Chapter Text
“Sam? Sam! Thank god you picked up.”
“You called me twelve times in the past hour. I just pretended I had to take a shit halfway through a business meeting so I could take your damn call. What the fuck is going on?”
“Steve and I were out dancing last night and -”
“Dancing?”
“Yeah, and -”
“Steve Rogers dances?”
“Like a madman, stop interrupting. He said something about thinking he’d never meet someone who’d make him laugh again and then he freaked out and fucking disappeared. I tried to give him some space last night but he’s not answering my calls, he’s not at his apartment, I’m...worried.”
“Oh James,” Sam says softly. “It’s probably - what’s the date?”
“December 20th, why?”
“500 25th Street.”
Bucky listens to the silence after Sam’s statement, expecting a follow up.
He’s a wreck. Didn’t sleep a wink the whole night, but Steve’s a grown man, and not his boyfriend, owes him nothing. He’s just so worried. Steve plays Dom so well, but Bucky’s seen the wildness in his eyes, knows the feeling, the darkness that creeps in and threatens to trap you. Knows he and Steve aren’t so different. Which means that they’re equally capable of recklessness, and Bucky wants so much better for Steve than what he gives to himself.
“What’s that?” he finally asks.
Sam sighs heavily. “Green-Wood Cemetery. And James?”
“What?” Bucky whispers.
“Go easy on him.”
What is there to say but “Ok”?
He walks there. It’s cold as fuck, but he needs the time and the movement to keep him from drowning, and as he walks, he tries to sort his feelings.
So he’s in love with Steve Rogers. Wants him in every way it’s possible to want someone. Steve lost someone. Family? Friend? Boyfriend? Whoever it is, Steve doesn’t want to talk about it.
He won’t kiss Bucky. It’s fear, Bucky’s sure of it, sure he’s seen the fondness and affection in Steve’s face. Even if Steve doesn’t love him back, at least he likes him a whole lot. The guy asked him out for christ sake. But if Steve’s fear is stronger than his fondness, there’s no future for them.
Could he make himself leave? If it was the best thing? Give Steve the space to grieve and grow at Bucky’s own expense? He doesn’t want to have to find out.
The cemetery is fucking huge, like a goddamn forest preserve, scattered with mausoleums and headstones. It takes Bucky twenty minutes of wandering, but he gets there eventually, finds Steve in last night’s clothes hunched against the wind.
He still approaches slowly, trying to make enough noise that Steve isn’t startled, and with the snow thick on the ground, it isn’t too hard to do. The headstone is clean and there’s a bouquet of fresh white roses wilting in the cold at it’s base. Cared for.
Peggy Rogers. Loving daughter and wife.
Wife. Today’s the anniversary of her death. He didn’t see that one coming, but the urge to turn tail and run is crushed when Steve turns to look at him.
There’s a half empty bottle of whiskey dangling from his fingers and he looks wrecked: red eyes ringed with dark circles. Bucky’s never seen him cry before. It makes him feel like someone is reaching into his chest and twisting the meat there into pulp.
“Steve,” Bucky whispers, and reaches for him.
“Don’t.” His voice is terrible. “You shouldn’t be here.”
“I was worried.”
“I’m fine.”
His tone is a cover, a façade, reminiscent of his Dom voice but brittle and hostile. Bucky hates it. Hates even more that Steve’s using on him so he turns and faces the grave, looking over it into the field of headstones cloaked in white.
A few have trails of footprints leading up to them. Bucky never had many people to lose, and it looks like he’s about to lose the one he did have.
--
How is he supposed to explain this? What can he say? He’s not as drunk as he’d been earlier, so he takes a swig and sighs. Bucky’s never going to want him after this, but he doesn’t deserve cruelty. He’d been worried, and Steve had ignored his calls. Stood him up. A dick move.
The wind wails through the stones and they both shiver. He’s sure Bucky’s done with him. As well he should be. He doesn’t feel guilty because of Peggy. In fact, if she were around she’d probably have cussed him out for being such a bitch. He’s just so fucking afraid to love and lose again that he won’t even kiss the damn kid, much less admit his feelings, though he’s wanted to for weeks.
“We got married young. She died in a car accident while I was serving overseas. I couldn’t...her parents wouldn’t wait. Her dad didn’t approve of me. Didn’t get home in time for the funeral. I wasn’t even-” His voice breaks in a sob but he bites it back. “She deserved better.”
He’s not sure how resounding the unspoken, “You deserve better” is, but he feels it in his bones, right beneath the seeping cold.
He risks a sidelong glance. The collar of Bucky’s grey pea coat is turned up against the wind, but his cheeks are wind-burned red. His eyes are wide but look a little sunken, and Steve wonders if he had a sleepless night too. It sends a twinge of guilt through his gut, cutting through the whiskey.
When Bucky speaks, he sounds different than Steve’s ever heard, completely unguarded, Brooklyn accent heavy on the corners of his lips. It’s soft, too, like he’s afraid, but he says it anyway, because his boy is brave beyond reckoning.
“Ain’t nobody better than you.”
He gives a sad smile, so beautiful, and Steve hears the gasp escape his own lips, but nothing else follows. What a fool he’s been. Bucky loves him too. He opens his mouth to try to explain, shitty timing and depressing setting be damned.
“Buck-”, but Bucky just reaches forward and pats him on the chest. “You don’t have to do that for me, Stevie.” He gestures to the grave. “I’m sorry for your loss. I’ll - uh...I’ll see you around.” His voice only quivers on the last word, and even then only minutely, and he turns on the heel of his perfectly worn boots and trudges off through the swirling snow.
--
“Sweetie-” Nat says, but Bucky interrupts her with what he’s sure is his tenth “I’m fine” in the past hour. She almost never uses pet names, not unless someone’s an inch from death or a mental breakdown, and Bucky Barnes is neither. He is fine.
Well, not fine, but he's not dead, and that’s a start. He’s numb and it’s just starting to wear off, all of 48 hours later, and he’s a little nervous of what will happen when it does, but for now, it’s fine.
He’s spent no less than four hours in the gym in the past two days, and then went immediately to sleep, so he can understand why Nat’s nervous, but he’s not drinking himself into oblivion or fucking strangers. He’s almost proud of his coping mechanisms until he catches sight of himself in the bathroom mirror. His eyes are sunken and his cheekbones are more prominent. He touches them, thinking ruefully about how quickly his body reacts to caloric deficit and promises he’ll eat soon. Not Tino’s, it’ll just make him sad, but maybe some Easy Mac or something.
In the end, Nat makes him soup, and he eats it with increasing fervor, trying and failing to avoid interrogation. He tells her what happened at the bar and in the cemetery and she listens, nods, stays strangely silent. “What, no psychoanalysis?” Bucky mumbles through a mouthful of crackers. Now that he’s gotten started eating it’s hard to stop.
“No.” She shakes her head and brushes red curls from her eyes. “You’re an adult, and so is he. You spoke your truth. It’s all you can do. I’m proud of you.”
“Thanks, Nat,” he says shyly and she punches his arm.
“Thank me by taking a fucking shower, ok?”
“Fine, fine,” he gripes, laughing.
He squeezes the shit out of her before she leaves for work, filled with affection and gratitude for her friendship. They’ve been through some shit, and she’s developed an effective balance between mothering and distracting him, but he knows at the core of it she just loves the crap out of him. They’ve always been better at nonverbal communication and he tells her he loves her too by pressing a kiss to her forehead. She responds by patting his cheek with uncharacteristic sweetness, message received.
“Stay safe, James,” she says, and then he has the house to himself. He does shower, because it’s goddamn time, then starts a load of laundry. Then does the dishes. Then tidies the living room. He’s starting to thaw, and the pain of a Steve-less reality is starting to make him panic a little. It’s not quite sub-drop, but it’s similarly flavored, mania and haze. The cleaning helps him feel in control of something, and he knows it’s better than some of the alternatives, so he loses himself in it.
Loses himself so completely that he doesn’t even hear the knock on the door the first time. Almost misses it the second, but finally snaps back to reality and yells, “Coming,” as he hurries to the door. He’s wearing boxers and a band tee and his hair is a mess but it’s probably Mrs. Simmons the next door neighbor with misdelivered mail, so he doesn’t worry.
He yanks the door open.
It’s Steve, looking beautiful in jeans, a leather jacket and scarf, and bright eyed, so different from the last time they’d spoken, and Bucky can’t bring himself to do anything but stare.
“Hi,” Steve finally says.
Bucky’s “Hi” jumps unbidden from his mouth before he says, “What are you doing here?”
Steve opens his mouth to speak but then twists it to the side, thinking better of it. Bucky’s about to close the door, can’t handle even one additional heartbreak, but then Steve reaches forward and cups his jaw with a rough hand, leans in, and kisses him.
--
He’s a goddamn idiot. He should’ve been kissing Bucky Barnes every second of every day from the moment they met. Stepping closer, he wraps his arm around Buck’s back and the kid just melts into his arms like he was always supposed to be there.
Steve knows intellectually that they’ve been involved way more intimate than this many times before, but this, kissing Bucky, feels like having his chest ripped open. In the most wonderful way.
“Wait,” Bucky gasps, breaking the kiss but not pushing away. “What?”
“I love you,” Steve says simply, because Bucky had been brave so he could be too. “Losing Peggy broke my heart. Made me so fucking scared. Made me a coward.”
“Steve,” Bucky says brokenly, disagreeing, but Steve shakes his head.
“No, I was. I couldn’t...I thought if I kissed you I wouldn’t be able to keep my distance but...I’m an idiot Buck. I haven’t kept my distance since the moment I met you. Don’t want to.”
Bucky starts laughing. It’s not unkind, but it’s still a little unnerving after having poured his heart out. “What?”
Shaking his head, Bucky says, “I thought you were done with me, and all this time you’ve just been so fucking lovestruck you couldn’t just be a normal fucking boyfriend? Goddamn, Steve Rogers, it’s lucky you’re good lookin’.”
Steve rolls his eyes. “Gee, thanks.” He’s grinning, but still nervous and Bucky sees right through him, just like he always does.
“I love you, too, you fucking lunatic. So, so much.”
“Oh. Good,” Steve breathes, relieved.
“Yeah,” Bucky confirms with a kiss and the most breathtaking of smiles. “Good.”
--
“Please, Daddy, please, please touch me.” Bucky's kneeling on the bed, arching his back as hard as he can fucking manage and trying to puppy-dog eye his way into getting what he wants. It's not working.
“Open yourself up baby boy.”
“Want you to do it.”
The cane cracks across his thigh. “I gave you an instruction. Are you disobeying?”
Bucky smiles wickedly. “Would I do that?”
Steve breaks for a moment to roll his eyes and fondly caress Bucky’s cheek, then sucks in a mouthful of air as Bucky reaches around and starts working himself open with freshly lubed fingers. He sighs through the burn but tries not to rush it, mostly because of the way Steve is looking at him right now, like he’s the center of universe.
“Good boy,” Steve breathes, and leans down to kiss him, slow and sweet and sloppy. Bucky whimpers into his mouth, the slide of his Dom’s tongue intensifying the sensation of his own fingers. He knows that shit drives Steve crazy, and though he’s not doing it on purpose he’s thrilled when Steve wraps long fingers gently around his throat. “Keep going.”
Bucky adds another finger and whines. Steve kisses him again and again, making sure as long as Bucky’s hand is doing it’s job, their mouths are pressed together. When Bucky shifts and withdraws his fingers Steve stops and Bucky pouts. “Well get back to it then,” Steve says, all cocky and smartassed, and Bucky scowls but obeys quickly.
At three fingers Steve leans back and says, “Got a present for you.”
Bucky can’t hide his excitement, knows Steve doesn’t want him to. “What is it?”
“Pants first,” Steve teases and stands back up, gesturing to his slacks. After wiping his hand on a towel Bucky moves to unbutton them, but first he drags his palms from Steve’s ass, down the back of his legs, then the backs of his hands up the front, dipping in right before the crotch and brushing his fingers ghostly light over Steve’s dick where it’s pressing into the fabric there. He hisses but before he can start scolding, Bucky tugs the zipper down and pulls both slacks and boxers to the ground.
Steve’s cock springs free and Bucky blinks up coyly. “Please?”
“Nope,” Steve says looking way too pleased with himself. He holds out a hand and pulls Bucky to his feet. “Come on. Present time.”
They make their way to the bathroom, where a plush towel is folded neatly in front of a dildo suction cupped to the floor. It’s big, but not as big as Steve, who says, “You can suck my cock, but only as long as you’re fucking yourself on that.”
Wide eyed, Bucky plucks at it, watches it spring back and unfolds the towel a little to accommodate his leg span. “You drive a hard bargain,” he says with a smile, and holds out a hand for the lube. “But I think I can make an exception for you.” He slicks it up and sinks down, holding Steve’s eyes the whole time. It feels incredible, and he rocks his hip a few times.
--
Bucky is the embodiment of sex right now, and Steve is having a hard time controlling himself. The boy sighs as he fucks himself on the dildo a few times then reaches out to pull Steve closer. His mouth is hot, wet velvet, and Steve buries a hand in Buck’s hair immediately to control the speed (to keep from coming too quickly). Bucky’s lack of gag reflex has always been mind-blowing, and this instance is no different. He takes Steve all the way in and spends a few seconds swallowing around him and working his tongue over the bottom of his cock.
“Jesus,” Steve gasps.
“Not quite,” Bucky murmurs, and Steve tightens his fist warningly, but it has the opposite of the desired effect, and Bucky moans around him. To take back a little control, Bucky uses his hands around the back of Steve’s thighs to push him forward more rapidly, and Steve can’t find it in him to complain.
As minutes pass Steve can tell that Bucky’s losing it as his rhythm falters, and in a terribly distracting move, begins whimpering with almost every thrust, sending shocks up Steve’s spine.
“Hoooly shit, Buck, that’s so good. You’re so good. My beautiful boy.” He can tell by the way Bucky starts trembling that the words are having their desired effect.
--
Bucky’s not going to last much longer, and Steve is cool as a cucumber. He’s murmuring sweet things that are shoving Bucky closer to orgasm much faster than usual, and it’s pissing Bucky off that his Dom is still so in control. He rakes his nails down Steve’s thighs and receives a shout in return.
“You like that, baby?” Bucky asks coyly as he takes Steve in hand and laps at the head with teasing licks.
“You are terribly behaved,” Steve replies with no real malice.
“Then punish me.”
Steve grins. “What do you think I should do?” he asks, all faux innocence.
“Fuck my face.” There’s absolutely no pause, and Bucky is delighted to both see and feel Steve’s knees buckle a little.
“...You…” Steve murmurs awed, and Bucky yanks him forward.
He falls apart pretty quickly after that, though Bucky isn’t faring any better, and when Steve pulls back to let him breathe he uses the time efficiently.
“Please fuck me, please Steve, I need-” He doesn’t get any further than that.
Steve yanks him to his feet and catches him around the waist before spinning him around over the countertop and sinks into him.
--
“Oh fuck,” Bucky moans and Steve knows he’s making some undignified noises of his own, but Bucky’s slick and tight and he can’t stop himself from snapping his hips forward. “Yes! Oh god that’s perfect.”
He’s being rough, he’ll have to check on Bucky after, but right now he’s out of his mind with want and the sight of Bucky writhing beneath him, muscles rolling beneath sweat-shimmering skin, is about to break him apart
“God Buck, you feel so fuckin’ good. So good for me.” Bucky whines, so he continues. “So fuckin’ beautiful. So fuckin’ perfect.”
“Thought you said I was terribly behaved,” Bucky gasps, still a charming smartass even when being fucked within an inch of his life.
“Wouldn’t have you any other way.”
“Oh right there, fuck yes.” He’s pretty much yelling now. Perfect. Steve curls around him and tilts his head to kiss him.
--
Steve is sufficiently gone now, making little grunting noises with every thrust, and sweeps his tongue through Bucky’s mouth as they kiss, desperate.
“Fuck, Steve, can I come, please-”
“You gonna come untouched for me baby?” he pants, so close it sounds like he’s in pain.
“Please, Daddy, yes, please, I’ll be good-”
“So good-”
“Fuck, fuck, I gotta-”
“Love you so much Bucky. Come for me.”
He’s pretty sure he screams but Steve almost certainly doesn’t notice as he’s groaning his way through his own release. Bucky’s knees give out, and Steve grabs him, holding him up and panting into his back for a moment before sweeping him up into his arms.
“You’re ridiculous,” Bucky murmurs into his chest, lulled by the motion of Steve walking back to the bedroom.
“Why thank you.” He presses a kiss to Bucky’s forehead as he lays him down in their bed and hands him a bottle of water. “Drink please.”
“Yes, Daddy,” he mutters, this time sarcastic.
“Hey, you gotta stay hydrated.”
Bucky spits out a stream of water at him. “I’ll hydrate you.”
Steve blinks, water dripping off his lashes, and for a moment Bucky is grateful they’re not sceneing anymore because if they were he’s pretty sure he’d be getting his ass beat right about now, but then Steve throws his head back and laughs. Laughs so fucking hard Bucky can see the muscles in his sides contracting and he has to brace himself with hands on hips.
“You fucking crazy…” He stops, shaking his head, and leans down over Bucky. “...Remarkable, beautiful, hysterical-”
“Oh my god, stop,” Bucky says, covering his eyes.
“Sexy, sweet, incredible man.”
“Fuck off.”
“I’m gonna need a minute, but then, gladly.”
Bucky withdraws his hand to stare up at his boyfriend. He’s beautiful, Bucky thinks. Extraordinary. He can say it now, does a hundred times a day, and does right this very second, simply because he wants to. “I love you, jerk.”
“I love you, punk,” and he brushes the hair out of Bucky’s eyes as he wraps himself around his boyfriend, and lovingly, passionately, sweetly, kisses the everloving fuck out of him.