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“Quiet night,” muses a familiar voice from behind him.
Steve instinctively smiles into the cool evening air, taking in the landscape ahead. Winter of ‘44 had been especially harsh, but as of the previous month, the retreating ice made way for beautiful spring foliage to take its place. Under different circumstances, Steve thinks Austria would be a dream. So far, their time in the Alps has been more of a nightmare, but small moments like these—pockets of peace that come few and far between these days—are enough for him to forget why they’re even here in the first place, especially when he’s by himself. So when the fellas told him they would be heading into the nearest village for a supplies restock, Steve had quietly anticipated his blissful alone time, but it seems a certain someone was left behind.
He takes a long drag of his cigarette, smiling around the filter, “Used to be.”
“Never liked the quiet, me.”
“I’m well aware,” Steve snorts.
Bucky settles in the dirt beside him, a cigarette of his own dangling between his lips. The sinking sun illuminates his features, but it only highlights their unnaturally sharp edges, the result of a malnourishment none of them has yet to understand. Steve’s taken to splitting his calorie-packed rations with him in order to bring his weight back up, but Bucky is still much too skinny for him to sleep well at night. Not to mention he’s smoking his breakfast, lunch, and dinner. Still, he’s here. That’s enough for now.
Bucky turns to him, grin marginally softening those pointed features, “You calling me loud?”
“More like goddamn annoying.”
“I’m hurt, Captain,” he says dramatically, his hand coming up to his chest. “Awfully hurt.”
“You’ll get over it,” Steve sighs. “Thought you were out with the rest?”
“Decided not to.”
“I’m getting that.”
“Decided I’d rather do something else,” he drawls sensually, resting his chin on Steve's shoulder. “Someone else.”
Steve’s heart skips a beat.
They haven’t played this game in years. It reminds him of a simpler time, when life carried a golden hue and a soundtrack that mainly consisted of Bucky’s boisterous laughter even on the gloomiest of days. When they worried more about Sarah walking in on them fooling around rather than bullets through the brain. Ignorance is bliss and they were happy to live in a fantasy as long as they could manage, but the weight of their circumstances quickly became too heavy a burden to bear. Once Sarah was gone, it was one nightmare after another in rapid and violent succession. The last six years have been characterized by death and destruction neither one of them could have ever anticipated, and the last place Steve would have expected for them to finally come back to themselves is the wilderness of Austria.
But now here they are, a world away from the only home they ever knew, and Bucky’s back to his old tricks. A bat of his lashes, deceivingly demure, lip between his teeth like he’s some doe-eyed church bird looking for a lifelong love and not the godless pole smoker Steve knows him to be. He’s a tease, and Steve’s resolve is far from what it used to be. He really should say no. But god, is that boy pretty.
He never stood a chance.
“Really?” he questions, tone thankfully betraying none of his arousal simmering beneath the surface. “How’d you come up with an idea like that?”
Bucky shrugs, “Got bored.”
“Aren’t you a real charmer?” Steve tells him sarcastically, getting up. Bucky follows him up onto his feet, swaying a bit.
“I’m good for it,” he murmurs, brushing Steve’s fringe out of his face. “No strings. And you know I always take it good. Like a girl.”
Unimpressed, Steve stares down at him, “That means nothing to me, kid. Ain’t ever been with a girl. You know that.”
Not that the last six months have been short of any advances. Flattered as he is, Steve has little interest in spending his time buried in some poor broad in a whorehouse surrounded by a bunch of sleazy idiots who can’t tell their asses from a hole in the ground. Little interest in sex of any kind, really. Until now, that is.
“Think me, but a lot wetter and a lot worse.”
“That so?” Steve asks, amused.
“You hear me on this, Steve Rogers, and you hear me on it real good: I’ll always be the best fuck of your life. No dame’ll even come close. Me? I’m made for taking it. They’re made for more. But I’m made to take it. As good as you’ve got.”
“You’re made for more,” Steve protests, but Bucky waves him off.
He then crowds Steve’s front, hand sneaking down between his legs and squeezing a bit, “This right here is more. ‘Bout three inches more than the last time we made acquaintance, if my measurements are correct.”
Throat dry, Steve manages, “You, uh. You aren’t too far off.”
It’s taking everything in him not to let his hips jump forward into Bucky’s warm grip. He’s already half-hard, but he’s long since stopped trying to prevent that particular reaction to his best friend. Once he finally overcame the Christ-induced guilt of falling head over ass for every pretty boy that looked his way, his next order of business was coming to terms with the fact that he’ll never love anyone the way he loves Bucky Barnes. Romantically, sure, but both of them have always been more concerned with the sexual nature of their relationship. And after nearly five years of self-inflicted abstinence, he’s really struggling to find a reason why he shouldn’t bend Bucky over the nearest surface and take him right here and right now.
“Well, would you look at that?” Bucky hums, his grin wicked. “I’m right again. So maybe, and it’s just an idea, let’s put those new three inches to good use? A housewarming party of sorts.”
“Fellas could come back any minute,” Steve tries, though the excuse sounds weak even to his own ears.
“Village’s got a bar. They won’t be back ‘til the sun’s up again.”
He’s rubbing the heel of his hand against Steve’s bulge now, his own dick straining against the confines of his field pants. The sight of it has Steve’s mouth watering, his mind blank.
“I, uh,” he swallows. “How ‘bout I suck you off?”
“How ‘bout you fuck me,” Bucky suggests instead, shameless as always.
“Buck…”
“I got needs and a gaping asshole. A measly suckjob ain’t gonna cut it.”
“Jesus,” Steve whispers. “Jesus.”
“C’mon, Rogers,” he goads softly, chapped lips brushing Steve’s ear. “Is that all you got?”
Steve shivers, and the challenging words rouse his long-dormant competitive streak. Perhaps there’s hope left for him after all. In one swift motion, he sweeps Bucky off his feet and over his shoulder, pointedly ignoring the victorious laughter muffled into his back. Their tents are a little ways off, but Steve’s got a one track mind and a horniness that rivals that of a teenager on stimulants. An unstoppable force versus the immovable object that is his common sense. He marches through the forest, careful to avoid any roots or branches that will slow him down.
“View back here’s ace,” Bucky comments, followed by the press of teeth into one of Steve’s ass cheeks.
With his free hand, he admonishingly swats Bucky’s flank, “Quit that.”
“Bite me.”
“Give me a minute and I will,” Steve nearly growls.
Bucky shudders minutely, “That better be a promise, Cap.”
He smirks, “Scout’s honor.”
When they’ve finally reached the tents, Steve all but rips the flap of his own open, dropping Bucky onto his back right there on the floor. The two of them waste no time in stripping themselves bare, clothes flying across the small space. Steve can’t take his eyes off of Bucky, and when he catches sight of how the orange lantern light is reflecting off the vaseline between his cheeks, he groans.
“You asshole,” Steve murmurs, cock twitching against his stomach.
Bucky’s eyeing it with no small amount of hunger, already lazily jacking off his own, “Fuck, that’s pretty.”
“My fucking dick?”
“All of you,” he says, smiling with every last one of his teeth. “Get down here before I get impatient.”
“You’re always impatient,” Steve tells him, but is quick to oblige.
“It’s part of my charm, sweetheart,” he sighs as he lets his legs fall open.
Steve takes a moment to admire his lean form, drinking it in as best and as quickly as his lust will allow. Bucky’s always been the sap between them, but Steve can’t help the small gasp that escapes him when they lock gazes. Anyone with a brain in their head knows Bucky Barnes is easy on the eyes, but Steve thinks he’s more than that. Steve thinks he’s beautiful, with his cheekbones and pout and oh so pretty big browns—more than a gift from god, but a deity of his very own.
“See something you like?” Bucky teases.
His voice has gone noticeably breathy, flush extending down to his chest. If Steve’s willing to bet, he’s probably looking a lot worse, but it’s always nice to see Bucky a bit ruffled. It isn’t as though he’s ever been the pinnacle of placidity, but compared to Steve, he’s always been the more composed of the two of them, especially during these particular endeavors of theirs. But it has been years since they’ve fallen into bed together, and much has changed— Steve thinks he may finally have the means to ravage his boy for good. The thought is thrilling, and he makes swift work of straddling Bucky’s hips, taking his chin between two fingers and openly leering at him.
“See something I wanna eat.”
Bucky raises a brow, “Is that your best?”
“I’m out of practice,” Steve shrugs, reaching behind himself to tease Bucky’s hole with his thumb. “How’s this?”
“Ah, Steve,” he hisses breathlessly, the words seemingly leaving him unbidden. “C’mon.”
That’s a request Steve has little interest in denying, especially after feeling how little resistance his finger had pressing into the warmth of him. His patience is wearing thin after six years with only his right hand for company. Speaking of:
“Spit,” Steve demands, holding said hand out.
Bucky does him one better, teasing two of Steve’s fingers with his tongue before wrapping his lips around them, never once breaking eye contact. Steve groans, hips jumping unconsciously as he grows remarkably harder. It goes on for another minute longer, but once Bucky’s decided he’s had enough fun, he pulls away from Steve's fingers with a pop and spits directly on his dick, smiling like an angel when he’s finished.
“Dunno who you think you’re fooling with the babydoll act,” Steve tells him, charmed. “I know you too well.”
“You ought to talk sweeter to me, Rogers. Seeing as I’m the best lay of your life.”
“You’re the only lay of my life,” he snorts, bracketing Bucky’s head with his arms and lining his dick up between his legs.
Bucky laughs, the sound morphing into a low moan as Steve begins pressing inside of him, “Lucky y-you.”
Lucky me indeed, Steve thinks as he finally sinks into Bucky’s warm heat for the first time in years, still just as tight as he was in the 30s. It seems that the both of them are out of practice, as it takes longer than Steve remembers for him to bottom out, the two of them sweating and panting into the other’s mouth the whole time. Bucky’s breath tastes of cigarettes and something sweet, but not sweeter than the blissed out expression on his face as he’s taken well and good for however long it’s been since he last lay with another. With every new inch Steve presses inside of him goes another ounce of his carefully constructed composure, but it’s clear from the way he’s gnawing on his lip that he’s trying not to lose himself completely.
Perfect. A challenge.
Once he’s fully inside, he pauses to let Bucky catch his breath, smirking a bit, “Doing alright?”
“Never better,” Bucky says immediately, catching his gaze dead on. “You gonna pound me already, or am I gonna have to go find someone else to do the job right?”
Steve bristles, “Fuck you.”
“I wish you would, honey,” Bucky snarks.
“Asshole,” he huffs, obeying nonetheless.
He sets a steady pace, careful not to jostle Bucky too hard. Steve’s still clumsy in this body, learning his own strength even after months in the field. The last thing he wants to do is ruin a perfectly good night by losing control and hurting Bucky in any capacity. Besides, the slow drag of his cock against Bucky’s inner walls is the sweetest torture, every movement sending sparks of pleasure down his spine. He’d be happy to continue at this tempo until it drags them both over the edge, but from Bucky’s bored expression, it’s not exactly a mutual desire. Steve is both frustrated and impressed by how poised he is even while being fucked into, brow quirked and manner entirely unimpressed.
“Am I boring you?” Steve asks breathlessly, coming to a stop.
Bucky sighs daintily, “A bit.”
“Asshole,” Steve repeats.
“Just fuck me, punk. I’m not gonna break.”
“I am fucking you.”
“You’re making love to me at best. Is that all you got?” he prods, echoing his words from earlier.
Steve growls, pulling out before slamming back inside of him hard enough to jostle him forward. Bucky cries out, legs winding around Steve’s waist and hand coming to pull at his hair as the thrusts only grow stronger. It’s filthy, the noises they make. The slap of skin against skin and squelch of the vaseline is enough to have Steve moaning in the chilly air as Bucky whimpers beneath him.
“How’s that, huh?” he pants. “How’s that, Sergeant?”
“A-Ah. Adequate,” Bucky manages with a slight cry, arching his back a bit.
Steve changes his angle, “Adequate?”
“Uh-huh,” Bucky squeaks.
He wraps his legs tighter around Steve’s back, muscled thighs trembling. It can’t be comfortable, the way his bare back is sliding back and forth against the gravelly dirt. Letting his left arm bear most of his weight, Steve uses his right to slide beneath where Bucky’s back is curved and lifts him right up off the ground.
“What are you—oh!”
The display of strength pulls an agonized moan from Bucky’s lips, a blurt of precome wetting Steve’s stomach where they’re pressed up together. His reaction only spurs Steve on, thrusts precise and strong as he hits Bucky’s prostate dead on each time. Bucky has been reduced to nothing but a shiver in Steve’s arms, and it delights Steve to no end seeing his plush lips parted and eyes rolling back into his head. He’s been rendered stupid by the pleasure, wholly giving himself over to Steve. It’s downright addictive.
“That feel good, babydoll?” Steve taunts breathily.
Bucky can barely speak, only nodding once before his head lolls backwards. He doesn’t even have the energy to take himself in hand, meaning the only stimulation on his cock is Steve’s body as he pounds inside of him. Still, he’s clearly close, and even after years of not doing this, Steve can pick up on the telltale signs of his impending orgasm— the most obvious of which being how his legs have fallen back onto the ground, strength entirely sapped by the force of his arousal. The sight reminds Steve of the Renaissance paintings he’d studied during his time at Auburndale. Bucky, with his rosy cheeks and red lips, hung over Steve’s arm like a swooning dame, making for the most beautiful piece of art Steve has ever laid eyes on. Suddenly, he no longer has any desire to tease.
“You’re perfect,” he whispers, awe coating his tone. “Beautiful, Buck.”
Blinking up slowly at him, Bucky makes a soft noise, body still being jostled by Steve’s now-uncoordinated thrusts. His cock twitches between them, hips jumping unconsciously as his exhaled moans steadily grow louder. Close himself, Steve takes pity on him, gently setting him back down on the floor and snaking the arm that had been holding him up between their bodies and taking his dick in hand. It only takes one jerk and the graze of teeth against his collarbone before Bucky is spilling all over him with a sharp cry, body writhing in the dirt. He tightens so quickly around Steve that it ends up pulling him right over the edge, too, his groan muffled in Bucky’s sweaty neck. Both of their orgasms last much longer than Steve recalls his ever being, and by the time it’s over, his ears are ringing, his body so relaxed he can barely move. Still, he musters enough strength to roll off of Bucky lest he crush him, collapsing on his back beside him with a blissful sigh.
Eventually, Bucky laughs softly, turning to look at him, “That was fun.”
“Yeah?” Steve asks, grinning.
“Fuck yeah.”
They both go quiet for a moment.
“... I could go again.”
Steve’s grin widens, “Yeah?”
“Fuck,” Bucky licks into Steve’s mouth, voice heady. “Yeah.”