Chapter Text
“Why don’t you go and get your boy, Cap,” Morita said after they had sat and talked in the bar for a while--Jim drinking a little, Steve drinking a lot, but only for tactical reasons. He didn’t want Jim to stop talking--he’d been telling Steve something delicate, about his sister, when he almost never talked about his family at all.
Steve felt like Jim was just fleeing the subject, trying to withdraw. He glanced over where he’d indicated and saw the usual and pleasant sight of Bucky laughing himself sick with a bunch of people he’d probably just met. “He’s fine,” he said.
“He’s fine now,” Morita corrected. “He’s still drinking.” With the carefulness of the almost plastered, Bucky slowly leaned over and said something to one of his new friends. Steve could see how hard he was working to enunciate, and (he suspected) to stay in the right language. He must have accomplished both things pretty admirably, because the guy knocked his head against the table laughing at Bucky’s joke.
“He’s just having fun,” Steve said and didn’t--well, Morita hadn’t known Bucky before, maybe there was nothing to say to him. Maybe only Steve knew. The point was, and Steve tried not to think about it, that if you knew someone who was almost liquid with sensitivity and just plain appreciation of life--not that he was always happy or anything like that, but just that he had a way of seeing and feeling everything--
The point was, seeing Bucky in certain shades of drunk was the only time Steve saw the Bucky he remembered. And it wasn’t like Bucky didn’t try really hard when he was sober. He didn’t just do his job; he was there for everyone, he smiled, he tried to make jokes. But he was somehow unfailingly grim even as he was joking. You could see him looking around you while he was talking, the way he followed every noise with a slight motion of his head. Steve didn’t think he slept hardly ever, either.
“You’re gonna be the only one who can carry him if he passes out,” Jim said. “So, you know, your funeral.”
“Ugh,” Steve said.
They were both watching Bucky for so long that he noticed and smiled at them. It was such a nice smile, and it was so different from how he usually looked, that a little jolt of pain went through Steve’s hands. It was putting him in mind of Bucky’s soft look, which Steve hadn’t seen in almost three years, long before any of this stuff started.
Bucky had been right--it had been easy to forget all about that. Steve missed it sometimes, but really, it went down in history much faster than it had any right to, especially when they were still living together and seeing each other every day. It was all over as if it had never been, and pretty soon it was easier for Steve to believe it was over than that Bucky would have stooped to such a thing in the first place.
For his part, Bucky never seemed to think or feel anything about it, after a few days. He stayed busy and cheerful. Steve thought, a little angrily, that this proved what he’d always suspected; Bucky didn’t really like that stuff, or at least, he didn’t need it like Steve did. But pretty soon Steve let go of it too. For a little while he dreamed plans and schemes of things to do to Bucky, and he woke up still calculating; but it didn’t go on for long.
“Look, he wants you,” Jim said. Bucky was crooking a finger at Steve, trying to get him to come over.
“I don’t see what for,” Steve said.
“Just go and get him. You’re the one who said we’re moving out tomorrow and I don’t want to deal with him being hungover. You know as well as I do how pissy he gets.”
“It’s true,” Steve said. Morita tilted his head. “Okay, okay,” Steve said. He looked back at Bucky and gestured him over instead. With his same slow half-blasted delicacy, Bucky got to his feet and with great affection said goodbye to all of the guys he’d been sitting with. Then he came over to Steve and Jim and practically fell down into the seat next to Steve--well, really he more or less fell on Steve, draping himself around him.
“My friends!” Bucky said. “You both are so sad looking. Why don’t you want to do anything fun? We just took out a whole bunch of Hydra assholes and pretty...soon...we have to get...moving again and...you’re not even having fun.” He put his face in Steve’s shoulder.
“What’s he speaking, French?” Morita said.
“He thinks he is,” Steve said in English.
“My French is so good,” Bucky said in the horrible French.
“It’s not, Bucky,” Steve said. “Jim, he’s telling us we’re sad and not fun, if you were wondering about it. Bucky, you’re shit at romance languages and there’s nothing you can do about it. It’s just how you were made.”
“Probably why I’m so shit at romance, too,” Bucky said, picking his head up and boring his eyes into Steve with sudden solemness. Steve couldn’t tell if he was joking, but he was speaking English, so it was embarrassing in front of Morita either way.
“Okay, we’re going back to the base,” Steve told him. “You need to sleep and forget about this whole fun nonsense. Who ever heard of such a thing? ‘Fun.’ Did you just make that up?”
“Steve, I love you,” Bucky said as Steve was hauling him to his feet. “Good old Steve,” he said as Steve waved goodbye to Jim. “I bet you never been happy in your whole life, except making me miserable, huh?” he said, huffing a little as he leaned against Steve on the way out the door.
“That’s me, the old buzzkill,” Steve said. He didn’t mind putting an arm around Bucky to hold him up, but it was a little disconcerting how Bucky kept throwing all of his weight on him. Especially because he hadn’t been too drunk to stand up until Steve said they needed to leave. “Buck, come on, you’re just having fun--just walk. Don’t make me carry you.”
“I just wanted to see if you could,” Bucky said, taking most of his weight back onto himself, but still hanging on to Steve’s arm. “You could really carry me if you needed to, yeah? No, I know you can.” He knocked into Steve again as they started off down the dark street. “Throw me over your shoulder like a sack of potatoes, just put me wherever you want me, just--”
This was the other reason Steve didn’t like to intervene when Bucky was drinking, these days. “Stop bumping into me,” was all he managed to say.
“What are you gonna do about it?” Bucky said. “Come on, show me how strong you are, I want to see how hard you can hit--I want to see how fast you can knock me out if I make you mad. I’ve been asking and you never want to--”
“Bucky, come on,” Steve said. “You’re drunk.” There weren’t a lot of people around, and Bucky had paused in walking, like he thought he was actually going to talk Steve into punching him in the face in the middle of the night in Belgium.
“Does that mean you’ll do it when I’m sober?”
“If you still want me to, sure,” Steve said.
“Okay,” Bucky said. He walked around and stood in front of Steve, and his posture changed, became sharper and more efficient. The grimness flooded back into his face.
“What?” Steve said.
“I'm sober,” Bucky said. "Come on, you said you'd do it."
“Have you been sober all of these times?”
“It makes you happy when you think I’m drunk,” Bucky said. “You stare at me when you think I’m drunk, and--”
“Bucky, come on,” Steve said. Worrying about Bucky was a normal part of life now, not too different from being big--it surprised him when he woke up, sometimes, but he adjusted and went on with his day. But this was making him panic a little. It wasn’t like Bucky had never been sneaky or a good actor, but--“Bucky, come on, you were pretending to get drunk? Were you faking every time? Why would you do that?”
“It’s not just for you,” Bucky said. “Don’t flatter yourself. Christ, you think you’re so fucking special now, don’t you? Sorry I don’t revolve around you as much as you want me to.”
“I don’t want you to revolve around me,” Steve said.
“Well, no need to keep rubbing my face in the fact that I’m not good enough for you,” Bucky said.
“Bucky, shut up,” Steve said. “You don’t--I mean, if pretending to be drunk is really doing it for you, who am I to take the wind out of your sails, but for fuck’s sake, I’m not going to demonstrate the effects of the serum on you.”
“You don’t think I can handle it?” Bucky said.
“Less arguing, more walking,” Steve said. “Maybe you’ll feel better after you sleep.”
“Fuck you,” Bucky said, but they finally started walking again. Then Bucky knocked into Steve again, putting most of his his weight on him, dropping his head onto his shoulder and his arm around him.
“Okay, fine,” Steve said. “But if you wanted to use me as a walking stick you could’ve just asked instead of the method acting.”
“Steve,” Bucky said.
“Bucky,” Steve said.
“Steve,” Bucky said, annoyed.
“Yeah, it’s still my name just like it was the first time you said it,” Steve said. “Ever considered the full sentences approach?”
Bucky went very quiet, which kind of relieved Steve for a minute, but as they kept walking it didn’t seem so good. Steve felt the itching of his usual worries, and in the absence of talk it got worse and worse. He squeezed Bucky’s shoulder. Bucky let what sounded like all the air out of his lungs.
“It’s not the end of the world,” Steve said, “whatever it is. I mean, as far as I know the world isn't ending so--”
Bucky said, “I thought maybe you’d do it if you thought I wouldn’t remember. I’ve been trying to play it up--pretending to have blackouts when I drink, and all--I thought maybe if I could get you to want to, and you thought I wouldn’t remember, that I wouldn’t be too clingy about it, that it would just be one time--”
“Bucky, that’s fucking crazy,” Steve said. “You realize how crazy that is, right?”
“I’m crazy,” Bucky said. “I don’t have a choice.”
His voice caught and he was shaking pretty hard, so Steve stopped trying to walk with him. He pulled him into an alley where it was easy to see that no one and nothing was coming toward them, and he leaned Bucky against a wall and hugged him for a minute, so he could calm down.
Things like this had happened to Bucky a few times after they left the factory, and even once on the way out. By now Steve had seen it happen to several guys, although he didn’t always feel like he knew how to help. He pulled back from Bucky but kept one hand, steadying, against his shoulder. “How’s this? You feeling better?”
“Don’t ask me,” Bucky said, “tell me.”
“You’re all right,” Steve said. Bucky nodded and rubbed a hand across his face.
“Oh, God,” he said. “I’m so embarrassed.”
“Oh, come on,” Steve said. He didn’t even really know what he was arguing about. He just didn’t want Bucky to think that he had to hide from him, or that he had to put on some kind of performance for other people. Especially Steve, but anyone--Bucky was so brave and competent, he’d done more than anyone had any right to expect; he had nothing to be embarrassed about.
Steve didn’t know what he could tell him. He wasn’t the type of person to go on about how great someone was, and he wasn’t sure if reassurance could do anything to help Bucky anyway. It was hard--knowing him well enough to see how messed up things were, but no longer knowing him well enough to know how to help him.
“Just,” Steve said. “If there’s anything I can ever do--”
Bucky rubbed his wrist across his eyes. “I asked you already.”
“What?”
“To hurt me.”
“You don’t mean that.”
“I liked it before. You don’t believe I could like it now?” Steve started to answer, but Bucky interrupted. “Believe me, it’s not easy to ask you, but--I promise I won’t make it a problem. Just one time, if you want. Just a favor?” He smiled and squinted hopefully at Steve, then said more seriously, “Look, I’m never gonna tell you about what happened when I was in captivity--”
“Yeah, I noticed,” Steve said.
“There’s no point talking about it. But it feels like they took something out and I just think if you--if we could just do like we used to do--I've been thinking about it a lot. I just want to feel normal--" He broke off and waited.
“Okay, I’ll do it if you need me to,” Steve said.
Bucky lit up. “Really?”
“You really think it’ll help?”
Bucky nodded. His eyes were very big in his face. Steve nodded too, took Bucky by the shoulders, and moved him so Steve had the better sightlines.
"Okay," Steve said and kept his eyes on Bucky when he clicked his tongue. If Bucky didn't remember Steve would just give the order quickly, so Bucky didn't feel like he'd failed--but he was already on his knees, looking up at Steve with a strange and nervous expression.
And Steve was on his feet, looking down and feeling strange and nervous himself. He reached down and took hold of a little of Bucky's hair; he ran his thumb over his skinny cheekbone. "Just gonna hit you ten times, okay?"
"I want twenty," Bucky said.
Steve couldn't help laughing. "Fifteen, asshole."
Bucky grinned; he'd obviously been angling for fifteen. He always haggled, and Steve should have been on the lookout.
"You're a real smartass," Steve said. As he raised his other hand he realized he had no sense of how much force he should put into his blows. He'd often hit Bucky as hard as he could--it wasn't really difficult to give him black eyes and split lips, but it still took some effort and gave Steve a sense of accomplishment. Now if he hit him as hard as he could, he could probably kill him. Steve started giving himself practice slaps on his thighs.
"Steve, my face is down here," Bucky said.
"Shut up," Steve said. "I'm trying to figure out how hard I should hit you."
"I don't care."
"Well, I care, dumbass."
"If you just kept yourself the old way, we wouldn't have to worry about this," Bucky grumbled. Steve slapped him. Bucky paused; a smile spread across his face. "Well, I can tell you that's not hard enough," he said.
"No," Steve said, and he yanked Bucky's head back so he had to look straight up at the sky as Steve leaned over him. It was a good move--Bucky was startled, struggling to get a hold of himself. Steve didn't plan to let him. "I'm doing you a favor, Buck, I'm giving you a present." He yanked his hair again to keep him from being smart. "What do you say when somebody gives you something?"
"Thank you," Bucky said. He didn't sound reluctant or sarcastic; Steve was watching for any sign of impending backtalk.
"Let me be clear. I'm going to hit you how I want to hit you, not how you think is the best way--and you've got no cause to complain about that, because--well, why'd you ask me to do it?"
"Because you do it best, Steve," Bucky said, which wasn't the answer Steve had expected, but it was perfectly workable. He hit Bucky quite gently--it was lighter than the one he'd complained about, but he gasped like he was really winded. Steve had had to learn that if you messed with someone--well, with Bucky, anyway--you could create the illusion of force. It was surprise, and having his head pulled back.
"If you don't like how I do it," Steve said, smacking him a few times--twice on the other side of the face, one almost in the eye so he winced and flinched--"Don't flinch away from me, I know you can take it," Steve said--"If you don't like it, I'm happy to leave you to do it to yourself. You want that?"
"No," Bucky said.
"No what?" This again was an answer Steve wasn't particular about. It was bound to be good.
"No, sir. No, thank you. No, I don't want to," Bucky said, covering all his bases, and they grinned at each other.
"How many we got left?" Steve asked him.
"Eleven," Bucky said.
Steve let go of his head and stepped back a little bit, indicating how he wanted things to be. "You're gonna sit still for the rest of it--down on your knees, with your hands in your lap, right. That's fine." Then Steve made the mistake of really looking at him, looking at him too hard, and--Jesus.
Bucky was glowing. Even trying not to think about it Steve had remembered his softened up look, sometimes been reminded of it by various other Bucky expressions--but until now he'd forgotten exactly how good it was and how it overwhelmed him with a rush of--well, the word that seemed right was generosity, although it wasn't exactly generous, the kind of thing that feeling made him want to do. It was like he loved Bucky so much that he wanted to crush him into pieces.
Now Steve remembered, there were all these different varieties of the look--there were words he'd run through his mind, just to be able to keep track of all the categories--glittering, vibrating; the cracked-egg look (wet, shaky, limp). This was the glowing look, the eager almost nervous smile. Steve was looking at him for so long that he thought Bucky was going to talk back to him again--but he didn't. He tilted his head and just waited patiently, so Steve took his hair again--gently, just to hold his head up--and commenced slapping him again. Harder, now--he was getting a feel for the use of force in this body.
He paused, and--well, he was close to losing any measure of control because Bucky looked sort of deadly in his calm stillness, just waiting. "How many do you have left?" he asked.
"I have one left," Bucky said, which he knew Steve knew anyway.
"Okay," Steve said, pulling Bucky up a little so his chin was tilted up; "Where do you want it?"
Bucky said, "Wherever you want to give it to me, Steve," which was such a good answer that Steve let go of his hair and socked him in the mouth hard enough to make him lose his balance. He fell sideways and scrambled, grinning, back up into position.
"Okay," Steve said--he put his hand out to pull Bucky up, and Bucky pulled himself up and practically lunged at him to hug him. He'd have knocked Steve back, before--in fact, he'd come close to doing so in this kind of state. He squeezed Steve and buried his face in his neck, and it was so--
Well, it was his old way of being, the greedy, tactile happiness. Steve felt half stunned with gratitude, stiffly holding him and stroking his hair.
"Jesus, thank you," Bucky murmured, loosening his hold a bit and rubbing his face on Steve's shoulder one more time. Steve saw this gesture for what it was--sneaky crying.
"Well, you're welcome," he said, "but you don't have to call me Jesus."
"Would you shut up," Bucky said.
"Okay, okay. Let's get you back to the base, okay? Get you some shut eye." Bucky nodded. Steve put an arm on him to let him know it was okay if he wanted to slump on Steve's shoulder on the rest of the walk, like he'd been doing before.
But Bucky didn't want to. He walked on his own.
"Bucky," Steve said, after a few minutes.
"Yeah?" Bucky sounded perfectly friendly.
"Why did we--stop doing that stuff?"
Bucky sighed--not unhappily, just pausing to put the answer together. "I don't know," he said finally. "I guess you didn't really like it."
"I don't--I definitely don't think that could have been it," Steve managed to say.
"Yeah, you liked it, but--it was different for you." Bucky glanced at him, unperturbed by whatever he saw in Steve's face. He wasn't bothered talking about this. "You didn't need it as much as I did. Maybe that's the nature of the thing."
"You didn't need it as much as I did," Steve said.
"No," Bucky said. "That's not true."
"I was, uh." They were getting within sight of the base, so anything they decided on would have to be done soon. "If you--I mean, with you being so drunk, maybe you need to stay in my room, so I can take care of you. What do you think? Even if they don't believe me, they can't discharge me for something like that."
Bucky looked at him--a little coolly, sidelong--and fell drunkenly against him again.
///
The second time Bucky blew him for the first time was about an hour later, and they started off following Steve's old rules to the letter. It wasn't like Steve had ever cared if Bucky opened his fly with his teeth or kissed the head of Steve's dick before he started sucking, but it made a good format for yelling at him. Steve vividly remembered kicking Bucky in the ribs with his stocking feet while he lay cringing on the floor. Steve had been yelling something like, "Sucking dick is the only thing you're good for and you can't even do it right!" It had been overblown but fun--they'd been really young, and Bucky had sobbed and begged for him, and joked about it with him later, both of them a little embarrassed.
Now Steve just watched him curiously to see if he could remember. He was leaning against the wall of his room--they'd given him a pretty nice room--and Bucky was naked and kneeling while Steve slowly rubbed all the pomade out of his hair.
Steve had tried to strip Bucky himself, laying him down on the bed and pinning him there while he yanked down his pants and shorts--but Bucky said, "Hey, wait a minute."
In the old days Steve would have railroaded over that, but things were different enough that he waited. Bucky smiled nervously up at him.
"Just a little hiccup," he said. "It's better if I do that myself. Hope you don't mind."
"Of course I don't," Steve said.
But he got a little serious as he was watching Bucky take off his clothes. "What," Bucky said, "now that you see it in color you don't like it as much?"
"What did they do to you?" Steve asked. Bucky's face tightened--a moment ago he'd been halfway softened up, but now he looked like he was wearing a mask.
"You can't fix it," he said, "and you don't need to know."
"Okay," Steve said. "Come here."
Bucky fell into the blowjob smoothly for a minute, but after the first few moves he stopped, dropped his right hand to fidget on his hip, and said, "I'm sorry, Steve, I forgot how you like it." He could have made it fun--squirming, begging for mercy--but he sounded flat and bored instead; not nervous, disappointed.
"That's fine," Steve said, and launched into his contingency plan. "You can still take me all the way in, can't you?" Bucky nodded. Steve had him put his head back, and held it while he slowly filled Bucky's mouth with his dick. Bucky didn't make any trouble; he took it as politely as Steve had taught him to in 1938. "This'll be fine," Steve said. "Clasp your hands behind your back."
Bucky did as asked, moving delicately since his throat was jammed up; Steve could see the whites of his eyes. He thought Bucky looked cute this way, like a butterfly on a corkboard.
Steve got a good grip on Bucky's head before realizing his hair would be a lot more fun. He took a bunch of it in his hands and used it to pull Bucky off of his dick, so just the head was in his mouth; then he pulled him all the way back on it. He did it a few more times, slowly, then sped up once he had the hang of it.
"Stop that," he snapped when he realized Bucky was moving with him to avoid the pain of being pulled around by his hair. "Stay still. I'm going to move you and you're going to let me. Look at me."
Bucky looked at him. His eyes were kind of wet, but he was following.
"You don't do anything--I'm gonna give you how much I want you to have. Just me, not you, you don't have any control." Once Bucky got it, Steve started pulling him on and off again, and half-thrusting too. It was funny how he wasn't really used to thrusting, and it surprised him that it didn't hurt his back. "There's a good boy," he said, "just sit back and let me use you." Bucky shuddered and came all over Steve's shoes. "Really?" Steve said. "God, you're pathetic," but he didn't take long either.
Afterwards he got down on the floor and hugged Bucky so he wouldn't feel weird. Obviously he'd miscalculated somewhere, though, because instead of cuddling up to him Bucky just rubbed his face on Steve's shoulder and sat up straight and said, "Maybe this isn't such a good idea."
Typically Steve wasn't the type to argue with rejection. "Well, okay, if you don't want to," he said, and Bucky winced, so he added, "But how come, though?"
Bucky dragged his eyes up to him and said sort of miserably, "Because I'm stupid."
"Well that's never stopped you before," Steve said.
Bucky exhaled. He said, slowly, "I think we stopped because I sort of loved you too much, and you didn't like it. You thought it was stupid of me, I guess."
"No, that's not right," Steve said. "It wasn't like that."
"What was it like then?" Bucky said.
"I don't know," Steve said. He'd done such a good job putting it out of his mind--well, not all the way out, but into the angry place of his mind that spurred him to try and fight harder. Bucky was one of the many things he hadn't been good enough to have--really, one of the only things he'd even gotten to have for a while, which should have been nice, but it just stung harder that he hadn't been up to the task.
Bucky feeling rejected by him was something he couldn't fathom. He'd never have guessed and couldn't quite believe it, even being told. "It wasn't like that," he said again.
"But you say you don't know what happened," Bucky said.
"I don't, but I know I feel the same about you. You know that, right? Don't be stupid." Steve pulled Bucky's head into his lap and Bucky let him; he started massaging Bucky's scalp. God knew he needed it. "And like you said, maybe it is stupid to feel like that, but you know. Oh, well."
"Oh, well," Bucky said.
"Okay?" Steve said.
"Okay, okay," Bucky said.
"Because someone still needs to lick my shoes clean," Steve said.
///
So, having started up again, they continued whenever they had a chance. Steve didn't know if it was helping Bucky in the grand scheme of things, but it wasn't hurting him, so it probably didn't matter--they enjoyed themselves. The more quiet and dark and careful Bucky was the rest of the time, the more he came to life when Steve was mean to him. He'd laugh and sigh, tremble heavily and lie loose limbed in Steve's tent after, nuzzling into his neck.
It turned out, to Steve's surprise, that it still was mostly meanness--he was rough, insulting, made impossible demands. He'd always thought that if he was bigger and stronger he'd throw Bucky around more, hold him down, overpower him--but most of that stuff turned out to be problems.
That was sort of what Bucky called them. "Problem," he'd say, and Steve would stop and wait a minute for him to explain. Bucky often apologized for telling Steve what to do, which Steve just rolled his eyes at until he stopped. It wasn't hard to put together. He didn't like being held down, overpowered, or grabbed; and there were some other things that were harder to categorize.
There was the added obstacle that Bucky tended to get mad if Steve asked him too much about the problems or tried to predict what they were going to be. If Steve wasn't sure about something, he'd just tell Bucky what to do to himself. That was perfectly safe, and they already liked it. It was kind of like what they used to do.
Sometimes Steve wouldn't touch Bucky, just stand apart from him and watch him and tell him to jerk himself a little, not too much, claw himself, twist his nipple, pull his hair. Then at a certain point Steve would step over to him and Bucky would slump into his arms, hungrily lovely and boneless, and let Steve take over the job of hurting him. He was so perfect in those moments, limp and sweet and whining both when Steve hurt him and whenever he occasionally briefly stopped, that Steve could almost forget how grim he was the rest of the time.
Sometimes Bucky would fall apart if Steve had done something really cruel or rough to him, but it was like it was there already, like Steve was just poking a hole in him and letting something out. Steve insisted on sleeping together on those nights, and Bucky insisted on apologizing to him in little litanies--for causing problems, for being difficult, for not being as good as he once had been.
"Stop talking nonsense," was what Steve said at first, but it kept on happening. "Look," he finally said one time, and then stopped. He didn't see the point of screaming it all at the top of his lungs, when it seemed so obvious. "You do pretty good for me, and you always did. The way you're talking about it is just erroneous. It doesn't work like you think."
"How's it work?" Bucky said.
"I don't know," Steve said. Bucky snorted. It was true Steve often gave answers like that. But it wasn't because he didn't mean what he said; it was just that he couldn't explain it.
It was just that there wasn't a list of things Steve wanted to inflict on someone. He wanted results--the sweet, melted looks, sobbing, shivering, giggling and gasping for breath. He liked obedience and patience too, and he particularly liked how all those things looked on Bucky. Restraining him didn't produce any of the desired reactions--it flattened him out. So it didn't interest Steve.
"If I just wanted to punch something, I could punch a pillow," he said. "You know?"
Bucky looked quizzical, so Steve initiated an adolescent pinching game. He held himself over Bucky who lay on his pallet, slowly pulled down his blankets, and pinched Bucky with his fingernails in each new uncovered place. Bucky wasn't allowed to defend himself, which included trying to cover himself or moving away. He struggled with it, flinching when Steve dug into his nipples and stomach and hips; but he was on point. He kept himself in position for it and whenever Steve met his eyes Bucky was watching him intently, ready for any orders he might give. Steve reached for Bucky's balls and Bucky winced, but steeled himself and spread his legs to give Steve better access to hurt him.
"See," Steve said, "that's what I like," and he rolled off of Bucky. "We need to get going."
"But Steve," Bucky said, "I need to come."
"What a disgusting thing to say," Steve said. "You don't need to come, you're not an animal. You're a human being, and you'll come when I tell you it's okay."
///
Since there was an uneven number of Commandos, Steve used to take the watch twice in a row. He didn't need the sleep like the other guys did, so it only seemed fair.
He wondered if maybe he did need the sleep, after all, when he looked up and Bucky was sitting next to him lighting a cigarette. "Dernier sleeps way too hard, it's not safe," he informed Steve without so much as a by your leave.
"Anybody would sleep through you," Steve said. "God but you're eerie sometimes."
"Oh, well," Bucky said. "I needed the cigarettes."
"What's he going to say when he finds them missing?"
"I don't know, but I'm gonna say you need better reflexes, pal, or don't come crying to me when someone kills you in your sleep." Bucky shrugged and blew smoke in Steve's face. "This is for you," he told him, producing a chocolate bar from one of his pockets.
"So whose ration is that?"
"Oh, come on, you don't want to know how the sausage is made," Bucky said. "Okay, fine, it's my ration."
"So why do I get it?"
"Well, technically I'm yours so it's your ration," Bucky said, "and besides, I know you love chocolate and you don't have to worry about sugar anymore, so eat up."
This was true. Steve took the chocolate and gave Bucky a little slap on the wrist for good behavior. "So what if I asked for the cigarettes?"
"They're yours," Bucky said, but he didn't hand them over because he knew that Steve didn't smoke and was just being difficult on purpose.
Steve started into his chocolate and said, just enjoying the concept, "What if I didn't let you smoke anything ever again?"
"Can I chew tobacco?"
"No."
"I'd probably have to throw you over, then," Bucky said. "You just aren't worth it."
"Oh, well, fair enough," Steve said. Bucky looked at him curiously.
"Does that bother you?"
"What?"
"Me talking about throwing you over."
"No," Steve said. "I'm not gonna make you give up tobacco, so I don't really have anything to worry about."
Bucky was quiet, and when Steve looked at him the curious look had gone sort of solemn. "I used to be so worried, I'd never joke about that kind of thing," he said, "when we were younger, I was so scared of making you jealous or making you think I was gonna leave--"
"You're joking," Steve said. "You couldn't have been scared of me then."
"Correction, that's what you thought," Bucky said.
"So?" Steve said.
"So you thought you couldn't really hurt me and you hurt me all the time," Bucky said, "and some of it was wasn't...some of it I didn't like, and I couldn't make you stop--"
"I did things you didn't want?" Steve was startled. He'd always been pretty careful about watching how Bucky was reacting to things. He hadn't thought it was hard to manage him, really.
"Not during, after," Bucky said. He made business out of taking a deep long drag on his cigarette and holding it in front of his face.
"Oh," Steve said. He remembered how it had ended, by now--jealousy, Bucky tearing up in the bathtub, do you have any idea how hard it is to love you?
"It seems stupid now," Bucky said, "but I thought that you thought I was garbage, that everything I did for you was worse than garbage, because you didn't believe in it. I'd try to be good for you and then in about three seconds you'd be bitching about how you couldn't possibly be doing it for me because you were little and, you know, not in the best health--when that really never mattered to me at all--"
"Well, you can't say it doesn't matter ," Steve said. "I mean, look me in the eye and say you don't like me at least a little better like this. We never have to work around anything, and it must help you get there a little, with me looking like more of a threat--"
"Now I wish I didn't give you my chocolate," Bucky said. "For shit's sake, Steve, anyone can--anyone can force someone down on a bed or a table. Anyone can do that to anyone, it's not personal, and it's not what I need you for." Steve started to say something but Bucky said, "And I'd never have let it start in '38 if I wanted someone big because guess what, Steve, you weren't. You were Steve-sized, you still are, and that's the size that does it for me, okay?"
"Is that a line?"
"Nope," Bucky said. "Lord have mercy, it's unfortunately the truth."
"I didn't understand you felt that way," Steve said.
"Well, I can see why," Bucky said. "I only told you a thousand times. How could I possibly have been telling the truth when you knew for certain I was lying?"
"Oh," Steve said.
"It really is stupid to talk about now, though," Bucky said. "Don't know why I brought it up. I have bigger problems now than you being stupid."
"It really got to you," Steve said. "I didn't treat you too well, did I?"
"Well, no, you didn't," Bucky said. "I'm not saying I was an expert on everything that happened to you, either, but I always meant what I said. Sure I could have tried to understand you better--"
"No," Steve said. "I was wrong."
"I think my ears are going," Bucky said.
///
Bucky started tapping Steve on the arm--he didn’t even say it. Steve had him laid out on his jacket in a small clearing in the woods, a ways from camp, and he had him naked on his back with his legs spread. Steve had taken hold of his legs to push them up on his stomach, so he could fuck him, and Bucky started tapping.
“Problem?” Steve said.
“Sorry,” Bucky said.
“It’s the position?”
Steve worried that even this phrasing might be more specific than Bucky would tolerate. It was hell talking about it with him. Steve had identified some of the factors--being stripped, being held down, being on his back--so he was pretty sure that in this case Bucky either had a problem with being on his back, with Steve moving his legs around, or both.
But Bucky would get mad if he thought Steve knew any of the details, because he didn’t think that Steve should know anything about it. And, well, Steve didn’t deserve to know anything, but he couldn’t help but think he’d be able to be a better friend, and work with Bucky better, if there wasn’t this constant air of mystery about what had happened to him.
“You know,” Bucky said, “if you do me on my stomach you could rub my face in the dirt, you could make me lick the ground, you could pick my head up and slam it into the ground--”
“Okay, flip over, I can’t argue with that,” Steve said. He didn’t want to give Bucky a concussion but all the dirt stuff was pretty appealing. Before he even started trying to fuck him again he just sat next to Bucky’s prone body for a while, intermittently spanking him, pinching him, and pushing his face into the ground.
“Hey, Steve,” Bucky said, lifting his head up a little and spitting out dirt, “didn’t you make me eat a worm once?”
“Ew,” Steve said. “Why would I do that?”
“I don’t know, I didn’t ask. You can be sort of intimidating, you know.”
“I was probably just a kid.”
“I’m pretty sure we were old enough that you jerked off on my face after. Which tasted worse than the worm due to your poor nutrition. Ow, ow, ow, Steve, please, just fuck me, you don’t realize how sharp your fingernails are!”
Steve knew perfectly well; he kept them like that on purpose. When he was small they were one of the only really good weapons he had to use on Bucky, and they still were pretty useful--to say nothing of the nostalgia factor.
“Oh, please please please, that’s the way I want it,” Bucky started caterwauling as soon as Steve was fucking him.
“God, Bucky, shut up,” Steve said. “I know that’s the way you want it or I wouldn’t be doing it.”
“It’s perfect, Steve, it’s so good, you give it to me so good, just what I deserve--”
Steve had to pause a minute to pull Bucky’s head back by the hair and put his hand over his mouth. “Shut up. You think I want a reminder there’s a person attached to this hole?”
“I--”
“No. Nod or shake your head.”
Bucky shook his head and squeaked a little when Steve didn’t give him any slack on his hair.
“Because I don’t. Nice thing about doing you on your stomach in the dark is, I don’t have to look at your ugly face or hear any of the stupid things you say, and I can just enjoy your warm wet asshole, which, I’m sorry to tell you, is the only worthwhile part about you and I’d really appreciate it if you would just let--me--use--you--” Steve dropped Bucky’s hair and gave him a series of smacks on the back of the head. “Let me use your asshole, and don’t you dare say anything else while I’m fucking you, you ugly, miserable piece of shit.”
Bucky made a sad little noise, which Steve deemed acceptable since it went straight to his dick, and he got down to business fucking Bucky into the dirt. The only noises Bucky was making were involuntary ones, little grunts and yelps of discomfort as Steve shoved his face and body into the hard ground.
“Fuck, that’s good,” he couldn’t help saying, “fuck, that’s a nice tight hole, fuck, you are good at taking it, I’ll give you that--what are you, Buck?”
“I,” Bucky said in a small voice, and Steve was on the verge of losing it because he knew he’d ground Bucky down so far that he couldn’t talk anymore, was struggling desperately to put words together because Steve had told him to. God, all Steve wanted was to just ruin him and keep him broken like this all the time. “I,” Bucky said, “I’m your whore,” and he honest to God sniffled, like he was so heartbroken he couldn’t stand it. Steve came harder than he ever had in his life, and it felt like it lasted forever, pumping into Bucky who was being so good and patient and crying for him, lying smashed on the ground while Steve filled him up.
“Oh, God,” Steve said. He almost collapsed on top of Bucky but realized in a split second that might be a problem, so he pulled his pants up instead and lay on his side next to Bucky, half spooning him. Bucky bumped his head against Steve’s face. “Ew, your face is all dirty,” Steve said. He kissed Bucky on the cheek, ruffling his hair. “Okay, you earned your keep, get on your side.”
They lay face to face and Steve put one arm over Bucky’s shoulders and the other hand on his dick. He’d precome, a lot--Steve didn’t think he’d really been able to rub himself on the ground, which would probably have been too uncomfortable to feel good anyway. But Bucky could get pretty far and sometimes all the way just from being fucked, or even just from being treated roughly. Oh, he was perfect. Even Steve couldn’t see him that well, it was so dark, but he could see how slack jawed he was.
“Talk to me,” Steve said, wrapping his hand around Bucky’s dick. “You can talk now.”
Bucky shuddered, and he did talk, but it was a gasping, slurred mess. “Please, Steve,” he said, and “I’m yours, I’m all yours, please let me be all yours,” and finally, “please, Steve, please use me. You got to use me, please, Steve, I need it, please use me all the way up,” and he cried into Steve’s neck when he came.
Steve held him there for a while. He sat up just for a second, to try to cover up Bucky with some of his shed clothes, and Bucky whimpered when he did that. “No, I’m not leaving, it’s okay,” Steve said. He laid back down and wrapped Bucky in his arms and held him against him. “I can use you up,” he said. “Might take a while, but I’m definitely on the case.” Bucky was still crying, silently, tears leaking out onto Steve’s skin. “You were excellent tonight, you know,” Steve said.
“Mm?” Bucky said. “You’re...Steve. No. I." He paused, getting his thoughts together. "You're excellent too."
“Oh no, not this again,” Steve said.
When Bucky got his words back Steve helped him get dressed, and they walked back to the camp arm in arm. "Well I guess I finally found out how strong you are," Bucky said. "I feel like I got hit by a train."
"You might not be able to walk on your own anymore, poor thing."
"That's right," Bucky said. He leaned hard on Steve, laying his head back on his shoulder. He'd stopped walking, so Steve had to pull him along. Steve loved being able to take so much of his weight.
"You think I could ever carry you, or would that be a problem?"
"Hmm," Bucky said.
"Let's not then," Steve said.
"No, I'll think about it. There's probably a way I can do it--I'll tell you what I can come up with."
"That's okay," Steve said. "I should be the one doing the planning around here, you don't have to work on coming up with ideas for me."
Bucky laughed at him, falling against him. "Such a sense of responsibility you got there. You don't ever want me to bear the burden of being in charge of anything, huh?"
"Well, who knows what would happen. You're as dumb as a box of rocks."
There was a long pause so Steve started to wonder if he'd actually gone too far. Then Bucky said, "So you don't mind that I couldn't do it the way you wanted?"
"There's no one way I want it," Steve said automatically; but it was true.
"If there's no one way you want it why are you so bossy?"
"Not the same and you know it," Steve said, "and didn't we already talk about this whole thing?"
"We didn't talk, you just pinched me," Bucky said.
"Well," Steve said, "I don't know how you want me to say it but it just doesn't matter. I mean I'm pissed about what happened to you but I just don't give a fuck if you need to avoid certain things. It's less than nothing."
"It must get on you, though," Bucky went on, "having to be patient when I can't do stuff. I'm grateful you put up with me."
Steve recoiled. "You have nothing to be grateful for! Jesus. I'm not being patient because there's nothing difficult about the fact that you're--"
"So you're not just being charitable?" Bucky said.
"What?"
Bucky was laughing at him, teeth startlingly white in his dirty face.
"Oh, ha ha," Steve said.
"Took you a while to get it."
"You're such an asshole."
Bucky put his arm back around him and kissed his cheek. "It doesn't feel good, though, does it?" he said.
"No," Steve said.
///
One day Steve woke up a few minutes early, and it occurred to him he should probably get Bucky off. He hadn't let him come for more than a week, because it was funny how upset Bucky got about it. But it was coming up on too long.
Bucky was deeply asleep, and Steve ran through the options of how to wake him up. If he shook him awake Bucky would think they were being ambushed (not unreasonably--Steve would have thought the same). Steve would have kissed him but he'd already learned his lesson about putting things in Bucky's mouth when he was asleep. He settled for licking his ear, which meant Bucky woke up squinting amusedly at him. "What the fuck, Steve?" he said muzzily.
"You're coming this morning," Steve said.
"Oh good!" Bucky said, waking up in a flash. "Where's it coming from?"
"Just my hand, nothing fancy. Get it wet for me." Bucky obediently slobbered on Steve's hand while trying to pull down his own pants at the same time. "You could try to be a little more patient," Steve said.
"I'm patient!" Bucky said. "I'm excellent."
Steve was never going to live that down. "You're not patient at all," he said. As soon as Steve's hand touched his cock, Bucky's whole body went tense and glimmering, his hips desperately trying not to thrust. Steve tended to be a real bastard about not letting Bucky move without permission. But they didn't have much time, so he said, "You can move as much as you want." Bucky looked suspicious. "No, really, you really can. Hey." Steve leaned over him and kissed him while he jerked him off.
It wasn't just that it was funny to make Bucky upset. Going without made him this great picture of squealing desperation when he was actually allowed to have it. He was already making wounded noises, which made Steve want to freeze and make him beg for it to keep going--but he'd resolved to do it pretty kindly, for once.
"Come on, you can come whenever you want," he said in between kisses, "don't know why you're making those dumb noises though--don't you have any self-respect? God, you're pathetic," he said when Bucky started making them even louder. Bucky was squirming, trying to push his neck up at Steve's face, so Steve could only guess he wanted him to bite it. He guessed right.
Afterwards Bucky wanted to suck him, but they really didn't have time and Steve didn't particularly care about it either. He got it whenever he wanted it, after all. Instead he just lay there and watched Bucky get dressed for the day.
Steve never really thought about how people looked--well, not unless he was nervous--but sometimes he did notice that Bucky was startlingly handsome. It startled him, at least.
It used to be like a rock in his shoe. But now it felt more like waking up and seeing sunlight come in the window and shine a certain way on the wall. A surprise. Your eyes just getting to rest on something that was pretty much perfect--something you hadn’t planned for and definitely hadn’t earned.
He didn’t need Bucky to look this good, but it was a perk.
“Hey, Buck,” he said, and Bucky looked over at him and waited. He really was patient. “You know I don’t like to run my mouth complimenting people or anything like that.”
“Yeah, I know,” Bucky said.
“Well...you know what I think of you.” His voice stupidly almost caught as he said it. “You know what you are to me, right?”
“Of course I know, Steve,” Bucky said. “I’m not stupid.” He kissed Steve on the forehead and went outside.