Archive of Our Own

1.

1939

The one thing Steve loves more than Bucky’s mouth is his nipples. Growing up, it’d always been a constant series of the same jokes from all of his best guy’s friends – cold in here, Buck? You could cut glass with those things. Oh rats, the radio signal is down! It’s fine, just tweak Barnes’s nips until it comes back – that usually works. Steve would sometimes yank on his chain, too, to avoid suspicion. But the truth was, Steve loved how hard and perky Bucky’s nipples always seemed to be. He still does; he’s crazy about them.

They’re pure perfection in every way: areolas near perfect circles, lying flat against his pecks – except for those little nipples of his, which always seem to be pebbled up as if having been pinched all day. (The thought used to get Steve off less than a minute after getting his hand on himself… because if he wasn’t picturing his own fingers doing the pinching, he found he also got off for some perverted reason on imagining Bucky writhing and moaning on some inanimate object while big and calloused fingers of some complete stranger playing with him until the brunet was delirious.) They’re the absolute prettiest shade of pink, Steve’s sure of it - even if his ailments prevent him from being able to see their actual colour.

The best part about it all is: Bucky is just as crazy about having them touched as Steve is with the desire to touch them.

Steve had discovered Bucky’s private kink during the course of their friendship – long before they’d even decided to move in together. When Bucky would regale him with stories of his sexual conquests with the dames, Steve couldn’t overlook the way that Bucky would always throw in little comments; how good it felt when what’s-her-face pinched his nipple with her teeth while kissing her way down to his prick, or how whenever he seemed to have his strongest orgasms, it’d be in a story in which Bucky had those sensitive little buds played with or tweaked just when he was about to come.

Once they moved in together, that suspicion was confirmed, to say the least. Though Bucky would admit everything dirty secret to him under the sun, he couldn’t seem to bring himself to voice to Steve this particular fetish; almost as if he were ashamed, or perhaps worried that Steve would look at him with disgust if he ever found out. Little did he know that every time Steve heard him through the paper-thin wall that separated their rooms, he could hear the sound of Bucky being ridden or fucking into some pretty little doll and the blond listened for the way his best friend would groan quick snippets of pleas – that’s right, baby doll… fuck, yeah, pinch my nipples, baby… auuuhhh, Christ Almighty, suck ‘em… fuck, m’gonna come…

And then he always would – and Steve would always be right there with him from the tiny cot in his substantially lonelier bedroom.

Bucky loves having his nipples played with, and every time they indulge in it, Steve falls a little more in love with his best friend. The first time they could no longer avoid the elephant in the room had been the first time they’d kissed and the first time they’d had the guts to finally tell the other how they felt. Because Bucky had just come back from taking a shower, and as he’d strode through the apartment with his towel slung low around his hips, his chest had been on a proud display and Steve’s eyes had been unable to break their gaze from the two perfect little points on his pecks.

Somehow, that had led to talking and talking had led to questionable decision-making – depending on where you were standing – and suddenly Steve, who had been drawing, was straddling Bucky on the floor and running his eraser back and forth across Bucky’s chest, causing the boy lying beneath him to shudder and choke on his moans every time it would glide over one of his nipples. When Steve had switched to his actual pencil and lightly traced invisible lines across Bucky’s areolas, his best friend had grabbed Steve’s hips in his hands and suddenly breathed, “I’m coming, Steve, oh shit, m’about to come--”

And so Steve had pressed the pointed tip to Bucky’s right nipple and scratched down it with just the tiniest bit of pressure, and sure enough, Bucky had thrown his head back instantly and dirtied up the towel around his waist with a long and heavy orgasm.

Bucky loves having his nipples played with, and luckily for him, Steve is only more than happy to oblige. His favourite nights are the ones where they can get tangled up in the flimsy blankets on their cots and lose themselves for just an hour or two; swallowing down each other’s sounds and ensuring that even if the rest of the world can never find out, for a moment in time, nothing exists but each other.

Bucky’s been around the block more than anyone else Steve’s ever known, and yet his body is so responsive that he reacts almost virginally to any way Steve touches him; gets his hands on him and uses those long, artistic fingers to pinch and twist and squeeze until he’s begging for Steve to fuck him. Sometimes, it gets Bucky so riled up that he growls his desire to bend Steve over and pound into the blond’s tight little ass himself. Steve wishes he could feel what that would be like, but with his asthma and almost constant state of sickness, Bucky only ever allows Steve to top him. Anything else he fears would be too strenuous.  

But the best nights are when Steve chooses not to use his hands at all. Bucky will squirm beneath him, fingers lost in golden hair and clenching hard, as he tries to convince Steve with begging, sweet talking, threats, you name it, to just put his hands on him already. On those nights, Steve never listens; just chuckles against his skin and defies his lover, using no more than just his mouth. Sometimes, just to be a shit, he’ll make Bucky watch while Steve wraps his hands behind his back and holds onto his wrists, locking them there – guaranteeing Bucky, nothing you say will get me to use these tonight… If you wanna come, it’s going to be my way or no way at all.

‘Cause no one can say that Steve Rogers isn’t a determined little fucker. When he sets his mind on something, especially if it involves Bucky Barnes, he’ll stop at nothing until he gets what he wants. So all he’ll do is lave at those pink areolas with his tongue; using the tip to trace wet circles like the born artist that he is. He’ll suck on them as though determined to drink up Bucky’s entire soul while he does, and when he bites down – holds the erect nipple between his teeth and darts his tongue against it like a lizard’s – there’s nothing weak or good-mannered about Steve Rogers anymore… and no matter how much he complains, Bucky fucking loves it.

“Ah God, baby, baby doll,” he’ll pant. He bends and writhes in ways that make Steve have to struggle to stay on top of him, but Steve never lets it disrupt his rhythm or force his mouth to detach from that gorgeous masterpiece of a chest. And though it may sometimes jar him around and make him have to hold himself straight up by his arms to keep from falling over, Steve doesn’t think there’s a sweeter sight than the way his best friend Bucky arches.

“Steve… oh, fuck… Yeah, fucking love when you suck on my tits – shit!” he’ll ramble, long past the point of listening to or filtering himself.“Oww!… Mmm…” He always moans like a whore when Steve bites down on him hard enough to almost have him bleeding; yelps brokenly in a pitch far higher than his own and then gets so loud that Steve has to shove his hand down over his mouth to shut him up.

Ultimately, Steve knows that it’s the pain that gets him off best. So when he takes note of all the signs – the feel of that rock hard erection pressing up against his belly, or the sight of how the tip drools with precome like a weak, constant leaky faucet, or the changes in Bucky’s breathing right before he’s about to lose it – Steve keeps his hands entirely to himself and does nothing but use his teeth to make Bucky come.

“Steve… Steve… Oh baby, baby, fuck, yeah… m’so close, m’right there, please… just…”

And then Steve will scrape his top teeth roughly over one of those swollen buds and Bucky’s always a goner; grabs Steve’s hair so painfully that the blond can’t help but moan against his skin and hiss at the sting as he feels Bucky go tense and then coat their bellies with hot, sticky climax.

Of course, Bucky can come without having them touched, too. But when Steve sees how flushed he is afterwards – how wrecked – as he struggles to stabilize his breathing… When Bucky looks at him from under drooped lids, lips parted, and sweat misting his brow and top lip… When he lets out the sweetest-sounding sigh before pulling Steve down by the back of the neck to crush their lips together in a burning, breathless kiss that always leaves Steve feeling close to an asthma attack in the best way possible…

Steve knows Bucky can come without having his nipples touched and played with, but honestly, where would be the fun in that?

--

2015

“Oh please, please, oh fuck please, Steve… I’m so close, fuck, m’so fucking close… Touch me, finger me, fuck me - something! Please… I can’t stand it, Steve, ahhhh Christ… Please!”

Steve shuts him up by grabbing a fistful of Bucky’s long hair and yanking his head back into the pillow. The action forces a loud gasp from the brunet’s mouth; smirking delightfully, Steve swoops down and takes advantage of the open space by greedily filling it with his tongue. Beneath his large, muscular body, Bucky struggles to move and arches his back just as prettily as he used to – only now, he needs both wrists (flesh and metal alike) secured to either side of the headboard by some of Tony Stark’s most powerfully-made handcuffs in order to stop him from simply grabbing Steve and forcing the blond to give him what he wants.

Because Steve knows that even decades later – even after having survived torture and wipes and Hydra and Alexander Pierce and that name that’d defined and enslaved him for so long – Bucky’s greatest weakness is still having his sensitive nipples touched. And no matter how hard he might beg for more, Steve knows from experience that the payoff is almost that much greater when he forces Bucky to do things his way. He remembers, he knows this – and Bucky trusts him because sometimes, his mind doesn’t recall these sorts of things as well.

But his body does. His body remembers everything the second Steve touches him. So he lets his wrists be bound – shackles only capable of releasing him by fingerprint recognition from either Steve’s or Bucky’s hands – and he doesn’t panic when he begs and complains and tries to barter with Steve in all the ways he used to (even when he knows Steve will just keep ignoring him)… Because if anyone knows his body better than even he does, it’s Steve. And Steve always knows exactly how to make him fall apart.

It’s why he’ll thrash his head from side to side while he breathes out hoarse moans until he’s actually crying from the amount of pleasure surging through his body – and they no longer have to be quiet, and Steve never wants him to be. It’s why he shouts his pleas for Steve to use the clothes-pin style nipple clamps on him, and cries out Steve’s name as though the man were god himself when the blond finally obliges.

And Steve watches the way the blood flow gets trapped in that toy – the way Bucky’s already pert nipples get even harder and are forced all the more erect as they’re kept in that constant pinch – and watches how fucked out Bucky’s face gets at the addictive pain, so close to release without Steve even having to touch him… And he remembers, right as rain, why he’d always been so in love with those beautiful little things since he was old enough to want.

God bless the fucking future for giving Steve anything he could ever need to help get Bucky drooling.

All it ever takes is for Steve to rhythmically adjust the pressure of the nipple clamps, simulating a biting sensation, for tears to cling to the thick, long length of Bucky’s lashes. He’s such a breathtaking shade of red when his body is flushed. And though he’s a lethal, trained killer who at one point never did anything except glare down each and every Avenger for days on end, no one can make him cry out and scream and groan like Steve can. With Steve, Bucky’s always been able to strip away everything until there’s nothing left but the boy from Brooklyn.

He always sobs out his lover’s name, his Steve, when he’s hurdled over the edge – usually by the blond tightening the nipple clamps abruptly, forcing a sharp jolt to Bucky’s system, at the same moment that he claims one of those bloodshot buds and laps at it with his tongue. Bucky still comes as sweetly as he did in 1939, and Steve can’t help but fall a little bit more in love with him.     

2.

1944

Bucky always has the worst ideas when he’s bored – but the worst part is that when that idea involves having Captain America shoved up against a tree so he can suck his cock before it’s Dugan’s turn on watch, Steve’s morals conveniently abandon him and he’s left never fully knowing whether it’s wrong that he’s letting it happen, or wrong for refusing to put a stop to it.

Since they’d started horsing around, Bucky’s always been crazy about getting his mouth on Steve’s cock, but after he’d gotten the serum… well. Steve knows that everything about his body grew and got larger, and his dick had been no exception. He’d almost been embarrassed by how big it’d gotten. In what could only be described as one of the most mortifying moments of his life, Bucky had actually forced Steve to stay still while he’d measured it, and though Steve was absolutely dying from embarrassment, he couldn’t miss the way Bucky had pumped his fist in the air with a shit-eating grin and nearly shouted, “Ten and a half inches! You could bludgeon a guy with this thing, Steve!”

Of course, they had been in the safety of Steve’s own Captain’s Quarters. But even though the door was closed, no one around there seemed to know how to knock, so Steve had tried to put an end to things before they’d even begun. He shushed Bucky, told him to keep his voice down, and then shook his head and tried to will his cheeks to return to a normal colour as he shoved his ‘monster dick’ (thanks, Buck) back into his pants.

Bucky had had other plans; Steve should’ve prepared himself for as much. He merely waltzed over to the door and locked the deadbolt before turning and letting his head tip back against it. It took Steve all of a minute with his newly heightened senses to realize that Bucky was slowly touching himself from over his pants.

“I can only imagine how good that’d feel on my tongue,” he’d murmured, low and quiet but purposely as seductive as he always knew how to be. Staring Steve right in the eyes, Bucky had slowly slid down the door until he landed on his knees and assumed the position. “Bet you’d taste fuckin’ good, too,” he’d added. “C’mon Stevie, baby doll, you’re killing me – can’t know my baby doll has a dick that fucking enormous now and won’t even stuff my mouth with it. You know I can make it so good for you; won’t make a sound, I promise – Scout’s honour.”

“You were never a Boy Scout,” Steve had mumbled, but he was already halfway across the small space as he spoke; pants still undone and the flushed tip of his cock poking out from the top of his underwear.

Bucky reached out and eyed Steve’s cock with mirth as he pulled those clothes out of the way the second he could touch his prize. “You’re right. My mouth was too filthy for that shit anyways – would’a been kicked out within the first day,” he exhaled, hot and fast, against Steve’s skin.

Steve had moaned softly and closed his eyes, head tipping back as he felt Bucky’s tongue run a stripe up to his cockhead and then flick against his slit. “You’re good at following orders, though,” he pointed out, voice strained and soft.

“Give me my orders then, Captain,” Bucky had whispered.

Tightening his fingers into brown tresses, Steve could only think fuck it as he growled under his breath, “Suck.”

It was all too impossible to resist fucking Bucky’s face until he fell apart at the seams.

Bucky’s a little smart-mouthed bastard who knows exactly the right thing to say to talk Steve into the worst stuff. But his most powerful secret weapon is the moment he stops using his mouth for talking and instead has it stuffed full of Steve’s cock. Steve doesn’t know where Bucky learned how to do all this shit, and he’s made a conscious decision not to ask, but he seems to have mastered all the tricks: he hollows out his cheeks, he swirls his tongue around the cockhead, he sucks his balls for Christ’s sake. He can press his fingers to that little spot behind his sac that makes Steve’s knees buckle unexpectedly and though he may gag, Bucky’s lips stretch tight and perfect around the thick length of Steve’s erection whenever it nudges against the back of his throat – and Bucky makes a show of taking it all, staring up at Steve smugly whenever he deep-throats him like a pro. Steve thinks he’d smirk if he could.

He likes that Bucky trusts him enough to hold his head still while he fucks in and out of his mouth when he can no longer keep control. Usually, Bucky just closes his eyes and moans whenever he’s able to breathe; getting off on the weight of that heavy dick making his jaw ache as it practically fucks his tonsils.

This time, though, whenever Steve tries to thread his fingers through the strands and run them along Bucky’s scalp, the Sergeant just pulls back and snaps lightly, “I do know how to get you off myself, Rogers.” He gives Steve a warning look, making Steve throw his hands up in surrender and chuckle out, “Okay, fine – show me how it’s done then.”

He does, and Steve fucking loves him for it. Bucky’s mouth must’ve been passed down from the Devil himself – Bucky, sent to Steve to corrupt him and make him seize with pleasure in the face of God. He is both the greatest and the worst thing to have ever happened to him – because Bucky’s just about the only thing on God’s green earth that can make Steve turn his back on his morals in favour of losing himself to Bucky’s expert touch.

Steve knows that his turn on watch is ending soon and that Dugan will be showing up any minute to relieve him. Bucky senses the impending interruption to and ups the ante. He continues to refuse Steve the right to grab onto his head, and his own fingers remain clutched into the skin of Steve’s exposed hips, but as he bobs his mouth back and forth, he sucks with more fervor and groans softly whenever his nose pushes into the wiry curls at the base of Steve’s cock. The sounds cause beautiful little sparks to explode in Steve’s balls – and he grips the trunk of the tree so tightly to refrain from touching Bucky’s face that he splits bark beneath his hands.

When he comes with a barely-audible grunt, he squeezes his eyes shut and bites his lip to keep from crying out. He snaps his hips forward – he can’t help it – and Bucky makes a choking sound before gulping him all down as he grinds into his own palm and spills inside of his pants with closed eyes, deep breaths, and a soft moan that only makes Steve’s orgasm all the more powerful.

Whenever Bucky makes him come, Steve’s certain that God’s love pales in comparison to the way Bucky Barnes feels about him.

3.

2015

Bucky feels like he’s about to burst into flames. He knows nothing but heat, and slick caresses, and fuck, Steve’s so fucking good at this… “Oh yeah, right there! Shit, fuckin’ right there, Steve – oh god, you’re so fuckin’ good, oh, you’re gonna make me come…”

He loves when he can feel the constricting metal of Stark’s cuffs keeping his wrists strapped to the headboard, but nothing beats the sight of Steve in that position instead. Sometimes, he still can’t quite believe that this is now their life – together. This is their life together… Living in Stark’s tower with the rest of the Avengers. The contrast in their lives is staggering. It’s sometimes laughable how they spend their time alternating between going on missions, fighting some of the most farfetched creatures Bucky couldn’t even come up with in his greatest daydreams, and saving the world (redeeming himself for the horrible deeds he’d carried out before)… And then, spending nights watching Disney movies with the world’s most messed up and deadliest people; arguing like children over who’s cheating at Monopoly, cooking dinners, making each other laugh and driving each other crazy. Basically, being a family. And Bucky likes that, because it’s been decades since he really had one.

The best part of their life now, though, is how easy it is to finally just be together. They have a nice place, where they never need to worry about money, or food, or sickness; they can – and do sometimes – spend nights where all they do is touch and lick and kiss and fuck until the sun rises. It’s allowed – they’re allowed to love now. And Bucky sometimes still misses his little, skinny Steve – the boy he’d fallen in love with once upon a time all those lifetimes ago – but he’d never regret something that ensured that his best guy never had to struggle to breathe again, or fall ill with the flu, or leave the world too soon while Bucky was forced to carry on without him. The fact that Steve’s body is so goddamn mouth-watering in an entirely new way since he got the serum is merely a bonus.

The greatest perk is that they can take turns topping; Bucky isn’t exclusive or picky. He loves the feeling of Steve’s big dick pounding into him until he sees stars or comes so hard that he blacks out. But at the same time, come on, Steve has a fantastic ass. It’s adorable and small and firm and a fucking tiny little bubble butt. Bucky is the first to admit without shame that he has a bit of an unhealthy addiction with touching it in any way he can. If he can cop a feel, he will, and he’ll be damned if he apologizes for it. It squeezes so tightly around his prick that pushing into him makes Bucky, for a moment, think that he can believe in god again – it’s a fucking out-of-body experience. Bucky had once tried to explain that feeling to Steve in the aftershocks of their orgasms; tried to adoringly say how when he’s thrusting into Steve’s perfect ass, no one can convince him that his best guy isn’t an angel here on earth.

At first, Steve had thought the sentiment to be sweet (even if also corny as hell) – until Bucky had suddenly snorted and added, “And then I come all over your wings and give the ceiling the finger sometimes. I make you just as bad as me, baby.”

Steve had shoved him so hard that Bucky had fallen backwards off the bed, but it’d barely phased him or put a dent in his laughter. How could Steve blame him? How could anyone blame him? Steve’s ass is prettier than any girl’s, and it tastes sweeter than any dripping cunt he’d ever plunged his tongue into.

Steve loves Bucky’s ass, too – loves biting into the firm flesh of his cheeks until he bruises like a peach; lives for the times when he can bury his tongue so deep inside of Bucky’s body that he can make Bucky spill all over himself. Bucky likes to have Steve bound to the bed frame so that he can watch him squirm while Bucky drives him crazy – impaling himself on Steve’s dick and riding him at his own pace until Steve can’t form words… Or, as in this case, so he can sit his tight hole onto Steve’s lips and roll his hips back and forth against the super soldier’s tongue until he’s either shooting his load against the headboard or opened up enough to stretch around Steve with one easy slide.

Steve groans beneath him, exhaling heavy breaths through his nose that heat the underside of Bucky’s balls. His hands clench and relax rhythmically from their shackles; Bucky watches with his hair hanging in his face and sweat dripping down his temples. He tightens his own grip on the headboard and rides Steve’s tongue harder. It stimulates his muscles and nerves – once tight and abrasive but now lax and soft as his boyfriend tongue-fucks him closer and closer to completion. Bucky can feel Steve trying to thrust his hips up into the air as his own saliva turns his face into a sloppy mess from between Bucky’s cheeks.

“I wanted your cock,” Bucky pants, tilting his head back with a groan; hair fanning along his shoulder blades before he lets it fall forward again. Steve whines from beneath him, and when Bucky glances behind him, he can see how red and angry the blond’s erection is for some relief. Bucky smirks to himself, selfishly reveling in the way his body keeps climbing higher, higher, fuck, Steve has a wicked tongue.

“But you can make me come like this, can’t you?” he continues. Steve huffs in protest but he also doesn’t stop licking at him, as if the competitive part of his nature indeed feels as though he has something to prove. Bucky reaches behind with the metal hand and spreads himself wider.

“Put it in me, put it in me Steve, ah – ohhh, fuck, yeah that’s it,” he moans, feeling that wet muscle flex and push up into his opened hole. It’s glorious, the way Steve knows exactly how to wiggle it so that it presses against his prostate. He grins, eyes closed and open-mouthed and filthy. He pushes himself down onto that tongue harder, and Steve makes a surprised stuttering sound, but Bucky sees how hard Steve’s struggling now to try and break free from those cuffs to no avail – how badly he wants to grab Bucky’s hips and touch him (or maybe himself) right now. More importantly, he never feels that tongue relenting inside of him.

“God, baby, you got no idea how badly I wanna jerk off right now,” he teases, though it’s a very real ache all the same. His right hand twitches just at the thought but he forces himself to white-knuckle the headboard to stop himself. There’s something elevating about being brought to orgasm from nothing but Steve’s mouth, and he’s so close, god, he’s right there…

“So good… Steve, you always make me feel so fuckin’ sweet, baby… M’so fuckin’ hard, it hurts Stevie, mmm it feels so nice, fuck! Holy shit! Yeah, right there… Keep tonguing that spot, baby, oh fuck, yeah, don’t stop!” But Steve just makes a confused sound and starts to pull back; hearing stunted thanks to the vice grip of Bucky’s thighs over his ears. Distress fills Bucky’s chest and he shakes his head vehemently. “No, baby, please,” he cries out anxiously, shoving his ass harder against Steve’s mouth. “No no no, please, m’right there, oh god, don’t make me lose it – Steve, Steve, Steve, please…”

Getting the point, the blond quickly pushes his tongue back into Bucky’s hole and swirls it around as much and as fast as he can to try and redo what he’d done to set his boyfriend’s body alight. Within seconds, Bucky’s throwing his head back and letting out a thrilled, loud moan with relief when his sweet spot is grazed and pleasure shoots to his balls.

“Fuck, yes!” he cries, hips moving back and forth uncontrollably. He lets out long, shaky moans as his breathing quickens and rises in pitch. When Steve licks against his prostate again and then lets his tongue slide out of him and push over his perineum, Bucky tightens his grip so suddenly into the headboard that the steel framing groans from the pressure and breaks beneath his bionic hand. He continues to press into it as he shouts his pleasure; cock spurting thick, clear lines of come above Steve’s head, along with a string of Steve’s named laden with profanities, until the headboard full on breaks.

The second he realizes his arms are free (sort of), Steve grabs Bucky’s sides – cuffs and the steel bars of the frame still connected to the metal bonds and all – and hurls him off his face and onto his back. Bucky gasps with surprise, his cock still twitching, and he doesn’t even get the chance to go flaccid when Steve lines his dripping erection up with the brunet’s slick hole and growls, “My turn.”

4.

1940

“You know how good you look right now?” Bucky asks innocently while he watches Steve sketch. Except there’s nothing innocent about it, because hardly anything ever is when Bucky’s bored. Steve just glances at him from over the top of the sketchbook and shoots back, “Stop talkin’, jerk; I need you to keep still.”

 “But it’s stiflin’ in here, Stevie, and I’m so boooored,” Bucky complains, playfully letting his head fall back with a loud groan. “D’ya at least have some paint I can watch dry or somethin’?”

“Haw haw, you’re a laugh riot,” Steve deadpans, dropping his baby blues back to his drawing. Bucky keeps his eyes on him with an amused smirk turning up the corners of his lips. He keeps his pose – which luckily for him, it’s sitting in a (mostly) comfortably position – but his eyes are sparkling mischievously.

“Man, you always get really in the zone when you sketch, dontcha?” he muses teasingly.

“If you didn’t notice that about me by now, I really worry about our friendship,” Steve mutters back. His eyes flicker over to Bucky to take in the way his hair is sitting today, before glancing back downwards and scratching the tip of his pencil across the paper. Bucky grins.

“You need to lighten up – ‘cause I do know how you get when you draw, and you get way too tense. You can crack a smile, you know. C’mon, try it – just one little tiny smile,” he goads playfully. Steve’s trying to fight it, keeping a straight face, so Bucky keeps going: “C’mon, sweetheart, Stevie, Steeeviiiieee,” he drawls in a baby voice. “You got such a nice smile – bright as sunshine. Baby, you’re as sweet as sugar; c’mon, give me just a bit, just a little taste, c’mon Stevie, if I was a dyin’ man, the last thing I’d want before I kicked the bucket would be one last look at your pretty smilin’ face.”

At this, Steve rolls his eyes – but he’s horrible at hiding how the corner of the left side of his mouth turns up just a little bit. “Ah, what’s that? There! There it is! God, you’re so swell, baby doll – Stevie, Steeevie, apple of my eye, flitter in my step – give us a smile!”

“Bucky, shut up,” Steve snaps, still trying to fight it tooth and nail. Bucky licks his lips and then asks, purposely pushing his luck, “What could I do to make you smile, little darlin’?” 

“You could shut your pie hole and stop distractin’ me,” Steve mutters harmlessly.

“What could I do?” Bucky repeats as though uninterrupted. “What if I gave you a little peck on the cheek? Would you blush a little and crack me a smile, Stevie?”

Steve purses his lips, trying not to grin at the suggestion, and purposely keeps his eyes everywhere but on Bucky’s face. Bucky nods, taking Steve’s silence as a checkmark in his book. “Yeah, you would, wouldn’t ya? You always get all bashful when I kiss your cheeks. What if I… maybe kissed down your neck a little bit? I know how much you like that. Could you give me a little smile then? Or would you be too busy making those little gasping noises you know drives me so crazy?”

He watches as Steve’s smile drops as quickly as it came. Instead, that beautiful little flush spreads across the tops of his cheekbones as he visibly gulps. Bucky wonders if he’s already growing hard in his slacks; he wishes he could see, but the blond’s lap is covered by his sketchbook. Licking his lips, Bucky tilts his head to the side and roams his gaze slowly up and down Steve’s frame. He lets his gaze linger so Steve can feel himself being watched.

“Your skin always feels so smooth under my lips, y’know,” he continues softly, eyes twinkling. “What would you want me to do then, huh? Maybe suck right beneath your ear – oh, I know how much you love that; know that’s one of your sensitive spots. Does anyone else know that about ya, Stevie? About how sweetly you keen when you got a pair of lips suckin’ right below your ear?”

Steve doesn’t answer, but Bucky sees that he’s also stopped drawing. He’s clutching the pencil so tightly in his hand that Bucky’s surprised it hasn’t snapped in two yet. His own prick starts coming to life against his inner thigh, filling with blood uncontrollably at the sight of his gorgeous, shy little Stevie. How this kid could be so ballsy in the face of some punk and stand up for what’s right without the hint of a blush… Never mind that – how this kid could get so dominant and uninhibited when he was rolling in the sheets with Bucky one second, and then be blushing seven different shades the moment Bucky starts talking to him like this always leaves Bucky completely stumped.

But he adores it so fucking much.

“Could I maybe get you to smile if I started leavin’ little hickies all over your neck, your shoulders?” he murmurs, his own smile fading. “Run my hands up and down your arms before I helped peel you out of your clothes and laid you out all nice on the couch – just right there, right where you’re sitting. You’d look so pretty, sugar, I wouldn’t be able to help rubbing my cock through my pants at the sight of ya.” Steve slowly looks up at him and Bucky picks that moment to lay it on thick; head falling back and mouth opening with a soft exhale. “Fuck, baby, I’m already hard for you. Can you see it – the outline of my prick right there? That’s just from picturin’ you in your skivvies for me, baby doll. You got such a great body, Steve, I don’t care what you say.”

Steve’s eyes are most definitely taking in the obvious bulge in Bucky’s slacks. Bucky resists the urge to grind his hand down against it, instead focusing on huskily asking Steve, “You hard over there, too? Are you hard for me, baby? What could I do to make you chub up in your pants? What if I put my mouth on it; licked and sucked you just the way I know you like? If you tried hard enough, m’sure you could picture exactly what the inside of my mouth feels like, can’tcha?”

The blond’s eyes flutter closed momentarily. Bucky can hear how his breathing has gotten shallower.

“Move the sketchbook, Steve,” he orders in a low tone dripping with arousal. “Put it aside – I wanna see the tent in your pants.” Steve bites his lip and opens his eyes, pausing as if unsure whether or not he should. But then he does, and Bucky isn’t disappointed at the hard outline of Steve’s cock that the sketchpad had been hiding well.

“Yeah,” he breathes. “You know what I wanna do when I see that prick of yours? Wanna fuckin’ suck it like a straw; wanna drink up your load until you can’t come no more. You always taste so good, Stevie. I could give you suckjobs until I starved to death, baby, you got no idea. You wanna fuck my mouth?”

“Yes,” Steve breathes, letting his head fall back against the back of the couch. He starts to make to unzip his pants when Bucky cuts in.

“No, no touching. Just picture it – can you picture it for me, baby? Picture how hot and wet my mouth would be.”

“Bucky--” Steve begins to whine in protest, having been under the impression that Bucky was about to actually put his money where he mouth is.

“Shh, baby – can you feel me? Close your eyes, just listen… Can you feel my mouth? God, it’s watering just thinkin’ of you… I love how loudly you can make me moan by choking me on your cock.”

His own twitches when that last comment is met with a soft, accidental groan from Steve’s parted lips. His brows are knit slightly, as if Steve is still unsure where this all came from, but he must be picturing it, and Bucky wants to make it good for him.

“It’s hot as Hell in here, ain’t it? Mm, I bet your sweat tastes delicious; when this is over, m’gonna lick you from head to toe, get my tongue all over your body until I’m licking over your sweet little hole – would you smile for me then, Steve? If I had my tongue in your ass – if I kiss your hole? How about then?”

Steve shoves his hand over his crotch to push down a bit, but Bucky gets up at that point and towers over Steve in front of the couch. Grabbing the blond’s wrists, he pins them next to his best friend’s head and wedges his knee between Steve’s legs. When he presses, Steve whines high in his throat and looks up at Bucky helplessly, pupils blown wide.

“How’s this feel?” Bucky whispers. He leans in; makes it seem as though he’s about to brush his lips against Steve’s. However, he pulls back at the last second, sliding his cheek along his best friend’s until his mouth is at Steve’s ear, lips brushing against it. “I wanna fuck you, Steve,” he growls lowly. Steve gasps and bears down on Bucky’s knee, rocking his hips. Bucky lets go of one of Steve’s wrist in favour of grabbing the blond’s hip and keeping him still with as gentle a grip as he can manage.

This isn’t how it works between them and they both know it. Bucky never fucks Steve – never allows himself to for fear of hurting him. But that doesn’t mean the urge isn’t there and Bucky knows what that sort of talk does to Steve.

“God, I wanna fuck you so hard,” he continues. “Use my mouth and my fingers to tease you open – bet you’d get all loose and wet for me so prettily, wouldn’t you, baby? You’re so tiny; you’re my little tiny baby doll and I bet you’d be so fuckin’ tight around my dick – Christ, don’t know how I’d push into you without splittin’ you in half. Would you be able to take me?”

“Yes,” Steve moans breathlessly, and Bucky knows, he’s got him completely at his mercy now. The little bony body in his grip continues to struggle to rock against his leg but the harder Bucky stops him, the more enthusiastically Steve whines, and Bucky – the selfish asshole – loves that sound. “Please,” Steve whispers.

“Fuck, Steve, I’d pound you so fuckin’ hard,” Bucky hisses into the shell of his ear. To drive Steve mad, he hitches his breath and then breathes out a soft moan before panting as though he could actually feel it, “Oh baby, oh… Steve… You feel so good… So fucking tight around me – unhh, G-God… I love you, I love you so much you’re so perfect, Steve… Steve…”

He can feel Steve start to tremble in his hands; hear him releasing trembling breaths and tiny gasps. When Bucky sneaks a peek, Steve’s eyes are closed and his mouth’s hanging open. He turns back to Steve’s ear and tongues the fleshy lobe lightly for a second before breathing hot and heavy, “Steve, fuck, oh God, oh yes, oh my God… You’re gonna make me come… You feel so. Fucking. Good.” Groaning soft and languid makes Steve start shuddering against him.

“B-Buck,” Steve breathes, clutching onto his bicep with his free hand.

“You gonna make me come, Steve? Your tight little asshole gonna milk me for everythin’ it’s got? Nggghhh baby, baby doll, m’so close; get me closer… You feel like fuckin’ Heaven…”

Just as he feigns a stuttered moan, he suddenly feels Steve squeeze his arm so hard it hurts, as he throws his head back and comes with full-body twitch. As he tries to force himself not to cry out, Bucky blinks and then glances down at the crotch of Steve’s slacks. Sure enough, a small wet patch starts to form. Bucky grins and then turns Steve’s face towards him to cover his mouth with his own and kiss him firmly. Steve just moans into it and pushes his tongue against the seam of Bucky’s lips, making him part them so Steve can beat their tongues together.

“I can’t believe that just happened,” Bucky chuckles, looking like a five-year-old on Christmas. They’re sitting side-by-side while Steve has his pants around his knees and is now cleaning up the mess on his pelvis.

“Shut up,” Steve mutters, unimpressed.

“I mean, I just made you come by doin’ nothing but talkin’,” Bucky continues smugly.

“Seriously, Buck – shut up.”

“I must be awesome.”

“Buck.”

Bucky just laughs and glances over at Steve, grin warming down to a loving smile. Reaching over, he runs his fingers gently across the artist’s nape, making Steve close his eyes and inhale softly.

“And I still didn’t even make you smile,” Bucky fake pouts.

Sighing, Steve stops what he’s doing and looks at the older boy. He forces a big, cheesy, toothy grin to his face, making Bucky chortle loudly. Seeing him laugh turns Steve’s smile genuine, and when Bucky leans in to plant another smacking kiss to his lips, he teases adoringly, “I was right – sweet as sugar.”

5.

2014

It starts when Steve bites him. James had been thrusting in and out of him, listening to the way Steve moaned soft and quiet under his breath. He remembers it sounding airy and delicious – like cotton candy at Coney Island on hot summer days. Then when he hits his prostate, like he’s done a million times before, Steve surges up and clamps his teeth down on James’s jugular, like he’s done a million and one times before… and James just snaps.

Something within him freezes; panic spikes through his body and resurrects that darkness within that he likes to believe belonged entirely to the Asset and not to the Bucky Barnes that James is trying so hard to be again.

He moves before Steve has the chance to realize what’s going on. They’re on his bed, which makes reaching beneath the pillow and whipping out one of his blades an easy task. All too suddenly, he has Steve’s head yanked back by a fistful of short, golden hair, while his right hand holds the knife threateningly against the skin of his throat.

“B-Buck!” Steve stammers. His eyes are wide and he looks at his best friend with an unmistaken note of shock and fear in his eyes, but it doesn’t translate in the rest of his body language. Though he’s still hard, his hips (which had been rocking up to meet the push and pull of James’s cock) freeze. Most significantly, he makes no attempts to touch James or try to console him back to himself through affection. Steve’s dealt with incidents like these enough to know that those sorts of methods don’t always work – sometimes, they only make things worse.

James – who in this moment is both half Asset, half Bucky; some amalgamation of a creature who’s in-between and quite possibly not even human – is poised and ready for attack. His nostrils are flared as he bears his teeth. He doesn’t even realize his erection is still halfway inside of Steve, this man, this thing, my mission.

“Buck…” Steve says slowly, quietly. “Bucky, look at me.”

James blinks and then slowly frowns. He doesn’t lower the knife but he certainly hesitates. He tugs sharply on Steve’s scalp, securing the back of his head harder against the pillow, making the blond wince. But his voice is hesitant when he mumbles back, “…Don’t call me that.”

“I’m sorry,” Steve says quickly. His tone is gentle and under control, and James doesn’t understand why his baby blues are filled with something that seems so sad. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have called you that. It’s habit; that was my mistake, James. Look at me. Follow my voice – can you come back to me? You’re safe; I didn’t mean to startle you. I shouldn’t have bitten you like that. James? It’s me, it’s Steve.”

At first, the brunet’s brows knit with confusion and a voice in the back of his head that sounds unnervingly similar to Alexander Pierce’s reminds him that this man is Captain America, his mission. His target – his to kill. His to… his… his.

“Steve?” he asks quietly, as though unsure whether or not that’s a proper guess.

“Yeah Bu—James. It’s me, everything’s okay.”

And it seems like, for a second, he’s about to come back to himself. He looks down at Steve and he gets a flash of a little boy who’s missing one of his top teeth, leaning over Bucky after he’d taken a tumble from the branch of an oak tree. He’s so little and gangly, with blond hair sticking out in a dozen different directions, and he’s shouting for an adult, but then he’s right over him – blocking out the sun, taking its place in Bucky’s eyes – and repeating, Buck? Bucky? Just hang on, someone’s comin’. It’s me, it’s Steve – everything’s okay, everything’s gonna be okay…

Just as quickly, it flutters away into a cage in his mind that the Asset seems to throw away the key to, and he’s straddling an unstable line, so very unstable. He looks down at Steve and knows that this is his best friend, his teammate, the man he loves, the boy he’s always loved… But he also looks at him and has the painfully acute desire – need – to rip this man’s rib cage apart and pull his heart from his chest until it stops beating in his metal hand. The conflicting feelings are maddening.

Somehow, the only thing that makes sense is to release a painful cry and then start pounding into him again – knife still pushed too snugly against Steve’s throat. The blond tries to say his name as his eyes go wide, unprepared for the sudden choice, but he only manages the first syllable before he’s crying out softly and rolling his eyes back into his head. His throat swells as he draws in a large gulp of air, and James watches the skin directly beneath the blade go white as it struggles to keep from splitting open.

He pushes it harder at the same time that Steve jolts as his prostate is stimulated again – causing the blade to go one way and Steve, another. The skin slices open, just a paper cut of a flesh wound, but Steve makes a small sound of surprise in his throat. James’s brows come together at that noise and his eyes search Steve’s face. He slowly morphs from looking threatening to looking concerned. His hips slow as grey orbs drop to the knife. James’s mouth twists into an uneven line and a voice in him that sounds similar to Bucky’s – the boy from Brooklyn – shouts for him to stop, that this isn’t right; that he doesn’t want to hurt Steve.

He isn’t sure which voice he’s supposed to trust, but something resonates more within him when he hears his own, so he begins to pull the knife away. Steve’s big hand flies up and grabs his wrist, keeping him in place.

“No,” he breathes, eyes still closed. There’s a singular, tiny droplet of crimson rolling down from the tiny cut, and James realizes that he’s still trying to undulate his body against James’s, to keep the movements going. “If you need this, it’s okay…”

James frowns. Glancing down, he sees just how much precome is making Steve’s dick shine between their abdomens. “You like this,” he says, voice on the verge of hollow but not quite there.

Steve’s face goes red as it pinches together, looking more pained than James could ever get him looking with a knife. “M’sorry,” he whispers. James almost misses it. Opening his eyes, Steve looks away from the man above him and into the emptiness of the room around them. “We can stop,” he says.

“Do you want to stop?” James asks curiously. He doesn’t understand why someone would get off to having a deadly monster threatening their life, but he also sees that thin trickle of blood and has the unnatural urge to lick it up.

“I want whatever will make you happy,” is the answer he gets.

And something in this helps bring James a little closer to Bucky and a little further away from the Soldier because… That answer is so undeniably Steve; something he would’ve – and might’ve – said to him a hundred times before. In that moment, James knows that he could fall into the exhausting pattern they’ve fallen into so many times over the last few months while he’s been recovering: he can insist that he just wants to do whatever Steve wants, which in turn will just earn him some remark about Steve wanting nothing but to do the same. They’ll continue on like this until James either snaps at him or they argue a bit and then kiss and make up.

To say them both the hassle, he just regards the knife against his throat again and observes, “Do you like it because it hurts or…?”

Steve glances up to him, not having expected that. He seems to think about it and then replies, “I don’t know… Yes? I think? It’s just… it’s you.”

“I could kill you, you know,” James says, trying to sound predatory. He leans in and accentuates his point by pushing the blade so deep against Steve’s neck that it almost splits open again. Steve, still to James’s surprise, gasps softly and then moans, as if he just can’t help it.

“Would you kill me?” he asks.

James takes a second to sift through his feelings and figure out that answer. He knows he wouldn’t; something in him wouldn’t let him do it. “No,” he answers honestly.

“I know you wouldn’t,” Steve says quietly. “I trust you… Can you kiss me?”

“I… Yeah, okay,” James replies stiffly. He leans down and brushes his lips to Steve’s, barely a hint of a thing. Steve seems content with it anyways.

“Thank you,” the lips below his whisper.

“I want to kiss you again,” James says automatically. He says it in such a way that it sounds like he’s leaving Steve no room to argue, but really, he’s just indulging in the fact that everyone around him has been encouraging him to voice what he wants more often, since he’d been denied that for so long.

He’s glad he hears Steve breathe back, ‘Then do it’, because it would’ve been really tough for him to stop the urge. When he kisses Steve a second time, it’s more confident; firm. The moment Steve parts his lips, James follows, and when he tastes the sweet tanginess of Steve’s tongue against his, he grunts in his throat and resumes fucking into him again.

Steve lets out a relieved sigh that turns into a loud groan when James breaks the kiss to pull the knife back and lick up the blood that had leaked out. Fascinated, he notices the cut itself is gone. Steve flushes and just says, “Serum.” Glancing from his face to Steve’s neck, he leans back in and presses his mouth over the pulse point. He starts sucking – rough and violent – until a purple blotch has formed. All across his neck, he sucks marks of different sizes, dotting the skin, while Steve arches and makes blissful sounds.

James watches in a surprise amusement as the marks fade one-by-one within just a couple of minutes. Somewhere, he knows that he’s aware of this information; that Steve’s advanced healing factor isn’t news to him. But he also suspects they’ve never tried this before to their advantage. It’s both endearing and frustrating as fuck that James can suck all the claims he wants to into Steve’s skin, but they’ll never last longer than an extended heartbeat. Possessively, he pulls out so just the tip of his cock is still inside of him, but he stops thrusting. He pulls out enough so he can bend and contort whichever which way so he can coat Steve’s neck, his collars, his chest, his biceps. He spends a solid twenty minutes blemishing the super soldier’s perfect skin – knife long forgotten but still held tightly in his flesh hand. Every mark he brands Steve with, the serum erases it.

He realizes that Steve had carded his fingers through his long hair a while ago, but he doesn’t mind. The blond tugs gently and pants just loud enough for the two of them to hear it. As James is watching a hickey shrink and fade away on his left peck, Steve breathes, “More…”

James raises an eyebrow and peers up at his face. “More…?”

“Yeah, I… I can take it,” Steve replies. His eyes are closed, face turned to the side, and James can feel how he’s trying to rock his hips again and ride the dick deeper into his body.

He takes a moment to think about it. After a minute or so, Steve breathes the word please and it’s so needy and desperate that James can’t find a single reason to talk himself out of it. Straightening up to his knees, he grabs Steve’s hip in his metal hand to still him and then buries himself all the way back into the blond’s body before beginning to thrust again. He waits until Steve’s baby blues open and rise up to his face that he makes a point of raising the knife in hand and turning it from side to side. Steve’s gaze moves to it where it stays, hungry and wanting.

“Like this?” James asks lowly, bringing the tip of the knife to the skin over one of Steve’s ribs and pushing it in as he drags it in a straight line. The skin splits open – just the tiniest bit – and Steve starts to bleed again. The super soldier’s mouth drops open and he tosses his head back, crying out, “Fuck, yes, Buck…”

James can’t remember the last time he was this turned on; so much so, that he doesn’t even mind Steve calling him by that name. He keeps the rolling of his hips steady as he whiles away the better half of an hour carving designs into Steve’s skin. He’ll watch the wound heal itself within a minute and then lean down and lick up the blood before starting on another. When he smears his metal index finger and paints Steve’s lips red with it, the blond just lets him, and James hears himself groan, “Your lips are so fucking pretty..."

He uses the knife to slice his star – Hydra’s, yes, but his ultimately – above where Steve’s heart is. He doesn’t even wait for it to seal itself up before he’s running his tongue along each line and growling, “Mine” when Steve’s blood coats his tongue again. Steve just meets his thrusts and moans yes over and over to every single thing that James says.

He uses the flat part of the knife to rub in small circles over one of Steve’s nipples until it must feel raw, because Steve starts off moaning and then spirals into pained groans. “Cut me more,” Steve begs breathlessly and fuck, yeah, James just plummets into him brutally and lets the knife drag around aimlessly along his chest and stomach – slicing him open with a careful hand and watching the wound heal as he keeps the continuous cut. It’s beautiful, really. Steve is beautiful.

“M’gonna… Buck, m’gonna…” Steve suddenly whimpers.

James pulls back and licks his lips. He’s sweating near his hairline and the heat feels like it’s going to swallow him whole as he pants and fucks Steve into the mattress, trying to make him come. His own release is so goddamn close; he just wants to make Steve fall apart first. Pressing the knife against Steve’s flushed cock, he presses down – not hard enough to break the skin, but enough that Steve suddenly shouts a hoarse cry and arches his back. His cock swells and spasms against the blade and then suddenly he’s making a mess of his belly as come explodes in thick spurts from his hole. James’s eyes widen and as he feels his own climax crashing over him, he chucks the knife off to the side and uses both hands to cradle Steve’s hips as he snaps into him four, five, six more times before coming with a shudder.

He pulls out of him once it’s over and removes the condom. Every time he does it, something in him feels as though having that thin layer separating Steve’s skin from his own is wrong somehow. It doesn’t make sense, but he trusts that eventually, it will. He notices Steve frowning, looking unsettled as he stares off and almost curls in on himself.

Feeling guilty now, James lowers himself onto his side and scooches up behind the blond; wrapping his arms around him, making Steve the little spoon even though James is the smaller one. Resting his chin on Steve’s shoulder, he murmurs, “M’sorry…”

“Bucky?”

James nods; not yet, but… maybe one day. “Yeah, buddy, it’s me… I’m so sorry… I just – I don’t know what happened. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“It’s okay,” Steve whispers sadly. James feels as though he’s just shot himself in the foot and ruined all the progress he and Steve had been making. He wonders just how sore Steve is with him when the blond turns over so their noses are touching and asks dejectedly, “What’s wrong with me, Buck?”

James blinks and then makes a weird face. “What--” He suddenly lets out a surprised peel of laughter before exclaiming, “You’re – you’re asking what’s wrong with you? I have a knife hiding under my pillow, I have a brainwashed killer rattlin’ around inside my head, I draw into ya like your some sort of human Jack-O-Lantern, and you think there’s somethin’ wrong with you?”

Steve gives him a weak smile and then can’t help but chuckle along with him. “I just… It’s not normal to like stuff like that, is it?”

James thinks about that. He shrugs. “Maybe not. But given everything else about our lives… can you name one thing that is normal?”

Steve smiles reluctantly and then chuckles dryly. “No… You might have a point.”

“We might be the two most fucked up guys in the world, y’know,” James muses with amusement. He’s secretly relieved when Steve agrees because that means he isn’t alone.

+1 

2015

The first time he ever overhears Rogers and Barnes engaging in phone sex, Tony’s unfortunately in the same room as Romanoff – otherwise he would’ve been compelled to zip down his pants and whack off to it. It’d started off with Bruce and Thor in there with them. Tony had been trying to show them one of his recordings he’d saved from a surprise visit Stephen Strange had made to the Avenger’s Tower; as he was trying to explain, there was some peculiar about his speech patterns. They were unlike what Tony had grown used to in his time knowing the fellow genius and he was growing worried that the man who’d visited his home might not actually be Doctor Strange but some sort of imposter.

But he’d accidentally given the wrong file name (there were about thirteen digits in some of his file names, it was hard to keep track of them all sometimes, sue him), and suddenly his AI was pulling up the live feed from Barnes’s S.H.I.E.L.D-monitored phoned. The ex-Soviet had been on a mission in Romania for almost three weeks, having gone undercover to infiltrate a covert weapons op that had their sights set on America as their next target.

“Feels like forever since I got to hear your voice, Buck,” Rogers says fondly. Tony rolls his eyes and then holds up his hands to say thank you when Barnes snorts and replies, “You’re such a fuckin’ sap, Rogers.”

“Seriously though – you okay?” Rogers asks, tone serious now.

“Should we really be listening to this?” Banner asks everyone in the room; arms crossed and tone uncomfortable.

“You can leave if you want to,” Natasha replies simply, pulling up a seat and taking it.

“We’re snooping,” Banner insists.

“Snooping?” Thor repeats, not understanding the term. He looks among the three of them. “What is this of which you speak?”

“It’s not snooping, Bruce, it’s making sure that Agent Barnes is okay,” Natasha replies.

Bruce shakes his head and sighs. “I’m going to go get a cup of tea, in case anyone wants to join me,” he says calmly, before turning and heading out of the room. Thor watches him go and – even for someone who normally misses those sorts of cues – seems to pick up on the doctor’s discomfort. He excuses himself for some ‘tea’ (he repeats the word strangely) and then follows.

“You seem to be listening intently,” Natasha teases.

“Shh!” Tony waves her off. “Can’t hear a word with all you talking my ear off.” Natasha just smirks and then looks away, staying silent as they both continue to listen. Barnes has just finished telling Cap as much about his mission as he can, and then Tony rolls his eyes while Rogers wastes two minutes explaining a sketch he’s currently working on.

“That’s great, baby,” Barnes replies, and he actually sounds genuine about it. Tony makes a gagging gesture, to which Natasha just purses her lips and arches a perfectly manicured eyebrow.

“I’ve missed you,” Barnes continues. “What’re you up to right now?”

“Not much,” Rogers replies, “just listening to some music and makin’ a bite to eat.”

“Yeah? What’re you listenin’ to?”

“It’s Been a Long, Long Time,” Rogers answers fondly. They can hear Barnes hum affectionately and reply, “Our song.”

“Yep – makes me miss you too, though. As long as you don’t get yourself into trouble, I’ll be happy.”

“Me get into trouble? Who’s the one who could never stop himself from getting punched the second I wasn’t around to save your hide?”

“I have absolutely no idea what you’re talkin’ about,” Rogers replies, feigning innocence. Natasha and Tony spare a glance – it’s not often they hear the Captain being so light and cheery. It seems to be a demeanour that only Barnes is capable of bringing out of him.

“Oh no? As I recall, I let you outta my sign for all of five minutes and you were signin’ yourself up to become some walking experiment,” the ex-assassin quips.

Rogers pretends to think, clucking his tongue, and then answers, “If I hadn’t done that, I wouldn’t have saved you, don’t forget that.”

“Yuh-huh, and then I go fallin’ off a train and you can’t even wait one day before you’re flying a plane into the ground.”

Rogers chuckles, though there’s a hint of what sounds like pain in the background of it. The two Avengers share another glance, unable to stop themselves from frowning. Sometimes, no matter how much Barnes seems to be back to his normal self, it never makes it any less awkward for them to hear him joking about the awful fate he’d been forced to endure. Tony never says anything about it, and neither does anyone else, but he suspects that the guy only does it to lighten the emotional blow for Steve by turning it into something that can be laughed at in retrospect – if that were at all possible.

“Once again, had I not done that, we wouldn’t be where we are now; really, I don’t know why you’re complainin’,” Rogers says from his end of the line.

“And then you go letting yourself fall from a Helicarrier just because you thought I didn’t recognize you,” Barnes keeps going. “M’startin’ to think that hanging around me is nothing but a bad influence for you, Rogers.”

“Hangin’ around you was always a bad influence,” Cap replies. The two soldiers chuckle quietly; the blond adds, “But I don’t regret any of it.”

“Yeah, me neither,” Barnes murmurs. Tony hears him clear his throat and that’s when Barnes asks, “Did ya get my picture earlier?”

From the other end, Rogers groans. “Buck, that wasn’t funny, at all. Fury was walkin’ around the table right as I opened it up – you know I wouldn’t hear the end of it if he’d gotten his eye on an up-close shot of your dick.”

“Well then,” Natasha says flatly and Tony immediately starts trying to tap into the picture messaging from Barnes’s company phone.

“Oh, you’d best believe I’m gonna blow this up, get it framed, and have it hanging on their wall for Barnes’s big homecoming,” Tony mutters to himself as his fingers click away on the keyboard. They just catch the tail end of what sounds like Barnes chuckling lowly and then saying something like, “You sayin’ you don’t love my cock?”

Tony freezes. “No,” he says quickly, shaking his head. Then he laughs, glancing at the Widow. “How many shades of red do you think Spangles is right now?”

Natasha has a little smirk but only shrugs; a clear sign that she wants to be able to hear whatever Steve’s response is going to be. Sure enough, they hear coughing from one end of the line before Cap is sputtering out, “Buck! You know your phone calls can be monitored! There’s probably someone from S.H.I.E.L.D. listening right now – don’t talk like that.”

“Nope, just me, Capsicle,” Tony smirks, popping the ‘p’.

“You think I give a damn?” Barnes replies. It sounds like he’s fumbling around with something on his end. “C’mon Stevie, I just fuckin’ miss you, y’know? I doubt anyone’s listening, baby, don’t worry. C’mon, tell me you miss me, too.”

“You know I miss you, Buck,” Rogers replies reluctantly.

Barnes makes another one of those drawn-out, low chuckling sounds and then asks in a much quieter tone, “Tell me how much you miss me.”

There’s the hint of a stuttered inhale on one end, and Tony perks up because no way, no way Barnes is doing what it sounds like he’s just starting doing. Natasha’s right brow shoots to her hairline but other than that, her face is unreadable. Cap voices what they’re both thinking when after a pause, he incredulously exclaims, “Are you jerking off right now?” He clears his throat and then laughably tries to re-ask just above a whisper, “Are you jerking off right now?”

Barnes, with absolutely no shame, exhales a breathy laugh and answers, “Yeah, and I’m tryin’ to figure out why the fuck you aren’t either.”

“Buck, you know the line is--”

“No one’s listenin’, Stevie,” Barnes soothes him. Tony understands why he’s always claimed to have such a persuasive mouth; Barnes could probably talk the Virgin Mary into dropping her panties for him. From his end, he exhales shakily. “C’mon baby doll, this is the first time I’ve gotten to talk to you in a week, I’m dyin’ here. I don’t even know when I’ll get to come back, come on. If I died tomorrow, you’d feel like an asshole for not indulging me.”

“That’s not funny, Bucky,” Rogers sighs. But Tony notices that he’s not exactly saying no either.

“S’true though,” Barnes points out. “God, I just miss your hands… You miss puttin’ your hands on me, Steve?”

There’s a pause that seems to span the length of a good thirty seconds in which Tony is sure that Rogers is trying to find the easiest way to shut down this conversation. Prude. But then Rogers mutters back quietly, “Yeah…”

“Mmm,” Barnes hums, and Tony knows he must be smiling that shit-eating grin. “Where d’ya wanna put your hands, baby?”

“Your cock,” Steve answers, barely above a mumble.

“What’s that? I can’t hear you,” Barnes teases.

Rogers clears his throat, and when he speaks again, Tony notices Natasha perk up slightly. Even he can’t help but get goosebumps because he’s using his fucking Captain’s voice. “Your cock.”

Barnes is breathing heavier now. “Christ, Stevie, tell me you’ve got your hand down your pretty little panties right now,” he husks.

“They’re called briefs, Buck--”

“I don’t care what you call ‘em, they’re skin-tight as fuck and I love to peel you out of them. Pretty little girl’s panties is what they are. So you got your hand down ‘em?”

Another pause, some shuffling they can faintly hear in the background, and then the blond replies, “I might.”

“Right there in the kitchen, huh? Or did you move to our bed? Mm, last time you had me there, you made me come so hard that I cried – you remember?”

“What the actual fuck,” Tony whispers under his breath, eyes nearly popping from his head.

“Shh,” Natasha hisses back, not wanting to miss a thing.

“I remember,” Rogers answers. His voice is still steady, unlike Barnes, whose heavy breathing is almost distracting in the best way possible.

“You gotta give me more to work with, Rogers, that’s the point of phone sex,” Barnes suddenly snaps impatiently. Rogers snaps back that he’s sorry, but he’s not comfortable with the idea that someone could be listening – they bicker like an old married couple for a minute or so, which is hilarious and also strange because Tony’s pretty sure Barnes never stops whacking off at any point during.

“Rogers, I swear to Christ Almighty, if I was there right now, I’d shut you up myself,” he threatens.

“Oh yeah? How would you do that?” Rogers snaps back.

“Oh you know, precious; I’d shove my dick so far down your throat you wouldn’t be able to breathe,” Barnes growls, and a jolt of arousal shoots to Tony’s own dick when they both hear an unexpected little moan from Steve’s end of the phone call.

“Was that--?” Tony starts to ask.

“Yep,” Natasha replies simply.

“Should we--?”

“Nope,” she says with the same flat tone.

Tony just nods. Good, because he wasn’t about to shut it off anyways.

“Oh, you like that, hmm?” Barnes purrs. “Yeah, I can tell. You always like it when you’ve got your pretty little lips wrapped around a nice, hard prick. You always take me so fuckin’ well; you’re the best goddamn cocksucker in the world.” Cap moans quietly again, so Barnes breathes, “You touchin’ yourself right now? You stroking yourself to the thought of letting me fuck your mouth?”

“Yeah,” Rogers breathes back, and Tony is way too hard right now and even Natasha shifts a bit in her seat, despite her reticent expression. Tony notices her crossing her legs; he wonders how wet the whole thing is making her.

“Tell me what you want to happen next, baby,” Barnes requests before letting out a filthy moan. The billionaire feels it resonate all the way down in his hard-on; his mouth is dry and he seems to be incapable from picking his jaw up off the floor, but when he hears Barnes breathe out fuck as though it were an afterthought that just couldn’t be helped, Tony thinks, I hear you, buddy.

Clearing his throat, he says to Natasha, “Ten bucks says Cap won’t have the balls to tell him.”

Natasha stays motionless, staring off at nothing as she listens intently, but replies nonetheless, “I think you’re about to be disappointed; I’ll take that bet.”

It sounds like there are wet, squelchy sounds – quick and rough – from one end of the line (or is it both? Tony can’t tell where it’s coming from). Rogers grunts and then says, the fucking sonofabitch, “Wanna get my tongue in you and eat your ass until you were beggin’ me to take you.”

Tony throws his hands in the air and shouts, “Who the fuck is this guy!? Seriously, first Strange and now him!? I’m sure of it – something is taking over these guys’ bodies!”

“Shh!” Natasha snaps impatiently… but she still holds out her hand with expectation, so Tony rolls his eyes and slaps a ten dollar bill into her open palm. He just catches the tail-end of Barnes groaning excitedly.

“Fuck, I love it when you lick me loose, Stevie… Always get me so wet. I’d want you to finger me, too.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Barnes exhales. “Take all four of your fingers just so I could get myself ready for that nice big cock of yours – fuck, baby, I fuckin’ love your cock, you really don’t even know.”

“Tell me how much you love it then,” Rogers suggests in a quiet command, and Tony frowns as he now has to cross one leg over the other. He can’t help it – he’ll whip it out right in front of Romanoff and start fucking his fist if he doesn’t.

“Oh, god, Steve, you know how much it drives me crazy,” Barnes moans. “I’d ride that thing night and day if I could; get so stretched and loose from havin’ you keep me nice n’ gaping that you’d never have to prep me again.”

“God, Buck…”

“Could you play with my tits while you fucked me?” Barnes asks in what nearly sounds like begging. Tony knows he isn’t imagining things when he hears that Natasha’s breathing is a little faster; he should know – his is off the charts, unable to be controlled.

“Damn right I could,” Rogers suddenly responds with more enthusiasm than ever. It’s as though the thought alone drove the guy to losing any and all hesitation. “Pinch your little nipples and suck on ‘em until you couldn’t stand it.”

“Yeah, I fuckin’ love when you do that,” the man on the other line pants. “Fuck, this feels good. Not as good as you, though. Ohhh god, baby, fuck… I’d ride your cock for hours – ‘till I could feel you inside of me for months. When I get home, if you don’t make me – oh shit, mmm… - if you don’t make it impossible for me to walk the next day, we’re over, p-pal.”

“M’gonna make you cry again,” Rogers promises, and when Barnes moans hotly at the suggestion, Tony grunts and then tries to cover it up with a cough. Natasha gives him an amused, knowing look but she’s totally busted because her pupils are dilated as fuck.

“Fuck, baby doll, Stevie, yeah, you’re so fuckin’ sweet, so fuckin’ pretty,” Barnes babbles. Both of their breathing is harsh and fast now, and as the minutes pass, when one of them moans, it becomes harder and harder to tell from which man it originated from. “Got such a sexy body – can’t wait to get my mouth all over it. Gonna suck those perfect tits of yours until you’re beggin’ me to stop--”

“Never,” Cap challenges, voice sounding fucked.

“We’ll see about that, little darlin’,” is the retort. “Gonna jerk you off until you’re pleadin’ with me to let you come… Then I’ll ride you, just like we said, but I still won’t let you come – you wanna know why?”

“Buck… oh, fuck, God…”

“Ask me why, Stevie.”

“W-Why…?”

Barnes growls, and Tony’s surprised his pants don’t shoot off his damn legs at the sound. “’Cause then m’gonna get off, flip you over, and pound your cute little ass until you’re comin’ all over the sheets. I miss how tight and hot you are – you like the sounds of that? Can I fuck you silly after I ride you?”

“Oh shit, Buck, m’gonna come--”

Please  do, is all Tony can think. He’s white-knuckling the arms of the chair in anticipation as he holds his breath. From the sounds of it, Natasha does the same – only more subtly.

“Yeah, fuckin’ come for me, Steve. Pretend that’s my fist wrapped around your cock – fuck, imagine it’s my metal one, I know what that does to you. All that cool, ribbed metal tightening around your prick as I fuck you so hard the bed fuckin’ breaks. That’s what m’gonna do to you, Stevie, first thing when I can get my hands on you - don’t even care where we are.”

It’s one of the most beautiful sounds in the world, Tony thinks, when Cap suddenly whimpers low and vulnerable in his throat.

“Come for me, baby,” Barnes moans again.

“You too…”

“Oh, don’t you worry your pretty little head, I’m almost there; almost there, baby. Let me hear ya when you come, wanna hear you say my name.”

“Buck…”

“Yeah, that’s it. Tell me how badly you want me to fuck you right now.”

The Captain’s moans are becoming more frequent, shorter, and faster. It sounds like he’s right there on the edge, but before he falls over and gives himself into it, he breathes in a rush of air, “I want it, God, I want it, Buck; I want you to fuck my ass so bad.”

“Stevie…”

“Buck, m’gonna fuckin’ come--”

“Oh god, Steve, Steve, shit!”

“Oh… oh – fuck!” Rogers cries out, drawing out the last syllable and saying Barnes's name more sweetly than any chick Tony’s ever heard in porn. From the other end, Barnes pants louder and then shouts Steve’s name aggressively, followed by a breathless fuck and a throaty groan as he comes no more than thirty seconds afterwards.

Tony and Natasha just sit there and listen to the moans die down and the panting slow as the two boys’ climaxes gradually run their courses. When it’s over, there’s a split second of silence and then Natasha’s standing abruptly and casually saying, “See you later, Stark.”

Never one to give the details, that’s fine, she starts to head out of the room. Tony leans back in his chair and just calls out, “Barton?” cheekily (though it’s hard to put on a smug act when you’re so hard that it hurts and your situational awareness is now all sorts of fucked up). The redhead just flips him the bird from over her shoulder and lets the door slam shut behind her, and that’s all the answer that Tony needs. He makes a mental note to throw out some subtle innuendo the next time he sees the archer – simply because he can and he loves to. In the meantime, all he can focus on is the fact that the second this conversation is over, he’s going to have Jarvis play it back to him while he finally has his dick out and can actually appreciate it.

It takes him a minute to realize that the lovebirds are talking normally again.

“—Gonna have to clean my floor up now, jerk. All I wanted was to make some food.”

“Mmph, at least you’ll sleep more comfortably now,” Barnes answers, hardly sounding sorry at all.

Rogers chuckles. “Always gettin’ me into the worst crap. You’re the devil on my shoulder.”

“Yeah yeah, you just keep letting the world think you’re some goody-goody Boy Scout, I know what you’re really like,” Barnes replies, and Tony thinks, No fucking kidding. He feels like everything he’s ever known has been a lie. His father must be rolling over in his grave right about now.

He hears his name and so he goes back to paying attention.

“I mean it, Buck – no more nude photographs while I’m at work. Stark takes one look at that and he’ll probably make some Twitter account for me and make that the profile picture,” Rogers says sternly. Tony hums to himself and mutters, “Not a bad idea, actually.”

“Come on, Steve, the guy wouldn’t do that,” Barnes chuckles.

“You clearly haven’t gotten to know him very well, then.”

“You two are friends, ain’t ya?”

Tony perks at this, raising an eyebrow as he waits to hear Cap’s response. He surprisingly finds himself relieved when Steve answers, “Yeah, I suppose we are. Weren’t at first, though. Did I ever tell you ‘bout what he had to say about Howard’s work? Yeah, remind me to tell you about that once you’re back home – it’s definitely a drink-worthy story. We almost brawled it out right there on an exploding Helicarrier.”

“What was it about?” Barnes asks with concern in his voice. Tony’s mind scrambles frantically to try to remember. Fuck, what was it?? Something about… something-something, Steve, something special…?

“Ah, it was nothing important,” Rogers replies. “Just made a comment about how everythin’ special about me came out of a bottle. I told him to put on his suit so we could go a few rounds – you know I would’a had him on the ropes.”

“Hold on, back up. He said what to you?”

Tony frowns. Oh, shit. Rogers just replies nonchalantly, “Everything special about me came out of a bottle. It’s fine, Buck, he and I are obviously past that.”

“Mhm,” Barnes replies flatly. There’s a pause and then he says, “Look, I gotta go for now, m’sorry Stevie. Gotta report back to base for my mission report and then I gotta hit the hay or m’gonna pass out where I stand. But I’ll call as soon as possible, yeah?”

“Yeah, okay, sounds good.”

“Steve? I love you, pal.”

“Yeah, love you back, Buck.”

They’re about to hang up when Barnes’s voice says, “Oh, and one more thing.”

“Yeah?” Cap asks.

But then Barnes says in a deadly low tone, “You and I are gonna have a little chat when I get home, Stark.”

And then he hangs up. And the call ends. And Tony sits there staring ahead; erection withering away and deflating as quickly as a poked balloon – sound effects and all.

Shit.