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The satisfaction Steve got from bloodplay always rang oddly in him, so close to being wrong—to smell slick dark red, to willingly cut someone who could feel everything he did and just sat still under his blade. He was sort of glad he only saw Melinda May every other every few months; she was his only bloodplay client, and he needed time to process a rush so intense.
As a matter of fact, it had been a while—the last time she’d come to him was when Bucky had stumbled onto the aftermath—so it was nice to see her again. Besides, despite his tenseness, Steve liked playing with Melinda; her serenity helped smooth things over, as well as the formality she liked to maintain during scenes. They were good friends and always chatted happily while drinking tea in the kitchen. But as soon as the scene started, he called her by her last name. She wanted it to be clinical, impersonal, and she liked that Steve wore nitrile gloves, liked his ability to sound detached and almost a bit bored while she bit her lip and heaved deep breaths in the tub. As for him, he was focused on his task, fascinated by her reactions, and he took pride in doing it well, making sure she was perfectly safe, never in any danger of actual injury.
Now she was all patched up and carefully getting out of the bathtub, with slow movements like a deep diver. Steve sat on the tiled floor while she left the room. After five minutes to let her get dressed, he’d come out to have some tea and debrief. Melinda wasn’t very tactile, but Steve found that this polite form of aftercare was enough—it was in the continuity of the scene, and felt like its natural conclusion.
After that she’d thank him and leave, and he would go back to the bathroom to clean up, allowing his focus to unravel at last, breathing out after a job well done.
And usually that would have been his day. But things were slightly different now.
*
When Steve walked in, Bucky looked up from his laptop and took off his headphones. He wouldn’t have needed them; Steve’s bedroom was perfectly soundproof, just like the rest of the apartment. But he was tactful like that, making sure Steve didn’t have to worry for a second about the noises his client made.
“Hey,” Bucky said. “Are you done for today?”
“Yeah, Melinda just left.”
She hadn’t wanted to actually meet Bucky, saying Steve had been kind enough to schedule a session for her despite the fact that his boyfriend was staying with him for the week. Steve suspected she also didn’t want a stranger bursting the bubble of her afterglow, and she was well within her rights.
Steve climbed into the bed and snuggled against Bucky, heaving a great sigh. “God, I’m wiped.”
“I can see that.”
He sounded so fond. Steve wanted to cling to him and never let go. To know that Bucky was waiting in his tiny bedroom had somehow colored his entire scene with May, making him more tender even as he ran the blade along her skin.
“M’ glad you’re here,” he mumbled into Bucky’s side. “You didn’t wait too long?”
“You kidding? I’m not even done rewatching Pacific Rim.”
“Hope I don’t smell like blood.”
“Stop fretting, you idiot.” Bucky kissed the top of his head, then brought Steve close to him, wrapping his metal arm around him. It felt cool and smooth against his skin. “You wanna finish the movie with me?”
“Nah.” Steve settled more comfortably. “Just want a nap.”
“You go ahead, pal.” Bucky put his headphones back on one-handed. Soon enough, Steve could hear the tiny whisper coming from them. He closed his eyes and let his body relax against Bucky’s side, listening to the slow beat of his heart.
*
“So,” Natasha said. “How’s it going with my dumb roommate?”
Steve felt himself begin to stupidly smile and wished his emotions didn’t show so easily on his face. He looked down at his beer—he’d started drinking the stuff years ago, in a misguided attempt to feel more virile, even though he hated it at the time. Now he knew better, but the taste had grown on him after all.
“You can relax about that, Nat,” he said. “We got together, like, three months ago. And he’s… he’s so great.”
“He must have been,” Natasha said, ominously tapping at the rim of her vodka glass. “One hundred bucks per session, was it?”
Steve felt himself flush crimson. Christ. He’d hoped she’d never find out.
“He—he told you?” he said, trying to sound casual and failing miserably.
“Yesterday. In passing.” Icicles were hanging from her words. “Even complained about how you’d started out at fifty.”
Steve cleared his throat, though it didn’t really help how hoarse he sounded. “I—I haven’t done anything wrong, you know.”
“Fifty fucking bucks, Steve? Your lowest fee is two hundred an hour!”
“I liked him, alright?” he said defensively. “I saw him and I just—but he wanted to pay, and he specifically said he wasn’t open to dating. So yeah, that was my compromise, and it turned out fine.”
“Dumb luck. I knew you hadn’t been treating him like a normal client, but if I’d realized—”
“That’s just it, he wasn’t. He was a friend. Your friend. I don’t even take new clients anymore, anyway.”
She frowned. “What? You don’t?”
“I have enough regulars.”
“But you could still have more. I know your schedule is far from being full—”
“Yeah, but I have enough,” he insisted. “And it was a lot of stress and a lot of organization. So now that I’ve secured a clientele, I seriously don’t want more.”
“Then why agree to meet Bucky?”
“As a favor to you.” Steve looked down again. “And you said you trusted him, so yeah, I played it loose. Was I wrong to take your word for it?”
She rubbed her temples in slow circles. “You’ll be the death of me, Rogers.”
“And you’re overreacting. I can get by on my own.”
“We can only hope.” She looked at him. “Seriously, don’t be so reckless again.”
“One and only time.” He smiled. “It was Bucky.”
“Spare me,” she mumbled.
But he could tell she wasn’t angry at him anymore. He meant everything he’d said, anyway. From the very beginning, he’d had a hard time considering Bucky as an actual client. Since the guy was a friend’s friend, not to mention trying to get back on his feet after a serious accident, Steve had had half a mind to offer free sessions anyway. But Bucky had been so dead set on distance.
“It turned out fine,” Steve repeated. Sometimes it still surprised him, that he could have been so lucky.
“Yeah, yeah, whatever. I’m done talking about your stupidity for today.” Natasha exhaled deeply, then finished her drink in one go. “I have to go get a new whip, are you coming with me?”
“Sure,” he said, relieved to be changing the subject. “What kind?”
“Braided leather. My old one was falling to pieces.”
“Oh, a classic. Is it for Clint?”
She shuddered. “Absolutely not. He’d run for the hills.”
Steve grinned. “So are you guys dating?”
Her face pulled into a frown. “You know, I'm not even sure. He’s very vanilla. And he..." Her voice trailed off. "Never mind, that's between us."
Steve was curious but didn't want to pry. Natasha was a very private person and from what Bucky had told him, Clint had secrets of his own.
"Also, he’s kind of an idiot," Natasha went on before giving him a rare smile. “The kind I like, though.”
“I guess it’ll take some adjustments.”
“Probably,” she said, thoughtful. “But maybe that’s not so bad, you know? At least I know he’s not after me just to get his fix. It’s getting old, beating off subs with a stick.”
“Yeah, especially since they love it.”
“I walked right into that one,” she mumbled.
*
Steve loved getting ready for a scene.
It was a bit like meditation. Every step of his ritual got him closer to the state of mind he sought. Tidying up the dungeon came first—he vacuumed the place, made sure the kitchen and bathroom were pristine, and put away all personal items. He did it often enough that it didn’t take him more than twenty minutes. After that he took a shower, and then changed into his black clothes. He had a little stash of them just for that, tank tops and comfortable pants. While he wasn’t a fetishist like Nat, he did enjoy the discreet sense of authority black clothing conveyed. Also, it didn’t stain as easy.
Then he just walked around the place daydreaming about what he was going to do to Bucky.
It was a pleasure all on its own, picking a fantasy to make come true. Steve had lots of fantasies, and he’d been ashamed of them for a long time. He got such a rush from taking power and inflicting pain. It was, like, the definition of a comic book villain—and it always made him feel like such a hypocrite when he tried to stand up for what was right in his everyday life. Sometimes he thought subs had it easier; they didn’t hurt anyone, even in their dreams.
But now he was more or less okay with himself. He had met a lot of different people who wanted a lot of different things from him, and realized that true dominance was just another form of service—like when he tailored a scene for May, keeping in mind all the bits she liked. Here again, he privately thought the subs had it easier; all they had to do was let him work them over, taking care only to safeword if needed. But Steve had to take care of everything. Was the floor too hard on their knees? Would the tie cut their blood flow? Were they still in the right mindset? Had he checked up on them enough? Was this whip too much for them? Were they close to their limit?
It was a micromanaging nightmare—unless you loved micromanaging. And Steve needed to be in control so much it hurt him sometimes.
In his dungeon, everything was up to him. People came to him with the express purpose of submitting to his scenes. And what he loved most was to prove worthy of that trust. Everything was up to him, and that was fine. He could handle it. He might be small and skinny, but for that, he was strong enough.
And he had Bucky now. Sometimes he still couldn’t wrap his head around it. Bucky was a fucking dream of a sub, two hundred pounds of muscle that would just fold in Steve’s hands. He went so deep every time. He felt everything so intensely. It was a delight to do just about anything to him. So receptive, so expressive, so pliant and so eager. Most of the time Steve just felt baffled, because—what had he done to deserve this, really?
It was all he could do to make sure Bucky was always safe with him. And to see how far they could go together.
There was a knock on the door and Steve took a deep breath, rolling his shoulders back. It was like the last moment before going on stage. He rubbed his bare feet on the wooden floor, then went to open the door.
Bucky was there, flushed from outside, already taking off his leather gloves.
“Hey,” he grinned, eyes crinkling, and he was so goddamn pretty Steve almost had the wind knocked out of him.
“Hi,” he said, reaching up for a kiss.
Bucky wrapped his arms around Steve’s waist, still smiling against his mouth. “S’good to see you.”
They stayed on the threshold for way too long, until Steve finally remembered he had neighbors and pulled him in to close the door. Bucky shrugged off his jacket.
“I came straight from work, I’m soaked in sweat. Is it alright if I use your shower?”
“Sure.”
“Do I get dressed again after?” Bucky asked with a lopsided smile.
Steve grinned back. “Maybe not.”
Bucky walked excitedly towards the bathroom. Steve was left smiling like an idiot, and resumed his slow wandering around the room. He still didn’t have a precise plan in mind. Maybe not something too complicated. But still something painful. Bucky decidedly enjoyed pain, and Steve loved hurting him so much. It was almost second nature between them now, to plant his nails into his sides when they hugged, or to absentmindedly scratch the inside of his palm while they held hands.
Steve had gotten lost in daydreaming again when a faint noise made him turn; Bucky was there, smiling a bit shyly, gloriously naked. He shaved on the regular now, and his body was still as mind-blowing as the first time Steve had seen him, thick with rippling muscle in hard planes and strong lines. Part of Steve wanted to draw him. Most of him wanted to eat him alive.
“C’mere,” he said quietly.
Bucky obeyed and let himself be pulled into another kiss. He was pliant, obviously ready to follow Steve wherever he’d want to go. Steve loved having him naked against his own clothed body; it cemented his own mindset. He was in charge of Bucky. He was going to take everything he had to give.
Without breaking the kiss, Steve ran up his hands up Bucky’s bare sides, until he could look for the pressure points between his shoulder blades. There were twin sweet spots there, that hurt like fuck if you knew to press on them. He moved his fingers, pressing here and there, and Bucky stayed still, knowing exactly what he was after.
Then Steve felt it roll under his fingers—and Bucky took a deeper breath, tensing.
“Right there?” Steve grinned and pressed harder, drawing a groan out of him. “Right there, are you sure?”
He wrapped his other hand Bucky’s nape, making him lean down further—enough that Steve could stand up on his tiptoes and bite him, in that thick muscle between neck and shoulder. Bucky let out a noise when Steve bit him harder, digging into his back with one hand, winding the other in Bucky’s long hair, pulling, hurting him everywhere he touched him. Bucky gasped and panted, but only in the way that meant he loved it all—he kept getting better at communicating, and Steve kept getting better at spotting the discordant notes that meant something wasn’t working. Sometimes it was little things, Bucky frowning or freezing up, when something began to feel wrong though he hadn’t decided to speak up yet. And when he did, there was no mistaking it; his voice lost its high-pitched desperation to drop down into a more level-headed register—wait, my spine won’t let you do that or eh, that doesn’t feel so great or hold on, fuck, I gotta go to the bathroom.
Steve pulled harder at his hair, forced him to get down on his knees. Then he made him look up, smiling down at him, a bit breathless himself.
“I wanna cuff you.”
“I’m—on board with that,” Bucky exhaled.
Steve kissed him again. “I wanna spank you.”
“I am extremely fucking on board with that, fuck.” Bucky let himself be kissed again. “Please.”
Steve could see it now—Bucky twisting in his lap, hands bound, ass cheeks red from abuse. The thought seemed to sharpen his perception, narrowing it into a single-minded focus. He couldn’t wait to see him twitch, to listen to the noises he’d make, to watch him closely so he wouldn’t miss a thing. It was different every time. It was amazing every time.
“Okay, stay put.” Steve left him there to go rummage in his drawers. He knew exactly where everything was, and he found the cuffs at once; but then another thought struck him, and he dug for what he needed. He loved last-minute inspiration. It was all so fucking fun. It was what some people couldn’t understand, how exciting it was, how it was the best goddamn game in the world.
Bucky raised his eyebrows when he saw what Steve had brought. “That a collar?”
“Yup. You’ll see—just hold your chin up…”
Steve buckled it around his neck, then knelt down with a grin. He cuffed Bucky’s wrists one after the other, but didn’t clip them together; instead he fastened them to the D-rings on either side of the collar.
“Oh,” Bucky said. “Ok—wow...”
Steve sat on the floor to watch him exploring his newly limited range of movement. The padded black leather looked amazing on him as always, and Steve loved the no-nonsense sturdiness of the steel rings. There was no way Bucky could free himself.
He pulled at the cuffs, tried to find a comfortable way to let his hands hang, but there wasn’t any. In the end he laced his fingers behind his neck and shot Steve a reproachful look.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“A lot,” Steve confirmed with a grin. He got up and went back to his drawers to get out a paddle, slapping it against his own black-clad thigh once or twice. Bare-handed spanking was fun, but he could make paddling last much longer. “Padded leather too. You’ll have the matching set.”
Bucky swallowed, with an obvious mix of eagerness and nerves. Steve generally loved to watch his subs brace for punishment, and Bucky made it even more fascinating—Steve had noticed that while Bucky wasn’t very expressive in public, his features got incredibly mobile whenever he was subbing. Kind of Steve’s opposite. Which made sort of sense.
“Okay.” Steve sat on the couch. “C’mon, across my lap.”
Bucky hesitated.
“That alright?” Steve asked quietly. “We can do it differently.” He didn’t know much about Bucky’s childhood, after all.
But Bucky wrinkled his nose. “Just tryna figure out how to do it with my hands up like this.”
Steve grinned and sat back again. “Well, that’s gonna be fun to watch for sure.”
In the end, it wasn’t too difficult, though Bucky did slip when it was time to fully lie down across Steve’s lap. Steve helped him get in position, scratching red lines down his sides when he was done. Bucky’s breathing had gotten deeper already, and though it didn’t look like he’d get very aroused today, he wasn’t all soft either. He kept rolling his hips under the pretense of getting more comfortable.
Steve grabbed one of his ass cheeks and squeezed, as hard as he could. Bucky exhaled and shifted his hips again. Lying down like this, Steve couldn’t see the look on his face; but he could see his hands twitching on the cushions, steel rings clinking as he kept trying to pull them away, only to remember they were bound close to his neck. And of course his muscled back was on glorious display.
I have to work out so my prosthetic won’t bend my spine outta shape, he’d told Steve one day. It made Steve a little sad, to know that he was sculpting his body out of medical necessity and not just pleasure. But Bucky also liked how he looked, and Steve never got tired of it. His gaze lingered on Bucky’s bare ass, round and firm under his hand. God, he wanted to bite it.
And, well, he could.
It was weirdly satisfying—and Bucky’s startled noise made it even better. Steve made sure he’d have a good bite mark, biting hard. Bucky shifted and twitched, gripping the couch in despair—another great perk to this position: their bodies were flush together, and Steve would get to feel his every jerk of pain.
When Steve finally stopped and released him, Bucky exhaled, then scoffed with laughter. Steve raised an eyebrow. “What is it?”
“Bite my ass,” Bucky said, smirking into the cushions.
“That’s funny.” Steve dug his finger nails into the bite marks, making him scrabble at the cushions in pain. “Go ahead, laugh some more.”
“Jesusfuckingfuck—” Bucky let out a lungful of air when Steve relented, then twisted to try and see his ass, though of course the cuffs prevented it. “Did you bite me bloody?”
“Of course not.”
“Feels like it,” Bucky mumbled.
“Really?” Steve found the red, tender marks with his nails again, grinning wide at his writhing. “Oh yeah, it does look like it hurt.”
He slapped Bucky’s ass hard with his hand, leaving an imprint for a few seconds. Then he took the paddle and tapped it on top of Bucky’s thighs.
“Alright, let’s get to the main event.”
Bucky snorted, but visibly and consciously relaxed his own body in prevision of the blows to come. Steve reached down to grab Bucky’s metal hand, the one closest to him. He liked holding hands during scenes. When it hurt a lot, Bucky held him so tightly, like it was the only thing carrying him through the pain.
Steve brought the paddle down sharply on his ass—the solid thwack was very satisfying. Bucky took the blow with a start, but didn’t make a sound.
Steve did it again, slapping him harder every time, watching the shocks travel across his body. He alternated every once in a while so both of his ass cheeks would turn a nice deep red.
“Fuck,” Bucky breathed, eyes closed. He arched his back. “It feels so fucking good.”
Steve brought it down again, in a sharp slap of leather; Bucky made a noise that wasn’t pained at all.
“So good,” he exhaled again.
“Really?” Steve wasn’t a masochist at all. He couldn’t quite figure out how Bucky felt right now. “Different from the flogger?”
“Yeah—no, not—I don’t know, jus’—” Bucky already had trouble stringing his words together, slurring the end of his sentences. “S’ pain, but it’s just there, it goes deep, it’s—perfect, I dunno.”
Steve kissed his neck, squeezed their laced fingers, then set to work again. After another five minutes of fairly harsh paddling, it became obvious that while Bucky was in pain, it was one he didn’t have any trouble sustaining. Even when Steve upped the pace, striking harder, Bucky tensed and twitched and shifted his weight on top of Steve’s thighs, but on every break he panted out More, please, Steve, please. Steve loved feeling like he was giving people something they wanted, something they needed, and Bucky was literally begging for it now.
Feeling like there had been enough build-up, Steve really whacked Bucky with the paddle—and held back a grin of delight when Bucky’s body seized up to contain a scream of pain. To literally feel his efforts to stay still, doing his best to submit—it all went to Steve’s head, making his vision flare in brighter color like he had a fever, like he was fighting in a back alley and winning, feeling so powerful it could have become ugly, except it wasn’t him against Bucky; it was him with Bucky, both of them pushing the envelope together.
“That one hurt, huh.” Steve ran his fingers through Bucky’s hair while he caught his breath. “Do you think you can take something like that again? Or even harder?”
“Fuck.” Bucky tried to prop himself up on his elbows, but his hands were clipped too close for it. “Fuck,” he repeated in a breathy laugh, then, “Yeah. Yeah. I can do it.”
“Really?” Steve said, hearing his own excitement in his voice. That would be a sight.
“Yeah.”
“Okay.” He took Bucky’s hand again, felt him grip tight in anticipation. “Take a deep breath.”
He raised up his paddle, took a second to aim right—he didn’t want to risk hitting Bucky’s coccyx, especially with that kind of strength—then brought it down with full force, right on the underside of his raised ass.
Bucky’s entire body buckled—it was beautiful, muscles standing out under the skin, spine arching, legs tensing—and his scream came out as a laugh again, breathless and gasping. Steve huffed in echo.
“Why are you laughing?”
“I don’t know. Fuck,” Bucky said yet again, and his breath was hitching as if in sobs, except it was still laughter, almost soundless. “Why am I—why am I crying some other times? I don’t know, just—”
Steve hit him again, and again, and again, and Bucky arched and laughed some more, breathless and hysterical, in convulsive gasps mingled with attempts to manage his pain.
“God,” he exhaled, “oh God.” When Steve whacked him again, he was done laughing, just tensed and pushed his heels against the armrest, gripping the cushions tight. “Fucking fuck!”
Steve put down the paddle and unclipped Bucky’s metal hand from his collar. “Bucky, get on all fours for a second. Well, all three.”
Bucky obeyed, shaking a bit.
“Okay, stretch out and open that drawer for me.”
He did, awkwardly so, hindered by his other hand still bound close. In the drawer was a collection of ball-gags.
“The bubblegum pink. Yeah, that one.” Steve grabbed it, the smiled at him. “You talk too much, Buck, I can’t focus.”
“I’m just—ah—” Bucky opened his mouth to accommodate the gag, which was sizeable. Steve buckled it, then pressed on the back of his head to make him come back to his original position. He took care to clip his metal hand to the collar again.
Bucky let out a muffled sound, hips rolling once more. He loved gags, and to be silenced because Steve found him too noisy was exactly the kind of humiliation that would get to him. Steve loved to see just how much he was affected by some things. It was what gave him power: not what he dished out, but how Bucky took it.
“Snap your fingers if something’s wrong.”
Bucky nodded, keeping still and tense and shivering, then buckling when the paddling started again. Steve lost himself to it this time, enjoying the gorgeous shift of Bucky’s back muscles, the gleam of sweat on his body, the way he lost his breath, and the muffled sounds he made, sometimes pleading pitifully through the gag, earning himself a break when Steve felt like it.
He started to react more violently after a while, arching his entire body, visibly forcing himself to stay still for a couple blows until a particularly harsh one made him lose his focus, thrashing with more abandon than before, kicking the armrest behind him and burying his face in the cushion. When Steve paused, Bucky couldn’t help tensing this time, though he must know it would only hurt more when the built-up blow finally came. Steve teased him with little taps for a minute, grinning in anticipation, then went for the hard hit—
And Bucky jerked his human hand so suddenly that the cuff broke clean off the collar. He was startled into stillness, like someone who’s missed a step. After he’d drawn himself up on shaky elbows to blink at his cuffed wrist, he shot a worried look at Steve.
“Shit,” Steve said, laughing. “Don’t worry about it. It happens.” He pressed a kiss to Bucky’s temple. “Just keep your hand there till we’re done.”
Bucky’s eyes crinkled with mirth; he gave a nod then lay his head back down, wiggling his ass in an invitation to keep going. Steve grinned and made him regret it.
*
By the time Steve decided to stop, Bucky was disheveled and breathing very deeply, eyes glazed over, hair sticking with sweat. He hadn’t asked for it yet, hadn’t even cried today, but it was obvious he was getting close to his limit, and Steve himself was aching a bit. Besides, as fucking gorgeous as the gag was stretching Bucky’s lips, it didn’t make it easy to fine-tune their scene. Better play it safe.
Bucky’s ass was crimson, and Steve had enough experience to know it’d bruise black and purple. He’d really worked him over today.
“Bucky?” he asked softly.
They were still holding hands; Bucky gave him a reassuring squeeze. Steve knew that he wouldn’t be able to talk even with his mouth free. After setting the paddle aside, Steve took off the gag. Bucky’s lips were slick with drool, something that usually embarrassed him a lot, but he was so far gone he didn’t seem to care. His eyes were closed, his breathing incredibly deep and slow. Steve combed a wild lock of dark hair away from Bucky’s flushed cheek, then unbuckled the cuffs and collar with gentle moves.
He held up the broken cuff for inspection; the D-ring had been completely ripped from the leather. Apparently Bucky was just that strong.
“That’s so fucking hot,” Steve mumbled.
Bucky’s lips curled up, though he didn’t speak or open his eyes. He did smile wider when Steve leaned down to kiss him.
“Yeah? That making you laugh? I’m gonna find some you can’t break, pal.”
“Can’t wait,” Bucky managed to slur out. He drew himself up with imprecise movements, until he could cuddle up to Steve’s side and bury his face into his neck. “Love you.”
Steve’s heart felt like it was too big for his chest.
“Me too, Buck.” He was going to say it again later, properly, when they weren’t reeling. For now he just held him tight and pressed his face to his dark, damp hair. “Me too.”
*
Steve allowed himself to doze for five minutes, thinking of nothing but Bucky’s warm weight against him. Then he blinked his eyes open and looked around the room, starting up on his checklist.
The highest priority was Bucky, of course—and for now he seemed fine, jacked up on endorphins, riding his high in the safety of Steve’s arms. He hadn’t gotten hard in the end, left no mess to clean up in Steve’s lap. The couch cushions were probably good to go till laundry day. As for the paddle, cuffs and collar, they were just a bit sticky with sweat, but Steve always took care of his leathers regardless. It had been a great scene all in all, simple but with an amazing payoff, and not much clean-up.
But Steve could only truly relax after he debriefed with Bucky and heard him state explicitly that he’d enjoyed himself the whole time. Did people generally debrief after sex? Steve didn’t know many vanilla folks, so he had no idea. He sort of hoped they did. It was so dreadfully easy to mistake passivity for enjoyment.
Lost in thought, he was brought back to reality by Bucky shifting against him, nuzzling at his neck.
“Hey.” Steve kissed the side of his face. “Are you back?”
“Mmyeah.” Bucky smiled, eyes closed. He was still putty in Steve's arms. “Was swimming away.”
“You mean flying?”
“That too.” He yawned. “Can I sleep here tonight?”
“You’re here for the week,” Steve reminded him.
“Oh right,” Bucky said happily. “Awesome.”
“Do you wanna go to bed now? Wait for me there while I tidy up?”
“Hmm. Yes,” Bucky decided. He took a deep breath, then moved away from Steve with a great effort. He gave him a lazy, happy smile, then padded out of the room.
Steve sat there for a minute, then got up, stretched, and set to clean his leathers—cuffs, collar and paddle. When he was done he went into the bathroom to wash his hands, pulled down his pants to throw them in the hamper, changed into a clean t-shirt and walked down the hallway to his bedroom.
Bucky was a happy lump under the comforter. He shifted by a fraction to acknowledge Steve’s presence when he came in.
“Did you drink some water?” Steve asked, closing the door.
A hand poked out and pointed at the water bottle on the nightstand. Steve raised an eyebrow.
“It’s full, Buck.”
Bucky’s face emerged, smiling. “Refilled it for you.”
Steve didn’t even know what to say, so he took the bottle and drank half in three long gulps. They’d eaten beforehand, not much, but enough. Tomorrow they could laze around until it was time for a big breakfast. Okay—he was almost at the end of his checklist.
“Debrief,” Steve requested softly, sitting cross-legged on the bed.
Bucky hummed. “Was all great. Just the broken cuff, but you said that was fine.” He hid an embarrassed smile in his pillow. “And, uh—wasn’t how I’d planned to say I love you for the first time, but it just came out.”
Steve shook his head, smiling like a fool.
“You?” Bucky asked.
“What you said,” Steve managed. “All great.”
“Neat, good talk, great debrief.” Bucky opened the covers. “Now get in here.”
Steve crawled underneath and let Bucky pull him into his arms. Bucky had gone to bed still completely naked, which Steve appreciated a lot. He slipped a hand down to his ass and found it burning hot, which made them both huff a laugh.
Steve took a deep breath, then let it out. He could feel his body begin to relax. And he could relax now, he could breathe. Everything was checked, everything was fine, he’d done well. The deep satisfaction was beginning to set in.
Bucky rolled them both under the covers, until Steve was snug in his embrace, so comfy and so warm.
“Night, Stevie,” Bucky murmured.
“I love you,” Steve said quietly.
He’d never said it to anyone before. It almost scared him, how much of his life revolved around Bucky now, how much he’d miss him if he left. But he supposed that was what happened to people, when they decided to spend the rest of their lives together. That was how it felt. That was love for you.
