Chapter Text
“Maybe I should get these tattooed,” Steve said, “to stop you from running around with everyone.”
“No...complaints,” Bucky gasped. Steve had laid him out on the kitchen floor, on his stomach, and was having a pretty good time pinching and twisting the skin on the back of his thighs. He was perfectly capable of drawing blood, if he scratched really hard, but what he mostly liked was leaving bruises.
Steve was really consistent with his work, so the scratches and bruises would often come out looking like a pattern on a dress. The next morning he caught Bucky standing naked with his back to the mirror, craning his head around to look at the marks from the day before.
He didn’t have much nice to say to Bucky, or to anyone else, but he was flattered and felt himself soften a little. He couldn’t help saying, “I’m glad you like it,” and pulling Bucky away so he could kiss him without risking seeing them together in the mirror. That would have immediately killed his buzz.
“Of course I like it,” Bucky said, and then whimpered a little when Steve squeezed the back of his leg. “Fuck, Steve, you’re so good to me.”
Sometimes Steve felt like Bucky didn’t know what the word “good” meant. He squeezed harder, sticking his nails in where they’d been the day before, and Bucky whined and clung so hard to him that he almost knocked Steve over. “Give me a sec,” Steve said, and walked them backwards a few feet so he could lean against the wall while he scratched and pinched Bucky’s bruises.
He had to admit it felt nice, and not like being overpowered in any way. Bucky was wrapped around him, and yeah, he was bigger than Steve was, of course; but he was trembling, and he had his face pushed into Steve’s shoulder. Steve pressed on the bruises with his right hand, and pulled Bucky’s hair with his left. He pulled Bucky’s head back so he could see his expression. Bucky had his eyes closed, so Steve gave his hair a harder yank.
“No,” Steve said. “You look at me when I’m hurting you. What, you’re embarrassed?”
“Yeah,” Bucky said, with a pained smile. It looked really good on him.
“What are you embarrassed about? No, don’t look away.” Steve yanked his hair again, and Bucky yelped--he was tearing up a little, which also was very appealing. “Tell me about how you’re feeling.”
“Do I have to?” Bucky said. Steve didn’t even bother hurting him for that; he just looked at him. “I’m embarrassed,” Bucky said.
“I got that. How come?”
“Because--” Steve gave Bucky’s leg an especially hard pinch and twist, and Bucky’s face screwed up with pain. He almost closed his eyes in the process, but he caught himself. “Shit, sorry, sorry, I’m opening my eyes, I’m looking at you, Steve, sorry, I’m always gonna look at you.” He looked so distressed, and was forcing his eyes so wide open, that Steve couldn’t help laughing. He stroked Bucky, a little, where he’d been pinching him. Although probably any contact hurt at this point. Things just got more fun the more banged up Bucky got.
It was a good habit, bruising him up--like how washing the dishes after dinner means you have an easier time at breakfast. It was like Steve was giving himself a present he could enjoy the next day. He felt like Bucky was being pretty okay about things, so he pulled him back down and kissed him fairly gently. Not super gently. It wasn’t like Bucky had done anything really special, and he’d still failed to answer a simple question. So just as he felt Bucky relaxing into the kiss and the short-term absence of pain, Steve bit his lip hard.
“What, I looked at you, I was being good!” Bucky said.
“God, stop whining,” Steve said. “If you were being good I would tell you.”
“You never tell me,” Bucky said.
“Wow, I wonder why that could be,” Steve said. “Just answer the fucking question. What’s embarrassing about what I’m doing right now?” He pinched Bucky a little more to remind him what they were talking about.
“I...” Bucky hesitated. He honestly looked like he was trying to talk, but finally he said, weakly, “I can’t talk about it, Steve. I can’t.” He put his head down.
“Well, okay,” Steve said. He released Bucky and went over to the kitchen. “Why don’t you stand in the corner,” he said, getting a few pieces of bread out of the wrapper, “with your face to the wall.”
“Okay,” Bucky said.
“Obviously okay, that’s not really in question, is it?” Steve said. He put his bread in the toaster. “You’re not getting any toast, by the way.”
“Seems fair.”
“Do yourself like I was doing,” Steve said. He leaned against the counter and watched Bucky’s hands knead the bruises on the back of his thighs. Bucky didn’t have Steve’s fine motor skills--it was pretty much the only area of anything that Steve was better at than anyone else. But he was systematic about what he was doing, and Steve knew his hands wouldn’t get tired like Steve’s sometimes did.
“Ow, ow, ow,” Bucky said softly, but he didn’t let up.
“You’re doing fine,” Steve said. “Nice to know there’s a few orders you can follow.”
“I can follow--most of them,” Bucky said. “Ow.”
“You can stop,” Steve said. “Stay like you are.” He started stacking his toast on a plate and putting butter to melt in between the slices. “I don’t believe that for a minute though, Bucky. A dog can follow more orders than you can.”
“I mean,” Bucky said. “That’s probably true? But a dog’s not as good at getting fucked as I am, so every cloud has a silver lining.” He wiggled his backside at Steve. It was nice to think about how painful it would be for him to get fucked, how every thrust would hit him on his bruises and make him cry out. Steve could yell at him for crying, too.
“No, you’re mostly cloud,” Steve said. He put some jelly on top of one of the buttered slices--Bucky was a real hog about that sort of thing. Steve didn’t see what you needed two condiments for. He clicked his tongue and Bucky came over and got on his knees for him.
Steve held out the toast for him to eat. He didn’t have a particular attachment to doing this with Bucky on his knees--he did for some things, but for this, it would be kind of fun to hold him from behind. Actually, he thought about that position often--there were lots of things Steve would have liked doing that way, if he were just tall enough to put his head over Bucky’s shoulder and whisper in his ear. If wishes were horses. Bucky had gotten to the end of the toast and was sucking on Steve’s fingers. Steve raised his eyebrows at him. “Sorry,” Bucky said. He sat down there while Steve leaned against the counter eating the rest of the toast.
///
Steve got it out of him, about a week later, when they were fucking. Bucky was good at getting fucked, no question, although that wasn’t really an accurate description of what they did. Steve had the joints of a grandpa, more or less--Bucky had said this one time, and Steve didn’t hit him or snap at him or anything, which was maybe what Bucky was aiming for. When Steve just shrugged, Bucky said he was sorry, that he didn’t mean it.
It was true though. Steve wasn’t really in shape to throw anyone around, or hold someone down, or even do a lot of thrusting. He was stiff most of the time. Bucky had to do all the work.
Steve was grateful, of course, for how well they were able to work that out between them. It never felt like Bucky was in charge or anything. Steve would lie back with his head propped on the back of his arm, and he’d give Bucky instructions. If he wanted to get on with it he’d be general--“Strip,” “Slick yourself up,” “Sit on my dick”--but usually he liked being extremely specific and detailed.
Bucky was pretty well trained when it came to that. He knew that when Steve said, “Take off your shoes,” he wasn’t to take his socks off. Sometimes Steve would do things like telling him to keep one sock on, or take all his clothes off and then put his tie back on; he wanted Bucky to pay attention. He didn’t tell Bucky if he did anything wrong, but Bucky knew that Steve was keeping track of it and that if he screwed up it would come back to bite him. Steve wouldn’t let him come at the last minute, or he’d try and ruin it--he’d take his hand away just as Bucky was coming, or start talking about something unappealing. Bucky would sob with frustration, and Steve would say, “Sorry, but you took your pants off before your jacket.”
That kind of thing didn’t happen much anymore. Bucky was pretty good, Steve thought, touching himself a little lazily while Bucky stood in front of him and waited for the next direction. And he was good at acting like the whole thing wasn’t farcical, him following Steve’s orders when a strong wind could probably snap him in half.
“Are you okay?” Bucky said.
“I’m just thinking,” Steve said. “I didn’t realize we were doing this on your schedule.”
“Sorry,” Bucky said. “We’re not. I just--”
“What,” Steve said.
“Please,” Bucky said. “I need you inside me pretty bad, so--I mean, not my choice, but it would be so good, Steve.”
“I don’t see why you always got to be so impatient,” Steve said. “You’ve only been standing there for, what--” he checked his watch-- “seven minutes? Why don’t you just stay there and watch me jerk off?” Bucky winced. “My hand’s just as good as your asshole--it’s certainly cleaner.”
“My asshole is clean!” Bucky protested. “It’s really clean, Steve, I always clean up for you.” Steve was a little surprised by how hurt he looked. He hadn’t thought Bucky was that softened up yet, but apparently standing and waiting had really gotten to him. “Come on, please,” Bucky said. “Let me show you how clean it is.”
“That’s okay,” Steve said. “I’ll just use my hand.”
“Please,” Bucky said. He swayed a little where he was standing but he knew better than to get on his knees when he’d been told to stay still. “Why don’t we--look, maybe I could just slick you up a little and not do anything to myself, so it’ll hurt me more? I’ll sit on you really fast. It’d be really rough, I bet I’d scream--wouldn’t you like that?”
“Well, okay,” Steve said. “You can finish getting undressed.”
“Thank you, Steve,” Bucky said, scrambling out of the clothes he’d still been wearing. Steve couldn’t help chuckling and Bucky gave him a look. “What?”
“I was already going to fuck you, stupid--you just signed away your prep for no reason.”
“Oh, well,” Bucky said. If he’d been in a normal frame of mind he might have put on more irritation, but he was already kind of flushed and cuddly. More than anything he was relieved that he was going to get to do what he was best at. He was good like that. Bucky always wanted to be helpful.
What’s more helpful than giving a hand to someone who’s practically a cripple, Steve thought. But Bucky was standing there waiting in the pile of his clothes, so he put that stuff aside in his mind and said, “Okay, get the Vaseline, come over and put it on me.”
“Thank you,” Bucky said with a big stupid grin that made Steve forget all his ungrateful thoughts. He came over to the bed and waited while Steve kicked his pants off; then he knelt next to him. “Can I--”
“Just one lick or we’ll never get going,” Steve said.
Bucky leaned over and gave Steve’s cock such a long, thorough stroke with his tongue that Steve felt like it was cheating; but there was the smile again, keeping him from being as harsh as he’d like to be. “It’s so good,” Bucky said, “my favorite, I’m so fucking lucky I’m going to get it inside me, Steve--”
“Can you stop talking and get it ready,” Steve said. He covered his face with his hand so Bucky wouldn’t see how much it was getting to him. He was painfully hard so it was kind of a lost cause, but he felt like letting someone see it on your dick wasn’t as bad as letting them see the loss of control on your face. He got a little bit of his finger between his teeth so he didn’t make any noise while Bucky was stroking him up and down with the Vaseline. Then he fucking twitched, like an idiot, so he said, “Well, you better get on it.”
“Which way do you want me?” Bucky said.
“Facing away,” Steve said. Bucky put his knees on either side of Steve’s legs and tried to reach up to spread himself open, but Steve said, “No, I’m gonna open you up, okay?”
“Mm, please,” Bucky said, “that’s great,” and Steve felt himself dizzy with stupid tenderness at how soft Bucky sounded. This was doubtless the first of several times he’d be glad that Bucky couldn’t see his face.
“Can you reach the Vaseline?” Steve said.
“What do you take me for?” Bucky said. “I’m not gonna lose the Vaseline.” He nudged it towards Steve with his fingers. He leaned over, bracing himself on his hands; his face brushed Steve’s ankles.
Steve thought about trying to get Bucky to kiss his feet--Steve was wearing a pair of sort of grungy socks, so it would be funny to see if Bucky would do it and how he’d act about it--but they were never going to get anywhere unless Steve focused.
He put his fingers in the Vaseline and spread it around and inside Bucky’s hole. Bucky immediately started protesting. “Steve, I said I’d go without. You don’t have to.”
“Well, I don’t want to hurt you,” Steve said, just to see what Bucky would make of that.
Bucky was softened up enough that he didn’t even laugh. “Please, Steve, it’s okay to want to hurt me. I want you to have what you want, okay? Please, I just need it however you want to do it, okay?”
He was shaking. “Hush,” Steve said. He petted him with his other hand, down his back and ass and the top of his thigh. “S’okay. I’m gonna fuck you, okay?”
“Okay,” Bucky said. Steve could feel he was pressing his face down onto the bed while Steve slicked him up.
“You know, it’s not so bad in this asshole after all,” Steve said. “Thanks for cleaning it up for me.”
Bucky made a little agreeable noise.
“I mean, obviously it’s kind of required, since it’s mine.” Bucky shivered and Steve petted him again. “Okay, sit up, stop hiding in the bed. Pull yourself open and sit on me, okay?”
“Okay,” Bucky said. He sat up and held himself up on his knees, holding his ass open with his hands; Steve put one hand on him, lightly, to help him line himself up with the head of Steve’s cock. He steered Bucky down on to it, and when Bucky sank all the way down he yelped. Steve wouldn’t fuck him dry, but he hadn’t given him a lot of time to prepare.
“Don’t whine,” Steve said. He could feel Bucky was pretty tensed up, inside and outside, so he just laid still under him and stroked little circles in the curve of Bucky’s lower back.
He’d be hard pressed to say what he liked better; the feel of Bucky’s insides relaxing around his dick, or the tension going out of his back and legs as he calmed down. Bucky went a little limp, and he reached out and rubbed Steve’s knee affectionately, the way Steve was rubbing his back. “Thanks for putting it in me, Steve,” he said quietly, “you know I love you--”
“You have a funny way of showing it, sitting on me like a dead fish,” Steve said. He felt it when Bucky laughed.
“You put dead fish on your dick?” he said, but he started moving the way Steve liked. “Well, I bet those dead fish love you as much as I do, or they love getting fucked by you, anyway. Have to be fucking crazy not to.”
“I don’t even do anything,” Steve said despite himself.
“You do everything,” Bucky said. “Would I be on here if not for you?”
“Well--”
“No? Then you’re doing it.”
It was actually a good thing they were talking about something shitty, or Steve might have gone off as soon as Bucky started moving on him. It was true he didn’t listen sometimes, but really, he was pretty good a lot of the time; and he had riding Steve down to a science. Steve put his hands on Bucky’s hips, and when Bucky sighed happily, he dug his nails in.
“Oh, God, Steve,” Bucky said. “I’m not--I don’t know if I can make it if you do that.”
“That’s fine,” Steve said. “You’re not in trouble. Let me jerk you off though, yeah?”
“Mm,” Bucky said, and sat still and waited while Steve got his hand wet and reached around to touch him. He paused before he made contact, though. “Steve,” Bucky said.
“I got a question for you,” Steve said.
“Steve,” Bucky said. Steve didn’t have to see him to know how hard he was glaring. Steve just didn’t say or do anything--he counted the seconds in his head--and then Bucky said, “Steve, I’ll answer, I’m sorry, okay, I’ll tell you anything, just touch me.”
“How come you don’t like to look at me when I’m hurting you?”
“Oh, God, Steve, I’ll look at you next time, I’m sorry. I looked at you last time.”
“But how come?” Steve said. He was going to have to drop it; he couldn’t stretch this moment out that long.
“‘Cause I don’t want you to see it on my face, Steve, how much I like it, okay? Shit, please, just--I just get embarrassed, okay, because I feel like you can see how much I need you to be hard on me, and--please, Steve, this is really rough on me, please don’t tease me, please.”
“Okay,” Steve said. “Move when I touch you.” He wrapped his hand around Bucky’s dick, and Bucky tensed so badly that Steve knew he was about a second away. “You better like it, since it’s the only thing you’re good for,” he said, since he thought it would make Bucky come. He was right, and that pushed him over himself--Bucky spasming around him and making a weak little noise in his throat, as if Steve had injured him.
When Steve was finished he said, “You can come up here, Buck. There’ll be no washing up tonight.” It wasn’t mean of him to have Bucky lie on the sheets all sticky and wet, because Steve would probably be the one to end up doing the laundry. And Bucky wouldn’t mind sleeping dirty--he was incredibly fussy about personal grooming, except when it came to sex, in which case he was pretty much the opposite and hated to have Steve’s come washed out of him. Like Steve had expected he made one of his happy little noises and climbed off of him and nuzzled up to his chest. “Pull the bedclothes up, dumbass,” Steve said.
“You weren’t calling it dumb when you were in it!” Bucky said, but he sat up and got them covered up properly.
“I’m happy to call your ass dumb, Buck,” Steve said, “regardless of what’s in it. It’s not like the presence of my dick makes it any smarter.” He laid on his side and Bucky squished up behind him, not putting his arms over Steve but just pushing his face into the back of Steve’s neck.
“Love you, Steve,” Bucky said--he was probably trying to speak softly and gently, but the location of his mouth made it sound like he was yelling in to Steve’s good ear with a bullhorn. Steve flinched.
“Ugh,” he said.
“I do, though, Steve, you’re the best,” Bucky said, rubbing his face on Steve’s head. “Every day I wonder how I got so lucky as to get to be friends with you and to get you doing this stuff to me and...”
He paused for breath, but Steve wasn’t having any more of that stuff, which he was pretty sure was just intended to prop up Steve’s fragile little crippled ego. “More like you wonder how you pissed off God bad enough to get stuck with me,” Steve said.
Bucky made a noise like he was so shocked and Steve wanted to shove him. “That’s not funny,” he said.
“Wasn’t being funny,” Steve said.
“Steve, come on, don’t--just don’t be like that, okay? I hate knowing you think stuff like that.”
Now Bucky was trying to get face to face with him so he could be earnest. Steve buried his face in his pillow, lifting his mouth off enough to say, “You’re whining, Buck, I always tell you not to whine and here you are again.”
“Steve, come on,” Bucky said, but he was giving up on the topic. Good.
“I just don’t want to talk about that bullshit,” Steve said.
“But you--” Bucky sighed. “Well, you brought it up, but okay, let’s never speak of it again.”
“Good,” Steve said. He laid with his face half in the pillow, and felt Bucky settling big and warm up against him again. Bucky was rubbing his face into Steve’s neck again, like a cat. “Stop wiping your snotty nose on me, I’m not a handkerchief,” Steve said, but he didn’t do anything about it.