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Fresh out of the shower, shaved, hair effortlessly styled, and a wardrobe of black on black on more black, and James Buchanan Barnes is feeling exquisitely well equipped for a night on the town. He doesn’t get out for nights like this much. Not like he used to. There was a time when Bucky spent every Friday night out drinking alone or with friends, and most Saturdays too. Of course, he’s not so much a young man anymore and his liver doesn’t take kindly to that kind of abuse so the reckless enthusiasm of his early twenties has been forcibly shelved for a much more tempered kind of social calendar. Not that he’s old per se. Twenty-seven isn’t over the hill. Not even approaching the crest of it, really. But every time he goes hard, putting away drinks like he swears he remembers he used to be able to do, he pays for it in spades the next day. Tomorrow is probably going to be one of those next days. It will definitely be one of those days if Natasha has anything to say about it. That girl, Bucky could swear she stopped aging at twenty five. She can push through pretty much anything and wake the next morning without so much as a shadow under her eye, out drink any two men Bucky has ever seen her make contest with, and he’s not certain she’s ever been introduced to a hangover. There was one morning-after he was almost entirely sure she was feeling as awful as he was from the way she looked a little green around the gills, but apparently that was just a lack of caffeine talking because one cup of coffee later and she was her regular perky self again. It’s kind of sickening. But it also means that she has not slowed down even a little bit and as much as Bucky enjoys a night of partying once in a while it also means he’s dreading the next day before the night even starts. He may be older than he once was, but he never did develop the wisdom required to say no when a drink is passed his way. Tomorrow will almost certainly be hell.
Bucky grabs a cold beer out of his fridge and, checking himself in the mirror as he passes, sends Nat a text to confirm their plans. She managed to work her magic on the owner or the bartender or the bouncer (Bucky can’t remember which) of some new club that opened in her neighborhood and has managed to get the pair of them plus Sam and Tony onto the guest list. It’ll probably be pretentious as fuck, but hey, whatever, as long as they’re not playing nonstop dub-step it’ll probably still be fun, right? Maybe Bucky’ll even get laid. Stranger things have happened.
<<Where are we meeting again? I’ve stopped trying to keep track of the fuckin clubs in this town
>>It was supposed to be Club Hydra.
Bucky stares at the screen with a raised eyebrow. Supposed to be?
>>Gonna have to rain check. Turns out in order to run a night club you need things like liquor licences and occupancy permits and fire extinguishers so there’s been a little snafu with the authorities. Sorry to cancel on you last minute Bucky
>>Enjoy your night ;)
Bucky sighs maybe just a little more dramatically than the situation calls for. It’s not like Nat bails on him often. And it’s not like she’s in control of this whole nightclub debacle either. But he really was looking forward to blowing off some steam and now he’s all dressed up with no place to go and ugh.
And now there’s someone knocking at his goddamned door.
Bucky decidedly does not stomp over to the front door, throwing it open with the resolute expectation of dismissing the hell out of some door to door religion peddlers. What he gets instead for some unknown reason is 6 feet of stunning, muscular blonde, toting a duffle bag and wearing the most mischievous smile Bucky has ever seen. His mouth goes dry. His brain short circuits. It’s pretty fucking embarrassing, actually. He’s seen gorgeous men before. Lots of them. He shouldn’t be completely destroyed just by the presence of one on his doorstep. But he is, at least while his brain reboots, so the beer can in his metal hand creaks ominously while he squeezes it far tighter than he means to and his eyes go wide and he gapes like a fish, and mister gorgeous there just smiles a crooked smile and huffs out a laugh.
“You must be the birthday boy,” he says, and now Bucky is really confused because no, his birthday was definitely last week and he definitely celebrated it already and what the hell is happening??? The gorgeous blonde steps gracefully into the apartment while Bucky stares after him and tries to process what’s happening in front of him.
“Uh, what?” he asks when his brain finally regains the capacity for speech.
“Your friend said you were cute,” the blonde carries on, putting his duffel down on the floor of Bucky’s living room like he fucking owns the place and somewhere in the back of Bucky’s mind he knows he should be mad about the intrusion but fuck, this guy is like something right out of Bucky’s wet dreams and he just can’t bring himself to get pissed off about it right now. “Kind of feel like she sold you short.”
“My friend?” Bucky repeats dumbly.
“Yeah, your friend. She’s the one that hired me. Tiny redhead, looks like she could fuck you up pretty bad. What was her name….Natasha? She said you were cute, but I think the word she was looking for is gorgeous.” The blonde’s mouth snaps shut like he didn’t realize what he was saying until it was too late and he blushes such a pretty shade of pink it’s hard for Bucky to feel bad for him. He kinda wants to see how much deeper he can blush. Regaining just a little bit of his composure, the blonde continues. “Should I set up in here or did you have something else in mind?”
Bucky nods, waving vaguely at the living room. He has no idea what this guy is supposed to be setting up for but now that he knows who is behind…whatever this is, Bucky has a phone call to make.
“Hey Buck,” Natasha intones when she answers, all her false innocence barely masking the devious glee in her voice.
“What did you do?” Bucky hisses. He tries to keep his voice down so the unreasonably attractive man in the other room doesn’t hear his side of the conversation.
“I got you a present,” Natasha answers like it’s the most obvious thing in the world. “You don’t think I’d let my best friend’s birthday pass without a bit of a celebration, do you?”
“We celebrated my birthday. Last week. Remember? It was this whole thing. Tony bought dinner. There was champagne. You tried to send me home with that girl. None of that gets me any closer to understanding who the guy in my living room is.”
“His name is Steve.” Natasha sounds like she’s grinning from ear to ear, and Bucky kinda wants to smack the smile off her face but even if she were right here he wouldn’t. It would be the last mistake he ever made. “And he’s there to dance for you.”
“You hired me a stripper??!” Bucky cries incredulously, leaning against the fridge heavily.
“Exotic dancer,” Natasha corrects. “And Tony chipped in too. I didn’t do this all on my own. He comes highly recommended. You should have a fun evening ahead of you. Now, do you have any other stupid questions or can I go? I’ve got a club opening to crash.”
“I thought you said…”
“I know what I said,” Nat cuts him off. “It was categorically false. I just had to make sure you didn’t have other plans tonight when Steve showed up. Go get ‘em, tiger.” The line goes dead before Bucky can form any coherent protest, and when he looks up, Steve is standing in the doorway to his kitchen.
“Everything alright?” he asks. His grin is wide and disarming, and suddenly Bucky slams back to reality and does the math and realizes, shit, Steve is a stripper—exotic dancer—whatever. And he’s here to dance for Bucky.
Bucky gets to see him naked. Happy fucking birthday.
“Um, yeah,” Bucky replies, because he’s a sparklingly witty conversationalist. “Totally fine.”
“Ok well,” Steve says calmly. “I’m ready whenever you are.”
This is so bizarre. It’s not that Bucky’s never been to a strip club. Hell, pretty much everyone’s seen the inside of a peeler bar before, paid too much for a lap dance because the stripper was just right to fit a particular fantasy. But he’s never had the coin for a private show, and aside from a girlfriend back in college who fancied herself pretty enticing (and she was, good god, she was,) he’s never had a lap dance in the comfort of his own home. And here’s this fucking god of a man, six feet of chiseled muscle and he’s right here in front of Bucky, time fully paid for, and he just can’t wait to get to take his clothes off. All for Bucky.
Bucky lets himself be led through his own house though he knows perfectly well where he’s going. Steve has a hand settled on the small of his back to guide him towards the chair in the center of the living room and despite the warmth that bleeds through his shirt, Bucky has to supress a little shiver. Steve’s close enough that Bucky can smell him and he’s only going to get closer. Jesus.
“Any preferences on music?” Steve asks, gesturing to the portable speaker he’s plugged his iPod in to. Bucky sits down awkwardly in the chair, one of the ones from his kitchen table, unsure what to do with his hands or his feet or his anything. He shrugs noncommittally.
“I ain’t picky,” he tells him. “Basically anything but country music.”
“Aw, come on,” Steve teases. “You telling me you don’t want a little cowboy strip tease? I’m not gonna lie to you, I look pretty good in nothing but a Stetson.”
“Yeah I bet you do,” Bucky agrees with a laugh. He doesn’t doubt it. Probably a lot of things Steve would look good in. Cowboy boots, a well-tailored suit, ripped jeans and a t-shirt. Bucky’s bed. “Anyway, I’m sure you’ve got tunes you like dancing to. Pick me your favourites.”
“You’re the boss.” Steve busies himself scrolling through playlists for a few moments and while he does, Bucky takes the opportunity to eye him up a little more closely. His first impression stands; Steve is fucking gorgeous. But now that he’s passed the surprise of the whole situation he can see the details. His broad shoulders would likely still be imposing even if he didn’t have the well-developed musculature of someone who spends a lot of time in the gym. Even through his shirt Bucky can see that he’s got gorgeous pecs, tits Bucky would be more than happy to buy his face in, and his pants only kind of disguise an ass you could probably bounce a quarter off of. He’s got these gorgeous long eye lashes, and while he’s picking a playlist there’s this playful half smile on his lips that Bucky just wants to kiss away. It’s too fucking much. It’s like Nat picked this guy right out of Bucky’s wet dreams and made him real. This is some birthday present.
Bucky realizes he’s staring. He realizes in basically the same moment that Steve has noticed he’s staring. He starts to stammer out an apology but that quirky half-smile on Steve’s face grows into a grin.
“It’s ok,” Steve tells him. “You’re allowed to look. It’s kind of the idea.” A long pause while Bucky searches for something to say and comes up blank. “You… didn’t know I was coming, did you?”
Bucky shakes his head ruefully. “Total surprise. Thought I was going out clubbing tonight.”
“Must have been a little disappointing,” Steve conjectures.
“Not in the slightest,” Bucky assures him, finally finding his usual cocky wit.
“Good,” Steve replies, fluttering his lashes enticingly. “Then sit back and enjoy.” He taps the screen on his iPod and sets it down on Bucky’s bookshelf, shutting his eyes as the music starts to play. It’s heavy drums right out of the gate, a driving, heavy beat that rattles Bucky’s bones. Steve starts to move to the music and almost immediately, something shifts in the way he carries himself. He sways with a lithe kind of grace, sinuous in a way that Bucky wouldn’t have predicted from his well-muscled frame. He’s intoxicating to watch right from the first beats of music, hips gyrating and hands on his own body drawing Bucky’s eyes exactly where he wants them. His palm glides over a taut pec and Bucky follows, wondering what kind of sounds Steve would make if he closed his lips around one of those pert nipples. It’s all a fantasy of course. Steve is here to dance, not fuck, but the way he moves, god, Bucky can’t help but fantasize. He uses the modest space of Bucky’s living room to his best advantage as he moves, but all Bucky can think about is what he’d do if he had this man in his bedroom.
The music lulls, a quiet sort of instrumental interlude. Steve slows his movements, teasing the hem of his shirt up to give a glimpse of abs that look to be chiseled out of marble. He’ll have to take the shirt off eventually but he doesn’t seem to be in any kind of hurry to get there. Right about now, Bucky’s not even bothered. He’s a feast for the eyes, and Bucky is happy to savour.
So lost in the sensual sway of Steve’s hips is Bucky that it catches him complete off guard when the interlude gives way to the driving baseline again, louder and more forceful this time. Raucous guitar accompanies the percussion, and when it does, Steve starts to move faster. His hands push the shirt up higher to reveal more skin and then let it drop, drawing out the tease once more. He thumbs open button on his low slung jeans, giving Bucky the slightest glimpse of something blue beneath, but it doesn’t go any further than that for now. And the whole time he’s watching Bucky with the kind of lust in his eyes that Bucky knows is on his own face. It’s so perfect, so palpable, that Bucky is able to forget for a moment that it’s all part of the act and convince himself that Steve wants him too. Just as the music swells to a crescendo, approaching its inevitable end, Steve finally draws the plain white t-shirt up over his head, broad chest flexing as he goes.
His chest. Christ. He’s fucking perfection. Bucky has never laid eyes on pecs like this and he never wants to stop looking. He lets out a long breath, maybe a little louder than planned. Steve laughs.
“Yeah, there you go,” he croons, teasing at the waistband of his jeans as the next song starts. It’s as heavy on the guitar as the last one was at the end, up-tempo and gritty. It’s the kind of song Bucky would turn way up if he was listening while driving. “Now you’re starting to relax.” And he is. He totally is. Bucky’s slouched into the chair much more comfortably than he was at the start, legs splayed and arms relaxed, and he’s almost kinda forgotten that he had this sprung on him.
“Yeah well, not every day someone sends me a stripper-gram. Wasn’t exactly in my day planner. You caught me off guard is all.”
“And now?” Steve asks, sauntering closer with the beat of the music and putting himself just out of Bucky’s reach.
“Now I’m totally on board,” Bucky replies with a grin. Steve hums thoughtfully, stepping in closer and picking up Bucky’s left arm.
“Where’d you get this fancy piece?” He inquires bluntly. Bucky’s been asked this question by countless people over the years, but Steve’s tone carries more admiration than pity so he doesn’t see any reason to get offended. “You in the service?”
“Nah.” Bucky shakes his head. “Commuter train accident.” He flexes the hand almost instinctively as he speaks. “I’d prefer the real thing but the metal one does me ok.”
“Can you… can you feel anything with it?” Steve examines the arm carefully, almost like he’s afraid he’ll break it. Bucky shrugs.
“There’s pressure sensors, but I don’t think there’s a prosthetic out there that’ll actually let you feel things.”
Steve frowns. “So you can’t feel anything if I do this?” He places Bucky’s left hand on his chest, thumb resting right over his perky little nipple. Bucky shakes his head. “Then I guess we better get both hands involved. Can’t have you missing out.” He puts Bucky’s other hand right where he wants it, splayed out against his side where Bucky can feel the heat of his skin.
Steve resumes his tease like nothing happened. Bucky can see the outline of his cock through his jeans, thick and hard. His hips roll and gyrate and he keeps Bucky’s hands on him every step of the way, even when Bucky moves to pull them away.
“I thought you weren’t supposed to touch.”
Steve laughs, his eyes dark. “In clubs, sure. This is just you and me. You get to do whatever I wanna let you do.”
“And you wanna let me touch you?”
“I wanna let you do a lot of things,” Steve murmurs against Bucky’s ear. Then he’s gone, vacating Bucky’s space to dance across the floor enticingly and leaving Bucky to ponder the deeper meanings of that very leading statement. The music changes again. This time it’s a song Bucky recognizes, one with a distorted, gritty baseline and a slow tempo that pushes past calm and goes right into sexy as fuck. It’s hard not to move along to the ebb and flow of the music but Bucky tries to sit still. He’s not the one dancing here.
Slowly, oh so slowly, Steve inches the zipper on his jeans downward until friction and prayer are the only things keeping his pants up. Even with that it seems a tenuous thing, like they might fall from his hips at any moment. Where before, Steve was energetic in his taunting, dancing with fire in his steps, now he’s slowed with the rhythm. He’s sunk down into this filthy bassline, thrusting and rolling his hips that less suggests fucking and more screams it out loud. Finally, when Bucky isn’t sure he can wait it out any longer, Steve lets his pants fall to the floor, revealing the tiniest, tightest little shorts Bucky has ever seen. And he’s hard, straining against the fabric as he sneaks his way out of the pool of denim at his feet.
“Jesus Christ,” Bucky breathes. These shorts, these tiny little shorts, are printed like a miniature American flag, the stars and stripes displayed proudly across Steve’s bulging cock and tight little ass. Steve doesn’t say anything in response to Bucky’s exclamation but he does smile enticingly, one side of his mouth quirked up like he knows exactly what Bucky is thinking. It’s possible he does. Bucky’s not exactly making efforts to hide it. He does drop down to the floor though, crawling across the carpet towards Bucky with dark eyes, and god, does he ever look good on his knees. When he reaches Bucky he pushes his thighs together and climbs up into Bucky’s lap, straddling him with one foot on the floor and the other braced beside him on the chair. Bucky gets the most amazingly up close view of those tiny little shorts as Steve thrusts his hips.
Bucky wants to touch. He desperately wants his hands all over Steve’s body, and they’re twitching upwards off his lap before he can catch himself. The movement is small enough that he’s able to harbour a brief hope that it’s gone unnoticed until Steve speaks.
“Go ahead,” he says, his voice cutting through the cacophony of the music. “You can touch me.” When Bucky doesn’t move to take advantage of the offer right away, Steve takes matters into his own hands and places them firmly on his own ass, pressing them there until he’s sure Bucky isn’t going to let go. He hums softly when Bucky gives him a squeeze, and for the remainder of the dance, Bucky resolves to keep his hands on Steve’s perfect body. He caresses up and down Steve’s thighs, splays a hand over the small of his back to encourage him to bring his movements closer, and he enjoys every single second.
When the song comes to its inevitable conclusion, it’s replaced with only dead air. Steve’s playlist has ended, and Bucky supposes the dance has ended with it, but Steve doesn’t make a move. He’s still poised over Bucky’s lap with his crotch still very, very close to Bucky’s face and although now the only sounds that fill the air are their unmatched breaths it still feels very much like part of the act.
“I uh…” Steve mutters, sounding more than a little flustered. “This is usually the part where I put my pants back on.”
“Well don’t hurry on my account,” Bucky shoots back cockily, his hands still on Steve’s thighs. Steve freezes momentarily, quiet like he’s thinking something through, and then just when Bucky starts to squirm in his seat, Steve leans down to put his face right up close to Bucky’s ear.
“I don’t have to leave at all, if you want.”
Bucky’s not sure he’s heard him right. In fact, he’s certain he hasn’t. This is not a thing that is happening to him. This living embodiment of his daydreams is nearly naked before him and offering, well Bucky’s not clear on the specifics but it sounds like something he’s interested in asking some follow up questions on. It sounds too good to be true.
“Thought you were just here to dance,” he offers casually, raking his eyes over Steve’s chest. His breathing is slow and steady, but there’s still a flush to his skin that tells of his exertion.
“Not on the clock anymore,” Steve explains. “You’re not a customer anymore. Just a guy I’m really,” he pauses to laugh softly, “really attracted to.”
“Is that a fact?” Bucky teases. “So you wouldn’t mind if I…” Bucky drags one of his hands off of Steve’s thigh and slides the palm slowly over the side of his hip, tracing fingertips so very close to the outline of his hard cock through the fabric of his shorts. He very carefully doesn’t touch, just suggests it, until Steve lets out a nearly silent whimper.
“Please…” Steve whines, dropping his chin to his chest. “Oh please...”
“Anything you want,” Bucky promises, finally palming at Steve’s dick. He makes the most beautifully needy sounds when Bucky touches him, moaning and rocking his hips into the friction. Bucky peers up at him curiously, watching naked desire dance across his features.
“I think you know what I want,” Steve answers pleadingly. He steps his foot off the side of the chair and sinks down to sit in Bucky’s lap, one leg out to either side of his thighs to brace himself on the floor, and tangles his fingers in the tendrils of Bucky’s hair.
“I think I do,” Bucky replies coyly. “But I wanna hear you say it first. Tell me what you want, Steve.”
He’s not expecting Steve’s laughter.
“What?” Bucky implores. “What’s so funny?”
“This is insane. I don’t even know your fucking name and I’m asking you to… “ He trails off, ducking his eyes to avoid Bucky’s gaze.
“It’s Bucky,” he responds immediately. “Well, James. But no one calls me that.”
“Bucky.” Steve repeats, trying out the feel of the name in his mouth. Taking a steadying breath, Steve continues. “Ok then, Bucky,” and he leans in real close like he’s going to put his mouth on Bucky’s and he whispers. “I kinda want you to fuck me.”
Bucky’s hands tighten on Steve’s hips and he has to close his eyes for a brief moment to steady himself. “Just kinda?” Bucky teases. Steve ‘s resulting glare would be a lot more withering if he wasn’t nearly naked and perhaps if his erection wasn’t pressed quite so firmly against Bucky’s abdomen. Though, to be fair, Bucky’s sporting some pretty impressive wood himself and it would be delusional to think that Steve can’t feel every inch of it from his position in Bucky’s lap.
“Kinda really, jerk,” Steve shoots back. “Want to make you feel real good. Wanna get you out of all those clothes, want your cock in my mouth, and I want you to fuck me. Is that enthusiastic enough for you?”
“Jesus yes,” Bucky breathes. Before he can say a word more, Steve’s lips crash into his, a filthy, hungry kiss that Bucky finds himself struggling to keep up with taking the very breath from his lungs. When Steve finally lets him up for air Bucky doesn’t really care to speak anymore so he just pulls him back in. Steve rocks against him, tiny little futile motions of his hips, and the whole time Bucky’s tasting his gorgeous mouth, he can’t decide if he wants to speed this along to the bedroom or stay like this as long as possible. He’s got his hands full, literally, holding the lean, hard body of this fucking gorgeous stripper in his lap though, so unless Bucky wants to stop kissing and specifically ask for it, he guesses he’s just going to be content with whatever pace Steve wants to set.
Steve does not have an ounce of patience in him. Now that the ice is broken and they’ve moved beyond the subtlety of the striptease, he’s direct and forthright about what he wants. His hands pull at the buttons on Bucky’s over shirt like they’ve personally offended him, prising each one free so forcefully that Bucky would be surprised to find none of them have gone flying if he had the presence of mind to think of such things. As it stands, all he’s capable of processing is the feel of Steve’s cock rubbing between them, the intoxicating friction of Steve grinding on his lap, and the fact that eventually, he’s going to have to let go long enough to get the his shirts off. Steve seems to have thought of this already. Once he gets all the buttons free he reaches behind himself and manhandles Bucky’s metal arm so he can pull it free of the over shirt, then does the same to the other hand. The over shirt bunches behind Bucky on the chair.
“I think we’re gonna have to move if you wanna get the rest of my clothes off,” Bucky points out. Steve pouts for a moment, his plush lips turning down in the most appealing way, and Bucky captures them in a kiss.
“Fine,” Steve concedes when Bucky lets him free, slipping from his lap gracefully and extending a hand. Bucky lets himself be pulled to his feet and is entirely unsurprised when Steve’s hands fly right for his pants, tugging at button and zipper with fierce determination. He pushes Bucky’s pants to the floor immediately while Bucky sheds his own t-shirt, then goes right for his boxers. Bucky grabs his wrists tightly.
“Bedroom first,” he insists. “Then you can get your hands on me.” Steve gives what is possibly the most exaggerated sigh in the history of hyperbole, but he eventually lets himself be dissuaded. Bucky leads the way through the small house and opens the door to his bedroom and the moment they’re both inside Steve crowds up against him, hands pushing at the waistband of his shorts with what Bucky is starting to think of as a very characteristic lack of patience.
“Now can we get these off so I can suck your cock?” Steve nearly pleads. It’s not the kind of request Bucky has the fortitude to deny, and at this point in time he wouldn’t be able to find the words even if he wanted to so he just nods and watches as Steve sinks to his knees, taking Bucky’s shorts down with him. Bucky’s cock stands gloriously hard when it springs free, the tip shiny with precome, and Steve wastes no time at all dragging the point of his tongue through the slick mess. It’s kind of a split decision as to which is louder; Steve’s groan of delight when he finally gets to wrap his lips around Bucky’s thick shaft, or the desperate moan that Bucky gives up as he does it.
“Fuck, yeah.” Bucky can’t help but murmur praise. The way Steve sucks his cock like he can’t get enough, like he loves the feeling of it in his mouth, like it’s the most amazing thing he’s ever tasted, it’s too good to ignore. He slides the fingers of his metal hand through Steve’s hair, pushing it back out of his face and pulling him closer, urging Steve to take him deeper into his throat, and is most pleased when Steve obliges. The head of Bucky’s cock nudges at the back of Steve’s throat and even though Steve has to fight to keep from gagging, he doesn’t let up for a moment. At least, not until Bucky pulls his cock from between Steve’s lips. He kneels there on the floor looking up at Bucky through his lashes, so perfect and gorgeous and willing, and it’s almost more than Bucky can bear.
“You want my cock?” Bucky asks him, knowing full well the answer. He just wants to hear Steve say it. Wants to hear those filthy words coming from such a perfect mouth. He’s not innocent, Bucky knows this, but he looks so sweet down there on his knees that it’s just so tempting not to dirty him up a little.
“Yeah Bucky, I want your cock,” Steve replies smoothly, blinking slowly and managing to look all at once sinful and divine. “Want it so bad,” he pleads.
“How do you want it, sweetheart?” The pet name slips out unbidden but Steve doesn’t resist it, doesn’t fight it at all. If anything, Bucky would be inclined to say he liked it.
“Any way you’ll let me have it,” comes his sweet reply. He’s the very picture of obedience down there on his knees, straight backed, his lips slick with spit and Bucky’s precome, and he doesn’t move a muscle until Bucky speaks again.
“Hmm, but that’s not what I asked, is it?” Bucky presses, and Steve moves only enough to shake his head. “I asked how you want it.”
“I… “ Steve hesitates, and it has to be for show, because there was so much confidence in the way he’s carried himself up until this point. Bucky doesn’t believe the shyness for a second, but he loves the illusion. “I want you to bend me over, and I want you to fuck me so hard I’m feeling it for days,” he breathes out in a sultry whisper. Bucky groans.
“I can do that,” he affirms, like it’s some favour he’s doing Steve, like he doesn’t want that just as much as Steve does. “Come up here for me.” He pulls Steve up to standing, licking into his mouth the second they’re on the same level. His hands find Steve’s shorts, those tiny little red, white, and blue things he looks so decadent in, and he’s got them down around Steve’s thighs in no time at all. When his metal hand closes around Steve’s cock, he moans against Bucky’s mouth, hands clutching at Bucky’s shoulders like they’re the only thing keeping him upright.
He strokes Steve slowly, firmly, giving him just enough friction to tease. His thumb drags through the precome collecting at the tip, smearing it as he twists his wrist on the down stroke. Bucky knows what he wants to hear, knows exactly what he’s waiting for, and he’s perfectly content to keep things right here until he gets it. When Steve lets out a soft whimper, Bucky knows it’s coming.
“Please… “ Steve whispers, and Bucky ignores him, kissing softly at his throat and keeping the pressure of his hand exactly as it has been. Steve is quiet for a few moments more, his laboured breaths the only sound he offers. “C’mon Bucky, don’t make me beg for it.”
Bucky’s dark laughter echoes through the room. “What if I want you to?” Steve’s whole body tenses beneath his hands. It’s only a momentary reaction, one he probably doesn’t even realize is discernible, but it tells Bucky everything he needs to know. “Yeah, I think I want you to beg.” When he pulls back to meet Steve’s gaze, he’s astonished at the abject desire laid bare there. If he’d thought about this happening, if he’d even dared to let himself dream, he never would have hoped for such a wealth of fantasy to drop right into his lap. Definitely not in the way it literally landed there in the form of Steve, graceful and needy and pliant.
Bucky tightens the circle of his fingers, gaining a better grip on Steve’s leaking cock, and starts to stroke him more firmly. It’s still probably not enough to get him off but it gets Steve’s attention. A quiet moan drifts from his lips, sweet to Bucky’s ears. Still, Steve doesn’t speak up.
“Tell me how bad you want it,” Bucky presses. “Let me hear you beg for it. I’ll give you whatever you want, you just gotta convince me how bad you want it.” The slip of his thumb through a fresh bead of precome makes Bucky’s own dick twitch with anticipation.
“Please Bucky,” Steve whimpers softly. “I want you. Can’t you feel how hard I am?”
“Yeah,” Bucky agrees. “I can feel it. I still I wanna hear you.” Steve’s ass makes such a nice handful when he reaches around to palm it, all firm and round.
“I need it so bad.” Steve’s pleading reply starts to take on an edge of desperation, and it sounds less like playacting and more like he really means it. Bucky’s shoulder aches where Steve’s fingers dig into the skin. His metal arm would too if he could feel anything there. “I… fuck,” he interrupts himself with a groan when Bucky grazes a finger gently over the skin of his balls, “I want your cock. Want you to open me up and fuck me. Please Bucky. I want it…”
Bucky really does want to give the guy what he wants, but Steve sound so good like this it seems a shame to cut the show short. “Tell you what, sweetheart, you want it so bad. I’ll give it to you.” The sigh of relief Steve breathes out is so weighty Bucky could easily be convinced it has actual mass. “But,” Bucky continues, his wry smile twisting just a little cruelly, and Steve tenses right back up. “I don’t know what you can take, and I wouldn’t want to carelessly hurt you. So you’re gonna prep yourself for me, and when you think you can handle me, then I’ll let you have it.” He drags a thumb across Steve’s lower lip gently. “How does that sound?”
“Fuck,” Steve groans. “You’re a monster.”
“Is that a no?” Bucky replies, though he’s pretty sure he already knows the answer. Steve doesn’t even have words for that. He just backs away from Bucky, who reluctantly lets go of his gorgeous cock and watches with intrigue as he climbs onto Bucky’s unmade bed. Without asking for directions (or permission, but whatever, Bucky would have given it freely anyway) Steve opens up the top drawer on Bucky’s nightstand and rummages around until he finds a bottle of Astroglide, then positions himself on his knees so Bucky has a perfect view of his tight little ass, and gets to work. He’s quiet when the first fingertip breaches his puckered hole but by the time he’s pumping the digit in and out smoothly, there’s little hitches in his breath. The second finger only serves to crank up the volume on his tiny little moans, and Bucky finds himself hoping Steve needs a lot of prep, because this is quite possibly the hottest sight he’s ever been privy to.
“God, your ass is perfect,” Bucky tells him, and he fucking means it. That ass is a work of art. He’s never seen anything like it. If he lives to be ninety-nine years old he will never see a single thing as gorgeous as the sight of Steve’s fingers slowly disappearing into his tight little hole, and adding in the sound of his breathy little moans just makes it that much more appealing. He’s thankful he’s put the reins in Steve’s hands at this point though, because that might be the only thing keeping him from getting in there and finishing the job himself. He just looks too good for Bucky not to want to touch.
By the time the third finger joins the others, and Steve is twisting and scissoring his fingers as best he can from the angle he’s at, he’s moaning just as loud as Bucky imagines he will when Bucky finally fucks him. His hole stretches around the digits, such a pretty sight. His hips start to rock like he’s chasing some friction for his cock which, if Bucky’s own is any indication must be achingly hard by now.
“Bucky… “ Steve whines. “Please.” He keeps thrusting his fingers in and out, his voice pitched high and pleading. “Fuck, I want you so bad. Fuck me. Come on. I’m ready. Please.”
Far be it for Bucky to resist such a delicious offer. He nearly knocks his lamp over reaching into the nightstand for a condom. It’s possible he sets a new personal record with the speed he get the thing on his dick, and still Steve’s fingers pump in and out of his ass without slowing. It’s like he wants so desperately to be filled up that he can’t bear to be empty long enough to wait for Bucky’s cock.
“You did so good, sweetheart. Look at you, all stretched and ready for me. Let me take over now. I’ll make you feel real good,” Bucky promises. Steve gives over control without a word of protest. He braces himself on the bed with both arms, his ass presented beautifully in the air, and when Bucky presses the blunt head of his cock to Steve’s slick hole, he keens with pleasure. Even though Steve has assured Bucky that he’s ready, Bucky takes his time sliding into the tight heat. He does it as much to avoid hurting Steve as he does to savour the slow drag of skin on skin. Steve feels so goddamned good. His body welcomes Bucky in so beautifully it feels like he was made to take Bucky’s cock.
Bucky starts slowly, drawing back almost all the way before sinking back in until his hips are pressed right up against Steve’s ass. A drawn out sigh escapes from Steve’s lips. He tries to push back to take Bucky in more forcefully, but Bucky’s hands on his hips keep him steady and he goes nowhere. He’ll get more, eventually. Bucky has every intention of riding him hard. Just… not yet. Right now what Bucky wants is to tease him a little, to draw it out so that Steve’s so wound up from wanting that he’s nearly incoherent. And he’s just so deliciously responsive, making soft, desperate noises as Bucky fills him up, that it would be a shame not to make this last as long as possible. It’s not until Steve’s breathy sighs become whimpers that he starts to pick up the pace. He rocks his hips a little quicker, a little harder, and the way Steve moans out his approval might be the best birthday present Bucky’s ever received.
“Fuck,” Steve groans, dropping down to his elbows to better brace against Bucky’s thrusts. “Harder, Bucky. Feels so fuckin’ good.” It’s difficult to resist an invitation like that. Even so, Bucky manages to keep his rhythm steady a little while longer. Once he gives in and starts pounding like Steve wants him to it’s going to be over so damn fast and he doesn’t want it to end yet and…
“Please, Bucky,” Steve whines.
Bucky can’t help himself. He grips Steve’s hips as hard as he can with his real hand, tries not to overdo it with the metal one, and pulls him backwards right as his own hips surge forward, burying his cock in Steve’s ass and pulling such a cry from his lips that Bucky almost regrets not taking him hard like this right from the start. Almost. The build-up makes it so much better. And listening to Steve ask so sweetly, the unabashed begging for it drives Bucky wild. He slams home over and over, fucking Steve hard and fast. And Steve’s begging decays into a constant litany of oh fuck, oh fuck, fuck yeah, yeah Bucky, just like that, fuck, fuck, fuck that threaten to push Bucky over the edge.
“You gonna come for me?” Bucky taunts. “Come on. Wanna make you come. Bet you sound so fuckin’ beautiful when you come. Want you to grab that pretty cock of yours while I’m fucking you.” Steve moans, so on board with the idea, and drops down to brace himself on one arm while the other slides between his body and the bed to obey Bucky’s command.
Bucky slows to let Steve adjust his position, but only for a few thrusts. Once he’s confident Steve is sturdy enough not to collapse under the relentless onslaught all bets are off. He fucks Steve just as hard as before, dragging him backwards by his hips at the same time he drives forward. Steve cries out anew. It’s fucking beautiful the way his voice pitches up, needy and near fevered with the desire that’s coursing through him. Before long it becomes too much for Bucky to bear. He groans from deep in his belly as he comes, adding his own noises to Steve’s constant keening. He’s still fucking Steve through the aftershocks when Steve follows him over the edge, spilling messily over his fingers. He sounds so fucking sexy with the groan he gives up that Bucky’s dick, although just now beginning to soften, twitches with interest in gearing up for another round.
“Jesus Christ,” Steve groans as he collapses to the bed. It takes nearly all the strength left in Bucky’s legs not to fall with him but he manages to slump down beside him instead, both of them breathing too heavy to speak for several long minutes afterwards. “Next time,” Steve mutters when the air finally rushes back into his lungs, “I think I wanna ride you.”
“Next time?” Bucky repeats, incredulous.
“Yeah,” Steve stammers. “I mean, I don’t mean to presume or anything but that was like… wow. I don’t normally sleep with clients. Actually never. This is definitely a first. But that was fucking awesome. And I’ll leave right now if we’re not on the same page. But I’m definitely interested in a round two.”
“Next time,” Bucky repeats again, no question in his voice this time. He rolls over to kiss Steve with renewed vigour, all the exhaustion of the past few minutes seemingly vanished from his body. “I could get on board with that.”