Under him, Bucky tosses his head and shoves his hips up to meet Steve’s. His eyes are shut, his mouth hanging open, his left hand fisted in the pillow case while he jerks himself with his right, and when Steve thrusts into him he makes a desperate noise in the back of his throat. Steve works the angle of his hips, feels the clench and drag of Bucky around him. Bucky’s heel digs into small of his back, urging him on.
Bucky arches his back up and clasps a hand over his mouth when he comes, and the sight makes Steve even more determined to fuck him through every last moment of it. His own orgasm comes soon after, his hips stuttering before he buries himself deep inside Bucky and comes, hissing his name through clenched teeth.
Steve doesn’t mind Bucky getting up to wash after sex His own inclination is to lie there in the afterglow, lazy and stupid and indulgent, and he doesn’t care if he does it by himself or not. But after the water turns off he hears Bucky pad quickly, purposefully out of the room.
His first thought to himself is Go clean up your mess, Rogers, his second is to be ashamed of it.
He finds Bucky on the little balcony. At this height the wind must be criminal, but the glass walls and ceiling keep the wind out and the warmth in. There are big, year round plants that Steve doesn’t know the name of and some things that look like futuristic beach chairs.
Bucky is slouched in one of them. His eyes flick to Steve as he comes in and settles himself in the next one over, but he stays silent.
“Nice night,” Steve tires. He considers saying something dumb like Wow, the Chrysler Building sure looks great tonight, then bursts out with “Bucky, talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything at all. Come on, we said we wouldn’t play this game anymore.”
“If you think this is a game, then you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky shoots back heatedly.
“Why? Why don’t you tell me what that would look like?”
That gets a stony silence. Then Bucky bursts out with, “You want to know what I’d think if it was someone else? I’d think, that poor bastard. How’d he ever let himself get broken down like that.” He puts a hand up to his face, like he’s shielding himself from Steve or the other way around. “I wish I got to have some dignity. I wish you didn’t have to see me like this.”
“You talk like I’ve never talked about anything – anything hard with you. Do you remember the night after we buried my mom?” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders stiffen so Steve presses on. “I don’t think I ever got that low, or that close to giving up.” He still feels a knot of sadness and shame when he thinks of it. He had turned away to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas and suddenly he couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard he balled up his face or held his breath. “You didn’t try and soft-soap me, you just stuck around and heard me out. Even when it was just nonsense and self-pity.” He had said “I’m gonna get sick and that’s gonna be it”over and over again, and the more he thought about it the surer it seemed, and he couldn’t stop. He was scared to be alone, scared for the future, scared that next time grit and determination wouldn’t be enough for him just like it hadn’t been enough for his mom. Bucky hadn’t moved his arm from around Steve’s shoulders, hadn’t said much except the occasional “You don’t know that,” hadn’t argued when Steve always came back with “I do.”
“Or the time we were living together and I got pneumonia. I’d cough so hard I threw up on myself, and you had to drag me to the bathroom. You think I had any dignity then?”
“Of course you did,” says Bucky from behind his hand.
“So give yourself the same courtesy. Or at least believe that I can.”
The ensuing silence is long enough for Steve to start thinking Great, and me left out here alone looking like a dope, when Bucky speaks.
"Let me tell you something. When you get out of cryo, you're lying there on a table or on the floor with IVs sticking everywhere an IV can go – arms, hands, neck, feet, the whole thing – and your brain feels like oatmeal. It's like when you wake up and you can think but you aren't really awake, so everything feels a little real and a little like a dream. That's when they get to work on you. They do the triggers and failsafes first. Mission objective and parameters. And then if they have someone good, they can make you think you're anyone, believe anything. It was mostly making sure I remembered my loyalty to Hydra and whatever value system they were using that week, the free world or the Warsaw Pact or whatever. And then sometimes they'd give me a cover. It’s in there so deep that no one can torture it out, because I’d believe it with every last cell in me. Every so often someone would figure out that they could get themselves a little something that way. You want a hellcat, a loving boyfriend, a blushing virgin in your bed three times a night? You got it." His mouth twists into a humorless smile. "They all thought they were so smart, too. Sure buddy, you're the first person to think of that one. You just keep telling yourself that. But yeah, half the time I really did want it. Or at least I thought I did. And then sometimes I was the only bargaining chip I had." At Steve's choked-off noise, Bucky shrugs. "It's not like I had any cigarettes to trade. The rest of it was just orders."
Re: Bucky can only come with penetration -- Smash All Your Mirrors, 11/?
Bucky arches his back up and clasps a hand over his mouth when he comes, and the sight makes Steve even more determined to fuck him through every last moment of it. His own orgasm comes soon after, his hips stuttering before he buries himself deep inside Bucky and comes, hissing his name through clenched teeth.
Steve doesn’t mind Bucky getting up to wash after sex His own inclination is to lie there in the afterglow, lazy and stupid and indulgent, and he doesn’t care if he does it by himself or not. But after the water turns off he hears Bucky pad quickly, purposefully out of the room.
His first thought to himself is Go clean up your mess, Rogers, his second is to be ashamed of it.
He finds Bucky on the little balcony. At this height the wind must be criminal, but the glass walls and ceiling keep the wind out and the warmth in. There are big, year round plants that Steve doesn’t know the name of and some things that look like futuristic beach chairs.
Bucky is slouched in one of them. His eyes flick to Steve as he comes in and settles himself in the next one over, but he stays silent.
“Nice night,” Steve tires. He considers saying something dumb like Wow, the Chrysler Building sure looks great tonight, then bursts out with “Bucky, talk to me.”
“What do you want me to say?”
“Anything at all. Come on, we said we wouldn’t play this game anymore.”
“If you think this is a game, then you don’t know what you’re talking about,” Bucky shoots back heatedly.
“Why? Why don’t you tell me what that would look like?”
That gets a stony silence. Then Bucky bursts out with, “You want to know what I’d think if it was someone else? I’d think, that poor bastard. How’d he ever let himself get broken down like that.” He puts a hand up to his face, like he’s shielding himself from Steve or the other way around. “I wish I got to have some dignity. I wish you didn’t have to see me like this.”
“You talk like I’ve never talked about anything – anything hard with you. Do you remember the night after we buried my mom?” Bucky doesn’t say anything, but his shoulders stiffen so Steve presses on. “I don’t think I ever got that low, or that close to giving up.” He still feels a knot of sadness and shame when he thinks of it. He had turned away to wipe his eyes on the sleeve of his pajamas and suddenly he couldn’t stop crying, no matter how hard he balled up his face or held his breath. “You didn’t try and soft-soap me, you just stuck around and heard me out. Even when it was just nonsense and self-pity.” He had said “I’m gonna get sick and that’s gonna be it”over and over again, and the more he thought about it the surer it seemed, and he couldn’t stop. He was scared to be alone, scared for the future, scared that next time grit and determination wouldn’t be enough for him just like it hadn’t been enough for his mom. Bucky hadn’t moved his arm from around Steve’s shoulders, hadn’t said much except the occasional “You don’t know that,” hadn’t argued when Steve always came back with “I do.”
“Or the time we were living together and I got pneumonia. I’d cough so hard I threw up on myself, and you had to drag me to the bathroom. You think I had any dignity then?”
“Of course you did,” says Bucky from behind his hand.
“So give yourself the same courtesy. Or at least believe that I can.”
The ensuing silence is long enough for Steve to start thinking Great, and me left out here alone looking like a dope, when Bucky speaks.
"Let me tell you something. When you get out of cryo, you're lying there on a table or on the floor with IVs sticking everywhere an IV can go – arms, hands, neck, feet, the whole thing – and your brain feels like oatmeal. It's like when you wake up and you can think but you aren't really awake, so everything feels a little real and a little like a dream. That's when they get to work on you. They do the triggers and failsafes first. Mission objective and parameters. And then if they have someone good, they can make you think you're anyone, believe anything. It was mostly making sure I remembered my loyalty to Hydra and whatever value system they were using that week, the free world or the Warsaw Pact or whatever. And then sometimes they'd give me a cover. It’s in there so deep that no one can torture it out, because I’d believe it with every last cell in me. Every so often someone would figure out that they could get themselves a little something that way. You want a hellcat, a loving boyfriend, a blushing virgin in your bed three times a night? You got it." His mouth twists into a humorless smile. "They all thought they were so smart, too. Sure buddy, you're the first person to think of that one. You just keep telling yourself that. But yeah, half the time I really did want it. Or at least I thought I did. And then sometimes I was the only bargaining chip I had." At Steve's choked-off noise, Bucky shrugs. "It's not like I had any cigarettes to trade. The rest of it was just orders."