[ Yes. Yes, Bucky's missed him, and that sensation claws at him inside, sharp enough to rip him up, rend him into pieces. The thing is, Bucky is used to pain: he's lived with it long enough for it to be a familiar companion. Pain alone won't drive him back. But he can share it with Steve, a little bit: he can break him, just a little bit, slowly and gently enough that it barely hurts at all, because he'd never want Steve to suffer.

He mouths at the nape of his neck, biting softly, possessively, sliding another of those metal fingers into him and working him open with firm thrusts, feeling him get hard in his encircling hand. Oh, he's beautiful, that big, thick cock, so warm against his fingers, and his sweet, tight hole, and the way his body tenses, the muscles of his arms standing out as he strains at the belt. ] No. [ He says it decisively, jabbing his fingers up, searching for that bundle of nerves to work at relentlessly. ] You don't need to touch me. You just need to take this. [ Steve wants to hold him. Steve could make him forget everything in his arms, could make him sweet and pliant and yielding, make him surrender and let Steve soothe him inside and out, but this was Bucky's decision, and this is Bucky's pain to bear. He sighs out against his shoulder. ] I love you, Steve. I'm going to use you until you're all worn out. I'm going to break this little hole of yours.