A/N: Apparently I'm all about world building my trash. Thanks for the lovely comments and bearing with me! -------------------------------------------------------------- Steve poured over the documents in his room. The Winter Soldier had handed them off, with another infuriating smirk. Bucky was in his room, coming down from it, sleeping it off.
Steve lay away, too many images in his head to fall asleep when a light knock came at his door.
“Come in,” he said. Bucky entered.
“Is it you again?” Steve asked.
“Back before the super soldier serum, your asthma made you pass out once. And you used to steal my socks, and they’d go up to your knees.”
“Does the Winter Soldier not know those things about me?”
“I don’t know, honestly. Ask him next time.” Bucky winked at Steve, but he just looked down at his shoes.
“Is everything ok? Did he do something do you?” Bucky, grabbed Steve’s face and turned it to him, as if scanning him for injuries.
“No, no,” Steve brushed him off. “It’s not that. It’s just, Buck, I know you better than anyone, but when you’re under, it’s this stranger looking at me through your eyes.”
“Just think of it as a different side of me. It’s still me in there, it’s just a very distilled part of me to make way for the perfect Soldier.”
Steve tried to reconcile “You kill beautifully,” with the Bucky he knew and came up with Bucky slapping his back congratulatory after a routine mission that turned bloody with the Howling Commandos. The pride in his face, had struck Steve weird in his gut.
“How does it feel?” Steve asked.
“It used to feel so wrong, a will I didn’t agree to imposed on me, but with you it felt good. The Soldier has become a part of me whether I like or not. And it felt good to have you in control.”
Bucky’s face was so open, Steve couldn’t help it, he leaned in and kissed him. Bucky was still for a moment under his mouth before his lips parted for Steve. With a groan he tangled his hands in Bucky’s long hair, dragging him close, getting them chest to chest, thighs pressed together almost painfully tight. They tussled to get as close as possible. Bucky knocking Steve back onto the bed under him with his one arm. Steve wrapping his legs around Bucky’s hips pulling him close, getting their hard ons lined up—a delicious slow grind through their clothes.
Steve trailed biting kisses down to Bucky’s shoulder. He reached the mass of scar tissue where metal was still embedded into his shoulder, though he had protested getting a replacement arm, he had made no move to get the metal socket removed either. Steve ran his lips over the seam between skin and metal, and felt Bucky squirm into him.
Bucky dragged Steve back up, plunging his tongue into his mouth. “Fuck, Steve. I missed this.” Bucky breathed between them.
“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” Steve admitted, getting a hand between them—getting his hand around Bucky, feeling to hot, hard weight of him in his hand.
“It was one of the first things I remembered, as soon as I remembered you.”
“Does the soldier know?” Steve couldn’t help but ask, the words tumbling out, before he thought them through.
Bucky pulled back slightly and Steve groaned in protest, wrapping his legs tighter around Bucky’s hips, reeling him back in. “There’s this weird fog there, like I was black out drunk when I was him, I don’t know how he experiences my memories. Why? You wanna fuck him too?”
It was Steve’s turn to pull back. The Soldier’s lips on his, the smear of blood, from his hands, on Steve’s face. Jerking off in front of the dead over it. A hot flood of shame washed over him and he turned away.
“Hey, hey, buddy, what’s wrong,” Bucky’s hands on his face searching. “I crossed a line, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“You know this is hard for me,” Steve said, jumping on the excuse.
“I know, I know. It was a bad joke.” Bucky, slid off Steve to lay against his side. The mood was well and truly over and they both knew it. Steve lay there feeling sick. Sick in more ways than one. Sick in the head, sick over lying to his best damn friend, putting the blame on him when he fully rested with Steve for being a sick bastard.
“How close, are we to our next lead?” Bucky asked, changing the subject and Steve was grateful for it.
“A couple days out,” Steve said.
“Ready for the Soldier again? Or is it too soon?” Bucky asked, but Steve could hear the hope in his voice.
“I can handle him,” Steve said, hoping it was true.
No Soul To Sell 4/?
--------------------------------------------------------------
Steve poured over the documents in his room. The Winter Soldier had handed them off, with another infuriating smirk. Bucky was in his room, coming down from it, sleeping it off.
Steve lay away, too many images in his head to fall asleep when a light knock came at his door.
“Come in,” he said. Bucky entered.
“Is it you again?” Steve asked.
“Back before the super soldier serum, your asthma made you pass out once. And you used to steal my socks, and they’d go up to your knees.”
“Does the Winter Soldier not know those things about me?”
“I don’t know, honestly. Ask him next time.” Bucky winked at Steve, but he just looked down at his shoes.
“Is everything ok? Did he do something do you?” Bucky, grabbed Steve’s face and turned it to him, as if scanning him for injuries.
“No, no,” Steve brushed him off. “It’s not that. It’s just, Buck, I know you better than anyone, but when you’re under, it’s this stranger looking at me through your eyes.”
“Just think of it as a different side of me. It’s still me in there, it’s just a very distilled part of me to make way for the perfect Soldier.”
Steve tried to reconcile “You kill beautifully,” with the Bucky he knew and came up with Bucky slapping his back congratulatory after a routine mission that turned bloody with the Howling Commandos. The pride in his face, had struck Steve weird in his gut.
“How does it feel?” Steve asked.
“It used to feel so wrong, a will I didn’t agree to imposed on me, but with you it felt good. The Soldier has become a part of me whether I like or not. And it felt good to have you in control.”
Bucky’s face was so open, Steve couldn’t help it, he leaned in and kissed him. Bucky was still for a moment under his mouth before his lips parted for Steve. With a groan he tangled his hands in Bucky’s long hair, dragging him close, getting them chest to chest, thighs pressed together almost painfully tight. They tussled to get as close as possible. Bucky knocking Steve back onto the bed under him with his one arm. Steve wrapping his legs around Bucky’s hips pulling him close, getting their hard ons lined up—a delicious slow grind through their clothes.
Steve trailed biting kisses down to Bucky’s shoulder. He reached the mass of scar tissue where metal was still embedded into his shoulder, though he had protested getting a replacement arm, he had made no move to get the metal socket removed either. Steve ran his lips over the seam between skin and metal, and felt Bucky squirm into him.
Bucky dragged Steve back up, plunging his tongue into his mouth. “Fuck, Steve. I missed this.” Bucky breathed between them.
“I wasn’t sure you remembered,” Steve admitted, getting a hand between them—getting his hand around Bucky, feeling to hot, hard weight of him in his hand.
“It was one of the first things I remembered, as soon as I remembered you.”
“Does the soldier know?” Steve couldn’t help but ask, the words tumbling out, before he thought them through.
Bucky pulled back slightly and Steve groaned in protest, wrapping his legs tighter around Bucky’s hips, reeling him back in. “There’s this weird fog there, like I was black out drunk when I was him, I don’t know how he experiences my memories. Why? You wanna fuck him too?”
It was Steve’s turn to pull back. The Soldier’s lips on his, the smear of blood, from his hands, on Steve’s face. Jerking off in front of the dead over it. A hot flood of shame washed over him and he turned away.
“Hey, hey, buddy, what’s wrong,” Bucky’s hands on his face searching. “I crossed a line, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“You know this is hard for me,” Steve said, jumping on the excuse.
“I know, I know. It was a bad joke.” Bucky, slid off Steve to lay against his side. The mood was well and truly over and they both knew it. Steve lay there feeling sick. Sick in more ways than one. Sick in the head, sick over lying to his best damn friend, putting the blame on him when he fully rested with Steve for being a sick bastard.
“How close, are we to our next lead?” Bucky asked, changing the subject and Steve was grateful for it.
“A couple days out,” Steve said.
“Ready for the Soldier again? Or is it too soon?” Bucky asked, but Steve could hear the hope in his voice.
“I can handle him,” Steve said, hoping it was true.