Work Text:
Now
Bucky tended to snore. Not overwhelmingly so, but to the extent that it occasionally woke Steve up. He wasn’t bothered, not that morning, even though they’d stayed up until six talking. He hadn’t minded that either. Truth be told, Steve hadn’t realized there was so much to discuss. That they were missing each other so thoroughly on all the critical things in their relationship.
But they were going to work on it. Steve was working on it. Bucky was worth the work. He’d come to realize that over the nearly two months they’d spent apart - every sleepless night and long day. Every fight with his friends. Every time he’d thrown himself full-tilt into work to avoid thinking about how fucking depressed he was without Bucky in his life.
Now, he watched Bucky sleep. Watched the rise and fall of his chest, the way he made an odd little noise before rubbing a hand across his face, causing the snoring to abate. Steve wanted to touch him, wake him up, kiss him to prove he was really there. That they were really trying again. At the same time, he wanted to watch him sleep. He didn’t think he’d ever get tired of that sight.
Then
“What the fuck is going on?” Steve asked, stopping his frantic pacing when Peggy came into his office and shut the door. “You don’t answer your phone anymore?”
“I was in a meeting,” she replied, indicating the couch. “You need to sit down.”
“The fuck I do. Where is everyone?”
“This doesn’t have to be everyone’s concern,” she said. “Just...look. We had to do it, Steve. The phone…”
His heart sank at that, and he drew himself up to his full height. “Had to do what,” he said, his tone cold.
“He’s...we had to fire him, Steve. He…”
Steve didn’t hear the rest of what she said. He was too angry for that, blood boiling in his ears as his head started to throb. These fucking people in this fucking place. He couldn’t quite see straight, and he gripped the back of the sofa before responding in the only way he knew how: loudly.
“The hell is wrong with you?” he managed, groping in his pocket for his phone. “I’m calling him…”
“Steve, that’s not a good idea,” Peggy said.
“Jesus Christ, Peggy, you fired him?”
“What were we supposed to do? He’s guilty! I’m sorry, but it’s...it’s a fact. He was using you, and I wish it hadn’t happened like this, but you have to see…”
“Did he admit it?”
“What?” she asked, confusion on her face.
“Did. He. Admit. It?”
“No,” she said, wary.
“I didn’t think so,” he snorted, stalking past her to grab his coat. “I have to go.”
“Steve…”
He turned, glaring. “Get out of my office. I’m...you better hope I can fix it, Peggy. I told you he didn’t do it. I know he didn’t.”
“You need to be rational…”
“You didn’t hear him on the phone this morning. I did. If you’ll excuse me, I need to go and clean up your mess.”
Now
Eventually, a pressing need to use the facilities overtook the more romantic parts of Steve’s brain. He’d hoped he might fall back asleep, but his thirties had brought with them the inability to sleep much past nine o’clock, no matter the occasion. So he disentangled himself from Bucky, careful not to wake him, and padded out to the living room in his borrowed sweats.
Natasha was awake, perched on the couch with a mug of coffee in her hands and a laptop balanced on her knees. She glanced up when Steve emerged, regarding him with an inscrutable expression.
“There’s coffee in the kitchen,” she offered eventually.
“Thanks,” he said. “Gimme a second.”
Once he’d taken care of pressing bladder needs, he came out to get himself a mug, using one he knew Bucky liked that featured an angry cat. “Thanks again,” he said, unsure if she wanted to talk to him alone, or if he would be allowed to escape back into the relative safety of Bucky’s room.
“Yep,” she acknowledged, closing the laptop and looking up at him. “I’m leaving at ten. Teaching a class at eleven.”
“Oh, right.”
“Don’t fuck this up.”
“I...wasn’t planning on it.”
She snorted, taking a sip of her coffee as she pushed the computer to the side and got to her feet. “No, you probably aren’t,” she agreed. “So keep it that way. Don’t hurt him again.”
“Are you…” he said, bemused, raising an eyebrow. “Is this a shovel talk, Natasha? Are you about to threaten me again? Something about an unmarked grave and a shotgun?”
“No, of course not,” she said, a smile of her own spreading across her face. “You’d be too heavy for me to move alone. His sisters would help.”
That made Steve laugh, and he shook his head as he indicated Bucky’s door. “I’m going back to bed now. You’re a good friend.”
“I try to be.”
Then
Natasha Romanov was a real asshole. Steve was fuming by the time he left their apartment, having been roundly dismissed by her without even getting the chance to lay eyes on Bucky, much less speak to him. And who the fuck did she think he was? If everyone else in the world could stop putting claim to his fucking boyfriend, that would be wonderful.
Except. Not his boyfriend.
The thought brought him up short. He stopped on the sidewalk, causing the woman with a stroller behind him to ram into his legs. (“Jerk,” she muttered, pushing past. Steve ignored her.)
Natasha had said Bucky wasn’t his boyfriend anymore. It hasn’t fully registered at the time, mostly because he’d been so pissed, but holy shit: had she dumped him on Bucky’s behalf?
There was no way. There was no way that was how it was ending. Absolutely not.
He pulled out his phone to call Bucky again, groaning as it went straight to voicemail.
Between Brooklyn and home, he called no fewer than eight times. Between getting in the elevator and finishing his first glass of whiskey, he called six more. If he had to hear Bucky greet him brightly and inform him he ‘wasn’t available right now’ one more time he was going to punch a fucking wall.
So he stopped calling. Went back to the whiskey. Woke up the next day with a hangover rivaling the worst he’d ever had and a phone full of missed calls.
From Peggy.
And Sam.
Not Bucky.
Steve called out sick.
Now
Bucky was awake, Steve realized, as he closed the bedroom door behind himself. The dead giveaway was Bucky’s bleary eyes peeking out from the pile of blankets he’d burrowed under.
“Morning,” Steve said with a smile.
A grunt greeted him, Bucky retreating back into his mound of comfort. That was fine - he made Steve laugh, at any rate, as he set his coffee on the nightstand and sat back down on the edge of the bed. Bucky reappeared a moment later, his hair an absolute mess and a very endearing pout on his face.
“How are you awake?” Bucky complained, reaching for the coffee. It wasn’t a request, it was a demand, and Steve handed the mug over without complaint.
“Nature called,” he said, tousling Bucky’s hair because he just couldn’t help himself when he looked that cute. And grumpy.
“Ugh,” came the response, Bucky sipping the too-hot coffee and making a face. “There’s no cream in this.”
“I’m sorry, your highness, I wasn’t actually making it for you,” Steve said fondly.
“Oh.” Bucky was quiet for a second, still waking up, trying the coffee again as his face retained its disgusted expression. “Were you talking to Natasha?”
For being half-asleep, Bucky certainly did know when to eavesdrop.
“Uh huh,” he said, taking the coffee back when it was offered. He took a sip before putting it on the nightstand.
“About what?”
“You.”
“Oh. That makes sense.”
“Yup,” Steve agreed, before catching Bucky under the chin and lifting his face up to press a light kiss to his lips, not minding the morning breath or the lingering taste of coffee. Well, he didn’t hate them, at least, and he assumed he had his own morning breath to contend with. Bucky seemed happy enough, kissing Steve back, leaving his burrow to wrap him up in a big hug.
Steve held him steady for a minute, rubbing his back lightly, letting Bucky cling as much as he wanted. He’d missed that, the way Bucky was so tactile and, frankly, a little needy sometimes. Steve hadn’t realized how much he’d needed to be needed until Bucky was gone and he’d been left without that small bit of sweetness in his life.
Eventually, though, Bucky started to squirm, and Steve let him pull away, raising an eyebrow.
“Nature calls,” Bucky explained with a grin.
“Go,” Steve laughed. “And hey, do you have an extra toothbrush?”
Turned out he did, because Winnie Barnes shopped at Costco and she tended to buy Bucky certain things in bulk. Like toothpaste, toilet paper, and (for some reason) breakfast cereal.
Then
Steve refused to believe it was over for a few days, telling himself it was a misunderstanding. That Bucky would call. He showed up to the office sober after four days spent in a drunken stupor, mostly because he was afraid of what he’d do to himself if he didn’t get out and do something beyond drinking and wallowing.
Peggy and Sam broke after a week of the silent treatment, coming to him in his office with a file marked Barnes, James and a plea for him to see reason, to understand why it had to be done.
Peggy watched him as he took the folder from Sam’s hands. Sam moved to join her on one of the couches while Steve sat in an armchair across from them. He wanted to get rid of the couch - reminded him too much of Bucky.
“Are you sleeping?” Peggy asked, as though she and Sam weren’t the cause of his sleepless nights.
He didn’t dignify her with a response, opening the folder and starting to flip through the pages. At first glance, it was bad. He knew it was bad. The emails were from Bucky’s account, using his signature, and Steve wasn’t an IT guy, but he could tell that it looked incriminating. Frowning, he continued to rifle through the documents. Through pages of code he didn’t understand, covered in Peggy’s loopy scrawl alongside highlighted portions that were apparently important. He looked, and looked, getting deeper and deeper into what he saw because it didn’t make sense. None of it made sense.
“Steve…” Sam said, breaking into his thoughts and making him jump. He’d nearly forgotten they were there. “Do you get it now?”
“These don’t sound like him,” he said finally. That was what was bothering him. The emails sounded fine. Professional, even. But they didn’t seem like Bucky. Bucky was...solicitous to the point of being obnoxious. He was overly polite, used exclamation points too frequently, let his kindness seep through even in written communication.
And there was something else, though he couldn’t quite put his finger on it.
Peggy cut in. “He was probably trying to send them out as quickly as…”
“Aha!” He cut her off, jabbing his finger at one email, about ten pages into the pile. He’d noticed it before, and it had struck him as odd, but he hadn’t quite realized why. “Bullshit, Peggy. Bullshit. He didn’t do it, I said he didn’t do it, and now there’s your fucking proof.”
“What on earth are you talking about?” she said, taken aback.
“This. November thirteenth. There’s no fucking way he sent this email. Or, shit, the one on the tenth, either, while we’re at it.”
“How…?” Peggy said, concern creeping across her features. Sam looked confused, glancing between the two of them as Steve continued speaking.
“Because on November fucking thirteenth, Margaret, the kid was practically dead at my place. Pneumonia. I didn’t take my eyes off him, and he sure as shit wasn’t sending any emails.”
“That’s…” Sam started.
“And while we’re on the subject,” he said, getting worked up now and shaking the pages he was holding violently. “While we are on the fucking subject, he was so fucking sick on the tenth that his roommate called me in a panic because she thought he was dying. So don’t give me any shit about...oh my God. Oh my God, you idiots, you fired him. You two didn’t even...did you check any of this shit?”
Peggy, for her part, had gone pale. “I…” She got to her feet, as though she didn’t quite know what to do with herself otherwise. “He...are you sure? Are you sure those are the right dates?”
“You want me to call the doctor I had come in and look at him?” he snapped.
“No,” she said immediately. “I’m...I need to...I need to think about this. It’s…”
“Steve, hey…” Sam said. “This is brand new information, we need a little time…”
“You’ve had plenty of time,” he said, his gaze dark as he tossed the folder onto the coffee table, the papers inside fanning out across the surface. “You two can show yourselves out.”
Now
“Do you...want to order breakfast?” Steve teased, looking down at Bucky, who was pinned underneath him, lips a little red from having been kissed so thoroughly as soon as they’d gotten back in bed.
“No,” Bucky said, breathless.
“Hmm…” Steve grinned, skimming a hand down his side to rest against his ribcage. “Do you...want to go back to sleep?”
“Eeee...ventually?” he offered, shrugging his shoulders and smiling. Steve had really missed that smile, so he did what came naturally, digging his fingers into Bucky’s side just to hear him laugh and jerk away. “Quit, quit, quit!”
He was really damn cute when he was being tickled.
“My hand slipped,” Steve said, the picture of innocence.
“Thought we were being more honest with each other, Stevie,” he replied, which just made Steve want to kiss him again.
So he did, leaning in and capturing Bucky’s mouth with his own, biting down on his bottom lip lightly before pulling away. “Funny guy. You want to make out until Natasha leaves and then see what happens?”
“Uh huh.”
Then
So the thing was, Steve-sans-Bucky was very, very, very into work. And drinking. Mostly work, but the drinking was turning into an every night sort of thing. Because the merger was happening, which meant an incredible amount of stress as they geared up for the announcement. But work couldn’t fill twenty-four hours, no matter how much he wanted it to.
So he drank, slept when he could (though sleep didn’t come often). He’d battled with insomnia in the past, and it reared its ugly head again, keeping him awake into the wee hours of the morning. All he had were his thoughts for company. So he worried about Bucky. How he was doing. If he was safe. If he had another job. If he missed Steve as much as Steve missed him.
He found himself doing strange things to pass the time. Getting out the sketch he’d done of Bucky when he was sick and staring at it until his eyes blurred. He told himself it was the booze, not tears. He was good at lying. Sometimes he’d go to Bucky’s Facebook or Instagram just to see if there was anything new, though there never seemed to be. Steve regretted not being ‘on’ social, as it meant he’d never been Bucky’s friend on either platform, so he had no good way of digging into the details. He had no good way of getting in touch with Bucky at all, as a matter of fact. It was remarkable how easily Bucky was able to shut him out of his life.
On one memorable occasion - an especially bad night - he took a taxi to Brooklyn, drunk off his ass. He paid the driver to circle Bucky’s block five times, unsure of what he wanted to do. In the end, he had the guy bring him home. He was drunk, stupid, and reckless, but he could respect the fact that Bucky didn’t want to see him. Wanted to be left alone. Steve could give him that. That one last thing.
Even though. Even though there had been a light on in the window of the apartment Bucky and Natasha shared. And fuck, it had taken every bit of self-control he had to leave.
Because Bucky didn’t want him. Wasn’t going to reach out to him. He would have to get used to that fact.
So he kept drinking. Kept working. Put everything he had into the merger because it was all he had left.
Now
Steve pressed a kiss to Bucky’s bare shoulder, their shirts having been lost somewhere between Natasha leaving the apartment and now. There was a small scar on his skin, gone silver with time, and Steve kissed the spot just because he could.
“What are you doing?” Bucky asked, a smile in his voice.
“Trying to remember all the little places on you that I missed,” he said, pressing a line of kisses across Bucky’s skin. Capturing his hand, Steve pushed Bucky’s arm up and over his head before biting the inside of his tricep lightly, making him squirm.
“Sappy,” Bucky said, though he sounded pleased.
“Is it sappy that I missed your armpit?” Steve replied, nosing against the dark hair there to see if he could get Bucky to laugh again.
As it turned out, he could. “That’s fuckin’ weird, Steve.”
“Can’t help it,” he said, breathing him in. And yeah, maybe it was weird, but he’d missed how Bucky smelled. Probably pheromones or something. He bit the soft skin of his underarm one more time, slightly harder, his intention clear.
“Okay, weirdo,” Bucky reiterated, biting back a moan as Steve’s hand traveled down to rub his semi-hard cock through the flannel of his pajama pants. “Ungh...fuck.”
“That’s the general idea, yeah,” Steve said, his fingers moving up to tug on the drawstring. “Lift your hips?”
Bucky did as he was told, Steve drawing the fabric down and bringing a hand up to cup his balls in a way that usually drove Bucky absolutely crazy. True to form, Bucky arched off the bed, his dick responding precisely as Steve hoped it would.
“Fuuuuuck,” Bucky whined, his toes curling.
Steve didn’t bother to tease him again, just shifted his weight before leaning down to take Bucky’s cock into his mouth. That reaction was even better.
Then
Peggy did her job the second time around. She didn’t act on it until after the merger, though, waiting for the news cycle to run its course. Then, she pounced, catching Brock Rumlow in the act of using America Chavez’s machine to upload encrypted files. Steve still wasn’t speaking to Peggy or Sam, but she’d sent him an email giving him a heads up, so he was able to be in the lobby to watch as Rumlow was escorted from the building by two security guards.
It was immensely satisfying, Rumlow protesting loudly all the way outside. Steve appreciated, in a very small way, that Peggy and Coulson had kept Bucky’s firing quiet. He knew Peggy had done it for his sake more than Bucky’s, but still. Bucky had been spared that particular indignity. Rumlow, though, deserved every bit of humiliation he got.
Alexander Pierce would walk away scot-free, of course. He would pin it on an underling, assure the world he’d had nothing to do with what happened, and go on making money hand over fist. People like Pierce always managed to do that - live in a consequence-free world while others took the fall. That was the thing about it, the thing that Steve truly couldn’t stand. Brock Rumlow deserved whatever was coming to him, but Alexander Pierce deserved it more. It killed Steve to know that he’d never see that justice.
Still, the deed was done. The leak was contained. The merger was completed. And now, when Steve looked out at the weeks and months ahead, he didn’t know what he was going to do with himself.
Because drinking got redundant. Work would keep him busy, but not in the frenetic, endless way it had before the deal had been announced. No, he was going to have plenty of time to sit and think. Think about what (who) he didn’t have in his life anymore, how he could have done things differently, how he could have stopped any of it from happening. He replayed Christmas a thousand times in his head, telling Bucky the truth. Asking him about the accusations. And hell, even if Bucky had gotten angry, it would have been better than this.
Anything would have been better than this.
Because ‘this’ looked like an endless stretch of loneliness without even the comfort of his friends to keep him grounded. ‘This’ was the rest of Steve’s life, as far as he could tell. He’d had something spectacular, and he’d fucked it up. He didn’t know much, but he was confident that the universe didn’t just go around handing out gifts like Bucky Barnes every day.
Fuck, he missed him.
Now
It had been a while, Steve realized, as he slipped a finger into Bucky and watched as he closed his eyes in discomfort. And of course it had - Bucky hadn’t been with anyone since Steve, according to Bucky, and they hadn’t slept together since the end of January. Steve was going to have to take it very, very slowly.
He had no problem with that.
Leaning down, he shifted their weights so he could cuddle Bucky against him, kissing him hungrily as he pushed his finger a little further in. Bucky took control of the kiss after a moment, his tongue pressing into Steve’s mouth, needy and insistent as Steve worked him open.
Slowly, they got there, Steve bringing a second finger into the mix once he was sure Bucky was ready. Bucky gave a low moan when Steve scissored his digits apart before hooking his fingers, pressing in and up, and oh, there it was. That sweet spot. He watched, fascinated, as Bucky’s eyes got a little wider.
“Steve…” he managed.
“I know,” Steve replied, kissing the corner of his mouth, his nose, his forehead, before pulling back so he could see his face properly. “So good for me.”
Bucky smiled, suddenly shy as he rocked back against Steve’s hand. “Missed being good for you,” he replied, closing his eyes as Steve brushed against his prostate again.
“Missed that, too,” Steve said, feeling the insistent weight of Bucky’s cock on his leg as he rubbed himself off against Steve’s thigh. Steve hadn’t let him come from the blowjob, and he was grateful that he’d made him wait. The reward was sweeter when the gratification was delayed. Or, at least, Bucky hadn’t complained yet.
Steve took his time, opening Bucky up at a pace that felt agonizingly slow. It was worth it to have Bucky pliant and sweet underneath him, looking up at Steve with wide eyes, chewing on his bottom lip.
“Three, please?” he asked.
“Sure, Buck,” he said, leaning down to kiss him, unable to resist Bucky’s god damn mouth when he was biting at it. “Anything you want.”
He really did mean anything.
Then
I am in your lobby. Do not make me use my emergency key.
Steve let Peggy up when he got the text. Because it was a Tuesday. Because he was lonely. Because he still wasn’t sleeping. Because he hadn’t said a word to her or Sam since the day in his office and he was starting to talk to his houseplants for want of human contact. Because he missed Bucky, and at least he could yell at Peggy about her part in the debacle if he let her upstairs.
“Hi,” he said when she stepped off the elevator.
“Hi,” she replied. “You’re still not sleeping.”
“Nope,” he said, turning to walk into the living room, knowing she would follow. He expected platitudes, more apologies, sympathy, coddling.
“I spoke with Bucky today.”
He hadn’t expected that.
Steve froze in place, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up as he forced himself to stay calm. “Oh?”
Peggy nodded, crossing to her favorite spot on her favorite couch and sitting down with the practiced ease of someone who had been there a thousand times before. “Yes,” she said. “I went to see him. To apologize properly.”
Steve narrowed his eyes, unsure, as he walked to sit near her (but not too near). He wanted to ask about Bucky - how he was, if he asked about Steve, if he was working, if he was happy. Instead, he blurted out the first question that came to mind. “Why now?”
She shrugged, one perfectly-manicured finger tapping at the material of her jeans. She did that when she was nervous, which wasn’t often, but Steve knew her tells. “We needed to make sure the suit against Rumlow was squared away, just in case. And…” she hesitated. “Because you’re miserable. And I wanted to do...something.”
“Doesn’t matter about me,” he said, gruff, arms moving to fold across his chest.
“No,” she agreed. “It doesn’t. It’s about him and what happened to him, and I wanted to apologize personally. So I did. I’ve probably opened the company up to a massive lawsuit, actually.”
“Peg, that’s not funny.”
“I’m not joking,” she said, a manic little laugh leaving her. She sounded both giddy and panicked, neither of which were words Steve would normally use to describe her. “I admitted fault. To him. On behalf of StarkTech. He could sue the hell out of us. And I don’t care.”
“Peggy, that’s insane. You could lose your job,” He might have been angry with her, but he didn’t want that. She’d fucked up, and they both knew it, but she was still his best friend, and he loved her. He loved Sam, too. They were both just going to have to work to earn that love for a good, long while.
“Yes,” she agreed. “I could. Perhaps I ought to. But…” she hesitated for a moment. “I didn’t get the sense that he would do that. He...he’s good. A good person. I know you know that, but honestly, Steve, he’s a bit of a darling.”
That was about the highest compliment Peggy could bestow, Steve knew, and he smiled in spite of himself. Steve was rarely any type of ‘a darling’ with her - more often than not, he was a ‘bit of an arse’ instead. That was how they liked it.
“He is,” Steve said. “I wasn’t kidding when I said he didn’t do it.”
“No, you were absolutely right,” she said. “And he’d do well to call for my head on a platter.” She looked down, pressing her lips together in a thin line before speaking again. “I know I’m not...good at this sort of thing. I’m not warm, and I’m not terribly...effusive.”
“You mean you’re English?”
“Har har,” she said, a brief smile gracing her features before she looked away, finger picking at the stitches on the seam of her pants. “I offered him his job back, but he didn’t want it. I don’t blame him for that, either.”
That was surprising. Bucky, well, he wasn’t rich. He was getting by, but Steve assumed he needed the job and would have been glad to have it back. Then again, if he put himself in Bucky’s shoes, there was no way in hell he ever would have set foot in StarkTech again.
“That’s...huh,” he said. “Did he...say what he was doing?”
“He’s working at a coffee shop,” Peggy said, before offering up the name. It was the same one Bucky’d been at before coming to StarkTech. Not exactly a hot career prospect.
“Yeah, I...I know that one,” he said.
“He also said to tell you that you ruined his birthday with your stupid merger,” Peggy went on. “I assume that’s a bit of inside knowledge I’m not privy to.”
Steve actually laughed. He hadn’t been able to help the date that everything had gone down, it had been set after coordinating about fifty different schedules. But that day being Bucky’s birthday had crossed his mind. “That...makes two years in a row. Maybe next year I can accidentally run him over with a car or something, make it a trio.”
“Morbid,” Peggy said. “Perhaps you could work on making next year’s birthday better instead.”
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“I mean that I don’t believe he’s...entirely opposed to speaking to you again,” she offered. “And I really think you ought to try. He said he needed time. You can give him a bit of that and then...well. He did want you to know where he worked.”
The way she said it shook something in him - brought together all the pieces of the puzzle that had been floating around in his head and started slotting them in place. It wasn’t anything, really, but there was something there. Some glimmer of hope. A doorway, maybe, that he might eventually find his way through.
“I dunno,” he said after a moment’s hesitation. “What if he’s...what if it’s not that?”
“Mmm,” she said, considering her answer. Funny, she almost looked like she might cry, and he hadn’t seen tears in her eyes since Sam and Sharon’s wedding. “First of all, I think it might be...that, or at least it seemed that way to me. Secondly...Steve, even if it isn’t, at least you’ll have some closure. Don’t you think that’s better than nothing?”
Now
Bucky was beautiful, there was really no other word for it, spread out underneath him as Steve slid in slowly, carefully, watching his face for every reaction. His eyes were closed, head tipped back a little as his hands fisted the sheets, adapting to the sensation.
“You feel so good, sweetheart,” Steve said, wanting to give him something. “I missed how you feel, all wrapped around me like that.”
Nobody ever said Steve was eloquent, but the sentiment was there. Bucky smiled anyway, his eyes opening as he adjusted.
“Please kiss me?” he asked. How could Steve resist a plea like that? He shifted their bodies so he could stay sheathed inside Bucky as he leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, one hand coming up to run through his sweat-damp hair before he started to move.
“Always kiss you, pretty,” he mumbled against Bucky’s mouth, fascinated by the response even the smallest roll of his hips could bring. “Love you so much.”
Bucky returned the sentiment as Steve set a pace, his own eyes closing as he worked himself into Bucky time and time again, the only sound in the small bedroom that of their bodies coming together.
Until, that was, he heard a sniffle. He opened his eyes to find Bucky in tears, albeit small, silent sobs rather than big, hysterical ones.
“Oh hey,” he said softly, slowing his hips and bringing his hand up to touch Bucky’s cheek, wiping some of the moisture away. “Hey, sweetness, it’s alright. You’re okay.”
Bucky nodded, smiling through the tears as he looped his arms around Steve’s neck. “Just...fucking hormones. I dunno. I’m happy. I love you. I’m not being weird.”
That made Steve laugh, and he pressed another light kiss to Bucky’s mouth. “You’re allowed to be emotional. You want to take a break for a minute?”
“No.” Bucky’s arms tightened around him, insistent. “Want you to fuck me. Harder. I want to be yours again.”
A shiver ran down Steve’s spine and he pistoned his hips once, out and back, burying himself deep in Bucky’s warm body before kissing him again, this one fiercer, possessive. “You’re mine,” he said, pulling back so he could look down, fucking into him again, hard and sure. “And I’m yours. You know that?”
Bucky nodded, eyes wide as he reached up to touch Steve’s cheek. “Mine.”
“Yours.”
Yesterday
Steve took the train from his place to Brooklyn. The same line Bucky had taken back and forth countless times to come to him. Something about it felt right. Poetic. Like a good omen.
He walked the four blocks from the station to the coffee shop. Then he walked a little further, nervous and unsure, circling the block before coming back to the little cafe. He took a deep breath, fingertips resting on the handle as he counted to five.
He pushed open the door. The bell rang.