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“Your hair’s getting long.”
Bucky raises a brow at that, tilting his head up to meet Steve’s gaze. The shorter man is standing behind the sofa, clever fingers poking and teasing at the sticky strands of hair Bucky is rocking.
It’s half past six and he hasn’t moved since he got home. He really should shower, it’s the tail end of summer and the sea salt tang of the docks sticks to him like another layer of skin, but the worn down cushion of the sofa and the way Steve’s slowly easing the headache out of him makes it nearly impossible.
Bucky can’t quite get himself to move when Rogers keeps lavishing him in attention, the jerk.
“Yeah?” he says, “Least I can still see. Dunno if I could handle my hair pokin’ me in the eye all the time like yours does, pal.”
For emphasis, Bucky brings his hand behind him to lightly pat at Steve’s cheek, using his index finger to flick at the loose strands of blond hair that Steve is always so obsessed with pushing aside. He can hear the moment Steve huffs at the comment, his shoulders squared to mimic feeling insulted as he playfully slaps Bucky’s hand away, taking the two steps necessary to enter the kitchen.
“Hungry?” Steve calls out, switching on the stove. It’s a rhetorical question, of course Bucky’s hungry. “Made soup. Get washed up, it’ll be warm by the time you get out.”
Bucky hums, feeling the ache travel up the length of his spine as he actually strains to stand up. Couple more years worth of lifting crates for hours on end just might be too much for his back, but he quickly shoves the thought away. Better him then Steve, he reckons, and that thought somehow makes the ache all the more bearable.
When Bucky steps forward, he eyes the kitchen table a few feet from Steve, brows furrowed as he comes to a complete stop.
“Bread?” Bucky finds himself surprised just muttering the word, wondering how he didn’t notice it when he first got home.
They couldn’t afford any this month, what with rent being due and Steve needing a new inhaler after his last one gave a pathetic last gasp a few weeks ago. Hell, even when the bread goes stale in the market Steve works out, they seldom ever give him anything to bring home, and Bucky couldn’t exactly imagine Steve with his high strung morals grabbing a loaf and making a break for it.
Bucky turns over to glance at him, Steve’s back turned away as he stirs the large pot in front of him. “Mrs. Letterman.” he answers simply, but that doesn’t exactly answer much.
She hasn’t been their friendliest neighbor after moving here, so the gesture only sparks further questions.
“Huh,” Bucky shrugs, thoroughly surprised, “She say anything?”
“Just that you’d been losin’ weight. Worried you’re not eating enough.”
“Oddly considerate of her.” He’s making his way over to the cabinet next to the bedroom, pulling out a fresh towel and grabbing a bar of soap. His pants mostly fit him the same, little loose on the waist, but hell, who isn’t losing weight what with the market going to shit.
“You remind her of her son, y’know.” Steve says simply, steam tickling up at his nose as he knocks Bucky out of his own thoughts, “‘s why she’s taken a likin’ to you. She won’t outright admit it though.”
“Sure it’s not cause of my charming good looks?” Bucky calls out, giving one of his signature Bucky Barnes smirks that stopped working on Steve years ago.
Steve simply rolls his eyes, waving him away.
“Hurry up and shower, Barnes, unless you wanna miss your program. Starts at 7 sharp, remember?”
“’Course doll, how could I forget?” he leans over and smacks an obnoxious kiss on Steve’s cheek, which earns him a sharp elbow right in the gut. Steve’s always been so shy about the affection, that he can’t help but tease an embarrassed reaction out of him, even if it earns him a bruise or two.
After paying his thanks to Mrs. Letterman for the considerate gift, he makes his way down to the communal bathroom down the hall. Soon as they’ve got enough money saved up, he’s gonna find another spot to move in with Steve, he’s sick of sharing a broomstick bathroom with 5 other families.
Least in his own bathroom, he’d know where all the shaven hair came from.
By the time he’s scrubbed the high hell out of his skin and has made his way back inside, Steve’s tucked into the corner of the couch, wearing nothing but boxer shorts and an undershirt. Even with all the windows opened it’s still a goddamn sauna inside, and Bucky can feel the sweat already beginning to collect on his brow.
His dinner is served waiting and ready for him on the table, and he can’t help the growl that pierces through their apartment at the sight and smell of it. Switching on the radio, he lets music flood the empty space, deafening the sound of lead scratching against Steve’s blank notebook page as he takes a seat and dives in.
“Nick’s got another one on the way.” Bucky says casually, dipping his bread into the red soup.
“Betty’s pregnant again?” Steve doesn’t move, but Bucky can hear the surprise in his voice, doesn’t miss the way his tone changes. Little Jason had barely turned 1 a month ago and they already got another bun in the oven.
“Good for them.” Steve finally says, and returns to his silence.
Popping his last bit of bread into his mouth, Bucky rinses off his dishes and plops himself gracelessly at the opposite end of the sofa, a clever brow perked as Steve readjusts from his unnecessary entrance.
“Hey,” he calls out, with no response. “Psst, hey, Steve, Stevie,” he chimes, waiting until Steve finally graces him with that gorgeous gaze of his, albeit a little annoyed. Once he’s earned that much, Bucky smirks something fierce and pats at his lap, unable to keep a straight face.
“C’mere.”
“You move too much.” Steve says simply, gaze lingering down to his sketchpad. “Can never get anything done with you under me.”
“Aw c’mon,” Bucky whines, not willing to give up quite yet, “C’mere, sweetheart, ‘ve missed you all day. Just till my programs over, promise.”
Steve exhales slowly from his nose, a blunt fingernail tap-tap-tapping away on his pad. “It’s hot.”
“You always run cold, it’ll be fine.”
Steve bites at his bottom lip to will the smile trying to peak out, but Bucky see’s it from a mile away, know he’s got him hooked even with how hard to get Rogers wants to seem. Bucky loves it.
“If I get over there will you finally shut your trap, Barnes?” the blond asks, already getting up.
“Shove over and we’ll find out.”
Soon as Steve’s snug in Bucky’s lap, the larger man wraps an eager arm around his waist, watching him get comfortable as he tucks his head underneath Bucky’s chin. As much as Steve hates being bird boned, being able to fit him comfortable in his lap never ceases to make the brunet smile.
Bucky spends the next hour lazily sprinkling kisses against Steve’s hair, feeling the hours drag on until the sun finally hides behind the horizon and the Frank Allen show retires for the night. He’ll have to be up tomorrow before dawn, but for now there’s nothing occupying his thoughts but the way that Steve can make their disheveled little apartment look like gold with nothing more than the flick of his wrist and a shitty pencil they bought for a cent.
Even the peeling wallpaper in his sketch looks full of grace, revealing old stories lost through time that never quite lost their charm. It’s much more appealing looking through Steve’s sketchbook, the real thing ain’t nothin’ to brag about, and it just makes him a little sad, knowing he can’t offer Steve more.
“How’dja do that?” Bucky asks sleepily, burying his face in Steve’s soft blond hair as his breathing comes in deep and slow. His muscles ache and his head feels heavy but Christ, his lungs are full of Steve’s scent and it’s nice finally being back home, if only to hold him like this.
“You always ask me that.” Steve whispers, glancing over to the clock. He tucks his notepad away and pats gently at Bucky’s cheek, trying to keep him awake.
“Let’s get to bed.” He says softly, and Bucky simply groans, wrapping his arms tighter around the smaller man – an act of resistance. Steve simply sighs, twisting his body around until their noses are practically touching and his legs are on either side of Bucky’s hips, hands firm on those strong shoulders he’s come to love.
“Buck,” he calls out softly, his voice soft and sweet and grabbing Bucky’s attention like nothing else ever does, “You forget we share the same bed? You can hold me all you want in there.” he offers, hoping that’ll appease the larger man.
When not even that works, Bucky looking like he’d rather spend the night on the couch so long as it means not having to let go of Steve, the blond slowly leans forward and presses a chaste, gentle kiss against Bucky’s cheek, physically feeling him melt into the contact as his hands scramble against Steve’s waist. Bucky hums, tilting his head to finally kiss those pretty red lips of Steve’s, again and again until Steve re-establishes distance between them and pull away.
“C’mon, I’m tired. I wanna go to bed.”
It’s a dirty trick, but Steve watches him physically wake up again, nodding in response as he finally lets his arms go slack enough for Steve to climb down and lead them into the bedroom. It’s astounding just how receptive Bucky is the moment Steve makes his need known, and he hopes it takes him a few more years before Bucky realizes he’ll sometimes use it to his own benefit. If he does, it’ll make nights like these a hell of a lot more difficult.
Bucky all but collapses on the mattress as Steve follows behind him, unable to stop the soft laugh that bubbles up his throat when Bucky possessively places a lazy arm over Steve’s back, pulling him in close. He’ll be asleep in a few minutes tops, what with the way he’s already sinking into their mattress.
“You at the docks tomorrow?”
“Garage, Toni needs me.” Bucky answers, tucking his head away into the crook of Steve’s shoulder. He inhales deeply, placing a lazy kiss on Steve’s shoulder blade.
“I’ll come by to bring you some lunch.” Steve says simply, leaning over to switch off the lamp light. It won’t be much, but better that then Bucky waiting to eat till he gets back home that evening.
“Ain’t workin’ tomorrow?”
“Not till Thursday.”
“Mm.” He responds, and he’s out like a light, his chest rising and falling like lazy waves just barely gracing against a shoreline.
Steve spends the rest of his time awake playing with a few wayward strands of Bucky’s hair, listening to his breathing and pressing kisses against his cheek. He feels almost selfish, enjoying moments like these, like there ain’t a thing wrong with the world, like no evil could exist when someone as good as James Buchanan Barnes will wake up come morning and spring through the streets of New York, spreading goodness like it’s his bible with no more than the sweet curl of his lips and that god dang twinkle in his eye.
Steve gives him another kiss or two, or five or ten, with not a soul but God as his witness.
He secretly loves nights like these, where he can take a nice long look at his fella and ease the tension out of his muscles while he snoozes away against Steve’s chest, not bothering to stir even when Steve’s hands travel down the expanse of his back.
What Barnes don’t know won’t hurt him.
***
“Ya think he’s real?”
Steve quips an eyebrow, handing the box of Milk Duds Bucky’s way after he’s tossed a few into his mouth. “What is?”
Light from the movie screen flickers bright and bold, the colors saturating against Bucky’s tanned skin. Awfully dramatic for a black and white movie.
Bucky leans in close before answering, his voice wavering.
“King Kong,” Bucky whispers, incredulous. “I mean, not sayin’ I’m devoted to his existence or anything, but if that Stark fella is talkin’ about building flying cars, then hell, who’s to say a 40 foot ape ain’t running around in some other country?”
Steve scoffs, watching the way the movie screen reflects off Bucky’s face, pictures dancing against his vibrant eyes as he stares unblinking to the screen. The dame is screaming for dear life, and airplanes are zipping through the sky, zigzagging like a fly trying to escape a room.
“And what do you reckon happens if he does exist?” Steve asks, listening to the way the music rolls like thunder and strikes his chest like lightning.
Bucky’s popping a few duds into his tongue, taking a swig of his soda and exhaling long and slow.
“Hell, world’s gotta end somehow.”
The movie ends shortly after and they’re making their way back home, crushing golden leaves under their shoes and listening to the way they crunch and crackle. It’s autumn in full swing, the warmth of summer has bled away and the bite of the wind is slowly becoming harder to ignore as the days pass.
Steve’s teeth are chattering away and it’s only hit 42 degrees, god save his soul when winter rolls around in another month or so and bites him right on his bony ass.
“ Cold?” Bucky asks, already ready to peel off his jacket.
“’m fine.” Steve answers, tone clipped, because of course he’s fine, he’d be hip deep in snow and never so much as accept a scarf or mitten from anyone even if it meant saving his life.
But Bucky knows better than that, and his coat is draped over Steve’s shoulders before he’s even done answering, glaring daggers even as his fingers pull the fabric closer.
“It’s only a 20 minute walk,” scoffs the smaller man, pouting like a damn child, “You didn’t have to.”
“Didn’t have to,” Bucky repeats, unconvinced, “Can’t have you gettin’ sick, Stevie, not with your manager finally takin’ a liking to you.”
Steve’s pout becomes all the more magnified, even bumping into Bucky as they walk and muttering something under his breath. His bottom lip pouts out and he’s staring down at the sidewalk as he walks, brows furrowed together.
Bucky just wants to kiss the look right off his face, and he probably will, soon as they get home.
A couple blocks down and a fella and his dame are hardly an inch apart from each other, hands wrapped around hips and lips pleasantly flushed from kissing. They’ve made their way out from a dance hall, and Bucky can smell the scotch on their breath from a block away. The nights still young, and he almost wants to ask Steve if he’d want to take a stroll inside, but he can’t even afford their cheapest beer and he’d have to literally drag Steve inside if he wanted him to join in.
But, still...soon as they get home and Bucky’s slipped his johns off, he can’t quite get the beat out of his step and he’s racing to switch the radio on, pleasantly relieved that Benny Goodman is there to join him as he jives through the living room.
Steve’s snug on the sofa with a blanket over his shoulders as he watches Bucky, not quite doing much but staring.
“You could head on down to the bar,” he reasons, “I’m sure Mickey will be down there, maybe a dame or two.”
“And miss an evening with my best guy?” Bucky swings around to the other side of the sofa and reaches his hand out, the other pleasantly snapping away to the beat of the drum, “C’mon doll, you’re the best part of my day.”
“You say that every day.” Steve rolls his eyes, tilting his head away to hide the blush that’s already starting to blossom across his cheeks. Too late, Bucky’s already seen it, and he’s out for blood.
He wiggles his fingers, willing Steve to reach out.
“Still can’t dance.” He says as Bucky takes his bony, cold fingers, giving the back of his hand a quick kiss like it’s a damn honor to be given this chance.
“I’ll show ya.” Bucky promises, navigating them into the empty space of the living room as his hand sits fitted against Steve’s waist.
“Haven’t managed to do it right all the other times we’ve tried, Barnes.” Steve quips, and he’s already stumbling over himself the moment they start moving, tripping over Bucky’s feet and stepping on him a few times. His rhythm is awful, form terrible, but the way his brows twitch in concentration as he tries to not ruin the moment makes Bucky break and kiss him right on that perfect forehead of his, getting possessive and letting the kisses travel down his temple and onto the highpoints of his cheeks.
Steve hums, leaning into the contact and exposing his neck, and Bucky can hardly contain himself after being given permission. It’s almost overwhelming, how much milky skin he has to play with.
When the song ends and the tempo changes, slow and sweet in its precision, they’re simply swaying, barely taking a few steps away from their current spot as lips and hands roam across greedy skin. Steve hums in approval as Bucky’s teeth graze against his racing pulse, pulling him in close by the shirt.
“’Bout time.” Steve sighs, tilting Bucky’s chin up to properly kiss him flush on the lips. He nips at his bottom lip, loving the way Bucky whines from it. Steve’s been waiting for this, Bucky reckons. Waiting since the drive in movie, where couples were necking a mere few feet away from them like there wasn’t much else on their minds. And damn, sure it would be nice to have a pretty little dame under his arm to kiss and hold all night without anyone looking twice over it, to love and please, but the reason why he won’t do that is the exact same as to why he never follows them home.
They’re not Steve. Never will be. And as much as the thought of having to hide all the love he has to offer to this man a secret for the rest of their days kills him, he’d rather spend them with Steve then live some sad pathetic lie with someone he could never love half as much.
“Bucky –“ Steve sighs, and he’s pushing him into the bedroom, the radio humming softly in the distance as Bucky collapses onto the mattress.
“You’ve been giving me eyes all night.” Steve says, accusation in his tone in that playfully wonderful bite Bucky loves.
“Who, me?” he laughs, tugging Steve into his lap, “Nah, can’t be. Must be imagining it, Rogers, was watchin’ the movie all night.”
“So I must be imagining that those ain’t your hands under my shirt?” Steve smirks, listening to the pop of buttons as Bucky pries them open.
“Yeap.” He bats his pretty lashes, feigning innocence.
“Swear to God?”
“Now, I dunno if we gotta bring Him into this, but – whoa!”
Bucky’s flush on his back now, pinned down under Steve’s weight. He could easily toss him over, switch things up, but that’s not the game they’re playing right now.
Besides, it’s not like he’s complaining being under Steve, not with the view he’s got.
They haven’t even turned the lights on in the bedroom in their haste. Light bleeds in from the living room, and Bucky admires the way it catches in Steve’s hair, identical to woven gold. Bucky can see the fine angles of Steve’s jawline, the way his bones jut out like thorns under silk and how the heels of his hands dig into the muscle of his shoulders, and he aches for it; yearns.
He sure as hell can’t see it, but he can feel the burn of Steve’s skin as it presses against him, blood hot and scalding. Bucky’s damn sure his blush has traveled down his sternum at this point, what with the way his lip is twitching and his breathings gotten deeper, and fuck it if he’s seen it a million times before, Bucky aches to see it now.
When Steve finally decides to make his move, he plops himself gracelessly against Bucky’s chest and lavishes kisses down his jawline, using his teeth to nip red marks all over the brunet’s skin. Steve acts with confidence, not an ounce of hesitance in his actions as he nips and sucks at the delicate skin of Bucky’s neck, slowly navigating until his lips press against the hollow of Bucky’s throat.
When Bucky twitches underneath him, sucking in deep and uneven breaths, Steve simply smiles against his skin, each kiss and movement achingly slow as he continues his onslaught.
“Fuck,” Bucky curses when Steve sucks on his adam’s apple, unable to resist the whine that slips from his lips, “Fuck, baby, you’re killin’ me here, doll, killing me.”
“Mm. Good.” Steve sighs, blunt fingernails scratching angry red lines across Bucky’s chest.
And he doesn’t stop until he’s littered Bucky’s neck and chest with red, garish hickies. The bastard, not like he’s got work the next morning…
***
Brooklyn’s snowed in.
It’s a goddamn winter wonderland out there, cars trapped in driveways and roads totally blocked off. It would actually feel magical though, if Bucky could feel his toes and death himself wasn’t trailing behind every living civilian dumb enough to go outside. It’s gotten so bad the last 24 hours that the announcer on the radio is even blabbering about it, mentioning closed off shops and warning civilians of safety precautions. For a town that never sleeps, the absence of hollering car horns or damn alley cats brawling it up is oddly disgruntling, but Bucky hardly lets it bother him.
Steve is snoring peacefully against him, basking in a lazy afternoon where Bucky is actually there to enjoy it with him. The kid’s hardly been up for more than 20 minutes all morning, quickly lulled back to sleep by the steadiness of Bucky’s heart beat roaring against his ear. He’s been sweating out a fever for the last week, sleepless nights occupied by fever induced dreams that left him just barely on the cusp of consciousness, so Bucky’s hardly done a thing to keep him from resting up. His poor fella must be exhausted, fighting to stay alive in the dead of winter.
It’s not often that Bucky can enjoy an afternoon like this, passing time by counting the freckle’s on Steve’s back and pressing sweet kisses against each one, fingertips grazing against every inch of skin the blond has exposed. Least if he’s asleep, he can’t complain about all the attention.
Steve is pressed flush against him, head tucked away in Bucky’s shoulder and limbs wrapped around him like his life depends on it. He’s leeching away at Bucky’s warmth, cold hands burrowed underneath the man’s shirt to suck away at his precious heat, calloused fingers pushing against the meat of Bucky’s back. Bucky can’t even fathom that for all of the time they’ve spent under these covers, his fella is still cold, never quite warming up enough for him to justify getting up and grabbing his boy some much needed water. Steve’s gotta be dehydrated, hasn’t had much to drink all day, but if he leaves him for even a single moment Bucky might as well just throw him straight into a mound of snow.
The heater in their apartment’s been broken since last winter and the tenant won’t bother fixing it, mouthing off some excuse that he’d get to it soon enough. Hell, much as Bucky likes sharing his body heat with Stevie to keep the cold away, he’s definitely not as effective as actual industrialized heating.
It’s past noon when Steve finally decides he’s had his fill of sleeping in, stretching lazily against the sheets and pressing his cold toes against the heat of Bucky’s leg. He blinks, once, twice, and finally gives a hearty yawn that leaves his tiny lungs aching, burrowing his face right into Bucky’s chest.
It’s sickening, disgusting.
It’s the cutest goddamn thing Bucky could ever witness, hand on the Lord’s holy Bible, seeing Steven Grant Rogers wake up looking glassy eyed and rubbing the sleep right out of his ugly mug. Bucky can’t help but run his fingers through his fella’s pretty blond hair, just to hear him moan in response.
“Mornin’ sweetheart,” Bucky whispers, pressing a kiss against Steve’s temple.
“Mm.” Steve groans, sounding like he might just fall right back asleep if he really wanted to.
“You should see outside, street’s covered in snow.”
“’s cold.” He whines, digging his fingers deeper into Bucky’s shirt, trying to find a new spot he hasn’t quite touched yet. Bucky lets him poke and prod, pulling his baby boy deeper into his arms just to watch him writhe. Steve exhales a long, slow sigh, leaning down to press a sleepy kiss against Bucky’s collarbones.
“How long’ve I been out?” he finally asks after a few moments of trying to will his body to stay awake, albeit failing a few times.
“Don’t worry about it,” Bucky answers simply, scratching Steve’s scalp with his blunt fingernails, “Rooster went hollerin’ hours ago, he’s long gone.”
“That late, huh?”
Steve sighs and rolls over onto his back, listening to the crack and pop of joints as he twists and moves. He pokes his head out from the comforter, just to scope out the scene and see if it’s really so terrible, only to quickly retreat back into the sanctity of their bed, utterly regretting that decision. For the few seconds he was out, his nose probably lost any of the heat it retained all morning.
“It’s too cold to do much of anything.” Steve states simply, turning over to face Bucky, “Anything on your mind?”
“Got a few things I’ve been wantin’ to do all morning.” Bucky smirks, playing it off like he hasn’t been itching for it all goddamn day, and Steve can’t help but push him on.
“Yeah?” he raises an eyebrow, amused, “Well, don’t keep me waiting, Barnes.”
Soon as the words leave Steve’s pretty little mouth, Bucky leans forward and seals his lips against the plumpness of Steve’s bottom lip, kissing it silly until it’s bright and red from attention. He can’t help but sigh into the gesture, lithe fingers reaching up to cup at Steve’s paper thin cheek where he feels heat beginning to collect. Bucky lets the minutes drag on, slow and sweet like fresh honey as he doesn’t do much of anything but kiss his fella right where he’s been aching for it all day. When he leans back, eyes a little hooded and sucked into the gentle gaze of Steve’s gorgeous eyes, he smiles dumb and wide, giddy under his attention.
“That’s all?” Steve smirks, licking at his lips, “No wonder you can’t keep a dame for longer than a night, Barnes, if that’s all you’ve got under your sleeve.”
“I’m just getting started, sweetheart, don’t you worry.”
He presses unrushed, firm kisses against Steve’s lips, kissing Steve until his fella is melting for it, and slowly travels down the juncture of his jawline, settling against that cute adam’s apple of his. He can hear Roger’s heart thundering like a goddamn freight train in his chest, each beat pounding with enough force to send their pathetic apartment complex tumbling down.
Bucky’s a sucker and he can’t help but slowly press a litany of kisses down Steve’s sternum, a kiss placed cleverly right over his fellas beating heart. After he’s pressed a few lingering kisses there, he tilts his gaze up and gives Steve his signature Bucky Barnes wink.
“Gross.” Steve responds right back, but he’s trying to swallow down giggles as he says it, the attention tantalizing as tension slowly builds in his belly.
Bucky’s lips slowly carve trails down Steve’s chest and settle against the grooves of his ribs, pausing in reverent silence. Bucky’s breath tickles, ghosting hot across the milky skin, and his lips press firm and sweet against the sensitive skin over them. He sits lingering there for a moment, moving from one side to the other to ensure that each part of him is pleasantly loved, before slowly proceeding forward.
Steve’s breath hitches when Bucky moves past his belly button, settling in between the space of his thighs. He brings a hand over and gently nudges them farther apart, hooking Steve’s legs up on his shoulders as he runs a thumb across the milky skin of his inner thigh. Not a single bruise or freckle in sight, and Bucky smirks, the devil as his witness as he plots his course of action. Steve may be the artist between them, but Bucky recognizes an empty canvas anywhere, and he’s ready to get to work.
Steve gives a pleasant little twitch when Bucky’s fingers graze against the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, the brunet feeding off every reaction as he glances up at his baby. Steve’s staring down at Bucky, eyes entranced by the scene before him, and Bucky can’t hide the amusement on his face, lips curled like he’s just been told a dirty secret. He loves an audience.
Bucky takes his sweet time dragging his teeth across the soft skin of Steve’s thigh, red lines and teeth marks blossoming under their wake. He pushes Steve’s briefs up just the faintest bit to reveal more skin, kissing and sucking until Steve’s humming in satisfaction, waiting for more.
He gasps when Bucky bites down, hard enough to leave behind indents of his teeth, only to lavish the marks with delicate kisses. His Stevie bruises like a peach, the marks will be there for weeks, and he almost loves leaving them more than hickey’s on his collarbones, because Bucky loves the intimacy of knowing that no one else is aware of their existence except for them. Just another secret to keep hidden under their sleeves, he smiles, sucking mean and hard on Steve’s untouched right thigh.
Minutes pass and Steve’s skin is pleasantly flushed, his inner thighs looking prettier then sin where the hickey’s start to form. He’s kissing his way back up Steve’s legs, peppering kisses across his pelvis until he rests against his baby’s hipbones.
He exhales, sharp and sweet against the skin, and Bucky can’t help the whine that rips up his throat, the way his lips tingle at seeing the sharp jut of bone underneath his Stevie’s pretty pale skin.
“Christ,” he whispers, reverent as he leans in close, “Jesus Christ, sweetheart, prettier then sin and I’m the lucky bastard who gets this all to myself. Count my lucky blessings every day that you’d let me be your fella.”
Bucky slowly takes the thin skin between his teeth and just barely nips at it, his other hand traveling up Steve’s pale leg until he’s thumbing at Steve’s left hip bone, pressing down and caressing at the smooth skin.
Steve stirs underneath him, shy as if Bucky hasn’t already done this all a million times before.
“Why do you like them?” he can’t help but ask, gasping when he feels Bucky’s tongue swipe across the skin, teasing him up to high heaven.
Bucky mulls the question over for a moment, never pausing his ministrations for more than a second. His hands run up the length of Steve’s chest and settle against those cute pecks of his, not quite grabbing, but letting his fingers wander and tease at the flushed skin there.
There isn’t a spot that Bucky doesn’t love with all his heart, wouldn’t spend hours kissing and worshipping like it was his sole reason for existence.
But…his warm, silky thighs? How they tremble and move under his grip? Or the way Steve’s pelvis twitches upward when Bucky’s got his lips wrapped around the highpoints of his pretty hipbones?
Jesus…
That Steve ever allowed him to see the skin underneath his too baggy clothes, revealed the most intimate sides of himself even with the fear of rejection breathing hot and garish against his neck, drives Bucky utterly mad. That Steve could have so much trust in Bucky that he’d let himself be vulnerable under his gaze never ceases to make the brunet’s chest ache, overflowing with all the love he has to offer this man. He sighs, melting against Steve’s soft skin as his head rests against his concave stomach.
“I love ‘em just as much as I love any other part of you, Stevie,” Bucky answers, lifting his gaze to stare into Steve’s baby blues. The blond’s cheeks are flushed bright and red, the blush traveling down his sternum and sprinkling across the dainty skin of his collarbones. He’s got his baby hot and bothered, and Bucky smiles at how endearing it is, how Steve loves all the affection even if he’ll never admit it.
“Jerk.” he mutters under his breath, and pulls his hands forward to cup at Bucky’s cheeks and guide him back up, kissing his face silly and digging his fingers through Bucky’s wavy brown hair. He’s kissing the fire right out of him, and Bucky’s melting, dissolving away against the chill of Steve’s clammy hands.
“Surprised you never touched the goods while down there.” Steve quips, and Bucky can’t help but exhale a loud, ugly laugh, pinching Steve right on his side.
“We got all day, doll. No need to rush.”