Work Text:
“What was the most surprising thing about it?”
It was the night after Bucky was cleared for duty, and they were sitting in a crowded pub. Steve couldn’t stop staring and smiling, as if Bucky was the one that showed up in a new towering body and saved his life. Bucky might’ve been better at keeping his own staring to a minimum (like on the march back when no one was paying much attention, or any time Steve turned away from him, or masking the staring as surveillance of the larger area that Steve just happen to be standing in), but he couldn’t hold back the curiosity anymore. He’d asked for all the details, and Steve had been more than willing to tell him everything. It was like some kind of science fiction come to life. Their life. And the science fiction being his Stevie becoming a behemoth of a man by stepping in a tin can.
But at Bucky’s last question, Steve seemed to suddenly shy away. He glanced nervously around the room, rubbed at his jaw, and shrugged. “I mean, it was all pretty surprising, ya know. Seeing all the right colors, that’s really somethin’-”
“You did not get all cagey just now over colors. Don’t try to play dumb with me, Rogers, I fixed the game. C’mon, tell me.”
Steve made a face that he’d go to his grave swearing wasn’t a pout, before glancing around once more and leaning in. Bucky met him halfway, head bent down, and found himself a little caught up in the way Steve’s fingers were picking at the wood of the bar. Steve’s hands had always been something, but boy the palms alone were big as saucers now and everything looked so small and fragile when he held it.
Steve coughed and then whispered, “My dick.”
Bucky was no longer thinking about Steve’s hands. At all.
“Not the-well, no, it’s different too, like the rest of me,” he carried on, while Bucky’s mind screamed like a banshee ( BIGGER, HE MEANS HIS DICK IS WAY FUCKING BIGGER ), “but I mean, it...Buck, it works. All the time, it just…” Steve looked at Bucky, radiating joy and wonder and a bit of apprehension. Then as if hit with a realization, Steve’s body pitched further towards him, gaze sharpening, nostrils flaring, and the ominous sound of wood creaking beneath his hand. He looked Bucky right in the eye and said with intent, “ my dick works. ”
Now, it’s the honest to god truth, Bucky has never once cared that Steve didn’t have much of a sex drive before. Steve was sick so much, he was often just too tired to think about it, and it wasn’t easy for him to get aroused, nor was it good for him to do anything too strenuous... Bucky was happy to keep it to mostly kissin’ and pettin’ if that meant Steve staying healthier. And it wasn’t like he couldn’t take care of himself. Besides, it made hiding a whole lot easier when sex didn’t need to be taken into account. They knew what they had, and how they felt about each other. Sex wasn’t that important.
After hearing the words “ my dick works ” spoken to him like a promise over a cracked bar in England, Bucky Barnes had never changed his mind about something so fast.
It’s two days before they get time to themselves, and it’s the longest two days Bucky has ever lived through (yes, he’s including the torture-- Steve told him his dick works! ).
They’re gonna ship out for their first official Commandos mission soon. Within the week. Ops and Logistics have been holed up in the conference room of what used to be a very luxurious hotel. Bucky has been in the room, as Cap’s second, but Sgt. Barnes ain’t a tactical genius and he ain’t in charge. He just goes where Cap goes and then shoots anything that makes a move towards them. When some brass palooka doesn’t like one of Bucky’s comments, and asks what he’s even doing there, Bucky answers before Steve can pop off.
“Surveillance, sir. Someone’s gotta have their eye on the Cap’s six when he’s too busy scheming.” The look Steve shoots him tells him he’s not as sly as he thinks he is.
They’re all staying near, but someone running the place insists Captain America use their finest suite for the remainder of his stay. So, after a long day talking shop and kissing ass, Steve bows out and makes his way towards the new room. Bucky doesn't even ask, just follows (and shouldn’t that be his damn life’s story, where Steve Rogers is concerned?).
The moment the door latches, he slams the lock home, and he waits just long enough for Steve to meet his eyes. Then he lunges. He tears at their clothes and he bites at Steve's lips and he mumbles shit he doesn’t mean to say--all, “...fuck, wouldya look at how big you got, just fuckin look...these massive fuckin mitts...god the legs on ya, like tree trunks...your goddamn tits Stevie-” on and on. He can't stop. Until Steve growls.
Now, Steve was known for growlin'. He's feisty. It's a whole thing, in and out of the privacy of their apartment. But when you pack on 130lbs of muscle and half a man's height to that...well that growl hits a whole lot different, is what it does.
Bucky's legs give out as he says "oh fuck ", but that’s just fine, because Steve sweeps him up, crowds him against the wall. Bucky will be embarrassed about all the noises leaving his mouth later. Much later.
"Buck, I- Jesus the way you sound - what do you want to-"
"Fuck me. God-just-tell me you’re good with fuckin’ me right now."
Steve growls again and Bucky ascends to a higher plane.
Where he gets the slick or how Bucky winds up face down on the real nice, expensive carpet, he doesn't know. What he does know is Stevie's fingers are just as big as the rest of him. They're fucking perfect and Bucky is about to just say, "Ya know, maybe to hell with the war, this is as good a place to die as any-" when Steve pulls them out, causing Bucky to all-out whine.
Steve shushes him. Fucking shushes , rubbing at his back like he's some kind of skittish animal. "Just. Just a sec, Buck, god, I swear-just-" and he hears fumbling and a wet sound before something decidedly not fingers is at his hole.
"Yesyesyesyesyessteviepleaseyesssss." Steve would, naturally (supernaturally?), be a god among men here too, that beautiful fucking bastard. Bucky is suddenly thrown back to when they were kids and he’d attend Mass at that big, ornate, over the top Catholic church with Steve and his ma--the reminder isn’t due to some spiritual revelation or all consuming need to repent, oh no. He’s just pretty sure this is what being slowly impaled by one of those giant altar candles would feel like. Steve’s cock is huge . Bucky feels like he's being split open, like he'll burst apart. He's never felt better. ( Hallelujah)
Steve is trembling, creeping his way in, but when he bottoms out, they both just breathe.
Well, Steve breathes. Bucky drools into the rug.
"Buck? B-Bucky, are you-" Steve's paws are flitting over him.
"If you dont start moving... we can't call this fucking...and I seem to recall... that’s what I asked for." Yes. Good. Thank fuck, he got actual words out. Only slightly marred with panting. He'll take it.
Steve chuckles, and oh fuck. Even his laughs sound hot now. Bucky is so, so screwed.
He gasps as his hips get lifted up and held in a tight, bruising ( please mother of god, let there be bruising ) grip. He scrambles up on his hands just as Steve pulls out to the tip and slides all the way in. No hesitation, no stuttering. ( His dick works, oh fuck, his dick works)
Bucky's bones threaten to turn to liquid. And then Steve starts up a steady pace, and Bucky's eyes roll back. He has no control over the moans he lets out on every thrust in. He doesn’t even try , no, what does he do?
He goes and asks for more and harder like a, like a-
"-sound like a whore for it, baby, fuck-you just-so loud-beggin me for more-you-you want more do ya?"
"Yes! Yeah, please, Stevie, gimme more. Harder. Fuck me harder, god ."
Steve groans and then shoves forward, throwing Bucky's upper body into the floor, but keeping his hips raised. He puts his legs on the outside of Bucky's and gets up on the balls of his feet, on the tips of his fingers, and he starts pounding down into Bucky like a man--a thing-- possessed ( it works, it works, it workssss is ringing like a choir in the hollowed out space of Bucky’s head to the slap-beat of flesh against flesh ).
Steve's growling again, right over him, sweat dripping onto Bucky's back and Bucky knows he's making ungodly noises, shouting Steve's name, but he can't hold it back, can't do anything but whatever Steve wants of him at this point. He clings to the thick fibers under his hands, even as he’s bodily shoved several inches across the plush rug, welcoming the burn along his face and chest. It has nothing on the heat rocketing through his veins--mounting and coiling, until he’s begging, until Steve is moaning so loud he might as well be hollering.
“ Fuck! That’s it! That’s-You’re so good, Buck, c’mon, you wanna come for me?? Yeah, come for me, sweetheart! ”
Bucky's entire being flies to pieces, maybe does a lap around the universe, and slams back together. He comes harder than he ever has in his life, all over the ritzy-ass carpet, whining high in the back of his throat. He clenches around Steve, who seizes, and then thrusts jaggedly into him, causing a few sparks to go off behind Bucky's eyelids.
They lay there, panting, afterwards (Bucky pants, Steve is swell, right as rain, the fucker). Whole minutes pass in relative, awed silence.
Bucky's voice is maybe a tad hysterical when he asks, "Did you call me a whore ?!"
Steve immediately looks stricken. "I'm so sorry, it just came out-"
"Don’t you fucking apologize , you asshole. I...I think I liked it."
Steve blushes, and thank the stars, the serum didn’t change that. "Yeah? That’s... that's good then."
"Oh yeah? Why's that?" Bucky rolls onto an elbow to better get in his face, waggling his eyebrows. "Steve Rogers get off on his own dirty mouth??"
Steve's eyes go dark even as he ducks his head, and Bucky doesn't miss how he's not gone soft. Interesting. Seems like things maybe work a little more than normal.
"Got off more to what it did to you. What all of me...did to you." Steve says to the space between their chests. And Bucky hears what he’s not saying. He hears it because he never stopped hearing it.
It works.
“I don’t know what you mean. It’s this swanky rug I’m real keen on, nothin’ to do with you and your mouth and overgro-” Bucky lets out a yelp as Steve moves like a shot from his sprawled position. Before he can blink, he’s been dragged by a single bent knee to lay under Steve’s frankly ridiculous bulk. He feels a bright flush light up his cheeks at just the knowledge that he’s caged in, pinned, by Steve.
Steve, who--like the little shit he still is--smirks down at him. “You like me like this.”
There’s a solid, strong (slow as fuck ) heartbeat knocking at Bucky’s wrist where it rests against Steve’s chest, and Bucky doesn’t hear even the whisper of a wheeze as he breathes above him. Bucky still can’t believe it. He slides his hand from Steve’s shoulder to touch his fingertips to chest, his ribcage, around and up his spine.
When he whispers, awestruck , “it works...” Steve knows he’s talking about more than the sex. He smiles softly as he nods.
“Yeah, Buck.” When he repeats himself, it’s a question. “You like me like this?” He’s so sincere that Bucky wants to kick him.
Bucky clears his throat. “Well. I figure I’m gonna need a few more rounds before I know for sure…”
“You fucking jerk.” Steve can’t hide the fondness in his tone. He also can’t lazy hide the roll of hips. The slide of his heavy prick over Bucky’s own mostly soft flesh makes Bucky gasp. He scrambles for purchase on Steve’s wide chest.
He’s too breathy when he retorts, “Can I even call you a punk anymore?”
The grin that answers is enough to make Bucky wanna do unspeakable, unholy things in Steve Rogers’ name. “You can try.”