Work Text:
It’s five thirty in the morning, and Bucky is ninety-five percent sure he’s going to die tonight. Steve isn’t home; he’s been away for the past three nights on some Avengers thing. He’d told Bucky what exactly it was a few weeks ago through a mouthful of pancakes, but he hadn’t paid him much mind. He’s been ignoring Steve almost since the turn of the century, no matter how many times it comes back to bite him in the ass. He groans and turns over in bed, turning his face up in disgust at how his shirt clings to his back. The room is far from hot. It borders on cold, even, yet his entire body burns with the heat of arousal. Fuck.
He buries his face into the cold pillow, letting a muffled shout loose, and kicks his feet against the bed, as if he were a fifteen year old girl and not a hundred-odd year old ex-assassin. Not fair. Steve takes off and leaves him here all alone, with no one to help a guy out, and now he’s going to die like this. Not fair at all.
Bucky whines into the pillow, once more for good measure before he forces himself to sit up. He reaches for the phone on the nightstand, remembering it suddenly. 15% battery… good enough. Steve always harps on him for leaving the thing uncharged, bitching about potential emergencies and whatever else. Characteristically, Bucky never takes anything from those lectures except for a headache forming behind his eyes. The childish part of him relishes in the thing being low on battery, knowing it would piss Steve off, because he really, really hates Steve right now.
His first order of business is to click the browser icon, and he types a shaky query out with his index finger: Can I die from being too horny?
The top answer tells him no, which is relieving, but he scrolls down just in case. Clicks on something called Reddit, which Stark had once told the team never fails to have a guy posting about the exact same experience you’re having. Reddit also says his condition is non-lethal, and he releases a sigh he didn’t realize he was holding.
Despite the assurances of the World Wide Web, Bucky’s still fairly sure he’s in some sort of danger zone. He remembers being nineteen, when he and Steve used to flip through magazines full of dames under the cover of the dark, jerking themselves until their release was painted all over the floor of Steve’s bedroom. Bucky almost wishes he had one of those damn things in hand now. Unless… of course, the damn information machine in his hand.
He thinks it over for a few minutes, then shifts his weight so he can type better. Penis. Clicks onto the images tab, and… dear God, that is so deeply unsexy. Bucky groans again and decides against Googling ‘Steve Rogers naked,’ concluding with a huff that it’s not exactly the brightest idea he’s had. Defeated, he tosses the phone across the bed and sinks back into the pillows.
The problem tucked within his pajama pants is growing, and he squeezes his eyes shut, rubbing the stars that dance in his vision away with his fists. He’s about to try hopping into the shower with the water set to its coldest, hoping it’ll have a deterrent effect similar to when you spray a cat with a mist of water. He sits up fully, swinging his legs over the side of the bed, and he braces himself to stand until he remembers what else the miniature machine he’d tossed to the side houses.
Bucky’s breath hitches, and he fumbles to unlock the phone again. His fingers hit the almost all the wrong numbers each time, and he swears on the third attempt, pressing each number carefully. Thank fucking God, he thinks, clicking the little camera icon that’s meant to put him through to Steve. He’s tense with anticipation, holding his breath without realizing. It’s the middle of the night, Steve is probably soundly asleep, and there’s no way he’s going to pick up a call right now. Bucky should calm the hell down and take his ass to bed—
“Buck?”
The top of Steve’s head fills the screen first, and his face comes into view next, squinting against the brightness of his own screen. His hair is mussed, and his voice is gruff with sleep. It makes Bucky feel so very at home, even by himself, even with Steve’s side of the bed neglected.
“Is everything okay, pal?” Steve sits up in bed, forehead wrinkling.
Bucky swallows the lump forming in his throat and nods dumbly. “M’sorry.”
“You don’t have to be sorry. Why are you up so early?”
“Haven’t slept.”
“Oh.” Steve knows not to question it, or scold him. It’s not an unusual thing for Bucky to have trouble sleeping, and the reasons are not things he wants to talk about with anyone— except his therapist, occasionally, and that’s after pulling teeth to get it out of him. So he leaves it at that, nothing more than a simple acknowledgement, and hums. “Do you need somethin’, Buck?”
“Stevie, I…” Bucky groans, his head falling back so he’s staring up at the ceiling. “I’m… really damn horny.”
“Oh.” Steve repeats. He covers his mouth, trying to disguise his amusement as a yawn before Bucky realizes he's having a laugh at his expense, but his eagle-eyed boyfriend sees the corners of his eyes crinkling immediately.
“You’re laughing at me!”
“I’m not, Buck.” When he’s met with a glare, Steve folds. “Maybe a bit. It’s just… it’s so early, I thought something was the matter. I can’t say this is what I was expecting when I picked up.”
Bucky’s glare softens, even if only slightly. “I didn’t mean to wake you. Did you sleep long?”
“I hit the hay about two hours ago. Had a late night with Sam.”
“Oh.” It’s Bucky’s turn with the interjection now, and he doesn’t try to hide the pout playing on his bottom lip.
“Don’t be like that, Buck. We’re friends. Just had a night out.” Steve sighs; Bucky can tell he’s exasperated, and a pit settles in the bottom of his stomach. Steve seems to notice, and he offers a small smile in spite of his exhaustion. “Only have eyes for you, pal.”
“Stevie…” The tips of Bucky’s ears burn. He groans, feeling the problem twitch excitedly beneath fleece. Fucking traitor. “You’re really not helping.”
“Well, how do you propose I should help then?” Steve is moving now. He’s gotten up out of bed, and he flicks the lights on, carrying the phone that houses his Bucky into the bathroom with him. Bucky feels a twinge of guilt at having woken him, knowing he’s up for the foreseeable future because of him. It’s not enough to kill the twitch in his pants, though, so he swallows the guilt down just as fast as he’d allowed it to creep up.
“I don’t know!” Bucky huffs. “You need to come home.”
“I’m three hundred miles away, Bucky. I can’t come home just because you’re horny.” Steve’s out of frame now, and Bucky’s view is of the bathroom ceiling, but he can practically hear Steve’s eyes rolling. With Steve seemingly out of sight, he sticks his tongue out at the camera.
“I saw that.”
“You deserve it. Three hundred miles isn’t that far.”
“You’re ridiculous. Why can’t you just take care of it yourself?”
“Because I want you to take care of it!” Bucky snaps, and it comes out more whiny than he intends. The silence that follows tells him that was the wrong tone to take with Steve, so he pouts and sinks a little further down. “I’m sorry.”
“I know. But if you’re going to wake me up at the asscrack of dawn, you can’t be snapping at me.” Steve picks Bucky back up, his face filling the screen once more. “I can’t be there, I really can't. But if you wanna tell me how I can help, I’m all ears, pal.”
Bucky swallows hard. His throat feels raw, and he has to wonder for a moment if he’s getting sick or if he’s just worked up enough that it’s starting to take a toll on him physically. Is that a thing? Surely it must be… he’ll have to consult with the Reddit later. “Can you just… stay?” He asks, softly, his metal fingers curled into the comforter hard enough to rip through the fabric. “I want you to watch me. Please.”
“You got it, Buck.” Steve is walking again, and Bucky hears the click of the bathroom door behind him as he exits. “Just give me one sec.”
“Hurry, please.” Bucky taps his foot against the ground, propping the phone up against a pillow. With its newfound freedom, his right hand settles over the bulge in his sweats, fingers already hooked under his waistband in anticipation.
“Just a second. Hold your horses.” Steve chuckles, settling into his own bed just a moment later. “Okay, Buck. All set.”
Bucky exhales through his nose, and his hand dives into his waistband. He uses his wrist to shimmy the fabric down a few inches as he pulls himself out, droplets of pre already beading at the head of his cock. From what, he couldn’t say, because his earlier Google search of one singular penis surely is not the culprit for how worked up he is now. He wills the sarcastic thought from his head and moans as his closed hand drags along his length in hurried, desperate strokes. His head drops back, and he whimpers, gritting his teeth against the sound.
“Look at me, Buck.” Bucky jumps slightly at the sound of Steve’s voice, so lost in the sensation that he’d nearly forgotten he was there. Or, sort of there.
“M’sorry, I forgot…” Bucky whimpers, and his hips jerk upward, into the warmth of his fist. The vibration sends his phone onto its side, and he rights it with his free hand, angling it down so Steve can see his cock in his hand. “I’ve been- Mmf, was so hard, for hours, thinkin’ about you. I thought I- fuck! Thought I was gonna die, Stevie. I even Googled it.”
“You’re not gonna die, Buck.” Steve rolls his eyes, fondly. “Let me see your face, baby.”
Bucky tilts the camera back up obediently. He strokes himself faster, panting now, his hair sticking to his face. He sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, biting down on it until he tastes copper. “I need it so bad, Stevie, I…” His stomach is slick, painted with the wetness of his arousal, and he whines. “Fuck.”
“I know, baby.” Steve says thickly, swallowing hard. He leans closer without realizing, unblinking. “I’m watching you. I’m right here, okay?”
Bucky’s cock pulses in his fist, and he closes his eyes. He’s worked himself up so far that his hand slides with little resistance now, the length of his shaft coated in precum. He thrusts his hips up, fucking into his hand, the most obscene little whimpers spilling from his wet, parted lips. He hears Steve swear, but he can’t will himself to open his eyes.
“Bucky.” Steve’s voice, firmer than it’s been yet. “Open your eyes. Look at me, please.”
“I can’t, I can’t—” Tears gather in Bucky’s eyes, and he forces his eyes open, staring blearily at Steve’s image. “I’m gonna… fuck, m’ gonna cum.”
His hand moves faster, desperately, his mind begging him to relieve the ache pressing inside of him. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Every single stroke is sloppier than the last, and he yelps softly everytime his palm rubs against the sensitive underside of his head. He can’t control the way his hips rock into his hand, and he bites the inside of the cheek until he’s tearing up again, the noise that bubbles up from his chest something that falls between being classified a wail and a moan. “Ah, m’ so close, fuck…”
“Good boy.” Steve blinks for the first time in over a minute, transfixed on the boy falling apart on his screen, right there yet too far for him to hold.
That’s what pushes Bucky over the edge. He breathes faster, the moans coming in a constant, sniveling stream of only partly coherent words. “Fuck!” He tenses, and his cock jerks hard in his hand before he spills over. Thick ropes of opaque whiteness decorate his knuckles, spurt onto his stomach, and drip filthily down his abs. He moans through the release, stroking himself weakly until he’s milked every last drop free.
He slumps back into their bed when he’s finished, still breathing heavily, tousled locks of dark brown hair stuck to his forehead. Steve is dead silent, still staring, the pace of his own breathing quickening. Bucky is the first to speak, blinking away the haziness swimming in his head. “Stevie?”
“Still here, pal.” Steve manages, subconsciously clenching his jaw. “Good boy.”
Bucky’s cock twitches slightly at the praise, and he groans, silently wishing it’d just leave him the hell alone already. “Miss you, Stevie.”
“I miss you more, Buck. I’ll be back before you know it.”
“You’ll take care of me when you get home?”
“Yeah, pal.” Steve murmurs. “You already know it.”
Bucky nods weakly. His thighs still tremble, and he plants his metal hand on his right leg, trying to force it to still.
“You should get cleaned up, and get some sleep. I’ll call you later, okay?”
Another nod. “Okay. M’ gonna take a shower.”
“That sounds like a great idea, Buck.” Bucky wants to cry at how warm his voice is. He wishes he could bottle it up, hear it at will for the rest of his life. Better yet, he wishes he could keep Steve with him forever, right by his side. That he could hear that warm voice and gaze into those baby blues that have been his grounding force for almost a century whenever he wants to. He thinks, considering he can’t, that life is an incredibly unfair experience.
“Buck?” Steve’s voice creeps in, pulling him out of his thoughts, and Bucky forces a smile when he sees the worried lines on his forehead.
“I’m fine, Stevie. Sorry. Just need to get some rest.”
“You do that.” The worry disappears from Steve’s face just as fast as it’d come. That’s all Bucky has ever wanted, for Steve to not have to worry. He thinks, not for the first time, that he is completely in love with Steven Grant Rogers. Perhaps he’ll have to tell him sometime— who knows, maybe it’ll go somewhere. He snorts to himself, thinking, per usual, that he’s the funniest person who has ever graced the planet, before his eyes return to Steve’s.
“Night.” Bucky smiles again, a genuine one this time, as he takes Steve in. “I love you.”
“I love you more, baby. Goodnight.”
Bucky ends the call before he can lose himself further in his thoughts. He shoves the phone into the nightstand, not before smirking at the battery indicator reading 2%. He’s half-hard again, and he stalks off towards that cold shower after all, cursing his libido in his head. He's a century old, for the love of god, he doesn't have time for this shit. He should, by all accounts, be sat hunched over at a bingo table right now, or scarfing down a container of butterscotch pudding. Anything but this.
Three hundred and seven miles away, Steve steps under the assaulting cold of the freezing shower mist at the same time as Bucky does at home. Later, he’s going to join Sam and Natasha at breakfast, and Sam will make a comment about how thin the walls separating their rooms are. For now, Steve is going to stand under the cold spray, and he’s going to spend every last minute of his torturous shower with Bucky’s moans playing on loop in his head.