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That Boy Is a Problem

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Bucky Barnes is a problem.

He is a lithe, mesh-covered, plentifully-pierced problem. A real conundrum. A thorn in Steve’s side. His very presence remains a persistent threat to Steve’s overall sanity and well-being.

The thing is, Bucky and Steve aren't really friends.

They're cordial, sure, and their social circles do overlap, but it's been exactly three and a half years of existing on the very periphery of each other's lives, and Steve has wanted to bone him for exactly three years, five months, and three weeks. They were in the same dorm as freshman, and in the very first week, Steve came out of his room one day to find Bucky locking his door wearing shredded jeans and a fishnet top, his ears crowded with piercings, and Steve's dick immediately perked up like a dog that heard the word 'treat'.

These days, Bucky is even more plentifully-pierced and his narrow frame has filled out a little, mostly in the breadth of his shoulders. Steve, on the other hand, has been playing baseball for his entire college career and running track just for fun, and he's seen Bucky cast heated glances at his shoulders and arms.

In fact, he's been doing it for almost two hours, now.

It's technically Natasha's party, which is why they're both even here. Natasha is a key player in the venn diagram of their social lives. Steve's been nursing the same beer for a while, keeping an eye on where Bucky is across the room, chatting to Clint Barton and sipping at a red solo cup.

Bucky's hair looks nice. His undercut is freshly-shaved, the rest of his loose curls piled up in a messy top-knot, and there are fading streaks of silver in it. His outfit seems like it's held together by safety pins, the tiny little crop top he's wearing layered under a patchy mesh long-sleeved shirt that brushes over the toned, flat plane of his belly.

And then his pants, well...

Steve licks his lips, mouth dry, and he lets his gaze slip down to where his tight pants expose the crest of each delicate hip bone. Steve is honestly surprised he can't see pubic hair, considering how low his pants are. Does he shave? Is he bare down there? And what the hell are those pants made of? Latex? Vinyl? They look like they'd squeak under Steve's searching fingers.


Steve can see his dick. He can very clearly see the line of his dick, bulge highlighted by the gleam of light reflecting off that shiny fabric. As he's dragging his eyes up from staring blatantly at Bucky's junk, Bucky glances over at Steve at the same time. His big grey eyes are heavily lined, lids brushed with crimson, and his full lips curl into a smirk as he catches Steve looking.

"Please do us all a favor and go fuck him out of your system," Sam mutters, startling Steve out of his intense staring.

Steve and Sam have been friends for the entire three and a half years of Steve pining after Bucky. They were both scouted from high school to the college baseball team and they were roommates in first year. When they figured out they got along well, they decided to keep living together. Sam is starting his master's degree in social work next year and is leaving baseball behind entirely. Meanwhile, Steve still hasn't figured his own shit out.

"What?" barks Steve wildly. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Please," says Sam, very sincere as he turns toward Steve and places a solemn hand on his shoulder. "Please, do not bullshit me. Don't bullshit yourself. It's painful at this point. It's been painful for at least two years. He clearly wants you back. Do something about it."

"I don't know," says Steve. They've had this argument before, or at least a version of it. The thing is, Steve only recently broke up with his long distance girlfriend, who he met in his high school's exchange program. Which is part of his hesitance. He doesn't know if he has game anymore. And someone as beautiful and perfect as Bucky Barnes requires game. "What am I supposed to say? ‘We've both wanted you to hop on my dick for our entire college career, so jump’?"

"Sure, for starters." Sam shrugs. "Seriously, if you don't go fuck him, I will. I know we'd have fantastic hate sex."

"You two haven't even hated each other since halfway through our second year." Steve rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, but we still like to pretend." He takes a drink of his beer, finishing it off. "Well, alright, your loss—"

He takes a single teasing step forward and Steve's insides twist with red hot jealousy and desperation. He suddenly finds himself propelled across the room entirely by the strength of his own competitive spirit, leaving Sam in the dust.

Finding himself abruptly in front of Bucky, Steve opens his mouth and eloquently says, "Uh, hey."

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Bucky has to tip his head back to make eye contact with Steve, emphasizing their height difference in a way that most definitely does not go straight to Steve's dick. Steve hasn't measured. He's a spatial thinker, though. Good with distances. It's eight inches.

"Steve," says Bucky, his face not quite—lighting up, but almost. He does smile, but there's an edge to it.

Up close, now, Steve absently counts Bucky's piercings. One in his eyebrow, five in one ear, three in the other, a flash of the barbell in his tongue... In third year, he had one in his nose, through the septum, but Steve hasn't seen him with that one in for months. Bucky turns to Clint. "I'll see you later, okay?"

Clint is smirking, glancing between Bucky and Steve as he backs away. "Yeah, whatever."

Steve feels deep relief when he leaves but then also panic at being left along with Bucky. "You need a drink?" Steve croaks.

Bucky tips his cup towards Steve, showing him he's still half full. "I'm good. You having fun, big guy?"

"Uh," says Steve, looking around the party. "Sure?"

"So convincing," says Bucky. "Did you get sick of talking to Wilson?"

"He told me to come talk to you," blurts Steve.

"Oh?" Bucky arches a well-groomed eyebrow. He leans up against the wall, which pushes his chest out; Steve can see his nipple piercings through his crop top. Which reminds him—

Don't look, Steve hisses mentally. Don't look at his dick!

Steve looks down at his dick. Still hanging to the right, still obscenely packaged.

"Nice pants," Steve squeaks.

"Thanks, Steve," Bucky laughs. "I'm glad you like my—pants."

"I heard a rumor," Steve's mouth says, without any permission from his brain.

Bucky's answering laugh is low and throaty, head tipped back and finally managing to draw Steve's attention from his dick to his neck, long and unmarked and begging for Steve's attention. "Oh yeah? You plugged in to the college grapevine, Stevie? Hear something juicy?"

Bucky's teasing him. Steve finds that he likes it. "Uh," he says, licking his lips. "Yeah. Yes. I thought so."

"Yeah?" prompts Bucky, clearly amused by Steve's fumbling.

Steve would be offended, maybe feel patronized by anyone else. But Bucky doesn't suffer fools, maybe it's okay. "Uh huh." Steve takes a deep breath, letting his voice drop, leaning in just a little, 'cause maybe the idea of looming over Bucky is real, real nice. "Heard your, uh, you got a new piercing during spring break last year."

Bucky's cheeks pink up, which Steve's not sure he's ever seen before, but he meets Steve's gaze boldly, like a dare. "Did you now? That what you come over here to do? Tell me about a rumor?"

"No, I just, I wondered if—" God, why is he still talking? He's making so many mistakes right now, but Bucky is humoring him. "Just wondering if it's true."

"If what's true?"

"About the piercing."

"Got a lot of piercings, Steve. You don't expect me to remember exactly which one I got on spring break, do you?"

Steve is going to pass out. "Your cock. I heard it was your cock."

Maybe it's that Bucky wasn't expecting Steve to say it out loud, that Steve just said the word "cock" twice, but Bucky's eyes widen, and he flushes entirely red.

"Sorry," Steve hisses like a deflating balloon.

"No," breathes Bucky, eyelashes fluttering. He arches his back to raise his chin up, meeting Steve's eyes boldly once again. "No, I asked. Did you seriously march across the room to ask me about my dick piercing?"

"So you do have one?" Steve asks, feeling unexpectedly confident in the direction this flirtation is going. If Bucky wasn’t into this, he’d kick Steve in the crotch. He’d toss his drink in Steve's face. Bucky Barnes would not let Steve talk to him about his dick piercing unless he was into it.

"Are you trying to get me to show it to you?" Bucky asks, raising an eyebrow.

Steve licks his lips and watches Bucky watch his mouth. "I just wanted to know. The rest is up to you."

Bucky's eyes widen just a fraction. "You want to find somewhere a little more private?"

"Nat will absolutely kill us if we go upstairs."

"To her bedroom, sure."

"Where else?"

"There's a very nice bathroom up there, too."

"Y-yeah? 'Cause...yeah." Steve clears his throat, tries to regain some of whatever cool he had that allowed him to get this far. "We could do that."

Bucky grins up at him and then pushes away from the wall and into his space, hand sliding over Steve's stomach and around to his side, tugging on his t-shirt. "C'mon, then."

Steve follows because, honestly, why wouldn't he? He would follow Bucky anywhere at this point. He doesn't look around, doesn't allow himself to track who's watching them go upstairs. He just lets himself be pulled along up the steps and down the hall. Bucky locks the door behind them and then he shoves Steve against the counter.

The bathroom is really dark, but a second later, Bucky's mouth meets his. "God, Steve, I didn't know you had it in you,” Bucky mumbles against his lips.

Apparently, Steve's dick is doing all of the decision making for him tonight, because what he blurts back is, "I'd like to get it in you, actually."

Thankfully, Bucky seems really into how much of a disaster Steve is. He laughs and hooks an arm around Steve's neck to drag himself up, all but doing a fucking pull-up on Steve's body.

Steve's entire life flashes in front of his eyes. He loses all hope of his upstairs brain staying in control of the next several minutes in this bathroom. His hands lock around Bucky's hips and he helps Bucky climb him, until Bucky's legs are wrapped around Steve’s waist and he is very aware of Bucky’s erection, pressed thick against Steve’s stomach through his thin pants. He's got to be aching in them.

"Yeah, sure, just not here, big guy," says Bucky patiently. "What I'd really like is for you to suck my cock. Would you do that for little ol' me?"

Steve can't breathe. Did all the air just get sucked out of the room?

Bucky is braced against him, a warm, slender weight. He smells incredible, of cologne and something spicy lingering on his skin and in his hair that might be clove cigarette smoke. Steve slides a hand down over Bucky's ass and squeezes reflexively. "I can do that," he says breathlessly. "I can definitely do that. Hey, what are these pants made of?"

"Really?" demands Bucky, squirming against Steve's abs. "I spend like three years trying to get your attention, and it's the trashy latex leggings you're into?"

"Shiny," mumbles Steve, pressing a kiss to the underside of Bucky's jaw. "I can—see your dick through them."

"Sit me on the edge of the counter," orders Bucky, giving Steve's hair a soft tug. "And get on your knees."

Steve plops Bucky down as requested and then drops to his knees with a soft whoosh of air from his lungs. He's at the perfect height to prop Bucky's legs up over his shoulders, looking up at him expectantly, dizzy with want.

"That's a pretty picture, isn't it," says Bucky, ruffling Steve's hair. "You really wanna see this piercing, huh? You want it in your mouth?"

"Yes," says Steve, hands on Bucky's thighs. "Do these—just roll down?"

"Bear with," says Bucky. He has to squirm to shove his pants down enough to free his cock, but when he manages it—

Steve sucks in a sharp breath, faintly awed. Bucky's got a very nice dick. Just as pretty as the rest of him. A good length, a bit slim, with a delicate curve as he gives himself a squeeze. And there, peeking out from the head, a shiny silver ring.

He wants to eat Bucky Barnes alive. Steve inhales shakily, breathing in the scent of him, warm, clean skin that’s salty with sweat, despite the clingy latex pants. It’s so tantalizingly close that Steve's mouth waters. Before Bucky can direct him, he takes him into his mouth, sucking him down with all the pent-up enthusiasm of panting after someone for more than three long years.

Bucky makes a high, broken sound, hips jerking up. Steve steadies him with a firm grip, slurping and sucking with messy excitement. Bucky tastes good, too, firming up in his mouth. He barely registers the piercing until his tongue curls around the tip and the tang of cool metal hits it. Moaning, Steve’s own cock throbs.

How has he not been doing this every single moment since they met?

Bucky yanks on his hair, not too hard, just a stinging reminder of what he wants, and it swoops low in Steve's gut, a debauched thrill that he's making Bucky feel so good, that he's giving him this pleasure. He traces the dip of Bucky's piercing, bobbing his head again and again.

In the semi darkness of the bathroom, with Bucky’s legs wrapped around Steve’s head, his cock down his throat, Steve ascends to some higher plane of being. The only thing that matters is getting Bucky off. Making him come. Bucky's rough moans and desperate breaths increase at a frantic pace, until with a low wail, Bucky pulses across his tongue. Steve swallows it down, reckless and hungry for it.

Steve is a gentleman. He doesn't let a single drop spill or spatter onto Bucky's clothes.

Bucky does very quickly grow too sensitive to stand Steve's conscientious tongue, tugging more on his hair with a sharp inhalation. Steve pulls off obediently, licking his lips and blinking up at Bucky.

"Holy fuck," croaks Bucky. It’s hard to see details, but his eyes are big and black, and he gentles his grip on Steve's hair, stroking it instead. "You suck dick like a demon."

"Was it good?" Steve asks.

"Oh, baby," laughs Bucky. "Yes, it was fucking good. I'm fresh out of gold stars, though."

"Your dick was the gold star."

"You sound drunk."

"I'm really not," says Steve, grinning dopily. "I've never had a piercing like that in my mouth."

Bucky squints at him, patient and fond, and scritches at Steve's scalp. "You're really into that, huh."

"I'm into everything about you."

Bucky presses a hand to his face, like he’s hiding. For someone so confident, he seems to get flustered easily. "Flatterer."

"Really, though," says Steve. He licks his lips again, hand wrapped around Bucky's knee. "Can I take you home?"

"I could get on board with that," says Bucky, clearing his throat.

Steve stands, hand traveling up Bucky’s thigh as he goes, until it rests firmly on his hip. “Help you down?”

Bucky hums, hands going to Steve’s shoulders as Steve lifts him off the counter and onto his feet, steadying him while Bucky tugs up those ridiculous pants.

They leave the party soon after, Steve resolutely ignoring Natasha’s laser stare. Steve shares an apartment with Sam off-campus, but their bedrooms are on opposite ends of the apartment, and they have a solid noise-cancelling headphones policy.

Bucky is quiet for the walk, texting on his phone, and Steve tries not to let his anxiety mount. He just sucked Bucky’s cock. This is what Bucky wants. Bucky wants him.

Finally, though, as they climb the steps to his third floor apartment, Bucky hums behind him. “You’ve got a cute ass.”

Heat pools in Steve's cheeks. He glances back at Bucky as he pulls his keys out of his pocket and stops on the landing. "Thanks," says Steve. Then, stupidly, he adds, "I work out."

Bucky grins at him. It's very nearly a leer, his cool gaze sweeping over Steve from head to toe. "Yeah, I noticed."

"You're not so bad yourself," says Steve, because it feels like the kind of line that should follow Bucky's proffered flirtation. "To look at. You're easy on the eyes." Nope, too much. He should have stopped there.

Bucky just laughs, though. "Thanks. I do yoga."

That brings Steve's brain to a screeching halt, imagining Bucky in workout clothes, braced on his hands and knees, arching his back and presenting his ass to the world—


Steve jolts back into reality, looking wildly at Bucky. "Huh?"

"The door?"

"Oh." Steve clears his throat, face burning, and shoves his key in the lock, letting them both into the apartment. "Do you, um, want anything? Water? A beer?"

"No," says Bucky, looking around the apartment with wide, curious eyes as Steve turns on the lights and closes the door behind them. "Bathroom?"

“Yeah. Uh, I have my own, off my bedroom.” He points at his bedroom door on the far end of the living room. Sam’s bedroom also has its own bathroom, though there’s also a door from the outside too.

They lucked into the bigger two bedroom/two bathroom place when the day they were supposed to move into the much smaller unit downstairs, a pipe burst. The leasing agent had seemed frantic and desperate when she’d offered the bigger apartment without a hike in rent.

“Thanks,” Bucky says with a grin, kicking off his shoes before he walks across the place like he owns it. “Just gonna freshen up, big guy.”

Steve swallows, mouth gone dry as he nods vigorously. Bucky disappears into his bedroom and Steve casts around helplessly as if someone might appear to tell him what he’s supposed to be doing.

He pulls out his phone and texts Sam because that seems reasonable. It’s what Sam always does when he has someone over to spend the night.

Steve: I have company tonight. 🎧
Sam: dang ok
Sam: go for it, buddy. you follow your goth twink dreams
Sam: might stay the night here with nat myself
Steve: 😎

Steve lets out a deep sigh and goes to his bedroom. He can hear the sink running in the bathroom, so he plugs in his phone and turns down the bed, then stands there for a moment, wondering if he should get undressed and climb in.

He's still frozen indecisively in place when the bathroom door opens, spilling light into the bedroom, Bucky's body silhouetted against the doorway.

He's stripped off everything but the latex pants, chest bared; Steve immediately zeroes in on the barbells in his nipples and little gem twinkling in his bellybutton.

"You're overdressed, pal," says Bucky.

"I was waiting for the bathroom," Steve croaks, swallowing hard. "You can—get comfortable, I'll a second. To clean up."

Bucky steps out, gesturing for Steve to use the bathroom, and he tosses Steve a coy look over his shoulder as they pass each other.

Steve's chest is hot and full and his heart is hammering against his sternum. He shuts the door behind him and leans against it, just to breathe. Is he really about to have sex with Bucky Barnes? God. He stumbles over to the sink and grabs his toothbrush, brushing his teeth and washing his face. Then, for good measure, he strips down completely, pees, and then scrubs his junk the best he can, just to be sure. Finally, he washes his hands, yanks his boxers back on, and shuts off the bathroom light as he exits.

"That's much better," says Bucky, gaze sliding down Steve's body. He's stretched out on top of Steve's bed, propped on his side with his head on his hand. Steve half expects him to ask Steve to draw him like one of his French girls. Christ. Steve would. He would love to draw Bucky like this. He's drawn his profile enough times.

"Thanks," he says. "Um, you...uh. I have condoms. And lube."

Bucky's cheeks are very pink but he smirks at Steve. "Yeah? You wanna make sure they're handy and then climb in?"

Steve nods, beelining for his bedside table and pulling open the drawer. He grabs the row of condoms all stuck together and the lubricant, setting them on the bed as he joins Bucky. Bucky's mouth widens into a grin and he shifts onto his back, spreading his legs so that Steve ends up crawling right between them. "There, right where you belong," says Bucky.

Steve is going to spontaneously combust. He is going to burn right up into ash and blow away. Swallowing a whimper, he settles between Bucky's long, long legs, sweeping one hand up Bucky's thigh. The latex is so thin, Bucky's skin warm beneath it.

Bucky looks like a wholeass snack. Steve wants to put his mouth on him, he wants to put his dick inside him, he wants to make him come and come and come. He's dizzy with arousal, completely fucking stupid with lust. Did Bucky keep the pants on because Steve made such a big deal out of them? Or because he didn't want to come out of the bathroom completely naked? Did he want Steve to peel him out of them like some kind of lewd gift?

"You're really cute," murmurs Bucky.

"I am?" says Steve, licking his lips.

"For someone so big and so hot, you're not as..." Bucky cocks his head, considering Steve with half-lidded eyes. "Pushy as I expected."

Steve doesn't know what to say to that. Does Bucky want him to be pushy? Or does he like that he isn't? "Um..."

"Easy, big guy," Bucky laughs gently. "It's not a bad thing. I can be bossy enough for the both of us."

"Okay," says Steve, relieved. "I don't mind. I'll do whatever you want."

Bucky's eyes brighten. "Yeah? You'll be a good boy for me?"

Steve's mouth goes dry. "Um, I—" he has to take a moment, breathing as he stares down at Bucky, spread out beneath him like a full course meal. He bobs his head. "Yeah, Buck, I—fuck, I'll do anything you like."

"Mmm. What I’d like is for you to use your fingers to open me up and then fuck me. You got a nice cock, Steve? You gonna show it to me?"

Steve feels like he might go cross-eyed. "Yeah—I mean, I—I'll show it to you."

Bucky brings an arm up to curl it behind his own head, stretched out as he lifts an eyebrow. "Well, go on, big boy. Lemme see what my prize is tonight."

Steve's never blushed so hard in his life. He fumbles to shove his own boxers down over his hips, past his quickly fattening cock. Steve knows it's not polite to make a big deal out of his own cock. But it is definitely bigger than average. A nice, respectable nine inches with a thick, meaty girth that his partners either seem to love or hate.

Bucky licks his lips like Steve just served dessert, pupils dilating in real time. "Oh, fuck."

Steve clears his throat. "Y-yeah? You want, um, you want me to take your pants off now?"

"Yeah, I think you've earned it with that."

"Thank you," Steve says breathlessly. He genuinely feels so lightheaded that he hopes he doesn't pass out. All the blood in his body has rushed to his dick. Tentatively, he slides his hands over Bucky's hips, tucking his thumbs into the waistband of Bucky's pants.

He's already seen Bucky's dick, enjoyed the taste and feel and weight of it in his mouth, but he practically holds his breath as he tugs the slick material down to Bucky's thighs. His cock is just as pretty as it was at the party but it’s easier to see, now; flushed again, perking up slowly from his earlier orgasm, that gleaming silver ring winking out from the pink head.

"Breathe, pal," murmurs Bucky, angling his hips up to help Steve roll down the latex.

Steve nods, breathing in shakily. He skims his hands reverently down Bucky's legs, peeling him patiently out of the stretchy, clingy material until he's completely nude. He drops the tangled black ball of leggings onto the end of the bed and then looks up at Bucky.

"Thanks," says Bucky. He's breathing shallowly, eyes wide and dark, body stretched out leisurely. He props himself up on one elbow and reaches out for Steve, gesturing for him to come closer. Steve doesn't quite trip over himself doing so, but his knees do hit the mattress with a soft thwump as he returns to the space between Bucky's legs. "Eager beaver," teases Bucky, smiling.

"I want you so bad," Steve mumbles. "I want—" He stops himself, biting his lip. That's not right. Bucky wants to boss him around.

Bucky's eyebrows go up, though. "What do you want, Steve? Tell me."

"I—I want to kiss you."

Bucky makes a soft noise, eyes fluttering, and—and it feels different than every other reaction he's given Steve tonight. It feels very genuine, and raw, as if he's caught off guard by Steve wanting to kiss him when they're naked together in a bed.

"You can," whispers Bucky, reaching up to tug on Steve's chest hair. "You can kiss me as long as you c'mere."

Steve goes with a grunt, all but collapsing onto Bucky, bracing himself just in time to keep from crushing him as his mouth meets Bucky's. He groans at the feel of their tongues sliding together. It's soft at first, exploratory, but then Bucky's fingers bury in Steve's hair and his hips roll up to press against him and it turns heated very, very quickly. Steve can barely keep up, relishing every second, every flick of Bucky's tongue, the cool metal of his piercings warming quickly against his skin.

By the time they break apart, they're both panting. Bucky whines, head tipped back. "Want your fingers in me. Want you to work me open, fill me up with that big, fat dick of yours."

Steve nods, mouth sliding across Bucky's throat as he fumbles to grab the bottle of lube he brought with him. Bucky makes a pleased sound the first time Steve slides a wet finger against him, tugging again on Steve’s hair.

Punch drunk, Steve rubs the little furl and hums as it starts to give under tender pressure, opening around his fingertip. "Ohhhh, fuck, oh god. Bucky, please," he pants, unsure what he's even begging for.

"Yeah," sighs Bucky. "Yeah that's—that's so good. Fuck me open, Steve. I can take it. Want two fingers now."

That's good, it's good—it's good that Bucky tells him, because otherwise Steve would be—

Totally lost.

But this... Bucky writhing under him, pulling his hair, asking for more... Steve can work with this. As long as Bucky keeps telling him what to do, how best to give him pleasure, then Steve can handle the fact that he's here. He's in bed with the person he's pined after for years.

He adds a bit more slick and obediently teases Bucky open, rubbing and stretching and working Bucky loose and wet. When Bucky demands another finger, Steve gives it to him, until he's got Bucky gasping on three, one hand braced against his hip to keep him steady. Bucky is noisy, Bucky squirms and curses, he spreads his legs and whines. Steve devours every bit of it with rapt attention, plunging his fingers into Bucky's hot, tight little hole.

"God, fuck," groans Bucky, making a fist and smacking it into the mattress. "Steve! Ah-ah, fuck, fuck me already!"

"You sure?" asks Steve. He's breathing raggedly, himself. It honestly feels like he's run five miles. His own dick is throbbing against his thigh, painfully hard. He hasn't touched himself at all. "Another finger?"

"No," says Bucky, voice thick. "No fingers. Dick."

"O-okay, I—I have to, let me—" he starts, feeling lost again, because he doesn't want to take his fingers out of Bucky, but he does want to put his dick inside him and he needs both hands to get the condom on and his cock slicked.

Bucky whines sharply. "Now, need it, wanna feel it—"

"Okay, I will, I will—" rambles Steve. He pulls his fingers reluctantly free, wiping the excess lube on the sheets. He’s careful when he grabs the condom and opens it up, rolling it on smoothly. Soon. He’s almost ready. A bit of lube, slicking over his cock, and then he shuffles in closer and presses the head to Bucky's loose, open hole.

"Y-yeah, ohhhh, fuck, c'mon. That's it. Stretch me out, make me take it," says Bucky, voice gone whiny and needy and demanding as he hooks his leg up even higher around Steve.

He’s not expecting that.

Steve makes a very embarrassing noise, pushing in another several inches, that wet, tight heat squeezing his last remaining brain cells right out of his cock. Bucky makes another wrecked sound, yanking on Steve's hair, wriggling to get closer, to sink down more on his cock, and Steve doesn't stop himself from shoving in the rest of the way, Bucky spasming around him. "B-Bucky, I—"

"Oh, fuck,” says Bucky. “You’re so big. I’m so fucking full of you. Got me all stuffed up. That's it, such a good boy, taking care of me. Give it to me."

Steve's brain is leaking out of his ears. There's nothing left in his skull. He's never had a singular logical thought in his entire life. There's just—Bucky.

The hot, tight squeeze of his body, the burn of Steve's scalp as Bucky pulls reflexively on his hair, the sharp pressure of his heel digging into Steve's back. He's an indulgent, wriggling mess, gasping and pleading so prettily, while Steve gives into his every breathless demand with hurried abandon. Harder, faster, more, tighter—

Steve presses him down, hands braced on the bed. Bucky's hands grips Steve's shoulders, the bite of his fingernails digging into his skin.

"Yeah," Bucky goads him. "Yeah, yeah, yeah..." He's rocking onto Steve's cock, matching his deep rhythm, scrabbling at him desperately. "Come on, Rogers. Show me what you've got, huh? F-fuck, god, give it—give it to me—"

"You can have it," gasps Steve, frantic with need. "You can have it, Buck, please, I swear... Whatever you want, I'll give it to you. I'll take care of you, I'll...I'll do whatever you want, okay?"

Bucky makes a soft, punched out noise, his entire body tensing up under Steve. He spreads his fingers over Steve's shoulders, nails scraping over his skin.

Steve grunts, driving in a little harder, watching as Bucky shakes and gasps, entranced by the picture he makes. "Come on, come on, fuck me, Steve. Did—ah!—did I wait three years for your cock just to not, oh god, to not feel it?"

"W-what do you need, what, let me—" babbles Steve, blinking through the sweat, the sting of it as it trickles down his neck to the welts Bucky's left behind.

"Ohhhh," gasps Bucky. "Just—just fucking give it to me, please. Make me take it, hold me down."

Steve complies without conscious thought. He just knows that one minute, he's grasping at the sheets, and the next, he's pinned Bucky's wrists to the mattress, curling down tight against his body, snapping his hips until he knows he's gonna feel it in his back and his thighs and his abs tomorrow, and Bucky suddenly lets out a strangled sob and comes.

Bucky tenses up tightly as orgasm hits him, and the hot squeeze of his body around Steve's throbbing cock grabs him by the balls and throws him right over the edge into his own sweeping climax.

With a rough cry, Steve buries his face in Bucky's shoulder and fucks into him eagerly, strokes growing erratic as he chases the last pulses of pleasure. Bucky clings to him, urging him on, lips against Steve's ear, until Steve whimpers and relaxes, slumping.

He could honestly pass out right here, but Bucky's elbow catches him in the belly as he squirms under Steve, and Bucky curls clever fingers into Steve's hair and tugs lightly. "While I'm usually pretty chill with letting big gorgeous guys like you stay inside me, pal, if you go to sleep on top of me like this, I'll actually die."

"Not going to sleep," mumbles Steve, stifling a yawn. "I'll move. I'm sorry."

Bucky laughs brightly, the sound like a bell in Steve's dumb, tired brain. "Don't be sorry. I'd die happy."

Steve groans and rolls off, reaching down to grip the base of his cock as he pulls out. Bucky draws his legs up, sitting up against the headboard, while Steve turns away to tie off the condom and grab a tissue to wipe the come off his dick.

"C'mere, champ," says Bucky, when Steve's dropped the mess in the garbage. He reels him back into a hot, biting kiss, and Steve melts into it, sighing against Bucky's plush mouth.

Part of him is expecting Bucky to get up, maybe. To pull his clothes back on and salute Steve as he makes his excuses and leaves, but instead, Bucky fluffs the pillows and pulls the covers back up, rolling his back to Steve and getting comfortable in his bed in a clear invitation to be spooned.

So Steve does, happily, wrapping his arm around Bucky's waist and cuddling him carefully in his arms.

He drops off faster than he expects, the warm weight of Bucky a heavy sedative. He wakes once in the night to pee but crawls right back to bed, Bucky wriggling against him and pulling Steve's arm back around his waist like a blanket.

In the morning, Steve wakes to a still-warm but ultimately empty bed and the sound of the front door closing. "Buh—" he yawns widely, "—ucky?"

There's no answer. Steve lets out a sigh of disappointment, but when he takes another breath he catches the faint whiff of coffee. Eyebrows rising, he pulls the blankets away and hunts out his boxers, yanking them up before he stumbles out of his bedroom. He spots the coffeemaker on the counter, half a pot still warming.

He shuffles closer and sees an envelope that Bucky must have snagged from the pile of mail, turned over to the blank side with a note scribbled on top.

Not bad, big guy. See you around ;) — B.

Steve lets out another sigh, wondering if this note is a good sign or a bad sign. He gets a mug down and pours himself a cup, sipping slowly as he stares at the note and hopes it reveals something new every time he rereads it.

It doesn't.

Steve wishes Bucky had stayed. He would have made him breakfast, they could have showered together…. Steve would have sucked Bucky's dick again if he wanted. Steve would have given Bucky some clothes, too, then offered to walk him home.

He sighs, bereft, and cradles the cup of coffee in his hands, savoring it. Bucky made him coffee, though. And he did bother to leave the note at all. If he'd left without saying a word, that would have been worse, right?

It's a solitary comfort, but it's all he's got.

Eventually, Sam comes home, and they emphatically don't talk about their nights and instead go out to the diner for breakfast.

Steve doesn't hear from or see Bucky for the rest of the weekend.

They didn't exchange numbers, after all. It drags Steve down a little, dampening his mood. Sam comments on how subdued he is multiple times and looks at him pointedly, but Steve brushes him off and they go play pool on Sunday instead of talking.

It's not until Monday morning that Steve realizes his jacket is missing.

He's clutching his bag in one hand, rifling through their tiny coat closet, and yelling, "Sam, have you seen my jacket?"

"Which one?"



"I'm looking in it."

"No, man, sorry."

Steve doesn't have time for this. He grabs a hoodie instead and yells goodbye, rushing out to class.

At lunch, he's sitting in the dining hall, eating a sandwich while he reads, when he hears a commotion from the entrance and looks up.

It's Bucky.

It's Bucky, wearing Steve's varsity jacket. He recognizes it immediately, because it's too big on him. Only his fingers peek out from the baggy sleeves and it falls to mid-thigh on him. Bucky is wearing it over a pair of yoga pants and black lace up boots and another ragged crop top.

"Hnnngh," wheezes Steve, staring across the room in wide-eyed shock as Bucky strides directly towards him with a knowing smirk on his face.

Someone nearby whistles loudly. Steve thinks about how ROGERS is plastered across Bucky's back and short circuits a little. Steam must be coming out of his ears.

Bucky slides into the booth next to him, one knee on the seat, his other foot barely grazing the ground. The entire front of Bucky’s body is plastered against Steve’s side when he comes to a stop. “Hey.”

Steve has forgotten how to speak English. “Hngmmm?”

Bucky’s smile is beatific. “You’re cute.”

“Yeah,” breathes Steve, not entirely sure what he’s agreeing to, but whatever Bucky says is fine. It’s good. “You look good.”

“Yeah?” asks Bucky, looking uncharacteristically shy, cheeks pink. “You like?”

“Yes, yeah. Very much. I like.”

“That’s good.” Bucky looks away, glancing down at the plate of food in front of Steve. He very deliberately leans further into Steve’s space, reaching over him to snag a French fry.

He’s braced himself on Steve’s shoulder, so Steve’s hand goes up automatically to support his waist, sliding under the jacket that’s hanging off him. Steve is very, very aware of how everyone must be staring at them, but he can’t look away from Bucky as he pops the fry into his mouth and chews before licking the salt and grease from his fingertips. “Mmmm. You busy this afternoon? Thought you could walk me home.”

"I can do that," says Steve, eager to make himself useful to Bucky. "I would love to walk you home."

Bucky gives him a sweet little smile and presses a kiss to Steve's cheek. Steve flushes hotly, igniting like tinder. "That's my good boy," Bucky says into Steve's ear, voice low, just for him to hear. "3PM, in front of the library." Bucky pats Steve on the chest. "Don't be late."

"I'll be there," Steve says faintly.

He practically whines as Bucky pulls away, straightening up to rise from the booth. He blows Steve a kiss and then turns on his heel and strides out, Steve watching him go, fixated on his name splashed across Bucky's back.

He keeps staring, long after Bucky is gone, ignoring the whispers and giggles around him. Reaching distractedly for a French fry, Steve misses his mouth and smushes it against his cheek.

Honestly, Steve’s not exactly sure how, but he does manage to finish most of his lunch and then stumble his way to his afternoon lab. He doesn't retain a goddamn thing and he knows he'll have to beg, borrow, and steal to get notes from Nat later in the week, but he doesn’t care. Fuck it. He will blow all of this week's gas money on buying her some weed and just take the fucking bus.

He books it out of the lab at 2:47 because the TA wouldn't shut the fuck up and then runs across campus until he skids to a stop in front of the library.

Thankfully, he doesn't see Bucky anywhere yet and takes a moment to catch his breath. It’s fine. He’s not late. Steve’s in good shape, from being on the baseball team and running track during the off-season, but he's so worked up that his heart is pounding. Bucky wants him here, wants him to walk him home. Steve will get to walk Bucky to wherever he lives and maybe he'll get to kiss him again.

Steve would really like to kiss him again.

Five minutes after Steve arrives, Bucky exits the library, sauntering out, still wearing the jacket and his ripped up crop top and leggings. There’s a choker around his neck today that Steve didn’t notice at lunch. It looks really good wrapped around his long, delicate throat.

Steve grins like an absolute buffoon when he sees him, frozen in place like he's rooted there. Bucky glances around, gaze settling on Steve. The expression that spreads across his face in response to the realization that Steve is in fact there waiting for him is incandescent; Bucky actually brightens like maybe he wasn't expecting Steve to show.

He draws his shoulders up and walks to Steve. When he reaches him, Bucky reaches out and grabs him by the front of his hoodie, pulling him into a kiss. Steve goes with a muffled squeak, ducking down to meet the firm press of lips.

For a second, Steve doesn't know what to do with his hands, hovering just above Bucky's hips as he grasps tightly at Steve's shirt.

Just as Steve's knees go weak and fireworks start to go off behind his eyes, Bucky pulls away, blinking at him with big, sultry eyes. "Hey, pal. You're very punctual. You ready?"

"Yeah," breathes Steve, stunned as he blinks down at him. "How was..." He looks up, peering at the library. "Studying?"

"It was boring," says Bucky, tucking his arm into Steve's elbow and leaning into him. "I'm ready to get the fuck out of here."

"Okay," says Steve, taking a step forward with Bucky at his side, though he truly has no idea where he's headed. He's never been to Bucky's place, though he thinks he's heard that Bucky and Clint are roommates, which is how Bucky and Nat know each other, which is how Steve finds himself at Bucky's side, being subtly guided off campus.

"I, um," says Steve, grasping for something to say. "Red looks good on you."

Steve's varsity jacket is red.

Bucky's grasp tightens a little and he nuzzles against Steve's bicep. "Mmm, thanks. You don't mind, do you? It was chilly when I left on Saturday morning."

Steve shakes his head. "I don't mind. I wouldn't want you to be cold, Buck."

Bucky makes a kissing noise. "So thoughtful. You take such good care of me."

"Oh," says Steve. He feels struck stupid by those words, more than normal, anyway. Bucky's so fucking hot and amazing and gorgeous and perfect. Why wouldn't Steve want to take care of him, treat him as precious as he is? Steve would do anything for him. "I just want you to feel good."

Bucky chuckles indulgently and Steve is desperately relieved that Bucky seems to find his poor attempts at conversation so charming. "You do make me feel really good, Steve." As they stroll down the sidewalk of the residential street, he points at a tiny rundown duplex. Ah, student housing. "This is me."

"Then I guess I've walked you home," says Steve, heart sinking. He was hoping it would last longer.

Bucky keeps guiding him, though, walking Steve up the drive with him, until they're standing on the stoop in front of the door. "You did a great job," says Bucky, patting Steve's cheek. It's just ever so slightly demeaning in a way that lights Steve's vital organs on fire.

"Call me any time," Steve says. "If you need a walk home, I mean. Or...anything."

"I don't have your number, silly," says Bucky. "Want to come inside? I have something for you."

"Oh," says Steve, his heart thumping against his ribcage like a jackrabbit. "You do?"

Bucky pulls his keys out of the pocket of Steve's jacket and opens the door. "C'mon. Follow me."

Bucky turns and goes inside, Steve trailing helplessly after him like there's a leash around his dick.

The little apartment is cluttered and scruffy but clean, not that he's really paying much attention as he follows Bucky down a hallway and into his bedroom. "Close the door behind you," says Bucky. "And put your back to it. Then shut your eyes."

"Um," says Steve. "Okay."

He does it, of course. He'd probably walk off a cliff if Bucky ordered him to with enough conviction. Steve closes the door, turns around, and leans up against it. Then he shuts his eyes.

The only thing he hears, other than the rustle of fabric, is faint music coming from the occupants upstairs. Then a soft thump, directly in front of him.

A moment later, Bucky says, "Open your eyes."

Steve does. "Holy fuck," he croaks, staring down at Bucky.

On his knees. Wearing nothing but Steve's jacket.

"Hey, Rogers," says Bucky, eyes wide and guileless. "You gonna let me suck that big dick of yours? I feel like it’s my turn."

Steve doesn’t think his brain is working right anymore. He's not sure he could reasonably expect it to, what with how all the blood in his body is now in his dick. His mouth hangs open, breath panting through it, and he nods dumbly.

Bucky grins as if he's amused, reaching up to tug the string loose at the front of Steve's sweats. "Such a big, sweet boy," he mutters, tugging the sweats down over Steve's hips and then palming his heavy cock through his thin briefs. "A very big boy."

It's humiliating and patronizing and Steve's afraid he's going to come before Bucky even gets his cock out. He presses his palms to the door and stares down at him. "Hnngha."

With a quiet laugh, Bucky tugs Steve's underwear away and lets his eager dick bob up to smear messily against his lips. Steve is gonna go cross-eyed staring. Bucky doesn't drag it out much longer, though, taking him in hand and guiding him right inside that hot, wet mouth, eyes rolling up to watch Steve as he begins to give him the best blowjob of Steve's entire fucking life.

Maybe Steve died. Maybe he died, sometime before Nat's party, and he's just living out every single perverted fantasy he's had since he started college and first laid eyes on Bucky Barnes, Certified Problem.

There's no other explanation for this.

Nothing else can explain how he's leaning up against Bucky's bedroom door, while Bucky kneels at his feet wearing Steve's garish varsity jacket and nothing else, his plush, pouty lips wrapped tight around Steve's cock. Bucky's pale grey eyes are locked on Steve's face, which means Steve is pinned against the wood like a butterfly under glass. The weight of that gaze is heavy. Bucky swirls his tongue under the length of Steve's cock and he moans as Bucky's tongue piercing drags against the sensitive skin of his glans.

"Bucky," wheezes Steve, making a grasping gesture with one weak hand. "Can I... please?"

Bucky pops off Steve's dick with a wet noise and licks his cherry red lips. "You wanna pull my hair? I don't mind. Take it out of the bun, first."

"Okay," Steve says gratefully. He's so glad for the instructions.

He very carefully unwraps the bun from the coily elastic, gently slipping it free and onto his own wrist for safekeeping. He barely gets his fingers into the thick, gorgeous hair when Bucky's mouth is sinking back down the full length of him until Steve feels it hit the back of Bucky's throat. He slumps, the back of his head thunking against the door, and he tightens his fist in Bucky's hair as he moans.

Bucky hums, some kind of noise that vibrates up Steve's shaft, and it makes his eyes sting from how he could cry it's so good. It's a sloppy, wet, messy blowjob, Bucky setting the pace while Steve just holds on for dear life. He blinks up at the ceiling for a moment until he realizes he's not looking at Bucky. He's not looking at Bucky on his knees in Steve's jacket sucking his cock, which is a fucking crime, so he drags his gaze back down, loosening his grasp again, petting at Bucky apologetically, reaching up with his other hand to cradle the side of his face.

"Oh god," he mutters. "Buck, honey, you look so good. You look so, so good. I—I've never had—never felt anything like this, nothing this good. You're so perfect. Just want to be good to you, good for you."

Bucky must like that sweet talk, because he hums again, the piercing flicking just so under the head of Steve's cock, teasing him, drawing him closer to orgasm. Steve hisses, biting on his bottom lip, tugging on Bucky's hair and then soothing it again, apologetic, delirious with need. "Wanna—wanna come, can I? Can I come, Bucky?"

Bucky hums again in affirmation, but then he pulls off Steve's aching dick. "Hmmm," he says, jacking it slowly with his fist, slick with his own saliva. "If I let you come, how are you going to fuck me?"

Steve whines softly, his head spinning. That's true. If Bucky lets him come now, Steve is going to need a nap before he can get it up again. "I can...hands," he stammers, stifling a moan as Bucky's hand sweeps leisurely down Steve's dick. "Or mouth? Fingers. Anything you want."

"Nah," Bucky says easily. "I want your dick, specifically. So I'm not gonna let you come. Okay?" There's something careful in his eyes, questioning; it feels like an opportunity for Steve to refuse, if he's not into this.

But Steve is very, very into this. Not just physically. This dynamic works for him, too. Steve just wants to give Bucky everything.

He nods frantically, eyes wide. "Okay! Yes!"

The brief tightness around Bucky's eyes seems to ease and he gives Steve a relieved grin. Then, bracing himself on Steve, he rises smoothly to his feet. Hooking a finger into the collar of Steve's hoodie, Bucky guides him to the bed, walking backwards.

"See, here's how it's gonna go," says Bucky. "You're going to lie down. You with me, Steve?"

Steve nods again, rapt. "Yeah. I lie down."

"On your back," continues Bucky. "And then I'm going to climb aboard and sit on your big, fat dick."

"Oh," Steve says, breath gusting out of him. "You want—"

"To ride you like I'm a cowboy at a rodeo."

"Do you want—should I—now?" He's shuffling along, pants around his ankles, dick hanging out.

Bucky nods. "Yes, you should."

Steve goes, lets himself be turned and pushed, falling onto the bed with a light bounce. He pushes himself up the bed, kicking off his pants as he goes, attention rapt on Bucky who—who isn't taking off Steve's jacket. Who is instead keeping it on as he crawls over Steve, just like he promised.

Bucky straddles Steve's thighs and reaches into the pocket of Steve's (!!) jacket and pulls out a packet of lube and a condom. "I think the next time we do this," he says conversationally, as he reaches down and begins to roll the condom into place, fingers precise and delicate on Steve’s body. "I'd like to have your come in my hole. You should get tested and give me those results so that we can do that. If you want."

Steve can only grunt his assent, nodding again, as Bucky rises up and reaches between his legs, hooking two fingers inside himself.

Bucky's other hand is propped up palm down on Steve's chest, pushed up under his shirt, thumb rubbing over Steve's nipple while Bucky huffs and rocks back onto his own fingers. "Mmm, you're such a good boy," he sighs, eyes fluttering. Then: "Hold my hips so I can balance."

Steve reaches for him, skimming under the jacket to curl his hands around Bucky's bare hips. He applies a bit of pressure, just enough to steady him, and Bucky hums in satisfaction. "Thank you," says Bucky, throwing Steve a coy little smirk as he plunges his fingers inside himself.

There's a light sheen of sweet on his brow and clavicle; his hair, pulled loose by Steve's fingers, tumbles down around his face, framing it softly. The silver streaks Steve noticed at the party are gone. Semi-permanent dye? Still. He is transfixed. Bucky moves with purpose, his eyes half-lidded, lips parted. The sounds that spill from his mouth... God. He's beautiful. He's a work of art.

"There we go," Bucky breathes, pulling his fingers free. "I want to feel you, anyway. Would you like that? Would you like knowing that every time I sit down tomorrow, I'll be thinking of your dick inside me?"

"Uh huh," squeaks Steve. He keeps his hands on Bucky's hips but doesn't restrict him as he scoots forward and grasps Steve's cock around the base.

"Yeah, I thought you'd like that," Bucky murmurs. He wriggles a bit, angling his hips, and Steve bites back a moan as the head of his cock catches at Bucky's rim. "Almost—got—oh, yeah. Oh." Bucky sinks down in one confident, smooth motion, taking Steve in deeply; they groan together, Steve tossing his head back as Bucky's ass meets his groin.

He's hot and slick and tight, tighter even than the last time, because Steve opened him up on three fingers just like Bucky told him to, and he was nice and stretched and a comfortably snug fit. This—this is not that.

This is a vice grip, squeezing Steve until he's dizzy, a hot friction that makes his breath hitch and a sob lodge itself under his sternum as his mouth opens in a silent cry. Bucky feels better than anything he's ever had and Steve—Steve can't even fuck him, can't make it go faster or slower, can't set the rhythm or the length of each stroke. He can only lay there and take what Bucky gives.

Bucky rises up again, the head of Steve's cock just barely kept inside, milked and squeezed, and then, with a swiftness that renders Steve breathless, Bucky fucks down again, taking all of him right to the root. Steve finally manages to inhale, shuddering, that trapped sob knocked free of his chest, a needy moan escaping him as his fingers curl ever so much tighter.

"Ooh," croons Bucky. "Oh, that's so good, Steve. You’re such a good boy, love this cock so much. Been dreaming about it since you finally gave it up to me. Mmmm, I could honestly live the rest of my life right here, all stuffed full of you. Leave me so stretched when we're done, too. I kept—ah!—kept touching myself, all weekend, feeling how puffy I was, how much looser, how easy it was to finger myself. Mmmm, yeah."

Steve pants, blinking through the sting of sweat as it drips down his face, licking his lips while he stares up at Bucky in rapturous awe. "You—you can have it. You can have me anytime you want."

"Yeah?" says Bucky, a flush on his cheeks spreading down his throat and chest to disappear under the open jacket. "Whenever I want? I can just...text or call, and you'll be ready and waiting for me?"

Steve nods hurriedly, pleasure sparking up from the base of his cock, hooking deep into the very pit of his belly. "Y-yeah. Gimme your number, and...and I'll come whenever you call, Buck. Promise."

"That's so sweet," purrs Bucky. "You're so sweet. Haven't really ever fucked someone as sweet as you."

"Didn't...think I was your type," Steve admits.

"You're exactly my type," says Bucky. "I just don't always have good taste."

"I'm good?"

"Oh, Rogers," Bucky says breathlessly. "You're so good. You're so good it makes my—teeth hurt. Ah—"

"Fuck, oh, god," groans Steve. He grinds up, just a little, and Bucky meets him, rocking his hips down onto Steve's throbbing cock.

"B-Bucky, I'm—I'm close, I'm close—" he babbles, because he is, but he knows he can't come yet. He knows because his dick belongs to Bucky, he is Bucky's, and Bucky needs his cock, he has to be good for him, has to let him use his cock as long as he needs. Bucky has to come first.

"Oh, oh," whines Bucky, voice gone rough. "Don't come yet, don't come, I need—just a little more, lemme—ohhh," and then Bucky's hand goes around his cock and he jerks it quick and desperate, his come splashing across Steve's stomach and chest as Bucky jerks and grinds onto Steve's cock. Just as Steve's about to let go, Bucky gasps, "No, not yet, not yet—" and lifting up, lifting off of Steve's dick.

Steve howls, sobs helplessly as he's denied, his orgasm ripped away from him. Bucky clamors off of him and gets down on his stomach on the bed, though, tugging on Steve's wrist. "Finish like this, wanna—want you to fuck me like this, like it—like to feel too much after I come. Give it to me."

Steve doesn't know how to respond, what he would say if he could string the requisite brain cells together to form the complex thought required to even reply. He doesn’t need to. All he has to do is what Bucky tells him.

Instead of speaking, Steve rolls his body on top of Bucky and, with a shaking hand, he guides his cock back in, letting out a wounded sound at the blaze of slick heat surrounding him once more. He presses down close, just like Bucky said, and his hips take over from there, moving almost without his permission.

This, he can handle. He knows what to do, he knows what he needs, and Bucky is providing it to him like a benevolent god, angling his hips up and bracing himself on the mattress for Steve to fuck into. His body is hot and tight, yielding, and Steve buries his face between Bucky's shoulders, right against where his own name is embroidered across the jacket, and muffles his desperate grunts.

It doesn't take much, after that. Bucky squeezes obligingly around him and Steve cries out and comes, hips slapping against Bucky's pert, round ass.

A few more strokes, just milking it, and then he's suddenly overstimulated, pulling out with a soft whine.

Beneath him, Bucky slumps, burying his face in his arms and panting. Steve is careful not to flop over him, rolling to the side instead and sprawling alongside him, chest rising and falling deeply.

"Oh my god," Steve says faintly.

"Yeah," mumbles Bucky, turning his head and grinning at Steve with bright eyes. His smooth, shiny hair is a bird's nest, falling across his face.

Steve smiles back, heady and unfocused, deeply overcome. “Hey.”

Bucky’s expression is very warm. "Hey.”

Something about him is different. Softer, maybe. Like he’s dropped his guard. Steve has been entrusted with something special, here. He can tell. “You want dinner?” asks Steve. He blinks, reaching out to brush Bucky’s hair from his face. “I can make you something. Or order pizza.”

“Hey,” Bucky repeats, ignoring his question. “Hey, Steve, wanna go steady?"

It’s like a donkey kick to the chest. Steve gapes at him, stunned. “What?”

“You. Me. Dating each other.” Bucky looks a bit shy. “Unless—”

“Yes,” says Steve, interrupting him before he gets too self-conscious. “Yes. I want to date you.”

Bucky breathes out slowly with obvious relief. “Great. Good. Now, be a good boy, and order me a pizza. Extra cheese, no pepperoni.”

Steve beams at him and bounces out of bed. “You got it.”

Bucky Barnes is a problem, alright, and Steve couldn’t be happier about it.