They’ve been on the move, Steve, Bucky, and the rest of what the propaganda machine has started calling the Howling Commandos. Gabe, Dum Dum, Jim, Jacques, and Monty are good men, good soldiers, and good friends, and they all look at Steve with respect and admiration. For the first time in his life, Steve has friends other than Bucky. The Howlies at his side, Peggy and Howard back at base. He has friends. He likes that.
He doesn’t dwell on the questions he sometimes has. If the Howlies would have liked him without this body. If Peggy and Howard would have continued to pretend they like him. He’s afraid of the answers.
He doesn’t dwell on the bitter catch that having health, power, and friends seems to have cost him Bucky.
Bucky follows Steve, like he’d promised. He’s loyal and brave. Steve couldn’t ask for a better right-hand man, but he would trade all of that for the man who’d left him in Brooklyn. That man with the twinkle in his stormy blue eyes and the unbridled mirth in his laughter. That man who’d loved Steve, touched him, and treated him like something precious when everyone else’s eyes had slid over him.
Steve’s still not sure what happened to Bucky during the time they were separated. What took the light from his eyes and the joy from his smile. What gave him that grim determination he has in every task, equal in drinking his ration of coffee or picking off squid Nazis with his rifle from afar. He can’t help but think some of it has to do with him, with his new body, but he’s not sure.
Steve’s not sure, he’ll never ask, and he knows Bucky will never tell him.
*
Late one night Bucky comes into Steve’s tent. Steve sits up, on alert, but he knows it’s Bucky. Even in the dark, he knows. This body’s senses are sharp, he can hear Bucky’s breathing, and smell Bucky’s scent underneath the grime that coats every Howlie’s skin. The tents they sleep in are small. Steve couldn’t have stood up inside it, even with his old body. There’s barely enough room for two men to lie side-by-side.
“Bucky,” Steve breathes into the darkness as Bucky crawls under the tent flap and kneels between Steve’s legs, spread beneath a wool blanket. “What are you doing?”
Steve tries to bring his arms around Bucky to draw him closer, everything he’s wanted, but Bucky’s heart pounds with fear, so loudly that Steve can hear it.
“Don’t.”
Bucky growls the word softly, and Steve doesn’t know if he means don’t speak, or don’t touch, or both, but he lowers his arms and grunts his assent.
“I missed you,” Bucky answers Steve’s question as if the three months between the asking haven’t passed. “God, I missed you.”
He kisses Steve slowly, like he’s savoring Steve’s lips, and Steve resists the urge to lift his arms and let his hands explore Bucky like Bucky’s are tentatively exploring him. He’ll let Bucky tell him when, if, that’s okay. He just wants whatever Bucky is willing to give him.
“Lie down, Stevie.”
Steve obeys, and it’s a thrill to have Bucky sprawl on top of him. In his old body he’d always been on top, necessitated by his frailty. He’d always been on top, and he’d always been the one inside Bucky. He’s never had Bucky inside him, and he suddenly wants that. If Bucky will give it to him.
Bucky presses himself against Steve’s body. He kisses Steve’s neck, and then his chest underneath his T-shirt. Steve is painfully hard, but he doesn’t reach down to adjust himself. He restrains himself from rutting against Bucky. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this.
He can feel that Bucky is soft, and the familiar misgivings swell. Bucky’s soft, and his heart continues to hammer, and Steve can’t help but speculate as to what that means.
“I want this,” Bucky growls against Steve’s chest. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. “I want this.”
Steve wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because Bucky said don’t.
Bucky reaches down between them. He palms Steve’s cock through too many layers. Blanket, pants, underwear, all as frustrating an enemy as Captain America has ever had to face. Steve can’t stop his hips from surging upward to meet Bucky’s hand, and he groans quietly.
Bucky freezes. Everything except his heartbeat.
“No,” Bucky sounds terrified. “No, fuck, I want this.”
Bucky sounds terrified, but he sounds irritated as well. Steve curses himself for ruining this.
“Bucky,” Steve tries, because he’s already ruined it. “What is it?”
Bucky rolls off of Steve, hitting the side of the tent. He scrambles to leave, panting with fear.
“Bucky, please,” Steve sits up again, desperate to have Bucky stay. “What- what did I do? Just tell me what I did, I promise I won’t do it again.”
“It’s not you, you idiot,” Bucky tells him with quiet fury as he leaves. “Can’t you see that?”
Steve doesn’t believe him. He stares at the dark space where Bucky's disappeared. He’s ruined everything with this body, and he doesn’t even have the decency to regret it fully. He’s ruined everything.
Re: Fill: Wrong (3/?)
They’ve been on the move, Steve, Bucky, and the rest of what the propaganda machine has started calling the Howling Commandos. Gabe, Dum Dum, Jim, Jacques, and Monty are good men, good soldiers, and good friends, and they all look at Steve with respect and admiration. For the first time in his life, Steve has friends other than Bucky. The Howlies at his side, Peggy and Howard back at base. He has friends. He likes that.
He doesn’t dwell on the questions he sometimes has. If the Howlies would have liked him without this body. If Peggy and Howard would have continued to pretend they like him. He’s afraid of the answers.
He doesn’t dwell on the bitter catch that having health, power, and friends seems to have cost him Bucky.
Bucky follows Steve, like he’d promised. He’s loyal and brave. Steve couldn’t ask for a better right-hand man, but he would trade all of that for the man who’d left him in Brooklyn. That man with the twinkle in his stormy blue eyes and the unbridled mirth in his laughter. That man who’d loved Steve, touched him, and treated him like something precious when everyone else’s eyes had slid over him.
Steve’s still not sure what happened to Bucky during the time they were separated. What took the light from his eyes and the joy from his smile. What gave him that grim determination he has in every task, equal in drinking his ration of coffee or picking off squid Nazis with his rifle from afar. He can’t help but think some of it has to do with him, with his new body, but he’s not sure.
Steve’s not sure, he’ll never ask, and he knows Bucky will never tell him.
*
Late one night Bucky comes into Steve’s tent. Steve sits up, on alert, but he knows it’s Bucky. Even in the dark, he knows. This body’s senses are sharp, he can hear Bucky’s breathing, and smell Bucky’s scent underneath the grime that coats every Howlie’s skin. The tents they sleep in are small. Steve couldn’t have stood up inside it, even with his old body. There’s barely enough room for two men to lie side-by-side.
“Bucky,” Steve breathes into the darkness as Bucky crawls under the tent flap and kneels between Steve’s legs, spread beneath a wool blanket. “What are you doing?”
Steve tries to bring his arms around Bucky to draw him closer, everything he’s wanted, but Bucky’s heart pounds with fear, so loudly that Steve can hear it.
“Don’t.”
Bucky growls the word softly, and Steve doesn’t know if he means don’t speak, or don’t touch, or both, but he lowers his arms and grunts his assent.
“I missed you,” Bucky answers Steve’s question as if the three months between the asking haven’t passed. “God, I missed you.”
He kisses Steve slowly, like he’s savoring Steve’s lips, and Steve resists the urge to lift his arms and let his hands explore Bucky like Bucky’s are tentatively exploring him. He’ll let Bucky tell him when, if, that’s okay. He just wants whatever Bucky is willing to give him.
“Lie down, Stevie.”
Steve obeys, and it’s a thrill to have Bucky sprawl on top of him. In his old body he’d always been on top, necessitated by his frailty. He’d always been on top, and he’d always been the one inside Bucky. He’s never had Bucky inside him, and he suddenly wants that. If Bucky will give it to him.
Bucky presses himself against Steve’s body. He kisses Steve’s neck, and then his chest underneath his T-shirt. Steve is painfully hard, but he doesn’t reach down to adjust himself. He restrains himself from rutting against Bucky. He doesn’t want to do anything to jeopardize this.
He can feel that Bucky is soft, and the familiar misgivings swell. Bucky’s soft, and his heart continues to hammer, and Steve can’t help but speculate as to what that means.
“I want this,” Bucky growls against Steve’s chest. He sounds like he’s trying to convince himself as much as Steve. “I want this.”
Steve wants to say so many things, but he doesn’t. He doesn’t, because Bucky said don’t.
Bucky reaches down between them. He palms Steve’s cock through too many layers. Blanket, pants, underwear, all as frustrating an enemy as Captain America has ever had to face. Steve can’t stop his hips from surging upward to meet Bucky’s hand, and he groans quietly.
Bucky freezes. Everything except his heartbeat.
“No,” Bucky sounds terrified. “No, fuck, I want this.”
Bucky sounds terrified, but he sounds irritated as well. Steve curses himself for ruining this.
“Bucky,” Steve tries, because he’s already ruined it. “What is it?”
Bucky rolls off of Steve, hitting the side of the tent. He scrambles to leave, panting with fear.
“Bucky, please,” Steve sits up again, desperate to have Bucky stay. “What- what did I do? Just tell me what I did, I promise I won’t do it again.”
“It’s not you, you idiot,” Bucky tells him with quiet fury as he leaves. “Can’t you see that?”
Steve doesn’t believe him. He stares at the dark space where Bucky's disappeared. He’s ruined everything with this body, and he doesn’t even have the decency to regret it fully. He’s ruined everything.
He’s ruined them.