Work Text:
Title: More Than A Good Time
Author: bactaqueen
Rating: M
Warnings: slut-shaming, unhygienic bakery activities
Setting: What's Your Number?-inspired AU
Characters: Bucky Barnes/Steve Rogers
Disclaimer: This is a work of fiction. Recognizable characters belong to their respective owners. No profit is earned and no infringement is intended.
Summary: Steve's trying to protect himself from another broken heart. Bucky's just trying to get into Steve's pants, until it's more than that.
Steve Rogers stood in the doorway to his apartment, his bare feet planted firmly hip-width apart, thick arms crossed over his chest, and an expression of weary frustration on his handsome face. He looked about as warm and yielding as a North Atlantic iceberg. Steve stared, eyes merciless and unflinching, at his boyfriend--ex now, based on the conversation Bucky hadn't even interrupted when he'd opened his front door.
"Your loss, sunshine!" Tony Stark, dot com wunderkind, shrugged into his rumpled linen blazer. His dark hair was a tousled mess, his pants were wrinkled, and his shirt only had about half the buttons sealed. "Your loss." He fished a flimsy pair of aviators from the inside pocket of his blazer and shoved them on his face. "Every bent man in New York is dying for a piece of Tony Stark. Dying."
"Yes," Steve said dryly. He didn't look angry, he just looked tired. Like a man who'd been fighting for so long nothing else seemed normal anymore. "And I'm sure you'll enjoy giving it to them."
Tony gestured emphatically, arms up, fingers spread. "We never said we were exclusive! We never defined this." He waved a hand between himself and Steve.
Steve's shoulders shifted, his spine stiffened, and his expression tightened. "You're right, Tony, and that's my fault."
Tony flashed a winning grin. "Well, if you're taking all the blame--"
"Goodbye, Tony." Steve shot a pointed look toward the stairs.
Dmitri chuckled. Damn, Bucky had forgotten about last night's guest. He glanced at the man beside him--big mistake, because Dmitri took the chance to pull him into a quick, deep kiss. Bucky hid a wince as he extracted himself. He really needed to restock the spare toothbrushes in the bathroom, this was the third morning in a row he'd been forced to contend with someone else's furry morning breath.
Gross.
Dmitri ran his fingers through Bucky's messy hair. "Sure you won't have breakfast with me?"
"Nah." Bucky planted his hands on the man's hips and pushed him toward the stairs. He feigned an apologetic smile. Breakfast? No way in hell. Dmitri wasn't that good. "I gotta see my dentist. Can't eat before, you know how it goes." That was how he got out of reciprocating the good-morning head, too.
"Yeah." Dmitri licked his lips and smirked. "Call me?"
Bucky smiled. He knew better than to even make a non-committal noise. He never promised anything, never even made hints of promises. Promises made him a liar, and he wasn't a liar. Confusion flashed in Dmitri's green eyes--green, that was a new color for Bucky--but was quickly replaced by acceptance. That was the game, after all. Dmitri's mouth firmed into a thin smile.
"See you," he said.
I hope not. "See you," Bucky agreed. He wished he could say he'd learned his lesson about picking up guys at the gym, but he knew he hadn't.
Dmitri turned and started for the stairs. He reached them when Steve's new ex did. Bucky leaned against his doorjamb and watched, more than a little amused, as Tony looked Dmitri down and up and back. Dmitri didn't have anything on Steve--Steve, former Army captain and current fitness nut, Steve with his all-American good looks and incorruptible morality--but Dmitri was no slouch, big and blond himself, sturdy Russian stock with lips made for sucking dick if Bucky had ever seen a pair. It didn't surprise Bucky one bit when Tony smiled lasciviously at Dmitri.
"I'm Tony."
Dmitri smirked. "I know who you are."
"Good, that saves me a lot of effort." He slung an arm around Dmitri's shoulders and leaned into him as they started down the stairs together. Tony raised his voice, a final shot at Steve as he disappeared down the stairwell. "My boyfriend just dumped me. Can you believe that? I'm crushed. My heart is broken. Do you know the best cure for a broken heart?"
"Whiskey and sex?"
"I knew you looked like a smart man. How do you feel about sucking my dick in the back of my vintage Rolls Royce?"
Bucky stifled a chuckle. He'd known Tony Stark was something else, but watching the man in action was downright special. Bucky felt like he'd seen greatness at work. He could hardly blame Dmitri. Tony was quite a catch, even for just a morning. "Just a morning" seemed like Tony's modus operandi, though, so he wondered--not for the first time--what an upstanding prude like Steve was doing with a genius billionaire playboy. Hiding his smile as he turned was impossible. It was made more impossible by the sight of Steve frowning at the stairs as though Tony would stop if he disapproved hard enough.
"Hey, you set him free," Bucky piped up.
Steve turned that frown on him.
Bucky grinned back. He'd long since lost count of how many times he'd fantasized about tying something (maybe one of those tasteful ties Steve put on every Sunday morning to go to Mass) over those bright blue eyes and fucking that serious mouth and coming all over that ridiculously unfair face.
"Listen, pal, if you're in the mood for some rebound sex, you know where I live." He winked.
Steve rolled his eyes and gave a disgusted sigh. He dropped his arms and turned his back on Bucky without even an answer. For a moment, Steve stood in his doorway backlit by the bright morning sun. He cut a fine figure, so symmetrical Bucky heard his biological clock--when the fuck did he get that--ticking loud in the silence of his brain. He dropped his eyes to that fantastic ass and felt a pang of outright longing. All he wanted was one night with that ass. That was all. Just one. He could do enough in one night to give him a lifetime's worth of memories and he could die a happy man then.
Steve slammed his door shut. Bucky laughed at himself as he retreated into his own apartment.
*
New morning, new man. Steve nodded politely at the disheveled redhead on the stairs and pretended not to notice the purple-red splotches on the guy's neck or the bruises in full bloom on his bony wrists. Noticing the evidence Bucky always left behind got heat flaring low in his belly, and his running shorts were too flimsy for that.
Steve reached the top of the stairs only to find Bucky, wearing nothing more than a sheet and the flush of recent exertion, leaning out of his apartment. Steve frowned at him. Bucky was lucky Steve was the only neighbor on their floor, because he doubted anyone else would be willing to put up with his regular semi-public nudity.
"Do you ever smile?"
Steve frowned harder at him. "Of course I do."
"Could have fooled me." Bucky nodded at the stairs. "Did Liam make it outside?"
"I don't track your one-night-stands, Barnes."
"I think you do, Rogers."
Bucky was right, but Steve still had his pride; there was no reason to let him know that he'd noticed every lucky bastard to come out of Bucky's apartment early in the morning for the last three years. Steve kept his mouth shut and crossed to his door, fishing his key out of the zippered pouch on his armband.
"Are you coming to the building party tonight?" Bucky asked.
"It's supposed to be a tenants' meeting. Attendance isn't optional." He spared a glance over his shoulder as he unlocked his door.
Bucky grinned. "It's going to be a great party. We're going to be having this thing, it's called 'fun.' You should try it sometime." His grin turned lewd. "In fact, you should come over. You and I could have a lot of fun together, Steve."
Steve set his jaw. Bucky didn't mean anything by it, he knew, but it still stung. Steve had heard the same refrain his entire life, most notably from every single partner near the end of every failed relationship he'd ever had.
"I'll see you tonight, Bucky," he said tightly, trying for civil but realizing too late how it sounded. He choked back a groan of frustration at himself. "At the party," he added, scowling. He twisted the door handle a little too hard and shoved his door open.
What the hell was wrong with him?
"You can't get a guy's hopes up like that, Steve. Not when his dick can't join 'em!"
Steve's scowl deepened. He knew the only reason Bucky couldn't get it up right now was making his way toward the train. Steve didn't want to think about it but it was suddenly all he could picture, Bucky pinning Liam down in his bed, biting his neck and rutting against him until they both came.
He wondered what Bucky looked like in the throes of orgasm.
"Later, Barnes," he grumbled.
Bucky made sloppy kissing noises at him.
Alone inside his apartment, Steve let himself slump back against the door. It had been a month since he and Tony had broken up--embarrassingly publicly, which had irritated him even more than finding out Tony hadn't considered their relationship as exclusive as he had. Nearly every day, he'd passed Bucky's one-night-stands doing their walk of shame down the stairs and out into the Brooklyn mornings, and every time, he'd felt that stab of lust and the twist of jealousy.
Steve hated the jealousy. It was an ugly feeling. He hated that he was jealous, hated that they got to spend the night with Bucky. More than just that, though, he was jealous of the ease with which they all seemed to handle themselves and sex, with the way they could separate love from sex. Steve wanted that. He wanted to know what Bucky was like stripped down and turned on and he didn't want to be helplessly in love with him when he found out. A lonely ache yawned in his chest and for a moment, Steve actually missed Tony. He missed being close to someone. He was sick of nursing his broken heart.
He was sick of fucking his own hand.
Everything would be so much easier if he could just get over himself. He could cross the hall and fall into bed with Barnes, and when it was over, he could get on with his life.
Things were never easy. Steve didn't do easy.
Instead, he crossed through to his bedroom and into his bathroom. He stripped, leaving everything in a neat pile on the floor near the door, and he climbed into the shower. The hot water washed away the sweat and grit from the morning's run. He shut his eyes and bowed his head, letting his body relax and his thoughts turn back to Bucky.
Always back to Bucky.
Steve had tried, in the last few years, he really had, not to think about Bucky. Naked Bucky, just-fucked Bucky, incredibly hot Bucky. Steve wasn't even surprised when his dick hardened. He just put his hand on it and thought of Bucky moving over him, pounding into him, biting his neck and talking him through it.
It was what he wanted and he wouldn't let himself have it. It would only end badly for him. He knew that he had the habit of conflating love and sex and he knew that if he fell into bed with Bucky, it would be the same as falling in love.
Steve was pretty sure the only kind of love Bucky did was the kind that was followed promptly by leaving. Or making the other guy leave.
He frowned at the mess on his hands.
He hated leaving.
Steve steeled himself and put Bucky out of his mind. He shut off the shower and climbed out, and as he toweled off, he told himself he'd get down to the bakery and make some petits fours and cannoli and cookies for the party, and he refused to think about how much he wanted Bucky Barnes to bend him over the counter in there and fuck him senseless.
*
It looked to Bucky like Steve was the only person not having a good time. He leaned against the balustrade at the corner of the roof, drink in hand, going between watching the party and staring out over the street below. Bucky kept one eye on Steve and he moved through the crowd, talking to people he knew and people he knew for damned sure didn't live in the building. Fuck if he cared, though, it was a party, and in his mingling, he found more than one eligible and interested bachelor in the crowd.
Too bad the only eligible bachelor he really wanted was being a Debbie Downer all on his own in the shadows.
When Steve set his drink aside and leaned against the utility shed, Bucky saw his chance. He scooped two fresh beers out of the cooler and made his way across the roof.
Steve did not look happy to see him. Bucky should have been deterred, but he was never deterred. Steve never looked happy to see anyone, as far as Bucky could tell. Steve was also the only guy who had ever turned him down more than once; pursuit at this point was just a matter of pride. Bucky would have Steve. He would. He knew that just as sure as he knew the sun would rise.
"Beer?"
Steve stared at it and seemed to consider the offer. As if one more would do anything to him. He sighed and he shrugged and he accepted the beer. "Thanks."
"No problem." Bucky leaned against the balustrade beside him. "You're not having a good time," he said, without preamble but without, at least, any accusatory tone in his voice.
"The party's fine," Steve said dully.
If Bucky had to, he'd describe Steve's tone as "barely polite," which, really, wasn't unusual for them. Buck knew he should wonder why he was so set on having a guy who clearly could barely stand him, but he made a point not to think too much about why he picked the guys he picked, so he didn't.
"I didn't ask what you thought of the party, Rogers, I pointed out that it's pretty fucking obvious you're not having a good time."
Steve glanced at him, face and eyes unreadable.
Bucky didn't like that look. It made him feel out of his depth. He didn't like feeling out of his depth. So he took a swig of his beer and he mustered up a lewd grin and he said, "What d'ya say, Steve? Drunk enough to come back to my place? I cam make sure you have a good time." And he waggled his eyebrows for effect, knowing that Steve was only going to turn him down--again--and knowing that he'd just keep trying until Steve Rogers was crossed off of his To Do list.
Steve tipped his beer back and drank it down, all of it in one go. Watching that made Bucky's breath catch in his throat. Steve leaned forward to set his bottle down, then stood up and pushed away from the edge of the roof.
"Service stairwell," he said, slipping a hand into one of the front pockets of his shorts. "Follow me. Be discreet, huh?"
Bucky thought his eyes were going to bug out of his head, but he gulped down the rest of his beer, ditched his bottle with Steve's discarded empties, and followed without hesitating. Discretion wasn't his strength and he didn't even try for it.
Steve could punish him for it later if he really wanted.
Steve cut a commanding figure in the crowd, tall and broad, and Bucky didn't understand why every eyeball on the roof wasn't locked to him. He couldn't figure out what a big guy like Steve was doing baking and decorating cakes in a boutique bakery in gentrified Brooklyn, either, but he never bothered to ask. He doubted he ever would, either.
When Steve unlocked the door to the narrow, cramped service stairwell at the back of the building, Bucky followed him in. The stench of piss and dead vermin closed around him. The light was yellow, sickly. There could have been four inches of raw sewage on the floor and Bucky would have followed Steve in and gone to his knees. The door slammed behind him, locking automatically. Before Bucky could say anything snarky, Steve had him pinned to the door.
"Come on, Buck. Show me a good time."
Bucky smelled the beer on Steve's breath and felt the searing heat of him through his shirt. He shivered. "Are you drunk, Rogers?"
"Drunk enough." Steve rubbed his parted lips along Bucky's cheek, breathing out hot and heavy. "Come on. Show me what you've got."
Bucky wasn't sure he liked this. Anytime he'd thought of Steve, of being with Steve, this wasn't what came to mind. But it's what he got, and Bucky was nothing if not opportunistic, so he pressed his mouth to Steve's and grabbed his sides, pulling him closer.
Steve tasted of beer and sugar and fruit. He smelled like warm skin and fresh air and clean soap. Bucky groaned into the kiss, his fingers digging hard into Steve's sides through his soft thin t-shirt, and he pushed closer. Steve licked into his mouth, then pulled back and bit Bucky's bottom lip.
"Is this all you've got, Bucky?"
"Give me a break," he mumbled, lips against Steve's hot neck. "I didn't figure you'd say yes." He scraped his fingers down Steve's side and palmed his cock through the front of his shorts. Steve was hard and rising and Bucky really, really wanted that cock in his hand.
He nipped his way up Steve's neck, to his ear, and he stuck his hand down the front of Steve's shorts, into his boxers, and he wrapped his sweaty fingers around Steve's hard dick. He muffled the gasp of surprise against Steve's neck; he figured Steve was big, just not that big.
Steve rocked into him, moaning against the angle of his jaw.
The next moment, Steve's hand was inside Bucky's shorts, and Steve's mouth was hot and demanding on his.
They moved together, breathing together. Bucky knew he'd go embarrassingly fast; he didn't care, he could prove himself later (later, with Steve sprawled on his stomach in Bucky's bed, his face in Bucky's pillows, Bucky's cock in his ass). He slid his tongue along Steve's and stole his breath and groaned as he came, spilling hot and sticky over Steve's hand, messing the front of his shorts and probably his t-shirt, too. He didn't care. He gripped Steve tighter and stroked him faster and was rewarded with Steve's stuttering breath, with the feel of Steve coming hot over his fist.
Steve sagged against him, panting against his cheek. Bucky expected to feel Steve's arms wind around him. He expected more kissing, maybe some tender touches, and the thoughts didn't feel him with dread. His lazy lizard brain was thinking about taking Steve downstairs, getting him another beer, stripping him and licking every inch of him until he was ready to go again. Or maybe even heading to Steve's place, with its better view of the city, and screwing him hard in the bed with Brooklyn a living thing beyond the windows. He didn't care, he really didn't, as long as there was plenty of lube and Steve was naked.
Bucky was still daydreaming and breathing hard when Steve pulled away. He opened his eyes. In the yellow light, he could make out Steve's scowl. Bucky tensed, immediately on edge.
"What's--" wrong, he wanted to say, but he didn't get the chance.
"Thanks," Steve said roughly. He turned away, straightening his shirt. "See you around." He didn't even look back as he bounded down the stairs, turned the corner at the landing, and was gone.
Bucky listened to the echo of Steve descending the rickety metal stairs, sweat and come cooling on his skin, and he wondered what the hell had just happened.
*
Steve took the opening shift at work and started hitting the gym and the running paths at night just to avoid Bucky and his one-night-stands in the hallways and on the stairs. He collected his mail only when he was sure Bucky wouldn't be there and he didn't leave his apartment unless he was certain the hallway was clear and there was no danger of running into Bucky. It was extreme and he knew it.
Steve made a lot of stupid decisions because of Bucky.
He shouldn't have run away so quickly the night of the party.
He told himself that he didn't know why he did it, why he did any of it. He'd known--completely, with absolute certainty--that any slip-up with Bucky would lead him to where he was. Steve felt heartsick. He wanted more. He had lived across the hall from Bucky for three years, had watched the men move in and out, and he was miserable. He wanted to be one of them. He wanted to be more than one of them. He wanted to stay.
Bucky didn't do "stay."
In five weeks, Steve had managed to undo all of the work he'd done on himself in the four years he'd been out of the Army. That was great. Between losing Tony and... whatever it was he'd done with Bucky, he was feeling pretty low. Pretty angry with himself in a way he hadn't been since he'd realized he liked boys instead of girls. He should be able to have sex without falling in love, especially with men who clearly weren't interested in anything long-term. (How many nights had he sat up with Sharon or Rachel in college telling them exactly the same thing?) He should stop falling for and into bed with unavailable men. (Tony and Bucky were merely the latest in a respectable, incorrigible line of them and Steve could remember in vivid detail what he'd loved most about each of them.) Steve was even, irrationally, angry with the culture he lived in, the culture that valued throwaway sex and punished men for falling in love. He'd tried to change. He couldn't. Instead, he got what he got.
Everything sucked.
Steve moved through the bakery, turning on the lights in the front but leaving off the Open sign; he knew some of the early birds liked to see the place lit up and watch him prep for the day. He started the first pot of coffee, tied on an apron, and washed his hands. He threw himself into the mindlessness of prep. There was the bread and the breakfast pastries, the display cakes, and a couple of birthday party orders before the new hire got in.
He wasn't going to think about Bucky. Not anymore.
Maybe he needed a vacation.
Steve was elbow-deep in kneading a loaf of bread when he heard the front bell ring. He glanced at the clock. Sarge was a bit early, but the night had been pretty chilly. Steve moved away from the dough, wiping his hands clean on his apron. He could smell that the coffee was done. He grabbed a new roll of cups and one of lids and and extra stack of bags from the stockroom, stalling. Normally, he didn't mind at all if the old man wanted to talk; Steve knew as well as anyone how helpful that was, and he didn't imagine much changed in the forty years between your last kill and scrounging for any kind of living you could make on the streets of the city. Most days, Steve would sit with the old man and listen to an hour's worth of war stories, feed him and ask the right questions, but Steve just wasn't in the mood for it today.
He'd make it up to him.
He came around the corner from the back. "Mornin', Sarge," he said.
Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "Who the fuck is Sarge?"
Steve felt his expression falling, tightening, closing up. "I thought you were someone else." He set everything down on the counter near the coffeemaker and gestured at the door. "We're closed, you need to go."
Bucky scoffed. "Oh, so you're open for Sarge but not for me."
Steve sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. He wasn't about to tell Bucky about the old veteran. Or anything else in his life for that matter.
He definitely needed a vacation. Camping. Camping would be good. He'd put the tent and his pack on his bike, take a weekend, and get out to the Catskills.
Maybe it was time to move, too. A place in Sam's building just opened up. He didn't want to move to Harlem but he would if he thought it would help.
He looked at Bucky. "I don't want to talk to you. Please go."
"Nope." Bucky planted his feet and crossed his arms over his chest. He stared hard and cold across the display counter at Steve. "You're avoiding me. Avoiding. Me. After what you pulled in the stairwell, I think you owe me some answers."
Steve bit out, "I thought I was doing you a favor." It was a lie, but he figured the bitterness would cover it. Steve was only doing himself favors. Bad ones.
God, but he'd missed even just seeing Bucky.
Bucky cocked an eyebrow at him. "Since when did you start doing me favors? I thought I wasn't your problem."
"Would you just go? I have work to do." Steve turned away.
Bucky came around the edge of the counter, following him back into the kitchen. "Fine. We can talk while you work."
Steve shot him a glare. "We have nothing to talk about. We hooked up once, that's it. I'm another notch on your bedpost and we're neighbors." He swallowed past the lump in his throat as he started kneading dough. "What the hell else is there to say?"
"We could start with what the fuck, man, you should have told me up front it was a one-time thing!"
Steve scowled. "What difference would that have made?"
"Well, for starters, I would have been more impressive." Bucky leaned back against the counter behind Steve, more than a foot between their bodies but it didn't matter.
Steve could still feel him.
Steve was acutely aware of the space Bucky occupied.
"I didn't think you did anything but one-time things," Steve said. He used the edge of his hand to separate the risen dough into pan-sized loaves.
"Jesus, what kind of slut do you think I am?"
"A dedicated one," Steve replied sharply.
Bucky laughed mirthlessly. "Not something you say to the guy you wanna fuck, Steve."
"I don't want to fuck you anymore." The lie tasted awful, choked him up and made him want to vomit. But he refused to look at Bucky as he gathered up the loaf pans. "I got what I wanted."
"No, you didn't." Bucky hissed. "Would you just look at me?"
"I'm busy."
"You're being an ass." Bucky reached out and closed a hand around Steve's wrist.
Steve flashed onto a fantasy of Bucky's hands wrapped around his wrists, pinning him to the bed, while the weight of Bucky settled over him. He shuddered.
"What the hell is wrong with you?"
"I'm busy," Steve said again.
*
Bucky frowned. He didn't like frowning, he thought it would give him wrinkles and he really didn't want wrinkles. He wanted even less to be confused by large attractive blond men who looked like they were on the verge of tears or violence. Knowing Steve as he did (not very well, not nearly as well as he'd have liked), maybe it was both. Bucky released Steve's wrist and backed up. He watched silently for several long moments as Steve bustled around the kitchen, shockingly inefficient.
Bucky would put money on Steve just doing busywork to avoid him.
He didn't think Steve was mad at him, not really. Bucky was still pretty pissed about the slut comment, though. Who was this self-righteous asshole to judge him? And he'd known Steve--at least, he thought he'd known Steve--long enough to know that the guy didn't "hook up." Bucky realized with a start that when Steve took him to the stairwell, some part of him inside had expected a lot more.
That's why he was so upset. That's what Steve's avoiding him hurt as much as it did. Bucky had thought that, with Steve, he'd get more than some wham-bam-thank-you-man sex and an awkward morning. No. Not think. He had expectations.
Steve hadn't met any of those expectations.
"You're not busy, Steve. You think I can't tell that you're past caught up here?"
"Would you please just go? We have nothing to say to each other." Steve slammed a tray of loaf pans into the oven and tightened his fist around the door handle as he shoved it closed.
"Really? You don't want to explain why you ran off so fast that night?"
"Isn't that what you wanted?"
Bucky winced. "If you think so little of me, why'd you jerk me off? You could have said no. You've been saying no for years."
At first, the pursuit had been fun. Meaningless. A way to get under Steve's skin.
Now, it just felt like a gross, mean mistake.
"You said you were up for rebound sex. You were my rebound. I'm rebounded." Steve gave him a hard glare. "There, we've cleared the air. You know where the door is."
Bucky winced again. If this asshat gave him wrinkles, he was going to bill him for the Botox. "That's low, man."
Steve turned to face Bucky. "What do you want from me?"
Bucky couldn't help the lewd grin. "You're too much of a prude to hear me say it."
"Why does everyone think I'm a prude?"
Bucky snorted. "What? You want to prove you're not?" He waved a hand at his crotch. "Go for it. I'm pretty sure we've got time."
Steve eyed him. Then shrugged. "All right."
Bucky sputtered. "What?!"
In the next heartbeat, Steve was on his knees in front of him, hands opening his belt, his button, knuckles scraping against him as he lowered the zipper. "Sure. Why not? I can't hate myself anymore, might as well prove I'm not a prude."
Then Bucky's dick was out of his pants and down Steve's throat and he felt like the top of his head had blown off. All he could do was stick his fingers in Steve's hair and hang on for the ride.
*
Prude. Steve was so sick of that word. Like being unwilling to fall into bed with every man he met somehow made him incapable of enjoying sex. Fuck that. Steve opened his throat and pressed his tongue to the underside of Bucky's cock. He didn't close his eyes. He kept them trained on Bucky's face, going red, on Bucky's lips, slick and open, on Bucky's eyes, glazed and dark and finally rolling back in his head. He gagged around Bucky's cock but didn't stop, just pressed closer until his nose was buried in Bucky's pubic hair. He bobbed and sucked and slurped and when Bucky's fingers convulsed in his hair, he pulled back and let him come all over his face and neck. There was an extra t-shirt in his bag in the break room.
He was not a prude.
Bucky slumped, panting, and Steve pulled away. He stood smoothly, ignoring his own raging erection, and gave Bucky an even look.
"I am not a prude."
"Absolutely. Nope. No prudes here." Bucky licked his lips and looked him over. "Are you going to run away now?"
Steve gestured at the mess on his chin and neck. "I can't bake cupcakes like this, can I?" He turned away and stalked off toward the supply room.
Bucky was behind him, hitching his pants closed. "What the fuck was that, anyway?"
"A blow job. Standard sexual practice these days." Steve pulled his t-shirt over his head. "I imagine you've had about a million of them."
Bucky growled. "I'm getting sick of your slut-shaming, buddy."
"If you weren't a slut, maybe you wouldn't be ashamed." Steve wiped his face and neck clean and ignored the twinge of pain in his chest. He wadded his shirt up and shoved it into his bag.
"Maybe I don't want to be a slut anymore."
The breath went out of Steve all in a rush. "Don't." His voice was hard and cold and his erection had flagged completely. He grabbed a fresh t-shirt out of his bag and pushed past Bucky, pausing briefly to meet his eyes and tell him, "Just don't." He made his way down the short hall to the tiny employee bathroom.
Bucky was right on his heels. "What, I'm good enough to fuck but not good enough for anything else? You're a bag of dicks, Steve Rogers. You are not better than me just because you keep it in your pants!"
"I'm not better than anyone," Steve muttered. He'd heard that refrain more than enough, too. He leaned over the sink and twisted on the water. He splashed his face and closed his eyes and wished that Bucky would just go away and let him brood in peace.
"Yeah? You sure as fuck act like you think you are." Bucky slammed his hand against the open bathroom door. "What the fuck was that?"
Steve bowed his head, eyes closed, long sigh released through his nose. "Bucky, I can't do this."
"Then you shouldn't have taken me to the stairwell!"
He gripped the edges of the sink and closed his eyes. "You're right. I shouldn't have. I'm sorry."
"Why-- What the hell are you doing? Damn it. Stop it! Fight with me!"
Steve looked over his shoulder. "I don't want to fight with you, Bucky," he said tiredly, "I want..."
"What?" Bucky glared at him. "What do you want, Steve? I can tell you right now, I'm not leaving. Not until-- Mmf."
Steve pushed him back against the door and covered Bucky's mouth with his own and he knew, in that moment, that he was hopelessly lost.
*
Bucky whimpered. It was an embarrassing sound but Steve's mouth--Steve's whole body--just felt so good. He grabbed at Steve's bare sides and pushed into the kiss. He was still reeling, spinning around in his own brain, when Steve broke away.
Steve ran his hands through Bucky's hair, spread them over his shoulders, ran them down his arms. He breathed heavily, eyes closed, forehead pressed to Bucky's, taking up his space and his air.
"I want you, Bucky. I just want you. That's all I want. I shouldn't have taken you to the stairwell and I shouldn't have done that before because I've fallen for you and that's the stupidest thing I've ever done." He laughed at himself. He cupped Bucky's face and kissed him again, slow and sweet and deep, and pulled away. "I always fall for the wrong assholes. That's why I've been avoiding you, Bucky." He reached for his fresh shirt and put it on.
Bucky watched his abs disappear and wanted to whimper. Then he registered what Steve said, and he glared at him.
"Oh, so I'm good enough to fuck, but not good enough to fall in love with?"
Steve frowned. "Do you even listen?"
"What's wrong with me?"
"Nothing is wrong with you, Bucky. But you're not gonna change, and I'm sick of having my heart broken by guys like you." Steve shook his head.
"Who says I'm not gonna change?"
Steve just looked at him.
Bucky's face felt hot. He tipped his chin up. "You don't even know me. You don't know what I'm like for real. All you see-- All you've seen is those guys--" Bucky winced. There were a lot of guys. A lot. "That's not all there is to me," he finished lamely.
"Give it a rest, Buck." Steve shook his head and hit the lights, leaving the bathroom. "It doesn't matter. I don't have any expectations. You don't have to prove anything."
Bucky followed him, angry again. "So you're just giving up."
"There's nothing to give up."
"You're not even going to ask me?"
Steve sighed heavily and turned back to face Bucky. He deadpanned, "Sure, Buck. Sure. Do you want to be my boyfriend?"
"Yes."
*
Steve groaned into Bucky's mouth at the feel of Bucky's hand palming his dick through his boxers. "Not yet."
"What's the point of all that strength and stamina training," Bucky wanted to know, nipping down Steve's neck, "if you've gotta wait to get it up like the rest of us mere mortals?"
Steve laughed. He hadn't felt this happy since-- Well, he wasn't sure he'd ever felt so happy. Even if he thought this thing with Bucky would all be over soon (soon, and messily, and he was definitely going to have to move), he was going to enjoy it while he could. "This." He took Bucky's hand from his dick to his stomach and played calloused fingers over the ridges of his abs.
Bucky breathed in sharply. "Yeah, that's good, too."
Steve laughed again and captured Bucky's mouth for another solid kiss.