Sometimes, particularly late at night when he can't sleep, Steve wonders if he should talk about this with someone. When he tries to think about who he comes up with a blank. Natasha's been tying up loose ends from her own past, which takes her away more often than not and puts more than enough on her plate already. As for the other Avengers, it's not that Steve dislikes them – all right, Tony Stark, frequently, but the man always comes through in the end – but they're not that kind of friend, and even more than that he's painfully aware of his position as team leader. Sam would listen, but he's not free therapy. And the thing Steve keeps coming back to is that this isn't just about him.
When he'd gotten back – really gotten back, after the Chitauri when he decided it was time to stop wallowing and get out there – Steve had seen a lot of professionals. They had all been very good at their jobs but he hadn't liked any of them except Ms Le, the resettlement lady. She hadn't treated him with kid gloves or professional detachment. She had a no-nonsense attitude and a wicked smile and out of all of them, Steve thought she was the one who most taught him to love the modern world.
But even if he found the Ms Le of therapists, he comes up short imagining what he'd say to them because it's not jut his privacy, it's Bucky's too. Even if he kept things vague – "my friend," and "something bad" – it would be patently obvious to anyone who knew who he was. He could go to someone who didn't know and just lie about all the details, but how much could you lie to those people?
He reads the Internet. It's not as helpful as he'd like.
Steve is perpetually baffled and slightly embarrassed about the size of his bathroom. For starters, he's not sure why anyone would need two sinks, or a bathtub and a separate shower. Not that he will ever be complaining about the latter. It's not that Steve's never been in a shower this big, it's just that it ran nearly-cold water and there were guaranteed to be three other guys in there trying to scrub off at the same time. This one has three separate showerheads, but more importantly the water can be as warm or cool as he wants, as hard or gentle as he wants, for as long as he wants. It's one thing about the future he's never going to be sick of.
He's rinsing off when someone knocks on door of the glass partition and Bucky says, "It's me," like Steve wouldn't recognize his silhouette any time, anywhere.
"What's wrong?" is the first thing that comes out, and he's reaching for the door handle when Bucky steps through and kisses him. Steve's instinct is to reach out and pull them closer together, but instead he leans back and catches his breath. "What's going on?"
"Oh, come on." Bucky's mouth quirks up, and it's all warm and good-humored. "And I thought I was the one who was supposed to have no memory."
He's naked and already most of the way hard, but it's the smile more than anything else that convinces Steve this is for real. Whatever persona Bucky had tried on the other night had been earnest, but not happy, and this squares with what Steve remembers from back before, Bucky laughing as he spun a dance partner or looking a little giddy if she let him get bold later on.
They end up under the main shower head, both of them soaked by the spray and the dial digging into Steve's back. Steve has one hand pressed up between them and the other on the curve of Bucky's left arm where he can feel the plates shift as he moves and Bucky is nosing slowly down the line of his neck in a way that's practically chaste, like he doesn't also have one hand around Steve's cock and isn't grinding his own erection against his hip with increasing urgency. Steve’s sliding his hand down when Bucky says against his ear, "Turn the fucking water off, now."
They end up under the main shower head, both of them soaked by the spray and the dial digging into Steve's back. Steve has one hand pressed up between them and the other on the curve of Bucky's left arm where he can feel the plates shift as he moves and Bucky is nosing slowly down the line of his neck in a way that's practically chaste, like he doesn't also have one hand around Steve's cock and isn't grinding his own erection against his hip with increasing urgency. Steve’s sliding his hand down when Bucky says against his ear, "Turn the fucking water off, now."
In the stillness that follows, Steve is hyperaware of the sounds of water running into the drain and Bucky breathing against his shoulder. One of his hands is twisted awkwardly to reach the dial, but he brings the other one up to rest in the wet hair at the back of Bucky's neck. In response he presses a little closer to Steve, but doesn't say anything. Eventually Bucky starts moving against him again, purposeful and unmistakeable, and Steve's firm hand on his shoulder almost doesn't stop him.
"I got a perfectly good bed right in the other room if you want a change of scenery." Steve's trying to keep things light, but fuck, he knows he doesn't really know what just happened there and at the same time he can't go one without hearing something from Bucky.
"It got to me for a moment," Bucky says, still up against his ear, "I'm fine now, Steve, please –" He breaks off to pull them against one of the other walls, then turns around, left arm braced on the tile. "I got myself ready, don't make me wait any longer."
Steve does make him wait – makes them both wait, because no matter how many times he reminds himself this isn't about him he still wants, he wants so much it feels like he's gonna die from it – because Bucky's already slick but he's sure as hell not relaxed. He runs his other hand along the line of Bucky's back, down his side, over his hip while he works. Once he tries to go for his cock, but Bucky twitches away fast enough that it can't be for show, and Steve feels a little guilty. Maybe that's just a tease without –
Steve drops a kiss on the skin of Bucky's left shoulder before he pushes in. He has to take a moment, steadying himself against Bucky's hips, but it's almost amazing how easily they fall into rhythm with each other. They're still warm and wet from the shower, and what Steve will remember most afterwards is the noise of skin on skin in the damp air, the curve of Bucky's back, and having to bite his lip to keep from running at the mouth – "You're so –" and "Oh God" and "Bucky, I –" without three words strung together. That and the way everything seemed to be going well right up until it wasn't.
Without warning Bucky shoves away and out from under him, and there was a confused moment when they were practically grappling against each other, Steve trying to hold Bucky steady and Bucky trying to pull away. The glass door bounces shut in his wake, and if Steve hadn't shouted for him to wait he probably would have gone straight out the door. Instead, Steve sees his outline stop and then sharpen as he presses his back against the door of the partition. Steve's mind is a mess of adrenaline and left-over lust, but it's still a cold weight in his stomach when he realizes why. He goes down on his knees on his side. It's just regular glass, he thinks. He could put his hand through it without hardly trying and hold Bucky like he wants to – and make him bolt right out the door, maybe for good, or worse, stay because of some fear Steve hardly knows the shape of.
Bucky shifts a little against the glass and says, "I'm fine," in a tone that's one part defiance and two parts discomfort. Steve has to try not to laugh just because he doesn't know what the hell else to do.
"Jesus, no you're not."
"I will be."
"You want to tell me what happened there?"
There's a long silence, then Bucky grits out, "This is humiliating." Before Steve can get a word in, he goes on, "It's humiliating and it's idiotic and it's – it's not like I ever got picky before, I don't know –" He cuts off, and when he goes in it's in a undertone that makes Steve sure this isn't really meant for him. "Never got like this before, half the time I wanted it anyway."
"That's not true." Steve has to work to keep from raising his voice. Or slamming his hand into the wall.
"You know that because, what, you were there when I got down on my hands and knees on the Secretary's office floor and begged to lick his shoes clean and begged him for –"
"I know that because no one wants to get raped."
In the silence that follows Steve hears his words on an endless loop in his own head. The next sound is Bucky's left hand against the shower door as he stands up.
"I don't have to talk about this," he announces flatly.
Steve looks up from where he's kneeling on the cooling shower floor to where Bucky's shadow is indistinct through the frosted glass and he's not angry, he's just so fucking tired. "You're right. You don't have to talk about anything. We can have the same damn fight every time we get close to each other. I can keep hurting you. But if that's what you really want I need you to at least tell me." I need to figure out if I can keep going, he doesn't say.
"You didn't hurt me," is all Bucky says, and Jesus, it says something about where they are that Steve doesn't know whether he's lying to spare him or whether he really thinks that.
"Buck, please."
"Later," he says, and then, more like a statement than a question, "You won't follow me."
When he hears the door shut Steve slumps back and covers his face with his hands. All he can think of is how he would have handled something like this back before. Gotten up into Bucky’s space, probably, refused to let him leave their apartment until he told him what was going on. Steve didn’t get less bullheaded when he got bigger, just realized there were some things you couldn’t solve by going straight at them and not letting up. He’s not sure he got any better at them. But he pushes himself to his feet, because lying on the floor of his own shower feels a lot like giving up.
Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 5/?
When he'd gotten back – really gotten back, after the Chitauri when he decided it was time to stop wallowing and get out there – Steve had seen a lot of professionals. They had all been very good at their jobs but he hadn't liked any of them except Ms Le, the resettlement lady. She hadn't treated him with kid gloves or professional detachment. She had a no-nonsense attitude and a wicked smile and out of all of them, Steve thought she was the one who most taught him to love the modern world.
But even if he found the Ms Le of therapists, he comes up short imagining what he'd say to them because it's not jut his privacy, it's Bucky's too. Even if he kept things vague – "my friend," and "something bad" – it would be patently obvious to anyone who knew who he was. He could go to someone who didn't know and just lie about all the details, but how much could you lie to those people?
He reads the Internet. It's not as helpful as he'd like.
Steve is perpetually baffled and slightly embarrassed about the size of his bathroom. For starters, he's not sure why anyone would need two sinks, or a bathtub and a separate shower. Not that he will ever be complaining about the latter. It's not that Steve's never been in a shower this big, it's just that it ran nearly-cold water and there were guaranteed to be three other guys in there trying to scrub off at the same time. This one has three separate showerheads, but more importantly the water can be as warm or cool as he wants, as hard or gentle as he wants, for as long as he wants. It's one thing about the future he's never going to be sick of.
He's rinsing off when someone knocks on door of the glass partition and Bucky says, "It's me," like Steve wouldn't recognize his silhouette any time, anywhere.
"What's wrong?" is the first thing that comes out, and he's reaching for the door handle when Bucky steps through and kisses him. Steve's instinct is to reach out and pull them closer together, but instead he leans back and catches his breath. "What's going on?"
"Oh, come on." Bucky's mouth quirks up, and it's all warm and good-humored. "And I thought I was the one who was supposed to have no memory."
He's naked and already most of the way hard, but it's the smile more than anything else that convinces Steve this is for real. Whatever persona Bucky had tried on the other night had been earnest, but not happy, and this squares with what Steve remembers from back before, Bucky laughing as he spun a dance partner or looking a little giddy if she let him get bold later on.
They end up under the main shower head, both of them soaked by the spray and the dial digging into Steve's back. Steve has one hand pressed up between them and the other on the curve of Bucky's left arm where he can feel the plates shift as he moves and Bucky is nosing slowly down the line of his neck in a way that's practically chaste, like he doesn't also have one hand around Steve's cock and isn't grinding his own erection against his hip with increasing urgency. Steve’s sliding his hand down when Bucky says against his ear, "Turn the fucking water off, now."
They end up under the main shower head, both of them soaked by the spray and the dial digging into Steve's back. Steve has one hand pressed up between them and the other on the curve of Bucky's left arm where he can feel the plates shift as he moves and Bucky is nosing slowly down the line of his neck in a way that's practically chaste, like he doesn't also have one hand around Steve's cock and isn't grinding his own erection against his hip with increasing urgency. Steve’s sliding his hand down when Bucky says against his ear, "Turn the fucking water off, now."
In the stillness that follows, Steve is hyperaware of the sounds of water running into the drain and Bucky breathing against his shoulder. One of his hands is twisted awkwardly to reach the dial, but he brings the other one up to rest in the wet hair at the back of Bucky's neck. In response he presses a little closer to Steve, but doesn't say anything. Eventually Bucky starts moving against him again, purposeful and unmistakeable, and Steve's firm hand on his shoulder almost doesn't stop him.
"I got a perfectly good bed right in the other room if you want a change of scenery." Steve's trying to keep things light, but fuck, he knows he doesn't really know what just happened there and at the same time he can't go one without hearing something from Bucky.
"It got to me for a moment," Bucky says, still up against his ear, "I'm fine now, Steve, please –" He breaks off to pull them against one of the other walls, then turns around, left arm braced on the tile. "I got myself ready, don't make me wait any longer."
Steve does make him wait – makes them both wait, because no matter how many times he reminds himself this isn't about him he still wants, he wants so much it feels like he's gonna die from it – because Bucky's already slick but he's sure as hell not relaxed. He runs his other hand along the line of Bucky's back, down his side, over his hip while he works. Once he tries to go for his cock, but Bucky twitches away fast enough that it can't be for show, and Steve feels a little guilty. Maybe that's just a tease without –
Steve drops a kiss on the skin of Bucky's left shoulder before he pushes in. He has to take a moment, steadying himself against Bucky's hips, but it's almost amazing how easily they fall into rhythm with each other. They're still warm and wet from the shower, and what Steve will remember most afterwards is the noise of skin on skin in the damp air, the curve of Bucky's back, and having to bite his lip to keep from running at the mouth – "You're so –" and "Oh God" and "Bucky, I –" without three words strung together. That and the way everything seemed to be going well right up until it wasn't.
Without warning Bucky shoves away and out from under him, and there was a confused moment when they were practically grappling against each other, Steve trying to hold Bucky steady and Bucky trying to pull away. The glass door bounces shut in his wake, and if Steve hadn't shouted for him to wait he probably would have gone straight out the door. Instead, Steve sees his outline stop and then sharpen as he presses his back against the door of the partition. Steve's mind is a mess of adrenaline and left-over lust, but it's still a cold weight in his stomach when he realizes why. He goes down on his knees on his side. It's just regular glass, he thinks. He could put his hand through it without hardly trying and hold Bucky like he wants to – and make him bolt right out the door, maybe for good, or worse, stay because of some fear Steve hardly knows the shape of.
Bucky shifts a little against the glass and says, "I'm fine," in a tone that's one part defiance and two parts discomfort. Steve has to try not to laugh just because he doesn't know what the hell else to do.
"Jesus, no you're not."
"I will be."
"You want to tell me what happened there?"
There's a long silence, then Bucky grits out, "This is humiliating." Before Steve can get a word in, he goes on, "It's humiliating and it's idiotic and it's – it's not like I ever got picky before, I don't know –" He cuts off, and when he goes in it's in a undertone that makes Steve sure this isn't really meant for him. "Never got like this before, half the time I wanted it anyway."
"That's not true." Steve has to work to keep from raising his voice. Or slamming his hand into the wall.
"You know that because, what, you were there when I got down on my hands and knees on the Secretary's office floor and begged to lick his shoes clean and begged him for –"
"I know that because no one wants to get raped."
In the silence that follows Steve hears his words on an endless loop in his own head. The next sound is Bucky's left hand against the shower door as he stands up.
"I don't have to talk about this," he announces flatly.
Steve looks up from where he's kneeling on the cooling shower floor to where Bucky's shadow is indistinct through the frosted glass and he's not angry, he's just so fucking tired. "You're right. You don't have to talk about anything. We can have the same damn fight every time we get close to each other. I can keep hurting you. But if that's what you really want I need you to at least tell me." I need to figure out if I can keep going, he doesn't say.
"You didn't hurt me," is all Bucky says, and Jesus, it says something about where they are that Steve doesn't know whether he's lying to spare him or whether he really thinks that.
"Buck, please."
"Later," he says, and then, more like a statement than a question, "You won't follow me."
When he hears the door shut Steve slumps back and covers his face with his hands. All he can think of is how he would have handled something like this back before. Gotten up into Bucky’s space, probably, refused to let him leave their apartment until he told him what was going on. Steve didn’t get less bullheaded when he got bigger, just realized there were some things you couldn’t solve by going straight at them and not letting up. He’s not sure he got any better at them. But he pushes himself to his feet, because lying on the floor of his own shower feels a lot like giving up.