Another month gone. Captain America and the Howling Commandos take down another Hydra base. They celebrate around a fire that night. Steve laughs and jokes with the rest of them, reliving their triumphs. Bucky laughs a few times, too. Steve watches out of the corner of his eye as Bucky smiles at something Gabe says to him. He tries not to be jealous.
“Can I sit by you?”
Steve asks Bucky after Gabe excuses himself to his tent. Monty’s on watch, but everyone else has gone to sleep. It’s just Steve, Bucky, and the dying fire.
“No one’s stoppin’ you,” Bucky shrugs, trying too hard to sound indifferent. “I’m gonna turn in anyway. I’ve got third watch.”
“Wait,” Steve attempts, desperate to have Bucky stay. “Just wait, please. Stay with me a little longer.”
Bucky looks at him. The fire’s fading light illuminates the hollows of his cheeks. His cheeks used to be so full.
“Okay,” Bucky agrees cautiously. “A little longer.”
Steve thanks him and sits, giving Bucky a few inches between them. There’s a long silence as each man watches the fire go out. Steve thinks about Bucky’s face, beautiful even now. He wants to kiss him.
“It’s not you,” Bucky says. “I know you think it’s your fault, but it’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
Bucky doesn’t answer him. The last ember dies.
“I like this body,” Steve continues. “It was strange at first, it feels wrong sometimes, but I like it. I understand if you don’t, if this isn’t what you signed up for. You don’t have to- ”
“Steve, shut up.”
Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s in the dark. There’s always been safety in darkness for people like them. Bucky twitches when they make contact, but his fingers intertwine with Steve’s fingers, curling tightly.
“You still draw?” Bucky asks quietly. “Haven’t seen you draw over here.”
“Yeah,” Steve answers. It’s a thrill just to have Bucky holding his hand, like he’s sixteen again. “I still draw. I got a sketchbook in my tent, if you wanna see it.”
He doesn’t mean it as a proposition, but he feels Bucky tense.
“In the morning,” Steve tries to salvage. “Only if you want to.”
Steve feels Bucky shift beside him, moving so their legs are touching. He never lets go of Steve’s hand. Steve stays as still as he can. He feels Bucky’s head come to rest on his shoulder. Safety in the darkness.
“Now,” Bucky whispers, grimly determined as ever. “I wanna see it now.”
Steve guides Bucky back to his tent, no need for light with Steve’s senses. Bucky’s hand grips him like a vise. He can hear Bucky’s heart pounding, an undercurrent to the soft noises in the forest around them. He doesn’t understand why Bucky is so afraid of him. It hurts.
They maneuver themselves inside the tent, necessitating Bucky to drop Steve’s hand. When they’ve sat, Steve fishes for his sketchbook and flashlight. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping the pretext.
“Don’t.”
Steve thinks he knows what Bucky means this time. Don’t turn on the light.
Don’t break the barrier.
“I wanna make you feel good,” Bucky whispers, gravel in his voice. “Get up on your knees.”
Steve does, thinking about Bucky’s face. His soft lips, warm mouth, wet tongue. Blood surges south. Steve stifles a longing moan.
“I want this,” Bucky says as he unbuttons Steve’s fly. “I want it.”
Steve wants it, too.
Bucky guides Steve’s cock out into the cool air. He wraps his hand around it and pumps leisurely. He breathes deeply, and Steve has just enough blood left in his brain to register that Bucky’s heart is slowing. He keeps his hands at his sides, wanting this, not wanting to ruin it again.
“Damn, Steve,” Bucky’s voice has the shadow of his old humor. “They made everything bigger, huh?”
Steve wants to laugh, but they have to keep quiet. He wants to think up a witty retort, but his faculties are engaged elsewhere.
Those faculties are completely obliterated when Bucky’s lips find the head of his cock and his mouth sucks Steve down with practiced ease. It’s been too long, Steve thinks as he stifles another moan. Too fucking long, and, God, he loves this man and his wicked tongue. He needs him, and anything he’s willing to give him. In the darkness they could be anywhere. They could be back in that tiny apartment. Bucky could have the gleam in his eyes and Steve could be small again. He could be what Bucky wants again.
Steve’s arms rise from his sides. His hands find the back of Bucky’s head, like they would have in their apartment.
Bucky jerks away violently, heartbeat roaring. His back hits the side of the tent, hard. Steve hates himself for ruining it again.
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds like he’s going to spit. “I thought I could do this. Fuck!”
Steve stuffs himself back into his pants. He tries not to be angry and ashamed at the disgust in Bucky’s voice. He can feel Bucky shaking before he moves himself as far from Steve as he can in the tent’s confines.
“Sorry,” Steve apologizes reflexively.
“No,” Bucky’s angry. “No, don’t.”
Steve doesn’t understand.
“No,” Bucky repeats, still angry. “I can do this, c’mon. Let’s try again.”
Steve chuckles incredulously.
“Don’t think I’m gonna rise to the occasion again, Buck.”
There’s unintended bitterness in his voice, and he hates it. Bucky’s shoulders slump.
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds weary. “Fuck.”
He crawls out of Steve’s tent. Steve lies on his back, struggling with his need, and his inability to do anything about it. Struggling with his anger. Bucky says he still wants Steve, but he’s afraid of him. Disgusted by him.
If Steve were braver, as brave as everyone seems to think he is, he’d ask Bucky what his game is. He’d ask, but he knows from years of experience that the quickest way to get Bucky to shut down is to try and make him talk. God, but he loves that stupid, stubborn man.
Re: Fill: Wrong (4/?)
“Can I sit by you?”
Steve asks Bucky after Gabe excuses himself to his tent. Monty’s on watch, but everyone else has gone to sleep. It’s just Steve, Bucky, and the dying fire.
“No one’s stoppin’ you,” Bucky shrugs, trying too hard to sound indifferent. “I’m gonna turn in anyway. I’ve got third watch.”
“Wait,” Steve attempts, desperate to have Bucky stay. “Just wait, please. Stay with me a little longer.”
Bucky looks at him. The fire’s fading light illuminates the hollows of his cheeks. His cheeks used to be so full.
“Okay,” Bucky agrees cautiously. “A little longer.”
Steve thanks him and sits, giving Bucky a few inches between them. There’s a long silence as each man watches the fire go out. Steve thinks about Bucky’s face, beautiful even now. He wants to kiss him.
“It’s not you,” Bucky says. “I know you think it’s your fault, but it’s not.”
“Then what is it?”
Bucky doesn’t answer him. The last ember dies.
“I like this body,” Steve continues. “It was strange at first, it feels wrong sometimes, but I like it. I understand if you don’t, if this isn’t what you signed up for. You don’t have to- ”
“Steve, shut up.”
Bucky’s hand finds Steve’s in the dark. There’s always been safety in darkness for people like them. Bucky twitches when they make contact, but his fingers intertwine with Steve’s fingers, curling tightly.
“You still draw?” Bucky asks quietly. “Haven’t seen you draw over here.”
“Yeah,” Steve answers. It’s a thrill just to have Bucky holding his hand, like he’s sixteen again. “I still draw. I got a sketchbook in my tent, if you wanna see it.”
He doesn’t mean it as a proposition, but he feels Bucky tense.
“In the morning,” Steve tries to salvage. “Only if you want to.”
Steve feels Bucky shift beside him, moving so their legs are touching. He never lets go of Steve’s hand. Steve stays as still as he can. He feels Bucky’s head come to rest on his shoulder. Safety in the darkness.
“Now,” Bucky whispers, grimly determined as ever. “I wanna see it now.”
Steve guides Bucky back to his tent, no need for light with Steve’s senses. Bucky’s hand grips him like a vise. He can hear Bucky’s heart pounding, an undercurrent to the soft noises in the forest around them. He doesn’t understand why Bucky is so afraid of him. It hurts.
They maneuver themselves inside the tent, necessitating Bucky to drop Steve’s hand. When they’ve sat, Steve fishes for his sketchbook and flashlight. Bucky puts a hand on his shoulder, stopping the pretext.
“Don’t.”
Steve thinks he knows what Bucky means this time. Don’t turn on the light.
Don’t break the barrier.
“I wanna make you feel good,” Bucky whispers, gravel in his voice. “Get up on your knees.”
Steve does, thinking about Bucky’s face. His soft lips, warm mouth, wet tongue. Blood surges south. Steve stifles a longing moan.
“I want this,” Bucky says as he unbuttons Steve’s fly. “I want it.”
Steve wants it, too.
Bucky guides Steve’s cock out into the cool air. He wraps his hand around it and pumps leisurely. He breathes deeply, and Steve has just enough blood left in his brain to register that Bucky’s heart is slowing. He keeps his hands at his sides, wanting this, not wanting to ruin it again.
“Damn, Steve,” Bucky’s voice has the shadow of his old humor. “They made everything bigger, huh?”
Steve wants to laugh, but they have to keep quiet. He wants to think up a witty retort, but his faculties are engaged elsewhere.
Those faculties are completely obliterated when Bucky’s lips find the head of his cock and his mouth sucks Steve down with practiced ease. It’s been too long, Steve thinks as he stifles another moan. Too fucking long, and, God, he loves this man and his wicked tongue. He needs him, and anything he’s willing to give him. In the darkness they could be anywhere. They could be back in that tiny apartment. Bucky could have the gleam in his eyes and Steve could be small again. He could be what Bucky wants again.
Steve’s arms rise from his sides. His hands find the back of Bucky’s head, like they would have in their apartment.
Bucky jerks away violently, heartbeat roaring. His back hits the side of the tent, hard. Steve hates himself for ruining it again.
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds like he’s going to spit. “I thought I could do this. Fuck!”
Steve stuffs himself back into his pants. He tries not to be angry and ashamed at the disgust in Bucky’s voice. He can feel Bucky shaking before he moves himself as far from Steve as he can in the tent’s confines.
“Sorry,” Steve apologizes reflexively.
“No,” Bucky’s angry. “No, don’t.”
Steve doesn’t understand.
“No,” Bucky repeats, still angry. “I can do this, c’mon. Let’s try again.”
Steve chuckles incredulously.
“Don’t think I’m gonna rise to the occasion again, Buck.”
There’s unintended bitterness in his voice, and he hates it. Bucky’s shoulders slump.
“Fuck,” Bucky sounds weary. “Fuck.”
He crawls out of Steve’s tent. Steve lies on his back, struggling with his need, and his inability to do anything about it. Struggling with his anger. Bucky says he still wants Steve, but he’s afraid of him. Disgusted by him.
If Steve were braver, as brave as everyone seems to think he is, he’d ask Bucky what his game is. He’d ask, but he knows from years of experience that the quickest way to get Bucky to shut down is to try and make him talk. God, but he loves that stupid, stubborn man.
He loves him too much to let him go.