a coloured pencil, not permanent ink from a tattoo gun.

Steve wants to touch; doesn’t even realise he’s reached out until Bucky shifts forward a little in his seat and Steve’s fingers hit warm skin. He withdraws quickly, but Bucky doesn’t move again so he lets his fingers rest on the coloured skin, trace over the star in the centre. “I’ve seen a lot of shield tattoos in my time,” he says, and Bucky doesn’t move, doesn’t interrupt him. When Steve looks up his face is right there, eyebrows furrowed like he’s trying to work out where Steve’s going. “But this is the best. It’s gorgeous, Buck.” You’re gorgeous, he thinks, but manages to keep it in his head.

The responding smile is warm, a little crooked, then there a hand resting on the back of his neck. Bucky’s hand is hot, fingers like brands on Steve’s skin, and he goes very still. Waiting to see what Bucky will do.

“You can say no,” Bucky says, voice low. Steve wants to give him anything he asks for. “Can I kiss you?”

Steve lifts his chin ‘til they’re even, smiles and says the god-honest truth. “Honestly I’ve been thinking about kissing you since you walked in that door.”

Bucky grips the back of Steve’s neck a little tighter and cuts off the last word with his mouth. His lips are warm, a little chapped, and for a second, it’s just that, skin on skin and a little pressure. Then Steve’s parting his lips, nipping at Bucky’s lower lip until the other man gasps, and curling his tongue in. Bucky tastes like coffee, like the caramel he’d added to it, and Steve can’t resist pushing deeper.

They kiss until Bucky’s hands cup Steve’s cheeks, thumbs brushing along his cheekbones, and Steve can’t help but shiver at that soft touch. Bucky pulls back, touches their noses together, and says, “Come home with me?”

Steve grins, takes a deep breath, then says, “For you? Anything.”

 

 

Bucky’s hand is curled around his for most of the walk, fingers laced tight. Steve’s not sure what to expect from him, not sure what to expect from this, but he can’t wait to find out. Every so often Bucky looks up at him, eyes dark through his lashes, as though he’s checking to make sure Steve’s still on board. Every time Steve smiles a little wider, squeezes his fingers a little around Bucky’s hand.

It’s not far to Bucky’s building, a couple of blocks. It’s an older area, but well cared for, buildings covered in ivy and the steps worn. Bucky leads him up to a door, fumbles his keys with one hand until Steve lets go and gets an arm around his waist instead. Bucky huffs, so Steve presses in, drops a kiss behind Bucky’s ear. He’s not expecting the shiver, or the way Bucky nearly drops his keys, so he does it again to see if he’ll get the same reaction. He does, almost – this time Bucky misses the keyhole, growls under his breath, and it’s cute how flustered he is even though he was the one to ask Steve to come with him.

Steve smiles against Bucky’s skin, then Bucky’s hand is slapping his arm lightly, and he’s grumbling, “Shut up,” as he finally gets the key in the lock, turns it. “Second floor,” he adds, and it’s probably good he did, considering what Steve had been planning – still is, even if it’s going to be delayed by a flight of stairs.

They make it halfway up before Bucky’s turning, hands on Steve’s face as he pulls him in for a kiss. He’s a step up and it almost brings them eye to eye, and Steve doesn’t even have a chance to react fully, barely starts to kiss back before Bucky’s pulling back, grabbing his hand again and tugging him the rest of the way up.

Another door and Steve decides to behave a little better, gets his hands on Bucky’s waist and kisses the back of his neck instead. Bucky’s shoulders inch up like he’s ticklish, but he gets the door open, gets his keys free before Steve takes over.

He crowds Bucky inside, turns them, and uses Bucky’s back to close the door. Bucky reaches out with one hand, hits the lights, then Steve tightens his grip a little and leans in to kiss him.

Bucky’s so responsive, a quiet little moan escaping into Steve’s mouth and Steve can’t help but shift closer until they’re hip to hip, until his bulk is keeping Bucky pinned. Another moan, louder this time, then there’s hands on his shoulders, just holding on, gripping tight. Steve slides his hands up a little, gets them on Bucky’s waist, presses his thumbs in a little before dropping them to Bucky’s thighs. He lifts, swallows Bucky’s gasp, kisses him until he’s breathless, until Bucky’s hands are pulling at his hair, heels digging into Steve’s ass.

He lets up, gets a look at Bucky, checking in. Bucky’s head falls back to the wood with a soft thud and his breath shakes as it pushes out of him. Steve dips in, presses his lips to the smooth skin of Bucky’s throat, and the noise Bucky makes is high pitched, breathy. His legs tighten on Steve’s hips, so he nips at Bucky’s pulse, and Bucky gasps out, “God, please tell me you top.”

Steve snorts, bites at Bucky’s pulse again, worries at it until Bucky’s arching his back into him, grip tight in Steve’s hair. “Is that what you want?” he says, surprising himself at the way the words rumble out of him. “You want me in you?”

Bucky’s breath hitches, and he swallows hard – Steve can feel the muscles shifting under his mouth. He lifts his head, looks Bucky in the eye, waits for Bucky to nod before he says, “Use your words, sweetheart.”

“Shit,” is what Bucky gets out first, the word bursting out of him like he hadn’t meant to say it. “Yeah I want you in me, I want you so bad.”

Steve drops his chin, kisses any more words right out of Bucky’s mouth, gets a hand on Bucky’s ass and squeezes, grins against Bucky’s lips at the gasp he gets in return. He shifts his hips, rolls them, and that gasp comes back twofold, sharp and surprised. “God you’re stunning,” Steve can’t help but say, grazing his lips against Bucky’s forehead, pressing it to the corner of Bucky’s mouth before catching his lips again.

He rolls his hips again, starts up a filthy grind that has Bucky all but writhing against him, aborted noises falling from his lips whenever Steve does something he likes. “Bedroom,” Bucky gets out, and Steve hums, not fully convinced. He likes having Bucky here, at his mercy by Bucky’s own design, gasping and shaking like he’s never had anything better. A big part of Steve’s brain wants to make him forget he’s had anyone else, wants to be the best Bucky’s ever had, and he’s not above using his everything to his advantage.

“There’s lube in the bedroom,” Bucky says, biting Steve’s lip, and Steve stares at him when the sharp sting makes itself known. “Now.”

Steve kisses him once more as if to say he’s doing it because he wants to, but gets his other hand on Bucky’s ass and steps back from the door. “Tell me where,” he starts, but Bucky cuts him off, speaking the words into Steve’s mouth, says,

“Down the hall, second on the right,”

and Steve goes, has to shift his hands to get the door open, and Bucky seems to like that, one hand grabbing at Steve’s bicep while the other holds on tight. “Shit,” Bucky says again, “Jesus you’re strong,” and Steve gets the door open just as Bucky says it.

Bucky’s not small by any means, but he’s not as stacked as Steve’s seen guys get. Steve’s pretty sure that had he been a regular guy he would have been able to carry Bucky – not him without the serum, but if this was his regular body. He kicks the door shut behind him without replying, not that Bucky seems to be waiting for one by the way he bites at Steve’s jaw, smooths his hand up Steve’s arm to his shoulder.

Steve finds the bed by walking into it, lucky that the mattress is the right height so that his shin hits fabric with give instead of a rigid frame. He gets a knee up, leans forward, and Bucky helpfully holds on while Steve crawls up onto the mattress. He presses down, pins Bucky beneath him, gets back to kissing him again with a shift of his hips. He threads one hand in Bucky’s hair and almost groans at how soft it is, stroking once before gripping tight, swallowing the noise Bucky makes.

As soon as Bucky realises he doesn’t have to hold himself up he’s grabbing at Steve’s shirt, pulling the fabric up. He gets to Steve’s armpits then slides back down, leaving Steve’s shirt bunched up as he gets his hands on Steve’s back. Steve sits up a little, pulls the tee shirt off and tosses it to the side before gripping the hem of Bucky’s top. Bucky arches his back to help, and Steve shimmies the fabric up, takes off both the sweater and that too-tight shirt so that Bucky’s shirtless beneath him.

He splays his hands on Bucky’s skin, taking him in, and Bucky arches up into his touch, says, “God, touch me.” Steve is helpless to refuse, stroking his thumbs over the cut of Bucky’s pecs before rubbing them over his nipples.

Bucky gasps, arches up, stays there while Steve keeps going, rubbing and pinching before dropping his head to get a taste. He licks once, just a tease, sucks on one nipple as he pinches the other, and Bucky’s responding noise is breathy, shaken. “Yes,” he says like his response wasn’t clear enough, “Yes yes yes please, god I wan- ah-

Steve doesn’t let him finish, closes his teeth on one nipple and tugs lightly before switching sides. Bucky’s hands latch onto his shoulders, slide down Steve’s arms, cover the hand currently teasing Bucky’s chest and Steve can’t help himself, shifting so he can watch. Bucky grabs his hand, holds on, and Steve loves the way the ink on his skin stands out so much against Steve’s own hand, the way there’s no mistaking who’s bed he’s in.

“I love your hands,” Steve says, pressing his lips to the back of Bucky’s hand before he shifts down, gets his free hand on Bucky’s belt, tugs. It doesn’t take him more than a few pulls to get it undone but has to take his other hand back to get Bucky’s jeans to cooperate, taking long enough that Bucky cups the back of his head, braces his heels and lifts his hips up. Steve knows it’s not what he was trying to do, but his mouth is so close to Bucky’s cock and he leans forward, nuzzles it through the fabric of Bucky’s jeans before he yanks the fabric down to his knees.

Then there’s nothing between him and Bucky’s skin and Steve’s never been able to say no to a cock as pretty as Bucky’s, drops his head and licks up the side before he shoves his mouth down it and swallows. Bucky groans, hips jerking, and Steve relaxes into it, rides it out before pinning Bucky’s hips to the mattress and getting to work.

It’s been a long time, but he’s thought about it enough that it’s almost easy to get Bucky writhing, fighting Steve’s grip as his hips try to move, like he’s torn between pulling away and pushing forward. Something knocks against the side of his head and he glances up, slides off Bucky with a lick to the head, precome salty on his tongue.

He takes the bottle of lube, cracks it, wets his fingers as he drops his head again. He shoulders Bucky’s legs apart, thankful the man had managed to kick the denim the rest of the way off, and he settles between his thighs like he belongs there, bites one, then the other before nuzzling his nose against the base of Bucky’s cock. He slides his dry thumb up over Bucky’s hole, teasing, then replaces it with his wet fingers, rubbing until Bucky whimpers out his name. He slides one in, careful, gets his mouth on Bucky’s balls as a distraction when Bucky tenses around him.

It takes a moment, but Bucky finally goes lax, a whine escaping from above Steve’s head as he gets his finger in deeper, shifts his mouth up to lick at Bucky’s cock where it joins his body.

He takes long enough that Bucky’s a whimpering mess once Steve gets four fingers in, and Bucky’s hand slides down his own stomach, palms at his cock in a way that has Steve enthralled. Bucky’s hands are beautiful, Steve knew that already, but they’re sure, fingers curling around his shaft and making Steve’s mouth water. He doesn’t move much, just rubs at the head of his cock with his thumb, squeezes tight, and Steve bites at his thigh again, presses his fingers deeper until he can rub it against Bucky’s prostate again.

Bucky whimpers, rocks his hips down, clenches around Steve’s fingers and Steve’s control snaps, sliding his fingers out. He pushes himself up, unbuttons his jeans, and Bucky just breathes under him for the longest moment before twisting, reaching up for the nightstand. A packet hits his chest before Steve can ask for it, and he can’t help but let his eyes linger on the twist of Bucky’s torso, the long lines of muscle pulled tight. Then Bucky’s rolling to his back again, arching up, and the look on his face has Steve moving again.

He tears open the condom, gets it on, covers himself in lube, uncaring about the way it drips down into the fabric he’s still got bunched at his thighs. The pressure is almost enough to have him shaking, his body begging to be touched, begging for those beautiful hands on it. He shifts himself up, slides his cock up against Bucky’s hole, says, “You want it?” in a voice that’s gone hoarse with want.

“Please, fuck, please I want it, Steve,” Bucky gets out, voice shaking, and Steve spreads his knees a little, pushes up and in and in until Bucky’s body lets him. He doesn’t pause then, pushes in deep until their hips are flush and Bucky’s face is slack above him even as his chest rises and falls fast. His arms are above his head, grabbing onto a pillow, and Steve drops his head, licks at a line of sweat on Bucky’s chest.

Steve holds himself there, slides his hands down to Bucky’s thighs and lifts them. Bucky manages to get them locked around Steve’s waist, and Steve smooths a hand back up his stomach, digs his blunt nails in a little until Bucky gasps, shifts his hips.

Steve rolls his hips when Bucky gets out, “Fuck, move, c’mon Steve,” keeps himself buried deep and just rocks up until Bucky gasps, until the only word falling from Bucky’s mouth is Steve. Then Steve pulls his hips back, watches Bucky’s face as he fucks back in deep, skipping straight past gentle.

Bucky whimpers, but it’s good by the way his back arches, the way he shoves back on Steve’s cock when Steve draws back, so Steve does it again, and again. “Fuck,” Bucky gets out, “yes yes yes, Stev-ah,” he cuts off as Steve pushes in hard, grabs at his ass and bites at Bucky’s lip before shutting him up with a kiss, fucks him hard and steady.

Bucky grabs at his shoulders, hands fluttering against his skin as he changes his mind, and Steve grins against his mouth, pushes up on one hand. “Something you need?” Steve asks and it’s rough, surprising in how dark it is, but not surprising that it’s Bucky doing this to him, pulling everything out of him and making him want. “You want something baby?” Bucky gasps, arches his back and lifts his hips, gets his hand between them and drags his nails up his own stomach before grabbing his cock. Steve drops his head, eyes flicking between Bucky’s cock and his face as he moves faster, harder, gives Bucky what he’s begging for with wordless cries.

Steve,” Bucky gets out, and Steve can feel the way he’s locking up, the clamp of his legs and the clench of his ass doing everything for Steve, thrusts getting sloppy, hard but losing their rhythm. He grabs Bucky’s hip, tilts him up just a little more, grins as Bucky cries out before the grin is wiped off his face at the hot clench of Bucky’s ass, the way Bucky’s head kicks back and the way his hand looks covered in come.

“In me, in me,” Bucky chants, slurred and beautiful, and Steve shudders, gives himself over, comes harder than he has in a long time with Bucky still shaking beneath him. He sags forward, manages to brace himself over Bucky so his weight isn’t crushing the man, presses his forehead to Bucky’s neck and just breathes for a long minute as the aftershocks have him twitching, mind blissfully blank for just long enough.

Bucky’s hands stroke down his back and that’s what brings Steve back to himself. They stroke over his skin, sliding down before his nails drag up, and Steve shudders, presses a kiss to Bucky’s throat, wet. “Steve,” Bucky says, lazy and drawled, and Steve hums in response, shifts up to kiss him.

It’s long, soft, and he can feel the way Bucky’s lips curl up against his, can feel the way Bucky shivers as he traces fingers over Bucky’s chest.

“Steve,” Bucky says again, into his mouth, and this time it’s a little more awake. “You’re still hard.”

Steve hums deep in his throat, shifts his hips just to hear Bucky gasp, to feel the tremor that runs through him. “Serum,” he says by way of explanation, and Bucky’s silent for a second before hitching his legs higher.

“Gonna do anything about it?”

He grins, wide, and says, “What did you have in mind?”

 

 

Steve wakes later than usual. He wakes to the sun on his face and a warm body against him, and he smiles without thinking, shifts closer until he can bury his nose in Bucky’s hair. Bucky shifts, hooks a leg over Steve’s, doesn’t say anything but Steve can hear the hesitation between them.

“Go out with me,” he mumbles into the top of Bucky’s head, smiles sleepily at Bucky’s surprised breath in. “Please?”

There’s a hand on his chest, smoothing upward until it slides around the back of Steve’s neck. Bucky lifts his head, sleep-creased and beautiful, and presses a closed-mouth kiss to Steve’s mouth. “Name a time and place,” Bucky says, sleep-rough, then he smiles against Steve’s mouth and Steve feels everything in him relaxing. “I’ll date you so hard,” he says like it makes sense, and Steve can’t help but kiss him again, and again, until Bucky shoves a hand against his cheek and shoves him away to grumble, “Brush your teeth, god.”

Steve laughs, can’t help himself, then gets up to do just that.