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The rain splatters against their face as they race through it, the wind lashing through their hair and across their fair skin in chime. It’s cold in its relentless manner, and gives no tell of letting up. The rain shares the same thought and pelts a frosty slap against warm flesh.
Hooves fall into the squelching mud of the dirt, the path giving out to the powerful animals that pant deep in the upset of the night. The rain gives no mercy and showers the horses drenched too.
Behind the two riders are men whose horses in similarity also beat down the waterlogged path, huffing against the storm and squealing as they bump into each other and acknowledge the holler of guns crying over the thunder of the storm.
“We need’a lose ‘em!” Bucky calls through the grumble of thunder and whisper of heavy wind.
His hair is long and matted across his forehead, drenched in rain and stringy like his horse’s mane. His eyes are striking in the deep shadows of the night, subtly alighted by an oil lantern hung at the martingale harness by the horse’s chest.
Behind them the men holler their demands. They cry for their bounty and their stolen goods. There’s at least five of them behind them as they charge off path and weave through an old forest to break up the wall of bullets that dare to pierce them.
They’re smacked with low-hanging branches and vines as they sliver through the dense forest which had been thick with fog to their hopes.
“How? They’re right behind us!” Steve calls out. His oil lantern had fallen off moments before, earlier into the chase. Now, he’s only relying on the light coming from Bucky’s horse. His gun pounds at the bones of his back, bouncing at the harsh movements of his horse as she’s pushed to her limits from the fear of the guns and Steve’s spurs pressing into her stomach.
A reply isn’t awaited as they swerve through barely seen trees with limbs low enough to snap a neck if they didn’t duck. Still, despite the ruthless nature of the forest and weather along with the density of the fog, the men continue to pursue them from behind.
However as they make it through the clearing, the men have seemed to back off, their hollering becoming more distant but still there (to the pair's demise). It seems that the group of men are struggling through the thick of the forest, and may have lost Steve and Bucky in the fog and density of nature.
Still, they charge through the opening with their horses panting through enlarged nostrils and widened eyes. Bucky takes an immediate right down a muddied path that seems overgrown, but somewhat used given the clear overhead. As if someone had drawn a wagon in a few weeks ago but then forgot about the path after that.
Bucky’s horse surges down the path and Steve urges his own forward, pressing his heels in deeper.
He comes in close on Bucky’s side as they gallop beside each other, “Where we goin’?” He hollers over the wind. Not too loud to alert the men that may be following them loosely from behind, but enough for Bucky to hear over the unforgiving weather.
Bucky’s eyes are steely as he awaits for more terrain down the endless path, which seems to become more enshrouded by forestry as they pursue it, “I don’t know.” He says, with a solemn honesty in his voice that tells Steve they’ll be in the rain all night and early morning if it means they won’t be held prisoner.
Steve glances behind him and finds that there’s nothing but the unsettling shadow of upsetted weather and night. He tugs softly at the reins of his horse and settles her into a slow trot. A part of him melts into a thick guilt as his horse huffs a broad sigh, one of fatigue and desire of much needed rest and shrubbery from the ground.
Bucky sees him slow down and signals for his own horse to do so too. His horse slows into a pace just like Steve’s horse and sighs just the same. Steve can see how that eats at Bucky, from the way that the shadows play at Bucky’s brow as he scrunches them in regret.
Beside each other they trot, with horses falling out of trot and into a sluggish, much needed walk. They pause and sniff at the worn path, washed with the still pelting rain. Bucky and Steve make no move to talk. They only glance at each other as they let the horses wander down the path.
Steve takes in the matted, rain-washed hair of Bucky’s that’s flat against his head yet somehow frizzy and wavy. He scans the eyes that are striking in their storm blue, yet worn and lenient around the edges. His eyes travel across the tan skin that’s shimmering from the rain and muffled light from the shaded moon. Steve notices how Bucky’s clothes seem to stick to every part of him from the wet weather in a way that’s dizzying.
And as they walk down the muddied path, Bucky seems to be doing so too. He studies the flat scruff of Steve’s blond hair, now drenched. His pale skin is rosy from the exertion of keeping up with his horse. His face is simply tired and his head seems to be begging for a soft surface to rest upon.
The ties of his shirt have undone themselves at the collar, revealing the pale collarbones and a suggestive expanse of the man’s chest, which only makes Bucky grip the reins tighter in a fleeting moment before he realizes those are connected to the bit and he could be tugging on them for no reason.
“We need t’find somewhere t’lay low for the night, Buck.” Steve speaks up over the whistling rain and wind. His horse grunts and sways her tail, flicking rain across the air.
Bucky tears his eyes away from the glistening beginnings of Steve’s pecs, “Yeah, we do.”
Yet when he stares ahead of him, all he sees is forestry depressed with a rowdy storm. The trees sway and groan at the force of the wind, and their particularly weak limbs snap and hit the ground with a whispering thud. The fog is thick around the two men despite the wide clearing, and even with how developed the path is; there is no ending point that suggests an abandoned shelter.
So they continue to walk or really; drag themselves down the waterlogged path. The horses hang their heads low, with their eyes half-open and their lips loose around the bits and chains of the bridles. Bucky and Steve slouch into their saddles, only one hand now cradling the rein in a soft grasp— maybe even a simple pinch.
The rain tires them and the thunder coaxes them into a slumber that they cannot dare to settle into in a situation like this.
At some point the path narrows, pushing Steve closer to Bucky’s side and then inevitably in front of him. The branches of the trees brush by and tickle at their skin in a wet touch, moistened by rain.
It takes for the horses to become frustrated with each other that Steve and Bucky hop out of their fatigued daze. Bucky’s horse squeals at Steve’s whipping tail and stomps his foot into the mud, causing the other horse to grunt back and swipe her own tail.
When they’re brought into focus they find that the trail is now winding instead of a semi-straight path down the forest. The turns are odd and even have paths that stem out of them. The two men sit up in their saddles and anticipate for the incoming ending of the main trail.
It does end at some point after a few more corners and turns. With that they are confronted with what used to be a clearing, overtaken by shrubbery and saplings. The overgrowth is short enough to tell that this clearing had been abandoned for some time, but not far too long.
The fog is still intensely dense to make out anything else other than nearby overgrowth. The rain still pelts against the men and their horse as they trudge through the abandoned clearing, searching for what remains at the end of the trail.
It is when the horses come to a stiff halt, their heads held high and their ears perked towards the storm clouds, that they finally encounter what waits for them. There are no wolves to fear the horses nor any other predator within the area— at least from what they know of. There aren't any odd shaped objects laying before the horses, threatening their flight.
There is nothing threatening if an abandoned barn makes that list, too.
It's difficult to make sense of the structural integrity of the barn through the rain and fog. They look deeper to discover that the roof may have some holes, but that is all. They can’t judge the safety of the walls, or the fact that the roof may have collapsed into the barn.
Steve glances back at Bucky, “Should we?” He suggests, nodding a wet head towards the barn.
“It’s not like we have anything else, Steve.” Bucky swings himself off of his horse, and guides the reins from the saddle post and over the horse’s neck to lead him over. He tugs at the reins lightly, urging the horse to grow some courage.
Steve then swings himself off of his own, and leads his own horse to where Bucky has found a rackety cross tie at. Bucky digs in the saddle bag of his horse and digs out a thick rope to hook it into a ring of the bridle, then tying it into one of the cross tie posts. He unhooks the chain and unclips the bit from the horse’s bridle, and stuffs those back into the bag before clipping it back onto the saddle.
“Here, let me tie her up and you go check out the barn,” Bucky nudges Steve with a firm arm, crowding into his space to grab hold of his horse.
Steve wants to argue with him and tell him he doesn’t want to leave him alone out in the dark and storm like this, but he can’t find the fire within him to do so. He festers for a soft surface to lay on, and a dreamland he can escape to for a few hours before he and Bucky have to make their trip again.
So instead he complies, “‘Kay. Maybe don’t tie them up jus’ yet ‘cause the stables might be okay in there.” He insists as his eyes travel with the rain droplets descending the expanse of Bucky’s skin.
Maybe he wants a soft surface he can lay on with Bucky, and wait for the rain to settle with him.
Instead, Bucky huffs and flicks the hair framing his face away, “Jus’ go, Stevie.”
Steve reaches for the oil lantern hanging at the martingale of Bucky’s horse, and unclips it. Despite the weather, it’s still lit. He reckons that’s what you get for buying that Stark gear.
With the oil lantern lighting his way towards the barn, he gingerly steps towards the double doors. One has completely fallen off its hinges, now laying flat on the moist grass and giving a preview into the barn. Steve rests a hand at the pistol on the side of his hip and crosses the threshold.
Nothing comes out to kill or eat him. There is no deep, vile, shadow monster lurking in the corners of the barn as the light of the lantern spreads. There is only the soft squeaks and whimpers of rodents and other small wild life scattering away at the recognition of a human.
A part of the roof has indeed collapsed, yet it is only in the furthest corner of the small, dank barn. The cavity lets in the humid air and the rain, moistening the hay and dirt at Steve’s boots. It isn’t a large hole and only takes up about a third of the entire barn. It’s survivable, despite the conditions of the building.
As Steve lurks deeper in the barn the smell of mildew and rotting wood invades his nose. He scrunches his nose as he scans the barn for bales of hay that he might be able to spread for the horses to eat, and for him and Bucky to sleep on. Yet when he does find them, they’re soggy with rain.
They’ll just have to go a night without dinner, he supposes.
Steve heavily acknowledges the stalls in the barn. There’s four of them, with two in the poorest state compared to the rest of the barn. The other two are… Fine, considering the situation at hand. To his dismay, there are no barn doors to keep the horses in, nor any hooks they can tie the lead ropes to. It seems they might just have to keep them on the cross ties tonight, which makes him sick with shame.
So he saunters back out into the rain and overgrowth, and almost bumps into Bucky in the process.
He’s got both horses in hand, one at either side of him, held at the lead rope rather than the reins, “Is it good in ‘ere?”
“No,” Steve licks at the rain at his lips, and watches as Bucky travels the act, “There ain’t no doors or hooks on the stalls. They’re gon’ have to stay out for T’night.”
Bucky tuts, and glances at the horses by his side with pinched eyebrows, “Let me get their saddles off first,” He hands the ropes over to Steve, their hands brushing swiftly in a wet drift before Bucky is off to undo the saddles. He pulls at the buckles of them, and unclips their martingales from their bridles. In short time, he carries one saddle at the side of each hip, braced against the bone.
“Put ‘em inside so they don’t rot, I’ll tie the horses back up.” Steve says, and turns the horses back around towards the feeble crossties.
The rain has let up to a soft shower, but the thunder still rumbles over their heads and the wind still blows relentlessly. As Steve ties the horses, he hopes the thunder doesn’t frighten them or any predator comes out to take advantage of their vulnerability.
He won’t be getting much sleep tonight, he solemnly concludes.
He sets a kiss on the front of the horses’ heads before he travels back to the barn, his hopeful intentions laid in that action. They huff at him with their eyes wide.
When he enters the barn, the saddles are in a dry spot right at the rackety doors. They’ve been laid across a worn blanket and their cargo bags have been unclipped. Steve scans the small building, and finds the warm light coming from the oil lantern and Bucky. He heads for that light like one would with a beacon.
Bucky is laying down a thick blanket when he arrives, one Steve recognizes as his own. He’s got another smaller blanket rolled up to serve as a pillow for the both of them. On the side is the oil lantern which had proved its sturdiness, and the cargo bags.
“We don’t have anything to cover the horses?” Steve speaks over the soft patter of rain.
Bucky swivels his head to look at him. He’s got his hair tied back in some sort of bun with a piece of twine, and he’s shedded the outer layers of his clothing, only leaving an undershirt and pants with boots, “No,” he mutters.
He watches as Steve scans his state, and defends, “Everything got rained out. I tried to get dry.”
Steve catches his tongue before he tells him he likes him like this. Rained out and soggy with his hair frizzy and bundled into an ignorant bun, and his clothes rumpled and wet leaving no imagination for the way it sticks to his muscles.
Instead he simply nods and begins to shed his outer clothes. Bucky’s eyeing him as he does so, and making no note to pretend he’s not. When his clothes thud as they hit the sodden ground, Steve is relieved from the pressure of sopping clothes against his frame.
“Is the blanket wet?” Steve kicks off his boots and peels his soggy socks off of his feet. He’d rather step on dewy ground than deal with waterlogged skin from keeping them in his drenched boots.
He glances back up at Bucky after focusing on his feet. He’s got a far away expression plastered on his face, and Steve has to call out for him again before he comes back from whatever thought drifted him off in the first place,
“Yeah. Jus’ a little damp,” Bucky mumbles as he pats the blanket gently, “I wrung out what I could.” He explains further, his eyebrows pinched in the middle as he faces Steve from where he’s cross legged on the blanket. He’s wringing his fingers in his lap, and his eyes are fleeting from Steve’s to the features of the crumbling barn.
Steve lets a soft sigh tumble from his lips as he descends to kneel on the blanket in front of Bucky. Bucky’s avoiding looking at Steve, and Steve worries at his bottom lip when he recognizes that. He acknowledges the stiff posture of the Bucky’s shoulders, how they’re held a bit high up to his ears and gently shivering— he is shivering.
“Are you cold?” Steve presses, and reaches a hand over to grab at Bucky’s. It's the soggy clothes drying against his skin that’s doing it for him. Sure, it may not be a freezing night by any chance, but wet clothes are wet clothes and they always dry cold.
“No,” Bucky squeezes his fingers and swallows, his throat catching the dim light of the oil lantern, which is on its way out, “Steve, we…” He pauses and licks at his bottom lip before chewing at the inside of his cheek.
Steve adjusts to sit cross-legged in front of Bucky, all whilst holding his hand and reaching up to press a feathery touch into the indented cheek and mutter, “Don’t do that.” He hushes, soothing the cheek in his hand and taking contact of Bucky’s eyes.
“I know what you’re gonna tell me, Buck,” Steve swipes his thumb across the stubble on Bucky’s jaw, “I know,” He whispers, just a bit over the gentle sounds of the rain and the hum of thunder rumbling off into the distance.
“We— I get we need the money, but damn, Steve—“ Bucky gasps, “We coulda gotten our asses killed, God damn’it!”
“Buck—“
“No!” Bucky yanks his hand away from Steve’s grasp, and pushes his touch away from his cheek, “We coulda died pulling shit like that.”
Steve lowers his head and focuses on the ripped fabric of Bucky’s pants, which expose the tan skin of his knees. He burns with the intensity of Bucky’s eyes digging into him, and he wants to shrivel up more than he has from the rain already.
They needed the money, genuinely.
They’d both come home to their place trashed and ran through by burglars who ended up proudly admitting the fact that they’d caught the pair engaging in a rather suggestive act.
The wise decision of fleeing immediately had been proposed by Bucky, which led to them hastily packing bags with everything they could scrounge up from the violated home, and tacking up the horses to take them on the trails. In the end, they’d only have a scarce amount of money and clothes to get them by.
They traveled for what seemed like an eternity waiting for the next town to appear on their journey. When they did finally arrive in a small community, they’d carved a steep hole in their money getting food they’d forgotten to pack and a place to sleep in the only inn of that town.
So Steve— unlike his gracious behavior— had become desperate and frightened of seeing Bucky become unwell from the lack of fortune they’d been washed with. He slipped from Bucky’s grasp earlier in the night, and slivered off into a meat shop to rummage for any profit. While he was successful in his process, the owner was quick to catch on, and hollered for the authorities almost immediately.
He then darted off, whipping Bucky away in the storm of it all and badgering him to get on his damn horse.
Which lead to them in their current state— run down by the thrums of adrenaline and fright and soggy from the rain.
“I couldn’t— Buck—“ Steve huffs, chewing on his bottom lip, “I got scared, ‘kay? I couldn’t see you get bad ‘cause we ain’t got no money!” He pulls his knees up to his chest and winds his arms around them, resting his forehead and looking down into his lap.
He hears Bucky sniffle, a beckoning whisper over the weather outside the barn. It pulls at his bones and makes a joke out of him. He clutches at himself tighter and wills himself to not cry.
He couldn’t stand to see Bucky worry. Not for money, for him, or for anything else. He would go to the depths of the earth and challenge the most insidious creatures of nature just to soothe Bucky’s frights. He only did what he knew best, yet somehow failed miserably and went against his own principle entirely.
“It was gettin’ bad…” Steve warbles through the hiccup that dares to tumble out of his mouth, “I saw how you worried. Didn’t like it one bit, Buck,” He’s muffled in the crevice of his lap, and hopes Bucky can’t hear the wavering emotion in his voice, “I love you t’much to sit around n’ watch that.”
Bucky sighs into the dewy air of the barn, and Steve is graced with the whispering touch of Bucky’s hand bracing against his shin, “I know you do, baby.”
Steve raises his head to meet Bucky’s eyes, shimmering with tears that catch onto his eyelashes and the skin surrounding. He reaches to Bucky’s hand, and grasps it to pull it forward to his lips, pressing a tender kiss on the rough skin of Bucky’s hand.
He then twines their fingers together, “Then forgive me, for actin’ on my love.”
There’s a slow pause between them, with eye contact held undefined. Steve aches for Bucky’s reply, for his forgiveness and lenience to Steve’s rare impulsivity. His skin is alight with rushing fire, anxious and fluttering beneath the surface of everything that defines him.
He watches intently as Bucky inhales sharply, “No, Steve, I won’t.”
“What?” Steve grips Bucky’s hand with a firmer force.
“I get what you’re feelin’, but you almost got us killed!” Bucky retracts himself from Steve and settles down into the blanket, curling into himself and giving Steve his back.
Steve’s gut throttles at the sight of Bucky’s shoulder blades and spine slightly showing, alongside his back muscles that press through the fabric of his sodden shirt. They didn’t eat much; prioritizing their horses more so they could make the trip to the next safest town— but then all of this happened, so it’s… Whatever.
He does what’s embedded in him and chases after Bucky. He crawls over to his guy, braces an arm on his shoulder, and rubs at the bulky muscle beneath his touch,
“Buck, please.” He then pleads from the pits of his soul where the gentle and feathery spot for only Bucky lies. He tugs at his bottom lip, worrying the flesh between his teeth as he scans the side of Bucky’s face in the dim light of the lantern, and the moon that struggles to burst through the storm clouds.
Bucky is silent as he turns to face Steve, flat on his back as he throws an arm beneath his head to support himself.
“I— I Didn’— Fuck.” Steve catches, “I didn’t mean t’scare you,” He swallows down on the bulb that dares to travel up his throat, threatening the possibility of actually crying in front of Bucky, “I jus’— I was scared.”
Bucky is cryptic as he looks at Steve, his eyes glassy yet devoid of any emotion behind them. Steve wishes he would show an inch of similarity, just so he could read him better and do something about it.
“Please.” Steve drops his head, and wills himself to charge through his dismay with brute force.
He watches silently and with struggle as Bucky’s face softens, scanning his own with eyebrows that begin to pinch and lips that start to quiver. Steve is rapid to brush his thumbs across the soft flesh of Bucky’s lips and soothe the surrounding skin.
“Don’t cry, Buck. No, shit.” He briefly squeezes his eyes shut, and then races to swipe his fingers over Bucky’s own, catching the tears that dare taint his fair, tan skin.
But Bucky grabs at his wrists and keeps them tight in his firm clutch. He brings Steve’s hands down to his chest and braces them against the sturdy muscle, thumping heart, and intense breathing.
“I jus’ don’t want to lose you.” Bucky huffs through a warbling threat of emotion, “You’re all I got.”
Steve glances up at the rotted roof of the barn, and wills himself to simmer down from the clarity. He gazes down at Bucky, who keeps his hands cradled against his chest with a fire in his eyes that clashes against the color of their nature. It’s astonishing, and halts Steve right where he is. Keeps him gutted and immobile as he keeps the stare between them for as long as they can handle.
It doesn’t last, because Steve crumbles and tips his chin to shrink away from Bucky’s stare which sets him alight, “I know,” He whispers over the rain, filled with as much honesty and exposes every raw hole of emotion to offer.
They stay like that for a moment. Steve kneels beside him with his hands cradled in Bucky’s chest, eyes flicking everywhere besides where they should be. Bucky laying flat on his back with a leg propped up, baring holes into Steve and finding weakness that could make even the mightiest men crumble.
The rain’s picked up now and the thunder still hums through the night. The entire situation tugs at Steve and thrashes him around with a shame he’s never been able to recognize. The horses are out there, drenched and probably sick of them. He hopes they tore those rusted hooks out of the rotted wood of the cross ties and ran for the hills. If he was a horse, he would’ve bucked them off much earlier and left them for the officials.
“Gosh, Buck, the horses.” He scoffs and glares into a sodden wall, bitten to bits by termites and other critters.
Bucky sighs and gives a hand up to grace Steve’s chin, swiveling his face slowly to face him once more whilst caressing the milky skin beneath his fingers, “They’ll be ‘right, Stevie. Ain’t the first time they been out in the rain.”
“I know— I jus’— They,” Steve falters,
“I know,” Bucky hushes him, a placid whisper gracing the humid air.
He pulls away, and twists around to settle on his side, “C’mere,” He beckons, patting the empty space in front of him.
Steve adheres, and crawls into the space beside Bucky before settling into it, facing him as he does so. His hip digs into the ground through his thick blanket and he can feel the dampened blanket seep into his thin clothes. He huffs at the stickiness, and throws a leg over Bucky’s whilst bracing an arm on the beginning of his thigh.
Bucky lays his own hands on him. He cradles the side of Steve’s head that touches the makeshift pillow, and curls an arm around the tightness of his waist. His fingers begin to filter through his hair, catching through knots that were twined by the wind and rain.
“Where we goin’ next, hm?” Bucky begins, rubbing at Steve’s scalp.
“Somewhere.” Steve slumps, “I’on know.” He says, leaning his head deeper into the broad hand of Bucky’s and settling into the firm caress of his affection.
Bucky swallows, a subtle click over the increased rain, “Worry ‘bout it tomorrow?” He suggests, his hand on Steve’s waist fiddling with the damp fabric of clothing. He rubs it between the two pads of his fingers, a soothing act as he searches Steve’s eyes.
“Yeah,” Steve rustles and reaches into Bucky. He breaches closer into his space, and glides that hand up from his thigh to the crook of his man’s neck.
He swipes and feels at the skin there as he breathes in Bucky, his lips barely bracing Bucky’s own. His hand travels and picks at the sodden hair by his nape.
Bucky interrupts the futile distance between them and captures Steve’s lips in a soft hold. He presses their lips together with a tenderness only kept for nights muddled by rain and sung to sleep by thunder. His hand passes through Steve’s hair leisurely, whilst the other now rubs directly at the skin beneath the shirt he wears.
Steve hooks his leg in deeper and pulls Bucky in further, now leaving them chest-to-chest and hip-to-hip. His own hand then glides from Bucky’s nape to the broad stretch of his back, feeling up the expanse of the muscle and catching against the shoulder blades that press tenderly through his skin.
They kiss surely, with their hands lenient as they swipe and paw at each other. Steve takes in the warmth of Bucky’s skin, which radiates against the moistened air of the night.
Steve pulls away with his hand prone against Bucky’s back and his other somewhere else beside his head. Bucky’s eyebrows are furrowed and he displays a genuine expression of confusion; one that questions the pause,
“Bucky, I,” Steve shifts, needing to consume more of the warmth coming from the man beside him, “I’m sorry,” He whistles, gentle in the upset of the night, a striking contrast from the humming thunder and unforgiving rain.
Bucky’s face twists and mixes through complicated emotions, ones that suggest forgiveness or stand by their word. His eyes are bare for the relentless world to see as he does so, and his skin makes no change to let up on its fealty.
He sighs, his breath catching onto Steve’s face and bracing him with the tepor of his chest, “Steve, I dunno what t’tell you,” He replies, confliction and pain stretching from his face to his tone.
“Alright,” Steve tucks his chin so that he’s facing the span of Bucky’s torso and legs rather than the chagrin plastered all over Bucky’s face.
Silence ensues between them, long and daunting. They listen to the storm give way and then come back once more with a vitality gratefully lesser than the previous. They heed to the sound of their breathing settling and arousing in chime, soft and unspoken in the depths of the night.
Yet they are still very awake. Wide eyes with muscles pulled taut and skin tense. In a situation like this, could you really ever let go? Where the wind flows against the rotted wood of the barn, and the threatening creaks of the walls play against their mind; the only option is to stay awake.
Bucky smacks his lips and stirs, “I can’t sleep,” He murmurs, vibrating in the ear of Steve’s, close and voice dense in the air.
Steve shifts deeper into the warmth of Bucky beside him and feels up the clammy skin of his back, “Me too.”
Bucky then rouses and slivers away from Steve’s hold to lay flat on his back, with a hand bracing the back of his head. Steve stays cradled on his side, this time with a hand flat on his stomach, splayed against the relaxed muscles of his abdominals.
Though Bucky seems restless, with the way he rubs his feet across each other, and then kicks up a leg before throwing it back down. He pulls at the ends of the twine twisted into his hair mindlessly and huffs occasionally. His eyes flick frantically across the room, catching onto the holes etched into the walls and the collapsed parts of the roof.
He worries at his bottom lip, thick and fair against the white of his teeth. Pulls and plays with it whilst his eyebrows screw in on each other and then relax, before continuing their cycle once more.
“Steve,” Bucky croaks through the night,
“Mm,”
Bucky sighs and flinches a leg, “Kiss me. Please.”
Steve perches, bracing an arm beside Bucky and crowding the side of his body. He stares at Bucky’s face, studying the turmoil written in his skin. He then throws an arm over the other side of Bucky, caging him entirely with his upper torso while his legs lay lax.
He doesn’t kiss him. Only observes Bucky and the distress painted along his face.
Bucky does so too. His eyes flick around on Steve’s features, catching onto the thickness of his eyebrows, and the fluttering eyelashes that catch the settling light of the oil lantern.
Steve melts entirely. He settles beside Bucky and grabs a hold of his face, caressing the stubble beneath his touch.
“Tell me, Buck. What’s botherin’ you?” He swipes at an eyebrow, laying down the ruffled hairs into the neat shape they usually stay in.
Bucky leans into the coaxing touch, his eyelids fluttering before squeezing tight. He licks at his chapped lips and huffs against the tender fingertips, “Jus’ want you near.”
“How? Tell me how, baby.” Steve murmurs over the night.
Bucky grips onto Steve’s wrist lightly and keeps his hand stationed right at the swell of his cheek. He presses into the firm hand, warm and resolute; a stable reminder against the turmoil of their circumstances.
“Any way,” He breathes, “I’on care how.”
The stable hand is torn from Bucky’s grasp, and planted right back to that side of him. Steve crowds over him once more and leans into Bucky’s space.
He fits a leg in between Bucky’s and settles on top of the other, only an inch to spare between the two of them. His lips are parted just like Bucky’s, and their breaths fuse into their own enchanting song, sweet and soft.
Steve impedes the space and secures Bucky’s lips in a tender kiss. One that he hopes soothes his anguish and settles his mind. Bucky huffs against him and brings a hand up to travel the skin underneath his shirt, the callouses grating though smooth by his fair skin.
Then his skin is groped, pinched by the sturdy fingertips as Bucky flits his tongue and opens Steve’s mouth. The kiss is denser, with a depth beyond the storming night and raging wind. As they kiss Bucky scrapes and tugs at him, pulling at his shirt and clawing at his muscles.
Their sounds are muffled over the rain, which has begun to come down from its upset yet still patters against the remaining roof. They gasp on each other’s lips when Steve rolls his hips, grinding their semi-soft cocks against each other in a cottony nature.
It’s assuring how the blood begins to rush through Steve’s body. How it pounds in his ears, synonymous to the thunder finally making its leave. It makes its stay just below the surface of his skin, flushing him a sweet red as he continues the deliberate, slow rock of his hips in time with Bucky’s.
Bucky retracts himself, still swaying his hips slightly with intense breathing, “Steve, please, c’mon,” He presses his forehead to Steve’s, their clammy skin and hair sticking to each other.
Steve nods swiftly and leans down into Bucky’s neck to nip at the skin. He pulls and teethes at the skin, irritating the soft flesh in a teasing song as he distractedly rolls his hips and pushes Bucky’s shirt up.
He’s then shoved away for a moment as Bucky grabs the edge of his shirt and peels it over his head, slinging it towards the end of the splayed blanket. Steve’s lit on fire as Bucky ogles him, and tugs at Steve’s shirt before making him take it off.
They share goosebumps as their dampened skin breaches the moist air, the wind a cold draft against their clammy selves.
Bucky is quick to wiggle his pants off. His belt buckle chiming as he undoes it and shoves his pants down his hips alongside his underpants, flinging them off to the side. Steve follows suit, frantically in manner as he undoes his own and lands his pants and undergarments right on top of Bucky’s.
“Hurry, m’cold,” Bucky mutters over the rain.
Steve hums over the rain and presses into Bucky, their bare skin rubbing against and exchanging heat. They stick to each other like glue from the humidity, gummy and thick by one another.
He kisses along Bucky’s neck and travels down his chest as he undulates his hips again, cock chafing against Bucky’s own in an enchanting nature that he could never cease. He pulls at Bucky’s skin as his own is clawed at by fingertips.
His lips catch onto a nipple and wrap around it tenderly, suckling and teasing the tender muscle with a sweet affection that pulls groans out of Bucky. He only burns harder at the rumble of Bucky’s breath right beneath his lips, and lets out his own moans as he sucks.
Moving to the other nipple, he lets a hand roam down the expanse of Bucky’s body. He feels up the warmth of him as he traverses down until he is seized by the base of Bucky’s cock, a constant in his hand and the culprit of the tender moan that is released from Bucky’s lips.
His lips crush against Bucky’s skin as he begins to rub his hand over Bucky’s cock, slow and deliberate over the flushed skin. Bucky’s hips billow with depth as his chest expands in frantic breaths.
A hand rambles down his own body, aching in its search as it latches onto him tight and desperate. He moans around Bucky’s nipple, his hips twitching against the fist that pumps him hot.
They touch each other just like that, frenzied and clammy by the rain-filled air. Kissing against each other’s skin, smelling of the beginnings of sex, gun-powder, and petrichor. Hips writhing restlessly as they refuse to let up on each other.
Though the intensity builds and the coil of seeking heat simmers within them; expectant and constant. It presents as a relentless blaze, one that crackles in the night, festering as it grows.
Bucky removes his hand and reaches to pause Steve, frantic as he pants between slick lips. Steve glances up from where he was sucking on his stomach and meets his eyes. They’re luminous and slightly prickled from the pleasure, with tears caught into dark lashes and surrounding areas.
Words don’t have to be shared between them. Steve knows what Bucky wants. The thought seared behind his eyes, plain-sighted in nature.
He wills Bucky to turn over, gently nudging at the plush corners of him. He kneels from between his legs as Bucky stretches out prone on the blanket, laying the side of his head on crossed arms and looking down at where Steve is. His back expands and settles at each breath, and the rounds of his ass lure Steve’s hands to take hold almost immediately.
As he places his hands down and rubs, he studies Bucky’s body. Crumbles in adoration over the ruffled bun that lays at his nape. He surges down onto Bucky and kisses along his back, sucking onto sunspots and freckles that adorn his skin.
Bucky huffs at the sensation of wet lips against his skin and presses his hips back, bending his knees to hoist half of himself up and into Steve.
Steve’s cock slips into the furrow of Bucky’s ass as he pushes back into him. He crushes his moans on Bucky’s skin whilst rubbing his cock, the tip catching onto the rim of Bucky as he teases Bucky’s nipples up front.
“Steve,” Bucky pants on the blanket, glancing up at him from where half of his face is smushed into the surface. His eyebrows screw in pleasure, whereas his lips peel a part to release a gasp after a certain pinch at his nipples.
“Touch me, c’mon.”
“I am,” Steve huffs as he billows his hips, riding into the sensation of Bucky’s asscheeks surrounding his cock. He licks at Bucky’s skin and sucks, teething and scraping the skin to irritate it.
Bucky sighs, “Y’know what I mean.”
Steve tears away from Bucky’s back, though with his hips still connected to Bucky’s behind, “‘Ere any oil in the bags?”
“I’on know. Probably all rained out.” Bucky slurs into the blanket.
Steve pauses for a moment and stares at the convicted bags. His knees are beginning to dampen from the wetness of the earth seeping into the blanket, and it irks him as he ponders over checking for oil that might be rained out.
Bucky breathes, “Jus’ use yourself.”
“I’ll hurt you,” Shifting into Bucky, Steve groans at the tender catch and the slick draw of his pre-come against Bucky’s hole. He roams his hands along the small of his back and the heights of his asscheeks, the flesh giving way as he gropes them.
His partner sighs, placid yet shuddering, “You won't."
So Steve silently heeds, hesitant and wavering as he leans back from the warmth of Bucky and bends over his ass. He swirls his tongue around his mouth, building saliva to then spit it down onto Bucky’s hole. It catches the dying light of the lamp and dribbles into the surrounding skin of the furrow, slick and dizzying in its manner.
He then draws two fingers to Bucky’s face, reaching over to his lips. Bucky parts his lips and lets them fall into his mouth, closing shut and moistening the broad fingers with his own spit. He maintains eye contact as he does so, the act throttling Steve and tugging at the boil of arousal at the base of him.
He then retracts and brings his fingers to Bucky’s hole. Steve scans Bucky’s face as he circles the two around the puckering of him, studying as his eyelids flutter at the anticipation of his fingers entering and the sweet thought of pleasure.
Breaching his hole, he spits again, mesmerized by the saliva weeping into Bucky when he pushes his fingers through. He listens to the song of Bucky humming, a thunder nature could never succeed in competing with.
Steve then presses at Bucky, buckling his knees and climbing over him. Bucky begins to gasp as fingers flick in him, spreading him open and briefly grazing that spot that sets him ablaze. Steve sucks at his nape from behind, drawing down to his shoulders and then to the side of his tender neck.
Bucky brings up a hand to pull at Steve’s ruffled hair, driving him over from his neck to kiss him. The angle is awkward, but Steve is able to meet his tongue and bite at his lips, swallowing the groans of Bucky as he teases his prostate.
Bucky begins to rut against the damp blanket, searching for a release that flushes his cock and fills his bone with a radiant heat. His efforts come short when Steve’s hand grabs at a hip and tugs, lifting him up from the blanket to seize him from relieving himself.
He then whines squeaky and needy in nature, “Please. Don’t tease, Stevie,” Bucky pants, writhing his hips against the hold and biting his bottom lip in determination when Steve’s hand gives way just a little.
“Don’t want you t’come yet,” Steve mumbles into the muggy skin of his neck, breathing in the scent of his sweat and the rain that settled upon it. He scissors his fingers in Bucky, relentless in his work to loosen him up.
Pulling away, he gives more spit to fit in a third, relishing in how Bucky moans around the broadness of three fingers making room in his asshole. He kneels there, watching how Bucky squirms against his acts and claws at the rolled up blanket beneath his head whilst he fingers him.
He reaches further until he finds that spot of Bucky’s, pauses and spits once more, and then continues with his deed; this time pressuring Bucky’s prostate and widening him.
This time Bucky catches and lets out a steady moan before gasping frantically around the penetrations of Steve’s fingers. His hips thrash and eventually fall out of Steve’s singular hand, settling onto the blanket and rutting into the hard surface of the ground.
Steve lets him have it as he braces over him, teething at the skin of his neck and coming up to take in his moans. He crowds over him as Bucky gets heavier in his pleasure, and cries out as he comes on Steve’s fingers and the friction of the blanket.
“Ha— Quit—!” He grits out as Steve continues to press into him, hips twitching in sensitivity.
Steve pulls his fingers away, “Wanna lay down ‘n fuck you,” He murmurs into Bucky’s lips, nudging him to lay on his side so that he faces the oil lantern and bags.
Bucky shifts and curls into the shape of Steve as he settles behind him. His arm sets itself beneath Bucky’s head, allowing him to lay it comfortably. A hand rests on the pinch of his waist, with Steve’s legs spreading him open to stir closer into him.
Yet Steve removes the hand from his waist to bring it up to his own lips, spit generously, and then swipe the saliva over his hole. Bucky billows his hips about the touch, and sighs at the touch of Steve’s fingertips gracing the furrow of his puckered hole.
Steve spits more and slicks himself as much as he can before he presses the tip of himself to Bucky, groaning at the pressure of the entrance. He crushes his lips against Bucky’s nape, tongue peeking out to lick at the skin and suck as he pushes into the ravishing heat of Bucky.
They moan in tandem with each other, panting and exerted from the pleasure. Steve releases the hold from Bucky’s nape to huff against his skin, whilst Bucky sighs by the stretch of his arm laid out near his head.
Steve settles deep into Bucky until he gives way, stretching his partner to the base of him. He feels up the sides of him, rubbing his skin and twisting his nipples as he bathes in the connection of their clammy skin sticking to one another and their sounds mixing to be harmonious.
They stay like that for a moment. Steve is buried in the heat of Bucky. Bucky turns his head and beckons Steve to lean up and kiss him. They kiss until they begin shifting their hips, and lose themselves in the pleasure.
It’s rattling; how the pleasure builds and makes home beneath their skin. How it invades their bones and sets fire to all that they know. Makes them dizzy with the sensation, their lips numb as they gasp at each other, moaning through each other’s air.
“Buck. Shit,” Steve catches, his hand gripping at the tender flesh by Bucky’s waist. He pistons his hips, his cock slipping through the walls of Bucky in an entrancing way, one that stumbles him and folds him into nothing but a crumbled man.
Bucky begins to touch himself, fisting his cock. His cockhead peaks through the frantic motions, dribbling pre-come over his hands. He moans brazenly, loud in the night and over the rain that settles.
Steve fumbles and catches his hand, ripping it away from his cock. He collapses at the whine that tumbles from Bucky and rolls his hips deeper, relishing in how that whine turns into an enthralling groan accompanied by the rolling of his eyes,
“Don’t touch— Don’t,” He huffs over Bucky’s shoulder, moaning into the skin and biting at it whilst he pumps his cock into Bucky.
The angle releases a cramp in his lower back, and he knows it’s firing up pain in Bucky’s neck, so he pulls his legs away from in between Bucky’s and pushes his lover down into the blanket.
Bucky moans at the deeper angle and lifts his ass into Steve, who crowds over his back whilst undulating his back in chime. Steve uses the opportunity of Bucky lifting himself to keep him there with two hands gripping the jutting bones of his hips, leaving his cock to dribble heavily over the blanket.
“Steve— I’m gon’” Bucky slurs into the fabric with his eyes fluttering shut, his hips squirming against Steve’s cock in his ass.
“Me too, fuck,” Steve drops Bucky, and lets him rut into the blanket while he plows into his hole, frenzied in needing to capture his pleasure, “Oh, Bucky—“
He croons over him, kissing and groaning at Bucky’s back as he writhes into his hole. Bucky twists into the blanket, moaning as he rubs himself with the friction of the fabric.
The pleasure builds and settles right at the rim of the two, hot and unabashed between them. Spawning brazen fire in their souls as they brace their skin upon each other and move their hips along.
“Steve—!” Bucky moans and shifts his hips up,
Steve swiftly tears himself out from Bucky’s hole and sputters over the span of the beginning of his back in time with Bucky crying out, oozing out and onto the blanket.
Bucky slumps back down, huffing with soft whines before licking at his lips and settling in the aftermath of his second orgasm. Steve is throttled by his first, and panting as he crashes onto Bucky’s back with a groan similar to his partner’s own.
They stay like that for a minute, listening to the final patters of the rain and each other’s breaths. They settle in the sweaty manner of their skin, and the smell of what could only be described as them and nature after its tantrums.
Then Bucky shifts and shoves Steve over, “Stevie,” He calls out, voice croaking from their activities as he nudges Steve, who has begun to fall into slumber.
“Mm.” Steve screws his eyebrows and doesn’t dare to open his eyes. He submerges himself in the warmth of coming down from pleasure and the warmth radiating from Bucky.
“We need’a clean up,” Bucky says, then pausing for a long while, “n’ get our clothes on so we don’t get sick.”
Steve sighs and opens his eyes to find Bucky facing him, an unrecognizable expression painted on his face. There’s a softness settled in his eyes, yet a firmness across his mouth. He doesn’t know how to register it.
“‘Kay.”
❧
Morning song birds begin their chime and the sun sets its golden glow on the earth.
The rays of the sun pierce through the holes of the barn and stretch onto the faces of Bucky and Steve, to which they arouse groggy and desperate for more sleep.
Their clothes are ruffled from being bunched up tight against one another, trying to protect each other from the drafts of the wind, which would chill their damp skin and clothes. Their heads pound from staying up in the late hours, and their bodies vibrate with a regrettably knowable ache.
Eager to leave the nature-rotted barn, they roll up the blanket and pack their bags hurriedly, not even taking a moment to wipe the sleep out from the corners of their eyes.
Steve is quick to swoop up the saddles and brace one by either side of him whilst Bucky carries the large cargo bag and lantern.
When they cross the threshold of the barn, only one horse remains; Bucky’s. His eyes are half-mast as he bends down to pick at the grass at his feet, and doesn’t even acknowledge the pair. The horse’s tail sways at the bugs in the air, and a hind leg twitches when a bug manages to get a nip in.
“Shit—“ Steve stutters. The cross ties of where his horse was still stands, though the hooks have been torn off.
Bucky sighs beside him and adjusts the straps of the cargo bags on his shoulders before glancing at him. That knowing stretch of lips begins to grow on Bucky’s face, and Steve doesn’t need to know it does because he can feel them burning into the side of his face.
“Look’s like someone got pissed at ‘ya, hm?” Bucky nudges him with his elbow, his tone tired yet teasing.
❧