The problem is that once they get their hands on each other they can’t stop. Or maybe it’s their saving grace. Either way, it’s how they get from a kiss in front of the mirror to grinding up against each other, Bucky’s left hand shoved down the back of Steve’s pants, dragging him closer, to Bucky hitching himself up onto the rim of the sink panting, “C’mon, don’t make me wait any longer.”
When he finally pushes into him, Bucky throws back his head and growls. Sweat coats every inch of his body. The lights around the mirror make him gleam. It’s as if his whole body is flexing as he takes Steve inch by torturous inch, the plates in his left arm rippling as they align and realign as he fucks himself up and down. Steve wants to drag him down onto the floor, pin him and bury himself so deep in Bucky’s body it’d feel like he’d never get free, fuck him until he stops biting his lip shut and Steve can hear how he really sounds, but instead he grabs onto Bucky’s hips to ground himself and follows the pace he sets, slow but brutally hard. The mirror rattles with every thrust. He can feel rivulets of sweat running down his own back, and when he catches a glimpse of his face over Bucky’s shoulder, he sees himself flushed down past his collarbone.
Bucky doesn’t make a noise when he orgasms – there’s a crack that must be his head hitting the mirror and he stripes come all the way up Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t last much longer, Bucky’s heels digging into the small of his back, urging him on.
They finally pull apart, and a chunk of granite countertop falls away when Bucky lifts his left hand. They stare at it for a moment. Steve bursts out laughing before Bucky does and they fall back into each other’s arms, breathless.
“Oh hell, what am I going to tell our landlord?” Steve manages gets a handle on himself.
“What landlord? Do you even pay any rent?”
“Tony charged me a dollar for a hundred-year lease,” he admitted.
“Well, I don’t think you’re getting your security deposit back,” Bucky snorts into his neck. “Who’s gonna come in here except me? And if they do, just tell ‘em you slipped on the bathmat and hit your thick skull against it, everyone’ll believe that.” A moment later he pulls back. “Lemme out, I gotta take a shower.”
“Skip the shower, come to bed with me.” They don’t have anywhere they have to be tomorrow, unless Steve has a world emergency.
“Steve, I can’t go to bed like this, I feel like a whore.”
They both stiffened up at the same time, but just as Steve reached out Bucky pushed him away. Again. There was rock dust on the tops of his bare feet and he was still loose and sleepy-feeling the way he got after sex but Steve could feel a hard ball of dread forming in his stomach because this was all happening again.
“Is that really how you feel?”
“Don’t make a scene,” Bucky snaps, “Just get into bed and forget about it.”
“I don’t think I can – just look at me, please?”
“Why? So you can hear more about it?” Bucky’s voice is rising, getting out of control. “Why are you so fucking obsessed with making me talk about it? Does it get you hard? Do you get off on getting me naked and making me humiliate myself?”
Steve feels himself get hot, then cold, then – something else. “I don’t know how you can even say that,” he finally manages. Then, “You’re right, maybe I should go.” If he stays, it’s going to get ugly.
Steve’s through the door and into his bedroom when he turns around. “Sometimes,” he says, fighting very hard to keep his voice level, “I really wonder if you mean half of that shit you say.”
Bucky kicks the door shut in his face.
In the hallway he gets a glimpse of the couch through the living room door and pauses. Less than an hour ago they were sitting side-by-side, not really watching a documentary on TV, the way you used to have the radio on in the background, Steve sketching and Bucky reading one of his ridiculous novels. Bucky had fallen asleep slumped against his shoulder and Steve had quietly drunk in the feeling of him, warmth and weight and soft breath on his neck. He had surreptitiously reached over and laced his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones, run his thumb over the plates in the back of his hand. Now, he slips into Bucky’s bedroom. There’s an extra toothbrush next to the sink, just the way there’s an extra one and a little pile of black rubber bands next to his, and they’re near enough in size not to make a difference when it comes to drawstring pants. He tucks himself in under Bucky’s blue-gray covers and pulls an extra pillow on top of his head, breathing in the scent. Steve swallows until the lump in his throat goes away.
Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 9/?
When he finally pushes into him, Bucky throws back his head and growls. Sweat coats every inch of his body. The lights around the mirror make him gleam. It’s as if his whole body is flexing as he takes Steve inch by torturous inch, the plates in his left arm rippling as they align and realign as he fucks himself up and down. Steve wants to drag him down onto the floor, pin him and bury himself so deep in Bucky’s body it’d feel like he’d never get free, fuck him until he stops biting his lip shut and Steve can hear how he really sounds, but instead he grabs onto Bucky’s hips to ground himself and follows the pace he sets, slow but brutally hard. The mirror rattles with every thrust. He can feel rivulets of sweat running down his own back, and when he catches a glimpse of his face over Bucky’s shoulder, he sees himself flushed down past his collarbone.
Bucky doesn’t make a noise when he orgasms – there’s a crack that must be his head hitting the mirror and he stripes come all the way up Steve’s chest. Steve doesn’t last much longer, Bucky’s heels digging into the small of his back, urging him on.
They finally pull apart, and a chunk of granite countertop falls away when Bucky lifts his left hand. They stare at it for a moment. Steve bursts out laughing before Bucky does and they fall back into each other’s arms, breathless.
“Oh hell, what am I going to tell our landlord?” Steve manages gets a handle on himself.
“What landlord? Do you even pay any rent?”
“Tony charged me a dollar for a hundred-year lease,” he admitted.
“Well, I don’t think you’re getting your security deposit back,” Bucky snorts into his neck. “Who’s gonna come in here except me? And if they do, just tell ‘em you slipped on the bathmat and hit your thick skull against it, everyone’ll believe that.” A moment later he pulls back. “Lemme out, I gotta take a shower.”
“Skip the shower, come to bed with me.” They don’t have anywhere they have to be tomorrow, unless Steve has a world emergency.
“Steve, I can’t go to bed like this, I feel like a whore.”
They both stiffened up at the same time, but just as Steve reached out Bucky pushed him away. Again. There was rock dust on the tops of his bare feet and he was still loose and sleepy-feeling the way he got after sex but Steve could feel a hard ball of dread forming in his stomach because this was all happening again.
“Is that really how you feel?”
“Don’t make a scene,” Bucky snaps, “Just get into bed and forget about it.”
“I don’t think I can – just look at me, please?”
“Why? So you can hear more about it?” Bucky’s voice is rising, getting out of control. “Why are you so fucking obsessed with making me talk about it? Does it get you hard? Do you get off on getting me naked and making me humiliate myself?”
Steve feels himself get hot, then cold, then – something else. “I don’t know how you can even say that,” he finally manages. Then, “You’re right, maybe I should go.” If he stays, it’s going to get ugly.
Steve’s through the door and into his bedroom when he turns around. “Sometimes,” he says, fighting very hard to keep his voice level, “I really wonder if you mean half of that shit you say.”
Bucky kicks the door shut in his face.
In the hallway he gets a glimpse of the couch through the living room door and pauses. Less than an hour ago they were sitting side-by-side, not really watching a documentary on TV, the way you used to have the radio on in the background, Steve sketching and Bucky reading one of his ridiculous novels. Bucky had fallen asleep slumped against his shoulder and Steve had quietly drunk in the feeling of him, warmth and weight and soft breath on his neck. He had surreptitiously reached over and laced his fingers through Bucky’s metal ones, run his thumb over the plates in the back of his hand. Now, he slips into Bucky’s bedroom. There’s an extra toothbrush next to the sink, just the way there’s an extra one and a little pile of black rubber bands next to his, and they’re near enough in size not to make a difference when it comes to drawstring pants. He tucks himself in under Bucky’s blue-gray covers and pulls an extra pillow on top of his head, breathing in the scent. Steve swallows until the lump in his throat goes away.