Zola proves himself a slippery little weasel. The SSR’s intel proves faultier than they’d like to admit. By October, Zola’s escaped the Howlies twice. There’s no scent of him for weeks.
The Howlies are on edge. Jim inventories, then re-inventories the medical supplies. Jacques does the same with his demolition equipment. Bucky’s rifle has never been cleaner.
They try something new that night. Steve lies on his back in his tent while Bucky goes down on him. Steve stays as quiet as he can, which is difficult, and as still as he can, which is even more difficult. He can feel Bucky’s arousal hard and hot against him. He loves it.
Bucky doesn’t panic until Steve reaches climax. Steve's too far gone to be of much help as Bucky pulls away wildly with a soft cry, shaking and spitting. There’s a mess all over Steve and his belongings. When he regains his faculties, Steve assures Bucky that he doesn’t mind, but Bucky doesn’t stay long after that.
It’s nearly Christmas before they try again. Unable to help with the fighting in Bastogne, the Howlies are reinvigorated with a new lead on Zola. They pack up and head for the center of Austria. During one of the long, cold nights of the trek, Bucky comes to Steve’s tent.
“Can we try- ” Steve hesitates, trying to figure out how to ask. “I had an idea, for how this could work.”
Bucky’s heart leaps, but he tells Steve to continue.
“Me on my back, and you lower yourself down on me. That way you’re completely in control.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve’s afraid he’s ruined it. That he’s pushed too far. He waits, hoping, for Bucky to respond. It was always Steve who started things, in his old body. In their old life. Now, he waits for Bucky.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Bucky asks eventually, sounding exasperated. “C’mon, let’s try it your way.”
Steve is relieved, and happy to oblige.
It’s too cold for them to take off more clothes than necessary. Bucky pulls his pants down to his thighs and sits on Steve’s face while Steve works him open with his tongue. Bucky makes soft noises of pleasure above him that drive Steve wild. Sometimes he worries about what’s going through Bucky’s mind when he touches him. What horrible memories Steve evokes that make Bucky freeze, panic, pull away. Not now. He won’t ever worry that those factory squids tried this. This is for Bucky. For Steve, too, but only so much as Bucky wants it.
“C’mon, please,” Bucky moans breathlessly. Steve hears him stroking himself. “Please, Stevie, let’s go.”
Steve retracts his tongue and Bucky lifts himself off Steve’s face. He sits on Steve’s chest while he unbuttons Steve’s fly and brings his straining cock into play. Steve stays on his back, as still as possible. He hands Bucky a condom without needing to be asked. Bucky’s particular about that, now. It’s beyond the fear of disease, since Bucky has no problem with Steve’s bare fingers or tongue. It’s something Steve doesn’t fully understand, but he doesn’t have to. It’s for Bucky.
Bucky rolls the condom onto Steve. He lifts himself up on his knees over Steve, and Steve hears the wet sound of Bucky’s fingers prepping himself with Vaseline. Steve’s cock throbs unbearably.
“Don’t move.”
Bucky’s warning is unnecessary. Steve’s learned by now.
“You’re in control, Buck.”
Bucky swings himself around so he’s facing Steve in the dark. Steve gasps when he feels Bucky’s hands on him, guiding him home. He gasps again when he feels tight warmth through the rubber sheathing him. Bucky lowers himself down on Steve, bringing Steve inside with one languid slide. It takes all of Steve’s restraint not to thrust. Not to put his hands on Bucky, though he so desperately wants to. He can hear Bucky’s heart hammering.
“You okay?”
“You’ll know if I’m not.”
Bucky’s tone is sharp with agitation, and Steve tries not to let that hurt. Bucky doesn’t move for a few minutes after positioning himself. Steve wants more, but he tries to quell that part of himself. If this is all Bucky will give him, so be it. This is more than he’d hoped for. It’s more than enough.
“You feel so good, Buck,” Steve attempts, balling his hands into fists so he doesn’t touch. “You’re so- ”
“Don’t.”
Steve doesn’t. He closes his mouth and waits for Bucky.
“Fuck,” Bucky growls with longing, mercifully starting to move. “God, I want you so bad, Steve.”
“You have me,” Steve says before he can stop himself. Bucky keeps riding Steve, so Steve figures it must be okay. “You’ll always have me.”
“You’re so beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky moves faster, up and down, knees flexing. “You’ve always been beautiful, and now you’re like a fucking god.”
Steve restrains himself from matching Bucky’s movements. He focuses on Bucky’s words. Everything he wants to hear. Everything he finally believes.
“I want this,” Bucky groans, pounding himself on Steve’s cock, one hand behind him on Steve’s thigh for balance, the other pumping his own cock. “This feels so fucking good, I want this so fucking bad!”
Steve doesn’t last long after that. He moans, long and high, and his hips stutter against his will, but he doesn’t put his hands on Bucky. Bucky rides him through, and if he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it. A few seconds after Steve begins to come down, he hears Bucky swear in rapture and feels his hot essence coating his face in bursts. Steve laughs, relieved. Proud. Content.
Until he hears Bucky fail to suppress a sob.
“Buck?” Steve asks helplessly, horrified. He props himself up on his elbows. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”
Bucky pulls himself off of Steve’s softening cock. He falls heavily to the side, hitting the vibranium shield. Steve winces in solidarity as he sits up.
Steve longs to hold him. To wrap his arms around Bucky from behind and bury his face in the sweat of Bucky’s neck. He’s still covered in the proof of Bucky’s pleasure, drying pungent and sticky on his face and in his hair. He doesn’t want to wipe it away. Not yet.
“We did it,” Steve begins with tentative joy. “You did it.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve waits for him, listening to his heartbeat slow. Eventually, Bucky pulls his pants up and starts to leave.
“Wait. Please.”
“I can’t,” Bucky sounds tired and angry. “I love you, but I can’t.”
When he’s gone, Steve cleans himself up. He falls asleep clinging to the smell of Bucky lingering in his tent. He dreams of a warm summer night in a rundown apartment. He dreams of his small hands on Bucky’s face while he makes love to him.
Re: Fill: Wrong (8/10)
The Howlies are on edge. Jim inventories, then re-inventories the medical supplies. Jacques does the same with his demolition equipment. Bucky’s rifle has never been cleaner.
They try something new that night. Steve lies on his back in his tent while Bucky goes down on him. Steve stays as quiet as he can, which is difficult, and as still as he can, which is even more difficult. He can feel Bucky’s arousal hard and hot against him. He loves it.
Bucky doesn’t panic until Steve reaches climax. Steve's too far gone to be of much help as Bucky pulls away wildly with a soft cry, shaking and spitting. There’s a mess all over Steve and his belongings. When he regains his faculties, Steve assures Bucky that he doesn’t mind, but Bucky doesn’t stay long after that.
It’s nearly Christmas before they try again. Unable to help with the fighting in Bastogne, the Howlies are reinvigorated with a new lead on Zola. They pack up and head for the center of Austria. During one of the long, cold nights of the trek, Bucky comes to Steve’s tent.
“I want this,” Bucky repeats his familiar refrain. “I want you.”
Steve believes him.
“Can we try- ” Steve hesitates, trying to figure out how to ask. “I had an idea, for how this could work.”
Bucky’s heart leaps, but he tells Steve to continue.
“Me on my back, and you lower yourself down on me. That way you’re completely in control.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything for a long moment, and Steve’s afraid he’s ruined it. That he’s pushed too far. He waits, hoping, for Bucky to respond. It was always Steve who started things, in his old body. In their old life. Now, he waits for Bucky.
“Well, what’re you waiting for?” Bucky asks eventually, sounding exasperated. “C’mon, let’s try it your way.”
Steve is relieved, and happy to oblige.
It’s too cold for them to take off more clothes than necessary. Bucky pulls his pants down to his thighs and sits on Steve’s face while Steve works him open with his tongue. Bucky makes soft noises of pleasure above him that drive Steve wild. Sometimes he worries about what’s going through Bucky’s mind when he touches him. What horrible memories Steve evokes that make Bucky freeze, panic, pull away. Not now. He won’t ever worry that those factory squids tried this. This is for Bucky. For Steve, too, but only so much as Bucky wants it.
“C’mon, please,” Bucky moans breathlessly. Steve hears him stroking himself. “Please, Stevie, let’s go.”
Steve retracts his tongue and Bucky lifts himself off Steve’s face. He sits on Steve’s chest while he unbuttons Steve’s fly and brings his straining cock into play. Steve stays on his back, as still as possible. He hands Bucky a condom without needing to be asked. Bucky’s particular about that, now. It’s beyond the fear of disease, since Bucky has no problem with Steve’s bare fingers or tongue. It’s something Steve doesn’t fully understand, but he doesn’t have to. It’s for Bucky.
Bucky rolls the condom onto Steve. He lifts himself up on his knees over Steve, and Steve hears the wet sound of Bucky’s fingers prepping himself with Vaseline. Steve’s cock throbs unbearably.
“Don’t move.”
Bucky’s warning is unnecessary. Steve’s learned by now.
“You’re in control, Buck.”
Bucky swings himself around so he’s facing Steve in the dark. Steve gasps when he feels Bucky’s hands on him, guiding him home. He gasps again when he feels tight warmth through the rubber sheathing him. Bucky lowers himself down on Steve, bringing Steve inside with one languid slide. It takes all of Steve’s restraint not to thrust. Not to put his hands on Bucky, though he so desperately wants to. He can hear Bucky’s heart hammering.
“You okay?”
“You’ll know if I’m not.”
Bucky’s tone is sharp with agitation, and Steve tries not to let that hurt. Bucky doesn’t move for a few minutes after positioning himself. Steve wants more, but he tries to quell that part of himself. If this is all Bucky will give him, so be it. This is more than he’d hoped for. It’s more than enough.
“You feel so good, Buck,” Steve attempts, balling his hands into fists so he doesn’t touch. “You’re so- ”
“Don’t.”
Steve doesn’t. He closes his mouth and waits for Bucky.
“Fuck,” Bucky growls with longing, mercifully starting to move. “God, I want you so bad, Steve.”
“You have me,” Steve says before he can stop himself. Bucky keeps riding Steve, so Steve figures it must be okay. “You’ll always have me.”
“You’re so beautiful, Stevie,” Bucky moves faster, up and down, knees flexing. “You’ve always been beautiful, and now you’re like a fucking god.”
Steve restrains himself from matching Bucky’s movements. He focuses on Bucky’s words. Everything he wants to hear. Everything he finally believes.
“I want this,” Bucky groans, pounding himself on Steve’s cock, one hand behind him on Steve’s thigh for balance, the other pumping his own cock. “This feels so fucking good, I want this so fucking bad!”
Steve doesn’t last long after that. He moans, long and high, and his hips stutter against his will, but he doesn’t put his hands on Bucky. Bucky rides him through, and if he’s afraid, he doesn’t show it. A few seconds after Steve begins to come down, he hears Bucky swear in rapture and feels his hot essence coating his face in bursts. Steve laughs, relieved. Proud. Content.
Until he hears Bucky fail to suppress a sob.
“Buck?” Steve asks helplessly, horrified. He props himself up on his elbows. “Bucky, what’s wrong?”
Bucky pulls himself off of Steve’s softening cock. He falls heavily to the side, hitting the vibranium shield. Steve winces in solidarity as he sits up.
“Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” Bucky snaps, voice muffled. “Everything’s fine.”
Steve longs to hold him. To wrap his arms around Bucky from behind and bury his face in the sweat of Bucky’s neck. He’s still covered in the proof of Bucky’s pleasure, drying pungent and sticky on his face and in his hair. He doesn’t want to wipe it away. Not yet.
“We did it,” Steve begins with tentative joy. “You did it.”
Bucky doesn’t say anything. Steve waits for him, listening to his heartbeat slow. Eventually, Bucky pulls his pants up and starts to leave.
“Wait. Please.”
“I can’t,” Bucky sounds tired and angry. “I love you, but I can’t.”
When he’s gone, Steve cleans himself up. He falls asleep clinging to the smell of Bucky lingering in his tent. He dreams of a warm summer night in a rundown apartment. He dreams of his small hands on Bucky’s face while he makes love to him.
There are no tears.