Work Text:
Bucky heard Steve’s front door open. He was sitting on the couch, staring at the sketchbook covered coffee table, eyes unseeing of the lines on paper that Steve had so lovingly drawn.
“I’m home, Buck,” called Steve’s voice, and Bucky could detect a hitch. Something had happened at Sam’s, but he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know.
“In here,” Bucky replied.
Steve stepped into the living room, freezing on the threshold when he caught sight of his sketchbooks. They were all open, mostly featuring Bucky, though some were of their friends. Bucky in uniform, Bucky playing basketball at the VA. Bucky with wet hair and a rakish grin. It couldn’t be mistaken for anything other than a declaration of love.
“All this time?” Bucky asked, still staring at the sketchbooks.
“Yeah,” Steve breathed, taking a step forward.
“When...when did it start?”
“When we were twelve,” Steve replied easily, crossing the living room to stand at Bucky’s side.
“You’ve been in...you’ve loved me for this long, and never said anything?” Bucky got to his feet, wanting to be on equal ground while they talked things out.
“You were decidedly straight,” Steve stated, giving Bucky an unimpressed look.
Bucky reached up and smoothed the crinkle of Steve’s brow with his thumb, then traced his jawline with light fingertips, mapping out details he’d never noticed before. Like the light smattering of freckles across Steve’s nose, or how long and blond his eyelashes actually were.
He opened his mouth to speak, but didn’t get a chance before Steve was on him, powerful arms crushing him against his chest in a painfully gently embrace. Their mouths met and it was just as sweet as their one stolen kiss, but more.
Steve pushed Bucky down onto the couch, taking care of his arm while trailing wet, open mouthed kisses up and down his neck. He nipped at Bucky’s jaw, humming approval when the other man dragged his mouth back for another deep, searing kiss.
Teeth clacked in their eagerness, and eventually they found a rhythm, tongues probing lips. It was as if all of Steve’s fantasies had come true, and he finally had permission to enjoy them. Bucky was aggressive, but he had nothing on Steve’s greedy eagerness, having wanted it for so damn long.
Bucky inhaled sharply when Steve’s hands rucked his shirt up, broad, warm palms spanning across his ribs. Steve was quick to slip his hand under the elastic waistband of Bucky’s track pants, and he outright groaned when Steve palmed his growing erection.
Artist’s hands, Bucky thought deliriously as a hand slipped under his boxers, dragging fingertips up Bucky’s shaft to thumb his slit and spread the precome that had gathered. Choking out a moan, Bucky didn’t fight the arch of his back. Steve’s hand was working at a maddeningly slow tempo, and his lips were trailing over stubble, jawline, and settling at the juncture of Bucky’s neck and shoulder.
“Fuck,” Bucky hissed when Steve sank his teeth into his trapezius, hard enough to draw blood. The sting kept him grounded, kept him aware of Steve’s fist pumping him, his teeth worrying the bite.
“Are you clean?” Steve rasped in his ear, his voice causing desire to burn low in his belly.
“Yeah. Yes. Jesus, yes,” he rambled, blinking when Steve surged to his feet. He yelped when Steve took his good arm and hauled him up, and the contact was electric. Not even bothering to pull up his boxers, Bucky got his free hand on Steve, tracing the contours of his back as they stumbled to the bedroom.
Steve was a man possessed, ripping clothes off before they even reached the bed. Dropping onto the comforter, they wrestled for dominance until it was clear that Steve was running the show. Not caring for the romantic route, Bucky let Steve manipulate him onto his elbows and knees, legs spread wide. It wasn’t his first rodeo, so he wasn’t surprised when Steve pressed a lube slicked finger against muscle.
It had been awhile, and he was eager to get on with it, despite any possible discomfort.
“Christ, Stevie. Please,” Bucky keened, pressing back against Steve’s finger.
Steve stared down at the sight before him; Bucky was spread out on his bed, moaning his name. Everything he’d dreamt of was in front of him. His. He wanted it all and more.
Still, drawing it out and seeing Bucky squirm had its merits, so Steve spent an inordinate amount of time prepping his lover, even though he wanted nothing more than to fuck him into the mattress.
As he lined up to press forward, Steve admired the strong lines of Bucky’s shoulders, and how beautiful the scarring was across his left shoulder. He itched for charcoal, but settled for snapping his hips forward and relishing Bucky’s choked out moan.
Years of pent up sexual frustration found an outlet as Steve pounded into his lover, hands gripping hips tight enough to bruise. Sweat beaded on his brown, and Steve could feel himself hurtling towards the edge. Curling over Bucky’s back, Steve moved one hand to Bucky’s cock, pumping hard in time to his thrusts.
“Shit, shit, shit,” Bucky chanted, clawing at the bedspread. Steve’s hand was hot and he was so full he didn’t think he could take anymore. While Steve’s rhythm stuttered, his hand didn’t, and Bucky chased his orgasm only moments after.
Collapsing onto the bed, they curled together, not caring that they were hot and sweaty. Steve worked to control his breathing, giving Bucky a crooked smile when their eyes met.
“You dope,” Bucky muttered, cupping Steve’s cheek. He loved him, of that he was sure.
“If you say so,” Steve murmured, nuzzling Bucky’s palm, drowsiness overtaking him. Intertwining their legs, Steve allowed Bucky to cradle him against his chest, reveling in the warmth and afterglow of sex.
Long overdue talks and clean up could come later.