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Bucky sits back on their bed, feet resting on the floor. He can see the hope in Steve’s eyes, and he almost hates himself for taking that away before he remembers to hate Zola and Hydra and all the rest of them.
Steve stands in front of him, rests his hands on Bucky’s shoulders, caressing flesh and metal. Bucky’s head falls back as his hands wrap around Steve’s ass, pulling him closer, god please I need him closer. When Steve physically can’t touch Bucky anymore than he is, he kneels on the bed, straddles Bucky’s thighs and something about it is so familiar. Bucky knew they were something before the Soldier ruined everything, but remembering this would have broken him.
“I remember this, I think,” he chokes out. “Did we—were we like this before?”
He can’t be sure yet, because while everything about Steve on his lap is so, so right, like coming home, there’s also something telling him this is wrong, Steve towering over him, muscles where there used to be just bone, broad shoulders that he can hardly wrap his arms around.
Steve’s hands cradle Bucky’s jaw, looks at him with a set jaw and wrinkled forehead. Those, Bucky thinks, I remember.
Steve kisses him, just a firm press against chapped lips, grounding both of them.
When he pulls back, eyes closed like he’s savoring the taste of Bucky’s mouth, Steve breathes, “Sorta.”
Bucky lifts an eyebrow, asking him to elaborate.
“Before, everything was different. I was smaller and we’d go out to the queer bars and you’d spin me around on the dance floor until the cops figured out what the place really was. Then, you’d take me home and I’d crawl into your lap just like this and you’d fuck me real quiet so we wouldn’t wake up the neighbors.”
Steve is a little breathless, and maybe a little teary too.
“When I finally got to the war, when I found you, everything was off. I was too big and I hated it, but mostly just when we had a moment to ourselves and I couldn’t go on my tiptoes to kiss you anymore. We didn’t have many of those, so anything we did was pretty hurried, jacking each other off behind trees or quick suck jobs while we were on watch.”
He sighs, rests his forehead against Bucky’s, eyes closed, pushing tears down his cheeks. Bucky wipes them away, licks them off his thumb.
“I love you, Stevie.”
“I love you too, Buck.”
There’s still something wrong—no, not wrong, just different—about how they’re sitting, but you couldn’t pay Bucky a million dollars to let Steve off him. He grips Steve’s ass and listens to his best guy’s breath stutter.
“B-Bucky,” he gasps.
“You wanna feel small again, Stevie? Do you miss me fucking into you like you weighed next to nothing? I wanna make you feel so fuckin’ good, Stevie.”
Steve moans, fucks his tongue into Bucky’s mouth like a promise or a prayer or a yes. Bucky thinks about the plane, about Steve crashing into the Arctic not weeks after Bucky had been presumed dead, thinks he probably would’ve done the same thing.
“C’mere, baby doll.” Steve presses even closer, almost knocks Bucky over, but his baby wants to feel small tonight, and God help him if he doesn’t deliver.
Bucky kneads Steve’s ass, then manhandles him onto his back. Steve’s never been great at dirty talk, but goddamn does he get needy as hell when he's touched like this, almost rough, almost hurting, but holding back just this much. He rips Steve’s shirt off, marvels at Steve’s body, would worship it if this were almost any other night. Instead of kissing his way to Steve’s cock, he scrapes his nails down his chest with his flesh hand, takes Steve’s wrists and presses them above his head with the metal one. When Steve hears the gears in Bucky’s arm, he groans.
“I need it, Buck, please, please, Buck.”
Right now, Steve is all need, leaking pre-cum through his briefs, arms and chest straining against Bucky’s hold, but not trying to get out of it. Bucky looks at his babydoll, smirks at Steve’s want and his golden, sex-mussed hair, rubs his hand against Steve’s clothed erection.
“What do you need, baby doll?”
Steve grits his teeth, hates when Bucky makes him uses his words almost as much as he loves it. He screws his face up like the words are sour or hot coals or something.
“Y-your dick, Bucky, please. Fuck me. Wanna be good for you, wanna be small for you, please.”
Bucky’s heart clenches in his chest, wholly undeserving of this man, golden and vulnerable and needing. He pushes harder against Steve’s dick and Steve chokes on his own breath.
“God, do you know how fuckin’ gorgeous you are, sweetheart? Do you know what you do to me?” He replaces his hand with his hips and grinds his dick into Steve’s. Steve’s pupils are blown out, and he’s barely able to form words at this point.
“I gotcha, baby doll, I gotcha.” Bucky stops teasing and steps off the bed, doesn’t miss the way Steve whines at his absence. He chuckles. “Just a sec, baby, can’t make ya really feel good if we both got all our clothes on.”
He pulls Steve’s briefs down past his ankles, then rids himself of his own clothes.
“Turn over, Stevie.” He adds a little bit of an edge to his voice, almost a command, the way Steve likes. Steve rolls onto his stomach.
“God, you’re so good for me, Stevie, what’d I do to deserve this, huh?” He gets the lube from the nightstand. “You want the metal hand or the other one?”
Steve whips his head around, almost breaks his own neck. “The metal one, Bucky, please, please, Buck.”
And god if that doesn’t almost send Bucky over the edge all on its own. But he has a goddamned job to do and he’s gonna finish it. He lubes up the metal hand, thanking whoever’s listening that Stark was able to install a self-cleaning feature. “For after battles,” he’d said with a knowing look, “or whatever else you get up to in your spare time.”
He pushes Steve’s cheeks apart, just stares at his fluttering, waiting hole for a long moment.
“So beautiful, Stevie, goddammit, you’re fuckin’ gorgeous like this, ya know that?”
Steve whines and Bucky can tell he’s getting impatient, aching for Bucky the way he always does after a mission that lasts longer than a few days.
He presses into Steve’s hole and Steve shudders, moaning.
“Bucky.”
“I gotcha, Stevie.”
Bucky works him open, strategically pressing into Steve’s prostate or adding a finger or sometimes his tongue, occasionally pulling back just to watch Steve flutter and moan for him. When Steve is good and wet and ready, he pulls his fingers out of Steve’s ass and flips him onto his back.
“Still wanna feel small, Stevie? Still wanna remember what Brooklyn was like? Who we were before the war?”
There’s sweat beading on Steve’s forehead and down his abdomen, and Bucky thinks maybe the nuns that taught them were wrong, and this moment, right here with Stevie, is Heaven.
Steve nods.
“Need your words, baby doll. What color?”
Steve groans, grits his teeth with effort. “God, yes, Buck, greengreengreen, Bucky please.”
And Bucky knows the nuns were wrong. He presses his shoulders behind Steve’s knees, pushes them up to his chest, and wraps his still-wet metal hand into Steve’s hair, grips almost too hard.
As Steve gasps, Bucky presses into his ass and the gasp turns into a moan, tears leaking from Steve’s eyes. Once he’s all the way in, Bucky gives Steve a second to adjust, licks the tears from his face, sticks his tongue into Steve’s mouth.
Like this, Steve is at his mercy—blown pupils, spilling tears, leaking cock. Just as he’s really melting into his mouth, Bucky flips the switch and pulls back. Presses Steve’s legs as far up as he can and starts fucking into him like the world is ending, and maybe it is. Maybe there was something different about them earlier, but this? This is everything Bucky has ever wanted and not deserved. This is what he was missing as the Soldier, even if he didn’t know it.
Steve is gasping and whining indiscriminately, trying not to grab his dick, because Bucky hasn’t told him he could.
“You can touch yourself, baby doll, go ahead, Stevie, such a good boy for me, god, so fuckin’ good, baby.”
When he finally grips his cock, he almost screams and Bucky takes his other hand and sticks his fingers in Steve’s mouth.
“Just like Brooklyn, right, baby doll?” And he thinks his heart hasn’t felt this open, this bleeding since maybe the helicarrier when he heard “til the end of the line” for the first time in close to 70 years.
Steve sucks on three of Bucky’s fingers, his groans muffled as he tries to nod. God, Bucky is ruined for him. “Come on, Stevie, cum for me, you can do it, sweetheart.”
Maybe, to America, Steve is a hero—invulnerable and strong and striving for justice. And he is that, but here, in their bed, Stevie is just a man, sometimes still the kid from Brooklyn who didn’t know when to run away from a fight, sometimes a kid who doesn’t know how he ended up in the 21st century with his best friend, the love of his life, sometimes a man who wakes up thinking Bucky is still the Soldier and has to be saved.
In their bed, Steve is all of this and more. He wants and hopes and feels. And as Bucky watches Steve’s orgasm spill over his own fist, his hips stutter and he lets go too, spills into Steve as he groans, “God, Stevie, I love you so much, so good for me, baby.”
Bucky collapses on top of Steve, takes his fingers out of his mouth, licks Steve’s cum off his hand and abdomen, cleans Steve’s cock with his tongue. The overstimulation makes Steve wince and pull Bucky up to kiss him.
“Lemme clean you up, sweetheart. Roll over.”
“Asshole, let me thank you for fucking me first.” Steve says in a gravelly voice, sounding thoroughly wrecked. His brow is setting into a stubborn pout and Bucky knows he has to nip this in the bud before Steve tries to clean himself up.
He fucks his tongue back into Steve’s throat and feels him relax. “I just watched you orgasm and then came inside’a you, ya think I’m not grateful? Roll over, baby doll.”
Steve listens this time, and goddamn if Bucky’s cum leaking out of his ass isn’t one of the most incredible things he’s seen in his entire goddamned life.
“Christ, Stevie, I think I’m about to get hard again just lookin’ atcha. America’s ass, layin’ in my bed, with me spillin’ out of it, Jesus.”
Steve’s ears turn red and he mutters, “C’mon, Buck.”
“What, you think I’m not serious? Think I won’t fuck you again just to prove it?” Bucky watches Steve’s hips grind down into their ruined sheets. “You hard again already, baby? Need another orgasm before we finish?”
Steve squirms again, clearly aroused. Bucky smacks his ass, just enough to turn it pink for a sec.
“You like what we did, Stevie? Felt smaller? Felt like we were back in Brooklyn for a bit?”
“Mmm, yeah, Buck, felt real good.” And Steve is starting to lose his words again.
“Wanna try something we never did in Brooklyn?” Steve tries to turn over, but Bucky pushes him back down, holds him there, but not so hard Steve couldn’t push back. “You’ll like it, I promise, and if you don’t, you say red and we never do it again, okay?”
Steve rubs his cheek against the sheets, nodding.
“Okay.” Bucky takes a pillow and places it under Steve’s hips, smacks his ass one more time, just to watch him turn pink. Then he spreads Steve’s asscheeks and dives in, eats his own cum out of Steve like it’s his last meal on death row. Bucky uses his tongue and fingers to get Steve all worked up again. This time, Steve really does scream when he cums, reaching behind him to grab Bucky’s hair and guide him back to his mouth.
“B-Buck, god, Bucky, love you,” Steve stumbles over his words, gasping between kisses. “Bucky, th-thank you, thank you, Buck.”
His baby doll is absolutely destroyed after two orgasms, teary from the emotions and the release, so Bucky lays next to him and pulls Steve into his chest. He strokes Steve’s hair, gently scrapes his nails against Steve’s scalp as he places open-mouthed kisses all over Bucky’s chest. Soon, he’ll make Stevie get up so he can clean him off in the shower and change the sheets. Right now, they’ve weathered brainwashing and ice and evil and trauma. As far as Bucky’s concerned, they’ve goddamn earned this moment.
Steve falls asleep on Bucky’s chest, his left hand reaching across to hold Bucky’s right one, mouth open, almost drooling a little. Buck watches his metal hand rise and fall on Steve’s back with his breath, overwhelmed by a world where this is possible, he and Steve, loud and unapologetic. While Steve sleeps, Bucky lets himself dream in a way he hasn’t since before the war.