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Steve knew he was in for it when he finally got a good look himself in the window at the bottom of their apartment building.
In the dim light of the streetlamps, he could just make out the bruise starting to form on his cheek, the cut above his eyebrow, and the split in his lip. He watched his tongue flicker out against it absently. A long scratch marred the other side of his face, cutting from his chin to his ear. It didn’t look deep, and Steve was pretty sure he’d gotten it when he’d limped up after the second hit and scraped against something on the ground.
Bucky was going to be furious. The thought sent twin shivers of guilt and excitement down his spine.
Half an hour ago, he’d been drinking with Arnie at the seedy bar that Bucky always pretended to turn his nose up at and hadn’t been able to stop himself from tumbling into an alley with his hands in the scruff of another mans collar. The man was clearly three sheets to the wind and had five inches on Steve’s height, but he’d said something nasty about Arnie and Steve couldn’t help himself.
So Steve was sore, and maybe a little drunk, and Bucky was going to chew him out the moment he walked in the door.
Steve sighed, dragged a hand over his face, and resigned himself to his fate.
The trudge up the stairs felt like a walk to the slaughterhouse. He wasn’t sure if the spinning was a product of the hit or the alcohol; it was probably both. He had to hold onto the wall as he walked, footing unsure in the dark. By the time he reached their door and began fumbling for his key, he was wincing at the pain in his cheek. The buzz of the fight and the booze was wearing off and leaving something weary behind.
The door abruptly opened as he got his hand on the doorknob, light blinding him and an arm snaking out to pull him into their shared apartment.
“Steven Grant Rogers, you’re late,” came Bucky’s stern voice.
Steve’s eyes adjusted in the light just in time to see Bucky’s worried face turn into a deep frown. Steve swallowed thickly and tried to straighten out his shoulders. He was sure he looked ridiculous squaring up with his face all bruised, but if Bucky found it funny, he didn’t show it. Mostly he just looked disappointed as he checked him over for injuries.
“Save it Buck. It looks worse than it is,” he tried.
Bucky just shook his head and rolled up his shirt sleeves as he turned around, retreating into their apartment. He looked good, Steve’s brain supplied inappropriately. His shirt was unbuttoned at the throat, and his suspenders hung around his waist. His hair was mussed up like it got when he was stressed and couldn’t stop running his fingers through it.
Steve followed Bucky into their shared bedroom and tried to act sober. With the way he swayed as he walked was probably failing.
Bucky turned on him suddenly, lips pursed, and Steve tried not to wobble in place.
“Who’d you get into it with this time, huh?” Bucky’s eyes narrowed. “Are you drunk, Rogers.” He didn’t say it like a question.
Steve shrugged and pushed past him to flop down on his bed. Their room was scarcely big enough for two beds, and they mostly slept in one anyways, but it fooled Bucky’s Ma when she came to visit and that was good enough a reason to have a second bed.
“Arnie invited me out. Knew you were working late today anyways.”
Bucky hummed dismissively and went back into the other room. Steve heard him rifling through something, probably looking for something to clean Steve’s unfortunate face. He returned after a moment with a rag in his hand and a crease between his eyebrows.
“So, what, Arnie couldn’t keep you out of it?” he asked gruffly.
He held his hand out to Steve and hauled him into a sitting position on the edge of the bed. Bucky was real close now, reaching to grab Steve’s face to better look at it. Steve bit his tongue to avoid making a hurt noise as Bucky gripped his chin.
“Arnie’d left already. Some asshole called him a fairy as he was walking out the door.”
Bucky’s face pinched up then, concentration wavering as he avoided Steve’s eyes. Bucky liked Arnie just as much as Steve did, and he knew Bucky wasn’t happy to hear about the sorts of things people said about him. They were both intimately aware that people muttered those things about Steve too sometimes, and that Bucky had thrown a few punches of his own in retaliation.
Bucky nodded in understanding but didn’t loosen his grasp on Steve as he tilted his face to the light. He was gentle though, as dabbed the wet rag against Steve’s eyebrow. Even if his face was hardened in anger, he’d never hurt him. Sometimes Steve wished he would.
Bucky just looked at him for a few moments, focused on the blood crusting Steve’s eyebrow.
“You get him good, at least?”
Steve grinned then, a feral little thing that he knew was probably ugly and tugged at the split on his lip. A fresh sting had him darting his tongue out to lick it again, and he didn’t miss the way Bucky’s eyes followed the movement.
“Course I did. Had him on the ropes. ‘Sides, he was drunker’n me.”
Bucky snorted and gave him a little smile then. It was one of Steve’s favourite smiles, a rare one that curled up the corners of his mouth when he thought Steve was being an idiot. Steve liked that it was just for him.
Bucky moved onto Steve’s cheek without anymore talk, gentle ministrations stinging at the tender skin in a way that Steve would never admit to enjoying. It felt good, having Bucky crowd him in like this, with his legs planted between Steve’s. If Steve was sober, he’d have shrugged him off by now, irritated by the implication that he can’t take care of himself. Right now, though, Steve never wanted it to stop. Bucky seemed to relax too as he touched Steve, anger melting into something softer. He bit his lip as he worked, and Steve tried to keep his breathing even. Bucky would stop if he thought he was hurting Steve.
Bucky finished wiping the street muck and blood from Steve’s face.
“C’mon punk, bet you haven’t had dinner yet.”
Bucky made to leave, but Steve pulled him back by the arm. He took a moment to appreciate the muscle there, the new strength that Bucky had stumbled into over the past year during his work at the docks.
“You forgot my lip.” Steve said, peering up at him through his lashes.
Bucky’s eyes darkened a little, and he was still for a moment, contemplating. Then, slowly and purposefully, he made to cup Steve’s face again, leaning down as if for a kiss. Instead, Steve felt something wet probe at his split lip. He gasped as Bucky lapped up the blood there, tonguing at the wound with care. Then, as quickly as it had occurred, Bucky was stepping back and walking to the kitchen to muster up some food.
Steve sat for what felt like an hour, warm and flushed just from Bucky touching him like that, and maybe a little bit from the whiskey he’d been drinking. He’d seen Bucky like this before of course, tender and wanting after Steve scraped himself up a little too bad. But usually, Steve’d be in a foul enough mood that he’d brush him off, a bad taste left behind from Bucky’s mother henning. Now though, it felt like a shot of adrenaline, a continuation of the fight, and blood was pumping to places that were probably not entirely reasonable for a check-up from his old pal Doctor Bucky. Steve snorted. Bucky would probably be delighted if he called him that.
“What’re you laughing about, jerk?” Bucky called from the kitchen, and Steve couldn’t help himself. The image of Bucky pouting in a nurse costume infiltrated his mind and he dissolved into a fit of laughter, gasping and clutching at his side. Bucky walked back in to investigate, and Steve only laughed harder at the dumbfounded look that stretched over Bucky’s handsome features.
“Yeah, yeah, yuk it up. God, I need a drink just lookin’ at you.”
Steve leapt up at that with a grin.
“Yes! Let’s go.”
Bucky scowled at Steve’s enthusiasm, but Steve could tell it was put on. Steve shoved past him into the kitchen, reaching up on his tiptoes to swipe the rest of their whiskey from the shelf. He turned to find Bucky trying to project sternness at him, but Steve wasn’t buying a second of it. He uncapped the bottle and took a healthy swig, spluttering a little at the burn. He handed it over to Bucky, who looked unimpressed.
“At least eat something,” Bucky pleaded.
Steve scanned the kitchen and saw where Bucky had cut a few slices of bread for an impromptu dinner. Steve stuffed a piece into his mouth and tried not to grimace at the staleness.
“Happy?” He asked, muffled around the dry mush of bread he was chewing.
Bucky’s eyes sparkled like he might laugh, but he apparently thought better of it. He took a long pull of the whiskey, head tipped back to expose his long neck as he drank. Steve’s mouth went dry. He wanted to lick him.
Bucky wiped his mouth against the back of his hand. He didn’t hand the bottle back to Steve, which Steve privately thought was very responsible. He felt a little woozy after that last drink.
“Alright Stevie. I’m getting a little hot under the collar in here. Sit out with me?”
Bucky nodded his head toward the window, and Steve followed him onto the tiny fire escape. It was cooler outside, but the lack of a breeze felt stifling. Steve shivered anyways, and huddled up close to Bucky, who had his knees pushed up to his chest. Bucky was still holding the whiskey and took a drink almost absently as he looked out at the street below them.
They sat silently in the blanket of darkness for a while, content to listen to the sounds of the city. Steve tried to take the bottle again, but Bucky kept it to himself, cradling it against his chest between mouthfuls.
“You ever think about the future, Steve?”
Steve picked his head up from where he was resting it against Bucky’s shoulder, trying to gauge what sort of answer Bucky wanted. There was something pensive about him, something quiet and unnatural that slunk into that shadows of his face. Steve desperately wanted to fix it.
“What, about us driving around in flying cars, like in one’a your pulps?” Steve joked.
To his credit, Bucky’s lips did quirk up at that, but the smile didn’t reach his eyes.
“Sure, pal. But I meant…” He trailed off, looking away.
Steve felt suddenly angry.
“What, you think I’m gonna get into a fight I can’t come back from?” Steve snapped.
Bucky whipped back around to gape at him.
“Steve, what? Where’s that coming from?”
Steve pressed back against the windowsill, ignoring the dig of the metal fire escape against his bony ass.
“I know you’re always thinkin’ it. Everyone is. Steve Rogers is gonna get himself into some shit even Bucky Barnes can’t save him from.” The words were bitter when Steve spat them out, and he wasn’t really sure where they came from, but he knew them to be true.
Bucky looked confused then, and maybe a little hurt, but Steve barged on.
“You don’t always have to look after me you know. I can handle myself. I don’t need your stupid, nice hands to patch me up. Sure, I’m smaller than most guys, but I’m not useless, Bucky.”
The words hung between them for a moment before Bucky put down the bottle carefully and swung a leg over Steve’s lap to straddle him. His fingers were warm where they moved to cup at his neck. Steve tried to squirm, but Bucky pressed up against him, caging him in.
“You listen to me, Steve. I am sick of your griping. I don’t like your bullshit lack of self-preservation or that you keep pickin’ fights, but I do like takin’ care of you, okay-”
Steve opened his mouth to protest, but Bucky glared at him with a force that had his teeth clacking shut.
“No, listen. I like takin’ care of you. I know you could get by all on your own. But I’m your friend, and friends don’t operate like that. You don’t gotta be alone just because you got some bullshit complex about doin’ it all yourself.” Bucky’s hands tightened a little as he spoke, and the pressure made Steve’s head spin.
“Understood?”
Bucky leaned back, and the earnest look he gave Steve was like a shot to the gut. His anger throbbed away with the racing of his heart. Steve had the thought that this was the most beautiful his friend had ever looked, dishevelled and glassy eyed from the drink, lips bitten red from worrying about Steve, chest heaving with frustration.
“Steve.”
Steve nodded his head stupidly, trying not to let on that the tone of Bucky’s voice was going straight to his cock. Bucky looked like he knew anyways as he pulled back in close to Steve’s ear.
“Stupid nice hands, huh?” he murmured, a playful smile in his voice.
Steve gawped at him, but Bucky was already pulling away and opening the window to head back inside. He took Bucky’s hand reluctantly to climb over the sill, grumbling about Bucky getting a big head. Bucky laughed at him, but Steve couldn’t find it in himself to be mad about it. Bucky’s laughter was like a balm to Steve’s worries, a medicine better than whiskey or anything his doctor might’ve prescribed.
Speaking of whiskey…Steve thought. He reached back out to the fire escape and grabbed the bottle that Bucky had forgotten, sneaking another few gulps while Bucky had his back turned. Warmth spread down to his toes.
“Hey!”
Steve grinned at Bucky, unashamed.
“Want some?” He waggled the bottle in front of Bucky’s face.
Now it was Bucky’s turn to grumble, but he was easy enough as he took the bottle. Steve knew they’d regret it tomorrow, but he liked seeing Bucky relaxed in a way that he hadn’t been since he’d started picking up extra time at the docks to cover the job that Steve had lost after his recent bout of pneumonia. Loose limbed and happy was a good look on Bucky.
Steve smiled at Bucky fondly. He knew he was being a sap.
“You aren’t still sore at me are you, Buck? I really didn’t mean to get beat up.”
Bucky shook his head and groaned. He turned and put the bottle down on the table, making Steve squirm for a minute before spinning around with his answer.
“I ain’t sore at you. But you gotta let me be your friend Stevie. If anyone oughta look out for your stubborn ass, it should be me.” Bucky stepped in close, his eyes happy as he teased him.
He looked unbearably boyish like this, his hair curling at his temples and a smile smoothing out the lines of responsibility he’d started to wear.
“Yeah? Who’s looking out for your stubborn ass then, Barnes?”
Bucky smiled wider, a toothy thing that made Steve’s heart clench.
“Aw, I gotta coupla candidates—ow-Steve!”
Bucky laughed as Steve pinched his hip and then his belly, and then Steve’s hand was resting on the button of Bucky’s pants, and the room was quiet except for their laboured breaths. Steve fiddled with it, suddenly nervous, like the drink had taken his courage instead of given it. He looked up at Bucky sideways, shy, though they were close enough that he couldn’t really avoid Bucky’s heady gaze.
“You wanna?” Bucky murmured, leaning down to brush his nose against Steve’s.
Steve’s breath hitched and he was nodding, and then Bucky’s mouth was on his, sweet and sure as a day, and Steve’s knees went weak. Bucky had one hand in Steve’s hair, tugging at the strands to get a better angle for the kiss, and the other hand around his waist holding him steady. Bucky was always sweet with him, but this was sugar on his teeth, almost grating with how tender he was treating him.
Desperation clawed up Steve’s chest, and he was pushing Bucky back, back, till he hit the wall with a soft and Steve pinned him hard, deepening the kiss and sucking on Bucky’s tongue. Bucky took it in stride, smiling into the kiss like the bastard he was. Steve could hardly think straight, and Bucky thought it was funny.
Steve pinched him again for good measure.
“Ow! You little-”
But Steve steamrolled ahead, interrupting Bucky’s complaints with another kiss. Bucky moaned into his mouth when Steve untucked his shirt and got his hands underneath, palming up the lithe muscle of his body. He was so warm, and responsive when Steve kissed down his neck, breathing heavier than was maybe necessary for some petting and kissing. Steve didn’t mind; the noises went straight to Steve’s neglected cock.
“God, Steve. Missed this, missed you.”
Steve huffed a laugh as his hands traced down Bucky’s spine.
“We did this three days ago Buck.”
Steve bit down a little, nipping at Bucky’s collarbone where his shirt hung open, and Bucky swatted him away.
“Quit it, Rogers. Gonna have me covering up for a week.”
Steve looked up him innocently, doing his best impression of a puppy and Bucky snorted. Steve had two seconds to feel offended before Bucky spun him around, shoving his front against the wall and crowding up behind him. It made him a little dizzy, and when he closed his eyes, the world tilted a bit on its axis.
Bucky pressed him harder into the wall and Steve whined embarrassingly loud. It hurt a little, bony as he was, being held into the wall, but something about it, about having nowhere to go, got his heart racing real fast, sweat prickling at his hairline like the room had gone up a couple of degrees. Bucky was careful not to catch Steve’s sore face against the wall, which Steve was silently appreciative of.
Bucky wasn’t moving, just standing there against Steve, holding him. Then, in a deliberate motion, he rocked his hips, grinding himself hard against Steve’s ass. Bucky groaned against him and Steve felt rather than heard the Stevie mouthed against the nape of his neck. The next rock of Bucky’s hips had Steve’s moan echoing Bucky’s. His cock twitched in his pants at the solid feel of Bucky around him.
“You want it, baby?” Bucky’s voice sounded rough to Steve’s ears, like he was already wrecked. The headrush of that sent him dizzy all over again.
Steve got his arms behind him, tugging insistently at Bucky’s pants. Bucky huffed, but he backed off for a moment to get his pants off and stripped out of his shirt too. Steve hardly looked behind himself, just eagerly shedding down to nothing. When he finally did peek back at Bucky, he was knocked breathless. Bucky was flushed to his chest, thick pink cock jutting up against his stomach. He looked strong. Steve suddenly itched for his sketch book. Maybe Bucky would pose for him like this sometime. He’d already drawn him a dozen other ways, but Steve got a thrill at the idea of drawing Bucky like this; vulnerable and beautiful. Steve thought looking at Bucky was a little like staring at the sun.
Bucky glanced away when he noticed Steve appraising him, like he was embarrassed.
“C’mere Buck.”
It was no effort at all to press himself back up against the wall and wait for Bucky to push back into his space. The wall was a little cold, a relief against the furnace of Bucky’s body. Steve stifled a moan.
“You drive me fuckin’ crazy Steve. Best looking guy, I know,” Bucky said, so sincere it hurt a little.
Bucky wrapped a big paw around Steve’s waist, slotting the other into Steve’s grip, their fingers intertwined against the wall. Steve pushed back, keeping his thighs together. Bucky groaned.
He took the hint, pushing his cock in the gap between Steve’s thighs. Steve gasped at the sensation, at Bucky’s cock smearing a little wet path against his skin. Bucky wrapped his hands around Steve’s torso and pulled him back against his chest as Steve braced against the wall and reached behind himself to grip at Bucky’s hair. The position created a near seal for Bucky to fuck into. Steve had to stand on his tiptoes a little, but Bucky supported him enough that he wasn’t straining.
Steve wiggled a little against Bucky, enjoying the punched-out breath against his back. Bucky’s thrusted forward a little, his cockhead sliding against Steve’s perineum as he moved. His body rolled, long and sinuous in an imitation of fucking that had Steve groaning and tipping his head back against Bucky. A hot mouth found his neck, suckling and biting at the sensitive skin against his pulse.
“Perfect, Stevie.”
Steve’s thighs were wet enough now that it was a smooth glide, though Bucky always claimed he didn’t mind the friction. Bucky was marking him up, Steve thought, and he suddenly felt drunker than he had all night.
“Bucky, please-touch me, fuck.”
Bucky hummed, still nuzzling into Steve’s neck as he fucked against him. His hand snaked down to wrap around Steve’s cock, giving him a little squeeze. Steve bit back a wanton moan, melting when Bucky gave him a few tugs.
“You know Stevie,” Bucky started, breathless. He was thrusting in earnest now, chasing his own pleasure as he touched Steve. Steve didn’t really respond, just let out a high-strung sound that he thought sounded like an affirmative. His thighs were sensitive as Bucky’s cock slid between them, hot like a brand. Bucky grunted a little, lost in pleasure before he picked up what he was saying again.
“I been thinkin’ – oh fuck – about the future.”
Steve’s mind wandered at that, incredulous that Bucky had waited till he had a hand around his dick to pick this up again. But then Bucky’s hand twisted the way Steve loved so much, and he felt himself tensing. He was so close.
“You close Stevie?”
Steve mumbled something unintelligible and Bucky held him impossibly closer.
“Yeah, me too. I been thinkin’ I want you to be my fella. You want that, Stevie?”
And then Bucky bit his shoulder and Steve let out a muffled cry, teeth gritted to try to keep it down. It was so good; his mind whited out with pleasure as he came over Bucky’s fingers. Bucky worked him through it, before he was coming too, shooting off warm and wet against Steve’s backside.
Steve panted and slumped against the wall as Bucky let go of his tight grip. He took a moment to try to comprehend why Bucky was pulling away from him, before he spun and tackled Bucky to the ground. Bucky went down with a shout that had Steve worrying about the neighbours, but then he had him on the floor and his sex addled brain was struggling to conjure words. Bucky couldn’t hold his gaze, like he had bared his soul and now it was too painful to know how Steve would respond.
Well fuck that. If Bucky was going to spring that on Steve before the best orgasm of his life, he was damn well going to stick around to hear the answer.
“Ask me again.” Steve demanded.
Bucky looked up at him, baffled.
“Ask. Me. Again. You want me to be your fella? Then you better ask me when I got blood circulating to my head to answer the damn question.”
Bucky had the decency to look sheepish at that, but he wiped a hand over his eyes tiredly. He looked spent, and a little unfocused, though Steve didn’t have the satisfaction of knowing if that was a result of him or the booze.
“Steve,” he gritted out. “Will you- will you be my fella?”
Steve was an asshole, but he liked to think he wasn’t cruel. He wondered how long Bucky had been stewing over this; if Bucky was already in a mood when Steve came home. He gave Bucky a little smile and brushed his hair from his eyes.
“Course, Bucky. But I got one condition.”
Bucky eyed him warily.
“You gotta be my fella, too.”
Steve beamed at him while he blinked.
“Punk,” Bucky said, disbelieving.
“Jerk.”
“Yeah, yeah. Now get offa me and go get me some water would you. The rooms spinning like crazy.”
Steve laughed at him and got up to retrieve the requested water. He took the opportunity to clean himself up a little, grimacing at the feel of Bucky’s spend on his back. Jesus.
When he returned, Bucky was out cold where he lay sprawled out on the rug. His mouth was open, drooling. He looked incredibly young. Steve shook his head. Idiot. He’d never get him up now; once Bucky was asleep, he was out, especially after a night of drinking.
Steve retrieved a blanket from their room and sighed. He’d hate himself for this in the morning. Still, he made sure the light was off and crawled next to Bucky, rolling him over so Steve could be the big spoon for once. Bucky sighed and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “love you” as Steve let his eyes slip closed.
“Love you too, Buck.”