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As soon as the door to their apartment closes, Bucky feels safe and reassured. Logically, he knows that if somebody really wanted to get at them, the locked door would make no difference, but it works as a symbol. Here they are, in a place of their own.
Instead of putting them where they belong, he unceremoniously strips out of his weapons and other equipment and leaves everything on the hallway floor. Then he moves to relieve Steve of the shield, because right now if Steve were to do it himself it would most likely just fall, and they actually have pretty nice floors. Steve is swaying on his feet, shaking a little, a dazed look in his eyes that hit as soon as the door closed. All sure signs of the sensory overload that sometimes happens. The fact that it only shows now at home is also familiar. Steve has always been able to compartmentalize things enough to mostly keep it from happening at inconvenient times, to be able to complete a task and only then let it wash over him.
Bucky can remember exactly one time when Steve hadn’t been able to, and he only got a glimpse of it while he was falling, having life squeezed out of him by gravity.
They’re in their full combat gear, covered in dirt, dust, gunpowder and everything else one can get on themselves when having to fight in the city. Bucky thinks that even their usually very blase neighbors might have raised some eyebrows at them as they are, except it’s oh-god-o’clock and everyone seems to be sleeping, despite the fact that the news are probably still running stories about HYDRA’s latest stupidity.
He’s actually not sure what the point of the attack had even been, except to wreak havoc again in New York, much as they had on that memorable occasion when he’d followed Steve with the express purpose of helping. There’d been an argument later, one that had cleared air. Had made a lot of things easier.
This time they’d been asleep when the call came, and Bucky had immediately decided to go with Steve. He does that about half the time these days, even if he still isn’t an Avenger in any official capacity. The target was his home city, so they were definitely asking for it. He’d done again as he usually does, gotten up high with his favorite sniper rifle, taking out targets from afar and calling his observations down to Steve, who had directed his team accordingly. It works surprisingly well, considering they never learned to talk while fighting during the war, it having been slightly before any kind of real time verbal communication devices one could use while in the middle of combat. Back then their communication had been much more sparse, but the efficiency still stems from the same root, from knowing what the other means even from a few spare gestures.
On paper it hadn’t been that difficult an operation, even counting the element of surprise, since that is the kind of thing the Avengers train for and have procedures ready. They hadn’t gone in thinking that it would be a walk in the park, because all of them have enough experience to know that anything can happen and usually does when one doesn’t expect it. Anything can go wrong at any given moment.
This time it almost had, and Bucky still feels a chill in his spine when he thinks about it.
It was the kind of thing that you can’t really prepare for, except to accept that something like it may and probably will happen. That if one spends enough time fighting, regardless of skill, something will likely to go wrong at some point, just due to bad luck. They’d all been up high, Sam had been giving Natalia a lift, and there’d been a lucky shot, the kind that sometimes just happens, that had sent him spinning and her plummeting down towards the ground. That might have been it for her, since Wanda, Rhodey and Vision had all been too far away, except Steve had jumped and caught her, and then had somehow managed to catch a hold of a ledge on the next building over to stop them from falling.
Bucky had stopped breathing, because it was the kind of jump that should have been impossible and somehow wasn’t. Somehow Steve had seen it and made it. Had said as much in response to Bucky yelling at him over the coms, although Bucky’s fairly sure he’d’ve jumped anyway, even if he hadn’t been sure he could get a hold. Bucky hadn’t pointed that bit out to Steve, since he hadn’t wanted to hear Steve saying that he actually knows he could fall from that height and walk away.
He’d redoubled the efforts to shoot down every member of the HYDRA present after that, even if the scare had been the biggest injury they’d suffered. Even Sam had managed to come out of the spin without a crash.
Afterwards Steve stayed for the cleanup as is his habit, making sure everything was going to be fine. The Avengers need to be seen to be present even in the aftermath of battles. Bucky usually leaves at that point since he doesn’t want to be on the cameras, but this time he stayed on the roof, not wanting to let Steve out of his sight. He only joined Steve when they were finally done and everyone was heading home.
He might have told himself it was because he could tell Steve was tenser than usual, recognizing the signs that this time it would require some effort to come down from all that happened, what with the general stress and the scare they’d had. Except it isn’t the truth, or more precisely it isn’t the whole truth.
Here at home he can acknowledge it, can admit that the need to not let Steve out of his sight was all about him, about the need to make sure that Steve was still there, still breathing. And it hasn’t gone away. There was a moment where he had to confront again the truth that he might very well lose Steve one of these days. It’s an old fear, familiar since childhood, but it still stings, still leaves him scrambling in his own brain, trying to find some way to deal with it. At least these days he has more avenues to do so.
They manage to kick out their boots and then Bucky steers Steve towards the kitchen, because he suddenly remembers that they haven’t eaten anything after the protein bars they grabbed on the way out of the door in the morning. With the metabolism they’ve got, if they wait until after they’ve slept it’ll be miserable as hell. He’s not even hungry, and he could bet Steve isn’t feeling it either, since they’ve pretty much just gone straight through to the other side of hunger. He sets to finding them something to eat while Steve collapses into one of the chairs and then idly pets Hecate after she finally manages to notice they’re home and comes to demand attention by getting on the table.
They’re both frayed along the edges, although it presents in different ways. Steve, now that he’s safely away from everyone, is exhausted in the specific way that only happens in times like these, and has a difficulty on focusing anything. Bucky on the other hand feels the need to act, to do things. It’s been like this before and sometimes their reactions don’t really go together, as they learned during the war. Now Bucky tries to make it work by setting himself specific tasks that need to be done anyway and that are thankfully normal in the grounding way, so the agitation doesn’t become worse. He needs it to not become worse, especially since it’s still mostly centered on Steve, who probably isn’t quite up to reassuring him now. So he spares a moment to be grateful for spacious freezers and microwaves that mean they can have a warm meal within minutes.
Food helps, probably both of them, although Steve still seems to be mostly eating on automatic, paying more attention to Hecate, who’s gone to sleep on the table, and Bucky than on his meal. There’s a faint line forming between his brows, a clear tell that he’s noticed Bucky’s not quite centered either.
They don’t bother clearing out the plates when they’re done. Instead Bucky tugs Steve into the bathroom to get rid of whatever all it is that’s covering them. In the shower Bucky does most of the work, Steve still being sluggish, steadying himself with hands on Bucky’s hips, the contact points two pools of heat. It works to wind down Bucky’s latent anxiety, to have Steve here, to be able to touch him. To be able to ascertain that yes, Steve is alive and breathing and fine. That he didn’t lose Steve this time either.
Steve actually takes an initiative after the shower to help Bucky dry his hair, rubbing a towel through it, and since Bucky’s doing the same for Steve it’s in no way practical, but he doesn’t care. Not when Steve is right there, radiating warmth. Soon Steve let’s the towel drop and pulls Bucky in by a hand behind his neck. The kiss is just slightly on the edge of desperate, and Bucky isn’t even sure which one of them it’s coming from. Probably both. He angles his head, lets his mouth open and pulls Steve closer, wraps his left arm around Steve’s waist and cradles Steve’s head with the other. Steve’s other hand runs across his back and then along his arm and back again, as if Steve is desperate to touch every inch of him.
It’s like a light going on in Bucky’s brain, and he almost shakes his head at himself for not realizing it earlier. He doesn’t, because it would mean he’d have to interrupt the kiss, which is the last thing he wants to do. He knows that one of the things that has always helped Steve in times like this is physical contact, and as for himself, in the back of his head Bucky still wants to make sure Steve is really here. So this will work out perfectly for both of them.
Bucky pulls Steve closer, their bodies flush against each other, and he feels Steve shudder and then suddenly relax, almost enough to fall without Bucky holding him up. The kiss breaks and Steve’s head falls on Bucky’s shoulder, his breaths hot on Bucky’s skin. Bucky takes the opportunity to walk them into the bedroom and push Steve into their bed where the sheets are still rumpled after the early morning call. He follows after, just barely not dropping straight on Steve, although Steve pulls him down anyway, into another kiss. Now it’s slower, more exploratory, the edge of desperation dulled for a moment. Steve strokes his hands lazily across Bucky’s back, against his sides, tangles his fingers in Bucky’s hair; basically just touches him everywhere Steve can reach. Bucky braces onto his left elbow, runs the fingers of his right hand over Steve’s collarbone and throat, that point where neck meets shoulder where Steve for some reason has a sensitive spot.
Bucky mouths his way down Steve’s neck, and Steve turns his head to give him better access, breathing faster, his fingers digging into Bucky’s back. Steve shifts a bit, opens his thighs and pulls Bucky even closer, wrapping his legs around Bucky’s hips. Bucky feels lightheaded, his nerves alight everywhere Steve touches him.
Bucky lifts himself up a bit to just look at Steve, lying there under him. Flush is riding high on his cheeks and spreading down his chest, his mouth is red and shining, eyelashes shadowed on his cheeks. Bucky pauses there, enthralled, and when Steve opens his eyes, wide and bright, Bucky feels like he’s drowning and it takes him a moment to parse the words.
“C’mon Buck, don’t just stare. I need you,” Steve says, his voice breathy and urgent, and he adds, “Please.”
The last word spurs Bucky back into action, and he runs his fingertips lightly over Steve’s chest, barely touching, and smiles. It’s probably nothing like his best efforts before the war, but it does have the gratifying effect of Steve’s eyes darkening, losing focus. Bucky bends down, his lips hovering over Steve’s skin, and remarks, “It’s as if you wanted something.” His breath is probably tickling, judging by the way Steve shivers.
Then he bites lightly on Steve’s collarbone, and Steve barely manages, “You’re such a jerk.”
There’s an edge to Steve’s voice, one that’s almost brittle, and Bucky presses his lips over the bite, more gentle than passionate this time. Steve threads his fingers again in Bucky’s hair when he says, “I’ll take care of you,” and reaches for the nightstand where they conveniently left the lube last night.
Bucky pushes Steve’s shoulders gently when he raises himself to move down, to keep Steve where he is. Steve lets his legs fall open, easily maneuverable. Bucky kisses him on the hip and nuzzles at the root of his now hard cock. Steve squirms at the sensation of Bucky’s stubble against the sensitive skin and extricates his fingers from Bucky’s hair to clutch at the sheets instead. His right hand slides over Bucky’s shoulder, metal to skin, and Bucky has to take a moment to remember what he was doing before slicking his fingers and working them inside Steve, first one and then another.
Steve is breathing hard now, half formed words spilling from his lips as only happens when he’s completely lost in sensation. Bucky leans over him and places feather-light kissed on his ribs, barely touching him besides the fingers inside Steve and left hand on his hip, keeping him from squirming. Steve clutches at his left shoulder, and Bucky is almost painfully hard even though he hasn’t even really been touched yet.
“C’mon Buck,” Steve pleads again, and Bucky’s only too happy to oblige, relishing the whimper he draws out of Steve when he pulls his fingers out.
He rolls Steve over, and Steve goes easily, settling on his hands and knees. Bucky mouths between his shoulder blades as he eases into Steve, tasting salt, breathing in the scent of Steve’s skin while he waits for Steve to adjust. Steve rolls his hips a bit and Bucky takes it for what it is, a request to move.
He starts slow, keeping to the rhythm and then upping the pace, hands on Steve’s flexing back muscles, listening to Steve’s breathing become harsh and then shift into whimpers and moans, no more bits of words mixed in, except for one. Steve keeps breathing his name, calling it out like a prayer, and Bucky lets it fill his head; the knowledge that he, no one else, gets to have this with Steve.
Bucky settles closer in, as much skin against Steve’s as he can, and he pushes Steve down to his elbows, his head resting over his hands and wraps his right arm around Steve, hand splayed on the middle of Steve’s chest. All the while he keeps up the relentless movement of his hips, and bends his head to kiss Steve’s upper back, right over a vertebra (T2, his brain supplies unbidden).
In a moment it’s almost too much, the pressure building inside him, and he pulls away a bit. Steve rolls onto his back without prompting and reaches out to draw Bucky close again. Steve kisses him hard when Bucky eases back into Steve and finds his rhythm again. It doesn’t take long before he comes, his head buried at Steve’s neck, Steve whispering his name in a way that’s almost reverent.
Bucky slips out of Steve and onto his side, takes Steve’s cock into his hand and pulls Steve close, his lips against Steve’s temple. Steve rocks into his hand, fingers digging at Bucky’s hip and he comes, Bucky’s name still on his lips.
Bucky rolls onto his back and pulls Steve with him, and Steve settles with his head on Bucky’s chest, hands tucked under him. Bucky threads fingers into Steve’s hair, settles his other hand on Steve’s shoulder, remembering in a flash that it’s all smooth now, no traces of bullet wounds left.
After a moment Steve shifts, presses a kiss onto Bucky’s skin and breathes out, “I missed you.”
It comes out ragged in a way it only does when Steve has all his barriers down, which he almost never lets happen. When they were still finding their way back to each other Bucky never got to see it, Steve carried it all by himself. Now it means that they are on a much more solid ground, now Steve feels secure enough to let go, and Bucky treasures the knowledge, even if it hurts to hear the raw edge on Steve’s voice. But it’s nothing he didn’t know before; they both carry invisible wounds from the past. At least now they are on the way for better, and it’s all Bucky could ever ask. And despite all leftover pain from years past, Bucky is still happy to note that the earlier desperation is gone, and that Steve has settled on him fully relaxed, heavy and so, so undeniably alive.
They should probably have another shower and change the sheets, but Bucky is not inclined to move, and Steve seems to agree, being probably more than half asleep already. Instead Bucky pulls the comforter over them and reaches to put out the lights, again congratulating whoever did the wiring for having the foresight to put a switch right at the bedside.
He settles his arms a bit tighter around Steve and lets the nightly background noise of the city lull him into sleep.