[ Bucky dislikes the cold. He has a high tolerance for it, can even thrive in sub-zero temperatures with little else needed, but he hates it. It brings back awful memories, traumatic ones, of being put away like a toy and taken out only when needed, of experiencing excruciating pain and agony and the casual way he kills, again and again.
He's not a good man, not really, but things are different now. Now, he wakes up beside Steve, curling against him instinctively. The cold is setting in despite the heater; he imagines some window in the apartment hadn't been sealed properly, but he's not interested in going up to check.
Instead, he wraps his arms around Steve, tucking his head under his chin to pull him close. There. Maybe like this, he'll be warmer. ]
[ Steve, almost guiltily now, enjoys the winter weather, not so much the cold but the coziness of staying indoors when there's frost on the windows, enjoying something hot to drink, the excuse to be lazy and nap. Bucky gets close, almost clingy, availing himself of the closest source of warmth; Steve doesn't like that the cold makes Bucky uncomfortable, but is grateful to be the one who comforts him. He keeps the heater turned on almost suffocatingly high, piles their bed and couch with extra blankets. Drapes his arms around Bucky at night and presses full and close against his back and whispers soft words in his ear to bring him out of nightmares, stroking him until his shivering eases.
He wakes up as Bucky is burying himself against him, feeling the draft that must have disturbed him. Pressed into his chest, head tucked under his chin; Steve murmurs, kissing the top of his head before reaching out to search for some extra blankets to drag over them. He pulls close the fluffy down comforter, the soft wool blankets, almost dragging them over Bucky's head. ]
How's that? Better? [ He runs a comforting hand over the length of Bucky's spine under the covers. They're unclothed, sharing body heat through skin alone. ]
[ Bucky doesn't mind that Steve enjoys it. He knows it, just as surely as he knows that Steve feels guilt-ridden over it, as if somehow he isn't allowed to enjoy the things that Bucky dislikes. That shouldn't be the case at all, but he doubts that Steve takes Bucky's occasional clarifications on the matter to heart.
Still, he clings, cuddles right up to Steve, greedy and selfish for his warmth, because he's the one thing he depends on to pull him out of the madness. More than that, Steve is his lifeline to this world, the belief that he can make things right again. He curls against that solid, muscular frame, as if he and Steve can become one through some sort of osmosis.
It matters, and he feels the kisses, warm against his hair. Steve is always so loving, so giving, and he pays little attention to the increased heat, distracted by the other man's body, the way he melts so easily against him. His arms are possessive around his waist, and Bucky very gently nips at his throat, happy to be cuddled. ]
Never, Buck. [ Steve presses tender kisses to his forehead, his temple. Mouth gentle and searching, fingers slipping under Bucky's chin to lift up their face so that their lips brush. He kisses him slowly and thoroughly, soft brushes of his mouth until his lips part and then his tongue sliding wet and warm into Bucky's mouth, fingers stealing into his hair, tangling in the long strands; he explores Bucky's tongue, baiting him into stroking in return, searches over his teeth and the slick insides of his cheeks and his palate. Deeper and deeper, slanting his mouth, tender and greedy for him: he kisses Bucky until he can feel the flush in his skin and knows it's more than just the warmth of the blankets.
Steve hums when they part, a low pleased sound, damp lips gentle at Bucky's jaw and throat. ] Love how you taste, Buck. How sweet you are. [ Bucky thinks he isn't a good man, thinks he's stained by the things Hydra did to him and made him do, that it makes him somehow undeserving of warmth and comfort, and Steve has made it his mission to convince him otherwise, however long it takes. He knows there's blood on Bucky's hands; there's blood on Steve's, too. If Bucky is mired in darkness then Steve is only the other side of him, tangled together, inseparable: all these long years they've mirrored one another, come out the other side of a long, dark sleep together. Steve is never letting him be alone. ]
Turn on your stomach for me? [ Steve coaxes him to roll over and settles his weight over him like another layer of covering, pressing chest to back, hips to ass, his broad thighs straddling Bucky's. Leaves long, lingering kisses at his shoulders, sucking patiently at the skin to bring marks to the surface, hands wandering down his ribs to his waist, gripping there as he rocks his hips forward. His cock is already interested, pressing flush and thick to Bucky's ass. ]
[ Bucky does as he bids question question, rolling over onto his stomach, and pleasantly surprised when Steve comes to cover him up with his body. His lover's own larger, more solid frame is warm, all-encompassing, almost, and it's easy to retreat into the safe harbor of his arms. He'd spent so much time in them, pressed up against that powerful chest, and he shudders when he feels protected, needed and wanted.
He can feel it, the way Steve's cock is heavy and thick, resting in between the cheeks of his ass, right against the crease. It jumpstarts his pulse, makes him want more in the coolness of the morning. He's still waking up, spine tingling over the earlier kiss and more than willing for a morning lovemaking.
Rocking back against him, rubbing against his cock in open encouragement, he braces himself against the mattress, forehead pressing against the pillow with eager anticipation. ] You gonna fuck me like this, Stevie...? Open me up and push inside me? Your come could keep me warm.
[ Steve drops soft kisses along Bucky's shoulders, rolling his hips gently against him, cock wedged perfectly against the crease of his ass. Slow movements, tender and wanting; he refuses to be hurried even when Bucky is rocking his hips back against him, so eager to be fucked, his body saying it as much as his words do. ]
You want that, don't you, Buck? Me inside you? [ He wants it too, so badly he's aching for it. He always wants it, he's insatiable where Bucky is concerned, greedy for every moment of tender passion between them. It's as though he can't let Bucky out of his hands, having finally gotten him back after so long thinking he was dead: he's gotten him back damaged, broken in more ways than Steve can bear to think about, but still his.
Steve rubs against him, hips working in gentle motions, his cock stroking back and forth between Bucky's cheeks, teasing him. ] I could come like this, you know. Spill it onto your back, stain you with me. [ He grips just below Bucky's chin with an authoritative hand, turning his head back to him, covering his mouth in a kiss. It's a firm grip, not hard enough to restrict breath but just shy of it, hard enough to make Bucky pay attention. ] And you'd be a good boy and rock against me like that, make it good for me. Wouldn't you?
I'll always make it good for you. [ Bucky growls breathlessly, aching and burning for more of Steve, savoring the way he so easily dominates. They switch, so many times, but it always thrills him to know that Steve takes to both roles so beautifully. There are times when he just wants to let Steve push inside of him, to clench tight and undo his lover completely, teasing him into a loss of control they would both enjoy.
He presses close, similarly not wanting to be apart from him. He's whining softly, quietly, grinding back against him and reaching behind, grasping Steve's cock to ease it inside of him. He doesn't need preparing, not when Steve's come is still wet inside of him from a few hours ago.
With a soft groan, he kisses him back, pursuing the gorgeous line of his mouth without shame. ] Mmmm, Steve -- I'll be good. I'll be good for you.
[ The frost on the windows makes Bucky's skin tingle unpleasantly, like the sensation of extremities at last beginning to numb from pain, giving way to blackening frostbite; but it's an illusion, because inside their apartment Steve has turned the heat up as high as they both can tolerate. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, a warm scent, a homey scent, and Bucky is sitting curled in one of the kitchen chairs with a blanket over his shoulders, looking at Steve at the counter in his pajamas, so broad and appealing. If he looks at him instead of the frost, instead of the flakes of snow drifting by out the window, if Bucky studies Steve instead, he doesn't feel cold. He feels hungry.
He gets to his feet, letting the blanket slip down to the chair. ] Come here, Steve. [ Bucky's voice is soft, his metal hand reaching forward, beckoning. He takes Steve's hand when he's in reach and tugs him in close, setting both hands on his waist. Steve is so beautiful he makes Bucky feel greedy, makes him want to take every inch of him and make him his own, all of his body, so golden and perfect. Next to him he is a damaged creature, nearly broken, but the ways that Steve loves him regardless can't be numbered, and Bucky knows that he's lucky, after all, to have come to this, to have come home to Steve.
He tugs the shirt he wears up and off of him, stripping it over his head. Bucky's hands, metal and flesh, come back to his body, his bare skin, settling on his ribs and stroking downwards, his whole body pressing in close as though to steal all of Steve's broad warmth for himself. ]
[ Steve always answers when Bucky calls, and this time is no different. He comes to him smiling, warmth in his eyes when he sees Bucky bundled up so snugly. He had been studying him ever since Steve had started puttering around in the kitchen, and he takes his hand with a soft hum. ]
You're in a good mood today.
[ He notices the look in Bucky's eyes, the way his voice softens in him, and he recognizes the desire that makes his heart skip a beat. Bucky has always made his own needs clear, and on this fine morning, it's obvious that the man is in the mood for more than just looking. And Steve is sure to give it to him, happy to remind him that he belongs to Bucky, heart and mind and soul. To him, his Bucky is a creature of beauty, a man who had seen and endured the worst of humanity, and still managed to find a way to come back to himself.
He loves him, adores him, and he obediently lets him take off the shirt before his arms come around Bucky's shoulders to pull him close, and keeping him warm. With a low, appreciative groan, he gently nips at his bottom lip, relishing the feel of cool metal against his skin. ]
Yeah. [ He breathes the word against Steve's mouth, his lower lip stinging where Steve nipped it. It's a good little pain, a spark of sensation that makes him hungry. ] Warm me up, Steve.
[ The feeling of Steve's warm skin, the shape of perfect muscle and contour under Bucky's hands is enamoring; he wants to feel everything, hands sliding down to the waistband of low-slung sweats, pushing them down until the top of Steve's ass is peeking out, the enticing roundness of firm muscle. Bucky grips those curves, squeezing appreciatively. Steve's arms feel good around him, warming him, holding him secure; he smells of soap and musk and Steve, Bucky nosing along his throat, nuzzling, breathing in the scent of him that makes his mouth water. He longs for him in his mouth, longs to taste him, suck him, devour him. His hands slide further under the sweats, curved around his sweet ass, as he presses their hips together. ]
You feel so good, Steve. [ Bucky is drunk on him, warming with his presence. Greedy to touch more, feel more. Press himself into him, never to be cold again. He traces the seam of his ass with his thumb, kisses his throat, sweet and yearning, almost shy. ] You like that? Me touching you?
[ It's intoxicating, the comfort that Bucky takes in his presence, the way he leans into him so instinctively, so easily. He presses against him, gasps when he feels the grip, the way those fingers close around his ass and he grinds back against it, shameless and wanting. He will always want Bucky; he'll always need him, and he groans softly, nuzzling only to find his mouth, wanting to claim, to possess.
He rubs up against Bucky's questing fingers, shuddering when he feels that sleek touch right between his cheeks, and he feels himself getting hard. It should be embarrassing, the way his body behaves in the presence of his lover, but he's not ashamed. ]
I love it. [ He smiles, cupping Bucky's face, running fingers through his hair to cradle the back of his neck, urging the other man forward to kiss him, to taste him. He's ready for him, and he groans, low and quiet. ] I love when you fuck me too. I hear that's how people warm up, you know. Lots of physical...entanglements. [ He kisses his lips, over and over again. ] You're so beautiful.
[ Bucky tips his chin and presses up hungrily into the kiss, parting his lips, sweet and warm for Steve. He remembers how to be that way, a little bit. It helps when all he wants is to steal his warmth for himself, wrap himself up in his arms like Steve is his favorite blanket, and when Steve is pressing back so eagerly against him, willing and affectionate and ready to give Bucky anything he wants, to let him sheath himself deep in his body. His firm curves feel wonderful under Bucky's hands; he wants to squeeze and fondle him, wants to get his teeth in him, taste mouthfuls of his flesh.
He sighs out against Steve's mouth, hopeless for him, teasing at his hole with gentle fingers. Bucky loves him so helplessly, needs to be near him all the time. ]
Come on. [ He leads Steve to the bedroom, and there slowly pushes down his soft pants, sinking to his knees to draw them down his hips, Steve's cock bumping gently against his chin as it's tugged free. He lets his pajamas pool around his ankles, grasps Steve's sweet ass in his hands again, closes his mouth over the head of his cock, looking up at him. Bucky sucks softly, teasing the slit with his tongue, tasting the muskiness of precome. Steve is beautifully swelled and thick, the taut head of his dick resting heavy on Bucky's tongue. ]
[ The world is a blanket of white outside, cold and lifeless, and even the dumbest of people know to stay in when nature's course cannot be stayed. Right inside here, Bucky is the center of his world. He fixates on him, eyes warm and gentle, and he gives him all that his lover would ever need and then some.
He holds him close, grips him tight. Rubbing up against the other's body, feeding into that mutual helplessness and love, he follows after him into the bedroom, gasping sharply when he gets between his knees. And then here he is, his Bucky sucking cock like he's born for it -- and he is, there are no two ways around it.
The way his mouth feels hot, slick and wet all around his cock makes him whimper, almost, and he bucks up against him gently, unable to bear being teased. ] Bucky -- oh, Buck -- that's it, I love it --
[ He wants more, he doesn't just want the teasing, and he thrusts his cock easily into his waiting mouth, fingers gripping the edge of his bed. ] Mmmnh --
[ He's getting by on his own. The apartment is a studio in a walk-up, barely enough room to pace around in, but it was vetted by Stark's people and Bucky's studied the security measures put in place for him enough to trust, to some relative degree, in his safety here; besides, he's used to small spaces. His bed is in a corner by the window, where a couple of stray cats wander in and out from the fire escape. He hasn't bothered with other furniture, though his kitchen is well-stocked enough. Sometimes he cooks, more food than he'll eat when his thoughts run on and his mind won't rest and his body is almost sick with missing Steve, wishing he was near. Sometimes he lies in bed and smokes, the cigarette tasting like a past life.
He'd told Steve would be fine on his own. He is fine on his own. There's company, when the cats are there, though he mostly keeps away from his neighbors. He needs to prove that he can do this, live his life even when he's living it alone, that he can be trusted to be stable, be safe.
He likes it when Steve comes by, though. Bucky's given him the codes to bypass the security grid on his apartment; when someone enters with only a polite knock, he doesn't worry. He knows who it is. ]
Steve. [ Bucky gets up from the bed where he'd been napping, hair sleep-mussed, and smiles, coming towards him. ] Hi.
[ Letting Bucky go is the hardest thing Steve ever had to do; it's almost broken his heart when Bucky had come up with the idea of moving in on his own, when he extricates himself from Steve's apartment and decides that being separate is best. Objectively, he knows that this is good, that he's recovering and regaining his own sense of self and ownership and that he should never get in the way of that.
But emotionally, emotionally; Steve feels abandoned, unhappy in ways that feel more vivid when he wakes up and Bucky's not there, when he takes to haunting his own apartment all over again, remembering Bucky's presence, the way he makes him happier just by being there.
Bucky needs this, he thinks. He needs his space and Steve will give it to him; and so he visits him often (not too often to be suffocating), and he's smiling when he brings over a basket of fruit and groceries for him. He misses Bucky, he misses him so much that it aches. ]
Hey. [ He greets him warmly, thinks that Bucky's adorable when he's newly awake. He looks happier now, Steve notes; more relaxed, more himself. ] Did I interrupt your nap? Sorry.
[ Steve looks tired, he thinks, like he hasn't been sleeping well in the nights since Bucky left, and that makes guilt nip at him, in the pit of his stomach. It hurt Steve when he told him he wanted to leave, needed to try being on his own for a while; he knows it hurt him, though Steve did his best not to show it. He's done his best to give Bucky space, too, coming over regularly but not so often that he feels crowded.
He wonders if Steve knows how much he misses him, how every day he has to talk himself out of going back. He wants to. He wants to be with Steve every moment; but he wants to show him that he can do this, Bucky doesn't have to rely on him for everything, doesn't have to shackle Steve to taking care of him.
He takes the basket out of his hand, smiling to see the fruit and groceries--of course Steve would want to make sure he's getting proper nutrition--and puts it on the counter in his tiny kitchen. Both hands freed now, he pulls Steve to him, curving his fingers around the nape of his neck, rubbing softly at the ridge of vertebra with his thumb. ] Don't be sorry. I'm glad you're here. [ Bucky is firmer now, more stable, more certain of who he is and what he wants. He guides Steve's head down to him, kissing his lips, sweet and slow. ] Baby. I miss you.
[ Bucky wants him to know. His heart is aching for him just as much; he isn't doing this because he doesn't love him. ]
[ He hasn't slept well at all, unused to the empty space that Bucky used to occupy; it's its own kind of torture, he thinks, when he wakes up and reaches for him in the middle of the night only to find that he's not there, that he's grasping at ghosts, missing Bucky so sorely that he's taken to pressing his face into Bucky's pillow, breathing him in and clinging desperately to the lingering scent of him.
Those were rough nights, and there are many of them.
But he doesn't ask Bucky to come back, he knows what this independence means to him, what he needs to recover; they'll work through this, and it's not like they don't see each other anymore. But he still misses him, the apartment still oddly hollow, no matter how much he works to adapt into it, reading and buying art pieces to fill it up.
He steps towards him and hugs him tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leans down to kiss him again, again and again, as if terrified that if he stops, his lover would slip through his fingers.
He's happy with him, content, and he's smiling when he nips at his bottom lip, looking back at him through long, golden lashes. ] Missed you, too. [ So much, so much, but he loves him too much to say that. He wrinkles his nose just a little; ]
[ Between kisses Bucky murmurs unintelligible comfort, rubbing the nape of Steve's neck to soothe him. His lover is clinging to him as though he'll vanish out of his arms, but he's not going anywhere. They may not share a bed at night anymore but Steve can always find him.
He smiles a little, cupping Steve's face between his hands to study him. ] I smoke when I'm missing you too badly. Calms me down, keeps me from running straight back to you. [ Leaning up on his toes, he touches their mouths together again, softly. Smoking, that was a habit he knew the old Bucky used to indulge, though he'd never share with Steve: no sense giving him anything that might irritate his lungs. ] I'm always wanting to run back to you.
[ Bucky's mouth moves along his jaw, his throat, soft and damp, pressing kisses, teeth catching at the vulnerable skin. He slides his hands under Steve's shirt, pulling his undershirt free of his jeans so that his hands can press to bare, warm skin, greedily drinking it in, wasting no opportunity to touch him. Steve is here, and Bucky's been dying to get his hands on him, and he's going to get what he wants. ]
[ It's takes every ounce of Steve's considerable willpower not to say -- "then come back to me," because it's selfish, because it could undo all the progress that Bucky's made on his own. He's never liked that Bucky smoked, even if he did it away from him, but he couldn't quite stop him either (and has to admit that he presents quite the handsome figure when he does).
He has to be stronger of the both of them, when Bucky's longing cuts deep and calls to him, makes him respond instinctively because he never could bear when his lover's in pain and struggling, his own distress echoing in Steve's heart. Steve kisses him back, sweet and passionate, pressing up against him before he gently, lovingly stops him, catching his hand and shaking his head a little.
He's dying for him, he is, he wants nothing more than to lose himself in him, to remind him that he's so loved, but his concern for him overrides nearly everything else. ]
Are you sure you don't want to eat anything first?
[ It's been almost six months since Bucky's moved out, and Steve's slowly beginning to get used to the emptiness; but their times together, their little dates and Steve's visits to Bucky's apartment makes the transition bearable, most times.
He still doesn't ask Bucky to come home, not wanting to place an expectation upon him that is contrary to what he needs, and so he carries on with his missions, spending time with Bucky, and letting it go back to something resembling normal.
Steve goes out on a bike ride tonight to clear his head, and bring home some groceries for the week -- and when he comes back home, he senses something different, his instincts picking up on someone in the apartment. Cautious, he starts towards the couch, only to be greeted by the fact that his lover is fast asleep right beside his shield, sprawled out and apparently very comfortable, and dead to the world.
He's pleasantly surprised, but concerned. Did something bad happen in Bucky's apartment? Still, he can't bear to wake him up, instead heading into his room to get a blanket, and gently putting it over him. ]
[ He knows Steve is out when he comes here, his bike missing from its customary spot at the curb and his windows dim. That's okay; Bucky lets himself in anyway, and Steve's presence is all over the apartment, a coffee cup still sitting out on the counter in the kitchen and the newspaper left unfolded on the table, a book on the end table next to the couch, marked with his place, and his shield propped up there too, inviting. Bucky runs his hand around the smooth, curving edge of it and sits down on the couch. He stays like that for a while and then lies down, burying his face against one of the side cushions, the scent of Steve faint on the upholstery.
He just wants to be here. He just wants to be surrounded by Steve for a while, even if it's just the remnant of his presence. Bucky's been living on his own and he's been doing good at it, taking care of himself the way he knows Steve would want him to. But he misses him all the time, misses him so fiercely it hurts. He could go back to him, Bucky knows. But he doesn't want to worry Steve, either--doesn't want him thinking that Bucky isn't okay, that he can't be trusted to manage on his own.
He falls asleep without meaning to. The sensation of something light and warm settling over him pulls him back to consciousness; Bucky instinctively draws the blanket closer, opening heavy-lidded eyes to look up at his lover there beside him. ]
Steve. [ His voice is faintly hoarse with disuse. Bucky reaches out and curves a hand around Steve's wrist, pulling it to his mouth. He kisses Steve's palm, kisses his unfolding fingers, tangling them gently with his. ]
[ Steve says softly, sweetly, reluctant to break the moment. Bucky's so damn gorgeous when he's just waking up, when sleep hasn't yet been chased to the back of his mind, and he smiles when he feels those warm lips press against his palm. He's affectionate, happy that Bucky's found his way back here even as he worries. Bucky looks unhurt, looks quite well; too, so there isn't anything wrong, right...?
He presses a soft kiss to his forehead in response, thinks that it's cute to see him huddled under his blanket, looking younger and more innocent than he'd ever been. Steve misses him, he thinks suddenly. He misses being around him. ]
Did something happen in your apartment? Is everything okay?
[ He holds onto Steve's hand, holds it between both of his as though he means to keep it. Steve doesn't need to go anywhere, he can just stay there right beside the couch, next to Bucky, soft and affectionate and warm, giving him kisses to let him know that everything's okay, that it's perfectly all right for Bucky to come in and fall asleep on his couch if he wants to. In return Bucky presses sleepy kisses to his fingers, one after the other, and rests his cheek against them. He feels softened by sleep and by the good warm feeling of being in Steve's apartment, the hard edges of him blurred, vulnerable but entirely safe. ]
Nothing happened. The cats haven't been around for a while. Gets lonely there. [ That's more than he meant to admit. He doesn't want Steve to worry about him being alone, about him falling into bleak moods, spending his days curled up still and silent or waking from nightmares without anyone there to catch him. There isn't a lot of that now. Bucky's doing better. ] I'm okay, Steve. Just wanted to be near you for a while.
[ He rubs his lover's wrist, looking up at him with concern. ] Are you all right?
[ Bucky's lonely, and Steve feels a pang of compassion, of warmth and worry, and he stays right by him, settling into a more comfortable position and settling against his lover, smiling just a little. He's safe here, safe and loved and warm, and he runs his fingers through Bucky's hair, happy to let his hand be grasped by both of Bucky's.
It's nice to be touched by him again, and to hear his voice. Bucky's doing better and it's obvious; he knows he has to take heart in that. ]
You can be near me anytime you want. [ He's sure to tell him, and he nuzzles against him, eager to allay Bucky's concerns. ] Hey, hey. You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. [ The last thing Steve wants Bucky to do is to come back because he worries about him. ] You concentrate on you. [ He pauses. ] The cats will be back soon, I'm sure of it. How many come around?
[ He closes his eyes to the sensation of Steve stroking his hair, such a simple, warm feeling that means so much. Steve settles in next to him like he means to stay for a long time, and Bucky's grateful for that, and for the words that allay his fears; Steve welcomes him here, wants him here, even if Bucky breaks in when he's gone. Not that he wouldn't rather come in when Steve is present, not that he wouldn't rather wrap himself up in his lover like he's a favorite blanket.
He smiles sleepily at Steve, opening his eyes to look at him again, reaching out to brush his fingers against his cheek, curve his hand over the nape of his neck and guide him down into a soft kiss. ] Good. I do worry about you, you know. You're always getting into trouble without me to watch your back. [ Just like the old days, right, Stevie? ] There were two cats before. I think one of them was pregnant. She's probably hiding the kittens somewhere. Maybe she'll bring them around when they're older.
[ Bucky sits up a little, the blanket sliding down to his waist, his eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. ] Come here and hold me.
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cuddling.
He's not a good man, not really, but things are different now. Now, he wakes up beside Steve, curling against him instinctively. The cold is setting in despite the heater; he imagines some window in the apartment hadn't been sealed properly, but he's not interested in going up to check.
Instead, he wraps his arms around Steve, tucking his head under his chin to pull him close. There. Maybe like this, he'll be warmer. ]
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He wakes up as Bucky is burying himself against him, feeling the draft that must have disturbed him. Pressed into his chest, head tucked under his chin; Steve murmurs, kissing the top of his head before reaching out to search for some extra blankets to drag over them. He pulls close the fluffy down comforter, the soft wool blankets, almost dragging them over Bucky's head. ]
How's that? Better? [ He runs a comforting hand over the length of Bucky's spine under the covers. They're unclothed, sharing body heat through skin alone. ]
no subject
Still, he clings, cuddles right up to Steve, greedy and selfish for his warmth, because he's the one thing he depends on to pull him out of the madness. More than that, Steve is his lifeline to this world, the belief that he can make things right again. He curls against that solid, muscular frame, as if he and Steve can become one through some sort of osmosis.
It matters, and he feels the kisses, warm against his hair. Steve is always so loving, so giving, and he pays little attention to the increased heat, distracted by the other man's body, the way he melts so easily against him. His arms are possessive around his waist, and Bucky very gently nips at his throat, happy to be cuddled. ]
Better. Don't stop holding me.
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Steve hums when they part, a low pleased sound, damp lips gentle at Bucky's jaw and throat. ] Love how you taste, Buck. How sweet you are. [ Bucky thinks he isn't a good man, thinks he's stained by the things Hydra did to him and made him do, that it makes him somehow undeserving of warmth and comfort, and Steve has made it his mission to convince him otherwise, however long it takes. He knows there's blood on Bucky's hands; there's blood on Steve's, too. If Bucky is mired in darkness then Steve is only the other side of him, tangled together, inseparable: all these long years they've mirrored one another, come out the other side of a long, dark sleep together. Steve is never letting him be alone. ]
Turn on your stomach for me? [ Steve coaxes him to roll over and settles his weight over him like another layer of covering, pressing chest to back, hips to ass, his broad thighs straddling Bucky's. Leaves long, lingering kisses at his shoulders, sucking patiently at the skin to bring marks to the surface, hands wandering down his ribs to his waist, gripping there as he rocks his hips forward. His cock is already interested, pressing flush and thick to Bucky's ass. ]
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He can feel it, the way Steve's cock is heavy and thick, resting in between the cheeks of his ass, right against the crease. It jumpstarts his pulse, makes him want more in the coolness of the morning. He's still waking up, spine tingling over the earlier kiss and more than willing for a morning lovemaking.
Rocking back against him, rubbing against his cock in open encouragement, he braces himself against the mattress, forehead pressing against the pillow with eager anticipation. ] You gonna fuck me like this, Stevie...? Open me up and push inside me? Your come could keep me warm.
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You want that, don't you, Buck? Me inside you? [ He wants it too, so badly he's aching for it. He always wants it, he's insatiable where Bucky is concerned, greedy for every moment of tender passion between them. It's as though he can't let Bucky out of his hands, having finally gotten him back after so long thinking he was dead: he's gotten him back damaged, broken in more ways than Steve can bear to think about, but still his.
Steve rubs against him, hips working in gentle motions, his cock stroking back and forth between Bucky's cheeks, teasing him. ] I could come like this, you know. Spill it onto your back, stain you with me. [ He grips just below Bucky's chin with an authoritative hand, turning his head back to him, covering his mouth in a kiss. It's a firm grip, not hard enough to restrict breath but just shy of it, hard enough to make Bucky pay attention. ] And you'd be a good boy and rock against me like that, make it good for me. Wouldn't you?
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He presses close, similarly not wanting to be apart from him. He's whining softly, quietly, grinding back against him and reaching behind, grasping Steve's cock to ease it inside of him. He doesn't need preparing, not when Steve's come is still wet inside of him from a few hours ago.
With a soft groan, he kisses him back, pursuing the gorgeous line of his mouth without shame. ] Mmmm, Steve -- I'll be good. I'll be good for you.
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[ The frost on the windows makes Bucky's skin tingle unpleasantly, like the sensation of extremities at last beginning to numb from pain, giving way to blackening frostbite; but it's an illusion, because inside their apartment Steve has turned the heat up as high as they both can tolerate. The smell of fresh coffee fills the air, a warm scent, a homey scent, and Bucky is sitting curled in one of the kitchen chairs with a blanket over his shoulders, looking at Steve at the counter in his pajamas, so broad and appealing. If he looks at him instead of the frost, instead of the flakes of snow drifting by out the window, if Bucky studies Steve instead, he doesn't feel cold. He feels hungry.
He gets to his feet, letting the blanket slip down to the chair. ] Come here, Steve. [ Bucky's voice is soft, his metal hand reaching forward, beckoning. He takes Steve's hand when he's in reach and tugs him in close, setting both hands on his waist. Steve is so beautiful he makes Bucky feel greedy, makes him want to take every inch of him and make him his own, all of his body, so golden and perfect. Next to him he is a damaged creature, nearly broken, but the ways that Steve loves him regardless can't be numbered, and Bucky knows that he's lucky, after all, to have come to this, to have come home to Steve.
He tugs the shirt he wears up and off of him, stripping it over his head. Bucky's hands, metal and flesh, come back to his body, his bare skin, settling on his ribs and stroking downwards, his whole body pressing in close as though to steal all of Steve's broad warmth for himself. ]
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You're in a good mood today.
[ He notices the look in Bucky's eyes, the way his voice softens in him, and he recognizes the desire that makes his heart skip a beat. Bucky has always made his own needs clear, and on this fine morning, it's obvious that the man is in the mood for more than just looking. And Steve is sure to give it to him, happy to remind him that he belongs to Bucky, heart and mind and soul. To him, his Bucky is a creature of beauty, a man who had seen and endured the worst of humanity, and still managed to find a way to come back to himself.
He loves him, adores him, and he obediently lets him take off the shirt before his arms come around Bucky's shoulders to pull him close, and keeping him warm. With a low, appreciative groan, he gently nips at his bottom lip, relishing the feel of cool metal against his skin. ]
You cold, Buck...?
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[ The feeling of Steve's warm skin, the shape of perfect muscle and contour under Bucky's hands is enamoring; he wants to feel everything, hands sliding down to the waistband of low-slung sweats, pushing them down until the top of Steve's ass is peeking out, the enticing roundness of firm muscle. Bucky grips those curves, squeezing appreciatively. Steve's arms feel good around him, warming him, holding him secure; he smells of soap and musk and Steve, Bucky nosing along his throat, nuzzling, breathing in the scent of him that makes his mouth water. He longs for him in his mouth, longs to taste him, suck him, devour him. His hands slide further under the sweats, curved around his sweet ass, as he presses their hips together. ]
You feel so good, Steve. [ Bucky is drunk on him, warming with his presence. Greedy to touch more, feel more. Press himself into him, never to be cold again. He traces the seam of his ass with his thumb, kisses his throat, sweet and yearning, almost shy. ] You like that? Me touching you?
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He rubs up against Bucky's questing fingers, shuddering when he feels that sleek touch right between his cheeks, and he feels himself getting hard. It should be embarrassing, the way his body behaves in the presence of his lover, but he's not ashamed. ]
I love it. [ He smiles, cupping Bucky's face, running fingers through his hair to cradle the back of his neck, urging the other man forward to kiss him, to taste him. He's ready for him, and he groans, low and quiet. ] I love when you fuck me too. I hear that's how people warm up, you know. Lots of physical...entanglements. [ He kisses his lips, over and over again. ] You're so beautiful.
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He sighs out against Steve's mouth, hopeless for him, teasing at his hole with gentle fingers. Bucky loves him so helplessly, needs to be near him all the time. ]
Come on. [ He leads Steve to the bedroom, and there slowly pushes down his soft pants, sinking to his knees to draw them down his hips, Steve's cock bumping gently against his chin as it's tugged free. He lets his pajamas pool around his ankles, grasps Steve's sweet ass in his hands again, closes his mouth over the head of his cock, looking up at him. Bucky sucks softly, teasing the slit with his tongue, tasting the muskiness of precome. Steve is beautifully swelled and thick, the taut head of his dick resting heavy on Bucky's tongue. ]
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He holds him close, grips him tight. Rubbing up against the other's body, feeding into that mutual helplessness and love, he follows after him into the bedroom, gasping sharply when he gets between his knees. And then here he is, his Bucky sucking cock like he's born for it -- and he is, there are no two ways around it.
The way his mouth feels hot, slick and wet all around his cock makes him whimper, almost, and he bucks up against him gently, unable to bear being teased. ] Bucky -- oh, Buck -- that's it, I love it --
[ He wants more, he doesn't just want the teasing, and he thrusts his cock easily into his waiting mouth, fingers gripping the edge of his bed. ] Mmmnh --
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He'd told Steve would be fine on his own. He is fine on his own. There's company, when the cats are there, though he mostly keeps away from his neighbors. He needs to prove that he can do this, live his life even when he's living it alone, that he can be trusted to be stable, be safe.
He likes it when Steve comes by, though. Bucky's given him the codes to bypass the security grid on his apartment; when someone enters with only a polite knock, he doesn't worry. He knows who it is. ]
Steve. [ Bucky gets up from the bed where he'd been napping, hair sleep-mussed, and smiles, coming towards him. ] Hi.
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But emotionally, emotionally; Steve feels abandoned, unhappy in ways that feel more vivid when he wakes up and Bucky's not there, when he takes to haunting his own apartment all over again, remembering Bucky's presence, the way he makes him happier just by being there.
Bucky needs this, he thinks. He needs his space and Steve will give it to him; and so he visits him often (not too often to be suffocating), and he's smiling when he brings over a basket of fruit and groceries for him. He misses Bucky, he misses him so much that it aches. ]
Hey. [ He greets him warmly, thinks that Bucky's adorable when he's newly awake. He looks happier now, Steve notes; more relaxed, more himself. ] Did I interrupt your nap? Sorry.
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He wonders if Steve knows how much he misses him, how every day he has to talk himself out of going back. He wants to. He wants to be with Steve every moment; but he wants to show him that he can do this, Bucky doesn't have to rely on him for everything, doesn't have to shackle Steve to taking care of him.
He takes the basket out of his hand, smiling to see the fruit and groceries--of course Steve would want to make sure he's getting proper nutrition--and puts it on the counter in his tiny kitchen. Both hands freed now, he pulls Steve to him, curving his fingers around the nape of his neck, rubbing softly at the ridge of vertebra with his thumb. ] Don't be sorry. I'm glad you're here. [ Bucky is firmer now, more stable, more certain of who he is and what he wants. He guides Steve's head down to him, kissing his lips, sweet and slow. ] Baby. I miss you.
[ Bucky wants him to know. His heart is aching for him just as much; he isn't doing this because he doesn't love him. ]
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Those were rough nights, and there are many of them.
But he doesn't ask Bucky to come back, he knows what this independence means to him, what he needs to recover; they'll work through this, and it's not like they don't see each other anymore. But he still misses him, the apartment still oddly hollow, no matter how much he works to adapt into it, reading and buying art pieces to fill it up.
He steps towards him and hugs him tightly, swallowing the lump in his throat as he leans down to kiss him again, again and again, as if terrified that if he stops, his lover would slip through his fingers.
He's happy with him, content, and he's smiling when he nips at his bottom lip, looking back at him through long, golden lashes. ] Missed you, too. [ So much, so much, but he loves him too much to say that. He wrinkles his nose just a little; ]
Been hitting the cigarettes pretty hard, huh?
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He smiles a little, cupping Steve's face between his hands to study him. ] I smoke when I'm missing you too badly. Calms me down, keeps me from running straight back to you. [ Leaning up on his toes, he touches their mouths together again, softly. Smoking, that was a habit he knew the old Bucky used to indulge, though he'd never share with Steve: no sense giving him anything that might irritate his lungs. ] I'm always wanting to run back to you.
[ Bucky's mouth moves along his jaw, his throat, soft and damp, pressing kisses, teeth catching at the vulnerable skin. He slides his hands under Steve's shirt, pulling his undershirt free of his jeans so that his hands can press to bare, warm skin, greedily drinking it in, wasting no opportunity to touch him. Steve is here, and Bucky's been dying to get his hands on him, and he's going to get what he wants. ]
Come lie down on the bed with me.
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He has to be stronger of the both of them, when Bucky's longing cuts deep and calls to him, makes him respond instinctively because he never could bear when his lover's in pain and struggling, his own distress echoing in Steve's heart. Steve kisses him back, sweet and passionate, pressing up against him before he gently, lovingly stops him, catching his hand and shaking his head a little.
He's dying for him, he is, he wants nothing more than to lose himself in him, to remind him that he's so loved, but his concern for him overrides nearly everything else. ]
Are you sure you don't want to eat anything first?
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homecoming.
He still doesn't ask Bucky to come home, not wanting to place an expectation upon him that is contrary to what he needs, and so he carries on with his missions, spending time with Bucky, and letting it go back to something resembling normal.
Steve goes out on a bike ride tonight to clear his head, and bring home some groceries for the week -- and when he comes back home, he senses something different, his instincts picking up on someone in the apartment. Cautious, he starts towards the couch, only to be greeted by the fact that his lover is fast asleep right beside his shield, sprawled out and apparently very comfortable, and dead to the world.
He's pleasantly surprised, but concerned. Did something bad happen in Bucky's apartment? Still, he can't bear to wake him up, instead heading into his room to get a blanket, and gently putting it over him. ]
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He just wants to be here. He just wants to be surrounded by Steve for a while, even if it's just the remnant of his presence. Bucky's been living on his own and he's been doing good at it, taking care of himself the way he knows Steve would want him to. But he misses him all the time, misses him so fiercely it hurts. He could go back to him, Bucky knows. But he doesn't want to worry Steve, either--doesn't want him thinking that Bucky isn't okay, that he can't be trusted to manage on his own.
He falls asleep without meaning to. The sensation of something light and warm settling over him pulls him back to consciousness; Bucky instinctively draws the blanket closer, opening heavy-lidded eyes to look up at his lover there beside him. ]
Steve. [ His voice is faintly hoarse with disuse. Bucky reaches out and curves a hand around Steve's wrist, pulling it to his mouth. He kisses Steve's palm, kisses his unfolding fingers, tangling them gently with his. ]
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[ Steve says softly, sweetly, reluctant to break the moment. Bucky's so damn gorgeous when he's just waking up, when sleep hasn't yet been chased to the back of his mind, and he smiles when he feels those warm lips press against his palm. He's affectionate, happy that Bucky's found his way back here even as he worries. Bucky looks unhurt, looks quite well; too, so there isn't anything wrong, right...?
He presses a soft kiss to his forehead in response, thinks that it's cute to see him huddled under his blanket, looking younger and more innocent than he'd ever been. Steve misses him, he thinks suddenly. He misses being around him. ]
Did something happen in your apartment? Is everything okay?
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Nothing happened. The cats haven't been around for a while. Gets lonely there. [ That's more than he meant to admit. He doesn't want Steve to worry about him being alone, about him falling into bleak moods, spending his days curled up still and silent or waking from nightmares without anyone there to catch him. There isn't a lot of that now. Bucky's doing better. ] I'm okay, Steve. Just wanted to be near you for a while.
[ He rubs his lover's wrist, looking up at him with concern. ] Are you all right?
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It's nice to be touched by him again, and to hear his voice. Bucky's doing better and it's obvious; he knows he has to take heart in that. ]
You can be near me anytime you want. [ He's sure to tell him, and he nuzzles against him, eager to allay Bucky's concerns. ] Hey, hey. You don't have to worry about me. I'm fine. [ The last thing Steve wants Bucky to do is to come back because he worries about him. ] You concentrate on you. [ He pauses. ] The cats will be back soon, I'm sure of it. How many come around?
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He smiles sleepily at Steve, opening his eyes to look at him again, reaching out to brush his fingers against his cheek, curve his hand over the nape of his neck and guide him down into a soft kiss. ] Good. I do worry about you, you know. You're always getting into trouble without me to watch your back. [ Just like the old days, right, Stevie? ] There were two cats before. I think one of them was pregnant. She's probably hiding the kittens somewhere. Maybe she'll bring them around when they're older.
[ Bucky sits up a little, the blanket sliding down to his waist, his eyes still heavy-lidded with sleep. ] Come here and hold me.
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